Basket Case

An open letter to the doctor who put me on The Crazy Pills:

 Dear Dr. Dumbass: 

 When a patient comes to you for an allergic reaction to eye cream and a cortisone shot and in the course of your consultation determine that she is of such a fragile mental state that she should be put on The Crazy Pills there are a couple of things you might want to mention to her: 

1)      Take the damn pills at night because about an hour after you take The Crazy Pills you will feel more exhausted than you ever have in your entire life and you only option will be to go to sleep right there and then, regardless of what you may be doing at the time.

2)      Plan on some cornea searing headaches.

 3)      Do not plan on taking anything for the cornea searing headaches because you’re going to be so goddamn nauseous that your stomach is not going to tolerate Excedrin Migraine and copious vomiting in the office restroom is going to occur if you try to take any. 4)      Plan on falling down a lot because you get extremely dizzy whenever you stand up.  Or sit down.  Or lean to the left.

5)      Encourage the crazy one to cultivate the fashion sense of a methadone fiend because it will go well with the generally jittery and fuzzy headed feeling she’s inevitably going to experience.

6)      Don’t worry…forgetting everything about five minutes after it enters your brain is normal and you’ll get used to it. 

If I wasn’t a fucking basket case before I got The Crazy Pills, I sure as hell am now, so thanks for that.  I wanted something to prevent The Crazy not something to magnify exactly what a fucking nutjob I am. Oh…and when I call you about the side effects of these damn Crazy Pills…don’t expect “It takes a while for your system to get used to the pills and for them to achieve their full effect.  You should be fine in two or three weeks” to make me feel any damn better. 

Best Regards,

Recipient of The Crazy Pills. 

The Crazy…Now in Pill Form

When you’re writing a blog, at some point you’re going to ask yourself, “Is this too personal to write about?”  At other times you’re going to be so overwhelmed worrying that the person you’re writing about or the person involved in a situation you’re writing about is going to read your blog and get really, really pissed off. 

There are a lot of entries that I’ve written and re-written a hundred times that I’ve ended up just deleting because I was worried that I was going to piss someone off. I’m sure you can probably tell that worrying that I’m going to piss someone off isn’t really all that high up there on my list of things to obsess over, but in these circumstances I’m talking about either people who are friends or (more frequently) my family.  There are a lot of things going on right now with my family that I would love to write about for either venting purposes or for the sheer dysfunctional and comedic greatness that is my family. 

I’m beginning to form my own conclusions regarding how to handle writing about someone I actually have a personal relationship.  We’ll see how that goes.  It’s the “Is this too personal to publish” that I’m still having a problem with.   There is one particular thing that I’ve been struggling with deciding to writ about, so I’m just going to jump in and write about it and see what happens. 

Last Saturday, I had a nervous breakdown of sorts.  I don’t mean this in an overly dramatic, I have PMS and we’re out of spinach dip sort of way, I mean that had it not been for the intervention of my mother there was an excellent chance that I would have ended up in a hospital somewhere. 

There is just so much shit that I’ve been dealing with that I haven’t written about here.  The chances are extremely good however that I will be writing about it in the near future.  Why?  Because if I keep bottling everything up inside the way I have been for the past six months or so, I have a feeling that the next “episode” will be much, much worse. 

Here’s the short version of what happened.   

Last Saturday I actually had an entire morning to myself.  No one was in my house at all (which is not so much rare as it is a virtually non-existent state of being).  I decided to make some coffee, let Max outside and curl back up in bed to watch the last three episodes of Gilmore Girls that have been languishing on the TiVo because I have no time to watch them. 

Things were fine.  Things were great. 

Then they weren’t. 

One second I’m watching Gilmore Girls and the next I’m crying uncontrollably (no…nothing particularly sad happened on this show…that wasn’t it).  This progressed into my getting completely hysterical and curling up on the fetal position on my bed and just….screaming.  No words, nothing intelligible…just screaming and shaking with the occasional bouts of puking thrown in just to mix things up a bit.  I literally felt myself loosing my mind…I don’t think I’ve ever been so terrified in my life. 

This went on for 2 and a half hours. 

There’s more to this story, including my new “psycho pills” and I promise that I’ll finish the story, but just getting this much out has taken a lot out of me and I just can’t right now.  Probably tomorrow…just not now.

Um..Okay…

Can I just say how much I adore looking at the what people enter into various search engines that ends up leading them to this site?

To the person who was looking up “birthday spankings”…my apologies.  I’m fairly sure that you did not find exactly what you were looking for, but I completely adore you for actually googling this.

However, should you happen to have an uncanny resemblance to Jared Leto…email me and I’m sure we can work something out.

