People have always called me a paranoid person.

No matter how well I am doing, of all the variables I face dealing with chronic depression I have some of the most trouble dealing with paranoia. With years of therapy I know that paranoia is actually nothing more than having a negative attentional bias towards something, not allowing myself the observation of any positive feelings to help convince myself that no, everyone does NOT hate me or think I’m stupid or useless and that I shouldn’t even be entertaining these negative thoughts and overwhelming feelings.

It doesn’t matter how much medication I’m on or not on. There is no medication that helps me with this. This is something that to different degrees I have always dealt with, but when you add anxiety into the mix, I feel like my innards are being blown up and twisted into balloon animals and not even cool ones at that. I’m allowed to take an extra clonazepam on really bad days to curb my anxiety but that still leaves me unable to eat because when I’m hit with paranoid anxiety attacks just because I can get my stomach out of the knots with the clonazepam I still can’t force myself to eat as I still feel like I am going to barf all over everything.

Recently something happened where I was bullied, badly, yet again in my life, being a few years into my thirties now just adds to my utter disappointment in myself. And it has unfortunately triggered my negative attentional bias and my anxiety to off the chart levels. Not to mention I’ve had two idiots totally fucking with me on Twitter which hasn’t helped matters.

The last two weeks have had me feeling like there is no reason for me to be here. I despise feeling like this. What happened just reminds me that no matter how much I work on myself, no matter how hard I try to work on my posture and stand up straight, no matter how many people tell me that what happened was not my fault, that it obviously is, there is obviously still something very wrong with me, after now eight years under the same psychiatrist’s care it blows my mind that I am still a target for bullies. It makes me angry it makes me feel like everything my father has ever said about me is true and that I don’t deserve good things. It brings me back to having to have exchange students, who were staying with us when I was in high school, come and get me to keep me from getting beat up. I just don’t want to deal with this anymore.

It hurts really bad.

And speaking of my father, it also makes me resent even more how far away my parents are, I deduce that no one understands my relationship with them, not Adam, not even me, but last week I needed to be able to pick up the phone so badly and just unload to my parents and I couldn’t. They are too secluded for Skype. Getting and holding a clear phone connection is a challenge, not cheap and with the time difference we are up at the same time for a very short period of time. I even know I probably would have just ended up more upset talking to them if I didn’t hear what I needed, but simply not even being able to take the chance just reminded me again yet again that they left me here, that retiring to Asia was more important than their only child and fuck it, everything hurts. I don’t know why I can’t let this illusion of my parents suddenly being ideal parents go, they did the best they could with a problem child.

This will of course pass, just not soon enough, it is hard enough to deal with these two facets of my depression but when they nail me at once I have to hang on for dear life I know that I’m not headed for break down mode, what happened is only going to make me stronger. But it sucks feeling like a loser, that is never good. Worrying constantly that people are out to destroy my reputation, worrying that some people are NEVER going to give me a second chance, worrying that people don’t want me around – what have you – is all petty and idiotic and I wish I could have a new brain.

Back on February 8, 2006 when I came out with the secret that I had been a chronic hemorrhoid sufferer from the ripe old age of 19 I never imagined it would turn into an epic saga filling my life with enough material that I could write a book on What to Expect When You’re Expecting Rhoids. Nor did I realize how much support I would receive, granted my archives for 2006 are a disaster and ALL of the comments from the whole year are gone, but at the time when I realized just how many people were suffering with ass issues of their own, or for whatever reason wanted to be kept posted on my ass, I decided I would blog the entire adventure including the surgery.

I welcome you to read the posts I’m linking to in this Prologue, I will only include the main highlights here to either welcome you to the saga or refresh your memories. I particularly love the guest post that Adam did I think he captured my fear quite well.

