This is America. Medicate me.

I'm on medications to even out my mood, give me an attention span, prevent OkCupid babies, and control my heinous allergies.

There are, what, 4,000 erectile dysfunction drugs now?

I think there's one for a particular form of exhaustion you get from shift work.

They debated putting me on a drug that fixes ADHD and binge eating disorder, which... damn, I still want that drug.

So, really, you can't create a drug that will make me feel LESS like my period might actually kill me? One that keeps me from waking up weeping for no reason? (OK, there was a reason, but not a logical one.) Could you, like, get on that, Science? Or could I just get sent to the edge of the village or whatever?

I know there's stuff they can finagle for PMDD. I'm mostly kidding.

Related: the weather in Philly right now can kiss my dick. I checked the forecast and it just said, "Your mood is fucked until Sunday." That's what I saw, anyway. It's possible it just said it'll be cloudy and rainy.

Boosting morale and apparently also your dick

So, hey, Creepy Guy From Another Office in my Building to Whom I've Only Ever Said 'Hi' in a Small Talky Sense...

I have not "been on a diet."

I have not "lost weight."

I DO "look good," but it's pretty gross that you said ALL that while passing me in the hall. I realize I can't get you to stop appraising my body, but it'd be SUPER great if you could stop reporting your findings aloud.

Worse, I said "Thank you," because I'm an asshole, and am now wondering what kind of goddamn hambeast I looked like before. (I look fine, it's just my dress -- sundresses are very kind to my body.)

By the way, yes, I do think I'd be this pissy if it were an attractive man who said it. Because you brought my weight AND dieting into your "compliment," implying my weight until today had been somehow suboptimal. So fuck you twice-baked.

P.S. By the way, dicknuts -- depression, anxiety, and stress can also cause weight loss. In my case, so can being on drugs that screw with your appetite and hopefully prevent you from going crazy. But hey, I'm thrilled I'm able give you your Monday lunchtime semi. I'll go find out who I speak to about adding "fluffer" to my business card.

Three-fer: Admittedly snap judgments of an OkCupid guy

I'd been talking to this guy on OkCupid, and should've known he was a douche when his intro message boasted that his profile was "well-crafted." Um, yeah, his profile says he's looking to meet the "girls of my dreams." I asked about it, and he said it was originally a typo, but he decided to leave it. OK, whatever. I'm not looking to be the girl of anyone's dreams right now, anyway -- let's roll those dice.

We're chatting, maybe 10 messages back and forth total, and he asks if there's anything I want him to know about me. I write three arbitrary things right before I go to sleep, including: "I firmly believe all CVS drive-thrus should also serve fries." (Come the hell on, that'd be great.)

This morning I wake up to two messages. In them are three questions, which I will answer for you guys, but got him immediately deleted and blocked. I almost replied, "Yeah, we're done here," but decided against it. In hindsight, I wish I'd sent the message to smarter friends who could've written back and made him cry.

So here are the offending questions. (And hey, this is just my offense. If you're intrigued, comment or send a message -- I'll tell you his username and you can grab that net and catch that beautiful butterfly.)

1. "Do you go to CVS or McDonald's often enough that that's an issue?"
Uhh... yeah. I go to CVS once a month. CVS provides the lovely drugs that keep me:
A) a functional human;
B) focused;
C) not riddled with heinous allergies; and
D) most relevant to you, NOT PREGNANT.

Also, McDonald's fries aren't my favorite, but once a month, at a particular time, I will cut you for Wendy's fries and a Frosty, or an anytime Egg McMuffin, a societal evolution I regard as the Lord personally answering my lifelong prayer. If my occasional fast food habit is an issue, this isn't going to work. If you offer me fucking kale during my period, you WILL get murdered with a stick.

2. "Why do guys send dick pics to women? I have to assume it's appealing to some women, but I don't get it. I'd love to see photos of your boobs, ass, and curves, but I really don't want to see a photo of anyone's vagina."
AHEM. Well, first of all, my vagina is a goddamn work of art. (Kidding. I haven't looked at the area in years beyond lawn maintenance. It could be the Batcave for all I know.) Vagina pics aren't my thing, but I know some people who dig them. And if a guy I liked asked for one, and had previously earned access to the region, I would accommodate. I'd probably put makeup on it first, and obsess about its best side, but I'd do it.

But also... I enjoy dick pics, with an important caveat: I have to AGREE to them. I don't just want to see rogue dick, all superfluous and out of its natural habitat. However, I will happily behold the penis of a literate man who's said nice things to me and had dinner with me and maybe we've made out a little. I'd rather see it in person and THEN a photo, but in a proper setting, I don't mind seeing the dick that awaits me, and how I'm affecting it.

