Stepford Crazy-now with less Paxil

I’m off to the doctor today to discuss the possibility of ditching my anti-depressant. Yes, many of you just shook your heads upon reading that and went “nooooooooooo!” I don’t blame you.

I’ve been on Paxil for about 17 months. I’m still crazy, but I no longer have anxiety attacks over imagined kidnappers. Here is the other thing-I’m fat. Fat. Fat. Fat. I’ve gained about 30lbs on the drug. I’m the biggest I have ever been NOT pregnant.

I want off. And I want off now.

So I’m going to do my best to not LIE and tell the doctor I’m FANTASTIC. I’m going to tell him I’m better, I’m happier, and I no longer will stare at strangers intently at the park wondering if they are sexual predators. I have the libido of a 16 year old boy and I’m eating well and exercising. Correction-I’m not eating too much shit and every so often I go to the gym.

I’ll be honest. I’m starting to have those ideas in my head that the medicating of women of child bearing age is overrated. I know it worked for me, so I have NO SANE reason why I feel that way, other than I am sick of hearing everyone I know is on something to make them less bitchy.

So yes, I am taking a chance by thinking I can go off the Paxil. If I start having heart thumps when my husband is late coming home and am convinced he’s dead on the side of the road, I will go back on the Paxil. Or some other drug that won’t make me as fat.

Because I don’t care what you think…the fat is almost as bad as the crazy.

A Day In The Life

I can’t ever seem to put into words what really goes on around here. The everyday, little things that make me shake my head, roll my eyes, and wonder why in the hell I ever, ever, ever had children. I could tell you they are nutty little creatures, but you wouldn’t really believe me.

So I shall SHOW you instead.

From telling my daughter today she was silly and her reply of “I don’t need all this,” to today’s impromptu naked DJ session in my living room, complete with a mix master and a naked cowgirl.

NYC has the Naked Cowboy- LA Has my Daughter

Too Drunk To Blog

Karen and Erin

Mother’s Day is a Scam!

Mother’s Day for this Queen will always suck donkey balls. The end.

Sigh.

It’s Mother’s Day at Count Waffle’s little preschool and he’s home on the couch with a 103 degree fever. He’s sad because it was “our” day. I’m sad because it was “my” mother’s day and Princess Peanut is THRILLED because she no longer has said fever and is currently jumping off the living room couch and giggling.

Mother’s Day and I have a really shitty track record. There have been no brunches at fancy hotels or macaroni necklaces. There has been ONE champagne morning with a jewelery filled breakfast, but that was a make-up Sunday designed to balance the first year, which we shall never speak of again.

Then there was the last year where I got over zealous in my reminders of the pending day and forever established the “holiday” as a husband free zone.

So to have my ONE event this year taken from me by fever…makes me want to go beat up God. Or Buddha. Or the deity of your choice.

Fuck Mother’s Day. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Tell me how its really some trumped up Halmark holiday and I shouldn’t care. I’m starting a new trend where we hip Moms think Mother’s Day is some anti-woman, oppressive tradition where it makes females less empowered. Or something.

Ok, I’m going to go repeat that all to myself 300 times until I believe it while I go wipe tears.

Blog Whore

Sometimes Karen and I get a little goofy. When we do…this is what happens.(get to the comments to understand what I’m talking about)

The blog girls are throwing a virtual baby shower today. Get yer buns over there.

Its nothing but sick kids and 110 degrees here. So move along.

Making Dora My Bitch in 2007

REALLY kicking Dora's ass
What???

When Mommybloggers Talk (to eachother)

Kids Shows Are Really Fucking Annoying As All Hell
yeah, stupid diego just came on and I may kill him
in my dreams, I kill him
little einsteins here
ARGH
we’re on our waaaaaaaaaaay the mission of the day…starts when we say ROCKET
fuck rocket
take the fucking bus you liitle pukes
and where the FUCK are their parents?
I mean…if my kid is in Egypt…I want to know
I’m not saying AZUL
Diego can’t make me.

I think it’s safe to say I need to change the channel.

I have parenting SKILLZ

I sent my son to preschool today with a lunch. He wanted to stay for lunch, I said sure. Ham sandwhich, juice box, grapes, cookies. Not bad. Brown bag with his name on it. Way to go Mom.

Ok, so the brown bag wasn’t a lunch bag, it was the kind they put your wine in at the liquor store.

Think anyone will notice the 4-year old is carrying his lunch in a liquor bag?