Wellbutrin Aggression

A few months, weeks, months, something ago, Mr. Buffie was chirping in my lobes that I'm emotional and bitchy even though I practically walk around with a Cymbalta drip.

Two, maybe three visits ago, I told the shrink he was on my case and she was like, fuck all, you don't seem as bad as you have been. Her mouth didn't say 'fuck all' but her eyes did. Cymbalta is a tricky med and she needed time to research a cocktail companion for it that wouldn't side-effect me into zombification or kill me with serotonin syndrome.

Welcome to Wellbutrin.

First few weeks, eh, don't really notice much. A bit more energy maybe. Definitely more manic, which I seriously don't like. But something new has cropped up. Wellbutrin aggression.

If all my family and friends were to make lists of the top 100 most aggressive people they knew, I don't think I'd make it onto a single person's list. That probably isn't the case so much these days.

I've always been a snot. Maybe even a brat. I'm an only child. That's what we do. It's who we are. What are parents going to do if there are no other kids around whose needs must be met? We onlys can hardly be blamed for it if we got all the things, all the attention, all the time.

Now if you're feeling sorry for Mr. Buffie, fucking stop it.

He knew immediately that I am a princess. How? I told him. I'm a princess. Oh, you want to date me? Well, jump through these flaming hoops first, prove you are employed, housed, vehicular'd and worthy, then I'll discuss it with my parents and consider it.

Snotty? Yes. Aggressive? Not even. More like matter-of-fact, simple, silly.

Lately though. Tonight for example, on the way home from some local Italian place that isn't going to last until Halloween, he told me that dad is thinking of upgrading his still practically new Mercedes. RAGE! I saw red. I actually screamed. Mr. B knew WHY I was mad but he couldn't figure out how I arrived at /that much/ mad.  (Daddy and I are close but our relationship, especially when it comes to money, is complicated.)

Next time I see my dad, he better hope he's not in anything newer than 2010 or made in Germany or I am going to beat him with a tire iron and take away his wallet.

And there's a dickhead in our neighborhood who has been severely butthurt for the past six months about the retiree across the road who parks his POS Suburban in the street because there's not enough room for it in his driveway between his boat trailer and his wife's little econocrap. And their garage is too full of old people crap for the boat trailer or the wife's car to fit in there.

What does dickhead do? He or she hoooonks every time they drive by. Morning, noon and night. It's a blue Ford Explorer. They drove by at 9:47 tonight.

You, whoever you are reading my shitty blog, anyway you know I have fibromyalgia which means I don't sleep well. And the retiree is a nice man who likes to go fishing at 4 a.m. but otherwise, he keeps to himself, doesn't hurt anyone. Next door to us is a quiet, young family with a special-needs toddler in addition to a baby. Across the street is a woman recovering from a heart attack. Across the corner street is an older, single woman who keeps her house and lawn perfect and doesn't bother a soul.

So Honking Dickhead is irritating all of us with this BULLSHIT because they have to move a few feet into the other lane to go around 4 a.m. Fisherman's Suburban?! IS IT REALLY THAT MUCH OF A PROBLEM, DICKHEAD? I don't think Fisherman is getting your point, either. Because you've been doing this for a long time now and let me look out the window... Hey, there's a big white Suburban right there, legally parked in the street. Current tags, operational, fully inflated tires and all.

Wellbutrin has had enough of the honking. Wellbutrin doesn't want them to honk anymore. Wellbutrin is just about to set up camp in the driveway and shoot out their motherfucking tires if I hear one more honk within 15 miles of this whole damn town. The scope on my .22 rifle is ridiculously accurate and the high-capacity magazine will give me more than enough opportunity to perforate that mostly-plastic SUV and if tires don't send the honker a message, maybe shooting out the glass will? Maybe I'll make myself a set of stop-sticks with some gutter nails and a nice piece of wood, painted black so they don't see it at 9:47 in the p.m.

