Anxiety 101 (Or Why I Should Never be Left Unsupervised)

Anxiety is a debilitating disease. Its irrational and dysfunctional and takes pieces of you away from yourself. Some people deal with it their whole lives. With others, like me, its a symptom of another illness.

Today has been a day of cleaning and maniacal laughter. Basically, anxiety turns me into supertweaker without the use of illegal drugs!! Just the fun ones my doctor gives me. If it wasn't for bad luck I'd have no luck at all ... (this is what happens when I get my supertweaker powers and blog while listening to Motley Crue)

Anyway, I completely dismantled my stove and sanitized it. Cleaned all of my counters, washed all of my dishes, baked a cake, decorated said cake with Winnie the Pooh sprinkles, read way too many classic movie star bios (my husband will be SO excited!!) and taught my beagle how to dance. (Note: Sammy loves to dance however he does not especially appreciate being dipped) Had a date with a friend but he forgot but its ok because now he owes me a super awesome double banana split. Which I definitely plan on collecting in the very near future. As long as he doesn't forget... I'll just get one myself and send him the bill. The he gets double screwed cuz not only did he miss out on my company and a delicious banana split but he also has to pay for it. That's what you get for ditching me, Cameron. :p


Sooooooo back to the main point, (can you go back to a main point after banana splits?) At any rate, banana splits are awesome, anxiety is not. My shrink once said "What's so bad about anxiety? Is anxiety going to kill you? Is the world going to end because you're having a panic attack?" Fuck you head shrinker. And fuck you blogger for telling me "shrinker" is not a word. Cuz it is if I say so. Why does he have to make everything sound so logical? Its like he gets paid to make sense! And now I really want a banana split. Its all your fault Cameron. Do they deliver banana splits? If not they totally should. I would be their best customer.

 So all day I've been concentrating my supertweakeranxiety powers on being productive and now its backfiring. I still have far too much energy and since I did such a good job cleaning earlier I have jack shit to do. Except blog about banana splits and anxiety. And its about 80 degrees outside and I have a 23 pound lap warmer because Samuel L Jackson has a cold and like most children he wants to be all sweet and cuddly and kick my laptop off my lap and demand affection. He needs more drugs....Now blogger is trying to tell me "demand" isn't a word either. Wtf blogger? Are you mentally challenged? Or do you need to take your meds too? Except the second time I wrote it it didn't get all highlighty but it did with "time". And yes I know highlighty isn't a word. Kick rocks, spell check. Who needs you anyway? YOU'RE GIVING ME ANXIETY!!!

I think now would be a good time to start up my Marilyn Marathon. How can you have anxiety while watching someone as sweet and brilliant as Marilyn Monroe? Oh, wait, I know!!! Half of her freakin characters have some sort of disorder. Fuck. I'm really not sure how to end this but I need to because I'm having an identity/anxiety/wtf crisis.

Especially since I opened Google yesterday and the first thing that popped up was "You're name is Galloping Gertie! How many furlongs are you?" WTF????? I have furlongs? Wtf is a furlong anyway? Thanks, Google. Identity crisis magnified. Your mission is accomplished.

Love, Galloping Gertie

The Hubby (Or: How I Got Tricked Into Getting Married)

I love my husband. Really, I do. No, really!
This is how he tricked me into marrying him while he was deployed. (I know right? Its a fucking accomplishment!)

Me: So when you get back can I move to Hawaii with you?
The Hubby: Sure.
Me: So...... wanna get hitched?
The Hubby: Hell yes. I'll even pay for an apartment for you in the meantime so you don't have to live in your parents basement anymore!
Me: Awesome!
The Hubby: And you don't have to work ever again!
Me: WTF?!?!

I'm a workaholic. Seriously. Before my shrink told me I should probably take a disability leave before I spontaneously combusted all I ever did was work. Even on my days off cuz those assholes don't know anything even tho I try to teach them they still call me and say "Oh mighty Parts Queen!!! Where can I find the blinker fluid?" (I'm seriously only exaggerating a little bit. They mostly call me "mom" or "Parts Master") Oh yeah, BTW I'm a seriously underpaid parts manager for a multi billion dollar auto parts store. I won't say which one. Because, sadly, I still love them. But, I digress...

Me: Seriously, just.... Stop working? Is that possible? And get married?
My Shrink: Yes. And a very good idea. And tell me exactly why you didn't take him up on this 2 years ago?
Me: Didn't you get the memo? I'm retarded.
Shrink: Oh, right....

