A Blog By Me

“ Were you born this retarded, or did mommy drop you one too many times on your head after daddy fucked her brains out in her last trimester, pokin you in the head?

You’re dumb as a fucking post.”

“Love you too Angry.”

“G’night.”

THIS SUCKS THIS SUCKS THIS SUCKS FUCKING SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

ok, i’m done now.

Couple things.

I am being punished for my lack of ‘productive output’ at work. Evidently, I am not getting paid 12 shitty bucks n hour to sit on my ass and do nothing. Huh. Go figure. Boss Man has cut my already skinny 40 hrs (I’m always banking on overtime, yet..somehow..never get it).

Bastard. He’ll get his. I just have to come up with a reasonable punishment. Somewhere between hiding some work tools, and messing with the inventory.

Have yet to decide.

Or switching the transmitters on our key chains again and just using my spare. (We drive the same make and model Accord, he’s is a couple years newer than mine)

Another thing.

Dr. Mengele wants my 100 lbs ass to fast.

Now, the last time I did this, it wasn’t exactly intentional. And it wasn’t exactly a fast either. I just kinda stopped eating for a week and a half.

Has anyone ever done that?

It really fucking sucks.

Right, so, the good Doctor wants me to ‘cleanse my system’

Someone remind me. Why, oh dear Lord why did I decide to take a fucking holistic approach to this shit

No coffee?

No chocolate?

No meat?

I think I may end up killing myself at the end of the week.

fast my ass. Cant I just get a body flush or something? Doesn’t that do the same thing?

I tried to reason.

“Hell no.”

I tried to be understanding

“FUCK no.”

I wanna fast about as much as I wanna get herpes. I hardly eat as it is, so I guess it’s really not gonna be all that bad. Minus the caffeine with-drawls.

And fuck giving up ciggies. If that man wants me to ‘flush n cleanse my system’ I’m keepin the cancer.

This week is gonna suck.

The past months since Ex’s ‘accident’ have been up and down, as things always go with things like this..Some days are good, and it’s easy to look at each other and not think about the past and everything that happened, and some days he sends me away after ten or fifteen minutes, not sure weather or not he thinks I need to see him in such a state, or he simply doesn’t want me around… Kiss him, and leave. It’s the best I can do…They say if you love someone, let them go. They also say, if it was meant to be, they will come back. What they neglect to mention, is when they do come back, it’s only part way, pieces are missing from the equation, that no matter how heavy the variable is, the sum is never going to add up to it’s original figure…

People look at past relationships that have gone black, weather it be with a friend, a family member, or a lover, and dissect the problems, looking for that one answer as to what went wrong, who’s fault it was, and how it could have been avoided. Sometimes it’s as clear cut as a spouses addiction, or another infidelity. Sometimes, you simply fall out of love and it’s all just a fog as to why or how it happened. Walking away is never as easy as staying. Or so they say….

Tutto succede per una ragione….Nothing is by chance. In some cases, where the pain and scars run so deep, a major trauma is called for in order to snap a simple act. In my case, both would be losing someone in a way that I loved more than life itself, in more ways than one, and in another, forgiveness. Life is such a short road. One day, you’re writing e-mails back home, arguing with an ex who’s an ocean away from you over something as petty as furniture in storage, the next you have no feeling from the neck down…Or you simply die.

Life isn’t as cut and dry as some would like it to be. People leave your life as quickly as they come into it, and then come back into it weather is wanted or not. Sometimes, it’s for a reason. To learn who that person was when you loved them last, and to see who they were as they saw you. Weak, angry, and disillusioned. Simple things such as forgiveness never lay on the top as everyone would like. It’s something that you have to allow in and grant. Some deserve it. Others don’t. It’s not a sparing gift, and comes around as quickly as death.

Use sparingly.

