Yesterday I hit a record for comments – EIGHT comments! I was so excited a peed a little in my chair and then busted out crying tears of joy. But don’t worry, I put a towel down first.

So it turns out that some overworked underpaid healthcare professional doofus ordered the Strattera and not the Wellbutrin. So it will be another 7 to 10 business days until the happy pills arrive. Great, genius; don’t order the crazy lady’s brain-altering pharmaceuticals. Just overlook that silly little task.

A wonderful galpal of mine let me ‘borrow’ some of her generic wellbutrin until I can ‘pay her back’ when mine arrives. It’s a small supply so I’m taking half doses. It’s also generic non-time-released so it starts to wear off in the evenings after supper but definitely better than nothing.

But, guys, tomorrow it will have been two weeks without the happy pills and I’m amazed at how well I managed to stifle The Crazy. NO scary ‘suicidal ideation’. None. I had some emo sneak up and blindside me – damn those baby-stuff commercials and also damn any sitcom that has any script that calls for someone to start crying, because sure as hell that’s a trigger for the waterworks! [Scrubs, you traitor, you call yourself a comedy, for cryin' out loud!] — and some mood swings akin to a clock pendulum on meth. I had several mornings I couldn’t make it out of bed until 10 and several afternoons I couldn’t have accomplished anything even if you waved $100 bills in my face. But I’m still here.

My doctor has informed me that there is no cure for my severe clinical depression, so I can look forward to years and years of popping that little reminder that I’m broken and my brain can’t handle its seratonin. My brain is the one that is, come last call, passed out under the table in a pool of its own urine after a night of dopamine and norepinephrine jello shooters. All the other “normal” brains can pick up my brain and hose down all the stink off and tuck it into bed to sleep off the hangover; but forget staging an intervention, because there is no rehab for my brain. My brain is the one that signs out of the inpatient program and makes a beeline to the corner to score again. My brain is the one sleeping under the overpass, empty bottles of dopamine and norepinephrine littering the area. My brain is the one sitting on the gritty sidewalk, slack-jawed, drooling, staring at nothingness.

As fantastic as this is, there is more good news. There’s no cure for ADD either! Woo hooo! I can look forward to a lifetime of forgetting anything remotely important. I can tell you that the three ships that came to the New World in search of the Indies in 1492 were the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria. But what did I do last weekend? Umm, gimme a few minutes, and I might be able to enlighten you. What are we doing this weekend? Better ask Hunky. My brain is the one stumbling and muttering to itself, side-stepping the unfinished projects and debris littering what barely passes as our humble abode. Hey… is that a chicken?! OOOooo look; something shiny. Let’s go ride bikes! There’s that chicken again! Did the chicken come first, or the egg? What should we have for supper? I heard that Cheerios lower your cholesterol. Let’s go buy some! Our economy seems to be headed for a recession. I remember chasing Rusty at recess when I was in first grade. Maybe I should get the rust on my Stratus fixed. Then it will be shiny again!

That’s all we have time for today, kids. See you next show; same bad time, same bad station.

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dudes. And chicks. Especially chicks.

Even if it’s just “Hi. Loser. Bye.” you gotta comment. It’s like, the law or something today. ;)

Last night, I dreamed that I was on a band trip and I forgot my flute so I had to borrow somebody’s wooden piccolo. We were in a huge stable. Then there was a dance but my mouth was full of grass and I couldn’t get it all out so I was trying to find a bathroom to barf in. And a gay friend of mine and her partner were at the dance and they brought the newborn baby boy they had just adopted and named Toby. (Which isn’t really a stretch since they are fantastic foster parents to a couple older boys who could be labeled problem children and wouldn’t even have a chance in life if it wasn’t for them.) Then we were all lined up next to an olympic sized pool, not sure why. *whew* That was weird even for me. And now we can add grass to the growing list of crap I can’t get out of my mouth in my dreams.

It is impossible for me to sit down and write one blog entry and hit submit. I’m not the only one, right?! I hit ‘create post’ and that might sit in that tab in firefox percolating all day long while I check email, backup files to dvd, write, listen to a podcast, write, watch a couple episodes of tv on dvd (man, daytime tv sucks buttocks), make a pot of coffee, check job postings, write, play with my pics, let the dog out, get a cup of coffee, write, smoke, write, make a PB&J for lunch, sweep the kitchen floor, check email, write, pick up the kids from school, write, help kids with homework, check email, put a load in the washer, write, read blogs (I’m up to almost 40 that I check with google reader and not one of them can I bear to unsubscribe to), write, get kids ready for bed, write, then hit submit.

