Monday, October 31, 2005
5 nurses, 4 slutty ones
4 waitresses, all slutty
3 babies, all of whom were males with big beer guts
3 HOes (sluts, whores, prostitutes--pick one). oh wait, excuse me, they were Anime characters.
2 policemen, one in tight shorts
1 fat man dressed as a pregnant woman
1 George Dubya
1 Dick Cheney
1 dick--not kidding ya.
All this on one train ride from downtown to the Castro (approximately 4 stops). Only in San Francisco...
Some Halloween fun for those who dare to click here.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Disclaimer: I'm not trying to be mean or insensitive, but apologies to anyone finds this insulting. These are things that some people just should not do.
-- women wearing only a sports bra, bearing their midriff, especially when their midriff sticks out farther than their breasts
-- a group shower that reminds you of high-school
-- women walking around naked in the locker room while they blow-dry their hair, weigh themselves, use the bathroom...come on ladies, have some decency to cover up! some of us are shy, and most of us just don't want to see you naked, especially if you're not fit to be seen naked.
-- running/riding/working out next to a person whose body odor only increases with each minute of work out
-- waiting forever for an exercise machine only to find puddles of sweat surrounding it. people, wipe up after yourselves!
-- men wearing a teeny tiny Speedo while doing laps in the pool. Speedos are not for everyone.
-- thin, white spandex pants
-- a red thong under thin, white spandex pants
-- people with cellulite wearing a red thong under thin, white spandex pants
-- your co-workers undressing in the locker room
-- your boss undressing in the locker room (didn't happen to me, yet...I saw a former boss, but thank goodness she didn't undress then!)
Okay, that's it for now. I know this list will have to be updated later.
I'm off to the gym, even if my poor muscles are protesting right now.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
BF: You have to think about it?!
Me: It's a hard decision. Does giving up cookies also come with a guarantee that you'll stay with me forever?
BF: No, that's a risk you'll have to take.
Me: So if I give up the cookies, you might not stay with me forever?
BF: Yep, that's the risk.
Me: Could I still have other sweets if I gave up all cookies?
BF: Why are we still debating this?
Me: What's the point of giving up cookies forever if there's a risk that you'll leave me in two weeks? I'll need ice-cream to console myself.
BF: Oh gosh! Yes, you can have other sweets like ice-cream and cake if you give up cookies forever.
Me: Alright. If I have to make a choice, I'll give up cookies for life for you, even if there's a risk you may leave me in the next second, but I believe we will be together FOREVER; I believe in us.
BF: oh gosh, I would have given up the cookies for you!
Me: That's because you don't have a sweet tooth.
BF: Well then, if you had a choice of giving up ALL sweets for life or giving me up, what would you choose.
Me: All sweets?
BF: oh gosh, here we go again. Yes, ALL sweets. No cakes, no ice-cream, no cookies, no chocolate, no sugar.
Me: Ummm....that's a tough one.
BF: She values eating more than me!
Me: How about just giving up all forms of chocolate. I can do that. At least I can still eat vanilla cake. I need some form of sugar...
BF: Now she's bargaining! Why me, lord? Why me?
Sunday, October 16, 2005
I started out with four goldfishes, two gold ones (fishy #1 and #2) and two white ones with a red head (fishy #3 and #4). They swam happily in the tank and came swimming to the top whenever I walked up to the tank to feed them. Then two days later, one of the white fishies was floating, belly up at the top of the tank. Fishy #3 (or maybe it was #4) went to fishy heaven. There was a short funeral at the toilet.
Two days after fishy #3's death, I found fishy #4 floating belly up at the top of the tank. Perhaps it was lonely without it's mate and decided to join it in fishy heaven. After another fishy funeral at the toilet, I took a look at my tank to see what was wrong with it. The remaining two goldfishes looked fine and were swimmingly back and forth. I noticed the water was a little green so I decided to change the water, added some more clearing liquids, anti-fungus liquids and stuff to make the water the right pH level.
