My Mental Health Friday turned into a balls-out migrainalicious hell date from Fuck City – I spent most of it trying desperately not to throw up because that would make my head even worse. It was not a good time. As a result of the migraine, I missed out on the NoFX show that night – Darren went in my place and had a great time, but I *really* wanted to go to that show. I am a sad monkey. I would like a do over for my weekend, please.

Physical ailments I am suffering from because of the paint fumes:

• Cephalalgia
• Pharyngitis
• Irritated pelvic splanchnic ganglion
• Catastrophic neural orgasm
• Isolated systolic purple hypertension
• Randomized data entry
• Spastic intravascular ultrasound
• Tuesday
• Quasi-hysterical optimism
• Conjugated unforeseen rhythm
• Playlist anxiety
• Bad hair

MEDIC!

Since I spent most of yesterday on the couch, it seemed a shame to change my game plan for something as irrelevant as bed time. Unfortunately, the couch is not comfortable for sleeping. It’s also extremely difficult to get any rest when it feels as though the chorus line from The Second Coming of Jesus: The Musical is kick-stepping its way through your intestines. All in all, I’ve had better nights.

As if I didn’t have enough to worry about, there are reports of BEARS in North Vancouver. BEARS! I think I’ll be safe, though. If nothing else, the terrifying rumblings coming from my belly regions will scare the fiercest of beasts away. Plus, I have Sasha. She is beyond delighted that I am at home today, and is showering me with affection and cat dander. She could easily take a bear down.

Oh Crossing Jordan reruns, how I’ve missed you!

I’m sick.

Not just melodramatic hand across my pale brow feeling a little peaked sick, but full on death bed catholic priest last rites bucket next to me at all times kind of sick. I have had better times, to be sure.

I’m still not sure if I have food poisoning or a nasty stomach flu, but I’ve been feeling horrible since Friday afternoon. My lunch of half a Big Mac didn’t sit very well with me, but I thought it was just because I didn’t really WANT it but couldn’t think of anything else for lunch. I had a gurgly tummy all Friday night and sort of forgot to eat dinner – by midnight I remembered but was already mostly asleep and couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it. This would be a bad move on my part, since we had plans to go for breakfast on Saturday morning. I was definitely not feeling right but figured I was just hungry so hey let’s go have some eggs!

Bad idea.

I ate half my breakfast before giving up, then came home to promptly die all over the place. I will spare you the details, but there were nasty fluids from nasty places in staggering amounts. I spent Saturday moaning quite pathetically on the couch, followed by more of the same on Sunday. So far I’ve missed out on outside fun and another breakfast, and there will be no delicious BBQ tonight for me. I can’t keep plain bread down; and while the thought of steak is normally excellent, right now it makes me want to cry. I am sick. I hate being sick.

I am also tired of eating bread.

So exciting! My swab kit came in the mail yesterday, all ready for me to harvest my DNAs and send off to a secret government lab somewhere where it’ll be extracted and used to clone me into some SUPER SOLDIERS!

The kit came with some instructions for swabbing, but I’ve watched so much CSI I didn’t need them. I am a total pro at crime.

The act of collecting the DNA was as exciting as I thought it would be. Cotton – plastic – my open, gaping mouth – how could this possibly go wrong?

(not shown: me stabbing myself in the eye with a swab)

I am sure they will never know that this is my first time being swabbed. I am very good at it!

I started to have some second thoughts, though – what if I want to one day commit some crimes? My DNA will be in the database, and it’ll take them only 60 minutes (46 if you don’t count commercials) to track me down. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea ..

Oh well, it’s too late to turn back now. I might as well make the most of it!

Four swabs, many bacteria, and one pre-paid envelope later, my DNA is off to the government!

Well, that was fun. I wonder if I’ll match any sickly people who want my fluids? If so, I’m bringing Miranda and Reilly along to take pictures. Ain’t no one gonna suck out my bone marrows without witnesses, yo.

All my CSI dreams are coming true.

I’m getting swabbed! I read an article in the paper last week about the difficulty in finding bone marrow donors for some ethnic groups, something that hit close to home because a) I am ethnic and b) I have bones. A pilot program started in BC to find ethnic donors is now being rolled out across Canada by Canadian Blood Services, and I signed up to take part. Sometime next week I will be getting a kit in the mail containing instructions and an official DNA collectin’ swab. I’m to swab me decks and mail it back – they’ll harvest my DNAs and put me in a database in case I’m a match to someone needing some of my precious fluids. Hooray! The government will have my DNA! This can in no way go horribly, horribly wrong!

I’m only a little ashamed to admit that I totally signed up for this program for the thrill of being swabbed.

So, if there are any sickly half-Malaysian half-French-Canadian people out there, have no fear – my spectacular blood, plasma, stem cells or bone marrow could be coming soon to veins near you!

If anyone asks, please don’t mention my 17 kinds of herpes.

I am allergic to everything, including the internet.

Holy fuck universe, what did I ever do to you?

• I woke up this morning retching, quickly followed by throwing up in the shower. Ever thrown up on an empty stomach? Yeah, it’s pretty awesome. Bile is just the greatest substance in the world.
• My face is freaking out. I don’t think I had acne this bad even in high school, and each zit is leaving a delightful scar on my face. I actually have to use concealer, and it’s making me feel just awesome about myself.
• Remember Ronaldo? Well, he’s back. Looks like it’s off to the doctor for some antibiotics for me. Hooray! It is not at all uncomfortable to have a fucking CYST on your DELICATE GIRL PARTS!

On the plus side, I haven’t gotten the rejection call from either of the two really good jobs I interviewed for. Yet. Things are sucking so much for me right now that I expect them to come in any minute. I’m trying to stay positive, but holy crap would you look at my face and vagina.

ARGH!