Marrying George Clooney

i’m not one for resolutions. i make them. i break them, i feel bad. i feel guilty. then at the end of the year — surprise — i am filled with guilt and shame and who needs that.
so, here is what i’m proposing for myself…
2010:
the year of amazing!
the year i ditch (some) fear, (most) guilt, (all) shame. no more feeling i’m not good enough, or big enough, or smart enough, or funny enough, or important enough, or anything enough.
NO MORE FEELING INVISIBLE.
I AM ENOUGH. PERIOD. END OF STORY.
no more feeling shoulda, coulda, woulda…
no more.
gone.
throw away.
what ever i do, i’m gonna do until the gas gauge goes to empty.
GIVING IT MY ALL.
GONNA BE BOLD & AUDACIOUS!
PERIOD. END OF STORY.
no more rewinding the past. looking for all those little teeny moments that make me feel bad about myself, make me feel shitty, make me feel just awful. time to throw away that tape. or at the very least when it plays, remind myself that it’s a VERY, VERY, VERY OLD TAPE and it doesn’t know better. you can’t teach old tapes new tricks.
so here’s to 2010.
THE YEAR OF REVERING MY OWN LIFE!
to loving myself and others more & better.
to using my life fully.
to not caring what others think.
to writing the truth.
and being able to say with absolute conviction:
no, i can’t. no, i won’t. i’m sorry, i don’t work for free.
please, don’t call me. take me off your speed dial.
and… of course, the BIG TOUGH HARD ONE.
OMG, you don’t like me, you really don’t like me … well, then … fuck you.

so here’s to 2010.

A is for Ambien.
Mommy loves her sleep.
Mommy loves sleeping eight to ten uninterrupted hours a night.

Mommy “hearts” Ambien.

B is for Benadryl.

Mommy takes this when her allergies kick in. Like during the Spring and Summer months when there is so much pollen and crap in the air that her head throbs, and her throat closes and her nose gets all runny and itchy and this makes Mommy a little itsy bitsy cranky and that’s why Mommy tells you to go outside and play with your friends so Mommy can have some “quality” quiet time.

Mommy likes her quiet time.

C is for Cialis.

When Mommy is horny and Daddy can’t get it up, this is what Daddy takes and this helps Daddy make Mommy happy and when Mommy is happy, Daddy is very, very happy and when Daddy is happy, Mommy is very happy and then you get toys, and then everyone is happy.

D is for Demerol.

Mommy takes this for pain, like when she’s playing golf with Daddy even though she absolutely frickin’ hates golf because Mommy has carpal tunnel syndrome, but she plays golf anyway because Daddy likes golf, but Mommy deeply, deeply resents it, so Mommy takes this medicine because it gets rid of both the pain and the resentment.

E is for Effexor.

When Mommy gets depressed or anxious or suicidal and has one of her panic attacks in the middle of Barneys 70 % off everything sale, or in Bergdorf’s, this medication, this little tiny pill, helps Mommy get through the rest of the day with a plastered fake smile, and some free samples from Chanel and ReVive.

“Light a candle for one, and then everyone can see the shoes that are on sale.”
-Anonymous Shopper

F is for Flonase.

Mommy uses this nasal spray when the Benadryl isn’t kicking in, and it makes a funny loud swishy kinda sound, and sometimes Mommy does this in a public place, like in a restaurant or at the theatre and this always, always embarrasses Daddy. And then Daddy yells at Mommy in a public place and then they don’t talk to each other for hours and hours.

And when Mommy sees a pair of lovely earrings in the window of the Jewel Box on Madison Avenue, she grabs Daddy by the arm, points to the earrings and says, “You can apologize now.” That’s why Mommy always has such nice jewelry and someday all of that jewelry will be yours when Mommy dies.

G is for Gas-x.

Mommy takes this so her stomach doesn’t extend or bloat because then Mommy would look pregnant or worse, fat, and Mommy doesn’t want to be pregnant or fat, but Mommy loves you very, very much, and she’s very, very happy that you’re an only child.

