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Retarded Spaniels
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Retarded Spaniels One more night o' hell and I'm off for 2 whole days...it's as if I am not really alive during the workweek, I live for my weekends. My pitiful Mondays and Tuesdays that always fail to compare in reality to the unrealistic plans I elaborate on in my head for the preceeding 5 days. Talked with the office manager much this week about my shitty schedule. The controversy: since switching to overnights I have no life, as I'm guess where both Friday AND Saturday nights. Im only off Mon/Tues nights, and who do you know other than Carolyn Wonderland that is worth going to see on a Mon/Tues? If you guessed no one you would be correct! So, after much hemming, hawwing and ass-kissing, I think I just may get my Fri/Sat nights back, and then life would rock...sorta. This doesnt solve my music burning obsession that leaves me chronically sleep deprived, or my propensity to date way too many guys at once in an effort to keep from getting attached, or my current problems with food...however it does make dealing just a little bit easier, and that's really all I can ask for at this stage. It appears that my ex's best friend since high school seems to be falling hard for me, and that would be dandy if I was still a model of monogamy. Truth is, this guy is absolutely perfect...courteous, passionate, intelligent, hard working and ethical, damn him! We think exactly alike, which normally would piss me off, but this time it doesnt. The only problem: I'm still in fuckbuddy/detachment mode...that and I can't help but be enamored with another individual, who probably isnt nearly as interested in me as I am in him, that happens to live hours away...but that might be why I'm so into him. He is perfect in his own right, and damn if I'm not all tied up in knots about where thats going to go. Sometimes I wonder why the hell people cant just be great friends, and occasionally have sex, or even more than occasionally. Why does commitment have to be so<b> fucking </font></b>ingrained in us all? Sure, I'd probably dislike it if all the guys I dig had several other gals they saw and enjoyed being with, but I'd get the fuck over it when I realized I didnt want to have their , make their breakfast, and spend the next 50 years dealing with their shit in addition to my own. Cynical, pessimistic, heartbroken and damaged goods is what I am. I miss cuddling...that strange sense of security that comes along with it, even if it is a total facade. I miss going to sleep and waking up next to a warm body, I miss coming home to someone who actually gives a damn how my day went. All these things seemed so unimportant and almost like a burden when I had them...now its all I think about. Hmmm, as if I hadnt already figured out I am unhealthy and fucked up....guess it just slips my mind until I get on here and start bitchin. On a brighter, and really disgusting note, the tampon eating made it through surgery last night with no complications. Ladies, FLUSH YOUR USED TAMPONS! I honestly don't know how this predicament occurs as often as it does, because there is NO reason a tampon can't be flushed. We see about 4 of these cases a month...some stupid little dog, typically a spaniel or terrier, decides that fun is eating used feminine hygiene products. Well, a week later, when they've been vomiting and anorexic for days, they show up in my workplace and that is when the surgerizing begins. I can say after being involved with dozens of these procedures, a great time is NOT cutting an animal from stem to stern and perusing their intestines inch by inch looking for foreign bodies. Of course my night was bound to be incredible after when leaving for work, I stepped, or attempted to anyhow, off the curb falling flat on my knees and skidding across asphalt. That smell of peeling flesh lets you know its working! So I gracefully (pshaw!) gather my scattered items and whats left of my dignity, and get into my car hoping I'm not bleeding. It was when I felt something gooey and warm running down my shins into my shoes that I realized why my knees were still on fire. So I mosey on into work, half covered in my own blood to find the Tampon Conisseur 1/3 of the way through surgery. The best part of exploratories is having to inspect the foreign body by hand under the faucet and seal it in a ziploc for show and tell with the owner, who inevitably says upon seeing it "wow, it's really clean." Yes dipwads, thats because I have the glamorous job of playing with your dog's feces covered indiscretion. Yum! So 1/2 way into this surgery, we discover the Doyen intestinal clamps aren't clamping, which means for almost 2 hours I get to hold intestines while they are re-sected. Two hours of sweating balls in full sterile attire over top of scrubs. I bitch, but you know I loved it. I mean how often do you get to play with live intestine? Anyhow, the night progressed quickly into day, and here I am, bitchin away and making yet another compilation album that will never get to who its made for because I am a pussy. What I should be doing is sleeping, but work is done and sleep wont come. I would LOVE LOVE LOVE suggestions for compilations if you lazy bastards could muster the energy it takes to comment. I , I don't expect suggestions, but they sure would be nice, and if you request it, you get a free cd. So there's your incentive. I wish I was a DJ...that would make me happy, for the time being I suppose I'll just have to settle for crazed music afficianado. |
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you know nothing about plumbing or you wouldn't advocate flushing used plugs. Just put 'em where the hound can't get 'em. My bathroom trash is in a bag on a hanger. You do whatcha gotta do.
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hey, i've been looking for a friend/fuckbuddy kinda gal. sofar no luck. they all want a relationship. i don't need that. i don't want that. that's why i joined this site. but not much luck here either. oh well, so what else is new, right?
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