Wellbutrin aggression is just getting warmed up. My middle finger has never been so busy. Shitty drivers, you are all STILL on blast, btw. After the uninsured wonder twins made short work of Sir Hiss and my truck last fall, I remain convinced Mr. Buffie and I are the only people in Kansas City with insured vehicles. I operate my car under the assumption that no one else on the road has it. If someone so much as sneezes near Ramon, Imma be on the evening news. "Crazed suburban fat woman was jailed today after using a very large purse to beat a man..."

Those are a few examples. I feel like I should try to sleep but frankly, I'm still kind of pissed off about the Italian restaurant (I told him it was a bad idea) and my dad's pending NEEDLESS vehicle upgrade and the honking, and the people whose driving was so terrible, I was a legit 10 minutes late to work this morning, my brain is a soup of irritability, I can't even...

If you're the honking asshole in the blue Ford Explorer, I joke about shooting at your car. As a responsible gun owner, I will only shoot at you if you try to break into my house or try to steal my purse or threaten me/my family/my cats physically in some way. HOWEVER, your days of disturbing my peace are numbered. I haven't decided yet how to deal with you (law enforcement in these burbs is a joke, it's all about grabbing cash, not protecting nor serving) but when I do, let's hope for your sake I'm off the Wellbutrin.

Shit is dangerously close to getting real, f'real. I've been depressed before. I've been manic before. I've been angry before. But typically not all at the same time, not for such long periods and never at this level of intensity.

Wits end... That's where Wellbutrin Aggression lives. And I'm there.

The answer is: Mr. Buffie.

The question is: Who is the secret love-child of Jessica Simpson and Adam from Mythbusters?

But how is this possible you ask?  I'm not sure but I think it might have involved a black hole and an alternate universe.  Let that soak in for a moment...


Mr. Buffie has just discovered that Apple upgraded their earbuds.  He's listening to them on my iPhone, which is identical (except for color) to HIS iPhone.

And he's asking me if it has EQ and I'm like, I dunno, look under settings.  (He's listening to music on my Pandora app.)  So he pokes at the phone, then shows me the screen, which is my social media app folder and he says, "Where?"  "SETTINGS, on the Home screen.  Press the Home button."  He pokes at my phone a few more times.  "The HOME BUTTON!"  He looks at me, still confused.  "THE ONLY BUTTON ON THE @#$%^&*&^%$#@ PHONE!!!"  He /STILL/ didn't figure it out.

Three different wrong choices later he FINALLY, F I N A L L Y figures it out.
Then just now, he goes all Jessica Simpson on me and asks, "Are you listening to Pandora?  Is this Pandora that you have on here?"  Uhm, it says PANDORA right across the top of the app.  Is this chicken, what I have or is it fish?

But he can build a tool to repair an engineering flaw in the pulley system then repair the electric seat adjustment module in Sir Hiss in less than an hour, then change the rear brakes and fix a leaky seal on the truck and manage to have time to work my last nerve, watch endless car shows, read endless magazines and produce an hour-long news broadcast every day.

Oh wait, there's more!  He was giving ME shit a couple weeks ago for not having my email sync'd on my phone.  Because his AMERICA ONLINE EMAIL (nice one, gramps) is sync'd with HIS iPhone, so my face.  As if.  He used to carry a flip-phone with an actual rusty nail haphazardly epoxied into the antenna hole and it also had tape on it and damn, that thing is was busted. as. hell.  He didn't even have a mobile phone when we met.  I had a mobile phone AND a pager.  Yeah buddy.

Anyway, this man who lives in my house and makes loud, grouchy noises is equal parts absolute brilliant wizard and completely drooling moron and not much in between.  It's like evolution didn't happen in some parts of his genetic history.  There's still too much caveman in him or something.  And part alien.  Weirdo.

Hi.  I'm Mrs. Weirdo.

If it's a party, I'm there!

Except for political ones.  I'm a registered Independent and I think in the state of Missouri, that means I can't participate in primary elections.

