I have sympathetic nipples.

I don’t claim to be even remotely close to understanding what Ali is going through as a new mother, but for the last week or so my nipples have been incredibly, annoyingly sore. They’re so tender my bra hurts, and even my normally inoffensive blanket can irritate my nipples into grumpiness for hours as I toss and turn instead of falling asleep. I have sore nipples! Send in the reinforcements before my unruly vagina hears of trouble in the north and starts planning for war!

NOTE: The preceding paragraph contained Too Much Information – if you are offended by frank talk of primary and secondary sexual characteristics, please do not read the previous portion of this entry.

I am debating sending Ed a series of alarming text messages along the lines of “job finished – did you want me to dispose of her head or keep it for operation: human soup?” or maybe “I can cut you a deal on orders of 5 kilos or more, but anything less you pay street price” or OOH maybe “the girls are here, did you want the blonde or the asian? Only one will do anal – guess which one!”.

I broke Ed’s cell phone earlier this week in a fit of rage – he hit a bump in the road, and the open cup of water I had been drinking sloshed all over the place and soaked his phone. For some reason, it no longer works. He took it to the store and shipped it off to Repair Land, and got a loaner phone to use in the meantime. We had some fun going through the text messages received by the previous phone users – someone got dumped, someone was invited to a party, someone tried to buy weed, and our personal favourite, someone couldn’t do anything because they were too high as they had been doing coke since 11pm last night. I almost feel as if it is our duty to fill the phone with exciting content for the next loanee – after all, what fun is voyeurism if there’s no scandal?

Every once in a while I am reminded just how sheltered I really am. I’m amused and partially scandalized that someone I don’t know does cocaine, even though it’s probably far more common than I could know. The strongest drug in my world is Tylenol 3, and I don’t know anyone who does anything more than the occasional pot – it’s just not an issue around here. I’ve been mildly curious about other drugs, but I’d never actually do any of them because a) that would be stupid, b) I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea where I’d get any, and c) laziest girl ever. I’m content with my other addictions – video games, diet coke, hurting myself in stupid ways. Besides, I’m a winner and, as I’ve heard, winners don’t do drugs.

I just sent Ed a text message: Mike, you SWORE I’d never catch you in bed with my brother again – we’re through, you sick bastard.

Small amusements, people.