So did you know that Good ‘n Plenty is an aphrodisiac for women? That’s probably why it’s called Good ‘n Plenty. If ya catch my drift.
Too bad I don’t like licorice. Or should I say, lickorice.
Now if cheesecake were an aphrodisiac, then you’d be speaking my kind of language. Using my kind of currency. Walking my doggie.
I made that last one up. Sounds good though, eh? (more…)
So remember last March when I had to go to the ER because my mom found me passed out in the bathroom in a huge puddle of the products of my own various bodily functions? Welp, that happened again. And here I sit. Blogging. For you assholes.
Welp, this happened late Wednesday night, except my mom came in before I passed out. I think that this time was worse, but mom says that’s just because I can remember most of this time. I remember:
a. Being temporarily blind
b. Wanting to slit my wrists
c. Various fluids coming uncontrollably from a couple of my orifaces.
Oh, and I passed out in the bathtub. (more…)
So do I really look like a rabid bunny when I laugh?
So. Bunnies are cute. and fluffy. much like myself. and those Matt dogs.
I would like to thank Melanie Holis for making me not look like Cinderella Barbie. For dress rehearsal, my skirt was some kind of purpley blue lame’ irridescent BULLSHIT. I looked like a 4 year old playing dress up. I’m serious, I had Barbie clothes made out of that same material. But Melanie so graciously stayed up into the wee hours of the morning and made me a whole new costume. Ah, Melanie. (more…)
So yesterday, I hung out with Zephyr in Jackson. This was the only Good Friday that I hung out with her in Jackson that I -didn’t- have a wreck.
We went to Gunther Tootie’s a ’50’s diner where they have cool uniforms and funny potties. Now tell me this:
What’swith the little hump/lump/indention on the back of the seat? I don’t understand.
However, that photograph was taken immediately after I peed there… and flushed.
But please please, tell me… what’s with the hump?
Liz: Trixie’s been humping things lately.
Zephyr: Jackin’ off.
Then we read dirty novels aloud at BooksaMillion.
That was fun. Check out the title of thisun:
That’s right… “I Thirst For You.” It was right next to a book called “I Hunger For You.”
They were by the same author, of course. In the same series, no doubt. They were about vampires, but I didn’t know that until I got to the part where
“he drew his fangs upon her erect nipple, taking it into his mouth and suckling.” Here’s a selection:
Can you believe it said “cock”? Yeah, it said cock. It wasn’t a pornographic novel, just a “Romance” novel.
I read romance novels like crazy when I was thirteen, and never once did I -come- across one that said “cock”.
Garlic: It hurts so good.
Hey, that’s kind of like my acidic cavity. It burns so good.
Oh, and just for kicks:
Beaver… *teeheehee*
So we were in the bathroom at the Jackson mall, and it was disgusting.
Jackson is a dirty dirty place. Not as dirty as Hickman, KY. Jelly. Not as pretty as Nashville.
Anywho, as I was tinkling, I looked down and saw a withered frenchfry.
Then some large women came in, and Zephyr and I stayed in there for a bit to listen to their conversation.
One informed the rest that she was “strugglin’.” We left then, to avoid laughing too loudly and embarrassing them.
Everybody struggles sometimes. Except me. I’m like lightnin’, baby. Like when I poop.
It seriously takes me a minute or less to poop. I’m a fast pooper. Most of the time, I pee longer than I poop.
It’s crazy. So I can poop at anyone’s house and they won’t know it. I probably have pooped at your house, because I poop twice a day.
Sometimes thrice; it depends on what I’ve eaten.
Matt’s a fast pooper, too. That’s why we fell in love.
That’s the only reason. I think he said something about writing a book about our fast pooping relationship.
Like, everything in our relationship will be based on pooping quickly in this book.
Quick poopin’ skills. We can go to dinner parties and poop together, and nobody would know.
They would probably think we left for a quickie. But no, quite the opposite.
No, the opposite of a quickie is a longie.
When I say quickie, I mean it in the sexual way. Not in the poopin’ way.
But no, we’d actually be going to poop.
Then when we came back 2- 3 minutes later (depends on the size of the house), they would be like,
“Oh, they didn’t have sex, they just peed or had a short talk.” But little did they know, we pooped.
We probably had a short talk, too. Depends on how close the toilets were to each other.
I think married people’s bathrooms should have 2 toilets in them.
Because isn’t it a special thing when two people are pooping at the same time?
Especially when they’re phone poopin’.
“Hey guess what I’m doing?”
“Masturbating?”
