So, yes. I had the surgery. And the doctor says I have a really bad case of endometriosis -- everything in the internal-ladybits area is all stuck together with adhesions. One of my tubes is apparently stuck shut, or nearly shut. If I want to carry a baby, or if I start to have pain again, I need to get this procedure done again, with a reproduction specialist. My doctor was too nervous to start clearing out the adhesions herself. She did get rid of the cyst for me, at least. The worst part of the whole thing -- besides the fact that I may have to do this all over again -- was the two days of nausea. That, and the excruciating pain I had the first night when I tried to pee, which I needed to do every hour since they had pumped me full of fluids because I was so nauseated from the anesthesia ... That was pretty rough. I can't remember the last time I was so much pain I was trembling.

Regardless. It was about two days of hell, one day of not-great-ness, and then today was ok. Not great, but not horrible. I was on Vicodin for about 36 hours, and have been on ultra-ibuprofen since then. I can handle the pain of the incisions and the weird soreness in my shoulder. My belly is still weirdly swollen, but not as swollen as I thought it would be. Actually, during the operation, when they first inflated me my heart rate dropped due to the pressure on my nervous system. So they had to deflate me very quickly and then re-inflate me with about half the normal amount. Also, at one point they had to jolt me with atropene because again my heart was slowing down too much. Both of these things point to "not going to come out of anesthesia without problems."

[Here's the longer story of my after-surgery times, if you care or dare:]
The hospital has a just-out-of-surgery recovery area, where I had a breathing mask on and was much too awake for my preference, probably so I could tell them how much it hurt so they could drug me appropriately (I think I said 6 on a scale of 10). Then there's a secondary recovery area, where your boyfriend (for example) can come visit you. I was in that secondary area a long time. I was fine as long as my head was on the pillow. It was too noisy to really sleep. Every once in a while the nurse would try to get me up. First, sitting on the bed, and then with my legs over the side. After about 30 seconds I'd have to lie down (or else start puking, which I never did). And they'd let me lie down for a while longer. The whole time I had an IV in, with fluid dripping in. Eventually they moved me back to the just-out-of-surgery area (it was unclear why, though they said it was so I'd get more attention -- I figure the nurses in the other area wanted to go home). A very nice nurse there talked to me about getting a real room for me to sleep in -- maybe not overnight, but for a couple of hours, until I felt better. But she also gave me an anti-emetic in my IV, and after some more lying around, I sat up, stood up, and hobbled over to the bathroom (held up by the nurse), where I failed to pee much, due to my urethra being all stuck together from the catheter. And then I had to go back and sit down (the nurse wouldn't let me lie down). CJ ran to bring the car up and the nurse got me into a wheelchair, and I made it home and into my bed without actual heaving. It was close, though. Poor CJ was there through it all... I think I was in the after-surgery recovery place for about 6 hours.

Anyway. If I do this again, maybe they can give me the amount of anesthesia that someone my size needs, and not Average Woman.

So, that thing happened. I was indeed mightily nauseated. And in pain. And I still feel dizzy and weird and typing isn't helping. It wasn't a dermoid, it was the worse thing (endo). More later.

I had my pre-op meeting and blood-draw yesterday. My doctor sensed my interest in Thog, and said she would be able to show me photos afterwards. (Of what, she did not say.) I'm not sure I actually want to look, but maybe she can just describe it to me... Also, she and another doctor disagree about what this thing is, so there's still a chance it's endometriosis. Whatever. Also, I'm not allowed to eat or drink or even take a painkiller after midnight tonight, so I'll be in some pain by the time I show up at the hospital for surgery, which will provide some nice incentive for me.

I tried a Vicodin last night. It was ok. I felt super anxious when I woke up at 5 a.m.; I wasn't in pain, but I was freaked out, worried I was going to barf from the Vicodin. Have I mentioned before that I don't like drugs? I don't. Y'all can have your fun with the recreational drugs, I don't judge, and in fact I wish I had the capacity to enjoy them. But I know that I don't. Anyway, the Vicodin works in that I was able to fall asleep and I wasn't in pain, so I have that going for me. I am feeling really dopey and stupid today at work, however.

It's not the barfing that worries me -- a little vom never hurt anyone -- it's the nausea. My doctor said they'll give me something to eat and drink in recovery, and when I said "what about barfing?" she said that if I felt sick, then obviously they wouldn't give me stuff to eat -- plus, the IV will still be in, and they can give me some anti-nausea medication. Sweet. She also said there would be warmed blankets available -- I had forgotten the crazy chills I felt after my wisdom teeth extraction, and how good it felt when I finally got warm (like an hour later; I was at home by the time I got cold).

