But I don’t drink, smoke, or use drugs. This is all I can party with, people. A minor tinge of a half of a slight buzz.

It’s a side effect from ADD medicine that I started taking over the past few months. I have been on some form of ADD med for the past four years, but they’ve all been non-stimulant based. In the fall my doctor and I agreed to try a traditional approach to combatting Attention Deficit Disorder – stimulants.

I don’t know the science behind it, but maybe I don’t produce enough dopamine or  norepinephrine or something. Or maybe I produce the same as everyone else, but the neural reuptake process is screwy. All I know is something f’s with my ability to concentrate.

Because these drugs are highly controlled by the FDA they’re kind of a pain in the butt to obtain. Apparently non-ADDers abuse the stuff. At the pharmacy you have to show ID and they only give you a 30 day supply. If you walk in the next month even one day early they reject you. You have to be on top of things to never run out. And ADDers tend to have an issue with organization.

Anyway – I started taking this one and the most bizarre thing happened.

Now, mind you, I’m the king of high tolerance. I never get side effects from anything and most of the time I have to take double the normal dose to get the intended effect. I’m that guy that needs four ibuprofens to kill a headache. Thankfully I only get two headaches a year, so my liver is in good shape.

That’s was a weird assessment. How the hell do I know if I have a healthy liver? I didn’t exactly pass physician school. (It’s not really called that)

The ADD pill starts working pretty fast – I’d say within an hour or so. It’s supposed to last a total of six hours. I take it before lunch and then I have super-employee production in the afternoon. At around 2pm this strange side effect kicks in. All of a sudden I have the intense desire to connect intimately and emotionally with people. If I’m in a meeting I start appreciating all the great qualities the other members have. If I’m talking to my boss I silently thank him for employing me. The guy in the office who never says, “Bless you!” when I sneeze – he’s forgiven.

If I’m online I’ll have an overwhelming desire to send my girlfriend an “I love you!” instant message. She then replies with, “Meds are kicking in, huh?”

It’s a short-lived buzz and an hour later the side effect vanishes. The med then does it’s regular job of helping me focus. No more love party.

Well, today I forgot to take my med until around 6pm, when I got home.

So, yep, right about now I’m feeling pretty appreciative. I found myself looking at all the recent comments on the blog and wanting to virtually hug everyone who took the time out to write.

When I first felt this side effect I thought it was just a natural and genuine feeling. I didn’t realize it was the meds. I was very impressed with myself and thought maybe I had achieved nirvana or enlightenment. But then I remembered I don’t meditate and I can’t even touch my toes, let alone sit in the lotus position. I’m a naturally happy guy and all, but I ain’t that happy.

I Google’d it and yep, many people experience this “sense of appreciation” effect.

Now, when the short window opens with this feeling, I take advantage of it. I mentally list all the things I’m grateful for and step into that emotion. Screw writing out Oprah’s gratitude list. Just artificially create the feeling with pharmaceuticals! I’m kidding.

So, while it’s fresh in my mind, I do want to send out a very specific thank you to all who are reading these words. Yes, the meds are bumping up this sensation a little, but I mean it. The amount of traffic has increased to the point where I am migrating over to a new server with better hardware. You guys outgrew my old hosting.

Okay, the feeling’s about over. I’m back to my typical, non-appreciative self.

I still love ya, though. I really do.

photo credit: imsvsims via photopin cc

My friends were a solid 9. No complaints there. Here’s how you know they performed well – they’re still largely my best friends today. Enough said.

Schoolwork was a 6. I should have done better grade-wise. To be fair I do have a moderate case of ADD. and it was undiscovered while in high school. That aside, I could have edged up the GPA a bit. But, fuck it. I got into the school I wanted by November of senior year and I had lots of cheap whiskey to drink. I was in the honors classes, but definitely one of the dumber kids. So, not a lot to bitch about there, either.

While I wasn’t super cool, I did have one of my best friends who was super cool at a rival high school. If I didn’t get invited to the big parties at our school (mostly I didn’t), I would hang with the guys at the other school. Over there I was cooler than I was at my high school. I highly recommend this strategy if you’re a teenage misfit. Pretty much every teen comedy has some version of this dynamic.