“No! I’m pooping!”
“OMG, Me too!”
“OMG! This is crazy!”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too, Little Bear.”
Just for the record, Little Bear is what Steve calls Holly. Gah, my friends are so weird.
…
But when I went to Matt’s house, I pooped like, 4 times.
And I think when he was over here I only pooped a couple times. I was nervous the first time he was over here.
It’s just hard for some people to poop away from home. I guess 4 times poopin’ in one week is pretty healthy.
My mom would kill to poop 4 times in one week. Sometimes when I go somewhere, I poop more than usual.
Like when I stay with Aunt Reenie in Omaha, I poop alot. Not alot of poop, just more often.
I think I’m finished talking about poopin’.
Oh, no I’m not. I meant to put this up where I was talking about Matthew’s poopin’ habits.
Once, before we were dating, we were talking online, and he said, “I’m going to the bathroom and I’m going to take you with me.”
When he said “going to the bathroom,” I didn’t know if he meant relieving himself or just oging to do other bathroom activities.
And if he meant relieving himself, was he pooping or peeing? But then I found out he was pooping,
because he said that the computer was too hot and it was burning his legs.
Then he said, “okay, I’m back,” and that’s how I found out he was a fast pooper, too.
That’s when I knew I loved him.
Not really, but wouldn’t that be a good falling in love story?
I won’t tell the real story to you folks in blogform… it will take away from my hxc image, don’t you think?
But that is when we decided to write the pooping romance book.
Get it, but, butt?
Bird?
You can’t hide ordinary.
So tonight I hung out with Jade. We had sex.
And by sex, I mean conversation and cake.
I wrote on her wall with a permenant marker. She invited me to. This is what I wrote:
That’s an inside joke between me and Jade. You don’t get it. But I bet you still think it’s funny.
All of my friends are so much hotter than I am. I mean most of my friends.
Jade and Zephyr are. Holly is. Probably more are.
Jade made me a dress out of crepe paper. Next weekend, we’re going to make each other dresses out of crepe paper and wear them out on the town.
To Applebee’s. That’s where The Ross works.
We played with green “Travel PlayDough.” It doesn’t stick. She made and elephant.
I made a penis. Naturally.
I started to make an uncircumcised one, because it would be funny, but it was too -hard-, because I’ve never seen one in real life.
On an adult. I’ve seen plenty on babies. Usually one per baby. Usually on the boys though.
Are you a character from a romantic poem?
Somehow the other night, Matt thought that I said something about if we have children,
I wouldn’t want the boys to be circumcised. That’s crazy. I would never say that.
Like I said, I’ve never seen an uncircumcised peepee on a big boy, but the pictures scared me.
They kind of look like egg rolls. Except gross.
So now whenever I eat egg rolls, I think about uncircumcised peepees. I usually just think about the circumcised ones.
One. Just not when I’m eating Chinese. Except that time I ate Chinese with Matt on Steve’s couchbedcouch.
When my friends and I get together, we lick things. They’re usually sexual. Like the above beaver.
When I finished playing with my Play Dough penis, I threw it at Jade. She then bit part of it off.
I would post that picture, but I’m afraid it is too graphic. So I’ll post this one instead:
Remember when the boys used to do stuff like this in the 5th grade? Yeah.
While we’re on the subject, Hog had sex. With her boyfriend.
But then we went downstairs and ate a cake right off the platter. With forks.
We fed each other. It was romantic. Then she shoved a banana in my mouth.
Then we found this stuff that her mom bought, and we found it hilarious:
Bunny Corn! Isn’t it funny? It’s alot funnier when you say it like someone from Rutherford, TN.
“Bunneh Coan.” It sounds like what people would call rabbit poop. We threw some on the floor.
“Look at all that bunneh coan on the flo’. Looks like some bunnehs been through here.”
“Hey daddeh! Daddeh! You wont some bunneh coan?”
(Notice the price on the bag) “What’s the price uh this coan?”
I love this picture. She has Bunny Corn at her nipples… but you can’t see it, so it just looks like she’s tweaking them.
She has to tweak her own nipples. She doesn’t have her own private nipple tweaker like I do…
: )
So the funniest thing happened at the grocery store. I was buying things to make cookies,
and I saw a girl and her mom in line in front of me. This girl was about 12 or 13, and she was dressed like a slut.
Short shorts, lots of makeup. This caught my attention, because when I was that age, I was the same way.
Kind of like that girl in CATS. To go to the grocery store. I noticed that her mom had a box of Monistat.