Anyway, blah blah blah. Tomorrow it's a fond goodbye to Thog. I'm ok with it. At least, this minute I'm ok.

p.s. One of the sheets in the packet of info they gave me at the hospital says, "Do not make any important decisions for at least 24 hours after your surgery." I'd better block eBay from my laptop, or I could end up owning a used car in Seattle or something...

I scheduled the surgery for Thursday -- this Thursday. I am terrified. From what I've been reading and hearing, as soon as I wake up from the surgery I will be nauseated, and I won't feel un-nauseated for three days. My throat will be plenty sore, since they'll have shoved a breathing tube down into it. I will have gas pains and cramps all over my body for several days. And then of course there's the incisions, for which I will be taking painkillers that make me dizzy and more nauseated. It sounds pretty fucking horrible to me. If anyone out there has had general anesthesia without puking or some other bad thing happening, please let me know.

Of course my cyst -- I've named it "Thog" -- has been making me feel terrible, so I do want it out of my body. I wish it would just go away, somehow become the dissolving type. But no, Thog Want To Live! and so he must be forcibly removed. Sorry, Thog.

Lady problems update: My doctor looked at the ultrasound film and spoke to one of the other doctors. They think it is definitely a dermoid (because it looks like there's stuff other than fluid in it - so fascinating and disgusting!) but they don't think it's related to endometriosis. So I might not have that at all, though they'll take a look once they're in there (if I don't chicken out and decide not to do the surgery, which has not yet been scheduled, still). I asked her why my belly felt bloated and she had to reason; there's no fluid in there. Am I just fatter, suddenly? Too much Easter candy? I never get like this, though, and I haven't changed my diet at all, really. (The cyst itself is only 3 inches across, so that can't be it.) She did say that exercising would not have brought on the pain, so I can at least stay active without too much fear.

Anyway, she told me that she has a patient that has had ten surgeries to remove ten dermoids, but that's super rare, plus that person has four children. And that's one patient in 25 years of practice, so.

Luckily, tonight it's on to New Jersey, where there will be egg-hiding and more candy (oh well) and lots of niece-and-nephew (and pre-teen cousins!) time. A nice distraction.

This one's for all the ladies. Seriously, it's more crap about my lady business, so feel free to skip it.

My little cystic friends have been still hurting me, off and on, and they hurt so badly a couple of days ago that I pondered another visit to the emergency room. Instead I waited, and went to the doctor today to check it all out with the ultrasound machine. Turns out I have a dermoid cyst, which is the kind that sometimes has teeth and hair inside of it (I find this secretly thrilling), and I have endometriosis of the ovaries, which is a major bummer. You know that stuff that forms the uterine lining? Of course, who doesn't. Well, some of that stuff is outside of my uterus. And like a zombie hand that still twitches and moves after it has been sliced from its zombie body, the endometrium that's stuck to my ovaries actually produces period blood every month. Ew, and ouch. Between this and the cyst, it's like my body really wants to make a baby, and I'm not cooperating, so it's just going ahead and making do with whatever scraps it can find. My body would apparently be o.k. with a shambling, crudely-formed golem of a child.

The long story short is, my doctor is recommending laparoscopic surgery. That's the kind with the tiny incisions and the little camera, and you get to go home after it. They also inflate your abdomen with gas, which is alarming, and apparently results in having gas pains in strange locations for a few days after surgery. She says that recovery will take a week. People I know who have had their gall bladders removed with a similar technique say it doesn't take as long. But whatever. The extra exciting part is, once they get inside there, they may decide to remove the entire ovary, so I shall become half a woman. Or, the problem may be bigger and more complicated than they thought, and they'll end up slicing me open like a melon, and I'll end up in the hospital for a couple of nights, and recovering at home for weeks. I am really hoping that neither of those things happen. I have not yet scheduled the surgery, I still have some questions for my doctor, who will call me tomorrow after she studies the film. (By "film" I am assuming she means the ultrasound photos, and not "College Road Trip.")

All of this means that if I want to ever have a baby, it will be very difficult for me to do so. Not so difficult that I can stop using birth control, however. Thanks, universe!