My dating life, however, was a 0. Now,the main issue is that I was terrified of women. Like a lot of adolescents I thought I was beyond ugly. My lot in life was that I was destined to be alone without a woman. Even with that understanding I still was social. Studying comedy your whole life pays off when you want to be around women without actually talking to them. So, instead of dating I played a went bowling with my buddies, played lot of guitar, watched a lot of HBO comedy specials, and smoked a lot of grass. Not that my lack of tail was entirely my fault. Not one woman had the decency to throw herself at my feet.

Fast forward ten years. Our first reunion was put on by someone else and was a hell of a lot of fun. By this time I was comfortable in my own skin. I even managed to start dating one of the hotter chicks from the class who was surprisingly single. That part isn’t important. I just wanted to brag. Because guys who brag about stuff like that are really admirable and not secretly insecure even at age thirty-six.

I was told by a few girls from my class that I would be planning the fifteen year party. I mean, I don’t even drink. It’s not like I pull together rave bubble parties on weekends. The reality is nobody else would have planned it. It was also a lot of fun. Since I put the party on I received a lot of attention. I was married at the time so there was no restroom handicapped stall  shenanigans.

Note – I’ve never taken a young lady to the stall of a bathroom. That seems like the worst place in the world for a physical expression of love. The handicap stall does have rails, though.

Quick tip – If you don’t go to your reunion because you hated high school, I say go anyway. I found that the dicks just don’t come. Only the fun people show up. Plus, at least seven people will be thrilled you showed up.

Well, I had a hard enough time passing pre-calculus, so I thought our twenty year was next year. Turns out I was off by an integer. An integer of one. But I’ll probably still plan it. First, I really like doing this stuff. Second, I’m not a control freak – I literally ask everyone’s opinions on what they want to do, and we vote electronically. That way if it sucks, hey, not my fault.

The last reason is also attention. I do enjoy when people come up and thank me. I like kissing the women hello on the cheek that used to not know I existed.

Bottom line – I love being able to go back in my mind to high school and do the shitty parts over. In the psychedelic book  Still Life With Woodpecker, Tom Robbins ends with this scribbled on the last page.  “It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.”

Well, he’s wrong. Actually you can’t go back and do anything over. The pain of the past is the past. It happened. But you can take the present and insert people from the past and do it up right. And that feels even better than if you could go back. Trust me.

When I hit junior high, I knew I had a to-do list problem. I simply didn’t keep one. That’s the age where I needed to start writing things down and planning appropriately. As a verified ADDer my memory sucks. I don’t mean in the same way everyone thinks their memory sucks. I’ve had a least a dozen people tell me my memory is the worst they’ve experienced. I wish I could over-exaggerate this fact, but it would not be easy.

In addition to being a spaz that’s constantly not present mentally I’m also a creative-type. This means I’m pretty good at sitting down and thinking stuff up. As the scales are tipped heavily in that favor my abilities to reason, rationality, and use logic are somewhat deficient. I have talked about believing that pasta came from the sea until I was a junior in high school.

Note – If you search for “doesn’t pasta come from the sea” you’ll see that my genius comes up number one in Google.

In college I really tried to plan. I was heavily into self-improvement and studying accelerated learning techniques. I became a speed reader and had a high comprehension at about 1300 words per minute. I learned tricks of master memorizers and could photocopy documents in my head for later retrieval. While all of this is very cool I still had a terrible time putting into action such tasks like doing my laundry in advance of being out of underwear.

Well, I’m thirty-six and I still don’t keep a regular to-do list.

My desire to stay organized is unmatched by common man. I have purchased books, planners, seminars and software to keep me organized. It’s just something that doesn’t come naturally.

When I met my wife she was a fantastic planner and logician. Usually people with medical degrees have to be. There’s such a large amount of studying involved that you become good at planning, remembering, and executing. She didn’t have much creativity, but I had plenty for the both of us. Not only did she remember (she kept lists) what she was to do each day, she had a knack for remembering what I was to do that day as well. It was awesome.

While never a nag she would remind me, “Hey, today why don’t you do x, y, and z?” If you’re like me I highly recommending marrying one of those. Eventually they’ll get fed up and divorce you, but for a few years it’s a great ride.

I am committing to you bozos that I’m going to work this organization thing out. Over the past two years I’ve really stepped up my game. But even I have slip ups. I’m one of those people that will forget to pay his credit card bill on the thirteenth every month. The past two months I was a day late. I called all freaked out to the company and they waved however those charges thing works. Every other bill I have goes out automatically from my bank each month because of my memory.

