bitterdiva

the internet is boring

Perhaps it may just be the simple fact that I really don't know what to do with all the bandwidth at my disposal, but I find the internet more boring than a lecture by my English professor. I'm not into searching out porn, those days are long over. I've read enough fanfic to send my head spinning and the inside critic praying for a bomb to wipe out the grammatically inept. I cut out most of the junk in my e-mail so the OCD checking is met with a let down as there is nothing more to read. I get enough news on tv since I've been home with my surgery to even bother with going to CNN.

I'm frustrated with my computer and the internet. I spent my income tax check upgrading my computer to build a beast worthy of this month and I feel that a 5 year old child addicted to Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets uses theirs more than I. I'm passionless, deflated, and annoyed all at the same time. Sure I should be working on a website for my design class but I lack the vision. It's hard working with a partner collaborating on a concept when I'm in charge of design and they're in charge of content. I can't go further without a title.

Yesterday, I was in the bathroom taking one of my massive deuces when I needed my mind to be taken away from the pain and agony I've been feeling. I picked up Goo's Sports Illustrated from early March and noticed something: all the ads in the bloody mag are understandably male oriented. From numerous artery-clogging junk food ads to sports gear, trucks, junkyard wars show, and beer. The most depressing thing is that artery-clogging ads out numbered the remaining ads. One in particular to Cheez-Its said, "Watch TV with your arm around the one you love." Obviously not meaning their significant other, but a suggestive message about fisting the box of Cheez-Its as you munch incessantly and mindlessly until the box is devoured during this March Madness.

Taking a look at two different cultures, Japanese and American, you'll notice something. Instead of dealing with issues, these cultures turn to something else to cradle their insecurities and failures. Porn, Suicide, and Food. Porn makes you feel good; watch porn, jerk off, and go to sleep. Suicide makes the problems go away by making yourself go away, snuff out yourself and snuff out your problems - problem solved. Food solves everything, it turns an incident at the pool where your swimtrunks didn't remain on to a situation where all the girls saw your stuff and didn't mind it. The other idea is use drugs, escape reality.

I know a solution to parenting and ADD/ADHD: stop overdosing your fucking children with sugar. Hop them up on sugar and they go crazy. I've seen it numerous times, especially at a birthday party with soda, ice cream, and cake. Five minutes later, they're all jumping around like chimpanzees and their ability to remain attentive drops like Michael Jackson's pants at Chuck E Cheese. Perhaps parents should stop being escapists and learn how to deal with the problems they face instead of introducing a coping mechanism or horrible solution to the situation at hand.

Now I'm going to go and escape my problem with boredom with a nice long shower. At least it's something productive and might get the creative juices flowing.

11 prayers | 10:40 AM

Back home

Well, I successfully made it through my surgery - 4 incisions, a bad gallbladder, and a couple of gallstones the size of quarters later. It's amazing how many people have sent me well wishes and flowers. Including my coworkers in both departments. That trully made me feel better.

Notes on my hospital stay:
1. nurses really don't allow more than 5 hours of sleep - I was constantly interrupted to get my vitals taken every hour from 10pm to 1:30 am. Then I was woken up around 6 am to get blood drawn. This was Monday night. Tuesday I was feeling ill so I passed out around 10 and was woken up around 1:30 to get vitals taken, I couldn't complain because the tech informed me how to get the remaining gas moving through my system. I did manage to dutch-oven myself the next morning and gave my surgeon an unpleasant gift when he checked out the incisions. He's probably use to it.

2. Hospital food is absolutely horrible, and the staff can't get anything right. I had my gallbladder removed which means I can't really intake a lot of fat right after surgery. I had asked for salad and soup or chicken for lunch, they gave me pork with gravy. I don't even eat bloody pork, why give me something I didn't ask for. People removed items from my tray, I had creamer, but no coffee (even when listed on the form) along with no fresh fruit or banana.

3. When you're ill you really don't give a shit who's looking at what body part. I thought on sunday, should I shave certain areas and said, nah they won't be looking in at them. Well they did, and I really couldn't care because, I was in pain and doped up on Darvocet.

