Thursday, May 6, 2010

Tylenol PM Should Probably be Outlawed

I do and always have suffered from insomnia.  When I was in law school I had no problem getting my hands on Ambien or the shit that has the massive butterfly in the commercial, so I was always sleeping soundly.  Sadly, after graduation those sleep inducing goodies have become been much more difficult to obtain (as are all other illicit drugs, but whatever) and I've found myself consistently plagued by sleepless nights.  It doesn’t help that I share my queen size bed with two (sometimes three) psychopathic dogs, one of whom has a statistically significant snoring problem.

Anyway, my recent sleeplessness has driven me back to my old high school vice…Tylenol PM.  Tylenol PM is undeniably at the bottom of the sleeping aid totem pole.  It takes at least an hour to kick in, and even then, it leaves me exhausted but internally jittery, which means I have a crappy night's worth of sleep and wake up with a sleeping pill hangover that leaves me groggy and irritated for the entire next day. Even worse, when I’m in that super sleepy haze a couple hours after taking Tylenol PM, I tend to make really bad decisions. For instance, I decided last night that I needed to buy a couple pairs of jeggings (since I don’t already own 5) from Bloomingdales (hey, at least I had the mental clarity to use a coupon) and $200 worth of God-knows-what from  That is just super.  It's not like have tons of wedding shit I have to buy over the next 4 months and limited funds with which to buy it or anything like that.  Why not go and waste almost $400 on some crap I don't need?

This got me thinking about whether or not I might have a potential claim against Tylenol PM.  I'm pretty sure my AMEX bill would provide rock solid evidence for a products liability, failure to warn claim.  I mean, their bottle should clearly carry a warning like: THIS MEDICINE MAY CAUSE COMPULSIVE SHOPPING.  DO NOT ATTEMPT TO ACCESS THE INTERNET UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF THIS MEDICATION.  Then again, they would probably need to go ahead and slap that label on wine bottles too, since that tends to have the same effect on me.

You know what?  Wine is a much better sleep aid than Tylenol PM anyway.  I believe I'll pick up a bottle on my way home from work.  See y'all in my dreams (I'll be the one making out with Christian Bale while David Beckham gives me a back massage).



Thursday, April 29, 2010

I'm a Sugar Addict

I have a fairly robust sweet tooth but over the past 2 years I have totally gone from controlled sugar-eater to complete sugarholic.  It doesn't matter what tasty confection you put in front of me...consider it consumed.  This all started when I was studying for the Bar exam and my boyfriend and I would take daily trips to TCBY (Vanilla and Oreo Shiver...sweet jeebus).  I began associating delicious frozen yogurt with relaxation.  I was like one of Pavlov's dogs...just in reverse and with sugar instead of meat powder...  Anyway, I'm pretty sure things started to spiral out of control when a gourmet cupcake shop opened up just down the street from my house.  Every time I would feel stressed about work or relationships, I would just pick up a delicious cupcake.  I mean, just try and tell me this doesn't make you hungry: 

If it doesn't, then you are clealy not a "sweets person" so you don't count.  Let me assure you, it is more delicious than it looks and I know from fairly extensive experience.

Well, one thing led to another and now I'm just a full-on sugar addict.  I can't make it through the day without candy anymore, which isn't a problem for me since we have a gift shop right downstairs that sells everything under the sun.  As I've been working my way through their sugar inventory I made a truly life altering (in a bad way) discovery...well, two: Coconut M&Ms and 3 Musketeers Truffle Bars.  These are perhaps the most delicious candies I've ever had the pleasure of devouring.  I eat one or the other (ok, both) every single day at work, which is a serious issue now that I'm trying to lose weight for the wedding.

I keep telling myself this is the last one I'm going to eat.  No more after today.  Yet every single day I find myself back in the arms of my candy lovahs.  In fact, I'm eating some coco M&Ms right now.  Don't worry though, this is seriously my last pack.  Seriously.


Wednesday, April 21, 2010

And I Thought Falling Down the Stairwell was Bad...

I'm going to preface this by noting that the subject matter of this post is absolutely horrifying.  I mean, so bad that this happened on Monday and I haven't even been able to admit it until today.  Read at your own risk!

So, I've been starving the past couple days, which is usually my body's way of telling me that "that time of the month" is right around the corner.  I really should have known something was up when I ate 1000 calories worth of candy in less than an hour Sunday afternoon but apparently one of the side effects of a sugar high is blissful ignorance.  Too bad for me. 

