Thursday, December 17, 2009

home improvement.

okay, loves. i've been doing some remodeling around ye olde irby manor, and here are the renovations i have made thus far:
1 i reshingled my roof.
i cut all my goddamned hair off. and i'm sorry, but i am just so fucking lazy. and inept at hair care. and i can't have a palmful of gel in my hair and stand around waiting for trains and buses and shit with no hat on to avoid fucking my curls up. it grows quickly and i look jamming with a shorn head, but even if i didn't i wouldn't give too much of a shit. fuck it.

2 i downsized the extra space.
i'm back in my small jeans. (and yes, it's a relative "small" you assholes.) and you can thank the crohn's for that. a bitch has been stressed out and sick as hell. i don't eat a goddamned thing most of the time these days. i mean, actual meals. i take a lot of drugs and eat a lot of tums, and occasionally i'll have a sandwich. lame. the silver lining? hot jeans again.
nothing is better than a fresh pair of jeans for my thigh teeth to start ripping into, and i have two pairs of dark denim primed to catch fire in the crotch if i'm ever forced to run a distance over ten feet.

3 i gutted the bathroom.
i saw doctor gorgeous yesterday, and he really is just so handsome. i swooned when he walked in the room, and then he took my hand in his and purred, "how's my favorite patient?" oh dear lord. i almost fainted right there. anyway, my poor bum! it's been more than four years since my last colonoscopy (my, how time flies) and we scheduled one for a couple weeks from now. i don't mind the procedure so much, you get the most killer drugs and they grease up your asshole and you can look at the inside of your butt on the monitor next to the bed. that is, if you can keep your eyes open. those drugs are the greatest! they call it "twilight anesthesia," where you are sedated and relaxed enough to be probed anally without much resistance, and it's a super sweet high. i just sort of snore and murmur when he points out all of the gross inflamed red patches and all the other bullshit, totally zoinked out in la la land.

the worst part of a colonoscopy is the prep. you dudes don't even know. you have to make dietary changes the entire week prior, the day before you're limited to clear liquids only, then the night before you can't eat a damn thing, you have to take two super laxatives, pills to keep you from throwing up (more on that in a second), and drink a gallon of this vile liquid that has the consistency of saliva and tastes like someone else's bile. for cereal. for my last one i didn't set up the trilightly early enough in the day, stupid bitch, and it was lukewarm and spittier than usual by the time i started drinking. i gag with every sip, NO MATTER WHAT. i have to sit on the toilet and hold my nose and gulp down as much as i can at a time. it tastes sort of like salty gatorade, and it really is just like someone cleared his throat and spit it into your mouth. repugnant. remember that this is a GALLON. i mean, who could drink a gallon of anything? even something delicious?! this shit is like chinese water torture. so last time i was halfway through the gallon, sitting on the toilet just shitting out clear yellow liquid, when i started to vomit. i called the "help line" and asked the on-call doctor what to do, and he was like, "well, you have to make sure your colon is 100% clean, otherwise they won't do the procedure. they will cancel. and you will have to do this ALL OVER AGAIN."

i started crying as soon as he said it, and the crying made me barf again. he said, "i'm sorry to tell you this, samantha, but you know what you should do? since you haven't eaten in a couple days, why don't you vomit into a clean receptacle and DRINK THAT? that way you won't waste any of the trilightly!" and he sounded so pleased with himself, so happy that he had solved my problem for me. so i got a big pyrex measuring cup and sat back on the toilet, and i resumed squirting out that clearrhea. i took a couple more gulps and, as i'd expected, immediately threw it up. into the measuring cup. and then i drank my vomit. i imagine there are worse things, like genital mutilation or starving on the side of a mountain after a plane crash, but since those things have not happened to me THIS IS THE WORST FUCKING THING IN THE WORLD. crying and puking and drinking that teary puke, all in the hopes that your colon gets clean enough for the most smokin' ass doctor on the planet to stick a tube up your butt while you are asleep yet awake enough to hear yourself snoring. usually i let him ply around the old anus with no problemo, even when i'm fully awake, but during my last scope beautiful mcgorgeous had to tell me three times to loosen my ass grip on the scope so he could maneuver it around. and i was anesthetized! and even half in the bag i'm a fucking pig, because my response was, "i though you dudes liked it tight?" ha ha. total shitbag. the worst.

