I still have the mad Friends love. Even the later seasons, Joey still made me laugh. "JOEY DOESN'T SHARE FOOD!!!!"

Oh, me too. Me too. I only have the first two season on DVD, but someday I will have them all.

I had the mad friends love the first few seasons, but later I just couldn't stop watching it, even though I wanted to.

My patch would probably say "Crusty New Englander. GO AWAY. None of your fucking business. Just because I am fat doesn't mean I am jolly."

It's kind of funny to have this conversation about the sash. When I did the video for the webcast on BPD, the therapist organizing it (who is a therapist I had in a group and she also filled in when my first therapist was on maternity leave) told me as I was leaving, "You know you can back out of this at any time. Remember that." And my response was, "You know me. I like to help educate people on this. I mean, I don't wear a button that says, 'I have BPD! Ask me how!' but I'll talk if it helps to educate."

And that's pretty much how I feel about that.

I had the mad friends love the first few seasons, but later I just couldn't stop watching it, even though I wanted to.

THIS. The last season was sort of cringeworthy sometimes, but then I still cried like a baby during the last episode.

It's a little bit frightening how many episodes I can practically quote verbatim off the top of my head.

Also? Sparky is EVIL, pass it on. ::applauds::

I have to go sit in my empty old apartment this morning to wait for the rug cleaners. Possibly from 12-4. Don't wanna. I hope they show up at the earlier end of the window instead of the latter end of it.

Despite the fact that I am the pharmaceutical knowledge go-to girl, I would just like to say that I hate and despise medication right now.

I was already smack in the fun part of Zoloft withdrawal symptoms, which on their own are bad enough, BUT THEN I took massive doses of steroids for 2 days and had to stop them abruptly because of the allergic reaction, thus creating -- sort of -- double withdrawal.

I absolutely recognize that that's the reason that I feel so shitty, but knowing it doesn't help at all. (Well, okay, it helps a tiny bit in that at least I'm not completely mystified as to why I'm INSANE AND WEEPING. And I know enough to know that it's also not an indication that I need to go back on the Zoloft. The most evil irony of SSRI withdrawal is that it causes the very symptoms that make people take antidepressants [mood swings, weeping, general cave-troll-like behavior].)

But knowing *why* my moods are whipsawing all over the place doesn't make them calm down, damn it. And I have a lunch appointment 2 hours from now with the communications director from the medical group that did my back surgery -- did I mention this? -- because they want to use my Yay I Can Walk 5 Years After Surgery story on their Web site. Which is cool, and I'm enough of an attention whore to be thrilled, but today is a bad day to interview me.

They also put a picture of the patient along with the success story (they have MANY success stories on their Web site, and some are so amazing as to make my surgery look like a mere boo-boo; we're talking goddamn BRAIN SURGERY, people). Thanks to the time-honored Buffista practice of posting pictures of new hair, etc., I have a lot of pictures of me, and I asked the communications director if I could send her one of those, rather than her taking my picture at lunch. She said yes, which is a huge relief.

Because (1) allergic reaction making me look like a pink version of Violet Beauregard right now, (2) I'm vain and would prefer to give them a picture that I tweaked in Photoshop, and (3) mood swinginess might lead to a picture of me weeping or snarling, which really isn't my best look.

(For the record, in the time that it took to type this post, I've gone from weepy to bereft to amused and now back to sort of a baseline need-caffeine-ness. Oh, pharmacopeia, how I despise your ass right now.)

I think mine would say "Bitch--don't test me/I don't fucking want to smile/Allergic to stupidity/Grammar Nazi/Show me you're not a waste of space"

For the record, in the time that it took to type this post, I've gone from weepy to bereft to amused and now back to sort of a baseline need-caffeine-ness. Oh, pharmacopeia, how I despise your ass right now.

Ah, yes. I know that one well. I hope it goes well, Teppy. And then, after that, you take it easy, right?

My sash would say a lot of positive things but the one peeve I'd love to get out front is:

Please do not tell me how much you disrespect my profession, then follow up with your entire life story and ask me to fix you. Dude. You don't believe in therapy? Walk ON.

Ahem.

It would also say things like:

Why yes, my dog is awesome. You are safe with me. Have you tried my chocolate cake? Next stop, Nirvana...and I don't mean the band. Kind, loyal, true. Pagan in a good way.