I'm clicking my heels three times. Cause there's no place like home.

Well, my little darlings, here I am again. Feeling better this morning than yesterday, thank god.

I hate hormones. They make me act like a crazy person. Which is strange, because pre-surgery, I never EVER had any kind of PMS-type issues whatsoever. No mood swings, no cramps, no weird boob tenderness (thank god, because I grope myself constantly), nothing. I had it made.

Now, post-op, I turn into a crazy person some months. I guess my hormones are changing with all the weight loss, but it sucks.

And I don't like it. Not one bit.

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Well, my beautiful Blogger babies, I have some distressing news. News that I am sure will shock and terrify and disappoint. Well, ok, probably not, but still. I am trying to be dramatic here.

I am going back to diaryland. I know, I know. I hate a flip-flopper as much as GW does, but I have to do it, and I'll tell you why. Much like my wonderful friend Loopy, I hate blogger. I really do. I don't like having the whole month's entries on one page. I don't like that I can't make the comments link say something stupid and funny. I hate that commenters have to type a stupid word just so that I won't get 45165498 spam comments a day. I hate that I can't figure out the freakin' html sometimes. I hate that some of the entries I posted have just disappeared all together.

I do, however, love all my friends at Blogger. And I hope you'll all follow me back and continue to read my insanity.

I renewed my Super Gold right before I came to Blogger, and it's just getting wasted. So, as soon as I figure out what my new template will be, I will start posting over there again. And, since I can't remember to double-post in two journals, I'll likely put the re-direct code that was in my other diary here, so if you click the blogspot link, it'll take you to diaryland. Bear with me, people.

I'd do it for you.

No, really. I would. Promise.

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My grandmother (not the dead one that's stinking my house up - the living racist one) is graciously giving me lots of money so that I can pay my cat's veterinary bill and I can own him outright. I was over at her house yesterday, and she was watching MSNBC's hurricane coverage.

I don't know if every other reporter for that network was dead, but the one they had reporting was some woman whose voice (I am not kidding) sounded like Herman Munster. I am not entirely convinced she was really a woman.

To be honest, I haven't watched much of the coverage, because it's so overwhelmingly sad and depressing, that I can't handle it. I can't handle the desperation. I can't handle the looting, and the people assaulting and threatening the emergency workers, and the idea that a beautiful city I've never seen in person will never be the same again. And, what really gets to me, as with any disaster like this, is when I see animals stranded and suffering. I mean, of course I am affected by the human suffering, and the devastation. I'm not that much of an insensitive asshole, but it's those poor animals that really get me.

I don't have a lot of money (obviously if I am getting help from my family to pay my bills), but I did donate a few dollars to help. I am also donating something else. The fabulous Chickpea's little brother lived in New Orleans, and had to leave his whole life, and almost all of his belongings behind. So, I am doing my part and making some cd's to send him, because the idea of me losing my cd collection kills me.

I sure hope that kid likes Neil Diamond, Hall and Oates, and Marky Mark.

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I am glad everyone got such a kick out of the most recent super stud to try to bamboozle me into hooking up with him. I almost want to email him back and start fucking with him, but I don't know if I want to waste my time with it. He's so sad, in so very many ways.

And, Rachel... yes. I really do attract all the freaks and weirdos. I know all of you girls must be terribly, terribly jealous of me and all my hot man action.

With the quality of men I attract who want to date me, I just thank god for my vibrators. And porn. So send me the stuff, Ass Monkey. I know you want to, because you love me most of all. It's ok. You can admit it.

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Happy reason to get drunk on sunday Labor Day, everyone!

And moving day!