The Walking Disease

Well, just to point out the obvious, because I’m an ass like that, I’m still alive. Although, I admit, I’d rather I weren’t.

Nah, I’m not trying to be a little emo fuck, I’m just stating the truth.

I’ve been ill, folks. Sick. Diseased. Unwell. Below par. A runny nosed, phlegm hacking, nasty person.

Believe me, you, I do have stuff to write about. It’s been awhile since I last posted and plenty has happened since. However, chances are it’ll never get posted because, well, my brain has all but a few brain cells left due to being sick. Seriously though, I’m drinking tea.

I HATE TEA.

For the love of God, I hate tea.

That’s how bad it is. Oh fuck, it tastes so gross. When I start to regain composure again, I’m going to ruffle through my head to find out who suggested this tea crap to me and beat them up for it.

Heh. On the bright side, the last couple of days have been slightly enjoyable. That’s probably because I spent it stoned off my ass. I created myself a cocktail of Cold FX, Dayquil, Benylin, Vitamin C, chicken soup, various juices containing 180% vitamin C and Neocitran. I decided to leave out Advil Cold & Flu because I thought that would be pushing it…

I’ve begun to warn family and friends that if I see a bright light coming from within the dark, I am so going for it.

Did I ever tell you guys the story of when I did see a bright light and I turned it down? OH! Or the time I was visited by Lucifer? Hmm… maybe not. I’ll have to write it out when I’m feeling better. I tell ya, it’s a gooder! Everyone I tell the story to believes that I was hallucinating, but I swear I wasn’t.

Damn this tea is gross.

So, I am at work right now. Contaminating everything, I’m sure. I did take Monday and Tuesday off, but hell, the work is piling up but I cannot focus because I’m too busy shoving Kleenex up my nostrils.

Not the most attractive image, I know. I apologize.

I also apologize for the fact that I’m fucking sweating like a pig sitting in the hot seat of Hell beside Satan. There’s only so much pit-stick that a person can put on before it starts to get really gross.

Okay. This is officially one of the worst posts ever. I’m going to shut up now. But mark my words, I’ll be back. I will return with a fully functioning immune system.

P.S. Ugh, this is gross. People actually drink AND enjoy tea?

P.P.S. I just sneezed and coughed at the same time. It was gross. And painful.

P.P.P.S. HAH! AND, I entered PMS mode. So add Advil Liquid Gels to my cocktail to ease the pain of the horrid cramps.

The Funk

This just fucking sucks.

What the hell is wrong with me. A funk. That must be it. I’m in a funk.

My mood is getting worse with each day and I have an idea why, but really? An idea why doesn’t help solve anything.

Girls’ night out last night SUCKED. Well, it started off okay. But the music played, the atmosphere and the crowd at the place we were at? SUCKED ASS.

Ugh. Just thinking about last night is making my head hurt.

Holy fuck. It’s 3 degrees Celsius outside. Old Man Winter, take a fucking hint – GET LOST. Until I gain about 100 lbs of pure fat to insulate my body, don’t come around here.

I’m refraining from going through a box of pencils and snapping each one in half.

What the… One of the guys I work with just answered his work phone with, “Hi, Dominos Pizza.”

OOH. HAAAH. AND, get this, last night I ate a small piece of chocolate in hopes that it’ll make me feel better. Sure this doesn’t seem like much, but people, I’m allergic to chocolate. The last time I ate chocolate, let alone had a craving for it, was seven months ago. I WAS DOING SO GOOD. The worst part? THE FUCKING PIECE OF CHOCOLATE DIDN’T HELP.

That, alone, made me want to cry.

I think I’m going to take a short break from writing on here. I have nothing productive or good to write about. I need to seriously figure out what the hell I’ve got to do to get me out of The Funk, BEFORE I go into PMS mode.

Should Have Been Called Mad Cow

Well, I may as well admit it. I mean, it’s not as if it isn’t obvious enough.

