So I think I may have an upper respiratory infection. I won't bet my nickels and dimes on it, but I'm pretty perched on the fence about it. I keep coughing up hunks of phlegm that are the most putrid color of sea foam / ectoplasmic Hi*C juice box green. I've been doing it since Monday but it's sort of plateaued and not gotten any worse or better. I also thought it was mold-like-anthrax put into my air ventilation system in my home and work by the powers that be because I'm looking at nudey girls while at work. Or the black man because they oh so routinely mistake me for being african american and are fed up with me flipping out because I'm hawiian and refuse to be grouped into the skin category of black when I'm in fact: OLIVE or BROWN, gasp. I also believe it's a higher being telling me that I should wrap myself in a cocoon and become Species Alien Chick V (or whatever number they're up to now) and eat people for their untainted DNA or something. Really any number of these possibilities could be true, but I figure might as well ride it out and see if my cocoon rapture is upon us; or if this too, shall pass.


Aside from all of this, I special ordered The Cream of Tank Girl hardcover edition. It is said to include never before seen strips from the comic that aired in Deadline way before I was cool enough to know that the British were indeed coming.There is also every single cover art from the original series and other information an art loving comic humping fangirl otaku would orgasm over. Sadly, Jamie Hewletts super awesome special edition art covered dildos will not be sold in pairs with this book. It's a very sad day in amazon world for not being able to group these two amazing things together and sell in an awesome forces package. As well as settling upon such amusing and life fulfilling purchases I made orders to Rocksteady clothing and Lucky 13 / Felon clothing. I'm hoping my Drink Fight Fuck belt and duct tape tube top fits with my riches to rags outfit I've been constructing for gag greeting cards for christmas this year. My grandmother of course will find this hilarious as well as force my mother to be more disgusted in the fact she bore something so vile and lovable as me. Who knew body modification in any form was such a sin? Ha-rumph.


I have also found out that I enjoy not sleeping and driving out into the night and watching the sunrise while driving 90 on winding roads two hours from home. It's a kind of inner peace that I hope you all one day will feel such as I have. It's very euphoric.



I'm finding myself more and more beginning to think that I've grown so much into myself that I'll never find a way out. It beats trying to grow up I guess, growing in than out, up, or away.


Also. I love piercing. I hate piercing people that are the equivalent to a cork though. They absorb but I don't think anything really sinks in. Whoda thunk. Seriously. ALSO. Not everyone can be a tattoo artist. well.. at least a good one. Things to think about. Hrm.