About a week after I changed the water, fishy #2 was floating belly up at the top of the tank, and there was another flushing at the toilet. This time, however, I noticed that fishy #1 was nipping at dead fishy #2 when I discovered its death. At the time, however, I didn't give much thought to this discovery.
Thinking that fishy #1 was all alone swimming by himself, I went out and bought another goldfish. Fishy #5 lasted one week before he joined the others in fishy heaven. At this point, my BF suggested that fishy #1 was a killer goldfish who was selfish and was trying to keep the whole tank to himself. I laughed at this suggestion and thought it foolish that my BF would even think that goldfish can commit homicide. Well, replacement fishies #6 and #7 each lasted about a week, in that order. And fishy #1 was also nipping at it when I found each dead fish. (I also added an algae sucker, fishy #8, but it died after I changed the water.) I was beginning to think maybe killer goldfishes do exist, and believe it or not, a Google search brought back many results! Killer goldfish DO exist. And they kill because: 1) they're horny and ready to mate, so they fight off other male fishes; 2) they're mentally insane from an ick fungus infection; 3) they just territorial.
Well, fishy #1 met his match with replacement fishy #9. I decided to buy a much larger replacement to perhaps deter fishy #1 from any more murders. Unfortunately, both fishes fought each other to the death. This is my theory: Fish #1 wanted to kill for his territory and thus attacked fishy #9. However, being larger than fishy #1, fishy #9 fought back for his safety. The end result was two fishies floating belly up in my tank, a duel funeral at the toilet, and an empty fishtank for me.
Since I no longer had any fishies, killer goldfish or otherwise, I decided to start all over again, but much more slowly. I added fishy #10, a black moor, and it lived happily for a month. I spotted some white spots on it's fin and figured that it had ick, a fungus, and treated it for that. Since it survived the month, I figured it was a good time to introduce a friend, fishy #11, the gold goldfish. The two got along quite well, considering that it was both fairly the same size. They didn't nip at one another. Fishy #11 survived a month in the tank with fishy #10 and I decided to add another fish, particularly an algae eater so that it can help with the algae growth, so basically a cleaner for the tank. Fishy #12 was added and all three has since flourished in the tank. I also got a new filter that is so powerful, I haven't had to change the water for months!
Going through all those fishies and a killer goldfish, I didn't want to name them because I didn't want to get attached if they died. Well, since fishy #10, 11 & 12 have lived for nearly six months now, and don't seem to be dying off anytime soon, I thought it was only proper to finally give them names. And here they are:
Meet Lola, fishy #11. For some odd reason, she likes to float belly up near the top of the tank. Yeah, I thought she was dead when I saw this for the first time. She usually floats belly up after eating too. It's really funny to watch her swim to the bottom of the tank, flip over and then just let the bubbles float an upside-down fish floating to the top.
This is Ally (short for algae eater), fishy #12. Yes, that's right. I decided to make my fishes all female. That's why they all get along together. And Ally is not sucking on another algae eater, it's just a reflection from the glass. She rarely leaves the safety of her home: the treasure chest.
Lola and BB playing together. Ally was inside that treasure chest behind them.
BF quote of the day: "I have to work this weekend because I need the overtime to pay your bills. Why don't you put that on your blog?" First, what bills? Second, I will!
Thursday, October 13, 2005
I also received another get well card from the hospital. That's so sweet. Just make sure you don't send me the medical bills. ;-)
~Quotes for the day~
Cartman from South Park: I'm not fat! I'm just big bone-ded.
Me: I'll stop being overly affectionate when you turn gay or you stop liking me.
BF: I'll never do that.
Me: Aww, you're so ...
BF interrupts: I just meant the gay part.
Me: sweee.....what a jerk you are.
From Nip/Tuck, second episode for Season 3:
Kimberly: I guess I'm a little early.
Christian: Hi baby.
