Mandajuice

Welcome to The Thunderdome (or how the Hitachi Magic Wand saved my sex life)

The Effexor continues to be my happy drug of choice. The change was pretty immediate and aside from some very occasional nausea and headachey business that only ever happens when I forget to take my medication on time or forget to take it with food, I feel like it's been helping a lot. My anxiety is still there, but it's somehow more manageable and I feel like the longer I'm on the drug, the better it's going to work on that piece of my brain.

Mostly, though, I just feel mellow.

It's actually the reason I haven't felt much like writing - I'm fine all of a sudden. Happy. Not crazy-non-stop-action-social-butterfly-MANIC happy, but plain old I-can-finally-be-alone-for-more-than-an-hour-without-freaking-out HAPPY. Within days Joel was already remarking that I was less "edgy*" and even my therapist noticed right away that I seemed gentler than usual. But it was my BFF, Sara, who nailed it when she came over on Monday after we hadn't seen each other for a week. She said, "If I didn't know you so well, I'd think you just smoked a fatty."

The best part is now that I'm sleeping through the night again (Effexor is a bit of an upper, which can make it hard to sleep), my energy level is back to normal. Not MANIC, like I sometimes get, but normal. I feel like me again**. If anything, I'm beginning to worry that I'm TOO normal. Maybe I'll miss all those highs and lows? I get a lot of shit done when I'm manic!

Of course, since I know you're all DESPERATELY concerned about my vagina, I'm not gonna lie: the sexual side effects have been a bit of a problem. My libido has changed. Don't get me wrong, I still WANT to have sex every day, I just don't NEED to. I sometimes fall asleep with my back snuggled up against Joel, having completely FORGOTTEN to come on to him.

I KNOW, RIGHT?!

It turns out this is a good thing, actually, because my libido was always a bit of a pain in the ass for both of us. Having sex because you WANT to - not just because you become a stark raving bitch without it - is actually pretty nice. There's no pressure. No expectations. No disappointment for either of us. And best of all -- no stark raving bitch!

Unfortunately, I am loathe to report that it has taken me nearly two weeks to re-locate my clitoris. It pretty much disappeared there for a while, which was no fun for anyone. I would get SO CLOSE! And despite giving it the old college try time after time, I would just stay there surfing the edge, but never quite getting off. Finally, about a week ago, after days with literally ZERO alone time, Joel suggested we go to bed and just read for a while (a common theme here considering we ran out of heating oil two weeks ago and our bedroom is the warmest room in the house).

"Actually, honey?" I cringed. "I think I need some ME time. IfyouknowwhatImean." I wanted to see if my orgasm was broken and clearly it was something I needed to figure out on my own.

"Take your time," he answered with a ridiculous grin on his face.

Fortunately, it turned out I was the right man for the job. 45 minutes later (FORTY-FIVE MINUTES, PEOPLE!!!), I texted him: "Come to bed. Project O was a success."

We made love like lunatics that night and the next time I got paid, I went straight out and bought myself my new best friend:

The Hitachi Magic Wand is a bit of a legend. I'd actually been avoiding this purchase for months, especially after hearing so many stories of women who can't get off without them. (No one hears better sex stories than a professional Brazilian waxer!) It's a "back massager" that basically has two settings: Clinical Hysteria (LOW) and You'll Never Walk Again (HIGH). The first time I used it, I went off like an egg timer in under three minutes. It isn't ALWAYS that easy for me (it seems to depend on the time of day, how long since I took my medication, etc.), but even if I don't get off, the Hitachi makes me FEEL like I did. I've had to turn it off several times already just so my decibel level won't wake up the children.

It's THAT good.

(And no, no one paid me to say that. This is not an endorsed post. I only wish!)

So the Effexor isn't PERFECT, but with the help of my new best friend "The Thunderdome," I'm making it work. Tomorrow starts my first PMDD week after changing from Zoloft and I can already tell I'm going to be fine. I'm far too mellow to become that insane angry person again.

But I promise to keep you posted.

* "Edgy" being my man's polite way of saying I suddenly stopped acting like a bitch.

** "Me" meaning I clearly haven't lost my ability to overshare!

Every day is Valentine's Day (well, except for the Beef Wellington)

Joel and I celebrated Valentine's Day on Sunday night. I made dinner. He lit the fire and picked both the wine and the Al Green channel on Pandora.