My first bowel movement took over an hour. I chugged glass after glass of water to take my mind off the fact it was happening fresh out of bed at 7 something in the morning with absolutely no pain killers in the system. Everyone knows that I Corinna Liscumb have a mild tendency to exaggerate but this is different and I would never do that in regards to something like this, Adam sat on a stool [haha I said stool] the whole time and basically held my hand. Although I would give anything to see my facial expressions there was no fucking way I was busting out the camera even for something as memorable as that was. In case anyone is DYING to know my second pooh was much shorter but just as painful and involved yelling and the word ‘fuck’ at times.

Even years later I often think how when I woke up all the nurses were talking about my tattoos instead of say mentioning that not only was there a lot of gauze on the outside of the area BUT that there was a piece of gauze UP inside my anus that was about the size of my thumb. I was actually told about that there piece of gauze in my comments by one of my loyal readers [isn't enough to call Sarah a loyal reader, she's a friend as well, we've both been there for each other through some heavy shit over the years, she's the bomb].

Sarah knew an ass surgeon, I can’t remember exactly what she told me but it included and was not limited to a part about how *most people* when crapping out that piece of gauze pass out cold. Not like I didn’t already know it, but that confirmed to me that I’m one tough bitch.

___________________________________________________

Although I still mention my ass surgery on here I’ve never felt the need to give an update.

Until now.

Even though everything looked fine on my initial follow up visit two weeks after, by six months I knew I had a problem.  Around this time I phoned the surgeon’s office back and explained that something wasn’t right, I was told that it could take up to a year to properly heal but to call back and come in if I had any pressing concerns. On the year anniversary, nothing had changed. By this time we’d done some research and discovered that having the hemorrhoidectomy did not mean that I would never get the rhoids again. OK FUCK WHAT? It explained a lot but I was livid, I should have been told that when making the decision to have this invasive and painful surgery in the consultation. My rhoids had not actually returned but I had noticed a piece of skin wasn’t tucking up inside like the rest were and it was easily irritated by say a thong.

I made an announcement on Twitter that I was returning to work. The day Adam walked in and said he had been laid off, I was on the phone to my girlfriend before he stepped out of his boots; she has gotten me all of my previous work in film, my schedule was shifted around a bit but I did get hours. Last Monday was my first day. Sometime during that 16.5 hours it felt like my ass had popped out a rhoid. I wasn’t surprised, I assumed this day was coming and I was working on location outside for that entire day, it almost made sense with my luck that this would be the time that they would return.

On Monday night when I got in the shower with what can only be described as despair I pushed that piece of swollen skin as far up my asshole as I could. I didn’t even have any Vaseline to help soothe the area, I recently hucked our container because it was from 2005. And sure maybe expiry dates aren’t completely accurate but I thought that 2005 warranted being thrown out. I returned to work on Tuesday and worked all 16 hours of it in a lot of pain but being the only female PA who was I going to tell? It was day TWO I was scheduled in till the following Monday. I OF COURSE didn’t want to let my girlfriend OR my husband down. But I had no choice I woke up Wednesday morning with the added thrill of a plugged nose and my cough had returned. I texted my on location contact/boss and my girlfriend/boss, but I only mentioned the onset of the cold out of no where. As I mentioned to her later I didn’t feel comfortable talking about rhoids over text message at whatever hour it was in the morning. THANKFULLY I was not fired, but I was taken off the rest of schedule for that episode. I thought for sure I was toast but I must have horseshoes in that dysfunctional ass of mine too.

I wasn’t able to see my family doctor until Saturday morning which was half my fault because my brain was set on I DON’T WANT TO HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH ANY OF THIS – LA LA LA my ass doesn’t hurt so bad I can hardly sit.

I gave the doctor a quick rundown on the surgery, and my hospitalization at 19 (with a very serious case of thrombosed hemorrhoids) which began my ten year hot streak of internal and external rhoids before they were removed. I explained to him that I knew something had gone wrong with the leftover skin and prepared myself for the worst.

