Two Pricks in Three Weeks

I’m just thinking about if I was writing a post with that title ten years ago, the innuendos would have been off the chain. I’ve matured so much since then. I legitimately stopped to think before I decided to type out that I haven’t been on a date in nine years, but, as of tomorrow, I’ll have received two pricks in three weeks, and most likely by two different people. So color me precocious. *self high-five* Actually, I’m going to give myself one of those every time I see an opportunity for an innuendo, but don’t jump on it. *self high-five*

I’ll admit I’m nervous about my second COVID-19 vaccine. As I mentioned before, I did not react during my first immunotherapy session when I restarted treatment, but I now go into anaphylactic shock every time. My immune system is like me where you can attack us once, but that’s all you’ll get. Come over again to fuck around and you will find out. So I’m nervous that my immune system is currently preparing for a viral Battle of Helm’s Deep, and is going to let loose the moment it realizes we’ve been invaded by the COVID19 DNA again. *self high-five* It’d be one thing if my immune system was rambunctious attacking the “invader”, meaning a high fever, swollen lymph nodes and all of that misery, but for fuck’s sake does it have to start attacking my organs, too? Or even worse, take down the ship to kill the alien? I feel that my antibodies really did not think their plan through when… Nope, I can’t type it without making it sound dirty, so I’m just not gonna do it, but I’m giving myself a *self high-five* for restraint. *self high-five*

But speaking of thinking things through, I’ve already made a plan for if I do start to react. They have an EMT in the post-shot waiting area, so if I can just calmly walk over and tell them that my immune system is trying to kill me, then maybe nobody else will realize what’s happening. This is one of the huge things that’s upsetting me. Of course I don’t want to die, but I was just thinking that if I had a reaction and people saw it, then they would tell other people, and chances are that it would make at least one person refuse the vaccine. So I’d be responsible for not only that person, but whoever else they infected with COVID19 all because my immune system is haywire and had to put on a show. *self high-five*

I did consider that I might not be able to get to an EMT before I fell into a state where people would notice that I was having a medical emergency, even if I was calm. If it starts happening too fast I’ll have my EpiPen with me, and I can just jam it through my jeans (*self high-five*) into my thigh. (FYI – This is a completely acceptable administration of an EpiPen because in an emergency you can go right through someone’s clothes rather than wrestling them off.) Those shots hurt like hell though. But I’m pretty sure I can do it without screaming. *self high-five*

You’re probably reading this and wondering if I’m experiencing a lack of oxygen right now by the way I’m rambling. I’m doing this because there are so many emotions to process with getting this second shot. I’m nervous, and I’m happy, and I’m angry, and I’m excited, and I’m scared, and I’m relieved. *self high-five* Believe me, I have another post coming where I hash these feelings out, but I don’t have time to articulate it all right now. *self high-five* It’s almost midnight and I’m tired, but I’m too keyed up to go to sleep. *self high-five* What’s also a shame is that I’ve decided to not make this post public, so I’ve spent all of this time writing something that no one will read. Maybe I’ll password protect it, though that might be awkward. I can tell people who I’m uncomfortable reading this that it’s for my Patreon – which I don’t have, but think I should since everyone is selling themselves whether it’s through Patreon or FansOnly. What happened to just giving it out for free? *self high-five* I blame slut-shaming. There’s nothing wrong with writing like a slut, though I’ll be happy when I can be paid for my writing so that at least I can say that I write like a whore instead. (No *self high-five* here since I just laid (HA!) it out.)

EPILOGUE

I survived.

I decided to make this post public to celebrate (I’m starting to feel like hell which means my immune system is responding appropriately), and also because all of the stress I went through the last two weeks made me forget that I didn’t skirt around death for the millionth time to kill myself attempting to live up to people’s expectations – which somehow included mind-reading and anticipating people’s own mistakes so that I could correct them before they happened. This is the way I write. This is who I am. When I’m scared or upset I make jokes, and all of my jokes are either inappropriate, puns, or inappropriate puns, in that order. If someone wants to take my jokes too seriously then that is a joke. I’m laughing too hard at my own stupid nonsense to hear anything anyway.

finding yourself way too hilarious

Writes Like a Slut

I was really excited about what I had planned for Friday’s “Soft Core Friday” post–(Yes. I’m going to make awful innuendos throughout this entire post)–because it had been a long time coming–(See? I told you.)–but then my job became the ultimate cockblocker this past week I had to go tantric-mithuna with this post–(I’ll save you a trip to good ol’ wiki-land and tell you that, yes, that’s another innuendo).

A long time ago, in a blog far away (Actually it was this blog, back when I called it “Tapetum Lucidum”) I was squirming and shivering with joy because I had surrendered my OFFICIAL smut writing virginity to my dear friend, Jewels.  Unofficially I’d been featured on another smuterotica site sans my name, but I wanted the first time (that my name was attached to the piece) to be special, and what better way to do it than with a friend.

(If you think that these innuendos are bad, you should have read the filth I was tweeting yesterday about fixing the kitchen faucet.)

honey badger, don't give a shitI had barely had time to enjoy the afterglow of getting off that story to Jewels when I received a text from a relative whom I will call “CC”, telling me that my writing was disgusting, and that I “write like a slut”. I’ll admit that my feelings were hurt a bit, but then I realized that I really didn’t give a shit.

Then the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it was hilarious!  While I’d expect that my smutty writing inspires certain reactions, CC actually got so worked up that she huffed and puffed and she called me a slut.  I mean, all she would have needed to add was that I deserved to be punished for my filthy prose and this post would have fucking wrote itself.  Being told that I “write like a slut” ended up giving me so much jolly that I decided that I needed to make a t-shirt proclaiming it.

Seriously though, I mean, how does one write like a slut after all?  Is it by simply writing smut in the first place?  I don’t think so, because as I (in)famously demonstrated in this post, poorly written smut is the most hilarious thing outside of calling Nicholas Cage a serious actor.  I guess if I am guilty of “writing like a slut” it’s because, instead of settling down with one writing genre like Urban Fantasy and making legitimate little book babies, I fool around with several genres and make a bunch of little bastards blog posts.  One night I will be getting jiggy with Mr. Humour and create a South Park style cartoon about food poisoning, while another night will be spent with Mr. Horror producing a morbid tale of revenge, and a third will be with Sir Poetry who is a pretentious snot that thinks he’s a knight, conceiving poetic drivel.

So whether it be because I wrote smut, or because I write in several different genres, or because I write while wearing over-the-knee high boots, I decided that I’m ready to wear that shirt proclaiming it to the world.  Despite a lack of time, and possessing no artistic talent, I created this design last week.

writes like a slut

On the back it has:

writes like a slut, you are welcomeI’m as anxious as Tim Tebow on his wedding night (let’s face it, that boy’s a virgin and we all know it) for my shirt to get here, and you will all know when it comes by all of the screaming and shrieking which shall erupt from my house.

And since I realize that many writers start out “writing like sluts” too, I set it up so that you can order your very own “Writes like a Slut” shirt, too here with the “You are welcome” and my shameless self-promotion, or here without it.  (FYI–you might have to turn off the “G-rated” default search filter to see the shirts.)  Also, I might make other colours, too, so if you have a request, let me know.  Finally, if you do decide to encourage my depravity, and buy one of these obscene shirts, and if you are so inclined, send me a picture of you wearing your shirt, and I’ll post it in the forthcoming section of this blog because I love you in a completely inappropriate manner like that.

PS-Jewels reposted another piece of my smut this past Friday.  She says you are welcome, and so do I.