I am in a foul, foooooouuul mood.

These last few days I’ve been on the edge. Angry, irritable, frustrated.

And let me tell you; it certainly does not help The Mood when it is a fucking 6 degrees Celsius outside. It is September 14 – I SHOULD NOT BE WEARING A WINTER JACKET RIGHT NOW.

Actually, that last part is my fault. I seem to have forgotten my jacket-wind breaker-type thingy at a friend’s house last night. BUT STILL. It should not be that cold outside that I have to resort to a winter jacket. It’s raining a hell of a lot and it is damn cold.

I HATE the cold.

I seriously cannot stress that enough. Seriously.

I do not like dressing in layers. I do not like wet shoes and socks. I do not like frozen body parts. I do not like nipplitis. I do not like putting away my summer clothes and skateboard.

I’m seriously thisclose to stomping my feet.

It is that bad.

And I can’t help but wish that I could go on vacation. Again. Even though I just had a vacation two weeks ago. Or something.

It is becoming far too difficult to refrain from punching someone in the face.

I should have just stayed home today.

I have a bad feeling that when I go through my menstrual cycle for this month that it’s going to be ugly.

Maybe my body is just preparing me for the wretched PMS to come.

Perhaps my body is all, “Watch out bitch, ‘cause it’s gonna be a rough week this month.”

I am so not looking forward to that.

Relief

Huge sigh of relief.

I just found out that an arrest has been made in the murder of my friend’s brother. My friends and I couldn’t be any happier for her and their families. I can’t wait to see her tomorrow; her mood has definitely improved.

Dreams

When I moved to Calgary, it was just prior to starting the eight grade. The junior high I went to only went up to the eight grade as opposed to the ninth grade. Now that I wrote that out, I’m realizing that it was rather pointless; moving on.

As grade eight was coming to an end, the entire grade went on a retreat out somewhere in the middle of… well, somewhere (I can’t recall where, apparently).

There were about four yellow buses taking the students to the retreat. I sat beside my friend and we were chatting about anything and everything.

As we were getting closer to our destination, the buses took a turn down a dirt road. Suddenly, I say to my friend, “Whoa. This looks familiar. This road is a place that I’ve dreamt about before and I dreamt that we were going down the road in a bus too.” My friend looked at me with surprise. “Eh. Whatever. Probably nothing. Besides, in my dream the bus broke down suddenly, but I’m sure that’s not going to happen.”

Just as I finished my sentence, the bus ahead of us broke down and was sitting at the side of the road.

My friend and I were silent after that.

Déjà vu?

Coincidence?

Or just plain nutty.

I’m thinking nutty.

That wasn’t the only incident I’ve had regarding my nutty dreams come real. But after last night, I certainly hope it’ll never happen again.

I woke up this morning in a cold sweat.

I had a horrible dream.

Far worse than any dreams I’ve had regarding my teeth falling out. Far worse than my OhmyGod My Boyfriend is Cheating on Me dreams. Far worse than my AJ in Wonderland dreams. The dream I had last night… I can’t even write or talk about it.

I have a terrible gut-wrenching feeling about it, but I’m going to ignore it and hope that the dream was just my sub-conscious telling me that I’m a worry-wart freak.

The Rant and Rave Files

I feel like giving a good bitching. Fo’ serious.

First on the list, that damn Britney Spears.

Whether or not it’d be true, I can believe it. Why? Cause she’s fucking dumb like that. How lazy can one person be? Apparently, VERY LAZY. “Oh, lookie me, I’m Britney Spears. I’m a lazy fuck. Why celebrate my childrens' birthday on separate days when I can do it all on one day! It’ll be like, killing two birds with one stone!” My God. MY GOD WOMAN. Cunt.

Next up, Toronto, Ontario.