No big deal. Most women will have a yeast infection at some point in her life… it could have been the mom,
it could have been the daughter. But I just found it funny that the only two items they were buying were cheese and Monistat.
Cheese. And Monistat. That’s funny in itself. But like any preteen girl would be
, the daughter was mortified that her mom was buying this, especially with the young blonde cashier, Lance.
Lance used to stalk Jessica Jones, by the way. So the daughter made the mom buy the Monistat
and walk out of the store before the girl bought the cheese seperately and walked out of the store.
I found this hilarious, because I would have done the same thing at that age.
When I worked at Jillian’s, before I got FIRED, I bought Jill a pregnancy test at that same grocery store.
That’s pretty f’ed up if you axe me, but I wasn’t embarrassed. Bradley Hutchinson helped me find it.
That was a hoot. I just thought it was funny that out of all those women who worked there,
they make the seventeen year old high school girl get it.
I wish when Holly Tittle fired me, she would have done the Donald Trump thing and said,
“You’re Fired!” instead of crossing her arms and saying, “I just think it’s best that you are no longer employed here.”
Then I would have laughed instead of cried. Well, I still would have cried, just not as much.
And I would have laughed while crying. Like Jessica Jones.
But just for the record, while we’re talking about yeast infections
(a couple paragraphs ago), this is NOT the correct way to get rid of a yeast infection:
That’s Jade’s dad’s pellet gun. That’s my vag. ina. Dan.
I just wrote Dan’s name there, because he doesn’t like it when I say “vag.” Neither does Alley Jo,
but the reason I wrote Dan’s name was because when I write a new blog, he does Ctrl F and types in his name.
If it doesn’t come up, he only reads the first paragraph or two of the blog. Or so he says.
But seriously, who could resist my bloggy deliciousness?
So in conclusion, Leah useta be bad, ’til her mama done be knowin’ what she been doin’.
Now she good.
I mean Hog. Horseface.
So here’s something that almost made me piss with laughter from indietits.com:
That’s probably my favourite one.
I wish those fing pictures would load. I tried to load them all yesterday. On and off. They wouldn’t load. I’ll holler if they don’t.
Holler back.
The other night at the theatre, someone asked me what time it was. Wanting to be a smartass, I replied, “Time for…” and I couldn’t think of anything smartass to say. After a long pause, Michael, homo of the year, says, “…poontang.” Yes, Michael. It is, indeed, time for poontang.
Can I really be a breeder if I’ve never bred? Bread?
I’ve been having dirty dreams lately. I haven’t told any of them. To anyone. I’m embarrassed. Not really because they’re dirty… it’s just the nature of the dirt. It involved Matthew, if that’s what you all were wondering. I think it’s just because it’s cheesey. No, not like licking cheese off of one another (Zephyr), but… soap opera sex. You know how it is.
After a long ceremony, an eager young couple cross the threshold into their honeymoon suite. The groom overzealously lays his bride, with her multilayered tulle and tafetta gown, onto the bed. With no amount of tact or heed, he anxiously ruffles through the layers of her gown as she giggles with excitement.
I saw that on TV when I was about 6 years old, and it enthralled me. Ever since then, I’ve wanted to get married.
And that’s the only reason. The only.
But yeah, I’ll write about my dream one of these days, you just won’t know it was my dream. I’ll just pretend it’s another one of my dirty, dirty stories.
Mr. West’s class, anyone? I don’t even take notes in there anymore. I’m such a 14 year old boy.
So I sent Matt my ear yesterday. And by ear, I mean suprise. That’s right, my virginity. You guessed it. First Class. Workin’ Order.
I also sent Sean that CD I’ve had for well over 2 years. Jimmie’s Chicken Shack. It’s an excellent CD. And you know what? I just got around to ripping the tracks yesterday at 12:30.
“Computer music is where it’s at.”
- Matt
I gots devil music on my computer.
Alley Jo came over the past two days. She just got back from New Orleans because her boyfriend is working there. At any rate, she went to the Hustler store and bought a porno for her and her boyfriend. Lesbian Orgies. She also bought me some stuff and made me a package. (Get it, package?) I won’t tell you what’s in it.
But anywho, before she left, her mom, who works at First State Bank on Reelfoot Avenue, told her, “Take what you need to be safe.” Alley replied, “Never say that again, please.” She’s on the patch.
