I have gone mildly insane again.* Thus, rather than cook an inexpensive meal tonight, I was forced to go to José Tejas (known to Massachusetts readers as The Border Café) and consume a “Gulf Coast Seafood Enchilada,” a mixture of teeny-tiny shrimp and crawfish wrapped up in flour tortillas and covered with a creamy, cheesy poblano sauce.
They did not cure my insanity, but god help me if they weren’t FRIGGING DELICIOUS. Also $6.99. Why thank you, sir, I enjoy those apples a great deal.
*If you do not care to read about insanity, skip directly to the end of the post for further instruction.
For those playing the smackdown insanity drinking game at home,* here is the replay:
- I can’t be on Paxil because it makes me a Crazie. (Anti-depressants can make some bipolar people bipolar-er, hence the last bout of insanity.)
- Without Paxil, it appears that I have anxiety and panic disorders on top of my garden-variety bipolarity, and Depakote (mood stabilizer for the bipolarity) doesn’t do jack shit for anxiety.
- Now that the last residue of Paxil has been flushed from my system, panic has kicked in WITH A VENGEANCE.**
- But I can’t go back on Paxil because it makes me a Crazie.
- I have become something of a human guinea pig as we try another drug that has not been approved by the FDA for anxiety or panic to treat the anxiety and panic.
- Also, Paxil is the devil.
ERGO, I am going on hiatus this week while hopefully, my neurotransmitters are beaten into submission once and for all. But lament not, because THE SMACKDOWN LIVES ON: cook eat FRET‘s Claudia, who despite living in Tennessee, is really quite a wonderful person, will be smacking it down right here, same bat day, same bat channel. She has promised to curse a great deal. If we ask very nicely in the comments, she may grace us with her luminescent presence for more than one post.
Other guests may be popping in to stoke the fires as well, so keep an eye out and try and be nice to them.
As a special offering to you, my dear readers, I vow that my first smackdown back will be a Thomas Keller recipe, which virtually guarantees failure on my end, and therefore the potential for high comedy.
See you in a week! Play nice.
* RULES: 1 gulp of beer for every psycho-pharmacological medication named, 2 gulps for every time I self-refer as “a Crazie,” 3 gulps every time I refer to Paxil as the devil, chug a whole beer when I say “transvaginal ultrasound.”
**This is the second time in as many weeks that some kind of freakish bodily function has kicked in WITH A VENGEANCE. I’m getting tired of typing it. Dear Bodily Functions: Do you have something against kicking in gradually? Please consider ceasing the vengeance. Sincerely, Me.