I am just thrilled to death today. Yay for doctors appointments. I already know how this is going to go in my head.
Doctor: Whats the matter?
Me: Im dizzy, and hungry, and crabby all the time.
Doctor: I'm going to poke you with this insanely long needle for no apparent reason but my own pleasure. :::Jab:::
Me: :::Slowly regaining conciousness:: What the FUCK?
Doctor: Well, you are dizzy and you did pass out. :::Still weilding needle the size of a railroad spike::
Me: Imaigine that.
Doctor: Can you lift your legs over your head and stick your left toe in your right ear?
Me: ::Lifts leg over head and sticks left toe in right ear::
Doctor: Does that hurt?
Me: Mmfphhh.
Doctor: Hmmm. That could be a problem. How long has that been going on?
Me:Mpffffh.
Doctor: I see I see. I'm going to poke you seven moretimes in three places, then give you a prescription for something that will cost $2903981 after insurance and send you home.

So as you can see, I'm really wasting my time by going. Why spend the money to have a doctor make me twist my body into contorted positions and take drugs I've never heard of, when Chris would probably do it for free, and even cuddle when it's over? I knew I was getting screwed, somehow.

It's been awhile. My apologies to my loyal few readers. In the past couple of weeks, I've learned alot about myself and about life. And I fully intend on boring you with them right now.
1) No matter how much you love someone, and they love you, the minute the jackass gets a girlfriend, you aren't shit to him. You could save his life, his dog, and give him a million dollars, but unless you are the STD ridden slut he's banging, you aren't anything.
2) Every single one of my guy friends wants me when they are loaded. It's some weird thing. After three or four beers, I become the perfect woman.
3) Every man should have three or four beers to start their day, with three or four at lunch to mantain. (If you are questioning my reasoning about this, see number 2).
4) I am a damn good bartender. And it's not because I have a nice rack. Gino even says so. And if YOU want to argue with a man named Gino, be my guest.
5) Leaving on a week vacation is a great idea. Sometimes your parents decide that they miss you so much that they will forgo the $800 you owe them, in exchange for you picking them up brats on the way home. Also, sometimes your wonderful employees decide it's a good idea to insult big name rockstars who buy cold medicine, because the boss is out of town.
6) I either have serious mental problems that I didn't notice until now, or something is funny with my bloodsugar. In the past four days, I'm ranking up 4 screaming fits, 3 sobbing outbursts, 1 knock out drag out fight about a radio, and a plethora of the most sarcastic and insanely psychotic comments I've ever made. Thus, I've scheduled a blood test for the second I get back into town. It's for everyones good.
7) Blood tests hurt. Alot. I can get poked in the tongue by a hot guy weilding a needle and smoking a cigarette, but stick me in a sanitary doctors office with a lady wearing white shoes, and I'm as good as dead.
8) No one in the Chicagoland area but me can drive. Seriously. I learned to drive here, and I'm damn good at it. Everyone else is either psychotic or a fucking loon.
9) Bin Laden is staying in my hotel and has hit on my sister. Three times, according to her. I have yet to see him once. I'll take her word for it.
10) I attract one kind of man, and one kind of man only. The balding middle aged men I wouldn't touch with a 12 foot pole and my asshole ex boyfriend pushing, who drive old minivans with children (one can only hope the children belong to them...) in the back.
11) Raising ones eyebrows is now an acceptable come on. Raising one's middle finger in return is also quite acceptable.

I'm done for now. More later.
Be good, my favorite readers!!

I saw Godsmack tonight. Again. And again, I'm left with the same couple of feelings. Number one being that Sully is hot. Hell, any of the band, I'd take em home. Number two being that it was a great show, and number three being that I want to do that. The worst feeling in the world is realizing that you are a psychology major at a great college....but music is all that does it for you. I know I know, its harder than it looks. Fine. Music is the only thing that trips my trigger. I'm happy to work hard at something I enjoy. I just want to sing infront of loud, moshing tattooed people. I want to be a rockstar. I don't think thats too much to ask. I've got it all worked out...all I need is a band, a name, a label, some songs...

So, it's been a long time since I've done something truly stupid. Which explains Thursday. I went with Deanne to go get her eyebrow repierced, and who do I see, but the most gorgeous piercer to ever walk the face of the earth. Ok, thats not saying much. He was amazing. Somehow, the subject of tongue piercing came up, and then somehow the fact that I've wanted one for years but am too much of a huge pussy to get one came up. (I'm not really sure how, I was gawking. And I am a pussy. A big one.) Next thing I know, my fat white ass is sitting on a red chair in a piercing room, face to face with the hot guy...who was weilding a needle. Let me tell you, I looked damn sexy, what with sporting a red and blue bib with bears on it to catch any envitable drool and the most gorgeous guy I've ever seen holding my tongue. I think I'll turn it into my first romance novel. "He leaned over me, his breath shaky as he held my tongue with a steady hand, his other deftly shoving a bigass needle through it. He whispered in a sexy voice 'here are your aftercare instructions. And don't clink that against your teeth. It'll ruin the enamel and its annoying as shit'". This was about the point that I wanted to marry him and have his little pierced children. In all actuality, it really wasn't bad. The piercer (Who can be found at the Scorpions Den in Davenport) was great, super nice and talented. But now that the swelling has actually started and I sound like a mentally handicapped child with a lisp, I get to see my ex best friend type person. And for once, in his goddamn life, he's going to listen to every goddamn word I have to say, even if it DOES sound like "Damnith Theremy! Youth are in sthuck deepth schith!" So wish me luck. And someone, email me and remind me to go back to the shop to have the piercer change my jewerly. I want to see if he can do it with his tongue.