One of my friends sent me this message. Names have been changed for the protection of individuals:
-beware of “salt”-
So I was having a pretty normal dream last night, considering how dreams are surreal and dreamlike anyway. After several events that I cannot recall, I find myself in Gizzard’s arms again. I have an idea to put peanut butter all over myself, naked, and then Gizzard does the same. *blushes profusely* Then we proceed to start licking each other, like it’s the most desirable, pleasurable action ever, sort of like getting makey outey. Then, someone hears about it on the grapevine, and it becomes the new thing to do - it’s hotter than sex, in the sense of it’s the new trend in lustful things. Everyone’s covering themselves in peanut butter and lickin’, not banging. Though I’m sure the ones who bang do both. Mmyeah. Weird. :..
(fin).
So there you go. My friends are weird, too. And that fin at the end makes me indie, right, Matt?
Some women get really ugly when they’re pregnant. I look at them and think, “How the fuck did you get impregnated?” Then I remember that pregnancy takes a toll on some ladies. I’ll be a cute pregnant. If I ever get pregnant. At least I hope I would be a cute pregnant.
Like anyone would hope to be an ugly pregnant.
Today, I wore that little jacket that I’m wearing in that picture. It’s one of those hip and trendy cropped jackets that all the coolest femmes wear. Everytime I wear it, without fail, some creepy old man says, “Your jacket is too small for you,” and thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world.
What I do: Laugh, smile, and say, “no, it’s supposed to be like that, hehe…”
What I want to do: Rip it off and kick his ass, balls first. Or at least say, “Shut up, it’s not funny. It wasn’t even funny the first 72 times I heard it.”
Any suggestions on what I should do next time? Every time I wear this thing, I always see that creepy guy who works at the co- op. Do you know who I’m talking about? Ugh.
Ugh. That’s what I said when Johnny Depp asked me for my number. Sure, he may be talented, but he’s no Matt Callis.
Bear rug. I would blog that, but it may embarrass him. However, he did want me to blog a detailed description of one of our… escapades…
But I’m not brave enough to do so.
And I’m sure not all of you want to imagine me doin’ it.
Who am I kidding. Pervs.
Workin’ Order.
Thrust You.
I bet acid is really good. Better than shrooms.
“Where should I blow it?”
- Davo.
Don’t do shrooms, kids.
“Don’t do acid, man. It will FUCK YOU UP.”
If you don’t know from what movie that is, I’ll hurt your children.
Oh yeah, my new nickname is Peanut. “Don’t call me peanut at work, Doodlebug. We’ve talked about this.”
So in movies, especially scary movies, when someone is listening to rock music, it all sounds the same:
DUNUNUNUNUNUI’MLISTENINGTOROCKNUNUNUNUNUNUNUNUI’MLISTENINGTOROCK
You just had to be there. Oh wait.
Alley and I went to Maurices. She likes to live through me, so she picked out about 5 dresses for me to try on. I picked out 3. She got a pair of cropped pants, which I -told- her were going to make her look fat. She just assumed that was the anorexic in me. Not all of them were that memorable, so I’ll just name a few. Oh yeah, and we were in the same changing room. And I was wearing blue panties, a black strapless bra, white fluffy socks (4 year old girl style) and 4 inch open toed pumps. That really is nessecary for you to know. And when I took a dress off, I threw it on the floor and she put it on a hanger for me. Because I’m 7.
1. Whoops, can’t wear a bra with this one. Good.
2. This one makes me look like a million bucks. I wish I had money. I would buy it. But why would someone put horizontal stripes at the waistline? That’s gay.
3. Green one that alley picked out. It had some crazy elastic junk in it that made me look like I had back fat rolls. “TAKE IT OFF, IT BURNS!”
4. This one was a joke. It was ivory. It had a sparkley bodice. It tied at the waist. It had layers of ruffles. And I almost couldn’t get it over my ass (I stepped into it).
Alley: Take your bra off. I can’t take you seriously unless there are nipples involved.
Liz: I’m blogging that.
Yet she could take me seriously with a pink sticker on my forehead that read, “SPECIAL.”
And yes, before I took the dress off, she went through my ruffles. She owed me a favour.
Alley: Hey! Something blue! (referring to panties)
Liz: And my dress is ivory! I’m a whore!
At this point, I was laughing so hard that I almost pissed myself
Liz: I’m going to piss myself!
Alley: Well put your pants on!
Anywho, we tried to get the dress off, but pulling it up over my head, I couldn’t get it over my boobs. I forgot that they were naked, so I turned around to Alley Jo, as she hid in the corner with her hands over her face, screaming, “Get them away from me!” And you know, I’d do the classic tell-her-I-put-them-away-but-they’re-really-in-her-face move. It’s the Dirty Sanchez of flashing. Just think if I had a penis. I would be one of those guys. You know.