So then The Hubby finally comes home on leave. No, wait. Scratch that. Then I tell him he should probably discuss this with his parents. Cuz, you know, they kinda raised him. And he was like "Nah, we'll tell them after" and I'm like "Um, dude. Not cool." But his mom figured it out anyway cuz she's super evil genius and I love her. She's like "So you're coming home on leave but not really coming home, you're going to Vegas? Are you getting married?" Way to go not telling them, tough guy. So then I get to meet her. Without him. Except I kinda met her once before, like 2 years ago. I think. So it was like "Hi! I met you once 2 years ago but I doubt you remember cuz I sure as hell don't! Anyway, we're getting married yay!!" And this is all because she has this fabulous idea to get my dress custom made (not even being sarcastic. This is the AWESOMEST dress EVER!! Seriously, who gets married in zebra print? I do!) So I (re)meet his parents and they're the super nicest people ever and his sister is my bestest friend I continue having discussions with my shrink cuz this is a lot to handle and
Finally The Hubby comes home. For 2 weeks. Then leaves again. Oh, but he gave me the most beautiful engagement ring **EVER**. Then he left. Oh, and we got married somewhere in the middle. Then he left.

So anyway, I'm on disability leave because I try to kill myself working. Apparently its entirely possible. Especially if you're me. I'm "fragile". Whatever. I'm just not afraid to get my hands dirty. And I'm totally going back as soon as the doc says I can. Don't tell my husband.

And I totally made my poor husband sound like a personality-less whore, and I didn't mean to. I was severely paraphrasing. If you read this DO NOT get mad at me. It all in the name of art. I took "artistic license". You love me. Lots.
I need a chupacabra foot. For scientific purposes......

Oh! Almost forgot!
The Hubby: And we can adopt a really cute beagle that is like the poster child for all adorable beagles
Me: Can we name him Eddie Van Halen?
The Hubby: No, but you have my permission to sleep with Eddie Van Halen.
Me: Fine. Can we name him Sammy Hagar?
The Hubby: Yes.

And that is how we became the parents of the sweetest cutest dog EVER. But we adopted him after we got married, so he's not a bastard or anything.

I Think I'm Funny

So, today I got this bug up my ass to start a blog. I've always wanted to blog but my mom kinda internet stalks me then yells at me because "people read that stuff!!!" Whatever. I'm a grown ass woman. Kinda. Anyway, I decide that I'm gonna do it. And I can just picture the face my husband will make when I tell him...

Anyway, now I have this blog thingie because I had a hilarious conversation with my husband this morning and realized this kind of hilarious shit goes thru my head all day. It would be a disgrace to humanity if I kept it all to myself. The Hubby would probably disagree with me but since he's overseas I can do whatever I want :p. Ok, not really. But he'll probably never take the time to actually sit and read it anyway so it doesn't matter. Right? Plus I'm currently not working and I don't have a lot of better things to do with my time. I'm a big girl. Shut up. I should probably explain what this hilarious conversation was even tho it makes me look like that one beauty pageant chick that needs a map. Apparently so do I.

Me: If you ever succeed in making me move to Alaska can I have a penguin?
The Hubby: Sure. The polar bears might try to eat it tho
Me: Yeah, there's no polar bears in Alaska. (Yeah, that's how much of a genius I am. Even sadder is I've been thru school to learn about animals and am a huge rights activist)

I forget what he actually said at that point but it was something along the lines of "How much black-tar heroin did you have for breakfast?"

Me: They live in the South Pole with the penguins!!!!
The Hubby: Penguins don't live in the South Pole either
Me: WTF??????
Turns out, polar bears and penguins live in the North Pole. Dude! Polar bears and penguins live with SANTA????? Holy shit!!

Also, he apparently doesn't think toucans and penguins look anything alike. They're both birds!! Black and white birds!!! With huge bodies and tiny little heads!!! I would include pictures to help support my statement but I can't figure out how to get them in proper sequence on this fascist website so just use your imagination. At any rate, I'm right. I don't care if one is an arctic bird and the other is a tropical bird. Shut up. Anyway I'm gonna go make pancakes for dinner. Because they're delicious and I can. I swear I'm a big girl.



**UPDATE**
So apparently The Hubby did read the blog and pointed out some errors.
Error #1: Penguins do not live in the North Pole with polar bears and Santa. And he apparently never said they did(whatever) They live in the South Pole and New Zealand.
Error #2: I am the idiot. He is not. I apparently inadvertently made him look idiotic by association. I'm sorry (Ok, not really. He knew what he was getting into when he married me) Which brings us to-
Error #3: He married me. On purpose. Knowing full well what kind of jackass I am. So there.