Be Careful What You Ask Your Doctor

I am so zany sometimes.

Case in point: Today I went to the doctor.

That's not the zany part, I promise.

Drunkards, I hate going to the doctor. I have to take time off work, which is a pain because the people there refuse to stop giving me stuff to do just because I'm not there to do it. What the hell, people at work? 

Mostly, though, I hate going to the doctor because I desperately don't want to be sick. I'm terrified of being told that my blood pressure is dangerously high, or my heartbeat sounds wrong, or there's some kind of weird, expensive lump on my body.

Yikes.

If I had my druthers, I simply wouldn't go to the doctor unless I was actively sick or injured. And I haven't been sick - real, go-to-the-doctor sick - since I had shingles in 2014. For all my fears, and for all my chronic disregard for my physical health, I'm a damn healthy person except for one thing: I have mild to moderate asthma.

I'm fortunate in that there's a readily available prescription drug (it comes in a purple disc) that does an amazing job at controlling my asthma. I'm frankly privileged to have health insurance that makes it affordable. The US health system is so fucked. How any medicine that could mean the difference between life and death can cost hundreds of dollars a month without insurance is incomprehensible. But that's a rant for another day.

Homer is funny, but healthcare isn't.

In any event, my doctor prescribes a year's worth of my asthma med. So every year I have to make the pilgrimage to attest that I still enjoy breathing and need a little help to do so. And while I'm there they weigh me and check my blood pressure and listen to my heart and lungs. 

As an aside, I always freak out when they take my bp. There's a lot of high blood pressure and heart problems in my family, and I assume that stuff is going to catch up with me eventually. Yet my bp is fine - today it was 122/70. I don't think I understand how bodies work.

I'm getting to the zany part, I promise.

Every year the doc makes two recommendations: Come in for a complete physical, and get a mammogram. And every year I smile and nod and say "you bet"...and ignore them. Why? Here's my logic. If I do those things, there's a greater than zero chance that they'll find something wrong with me. If I don't do those things, there's a 100% chance that they won't diagnose me with anything scary, life-threatening, or costly.

I do not recommend this approach to personal well-being to anybody reading this. If any of my loved ones adopted this approach to their health, I would be appalled and entreat them to look after themselves, for their sake and mine. Please don't mistake my lack of giving a shit about myself for practical medical advice.

So. 

Today I got the standard spiel: Blood pressure good, heart and lungs sound good, prescription has been called in, you should schedule a physical and a mammogram. But this time they added a brand-new recommendation: You should consider a colonoscopy.

Now, I had to accompany my ex-spouse to several colonoscopies because of his own health issues and a family history of cancer, and I really can't think of anything I'd less like to do than undertake colonoscopy prep and then have a camera shoved up my bum to film my guts. 

I was so gobsmacked by the very idea of subjecting myself to this rectal hellscape that I blurted out:

"Oh my god, can't I just poop in the box?"

Maybe zany isn't the right word. Whimsical? Spontaneous? Completely lacking in adult human filters?

Whatever it is, the doc utterly topped me by saying, "Oh! Really? Sure, I can have a Cologuard mailed out to you today!"

You guys, what have I done? I'll tell you what I've done. I have committed to producing a stool sample that I will place into a cardboard receptacle that will be sent via the US Mail for analysis. I'm going to poop in a box and put it in the mailbox. 

Take that, Louis DeJoy.

I guess I'll let you know how it goes? 

Helpful Hints for Happy Hunters

 Hello, class. Today’s lesson is How to Nail a Job Interview.

This happened at work today. I met a candidate for employment who showed up to my IRL office, who was the closest thing to a Seinfeld character I’ve ever met in real life. Elaine would have called them The Talker. In the Seinfeld universe, J. Peterman probably would have ended up hiring them, with hilarious results. My boss, thank the stars and little caterpillars, is not J. Peterman.

Feel free to read and heed the following advice in case you ever feel tempted to do these things during an interview. I thought about calling it “Things People Won’t Tell You About the Interview Process,” except until today, I didn’t think any non-fictional adult needed any of this to be explained.

Don’t arrive an hour early.