From time to time I’m going to check in with you to hold myself accountable. For example, I have three contests for you that I haven’t executed because I keep forgetting to write them down and plan them out. To the dude who keeps emailing me photos of his wang, no, that’s not one of the contests. Also, please direct those photos elsewhere. I already have a wang.

Just for poops here’s my latest pocket notebook made by a local company in Chicago. I also ordered a fountain pen so I can seem ultra awesome to on-lookers.

Since I’m always in search of external validation I was excited that someone felt it was important to talk with me. About me.

If you’re not familiar with Chicago, the Tribune is our flagship newspaper and one of the ten biggest in the country. The have real reporters and probably an  ombudsman. They’re the real deal. I announced at work that they sent me a message to interview me. Just the other day an obscene t-shirt manufacturer reached out to me asking to help promote their clothing line. They said to pick any t-shirt I wanted for free. I also had practically yelled this at work. Nobody was impressed.

In my hurry I had neglected to thoroughly read the reporter’s email. All I saw was “request for  interview   and “about meeting your girlfriend through your blog.”

To be more accurate that is what I thought I saw.

When I sat down to re-read the email I realized they wanted to interview me about how I met my ex-wife, not my girlfriend, through a friend. I didn’t even remember writing about how I met my ex-wife. Inviting my current girlfriend Jessica over to  Thanksgiving at my parents’ house for our first date is one of my most popular stories. I get emails about it all the time from readers about it and it’s simply a funny and touching story.

I was confused. While being asked to get interviewed was exciting, talking about how I met my ex-wife (which is a really cute story) felt heavy and sad. We’re still friends and all, but there’s a lot of pain and sadness that surfaces. Remembering our first date brings up a tremendous amount of pleasure which then instantly fast-forwards through the devastation of divorce. It’s a complicated set of feelings.

When I spoke to the reporter at the paper I first pitched the more current story about how I met Jessica. I spent a good five minutes on the details trying to sell it. I hit all the jokes and she laughed the whole way. At the end she thought it might be a good feature for a Valentine’s story, but not a good fit for what she needed with this piece. So, I talked about the ex-wife.

I relayed how I met my ex-wife through a friend. I’ll leave the details out for now should the paper decide to include me in their article. I’ll post a link if it goes to print.

I was asked if the woman that had set us up would be willing to speak to the paper as well. I was sure that she would. This reminded me of another story – the time she tried to set me up with another woman after I was divorced.

Now, this story is newsworthy as the woman was batshit crazy. Our whole relationship had been one phone conversation and she became convinced on the call that I would passing mental illness down to her future kids. I have no diagnosed mental illnesses, by the way.

I had sent the friend that had set me up an email and copied the reporter asking if she would participate in the story. In the email I told her I spoke of the two matchmaker stories – how she introduced me to my now-ex wife, and how she introduced me to a psycho hose beast. When the friend had responded she replied both to me and the writer.

She said it was no problem to speak about how she set me up with Christina but that she didn’t want to talk about the crazy woman as she is a mom at her kid’s school and it could cause friction between them. Ah – makes sense. Then she wrote an unfortunate few sentences. Here’s what she wrote…

 In her defense… you did tell her [crazy broad] that you have self-diagnosed ADD and manic-depression. You didn’t exactly sell your better qualities.

Okay, first of all, I’ve never diagnosed myself with anything except being really kick-ass. Second I have a psychiatrist and a psychologist. Turns out I have a little ADD and that’s it. I take a few meds for it, but it’s no big deal. No bipolar, no depression, not even a touch of the gout. I don’t even get colds, for chrissakes.

Now, I’m sure she was trying to be funny. And while I do appreciate the effort I felt the need to immediately reply to both her and the reporter.

Whoa! No manic-depression!
No depression at all. Just a little ADD and not self-diagnosed. I have a doctor. Ha.

I’m so insecure the idea of having an editor at a newspaper think I was a victim of mental illness was devastating. Here I was attempting to correct any misperceptions. “I’m not crazy! And that whole ‘methinks the lady doth protest too much’ doesn’t apply here!”

Oh, one more thing. When I was being interviewed I asked the writer how she found my site. Was I a big deal around the newsroom down on Michigan Avenue? Out of all the Chicago bloggers was I clearly the funniest? Turns out it was total coincidence that we both live in Chicago. She had just done a Google search looking for stories about being set-up and I showed up number one. I was a little bummed to find out she hadn’t ever read the site before. She promised, however, to keep reading.