H is for Habitrol.

This is so Mommy can stop smoking, even though Mommy doesn’t want to stop smoking. Mommy likes smoking because it calms her nerves and when Mommy is calm, everyone is calm, and when Mommy is crazy, everyone is crazy. But Daddy, and Grandma Syl – that fat unkempt fuck – both hock Mommy to stop smoking, so Mommy uses this patch. It’s an ugly patch and Mommy has nothing to wear with it, and it’s not helping. It’s ugly and useless. But the Demerol helps. So Mommy chips off a little teeny piece of Demerol with her teeth, just a smidgen, and it melts in her mouth, and pouffff, then mommy is happy.

I is for Ibuprofen.

Mommy takes this when she has a headache. And she can buy it at any drug store over the counter.

And Mommy can drink alcohol and operate a car and/or even dangerous machinery while taking this medication.

J is for Jolivette.

Mommy uses this to prevent estrogen from thickening the lining of her uterus, so that she’ll never ever have pain that is related to endometriosis, which is a nasty, and unpleasant pain, the “stay the fuck away from me” kind of pain, because if that were to happen … she and Daddy wouldn’t have sex because the pain would be too excruciating and that would make Daddy very, very, VERY cranky and unhappy, and then Mommy will have to take more Effexor.

K is for Klonopin.

Mommy takes klonopin when she has to get on an airplane so that she doesn’t have a severe panic attack and scare all the other passengers, because Mommy is prone to do that, and because you’re much too young, you’ve never seen Mommy on an airplane, but someday you will, and hopefully by that time Mommy will have either gotten over her fear of flying, or there will be a much stronger drug.

L is for Lorazepam.

Mommy takes Lorazepam when Daddy is driving.
It keeps her from screaming out loud.

M is for Morphine.

Sometimes late at night, when everyone is fast asleep, Mommy gets down on her hands and knees and prays to the almighty God, or Goddess that someone will bring her Morphine as a present in a real Prada handbag, unlike the black market kidneys that were coming into the United States in faux Prada bags.

“It’s called a twofer. It’s not just a handbag – it’s a handbag plus a kidney.”
-Anonymous Israeli Shopper

N is for Nicoderm.

Mommy started using this when Habitrol became completely useless.

O is for Omega-3.

Mommy takes this so she doesn’t have coronary artery disease, heart disease, or a stroke. But sometimes Daddy does or says something that makes Mommy go completely frickin’ nuts and it feels like she’s at the beginning throws of a cerebral hemorrhage.

P is for Percodan.

Mommy takes this after she bangs her head against a brick wall over and over and over again because no one — not one single frickin’ person — is listening to her.

Q is for Quaalude.

Mommy used to take this when she was much, much younger and didn’t care who she was sleeping with. This was mommy’s very favorite drug and if she had a choice between a perfectly cut flawless 10-carat yellow Diamond or two Rorer 714 Quaaludes, she’d take the Rorer’s.

R is for Retin-A.

This helps keep Mommy’s skin looking much younger, and radiant and a lot less wrinkly, this way Daddy won’t leave her for a young hot chick with big tits and no brain.

S is for Stool Softener.

Mommy uses this so her poop is smooth and silky soft when it’s eliminated from her system. Mommy doesn’t like to squeeze too hard when she’s pooping, it makes her ass hurt, and her lips pucker, and then little tiny lines appear around her mouth, and that puts mommy in a very foul and retched mood as you can just imagine.

T is for Testosterone.

This is something both Mommy and Daddy are taking so that their sex life has a little more UMPHHHH to it.

But it’s all a crock of bullshit. The reason Mommy and Daddy aren’t having sex is because your Daddy is an asshole.

U is for Ultracet.

Mommy gives her co-worker Toby all of her ultracet’s because Toby is addicted to pain pills, and Toby gives Mommy her Ambien, because Mommy “hearts” Ambien. That’s called a drug trade.

And someday you’ll be doing that with a friend too.