You should always give yourself plenty of time to get to a job interview. Account for potentially hitting traffic, missing an exit, not knowing where to park, an 18-wheeler spilling ping-pong balls all over the freeway, or what have you. If you end up being a little early, great. You can sit in your car and mentally prepare yourself. Or rock out to Jeff Beck (RIP). Or park yourself in the building’s lobby, freshen up in the restroom, play Candy Crush. What you should NOT do is show up a full hour early, partly because you read your email wrong and thought the interview was a half-hour earlier than it actually was, and plant yourself in the reception area. No one wants to deal with you, and no one is going to rearrange their schedule to talk to you. To that end…

Don’t annoy the staff.

Even though you’ve broken the first rule like it was the heel of a cheap pair of pumps, you will be greeted cordially, invited to make yourself comfortable, and offered a beverage. That is called being polite. It is not an invitation to draw the staff into a 20-minute rambling conversation. The staff is busy. The staff has other things to do, and other people to do them with. The staff enjoys a few minutes of idle chit-chat as much as the next person, but this ain’t it, hun. Also, the person you’re here to see will definitely ask the person who greeted you and offered you a beverage for their first impression of you. Believe me, that first impression will include things such as…

Don’t show off your scars.

I just…How can this need to be spelled out explicitly? The staff, who by now has deployed “wow,” “really,” “ha ha right?,” AND “that’s crazy,” just wants to end the conversation. Your failure to recognize those cues notwithstanding, you should be aware that the appropriate next phase of this interaction is NOT to expose and explain your surgical scars. There is no planet in the multiverse on which this is a good idea. What - and we can’t emphasize this strongly enough - the actual chicken-fried fuck? Oh, and showing them to the building’s security guard? Also no. And during the actual interview? Bold, not gonna lie. But…

Don’t use all the oxygen.

In every interview, there are times when you will answer questions. There are times when you will ask questions. There are also times - very important times - when you need to not talk at all. Like, at all. A job interview is an audition. But it’s not the kind of audition where you get up and do a monologue so the director can hear how much and how well you can speak. It’s also not the kind of audition where you do a little soft-shoe, just in case you’re thinking of adding that to your repertoire. But in any event, you should remember that the person interviewing you has as much right to speak as you. More, in fact, as that person will decide if you get the job. Believe it or not, the likelihood of that decision going in your favor is directly proportional to your ability to take a damn breath. Not only that…

Don’t riff.

Some questions require long answers. Some don’t. Really. No, really. If the interviewer asks you to name important milestones in your career, this may be an occasion to give a fairly comprehensive response. If the interviewer asks “Did you find the office OK?” this does not require a multi-part story with an ensemble cast and two plot twists. Similarly, you may be asked about a previous company you worked for. Keep your answer confined to that company and the job you did there. Do not mention your cat. Do not share your best friend’s opinion of the hairstyle you wore while working there. Do not talk about your scars again.

Don't overlook context clues.

At some point, you may allow the interviewer to speak. Congratulations! The interviewer may ask another question, or explain the nature of the position being filled. Or he may look you square in the face and say, "This really isn't going well." This is a hint! A sign! An opportunity to take stock of what you're doing and how you're handling yourself! You may want to change your approach. You may want to realize you have little chance of yielding a job offer. Or you may want to continue babbling about irrelevant topics until you are finally asked to leave. Which will you choose? This is an exciting time!

I hope this has been helpful to some of you. Thank you for coming to my CHUCK talk.

Well, I'm Convinced

Drunkard ChrisS wants to know why, in my post about the death of Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia, I didn't mention the most important part of the story.

You know, the part where Obama sent his death squad to Texas to have Justice Scalia murdered.

Or simply used HIS MIND.

Oh, that.

You see, I'm a blogger. I have integrity. I have standards. I'm not simply going to repeat conspiracy theories about Presidential hitmen without being sure I can make that shit funny.

Fortunately for you (and for me, because I'm not actually very good at this), the nuttiness coming out of the right wing is funny all on its own. I can pretty much step back and quote the crazies verbatim and we'll all have a good laugh.

