i love the blow

i go back to work tomorrow for the first time in months and i'm totally shitting my slacks.
i didn't want to stop working there in the first place, but i was very ill, and the way i left my position was very traumatic, so i feel like i associate the job with how i felt when i left, and i don't want that to become some fucked up trigger.
but it can't be all bad, becasue at least they took me back, right?
like they couldn't live without me. naturally.
and now i'll know what to expect. it won't be anything new to me. i already know the job, and actually, i was really good at it. my sales were the highest and i only said swears to customers every other day.
my biggest concern is the customers. the people. shampoo don't talk back, but bored houswives do, and that's what gets me nervous. fuck them. i'll just say as little as possible, so they have very little to say back to me.
girls, i gotta go to bed early for my big day. also, i should try to get rid of the anxiety diarreah.

doctor, no!

we're all grown-ups here, so i can say i've had a few bad trips. nothing that a day in bed and tons of juice and TV couldn't fix, but i really can't stop thinking about last monday in the hospital. what a trip.
the shot they gave me for migraines was unlike anything i have ever felt physically in my life.
i had a headache, sure, i had been freaking the fuck out for the past 4 hours, breathing into paper bags and trying to remember my adress. when you finally calm down from a panic like that, yr head is going to pound. nope, not even the sedatives help.
so, i get the migraine shot, popped right into my left bicep, no big d. didn't even feel it.
the medicine starts with a D. can't remember exactly, i have it bookmarked somewhere for future reference and to say NO if it is ever offered again.

so i'm lying in the hospital bed waiting for it to kick in and holy shit it kicks in....slowly...but angrily.
first i get a little restless and can't stay still, kinda anxious like, but i don't pay any attention cuz i'm in the fucking ER and i want to go home, so yeah, i'm feeling ansty.
little did i know......

it gets worse. i'm pacing and twitching and scratching. my fucking headache is gone, but now i have a few more problems to worry about.
my skin feels paper thin, cold and weightless. my insides are hot and my nerves are jack-hammering trying to burst out of my body. i can't stand up. can't sit down. can't sit still and can't move, but i'm doing all of it at once. i'm sweating like an idiot and i can feel all my organs turning into lead.
i really didn't think i was going to live to see the next day. it hurt that bad.

nurse comes in to check on me and what i think i;m only speaking, i'm yelling to her asking when this will wear off. "ya feeling kinda restless?" YES. YES I AM AND I HATE IT.
she brings me some benedryl to help calm the death inside of me down. she says it will wear off in about an hour. ok, i can take that.
when i finally get to go home, it gets worse. WAY worse. everything that touches me hurts. a stray hair on my face, Corey brushing against me, it all feels like claws on my insides.
an hour goes by, then 2, then 12, then 24. 3 days later, i'm starting to feel it fade away.

i can't stop thinking about it. i'm having a hard time going to work everyday. even being alone because i'm scared that awful feeling is going to come back just out of nowhere.
talk about not helping a lady with a fucked up disorder anyway, right?

this stupid entry is not going to do it justice. it really was death. and i hope none of you ever have to feel that way. and if i ever have the sorry oppurtunity of that kind of pain again, let me just suggest that i won't last through the end of it.
i'm not surprised that i can't get over it.

i wish i could fast forward to when i forget all about it.

didnt really think that he could be a romeo

did jeffrey from Project Runway have a Lifter Puller flyer in his work space?
check it out.
right when he's about to show Tim Gunn the stripey dress.

And you're the best thing that he's ever seen

shit is not like you see in the movies.
espesh between a dude and a lady. or two ladies. or two dudes. it's just fucking not and i have a solid mind to sue the fuck out of Hollywood for giving normal people false hopes of love, understanding and trust.

nobody is going to write a song for me. i haven't seen a love note since the summer of freshman year in high school. and there has never been a fucking ring in a champagne glass with 30 strangers holding roses at an airport terminal for anybody.

there is only metal. metal and beer. metal and beer and drugs. metal and beer and drugs and dogs. and don't count on the fucking dog even liking you.
satan built my hotrod.
and i ride alone!

just don't watch the movies.

some nights the painkillers make the pain worse.

the days until the Hold Steady shows are going to be the longest days of my life.

real siberian huskies sleeping on toy siberian huskies is the best thing ever.

i need a charge. i need an electric shock of awesomeness.
i remember my first crush in 7th grade, Dan Stromberg. Everytime i saw him i got hot and dizzy. all the blood would spazz in my face and i fainted a little inside. the stutters and flutters were amazing. the way my hands would go numb and my ears would burn was the most perfect feeling ever. sick never felt so good.

i tried out for a school play for the first time because of him guess who ended up lettering in drama? the lengths we go.
he lived two blocks away from me and i would walk past his house every chance i could. I need candy. walk by Dan's house. I need a haircut. Walk by Dan's house. i should take the dog for a walk. Walk by Dan's house.
I even had his phone number memorized.

when i finally got the courage to talk to him, it was the last day of school. the next year i would be in 8th grade, and he would be in high school.
i saw him walking home, and i pulled out my yearbook and asked him to sign it.
i couldn't breathe. i couldn't see, the neighborhood went white. he took my pen and started to write.
he gave me back my book and i said thank you.
i let him walk away a bit before i looked at what he wrote, and when he was far enough away, i opened the book to see that he had written,
"Stay the fuck away from me."

i died right there on the sidewalk. i lived right across from the school, and i swear it took me 6 hours to get home that day.
i was weak and nauseaus. my head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.
i threw up then cried for hours.
what an assshole. i wouldn't wish junior high on my worst enemy.

i want to be somebody's Dan Stromberg. I want another Dan Stromberg.
but without all the mean.

life is beige without a crush.
let's get excited.

i spit a lot, and swear while drinking and reading comic books. i can rock out so hard and kick yr ass even harder. i can play video games and roll a joint. i can do laundry and change a tire.

but i also wear dresses, drink tea, play with make-up and give a great back-rub. i can keep plants alive and impress yr parents.

i'm a lady. a tough and cool lady, but still a lady. treat me like one.
not always, but sometimes.

you go the action she got the issues

i usually don't reveal too much about myself at work and around my co-workers. mostly cuz i didn't get a job to make friends, and you never know who's "cool".
if i was with my friends and somebody asked me what i did the night before, i'd tell them i shotgunned pabst until i couldn't see, dosed some opiates, prank called all the Walgreens in the phone book and pissed in a kiddie pool.
if i get asked what i did the night before from a co-worker, i say, "nothing."

but sometimes shit slips out.
like:
"fuck no i don't shop at Wal-Mart. i prefer my fellow humans stay out of poverty and keep their dignity.
the only good thing about Wal-Mart is that they are the only place open when yr smashed up on morphine and you just fucking NEED to buy Sorority Boys."

i need to learn to shut my fucking mouth.
otherwise they just ask questions.