A Blog By Me

Boss Man: “Where’s the back up for the system?”

ME (internal monologue) You iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiidiot, I don’t need to fucking back shit up, the system just updated…fucking retard…You don’t know shit……..Pshaaaa

“In my messenger bag.”

Go back to eating my lunch

Boss Man: “Uh…….Can I have the backup??”

ME: (internal monologue) Huh? Wha? Backwhat? Why do you need that?

“Huh? Wha? Why do you need that?

Boss Man: “System just went down. Go get the backup.”

ME (internal monologue) SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT

“Ok.”

Run out back, grab a backup and scratch the shit out of it,

Run up front

ME: DUDE, WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT PUTTING THIS TYPE OF SHIT IN THEIR CASES!”

Toss the intentionally wrecked backup at him and storm out back

(internal monologue) SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT

Boss Man: “What! I didn’t! Shit! Do we have another???”

And the Ballerina’s ass is saved yet again, by Boss Man’s short attention span, and piss poor memory.

————————————————————————————-

Worst. Idea. Ever.

I made a bet with a friend like four or five  days ago, that if he can go a week and a half  with out eating anything but walnuts and water, I would give him a lap dance or half of my stimulus check.

He says he has lost like 5 lbs….(2.27 kilos)…I’ll be the judge of that………..

Again, DCap finds his way into my cold little heart.

READ

Monkey Man gets pissed. And rightfully so.

I am really not sure what to think of this….

Something I will be reading next…..(TY Jake)

hey Slick, hope you enjoy GTA4, just remember, half the country confuses strippers with hookers…..Guess I am lucky I’m too arthritic to dance anymore, huh? Actually, fuck that, half the country thinks that strippers ARE hookers, and yes, I can FUCKING say that, since I, of course was a hooker at some point in the X amount of time I was stripping. (Please, cut a slut some slack. I may like dick, but not enough to charge for it)  Dicks. Oh, and you ask me if you miss being a cop? Ask me if I miss being a stripper…….No, but seriously, people need to just chill the fuck out about somethings. I’m not a femnazi, I really could care less about how I’m viewed by the opposite sex (pref by someone attractive) but I really did see the ugly side of the male species while stripping. However, it was NOTHING compared to some halfwit, overeducated, overly opinionated feminist who felt it was her duty to point out that I was degrading myself, subjecting myself to the opposite sex and their power.

Kiss my fucking ass. Like really. This is how it fucking works.

I have a nice body.

I like money. (and had a small drug problem but that’s besides the point, really)

Now, excuse me for saying this, but if a chick wants to get up on a fucking stage and learn just how iron clad her fucking ego is, I’ll say go for it. If women fought for so long to have rights, then we have the fucking right to do whatever the fuck we want with our bodies with out being judges by a same gender peer (short of being a hooker, that, yes, I’m gonna say is immoral and just plain icky) . This was seriously a hot topic for me, one of my neighbors really made it her personal fucking mission to make me feel pretty worthless about stripping. And the second she found out I was/had been in the military? Oh please, talk about a barrage of hatred and anger. And the funny thing was, she was pretty fucking cute. Nice ass, great rack…It would make a lot more sense if she was totally fucking busted…Fucking cunt. I’m not going to pretend that the treatment (both good and bad) I received (mostly bad) while in the military wasn’t due to the fact I have tits and am lacking a dick. I’m not going to pretend that because of my gender and the actions and situations is what cost me a career. But get the fuck over it, I have.

People make choices in life that will almost always have some impact on the rest of their lives, positive, negative, minuscule and major. Tis life.

I’m not going to say if my daughter ever became a stripper I wouldn’t take her out back and pound the fucking shit out of her, but, hey, it’s a great life lesson, stripping taught me a lot about myself, the male (and female) species, money and a lot (more) about drugs… If my daughter wants to go into the military, sure, she can do it, after I’m done breaking all her fingers.

Oh, and another thing. Words like “metacognition” do not jive with my tiny little uneducated brain, if you, or anyone you know is going to step up onto a soapbox, please make sure the words chosen are small, easily pronounced and keep the huge ass words to a minimum. I have to say, that was quite possibly one of the most dullest articles I have read in a wicked fucking long time.

Ok, I’m done now, I’m gonna go take some more clonidine. (taking it again, I like the way it makes my head spin)

I just got a blank e-mail from Boss Man, with an attachment.

Subject: BUSTED!!!!