"They say they found a pillow on his face, which is a pretty unusual place to find a pillow." - Donald J. Trump, noted forensic scientist and yuuuge "Quincy, M.E." fan

"My gut tells me there is something fishy going on in Texas." - William O. Ritchie, former Washington, D.C. homicide commander, amateur ichthyologist

"The question is, was Anthony [sic] Scalia murdered? The answer is, was the Bill of Rights and the Constitution murdered?" - Alex Jones, fuzzy on the concept of rhetorical questions

"It would be highly irresponsible of me to sit here and accuse the President of the United States of murdering a Supreme Court justice. It's...just little too coincidental." - Radio host Andrew Wilkow, walking the libel tightrope like a boss

"The 13th [of February] was the 44th day of 2016. Obama is the 44th President of the United States, so you have this numerology thing taking place." - Pastor Rick Wiles, who can count to 44 all by himself

"Dismiss assurances from incompetents in Texas that Scalia died of natural causes, and dismiss the press repeating these assurances—which add up to: nothing." Jon Rappoport, blogger, knower of things, aficionado of non-standard punctuation

"Autopsy was blocked and the body was embalmed to prevent future attempts at autopsy. This is smoking gun status tampering with evidence and direct evidence of foul play." YouTuber NatureHacker, Rhodes scholar (honorary)

So there you have it. It's been more than a week now, and Justice Antonin Scalia is still dead. If that's not proof he was murdered by para-CIA assassins, I don't know what is.

Four out of five UFO aliens agree.

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go to bed, possibly with a pillow over my head. If I don't wake up tomorrow, Kanye did it.

Thoughts (Not Deep)

I started to write a post last night, but I got drunk and fell asleep.

That's probably a good thing. One of the sentences I wrote was "Pardon my French, but fuck me in the ass with a rusty beer can."

So there were overall tone issues with the post.

Instead of what I was going to write, here's a picture of a bathtub full of puppies.

That's much better.

Now, here are my thoughts of the day.

Beetlejuice should not have a sequel. Seriously. It's a perfect film. Leave it be.

Donald Trump is an idiot. Hardly an original thought, but it comes from the bottom of my heart.

I think that both the Bill Cosby and Caitlyn Jenner Halloween costumes are hilarious. If you're offended by social satire but are OK with 10-year-olds trick-or-treating as sexy witches, you need to abandon this holiday, please.

It's probably not emotionally healthy for me to be helping my almost-ex find an apartment. But I'm doing it. Because I do not know the meaning of the words "emotionally healthy."

Actually, "fuck me in the ass with a rusty beer can" is a pretty good oath.

Why do so many people hate snakes? Snakes are awesome.

I really need to make a doctor appointment so I can get back on my meds. I ran out a couple of weeks ago, and the crazy is barking to come in.

And on that note...let's all try to have a good day and not kill anyone, OK?

Let's Talk. Maybe for the Last Time. But Let's Talk.

Before I begin, thanks so much for sharing the details of your Saturdays with me. You guys are an amazing bunch of folks. If you ever find yourselves in my neck of the woods, drinks are on me.

This is objectively the cutest picture in the universe.

Now let's talk about scumbag and bearer of an incredibly bad haircut Dylann Roof, aka the Charleston Church Murderer.

Evil should not look this dorky and insignificant, somehow.

Actually, let's not talk about him, because fuck him. He's a racist and a murderer and a cold-hearted asshole who prayed in a church with his victims before gunning them down. Let's put him away for life and then erase him from the annals of notoreity, please.

Instead, let's talk about the lengths to which certain people will go to distance themselves from the hatred and irrational ideology they patently share with this killer.

Let's talk about GOP Presidential candidate and perpetual embarrassment Dick Perry, who called the racially-motivated assassination of a state legislator and eight other people "an accident." At least until his high-octane spin machine was forced to derpsplain that "from the context of his comments, it is clear Gov. Perry meant incident," even though from the context, it is clear that Gov. Perry remains a tone-deaf idiot.

Let's talk about A.J. Delgado, the hateful columnist from Florida who, along with others of similar loathsome character, want us to believe Roof's violence wasn't racially motivated because "he doesn't look white".

Shown here: The poster boy for "white" as a bad thing.

Let's talk about douchebag-from-the-ground-up Chuck Todd, who aired a piece about gun violence on NBC's "Meet the Press" that claimed to be "color-blind" and then showed clips exclusively of black men who had committed murders with firearms, just a few days after the lily-white Roof unleashed unspeakable violence on peaceful black churchgoers.

Let's talk about another joke of a GOP candidate Lindsey Graham, who says the Confederate flag is "part of who we are [in South Carolina]," simultaneously embracing and distancing himself from people who continue to conflate "Southern pride" with institutionalized racism. 

Let's talk about the National Rifle Association's head mouthpiece/dilettante Charles Cotton, who wants us to know that the nine innocent victims were responsible for their own deaths because they didn't carry guns into a house of worship.