“What you have there is actually a yeast infection about this big [forefinger touching thumb around] causing the swelling, itching, redness”. Everything led this veteran rhoids suffer to believe they had them again. He did also confirm that the piece of skin was not a good thing and could cause me further problems down the road but that this was different. I was like “WHAT, I totally wash my ass man”, not to mention I have NEVER heard of an asshole yeast infection. He explained to me it has nothing to do with that, only not to wash my genitals with soap, I told him I hadn’t for years, I use hypoallergenic Vagisil wash. I know I have sensitive genitals, Vagisil wash is my friend. Taking this in was interesting because I don’t know the exact number of vaginal yeast infections I’ve had in my life, honestly WHO keeps track of that. It’s under five, and I’m almost 33.

This new development with my ass is both good news and bad. Good news no rhoids. Bad news FEELS like I have rhoids and right now I can’t work, I need a couple days, this stuff is supposed to work fast, which begged me to ask Adam the question(s) of “when a doctor tells you something like an ass cream works fast do you ever wonder why, like does he use it, has his wife used it, is he suffering from a yeast infected ass right now?” I guess now I’ll just keep my asshole yeast infection cream in my work bag and if it starts to act up again, take that, I have ASS CREAM.

I was, as she had bluntly put it: dead.

The end of the school day came and nothing happened. Had I relaxed? Of course not, attending school from grade six till the day I graduated was like being thrown into a different shark tank in a different country every god damned day. I never had a fucking clue what those fuckers had in store for me. The bullying I experienced in school was at such an intense level I have just started to stand up straight in the last couple of years.

A girl I had been friends with back before THE dreaded rumour, that never, not for one day, in Smithers or Terrace [only two.five hours apart] was I ever to live down, came up to my locker to talk to me. I don’t remember exactly how she got me outside, I remember she was nice to me but I wanted any positive attention I could get, so I trusted her. As we walked down the hall towards the backstairs to the door leading to the buses, a direction I did need to walk in anyway, I didn’t think anything of it until we hit the stairs.

The buses were to the left but she made me turn right and I knew instantly I was in trouble, the smokers, the bad kids, the bullies hung out round those parts and there she stood the girl who was supposed to be the ex-girlfriend. I remember she slammed me against the cement wall, she started punching my face and as I lifted my hands to defend my face she punched anywhere should could land one and was kicking me too, whilst screaming a bunch of venom at me, I did not try to fight back. Even back then with a really sore face I remember thinking why the fuck is she not mad at him? I don’t remember how I got away from her.

I remember heading back into the school, sliding down the wall, putting my head in my lap and balling. I heard the door open and froze. Outside, she hadn’t just beaten me up once, she came at me multiple times while I was trying to get away from her and the many onlookers. The girl who had lured me there in the first place must have had a change of heart, it was her who walked through the door picked me up and walked me to the principles’ office where, let’s face it, I spent a lot of time – not because I got in trouble but because I had nowhere else where I felt safe to go except the sick room, but this time the school had to call my parents.

The last time, I was off school property when I got beat up so I was able to hide it from my dad, fat lip and all for a couple of days. There was no hiding this and I was beyond horrified. Sometimes I’m really not sure how I made it to sixteen before making a valiant attempt to knock myself off. My dad had to come get me, I was a mess, crying, in pain, scared and bruising and it was because I made out with some stupid boy and my dad would know that. My being a huge loser must have been so embarrassing for my parents. Smithers is really fucking small, man. But worse than that, again, I had been a victim of violence that could by a sick and twisted individual be blamed on me. She did, the girl who shit kicked me on school property, thankfully she got suspended.

—–

I think one of the worst things is that I do try really hard to let shit go, in my offline life it isn’t even an issue. I don’t feel like that high school loser, I believe in myself, I feel capable, most days I even like myself. I’d have to say the work and relationship building with my parents is a pretty strong indication of this. But to move on in a cyber world, not a real world where you actually talk to people when you’re pissed or want some well deserved answers. Cyber people actually think you’re stalking them when you email them once to ask them why they deleted you off something, which no one has done to me lately that I care enough to ask, but catch that word there? Is was: CARE. I CARED. But do it, call me a stalker for that ONE message and have a great ol’ time believing I’m spending every moment tracking your life because I cared enough to notice that you didn’t and thought I’d ask why. By normal people standards, it is actually considered healthy you know, talking, asking questions of someone you THOUGHT you were friends with that may help you further yourself as a person. If this is the definition of a stalker we are in big big trouble people.