Plus, not all men do that, and it's -- if I may -- a dick move to generalize.

3. "Why do women have photos in their profiles where they're standing next to other women? Often women who are better looking??? It doesn't make sense!"
Well. To start, your triple question marks are an assault against God and humanity.

And again, not all women. For a split second I thought he was talking about me, but I don't do that because my friends are, in fact, cuter than I am. Plus I'd feel weird putting photos of them on a dating site. My photos are of ME: "This is my face, this is my [clothed] body. Can you deal with my Worf wrinkle and my extra 20 lbs? Excellent. Proceed."

Also, I've seen plenty of men do that, too, and I hate it. Not because the other men are better looking (though I've definitely wondered, "Who's your friend?"), but because I don't want to scroll through a bunch of photos trying to ascertain which guy is you. Your main pic, at least, should be just you.

In addition, "better looking" is relative. Maybe the person looking at that photo thinks the friend is a total bridge troll, and the man/woman in the OKC profile is his/her ideal.

And, again, just as a blanket "fuck you," I can't abide generalizing women OR men. I can generalize YOU, though. And you're a jag.

Weight Loss, Crypt Keeper, Trainwreck, Lipstick, and "La-di-da"

A while back I asked y'all to come kick me if I didn't lose some weight, because my clothes didn't fit anymore and I hate shopping.

Turns out all I needed was a (prescription) drug that fucks up my appetite and makes me so thirsty I drink tons of water and always feel full, plus family, friend, and boy issues. I'm running on bananas, almonds, and kettle chips because that's all my body is accepting.

I feel like hell, I get wobbly, and my face looks like The Crypt Keeper, but I lost 5 lbs in one spectacular shitshow of a week.

I spent most of the past 2 days in bed (took a sick day yesterday), but eventually getting up, cleaning my house, then cleaning ME. It's remarkable how an irresponsibly hot shower and clean sheets can improve your outlook. (Plus watching "Trainwreck" again.)

I am going to be fine.

We're good, now, right, Brain? My family is still fucked, but you'll let me pine for just the ONE guy (the one who's actually worth even a passing thought)? And my friends are OK? And we'll be more mindful of eating at least enough that standing isn't so challenging and daylight doesn't hurt our eyes?

Right, then. Onward. Lipstick. Sushi. Power song!

Kelly Bundy, Kimmy Schmidt, and the "Grey's Anatomy" method of avoidance.

Wow. WordPress readers really love my anxiety, don't they?

More years ago than I care to consider, there was a show called Married with Children that probably wouldn't make it in today's infinitely-more-PC TV landscape. I remember people being offended by it at the time, but it was the late '80s/early '90s and most people didn't give a fuck.

So there was the dumb blonde bimbo daughter, Kelly (Christina Applegate). She's more appealing than her sports-fan father, so she goes on a sports trivia show in his place. But she knows nothing about sports, so he fills her brain with trivia before the show, and for every sports fact she absorbs, a bit of basic life knowledge leaves her brain, rendering her dumbstruck (seen here) when asked to recall everyday knowledge. 

That's where I am right now. For every bit of bullshit my brain has encountered this week, I've lost knowledge and patience. This morning I stood in the shower with conditioner on my hair, and for just a second completely blanked on what the next step was. And I just snapped at my brother because he's being a fucking asshole. (Though I do kind of love it when I finally give up on trying to be polite and just say what I'm thinking.)

Family issues, friend concerns, medication that's ruining my appetite and dehydrating me, not sleeping, and additional things with That Guy, all in those 3 days of spiked blog stats... I'm out. I spent my workday NOT FUCKING WORKING, but rather ensnared in a texting clusterfuck with aforementioned brother.

Also, I know my friends love me and will listen to me, but I'm sick of being the Needy Friend -- they've heard a LOT this week, I sent a goddamn list. (Subject line: "No advice needed; just FYI, everything is fucked.") I've talked to friends, a therapist, my personal journal, and you people. I am tired of thinking and talking about my fucking feelings. I'm not even upset, per se -- I just want to go home and sit there for a week or so and not talk to anyone or think about anything. Maybe just spend the whole week re-watching all of Grey's Anatomy in my pajamas.

So yeah. I'm currently at a Bundy Brain grade 4. I'm gonna pull a reverse Kimmy Schmidt and put my ass into the doomsday bunker.