I have been called a lip slut.
During college, I discovered this entertaining habit of making out with random guys in bars/clubs. It was fun; but that game ended when I left Austin.
This past weekend, my lips resurfaced. On night one, I made out with two random guys. Separately, of course. Night two, I took a break. Night three, my lips got action again.
Too bad this lip slut is still single.
2.27.2009
2.16.2009
no time for punctuation.
Fuck the grammar. Fuck the punctuation...the subject/verb agreement. Who has time to put together proper sentences, when one cannot even make sense out of life. You capitalize a letter to indicate the beginning...you punctuate to end. But who chooses the punctuation? Who gets to decide if it is a period...an exclamation mark...a question mark?
2009 has been a shitty year. I will be the first to admit that I can be, at times, an extremely pessimistic person. But please know that something always ignites the pessimism. It does not grow without water. This past month and a half, the water has been treacherous. It seems everyone's health has been on the decline.
First my sister's incident. Then co-worker after co-worker. Trickling all the way down to acquaintances and strangers. Cancer. Depression. Death...after death. I cannot even grasp the frequency of these unfortunate situations. How can someone all of a sudden have a lump? How can one go into a physical examination healthy, and then come out with an aortic aneurysm? How does one wake up one morning with the idea of playing racquetball, not thinking it may be his last game...ever? How does a kind, talented person end up alongside a major highway...dead? How does someone get so lost and confused that the only answer that seems to remotely make sense is the answer furthest from the truth.
It is not about me. None of it is. But how do I help? There has to be something I can do. I refuse to think there is nothing. I refuse. I cannot give up hope. It is taking everything out of me to be hopeful. One that is not religious...has no religion...and I find myself at church. I close my eyes and accept that God, or any higher being for that matter, may not be the answer but that it is a direction I am willing to face...for anything that may remotely resemble answers. My soul cannot take any more. But again, it is not about me.
Please end my thoughts with positive and hopeful punctuation. Amen.
2009 has been a shitty year. I will be the first to admit that I can be, at times, an extremely pessimistic person. But please know that something always ignites the pessimism. It does not grow without water. This past month and a half, the water has been treacherous. It seems everyone's health has been on the decline.
First my sister's incident. Then co-worker after co-worker. Trickling all the way down to acquaintances and strangers. Cancer. Depression. Death...after death. I cannot even grasp the frequency of these unfortunate situations. How can someone all of a sudden have a lump? How can one go into a physical examination healthy, and then come out with an aortic aneurysm? How does one wake up one morning with the idea of playing racquetball, not thinking it may be his last game...ever? How does a kind, talented person end up alongside a major highway...dead? How does someone get so lost and confused that the only answer that seems to remotely make sense is the answer furthest from the truth.
It is not about me. None of it is. But how do I help? There has to be something I can do. I refuse to think there is nothing. I refuse. I cannot give up hope. It is taking everything out of me to be hopeful. One that is not religious...has no religion...and I find myself at church. I close my eyes and accept that God, or any higher being for that matter, may not be the answer but that it is a direction I am willing to face...for anything that may remotely resemble answers. My soul cannot take any more. But again, it is not about me.
Please end my thoughts with positive and hopeful punctuation. Amen.
2.15.2009
'closing up' a chapter.
This past Wednesday, I closed up a chapter in my life. Literally. My tongue ring had been closing up, due to the fact that I have been neglecting it by going days without wearing a tongue ring. Wednesday morning, I practically had to re-pierce the hole when I attempted to force the 12 gauge through. After hours of agitation while at work, I decided maybe it was time.
April 1, 2004. After several trips to True Blue, I was finally healthy enough to get my tongue pierced. (They refused my business previous times due to a compromised immune system...I really just had a bad cough, but whatever.) It was not nearly as bad as I imagined. In fact, I distinctly remember saying the cartilage piercing was more painful. I also remember seeing the small chunk of tongue-meat being removed prior to the bar being placed in the hole. Yum.
While a tongue piercing came with several innuendos, I truly just enjoyed it as an accessory. I know people passed judgment and came to certain conclusions based on a damn hole in my tongue. I, in a way, thrived on their ignorance. Maybe there were ties to sexual tendencies that made me play with the ring all the time. I had a horrible habit of biting on it and running it against my teeth. I went through several plastic spacers, swallowed many balls...I even had to get my teeth filed. But I loved my piercing. I loved it so much I even thought about getting a second one...but it was not possible, as my piercing was placed dead center between my frenulum and the tip of my tongue. No room.
My tongue ring reminded me of some of the best memories I have had. I associate a lot of those memories with my senior year, post-college, and the Zetas. I loved being able to casually show my tongue ring to random people, and taking note of how they reacted. I liked it because it was different. I liked it because it made me me. And now it is gone. Time for another piercing, perhaps?
April 1, 2004. After several trips to True Blue, I was finally healthy enough to get my tongue pierced. (They refused my business previous times due to a compromised immune system...I really just had a bad cough, but whatever.) It was not nearly as bad as I imagined. In fact, I distinctly remember saying the cartilage piercing was more painful. I also remember seeing the small chunk of tongue-meat being removed prior to the bar being placed in the hole. Yum.
While a tongue piercing came with several innuendos, I truly just enjoyed it as an accessory. I know people passed judgment and came to certain conclusions based on a damn hole in my tongue. I, in a way, thrived on their ignorance. Maybe there were ties to sexual tendencies that made me play with the ring all the time. I had a horrible habit of biting on it and running it against my teeth. I went through several plastic spacers, swallowed many balls...I even had to get my teeth filed. But I loved my piercing. I loved it so much I even thought about getting a second one...but it was not possible, as my piercing was placed dead center between my frenulum and the tip of my tongue. No room.
My tongue ring reminded me of some of the best memories I have had. I associate a lot of those memories with my senior year, post-college, and the Zetas. I loved being able to casually show my tongue ring to random people, and taking note of how they reacted. I liked it because it was different. I liked it because it made me me. And now it is gone. Time for another piercing, perhaps?
2.08.2009
technician > pharmacy manager.
If you are incompetent, at least have the balls to admit it.
If you are a supervisor, find a way to appreciate your subordinates.
If you are not good at your job, at least find something about your job to be good at.
Everyone makes mistakes. But do not be guilty of the biggest mistake of all...not admitting to your own.
I can type 10 prescriptions faster than you can fill ONE.
I type, pull drugs, and count. All you do is scribble three damn letters on the bottle.
I put up with the miserable, cranky customers; you hide behind the damn counters.
I spend hours on the phone with insurance companies, only to have you claim all the credit from the customers.
You get paid more than 10 times as much as I do...and for what?! Make your registered pharmacist-ass useful.
If you are a supervisor, find a way to appreciate your subordinates.
If you are not good at your job, at least find something about your job to be good at.
Everyone makes mistakes. But do not be guilty of the biggest mistake of all...not admitting to your own.
I can type 10 prescriptions faster than you can fill ONE.
I type, pull drugs, and count. All you do is scribble three damn letters on the bottle.
I put up with the miserable, cranky customers; you hide behind the damn counters.
I spend hours on the phone with insurance companies, only to have you claim all the credit from the customers.
You get paid more than 10 times as much as I do...and for what?! Make your registered pharmacist-ass useful.
2.04.2009
can't help but worry.
Ever since I can remember, I have been the epitome of a worry-wort. The littlest things to the most significant things...I worry. So, imagine when my sister called me one night and told me she had been throwing up continuously for 2 days. I worried.
I told her to go see a doctor. With limited means of transportation, she went to the school clinic. I am quickly reminded of the treatment I got at the Student Services Building at UT. Cough, sore throat, chest pain. No matter what the symptom, the diagnosis was always 'allergies.' Allergies my ass. So, of course, I have absolutely no faith in the so-called doctors at any campus clinic.
My distrust was confirmed when they sent my sister home with anti-nausea medication to treat the flu. She continued to throw up for 2 more days. She had lost 10 pounds. I then insisted she see a real doctor. She ended up at an emergency room, set up with IV treatment, and then released.
Once my parents were informed, they quickly made a trip to College Station. They then decided to pick her up and take her back home. While they thought all she needed was rest in a comfortable environment, I insisted she see another doctor - a real doctor. I practically had to beg my parents to take her to a doctor. The extent of the conversation made me furious. My parents made me so upset. For a moment, I had lost faith in doctors and my parents.
For all that it is worth, I am glad she is getting better.
I told her to go see a doctor. With limited means of transportation, she went to the school clinic. I am quickly reminded of the treatment I got at the Student Services Building at UT. Cough, sore throat, chest pain. No matter what the symptom, the diagnosis was always 'allergies.' Allergies my ass. So, of course, I have absolutely no faith in the so-called doctors at any campus clinic.
My distrust was confirmed when they sent my sister home with anti-nausea medication to treat the flu. She continued to throw up for 2 more days. She had lost 10 pounds. I then insisted she see a real doctor. She ended up at an emergency room, set up with IV treatment, and then released.
Once my parents were informed, they quickly made a trip to College Station. They then decided to pick her up and take her back home. While they thought all she needed was rest in a comfortable environment, I insisted she see another doctor - a real doctor. I practically had to beg my parents to take her to a doctor. The extent of the conversation made me furious. My parents made me so upset. For a moment, I had lost faith in doctors and my parents.
For all that it is worth, I am glad she is getting better.
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