I saw a girlfriend last night that I haven’t seen in a while and she lost 72 pounds. And she worked really really hard at it. It is so unfair the way our bodies and metabolism can be so different. I’m 5’5″, 125 pounds, 32D, 27, 36, and I am ashamed to admit, I do not have to work at it. I popped two human beings out the ole escape hatch and the only crappy thing I have to show for it are some bad stretch marks on my thighs. I do not exercise. I eat crap. I smoke. The packaging on my Carman Electra Striptease Workout is unbroken and dusty. I am almost exactly the same measurements as I was on my wedding day. Hate me now, hate me hard. I deserve it. The only difference between me and dedicated, strong-willed, hard-exercisin’, calorie-countin’, daily weigh-in havin’ amazing women is Genes. I’m sorry. I really am. But I’m not trading. I guess the whole point to this… point… was that I know there are phenomenal women who work at it 24/7 and I don’t, and I do appreciate both my genes and how hard you do work at it.

That’s about all my news, if you can call it that. Further updates as events warrant.

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dudes.

Wow, I’ve been SO productive and gotten SO much done. NOT.

My last day in hell, er, at work, was Friday. It wasn’t bad as far as last days go, I guess. We usually are given 30 minute lunches and I took an hour and twenty minutes to have lunch with my almost-ex lead designer. What were they going to do, fire me?!?!

Also, I was reminded twice during the day to remember I needed to pick up the kids at the Boys and Girls Club after work. Guess what I forgot to do? Yes, that’s right, I FORGOT MY CHILDREN. I was talking to my friend on the way home, one of the people that had reminded me to pick up my kids once already. I was jabbering away and she said, “Wait wait, so have you picked up the kids yet?”
Me:
*silence*
*blink*
*pause*
*blink blink*
*insert choice expletive here*
“No, I’m turning around now.”
I am THIS CLOSE to getting my Parent License rescinded. Although I’m pretty sure that I could just get another one from inside a Cracker Jack box. They have some sucky-butt prizes in there nowadays.

Sooooo then I had a three day holiday weekend to get through. No problemo, dude. Friday night, The Girlfriend Brigade came over to grill and drink, not necessarily in that order. Saturday…. something happened, I forget what but I was still in my pajamas in the late afternoon and the grill was again engaged for supper. Sunday, we went to church and then The Hunk and I went over to Sam’s and bought a 50″ Plasma TV. You know, because we were bored or something. Monday, put up the gargantuan by-product of boredom. THIS was quite the production. Several hours and a frightening number of leftover parts later, it was successfully wall mounted and my living room was a battlefield of styrofoam, torn plastic bags that could WARNING choke children and small animals, dust bunnies bigger (and meaner) than my snotty cheerleader bitch cat, and enough new user guides and warranty information to make a tree-hugging hippie dissolve into racking sobs.

So Tuesday was my first day in the real world as an unemployed graphic designer. I had already promised myself that I would completely veg out the first day and do everything I possibly could to do absolutely nothing. So. I watched my new big TV while I cleaned up the living room after installation of said new big TV and then went to Deaf dinner night and chatted for quite awhile. Then Fiona and I composed an email to send about our little informal Friday Night Sign Class for June. Coolio. Then I made my To Do List because Wednesday was going to be A Very Productive Day.
Here was my to do list:
1. Take the kids to school.
2. Apply for unemployment benefits.
3. Out of Strattera. Call to get more.
4. Make the mailing list for my resume so I could mail merge my cover letters.
5. Get my e-portfolio organized to put onto CD-R for inclusion with resume and cover letter.
6. Design the label and CD holder for the e-portfolio.
7. Do two loads of laundry.
8. Call Sprint and get them to let me out of the contract with no penalty by playing the HoH card.
9. Get a SideKick ordered.
7. Read War and Peace.
8. Resolve that pesky world hunger problem.

