doin' it
2003-07-21, 10:27 p.m.

I'm actually starting to feel like a person again. Not just some piece of meat that someone took a chunk out of. And no more Percocet either. That was a bad thing at first, I can definitely understand how people get in trouble with that stuff. I have almost no memories of my well-wishers calling me from Thursday to Monday.

So now that I can carry on a coherent conversation and walk across the room without groaning, my dear boyfriend wants to pick fights. About absolutely frickin' nothing. Isn't that what girls do? I can understand that he wants to have sex and we can't, but for chrissakes, deal with it. I am. It's not like he's never used his hand before. And his doctor didn't threaten him not to use his hand for at least 3 weeks. Internal bleeding sounds like a bitch and dear Dr. is holding that over my head so I don't have sex. Do you think he senses that I'm a nympho? Is there some way that he can tell? Wait, I don't want to know the answer to that.

Of course, Conor is also pissed because my ex-boyfriend is coming into town next week. Now granted, everytime Kris has come home we've fucked, but I was never in a relationship. I'd like to think that I was strong enough to resist. Conor doesn't seem to think so. Fuck him, maybe I should just fuck Kris. I sound like a whore, but honestly, the two people in this paragraph are the only ones who I have had truly intimate sexual relationships with.

Oh and I didn't tell Conor this, so since he doesn't read this, I'll share here. Last week, my doctor was out of town and I had to go in for postop and see his partner. Can anyone say Michael Vartan look-alike? I thought you could. But let me tell you, I couldn't say much of anything when he walked in the room. I looked like ass. No makeup, bad hair and my most comfortable (also known as most frumpy) looking clothes. I examined the tile on the ceiling while he examined me and asked me questions because it was just terrifying that there is such a thing as a sexy gynecologist.

Of course, I wasn't so sick that I couldn't look for the wedding ring. It was there, but coincidentally, I found out tonight that there are marital problems....hmmm, don't want to be a homewrecker, but if it should for some reason fall apart, I want to be first in line. Young, cute, smart, doctor, making money, personable....I think that about covers everything on my list. And I could deal with the fact that he's looking at hoo-haas all day as long as he was coming home to mine.

And now, since I'm feeling well enough, I'm going to dance around my room to the best song ever. If anyone with rhythm can sit in a chair when LL Cool J's "Doin' It" comes on, you cannot be my friend. Are there better lines in any songs than "Damn, the kitty cat's tired" and "I like the way the F went down?" The answer is a definitive no.

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