I Want to Be Sedated

play dead Bunny!
Originally uploaded by blacksapphire.
OK So yesterday JUST finished all my freshmen papers (16 papers handed in on Tuesday and handed back with comments yesterday at 1:30). Left work, met with the Doberman for coffee for 30 min. Met Mere Lapin for dinner. Went home and crashed. Woke up at 8 am managed to correct almost ALL my literature reading logs (about 20) and drop them off here by 3. Now I have to go back home and change before I met my old college friends and try not to be depressed by how little I have accomplished in 10 years (and how much weight I've gained). Wake up tomorrow and calculate final grades for the frosh, write two exams, and grade late papers. Oh right and also finally find a hotel in Paris so that I end up staying on the left bank literally.

And that's just the beginning.

And I have to do all of this while trying not to be horribly depressed. Sure I blew one off last night, but the guy was either seriously bipolar or a cokehead. Not exactly what I want to date. In fact the best dating option I have right now, no joke, is an ex con. Two nights ago he asked me, "Why are you always so sad?" I figured he didn't have tme for the list, but trust me it just get exponentially longer.

I have made an appointment to see a psychiatrist something I have been very loathe to do, but it seems clear at this point that the talking cure and all of my other activities will not pull me out of this on its own.

I Disapprove of the Fact I Can't Give You The Finger

I can be as cute as the best of them
Originally uploaded by WelshTart.
Just to keep you entertained over the next few days here is another clearly disapproving rabbit I found on Flickr. I would like to hire him as my chief of security. Would YOU fuck with this guy? I think not. He might stick a carrot where the sun don't shine and I don't mean the ground.

I have a huge amount of work to do and not much time, and I'm making it worse by accepting dinner dates and visiting with old friends for drinkies so bloggidity goodness will probably be few and far between and then soon to Paris!

Last night I was a particularly bad bunni staying out late and barely getting my work done on time. Still, fun was had in the that depressive why am I doing this way of mine. Still scored me a date for tonight.

Interested yet?

French Absurdist Advertising

Hangin' with the Hissem and Defining the Difference Between Bitches n' Hos
I've always gotten along better with boys. I was talking to my mother this weekend and she was recalling when I was a little girl. She got a phone call from Nathan's mother (my best friend's mother) explaining, "I told him that she simply can't be the ONLY girl he invites to his birthday party, but he won't listen." I said I didn't mind. And sure enough when my mother came to pick me up, there were the boys wrestling in the dirt, and I was on the swing in my pink dress just smiling away and watching.

Similarly, I invited boys to my birthday party even though several girls wouldn't come if there were boys. I told him my mother, " I don't care if they won't come. It's my party and I want Nathan and Jeff to come."

Later Nathan and Jeff would turn against me. In middle school, when I became a social pariah because of my disability. They spread rumors about me, namely that I had skinny dipped with them and tried to seduce them sexually.


At about the time that it became dangerous for someone to even be seen talking to me if he/she wished to remain popular or even well liked, rumors began to circulate that I was a slut. In fact, when I was in a wheelchair for two months recovering from major surgery with a two inch metal rod sticking out of my left foot, the rumor going around was that I had had an abortion and the cast on my leg was put there by my father to "cover."

No one tried to explain the two inch metal rod sticking out of my foot.

So I am used to being the only girl in the company of men and being called a slut.

Last Friday I was sitting outside of the new Lion's Den surrounded by my male friends. I like being the Queen Bee. Ariel arrived and kissed my hand. Rasputin arrived and began to argue about the proper way of kissing a woman's hand. Thus I sat there, two men kissing my hand, each debating with the other about technique.

I imagine French court might have been like that.

As I sat there, one of the female regulars walked by and saw me holding court. "What do you call a male harem?" she asked.

"A Hissem," I responded without thinking. Thus I was hangin' with the hissem.

The thing about the hissem is that although I am surrounded by men, I would never date or sleep with any of them.

Later that night, a regular at the local watering hole accused me of being a slut. "I see you in here talking to a different guy each time. What am I supposed to think?"

Do you see why I sometimes deeply hate men?

It's not as if I was dating this guy or had any personal connection to him, yet I was expected to explain myself , and my predilection for male company, to him. Uh let me call my personal assistant, Yeah Ellen, I have a question, did I have anything I was supposed to tell this guy? Yeah? Really? Thanks. Yeah my personal assistant says fuck you. No wait let me call my mother, I'm sure she would like to say fuck you to you as well.

Alright listen up you primitive screwheads, now if you are disturbed by a woman's choice of bed bunny calling her a slut is NOT the way to ensure an invitation into her boudoir. If anything, she will never EVER touch you again.

And just to clarify, I'm a bitch not a slut. If you're going to insult me, at least get it right, flapjack.

A slut is a woman who fucks everyone at the bar.

A bitch is a woman who fucks everyone at the bar BUT YOU. (One of the bartenders I used to be friends with used to take great delight in introducing me to his friends as "his bitch" and then proceed to explain the difference. I wanted him to make me an official "Sean's Bitch" t-shirt.)

I was initially furious with being called a slut, but then I remembered the stories my mother told me about being the only girl happily playing amongst the boys as a child and I thought, "Fuck him. I'm going to talk who I enjoy talking to and if HE can't handle that, well, that's his problem."

Why is it so hard to conceive that while I might be surrounded by male attention, I am not sleeping with any of these men?

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I Ended Up in His Lap, But It Wasn't My Fault and other Country Western Hits

I should be doing work right now. I mean I've only graded 34 papers this weekend. I have another twenty to go before tomorrow's classes at 9 am. My last classes. I hate going to the last class sleep deprived. I'll still have papers to grade. Freshmen final papers and reading logs, journals, and then finals.

Just kill me.

But I thought before I go into the Great Sleep Deprived Beyond I would leave you with today's thought.

I was talking to Daddy Warbucks about he started a story with "I ended up in his lap, but it wasn't my fault." I thought, "That's the best country western song title I've ever heard." So while I go hibernate with papers a go go you can entertain yourselves writing the lyrics.

Oh and apparently I have a heart murmur. Who knew?

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