In Which I Suck At Playing Internets

Yes, I know. It's been forever and 3 years since I've written. I'm sure you've all been going through withdrawals from the poor grammar and the word "cuzz". Welp, now I'm back (for the time being) and everything will be ok my pets. You'll see.

I'm not completely sure what the hell has been going on with me lately, but I am going to chalk it up to out of whack hormones. Them bitches have NEVER behaved themselves. Fear not, I'm still full of PMSgoodness and whatever else that makes me so gosh darned lovable. (Seriously, I know you all just wanna squish me tight and call me George)

I've wanted to update about my grandmother having to be in the hospital for a few weeks and how my aunt flew in from Japan to help take care of her, but I haven't had the motivation. I've wanted to update about how I've started physical therapy and how I believe that it's really a training camp for dominatrixes, but, again, there's been absolutely no motivation. I've wanted to update about how I've gone all girly and have started having my nails done and have managed to not break a single one in a month and half, but, well, that damned motivation ran away from me. In short, I've spent a lot of time sitting on my couch trying not to cry at stupid fucking commercials. (I'm talking about being near hysterical tears over those commercials with the people made out of pipes who are afraid to do things for fear that they might spring a leak and OMG! I remember feeling like that when I was pregnant and would pee a little every time I sneezed and I felt like a totally gross whale who always smelled of BO and pee and so I got into the the habit of making sure I had deodorant and clean underwear in my purse AT ALL TIMES even though every one around me reassured me that I did NOT in fact smell like either BO or pee but they had to be lieing cuzz no one wants to piss off the preggo. Yeah... Fo realz, yo.)

So, all that stuff happened. Grandma is out of the hospital and is very comical when taking the Valium and Vicodin they gave her for pain. The physical therapy is still kicking my ass and I've been trying to walk everywhere while squeezing together my ass cheeks, sucking in my flubbery belly and sticking out my tits, which is way harder than you think, I promise. (They want me to walk like that and do all these horrible stretches. THEY'RE TRYING TO BREAK ME EVEN MORE!) And the hormones? Well, they still suck my ass.

Next up on my agenda is going to the doctor to have C-Nitrofurantoin and Mild Silver Protein given to me. Since I had to wait a few months to even get the prescription filled and then wait a couple more weeks to be able to have $40 to blow on it, only to read on the labels that I have to take it to the doctor's office, I can only assume that this is something that'll be put directly into my hoo-hoo and this displeases me greatly. When I was first diagnosed with Interstitial Cystitis (spelled wrong, I'm sure) I was told that I could have PILLS rather than injections. Either way, I was going to lose my hair (which is crayon red again cuzz I do not know my colors), so I figured I'd opt for the pills and totally skip over any kind of injections and/or insertion of ANYTHING. Looks like THAT plan went in the shitter. That should provide for some interesting material.

So, there you have it Intarwebs. I still love you, but I was having this thing and I have come crawling back, looking for your love and acceptance. Please tell me you didn't leave me when I was weak.

*cough*

Think I need to go smoke. Yeah...