Category Archives: Incessant Whining

Selling a Car is SO MUCH FUN

OMG…last night these people came to look at a car we’re selling and they TOOK MY KEYS with them. I realized it this morning when I couldn’t find them so I call the guy and I’m like “Hi, you came to look at our car last night. Do you have my keys?” and he’s like “Yes, I have them”

Um…OKAY. So when exactly did you notice that you had the keys to everything I own in your possession? We’re you planning on LETTING ME KNOW? Did it not occur to you that I might NEED THEM???? That I might be tearing my house apart looking for them so I could take my kids to school?

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A couple days ago I took my son, daughter and my daughter’s friend to the movies. We went to a theater in our historic district which bears an uncanny resemblance to Bourbon St in New Orleans. There are bars, restaurants, nightclubs and shops all up and down 7th Ave, the main drag. I think the only thing missing are the booby bars every 100 yards.

During the day it’s pretty tame with mostly tourists and business people walking around, so as I searched for a parking spot on 7th Ave, I didn’t even stop to consider that my ten year old can now read or that 7th Ave isn’t the most kid-friendly spot in town.

While we were stopped at a light, I heard her say to her friend “Look! Look! Look at that sign.” Me being the nosy parent that I am, I turned to see what she was looking at. I saw nothing unusual so I asked her what she was talking about. She pointed to the window of  popular gay club that was too far back for me to see.

“What? What does it say?”

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I’m Sorry We Made Fun of You, Gerabaldine

When I was a little kid, my friend had this kind of ugly, knock-off Barbie that was almost completely bald save for a few follicles of millimeter-long brown hair. I don’t know why she was bald but we named her Gerabaldine. And we laughed and laughed. What a hoot, right?!

I had actually planned on blogging about something only marginally related to my hair situation and not at all about my hair itself. But… I figure I’ll see some of you sooner or later and I won’t be able to hide it so…we may as well just go there and get it over with.

My hair is falling out. A lot. Get the whole story »

I’m Just Not Ready for Any of This

Ugh…today is a hard day and it’s only 10:45am.

It started last night with the huz and I talking about our ten year old daughter who is starting to ask questions about Santa Claus. Of course we want to be honest with her but 1) she asked when our five yr old was around, so we really couldn’t and 2) once you spill the beans about Santa, the whole house of cards will come tumbling down—Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny—all that magic will evaporate in an instant. I’m not ready for that.

And today, my daughter has her last cheer event of the season. They cheer at games until October and then they do competitions for a while and then the season is over. I’ve been a very involved cheer mom and so it was hard to put her in a car this morning with her team, knowing I won’t have any contact with her until after 7pm tonight. At the last competition, cheerleaders and parents weren’t totally separated all day but at this one we are and I hate it. I didn’t even get to hug her goodbye this morning. She was in the car doing something and then BAM…they were leaving. I told her I loved her and she’s like “Okay, bye mama”  OUCH. Get the whole story »


The feeling. It’s subtle but it’s there…quietly threatening.

The only way to describe it is to say that I’m starting to feel disconnected from everything around me…again. I hear you, I see you, I talk to you—but it’s like there’s glass between us; between me and the world. It’s like a…precursor to depression; not as bad as the real thing but not so great either.

It could just be hormonal mood swings that will be gone as quickly as they came.

I hope.

I’ve been weaning myself off Wellbutrin realllllly slowly and it’s working out okay. I just hate being beholden to medication. I know if you need it you should take it but there’s this nagging voice in the back of my head that always reminds me that this is my BRAIN we’re tinkering with and that being on any brain-tinkering drugs long term might be bad for you and really, who’s going to tell you that? The drug makers? Pffffftttt. RIGHT.

So anyway, what I think I really need right now is to TALK, with actual spoken words (as opposed to emails and IM’s) to someone who isn’t my husband or children. I’ve been isolating myself….burying myself in new projects and hiding from the world. That can’t be healthy *sigh*


Let the Sun Shine In (Before I Bite Someone’s Head Off)!

Hi! I’m happy! How are you?

Ha…I know. That kind of intro to a post just makes me sound crazy. Pretty soon I’ll be handing out flowers at the airport in a melon colored sari. And right now? That doesn’t sound half bad because the clouds have parted and the SUN IS SHINING! For a change.

You see, for months now, I’ve been on this rollercoaster of mood swings. I think it’s commonly referred to as PMS except mine is more like Pre-Menstrual Life Force-Sucking Demon from Hell…or PMLFSDH. And I do NOT exaggerate.

