I’m conscientiously objecting to Thanksgiving dinner with my family this year, in favor of sleeping in, not driving, and avoiding small talk, and now having an irresponsible quantity of Indian food delivered and getting ready to scare myself shitless by watching Ma in the dark.
It is easily one of my top 5 best mental health choices of the year.
I hope you’re all having an equally wondrous and self-determined holiday, and if you’re not, I hope there’s alcohol and pie.
Texting a friend after a chat with my boss…
I went to CVS today and their magazine rack was like, “Hey, you haven’t felt super bad about yourself in a while. Want us to fix that for ya?”
I SURE AS SHIT DO, CVS! Not only that, I will happily pay for the privilege!
Also, yes, that is definitely what every woman I know wears to the gym. Forkin’ NAILED it. 🙄
I’m starting to wonder if Facebook knows something about my vagina that I don’t.
But, point of order: No one’s vagina likes disco.
My therapist told me to pay attention to my feeeelings and ask myself “Why?” when I don’t feel like doing something, and “I don’t goddamn feel like it and you’re not my mom” is not an acceptable answer.
And this is where mood stuff gets dumb. Because what’s she’s saying is that depression can look a lot like “being a lazyfuck garbage monster,” and we have to determine which one I’m doing, and, like… Lady, it’s COLD out, and dark at 4 pm. No one wants to do anything. I am not depressed. Have you looked around? Everything just blows. Motivated people are the problem — medicate THOSE weirdos. Leave me to my blankets.
Gynecologist: “Any pain during sex?”
Me: “Hahahaha, it’s very sweet of you to assume I have any current data on that.”
This more than likely makes me a bitch, but whatever…
My therapist is trying to get me to stop saying I’m white trash, but today I learned my father proposed to his second wife in an IHOP in 1985, and she ACCEPTED. So when I talk to my therapist tomorrow, I’m looking forward to seeing her trying to therapize THAT, and tell me white trash is not in my DNA somewhere.
Wait, do those 23 and Me kits test for white trash? That’d be amazing — get some SCIENCE on this shit.
I just noticed a Netflix miniseries about a grandfather in Ohio they tracked down and put on trial for being a particularly evil Nazi prison guard, and HELL, YES, “add to my list,” even after I spent my weekend being gutted by Unbelievable and American Son and no, really, men who might like me, I SWEAR I’m fun.