First fitting not successful. Well, the left eye took to the contacts fine and dandy. Except for the fact that I have not built up the requisite calouses behind my eyelids yet. Um, yuck. Anyway, the right cornea is so amorphous that the contact would not lie flat on it. So they ordered a larger, more encompasing contact. Joy again.

Massive amounts of plastic suctioned to my eyes is not appealing to me. I am a proud nerdly glasses wearer. Been a four eyes since I was seven. Spectacles are just a part of my face, unrecognizable without them. But, I'll poke my eyes everyday if it means I can see properly. Just ain't consoled with the idea yet. Grrrrrr.

What I am certainly not looking forward to is defending my face. Surely crowds of people will cry vanity. The aggravating expalanation of how I am a medical freak of nature who actually needs contacts will bore me quickly. I should start printing pamphlets. A FAQ file for all the annoying questions of my lifestyle I'd rather not be bothered with answering verbally.

Besides, how the ever living fuck could you accuse me of vanity? Is it the "I don't give a shit" hairloss treatment? Comes in a box you know. Couldn't Give A Rat's Ass For Men. Maybe its the "lost on the trail" pioneer unshaven look. Sections of my cheeks refuse to grow hair. And it's assymetrical from both sides. Its as if I have two versions of a beard growing on either side of my face. Plenty of chicks seem to find it appealing, cause you are all nuts.

Oh shut up, you know you chicks are fucking crazy. No worries, as long as you aren't textbook, the zanier you are, the more sexy you seem to be. At least to freak bastards like me anyway. Go figure, the dating world is fucked.

I know what it is. Its obviously my wardrobe. Yeah. Either beat up Pumas or weathered black leather boots. Black jeans often with lingering stains on them. Admittedly I will scrape and wet finger style ( yes I wet the finger in my mouth ) rub away marks, utilising saliva as a makeshift spot remover. Revolving tshirts of either just plain black or fading comic book logo'ed delights. Oh, and with winter's fierce attack the line of disheveled, and in many cases, purchased many moons ago flannel shirts. I accentuate the grandiose nature of these plaid gems by never buttoning the sleeves or shirt front buttons.

I do shower daily. Which is fortunate for the public at large. I don't believe in deodorant. Luckily, I don't naturally reek. When I am a little ripe I tend to remind one of a chicken burrito. A chipotle flavored one I think. Anyway, if you plant your nose into my armpits, I smell like well seasoned meat. Emeril Lagasse got to my pits. Cause I don't know where you get your spankies from, but where I'm from spankies don't come seasoned. Bam! Random dorky Food Network quote over.

I do take great care of my teeth. Big white chompers. This Crest kid has never had a cavity. Might be a result of eating innumerable erasers off the end of pencils in classrooms. I used to chew notebook paper too. Whatever the cause, my wont of good dental hygeine has got nothing to do with apperances. Although a dingy mangled maw coming at ya is no fun. Who wants to kiss a Pherenge?

I know what it is! It's the gut. Nothing says I love looking at myself in the mirror like a well formed gut. Those years of smoking herb, pounding vodka, and following it up with bowls of Frosted Flakes produced a nice little baby in my tummy. Thats right fuckers, you wish you had my belly.