Lack of Posts

You may have noticed that I haven't been posting on here that much in the last week. Well, at least one of you has noticed and harassed me about it on Facebook. If you like the blog, then you shoulda put a ring on it.

In any event, I haven't been posting because I've been "busy" doing "other "paying" jobs. Not that this blog hasn't made me rich as a Nazi with people wildly clicking on all the Google AdSense JDate ads on the side. Also, I haven't been feeling that inspired or hilarious lately, so I got paranoid that I was falling into a depression, which made me even more paranoid because I don't have health insurance to get the medication to treat the drepression, and then I got annoyed because not that I have the option to do so, but I didn't want to have to go back on Lexapro I basically spent 8 months weaning myself off of it according to the plan prescribed to me by myself which involved taking the 15 10 milligram pills I had left since I quit my job in May, breaking them in half to 5 milligram pills, taking one of those every several days until I felt I was less depressed than 5 milligrams, and then taking a kitchen knife and chopping them up to 2.5 milligrams, and so on and so forth until I was literally eating the Lexapro dust out of the bottle like it was Fun Dip and I was in 5th grade.

I FINALLY settled the matter today by purchasing another bottle of Nordic Naturals Fish Oil, which I've taken before and highly recommend for its psychosomatic effects, which I had put off buying because it costs $12.99 and some of don't have that kind of cash just lying around.

Amazing Diagnosis

Did I mention my exxxtreme beauty

Among the MANY fans I have reading this blog is my sister Jenna's shrink, Dave. I've never met Dave, but I'm sure he's a decent guy, a decent shrink and my sister seems to like him so he's ok by him. Well, apparently Jenna recommended that Dave read my blog and after a thorough, professional and medical evaluation of my writing, Dave has concluded that I have Narcissistic Personality Disorder. This is glorious news. Below, I cut and paste the DSM-IV-TR criteria for NPD:

"A pervasive pattern of grandiosity (in fantasy or behavior), need for admiration, and lack of empathy, beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by five (or more) of the following:

1. has a grandiose sense of self-importance - CHECK
   
2. is preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love - UM, YES PLEASE
   
3. believes that he or she is "special" and unique- HAVE YOU MET ME
   
4. requires excessive admiration - CORRECT
   
5. has a sense of entitlement - ACCURATE
   
6. is interpersonally exploitative - MAYBE, WILL HAVE TO CONSULT 8-BALL
   
7. lacks empathy - INACCURATE, CRIED AT WALL-E
   
8. is often envious of others or believes others are envious of him or her- 100%
   
9. shows arrogant, haughty behaviors or attitudes" - 100%

At first when Jenna told me this, I was actually really insulted. But the more I read the diagnostic criteria, the more I realized that it is actually the most shamazing "disorder" known to mankind and the greatest diagnosis ever. I think the bottom line here is that diagnosis was invented by people who were jealous of better looking, more amazing people and in order to contain their jealousy they had to label generally superior people as having a mental illness.Um, who WOULDN'T want to be preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited power, riches and ideal love. Who WOULDN'T want to go around thinking that people are envious of them. If this is what illness is like I actually plan to never get better.

How's My Driving?

The other day I was on the phone with Megan and she asked me how my program of weaning off Lexapro, prescribed by Dr. Marin Robespierre based on information gathered on Yahoo message boards, was going. I told her it was going great - I was carving up my pills into 7 milligrams and only had slight dizziness and some headaches but otherwise it was full speed ahead toward the ultimate goal of getting off medication and resuming my normal debilitating depression.

Megan then asked me if I defined "going great" as meaning spending $190 on a black floppy hat, $167 on silver pointy toe shoes, $298 on a sextacular khaki dress with a blue sash for a life I don't lead and that is legitimately appropriate for no occasion, getting a manicure and pedicure, a $54 waxxxing, opening up a new credit card, bidding on 3 items on Ebay, buying a deck of tarot cards, threatening to get another dog, threatening to throw a sprinkler party in a public park, baking brownies, eating one and then throwing the rest out and crying uncontrollably during Wall-E and having to leave the theater early, and I confirmed that I did.

Where Am I Supposed to Send Things

One of the many things that I neglected to consider prior to giving notice at my job was where in the hell I will now get my packages sent. When I quit my job, my co-workers were like, "How are you going to have money to live?" because they were obviously unaware of my VERY large ING nest egg, so I told them that I planned to live off the fat of the land and subsistence farm and can fruit for the long winter ahead.