You menfolk might just want to check out now since I’ll be talking about lady things like OVULATION and PERIOD and BLOOD. Although a real man would stay. And leave a supportive comment. Or at least tell me I’m pretty.

Okay, for those that are still playing along at home… It starts around ovulation—my sex drive escalates because mother nature is a whore that wants to knock me up AGAIN. I mean really, the time you’re most fertile and likely to conceive should be the time you LEAST want to get busy but nooooo… Propagation of the species blah blah blah. WHATEVER. Like we NEED more oxygen-hogging PEOPLE on the planet…

So anyway, after the three day window of IREALLYWANTSEX closes, the PMLFSDH starts to kick in. I become irritable. And hungry. And anti-social. And anxious. And SO SO SO tired. Like the “my whole body aches with tired” kind of tired and I nap every morning as soon as everyone leaves. And I have ZERO motivation to do ANYTHING. And I don’t answer the phone. And I get sad. And melancholic. And I feel persecuted. And I’m positive everyone hates me. And I break out like a 14 year old boy. And the mood-elevating drugs are a FAIL. And did I mention being irritable?

And this shit goes on for TEN TO TWELVE MISERABLE DAYS in which I pray every second for my period to come—I literally sit there staring at the white toilet paper willing a hint of pink to magically appear on it because I just want the PMLFSDH to STOP. I mean, really,  who prays for their period anymore? That’s so high school. And college. And first six years of marriage…

But then I wake one day, like I did this past Thursday, and I’m happyish. I don’t hate the world. And I don’t want to bite the heads off of live humans anymore. Not even a little.

I know without even looking that my period has arrived.

I can answer the phone again. And make plans with people. And do stuff like clean the house and plan meals and spend honest-to-God quality time with my kids and feel warm and fuzzy about life and I’m so happy to feel happy that I become giddy. And I make jokes. And I don’t want to eat big bowls of butter and sugar. Or a pound of bacon. And I feel like exercising again.

And everyone breathes a sigh of relief because that awful woman is gone and the awesome, fun, patient one is back.

But I know it won’t last and I find myself mentally calculating the number of good days I have left until the huge black clouds comes back and take their preferred spot right over my head and the cycle starts all over again.

So, if you know me and I suddenly check out, nowhere to be found…or I snap at you…or criticize you mercilessly…or eye your food like I’ve been starving for months…or don’t do ANY of the stuff I said I would do etc etc etc?

Well, now you know why. Just go away and leave me the hell alone.

If I’m not completely embarrassed by something I did or said, I promise I’ll call you when I get my period.

Always with the Guilt…

I’m not an anxious person by nature. I mean I do worry about things but I don’t SUFFER from anxiety naturally. It’s actually a side effect of my antidepressant which…I’m pretty sure I can’t live without. So. I just deal with the unfortunate side effect of random anxiety.

It doesn’t come every day. In fact most days I don’t have it at all. But when I do, it’s horrible. Today is one of those days. It made me think I had an upset stomach at first. But then the guilt started creeping up on me and that’s when I realized that this horribly unsettled feeling I have is the anxiety monster. Again.

The guilt, always with the guilt… It overwhelms me and I feel so awful. I don’t know what to do with myself.

All I can think about is lost time and missed opportunities and things that will never be again and I just want to cry except I can’t because my kids are here and it would upset them. And considering that every ounce of guilt in my pounding heart is about my failings as a mother, the last thing I want to do is upset my kids.

Why? WHY do I dwell on these things? My rational self knows it’s just the anxiety talking and it also knows that regret is a useless emotion, that what’s done is done. Nonetheless, all I can do is think about how my kids aren’t babies anymore and all the times I didn’t play dolls with my daughter (because I really hate playing dolls) and how now she likes to go in her room and read or draw. With the door closed. And it’s like a sign to my crazy anxious heart that she is slipping away from me and I want to cry for all the times I missed playing with the little girl that she is no more. And I know it’s absurd. I know I have done plenty of memorable, wonderful things with her but I can’t think about that. All I can think about are the reasons I should feel horrible; all the ways in which I’ve failed.

My son is 4 now and while I feel so shitty and anxious that I just want to roll up in a little ball and sleep forever, that I WANT to do that is just one more example of how I am failing him. Why am I not outside with him. Why are we in the house? And then I think of all the reasons we’re not outside and goddammit. I’m just full of excuses, aren’t I? So I pledge that tomorrow will be different even though I’m pretty sure it won’t be. I know myself. And I fail again.

So I give in and I take the Xanax. I never want to but it works and soon all of this will seem silly and maybe even comical—but you know what? I’m going to publish it anyway. Because this is the truth.

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