OMGLOL!!1!2

Sam: ugh. Greta Van Strokeface is so ugly.
Andymatic: I wouldn’t fuck her with Nancy Grace’s dick.

I Will Destroy You!

The next person who iterates the non-word “tooken” within a dog’s earshot of my person will be sucking glucose through a feeding tube for the rest of his or her life, or at least until shiny objects stop making your left eyelid twitch.  This has been your first Sam-sponsored public service announcement.

Delish

When my doctor said “bland diet,” this is what she meant, right?

I’ll take my fortune cookie as an omen.

I don’t eat skrimps.

What Kind of View is That?

So I got rid of the bronchitis and immediately caught the flu Monday night, which gave me the opportunity to stay home from work yesterday (and today) and watch things on tv which I normally don’t see. Like post-Rosie The View. I only have three things to say, just three: Elizabeth Hasselbeck - still a raging cunt, Whoopi will be talking with a lisp soon from all of the biting of her tongue and I liked Sherri Shepherd until I witnessed the following. If ignorance is bliss, bitch must be on cloud 9.

But I’ll Never Be Cool

Let it be known that my new car officially has a name: Maximo! Exclamation point optional. It stands for maximus homosexualis. He’s currently having surgery to repair a squeak, but otherwise we’re getting along just swell.

In other news, last Saturday I felt the overwhelming urge to spend a lot of money in one fell swoop. Maximo drove me to Best Buy and I bought an 80 gig Classic iPod (in black) - incidentally the minute they hit shelves. I always have buyer’s remorse on any purchase over [roughly] $60, but despite that I am thoroughly enjoying its company.

For those interested, it doesn’t yet have a name. I name all my appliances. My computer is Apollo… the WiFi is Prometheus… the list goes on and on. Rest assured, when the iPod has a name, you will know.

Eighty gigabytes is a lot of storage space. The same as the hard drive on my computer, in fact. And this was a selling point because I know I’ll never fill either of them up. With my previous mp3 players I spent too much time deleting albums to make room for new ones. And the video function doesn’t hurt, either. Thru a series of programs, I’ve managed to rip a couple of dvds to it already. And at the time I kept thinking “when am I ever going to watch a movie on this thing?”

And then the next day, at work, due to inclement weather the power went out. And I kept thinking “damnshitfuck, I wish I had my iPod here.”

That is exactly why the iPod has to have a name: so I don’t have to constantly refer to it as “my iPod” as though it were some status symbol. My friend Justin says his friends from high school always used to talk about their Mustangs the same way. It’s not a car, it’s my Mustang. Yeah. So maybe I’ll call it Bob. Or maybe not.

Mars Attacks!

So nearly a month ago, I had another visit with my gastroenterologist. She doubled my medication and sent me somewhere to get a full abdominal ultrasound, mostly to check for gallstones but also as a precaution.

The ultrasound was weird.

That chick kept jabbing the tool down between my ribs and occasionally she’d hit a spot that would just tickle insanely and I would try so hard not to tense up or laugh but I couldn’t help it.

A week later, the results came back: my gallbladder is fine. But my spleen is enlarged, probably pregnant with vicious alien larva. Which compromises my immune system and leaves me at a much greater risk of infections and bleeding. Which explains why I’m sick a lot.

Currently, I am entering my fourth week of what I had presumed was bronchitis but I am now sure is pneumonia. Will be taking another trip to the doctor tomorrow.

Earlier this year, I was trying to build some kind of friendship (or something) with a guy known in my previous blog as Starbucks Boy. SB liked to spend a lot of time in the bars. I limit my activity in bars because drinking is very bad for me, but we did go there occasionally. It was really the only thing he ever wanted to do, so eventually I had to turn him down a lot due to my myriad of symptoms.

SB moved to the west coast only weeks ago.

Today we were chatting and I explained to him the new problem of me being pregnant with aliens in my spleen and told him how everything else made so much sense. Jokingly, I said, “all that time you thought I was lying!”

And his response?

“I did. I kinda still do.”

I told him not to get hit by a bus or anything because that would really “suck.”

Meanwhile, despite my pneumatic hack, I managed to nab a date with this guy who works at my bank. It seemed okay: The conversation wasn’t dull, and we shared some laughs. Whatever. After dinner I suggested we go to a bar and have some drinks, but he couldn’t because his driver’s license was confiscated the weekend prior when he received his DUI.

Fanfuckingtastic. So my gaydar works now but I still can’t pick up a normal guy.

We ended up heading over to the movie theater and seeing (his choice) Hairspray, because he “LOVE[s] John Travolta!”

Breathe. Hold it in. Don’t do it. Don’t barf.

He loved it. I hated it. Did I tell you he already asked me to meet his parents? Well, he did. As I dropped him off, I gave him a hug. I suppose it was a little too long and too tight because the next day he called me and told me I should’ve kissed him.

I could’ve, but I didn’t want to. Which I thought was made painfully obvious by the fact that I didn’t.

The next two weeknights, he proceeded to ask me to do things. I might’ve, but wasn’t feeling particularly great due to my illness.

By Thursday, he was giving me shit like “I’m never going to see you again, am I.”

Notice the period and not the question mark at the end of his comment. It wasn’t a question, it was an accusation.

“So we just go out one time and you dump me.”

Friday, I saw him in the bank and told him to call me. I don’t hate him, I think we could be friends. I’m atypically a nice guy, so I made an effort.

He invited me to fucking Oklahoma for the weekend.

Aside from the painful thought of a weekend in Oklahoma, um, I don’t go on out-of-state weekend trips with a guy I barely have lukewarm feelings for at best and have been on one date with.

And now he’s back and I’m getting the cold shoulder.

I bet he thinks I’m lying about the aliens in my spleen, too.