regurgitates cat

scat then eats

Needless to say I puked this morning. I at least have the courtesy to give the illusion that I can hold my alcohol, I am a morning puker. I go to bed and everything is fine, then I wake up and my stomach is rumbling and I know what time is, no not hammer time, or vader time or tea time. It is time to puke. This morning is the first time in my puking history that I have puked gray. I have puked many colors of the rainbow in cluding exorcist green (don't ask) but gray, thats a new one for me, it was like the gray hulk I guess it was a really angry puke, smattered with bits of corn and such. Anyway after i finished my first round of wretching I felt better until I puked again.

Puking is funny and fun and can often make you feel better, you should puke on everyone you know. There should be a puke off chain reaction contest where everyone pukes next to or on someone to try to make them vomit. Whoever breaks the chain gets ralphed on by all the people in the chain before them. We could call it Puke Nukem? One flew over the Pukoo's Nest? Puklear Winter? Pukumber Salad?

I like all of those names, let me know if you are interested or maybe I'll make it a one man show and modify Gallagher bit except I don't smash watermelons, I I puke on the front row or something like that.

Disclaimer: I do realize that these last two posts are so oxymoronic, so hyprocritical and so ADD. Please forgive me. I do realize that I am in the process of getting married (I think) and I still continue to see married men. I realize this and no I don't feel bad. Thanks for reading and cum again!

Jorge and I met at a cigar bar. Both of us were drunk, giggly and with friends. I had a good feeling about him like most drunk girls do about guys they meet in bars. Turned out, he's a good guy who I can be honest with. Most of the time, anyway. Back to the story, we sipping on some hellified martinis and I slowly feel myself getting fucked up. Which is the goal. Then, before I know it, we're both are crying about the people who did us wrong and how we didn't deserve it. He excuses himself to the bathroom, we dry up our tears and then we go to the Ali Baba motel room complete with black light, cheap soap and four porn channels.

Jorge CANNOT fuck. God bless his soul. Thank Buddha I was buzzed or I would have laughed aloud. I gotta give the brother cool points for eatting good cooch though. So we are in the bed, talking and he confesses to me. "Lisa, when I went to the bathroom, I threw up." Damn!!!! He tells me that he was fucked up and drinking on an empty stomach. Come on, man. We're educated drunks. We know better. Plus, we were smoking a full-bodied cigar. Damn, Jorge, I thought you were a big boy.

That completed my Friday night. 3 stiff drinks, a cigar, 1 medium-well hamburger and a forty something year old married lawyer throwing up in a steakhouse.

FACT: This panda wants to help you find some of those.

FACT: He'll be vomiting rainbows and photos even if you don't use him to explore Flickr, so why not give the little guy some love?

Click the rainbow vomit-panda to explore Flickr.

"...drinking."

I look around but don't see any cups or bottles on the desk. Then I notice the large wine bottle that she showed to me last night -- a 1.5 liter bottle of Sutter Home that she had gotten sometime over the weekend without me knowing it. It was lying next to her on the spare guest bed we have. It was about 75% gone, which is the level it was at last night.

I check the time -- 10:30 a.m. I grab the bottle and head out of the room, but she is back up on her feet, yelling at me. She thinks I'm going to pour it out. I tell her that I won't let her have any -- she hasn't been sober for two days, and she can't start drinking again today and ruin the whole day for me. Again.

Eventually, we come up to the same wall we always get to in our arguments when she's drunk: she gives me some bullshit ultimatum and threatens to do something. This morning she said something like:

"Okay, here's the deal. You either let me drink the rest of this wine, or else I go and walk down and buy a new bottle and drink as much as I want."

As always, I'm cornered by her compulsion to drink. I hold out a little while and grab her debit card from her purse while she's not looking. She doesn't drive (thank God) -- never has -- so she walks everywhere or takes the bus (or a taxi). She starts to make good on her threat, and I wait until she gets to the sidewalk to remind her to look for her debit card before she goes. She realizes that I have it and comes back to the house.

We're at a standstill. Whenever we get to this point, I always let her have her way. I'd rather she be "safely in sight" rather than walking down a busy street with no sidewalks (like around where we live). And the closest store that sells anything is at least two miles away. I want to let her go and let her learn from her own mistakes, but being with an alcoholic is, much of the time, like babysitting. If I let her go at this point (she doesn't really know what she's doing), then she could get really, really hurt.

