Come for frivolity, stay for…more frivolity.

I just admitted to not knowing about a particular political issue, and my brain kicked in with, “You know one day your friends are gonna realize how stupid you are and not be your friends anymore, right?”

*sigh* Yes, Brain. You’ve mentioned.

But also? Fuck you, Brain. My friends know I’m the Joey, and they love me anyway — no one’s expecting me to blow their mind with my thoughts on Hamas.

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Broken Brain Blues

Post-therapy text to friends:

“BTW, I just got out of therapy and you wanna hear some horseshit? Not only does she want me to be happy and well adjusted, turns out she can’t just ask me a couple questions and fix 40 years of shit in 45 minutes. It’s, like…long-term work? That *I* have to figure out with her help? This is just like all this alleged ‘exercise’ people want me to be doing. UGH.”

P.S. It’s a joke, I knew what I was getting into. But it IS also bullshit that I drew the short straw in the brain department.

This is all true and factual science. *nod*

Text to friends, based entirely in fact and science:

“They put me on the pill and said I could start it whenever, so I did, but I think my body was already preparing its regular PMS festivities, and when I added bonus hormones I fucked up its groove, because now I hate goddamn everything except you guys and Egg McMuffins.”

A fine day for texting at Smug HQ

The Cute Dog Guy from OkCupid DID in fact send me a series of adorable dog (not dong) pics, AND a video of a dog frolicking on the banks of a lake.

So of course I reported back to my Friends Focus Group…

I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggonnit…

Texting a friend about therapy:

Me: “We ended up talking about why I don’t consider myself ‘beautiful.’ She showed me a fucking Dove commercial. I’m never going back. (Kidding.)”

Friend: “No one should be forced to watch a Dove commercial.”

And by the way? I don’t consider myself beautiful, and I don’t see a problem with that, so fuck right off, Dove. But I am a middle-age American woman who mostly thinks I’m cute, sometimes pretty, so I do think I’m a goddamn miracle.

Besides, “beautiful” doesn’t even crack the top 100 on my list of issues. When I think about my last pseudo-breakup, my appearance isn’t what keeps my brain spiraling. He once got hard while we were taking a walk because I made a JOKE about wearing high heels during sex — it’s easy enough to believe he found me attractive. So can we focus on this weird haze I get into where I think I’m not smart or interesting enough to keep a dude around AFTER we have sex, even as a friend? That seems to be the dominating self-esteem weirdness here.

Ahoy, Captain Tightpants…

I had lunch with a male friend today and he asked if it’s ALL weirdos on online dating.

Hm. Not…REALLY

But I did just laugh out loud in a GOOD way at a first message from a seemingly normal, attractive man, and for a split second I forgot how a human woman is supposed to behave in this situation. 

I’m probably 95% in this whole thing for the stories. But sure, dude, let’s talk. You named your dog Malcolm Reynolds — at the very least I need to be your friend immediately.

We’re this close to synchronized Swatches.

Texting with friends…

Friend 1: “You know it was a productive therapy session when you immediately get cheese fries afterwards.”

Friend 2
: “Nice. I’m going tonight as well.”

Me
: “Ha, I’m going tomorrow.”

Friend 1
: “Awwwww…we’re on the same therapy cycle.”

Friend 2
: “That feels more important than syncing our periods.”