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Jagged Little Pill

24 Aug

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In the newest update of Mama’s Butt and Anxiety Saga, I’ve now spent two weeks taking Xanax when needed for my explosive butt disorder anxiety issues.

It’s worked fairly well but the number of days that I need to take medicine (in a non-addictive, stomach-wrenching because of nervousness and stress kind of way) have definitely out numbered the days that I can not take it.

Basically, the only days that I don’t have symptoms are the ones that I stay at home.

So my conclusion thus far is that I have three options:

(1) Stop taking Xanax and all other medications to be as healthy a vessel for a possible future baby as possible.

This option also requires me to wear adult diapers and be bald, as I would have literally pulled all my hair out due to stress. Oh, and I’d probably turn in to an agoraphobic hermit, too.

(2) Keep taking Xanax, become addicted, quickly become a crack whore and die in a dirty alley somewhere giving a homeless dude a hand job for a swig of Pepto.

Not horrible, but not ideal.

(3) Switch medications to something daily to manage my anxiety and pair with therapy to gain coping and management techniques.

From what I’ve read online (because if it’s on Wikipedia, it must be true) is that this option means that most likely my future children will resemble a potato in form and have the intelligence of a moldy piece of cheese. If I’m lucky, I will be able to teach my misshapen potato babies to grunt the ABCs and how to do some menial yard work (because why else do people have children? I have weeds to be pulled, people.)

Man, doesn’t a baked potato with the works sound so good right now?

But I digress.

Actually, the anecdotal evidence online suggests that a medicine, like Zoloft, probably won’t horribly deform my future Cletus the Fetus any more than my natural genetics will so I’ve decided to make the switch from Addictive Pill Poppin’ Mama to Official Crazy Pill Popping Mama.

And, of course, I call them “crazy pills” with all due respect. “Happy pills” make them sounds like their made out of unicorn droppings by leprechauns and “brain pills” sound like some sort of futuristic robot experiment (Soilent Green is People!!)

The next step of the Saga is to get an appointment with a therapist to discuss coping mechanisms so (hopefully) I won’t have to take the crazy pills forever. While I’m totally surprised by how nonchalant I am with pill-popping, (because, well, who isn’t popping pills?), I’m hesitating on contacting a real honest-to-god psychologist. Because, therapy? Isn’t that for broken people?

This coming from someone with a B.A. in Psychology.

Yeah, I’m kind of an asshole. (surprise!)

But I swear I’m going to make an appointment to chat with someone in the next few weeks. Somehow I just envision laying on some sweaty dark leather coach while some creepy old dude asks questions about sexual repression (uh, none of your business creepy dude. I prefer to discuss private matters like that on my blog.) and my fear of clown dolls (because, well, duh. Poltergeist, anyone?)

'nuf said.
Song title: Jagged Little Pill by Alanis Morissette

Misery, Pain & Hunger

13 Jul

Today is the beginning of my Katie Couric-esque blogging of my impending colonoscopy.

Being that my procedure is tomorrow afternoon, today I began my Clear Liquid Diet, which, really, should just be called the Get Ready To Be F-ing Hungry Diet.

This is what I CAN eat:
- Water (I kid you not, it’s at the top of the list)
- Clear juices (nothing red or purple)
- Broth (Mmmm)
- Jello (but only green, white or yellow apparently)
- Coffee (with no cream, so really, what’s the point?)
- Pop/Soda
- Crystal Lite/Kool-Aid/Gatorade/Tang (but again, no reds or purples)
- Popsicles
- Lemon Drops

This is what I CAN’T eat:
- Anything that tastes good and/or will fill you up so your stomach doesn’t start devouring itself and the nearby organs

Whoever thought to take the anxiety/stress-ridden chick and force her to stop eating (pretty much) for a day and a half should be f-ing bludgeoned with his butt camera scope thingy.

AND I had a wedding yesterday, so yesterday’s diet consisted of half a Frappucino, one chocolate chip cookie, a microscopic bit of chicken and potatoes and two Snackers from KFC (my post-wedding/pre-starvation attempt at a binge). Typically, my day-after a wedding consists of me sitting on my butt (because my feet still hurt from running around all day) binging on any- and everything within arms reach.

I might not even leave the pantry.

Did I also mention that Bee has been running a fever on and off since Saturday?

So yeah, needless to say, we’re both un-bathed, sitting/laying on the couch watching television in our pajamas. Well, Bee’s wearing her diaper. I haven’t gotten to that stage of the prep yet.

What’s almost infuriating is that I get to not only to prepare and serve food to Bee (most recently a bagel which I am currently staring at with lustful desire), but I get to watch her…wait for it…NOT EAT IT!

What. The. F#ck.

Bee doesn’t know that I’d happily trade HER for the ability to eat a bagel right now, so in her mopey-feverish state, she’s all “Eh. I don’t really have an appetite, Mom.”

But you know, in toddler gibberish.

If you are in the mood to lose YOUR appetite, stay tuned while I document the joy of drinking one liter of what has been described online as pukish, salty, pee water, and discover what happens when you eat a metric f#ck-ton of lemon drops only to have them shoot out of your butt a few hours later.

Should be fun.

More Colonoscopy Fun: The Beginning & The Reckoning

Song title: Misery, Pain & Hunger by Ruthless Bastards