i'm having the worst peripheral arthritis in the universe, though, and because of that i have to start some new drugs. and some new wave-sounding "infusion therapy." and stop taking steroids. most of you know that i lurves me some steroids, but dr. hot scared the shit out of me listing all of the scary side effects. terrifying. but they make me feel so good! i went through a bottle of 100 pred in less than a year, and when i asked for a new rx he was like, "bitch, please." i got cut off! like a fucking crackhead!!! a predhead, maybe?

peripheral arthritis is total fucking balls. essentially, for some inexplicable reason, bitches with stomach issues get achy, painful joints as a consolation prize. and you don't get to pick and choose the joints, either. for instance, the place where i have it the worst is in my left shoulder, elbow, and hand. like, pain so bad that i can't pick shit up with my left hand. or if i bend my arm sometimes it won't straighten out. and my fingers fall asleep. the plus sides are these: unlike regular arthritis, it doesn't make the joints all swollen and weird. and thank jehovah for THAT. i'm too fucking young to be walking around with crab apples instead of knuckles. you've seen those old, knobbly-fingered ladies. not me. so no permanent damage. ALSO, if i can get my stomach in line (come on, remission!) the arthritis goes the fuck away.

so to make that remission a reality, january 3rd i'm going to cry salty tears and drink salty vomitspit (doom!) and clean my raggedy guts out, then january 4th i'm going to lay on my side in a hospital bed, drugged and delirious with tubes coming out of my arms and face, while a tall drink of water inserts a cold tube into my poopshoot, then i'm going to start these scary drugs and infusions and suppress my immune system and get bloodworked every two weeks to make sure my liver doesn't fail from this potent shit. so cross your damn fingers or something.

4 i swapped the carpet for hardwood floors in my basement.
that's right, bitches. my vagina is c-c-c-cold!
so i have a bone to pick with you ladies. a sexy bone, but a bone nonetheless: how come you bitches never told me that i need to clean up my, um, foliage? i only ask because every single woman i have talked to about the decision to chop down the ladytrees cluttering my forest is always like, "what? you don't do ANYTHING?!" well what the fuck made you hoes so smart? my mother never sat me down and had the shave vs. wax discussion. and all the dirty, grimy dudes i'm used to banging never seemed to have a problem, so i never gave it a thought. i mean, maybe i did, but only at the doctor and shit. like, i was always acutely aware of how much hair surrounded my butthole every time his handsomeness was digging around back there, but i never really cared enough to do anything about it.

okay, so you hoes are obviously smarter than i am, or have more caring parents than i did. OR, as i really suspect, some goddamned dude embarrassed the shit out of you by asking you to once a long time ago and you've been doing it ever since and now you want to pretend like you're enlightened or some bullshit. mm hmm. everybody and her fucking grandma got on their clean snatch high horses when i asked them about it, acting like god bent down and whispered "you know, my child, you really should whack those crotch weeds" to them in a dream or something, and my dumb ass was the only one who didn't get the message.

and a few of you girls peered down your judgmental noses at me when i said i was doing it for a fella, and to you i say a hearty "fuck you, bitch." it wasn't gross or weird or humiliating. in fact, it was quite hilarious. i believe the exact phrase used was, "i don't like to cut my way through the jungle." hysterical. and i can live with that. what's all this fuss about doing something to yourself to make a hot dude happy? and, before i am on the receiving end of any feminist tirades, i should specify that 1 i am a staunch feminist and 2 i'm talking about things within reason. let's be serious. "please shave your vagina" is way less of an imposition than "can i move in and sleep on your couch for a couple weeks?" plus, i expect hm to be flat on his belly for hours at a time with his penis knife and finger forks, singing for his supper, if you're picking up what i'm putting down. wink. and i don't want any excuses. you know, like "i can't see what i'm doing." dorito kept his glasses on when he went down there to work but i, in my daft arrogance, attributed it more to his crippling blindness than my pubic overgrowth. but really, if that is the most this dude asks of me he will continue to be absolutely perfect. PLUS i now have a leverage tool! i'm going to get "but i waxed my vagina for you" printed on a tshirt, and every time he chaps my ass that's exactly what i'm going to say.

