"Wookie Nookie"

Cute title, right?

I wish I could take credit for that lovely play on words, but unfortunately I cannot. That adorable little two word pun was something I read off of a T-shirt in a store this one time. There's a good story to go with me finding that T-shirt but that's for another place, and another time my sweet, sweet popsicle muffins. 

You will soon discover that most of my things- and by things I mean this word vomit that you're about to embark upon- will be cliche'd jokes, overused puns, and basically just a bunch of dad jokes rolled into one. My life is a dad joke. Maybe that's what I should of named this blog.

I'm going to take a moment now to put a little disclaimer here: I will be writing with brutal, unforgiving honesty. The stories about my life will not all be funny and happy ones. There will be things in some of my tales that may trigger those of you suffering from mental illness. Yee beware! 

Now, I wanted to treat this as an introduction of what you'll be getting yourself into. You poor, unfortunate souls (See what I did there? Look at us, starting off on an honest footing! High-fives all around!!)*. I'm not going to ramble on about my life story, but I will tell you why I started this blog.

 In all honestly, It's an outlet for me. 

This is a way for me to write about my experiences and remember them as they were or just a way for me to write it out and make sense of things. For some reason I have decided that my life is worthy enough to share this with the world.  

 I have been officially diagnosed with clinical depression, generalized anxiety disorder, and panic disorder. I used to be on medication for my depression but after a suicide attempt about a month ago I decided to lay off medication for a while and try to "work out" my crazy with cognitive behavioral therapy. This last year for me has been a big, giant, 'spit on my face and call me Nancy' kind of low point in my life. Me trying to off myself was when my family finally noticed how serious my depression was and their support made me finally want to change my lifestyle. I'm not 'better', and I don't plan to get 'better'. I don't believe that I need to necessarily get "better". I'm not saying that I am not sick, I know I'm sick. I know how harmful my depression has been to myself and to the people closest to me. But I don't plan on getting better. I plan on getting happy. Crazy happy. Like the happy that Jenny Lawson wrote about in her book, Furiously Happy. I want to become as happy as "Rory the raccoon". This blog is a way for me to give a big old 'fuck you' to all the assholes out there. It's a way for me to pull down my pants and moon the demons that lay within myself and everyone else's demons (you're welcome). You should all pull your pats down and moon your demons with me! We can start a club where we all get together and shake our asses to our demons, I think is the best idea I ever had. We can call our club " the mooners" or the "fanny exposers". 

Don't worry, these are working titles. 

Side note: My boyfriend just came home and I made him perogies. He wanted me to let you all know how the warm perogie bowl feels good on his...special area**.  I'm also not a hundred percent sure that is not how you spell perogies..

I got a little side tracked there so lets wrap this burrito of word vomit (that doesn't sound very appealing.. word purge? Is that any better? No? Maybe? Call 1-800-RAINBOW-FUN-TIME to give us your answer!) up and shake a tail. .or something else because most of you probably don't have tails. 

Ahhhh closing statements. I always heard that you should begin on a strong note and end on a well, strong note. So... uhh.. 

So to whoever is reading this still, I salute you. You made it through the rough patch. Mazel tov!


* I can't remember what this star was for. I should probably delete it, but I'm not going to. I'm sadistic like that.    
**"Special Area" is the not so secrect code word for balls. As in testicles. I was talking about testicles.