Are you fucking kidding me? This is a joke, right? Please tell me I read this wrong. NOPE, NOT WRONG. I mean, I certainly don’t admit to being brilliant, BUT C’MON PEOPLE. Even I could have figured that out. That is a shame. If I were a relative to the old lady, I would have taken the fuckers that didn’t change the street names, set them on fire, call 911, have the fire department go to the wrong address, THEN LAUGH. Fuck, I know I’m cruel. But I’m sorry, that’s just me. Ask anyone, they’ll tell you.

Now, this one just puzzles me.

What the hell ever happened to good ol’ fashion candy? Sure, it may rot the kid’s teeth, but only if they don’t brush and floss! Seriously though. “C’mon kiddos! Gather round mommy and let’s smoke a joint!” Lady, you make me sick. ‘Nuff said.

Okay. This one. Hah. Kinda makes me giggle.

Of course he thinks he’s the Jesus! I’m sure after being a heroin addict you’re bound to think some crazy, stupid thoughts. HAHAHA. If that’s the case, then there are probably plenty of psycho-whack jobs out there that believe they’re the Jesus. HAHAHA. Moron.

Uh, then there’s this.

To be honest, I don’t even know what to make of it. I’ll pass.


Phew. I feel much better.

Snooze Buttons and Traffic

I don’t quite have a specific purpose for this particular post other than recalling what happened five years ago. I realize that there are a lot of tributes and memorials happening today, and some may be growing tired of it, but I’m going to write out what I’ve got to say anyway just because it’s on my mind and has been each passing year.

I have a friend who lives in New York and worked across the street from the WTC. My friend’s father worked in the WTC.

When my alarm clock went off, five years ago, I heard on the radio news that a plane flew into a building. Still in a daze, I hit the snooze button on my alarm and slept a little longer before heading to work. When my alarm went off again, I woke up recalling a dream I had about a plane flying into a building.

“Pshaw. What a fucked up dream.” Yeah, okay AJ, just a dream. As I continued to get ready for work, the radio news kept repeating a story of two planes flying into the WTC in New York. As soon as it clicked in, WTC-New York-Dylan, I panicked. Knowing that my friend would have been at work during the attack, I quickly picked up my phone and starting dialling his cell phone.

Busy tone.

Okay, try his work phone.

Busy tone.

Damnit. Try his home phone.

Busy tone.

I kept up this routine for an hour until I got to work.

When I got to work, and after many failed attempts to get a hold of my friend Dylan, I called up another friend to find out if she knew of Dylan’s father’s phone number. She did not know of the phone number but she, too, had been trying to get a hold of our friend. No luck, whatsoever, between the two of us.

Two days passed by and still no luck getting through to any of his phone numbers. Finally, I had received an email from him. He mentioned to me that he was okay and so was his dad. He did not have enough time to write a long email, but mentioned that he would call me as soon as he could and to let everyone else know that he was okay.

About a week later, I finally get a phone call from him. He survived because, like me, he decided to hit the snooze button on his alarm clock. My friend Dylan has an outstanding record for always being on time and being prompt with his work; but on that day he decided to be a lazy bastard and for that I am grateful. His building was destroyed on September 11. Dylan’s father survived too. Thankfully, his father was running late for work because of traffic. I don’t remember which floor of the WTC his dad worked on, but had he been at work on time, he would not have survived.

Today, I am grateful for snooze buttons on alarm clocks and shitty traffic.

So Stubborn, It Hurts

There have been a couple of occasions, in my life, where I was at the doctor’s office constantly (either every day or every couple days for months at a time). Because of my last experience with this, which was approximately 10 months ago, I have been so damn turned off at the idea of going to the doctor’s office for any problem that may arise. I’d rather stick it out and hope for the best (aka Oh God, I Hope I Don’t Die in my Sleep).

My latest “trying to stick it out” may come to an end if things continue for another month… or so… yes, I’m stubborn… I know.

Ever since May, I’ve noticed that I’ve been bruising a hell of a lot easier than usual (c’mon folks, you’ve seen the bruise pictures). And lately I’ve been feeling woozy and very feeble. I figure that by eating some food I’d feel better. Oh no, I tell ya, that doesn’t work. If anything, eating makes me feel worse. I’ve been back from lunch for an hour now and I feel like I’m going to keel over and die.