Let's talk about those - up to and including yet another GOP candidate, Rick Santorum - who want people to think the actions of a self-professed white supremacist against an historic African-American institution constituted "an assault on religious liberty" rather than a statement of hatred against people of color.

Let's talk about the fact that nine people are dead at the hands of someone who believed he was doing the world a favor by eliminating humans who were deemed inferior because the color of their skin was different from his.

Let's talk about what might have happened if this idiot hadn't been able to buy a gun as easily as a can of Coke.

Let's talk about an American state that still uses a racist, secessionist flag as an official symbol of its government and then feigns amazement that some of its citizens feel entitled to remain racist and secessionist.

Above all, let's talk.

Because this is never going to end until one side converts the other.

I'm asking you to pick a side. 

Unfollow me if you're not on my side.

Share this post if you agree with me.

Let's talk.

Talking Marriage Equality, Starring Nutty People

Kory Watkins, not content to be the hilariously inept poster man-child for open carry of handguns in Texas, instead wants to be the hilariously inept poster man-child for all sorts of libertarian hijinks.

Like protecting the Constitution with rap.

KoKo is a member of NORML, because he opposes outdated government prohibitions on the possession and use of marijuana for medical and recreational purposes. And also really likes to smoke weed. The DFW chapter of NORML held a rally in Austin earlier this week (and you should click on the link, because the writer of the headline deserves a great big prize for awesomeness), and Kory was there. Which you would know if you follow his Facebook page, but not if you read the article I linked to.

I suspect Shaun McAlister, who organized the rally, slipped the reporter a rather large baggie of sticky bud to please, please, PLEASE leave Kory's name out of the article. Because his last few trips to Austin have demonstrated an uncanny grasp of self-promotion over, you know, lucidity.



Good on NORML for recognizing that having KoKo on your side is like having an orangutan riding shotgun: Lots of great photo ops, but you're equally likely to have your face ripped off.

Clint Eastwood (R-Empty Chair) grossly misled us.

And now Kory Watkins has weighed in on the subject of gay marriage.

Get your popcorn.

Getting pretty tired of the Michael Jackson
meme, you know?

This week Texas issued its first same-sex marriage license. Kind of. It's a pretty convoluted story (read about it here), but the upshot is that Republican heads are exploding because one white dude outsmarted another white dude to make it happen.

Well, KoKo, ever the champion of small government and individual rights, took to his Facebook page and posted this:

And actually, yeah, if you're going to be a libertarian, this is exactly what you should think about the whole issue. Good on you, Kory Watkins.

But while KoKo may believe he's the ideological leader of a throng of like-minded souls who follow his teachings as if he were Christ in a trilby, the reality is that most gun nuts (not gun owners, per se, but extremist wingnuts) could care less about ideology. They are for the most part narrow-minded reactionaries who don't want anybody pointing out that violent misandry is not protected by any part of the Constitution.

I know, them's big words. Try not to shoot the dictionary
as you look them up.

To his credit, KoKo understands that open carry of firearms is one small issue in a larger value system that abhors intrusive government. What he doesn't understand is that such nuances are lost on many of the illiterate rednecks who follow him on Facebook.

To cut to the chase: A lot of gun nuts don't like teh gays.

Oh, some of them try to deflect.

And some of them, er, I think try to be supportive in their syntactically challenged way.

(By the way, I'm not sure what "publice" are, but may I suggest you patronize a higher class of tavern if these are a problem?)

Apparently this gentleman believes that being gay should be a religion, and also that the Second Amendment somehow explains this.

But at least he gets that gay couples are not out to loot and pillage your land.

Uh-oh, someone's been listening to anti-gay talking points!

And someone's been listening to anti-gay talking points AND reading lots of Ayn Rand. Possibly while taking lots of drugs! (tl;dr: Them faggots is destroying America.)

I'd like to suggest that this lady move out of her current neighborhood, because the North American Man-Boy Love Association is not considered "mainstream" where I hang out. Just sayin.

Also, if she thinks every TV show has homosexuals, someone should tell her that there actually are other channels besides LOGO.

Remember, this started out as Kory Watkins' statement that the government shouldn't be in the business of denying same-sex marriages.

Really.

And we've reached Godwin's Law. I think we're done here.

OK, just one more.

