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Archive for May, 2008

|| May 30, 2008 || 8:59 am || Comments (5) ||

learn from me, people


….should you unexpectedly back into your best friend’s car*, there are some things you should just go on and do. Let me inform you of what they are.

You proceed, calmly, to go and pick up your daughter as planned. That big ole dent will still be in that rear quarter panel when you get back. Yes, it’s best you get that kid, go to your best’s favorite coffee joint, and then you order up her favorite blended espresso drink (loaded) to bear as peace offering.

While you wait in the drive-through, you dial the number belonging to your insurance agent (who loves you dearly and intimately after The Great Tractor Fucking Of Oh-Five) and tell her to be at the ready when you text her with a “GO!”

When you get back to the office, you need to check your lipstick, brush your hair, straighten your scrubs and square up your shoulders. You proceed boldly through the door and speak evenly while looking her dead in the eye.

Please, for the love of God, hold out Favorite Espresso Drink as you do so. Offer to be loudly and aggressively sworn at. Say that the other party has one free swing they are entitled to, and also forty-eight hours of unchecked fury.

Then take them to lunch. Pay. And the dollar store. Paying there is not necessary; that would just be overkill. When the insurance adjuster phones, tell him that he better –byGod– go all-out on this one.

The next day, bring in the largest container of vinyl spackle you can find and sit it in the offended party’s desk chair. Attach a note to it saying, “I changed my mind. I’ma fix your car myself.” Hoot with glee each and every time a new individual is told and they call you clever things like ‘Crash’ and say equally clever things like, “OMG, BBQ, wherez ur parked, Ineeda look out forz you!” Ham it up big, now.

I really expected Tess to swing on me one good time. All she did was survey the (to my credit, Quite Awkwardly Laid-Out) parking lot and say in a sweet and measured tone, “I just don’t see how you managed to ding it with all this fucking rooooom,” while making a low-key sweeping gesture with her right arm.

“Look, just cuss me real good and get it over with,” I told her, “I REALLY WOULD FEEL BETTER IF THERE WERE SOME LOUD VOCALS AND CREATIVE CURSING EMPLOYED HERE.”

*the car that you heard her go on and on about for two years before she bought it back there in November.

|| May 26, 2008 || 2:00 am || Comments (0) ||

me too, guy

“I have little pangs now and then about what we’ve done … even though it’s for a good reason…”

UPDATE: Charter bunged the link. It is now fixed, and points to Yahoodle news. Welcome!

|| May 24, 2008 || 12:41 am || Comments (2) ||


I had to differentiate between Jeff Healey and Jeff Buckley for someone tonight. It hurt my heart.

|| May 23, 2008 || 11:59 am || Comments (2) ||

automatic happy

Yesterday morning I awoke to knots in my left trapezius. I haven’t been to the gym in a week because The ‘Pro (that’s what we are calling my anti-whatevers medicinals now, you people, The ‘Pro) leaves me feeling goofy and hardly able to get ready first thing, much less run a couple miles in a loop or do hanging tucks or various and sundry shit that involves stuff like concentration and coordination. Since I in fact haven’t been to the gym, I was puzzled. The medication is anti-everything, to include anxiety and depression (it might even be a little racist and misogynistic too, ar-ar), so how do I have stress knots?

Lying on my side, I turned my head to Maxim, who was behind me.

“Hey, I need you to throw me an elbow; my shoulder’s got golf balls in it.”

As he was doing so, I said, “I don’t understand: I’m medicaaaaaated nowwwwww, I’m not supposed to have knotttsssss.”

“Yeah,” he responded mildly, “and you’ll never stub your toe again and when your ice cream falls off the cone, it will not hit the ground; it’ll float mid-air until you’re able to retrieve it and put it back.”

“Ohhhhh, fuck youuuuu.”

::: :: ::: :: ::: :: :::

So, first round of The ‘Pro done with. I don’t necessarily know how to gauge things on a pass/fail basis, because most people are on these types of meds full time. I will say, however, that the only way I knew I was starting this week was the sudden and fierce appearance of one lone pimple midway between the left corner of my mouth and my chin.

I wasn’t unreasonable and homicidal, so the intended result was achieved. I still feel not-quite-myself, but I’ve yet to suss out whether that is a good or bad thing. I will ruminate on it further and report back to you. There are definite positives and definite negatives. I’m aiming for a bubble bath sometime this weekend; the whole point of that bath will be to consume most of a bottle of wine and weigh the pros and cons. Oh, and a hardcore facial.

So, wheee.

|| May 22, 2008 || 2:29 pm || Comments (3) ||

me and this quote, we’re in loooooove

“English doesn’t borrow from other languages. English follows other languages down dark alleys, knocks them over and rummages through their pockets for loose grammar.”

// unknown


hahaha, I joke and it comes true, oh hahaha

So, where to start?

Nearly four months ago, I quit smoking again. Oh, I didn’t tell you that –after EIGHTEEN MONTHS of being smoke-free– I started back? Yeah. Still only four or five sticks a day, but to me that makes the habit even more stupid, because what’s the point, right? That was in September of two-thousand and six.

So this time my family was far more nagging and insistent, “YOU ARE GOING TO DIEEEE. Please stop.” Reluctantly, I did. Slow going at first, but I really got on it at one point and long about the third nicotine-free day, I was a real bear. I was verrrry difficult to deal with, and this behavior continued for the next four days, the third of which was made even worse (so I thought) by my period starting.