Valentine’s Psychosis

…or as I probably should have titled this: “By the Time You’re Done Reading this you are Going to Feel Incredibly Sorry for Nick”. 

Basically, I suck at the whole Valentine’s Day thing.  I am just not good at it, probably because the very thought of Valentine’s Day makes me want to hit someone in the face with a shovel.  Don’t ask me why, because I’m not real sure myself, it’s not like I had some life altering and very traumatic event happen to me on Valentine’s Day…I’ve just always thought it was a fundamentally stupid holiday.  Actually, the more I think about it, I’m not sure it actually qualifies as a holiday…more of a quasi-holiday. 

At any rate…last week Nick and I were out running errands and whatnot when he asked me what I wanted to do for Valentine’s Day.  Well, not wanting to spend two hours waiting for a table at some godforsaken Chili’s because every decent restaurant has a three hour wait since we live in a town run by heathens where NO PLACE accepts goddamn reservations, I told him that we’d do something the weekend after Valentine’s Day to celebrate.  That was all well and good with Nick, so then he decided to open a huge can-o-worms by asking me if there was anything specific I wanted as my Valentines’ Day present. 

Well…sure.  There are lots of things that I want…a new car, something shiny from Tiffany’s, a new Coach purse, Jared Leto…you know…just the basics.  Did I mention any of these things to him?  Oh HELL NO.  For some reason I decided to get all practical on his ass and ask for something really useful…paint and new fixtures for our bathroom that I’ve been meaning to get around to re-doing for months now. 

The Hell?!?! 

Apparently I had taken far too much allergy medication or something.  Paint?  Towel bars?  Seriously? 

So then Valentine’s Day rolls around and I start getting bitter.  I really don’t want paint.  I mean…sure, we need to paint the bathroom, but damn…it’s Valentine’s Day and everyone was coming into my office asking me “What did Nick get you?” and so I did what any completely irrational woman would do.  I called Nick and began to whine that I really didn’t want paint after all.  Paint sucks…paint is the worst present ever…paint for Valentine’s Day is just….WRONG. 

Long Story Short?  Nick had actually ordered flowers to be delivered to my office about two weeks ago.  Upon hearing that his wife had completely lost her mind and wanted paint and bathroom fixtures, he cancelled the order.  He was actually on his way to Home Depot to buy the damn paint when I called him and started bitching that everyone else was getting flowers and jewelry but me. 

By the time I got home…there were many, many roses, lots and lots of chocolate and balloons that made Max cry because apparently, balloons are scary to him (I kind of agree, actually). 

Yes, Nick is a saint.  Yes, I’m completely psychotic. 

You want to know what I got him?  A Card.  Yes…just a card. Although, it was the most perfect card EVER.  The thing actually said “A special notice to my husband…..I love you, despite what my mood swings might indicate”.  It’s like they wrote that card specifically for me. 

Yes…I totally suck.

People Should Not Speak to Me Until I’ve Had Coffee

…because chances are very good that if I haven’t had any coffee that I’m going to say something insanely stupid. 

Its 7:45 and I’m walking through my office on my way to grab some coffee before answering about 7000 emails and 4000 voice mails.  Of course, there are several people milling about the coffee machine and I just know one of them is going to say something annoying like “Good Morning”.  I hate having to make small talk with people.  I really truly hate it because I pretty much suck at it.   

Case in point:  Upon grabbing some coffee an older gentleman who works in our marketing department looks at me and says “You work in HR, so you must be fairly adapt in studying human behavior”.  Huh?  I just look at him with this blank expression on my face wondering where this is going to lead.  This odd opening comment is followed by “What do you think about that kid in
Utah who shot people in that mall?  Do you think he played too many video games and just snapped?” 

Then, before I could stop myself, I have this out of body experience where I hear myself give the stupidest response in history.  I look at this man and say “I blame Mormonism”.  People just kind of looked at me like I was crazy; like I was smearing my own feces on the wall kind of crazy. 

What the hell was I thinking?  Better yet…what the hell was he thinking by asking this question to me when it was obvious that I was in no shape to answer any question other than “Can I get you some coffee”?   

I really envy people who have that filter between their brain and their mouth.  You know… the one that allows normal people, unlike me, to actually think before they speak and not say the first damn idiotic thing to pop into their heads.  I’m not sure if it’s a genetic condition, birth defect, character flaw or what, but I just don’t have that filter. 

I wonder if I could get one installed.  Just walk into my doctor’s office and demand that filter so that I can avoid these kinds of situations in the future.  The sad thing is that my doctor would not be at all surprised by this request since I tend to come to him with some crazy ass requests.  Like the time I tried to get my insurance company to pay for Botox by asking my doctor if he could say that it was medically necessary for either mental health reasons or to freeze the muscles in my forehead to prevent migraines.  Needless to say that didn’t work. 

