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Archive for June, 2007

|| June 13, 2007 || 12:01 am || Comments (2) ||


“According to some sources, the outer ear and the abdominal organs are right next to each other during fetal development in the womb, and the physical connection between these body parts remains via nerve pathways even after they are no longer in close proximity.”

And this, all you people, is one very good reason explaining why I listen so hard with my guts.

And why a good bit of what hits my ears makes my innards just sick.

|| June 11, 2007 || 3:53 pm || Comments (3) ||


I’ve had a fairly rough four or five days, for various reasons. Today, the office opened late….like, three pee emm late. Due to extreme circumstances (um, the car –hit by a drunken fucktard– spun countless times and flipped over around three or four), my doctor isn’t here. He’s still in New York state.

Tess and I are doing what we can for patients, administering therapies and the like.

A few minutes ago, a dapper little old man came in with his wife. They are a precious couple, and the type of elderly persons that everybody secretly wants to be, I think. I was walking him into a patient room when he pulled up short and looked at me intently.

“My goodness, you sure do look pretty.”

I am wearing street clothes: Trouser-cut denims and a yellow, printed scoop-neck tee and four-inch wedge sandals, nothing special. It made me blush warmly, the spontaneity and earnestness of his compliment.

And my God did I ever need a genuine, non-disgusting, innocent, “You sure do look pretty.” Thank you, Mister Warren, you sweet, sweet man. Thank you.

|| June 6, 2007 || 12:29 pm || Comments (4) ||

grosser than gross

What’s grosser than gross? I’ll tell you. It’s this: When you are on the floor of the gym doing stretches and abwork and a drop of spittle or sweat from the old man on the recumbent bike directly behind and to the right of your reclined head lands on your upper lip, that’s grosser than gross. Lending to the utter grossness of it is the fact that this is a particularly leery old man who always stares at your boobs and sometimes forgetfully and haphazardly licks his lips.

I made little hurking noises, I’m sure of it. I played it cool enough, though, because my first instincts were to leap to my feet and hop about in a very girly fashion, squealing and shuddering. Note to self: Do floorwork over in the corner by the outside gardens from now on. Watch birds and butterflies and leaves instead of Fox News. Protect your person from pervy old-person bodily fluids.

I am trying to teach myself to like raisins (Nature’s Candy!), which I have always and forever despised, amen. I’ve worked my way into not gagging every time I smell one, and can even chew a bit (say, twice) and swallow them one at a time, days apart. The ‘liking’ of them appears to be far afield, however. Bleccccch.

I am Royalty in the Realm Of The Tragicomic. Which, by the way, is one of the most recent entries on my “List Of Insanely Awesome Album Titles To Fiercely Good Albums I May Or May Not See Fit To Record In The Future.”

Wasted talent and waylaid ambitions, they are also grosser than gross.

|| June 3, 2007 || 1:05 pm || Comments (6) ||

Mmmm, coconut.

Everything should have coconut in it.

Every last thing.

UPDATE: hahaha, coconut in our underwear, hahahalolz

UPDATE TO THE UPDATE: Okay, I’m done for the day. But, don’t forget.

|| June 3, 2007 || 12:52 pm || Comments (2) ||

Oh, and…

…had he not turned out to be a philandering, wife-beating fuck, I’d be married to my first husband eighteen years today.

That fuckface. He shat right round and proper all over that whole ‘Cinderella’ thing I had in my head. And he had the nerve to ask for half the china!

Once more, and for the record: All my friends have big personalities.

A quote from yesterday evening’s festivities:
“Look, I don’t give a damn where we go in the interim, but wherever we end up there had better byGod be corn chips. I’m just sayin’.

Corn chips, you hear me??”

Maxim and Piper and the new girlpuppy who is named after a Guns-n-Roses member.

“If you try to talk to her while she’s upset like that, she gets worse.”

“Well ain’t that just like a bitch.”