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

I had a really bad dream last night. It wasn't even funny-bad. I was at H&L's old apartment, at a party, when suddenly an airplane screamed by the window, way too close to the ground. Its engines were wailing and the whine of them kept ascending and descending, like the pilots were trying to keep the plane up but were failing. We all ran out to the porch but it was soon out of view. Then we heard a huge boom. We knew it had crashed, but we were too scared to turn on the TV for a while. Somehow the rumor got around that someone had sabotaged the plane from the inside while someone else on the ground had shot at it with a surface-to-air missile. We were all sickened and terrified and feeling deeply sad. Then I was back on the porch, sitting there with H and a couple of other people. The view from the porch was an Iraq checkpoint. As we watched, a desperate man climbed one of the guard towers, and as he almost reached the top, the guard shot him in the head and the man fell to the pavement below. I started talking about how horrible it was that things like this happen in front of us every day, and what is the world coming to? How can we continue our normal lives amidst this constant violence and death? And H cut me off and said, "Can we not talk politics, please?" Like I was being a total downer.

(OK, that bit is kind of funny.)

There was more that was gross and scary (and not involving any of my friends) but people don't really like hearing other peoples' dreams so I won't share. Plus, it disturbs me to even remember it. So I've been kind of weird all day. I blame the dream, and Daylight Savings Time, which I don't like having while it's nowhere near spring. (How can we "spring forward"? We should be "wintering over" or "frost biting" or "snowplowing through.") I have no idea where the dream came from, or why my brain cast H in the role of asshole. (So random. You could be next, reader!) My stomach must have been a little upset, so my mind blamed it on terrorism.

This whole freelance-after-work thing is no joke. The problem lies in that I spend 8 hours in front of a computer, go home, and then attempt to spend another couple of hours in front of a computer. I worked out with Maya on Monday and I think it might have re-flared my carpal issues, so the extra computer work isn't helping.

Did you all know that we Spring Forward this weekend? Madness!

Anyway. I want to leave the computer now. And have a little cereal (at first I spelled that "serial;" I am losing it) and go to bed.

If you know me in real life (so I can vouch for you) and aren't related to me (sorry, sis) AND you're crafty, I have an opportunity for you to sell kid-friendly craft ideas. Shoot me an email and I'll give you the details. There's nothing better than making something for fun and then getting paid for it.

So, how's work? It's great, so far. It's kind of embarrassing how much I am enjoying it. Even being bored there (because I haven't had much to do) feels better than being bored at home. I guess I'm one of those introverts who actually needs to have people around, at least in the background, so I can talk to them when I feel like it. My new cubicle is by a window that faces the parking lot and a brick wall, so I'm considering making it a little nicer somehow. A paper silhouette of a tree? There is nothing alive in sight, and it's a big-ass window. (I do have an easy view of my ex-boyfriend's apartment window, so that's ... special. It was a short relationship and I have no sadness about him, but it's funny that he's Right. There. And will be, 40 hours a week.)

At the same time I'm feeling satisfied, I also feel the occasional twinge of, "Huh... I'm back here again." Like maybe I let myself down by not completely changing careers, or staying freelance. But I don't need to stay here forever, and in the meantime, it's nice to be getting paid, with paid time off (only three weeks, but still).

I will miss the free, poor-person's, state-provided health insurance, though. Man, that was sweet.

P.S. Still missing Maui, though the two inches of show and then the pouring rain I walked through after work today made those sunny memories fade a little.

P.P.S. I now have FOUR cysts, two on each thingy, but the new doctor says there's nothing to do except wait until they go away, or wait until they hurt so much I decide to get them removed laparoscopically. And I think I am now going to stop discussing my lady bits on here. At least for the near future. So just relax, champ.

I finally put up some photos of my Hawaii trip on Flickr. I think there are 44 of them -- believe me, I have lots more. Anyway, here's the set. You can get a pretty good idea of my trip from them (and the descriptions). I'm currently watching the Oscars at H&L's so I'll hit post now.

P.S. First day of work tomorrow -- it feels like the first day of school. Also, a check-up ultrasound at 1:30, to see how well my cystbaby is growing.

Today we drove all the way around West Maui (counter-clockwise). It looks like this:



(That's a terraced patch of taro in one of the villages around the northern part of west Maui. Bigger image is here.)

But also like this:



(Lava rock and very high surf. This is at the "olivine pools" site, made famous by the Maui Revealed guidebook. Bigger image here.)

Besides being splashed accidentally and walking in the water a little, we haven't gone swimming. We are both still sick. Tomorrow we're hoping to do more. That's my little update for right now.