Yup. Thats me. Passed the fuck out in my office. And yes, my mouth is open. I have no idea when he took this.

And they taste like cardboard.

I’ve finally taken the time to clean up my blogroll, there were a lot of old timers who have left the web and deleted their blogs.

Out with the old, in with the new. If you (and here’s my ego talking) and I know there a lot of you, who read my shit, and want to be linked, feel free to shoot me an e-mail.

blaknblueyz AT hotmail.com

If you send me spam, stupid forwards or inappropriate shit, I will make you life hell.

There really is weight in the fact that my temper gets the best of me. Usually with the opposite sex. Ya’ll have an uncanny ability to just hit those right buttons and just make me see red. And no hidden truth either, when I get like I am right now, scared, pissed, and exhausted, the combos pretty piss poor. Someone almost always gets the tail end of a violent out burst. Boss Man, RoomMate, usually one of my bf’s. Last night it was Fuck Buddy.

After our last little incident, I did my best to stay away, night before last he sent me a couple texts wanting to hang out, didn’t seem to sit well with Slick, so I didn’t end up going. Some things are simply meant to happen. I saw Slick last night, and needless to say, it didn’t go well. At all.

All afternoon he had been sending me texts to “talk”. I’m going to be frank here and say he and I “talking” usually involved me getting fucked up against a wall and knocking furniture over. I’m not going to lie, I loved fucking this guy, he was a great lay, probably so in fact he ends up on my Top Ten….It’s an elite club that only the few, the proud go on. Who the hell am I joking? Dude with the biggest and best dicks who can make me scream get taken out of the Little Red Book and put on the Top Ten. Names get moved up down and off all the time. Sad, but thats how this little slut works. My boyfriend is going to fuckin kill me.

Right, so ran into FB last night, and the mild conversation ended up becoming rather heated, very quickly when I told him the next time he touched me again, I would break his fucking nose. (He was touching me again, I was not having it.)

He behaved for like 5 minutes while asking me about my accident (for the record, I hate how fast word travels around here……) then the next ten or so involved him practically begging for a quick fuck. After the sixth or seventh “No, dude..” I finally got up and began to walk to my car. (Well, the rental) he follows, and out comes this gem

“You are a selfish fucking bitch Anjela fucking Rose! You can not tell me you don’t have feelings for me.”

Stop. Spin around. I’m totally fucking confused. In my little drug addled brain, he wanted sex. This topic was covered more than once, oh and for the record, there was an audience. Was fucking great.

“What the fuck are you talking about?!”

“You, you fucking bitch! You think you can just fuck for almost a year, just call me when ever you feel like it, then act like everything is fine and dandy? Well, it’s not, ok? It’s not ok because you’re with someone else, and I’m alone. And you just want to be friends?! What? You are so selfish, all you care about is yourself. “

“Dude, did you like, not take your meds this morning? Fuck off, and fuck you.”

I’m three feet away from my car, when he’s behind me.

“Look, you can’t say that you don’t have feelings for me, you don’t spend that long being intimate with someone and not have any emotional value with them.”

I look at him

“I didn’t. And I don’t. I only wanted to fuck you, get over it. If you wanted to be with me you needed to fucking tell me that a while ago. Too late.”

He puts him hand on my bicep, nothing malicious, but I’m done, I wanna go home. Grab his wrist and crank it back a solid 90 degrees. Watch his eyes turn into dish plates.

“Goodfuckingbye”

And for good measure I stomped on his instep.

Around 37.7% of the pages on your website contain cussing.This is 319% MORE than other websites who took this test.

I’ve had it with my Rheam. Dr. Totally fucking had it, he’s done jack fucking shit as far as treatment, only writes scripts to kill the symptoms…

I was back in the Office getting my knees drained again yesterday. After he leaves with some of my synovial fluid, he comes back and sits down.

“I’m starting to think that you don’t have RA or FM”

I sit there for a second as the waves of nausea and fear wash over me.

“Well, what do you think it could be?”

“I’m not too sure at the moment, I’m going to run another panel and see what comes up, in the mean time, I’m going to put you on prednisone, and a couple low dose chemo drugs to take out your immune system.”

The nausea and fear is quickly replaced with anger. I sit up, close my eyes for a few seconds and wait for the room to stop spinning.

I was born with an already defunk immune system, the immuno suppressants I am on already knock my counts well below stat, my life revolves around disinfecting my car, my room, staying away from small kids, all to make sure I don’t catch a cold and have it turn into pneumonia.

