Archive for the ‘Depression’ Category

Brandeis is the Worst Place on Earth

March 16, 2014

To be fair to Brandeis, it was the worst place on earth circa 1998. Perhaps since then it’s become a Shangri-la of scholarship. Fortunately for the reader, however, I have no interest in being fair to the biggest vortex of suckiness that the universe has ever seen.


They have a castle. That’s how they get ya.

I didn’t know when I got in that I had been accepted to fulfill some internal quota requiring that the school admit a minimum of 5-10 (and no more than 20) totally bitchin’ college students. For that reason, they didn’t send me the brochure they must have sent to the rest of the student body, which I imagine looked something like this:


Welcome, Freshmen!

  • Are you socially awkward, and kinda ugly?
  • Would your personality be best described as “irritating?”
  • Are you planning on “letting loose” in college by amping up your religious conservatism?

Well, do we have good news for you! Come join your warty hands with your fellow uglies[1], and enjoy 4 years of junior high dances pretending to be college parties!


Q: I like the idea of racial diversity, but am not really ready to commit. Is this the right place for me?

A: Brandeis boasts a highly diverse campus just the way you like it. None of the different ethnic, religious, or other social groups ever interact with each other! It’s a nervous liberal’s paradise! You’ll be able to make friends who are just like you and still brag at your Goldman Sachs interview that you have walked by people of all races, religions, and creeds!

The Curse Of Brandeis

When Anna and Jennie visited me, two of their tires popped in the Brandeis parking lot. When my pal Leeman came to visit, he also popped two tires. And then he split his pants.

So, in conclusion, let me say this to my non-existent teenage fan base: if you go to Brandeis, you will die a horrible death. It will probably be from a disease that doesn’t even exist yet, like terminal herpes or infectious reverse warts.[2]


You, dying a horrible, horrible death. You’ve been warned.

Part II: Dating at Brandeis is the Worst Thing in the World

One of my three friends, Shoshanna, was deciding whether or not to accept the advances of a boy she wasn’t really interested in. A girl with a long-term boyfriend gave her some great advice:

“You’ve found someone who likes you. You must stay with him forever and force yourself to like him,” she said, furiously wringing her hands while she stared ahead in a desperate dissociative panic. With a dating climate like that, I was ready for romance!


Boyfriends are great!

And so I dated Plamen. He did have one thing my seventeen year old heart yearned for: foreignness. That mattered to me then because I was a turd. He had an accent, and even though it wasn’t a particularly good one, it was good enough for me. (Later on, in my “refined turd” phase, I’d only melt for English and French accents.)

He went by the self-inflicted nickname, “Space.” When Jennie came for a visit, she more accurately dubbed him, “Flathead.” And he was always wearing this black t-shirt that listed all the world religions’ philosophies thusly:

Catholicism: If shit happens, I deserve it.
Protestantism: Shit won’t happen if I work harder.
Judaism: Why does this shit always happen to me?
Buddhism: When shit happens, is it really shit?
Islam: If shit happens, take a hostage.
Hinduism: This shit happened before.
Hare Krishna: Shit happens Rama Lama Ding Dong.

(Fortunately, I didn’t write this offensive cosmic jiz, so I don’t have to feel responsible for unleashing it onto the world.)

I suppose another sign that it wasn’t going to work out was right at the start of our relationship. We were taking a hike in the mountains, and sat down for a rest. The sun was setting, and everything it touched was ablaze with gold. I leaned in for that first kiss.  But just before I closed my eyes, I made the mistake of looking at him. He had, without warning, suddenly mutated into an eager Gollum, leering at me from the shadows.



It occurred to me as I shuddered through that romantic moment that maybe he wasn’t the right guy for me, but for some reason (coma?), I ended up staying with him for two whole months. Things did not get better.

So let that be a lesson to you, kids. Don’t date Gollums. Hold out for Hobbits.

Here’s another awkward moment in our relationship: I was in the middle of telling him I liked him very much, but tragically stuttered a bit. He responded with a smile and self-satisfied laugh, “I love you, too.” What was I supposed to say? Look, I was saying I like you, not I love you. I don’t love you. As for your loving me, I guess I can live with that.

Things went from bad to worse. One time we went to Boston and missed the last train back to Waltham. We were stranded there overnight. We wandered around and eventually squished our bodies together on a park bench. Oh, and did I mention it was November? Five hours later, we walked the 75 miles to the nearest train station. When we got back to campus, I learned that his sister lived in Boston, but that he hadn’t wanted to disturb her. Space was just lucky I didn’t have a gun.

Then came the death knell. It rang twice. First, on Thanksgiving, when he smoked pot with my dad. The second was back at school, when he cut his hair to look like Nicolas Cage in Face-Off.[3]


Don’t worry, Dear. This is how love is supposed to feel.

I really shouldn’t have let it come to that.

The aftermath: he bugged me for the rest of the semester, making me Ramen Noodles while I was studying for finals. Space evidently thought I would sell my companionship for soup. Over Christmas break, he sent me a package containing a large plastic dinosaur that symbolized me and my destructive heart-killing forces.  Believe it or not, this didn’t win me back.


My stony, stony heart was somehow unmoved.

The next semester, he started dating my roommate. She listened to Dave Matthews Band.

[1] My friends from home and I called Brandeis “The Ugly School.” This created some awkwardness back in Portland when my cousin Anna had a friend visiting. He was super nice, but a bit unfortunate looking. Our buddy Chris, thinking the friend had driven up from school with me, asked innocently, “Do you go to The Ugly School?” Anna and I quickly defused the situation by loudly and emphatically over-explaining to him that Chris was referring to Brandeis, and not his ugly face.

[2] You: what the hell is a reverse wart?