I’m on friendly terms with one of the chicks who works across the street, and it seems shes been dealing with the same douche bag that I’ve been dealing with for the past…Oh year and a fucking half. Well, not friendly terms anymore, I think I’m in love with her… While his car was parked out front her store today, she boogies over the mine and asks if I keep my ciggy butts in a butt bucket, then tells me what she wants to do with them. Why yes, yes I do. She asks for them, I go out back into the court yard, grab the two coffee cans filled with skanky, yellow, brown, shit smelling cancer nubs and hand them to her.

And watch, as she walks across the street and pitch both of the cans into Stalker Boys open windows. And for good measure, she cocks back her neck and spits forth what was quite possibly one of the most manly loogies I have ever had the pleasure of viewing onto his windshild.

She boogies back over to the Store.

Where we watch, riveted for the next fifteen minutes  until he comes around, gets into his car, jumps out like a hornets in his pants and proceeds to swear, spit (yes he was actually spitting) and generally flip the fuck out.

Now that, ladies and gents, is what I call, getting even.

I’m gonna file that one away for good.

I’m afraid I never really grew outta my ‘let’s stick needles into my body’ phase. Both filled with that yummy goodness I would gladly die for and a hollow 12 gauge needle that tends to get jabbed into some of the most sensitive parts of my anatomy. Like my tongue, tragus and now (again) the twins.

I don’t know what the fuck on God’s green Earth possessed me to pay someone 70 bucks to take a freezing cold clamp, clamp it down on my nipples and shove a needle through them. I really don’t. I also don’t know what possessed me to not eat anything before hand, and then proceed to drink myself stupid on wine after. I really don’t.

So, a couple things I won’t be doing again.

1. Getting my nips re peirced. Nope, not doing that again.

2. Getting a pinprick on an empty stomach

3. Try an keep up with Lovey Bro in the drinking department.

I feel like shit, and my tits are killing me.

This a story about tits. This is a story about two strippers, one boob job, a thousand dollars, and the three cup sizes that bound all of us..This is also a story of friendship, and a beautiful pair of shoes that I ended up with……

In the past I have…ermmm ‘explained‘ my desire for a boob job. (I still want it, whatever…) I use to work with a dancer who we shall call Chaz.

Chaz had no issue, hands down pulling green at night. Aside from the fact she was blessed with a body that would send any burlesque dancer into a envy tizzy, she had a natural beautiful set of chest melons the size of fucking cantelopes. Chazz and I worked together for about six months until she decided to have a boob job.

Now, I loved Chazz, I still do, she was a wonderful friend, and helped me out a great deal, she brought my stupid ass back down from the clouds when I started flying a bit too high, unfortunately for her, Chazz was one of those career dancers. She had been dancing since she was about 18, she told me to make some quick cash when her boyfriend stopped making payments on her car, and she stayed in the scene. By the time I left the club we worked at she was 27.

Ten years.

Now that’s what I call commitment.

So Chazz saw herself as most women do at some point, saggy. Ok, after a while, they do tend to go south, but as oppose to just getting a lift, she went ahead and got a set of fucking watermelons. One night the two of us are hanging out at the club with some other dancers, literally sending her cantelopes off in style (I think there was some bongo playing that night on said cantelopes…) and the next night, I’m over her house looking at these huge fucking mounds engulfed in bandaged an that bra they put you in, just sitting on her chest.

Chazz stoof about five foot five and about 125 lbs. You stick a pair of Ds a someones chest of that stature, they tend to look like the mud flap chick.

“DUDE! THEIR HUGE!” I normally make it a point to not stare a someones chest (or crotch) but really, it was kinda hard not to. Or point. Pointing is kinda rude. Which is what I was doing. And gaping.

“It’s just the swelling. And I think some of it is the bandages too…But you wanna know something funny? I can’t see my feet!”

“Ok, some thing tells me thats just a little too big…”

“Wait until the swelling goes down, they’ll be a bit smaller.”

And so it went.

When Chazz came back to work, the ’swelling’, had gone down, maybe 150 ccs on each implant.

Her boobs were just massive.