Here’s what I actually accomplished (and I use that term extremely loosely):
1. Wake up with raging headache from not having taken Strattera for two days. Complete with a side of nausea. Feeling like a zombie is just the bonus plan, baby.
2. At the last minute, The Rockstar announces that he has checked his email and his teacher has said Yes, it would be a great day for him to bring his dog for show and tell (BTW when you’re ten, it’s called “Community Circle” *rolls eyes*)
3. Took the children AND the dog to school.
4. Called to get more Strattera.
5. Spent over an hour with Sprint (via relay). Amazingly, I kind of got what I was after. I wanted to just cancel them period with no penalty. But they let me out of the contract with no penalty for my line, but not The Hunk’s line. Close enough, I suppose. So we’re keeping that for emergencies on the cheapest plan possible ($20/month) until the contract is up. Heck, we can leave it here at the house when we leave the kids here alone (which, since we’re not complete morons, we do not do for more than an hour at a time.)
6. Realized that sure, I could get a sidekick with data only plan and The Hunk could get a sidekick with data and voice so he could text with me and talk with everyone else, but the sidekick is a T-Mobile exclusive and the only voice service they have in our area is, well, permanent ROAMING status. NOT good. Intermittantly bitched about this via IM.
7. Decided to abandon that project for the time being and went downtown to see The Hunk In Action. (At his place of internship, not the bedroom, you sicky. Get your mind out of the gutter. Sheesh.)
8. Picked up the kids from school.
9. Finally gave into the Zombie Syndrome and passed out on the couch in complete and utter exhaustion for an hour.
10. Made dinner.
11. After attaining needed sustenance, went back to the drawing board on the text/cell deal and after much research, have decided to go to Cingular tomorrow and check them out.
12. Applied for unemployment – No.
13. Mailing list – Nope.
14. CD and holder etc – Not even.
15. Laundry – Um, still no.
16. War and Peace – Maybe some other day. Or decade. Whichever comes last.
17. World Hunger – Yes, it sucks, but was not resolved by me today. Maybe tomorrow. We’ll see.
18. Blogged about my remarkable ineffectivity and serious procrastination issues.
19. Made this list have lots more numbers to try to make myself feel just a little better about being a total disappointment in the productivity department.

Tomorrow starts with a clean slate, kids. Thank God.

Rip it Roll it and Punch it, doooood.

I may have finished something for a change! Oh, get up off the floor with your fake fainting ass; you’re really not that funny.

My resume looks super-dee-duper. Oh, just then, I typed a word I have never before typed in my whole life. All-righty-roo. There I go again.

Only 8 more working days as Dead Woman Walking. I fear I might have made a humongargantuoism mistake today. I needed to order envelopes and paper for my resume packet (yes, it’s a packet, I’ll elaborate later) and used that old “My friend needs to know if we can get this kind of paper and how much I’ll… I mean she’ll… have to pay for it, can you find out for me?”
Of course, she looked at me like, “Seriously? Not buying it.”
So I figured rather than have her go around to everybody immediately and wake up Rumors and Office Politics (I put some roofies in their stupid frilly frou-frou fancy-shmancy fruity umbrella drinks and they were out cold in the storage closet for over 48 hours) and get THEM going again, I would do some damage control and I told her ok, she needed to keep it in confidence, but that I had somewhat of a situation going on here at work that I would appreciate if she could keep on the DL. So instead of going immediately around with a megaphone and a taser (for anyone who is not paying her their complete and undivided attention), it might be delayed by about, roughly, 27 seconds. But she did get the calls made to get the envelopes and maybe even for FREE. And it only cost me what little dignity I had left. What a bargain. Dammit, she told you already, didn’t she?! Man, she’s quick.

Ohhhhh, what else is going on in my silly little ADD addled brain? Ah, yes, I did promise to elaborate upon the resume packet.
When a graphic designer is pounding the pavement for a job (and their head on the wall), it’s not enough to send a resume. Ohhhhh, nooooo; there’s the resume and the cover letter and a business card and the cd with examples of your best work and the thank-you postcard for after the interview and if you’re REALLY an over-achiever, a small booklet of examples of your work to leave with the interviewer, and a kick-ass logo to tie the whole damn thing together. Resume? Check. Cover letter? Check. Business card? Check. Kick-ass logo to tie it all together? Check. CD? In progress. Booklet and post card? Non-existent. I’ll see what I can do about showing you the resume later after I black out all identifying information with a sharpie. After all, I have my stalkers to worry about. Oh, and also when The Bossman decides it’s time to share my impending unemployment status with my co-workers, I’m prepared for the inevitable question – “So what are you going to do?”
I’m totally ready.
I’m going to be an undercover graphic design agent for the FBI. Top that.