Me: It’s a wart that grows into your body instead of projecting out from it. It slowly crushes your internal organs and pushes through arteries and veins until they burst. I anticipate that it will be on the market by 2016.

[3] I decided I would be nice, and not mention his unrelenting impotence.


Getting Down with the D part II: more beauty tips

March 8, 2014

You: “Holy crap, seriously? She has even MORE beauty tips?!?”

Me: “Fahking right.”


Unless it just happens that you already have some lipstick you like, I would not recommend this product. Buying lipstick is a pain in the ass. Most of them just dry up on your lips and make you look like a big dick. And rumor has it that some lipsticks even get on your teeth- like I don’t have enough stuff stuck in my teeth, thank you very much.

> Yawn <

Eye beauty

So you’ve got dark circles and bags under your eyes. That’s normal, you don’t give a shit.

But what IS bothering you are the crease lines all around your eye sockets you got from sleeping all day. What can you do? Concealer? Eye shadow? Mascara?

I have a better way. Sunglasses- your one-stop shop for that flawless “I get out of bed in the morning” look.


Hey guys, look, I made a quiz. Ok, I wrote one question. Fuck off.

1. I decided not to dress up for the party because:

a. I gave all my makeup and miniskirts to charity

b. it’s too much work

c.  every time I try to be pretty, a feminist loses her wings

d. it just seems so shallow. I want people to see me for me

e. I’m too poor to have makeup and miniskirts. I wish there was a charity for that


b. it’s too much work

If you didn’t get it right, you’re seriously a douche. If you did get it right, way to go, Einstein. Nobody’s impressed.

Getting Down with the D

March 8, 2014

Unemployment and a tendency toward depression do not mix. Only, at the same time, they also go together like toast and jam. Sad jam. This idea is encapsulated in the following joke that some people who are dumb don’t like but that you and I think is cool:

Q :  What do you get when you jump off a dock, and you’re on a dock?



A: A paradox.

Good one, am I right? Of course I am.

So here are some things I can do from my couch of shame where I currently reside: watch tv, watch worse tv, read, sleep, donate my body as a pillow for cats (see Fig. 1.)

Fig. 1

eat (if I’m fortunate enough to have someone bring me food), and now, write a blog. Don’t worry, my bored compadres, it will not last.


So I’m going to give you some helpful rambling tips to impress your friends. Here’s one:

Q: I’m a depressive type, and frankly I’m kind of boring. How do I become interesting?

A: Take something interesting, and be bored by it. Then you will instantly become more interesting than that which made you bored.

Note: this rule does not apply if you are bored by my writing, which you should find blindingly fascinating. If not, you’re a turd.


Now, a lot of depressives probably need beauty tips, and they need them from me, because man, am I full of good ideas. For the uninitiated, “beauty” is a misnomer. The goal is to look like you are functioning. As in the application of makeup (so I’m told), the key is to blend.

Trick # 1: Hairspray

So recently I discovered this new product, and it is revolutionizing the way I do business. It’s called “hairspray,” have you heard of it? My friend Allen was shooting a commercial in my kitchen, which featured me stuffing chocolate gluten free cookies in my mouth. A perfect way for a depressive to earn some extra dough doing what she loves. Allen wondered if there was a solution to the fly-aways that perpetually crown my face with an aura of dazzle-frazzle when my hair is in a ponytail (it is always in a ponytail), and he mentioned this new product that’s sweeping the nation, called hairspray. By some miracle, I owned some. No doubt the hair fairies left it for me. With just one dose of the stuff, my fly aways stuck seamlessly to my head.

Now, as you might imagine, this has huge ramifications. It means that I can look normal even after several days without showering.[1]

No shower? No problem!

[1] Mom: You are showering, aren’t you?

Me: Oh yeah, Mom, of course. Every day. You know, right after the gym.

Trick # 2: Deodorant

So another good beauty product that fits neatly into this theme is the old fail-safe, deodorant. This product was originally invented quite by accident by one Baron von Slothensmell. One sunny day, in one of his rare fits of energy, the good Baron had been slumbering in a hammock. A strong breeze came up, pushing the mighty man out of his sweat nest and rolling him across a field of fragrant flowers of the genus “Lilium Rollonium” below. Where his stench had been, now was only a fresh Summer’s Eve. (Get it? Summer’s Eve. You don’t get it. God, you’re dumb.)

Anyway, as the Europeans discovered, deodorant can lengthen your time between now and a shower for even more days than hairspray.

BUT what, pray tell, can one do if she runs out of deodorant and has to actually go somewhere? Imagine, you’ve got a couple of friends that you actually like, and they’ve invited you to do something relatively easy, like going to the movies. You kind of want to go and everything. Lo and behold, the roll-on coffers have run dry. Don’t panic: you do have some options.

1.Plan ahead.

Well, kind of. Planning ahead is for losers who get shit done and spend all day patting themselves on the back. Go on the internet (it should be just inches in front of you, emanating from a screen on your lap) and see if the movie theater is near a drug store. You can buy deodorant at drug stores. Leave 3-5 minutes earlier than you normally would have, and then go buy deodorant at said drug store.

But wait! What if you didn’t give yourself 3-5 minutes, or you just don’t have it in you to go all the way to the front of the store to buy it and maybe they’re going to make you stand in line and all that shit? Solution: go to the deodorant aisle, open up a stick, and apply it in secret. Get it, Secret? Still nothing? Jesus, you’re stupid. Read a book or something.

Ok, so maybe that all fails and the idea of going into a store and THEN to the movies is just simply more than you can bear, and so the whole movie idea is kind of starting to not work for you. Solution:

2. The telephone.

Pick up a telephone, and call your lead friend. She can then pass the news onto others so you don’t have to. Better yet, text. Say that you sadly cannot go, as you are housebound.

You’re welcome.

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