Yeew Heew.. Sunshine? The skies are gettin a little gray over here

I need an attitude adjustment. That statement alone should be able to clue you all in to how my last few weeks have been going. But in case you are a moron, things are SHITTAY Yes, so crappy that I had to special-spell the layman's term of Shitty.
One: I fainted. Collapsed. Then plundered onto the hard, hot cement outside of the local watering hole in front of actual real live breathing people. I don’t know what happened. Ironically the doctors have no clue either. ‘It could have been the heat, dehydration, locked knees, or stress.’
Well... Seeming how I didn’t do shit all day all long that pretty much eliminates suggestion #1. I drank plenty of Dr Pepper, sprite and water so, No to #2. and while we are on the subject of drinking, I know what you are probably thinking. Rian at the watering Hole? How many Kamikazes’ did she have? 2. Which if you know anything about me at all you know that 2 Kami’s would do nothing to me. SO NO! I WASN’T INTOXICATED! Stress? Now, that may have something to it.
So there I was lying on the hot, hard cement outside of the local watering hole. My friends and foes and complete who the hell are you’s standing around my unresponsive body and the bouncer doing sternum rubs to get me to respond. It’s still unclear to me if I was in fact not breathing. Either way it felt like I’d imagine a tractor to the chest would feel. I awoke to pain and gawking faces and my head being held by the big burley door dude. Immediate reaction. Pissed! Let go of me! Why the hell are you holding my head?! Stare hard retards!Let me up! Yes I know my name idiot!
After the paramedics came and I refused to be transported to the ER in their ‘take every last dime you have’ mobile. My sweet boyfriend came to my rescue and filled my mind with scary what if you die like that Natasha brod stories. So, after they had me real good and paranoid my boyfriend, my good friend Krisi and Mike took me to the ER.
We sat down as a rather large man was rolled into the room by a weighed down wheelchair. Never have I felt sorry for an inanimate object before this day. The man looked as if he had been on a shower strike since 1951. And the moan this man was letting out was one of the most terrifying sounds I have ever had to listen to. MURRRAAARRGGGH over and over and over again. You would have thought that this mans lower half was separating and running away from his upper half. Ironically when the Nurse left the room the wailing ceased. This guy ought to get the Academy award along side his Oxycodone refill. The nurse took me back to a room first. Me. The girl wanting to go home insisting she was fine over the theatrical elephant man. Sucker.
The four of us waited in the room until a Doogie Howser look alike strolled in. I insisted I knew how it appeared but (I’ll say it again for those in the back who had a hard time hearing me before) I was NOT drunk! He took blood, wanted a CAT scan, X-ray’s the whole sha-bang. After my last ER visit I know an aspirin is about the same price as a down payment on a house so I asked him to please do only what he thought was absolutely necessary. A comment like that is like asking Abercrombie and Fitch if their 250 dollar jeans will make you breakfast in the mornings. Bringing cost into the equation made the doctor and his nurse hate my ever loving guts. But after 3 hours I received a clean bill of health with exception of having a significant concussion.
Over the next 5 days I felt dizzy, nauseous, spacey, dreamy, weak, confused along side a pounding brain rattling headache. It was heaps of fun.
I missed work. Two days of it. To make a long story short they are not at all happy with me. I think they must have been sitting way way way way in the back when I explained before that no, I didn’t pass out because I was drunk. Why? because I WASN’T DRUNK!
Regardless of my explaining I have gotten the cold shoulder since from every one at work. It’s August and I am in need of a parka.
On another note, a very off- key awful note..My Boyfriend and I found a cute little precious House. We applied. We got it. We set the move in date for September 1st. August 3rd we got word that my boyfriends work is out of work. Everyone knows no work, no money. No money, no house. No house, DAMN IT! Because living with your father when about to turn the ripe ole age of 27 is AWESOME.
I don’t get paid enough to sit by Satan who is parading around as Jack Nicholson all day to carry us for even a minute and it certainly doesn’t help that I have been running around town waving my credit card around like a physcopath to every new T-shirt that comes into view. And I still owe the ER a couple Hundo from my last visit where I was given a dose of magic Benadryl.
So if you have asked me in the past 2 weeks how I am and I have said "great, "fine", "good", "wonderful", "dandy" or even "ok" I was lying to you. I have now came to the realization that denial is not just a river in Egypt. I am mad. About lots of things. Pretty much in regards to everything. I have a real bad case of the F-it's.
Lately, my Mother’s side of the family in me has surfaced and all I can do is think... You’re 27 and live with your parent! You are broke, This is not AT ALL what you had in mind, life sucks, then ya die, and your hair is ugly!
Who wants to blow some sunshine up my ass?