4. Morphine burns; it burns immensely. I don't like Morphine. I had to be administered 3 shots when the hydrocodone didn't work (which I told them it wouldn't because of the weird drug resistance my father gave me). The IV clogged so they removed it which meant shots intramuscularly. I would've done better with the morphine administered via the IV but no. I also think they would've had a much easier time drawing blood if they gave me a new IV - that whole dehydration thing. It's bad enough I have small veins, but combine it with dehydration and it's like getting blood from a rock. I'm all black and bruised.

The good thing about all of this, I get to spend a lot of time with my mother. I haven't been able to just relax with just her when she comes up or when I go home because the whole fam wants time with X.

I'm a bit upset at the fact that I told people in my frat via a group that I know a lot of my friends belong to that I was going in for surgery and none of them could give a shit about me. I realize that I'm not the best friend in the world but you can guarantee that if someone told me they had to go for surgery, I would totally be wishing them a speedy recovery. I send people e-cards and whatnot but when it comes back to me I get shit. What gets me even more is that they could go one incessantly about the fucking newsletter that when out and care more about that than about a human being. I'm done. I'm taking myself off of their lists and excommunicating them out of my life. They speak of brotherhood and togetherness but when a brother really needs someone to talk to or when they need help, they couldn't be bothered. They're self-centered assholes and I don't need that pain and aggrevation in my life.

1 prayer | 11:44 AM

Update

Bitterdiva doesn’t like doctors - that’s why she avoids them at all cost. Sometimes you can’t avoid doctors, no matter how hard you try or how hard you think you’re capable of withstanding some illness. Pain will tear a person apart and leave you huddling on the floor praying that some deity remove the pain at all costs, including and praying for death.

I hooked myself up with an appointment for the surgeon who comes highly recommended from highly credible sources – Phase 2 complete. Phase 3 is surgery, which surprisingly, is scheduled for Monday, March 24. It’s amazing to think that 2 years ago from that date I was in NYC having fun with my family at the wedding of my cousins and recouping from a broken foot. Last year, well that was a bad year, but I was suffering from some stomach illness. This year I guess, I shall continue two trends of mine: one: being ill in March and two: spending my spring break from classes in some kind of long and involved medical procedure.

How am I coping you may ask? I think I’m handling things properly. I decided on such a fast date so that I only have 6 days of worrying to occupy me rather than several months along with getting better in time for my vacation to Ireland. One of the most disconcerting and frightening things I will have to do in my entire life is give up complete control of my body. That scares me more than I think I let on. It’s not the allowing people to prod my body while unconscious that worries me; it’s the littlest things like, what is the possibility of me taking a deuce on the operating table? Is being under like being asleep where somewhere inside I still have muscle control? Do you dream when you’re under? Am I going to boot from the anaesthesia?

Trying to look on the bright side of things, I get a week off to do pretty much nothing. I’ll be hanging out mostly with my mother and Kris – that should be fun. It’s a good thing I have a DVD player in the computer, that’ll be getting a workout. Of course, this means I’m going to have to spend most of my free time organizing my dungeon of doom.

2 prayers | 01:44 PM

GB

In an effort to keep you updated with the happenings of me, here you go: I’m ill. That’s the long and short of it. Got sick last Thursday in what I thought was just a stomach related illness. Turns out I have gallstones, in which case, I have to schedule myself with a surgeon to find out what the best way to deal with this is – most likely it involves me becoming Swiss-cheese. I’ll have to have my gallbladder removed at some point. I can’t eat fatty foods nor foods with high calcium contents which means cheese is not allowed. The mere thought of an existence without the aged goodness of cheese is horrible but the thought of me having an internal organ become inflamed, infected, and burst is even worst.

Stress is one of those factors that should probably be kept at a minimum, however, knowing me I exacerbate all life’s anxieties and worsen myself. I guess when forced with life a certain way or the possibility of intense pain, one chooses life. I may not be happy for the next couple of month, I may not be able to go to Ireland in May, but I will have to take a week off and do absolutely nothing if the GB needs to go. I should mention now I like fruit baskets, but not the kind that David Duchovny gives in Evolution, ha.