5. The bra is still off. This is a short, strappless, semiruffley little number.
“OMG, Your nipples are looking at me!”
Liz: I look like I’m going to my 5th grade cotillion. I think it’s the socks.
We didn’t buy anything. An eventful shopping experience, yet anticlimactic.
So in conclusion, Brad had an abortion over Christmas break.
This weekend was very Kentucky-y. Hickmon Friday, Mayfield Saturday.
Kentucky is an ugly place.
Nashville is a pretty place.
I went all over freaking Kentucky and didn’t even hit up Paducah. I went to Kentucky with Steve and Holly and didn’t even hit Paducah! But last time we went was a disaster.
“My pleasure.”
What a horrible weekend that was. We told Davo about it last night, and he will never let me live that down. Ever.
Neither will Holly and Steve. When I die, they will pin a note up on the lid of my casket:
John Was In A Horrible Mood The Next Day! What An Ass!
I downloaded some James Blunt songs a few months ago, and I just noticed… In my player, under Genre, it says “Alternative & Punk.” I changed it to “White.”
So I’ve been practicing my silly walks. I’ve been lax on my Ministry of Silly Walks lately. Like, for the past week. But my adoring fans will be happy to know that I have a new walk.
I am the least funny person ever. I mean, my blogs are funny, and I say funny things, but the only funny things I say are only funny because they are things that everyone knows but no one states. Or I’m cute funny. But besides that, I never say anything funny. Ever.
My mom is in love. Rob is in love. They love each other. They love me. I love them. Love love love. I hope they get married soon. I wish Rob was my dad.
Don’t get me wrong… I love my dad, but Rob is amazing. He cares about me so much. He says he would do anything for his Lizzie May. No, May is not my middle name… but he calls me that.
We have these shirts that say OCCHS. And they have “Seniors” on the back. Brad wore his to the nursing home with me one day. Mrs. McCallister pointed at it and said, “DCCHS.” We said, “No, that’s OCCHS.” She didn’t get it. She continued, “Dixie County City High School.” She then looks at Sarah, “Did you go to Dixie?” Sarah nods and replies, “Yes, ma’am, I went to Dixie.” She asks Brad, “What grade are you in?” and we kept saying, “Twelveth, Seniors,” etc etc etc, but she wasn’t getting any of it (she’s blind). He turned around and pointed to the “Seniors” text on his back. She ran her finger across it and read, “Sandwiches… that’s good,” and started clapping. Crazy old Mrs. McCallister.
Mrs. Ladd just wants her snuff.
Davo played an awesome show last night. I was proud of him.
So many people have said I’m a bit preoccupied lately. Am I? I think I am. It isn’t anything personal. Well, to most of you, it isn’t.
I don’t like to hurt people’s feelings, but bloody hell… you know?
“I hate kids. They always have jelly on their hands. Even if there isn’t any jelly in the house, they have jelly on their hands. Always.”
- Alley Jo.
Men and babies are pretty much the same thing. All they do is eat, sleep, poop, and have sex. Except babies don’t have sex.
I’m not much of a drinker, but sometimes I need a good stiff one– and by “one”, I mean “drink”. Pervert.
A One that is not cold is hardly a One at all.
So in conclusion, Steve doesn’t like it when people end papers like this. I don’t either, but this isn’t a damn paper.
Currently Wearing: Tube socks, tap shoes, and a pea coat. Still.
I can’t make everyone happy. I thought I learned that already. I thought that after issue after issue after issue, I had finally learned that someone, no matter what I do, will be upset. It’s just the way things work. And no, I’m not being bitchy/emo… it’s the same way for everyone.
I’m a good person. I’m a good dancer. I’m a good writer. I’m a good receptionist. I’m a good talker. I’m a good student. I’m a good daughter. I’m a good friend. I’m a good sister. I’m good making people smile. I’m a good babysitter. I’m a good actress.
I’m a good girl, dammit.
“Why do I care? Why do I care? Why the fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffuck do I care?”
- Dan a few months ago.
But freaking… I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m upset. Hurt. Confused. Offended. Mislead. Angry. But most of all, I’m worried. Irrationally worried, but worried nonetheless.
What do I hate?
I hate it when people bitch and piss and moan and don’t do anything about it.
So I’ll stop.
Sarah, my little ballerina, said:
“Wow, he really likes you… that, or he’s rich.”
