Titles Don’t Come Easy, You Know

I’m afraid I’m nearing the end of this blog.
Perhaps it is God gently telling me that it is time, Kari.
Not THAT time!
Time to stop blogging!

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I sat at my computer for 10 minutes trying to think of a title for this blog post, and that’s the best I could come up with.
Sure, I could have called this Miscellaneous or ETC. or Things That Come to Mind Randomly.
But those are the kinds of titles I’d expect from a new blogger, not someone in their seventh year of blogging.
Yet that was the best title I could come up with.
Screw It, I’m Eating Tater Tots was an alternate title.
Which could also serve as the title of my memoir.

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My blog is being a jerk.
My Google-powered blog is currently inaccessible through my Google Chrome browser.
I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.
To edit my blog before publishing it, I must use the Firefox browser.
So, FIREFOX, thank you for being there for me when GOOGLE drops the ball.

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I was watching The Breakfast Club with Mike recently, and as I was listening to the dialogue, I wondered how many words were in his original screenplay?

I suddenly felt like a screenwriter.

So I googled “how to write a screenplay for idiots” (dammit, I can’t break up with you!) and found a Wiki screenplay tutorial on how to write a screenplay.

It was as if I were sitting in my living room, taking a screenwriting class while The Breakfast Club played in the background.

Is this what meta means?

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Menopause is kicking me in the nuts.
I don’t have nuts, but I’m afraid I will soon due to perimenopause.
I’m extremely disappointed in all the women who have previously lied to us.
NO ONE TELLS YOU HOW AWFUL PERIMENOPAUSE IS.
Or how long it lasts.
It lasts forever and ever.
I thought childbirth was difficult.
I KNEW NOTHING.
At least with childbirth, I ended up with a child.
Perimenopause gives me a hairy chin and makes me a total jerk.

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Because of all of this, I despise people more than ever.
It drains my vitality.
When a Dionne Warwick song comes on the radio, it makes me cry at a stoplight.

It makes me to LISTEN to Dionne Warwick.

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I miss bloggers. Where did they all go?
It’s as if someone farted at a party and the entire room cleared.
This is how I am currently feeling in the blogging world.
As if I were the fart.
Except there are now a slew of DIY/Recipe/Lifestyle bloggers.
They will, without a doubt, survive a nuclear attack.

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I got fat this winter.
This is what happened:
I started taking Topomax last year for my migraines.
Topomax has a side effect of weight loss.

So, I lost some weight in the beginning. Then not too long after, I got the stomach flu. So then I was too thin, fitting into my pre-pregnancy clothes. I mean, I could eat anything I wanted and didn’t have to be careful or anything because of Topomax.

But over time, I started having some side effects with the Topomax. I began having pins and needles all over my body, numbness in my arms and legs, a ticking sound (think time bomb) in my ears when I would lie down at night.
So the doctor had to lower my dosage because, at one point, they were worried I was exhibiting symptoms of MS.
But I was still eating anything I wanted because I was on my Topomax high.

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Only, what I wasn’t aware of was that once you lower your dosage, you also lower your chances of losing weight.
DOHHHHHH.
So all the while I am eating like food is going away tomorrow and the LB’s are going up.

And up.

And uppppp.

It was around February that I noticed my skinny clothes weren’t fitting anymore and I needed to move up a size.
Then two.
Aww, snap.
Only my jeans weren’t saying aww snap, they were actually not snapping at all.

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So back to the gym and watching what I eat again.

ALL DURING MENOPAUSE.
It’s not fun to watch what you eat during menopause, by the way.
I almost cut a bitch for running on my treadmill.
And I don’t even have a specific treadmill.
SEE?
Asshole.

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Prince died.
While I am going through perimenopause.

The day that he died, Ella was devastated.
Seriously devastated. I’m not sure why. But still very sweet.
Two cool things happened this weekend: we were on our way home from dropping off Annie at the high school and the song Purple Rain came on the radio and Ellie sang along with me.

Purple rain, purple rainnnnnnnn. 

I wanted to cry. Right there in the car. Maybe I did. I can’t remember because perimenopause.
She said, “I only know the words Purple rain, mom, but I will sing those” and I said, “Prince would love that, I know he would.”
Second thing: we have a dove living in our garage as of this weekend.
STOP IT.
I. kid. you. Not.
We named him Prince.

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One recent Sunday I was editing one of my old posts because I spotted a grammar error.
I am anal-retentive like that. 
Then I fell down a rabbit hole of blog posts and started reading my old posts.
Post after post.

And you know what I realized?
I was funny.

Now I get what some of you were saying when you would message me and say, “wow, I never realized you were so funny!”

Thanks. I think.
But now?
I am not as funny.

Oh sure, I have funny moments here and there, but my creative juices aren’t flowing like they were in ye olden days.
Then I had a moment of “what if I hit my peak already?”
And what if all of my creativity is being used for a screenplay that will never be seen because I don’t know Tina Fey or I don’t take prescription pain pills?

WHAT IF I AM WASHED UP?
What if I never have a funny thought as long as I live?
This must be what Kim Kardashian feels like.
God help that girl when she goes through perimenopause.
Although that bitch will probably hire someone to go through perimenopause for her.

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Then this morning, I open the box of Trix to find this:

Do you notice anything missing?
It’s called COLOR.
Chemical shitstorm color.
Then I look at the box.
NO COLORS FROM ARTIFICIAL SOURCES.
Super. The crunchy people got to THEM too.
Dammit.
WHY CAN’T THEY LEAVE MY CHILDHOOD ALONE?

Bring back the chemical shit storm green Trix balls, please?
And my personality?
And my skinny jeans?
And Prince?
And since we are bringing stuff back, can you bring all those bloggers too?
But only the ones who are nice because I will cut a bitch if they aren’t.