Okay…let’s just see if I can get through the rest of the day without saying anything else completely stupid

Reality Check

I have this habit of assuming that everyone holds the same beliefs as I do.  Then I’m constantly  shocked when I find out someone I’ve know for years disagrees with me on some issue that, in my own naivety, I just assumed everyone in my social circle felt the same way about.

Prime example: {Why do I have a feeling that I’m about to open a huge ass can-o-worms?!?!} Recently I got one of those email “survey” type things from a friend of mine.  You know the kind people send out when they are either bored at work or oddly curious about what you ate for breakfast.  One of the questions on it was something to the effect of “How do you feel about gay marriage?”  Her answer “It’s VERY wrong”. 

I almost fell off my chair.  Not because I’m unaware of the fact that there are people who feel very strongly that gay marriage is wrong.  I was shocked because I have this odd habit of assuming that everyone I consider a friend basically holds the same fundamental opinions as I do, even though it’s not a topic that has ever come up in conversation with this particular person. 

My brain was literally screaming: “But you have gay friends!  You’ve hung out with my gay friends and never seemed to have a problem with it!  How the hell can you be so damn judgmental and deny someone the opportunity to get married when you yourself just got married and proclaimed it the best thing to ever happen to you?!? 

I know that it’s naïve to be shocked when someone’s belief system differs from your own.  I also know that everyone is entitled to their own opinions…I just apparently have this character flaw whereby I consider my opinions to be the only “right” opinions.  Realizing this about myself was a huge reality check for me.

Of course, I guess that’s how some of my religious friends feel when I have no problem declaring myself as an agnostic and don’t fear getting struck by lightning for saying it.  So I guess everyone feels like this from time to time depending on the issue. 

DOOM!!!

Have you ever had one of those days were you just should not have gotten out of bed?  That would be today for me.  It’s not even 8:30AM yet and here’s what’s happened so far:

• Woke up late
• Got in a stupid, petty, bickering fight w/ Nick
• Got in the car to go to work and the breaks went out on my car
• Got a ride to work with my mom – the most frightening car ride of my life, because while people say I can’t drive…my mom is the second most terrifying driver in the world.  The first would be my grandmother.
• Got to work and learned that my boss’s son’s best friend (a kid who does file clerking for us) was killed in an accident last night.
• Spilled coffee extremely hot coffee all over myself
• Learned that we received a $930 Klein ISD tax bill – which is total bullshit since I don’t have kids and could care less how much money it cost to educate the little shits right now.
• Due to massively increased workload several deadlines have been pushed up and I have no idea how I’m going to get everything done on time
• Cannot fathom where I’m going to get the approximately eleventy billion dollars it’s going to cost to get my car fixed.

So…how’s your morning been?

Drowning!

You know that things have completely spiraled out of control when even your skin is rebelling at you.  I’m actually so stressed out that I have this weird rash on my arms.

 

 

Things are pretty much one giant stress ball around my house right now.  Due to some reorganization within my company my workload has increased by such a massive amount that it is making me a little crazy.  For the first time in my entire professional life, my office looks like the paper shredder threw up all over my desk because I just don’t time to keep it neat and organized.

 

Nick is beyond stressed out at his job, but for completely different reasons.  Basically, he needs to find a new job where the fact that he works his ass off is actually appreciated rather than blown off with an “yeah…but you still need to do this, this and that… and who cares if you work 60 hours a week and never see your wife…it’s all about profit, profit, profit and fuck anything that even vaguely resembles some kind of work life/personal life balance”.  So basically even when he’s at home, he’s still thinking about work.  What really drives me crazy is the fact that he’s one of the hardest working, most dedicated people I know…too bad that sweatshop of a company that he works for doesn’t realize it.

 

Add to the above with the crazy training schedule that Fucking Marlon has got me on (I was at the gym at 9AM on a Sunday morning!!!  I was unaware of the fact that there was a 9AM on Sunday).  Throw in that my mom is temporarily living with us and that apparently no one but me knows how to clean the damn house and you can understand why I’m something of a basket case.  Oh yeah…let’s just add to the list that I am beyond fucking sick of bills, mortgages and never having any goddamn money.

 

I don’t have enough hours in the day to get everything I need to do, done.  My house is a mess and the laundry is piled up so high that I’m wearing pants that have a coffee stain on them from last week to work today.  I don’t have time to take Max for a walk let alone do “maintenance” things like get a manicure, get my eyebrows waxed, get my hair cut and my color touched up, or call the doctor to have this funky rash checked out. Shit…I’ve been trying to get to the mall to purchase a pair of jeans that don’t have a hole in them for the past three weeks and still haven’t gotten around to it.