I've been in San Diego for three days, and tomorrow morning we (me and CJ) fly to Maui. I think we're on Oceanic flight 815 or something? It is warm and sunny here -- sunny in that aggressive southern California way. We wore shorts and sandals to the zoo today, in fact. I am sick with a nasty cold, and I've been trying to take it easy; it would be tragic if I was too sick to go into the ocean in Hawaii. My pessimism is foreseeing tonsilitis and sinus infections and bronchitis. My lady problem feels better, though I've been on ibuprofren non-stop so it's hard to say what the hell's going on in there. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

Some small things:

CJ called a stranger "bro" the other day. After a pedestrian waved us through an intersection (we've been driving his dad's enormous SUV), he said, "Thanks, bro" out of the open window. He's returning to his native ways.

His parents really, really want grandchildren and are quite open about it (in a joking way). CJ is the youngest of three and it looks like it's all going to come down to him. They may have to settle for a cyst.

We have eaten great sushi and real Mexican food and a couple of smoothies (one a Jamba Juice, one a Jamba competitor) and have paid for very little of it. This will change once we're on the island.

During my naps, CJ has been catching up on Lost. He's still in the second season, and he just saw the episode where Shannon dies. I was like, "Shannon?" I had forgotten about her. It's hard to not say anything like "Have they met the Tailies yet?" and ruin it all. But I am good with spoilers.

P.S. I got the job I wanted. Hooray for me!

WHO just spent 8 and a half hours in the ER?

I did! I did!

I drove myself there because I have been having some crampy lower GI pain, and when I called my gastroenterologist and described my symptoms, she suggested I go get it checked out. When I arrived at 11:24 a.m. (I had to write down the time on a form) there weren't that many people in the waiting room, so I thought I might be out in a couple of hours. After about 20 minutes my name was called, the nurse took my vital signs, and I returned to the waiting area. A few minutes after that, the insurance-taking person called me in, and we did that part. Then I went back to the waiting area. After a while longer, I was lead to an actual examination room... But it was dirty. So the nurse told another person to clean it out, and I waited in the hallway with other waiting people. After the cleaning person headed out, I just kind of wandered into the room alone, since the nurse was long gone.

A nurse came in (these are all different nurses, by the way, but somewhat interchangeable) and took my vitals (again), drew some blood, and asked me to change into a hospital gown. And then she left, and my real wait began. I had brought my GameBoy, thank god, so I played my game for about 3 hours, slowly getting more bored and hungry. A nurse checked on me and I asked desperately if I could slip on my pants and quickly scamper back to the reception area and vend a snickers or something. She said no, because if I was admitted for surgery, my stomach needed to me empty, and besides, I was third in the doctor's line-up and shouldn't be long now. Then two more hours passed. I had given up on the video game and was just falling asleep when the doctor arrived. She was very young, but she put me at ease and I liked her attitude. She and her assistant were doing a lot of sassing, which I enjoy. She took my history again, and did exam stuff, and ruled out my G.I. theory. Instead, she decided to investigate my lady business. They did a crazy origami/swiss-army-knife thing with the cot, and gave me a pelvic exam (ladies, you know what I'm talking about. Can I get a what-what?). The doctor ordered me up a sonogram and left. Her nurse helper stayed behind to re-create the cot, and I asked her if I would have to cut a bitch in order to get something to eat. But nicer than that. She offered me a chicken or tuna salad sandwich, saltines, graham crackers, and jello. Hard to resist those choices! I picked chicken salad, with a side of apple juice. I ate it like a starving animal and it was totally delicious.

Then I waited a while longer (maybe an hour?) for someone to come and push my cot over to the sonogram place. I told the pusher, "I've never been wheeled around in a hospital before!" Warily, she said, "Well, there's a first time for everything." She totally rained on my parade. The route to the sonogram office was twisty but deserted, seeing as it was now after 6 p.m. The sonogram tech started on me right away. It took like half an hour, and she did the kind with the thing on your stomach, and then the kind with the condom-covered wand stuck up your hoo-hah (ladies? Anyone?). This was my second ultrasound experience, and I secretly love seeing all of my squishy insides in black and white. The tech was very friendly and answered all of my questions. I knew from my previous time that I have a uterus shaped like an old-fashioned Mickey Mouse balloon, and she showed me that more clearly. And she measured my ovaries, and made sure there was no torsion or loss of blood flow. Turns out, both ovaries had big ol' cysts in them. And the one on the right, where I was feeling the crampy pain, had actually hemorrhaged a little. Aha! Success!