But I thought she said:
“Wow, he really likes you. That or he’s a virgin.”
I watched Saw II last night with Alley Jo. It had good special effects.
She has big knockers. They’re fun to lay upon.
“Aunt Jemima has some serious knockers.”
- Dan. Again.
I wonder how the NIN concert went.
How many punks does it take to change a lightbulb?
Nobody knows. Punks have never changed anything.
Thank you, Mark Adam.
Metrofest was tonight. I would have gone, but I don’t trust my own driving on icy roads.
I wonder if I would have gotten my “face cracked the fuck open” like I was promised? I’ll have to go back and see.
I’m tired of blogging. Sorry to disappoint you. I can’t think of more goofy stuff.
Oh yeah. I can’t dance to my own song because I’m only 17. And a half.
If you still say “and a half,” it means you’re too young.
Liz: i probably will eventually
like
when i get married
Matthew: why not now
Liz: you know what? why the fuck not now.
hell, im being selfish
body, schmody
future, schmuture
vaginal tightness, schmaginal tightness
lets have a fucking baby
Matthew: thats the spirit!
So I might be going to Bonnaroo with him and some other people and sleep in a tent.
Biz Markie never fixed anything.
Currently eating: Pinot Noir and ice cream.
Holly had a weird dream about me. Well, regarding me. Steve wanted to have a child, but Holly didn’t, so Steve stopped taking his birth control, and he got pregnant. Belly and all. Holly was pissed/ embarrassed, so Steve told people that it was a beer belly. Then he went into labour, and they (tadah) gave birth to a beautiful 13 pound Liz. However, my head was the size of an adults, and my body was a baby’s. The doctor handed me to them, and I looked at Heve’s fear-filled faces and muttered, “HI!”
I bet I was hard to pass through Steve’s urethra.
I have 1112 views.
Speaking of the aforementioned creepiness, the weirdest thing happened to me today. You know, old people can say strange, scary, sometimes prophetic things. This old woman with Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s grabbed my hands today and whispered, “We killed him.”
Liz: Who did we kill?
Lady: We killed the one we feed.
Liz: What?
Lady: You don’t love.
Liz: I love everyone.
Lady: If you don’t love, THEN GOD WILL STRIKE YOU DOWN!
Then a nurse came in to give the woman her meds. I walked out, and the woman kept staring at me. This scared the hell out of me.
I know, I’m the type of person who thinks that everything means something, everything is a sign, an omen, but this is really freaking me out. Tell me what you think. Is this woman prophetic or just senile? Is this a huge turning point in my life, or is this just a crazy old woman? I’d like your opinion.
Like, a month ago, I asked everyone to tell me what your auras and souls look like, and nobody told me. I was disappointed. Assholes.
Dan called me while I was at rehearsal last night. Andy Milonakis was on and he wanted to watch it together. That’s fun. He used to piss me off so bad watching that when we were on the phone… hahaha. Use more inflection. Dan, you are a trip, and I’m sorry for not calling you back. I was going to earlier, but then I remembered you have a “normal” family that may be eating dinner, and God knows I mustn’t do anything else to make ton mere me dispise.
What’s so funny, pretty boy? Why are you laughing? You’ve got dimples! Do you blush? Drop and give me twenty!
Remember the episode of Ren and Stimpy when they went to boot camp, and the drill sargeant told Ren to give him twenty, and Ren gave him a twenty dollar bill? And the first time they got in trouble, they had to peel potatoes. The second time, watermelons. The third time: H bombs. Classic.
“Your eyes are like diamonds…”
hahha.
I lost 4 pounds this weekend. Thank you, Saltines! Thank you!
I’m always sad when I’m not smiling.
“That’s not living. That’s just existing.”
- Mr. Moore
Sometimes he feeds us bullshit propaganda, but sometimes he actually knows what he’s talking about.
Are you a thinker or a feeler? I’m a feeler. I feel, don’t think. Some of my closest friends think, don’t feel. My mum thinks and doesn’t feel. This evens me out. Thinkers may be more successful, they may have more things work out than feelers, but holy, feelers are so much happier. Some may not know it, but we are.
Another difference between me and my mum: She dwells on the past, I dwell on the future. She worries about things that have already happened and are finished. I worry about things that haven’t happened and probably won’t happen.
