Neptune Planet Power Make Up!!!!!

Oh my god I need a job.


I love picnik. It's so much easier than photoshop.

Little Sis gave me a heads up this morning before she left for Block Island (bitch - why don't I have friends who take me sailing?!?). Mum thinks I'm insane. Again. She also thinks I'm losing too much weight. Again.

Which I won't be after last night's fat-fest. I could have stopped after the fajitas, but nooo. I ate a slice of chocolate cake as well. And 4 Ex-Lax. But I digress...

I think I've mentioned in a previous post that Mum thought I was crazy about ten years ago, when I was in high school, and that we went through a number of therapists because none of them gave Mum the results she wanted and thus she fired them. Let me clarify this a bit, because it's not entirely fair to the Mother.

I am most definitely insane. I'll admit that. But hey - who really can say that they are sane? Normal? BORING.

When I was like 13 or 14, Mum started to notice that I was not sane. She didn't seem to realize (and still hasn't) that I act like myself at home in front of her because I'm comfortable with her, but I do not act that way out in the real world. Some other family members, and a few friends might catch glimpses of the real me, but in general only Mum sees it.

So when I was a wee teen, she decided I needed a shrink. Mum thought this would be a "quick fix" - they would talk to me, explain to me what I was doing wrong and how to fix it, and *~*POOF*~* Mum would have the perfect bubbly little cheerleader she always wanted.

Funny how so many parents end up with the exact opposite of the child that they envisioned in all of their rosy fantasies about motherhood. All Mum wanted, if she got stuck with daughters instead of sons (which she did - 4 daughters to be exact) was a popular, outgoing, athletically inclined genius. All of those things and pretty. Let's not forget pretty...

What she got instead: A brainiac nerd who doesn't give a toss about her looks and who took off for England on the first available boat (Older Sis #1); a punk rock rebel with an attitude and poor academic abilities (Older Sis #2); a morally bankrupt, self-centered sociopath (Me); and a whiny, clingy, overly dependent crybaby (Little Sis).

Lolz.

I managed to con the first two therapists into believing I was the perfectly sane one, and Mum was the real problem. It wasn't even difficult. I had the second therapist hoodwinked in one session. The third shrink, however, saw through my charming little act. I don't know what happened with her in the end. I saw her for a long time - Dr. Adorney was a wonderful woman, and I would highly recommend her if you're the sort of person who could benefit from therapy. But one day Mum just said "You're not going to therapy anymore."

So now apparently, Mum is on a new mission to get me back in therapy. I kind of want to go back to a therapist. To Dr. Adorney in particular, but she's not covered under my health insurance. No shrinks or loony bins are covered under my health insurance, because I was insane before I got the plan. Obama should get on that. Like now.