All in all a fun day. Even if they don’t print the story I’m thrilled to have been asked. If you haven’t read my confession series one of the  dysfunctional  things I do is interview myself to myself all the time. I only actually get interviewed in real life once in a blue moon and in my mind it’s the greatest honor in the world. In a way, I sort of star-bang myself. I’m sure that’s not healthy. But, hey, someone’s got to.

photo credit: theharv58 via photopin cc

I am cursed.  Cursed I tell ye!

Well, not really.  But I do have this weird body thing.  I’m wired up to always have extreme energy.  I tap my foot constantly, talk fast, and generally act like a spaz.  Call it ADD or whatever.  The bummer is that I can’t take traditional meds for this because my body is also wired for addiction.  Taking amphetamines isn’t a good idea.  Same reason why I can’t drink, use drugs, or do caffeine.  I kind of love it too much.

There are non-stimulant medicines, but they work just slightly.  So that leaves a bunch of other stuff I must do in order to get rid of this excess energy.

If I don’t get rid of the energy it comes out in all sorts of weird ways.  I can get really angry at things that are meaningless.  Just this afternoon I was pretty much yelling at my girlfriend because she didn’t take every piece of advice I had for her on a job interview.  I clearly know exactly what she should be doing.  Why isn’t she blindly accepting all of my genius?  Doesn’t it sound fun to date me?

But, like a stoner after a bongload from the Graffix two-footer, had I run a few miles there’s no way I would have the energy or the inclination to shame my girlfriend.  I would have purged all that energy out.

Also, I am not one of those guys that just lives to exercise.  I’m being a little unfair, as I do ride my bike 20 miles each day (to and from work).  While this sounds like a lot of cardio, and it is a decent amount, it’s really not enough for me.  I’m still a little bit of a spaz afterwards.  However, I don’t understand guys who can’t wait to get to the gym!  But it’s a good idea to lift a few weights and run a mile or two.  The science is in on exercise.

For the first time in forever, tomorrow after I get home I’m heading to the gym to do a quick 45 minute strength workout.  Will I bust out of my shirt like Lou Ferrigno?  You know I will.

Aside from exhausting my body, what else can I do?  Two things come to mind.  Yoga and meditation.  These are both integrative experiences to bring the attention to the present of the body and mind.  However, I don’t do these either.  But I’m going to do a seven minute meditation tonight.  I’m looking for a yoga thing via Groupon or something so I can try it out.  Not sure which one is best for me.  Hopefully not the one where everyone farts during baby-pose.

Here’s my formula for being a normal, non-shithead:

Healthy eating + cardio/weights + therapist + intimate connections with people + medicine + integrated activity (yoga, etc.) + honesty and vulnerability on this blog = Healthy D.J.

Oh, and when I make fun of your comments below, I’m not being a shithead.  You deserve it.

photo credit:  The Eggplant  via  photo pin  cc

If you’re new to the site, you may want to read the back story of how we met.

I’d like to mention a golden move she made in preparation of this trip.

Hey, since I haven’t yet met all your friends, let’s throw a dinner party at your place!

That never would have occurred to me, and demonstrates a real initiative and willingness to meet the people in my life.

She’s also follows the clothing line that my mom manages, even though she doesn’t buy $700 purses.   Again, initiative.

I’ve learned that somebody who takes an interest in my friends and family is incredibly important to me.   She even reads books on ADD to get better insight into my thinking.

I probably ought to take a page from her book and do a better job with her friends and family.   But, see, that doesn’t satisfy my need to think about myself.

This weekend is slammed with events.   I’m going to try to post each day, and we have at least one funny thing planned that should make for decent blog fodder.

I’m playing a show tonight, and she’ll get to see me perform, which will be disappointing as I just stand there not thrashing about like a real rock star.

But at least I’ll have someone to look at.

I love ending sentences with prepositions, by the way.

When I inquired about this woman, who, for the rest of the article I'll call Shirley Hemphill (from What's Happening!!), because I used to watch that show and was always impressed with her jokes.   Plus, her hair was amazing.

I told Elizabeth (the woman that was setting this up) that I was really not ready to date.   I mentioned that while I'm still healing from the divorce, the idea of meeting somebody wonderful and developing a friendship first is definitely interesting to me.