V is for Valium

You know when we’re stuck in traffic, or we can’t find a parking space and Mommy screams at the other drivers, and you say, “Mommy, please, that’s so icky and embarrassing,” that’s a good time for Mommy to pop a valium. It makes her feel more at ease, and then she doesn’t give a shit about anyone else on the road.

W is for Wellbutrin

Mommy takes this so she doesn’t feel unhappy and psychotic all day long. And sometimes Mommy takes a little bit more, and sometimes Mommy takes a little bit less, but … and this is very important for you to know for future reference incase you ever have to call Mommy’s doctor … Mommy must never ever do that without asking her doctor first about upping or lowering the dosage. So put Mommy’s Doctor’s phone number on ‘speed dial’ on your brand new shiny sleek iPhone (with every APP known to man) that you got for being such a good little girl.

That’s D for Doctor, hon.

X is for Xanax

When Mommy runs out of Lorazepam, and she has to wait for her Doctor to call in a new prescription, she takes a Xanax.

Mommy likes Xanax, but not as much as Lorazepam.

Did you know the generic name for Xanax is Alprazolam?
Can you say Alprazolam?

Y is for Yodxin

Mommy doesn’t take this drug.
It’s for infections.
Mommy doesn’t have any infections. But Sara our neighbor does have an infection because Sara is a lying cheating skanky whore. She has a lot of infections. Never ever have unprotected sex because then you’ll end up like Sara, lonely and bitter and infected.

Z is for Zoloft

Mommy takes this
so we can all live happily ever after.

okay, given that it’s christmas, and truth is i’m not in the giving spirit. i’m sort of not in any spirit. but that’s a long story and being that it is christmas, i’ll give you that.
i’m trying to de-clutter. my head, my closets…
i find in a pile, some old mail, old as in a few weeks ago. and there in this stack of old mail, is a postcard. on the front of the postcard it says: JESUS SAVES (be 100% sure you’re going to heaven) spread the good news, on the back of the postcard, it reads:
we pay cash for broken and unwanted gold and silver.
rings, bracelets, necklaces, watches, earrings, sterling jewelry, and flatware, etc., etc…
hmmm.
unwanted gold and silver.

obviously PRO-CASH.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. Ken and I had our usual fight/argument: he said, fuck we’re never gonna find a space, and I said, hon, you’re always so negative, you gotta think half full. Fuck you he says I can’t even see the fucking glass and you can see it half full. Okay. We realize we’re both a bit testy. He because he worked a long day on a TV show and I because I had a bad manicure. Wrong color. I asked for sold out show, I got hampton ice. Trust me, they are not the same, I don’t care what LuLu says. LuLu barely speaks english and when I say sold out show she smiles and nods and then giggles. She hasn’t a clue. Ken and I hook up, have a nice dinner, then go to a movie – CLOOOOOOOOOONEY!!!!!! up in the air.  We drive uptown, park the car and go home. It felt bad. Like a bad spot. It felt illegal. It just did. But, like so many things, you’re hoping it’s just left over negativity, residue.
“Worse case scenario” is what I wake up to. Ken is standing, bundled up like an eskimo, and says, “worse case scenario.” I say, “Oh my god, stolen?” He says no, towed. I tell him that’s not really the worse case scenario, worse case would be … he stops me dead in my tracks, give it up amy, let me win, let me be miserable, okay. I need misery today I need coffee and misery and I need to believe that having the car towed is as bad as it gets. Fine i say. Live like that. I’ll go to the car pound, the car jail. 38th & 12th avenue. The cab driver drops me off 4 blocks from the terminal. It’s bitter cold, my ears are freezing, I’m going deaf. I walk into this…this…holding place. A few scattered people sitting, holding, cradling styrofoam coffee cups as if they were filled with chivas or cristal, not cold stale coffee. looking rather disconnected, glazed over. I am standing on line. In front of me, a guy with very long hair and attitude, “fuck ‘em,” he says, “the whole piece of shit lot of ‘em. you know they had me traipsing downtown to the DMV, and then back up here and now I gotta wait for my car which they’re thinkin’ it’s probably in another tow joint.” Hmmm, I say. “What are you doing here?” he asks me. “I was towed, we parked illegally. Illegal parking.” he leans in, like he’s in a Brian diPalma film and says: “They get you by the balls here.” Okay. Thanks. Is there anyone else I can chit chat with? The fellow who looks like he’s about to have a coronary, and the young girl sobbing (my guess, it was her new boyfriend’s car that got towed, and this is the “no blow-job” punishment.) Finally I walk up to the window, hand over my license and registration and am told to sit, make myself comfortable, it might take a while all systems are down due to an over jam. I have no idea what anyone is saying. Ken keeps calling me asking how it’s going. I tell him it’s going. But how’s it going? I give him a blow by blow, although refrain from using that terminology too loosely in front of the young girl who is still in the shock and awe phase. Finally I am called to the window. My car — my bad, bad car — is being held in car jail on 203rd and 10th Avenue. Huh. 203rd and 10th Ave. That’s like 200 blocks up north. Do I need to go to pay any tickets or such I ask the very unpleasant but well accessorized city worker. Nah, you just go up there and if you owe any more money they send you back down to the DMV where you pay for the tickets. This is where the logical Amy kicks in. Excuse me, I say, wouldn’t it be so much easier and more convenient for everyone involved if there was one place where say you can pay for your car, and pay for the towing fee, and also all those tickets you racked up and then get your car? Wouldn’t that be easier and more contained, perhaps even a bit more logical, I say… with my voice trailing off because no one, not one single city worker is listening to me while on my soap box. “Yo, your vehicle is uptown, 203rd and 10th Avenue,that’s where your vehicle is. You go there, you done here. Next.” I clear my throat, excuse me, can you tell me where exactly I am going uptown since that area is way outta my envisioning board scheme of things… she hands me, no shit, a piece of paper with directions in frickin’ spanish. I call Ken, I figure when he asks me how it’s going, this time around, i’m gonna have a bundle of crap to say.