Kimberly: Christian, I don't understand what's going on here. This morning you wanted to marry me, and now you're screwing her. Who are you?
Christian: I'm me again baby.
Then Christian invites Kimberly to join in on the act and it turns into a threesome.
Me: Hey, I was just about to call you because I was just thinking of you.
BF: Were you thinking about whether I was going to break up with you?
Me: No, why?
BF: Well then you are having the completely wrong thoughts about me!
Cartman from South Park: I'm not fat! I just haven't grown into my body, [you skinny bitch]!
Me: Don't call me if you're ever stuck in jail.
BF: But why not? I swear I didn't know she was 17!
Me: How many times have I called you a jerk today?
My honey bunny is really sweet, honestly, really he is.. [yes, I have to keep reminding myself there is teeny tiny bit of TLC in him]
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Anyhoo, I got a get-well card from the hospital today, signed by the nurses who tended to me during the surgery. Isn't that nice? I also got a voicemail from the nurses checking up on my condition, "We're calling to follow-up and see how you're doing, but don't call us back if you're having any problems. Call your doctor. DON'T CALL US. CALL HIM." Got the message, thanks!
I'm doing miraculously well for just having a surgery with general anesthesia. After my BF picked me up from the hospital, I kept whining about when we were going to eat. I hadn't eaten anything for over sixteen hours and I woke up from the surgery feeling extra hungry. You'd think the hospital would feed you, but no, all I was got was crackers and cranberry juice. Like that's going to hold me over. So as soon as we leave the hospital, I ask for food. Real food. Hamburgers and french fries, or pad-thai or kentucky fried chicken.
My BF didn't believe that I was hungry, said it was all in my head. He's just jealous of my appetite. He gave me 3/4 of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to shut me up and didn't feed me for another 3 hours, saying that my stomach couldn't handle real food just yet. After his doctor's appointment, he finally gives in and takes me to Burger King because my cravings for french fries turned me into a mad woman yelling "Take me now!" Yes, the boy was afraid and had to give in to my stomach. Boy, that chicken sandwich and two things of fries loaded with ketchup sure tasted good. And no upset stomach afterwards either!
By the time we get to my place, the local anesthesia is wearing off and I begin to feel some pain, but it's tolerable and so I didn't think the pain warranted a whole vicodin pill. So I took half and continue to ice the area. After half an hour or so, I manage to comment to my BF, "I think the ice is working, I don't feel the pain anymore." He's laughing at me and asks "Oh, the ice is it? Are you sure it's not the vicodin?" I still think it's the ice, but I doze off into slumber land which I'm certain is the result of a food coma and the vicodin. I was only able to take a short nap, but that food/vicodin induced sleep sure felt good. And of course I was hungry after I woke up, so made myself some Velvetta shells and cheese for a snack. Yes, I did share some with the Boy.
With bandanges off and all, I'm feeling pretty well and not feeling much pain at all. Well, there's this weird tingly sensation around the wound and I got a little stab of pain when I move my arm into certain positions, but other than that, I'm hunky dory. I'll have to remember to ask the doctor about the tingles. In the end, there's no more lump under my arms, and I still have two breasts in the correct place.
Friday, October 07, 2005
I get to the hospital, check-in with the nurses and just chill out in the waiting room for about an hour before a nurse comes to take me to my “room.” We get to one of the recovery rooms where I see two beds, one that had clearly been occupied by someone else and another bed that looked as if someone sat in it but didn’t completely turn the covers down. The nurse also realizes this so she sends me back out to the waiting room so she can put new sheets on the bed. As soon as she finishes, she comes and gets me to lead me back to that same room but then another nurse goes, “oh she’s assigned to her own room. Someone’s already in that bed.” Great for me, not so good for the nurse who just changed the sheets.