She ended up drinking the rest of the wine, becoming giddy for an hour or two. I try to preserve my Sunday -- the sun is out and the wind is blowing slightly and it's not too hot. It's a perfect day and when we get to a local park, Em acknowledges this:

"I can feel the sun passing through me... Don't you just love listening to the wind blowing in the trees?"

She says this as she topples backwards into a field, looking like she is going to start making snow angels in the dry grass.

* * * * *

At around 6:30 p.m., I am scrambling to set up this blog. It's not working very well -- our internet connection is being very testy. Emily had been watching Millions earlier. This is one of her favorite movies -- it's about a young British boy whose mother has just died. He reads a lot about Catholic saints and he starts seeing visions of them everywhere. He comes across a load of money in a field, and he decides (with advice from the saints) that he will use it to help the poor.

It's a movie that was masterfully crafted, and Em reminds me of this:

"It's just so smart... introducing the train like a character in the beginning... 'It wasn't just about the money'... this is so beautiful."

One of Em's reasons for watching this, though, is because her grandmother is not doing so well. We took a trip a week ago to see Em's grandmother, who slipped and fell and fractured something in her back. She's 93 and she's still fighting -- she wants to get out of the rehab clinic and go back to her home, where she lives by herself (though Em's parents trade off going to her every day).

Emily bawls her eyes out near the end, when the boy (spoiler alert) has a vision of his mother. It's a lovely scene, and even I get choked up a bit (even though I've seen it twice before) -- I can't imagine how this is affecting Emily, who is still sipping a beer throughout the movie. She knows her grandmother won't last forever, but Em doesn't know why.

By the time 7 o'clock rolls around, I need to go to practice with my band -- we have a show tomorrow night and we need this practice. I can't call it off. Luckily, Emily is fast asleep, and I hope that she stays that way. I pour out the brandy (I leave a tiny trickle in case she wakes up and looks for more booze, which is inevitable... I think foolishly that leaving a tiny bit will satisfy her need). She wakes up right before I leave and I ask her to promise me that she will stay at home. She has loads of homework to do for her college classes tomorrow, and I know for a fact that she will do none of it tonight.

* * * * *

It's about 2:30 a.m. now, and I have work at 8 (well, that's the current plan, anyway). I stop typing every few minutes to listen for Emily's breathing, which reminds me of when my mother told me that she stayed up an entire night one night when my brother was younger. He had pneumonia and my mother stayed up all night, pressing her ear to his chest and making sure he was breathing out of his mouth.

Em is on the living room floor, on a futon cushion that we put on the floor on Friday, when I was coaxing her into allowing me to give her a backrub, so she'd fall asleep. I just spent the last two hours holding onto her, making she was breathing. Every so often, she would slump onto the cushion and lay still and not breathe at all. After a few seconds, I would shake her, and she would inhale deeply and start talking again.

"I'm such a bad girl... I fuck everything up... God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change and the courage... I can't remember the prayer!"

About an hour ago, she told me that she had gone to get a bottle of wine while I was out tonight. She had taken a cab down, and when she got back, she had drunk an entire 1.5 liter of sangria within the two hours that I was away from the house. I find the empty bottle in her closet as proof, but don't know if she means that she drank it tonight -- she is too drunk to make much sense. About fifteen minutes later, though, after I give her a few sips of water, she begins to make gagging noises. I roll her over and point her head over the cushion. In the poorly lit living room, I can't tell if it's blood or wine is coming out of her mouth, but a lot of something is going all over the tile. It's wine.

I consider calling an ambulance, but I remember times when I've held her as she's gone limp in my arms, her eyes rolling up into her head. At least now she's talking frequently, and sobbing frequently, and when she asks to go pee, she is walking at least partially with a lot of my help. I was reminded of the desperate scene in Babel as I held Emily upright on the toilet while she urinated. I give her a cup of water while she's up and ask what she wants to do. She wants to lie back down. I can do that.

She was calmer and quieter, and eventually she feel asleep. Now I'm wondering what to do -- it's been an hour or so since she feel asleep and she's breathing fine now, and I'm fairly certain that anything that would have happened would have happened by now. I will sleep next to her on the cushion and set an alarm to see how things are in the morning. I might have to call in to work again (it wouldn't be the first time) to stay home and make sure she sobers up.

Pretty much I was Wendell from The Simpsons.  Artist rendition below:

When I picked up the nebulizer a couple of hours ago, I had to pay out of pocket. Insurance Co. wanted me to drive to Lynnwood to go get it at their "preferred" place for medical supplies. Crazy. Driving 30 miles during an asthma attack is NOT realistic. Seriously people, just pay the $125 in order to try to prevent an ER visit...