(Being an EMT or a doctor may kill me, I can’t fucking wait.)

The prednisone aside, the low dose of chemos will run a risk of another Hep infection, something that will almost definitely happen due to my shitty liver and kidneys. The prednisone will wreck my body. I’m not having this. Not at all. I’m exhausted, I haven’t slept in three days, I’m in excruciating pain from the car accident…I’m biting my bottom lip so hard I’m starting to feel my bottom teeth tear the inside of my bottom lip.

“Those treatments are going to leave me incapacitated, and you don’t even know what I have right now. You’re over medicating me. Did you even look at my fucking chart? A second Hep infection will push me over the edge, what the hell are you thinking?”

I’m pissed. Really fucking pissed.

He tells me he would rather over medicate me in so my level of function will be in a comfortable zone. I tell him I would rather deal with the bi weekly joint drains and cortisone injections than kill my already damaged body.

We argue for well over ten minutes, with him saying that if I won’t go along with the treatments there is simply nothing else he can do for me.

This doctor hates questions.

He also hates the fact that I know more than I should about medicine. he thinks I’m over educated. Which at 23, yea, I am, but go do yourself a favor, and shove it up your fucking ass.

He takes the scripts and puts them on the counter next to the 50 ccs of fluid drained from my knees.

“Fill these scripts. Please. I’m only trying to help.”

I look at him, I’m scared as fuck. This guy is a fucking doctor, a good one at that, and he has no idea what the hell is going on with my body.

I close my eyes and try not to cry. When I open them he’s looking at me.

“Angry, you need to take these meds. Their going to help.”

I shake my head. And I lose my temper. I literally flipped the fuck out.

“No. No. Fuck this. No. Six months ago, you were convinced I was HIV positive. I spent two weeks vomiting every morning, then you diagnose me with RA, and from there the FM. You have given me meds that have destroyed my body more than the problem, which you can’t even name, has. This shit has cost me a job. I can’t surf anymore. I can’t ride, I can’t run. You can take those fucking scripts and shove them up your fucking ass.”

He looks at me, startled, and opens his mouth to say something, I cut him off

“No, you’re my fucking doctor, I’m the fucking patient. I know I’m fucking sick, don’t make me any sicker. You run those fucking panels, and you run cancer screens. I want every fucking bone disease known to man run on those panels, and then you’re going to fax my and my PCP the results of all the panels. I want my medical records faxed over to me, and to my PCP. You’re no longer my doctor. Get out.”

I’m shaking, I’m seriously about to throw the fuck up.

He gets up to leave

“I know you’re scared, and I’m sorry, but you really need to calm down.”

I look at him.

“Don’t tell me to calm down, get out.”

I get dressed, go down stairs and get my blood taken. Leave, and just sit in my car and sob for a half an hour. This isn’t how I want to go, I know my life will end up being short, I know I’m not going to live to 65. I accepted that a long time ago. But not now. Not like this.

I get my shit together and call my attorney. Though training and disposition, I always expect the worst. Its better to be surprised than let down. I make an appointment with him to revise my Last Will and Testament. It needed to be done any way, I’m not over reacting. Yea, I’m scared out of my fucking wits, but who wouldn’t be?

I go home, and do what I do best. I swallow some pills and crash out until Slick calls me. The I get up and go talk to RoomMate and Wifey. Tell them about the meds he wants to put me on, and they both agree the treatment will do more damage than good.

Plan B.

Get back into holistic treatment.

I’m starting on Weds.

I’ve fucking had it with this fucking shit. I don’t know who the fuck I pissed off upstairs but I’m fucking done. For once, I’m fucking happy to be alive, I’m not trying to kill myself with drugs anymore. I actually love my fucking life, and I wanna fucking live it. I don’t want to have to, at 23 fucking years old, revise my Will every six months. I don’t want to think that I’ll never get married again, or ever have kids. For fucks sake, I’m officially over this fucking shit.

Starting with my Rheam. Doc. I’m telling the world to get the fuck off my back and fuckin pop shove it.

Fistful of Tears- Lucero, off Tennessee. Find it. Download it, listen to it, shut your fucking eyes and just listen to the piano.

For all of you who have sent me e-mails and shit, if I haven’t written back to you, it simply means I just don’t have the energy, I’ll try and get back on that horse soon.

Best,

Anj