Long story short. I get on the express A train, feeling weary & tired and a bit sorry for myself, when two women enter the train, both look worse for the wear, They sit on either side of me. One takes out a sandwich from what appears to be a little hot pink rollaway suitcase from god knows what era, the Barbie & Ken do Boca era; the other woman takes out a bag of peanuts. They are both hungry. Really truly hungry. And just as the train was about to lock it’s doors and pull out of the station, an old, old, old man enters — sits down across from me. He face was filled with lines and memories, some very sad, some joyous… he fiddled with some paperwork that he kept tucked away in his pocket, and it was then i saw it. His name tag: ANGEL. I began to cry. I couldn’t help myself. Angel was sitting across from me and he smiled at me, and I could feel that smile. I could. And the two women got up and off the train at 59th street, Both less hungry when they had originally sat down. And I felt lucky and filled with abundance and promised mysef right there on the A train that life was not about having more, but giving more, and fuck it that my car was towed. It was towed so i could meet a genuine angel who smiled at me and blessed me and made me believe that Christmas was right around the corner.

And you see, if Ken were with me, he would’ve said, what the fuck you talking about, the guy probably got the jacket outta a flea shop, and his name is probably Manuel.

And Ken can believe that. He can.
And I can believe that an angel touched my life, and therefore I will never go hungry, and my glass will always be half full and my books will fly off the shelves and my creative juices will flow until my last breath.

there is such good in the world. its right smack in front of you. it is.

see this is the thing — and i think you all know this about me now – i take ambien. i heart ambien, and i take xanax, and the occasional 5mg valium. and sometimes but not often if i’m feeling the pain, i’ll do a tramadol. i do. why lie? but here’s the thing. i don’t know about you, but when they start listing the side effects – the possible side effects from taking some of these drugs because i feel anxious or worried, or arthritic … i think hmmm. maybe it’s better to just have the anxiety and fear and worry along with restless leg syndrome then to have possible kidney failure, probable loss of vision, liver failure, cancerous boils, bowel movement interruption (WTF is that anyway?), hair loss, excruciating shoulder pain, numbness in both hands and all fingers, joint pain, dry skin, dandruff, bleeding from pretty much everywhere and anywhere, herniated discs, thoughts of suicide, depression, rage, and my favorite … unwanted weight gain and excessive bloating.
why oh why would would any of those side effects be better than a twinge or two of restless leg syndrome? i for one would rather my leg jerk uncontrollably for an hour, than have the absolute urge to stab myself along with unwanted facial hair.
i mean really, color me fucking nuts, but the side effects have absolutely no appeal what so ever.
can someone explain the selling point to me from a PR or marketing point of view. cause i am at a loss.
oh my god, is that a side effect? being at a loss?