TMI detail: This is "cough variant asthma" where I go into uncontrollable coughing fits, and often don't stop coughing til I throw up. I also lose bladder control when I cough so hard. I was joking with Luis a bit this morning that I'm bringing sexy back with the puking and peeing. Poise pads FTW.

I could use the power of prayer right now, as this is a little scary.

Starring Jenny Wade, Clu Gulager, Diane Goldner, Tom Gulager, Martin Klebba, Carl Anthony Payne II, Juan Longoria Garcia and Hanna Putnam

Produced by Dimension Extreme

Written by Martin Dunstan and Patrick Melton

Directed by John Gulager

I have been waiting for this moment since I first found out about it: the release of Feast II: Sloppy Seconds. Now, when I say that, I say that out of extreme love/hate, mostly because the first film was near perfection and I had no idea how they would manage a second one. For those who don’t know, Feast was the winner of Ben Affleck/Matt Damon media lovechild, “Project Greenlight 3.” It’s genius, unique and pokes fun at the genre itself while acting as a perfect addition to the genre. The second, however, well…see below.

Feast II: Sloppy Seconds not only shows what happened elsewhere while the bar in the first film was getting attacked, but it takes survivors from both events, has them band together and continue on their journey for survival. This time around, we have Biker Queen, the twin of Harley Mom from the first film, who discovers the Bartender hiding under a trailer. They, along with Queen’s biker gang of chicks, enter a nearby deserted town where car salesman Slasher (he slashes prices!), his wife, Secrets (who’s obsessed with self-help book The Secret) and her lover, Greg Swank, are hiding out. Along the way, they find Honey Pie who the Bartender totally kicks the shit out of her, as he should (if you don’t understand this, see the first one immediately). When the beasts enter, they all run for safety, when they come across nugget (code for “little people”) luchador wrestlers Thunder and Lightning and their grandmother. Thunder tells them of the meth head, Hobo, hiding out in the jail across the street, and being that it’s the only safe place in town, the group devises a plan to enter despite the locked doors. Will they reach safety before they all become feasted upon? Watch and find out, dur!

Sequels are a very touchy subject for me, even more so than reboots. With a movie as great as the first Feast, nothing could really touch it. Naturally, I was curious to see it simply because all except one or two of the characters in the first one died and had no idea how there could be a sequel, period. Well, of course, the one ambiguous death of a character in the first film, the Bartender, was used to jumpstart the second film. That paired with the fact that Harley Mom, a prominent character in the first film, mysteriously has a twin sister, who’s out for not only monster ass, but to kill who killed her sister, Bozo. The connections to the first one, although strained, run well enough to keep the second story going.

As far as the acting goes, it was good, just as it was in the first film…but that could be because half the original cast was in it. Along with the edition of Martin Klebba, who is the best nugget on the planet, and Carl Anthony Payne II (you may remember him on “Martin”), it was pretty great all around.

Feast II is directed by John Gulager again, so it makes sense that the film is shot the same way. There are bits of shaky camera movements, but not too bad like SOME movies *AHEM*CLOVERFIELD*AHEM*.

Instead of doing the text intros like in the first film, the second film does the same thing, but has the character say whatever they want about themselves versus having you read it yourself. It wasn’t too bad, but I liked the only way better since it gave the film his old 70s feel.

Another good thing throughout the film was the use of flashbacks from the first movie. Instead of plastering them all over the place, they were used only when appropriate to describe either past characters or background for the story in general.

Now this is where my heart breaks a little. The first film you could tell had a decent budget simply because it used little to no CGI and mostly all prosthetic gore to get its disgusting point across. However, with Feast II, there’s a lot of CGI, and bad CGI at that, which made that sense of reality the first one offered totally disappear. In addition to CGI blood, more than half of the movie is shot in front of a green screen, which makes the movie almost unbearably cheesy. However, when they did use real gore, it was great.

Feast II focuses a lot on where the beasts come from and how they’re built. One of the characters gets a bright idea to cut the monster open (in a VERY disgusting process), only to discover there’s a Cyclops inside that makes a screeching noise to signal the others. Sounds a bit like the later installments of the Tremors series to me.