The funny thing is, even though her breast size increase dramatically, her green didnt. For the most part, it stayed the same…I didnt talk money with the other dancers, it’s rude, but I did talk money with Chazz, and listened to her disappointment in her…’sales’. I think she and I ended up spending an entire night polling the customers to feel us up (trust me, not my most shining moment) and tell us which rack felt better. Oddly enough, it was split down the middle. Despite the fact that most of the guys spent just a couple minutes too long ‘examining’ Chazz.

After a particularly long night, I was out back literally curled up in a little ball when Chazz came in bitching about her cash. I poked my head up and asked what her bank was for the evening. Roughly three hundred dollars…..

I had made a couple bucks shy of a thousand, which I promptly spent on a pair of shoes. Of course.

While I don’t think Chazz regrets her choice to go for the gold, she told me she was surprised by the out come of it all. I think she was expecting to make solid on her little investment and wasn’t exactly thrilled with the lack of positve cash flow response from the customers. I guess really big is sometimes just a bit too big. Even in a plastic town that is L.A…. Going out with her was always a blast, she could drink an Irishman under the table and still recite the alphabet backwards from ‘j’, but the attention she got went from over the top, to just plain embarrassing. Guys would literally walk up to her and point blank as to feel her tits. To which she would ask if she could measure their penis. Her iron clad ego remained intact.

And I must say, the heart that went under those huge knockers was just as big. When one of the girls found a lump on one of her money makers, Chazz organized a wet tee shirt contest (which she won) and all proceeds went to Lady Love’s medical expenses. I have never, and more than likely will never meet another woman, or dancer for that matter who actually gave a shit about other people, and didn’t view them as competition, or leechers. So, in light, should I ever get my tits redone, one shall be named after my girl Chazz, and the other, well, it’s gonna be named after my Ex, since he’s just such a boob.

To have a stripper blog up by Tuesday night. Been busy launching my ass off of roof tops and painting houses.

Saturday Night- Lovey Bro decided to be a prick and make me to to west bumfuck Falmouth to pick up the cash he owes me.

-5 pts on the fuzzy feelings scale

My buddy Trav comes down from Boston and spends some time with me while at said Lovey Bros

+5 pts on the  fuzzy feelings scale

Get home late, talk to General Annoyance #1 on the phone until the wee hours. Conversation goes well.

+3 pts on the fuzzy feelings scale

Get freaked out by the scary noises, don’t fall asleep until about 4 am.

-10 pts on the fuzzy feelings scale

Wake up groggy, bitchy and cranky. Take shower, hot water keeps crapping out

-20 pts on the fuzzy feelings scale

Getting dressed and hear knock on door. Open door, not dressed, only wearing soaking wet towel, and hair is a mess. it’s Land Lords Son. The pipes are leaking again into the barn down stairs.

———————-100 pts on the fuzzy feelings scale

Get ready for work, call Boss Man, Wife picks up. Have a lovely conversation with her

+ 10 pts on the fuzzy feelings scale

It’s nice out today. And I’m stuck inside and wearing cashmere and it’s like 60 out.

- 25 pts on the fuzzy feelings scale

Send RoomMate an e-mail telling him about the shower, get a snide e-mail back.

-30 pts on the fuzzy feelings scale

Call RoomMate, leave bitchy voice mail,  doesnt make me feel any better, it’s prolly just a miscommunication. But still

Lovey Bro calls me for the fifth time today asking me to look up something on the web when he could easily dial 4-1-1. Lazy, cheap ass bitch

-15 pts on the fuzzy feelings scale

Talk to Gin Gin, bitch about Lovey Bro

+10 pts on the fuzzy feelings scale

I fucking hate everyone and everything today and I don’t even have PMfuckingS as a goddman fucking excuse.

So.

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Aaaaaaaaand fuck you.

It just hit me like a fucking mac truck

All men are dense as fuck and subtle round about hints don’t work.

HOLY FHAKING SHIT DUDE!!!

No way.