Then she wheeled me out to the hallway, where I waited half an hour for someone to come push me back to my ER room. After that, I had a short wait for the doctor to come in and tell me her findings. She told me to come back if the pain got much worse, and gave me a script for Percocet, so I've got that going for me, which is nice. And then I was "discharged."

I know that I only waited so long because the hospital was unusually busy. I could hear the nurses talking about it, wondering if there was a full moon. The hallway area right outside my door was even being used as an exam "room." The first person to come in was a loud drunk, and the first thing he said was, "Hey brother! I just got laid!" so I knew I was about to get some nice in-room entertainment. I think he had a security guard assigned to him, because after drunky (actually, his name was Christopher) would say something especially loud, stern-voiced guy would tell him to knock it off. He was swearing like crazy. "I've fuckin' raped girls, I've fuckin' killed people..." "I'm in the hospital, and I'm fucking hungry, why can't I get a fucking sandwich!" Then, "I swear on my mother's grave, my father's grave, and my brother's grave that I'll stop." "You're my man, you know? You did right by me, so I'll do right by you." The doctor showed up and said, "Tell me what happened today. I heard you passed out at CVS?" Ha. It seemed like he was going to let drunky sleep it off in the hallway, but drunky kept on yelling and carrying on, and the nurses and the guard kept shushing him and saying, "There are elderly people and children here, have some respect." And then, suddenly, a cop showed up -- I'm just going on what I heard here -- and said "Chris, dammit, you can't stay here!" and Chris responded meekly, was handcuffed, and led away.

The second person in the hallway position was a high school guy who had been throwing up but also had headaches and shortness of breath. He seemed fine by the time I was listening to him, and he had two buddies with him, a boy and a girl. They were super talkative and raunchy. One of the boys and the girl were a couple, and the three of them talked about having anal sex ("you just gotta relax!"), going to Taco Bell, and what their perfect girl would be like ("34 D's -- no, double D's; Russian or Brazilian; brown or black hair"). The doctor gave him some meds, told him that because he has asthma as a child he really shouldn't be smoking (idiot!), and sent him away.

The third person was the worst. I came back from the sonogram to hear a new arrival moaning and crying. Someone said, "They didn't give her anything in the ambulance?" so I knew this was bad news and a true emergency. Apparently she was only 20 (and with her mom), had had surgery a few days ago, she'd been throwing up non-stop since one p.m., she felt feverish, and her incisions were hurting a LOT. Ugh. She sounded so horrible. Constant moaning and crying. I was very, very happy to get discharged out of there.

Long story short: My ovaries like to make big cysts for some reason, but I'm fine. That's all.

I have owned my house for a year now. My houseiversary was a week ago. I am still very happy with my purchase, even though paying for it is an increasing source of stress. I just want a job, man. With a salary that can pay for my mortgage. And maybe some heat too.

Speaking of heat, my propane company called me at 7:55 this morning. I don't answer the phone before 8 a.m. as a rule, unless it's a family member (who had better be calling because something bad is happening, otherwise heads will roll) so I didn't listen to the message until 9:30 or so. Apparently, the propane delivery guy finds it difficult to fill my tanks, which are behind a wooden fence slightly taller than the tanks themselves. The tanks have lived behind this fence for many years without incident. But now that happy time is over. "You need to lower your fence," he says.

I called back, and the secretary tried to relay his anti-fence reasoning to me, which just made me get defensive. Seriously, the fence is not coming down. First of all, it's the middle of frickin' winter, you really expect me to be out there all day with a table saw? Second of all, the fence is tall in order to hide the propane tanks. If the fence is shorter, well, it kind of ruins the whole point of the fence, doesn't it. Third of all, why has this not been a problem before? Judging by the age of the fence and the matching paint job on the house, the fence has been up for at least 5 years. Why now? He also complained about nails that point through the fence, and I agree, they're ridiculous. Whoever built the thing used nails that were an inch and a half longer than they needed, and then didn't bother cutting off the extra or even bending them down. Those, I am happy to deal with.

So now I am waiting for mister cranky propane pants to call me back, and we're going to "talk about it." Things I should not say:

Were all of the previous propane filling guys taller than you?

I would get a carpenter in here to tear down and completely rebuild the fence, but all of my "spare" money is currently going towards my propane bill. Sorry.