My Beef Wellington turned out perfectly rare and after we ate and drank until we couldn't eat or drink any more, we sprawled ourselves on the couch and just sat there enjoying the music together. There was no fascinating conversation or frisky sexual antics. It was just two people quietly enjoying their affection for one another. I think the word I'm looking for is: EASY. At one point I went out of my way to put a bookmark in my brain so I could remember the moment forever. It was that good.

We both fell asleep on the couch and didn't even end up making out until the next morning and it was still the most romantic Valentine's Day I've ever had.

It reminded me of when I used to lay in bed unable to sleep and I would try to distract myself by imagining that a dark, handsome stranger would sweep me off my feet and we'd have a perfect life together: perfect children, perfect kisses, a house big enough for us to all spread out in, work I love, plenty of writing to be done, etc.

It was a fairy tale, obviously borne from the two years I spent on the couch reading nothing but romance novels. But here I am years later and my fairy tale has come true because the only thing perfect about my life is that absolutely nothing is perfect.

It's everything I never knew I wanted.

Tonight I'm making heart-shaped pizzas for the kids and a strawberry bundt cake for dessert and then I'm rushing off to work and leaving Joel to tuck in the kids. If this ain't love, I don't know what is.

Ignite this!

Thursday night we went to Ignite Portland. If you haven't attended an Ignite event, you really should, and not ONLY because they're free. Thursday I learned that acceptable Ignite topics include slugs, cats, robots, cat-feeding robots, airports, yo-yo's, being radical (which is different than just being rad), taking a walk outside to boost your productivity and why being cute is so damn important. Topics not included: vaginas. (My proposal on Brazilian waxing was rejected...) (Wrong crowd, I suspect.)

I sat there the whole time utterly WRACKED with anxiety. Maybe it was because I think instead of talking about vaginas at the next Ignite, I'll pitch them a talk about how the Internet saved my life. The idea of telling that story is terrifying to me and I can't even get through it without doing the ugly cry, but I think that's my real story. Whatever the cause, I felt like I was suffocating. It was awful. Inexplicable. Just... there. And totally annoying. It's also been par for the course since I've been on Zoloft. I couldn't wait to stop taking it, actually, so I was grateful I'd saved up enough tips to buy my Effexor and that I was able to take it before bed last night and again this morning.

At first it made me super nauseated like I was car sick. Which was exactly how I felt when I first started Zoloft. But this time the yuckiness wore off within an hour and then I just felt... great. Productive instead of exhausted. I wrote myself a to do list and actually got through a bunch of it:

I made a big dent in my tax return.

I baked foccacia from scratch.

I made a double-batch of semolina pasta and hand rolled some fun shapes out of it.

I roasted a bunch of sweet baby peppers and then pureed them with garlic for the pasta sauce.

I wrote a blog post.

I finally took off my cracked red nail polish.

I folded a load of laundry and organized all our mismatched socks.

Oh! And since our washing machine won't agitate anymore, I did a load of wash by hand. I just let the washing machine fill up and then I did all the agitating and wringing myself, which left me feeling like some kind of freaky Amish fraud when I put it all in the dryer.

The strange thing is that my anxiety, while still present, is already WAY better. I can't explain it. It doesn't make any sense that I'd be feeling so much better after only a day on Effexor, but there you have it. The strangest part is that I actually feel like MYSELF again. My enthusiasm is back. I no longer feel overwhelmed. I really REALLY hope these symptoms continue because it feels like I'm finding my way back to YES and god damn it, I really missed it.

Cancellations

Tuesday was my Food Stamp Day. If you're poor (like I still LEGITIMATELY am), you know Food Stamp Day is the day you go straight from choking down ramen and canned chili to free-basing fresh asparagus and pre-sliced deli meat. I had a few hours to kill after work, so I went to Costco, where I spent over an hour loading up my double-wide cart with every conceivable food item that wouldn't expire in less than a month. Recently I've decided to stop purchasing any processed food item that I can make myself, so I threw a 50-pound bag of flour into my cart next to a month's worth of chicken breasts and enough Tillamook cheese to put the Oregon coast back to work again. There wasn't a single wasted dollar in that cart.

(Before you out-of-state jerks start telling me I'm too poor for Tillamook chese, I should probably let you know that Tillamook isn't a luxury item here. It's FROM here. I'm not too poor to eat local.) (Not that there is some poverty COMPETITION or anything.)

Yes, I am still on food stamps. I'm working as hard as I possibly can to build my vagina clientele, and I'd like to think I'm doing a damn good job at it (yay for good reviews!), but it's the middle of winter and I have yet to fill an 8-hour shift with even half that many appointments. Which means, yeah, still poor.