UUUGGGGHHHHH. I just want to go home and lie down. My food, my delicious food doesn’t want to stay down, in my gut, WHERE IT BELONGS.

I know. I know. Stop whining and do something about it. But let me tell you, my fear of going to the doctors and finding out that there is something wrong with me scares the living shit out of me.

*flashback of needles, ultrasounds and horrible, horrible pills*

If I start bruising on my face or start vomiting blood, then I’ll go to the doctor. Until then, I think I’m still good.

It’s still good. It’s still good. It’s still good. It’s still good.

Hah.

Back in Black

A few nights ago, I received a text message on my cell phone that read “Angie u suck”. When I checked to see who sent it I was beyond puzzled. The phone number was no where in my cell phone so the message did not display the name of the person. Here I’m thinking: Well, this person obviously knows me; they even think I suck! Hah! I decided to text back “who dis”, but since the original message was sent half an hour ago, I wasn’t sure if the person would still be awake to see it (this is about 11 p.m.). As I was trying to figure out which drunken day it was that I may have given my phone number out to some random guy, I transformed into the Super Sleuth and phoned the mystery number from my home phone.

The person on the other end was an old friend from high school/past co-worker. She and I used to hang out all the time with other mutual friends of ours but over time we drifted apart. I forgot that I saw her about half a year ago and had given her my phone number.

We made plans to hang out last night at a pub we used to go to six years ago.

It sucked.

I’m sorry, but it did.

I forgot how scuzzy it was and how drunk I had to be to enjoy that place. And it certainly did not help that I’m a shy person and the conversation coming out of me amongst the strangers was very minimal.

Until…

Ta-Da!

I found out that my friend’s fiancé was an Edmonton Oiler fan! Huge Oiler fan!

He and I spent a large portion of the evening chatting about the team, the stats, the upcoming season and all the delicious hockey gossip that we heard or read of. It was great being able to talk about the Oilers with another fanatic other than my own family.

Which brings me to this: Folks, prepare yourself. In a week’s time, the NHL pre-season begins. That means it’s time for me to bring out the Oiler gear and start planning my schedule around the Edmonton hockey games.

MWAHAHAHAHA.

I have waited for this moment ever since the 2005-2006 season ended. Finally! My hockey withdrawal will end.

Bruise Pictures

Alright. So here are pictures of the horrid bruise I managed to get as per the previous post.

The day after going to the rock club, I woke up in the afternoon to find this on my leg.


It was large and in charge, and it hurt like a bitch. The area that was bruised was also swollen and it hurt to run let alone walk.


On Day 2 of the bruising, I noticed two more bruises on my knee.

Although it's not quite clear, I had four different shades coming through the bruise. I also had found two more bruises: one on my lower thigh on my left leg and one on my upper thigh on my right leg (which looked like a smiley face... laughing at me).

On Day 3 of the bruising, I found MORE bruises around the larger bruise AND the large bruise had extended its painful region even further. At this point, the bruise took up half of my calf.

Look at that fucker! How in God's name did I manage that? Oh wait, I know how. I partied hard.

Best Vacation Ever?

WARNING: This is a long, boring post that makes me sound so uncool. But, if you want to be guaranteed a good time? You folks should seriously get together with me because you will be certain that by the end of the night, you would have painted the town red, blue AND green.


I am not even kidding when I say that it is amazing that my skin has not turned a lovely shade of jaundice and that I am still surviving. Is it even possible to still be exhausted after taking holidays? Yes, I can confirm that it is.

I had big plans to make my vacation as productive as possible especially since I only had a total of 8 days off. Those plans were shot to hell as I somehow managed to be drunk 6 out of 8 days. And we’re not even talking about, you know, the slight tip of a buzz; we’re talking full-out I am so drunk that HI! Where the hell am I and how did I get here?!