I’m only human, I can only take so much, I can only take the highest of highest roads for so long. I do, as we all know, suffer from some at times pretty serious mental illness, this shit eats me up inside. It burns. It hurts. I’m done sitting here taking it like a man, I was just told recently that it’s unbelievable we’ve taken this shit for so long. For a while I thought I was doing the right thing not speaking openly of the open online attacks that took place on Twitter against me. I thought I’d let it go. But I discussed things with my psychiatrist, you know the doctor you see when you recognize you need help and want to work on yourself that I’ve been seeing for well over six years now. YET, I am a terrible, just fucking terrible person right?

I realize that a lot of my extremely supportive readers that are not on Twitter are going to have no idea what I’m talking about but I can tell you this, there is no way they couldn’t have noticed my ridiculously long break from something I love doing because I don’t feel that I am being fully myself or ever can anymore, I am trying to avoid adding fuel to the drama scene, but it seems even when I think my life is drama free it turns out it isn’t, I don’t think anyone’s ever really is. And maybe I used to thrive on a little drama here and there but I’m pushing 33 fucking years old and if there is one thing I’ve learned about drama in the thirities is that it is nonsense, a blatant waste of time if you will, not something that in honest truth I want to spend an extensive amount of words on. So it pains me to give this any attention but the situation as a whole leaves me no choice.

Since June I have not posted at all on my depression, the main topic of this blog, yes I was out of the darkness for a while and had a really good go of it. But it wasn’t without its lapses, we are talking clinical depression here. I count myself very lucky to have had more good days than bad in 2009 – even with the drama surrounding my family, and other ridiculous shit online.

When I wrote this post in January about taking a woman we’d been friends with, Adam since university days myself since 2003, to child protective services it was because I was ready. I was sick of the lies being spread about me for doing the right thing and very personal things about my life where being attacked to a large online audience on her blog. And BS about what she thinks happened was being spewed to whoever would listen to her. To this day, and thanks to current events it will stay this way, we still know more about what happened than she does, her recent actions took any chance she ever had of knowing what I saw.

Her comment is actually one of the best, somewhere it states something about her being a GREAT mom now. AWESOME. That is one reason why we called, because we were worried about a BABY and she needed HELP, if you are confused at all here read the post link. The fact that we are still being villainized and hated and completely misunderstood by a large group of people who say oh we don’t want drama but just keep on fueling this fire with green wood is down right disgusting, to accuse me of being the ONLY one who is STILL keeping it going is a farce, I’m being bullied, I repeat, for doing the right thing. I have a RIGHT to stand up for myself. It is also pretty funny that her sidekick who called me insane on Twitter was nowhere to be found in those comments in January, you’d almost think they hadn’t even met yet.

Her fantasy that I’m stalking her is pretty humorous but only when you are looking in from outside the box, not when you realize it is yourself she is saying this shit about. I openly admitted that I looked at her flickr photos because I missed the kid, a child that she has lied multiple times about how much time myself and my husband spent with and her for that matter. Think just for a moment how much it would suck and how easily you’d get over a good deed being twisted to the point of your being called a stalker if I’m lucky, insert other choice words here.