 

At this point I’d be happy for an uninterrupted 10 minutes to shave my legs while someone vacuumed my living room.

 

I’m tired, and stressed out and just generally annoyed with life right now.  I really wish I could go back to being 7 and having my parents take care of everything for me because right now I am completely overwhelmed by my own life and I have no idea what to do about it.

 

This wouldn’t be bad if it was one of those “you can see the light at the end of the tunnel” situations, but that’s not the case here because I really don’t see things calming the fuck down around here anytime soon.  Right now, my only options to remedy this is to either figure out a way to bend the time-space continuum and add an additional 10 hours to my day or have myself cloned. 

 

Considering that I suck at math and I’m sure there will be all manner of scary equations with funky symbols and letters in places that numbers should be involved in bending the time-space continuum that option is pretty much out.

 

And I have a feeling that if I cloned myself, I’d be stuck with a clone bitching and moaning that she doesn’t have time for a hair cut, some highlights and a manicure, and that would probably send me right over the edge, so I’m pretty much out of options here.

 

I wonder if it’s a felony to hire illegal immigrant children to clean my house.  Illegal immigrant children that know exactly how to highlight my hair and give fantastic pedicures…that would be good.

Football is Dead to Me

I know…I know…

You were hoping for some completly hillarious diatribe over what will officially come to be known as The Game that Shall Never Be Mentioned Again by Anyone Ever.  But honestly…I just cannot even begin to express how heartbroken I am over this.

Besides that…my liver hurts from all the damn drinking that occured yesterday.

Oh yeah, and the unreasonable company I work for has dumped what can only be called, in technical terms, a shitload of work on me and all of it has unreasonable deadlines, so there’s a pretty good chance that any blog updates this week are going to be sporadic at best.

But next week…the whirlwind of crazy will return…

Also…to those of you that were at my house yesterday….If I hear that anyone told Fucking Marlon what I ate or how much I drank I will totally kick you in the balls.  Because there’s no way he’s going to not make me run the equilivant of going from here to China on the damn treadmill once he hears about the beer.

 and the spinach dip. 

and the queso. 

and the beer.

Want to Know Why I Shouldn’t Smoke?

…because I almost set my car on fire.

This week has been unusually long.  It’s been one of those weeks were pretty much anything that could fall to crap has.  Work has been crazy, the gym has had the strange effect of making my arms feel like led and I don’t think I’ve seen Nick for more than 20 minutes since last Sunday.

So, you can see why I really needed to smoke a cigarette before returning to my office from my lunch break.  Wait…is it still considered a lunch break when you technically did not eat lunch because all you did was sit in your car and read while drinking coffee?

Anyway.  After finishing what could only be described as a medically necessary cigarette, I did what anyone would do and attempted to throw the remainder of the lit cigarette out the car window.  I say attempted, because while I intended to throw it out the car window, the kamikaze cigarette had other plans and decided to bounce off my side mirror and lodge itself into this tiny crevice on the dashboard.  This was bad because the damn thing was still lit.

 I did  what any reasonable person would do and grabbed a napkin that was laying on the passenger seat and used it to shield my fingers from the lit part of the cigarette while attempting to wedge it out of the tiny crevice where it had seemed to take up permanent residence judging by how firmly stuck in there it was.

I finally managed to get the damn thing unstuck and flung the remains of the cigarette out the window and threw the napkin on the floorboard of my car, because you know…I didn’t want to litter or anything, and went back to reading my book.

All was well and good for about three minutes until I started wondering what that odd smell was.  Not really thinking much of it, I just kept reading until the smell started getting stronger.  now, did I think to look on the floorboard of my car where I just threw a highly flammable object that had come into recent contact with something that was, essentially, on fire?  hell no.  I looked behind me and scanned the parking lot to see where the smell was coming from.
That’s when I noticed the flaming napkin on the floor of my car, and then I screamed.

At this point, I picked up the flaming napkin and threw it out the window, but before I could get out of the car to make sure that the flames had been put out, a gust of wind happened to blow the flaming napkin over into some leaves that were now also on fire.  I got out of the car and dumped the rest of my coffee all over the napkin and the leaves much to the confusion of the landscaping crew that had been watching the whole thing.

Apparently, I did not pay nearly enough attention to those Smokey the Bear commericals as a kid.

There is only one way to remedy this situation.  I’m going to have to leave work, get into my pajamas and sit on the couch drinking wine for the remainder of the evening while NOT smoking because with my luck I’d set the house on fire.  While I’m married to the most patient man on the planet (after all, he does put up with me) I doubt even he would be able to tolerate my setting the house on fire.

As a final note:
GO BEARS!!!