erica:i agree. uggs should carry a death penalty. like a literal wolverine lives in the boots and eats your feet off. me? i rock grinders.at least ever since doc marten shipped their manufacturing to china.

Erica: if it helps,I already have stopped looking at you,I look at your belly. I just love it,its so cute and ever so slightly round. It's contagious too. I think more babies might be the answer.im thinking naty should give me an egg so I can carry one too.

"Busy" doesn't begin to describe the hellish week I've had. Luckily, an emergency session with my therapist saved my life. I was running around west Detroit in search of a last minute birthday gift for my shaman, Steve, and NOTHING was working for me. Some days I believe in God more than other days because I can feel the hate oozing from the universe.

Nothing I was finding was suitable or worthy of Steve. Whether it be the chair made out of repurposed beach trash, the new Rick Owens boots, or the sugar glider family I almost adopted for me (but in his name). No gift was sending the mesage I wanted to send my dear shaman. I got to wondering, "What message am I trying to send Steve? What does my shaman's birthday really mean to me? Was my indecision a projection of a deep spirit, trying to escape, trying to be heard? What did the gift say about me? Why did I care?"

I know I was going to have to answer these questions before moving on with the search, so I found Susan in her office on the other side of Detroit. She was with another patient who seemed to be crying about some sort of dead husband thing and also seemed to be wearing UGG slippers. I polietly asked Susan to come take a quick drive with me up the coast and I told her it was an emergency. When she grabbed my arm and escorted me into the waiting room, I thought she was for sure going to scream at me for walking into someone else's session for the twenty-fourth time this year. She didn't scream. She didn't even give me a chance to explain the fact that Steve's birthday bonfire was in forty-five minutes and I had nothing to offer. No. She very softly and quietly said: "Nichole, every time you come running to me for help, you tell yourself that you aren't strong enough to figure it out. Now go figure it out. I'm with a client."

After the initial sensation of being slapped in the face, my nerves relaxed and I realized that she was absolutely right. I wasn't allowing myself to save myself. I was strong enough to find the perfect birthday present all on my own, and I needed to trust that. I vowed that from now on, I will be asking for help less, and I pray that the pain and confusion that I suffered yesterday will be a lesson to you psychos as well. We can do it.

Oh, and I got Steve a motorcycle. He hated it.

You're welcome

Nichole

Edited by user 13 March 2013 11:13:38(UTC)  | Reason: Not specified

Nichole: Definitely said "motorcycle," not monocle... But I agree. If I had gotten him a monocle, I would have fired him on the spot.

For me, the arrival of Daylight Savings Time means it's time to shed at least five pounds of winter weight. Not that I gained any weight this winter. I adhere to a strict "no winter weight gain" policy. However, I do not adhere to any strict "no lives growing inside of you and making you fat" policy. I just like to call the extra pounds "winter" pounds so that psychos like you can understand where I'm coming from. Moving on. In order to cleanse myself of excess weight, I've been practicing what I like to call the Cry Diet. It's very simple. Basically, you just make yourself cry at any point during a meal, and it will instantly eradicate your appetite. I'm not a scientist, so I can't tell you why/how this works, but start the Cry Diet now, and you'll thank me when crop top season comes around. I've been doing this at breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the past two weeks, and I can now fit into a really chic Stella McCartney for Gap Kids blazer I bought a year ago. Bliss. Also, people come up to me all the time now in restaurants and ask me, "What's wrong?" which I kind of love.

Crying also helps eliminate puffiness and cure cravings. Don't trust me? Here's what Tatyana Ali has to say:

"I cry three times a day as part of my workout routine. It really targets the core. Great way to reduce bloating." -- Tatyana Ali

I mean, she's not the thinnest person ever, but for some weird reason, I just trust her. So there you have it. Just make sure you've stocked up on cucumber slices, waterproof mascara (I recommend Diorshow), moisturizer, kleenex, and a really good facialist, because tears can really clog your pores if you aren't careful.

You're welcome.

Nichole

Edited by user 19 March 2013 11:15:37(UTC)  | Reason: Not specified

OOC: I'm so glad we agree on that.

Nichole: If I can admit to people that I live off of weed, honey buns, and Diet Coke, you can admit to them that you live off of ramen, liquor and vicoden. They're basically the same things. Only mine is the pregnant version.

Edited by user 19 March 2013 18:52:54(UTC)  | Reason: Not specified

Sam: wait - what? I'm going to get cancer? I thought diet coke just reduced your sperm count - and from the amount of kids I'm having it's unlikely that it even does that.

Sam: but...diet coke is my go to straightedge drink! without it, what else can I drink without getting fat? Fresca? fuck fresca!

Sam: Me neither....so, I guess this means we'll be telling them that I'm their father? Not just leaving it for them to one day realize that although it takes two to tango, one of them has to have a penis in order to make babies?

Sam: Wow...thinking that I could possibly influence that many young lives terrifies me. But I'll be okay as long as I have my diet coke.