Comparing it directly to the first one, it’s terrible as far as pacing goes. Feast spaced out the characters deaths, the gore and moved the story along very smoothly. Feast II gives you a massive dose of gore (the beast farts, girls puke, poop is sprayed on girl, girls puke again, then monster semen, more puke, etc.). Maybe because there is purposefully a third movie coming out, almost no characters die in this film, whereas everyone except for one or two characters dies in the first. Those who die or get severely injured in the second installment are mostly by accident, not at the hands of the beasts themselves. It also introduced a cat/beast hybrid (again…Tremors sequels) in which they’re smaller and quicker than the originals.

The movie ends just as the beasts entire the scene, almost forcing you to watch the third (I know I will, unfortunately). Also, they seemingly kill Honey Pie, but just like any “good,” current horror flick, has a post-credits fake out and is actually alive. Oy vey. My head hurts.

Pretty neat feature, actually. Talks about three generations in one film: Clu (Bartender) and sons John (directing) and Tom (acting as Greg Swank) alongside grandson Clu Mason (baby nugget actor). Diane Goldner AKA Biker Queen is married to John in real life.

Aside from a hilarious scene involving the “rescue” of a baby and watching two nuggets/little people wrestle, this movie is actually a pretty huge disappointment. I’m going to go home and watch the original to remember “back when”…*sigh*

You know that little box
With acne vulgaris
No cream could heal
Nor dismiss

O Bam! A wrestling
Is just beginning
While I'm ending
A pralin tin
After vomitting
All McCain's fry!
Makes me cock-eye

Mae Linat © 2008

You can wonder around the chaos and the trash. Go past the piles of vomit that the no teeth carnies will never clean up and see some awesome booths and attractions.  Of course there's the amazing super duper awesome fantastical smallest woman who can shoot ping pong balls out her ass while singing the national anthem..(I made the last part up to make it more interesting. If that was actually there, I would be at the fair all day long).  Or you can walk a couple steps away and see the worlds largest alligator or pig or whatever creature they want to pawn off on people, and upon further inspection you realize isn't moving or breathing at all...complete rip off.  I guess you really shouldn't expect much from those tiny little booths whose price ranges from .50 to $1.00.  But there is always the hope that you will see something cool. I am still keeping some hope alive that maybe one of these things could possibly be..gasp..real.

A few years ago there was a butter sculpture of Darth Vader and Yoda...come on..that was pretty fucking fantastic. Much cooler than seeing your mom scarf hot dogs in the contest next door. Yeah I said it.

Vaders back looks like a penis (see it? with the veins...and the helmet?...come on) and whatever is sitting on yodas lap looks like a massive ball sack, but it was still cool none the less.

There are also a million different food options at the fair, but everone seems to buy the same fucking thing. The goddamn turkey leg.   People are walking around looking like fucking vikings with giant ass turkey legs and shit smears all over their faces. And no one seems to care because everyone has them.  EVERYONE.. (except me )

Drunks are the best part of the fair. Since they clearly cannot see from behind their giant food on a stick and their tall boy, they can't see to get out of your way so they usually will hit you dead center and then look at you like it was your fault. If you are not drunk then the drama is cut short with  nothing more than a possible swear word or two.  However, when drunk red necks collide nothing can pull the two apart. Someone, if not both, will end up on the ground while the other walks away victorious. Usually talking massive amounts of incoherent shit as they once again bump into other fair goers.

Next weekend the fair ends...then they will all come crawling back. Boo.  As lame as the fair is,  I believe it does serve a purpose. That purpose is to keep the rednecks away from me for a little while.  I have had a good week so far with no children running around, or people pulling things out of the dumpster.  I have to say that I have had it made.  Next week though...damn it..

P.S Apparently no one got my message on the top of the head side ponytails. Thats cool, Ill start carrying a pair of fucking scissors.

The nasty little remnants that get stuck in your teeth have to come out, and soon.  The junk drives me absolutely nuts.

Normally I'd run upstairs and floss in private, then brush my teeth.  No one the wiser.

(Isn't it amazing how a perfectly clean mouth can smell like crap after flossing?  Brushing is a requirement for everyone after flossing, so do it from now on!)

This time was a bit different.  The little boy has been more demanding today then usual and the wife had some stuff she needed to do, so I put a line of floss in my pocket and went to the den to hold the little monster for her.

After a time the boy started entertaining himself in my lap with a truck or something so I pulled the floss out and got to work.  That junk stuck in there was really bothering me.

Did I mention my wife is somewhat a germaphobe?