So, in my own private room, I don’t get a bed, I get a reclining chair. I guess they didn’t expect me to completely be immobile after the surgery. I get dressed in the flimsy hospital gown and sit back in the chair, watching Full House and counting down the minutes until I get cut open (1 hour in counting). Another nurse comes by and tells me that it’s time to prepare the IV needle. Before she even pricks me with a needle, I have to sign countless waivers and consent forms (thank goodness power of attorney didn’t come up again) and tell her the last time I ate and peed. Then she tells me that the first prick I’ll feel is the local anesthesia for the IV needle. I’m thinking “cool, anesthetic for an IV? Give it to me then.” But it wasn’t like that. Not only did I feel the first prick from the anesthesia needle, I felt the second, deeper prick of the IV needle. Wtf? I got stabbed twice just for one useful IV line that will keep fluids going through my body?
After she stabs me and leaves a packet of tentacles hanging from my hand, she asks me “So, we’re taking out your left breast, is that correct?” INSERT PANIC AND HYSTERIA HERE: “NOOOO. Remove the lump under my LEFT ARM, not LEFT BREAST. LEAVE THE BREASTS ALONE” And the nurse is looking at my chart as I’m clarifying things to her. Do I need to grab your pen and draw a map under my arm, Nurse? And this is the creepy part, she smiles and says “Good, you’re in a clear state of mind and you know exactly what surgery you’re getting. We just want to double check.” Right. I’m still not feeling confident that you know what I need taken out.
When the time comes for me to “report to surgery”, yet another nurse walks me downstairs to the surgery waiting area. As I’m waiting, my anesthesiologist comes by to introduce himself and starts telling me the procedure of putting me to sleep. “Yes, doctor, I understand, doctor, just make sure I don’t wake up while the other guy is cutting me open.” Then the surgical nurse comes by and asks me if I’m ready. “Sure! Let’s get the party started!” We walk out of the waiting area and I see my doctor. He comes and holds my hand as he walks me towards the operating room explaining the procedure to me. I ask if he’ll prescribe me lots of painkillers for after the surgery. He laughs as he tells me “I’m mean but I’m not Satan. I’ll think about giving you painkillers.” We laugh it off until I stop short in front of the OR doors. OH MY GOODNESS, I’M REALLY GOING THROUGH WITH THIS?
Both the nurse and doctor nudge me towards the operating table. The doctor is taking off my hospital robe as the nurse unties the two ties that’s holding my hospital gown together. She instructs me to lie down on the table and tells me to RELAX. Right. Yeah. I’ll try that. As I’m trying to get on the table, I see other people in surgical garb laying out sharp, shiny scalpels and tongs and weird metal thingys that seem too big for a small surgery such as mine. There are big lights above just like the ones in the ER on TV. I lie down and ask the doctor if I can see the lump that he takes out of me (no, because it has to go directly to the lab. Humph.) but he continues to tell me what I need to do after the surgery (i.e. when to take the bandages off, etc.) and all of a sudden I feel something cool going through my hands.
Me: “oh, that’s a cool sensation.”
A voice from behind me (who I assume is the anesthesiologist): “Oh, that’s normal, it’s just the saline solution.” He puts a mask over my face and instructs “Take a deep breathe now.”
Me taking a deep breathe.
Anesthesiologist: “Now, this may sting a little bit, it’s the anesthesia. Take another deep breathe.”
Me taking another deep breathe and then exclaiming “My hand is burning! It’s not stinging, it’s really burning! The whole hand!”
Anesthesiologist: “Oh, that’s normal, take another deep breathe.”
Me taking another deep breathe and still exclaiming “but it’s burning A LOT. I don’t think that’s normal…”
Anesthesiologist cutting me off: “Take another deep breathe.”
Me taking another deep breathe and fading into the darkness.
The next thing I remember is me waking up in another waiting area. I see a nurse in the corner come rushing over and saying “Good, you’re waking up right on time. How are you feeling dear?”
A groggy me trying feeling around my breast area and asking “Are my boobs still here? They didn’t take my boobs off did they?”
I wonder what other things nurses have heard from patients waking up after general anesthesia. Well, I now have no lump and still got two boobs in the right place. Whoo hoo!