But it doesn't matter because since I've been old enough to vote, I've only had choices between shitty and shittier.  Cynical but true.  Unless Gary Johnson runs in 2016, and then I am totez voting for him unless he picks a real fuckhead for veep.

Not yet have I known an individual in elected office who truly represented ME or wasn't ate up with fraud and stupid.

For the most part, I lean left.  I think a healthy society takes care of its members.  I want to be a member of a functioning, mostly peaceful, prospering group of people.  Don't you?

But...

There are some ways in which I'm 'on the right' and forever will be.  And I know it pisses off some of you but let me explain.

I saw this meme today.  What it says exactly isn't important but it shared some stats on 'unjustified homicides' and compared them to voter fraud.


I will say that recent headlines and general kerfuffle over 'voter fraud' (according to my own research, mind you, but if you're reading this, then you've got internet access same as me...) is a myth and there have not been, in my own searching, any significant events of voter fraud in decades.  Like... decades.  I'm no scientist but I can read.

However, there was a word in the meme that bothered me a bit.  "Unjustified homicides."  If it is indeed justified, it is self-defense, not homicide.  Just sayin'.  There's no such thing as 'justified homicide.'  Murder is murder and how do you define murder?  Killing someone who is not threatening your own life and/or killing someone with premeditated intent.  I think the latin term is mens rea.  Look it up if you don't know it.  You've got the extra three minutes if you're reading the crap I write.

And yes, I openly support the Second Amendment but I do agree there should be a screening process prior to ownership, however I don't know how I'd create an effective one.  But the impossibility of preventing every homicide is the problem.  Not the amendment itself.
(Thanks, law enforcement dad...  LoLz)

Most importantly I more than strongly encourage RESPONSIBLE ownership and feel that irresponsible acts, if caught and convicted, should be cause to remove one's 'right' to own a firearm.

Education in general needs to be required for the ability to own and operate certain, potentially dangerous things in addition to continued demonstration of safe use.  Removal from the legal public market will NOT eliminate guns.  (Need proof?  See history.  Google 'prohibition' and let me know how that worked out for liquor.)

Will a stricter screening process, pre-owership education and continuing education "prevent" all tragic deaths related to shooting?  No way.  Not even if everyone were perfect.  Humans will /always/ make mistakes.  Again, see history.  Google 'perfect human.'  Let me know how many examples you find.  Don't bother bringing up Jesus.  I'm talking about science, not religion.

And, in conclusion, may I please remind you that it does NOT say R.S.V.P on the Statue of Liberty!

Guest Blogger: Glambo Angelala shares her thoughts but not her cosmetics money

Hello.  I am Angela, friend to Buffie and 2 other people.  Buffie and I had a conversation about something very important and came to the conclusion that we are geniuses and people should listen to us.  I said nobody listens to us because we don't blog.  She was taking a very long break from her blog and I've never blogged about anything in my life.  This seemed to stir her blog juices because she blogged that very night.  Granted, she was not sober but she assures me it's best to blog when you're drunk. 

I confess!  I have a boyfriend.  He IS stupid but he’s the good kind of stupid.  That’s all I’m going to say about him.

Also, his name is whatever Buffie wants it to be.  He has me French pressing my coffee AT HOME!  See what I mean?!  Stupid!  He DID furnish me with a bean grinder, a French Press and a kettle so at least I didn't invest any of my cosmetics money.  That’s REALLY all I’m going to say on the matter.

I want to share some things about Buffie because reading her blog doesn’t give you a full appreciation of the excellence that you’re dealing with here.

She is not lying when she writes in her blog that her self-esteem is high, as it should be.  One way to tell if a woman has low self-esteem is by watching her interact with other women.  Women with low self-esteem will immediately begin finding ways to make the women around them feel ugly or inadequate.  Buffie does exactly the opposite.  She tries to make everyone around her look and feel beautiful.  You never have to worry that she’ll allow you to leave the house for a night out looking less than stunning.  She would never criticize or even look at you funny if you were a mess but if you ask her to, she’ll make you look like a fashion model in 15 seconds time.  You also never have to worry about putting on makeup or doing your hair if you don’t want to because she’ll make you FEEL beautiful even if you look like ass.  She is a firm believer in accepting people the way that they are and loving them for it anyway.

Buffie also nurtures one through the booze flu and doesn’t even try to make one feel bad for puking a streak down her truck.  She simply takes that opportunity to invent practical tools like the Hoark Tube®™ over breakfast the next morning with Mr. Buffie.

Buffie makes you feel sparkly even when you’re not.  She sees the beauty in everyone until their UGLY gets so big, she can no longer ignore it.  She is an amazing friend but a fierce enemy.  I’ve seen her track bitches down after they had spent years tormenting her anonymously for no good reason other than they’re evil.  She didn’t do anything to them except remove their cloak of anonymity and make their UGLY public.  That was enough.

Pro Procastinator’s Tips:

Sometimes when I’m sitting around and thinking of excuses to not take care of the 500 things that need done around my house, I will suddenly yell “ACTION!”  Sometimes this works because I can convince myself that in this movie, I'm playing a productive go-getter.  This motivates me to act like a much better person than I am. 

I also will coax myself off my ass with a British accent, “Sweetie darling, please get up and go and make some tea.”  This helps me to get up and make tea.

Fun fact:

I'm so weak that I haven't been able to open a jar of pickles bare-handed in 3 years.

Peace! 

My friend's not-boyfriend is so stupid.

He is. This guy, Steve, he is stupid as heck! And Regina Angelala Phlange knows Frank is a dimwit. And she lets Scott kiss her anyway!!!

It's a travesty. 

Tell Jeff hi, btw. 

In other news, Misse told me about some great YouTube girlie vloggers you should follow like Jenna Marbles and grav3yardgirl. And it was funny because I already do watch them. We think so much alike but we are also totally different yet everyone is constantly asking if we are sisters. 

If there's such a thing as a past life, I'm sure we spent time in a womb together.

Mr. Buffie has been dragging me out of the house kicking and screaming lately. He doesn't understand I just want to let my damn ankle heal instead of prolonging the agony of a cast and a 'walking boot.' Psht. Walking. No. More like enormous gimp shoe. Whatever, I just don't know if I can tolerate another 6 weeks. 

The parking flap was just that, flap. I don't know who started it and I don't care. For the zillionth time I am just begging those of you who are not my friends, leave me alone. I don't do anything but what I am supposed to. Just. Leave. Me. Alone. It's the simplest thing I could possibly ask. Truly. Time is precious. Don't waste it. 

My cats still think they won the cat lottery since I can't (I'm not supposed to anyway but come ON, life can't stop happening.) walk. There's constantly a warm, immobile fluffy hoomin at their disposal. Luckiest cats. They have no idea. 

So that's 2014 so far. Second verse, same as the first. 

Did 'Merican "Top Gear" get cancelled yet?

Alrighty then. What are you going to be when you grow up?

This is why I'm fat.

My parents took exotic cooking classes as a hobby, so we ate all around the world from quiet, unassuming Oklahoma City.  My mum is a wizard.  So are all her sisters and their daughters and their granddaughters.  But guess who was skipped by that particular gene?  Yep.  Me.  Oh the irony.  The painful irony to have this sophisticated but sensitive palate yet lack the ability make nom magic like Mum.  It does explain, in part, my physical state though.  That state being big.

Therefore, I like being in the kitchen but it's for eating, not cooking.

Let's talk about fluff for a sec, because, y'know, it's what people talk about.  Trust me, Cosmo and Glamour obsess about size way more than I do but it is a favorite topic.  And for me it's as much positive as it is negative for Cosmo and Glamour.  And that's why their editor's opinions will never, ever matter.  The diet industry is a biggun, speaking of girth.  That's a bunch of ad dollars, so you can't 100% blame them for it but in a way, you can.

Negative attitudes and opinions never matter because most of the time, people just act like they hate something in an attempt to make you feel bad for liking it.  Don't think that's true?  I just defined passive aggression, which is the third most common element in the universe behind hydrogen and stupidity.