It didn't take long for her to see what I was doing.  Honestly, had I thought about it, I wouldn't have done it anyway, but that didn't matter.  Too late.  Judging by the reaction my wife had, flossing popcorn teeth with baby in lap is a ginourmous no-no!

I thought she was going to throw-up.  I had to brush my teeth AND wash my hands before she'd give the little bugger back.  I think she wanted me to change shirts, but I played dumb...

In case you're wondering what I did with the used up, old nasty floss, it's in my pocket.  I'm think I'm going to leave it on her keyboard as a nice surprise.

We arrived at church on time and were seated in the bride's section.

The service started on time, but that's the last thing normal about this wedding.

As the procession of bride's maids ascended the alter, with the groom crying out loud (I kid you not!), the third one back tripped forward taking the first two down with her!  As they were helped to their feet the groom was crying like a spoiled child who just lost his favorite toy.

He only got worse as the bride approached.  I've never seen anything like it and it was all I could do not to LOL!

Then the good stuff started.

The priest was having trouble speaking through the coughs and loud throat clearing, so he sent an alter boy to get a handkerchief.  Remember the priest is wired to a mic so we can hear everything, clearly.  The alter boy returned with several napkins and the priest handed one to the flushed and crying groom saying, "I think you need this"!!!! LOL!!!

Then the craziest thing I've ever seen happened.  After saying a few words the priest turned and ran out of the sanctuary!  WTF I thought as I'm nearly crying from holding my laughter back.

Within seconds we start hearing the worst sounds coming from a human that you can imagine.

It turns out the priest was making his way to the bathroom when he started blowing things out of his body in the vestibule!  He eventually made it to the bathroom where the blowouts continued in HiFi through the church's speaker system!

One minute, two minutes, three minutes, the time just keeps ticking and he keeps blowing up in there in full surround sound, echoes and all, until we hear some words, "Ghe fa-ur fi****".

"What?"

"Ghe fa-ur fi****!"

"What?  "I can't understand you."

"GET FATHER FI****!!!"

"Oh, ok."  Well, everyone in the church knows who's coming to fill in. LMAO!!!

I don't know how much more time went by that we had to listen to Pompeii Round Two in the bathroom, but it wasn't discovered until the organist came in and started playing a tune, or five or ten.  She probably only noticed because he wasn't in rhythm with her, but she did turn his mic off at some point.  Halaluea!

Father Fi**** finally showed up and my thoughts on Catholic weddings had changed by now, but Father Fi**** had one more trick up his sleeve for us, the bride's name.  Not one time did he get it right.  The poor bride corrected him twice, the groom finally straightened his baby ass up and corrected him once, as did the matron of honor.  They gave up.

To the credit of the bride and groom, they both were good natured about it by the time they got to the reception.  But DAMN, Catholic weddings ROCK!  ROTFLMAO!!!!

So it came as somewhat of a surprise Tuesday morning to find myself doubled over between two cars in the hospital parking deck, heaving violently. One minute I was getting out of the car, feelin’ fine. The next I was trying to keep the contents of my stomach off of my feet (I may have picked the wrong day to wear shorts and sandals).

It soon became clear that oxycodone was to blame. On Monday, my white blood cells bottomed out at 100. Normal is 1,500. This is by design with chemo. But I also had been running a fever for a few days and had swollen glands, so they were concerned I had an infection. In addition to my regular dose of bleomyicin, I was put on an antibiotic and received two shots of neupogen, which accelerates white cell production in the bone marrow. This causes deep, throbbing pain in the bones (in my case, hips, legs, shoulders, and the base of my spine). So the oxycodone was for that pain.

Took a couple days to get it out of my system, during which time my gag reflex was on a hair trigger. It didn’t help that one of the few things I dared eat was a nectarine that ended up having a wriggling worm in the middle. Check, please!

Our country is facing an economic crisis -- disaster, recession, armageddon, collapse, whatever...spin the big wheel of doomsday phrases.  Our country is having a big problem with the economy.  Banks are failing.  When have I ever watched banks fail and be taken over by the government?

Never!  That's when!  Never!  I have never seen our economy in this situation.  Oh, sure there was the big crash at the end of the 1980's, but it really kind of pales in comparison to what's going on right now.  This is big.  This is "Potter Just took over the bank" from It's a Wonderful Life big.  Costs of mundane goods are skyrocketing, homeowners are losing homes, it's grim out there.

And Washington is squabbling about Democrat versus Republican.