I have lived in this apartment for almost two years. And for the last 20 months, it’s been a pretty quiet environment. Until my downstairs’ neighbor found himself a girlfriend.
Okay, it was funny the first time my friends and I heard a woman’s scream coming up from the floorboards of my bedroom, where we were watching “Birth” (btw, such a bad movie) with the volume on really high. It was even funnier to see my friend’s significant other with his ear glued to my bedroom floor hoping to hear more moans of pleasure. At the time, I thought “Great! He’s finally getting some.”
But then the sex continued. First it was just the weekend nights that I would hear their romping. Then it was every other night. No matter how loud I have the TV on, I could still hear them. I stomped around and jumped on my bed but that just seemed to encourage them. But nighttime romping didn’t bother me as much as it did when their romping interfered with MY SLEEP. They started having sex at the crack of dawn. Every fucking morning at 5am (no pun intended). Who needs an alarm clock when you’ve got your own porn sound effects coming from beneath your floorboards? Why don’t I tune them out, you ask? Because I am such a light sleeper, the itty bitty spider spinning a web in the corner will wake me up. Don’t believe me? Ask my BF: he’s had many unsuccessful attempts at sneaking out of bed because just a single breathe he takes makes me bolt upright in bed asking, “where you going?”
About three weeks ago, I thought the romps were over. The lovebirds downstairs were not making their usual love noises at 5am. No, this time she was throwing things at him while asking “Why won’t you marry me?” Let’s ignore the fact that they were arguing at 5 in the morning and take a moment to reflect upon the fact that they were only sleeping together for the last 3 months. WHO WANTS TO GET MARRIED AFTER THREE MONTHS??? Anyhow, these arguments lasted a couple of more days and I was so happy the porn show was finally over and I can resume sleeping past 5 am again.
This morning, at the butt crack of dawn, the fucking resumes at 5am. It is three hours until I have to show up at the hospital to check-in for surgery. Why are you people always horny at 5am on the dot? Do you set an alarm or something? Well, I know for a fact neither of you leave the apartment before 7, so how about you set your romping for 6:30 when I get up and I’ll be in the shower?
CAN’T I SOME SLEEP, PLEASE?
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Do you have a history of heart attacks in your family?
Do you have any allergies to any medication?
Have you had a cold in the past week?
Do you have any known medical condition that we should know about so that you don’t sue us if something comes up and you didn’t tell us?
Do you have power of attorney?
Do what I have what?
Power of attorney.
Why would I need power of attorney?
In the event that you remain unconscious, do you have power of attorney?
Why would I be unconscious? THIS IS A SIMPLE SURGERY. He said 45 minutes in and out.
Calm down, miss, I have to ask you that…
I’m not having a heart transplant. It’s just a lump! I had my wisdom teeth taken out and I woke up after an hour under anesthesia.
Miss. Calm down. Miss…
How do you know I won’t wake up. Did he tell you something?
Ma’am. Forget about that I asked you the question.
But now you’re getting me worried. I am going to wake up right? It’s not that serious of a surgery, is it?
Ma’am. It’s just a formality. I have to ask you that question. I ask everyone that question. You don’t have to answer it today if you don’t want to. You can give me the answer on Friday when you come in. Okay? Breathe now, lady.
Oh okay. No power of attorney.
Yeah, that got me just a little bit nervous and it had me thinking. What happens if I don’t wake up? I live all by myself in SF. I have no family here, just my BF and the only friend I could count on is 45 minutes away. Who will call my parents? What will my parents do even if they knew? They’re 3000 miles away. WHAT TO DO? WHAT TO DO?
I start having a panic attack and call my BF and tell him I’m having second thoughts about the surgery. Upon recounting the conversation with the nurse, my BF tells me “you know what I would say? Pull the plug!”
Gee, thanks. Just for that, I’m going to go through the surgery just so I can wake up and tell you “You’re not that lucky.”