My mommy loves me : )
My dad and I used to have such an amazing relationship. Did that end because I grew up? Because I’m a woman now? Because I have tits and an ass, and he can’t see me as the little girl whom he taught how to change oil, with whom he used to eat pizza and watch I Love Lucy, who would laugh at his obnoxious jokes because she was too young to realize they were obnoxious? I understand. I really do. When my daughters grow up and don’t want to be fairies anymore, it will make things weird. Like, “who is that woman?” weird. But I still want to be a fairy.
So this ended up as one of my more serious blogs. Sorry. My next one will be goofier. I promise. Potatoes.
So Jared, my Pooncake, came into the shop today and with dismay, stated that I hadn’t blogged in quite some time. I suppose this is the truth… My last blog was about this weekend, so it has been a good 3 or 4 days, which, I know for some of you, is hell without a crazy old Liz blog.
Jared and Liz are going on a date! (Jill would shit a brick/ go into labour. She wants us to do it. Probably just so she can laugh.) We’re going to see Rent the night that it comes out. I wonder if he puts out… : )
bownchickabowown…
So according to Holly Pery, things are good. She and I are going on a road trip this December to suprise the boys. The road trip -happens- to be on a very special anniversary, so I’m making cookies. (I hope Steve doesn’t read this.) I told Holly, and she almost pissed herself.
Speaking of pissing selves, I changed this baby’s diaper today. Newborn baby poop is about ass gross as poop gets. It’s like molasses. Seriously. And my favourite part is when you take the diaper off and they keep pooping and peeing and pooping some more, so you have to change the pad. And when he pees, he gets it all over your scrubs. I love that.
Actually, I don’t mind it, really. I love babies. Old people and babies. And pregnant women.
Wait… I love taking care of pregnant women. I don’t love hanging out with pregnant women. They can be bitches. Jill isn’t -quite- so bad, unless you get her on a bad day. Jessica Keling, on the other hand, whew. She is my friend/ cointern, and can be a raging bitch, and she knows it. But holy crap, when she’s pregnant, I don’t even want to talk to her. She’s ungrateful. Arg. But when I get pregnant, I’ll be like that to her.
However, I’m not pregnant, because I haven’t been exposed to the elements in quite some time.
So Monday, I’m spongebathing this crippled dude. He keeps complaining and cussing me that I’m hurting him (he can’t feel anything below his chest), I’m not doing this right, etc etc etc, and then he saw my nametag, which says “Intern.” Then he freaks out. “Oh GD you’re just an intern, that’s why you don’t know the hell you’re doing. You cant do this, blah blah blah blah BLAH.” I said, “Listen, I may just be an intern, but I think I’m qualified to wipe your ass.” He shut up. I guess he realized I’m no pansy : ) So I continue bathing him, and OH MY GOSH. That’s right. I didn’t even touch it! I just looked down and noticed, my patient got an erection. I just acted like I didn’t notice, and finished up as soon as possible. Here are other peoples’ reactions to the story:
Mum: I’m sure right after you finished up, he did too…
Kristen: Was the erection guy the same guy who’s dead body you moved?
Mark Adam: Well, I’d get an erection too, if you were bathing me.
Brad: Was he old? (no) Oh, well, he should have been old. It would have been funnier.
Jared had a good point:
Jared: It was probably just out of nervousness
Liz: What do you mean?
Jared: Would you want a hot guy to see you naked?
Liz: … chyah…
Jared: In a medical situation like that… You’re hot, he’s naked.
Liz: But don’t you learn how to control that when you’re about 14?
Jared: Nuhuh… I still have to think about fat hairy naked women.
Liz: But I was wearing scrubs!
Jared: Maybe he had a nurse fetish..
As a dancer who has changed in front of her peers for about 14 years now, I don’t get qualms about being naked, but I suppose it would be embarrassing for me for a hot dude nurse to see me in a state like that naked. Funny story:
Most of you know about my horrible sickness last spring. Mum found me passed out on the bathroom floor in a puddle of my vomit, etc. I went to the ER, where some young nurse dude gave me a shot in my ass. Well the other day, this same dude was blatantly flirting with me, and he asked me for my phone number. What do I say? “Sorry, but you saw me naked/ in my duckie robe, covered in my own vomit. I don’t think this could work between us.” I mean, he obviously didn’t remember me. But, wow, how awkward… If we got married, here’s our honeymoon: “Sweetie, remember that night a few years ago, vomit/ duckie robe girl? yeah that was me.”
But that erection story was more awkward than the water breaking story. I saw her in Walmart, by the way.