This is America, Sergio. Everybody has the ability to succeed. But I think perhaps you meant "secede," in which case, secessionary movements in our nation's history historically have failed as the result of a majority desire in those states to preserve the union.

Yeah.

In short, America: Where everyone has the right to express his or opinion, and I have the right to make fun of your atrocious grasp of the English language.

Thanks as always to Kory Watkins for being an endless inspiration to this blog.

A Victory for the Open Carry Movement

Finally, Open Carry Tarrant County has prompted swift, decisive action from the Texas Legislature.

And of course, it's all due to my spirit sociopath, Kory Watkins.

Shown here in front of the Texas state flower, the bluebonnet.
Because he wants Texas to be blue! I knew it!

With the opening of the 84th session of the state legislature, many gun nuts responsible firearms advocates gun nuts have descended on Austin with one goal in mind: To make people remember why idiots and bullies should not be allowed to shape public policy on any issue, let alone firearms legislation.

Forget open carry, this photograph should be made illegal.

To this end, the non-confrontationally-named group Come and Take It Texas arrived on the Capitol steps earlier this week with a 3-D printer that fabricates assault rifles. Am I the only person who thinks this stunt is akin to Catholic priests trying to rehabilitate their image by manning a kissing booth at an elementary school carnival? No, I'm not: In fact, even CJ Grisham of Open Carry Texas (who has blocked me on both Facebook and Twitter because he thinks the Bill of Rights starts at number 2) said it "confrontational" and "needless."

CJ, if you're reading this...let's be friends again. We could grab a beer, as long as you promise not to shoot me the way you threaten to shoot everybody you don't like.

But back to Kory, he of the trilby hat and rapidly lengthening arrest record.

Before he was a freedom crusader,
he was just another diamond-earring-
wearing douchebag posing in front of
a Mercedes.

Kory and some of his nicest pals decided not to make their point from outside the Capitol. So they went inside and started harassing and threatening state representatives and their staffs.

If you haven't seen the video KoKo took of him and buddies being assholes in the office of Rep. Pancho Nevarez, here it is.




KoKo is the one repeatedly using the word "bro." Because that's what Constitutional scholars do.

Still, kudos to KoKo and Kompany. Just one day after courageously getting kicked out of Rep. Nevarez' office for acting like Biff from Back to the Future, he pretty much single-handedly got the Texas Legislature to respond, not with hollow words, but with actions.

That's right: The House approved putting panic buttons in legislators' offices so they can kick out disrespectful, unruly buffoons masquerading as "patriots."

If only they'd approved the Trap Door Initiative, as well.

Well done, KoKo! You showed the "tyrant to the Constitution" (whatever that means) the power of the people. What reasonable discourse can't accomplish, threats and arrogant posturing can. That is, if your goal is to look like a jerk and have your own compatriots publicly call you a "knucklehead" and a "cancer."

You sure know how to get the government to act. I think everyone should know how you caused the entire Texas House of Representatives to change its procedures just because of you.

You go, Kory Watkins. (Open) carry on, my wayward son.

I Don't Like Guns, So I Have to Think with My Brain

@OpenCarryTexas has blocked me on Twitter!

I kind of needed the ego boost today, so thanks.

It all started last weekend when I responded to their posting of the 37,412th version of their rallying cry:

Russell Dunnachie is the Arlington, Texas man who was murdered, along with his daughter, by his estranged wife Veronica Dunnachie, who happens to be a very active member of the Open Carry movement.

Her last Facebook profile pic.

If you'll follow the link in the previous paragraph, you'll see many instances of her prominently featured in Open Carry events in the DFW area.

This one even has the Open Carry Tarrant County watermark on it,
because they're proud of being armed to teeth at Super Target.

Of course, after a flood of vaguely worded messages of shock and support, all traces of Veronica Dunnachie have now been removed from the Open Carry Texas and Open Carry Tarrant County Facebook pages. Because those groups apparently didn't appreciate the publicity they were getting because one of their members decided to openly carry a gun into the home she previously shared with her husband and gun down two people.

Best/saddest/now deleted comment to this OCTC Facebook post:
"But her mother-in-law did." Amen.

So I decided to open a dialogue with @OpenCarryTexas about their campaign to erase their affiliation with and support of an accused murderer from their social media sites.

