The Wednesday Advice Smackdown

Two Steps Forward

So I sent out an email yesterday to just about everyone with “insider knowledge” about my illness. The nice people who sent me emails offering comfort and virtual hugs.  The nice people who were rewarded for their kindness with hysterical ramblings from me that usually contained entirely Too Much Damn Information, Crazy Girl. And to the other nice people who sent me nice things or offered to clean my house or gave me their home phone numbers with permission to yell PICK UP THE DAMN PHONE BITCH! into their answering machines.

I told them all that I was doing better! Better! Happy! Medicated! Bzzz! BZZZ!

And of course, this angered the Pharmacy Gods muchly and I was promptly a quivering mass of anxiety and weepiness once again. Yay!

I still maintain that I’m getting better. Fuck you, Pharmacy Gods. *shakes fist at nightstand piled high with seventeen bottles of pills* You call that a panic attack? Ha! I laugh at your panic attack! Or I will later, once I stop crying about it.

Anyway. Ceiba is getting spayed today. Ack. Ackackack. I woke up at four a.m. convinced that something awful was going to happen to her and she was going to die.

I was able to get back to sleep, only to have an extremely disturbing dream about being a scientist working on a top-secret government project which turned out to be Jason as some Terminator-type supersoldier whose evil powers I accidentally unleashed after falling in love with him and kissing him.

So after that? I was pretty much wide awake and vowing never to sleep again. Got up. Got dressed. Told Jason he had to come with me to drop off the puppy or else he would probably get a call from a payphone in West Virginia after Ceiba and I Thelma and Louised it away from the vets.

The good news is that her extra baby teeth fell out last night. No one is allowed to vacuum our house until I find them.

After tearing myself away from my precious little pumpkin pie angel girl and giving her an embarrassing number of kisses in front of the vet, I went to my bazillionth doctor’s appointment this month. You can all now refer to my doctor as “Dr. Doomsday” (tm Coleen), as she managed to rip my “I’m feeling better!” routine to shreds and sent me packing with not one, not two, but THREE new prescriptions. We’re adding tranquilizers now, people. TRANQUILIZERS. Like I’m an escaped monkey from the zoo or something. Also doubling dosages that were already doubled once before.


So now? I’m a little cranky and short-tempered and seriously ready to rip that guy’s head off if he doesn’t SHUT THE HELL UP OUT IN THE HALLWAY OUT THERE YES I CAN HEAR YOU LOUD AND CLEAR.

Basically, this, again:


But! But! This weekend? Is my best friend’s wedding. I picked up my bridesmaid’s dress from the cleaners this morning; I bought shoes last weekend; I had my highlights touched up; and I have narrowed my toenail polish choices down to three.

I am ready. I think. Do I need to give a toast? Can I pawn that off on someone else? Where did I put her card? Where did I put the directions? Why didn’t I just take tomorrow off from work instead of being all stoic and agreeing to come for a half day before driving up to some town in Pennsylvania that I’ve never heard of with a half hour to spare before the rehearsal?  Could I write a longer run-on sentence than that one?

Also: New television arrived this morning. It’s big and pretty and will probably require a whole new entertainment center solution furniture thing. I have not bonded with it yet, however. I'm eyeing it suspiciously, like it will shock me every time I touch it or somehow mess up my TiVo. I'm sure this feeling will pass after we enjoy The Apprentice together tonight. In the meantime, I'm keeping my eye on you, New Television. Don't try anything funny.

The old n’ busted T.V. is now sitting on top of the old n’ busted couch. Seriously. I’m thinking of propping the couch up on some cinderblocks and bringing in an old rusty lawnmower just to complete the look.

Notified Readers Fuck Not With The Crazy.


type a

oh please do. and then promptly post photo essay. and could you please be wearing a ceiba baby tooth on chain around your neck? please??

and i'm on the lam this weekend too. heh. and i'm taking asa napoleon applesause prancy pants with me. so there.


New bunny pic on my cure the crankycakes...Of course i like crankycakes with butter and syrup.along with toast,juice, milk and trix.


Amalah you too cute worrying about your baby, and Cieba will be perfectly fine and happy to see you once shes back home again!

You need to say fuck it and call in tomorrow so you can try to enjoy the wedding and have some fun. And the TV bonding will help alot!

(just keep in mind you could be Mrs Britney's friend and have to be in one of those god awful tracksuits with Maid written on the back)

Much Loave for you and the site!


yo beeech with the postie notie on the head...
fuck man...i feel ya. i'm a damn crazy myself and out of the three or four things the doc labeled me with, i know he missed a couple and i don't want to tell him...which means my shit still aint right.
i just hate that someone else has to feel some of this torment...every minute feels sorta like...
like you just got called to the principal's office.
or like your dog just died.
or like when you look up just in time to see you are about to have a car accident.
or like you could put your head through a fucking concrete dam.
or like cutting your face off.
or like it's too much fucking effort to breath.
if you ever need to chat with a fellow kook...let me know. i doubt i can help...but maybe i'll find out that you are worse off than me and it will actually have the effect of making me feel better. HAHAHA. kidding.
hang in there...once all the meds are reved up you will feel more like a human. (that's what they tell me, anyway.)


I am fighting a strong urge to send you a pretty pink gingham lampshade to put on Ceiba while she convalesces. ;)


I think my head just exploded reading that second to last post.

Also, Amy darling, rest assured that even with the Post-It Note on your head, your hair still looks FABULOUS. And you will have a wondrous time this weekend. (Where in PA is it? Is it near to me? Can I crash it? I have a dress.)

Fraulein N

Ceiba baby-tooth necklace? I say, go for it. Call out of work, if at all possible, so you can be all calm and pretty at the wedding. Ceiba will be fine, and love you more than ever once she's back home.

bond girl

Your remeber me b/c I'm special feature is giving me a damn complex because IT NEVER REMEMBERS ME.

That was beside the point though, wasn't it? I'm glad you are feeling a teensy bit better. I hope tomorrow you feel a little more better and the same thing happens the day after that and the day after that and so on. Also, I'm v. glad your Dr. sees through you, is a good thing for progress.


I second (or third) the Ceiba baby tooth necklace idea. It could be the new nameplate! Because really, who needs a name around their neck if they can have a precious Ceiba tooth? Have a fab time at the wedding. Hmm, can you drink on your new meds??



Just signed up for your notify list, so I figured I should drop by here and say hi. Otherwise I'd totally feel like I was stalking you or something.

So, yeah, hi. Your journal rocks! You are pretty! Is that a Coach purse I see in the picture behind you? I likes...

Anne A.

Ceiba will be just fine! And, she'll probably come home with a cone on her head, which will provide endless hours of lovey-fussing, and also? Tons of silly pictures for you to post here for our enjoyment.
And, as a fellow crazy, hang in there, sister!


Ahh, the sedated crazy... you could be Paula Abdul! And with this post's title, I'm sure of it. Where's MC Skat Cat?


::quickly scrolls up to see Coach purse::

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