Day 1:

Got off work; went home; got dressed; left home; met friend; went to bar.

*drinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrink*

Char + AJ + Pool Table = Pool Table Dancing (my math skills are so good)

Dave, T, Ron and Mystery Friend = Amazed

2 a.m.-ish: Char’s friend Bob wants to take her out for food. Bob’s friend wants to take me out for food. We went out for food.

3… 3:30… ish… a.m.?: Stumbled into bed.

4 a.m.-ish: Char calls. Proceed into drunken conversation.

Day 2:

And on this day, God rested and so did I.

Day 3:

Drink specials and $50 bar tab for the rock club. Char and I are back at it.

Two beers each as soon as we get there; shortly after enter more beers and too many shots.

*drinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrink*

*dancedancedancedancedancedancedance*

Dancing on tables and speakers has never looked so good. Until the morning after when we found bruises on our body. My bruise is revolting (pictures to come in next post).

3:30 a.m.: Finally leaving club.

4 a.m.: Finally going to bed.

Day 4:

UUGGGHHHH DEATH.

2 p.m.: Woken up to an unpleasant phone call. Argued.

3 p.m.: Get ready to go out.

7 p.m.: Meet Char and others and got told that we’re heading to the pub.

*drinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrink*

*drinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrink*

*drinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrink*

(I seriously cannot stress the amount of drinking we did and all the free shots Ron and Dave got us because they loooooove us)

Just before 3 a.m.: Leaving pub. Plenty of stumbling going on. Plenty of crying (a good friend was leaving the next day to Kelowna for school).

Got home at who knows what time: Went to bed? Really, by this point I have no clue what happened. I think there was another drunken phone call from Char. No wait. HAH. I remember now. It was I that made the drunken phone call this time.

Day 5:

This is where it starts to go really blurry.

OOOH! I remember now!

Party at Jerry’s.

Still painfully hungover from the previous night, Char and I catch the bus to meet Ron to take us to Jerry’s place.

Meet Ron. Find out Jerry and two other guys are doing idiotic hardcore drugs. Ron doesn’t want to take us to Jerry’s. Went to pub.

*drinkdrinkdrinkdrink*

We call a cab to take us to the pub we were at last night; word on the streets is that everyone else was there.

We waited for a cab at the 7-Eleven. As we stood outside we saw two guys doubling on a single bicycle with one other guy following behind on his own bike.

Two Guys Doubling: *bicycling by*
AJ, Char, Ron: *looks on our faces that say, “what the fuck?!”
AJ, Char, Ron: Look at those fucking losers.
Single Guy Following Doubler: Hey, wait up you guys!
AJ, Char, Ron: Oh my God. We know those fucking losers!

Turns out the cyclists were Jerry and his two friends.

After catching the cab and heading back up north to the pub, well, I’m sure you can guess what happened next.

*drinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrink*

2:30-ish a.m.: Find out there is a party at Dave’s.

But first, went back to Char’s place where we got out the rum and OJ. At some point Ron passes out so Char pours our drinks into Christmas mugs and out we went to walk to Dave’s place. As of that point, I have no idea what time it was… all I know is that it was some time after 3 a.m.

Wooooo! More drinks at Dave’s!

Chris farts around.

Cody gets his mack on with Char and me.

Ugh, Dave’s roommate Steve… we won’t even get into that.

Battle of the Pirates vs. Ninjas! Who would win?

Tom and I were Pirates all the way. Char, Cody and Chris were Ninjas all the way. Pirates lost. No one else cared.

Cody passes out. Geezus that kid can sleep through anything.

I believe I finally got home around 5 a.m. or so.

Day 6:

BBQ at Char, Ron and Darcy’s place (all roommates). I’m still feeling like ass.

Mmmmm. So much good food and so much to drink.

By this point, Char and I were feeling the effects of a dying liver. We went to bed by 2 a.m. wondering if we would end up waking up the next day.