However, I nearly killed it before it began.

Elizabeth had told me there were two things I ought to know about Shirley Hemphill.   One is that she is forty-one years old.   The second is that she has a five year-old daughter.

As soon as I heard that, the immature part of me came to the surface, and I immediately reacted with a strong negative judgment.   Not a judgment against Shirley Hemphill, but against my willingness to know her.   In my mind, even though I has said I only wanted friendship, the truth was these two qualities were weighed in my mind against a potential romantic relationship.   And my immature mind said, “Nope!”

A woman at that age with a child seemed like a bad fit for me.   I was thinking too far ahead, like, “Well, what if really hit it off as friends, and then we start having feelings, and develop a relationship?   I can't be in a relationship with a woman who has a child and is forty-one!”   Now, mind you, I have never dated a woman of that age, nor one with a child.   But still I had a strong feeling that it couldn't work.

This is how crazy I am.

Luckily, I'm crazy but not stupid.   I realized this was an old pattern of judgment based around my own preconceived ideas of what I think I'm going to like.   I often find out I'm wrong.

So, I asked myself the tough questions which were, “So, what's wrong with a woman who's that age with a child?   She's not worth your friendship?   And even if romance develops, so what?”

I had to admit that I was judging solely on preconception, and not on personal experience.

I worked through my judgments and processed those immature feelings.   I was all set to talk with Shirley Hemphill, and excited about the prospect of making a new friend.

She called the first time when I was in Walgreen's picking up a prescription.   She asked if I was sick, and I told her that I was trying a new medication to help with my ADD.   I joked that these were my “crazy pills” and we had a nice chat.   She asked more about me, and I told her that the night before I went to see my doctor.   He said that I almost have a tiny little bit of autism/bipolar effect with certain things.   I thought this was so interesting, because I know that I am clearly not bipolar or have autism.

But he thought this particular medicine (which is used to treat epilepsy – another thing I don't have) will actually help fix the ADD without the use of stimulants (how doctors normally treat ADD).

I didn't think anything of telling her this, one, because she asked, and two, because I think it's sort of interesting.   Plus, I know how to talk about these things and make them funny.   We only chatted for ten minutes because I had band practice.   She was laughing and seemed really interested in continuing the conversation.

She promised to call the next night, and she did.   What was shocking was the first thing she said, literally after I said, “Hello!”

“Yeah, you know I've been thinking and this isn't going to work.”

“What's not going to work?”

“This.   I don't think this is a good fit for me.”

“What's not a good fit for you?”   (I was thoroughly confused)

“Well, for one, you have to understand that I'm in my forties, and you're only thirty five.   That's a big difference.   Two, you just got divorced, and I've been divorced for four years now.   Three, I'm looking for a partner.   I would like to have another child, and I have limited time biologically to do that.”

“Okay…”

“See, I don't think you'd be a good partner for me.   You have autism and bipolar and depression and ADD.”

“Well, I actually don't have…”

“And I wouldn't want my next child to be born with those issues.”

“But… this is only our first conversation, and what if we just became friends?”

“Yeah, I guess we could, but if I don't see a future there, I mean, what's the point?”

I became extremely angry and saddened at the same time.   Here I was, feeling rejected by a woman who didn't even want to become friends with me.   She also clearly did not want to date me because I might genetically pass on autism and bipolar disorder.   Which, by the way, even though I don't have, I didn't see as a reason not to date someone.

Now, I'm probably being unfair.   I don't think Shirley Hemphill is crazy.   She is just extremely focused on finding a partner, and in her mind, she doesn't want to waste her time with a bozo who might screw up her next kid.   I spent the next thirty minutes trying to convince her that maybe we could just start with a friendship and see what happened.

The rest of the conversation went fine, and I really have no idea if she'll ever call again.

But what was most interesting is that this started out as a rejection from me – I had to process all these immature thoughts and feelings, and get to a place where I just saw her as a woman that I might want to get to know.   And then she rejected me for the same sort of reasons.   I didn't fit on her checklist with what she was looking for, and therefore not worth her time.

Again, I'm not trying to poke fun at her or make her seem silly.   She is most definitely not.   But it did feel weird to get rejected by someone before I could even show them who I was as a person.   It was a good lesson to remind me that when I have a strong judgment to ask myself, “Do I have any personal experience to back this up?”

Most of the time, the answer is, “No.”