Let me give you a little background: I’ve always been one of those rare and blessed females who didn’t have an especially difficult time where The Monthlies were concerned. No PMS, no bloating, no pain, not even really the hint of tenderness. Spot one day, flow one day, spot one day, Bob’s your uncle and Fanny’s your aunt, we’re all done here. When I started having children, my pregnancies were really brutal. I kept my head in the toilet or sink from long about week ten to week thirty-five ALL THREE TIMES. I reasoned this out by saying two things: “All this sick means a ton of hormones. A ton of hormones means a healthy baby. I’m okay with that.” and “This is the trade-off for easy periods.”

I mean, really. I had a best friend who was sincerely cursed. All through high school I watched her take to the bed in misery for six days each and every month. She wasn’t even able to walk upright, she felt so bad. She’d run, hunched over, to the bathroom to retch the first three days after she’d started. I had no idea how I’d survive a life like that.

So, fast-forward to the next month after the nicotine quit nagging. Time to start my period again and out of nowhere, I was enraged. I found myself doing and saying things…behaving in a way that horrified me. It was like there was me, tiny and at the core of everything, looking out and saying, “Who is this person? Why on Earth is she behaving in such a poor fashion?” Any assy behavior on my part is usually provoked or premeditated, then gleefully embraced by me: “We are Having Fun, wheeee!” This was different. I was not holding the reins, and I was bewildered.

The month after that it was even worse and not only was I bewildered at my lack of forethought and control, I was a tiny bit afraid. I was also in a great deal of pain, so much so that I was physically sick. I threw up from the pain for two days straight. The next month –last month, in fact– something occurred that made me think that this was not a fluke, it was not going away, and just maybe I needed to seek some assistance in the matter.

One day, for eight hours solid, I sat and thought about how nice it would be to be dead and the myriad of ways I could accomplish getting myself that way. I didn’t even go home for lunch that day for fear I’d get the pistol out of my nightstand drawer and hold it coolly to my head, pulling the trigger. Then, as rapidly as the thought pattern had arrived, it left. It was like a switch had been thrown, then a handful of hours later, somebody thought to shut it off. Then the inexplicable rage started again and two days later my period started.

I got scared. I called my family doctor and set an appointment. His sister and I used to run the roads, have a few laughs together, so he knows me better than your average bear. I was equal parts relieved and uneasy that he was the one I’d be relaying my tale to, but he quickly put me at ease with a couple of inside jokes and a completely sympathetic air.

“You ever hear of Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder?”

“Ayuh. I don’t know much about it, though.”

“Sounds like that’s what’s going on. Let me go print you out some information on it, and I’ll be right back to discuss treatment options.”

So, PMDD: Your basic PMS with big, scary chainsaw teeth that drip toxic, infectious ooze. A fucking-with, as it were, of your brain’s chemistry and functions. Officially classed as a psychiatric disorder –which apparently pisses off female activists and psychiatrists alike– it is still largely a mystery but no one denies that it for sure exists. I am now a walking Proof Positive. Ohhhh, irony; I recall some ten years back being amused (but not in a cruel fashion) at my friend Susan’s completely fucking absolutely out every month. Her response to this was to pop Xanax like Tic-Tacs for about a week. Not so funny to me anymore.

It’s mostly not funny because I’ve never wanted to be on meds and now I am. I actually was hesitant to request them at all, but I felt like I needed something to rein in The Crazy before I hurt myself or somebody else. I made it expressly clear to my doc that I have no desire to be medicated full-time, “The three or four days before and the first three days of seem to be the problem. I just want something to manage my moods during that time and my pain for the first couple of days.” I was thinking he’d hit me up with some Valium or some Xanax, and maybe some prescription-strength Naproxen (because plain ole Aleve sometimes does the trick).

He put me on Lexapro (that is Citalopram for all the fancypantses among you), a seven-day cycle once per month. If I felt somewhat defeated at the prospect of meds before, I really feel defeated now. And it makes me angry.

It makes me angry, because I feel like my body has backed me into a corner. It makes me angry, because I went all those years denying myself all sorts of meds, fearing a lapse back into addiction. It makes me angry, because I have spent the last two years resignedly learning to manage my emotions and channeling otherwise negative energies into positive life changes.


But I’m going to give the old college try, because I’m not a fucking quitter. I will take those pills once a month for the three month period between now and when I have to go back to re-evaluate the situation. There is at least one hilarious story attached to each side effect that will entertain us all between now and then.

Hello, Muffinasses, allow me to reintroduce myself: I am Medicated Middle American Babe. My head is muddled and clear all at once, my manner is mild, and I’m not looking to stab anyone this week.

|| May 16, 2008 || 11:54 pm || Comments (4) ||

long time, no see!

There are lots of things going on in my life right now that are somewhat difficult to write about. I’m circling them slowly, sizing them up, and then I’m going to dive in with a fork and my bare hands and gobble them –raw– on down, showing you my gleaming bloody teeth and inviting you to laugh with me.

Just as I almost always do.

Right now, though, I just need you to hang loose. Try not to make any sudden moves, and also do not be alarmed or worried or any of that other silly shit that robs people of joy and sleep and decent digestive processes.