I got so excited about finding gas at $2.03 (low grade), I called a bunch of people to tell them of this little gem. I was happy! TWO DOLLARS AND THREE CENTS! I'm sick of people complaining about the price of gas too. It's like small talk now. We don't talk about weather, since it never changes here, we talk about gas prices. We used to talk about smog levels, now it's "evolved" into gas. I remember getting pissed when I drove to SF and had to pay $1.75. I'd hate to know what it's like there now. I remember once, in Mississippi, seeing gas at 65 cents. That was maybe, 5 years ago. Crazy, but true. Doesn't Dick Cheney own all of the oil now? Can't he give us a break? Or maybe he's having another heart attack?
Anyone?
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Sunday, March 28, 2004
* The boys will carry all of your stuff. * No one bats an eye when you say, "I had three steaks this week". * You can visit all of your boring friends that you've been avoiding, and when your eyes glaze over, you can use your lack of blood as an excuse. * You can blame your lack of parallel parking skills on your blurred vision. * You can give important presentations in your pajamas and everyone thinks you're a hard worker for finishing while in your state. * Boys are more chivalrous and think you're frail and you can take advantage of them. * Everyone offers you a burger, and they feel good when you take it. * Cool track marks because you'll never have the guts to poke yourself, and people will think you're hardcore. * You can get out of giving hand-jobs because your arm is sore. * You're five pounds lighter, and nothing stays down anyway so you're sure to keep it off. * Everyone's nicer to you. * The gross-out factor when you go into detail about your experience. * "Jogging? Oh, my body can't handle it right now" * An excuse to put bacon on everything. * Vegetarians stay the hell away after hearing of your carnivorous exploits. * It's a good excuse to read trashy novels because you're too dizzy to read Feinman right now. * It's a good excuse why you're not contributing to your blog.
Some Not So Good Things About Giving Too Much Blood
* Vomiting in public. Constantly. * Acid burns from passing out in Chem Lab. * Being doused in the safety shower after aforementioned accident in your bra in front of 35 pubescent kids. * forgetting where you've put everything. * Collapsed veins. * Still having to take tests. * The ex berating you unnecessarily. * Being constipated from the ton of meat you've consumed. * Not having someone to say "I can't give you a hand job right now because my arm is sore" to. * Not having the ex around so he can baby you and bring you orange juice and chocolate at odd hours. * Still having to give the grandmother an enema. * Your dog not understanding that you have no energy, so you have to take her out anyway. * Always being cold. * Chocolate not tasting the same. (Really!) * Not having any blood in your system.
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Thursday, March 25, 2004
Little did I know, that you can only give one pint of blood every 56 days. And here I was, giving almost three pints in 30 days. Because it was two different agencies, it was not in the database that I had given that much. Needless to say, I have spent the last two days intermittently vomiting and passing out. Sometimes both at the same time. I found out how much people really don't like it when you throw up on them while you're both sober. A big rash has broken out on my arm, making me look like a needle user. I know what it feels like to be a blonde. There is absolutely no oxygen going to my brain, making me dizzy and incomprehensible all the time. Yes, it will be a while before I give blood again.
On the upside, I'm five pounds lighter, and I can put my pants on. I can't button them all the way up, but I can wear them with long shirts.
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Sunday, March 21, 2004
I REALLY have to go on a diet now. The big flashing sign being the fact that when I wear my drawstring pants, I don't need to use the string.
I'm giving blood on Tuesday, so that should be a good pound off.
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In accordance with Murphy's Law, there is also the Condom law, which pretty much states that the more condoms you buy at one time, the faster you relationship will deteriorate. The number of condoms is exponential to the amount of doom. I think it was a week before Trigger went to the glue factory, I bought a super saver deluxe box of condoms after the success of the jelly package Big Lots condoms, thinking there was going to be lots of play, but alas, the box sits unopened, taunting me. Pisser had told me that things were going well with her other, then they both bought condoms with comic timing, only to have them sitting, unused. Then I recall the last time I bought condoms with the ex, at Costco nonetheless (so you know how big that package had to be). It was probably a week later that I moved away and eight years went down the drain. I hear of many stories like this, attend many parties that have condoms as party favors or decorations because the shelf life is about to expire.