Now, it was a Friday night, and I was tired, so I went to bed at a reasonable hour. Yeah, my social life is shit. But OCT's can't be much better, because the next day I found this string of tweets directed at me:

I was so tickled! All that for little old me? You could tell that C.J. Grisham, or whichever of his trained monkeys mans the @OpenCarryTexas Twitter page, spent a lot of time and thought crafting these responses. Or looked them up in their "Risponding too the Medea" guide. Whichever. I felt badly for not being awake to immediately take up this intelligent debate of the issue at hand (the issue being that a person who advocated OCT's mission of desensitizing the public to the presence of weaponized people  in their midst extrapolated that mission to mean unloading her magazine at people who displeased her).

So I tried to make up for my tardy response with thoughtful rejoinders.

These are in the same order as the original queries, if you want to match them up.

I gotta say, I was a little crushed that I didn't hear back.

And then I discovered this.

And that kind of bums me, because I thought we had a real rapport. But I guess @OpenCarryTexas is less interested in rapport than it is in pretending that the America they live in actually agrees with their selfish, violent, bullying tactics.

I'm totally still willing and open to engaging in a mutually respectful exchange of viewpoints, as I think I expressed in my latest tweet:

I'd love to hear from a representative of the group to find out how they're going to steadfastly further their agenda while expressing appropriate responsibility for the actions of one their members. I think it would make for an enlightening conversation and a mutually beneficial airing of opposing ideas. I welcome that input.

For the record, I also believe I'm more likely to be harassed and intimidated (up to and including being shot just like Russell Dunnachie) than I am to ever be party to such a conversation.

Still, where there's life there's hope.

My condolences to the family of Russell Dunnachie, to whom I wish hope even where the lives of two loved ones have been stripped from them by an unstable person with an unhealthy affinity for deadly weapons.

The Last Thing I Need Is Tryptophan

Precocious Daughter is on Thanksgiving break. That means she gets to stay up pretty much as late as she wants.

thawats/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

She's a bit of a night owl.

I haven't been on Thanksgiving break. I've been going to work this week (although - woohoo! - four-day weekend coming up). That means I need to sleep at night, preferably for seven or eight hours.

Our schedules have been amazingly incompatible.

arztsamui/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

My schedule is in the red trunks.

The last several nights have gone something like this:

At some point in the evening, PDaughter gets on Facetime with her boyfriend.

I go to bed at a reasonable hour.

I then toss and turn for several hours, half-dozing, half hearing muffled teenage giggles mixed with "Friends" episodes on Nick at Nite.

Eventually I get up and trudge bleary-eyed to PDaughter's room and say, "It's whatever o'clock. Wrap up your conversation and go to bed."

I toss and turn for a while longer until I finally fall asleep, at which point I have weird-ass dreams until my alarm goes off.

Every night, whatever o'clock has gotten a little later, my dreams have gotten much weirder, and I've awoken progressively tired.

Right now I should be getting stuff ready in advance for tomorrow's Thanksgiving dinner. But I'm freaking exhausted. And I have to get up early to stick old Tom Turkey's butt in the oven for the big roast.

FrameAngle/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I find this turkey oddly sensual.
Because of exhaustion. Yes, that's it.

But screw it. I need sleep. Perhaps the Thanksgiving elves will whip up some dishes overnight. Or maybe I'll get up in the morning remarkably refreshed and put together a masterpiece with renewed vigor and surprisingly little effort.

Dear Lord, I'm delirious.

Anyway, I'm going to bed very, very soon. If I hear PDaughter giggling at 2:00 a.m., I don't think it will be Cool Mom who gets out of bed to shush her. I think Crazy Mom will be up at bat.

Or maybe I should try some soundproofing.

Perfect.

Notes from Whatever Planet My Child Lives on These Days

I didn't post yesterday because of Precocious Daughter. After I left a busy day at work, I picked her up from karate at her former middle school, then drove to her high school for "meet the teachers" night, then stopped at the house just long enough for her to change out of her karate outfit, then to the mall to get her hair cut. If you're thinking I didn't mention eating dinner during all that, it's because I didn't. By the time I got home, I had been go-go-going for something like 14 hours. I was tired.

Peter Haken/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Dog tired. Get it? (Awwwww.)

This is what I've learned: Having a kid in high school is exhausting. It's pretty damn awesome, too; I mean, PDaughter is turning into an amazing young adult before my eyes, and it's happening at a breathtaking rate. But there's a thin line between breathtaking and out of breath. She's on one side of it, and I'm on the other.