The day that this attack happened, I was attempting to be the bigger person, I was talking to someone on Twitter who was friends with her and her name was IN those tweets to me, so instead of being a dick face I acknowledged her being mentioned in a tweet something like ____ is great to be friends with because she’ll give you her books when she’s done with them. I wrote that to show I could keep our shit out of the Twitter community. Suddenly I had an onslaught from the woman in the  twitter picture, a full page of tweets – leave her alone, she doesn’t want to be your friend, stop trying to contact her, other people may stand by and watch this but I’m sick of it or something that is not verbatim, I choose not to torture myself reading over that entire attack. I got really fucking mad, I told her to fuck off, to shut the fuck up, that she was just a bully, she knew NOTHING. To which the final tweet calling me insane was sent. Reading that, knowing it went straight out to close to 8,000 people instantly, there are no words. I thought when I got back from Bali I’d be fine that I could start posting again, and when I was depressed it would just happen but it isn’t happening and I’m really fucking depressed and not because of THIS per se but because I suffer from it. A mental illness that she knew damn well I suffered from, I’m not sure where she gets off attacking someone she knows is mentally ill.

And about her accusations of not leaving her new friend alone, I sent her, in the last year, two emails, one was before Twitter had what is called fixed replies so you could see people you didn’t follow talking back and forth and she was going on about Yoga and how she was going to go. I go to Yoga at the West End Community Centre, we both live in the West End, she knows where I live, I have no idea nor do I care where she lives, it would make sense this is where she’d go, I emailed her and told her when I went and stated I didn’t think we’d both be able to relax in the same class and pushed send. The other, I sent her because on my website in that comment from her in January it mentions I never told her what we did, and she had also threatened to tell the authorities that we had made a false or malicious claim if we didn’t tell her what we’d seen, with a deadline, right there on her blog. If she ever did try her claim, your guess is as good as mine. Draw your own conclusions.

I emailed her that second time because you go through shit in life and it changes you, you make mistakes you move on and you look back and you think sure, even If I’d do it again, which I would, even with all this extra pain it has caused, and not tell her first, I decided I would finally meet with her. I messaged her and told her that’d I’d tell her what we had witnessed and why we felt it necessary to phone Emergency Medical Services, I was even going to tell her why we called her in so late at night and how it was EMS who made us call child services.

But that’s stalking, it has to be when her seminars describe me as having never been close to her.

True: Emergency Medical Services does not pursue every call. Also true, lying to the government to take someone’s kid from them is not only totally gutless it carries the consequence that it’s illegal, it’s a clear risk/reward. The first thing you have to do is TELL the COPS. That part is almost laughable because I do not have the power to have them show up at her door in under twelve hours, which they did.

What I can’t stand is the above. This sidekick in the Tweet, has also intimated that we shouldn’t be put in the same room together, shit, I’ve had the cops called on me for less. Her tweet alone made me feel the pains in my face again, everybody watching and no one stepping in. It’s behaviour like this that makes me choose to be the bigger person and bow out of events I’m invited to when this bully is too, no, not because I’m scared, far from it, the truth is on my side. The point is she won’t shut up about me, so tell me why would I put myself in a room with her and induce negative energy and more rumours? My job isn’t PR, it’s monkeys.

So this post ends on the dark notes, the sad disturbing knowledge/affirmation that when it comes down to it she doesn’t want knowledge or care about the truth. She wants blood, and any hopes I held of civility were only leading me down the hall to the back stairs.

And if you don’t like what I have to say, I’ll leave you with a line of hers;

*I have SO much more than you do, 18 months later. And all it took was saying on a blog that I hated my daughter. So thank you for that, really. ~ Terra Atrill aka Zoeyjane

(*no idea where she grabbed 18 months from in January 2009 when she wrote that on my blog,  it hadn’t even been a year)

Something pretty funny happened though and I’m not proud of it but it is sometimes true of me, that I can be a mean girl.

Yesterday being the 4^th the anniversary of my friends’ suicide and, also, just happening to be the day my grandmother went in for – fingers crossed she doesn’t die on the table surgery I just wasn’t in the best mood.  First family crisis with a family who isn’t talking is on two different sides of the county AND on two different continents = SO MUCH FUN.