Monday, October 03, 2005
I have been trying in vain to get a doctor to remove my own lump. Doctor #1 kept pressing her fingers deep into my armpit until I yelled for her to stop. She said the lump was nothing and no she won’t remove it for me because “it’s nothing.” Doctor #2 took a look at the lump and after feeling around the area, she said it was nothing and wouldn’t remove it either. By the time I got to Doctor #3, I just told her that even if it was nothing, please refer me to someone who would remove it because I don’t like the giant lump under my arm. She poked at the lump herself, said it was nothing to worry about, but she did send me to a GYN and told me to ask the GYN about it. The GYN, Doctor #4, said she normally sees these underarm lumps in women who have had several pregnancies and she would often refer them to another doctor to get it removed because it caused them tremendous amounts of pain. But since it didn’t hurt me, and I have not had any pregnancies, I should just ignore it. Before going back to report to Doctor #3, my BF did some research and told me that a plastic surgeon would remove my lump for a fee but he won’t remove it unless he gets a biopsy report that says the lump is benign. So I go back to Doctor #3 to tell her the report of Doctor #4, and ask again to get a referral to a doctor who will give me a biopsy so I just get the damn lump removed. Doctor #3 gives me a referral to an oncologist and warns me that this might be “cosmetic” and insurance will not cover it.
Today, I had the meeting with Doctor #5, the oncologist. I have to add that I have a phobia to male doctors, and Doctor #5 is a male. I’m just not comfortable with a strange man, even if he is a doctor who saves lives, etc., touching my body. It’s just weird. Anyways, back to the story. I was already nervous since he was a male doctor, but he made me feel comfortable. Asked me about the history of my lump, poked at the lump and told me that it was “extra breast tissue” and that is was normal for people, men and women, to have extra breast tissue under their arms. He also said this was normal for women who have had several pregnancies. And I kid you not, he told me this: “as a matter of fact, I just saw a woman last week who just had her second baby and she had a lump similar to yours under her arm. The only difference was that her lump had a tiny little nipple on it, and it was lactating. Yes, there was milk coming out of it.” I didn’t care if I had to pay for the surgery myself, but it doesn’t hurt to ask if insurance will cover it. Doctor #5 is great. He said insurance should cover this because “you’re young, you’ve never had a pregnancy, and instead of taking a little out for a biopsy, I’ll take out as much of the extra tissue as I can then we’ll send it to the lab to make sure it’s nothing we need to worry about further.”
Whoo hoo! I thought he would schedule the surgery for 3-4 weeks out, but no, it’s scheduled for the end of the week. Yikes!
BF quote of the day: “Vanity isn’t for the weak.” Is it really worth the pain?
Saturday, October 01, 2005
BF: “I need two cashier’s checks please.”
Bank Teller: “Absolutely, sir. That won’t be a problem. I just need to know who the checks should be made out to.”
BF: “Certainly. The checks need to go to [John Smith] Homes.” And as an aside to me: “them crooked bastards! Taking all my money!”
Bank Teller: “Oh, I see.” Then she looks at me and asks with a nice wide smile: “Are you two buying a home together?”
I look at my BF with a great big smile on my own face and he replies for the both of us: “I’m buying a house.” As he’s pointing to himself to make it clear. “Not we, just me.”
Bank Teller, who is now a bit confused but continues to smile as she looks at me and asks, “Well, I assume you are going to live with him?”
At this point, my BF is looking at me to see what I would tell this young lady about our living arrangement (which is none). I smile my sweetest smile as I tell her: “live together? Ha! He’s already banned me from his new house. As a matter of fact, I’m not even welcomed there!”
BF is laughing his head off, but then ends the conversation with: “Quinny! Would I ever say something like that?”
Me: “Of course you would. That’s one of your lines.”
BF: “I think I’m rubbing off on you.”
The Bank Teller gives us the weirdest looks as she hands us my BF his checks for his home.