oh look, i found some crazy: the minute that eastern european broad finished tearing searing hot wax affixed to huge strips of fabric from my delicate girl meat and i laid there panting and counting the tiles on the ceiling whilst my skin popped and sizzled like hot bacon grease all i could think was, "he better tell me he fucking loves me. like, 100 times a day. more than that. every minute of every hour of every day. even if he doesn't mean it. he better act like it, and he better say it. convincingly. even if it kills him. as a matter of fact, you know what he really should do? fucking marry me. right this minute. as i lay here naked from the waist down feeling like someone held a flaming torch to my ass. he should be on one knee asking for my hand the minute he lays eyes on this. yes, that would make this better."

you hoes know i'm not shy. especially about butts and bajingos. so i had no problem stripping my nether regions down to the wood and lying on the table in front of a stranger with bottle blonde hair and those tiny russian teeth. you know what kind of teeth i mean. what i hadn't bargained on is having to help (have you ever spread yourself open for someone to rip your hair out?! goodness!) or the amount of pain involved. she kept telling me that it hurt less than childbirth (sorry, bitch, but i wouldn't know) like that would make me feel better. pshaw. and the closer she got to all of those nerves that make whoring around feel so good, the more i prayed for sudden death. trust me. the worstest.
"ohhhhh, kelly clarkson!"

so i survived. and my new kitten is so weird! it feels like gelatin or silicone or something, all soft and buttery and smooth. it's like a little baby bird! i just went to the potty and when i was in there i couldn't help but cup it tenderly and sing it a lullaby and stuff. she's naked. like, naked naked. like my whole butt and lips and inner thighs naked. insanity. i mean, what i had before was twenty years (give or take a couple) of copious chia crotch, and i'd never ever even seen the skin beneath! it looks totally strange, like something foreign that someone attached to me while i was sleeping or something. but it's awesome. like having a new toy to play with. and speaking of, those cosmo bitches were 150% right. take your tiger to brazil and then use your vibrator on her. what?! bitches, please! it took approximately 13 seconds to finish, and i'm pretty sure my eyes crossed and i spoke in tongues for a few minutes afterward. i almost quit my job so i could stay home and burn all my batteries out! hot damn! hair requested that i insert that little nugget of information, lest he look like a self-serving asshole. (which he is not.) see? he really suggested it for ME, so I could better enjoy MY sexual experience. what benevolence. waxing is a treat the whole family can enjoy! thanks, hair model!

bonus mini post:
i should have a baby!

from a very young age i have had an incredibly realistic view of male-female interpersonal relationships. i mean, barbie would often put ken out of the house and make him sleep on the couch and shit, usually because he fucked skipper or looked the wrong way at that redheaded whore midge. grounded in reality. from my inception.

when i got to an age where thinking about having children became plausible (so, twelve) i knew immediately that i would want a boy. or two. or several. and really, for no other reason than that on the inevitable day their father flexed his y-chromosome and turned into a raging asshole, i would have a motherfucker on my side to whip his ass. plus, i wouldn't have to fight with some dumb little slut about her skirts being too short or teach her how to deal with her period.

mother nature zapped my name off the prospective parent list ages ago, and that's just fine by me. i'm such a piece of regular shit that being a piece of pregnant shit might tilt the earth off its axis. can you even imagine? i would need nine months of bedrest, plus a driver, a butler, and a personal slave. and a fucking robot.

i like dating dudes with kids for two very specific reasons: they aren't going to ask me to have any (thank god) and, provided that he is a responsible father (and i would never date the other kind), he's not going to be sucking up all my free time with his bullshit. i like a lot of space, and doting daddies give a girl a lot of space. by default. they can't even help it. because if they're arranging play dates and packing lunches and going to disney movies at two in the afternoon, that's all time that i have to my damn self.

AND, there's usually some salty-ass mean mommy bitchin' and snatchin' about not wanting him to bring the kid around the new bitch, and that's fine by me, too. because kids are cool when they're quiet and respectful and well-behaved, but when they aren't, and you can't SAY SHIT (you know, because you're not its fucking mother and she doesn't want you around that little asshole in the first fucking place) it's a fucking nightmare. so eff that. i get to be the hot and childless guest star, and that's how i like it.

but i babysat a week ago, and it went swimmingly. and for a second, as i was changing diapers full of what looked like spinach pudding and giving baths and having mini dance parties and coloring contests, i thought about trading my beer bottle for a baby bottle. trust me, i won't. i just wanted you jerks to know that i can be domestic, too. now come drop your kids off. i've got some vicarious living to do!