I sign onto Twitter and first thing I see is one of the cities radio personalities who I’m sure is paid extra to be an ass and piss people off, doing just that, pissing people off, it’s good for business right, and who doesn’t love controversy that is as long as you call it controversy and not, god forbid, drama.

I don’t know this person I’m just annoyed by the stupid shit they say this time about ‘suburban trouble makers’ supposedly causing ALL the problems downtown with the yearly, now cancelled fire works.  Basically I told them to shut up.  And then petty bitch who I wrote this here first petty assholes post about wrongly named petty assholes should be petty bitches anyway she sends out this lame Twitter maybe not completely directed at me but still directed at me saying something about unfollowing people who are mean whilst talking TO THE person cutting down our city who is a radio personality. Sure.

BUT THEN she posts on it. WHICH I LOVE because having been friends with this person I know she’s back stabbed and said many choice things about almost everyone in her little comment string including myself and because she is such a serious back stabber and is now like BFFS with a good majority of those people one I know ruined all her walls in her condo but they are tight now real, real tight.  Honestly, I just laugh, laugh and laugh some more. I gave her an opportunity months ago to talk, not start drama, to prevent it, to talk because what you think I’m stupid do you think both Adam and I didn’t hear all the shit you said about all the asses you kiss now plus the shit you said about me.  I mean we are as most people know attached at the hip.

MY POINT?

EVERYBODY TALKS get over yourself. It isn’t even about me, I took this woman off of everything but my RSS feed [till now] months ago after the peace offering she denied. I had to wait until she finally unfollowed me on Twitter, I did that months ago also but refollowed because of the way the program is set up, and now with us both not following each other it is fine.

I know I’m blunt, I will email you and ask you what your beef is, sorry you think you are so important to think that is stalking, people take me wrong, many people don’t like me for their own reasons fine but see this person is too insecure to even have their own reasons to not like me and would rather laugh and bully me to my face and then behind a computer screen call me mean, which is fine but then this is what you get when you bullied me IN FRONT of my husband.

You people can go on living in your little delete world of fake bullshit for as long as you want and I’ll be here calling you out on it. And guess what bitches even if it were only cause I had nothing better to do or have too much time on my hands or whatever stupid comeback you come up with do you really think I’d have written this if I gave a shit about that aspect of it. I’d say nope.

See you at Northern Voice!

I’m just sick of it like what happened to 1998 when I had to break up with my girlfriend in person on the street to her face and have her look me straight in the eye give me the finger and say FUCK YOU.

I recently had a conversation with my mother’s sister where it came up that my parents in defense of my accusations that they spent no time with me as a kid had made a point to go on and on about how often they took me camping on their final trip to Ontario before moving to Bali.

This war going on between my father and I is getting pretty out of hand he is writing his own material at this point, his lying and manipulation tactics have hit levels I’m thankful I didn’t have to live through as a child because I may not have made it to a place where I could rise above it and deal with it.  It says a lot to me that it took me over forty five minutes to explain to my aunt that my father had simply manifested all of his behaviors into new ones and she’d fallen for it.  I’ve watched this man brain wash my mother my entire life and attempt to brain wash me, listening to a woman who has called him every name in the book and despised him since the 60’s saying it seemed like he had genuinely changed scared the living shit out of me.  And even though in the end I got her back to seeing him as he is in regards to my mother the only thing that we can do is accept that she has officially shown her cards.

I wish I could say this surprised me but when dealing with parental neglect and being able to let it go because I accept that to them this was technically a lot of time spent with me, from any only child’s perspective I also see their selfishness and narcissistic needs taking precedent over anything ME.