When Steve, John, Holly, and I went to Paducah Sunday, we went to ToysRUs. The most surreal thing happened. Driving into the parking lot, we saw some kid laying in the grass, playing with his hair. Steve said “He looks like a character from a romantic poem.” I walked over there as they watched. He didn’t notice me upon him, so I said, “Hi.” He jumped a little. I looked at him and said, “Are you a character from a romantic poem?” He didn’t say anything. He just looked at me, as I looked at him. After a 15 second period of silence, I smiled and walked back to my comerades. They congratulated me on my feat.
I wish someone would have caught that on film. It was like a scene from a hip indie film. Except it didn’t have a deep underlying meaning. *snap snap*
I got bored at work and put on makeup. Eyeshadow, mainly. Alot of it. I like it. It’s very avant garde/ fairy. Or you could say it was Hillary Duff. I’ll take avant garde.
Some little girl said the other day that she wants to take vocal lessons because she wants to be able to sing like Lindsey Lohan. I told her, “All you need to sing like Lindsey Lohan is a good producer, sweetie.”
Lindsey Lohan sickens me. Even with her producer, she still sounds… bad. Seriously, if she had a nice voice, I would say, ” I hate her, but she does have a nice voice.” She is… bad. And her album is targeted to 8- 14 year old girls. I know someone who has the album, and when one unfolds the liner notes, there is a picture of her in nothing but a white button up shirt in a very suggestive pose. And then on the back, there’s a small photograph of her giving the double deuce…
ugh.
I’m getting my nasty mullet cut off tomorrow.
So what is the coolest thing one can do?
Everyone knows that I want to me an ob/gyn or a midwife. I just began interning at the hospital today in Labour and Delivery. When I got into the OB, it was dead, so I feared that I would be all day doing paperwork. Then a girl called and said that she was having some discomfort and that she needs to come by. There was also a girl in a room who had gone into labour, but she had just had an epidural and wasn’t expected to deliver until 7 or 8 tonight.
She called a nurse in there to tell her that her epidural wasn’t working, so we called another anesthesiologist to come redo it. When he came up to the OB, I introduced myself, so he invited me to come assist with the epidural, about which I was superpsyched. We got in there, and WOW. I have never seen such a big needle before in my life. It was (no exaggeration) the size of an ink pen cartridge. That chick was tough. She barely whimpered. Before we went in there, she was dialated to 5 cm. After the epidural, she was 8 cm. Then we had to take a little bit of the cathater out, and after that, she was fully dialated, so we asked her to push a little bit while the nurse was still in there, and she felt the baby drop. Then the nurse said, “Liz, get the stirrups. We’re going to have a baby.”
I said, “WHAT?!?”
So I put her legs in the stirrups and away we went.
We called Dr. Tru in there, and I was taking care of her until he got there. Her uterine plug came out, which probably would have grossed me out if I wasn’t childbirth- lovin’ Liz. Imagine a huge bloody loogie… yeah.
So then Dr. Tru came in, and while he was preparing everything and putting on his galoshes (childbirth can be very messy), he was trying to talk to her about a tubal ligation, but she just responded with grunts and such, so he decided to not talk about it anymore.
He performed an episiotomy, and we had her push once, and the baby immediately began to crown… I was floored and began to tear up. I told her, “You’re doing a great job! Push!”
She replied, “I can’t!” and took a breath in. The baby prairie dogged a little bit. I had never witnessed a birth, but the baby didn’t seem to be wriggling around any, so I thought, “Oh my gosh. This baby is dead.” But then I realized, “Wait a minute. This kid is in a vagina. He doesn’t have any room to be wriggling around.” So I yelled, “Yes you can!” and the baby’s beautiful little head came out, followed by the shoulders, and seconds later, Dr. Tru handed me a beautiful baby boy, Noah. I burst in to tears as I wiped off his pretty little face and laid him beside mom.
Dad cut the cord and I noticed he was crying. We delivered the placenta, which wasn’t half as gross as I anticipated. All of the pictures of I had seen looked like bloody stuff that cats have coughed up… attached to a cord. This was actually not that bad… I poked it and it felt like… brownie batter in a bag.
So after we delivered the placenta, I took Noah, weighed and measured him, (7lb 8oz, 19 in), and then I took him to the cleaning table, where as I was cleaning him off, he took his first piss on me… it was awesome : )
I gave him to the father and walked out of the delivery room… the other interns were waiting for me outside, saying, “I hate you, Liz!” They were sooo jealous… even Brad.
I went to ballet and told Mrs. Sacch… she thought that that was -the- coolest thing ever. It totally was.
My hands still smell like latex gloves and hospital soap : )