Archive for October, 2011

This new med, which works in a stellar manner as far as depression goes, has me breaking out like a pizza-faced teenager.

To say that I am pissed off about this would be a vast understatement. I am seriously ready to peel off my entire face and start over. Even worse, I am one of those ignorant people who picks, making the entire situation worse, and causing a face full of ugly red marks that Will Not Go Away.

One thing, probably the only thing ever, that I prided myself on was that I had really nice skin, and now it’s pretty much shot to shit. Every time I look in the bathroom mirror I am overcome with RAGE.

Yeah, yeah, first world problems.

In other news, if you want to instantly get into a jamming sort of mood, listen to Master P’s “Make Em Say Ugh”. Your mileage may vary, but damn, does this song do it for me.

I could be a little ghetto, though.

One thing that solidifies my status as a Disabled Person is the fact that I have developed a daily outfit of slobbiness. I almost never get dressed or put on makeup unless I’m going somewhere or unless someone is coming over because well, why the hell should I?

Still, I should probably make some sort of effort to not look homeless, because that’s pretty much how I roll these days: raunchy yoga pants that have certainly seen better days, raunchy Tegan and Sara t-shirt that is hanging by threads, and seriously old-lady-like, holey, shaker-knit, red sweater that looks as if it came directly from someone’s trash can. Add to that my Adidas flip flops, and I am totally ready to peruse the clearance aisle at Wal-Mart.

Am I a hot, sexy bitch? You bet.

I went out with B. this weekend, and once again it was awesome, and I pretty much feel really good about this.

I have my reservations, of course, as I have thankfully learned to have, but there’s definitely a trust level there that’s been nurtured over many years, so that’s a good thing.

We shall see.

We watched American History X back at Casa Trance, and Jesus God, does that movie freak me out. When Ed Norton curbs that kid, it makes me want to rip out my good remaining eyeball as well as both of my ears.

It’s a hell of a good flick, though, as deeply disturbing as it is.

In still other news, this weekend we took my sister and her brood to a local apple orchard and picked apples and pumpkins. It was good times indeed, and there was a small farm with lots of different animals for the kids to ooh and aah over and pet and catch various nefarious diseases from.

I also bought some cherry preserves and some sweet potato pecan butter, which I have decided I would like to purchase six gallons of in the very near future. The shit is divine.

I was quite frustrated, because when the tractor/wagon-dealie dropped us off at a certain section of the orchard, I couldn’t find any Gala apples to pick. They were all either on the ground or up way too high. The kids were picking Red Delicious, which are not really my bag, so I wandered the rows of Galas, vainly searching for at least one delicious apple.

It wasn’t going to happen, and after about twenty minutes I gave up and headed toward the rows of Jonathans.

Nada.

This is when I started to get irritated. All I wanted were a few apples for a pie, for the love of God.

No Gala. No Jonathan. No Honeycrisp.

Both the J-Man and my stepdad, sensing that I was about to risk my life climbing a tree or actually picking the possibly wormy apples off of the ground, offered to get me apples.

“It isn’t going to happen. There are no damned apples.”

After about ten minutes, both of them plied me with apples.

I gritted my teeth, and I am not proud to say that I ate one right then and there without paying for it.

That’ll learn those sparse apple-growers.

That’ll learn me, whose insides are now rife with pesticides.

There were also a plethora of decorative gourds at the orchard, which brings me to this link, which I hope you enjoy as much as I did:

It’s Decorative Gourd Season, Motherfuckers.

Hee.

Happy Monday.