So the moral of this story: Don't buy condoms in bulk. Unless you want to get rid of that current partner.
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Just a little word of advice:
If you're groggy from a late night previous, and you don't have your glasses on but piddle around blindly anyway, and you think you're adding powdered creamer to your coffee and it starts to bubble, it's probably baking soda, and it's going to taste like you licked the bottom of a chalkboard. And then you're going to think, why the hell would I think this was powdered creamer when I never buy/have powdered creamer, why am I too lazy to go out and get more half and half, stupid idiot. And then you're going to notice that baking soda containers are starting to evolve into containers looking much like powdered creamer. But then you can remember your friend with the retarded dog who herself is a genius, but in a fit of caffeine withdrawal at 3 am decided to put butter in her coffee, making yourself not as stupid, just blind.
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Wednesday, March 17, 2004
Woo hoo, I'm not pregnant again! Not that I have anything to worry about now, besides an immaculate conception that will reproduce satan.
Ah red menace, how you curse me so! This excess water my body is storing makes it hard to sit on a stool! The constant bathroom usage and stall gymnastics I must perform to plug up my woes makes me raise my fists to you in fury! Damn you red menace, DAMN YOU!
But at least I'm not pregnant.
Come here sweet twinkie, how I've missed you so my dear friend. I embrace your spongy goodness that envelopes your delicate sweet filling. How I long to be shielded from this world in your creamy filled center, as you protect me from acting on my hormone induced fury while I surrender myself to my white trash palate and the sugar high that comes with it.
Where's my chicken pot pie, bitch?
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Sunday, March 14, 2004
I have a female cousin (one of 19 cousins), whom I'm not too close with, but I respect. We don't have a lot in common except bloodlines and a bit of contempt for that side of the family. So a while ago, she and her boyfriend decide they want to breed. But they've been having trouble, so they asked me to give up some of my eggs. Of course my martyr complex kicks in and I say okay. Last week my other male cousin (more like my brother, we're closer to each other than our other siblings) announced his pregnancy, so my female cousin is getting more anxious to get knocked up. So I went in to see their specialist this weekend to have a battery of tests and evaluations. I had not realized how complicated it was, and I had not realized how detailed their questions were going to be. So after about three hours of tests and talking to counselors (to see if I'm mentally stable. I could have told them straight away I wasn't), someone comes in to see me and talk to me about the process. One of the first things she says is, "if you were to donate your eggs anonymously for pay, we wouldn't take you." And she continues to tell me why. Apparently, I'm too old. My SAT scores weren't above 1400, I was not in the top 1% of my high school, and not in the top 5% of my college. I have no academic awards. I drink. I've done drugs. I'm under 5'5". I don't have a master's degree. My family doesn't have a ton of accomplishments. I'm an under-achiever, especially for an Asian. I need all of those qualities to be an ideal donor. That, or be drop dead gorgeous. So what confuses me, among other things, is, If someone had all of those qualities or was drop dead gorgeous, why the hell would she need to sell her eggs? Don't you think someone that smart and accomplished would not need to sell eggs for extra dough? Here I am, thinking I'm doing something nice for my cousin, and the doctors are telling me I'm horribly average. I thought the point for the process was to get someone with physical characteristics that were similar to the mother-to-be, so it would seem like the kids was there's. And me being family and all, at least we'll have some of the same genes. I believe that's why the cuz asked me to do this. But I assume people who are buying eggs want a Nobel prize winner (oh yeah, another good one: Artists aren't really wanted, they're too controversial), or someone to offset the dad's huge honker and pasty-ass complexion, and to compensate for the mom's fat ass and sweat problems. It doesn't matter that I'm a perfectly healthy person with no REAL mental instability (it's all learned and socialized mental retardation), no the parents want perfection.
