FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK

*sigh*

I'm pretty sure that the problem is my browsers, which means I may be staring down the barrel of a TOTAL REBOOT, in which I lose everything on my computer, which, admittedly, is not as much as most.

That's because I don't really know how to effectively back shit up. DO NOT JUDGE ME. IT IS A GAP IN MY KNOWLEDGE, YOU BASTARDS.

And so, since my first Blue Screen Of DOOM, I store most of my stuff online. Because it saves wear and tear on the rending and gnashing that occurs when I am thwarted, which, I am sure you could all guess, happens to me sometimes.

I am using one of the portables at the dialysis unit, and I will say that trying to type one handed on an unfamiliar computer during an extra four hour dialysis run really makes me want to say...

Bugger this for a lark.

*sigh*

Things I have been thinking:

Is thirty minutes to read Time magazine unreasonable? And why is it that every magazine I get is full of crap?

I could not be a Buddhist, because I am inclined to violence and I am not at all sorry about it. Being not sorry is, I think, the sticking point.

I thought the Get Smart movie was far funnier than I expected it to be. And I still want to see that Panda movie.

How can a small soda still be too much to consume in a two hour span?

Fat girl clothes generally look tacky to me. Or maybe my lack of fashion is showing. No, sequins and metal accents ARE TACKY.

It's not me, it's you. Absolutely and totally you.

IHOP is the only place that I ever want to eat pancakes. Although that ain't saying much, since I can't seem to finish even a short stack. It's just the butter pecan syrup, dude.

Bev Kaply arrives on the 14th. I have scheduled a massage for her the next day, thereby ensuring my status as The Favorite.

The wicker at Pier One smells like feet.

And also, my tummy is kind of upset. BLEEEECH.

And I am very unhappy about the ad to info ratio in the magazines I ordered. Why are there so many more ads?

This rambling may fill you with hate. It certainly is increasing my bile production. I just got nothing, dudes. Better luck next time.

See that timestamp? SEE IT? That is no typo, it actually is 4:15 AM on Sunday morning, and I am ready to kill someone, because I got woken up by the building's fire alarm system, TWICE, in the space of an hour.

The fire alarm in this building does not fuck around. The noise is six steps beyond piercing, there are flashing lights, and the possibility of losing your balance because of the sound is very real. This is an alarm that says "I don't fucking care when you finally got to bed, or what you took to sleep, GET YOUR ASS UP AND OUT THE DOOR."

So, the entire building is standing outside and we look up at the second floor, which has a balcony of sorts, and there is a TOTAL JACKASS, putting up a fucking cafe umbrella and drinking wine and smoking. How do I know he had wine? The fucker was screaming it out, especially after the manager asked him to come down, explaining to all of us why he wouldn't.

And then, AND THEN this jackass starts throwing shit, nearly hitting a woman and her baby, and I thought that girl was gonna crawl up the side of the building and kick his ass, the way she tossed the baby to her boyfriend and started screaming.

This is the point at which the cops showed up. Of course, the firemen showed up, god bless them, even the second time, but it was almost worth the second alarm to see the cops snapping their plastic gloves on and dragging that bastard out of the building.

I would imagine it's hard to bail yourself out at 4 AM. At least I hope so.

I, of course, have to wake up in half an hour anyway, to your net benefit. Fuckers.

There is a bug in my house. A BUG IN MY HOUSE.

I do not know how it got here, I live three floors up in a city apartment, and even though the cats are ignoring said bug, I KNOW IT IS REAL, because I am TAKING MY MEDICATION.

Although, if you have never been tormented by imaginary bugs, you have no idea how grateful taking a handful of pills every day can make you.

And speaking of medical related things, my nephrologist and I got into a fight today about my dry weight and I actually had to say, out loud and more than once, I AM NOT CARRYING FLUID. I AM JUST THAT FAT.

Not one of my better moments, and now I have to do an extra shift of dialysis every week, because three days of needles in my arm are JUST NOT ENOUGH.

This has caused me to start muttering and making noises with my mouth that are not easily translatable, but may be described as PHTOUAH. Or some equivalent, I DON'T KNOW, STOP BUGGING ME.

Also, I still don't have AC. In case you couldn't tell.

Now, I must go do dishes, change the cat litter and whatever else I have been putting off for far too long. DO NOT JUDGE ME.

So, trying to install the New Air Conditioner was a giant FAIL, because apparently I am unsuited for life on my own, as I do not have the things one needs to function in society, for example: a drill, a piece of wood, or a screwdriver that is magnetic on the end. These are the things that stood between me and frosty cold heaven.

I am trying very hard not to be a big sissy about this.

Also, I don't think my deodorant is putting in the effort I expect from it, because I smelled myself yesterday and OH MY GOD, the STANK. It was so bad that I put my clothes in a bag before I put them in the hamper, as I feel certain that, if the Stank were allowed to permeate the other laundry, it may start living an existence independent from me, and I can't be having with those kind of shenanigans.

And also, Bev Kaply is coming in less than two weeks, AND MY HOUSE IS NOT CLEAN ENOUGH. The heat has completely knocked me off schedule, and that is UNACCEPTABLE. I MUST CLEAN FOR BEV KAPLY.

I need to go lie in front of the fan now. Talk amongst yourselves, please.