The Pill Recall

I've been on the birth control pill since I was 16--over 10 years. It's become part of my daily life, so much so that I don't bother to set an alarm for it anymore, the time I take it is ingrained in my brain.

Norgestimate pack-the pills in affected
lots were put in upside-down.

I received a letter in the mail today from my health insurance company that Glenmark, the company that produces the brand of pill I'm on, has issued a recall for specific lots of the drug. Someone at the company screwed up and flipped the plastic holder for the blisters upside down.

Yes, that's right--the sugar pills were at the top.

Somebody call Maury, because we are going to have one hell of a nationwide rise in unplanned pregnancies.

When I contacted my pharmacy, they said they don't keep records of past lot numbers. So there's no way of telling if the pills I took last month were part of the recall. The lot I'm currently taking is off by ONE digit. So I'm safe for this month. But how many others aren't?

We rely on these companies to provide us with a safe product. We trust that the medication we're taking is what it says it is. We trust the pharmacists to provide us with information about what we're taking, how to pronounce the twenty-syllable names of the drugs and what not to take it with. I have been taking the pill so long that I decline to speak with the pharmacist each time.

But are we getting too comfortable? Do we trust these companies too much? There's an element of human error here, which has the potential for a BIG impact on the health of many.

This makes me squirm. Like snakes in my bed squirm. And I don't know about you, but I'll be using additional forms of contraception for oh, about... the next five years.

Facebook is heroin for my soul

Your drug is my love, Mark.

Some drink, some light crack pipes in darkened alleyways, and some eat themselves to death. I lose myself in status updates.

I first realized it back when I took a Facebook hiatus. I spend most of my days in a fog, blurry and unfocused, stressed, forgetting to eat, my mind whirls so fast.

I sit for hours engulfed in the ongoings of celebrities and people I knew 10 years ago, Maury on simultaneously, not knowing what time or day it is, or what I was in the middle of doing before my binge. It's a high, an escape from real life. I feel safe, mindless while I do it, and suddenly I'll realize hours have gone by and I feel exhausted, confused, my mind spinning.

Facebook is heroin for the soul.

So when it came time to make yet another new year's resolution, I decided mine would be to slow my life down.

Less Facebook.
No Maury.
More Knitting.

Sorry, Pancake. It's over.

So far, though I'm still devastated at the breakup, I'm 4 scarves in and I've managed to quit Maury and Pancake for good. Facebook, Twitter, Perez and Pinterest are a work in progress. (Baby steps, people.) Hell, who am I kidding. I've got Facebook open right now. Do they have rehab for social media addiction?

It's not you, it's me.

Dear Maury,

I love you, I truly do. You've provided me with an unending supply of laughter and tears, shock and dismay at who was born a man or woman, and whether or not that dude sitting on the stage really IS the father.

I've enjoyed your smug smiles as you declare paternity results, and the various styles of glasses you've adorned through the years. You're respectful, gentle, but you know how to lay down the law when ladies start throwing chairs up in that mother. You keep it classy, Maury, and I respect you for it.

But with my New Year's resolution of trying to slow my life down and de-stress, I think we should start seeing other shows.

I'm sorry to have to let you down, Maury, but the yelling and screaming has instilled a dangerous level of anxiety in me that only a fellow named Dawson can cure.

It's not because he's younger than you, I swear, because age is just a number. But I just couldn't resist his overscholarly dialogue, witty snapbacks and his love triangle with Jen and Joey Potter. His calming demeanor and bromance with one Pacey Witter hooked me, and the feeling is so strong I cannot resist.

Maybe we'll meet again, Maury, once my life slows down and I build back up a tolerance for yelling, but until that day, here's a peck on the cheek and a hearty handshake. I will always love you. Good luck finding out who the father is.

XOXO,
PGG

I can has cheezburger?

It's no secret that I have a newly reignited obsession with Maury. I love watching him deliberately put on his glasses, read the paternity tests and announce: "You are NOT the father!"

Every once in a blue moon, they feature the 'bad girl' episodes. You know, "My 12-Year-Old Daughter Is The Village Bicycle." Those kinds of shows. These are truly gems.

Oh, Audreeana. I think your parents sealed your fate when they added the double 'e' to your name. Those hoop earrings don't help much either. I'm sure you're a very sweet girl, and god knows I've had insane cravings for a cheeseburger before too. (A girl's got to eat, right?) But trading a happy meal for sexual favors? At least get yourself some steak and potatoes, girl. You're going to be hungry again in an hour anyway. 

I guess you gotta do what you gotta do. I mean even those LOLcats need some noms every now and again.

But next time, maybe just go up to the counter and ask for one. I'm sure somebody will take pity on you and slide you a quarter pounder.