When I got up Monday morning my brain had completely erased the memory of my candy massacre.  I went to my closet only to realize that I only had two pairs of clean pants left.  A smart pair of skinny black pants or new pair of fresh white cotton trousers (thanks to my skillful use of foreshadowing I'm quite sure everyone knows exactly where this is going).  I decided that I was feeling a little too chunky for skinny pants and opted for the alabaster beauties.

That morning at work was painfully slow so I decided to go out for lunch with two of the partners, one of which was the asshole who saw me fall down the stairs.  I didn't REALLY want to go to lunch with them but I figured that had to be better than sitting in my office bored to tears.  Well, as it turns out I was wrong.  Really, really wrong.  I just didn't know it yet.

Lunch was delicious and it was a beautiful day for our long walk back to the office.  When we finally got back I scurried off to the restroom since I had drank 3 huge Diet Cokes at lunch and felt like I was seriously dying.  What I encountered in the bathroom literally made my heart stop.  Sometime between when we left for lunch and when we got back, I had started.  My white pants were totally ruined.  Holy sweet Jesus.  I walked back from lunch with my bosses with my pants like that?  OMG!  How much did they see?  I mean, i always walk in front of  them know...ladies first in the South!  I was mortified.  Worse than that, I was a prisoner in the Ladies Restroom.  How could I leave?  Someone was going to see my pants for sure!  I gathered up my courage and raced back to my office.  There I sat until 8 that night.  I was literally stunned just sitting in my chair.  Once I was sure the coast was clear I took the freight elevator down to my car (I couldn't risk taking the regular elevator and having anyone see me).  When I got home, I promptly took the longest shower of my life.  If I had thought it was safe to use bleach on human skin, I would have.

Since Monday, I have refused to look anyone in my office in the eyes.  I anticipate this will continue for at least the next month or so...


I Hate Everything About Campaigning

So my fiancee is currently campaigning for State Representative and I couldn't hate it more.  The reasons for my disdain are literally endless so I'm only going to hit y'all with the good ones.

(1) Everything isn't all about me and it should be, regardless of what else is going on.  I mean, I'm a bride-to-be for christ's sake!  I'm at my absolute pinnacle of self importance right now and nobody cares.  This makes me furious.  I'm trying to send out Save the Dates but of COURSE my FMIL says they can't be sent out until after the election..."wouldn't want to offend those voters not invited."  I mean, does my FMIL not realize that I don't give two shits about potential voters?  All I care about is the fact that Emily Post told me Save the Dates needed to go out this month and FMIL is quickly becoming public enemy number one by refusing to send over her guest list.  No worries though, I fully intend taking it by force if it is not handed over this weekend.

(2) I abhor solitications and I've quickly learned that "campaign" is just a fancy word for "solicit."  Whether you are soliciting people for their vote or hitting up friends for campaign contributions, you are spending all your time hustling someone for something.  I can't even properly solicit money for cancer research (case and point:, let alone money to pay off a burgeoning campaign debt (aka. my nest egg's funeral). 

Even more fun, this coming weekend I get to go door-to-door campaigning, just the thought of which makes me want to take a sledgehammer to my legs Misery style, so I have a valid excuse for staying home.  Of course I'm not brave enough to do anything like that but the fact that it popped into my head as a legitimate option is troubling enough.

Anyway, I'm off to consider some less permanent solutions for hobbling myself...maybe a brisk walk in those LAMB shoes of mine will do the trick.


Thursday, April 15, 2010

Alcohol is Definitely Making me Dumber

I have a history of poor decision making when I have been drinking.  This is compounded by the fact that alcohol tricks me into believing that it's a smart idea to tackle difficult projects around my house when tipsy and/or drunk.  Generally these projects are just a hilarious discovery when I wake up and find them the next morning.  Last week, for example, I woke up to find that I had somehow mended a huge pile of clothes that had been sitting in my closet for at LEAST two seasons now.  Don't ask me how I was able to operate a needle and thread (or find the missing button to my favorite jacket) after 6 glasses of wine because I have no idea.  But I was.

Then there are other times where my HGTVism causes my drunken alter-ego to tackle projects that I wouldn't be capable of (stupid enough to try) sober, let alone after drinking.  Last night was perhaps, the coup de grĂ¢ce...

I got home from dinner with a friend to find a huge box waiting at my back door.  Imagine my drunken delight when I opened it and saw the stereo receiver I had ordered a couple weeks ago!  Now, the smart idea would have been to leave this expensive equipment safely tucked away in its box, however, the wine I drank convinced me to pursue another course of action.  I gleefully pulled the massive receiver onto the floor and started wiring it up.  Shockingly enough (and this really is shocking all things considered) I turned it on and it was working perfectly!  I was so pleased with myself I could have just died.  That is, of course, until I went outside and found that none of the outdoor speakers were working.  Mother of God.