And frankly who cares about food - the real problem here is the following: a) I will no longer have a confirmed shipping address on ebay so I will no longer be able to buy shoes so I'll have to wear the ones I already have which is unacceptable, b) I will no longer be able to buy clothes online so I'll have to wear the horrible rags that are already in my closet which is unacceptable, c) I will not be able to order things from Amazon so I won't be able to read books for the next few months and my sharp wit, vocabulary and cocktail party knowledge will go into decline and my charm and womanly wiles will diminish, d) I will no longer be able to order all my medication 3 months at a time in advance so when I finish up this vial of Lexapro and can't get anymore there may or may not be a disaster, and e) I will no longer be able to put items in my shopping cart on various sites and then email people my "wish list" and tell them that I wish they'd be a good friend for once and buy it for me or else. I mean, this isn't a COMPLETE disaster because it's not like I'm getting deliveries of ProActiv every 8 weeks in order to keep my pizza face at bay, but still.

The Infallibility of My Taste

General shoe collection, circa 2006 and today's luxxxurious acquisition

Let's get one thing straight. I may have some debateable clothes, my jeans my look spray painted on, my fashion sense (blazers and wifebeaters) may be two years ago because I refuse to wear "tunics" and "leggings" and voluminous shirts that make me look pregnant AND homeless, but there is one thing I ALWAYS get right and that is shoes. My friend Emily who also happens to be a fashion guru admits she is jealous of my shoe collection and this is conclusive proof of what I always suspected - that I have a rare and precious gift for select shamazing shoes and that every pair I buy is an instant masterpiece.

I actually cannot describe how much I love shoes, but on a scale of 1 to 10 with 1 being I hate shoes and 10 being I literally sit at my comptuer at night drooling over Louboutins and wondering if it's normal that my heart beats faster when I look at shoes or if it means I'm sexually attracted to them, I am a 11.5. I have about 60 pairs, which may not be"alot" but each pair is so disgustingly gorgeous and expen$$$ive because it's not like I roll up to Payless and buy Dolce & Fontana or Mucci, I am buying the REAL SHIT on Ebay. Maybe the reason I like shoes so much is because you can never look fat in them (except for bunions, but I'm aware of that problem and am dealing with it accordingly) and everyone feels compelled to compliment them when you're wearing a hottt pair.

Anyway, so I woke up today and I was overwhelmed by the urge to buy repulsively beautiful shoes to add to my beautiferous collection so I went to Century 21 during lunch and bought a pair. People ask my when I have so many pairs of shoes but nothing to wear ever and it's because I am certain that if I build my shoe collection pair by pair, one day I will grow increasingly happy until the day my happiness is out of control and I achieve nirvana and am able to wean myself off of Lexapro.

Sometimes You Want To Go Where Everybody Knows Your Name

The best thing to happen to me in the past two years besides Doodlehead's birth and my subsequent acquisition of him is that my ex-shrink Dr. Laikin identified my daily uncontrollable crying for no reason as "depression" and put me on Lexapro. Now, whenever I'm feeling sad about something like some bullshit at work or a guy who was once on Broadway like ten years ago and is now an out of work actor not calling me back, I take an extra 5 milligrams of Lexapro, wait 15 minutes for the psychosomatic effects to take effect and then I'm right as rain and back to thinking I'm one of the top 5 people who has ever roamed this earth.

The only problem with the Lexapro is the prescription pick-up situation. Usually I go to a Duane Reade before or after work where there is a large crowd at the pharmacy counter in order to my maximize my humiliation, give them my name, and then, rigorously adhereing to the HIPAA medical privacy act, the pharmacist picks up my bag and says "Feldman - Lexapro 10 milligrams?" and I answer as excited as possible, "Yup, that's me!" in order to fake out my fellow customers so they never suspect that I go home every night and read online horoscopes and ask Perry for kisses or I trick them into thinking I'm picking up the prescription for a depressed family member. I was discussing this with my sister Jenna who said that if I thought that picking up depression medication in front of sexxxy wall street men was bad, the last time she went to pick up her load of psychiatric medication at the large pharmacy servicing the entire U. of Penn community, the pharmacist said "Hi, Jenna," gave her her sack of medication, and said "See you next week." HAHAHHAHAHAHAHHHHA

In unrelated news, I think the paralegal who moved onto my floor is the bad guy from Kindergarten Cop.