there are innocent bystanders EVERYWHERE

So tomorrow I'm going to a convention. Like, an important one. Where people will probably show up in slacks. The last time I went to a con people showed up in their underwear and body paint and posed for pictures and I was kind of belligerent for, um, the entire thing. I sort of wanted to step it up for this one... you know, leave the rum at home and wear pants. Little things.

I was even going to wear slacks until I realized that I had to do laundry to do that, since I wear slacks for my something-like-work. I'd had a shit day that day, in the sense that in the middle of a lecture I was giving I started cramping up so hard if I were a lesser person (and I am NEVER a lesser person) I would have had to cry. So I figured I still had clean capris, and that meant I wouldn't be wandering around in my panties, and that's about as good as it's going to get for these people anyway.

But I knew I still had things to do, which involved shopping. My only painkiller available to me right now is a little prescription for 'Percocet,' a bottle of close to 200 pills that I got as a gifty when I had a sunburn so severe I kept throwing up and couldn't get up to do so into the toilet. I figured my cramps, while not on that level, were still pretty bad. Blinded by pain, I took two.

Vicodin is a painkiller that just sort of makes me sleepy and does nothing to actually kill the pain. Percocet, on the other hand, not only makes the pain STFU and GTFO but I then feel the urge to giggle for about two hours and feel the carpet.

I believe the kids nowadays are calling that 'blitzed out of their mind.'

Remember, I still had things to do. This involved driving approximately five minutes, pulling into a parking lot, and the full effect of the pills hitting me while pulling into a spot.

I started frantically IMing with my friend on my space phone, having a mild panic attack as I remembered how to blink. I knew I was there to buy a shirt for my Halloween costume but I wasn't quite sure how to go about doing that. I still have no idea how potheads function if this is their life:

Me: I think I can make it into Ross.
Her: Alright, be safe...
Me: Fuck. I'm here. There are so many goddamn shirts.
Her: Take it one step at a time.
Her: How high ARE you?
Me: I can talk with you. And I can recognize the color blue. That is the level of my functioning atm.
Her: ...this is so very entertaining.
Me: Shit, where am I? Please tell me you know. There are shoes everywhere. I don't think I wanted shoes.

I did manage to find shirts of a sort. I also found gloves, pillows, the roof, and random strangers who spoke French. I think. At one point I sat down on a pillow and just stared, hoping a kind stranger would help me out. No such luck, I mean, I was in a discount store.

I did make it home. Driving through a parking lot while high? Jesus H. Christ there are at least five times more people around when you're high. And also it was 'drive like an asshole' day. Nobody told me, and it really sucks to be confused and trippin' balls. But I'm alive.

And sometimes it's the little victories you have to focus on.

What the hell, day?

Today I fed a cat Valium, parked in a semi-flooded lot, locked myself in a room with a random couple dozen or so colorful children's tricycles, and gutpunched myself on a gate so hard I stopped breathing for a minute or so.

The only clarification I feel like giving is that the tricycles were for whatever reason behind the physics and chemistry classrooms, and the gate was one of those bar things that they open or close in front of parking lots. And that spot is red and swollen. I hope I'm not going to die.

Let's see if this day can top that. *drops mic*

EDIT:

I tried to pay for a parking pass online for the college, and my credit card wasn't working. Wondering why, I went to go check my bank account and found that the company that overcharged me for an oil change by about $40 had double-charged my credit card, on top of that. So a sudden $200 was gone (yes, they overcharged me, but my car wasn't going anywhere until I got that oil change). I need to call them up, but in the meantime I had to pay for ANOTHER parking pass today.

And then I walked out and there was a Worry doll on my porch. She was tied to a string and the whole thing was rather voodoo-esque so that kind of freaked me out.

And I busted my lip open a while ago, and it's not healing and it looks really gross.

I feel like I got into a bar fight.

Elbow-deep in chestal cavity

Dude, way too many strange guys have been seeing my boobs while I've been sober. Something's not right here.

MAYBE IT'S THE PART WHERE I HAVE TO BE SOBER.

I can't have alcohol or caffeine or smoke for a full day before my surgery, to avoid risk of heart palpitations.

I SAY WORK AROUND THEM, THIS LADY WANTS A SODA GODDAMN.

But seriously, it's becoming commonplace for a dude to lift my shirt without even asking my name beforehand nowadays. Sure, he's sticking electrodes to my skin and staring at a machine instead of my cute new bra, but I still want a drink before I flash the guy like it's Mardi Gras and he is the man with the beads to need.

And then tomorrow not only will my surgeon be rummaging around my breasticles, they'll have a visiting doctor, and the two of them together can stare pensively at nipples.

I need black duct-tape to censor myself. TONIGHT.

Edit: DONE. MY NIPPLES WILL BE PRESERVED FROM VIEW FOR THE NEXT GENERATION.

...ew. The next generation does NOT need to look at my nipples.

My mouth hasn't hurt this bad since high school

Of course I start this shit off with a blowjob joke. It's funny.

Oh god oral surgery is like the suckiest thing EVER. Besides AIDS. And like a list of other things that suck worse.

But that day was pretty sucky in and of itself. I did the surgery and very distinctly heard the dentist tell his assistant that they were "going to go for broke. Do the best we can for her." Because apparently MY MOUTH FAILS. I just injured a gumline for a lower front tooth and the frenulum (little flap of skin that connects lip to gums) was just making it worse. So they nicked the sucker off and did a skin graft from the roof of my mouth to the tooth. They didn't mention stitches were involved but there you go. DENTISTS LIE.

And for that trouble I got ibuprofen and a gold star. A metaphorical one. He didn't give me an actual gold star.

ALL LIES.

Then when I was loopy and tried to drive home I nearly ran into a wall because once more, I performed the trick where I confuse brake and gas pedal. A bad idea in most situations, but my lysdexia is particularly nerve-wracking when coming down from the shock of seeing your blood everywhere.

Then two days later I ripped the graft off.

I RIPPED THE GRAFT OFF.

I RIPPED THE MOTHERFUCKING GRAFT THE FUCK OFF.

Basically I need to go in again later to redo the graft and it sucks and I gotta slap a bitch. So close to my other surgery. Hate.

Thus ends this edition of 'your life is better than mine'! Tune in next week when I get heart surgery, make a joke while under local anesthesia, and cause a surgeon to nick an artery. Headline: 'Girl killed by dead baby joke.'

Now let's make like a dead baby and hit the road.