Back to weight.  Recently, I attended a gathering where multiple members of the same family were present.  Perhaps multiple is too conservative.  More like upwards of 20 or 30 people who all shared DNA.

Something I noticed...  Among the members who were big, and most were bigger than 'average' by height and width, the fat ones were all fat in the exact same way.  Every single member carried their weight in the same place on the body.  All of them, the same shape, just different sizes or slight variations.  Tell me again that part about how the way your body looks is always a choice?  It's a choice for some but not all, maybe not even most.

Now this isn't nanotechnology or some great science at work.  I'm not claiming it to be anything more than an insomniac babbling online because the musical group on Conan tonight was a bust.

But seeing that whole family reminded me of my family and Mum and her sisters, and their daughters and granddaughters.  We're all some level of fat and again, with the exception of me, healthy like oxen.  Anyone who expects people of ginger origin to be sickly never met my mother's relatives.  They live hard and they live long.  By live hard, I do mean they don't sit still for long.  OCD and ADHD may have be introduced to the gene pool by my ancestors.  Buuut, some of them have also smoked and drank, practically out of the womb, they're still smoking and drinking and knocking on the door of triple-digit birthdays.

If you think body shape isn't as much genetic as eye color or cancer, that's alright.  But if you think that gives you validation for treating big people like shit, you're dead wrong.

You can still hate me for it.  That's your problem, not mine.  If you would like for me to attempt to change your mind, prove to me first that it's worth my time and energy.  We can iron out details in private.  =^_^=

My study of shit attitudes is the same as my study on how fat happens.  Observing people, except with attitude, it's about the way they act in different kinds of situations, the way they are susceptible to influence.

You might have a shit attitude if:
You hate more things than you like,
You hate trying anything new,
If you do try something new, you hate what you tried,
You hate it when people like something you hate,
You hate when people like something you don't hate so you hate on whatever they like,
You hate it when people are happy and you don't feel like they have earned nor deserve it,
You hate it when people are happy, even if you do think they deserve it,
You rarely think anyone deserves to be happy or successful,
You hate anyone in a better station in life than you because you think you've earned and deserve to be on top,
You think you're owed something from the rest of us because you manage to tolerate everyone else despite hating them,
You're a selfish, rude, oblivious fuckhead.

Now do you see why shit attitude opinions don't matter?  Because the only thing haters do is hate.  They maybe aren't thoroughly one-dimensional, but not far from it.  And they hate everything, so hating you or something about you is inevitable, unstoppable and affects you only if you let it.

That's what I've learned.  And this is why I'm fat.

UD SuperSaturated Dupe - Milani Lip Flash... And it's A DOLLAR.

I had been coveting the Urban Decay Super-Saturated High Gloss Lip Color pencils for almost a year.  A few months ago, I had an Ulta coupon so I bought one.  FELL IN LOVE.

But  they're $19.  And as many of you know, I am a bitch on a budget.

Well, my long-time BFF Misse gave me an inside tip on, of all places, The Dollar Tree.

Last Saturday night, we took a chance and went to the 40 Hwy/Noland Rd location in Independence, Mo., and went kind of late at night.

The staff was nice and the place was huge, and also practically empty, which is how I like my shopping.

Misse led me to the cosmetics.  What we were initially looking for, I forget.  But I saw the Milani Lip Flash pencils for $1 each.  What's 4 bucks?  I took a chance on four of them.  NO REGRETS.  These are excellent dupes of the Urban Decay and $18 cheaper!

My CVS also carries the Milani brand so you can probably score even more colors but maybe not for a dollar.

The Milani Lip Flash pencils are as pigmented and creamy as the Urban Decay.  They're likewise long-lasting and as a bonus, they don't have as sticky a texture as the UD pencils.

I definitely recommend these dupes if you are as enamored as I am by the original from UD.  Brilliant find!

Thanks to Misse for never failing to lead me to the buried treasure!
XoXoXo,
Buffie