Excuse me, I just vomited a little in my mouth and swallowed it back down again.  I had to wipe some off my lip before I could continue.  What I said is right -- lawmakers in Washington are quibbling like spoiled brothers and sisters over which parties demands are more important.  Democrat plans versus Republican plans; Republican checks versus Democrat balances.  Donkeys versus Elephants.

My god, our economy is melting down outside their windows, and they're sissy-fighting over party politics!?  Does anyone in Washington pay attention to the rest of the country?  I mean really, what's important here?  The good of the country?  The good of the citizenry?  Hello?

It sounds to me like D.C. is on fire, and I hear fiddles coming from the Capitol.

My friends and family have been incredibly supportive.  In fact, anyone I've told (and I'm pretty forthcoming when people ask how I lost the weight) has been nothing but supportive.  But I know there are people out there who think I've taken the easy way out.  I wish surgery was the easy way out.  Actually, I wish there was an easy way out of being fat, period.  There just isn't.  I have to take small bites and chew my food to mush if I don't want to throw up.  Sometimes I still throw up.  Actually, I've puked more in the past year than I have in the whole rest of my life.  I've thrown up in airports, on airplanes, while driving and in a garbage can in my office  .And those were just the times when I couldn't get to the bathroom.  I had to give up diet coke (which I loved), and beer (which was tough when I was in Belgium).

I still have to watch everything I eat.  I work out hard and often, and as much as I give him a hard time, Jason allows me to be successful.

The odd thing is although I know I'm thinner, most of the time, I still see myself as fat.  I'm not thin my any means, but I suppose I'm about average (aside from the stomach that needs surgical intervention).  I haven't stopped shopping in plus size stores even though nothing in those stores fits me anymore.  I keep thinking that if I go into a normal store, people will tell me I don't belong.

Tonight, as previously mentioned, I decided I needed a coat.  I ended up at Macy's.  In addition to a nice, reversible houndstooth pattern on one side/black water-resistant on the other side coat, I bought a pair of Calvin Klein jeans, a Calvin Klein long-sleeved t-shirt, and a really nice dress.  I didn't have to venture into the plus size section for any of it.  And when I did venture into the plus size section, the smallest size was too big.

A lot of things changed when I lost weight.  I became less afraid.  I did things I wouldn't have done before -- like crawl around in the Lusk caves.  I don't worry about whether I can put the tray table on an airplane seat down without it hitting my stomach, or if I'll fit in a booth in a restaurant.  I'm more likely to talk to people.

I feel like I still have a long way to go, not so much from a weight loss perspective (although I would like to lose about 30 more pounds), but from an emotional perspective.  Food is still a crutch, an addiction that I fall back into when things don't go so well.  There's always some reason to feel not good enough (song quote there -- artist anyone?  No points if you Google it).  That's making it hard to lose these last 30 pounds, even with Jason kicking my ass.

But I have to keep trying.  I've seen the other side, and I don't want to go back.

At 5 a.m. on Monday morning, Evil suffered just such a humbling experience. Since his business is slingin' Evil, he was unsurprised that said humbler rocked his world with a level of nefarious glee he could never have anticipated. It turned his own bones, muscles, blood, internal organs, and other goopy viscera against him, stampeding them in a mad dash to exit the Evil's body by whatever means possible.

Fear not! Evil will emerge from this a better, if dehydrated, man. But he's going to sign off today for fear of puking on his laptop.

Infernally Yours,

Natty E

I have double english, which is hellish. Punctuation exercises! Again!

Ummm...classes are boring to write about (apart from art, which is nevar boring - yay, screenprinting...)

So...at lunch(marginally less boring than classes)...I learned of how drunk my friends were on friday night, camping.

It kinda made me glad, for once, that they neglected to invite me.
Even though I was sitting right next to them when they were inviting people (Thanks guys)

So at least I didn't miss out on much apart from folk puking. Epic... *rolls eyes*

Apparently, it was my luverly ex who contributed to the vomit mostly. Delightful...

*Giggles*

Speaking of, I had an eeevil thought yestarday.

A few times, even while we were going out, I considered telling him that I was a lesbian - just to see the look on his face. *cackles* I'm just nice like that...

Obviously, after a day or so I'd tell him I was messing him about...but here's the evil part...I could just not.

Like, after I leave school in May I'll probably only keep in touch with him via MSN...so if he thinks I'm gay it doesn't matter...

It would be so worth it for his reaction. xD

*plots*