In our next episode, Dory introduces a cast of characters that star in what could possibly qualify for her life.

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude. Peace.

*unpacking boxes*
*flops down on a stack of bedding*
*pops open a cold one*
It’s Miller Time.

So I’ve moved over here from LiveJournal. I’ll check back in over there periodically, but I live here now, at 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney.

I think the change of scenery will do me well. I’m going to find a lighter voice here. I had quite the teen-angst scene going on over there at LJ, all pseudo-deep and whatnot, and it got to the point where I could barely stand myself. Sorry ’bout that. Gonna try to ease on up on that crap.

For those of you just tuning in, I’m Dory, as dubbed by my hunka-husband when we went to see Finding Nemo in the theater. Dory, the little blue tang fish, came on the screen and The Hunk started laughing… nay, giggling, and said, “It’s you, honey, it’s you! You’re up there on the screen!” And Dory stuck. Within a week, my friends were calling me Dory. Ah, the joys of ADD. You probably couldn’t even begin to believe what The Hunk puts up with, God love him. ADD with a Generous Dollop o’ Crazy, every… single… day.

In other news… I’m fired. I was actually fired not last Friday, but the Friday before. The Boss says that he has never felt so bad about having to let someone go, (of course at the time, my brain was screaming “THEN DON’T, YOU EVIL GARDEN GNOME!”) and that he wanted to give me up to four weeks to find another job AND my parting gift was… a letter of recommendation! Thanks for playing our game! *audience OOOs* So… consequently I feel like Dead Woman Walking. I don’t think any of my co-workers knows, but you know how Rumors and Office politics get along. Like a teeny-bopper and her shiny sequined, hot pink fruffy frou frou trimmed, lime green purse. Except in this case, Rumors and Office Politics are headed off to the 2 day sale at Younkers, MasterCard firmly in hand, their need-to-be-punched pointy little noses high in the air and their beady little eyes darting around trying to figure out how to look down at me whilst aforementioned noses are so high in the air, they are in danger of bleeding. Rumors and Office Politics are absolutely ecstatic that their nefarious plan to remove me from their presence was successful. They’re already deciding who gets custody of the stapler and the pencil sharpener (Rumors gets the stapler and Office Politics gets the pencil sharpener, except Wednesdays and every other weekend, and holidays; in which case they switch). I never blogged about work before because I heard a bunch of horror stories about getting fired because of your blog. Now I’m blogging about getting fired. Huh. Imagine that. Tonight I’ve been actively avoiding working on my resume. Let’s check in and see how I’ve done.

Things I’ve Done Instead Of Working On My Resume:

1. Erased all the old text messages off my phone
2. Checked email
3. Watched people coming and going on my IM list
4. Looked up the correct spelling for “wallaby”
5. Watched a couple episodes of Sex in the City
6. Read each and all the blogs I follow
7. Started a new blog while watching Finding Nemo for inspiration (bonus points for multi-tasking!)
8. Tried to figure out if there was a way to rob the Aquarium Screensaver from the Finding Nemo DVD
9. After much diligent research and some cussing, decided there wasn’t – Yet
10. Made tacos for dinner
11. Talked to The Elli Dog regarding my displeasure with her violating the cat (more about the little white tornado that is my undying pride and joy later. And on a side note, damn, I hope she comes out of heat soon.)
12. Reminisced on the final I took today and again tried to remember more signs that are made with the B handshape (he asked for 7; for the life of me I could only think of 5, and that was reaching. On my tippy-toes with my hamstrings screaming for mercy.)
13. Overseen the Leaf Cleanup Detail in the backyard (the boys apparently can’t get a job done without me standing on the deck micro-managing.)
14. Smoking while overseeing the Leaf Cleanup Detail in the backyard (Yes, now I’m reaching to make my list longer.)

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude.