I'm the .1 percent...

I go and get my wrist tattoos that I've been wanting forever. Roses and banners, one says truth one says love. So I sit through 5 hours of needle and ink torture and survive, don't even get the least bit faint. I get home, remove the bandages and they are a bit red, nothing to worry about. The next day they are more red and now swollen. Hmmm, not looking too good. My other tattoo didn't hurt this bad. I know the wrists are a lot more sensitive, but shit! These look gross!! Then the ever-scary red line begins to travel up the "love" arm. NOT GOOD.

I have E-rock drive my ass back to the tattoo shop and as the worse possible advertising ever, I show my red swollen infected arms to the owner and they tell me if it travels any higher to get my ass to the hospital ASAP. Everybody has gathered around me and my "nice tattoos though" arms and are freaked out by this red line that has traveled up past my elbow in a matter of 6 hours.

At this moment I decide I can't handle it anymore and I almost pass out in the freakin' shop. 2 days AFTER the tattoo. I have to go lie down and eat candy, drink water...they were taking pictures of my arms because "in 19 years of tattooing I've NEVER seen this happen before" ...yeah right.

I get home and wash them again and mark on my arm where the red line is and begrudgingly call my mother. My dad is yelling in the background "Don't be stupid! Take your ass to the hospital!" So I call this health line and she says to get my ass to the hospital too. Now I'm just feeling so stupid. I did this to myself. I wanted these stupid tattoos so bad.

I go to the emergency room with my wrists covered with a jacket like a convict being led through the airport. I got in pretty quickly. Scottsdale Healthcare is soooooo much better than Paradise Valley Hospital. If you ever get sick, NEVER go to Paradise Valley. I think they tried to kill me on more than one occasion...

I get an IV… of course. More needles. Was in and out in a couple of hours. Got an antibiotic and when I woke up this morning the red line was gone!! Yay. So, was it worth it? The tattoos? I don't know. I really wanted them, but maybe my body is telling me, "enough, dumbass, enough". Boobs, tattoos, meningitis and chronic migraines. I’m a mess. What else can I do to myself??

So, I've figured out over time that whenever it says 99.9 percent effective...I'm always that .1 percent that everything bad happens to. I'll post some pics of my tats once they look better. I got lots of compliments in the hospital...

True stories...

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eBay dumbass

I got my "super cute XS leopard print car coat" today in the mail that I just HAD to buy from eBay because I'm insane. I've been dying for a leopard print coat only for about ever. I get the coat and size XS?? Let's try size L. It says XS and I could try to wear it and dammit I will try to wear that damn coat but it’s big. And I'm little. It has a pink lining and everything. O

f course, stupid eBay buyer that I am, didn't read the whole description and got so freaking excited it was an XS that I didn't notice it was CANVAS instead of like faux fur, which would have been way cooler. Stupid too-big-canvas-leopard-print coat. Supposed to have a belt too. Didn't come with a stupid belt. Highlight of my week was ruined. At least it's only Monday...

I'm dying and "health insurance" is a big fat stupid poop.

Don't be fooled. Just because you pay for it, doesn't mean it will actually help you out when you need it. Yeah, so, just because I got a little sick and it cost a measly $17,000 for me to go to the hospital...Pacificare has to go all ape shit on me and deny all future claims the bastards. BASTARDS!!!! I hate them. HATE! Just pay for my damn head! It hurts! Pay for it!!!! That's what you do. I pay for health insurance and you pay the doctors.

Nope. I pay for health insurance and I pay the doctors. My head hurts. FIX IT! Nope, can't get it fixed because I have to pay for it first! HA AHA HA!! Evil Health Insurance Plot: You Pay Us, We Don't Pay Anyone Else. I may have headaches due to stress. Do they think this is helping?? NOOOOO. Damn stupid retarded bastard good for nothing dumbass insurance.

Warning to all those thinking about getting sick in the future. Don't. It will make you go broke and end up in a padded room talking about Denied Claims and Ineligibility. You will become a boring crazy person. How is that even possible? Health insurance will do that to you. Make you boring and crazy. Not even the actual crazies will want to talk to you because all you can talk about is insurance. Not about aliens or stabbing people.

I'm not bitter.

I agree with Doug... for once

I haven't washed my hair for about 4 days now. Of course I've showered, but the towel-around-the-head kind of shower. I hate taking showers, because I hate doing my hair. It’s become a whole “To-Do” to do my hair. Luckily, for the first time in my life, my dry frizzy hair is a blessing because I can go days without washing and it never gets oily! So lucky lucky me.

This brings me to say that I have to completely agree with the one thing Doug Porter ever said that ever made any sense in a gross and "Doug" sort of way. He said he hated taking showers and just wished he could wake up clean every morning. Man, I wish that too. I never thought I would ever have any reason to say this but I have one thing in common with Doug. We both hate taking showers.

But that's where the similarities end. Believe me. He likes to stink. I know I have to take a shower, I don't want to stank. Doug doesn't care. That stanky-ass gets all the MySpace whores you can imagine. Why? I have no idea. It's beyond me. How can a guy go 5 days, in the summer, skating everyday, and not take a shower, and still get a MYW (MySpace Whore) to come over and give him head?? (I just threw up in my mouth a little).

I'm going to have to wash the mop tomorrow I guess, as much as I don't want to. It ranks right up there with doing laundry and washing dishes and can't I just HIRE someone to do that for me? How much does a personal hair stylist cost? I'll have to check into it. I keep breaking flat irons too. Like the good, expensive salon-quality ones. Well, I guess I better get back to not washing my hair.

My pity goes out to all you oily-headed normal people who have to wash their hair every day. This is the first time I got something up on you!

To Marry Spud Duffey…

I really love MySpace. I have gotten to the scary point where I talk to my friends more on MS than on the phone or in person. But it’s great finding old friends and people you used to know. It gets very addicting and I can see how one could get sucked into the MySpace World and become a 7th Level Stalker.

Yes, I'll admit, I've stalked a few people, but mainly just to get my dad off my back about marrying Spud Duffey. I just sent him Spud's page and finally he has stopped asking me to marry the guy, but only because he is already married. Spud Duffey, the boy I loved in junior high and haven't spoken to since 1993. I didn’t really talk to him then either. I was a big dork and Spud was out of my league. (That’s probably the saddest sentence I have ever seen. That a boy named Spud was out of my league.) But in my opinion, any boy who can get through his whole life being called Spud is a damn strong man.

On a side note, the only reason my dad wanted me to marry Spud was because he thought Spud’s parents would be really great in-laws for him to hang out and go camping with. It had nothing to do Spud’s and my happiness.

Enough about Spud. Please dad, enough.

Turkish arm skin and dead babies

I got a call from my gay friend Mike to get everyone together so we can try out this Turkish restaurant that has belly dancers. So we arrive and get the “VIP Treatment” in the “VIP Room” which is just a small wall separating it from the rest of the restaurant. Oh and you get pillows instead of chairs to sit on.

There was a lovely Turkish band playing, you know, flutes, bongo thingies all the good stuff. The only thing is, this is a very small room, and they still felt the need for microphones and a speaker the size of a cow. So we yelled and yelled and of course once the music stopped the ever-embarrassing yell of the burning of an STD is heard round the room. Oops.

And oh, the belly dancer. She would dance and swing those silly white girl hips around until you gave her money like you would give a stripper. So every time she came around, we would do everything and anything to avoid eye contact. Stare at forks, build double-headed dildos with our food, and hide condiments in Tammi’s cleavage and purse. (This is actually a national pastime for us. No matter where we are we will always try to put everything that is on the table into Tammi’s bag. It’s a thing.)

The food comes and of course, Kerie gets the large turd-shaped penis thing that ended up being thrown around the table and in Tammi’s purse and god knows where else. Daniel got this plate called Donor-kabob or something. It said Donor. So when he gets it, I swear it looked like shavings of native Turkish baby arms. He was straight eating donated baby arm skin. It was apparently pretty tasty though. Kerie's on her 4th or 5th Melon Ball and E-rock is drunk, doing shots alone and to the point of ordering “Grey Goose and vodka, please”.

Somehow we got on the subject of Mexican breast implants. (Our dinner conversations usually always turn around to our boobs at some point in the evening.) We were wondering what they would be filled with, Tequila being the obvious choice. Then when you have a kid and you tell people "My baby never cries. He's so good!" they can only reply with "Um...that's because he's dead.” We have no problem killing babies with alcohol poisoning by breast feeding and then eating their donated arm skin. No problem at all.

Can I please get a nurse that can find a vein??

I had to go get an MRI today because ever since I had meningitis, I've had headaches. Apparently, these "meninges" in my brain were at one time inflamed, and that's not good. But I’ve been told that meningitis is like chicken pox in that you never get it again. So what's with the damn headaches? Maybe they are just leftover inflamed meninges.

So when I was in the hospital, they poked me so many times and I had so many IV's that now my poor little veins are apparently all dried up and crusty. Every single time they draw blood and/or stick me with any type of needle, they have to do it several times. As this "nurse” is digging around in my arm, with a needle, trying to puncture a working vein, I am trying to focus my mind on anything but the mangling of my arm innards. I was actually thinking about my new breast implants and hoping that when they turned the damn machine on that nothing would happen to them. It didn't work. All I could focus on was that bitch and the needle tearing up the inside of my arm and feeling faint.

At least this has an up side. I could never shoot up heroin, for instance. I'd pass out the second I saw the dirty needle, then when I woke up I would pass out trying to find or even discussing trying to find a vein. And then when I woke up again, and I tied that rubber thingy around my arm, all color would drain from my face and I would faint again and my dealer would just be all frustrated and leave. My money wouldn't be worth all the fainting and turning green and save me from getting AIDS or something. Like drug dealers would really care, actually. I give them too much credit in this story.

Back to the implants. You know how when you fly you have to put anything combustible in a bag so when it explodes it won't get all over your clothes? Well, as I was boarding the plane to go to Port of Viagra I began to worry about my implants expanding (maybe to a full C cup on the bright side) to like big ol' F cups and enlarging my already shiny stretched-to-the-max skin and then exploding!! In my body!

What do you say when that happens? What if only one boob pops? Would I have to go through my entire vacation with one really large boob and one saggy empty sack of a boob? Would they turn the plane around and get me urgent medical care? Would they announce over the loud speaker why they were turning the plane around for urgent medical care? “Excuse me passengers. We will be turning the aircraft around and land at the nearest airport so the girl in seat 15D can seek medical attention because her boob popped. Sorry for the inconvenience, thank you for flying with Delta and have a pleasant day.”

Well, whatever happens, at least I got a warranty on the tits, because with my luck, you never know, man.