Like a pot o'gold. Full of anthrax.
As if life did not suck bad enough as it was, I have been blessed once again with another troublesome irritance quickly leading me to my fate of having an anurisim caused by extreme fucking frustration.
After a particularly stressful week of kicking ass at good ole De Anza College, I seem to have broken out in a terrible rash. Thank god I don't have a job or medical insurance, that really helps a lot. I have had some unusual dry spots on my arm for a few months now, which did not really bother me, besides an occcasional bout of bothersome itchiness. But a few days ago, the scaly, itchy red blotches spread all throughout my chest and back. The result being feeling totally depressed and otherwise very pissed off in general. I began my thereapy by being totally despondant and being a total dick to Allie. Although she hated the way I was acting, she was very supporyive. (Thanks sweetie!) It turns out that I am totally vain, and horriffic changes in my appearance make me want to go on killing sprees. Fourtunaley I did not go through with the killing and insead visited my favorite free clinic, Planned Parenthood. They are actually a really cool group of people considering they have to deal with sexually infected and otherwise pregnant and pissed off ghetto folk all day long. Anyway, I was diagnosed with Pityriasis Rosea, a skin irritation with no real known cause or entirely effective cure. Fourtunatley it tends to disappear in 6-12 weeks with the help of some perscription steroidal cream. And its not contagious. That helps. Kinda. It really makes me wonder how you get something that is not really contagiuos. Apparently it is caused by having terribly bad luck and an acute lack of health insurance. Although I do not belive in god, this returns me to the theory that god totally fucking hates me. Sounds like a good enough explanition. Beats the hell out of what the doctor had to say. "It gets worse when you are stressed out. You have to calm down, relax." Well asshole, unfourtunatley I am taking on 20 units and my blood pressure is that of a nuclear friggin bomb. Nothing I can do on that front, but thanks anyway. Telling me to relax is like trying to tell a fire not to be so hot by spraying gasoline on it. Oh well. At least I know what it is, and that I can't give it to anyone else, that acually , no sarcasam intended, helps a hell of a lot.
My next entry will be about very, very good things. I promise. If I actually have to make something good happen by sacrificing goats or joining the cult of scanzilla, I will see that it happens.
Tip of the day:
Pregnant or otherwise motherly women do not like it when you tell your friend "Shut up or I will shake you like a bad baby" in front of them. Make sure you spout out this terribly offensive saying in front of a new mother ASAP. (Before or on mothers day.) It will illicit a respone and facial expression you may never get to see again. Not to mention its hella funny. (and you owe me $5 every time you say it, because I FUCKING MADE IT UP. GIMMIE MY ROYLATIES BEEATCH!!!)