Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Someone please shoot me

Oh we are so hungover today. My neighbors cooked a fabulous dinner in honor of my temporary joyful state of joblessness: bourbon marinated salmon. Yum! And then they fed me vodka and red bull to wake me up and took me out to this punk show at Cumbies. The bands were very loud, wore lots of black and had mass man boobs. Do all Goth men have to be either Gollumesque or have large breasts? Anyway, tons of mohawks and piercings and chain accessories; I was so scared one of them would mosh on my flipflop. And I found out the new look for Goth chicks is 50's: snub toed shoes, hair snoods, crinoline skirts, finger waves, etc. I wonder how THAT happened.

So A.S. showed up and bought me lots of bourbon and my neighbor, The Sexy Attorney, purchased me still more bourbon and a large vodka shot. I finally caught a buzz but never got over my cranky mood. I think I must be more nervous about this new job than I think. I've also had a issue with A.S. that I think may finally be resolved.

He's said and done a couple of things in the past few day/weeks that made me wonder if he was still talking with Valentina, the moustached Italian whore. Obviously I can't dictate who he talks to, but I really wanted to KNOW... you know? So I asked him two nights ago if he ever hears from her (you could have seen my heart pounding through my ribcage) and he said, "Yes, we e-mail from time to time." And I said, "But she knows about us, right? She knows that we got back together?" And he said, "No." (cue Jemima vomiting)

A.S. said that neither of them talk about who they're dating and just discuss architecture stuff. Well, I couldn't really think of anything nice to say, so I said nothing at all and went to sleep (tossed and turned and stewed and stressed and gnawed on my spleen over it all night). So all day yesterday I contemplated various horrible scenarios about him and Valentina (isn't that just a DISGUSTING name?) and why he hadn't told her. Did he not want to hurt her... which would mean he still very much felt something for her? Did he not want to tell her because he wanted to keep a door open to get back together with her in the future? WHAT THE HELL?

Well after we came home from the punk show, I was drunk enough to just blurt out that it reeeeaaally bothered me that he was communicating with someone he used to date while she didn't know he had a relationship with me. And he said, "Okay, I'll tell her."

Well shit ($28.50). I'd gotten myself all lathered up, and if I'd just ASKED him all this stuff without freaking out over it, I wouldn't have wasted so much energy.

So today, fortunately it was raining, and I was saved from having to run with Alexandrialeigh (HAPPY BIRTHDAY!) and throw up bourbon fumes in a ditch. And then I had my ADD driving simulator thingy. Well, the doctor doing the study has ADD too, and lost her keys and was an hour late--the comedy never ends. And the simulator is HORRIBLE. AWFUL! VILE! It makes your depth perception go all screwy and is unbelievably nauseating.

And I ran over a pedestrian.

To be fair, they have people cut you off and pull out in front of you and run you off the road, and occasionally some retard leaps out from behind a bus and hurls himself under your wheels. In my opinion, he deserved to die (grill monkey), but I feel certain it reflected poorly on my score. Somehow I managed to refrain from shouting, "M*****r F****r A*s H**e C**k S****r!!!!!" at any of the simulated maniac drivers, because they might have eliminated me from the study for excessive anger. But I thought it real real hard... I wonder if I have to pay the church for mental swearing?

And then I had to get an EKG and they said I am fabulously healthy and my resting pulse is about 55-60. Nice work. I have Little Miss Nobody to thank for that. So i am officially admitted to the study group (why does that make me feel so validated? Because it really just means I am certifiable...) and recieved my first bottle of Strattera/placebo. That will be something new to ask for from my cute Kevin Spacey lookalike pharmacist. The man knows me by name, which is humiliating as hell:

Hot Pharmacist: "Here ya go, Jemima, your Ritalin and birth controls pills. Now I know that you are a retarded slut. You have a nice day now."

Pans to Jemima snatching her bag and scuttling out of the store like her ass is on fire.

Well, I'm supposed to be writing freelance stuff, not blogging. So tata.

5 comments:

Elysia said...

Hey J!

I know what you mean about the pharmacy situation - but since my pharmacist is a prunefaced hag who cuts her own hair with a weed whacker, it's not her I'm shy of. It's the other people in line who have no sense of privacy... they shove right up next to me at the counter, as I'm paying for my prescription, and since they're bored, they look in my wallet, read the label on the bag, and generally make me want to elbow then in the face and make a quick getaway.

Luckily I no longer have to buy birth control pills, since my hubby got his snip job... wheeeee! Not only do I not have to stand in line at the pharmacy for hours every 28 days, I no longer have to pay $52 for the privilege. Yee-fuckin'-hah. Hey, you don't get charged if other people swear, do ya? I damn sure hope not - hee hee!

StupidPeopleBreeding said...

Serves ya right for abandoning us!!!

Enjoy the rest of this week, J.

G Dawney said...

Ok. I want to know what
"M*****r F****r A*s H**e C**k S****r!!!!!" means.

No wait. I've got it. [I can be slow]

I was ecstatic when my husband went in for his snip job too. I'd say more, but it looks like TMI. Congrats on being Certifiable!

Pink Lemonade Diva said...

hilarious.

Marcheline said...

Um.... it's been like six days and you haven't blogged - I'm dying ovah heah! Come back!!!!!