I'm not blaming anyone or complaining at all, actually. I LOVE my job and still feel nothing but gratitude that I actually HAVE a job. This is literally the BEST job I've ever had and I look forward to doing it for many, many years. The truth is I don't mind not buying shit. I like to go out, sure, and I tend to save up my tips and then use them for things like dancing and booze (and gas), but that doesn't make me middle class by any standard deviation. It does, however, make me human.

Unlike the 23-year old Costco manager I encountered on Tuesday.

I had loaded up that conveyor belt with at least $300 worth of necessities and when the checker ran my Costco card, it turned out my membership had expired exactly seven days ago.

SEVEN. DAYS.

It was $55 to renew my membership, which for me meant I could either pay my phone bill (which I need FOR WORK) or I could buy my food at Costco. I asked if there was anything he could do and he called over his supervisor. Do you know how much fun it is to stand in a packed Costco line and explain to the manager (and everyone within earshot) the particulars of your financial situation?

I would liken it to a root canal, but at least I had general anesthesia for THAT.

"My Costco membership was a gift and I don't have the money to renew it. All I have is food stamps. Is there anything I can do?"

That coldhearted meanypants just shook her head at me and shrugged. "Don't you have a checkbook?"

No. No I don't.

(Seriously, if you're not old enough to qualify for Medicare, you have no business carrying around a check book.)

My only consolation was that while I walked away hanging my head in shame, SHE had to find someone to re-shelve over a hundred pounds of groceries. She didn't get to make any friends that night. (Which is sad considering that ANY Costco member can bring a friend and let them shop FOR FREE.) (She could have extended that courtesy to me...)

The good news is that they carry the same bag of adorable mini peppers at Winco for one cent LESS than Costco. EAT THAT, Costco! I saved a PENNY, Biotch!

So the next morning, still high on .79 cent avocados, I went to see my doctor to talk about the Zoloft situation. Where I promptly learned that my state health insurance had been cancelled, oh, SEVEN DAYS ago.

Good times!

This one I understood completely because I need to apply for Oregon's health plan and all, but also? I STILL REALLY NEEDED TO SEE THE DOCTOR.

So they agreed to bill me for my appointment, which means I can pay it as soon as I'm able to. The best part was that EVERYONE at Peace Health went out of their way to give me excellent customer service. From the receptionist who made three phone calls on my behalf trying to figure it all out, to the doctor who took extra time to find me a medication that was as inexpensive as possible.

I'm switching to Effexor.

Well, generic Effexor, at least.

It also turns out that when I switched sleeping medications from Trazodone to Mirtazapine, the doctor who wrote the prescriptions while my doctor was out for the day didn't pay very close attention to my chart. Particularly to the height and weight portion of it. Because he wrote me a prescription for a sleep aid normally given to geriatric patients who are withering away on their death beds and need to gain weight (and also sleep). A full 50% of the people who take Mirtazapine gain at least 7% of their body weight.

Which totally explains why I gained SEVEN POUNDS since I started taking it less than a month ago. At least my ravenous hunger has an explanation and I can stop taking that stupid hungry pill. I mean, if I wanted to increase my appetite while decreasing my anxiety, I could just get a medical marijuana card and call it good, right?

(THAT WAS A JOKE.)

So last night I started the Effexor and so far I'm a little freaked out at how GREAT I feel. It's all a big crap shoot, anyway, so I'm just gonna trudge through until I figure it out. I'm just hoping to A) not be crazy before my period B) not feel anxious all the time and C) have orgasms.

As a final note, I may feel bitchy about Costco's customer service, but if you need drugs, DO YOURSELF A FAVOR and have your prescriptions filled at Costco. The pharmacy doesn't require a membership and they are RIDICULOUSLY cheap. Since I don't have insurance, I called around and this was price list I came up with for 120 37.5 MG tablets of GENERIC Effexor:

Walgreens $213.00

Target $183.75

COSTCO - $42.00

What a racket! Especially since all three prices would have been DOUBLE if I'd wanted extended release tablets instead. Insane!

The food, drug and parental administration

For whatever reason, my cooking abilities substantially improve at the end of the month when we're broke and my pantry is empty. Tuesday night all we had in the cupboard was flour, yeast and a can of tomato paste and I somehow turned that into one of the best pizza dinners we've ever eaten. I wish I had some kind of recipe to impart, but it was literally: garlic, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, tomato paste and seasoning. The rest was just some kind of poverty-induced magic. (Spread garlic-infused olive oil on the dough and it requires approximately 1/10th the amount of toppings...)