In other news, I was the sole trainer for 15 district officials for my organization's new baby, an online application system. It's pretty neat, candidates log-in find vacancies and send their information to that district. The officials can find candidates for their vacancies and it cuts down on the paper trail and costs. I was asked to train these people yesterday late morning and to sit in on a session that afternoon. I think I did fairly well even if I couldn't use the computer to demonstrate the activities planned for them.

It's certainly been a very crazy week, workshops always bring death and despair and plagues and all the bad things that happen to my department. I am starting to think that perhaps they should stop doing workshops, at least for our sake. Last fall's workshops brought a coworker appendicitis, another spring workshop brought a blizzard to the area. I guess I should beware the Ides of March.

1 prayer | 01:24 PM

Grammatically speaking...

The only clause I enjoy is named Santa.

In this corner with blue hair and a badass temper is xtine, the Bitter Diva. And in the other corner holding his Research Paper Template is Professor, ‘No One Else Uses This’, Nitwit. Opponents are to come out, exchange constructive criticism and the most well developed critique will be forced to back down when the other opponent foolishly retorts with an unfounded statement. Bitches, begin.

BD: “This template has more than one sentence under each heading, I don’t understand where you’re getting this one sentence only from.”
PN: “Oh sure, you just want to put all the blame on me.”
BD: “I don’t believe you are being too descriptive with your explanations of this template honestly speaking.”
PN: “I don’t see any other college in New England handing this template out.”

Prof. Nitwit has smacked Bitterdiva down with his asinine comment. Bitterdiva holds her tongue and looks towards the floor in an uncanny attempt to not retort. She’s turning red ladies and gentlemen, this has got to be one for the annals. Professor Nitwit wins with a HTT (that is of course, Holier than thou) attitude.

In all my experience with academia, I have never witnessed a blatant display of Holier than thou attitude. This professor belittles the class with generalized statements such as that we don’t know how to read, we couldn’t write a paper ever other week if he asked us to, and we plagiarize all the time. I mean, he was asking for synonyms for changing in the context of a changing career. I gave him transmogrifying and he told me it was too William Buckley-ish for the class. So apparently, I can’t read, can’t write, plagiarize all the time, but my vocabulary is too developed for the other plebeians he’s teaching. I think it’s time that I bring back Mr. Cassette Recorder and start writing down all the insults thrown at the class.

2 prayers | 09:31 AM

Replacement parts needed

There are moments when I wake up in the morning and desire to have a chip implanted in my brain that severs ties to the past. All those randoms who have made some rather small appearance in the production of my life, should just have been an uncredited cameo. It only fuels the fire, the drive of the angsty bitterdiva.

Yet I am drawn to the trainwrecks of my past like a moth to flame. Constantly searching out those that abandoned me or that I have abandoned because at that moment of derailing they left some profound mark inside me. It'll take me seven years to rid myself of the past. Old cells die and new ones are created. The ones that are attached to the past will eventually die and be expelled from my body just like fecal matter was once masticated animal and plant life.

I am sickened by displays of public affection. The mere words people string together to form dewy-eyed ramblings of one's affection for another are nausiating to the point where the pungent taste of bile remains in my mouth. Fools. Once the infatuation stage of the relationship transmogrifies into the mature relationship all of that mushiness is superfluous. If it lasts beyond that stage.

I have experienced personality rearrangements over the course of relationships, be it mine or theirs, or a friend's. There have been occassions where my personality was not of me, but rather some pathetic creature that was manipulative and required attention. I killed her. Once my true self grabbed a hold of reality it could no longer imbibe in the lie that was currently walking around imitating the individual I was. I am now who I want to be, personality wise. I do not need to hide my affection for distasteful poop humour, my love of harnassing bitterness from simple situations and my love for the quirkiness.

I am weird. I am bitter. I am a freak. I am a diva. I am not, however, your average, vapid, submissive girl. And fuck you too, bitch.

2 prayers | 10:44 AM