it was bound to happen. for those who have read my book, the ken & amy drive is always so exciting. from the moment the key goes into the ignition, something is bound to be said, happen, trigger an event, create some kind of hysteria. today was a banner day, from start to finish. ken went to the gym. i decided i needed some alone time, as in, please, go… stay a few hours… please, let me have some time to myself, no i don’t need to stretch. i stretch all week. i do stretch all week, my neck – i stretch my neck particularly when i’m trying to eavesdrop. so off he goes to gym, and i have some alone time with my computer. no one watching over my shoulder, asking who i’m e-mailing, what’s new on facebook, it’s just me and my MacBook. alone. and then i decide hmmm, maybe i should clean off my desk, get rid of the unwanted letters, bills, crap & collectibles stacking up. it was just a few days ago my dear friend jeff recommend a sure fire (no pun intended) way to get rid of all secrets and such, toss right in the fireplace. light a match and say, “see ya.” so i tossed a bunch of old mail, letters, and heaped them onto the already blazing fire, when all of a sudden a flame the likes of which i have never seen pulls it’s way up and out of the chimney, and low and behold … tada…. a chimney fire. since i don’t have a clue about shit like this, i do what comes natural to me, i call robyn and we chit chat about guilt & shame & women who are hovering. i don’t feel like i’m quite hovering, but the shame seems to be blazing away. ken finally makes his way home and says, “holy mother of god call the fire department.” the fire department, I ask curiously while cradling robyn on my right shoulder, why? well for starters we have what is commonly known as a chimney rage. hmmm. never heard of that before. an amy rage, yeah, sure, but never in my 55 years did i hear of a chimney rage. “gotta call you back robyn, seems we’re in trouble here.” i call the fire department, they come, a few trucks, a lot of guys, and one woman. who by the way seems a bit peeved that i’m inside my house eating a sandwich, and on the phone (with robyn, i called her back). I try to act concerned: is there anything i need to do, i ask the fire woman, no she says, with a hint of attitude, just keep doing what you’re doing. hmmm. a bit snarky. but then again… if i were wearing a bright yellow bulky snow suit and matching hat i wouldn’t be too thrilled. she tells me she likes her job. i offer her half my sandwich.
the fire goes out, the house is filled with smoke, my mother’s ashes are coated with ashes, very appropriate, i think. we get this all out of the way. ken asks me what the fuck i threw into the fireplace to get it raging like this. i don’t answer. i shrug and say, you know…stuff, wood. wood and stuff, paper stuff.
yeah. he says. unconvinced.
the giants are playing tonight. thank god for the giants.
we go to a friends house so they can howl at the massive TV while watching the giants. i am not a football fan. i would much prefer to start chimney fires. we’re in the car. he’s trying desperately to listen to the giants on radio, the static is overwhelming. he starts to drive slower, thinking this will give him an opportunity to hear the game better. where do people come up with such crazy reasoning? truly. i ask him to drive faster, this coming from a woman who in 16 years has not once uttered those words: drive faster, hon.
why, why do you want me to drive faster? he asks curiously.
secrets, i tell him … secrets. i tossed in a ton of secrets into the fireplace and that’s why it raged, and spewed and spit out soot and smoke, secrets. Bitter breeds bitter, anger breeds anger. no way around it.
he tells he’s not going to drive faster because, get this:
“slow breeds thoughtfulness and mindfulness.”
all of a sudden ken – my ken – is the dalai lama.
maybe you oughta see a shrink.
maybe you oughta drive faster.
fuck you.
NO NO FUCK YOU.
same old same old. different route.