What a ego buster though. Someone telling me my eggs aren't good enough for someone to pay for. They let any man sell sperm, but a woman willing to go through two months of pain and needles has to go through a major screening process. Don't even get me started.
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Friday, March 12, 2004
As I read other women's blogs, essays, short stories, etc., I'm struck
by an "irony", if you will, of what I've been reading, especially this
month. Constantly, I am hearing from other women, "I don't trust other
women", "All of my best friends are men", "10 women I hate", or better
yet, "People I hate", and everyone on the list being female, or
female-acting. It's very disturbing to see the amount of misogyny that
is active within our own gender. And why shouldn't it? It's perpetuated
in our everyday life, shoved down our throats from an early age, not
just by "the man", but by "the woman" also. We are socialized into our
roles, and we calmly accept them. It doesn't stop. If you think about
it, it's also in our language. There is the word 'misogyny', to hate
women, and 'misanthrope', to hate mankind, but there is no specific
word that means to hate men. Most people associate that word with
lesbian, or feminist.
So what is it now, with our supposedly enlightened society, that makes
women even more at odds with other women? I find it disheartening,
disconcerting, and disturbing that we find it necessary to lash out
at each other. There is always a weariness and hesitation before
welcoming another woman. Actually, more often than not, there is
immediate distrust and barriers put up. Granted, I am guilty of such
actions sometimes. I admit it. I have yet to cultivate the necessary
esteem to fully be comfortable with what I am, but I am slowly learning
to relax. And from that I've found a bounty of good things. I have many
more female friends than male, and I find myself with the best of
support networks. I'm happier with female friends and happier with
myself. I see women who have other women friends only to keep an eye on
their actions and it's sad. I feel sorry for those people. While I love
my male friends also, and I believe they're needed just as much as
female friends (balance and all that), I can't tell you how much I've
needed the women around me.
Yeah yeah, "What a fucking dyke". I've heard that before. Or that I'm
too trusting of other women and I'm going to get screwed, or just plain
ol' "you don't know". Yeah whatever. I'm happy and I don't have to
watch my back.
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Thursday, March 11, 2004
I'm strangely obsessed with film remakes. Especially remakes of foreign films into 'American blockbusters'. Who can forget such classics such as "Point of No Return" does "La Femme Nikita". Or "Twelve Monkeys" adapts "La Jetee". I can go on and on. But I won't. It's like a train wreck, you just can't turn away, no matter how appalling it is. So you can imagine my excitement upon hearing of "Stephen King's Kingdom Hospital". We all know he's run out of good ideas long ago. This has got to be a doozy. Although I'm not a big fan of Lars Von Trier, the Swedish version of "The Kingdom" was one of the best things I've ever seen. I had nightmares for days, I still chuckle over about some of the scenes. I sat through two three-hour shows and did not get up to go to the bathroom. Very few people did, they were riveted. I think it was 1994 or 1995, at the San Francisco Int'l film Festival, and the description for the movie was "Twin Peaks meets ER, on acid". I had already seen 23 movies in that two week period, what's two more? Since the movie was actually a Swedish TV show that never aired, it was about five hours long, so it was split between two days. Already close to hemorrhoidic, I figure why not go all the way. That movie was water cooler talk for weeks. Everyone had seen it because it was San Francisco and everyone wants to be an art wanker in San Francisco. You're no one unless you're an art wanker or a subculture to the nines. I was so happy when the video store got it in. Then lo and behold, part II! It was just as good as the first.
So when I saw Andrew McCarthy on my little TV, I was frantically looking for a mannequin, but alas, it was "Kingdom Hospital". Is this going to be another "Coupling" fiasco? I had never seen any of those shows, but I guess no one did. But with the "kingdom Hospital", I'm already bored and there are a million commercials. So I went to eBay and bought the original "Kingdom" tapes. Just waiting for them to come.
Anyone want to come over and watch? I think I'll be too scared by myself.