Day 7:

1 p.m.: Hell yeah! We woke up and were ready to go out again!

But first, to the Tattoo Festival!

I spoke with my tattoo artist, got a glimpse of Kat Von D and saw a lot of hoTT tattoos.

(Side Note: ohmyfuckingod. I just noticed that I forgot the put my ear plugs in this morning. damnitdamnit.)

After spending a few hours at the festival, we all went home again to get ready for that night.

Why? Because Char and I had free cover for us and 14 friends to the rock club! AND drink specials all night. That’s right folks, we gathered up a posse and were back at it.

9 p.m.: Bring on the drinks!

*drinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrink*

*drinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrink*

*drinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrink*

*dancedancedancedancedancedancedance*

Char and I promised our male friends that we would dance on the table. By the end of the night, our male friends had made a bum load friends with other guys who were standing around watching us.

The two highlights, out of many, of that night that Char and I have decided upon:
1) While on the speakers, two guys got our attention and asked if we wanted to go and party with them after. Our answer: Uh. No thanks.
2) Some guy grabbing my ass to get my attention, and when I turned around to figure out what-the-hell, he raised Char and I the devil horns \m/ and screamed at the top of his lungs, “You two are fucking hot!”

By the time the club closed, I get a call from Ron (who bailed early) asking if I was coming over. Char, Dave and I (the drinking tanks) figured that we’d head back and drink more.

On the way to their place, I knew that if I didn’t eat something I was going to pass out.

We got the cab driver to pull into an A&W drive-thru and we waited. And waited. And waited. The line-up was far too long so Char and I decided to have Dave wait in the cab while she and I made friends with someone further ahead in the line.

Char and I: *walk up to random car* Excuse me. Sorry. We’re in a cab and the price keeps going up because we’re waiting around in this line. Could we order our food with yours? We have money!
Two people inside car: Yeah, sure.
Char and I: Thank you! *pause* Could we come inside your car?
Two people inside car: Uh, yeah, go ahead.
Me: *climbs into vehicle and bumps into something*
Char: It’s a baby seat! *sits in baby seat*

Char and I had a great conversation with these people and got our food MUCH sooner than expected.

We got back to Char’s place and woke up the sleeping drunks on the couches. By 3:30 a.m., it was Char, Dave, Ron, Tyler, Trevor and me. The lone survivors. Until Tyler and Trevor left; then it was four.

*Insert rum and coke in mini-jugs*

Now here’s where it starts to get unbelievable.

So as we were drinking and wondering how the hell we were not dead with sleep, we took out Char’s talking Napoleon Dynamite doll. The four of us then took out our cell phones and pranked a bunch of people with Napoleon quoting various lines from the movie. This was at about 8-friggin-a.m. in the morning. We must have called about 40 people and gotten about 15 phone calls back asking who the hell just called.

If you recall, we woke up on Day 7 at around 1 p.m. Once we got to Char’s place and continued to drink, the remaining four of us drank until 10 a.m. on Day 8. Tanks, I tell ya, we are tanks. By 10:15 a.m., we figured we’d be even more hardcore by walking out in broad daylight, no sleep in our systems, drunk off our asses, and walk down to the pub to drink more.

I have to admit, I’m glad it was the long weekend because when we got the pub it wasn’t open. The four of us hung around the area for a bit when we decided that we are either stupid for being up and drinking that long OR we were the coolest 22, 24, 30 year olds we know.

After we all left and I went back home, I managed to get only four hours of sleep. Four hours of sleep from 1 p.m. Sunday till 1 a.m. Tuesday morning. I couldn’t tell if I was still drunk, hungover or sick from exhaustion.

Day 8 and 9:

RESTED.


Since getting back to work, I have slowly been pulling through and am still very sleepy. I believe my brain is still on vacation and that my liver is plotting against me.

Pictures of the horrid bruise to come later this evening. Be prepared to be disgusted.