A is for Ambien.
Mommy loves her sleep.
Mommy loves sleeping eight to ten uninterrupted hours a night.

Mommy “hearts” Ambien.

B is for Benadryl.

Mommy takes this when her allergies kick in. Like during the Spring and Summer months when there is so much pollen and crap in the air that her head throbs, and her throat closes and her nose gets all runny and itchy and this makes Mommy a little itsy bitsy cranky and that’s why Mommy tells you to go outside and play with your friends so Mommy can have some “quality” quiet time.

Mommy likes her quiet time.

C is for Cialis.

When Mommy is horny and Daddy can’t get it up, this is what Daddy takes and this helps Daddy make Mommy happy and when Mommy is happy, Daddy is very, very happy and when Daddy is happy, Mommy is very happy and then you get toys, and then everyone is happy.

D is for Demerol.

Mommy takes this for pain, like when she’s playing golf with Daddy even though she absolutely frickin’ hates golf because Mommy has carpal tunnel syndrome, but she plays golf anyway because Daddy likes golf, but Mommy deeply, deeply resents it, so Mommy takes this medicine because it gets rid of both the pain and the resentment.

E is for Effexor.

When Mommy gets depressed or anxious or suicidal and has one of her panic attacks in the middle of Barneys 70 % off everything sale, or in Bergdorf’s, this medication, this little tiny pill, helps Mommy get through the rest of the day with a plastered fake smile, and some free samples from Chanel and ReVive.

“Light a candle for one, and then everyone can see the shoes that are on sale.”
-Anonymous Shopper

F is for Flonase.

Mommy uses this nasal spray when the Benadryl isn’t kicking in, and it makes a funny loud swishy kinda sound, and sometimes Mommy does this in a public place, like in a restaurant or at the theatre and this always, always embarrasses Daddy. And then Daddy yells at Mommy in a public place and then they don’t talk to each other for hours and hours.

And when Mommy sees a pair of lovely earrings in the window of the Jewel Box on Madison Avenue, she grabs Daddy by the arm, points to the earrings and says, “You can apologize now.” That’s why Mommy always has such nice jewelry and someday all of that jewelry will be yours when Mommy dies.

G is for Gas-x.

Mommy takes this so her stomach doesn’t extend or bloat because then Mommy would look pregnant or worse, fat, and Mommy doesn’t want to be pregnant or fat, but Mommy loves you very, very much, and she’s very, very happy that you’re an only child.

H is for Habitrol.

This is so Mommy can stop smoking, even though Mommy doesn’t want to stop smoking. Mommy likes smoking because it calms her nerves and when Mommy is calm, everyone is calm, and when Mommy is crazy, everyone is crazy. But Daddy, and Grandma Syl – that fat unkempt fuck – both hock Mommy to stop smoking, so Mommy uses this patch. It’s an ugly patch and Mommy has nothing to wear with it, and it’s not helping. It’s ugly and useless. But the Demerol helps. So Mommy chips off a little teeny piece of Demerol with her teeth, just a smidgen, and it melts in her mouth, and pouffff, then mommy is happy.

I is for Ibuprofen.

Mommy takes this when she has a headache. And she can buy it at any drug store over the counter.

And Mommy can drink alcohol and operate a car and/or even dangerous machinery while taking this medication.

J is for Jolivette.

Mommy uses this to prevent estrogen from thickening the lining of her uterus, so that she’ll never ever have pain that is related to endometriosis, which is a nasty, and unpleasant pain, the “stay the fuck away from me” kind of pain, because if that were to happen … she and Daddy wouldn’t have sex because the pain would be too excruciating and that would make Daddy very, very, VERY cranky and unhappy, and then Mommy will have to take more Effexor.

K is for Klonopin.