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Saturday, March 06, 2004
The Spark has a new test. Yes, a 'love' test, if the spark has anything like that. And here's my results. Hmmm...
The Wild Rose Random Brutal Love Dreamer (RBLDf)
Colorful, but unpicked. You are The Wild Rose.
Prone to bouts of cynicism, sarcasm, and thorns, you excite a certain kind of man. Hoping to gather you up, he flirts and winks and asks you out, ultimately professing his love. Then you make him bleed. Why? Because you're the rare, independent, self-sufficient kind of woman who does want love, but not from a weakling.
You don't seem to take yourself too seriously, and that's refreshing. You aren't uptight; you don't over-plan. Romance-wise, sex isn't a top priority--a true relationship would be preferable. For your age, you haven't had a lot of bonafide love experience, though, and this kind of gets to core of the issue. You're very selective.
The problem is them, not you, right? You have lofty standards that few measure up to. You're out there all right, but not to be picked up by just anyone.
"You're never truly single as long as you have yourself."
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Friday, March 05, 2004
I'm taking a "Free Day" today. A day to do what ever I want, studying and relatives be damned. I wanted to relax, do nothing, pamper myself, read something cheesy, sit and pet my dog for hours. That kind of free day. But then I realized, I haven't really taken a free day in a long time, I'm not sure if I can really do it. I don't know if my neurosis will let me succumb to relaxation. When I try and do something that doesn't perpetuate or encourage productivity, I'm not exactly comfortable. But I thought, "It's my free day, to hell with it. I'm going to RELAX dammit!"
So I've been relaxing Jerky style, which usually entails doing two things at once. Many of my activities I've never done before, like cutting my toenails while pooping. Eating a sandwich while taking a bath, doing my taxes while sunning myself, shedding my dog holding the tool with my feet while on the computer. After accomplishing all of that, feeling pretty relaxed, I realized it was 9am and I had run out of things to do. Usually I never have enough time. There's never enough time. No time for a drive-thru botox treatment. Not even enough time to yak up my slim-fast or castigate myself for all of my bad relationships. And here I am, with too much time when I avoid all of my responsibilities. Ah, to have a life a leisure. It must be so hard to find things to do to fill the space.
I found myself instead going all the way to Pomona to visit a crafts fair. And because the person I was meeting there is always late, I wasted plenty of time there.
It's 5pm, and I'm back and am still aimless, so I've let myself be conned in to participating in a sketch show tonight. Not enough token ornamentals I guess. They asked my to wear a sarong. Poor saps have no idea what they've gotten themselves into. They're going to see the REAL meaning of 'pasty-ass'. Fun for all to be had.
I think it might be a while until I take another Free Day. Unless someone else is paying, of course.
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Tuesday, March 02, 2004
* My sense of direction is so bad, I can be facing the ocean and still ask, "Which way is West?"
* I think Ricky Martin is hot.
* I have self-help books (doesn't mean I necessarily read them, or take them to heart, can't you tell?)
* I've popped buttons out of at least three pairs of pants this year.
* occasionally, I think I would like to have a kid. (But then I usually see one and the feeling goes away really fast.)
* I often think about taking a chainsaw to Pisser's knees because I'm getting sick of getting a crick in my neck while standing next to her, while everyone else thinks she's baby-sitting or has adopted a Chinese baby.
* I kind of miss Trigger.
* Sometimes I think it would be fun to be a stripper.
* I'm DYING for a cigarette. (I used to withhold sex from the ex (back when he wanted it) when I caught him smoking. I think I even made him sleep on the couch before.)
* I want to join a quilting or knitting circle.
* I just finished a cheesy romance novel, and I kind of liked it. (It was a 'contemporary' romance, mind you)
* I really like using the words, fuck, pussy, ass, cock, hole (by itself and as a suffix), cunt, and schlong, even though it seems to offend everyone I say them to.
* I like Angelina Jolie.
* I don't like my brother.
* I find male models creepy.
* I don't study as much as I say I do. I usually just sit there and zone out.