Last night I made a lasagna out of homemade pasta (six eggs, 4-5 cups of flour) with a tube of frozen Costco ground beef and a few cans of tomatoes (purchased for a dollar each at Grocery Outlet) and it was equally magical. Anyone who says poor people can't eat like kings is full of shit. Genoa ate the homemade pasta remnants (flour +eggs+ salted water) with butter and it was apparently the Best! Dinner! she's ever had.

I also figured out how to make brownies from a lingering box of Trader Joe's cake mix, not to mention the kick-ass Fleur-de-sel caramel popcorn we've been eating after the kids are asleep every night. Anyway, necessity, the mother of invention and all that. It always bothers me to hear that poverty creates obesity because nothing is healthier or cheaper than cooking from scratch. (Although, it's certainly not FASTER, that's for sure...)

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My Zoloft is sadly not doing its job. Well, at least not entirely. My anxiety has become exponentially worse. I can't breathe pretty much EVER. Even things that have never EVER stressed me out are causing me to feel like an 80-year-old asthmatic: driving, being late, going to work, maneuvering our schedules, making dinner. Don't even get me started on trying to SLEEP. I have two choices: heavily medicate myself or lie awake wishing for the sweet merciful bliss of death.

Then, because if anyone is going to GO THERE, it's me, there are the sexual side effects. First, my libido has gone AWOL, which is pretty fucking noticeable considering I'm usually the type who gets whiny about anything less than every. single. day bidnesstime. I sleep, I eat, I shit, I have naughty time (not necessarily in that order.) Sex is one more daily bodily function I simply can't live without.

Until now.

Now I actually FORGET to masturbate. Which hasn't happened since I was about ten years old. I wish I was lying, but I've pretty much always had the sex drive of a 14-year old boy.

I miss it.

I also miss being able to get off without it requiring three hands, six batteries and forty-five minutes. Zoloft should come with a coupon for a discount on carpal tunnel surgery, if not a free subscription to your favorite dirty magazine. 

I keep thinking of that Huey Lewis song:

I want a new drug
One that won't make me sick
One that won't make me crash my car
Or make me feel three feet thick

The good news is that I'm two days into my usual CRAY-CRAY-TIME (the days of and before I would normally get a period) (pre-menstrual dysphoric disorder time) and I'm... fine. No crazy thoughts. No anger. No blood-thirsty rage. I'm not out of control AT ALL. Joel is pretty much the best thing that's ever happened to me and I love my children more than ever. I feel remarkably self-possessed and I have nothing but the drugs to thank for that.

(THANK YOU MODERN MEDICINE! Thank. You.)

Chemical imbalance! I haz it. Now to just find the right medication to treat it without the nasty side effects... I almost never ask for advice, but if you're in the population for whom Zoloft didn't work, I'd love to hear what did.

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When I picked the kids up from school on Monday I got a big earful about boats! and fun! and arcades! and I was, like, did your Dad take you someplace awesome? (Which would be unlikely considering he still doesn't have a job) (as far as I know).

"No! Our grandparents took us to Family FunCenter! We should totally go there again! It was awesome!"

"WHO took you there?"

"Regular Grandma and Grandpa!" (That's what Alex has been calling them since birth.)

"You saw MY parents this weekend?!"

"Yeah!"

Color me STUNNED. I was literally speechless for the better part of an hour.

The hurtful thing is that I'd actually asked Dave if I could take Alex myself last weekend. I've been trying to split up the kids to get some much-needed alone-time with them. "That won't work," Dave told me (like, A MONTH AGO). "They have family coming to town that weekend..."

If only I'd known Dave meant MY family!

Basically, Dave won't let ME hang out with my children when it's not my custody week, but he'll let my PARENTS do it. So while I steadfastly refused to see them, they picked up my children from Dave's house and took them to a theme park last Saturday. All without bothering to inform me of said plans.

I'm still not sure what my reaction to this news should be. Anger? Betrayal? Distrust? Sadness? I've experienced all of that, sure, but in the end all I can really do is just shake my head and laugh about it.

Because after more than a decade of being a pawn in the war between Dave and my mother, the irony of their unholy treaty is not lost on me.

Seriously. It's really quite funny.

They deserve each other.

I just can't wait until my mom starts pestering Dave about the holidays!

So basically my life just got approximately 200% less complicated. Their lack of scruples means I no longer have any guilt about cutting them off. Not an ounce of regret about writing about them. I don't even have to feel guilty about not letting them see their grand kids; they can just see the kids during Dave's custody time.

Don't you just love it when everybody wins?