Mommy takes klonopin when she has to get on an airplane so that she doesn’t have a severe panic attack and scare all the other passengers, because Mommy is prone to do that, and because you’re much too young, you’ve never seen Mommy on an airplane, but someday you will, and hopefully by that time Mommy will have either gotten over her fear of flying, or there will be a much stronger drug.

L is for Lorazepam.

Mommy takes Lorazepam when Daddy is driving.
It keeps her from screaming out loud.

M is for Morphine.

Sometimes late at night, when everyone is fast asleep, Mommy gets down on her hands and knees and prays to the almighty God, or Goddess that someone will bring her Morphine as a present in a real Prada handbag, unlike the black market kidneys that were coming into the United States in faux Prada bags.

“It’s called a twofer. It’s not just a handbag – it’s a handbag plus a kidney.”
-Anonymous Israeli Shopper

N is for Nicoderm.

Mommy started using this when Habitrol became completely useless.

O is for Omega-3.

Mommy takes this so she doesn’t have coronary artery disease, heart disease, or a stroke. But sometimes Daddy does or says something that makes Mommy go completely frickin’ nuts and it feels like she’s at the beginning throws of a cerebral hemorrhage.

P is for Percodan.

Mommy takes this after she bangs her head against a brick wall over and over and over again because no one — not one single frickin’ person — is listening to her.

Q is for Quaalude.

Mommy used to take this when she was much, much younger and didn’t care who she was sleeping with. This was mommy’s very favorite drug and if she had a choice between a perfectly cut flawless 10-carat yellow Diamond or two Rorer 714 Quaaludes, she’d take the Rorer’s.

R is for Retin-A.

This helps keep Mommy’s skin looking much younger, and radiant and a lot less wrinkly, this way Daddy won’t leave her for a young hot chick with big tits and no brain.

S is for Stool Softener.

Mommy uses this so her poop is smooth and silky soft when it’s eliminated from her system. Mommy doesn’t like to squeeze too hard when she’s pooping, it makes her ass hurt, and her lips pucker, and then little tiny lines appear around her mouth, and that puts mommy in a very foul and retched mood as you can just imagine.

T is for Testosterone.

This is something both Mommy and Daddy are taking so that their sex life has a little more UMPHHHH to it.

But it’s all a crock of bullshit. The reason Mommy and Daddy aren’t having sex is because your Daddy is an asshole.

U is for Ultracet.

Mommy gives her co-worker Toby all of her ultracet’s because Toby is addicted to pain pills, and Toby gives Mommy her Ambien, because Mommy “hearts” Ambien. That’s called a drug trade.

And someday you’ll be doing that with a friend too.

V is for Valium

You know when we’re stuck in traffic, or we can’t find a parking space and Mommy screams at the other drivers, and you say, “Mommy, please, that’s so icky and embarrassing,” that’s a good time for Mommy to pop a valium. It makes her feel more at ease, and then she doesn’t give a shit about anyone else on the road.

W is for Wellbutrin

Mommy takes this so she doesn’t feel unhappy and psychotic all day long. And sometimes Mommy takes a little bit more, and sometimes Mommy takes a little bit less, but … and this is very important for you to know for future reference incase you ever have to call Mommy’s doctor … Mommy must never ever do that without asking her doctor first about upping or lowering the dosage. So put Mommy’s Doctor’s phone number on ‘speed dial’ on your brand new shiny sleek iPhone (with every APP known to man) that you got for being such a good little girl.

That’s D for Doctor, hone

X is for Xanax

When Mommy runs out of Lorazepam, and she has to wait for her Doctor to call in a new prescription, she takes a Xanax.

Mommy likes Xanax, but not as much as Lorazepam.

Did you know the generic name for Xanax is Alprazolam?
Can you say Alprazolam?

Y is for Yodxin

Mommy doesn’t take this drug.
It’s for infections.
Mommy doesn’t have any infections. But Sara our neighbor does have an infection because Sara is a lying cheating skanky whore. She has a lot of infections. Never ever have unprotected sex because then you’ll end up like Sara, lonely and bitter and infected.

Z is for Zoloft

Mommy takes this
so we can all live happily ever after.