I grabbed my flashlight and went outside to investigate.  I was determined to get those speakers working if I had to rewire them myself!  Well, maybe not.  During my investigation I came across something I hate more than almost anything else in this world.  A red wasp's nest!  OMGOMG!  I am freaking terrified of bees!  Even the fat bumbly ones that can't sting you.  Hate them.  I mean, bees are such territorial little assholes.  What other bug would try to dive bomb your face just for walking past them?   

(Ok, this is where I would have stopped if I was sober.  I hate bees and there is no way I would tackle a nest of them in the dark without some serious liquid courage.  Anyway, read on...)

Screw that! I wasn't going to let those buzzy little f**kers ruin my outdoor audio experience!  I ran inside, grabbed a can of raid from out from under the kitchen sink and sprayed that nest until the bottle was empty.  Spoiler alert!  Raid for ants does not work on flying insects.  Now I have an empty bottle of Raid and an enraged nest of wasps on my hands.  Clearly this seek and destroy mission has fallen off course.  Time to abort.  I was moving so fast that I literally flew back into my house. 

On my to-do list for today: Call exterminator and electrician.


Wednesday, April 14, 2010

I'm About to Pink Slip my Brain

I am notoriously bad about excessive nickname use.  I have a nickname for most of my girlfriends, the majority of my coworkers and all of my (and my friends') ex-boyfriends.  All nicknames are cleverly crafted to reflect the true essence of the person to which they attach and most would probably get me get me sued for intentional infliction of emotional distress if anyone but me and my inner circle knew about them.

Now, normally these nicknames are harmless and exist for the sole purpose of giving me and my friends something to laugh hysterically about over wine; but they have been known, on occasion, to come back and bite me on the ass.  Unfortunately for me, one such occasion was just this past weekend.  I was out for drinks Friday night with friends when I saw this attorney from my office that I've lovingly dubbed: Douchebaggins.  Generally speaking, Douchebaggings is a nice guy; he's just a loser with no friends that has the terrible misfortune of bearing a striking resemblance to Bilbo Baggins from the Lord of the Rings movies (I know this reference makes me a loser too but I really don't care). 

I tend to feel sorry for the guy, so I invited him to join us for a drink.  That was when things went really, really bad.  "Hey there!  This is my friend Elizabeth.  Elizabeth, this is" Oh my god, I can't remember his real name.  What is it?  notdouchebagginsnotdouchebaggins.  I was totally frizzing out.  Thankfully he stepped in and introduced himself but the damage was already done.  Thanks a lot brain.   I tried to play it off like I had just had too much to drink and totally blanked out but I could tell he wasn't buying it.  For a split second, I felt really bad.  Then I realized, this is Douchebaggins.  What do I care if he thinks I'm the biggest bitch on the planet?  Can I get another glass of wine?


Monday, April 12, 2010

How do you Have a License?

Like I've said before, I have pretty severe road rage.  I think this stems from learning to drive on I-85 in Atlanta where there are 7 lanes of speeding cars, most of which are oversized SUVs driven by hyper-caffinated (or medicated) wealthy housewives who are driving like Neiman Marcus is having a 75% off sale.  Who can blame them though?  In Atlanta you never know if you are suddenly find yourself in 3 hours of bumper to bumper traffic trying to get across town, so when traffic is moving, you best be hauling ass.  This would be a reasonable excuse except that I haven't lived in Atlanta in six years, and where I live now it takes 20 minutes to get across town during "rush hour."

Needless to say, that hasn't stopped me from turning into the incredible hulk of road-ragers at even the slightest vehicular misstep.  This is particularly true when I encounter that which I find to be the most egregious of all driving errors...someone driving below the speed limit.  In my opinion, there are only two legitimate reasons for driving under the speed limit: 1) you are drunk or 2) you are lost.  The rest of the miscreant drivers out there better speed up or prepare themselves for a barrage of expletives (with accompanying hand gestures). 

Seriously though, why would anyone want to drive slower than the speed limit?  Busy taking in the scenery (fugly strip malls) or something?  I honestly cannot envision a scenario where I would need or want to drive below the speed limit.  As far as I'm concerned the actual speed you should be driving is always the posted speed limit + 10mph.  If you have all the free time to get where you are going, you should have stayed where you were five minutes longer and saved me the trouble of hastily passing you.  I'm obviously more important and actually have someplace to be!