This oughta be interesting...

Written by lisa_moose to teach my girl how to use HTML :)

I am 31 years old, and I still have NO idea how I work. I'm a freak, and I try so damned hard, but it's not right. I'm not right. Not right.


Fucking not right.

My parents should have never bred.

I truly believe I am going insane.



Seriously. Write me a letter. Who knows who will answer it.

I'll keep this small, and only partially irritating.

I'm sick again. By that I mean that most of the symptoms are back, and if I don't jump right back on the Prednisone, I'll be 80% incapacitated within a very short time. My head is killing me, and throbbing about 26 out of the 24 hours in a day. (I can't do math, don't ask) My left eye would be more useful as a marble for a kid's game, and I've been sick just about every day for a week. Mostly in the evenings, when the day has had time to make my neck swell, and the intense pain increase.

It's pissing me off. I thought I was buying some time, staying off the other drugs, but after a good run, I'm right back at square one. I'm calling Lynn's Dr friend, but I can't do anything until the other tests are in. That should be some time in October. Grrrr. I don't want to ruin L's trip to the states. So much to do, go, and see. I want to be ok, and be an insane hostess.

And I don't want to have to stop riding my Liz.

And I don't want the pain anymore.

And I don't want to be a whiney bitch whore.

And I just don't want to die.

Fatty FAT FAT!!



Yep. By the powers vested in my father, he spent the entire week telling me just how fat I am. Not "Obese", mind you, as he clarified... just very, well quite indeed... fat.

Nice. Complex? Ummm... Yeah.

Heroin Chic shall be coming back. How do you spell relief? I-P-I-C-A-C.


Wow. My therapy bills are going to skyrocket.

I scored a 77% on the "how fucking JERSEY are you?" Quizie! What about you?

Wow. Not much to say other than wow. I was on top of everything, and with one miscalculation on my part (via a miscalculation on a company's fault) I am SO in the hole. Not cool.

This is worse than it has been in a long time. This is cause for panic.

Ok, this is Part of the other song. I can't remember the whole thing, or all of the tune/music we had written for it. bah I'm getting old.
So, If'in yer interested, maybe you should ( click yer mousie here. )

Yeah. Try that.

There are 2 songs that I wrote forever ago back in the days of the band-ing. I never kept the songbooks, so I am here, trying to piece together 2 of the ones I wrote that have been on my mind so much lately. I only have bits of both, but I'm working on restoring them. I think I've figured one.

If you care to gander at the lyrical wonder that was me (on many fun substances back then, but still all about the words) then you can just ( click the fuck right here, Bitches!! )

Yeah.

Very, very long time. Much time has passed since we left a very nice apartment in NJ, me running screaming from you, you... just screaming. We broke up long before we were released from the bonds of the lease, but over the past 2 years you have popped up like clockwork to inquire about random items or articles of clothing and such. The last time you did, I was so frustrated and anxious to be done and finalized with this that the thing I couldn't find that you insisted I had - I just gave you the cash for instead of fighting.
So it was totally done. We agreed. but this week, you found something else. A random sweatshirt you say I have.

Seriously. If you missed it so much, what did you do without it for 2 years? If I had it and wanted nothing to do with it, why would I hold onto it?

Yeah... no. I don't have it. Stop calling. Stop emailing. You did your best to ruin me, it didn't work. Your little army of Barbara-haters haven't stopped me from living a happy life. Fuck, even cancer isn't stopping me. I gave you back everything. There's no way I can get back the kind of things you took from me.

Go buy yourself a new sweatshirt. I don't have anything of yours.

3 Things NOT to say to Barbara as she is shooting pool with you (and you are on the opposing team)

1- This music sucks. It sounds like it's a buncha queers or summin'. Where's the Van Halen?

2- This damned league used to be fun before they let chicks play.

3- She (meaning me) needs 6 and I (meaning the complete horror masquerading as a human being who was scratching himself at the time) only need 12? Easy! This'll be over in NO TIME!

Ok. What do we know? We know it took me 4 shots and under 2 minutes to clear the table and end the game without giving up control of the table once after he said that. Heh. We know that I subsequently put away my cue, said goodbye to my team, and grabbed my helmet to walk out the door. Mike from my team said loudly: "Geez, yeah... why do they let these damned Queer music-listening, motorcycle riding, lesbian women play in our damned league? Oh yeah - Cause they WIN!!" LMFAO

Jackass.

Ooooh. It's a good one!!!

in reference to a friend who was about to have hetero intercourse with much abandon I said...



Wow! ___(insert a name here)_____ is going to

have a full-on Flesh Bang!



I just think that rules. FOFB. LMFAO.

Thanks to my fab wifey, I just lost The Game.