Thing I am considering saying, but will try not to:

Most of my neighbors use a competing propane company. Perhaps it's time we said our goodbyes. If I'm going to destroy the fence anyway, I might as well take your tanks out of there and get new ones put in while I'm at it.

Thing I will say:

I can make the stone "step" higher so it's easier to get over the fence. I can also be better about keeping it clear from snow and other obstacles. I will also take care of the nail points.

I hope that'll be enough. I am trying to get into a cooperative mood.

Update: I talked to the guy who called originally -- he's the boss of the actual filling guys, it turns out. He seemed reasonable, but who knows. He explained the problem to me, and I get it -- the hose doesn't bend very easily, or whatever -- but I am hoping we can come up with a solution that doesn't entail me cutting the fence. I said as much to him. He's going to stop by later to take a look at it. Gulp.

Update to the update: The guy just left, he was fine. We came to a compromise: they are going to take about four or five inches off of the top of the fence, and THEY will do the work, for free. It will make my tanks more visible, but I will still be able to hide them in the summer with flowerboxes and such. So I feel ok about it. Whew.

I went to the bird blind today. I fed the chickadees, and during the feeding frenzy one of them landed on my head. Cute. Also, for the first time ever I saw a mammal -- a mink! I thought at first it was an otter, but now I think it was a mink, just because its fur looked, well, minky, plus it had a tiny white patch on its chin. And through the magic of the internet, I now know that minks often have little white patches on their chins. It casually galumphed right past the blind, from right to left, just on its way somewhere.

In other news, I woke up at 4 a.m. last night with a splitting headache. I got up and took a couple of ibuprofren and eventually I fell back asleep. I've been having some weird ear congestion for the past few days, so naturally I now think I have a tumor (my headache couldn't have anything to do with the Jack & ginger ale I had with dinner last night, no).

Hey! Hello. Can we just pretend I didn't go almost two weeks without a post? Because the pressure has become too much. I have thought of things to blog over the past few days, but none of them are worth a long post, so instead I posted nothing.

The situation isn't helped by the fact that nothing terribly interesting has happened -- no interesting anecdotes or funny overheard conversations. I went to an excellent party, saw a couple of great movies (Juno and There Will Be Blood)... I did drive down to Brooklyn at the drop of a hat to help out my sister and brother-in-law, who had a sick baby in the hospital. All I really did was pick up the other kid from school, and entertained said kid while the two adults and baby, freshly back from an overnight stay in the hospital, took a nice nap. Baby is now totally fine.

As for the job thing, I handed in my edit test on Weds. Now I wait for the word. In the meantime, I'm now eligible for unemployment, so I need to take concrete steps towards finding a job -- 3 steps every week, to be exact, or I don't get my pittance from the government. Three is easy. Threasy, I call it. So I am not worried.

So, how did it go?

It went OK.


It's very hard to say. Though I now have more interviewing practice, I still get deer-in-the-headlights brain when I'm actually in one. I ramble, I tend to end every answer by restating the question ("... and that's why I like working with magazines."), I just keep talking if I don't have a good answer... It's terrible to look back on.

I got some good things in there too, though. I described myself, and later when I asked them what they were looking for, one of them used the same words I used to describe myself. And I think I did just OK, not spectacularly, on the edit test (which took 1.5 hours, and was hampered by my hurting stomach). Luckily, there's also an extensive, four-part, take-home edit test that I can hopefully wow them with.

I'm feeling a little desperate about the whole thing, to tell the truth. Why can't they see I'm the perfect person for them? I know I can rock their worlds. "Come on baby, please!" I beg. "You don't have to love me, just let me love you! Why are you looking at those other people?? Only look at me! AT ME!!"


Meanwhile, I managed to drive through the FastPass lane by accident (I was stuck behind a semi) for the first time in my life. I called them, which is what the little yellow light at the toll booth says to do, and they were all, "Um... This JUST happened? Wait until you get a warning in the mail!" Apparently I get one free fuck-up, and the second time, I'd get a $50 fine. Now, this toll booth was for exiting the Pike, and my toll was for zero cents (Western Mass gets to use their section of the Pike for free because we were so thoroughly financially raped with the Big Dig. That's been my understanding, at any rate). So I gotta hang on to the ticket and mail it in so I don't get charged the max amount on it (something like $4). It's too bad I didn't use my "freebie" for a toll which would've actually cost me money.

This is terribly exciting reading, I know.

There's a cool sounding show tonight, but I am feeling too lazy and unwashed to go. I am going to veg out for one more night, I think. Good evening to you all.