Here is what I remember from our days portaging through the mountains of British Columbia and on regular camping trips some in provincial parks with good lakes, some in the middle of fucking nowhere before BOTH of my parents became Cub Scout leaders, while I went into Brownies:

We portaged in the days when there was no canoe holder draggy thingies. My dad carried the canoe with as much gear as he could manage tied under it and my mother and I carried the rest, I always walked in the middle.  One time during a hike to camp there was a pool of water with a steep water fall, my parents wanted to go for a swim so they put my life jacket on and tied me to a tree I just remember being terrified because I was dragged as close to the edge as the rope would go and my parents were too busy copulating to notice.  My parents being too busy copulating brings up my next memory of having my very own tent from obviously WAY too young of an age aside from being party to hearing a lot of copulating in the woods. One time it was so windy and my tent hadn’t been pegged in that I swear to god the tent was bouncing up and off the ground and folding in on me and here I go blank. I know I must have wet myself and somehow gotten over to my parents tent.  This other time we were on top of a cliff and all night we could hear this loud slamming, banging sound, and my mom thought someone was coming to kill us, AND I WAS IN MY OWN TENT, no no, not scared at all.  I remember the time I dropped a piece of cheese on the ground and my dad sat there and watched, made me eat it covered in dirt and I was already forcing down spam sandwiches for crying out loud.  I remember almost dying of hypothermia the only thing that technically saved me was that I was bailing the water out of the canoe as fast as it was coming in, when all was said and done apparently I was beyond shivering thankfully although in the middle of no where on this trip my parents had the car for added heat to warm me back up. These are always told as funny happenings, fun little stories, no biggy, didn’t almost drown our daughter, nope she didn’t almost get blown away.

The only time they spent with me during these camping years was playing Uno and unfortunately although you play while living life it is just a game, just one game.  I would meet other kids on some of these trips but let us remember that I had zero social skills none, no brothers no sisters, just parents who took me places but didn’t actually spend quality time with me so it would generally take me about twenty minutes doing god only knows what because those are memories I can not access but I’d manage to alienate said kids and bam I’m stuck for a day a week depending on whether we were in a camp site or portaging alone with no one to talk to and nothing to do but read my Owl magazines.  And the more I think about it the more I remember that even the good memories I have of camping are still mostly memories of times spent alone.

If I had a sibling this wouldn’t even be worth writing about, it would have been a completely different story but I’m sorry, dragging your kid around like a piece of your camping gear and then tying them to a tree so you can screw is NOT spending QUALITY time with your kid.

Nice try though daddio.

For a full year I endured that calendar almost every moment of it hurt and I LOVE BUNNIES more than the next guy in most cases but not that much. June is always a shit month in calendars it is probably the only thing I don’t like about June is that it is never represented well in calendars. I didn’t even have a “well at least there’s a cute guy and cute bunny for June” it was just all horrid.

Last year, my pick, I got him so good I didn’t even care how many times I knew I would and did groan having to look at it almost every day but Jeff Foxworthy, You Might be a Red Neck If it was.  TAKE THAT.  It freaks me out that I used to find him funny, the North man; it fucks with your head.

Today, we went on the annual hunt waiting until they are 50% off is obviously the way to go because right there you are already dealing with a lack of good calendars.  When looking for the best of the worst this is key.

Book stores to me are like liquor stores for alcoholics, I can not enter one and not buy a book. I can’t it goes against all logical thinking in my mind. I went off to look at books so Adam would have his space told him to come find me when he had a pile for me to help him go through. I found the books I wanted and was headed with him back to the calendars when I saw a calendar called The Big Breast Calendar and asked if that was the one he had chosen, to make a long story short, Adam pussied out and fell for the porn he seems to already be regretting his decision to not have the nads to stand by a full year of shit on the wall like I did.  And ALL I have to say to that is I can’t fucking wait for next year but for now bring on the twelve months of big titties.  There are more photos from inside the calendar on Flickr. [NSFW]

Had he been thinking on Christmas Eve when this Hedy Fry calendar arrived in the mail he’d have picked it.  I can not believe that bitch invaded my Christmas Eve with her stupid calendar with her stupid face on it, now that would have been hard for me to look at all year instead I immediately destroyed it by ripping it into a lot of pieces and then threw it all over the room laughing hysterically at her nerve and then I recycled it.  I get more mail from her than from the idiots I actually vote for.