Also, and maybe right on schedule, she's becoming baffling. That's what teenagers are, right? They're frothy concoctions made of hormones, inside jokes, and drama. My kid still seems to like me as her mom, which is great, although she's not even halfway through her freshman year, so there's plenty of time for that mother-daughter sturm und drang to foment. But the sense that she's becoming separate enough from me to maybe decide whether or not she likes me as a person is growing. Baffling.

Stuart Miles/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

This, on the other hand, is pretty par for the course.

And not only that:

She's become a huge band geek. She took to marching band like a platypus to something a platypus really likes. Deviled eggs, maybe? I don't know. Anyway, for a parent, marching band is expensive, time-consuming, and involves a lot of late nights sitting in parking lots waiting for the band bus to show up. But she absolutely loves it, which means I love it, too.

Bernie Condon/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

She has a boyfriend. PDaughter has her first boyfriend. My child is somebody's girlfriend. My shit is a little freaked can you tell or what? I haven't met this boy yet. I've heard his voice (on Facetime) and seen a blurry cell-phone picture of half his face. That's all. I know she's kissed him. (Excuse me while I die for a moment...........Thank you.) Also, he's a drummer. She has a Drummer Boy. That sound you hear is the apple not falling far from the tree. Confidential to Bestest Friend: Yes, I totally reused that line from the email I sent you earlier today. It was too good not to.

Sometimes she drives me crazy. I mean, what the hell do teenagers do in the bathroom that takes so long? Did I do that when I was a teenager? Probably, but I'm pretty sure that every time PDaughter gains an annoying habit, it drives away my own memories of doing the exact same thing at her age. It's an evolutionary adaptation so that we don't murder our young.

She's beautiful. I'm not bragging on my kid. It's just a fact, and I take no credit for it. It's not just that her face is pretty, although it really, really is (especially considering the mugs on her parents): It's that there's something inside her that just shines out. She's happy and outgoing and friendly and nice, and that is so beautiful. 

Oh, and one more thing...she loves the Ramones. I'm pretty much the luckiest mom on the planet.

The Story of My Week

It's been a tough week, Drunkards.

I took Robin Williams' death very hard. Am taking it very hard. Like many millions of people, I loved him for his brilliant comedic mind, his generosity, and the joie de vivre he exuded, which turned out to be a much more limited resource than any of us knew. I'm haunted by the thought that this gifted person, with the love and support of so many, still found it more desirable to die alone, and by his own hand, than to live with his demons.

I want to see his death as a cautionary tale, a plea for the rest of us to stay strong and seek help. But the blackest parts of my mind want to dangle it in front of me like a carrot on a stick instead. "With all he had, he couldn't find peace in life," my own demons whisper. "What chance do you have?"

I know they're just heckling me, as they've done for years. My demons are assholes. They know they'll never actually prevail, but for them that just means they can mess with me indefinitely.

And this week my resistance is low. Drummer Boy is away, trying to get closure on some personal matters. I miss him, which is a fairly absurd concept in the age of social media, but there you go. And of course the demons are weighing in on this, too. "He's not coming back. He's coming back, but he's changed his mind about you. He's had time to think about your nonsense, and guess what he's decided?"

My hormones aren't helping. It's PMS week, and they're out of control. I've been yelling at a lot of cars in traffic this week. Everybody seems to drive much worse when I have PMS. How do they know? Bastards.

I'm also doing myself no favors. I let myself run out of Prozac just as the hormones started to put on their monthly show. I can go two, maybe three days without my happy pills before I start to spiral. I ended up missing five days. I've been back on them for two days, and it takes about two days for them to regain control of the crazy train. Today, about mid-morning, I could actually feel sanity returning. It's a very distinct feeling. Which itself is a fairly crazy thing to say. But I'm sure some of you understand, and the rest of you are fortunate to not have to understand.

So it's been a conspiracy of circumstances working to disrupt my equilibrium. And it's done a good job. I've been pretty messed up this week.

But I'm back on my meds, the PMS will sort itself out in a few days, Drummer Boy will be home soon, and my personal demons will get bored with harassing me and go harass gun nuts on Twitter, which is more fun for everyone.

Robin Williams is still gone. And that's still very difficult for me.

Life is full of stories. Sometimes there aren't enough happy endings to go around.