The 7 Benefits of Mental Breakdowns

#1 Benefit of Mental Breakdowns: They Make You Stronger

Like Kelly Clarkson (‘s songwriter who was quoting an old adage) once said, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” And that’s true, because I’ve done a lot of things in life that haven’t killed me, and I got stronger. For example, eating chicken didn’t kill me, and I’ve heard that protein makes you stronger. Also head lice. I haven’t ever gotten head lice, but that’s just another thing that hasn’t killed me either.

#2 Benefit of Mental Breakdowns: They’re Entertaining

No expensive movie ticket needed! Just wallow in your own misery! Or, better yet, get a mirror and watch yourself wallow in your own misery! Much better than watching Nicole Kidman wallow in her own misery on the big screen! (Unless, of course, you are Nicole Kidman.)

#3 Benefit of Mental Breakdowns: They Make for Good Songs

Just ask The Beatles! Do you think they wrote, “Yeah I’m lonely, wanna dieeeee” while they were smoking weed, banging chicks, and swimming in a pool of money? (Well, come to think of it, yeah, they probably were.)

#4 Benefit of Mental Breakdowns: They’re Free

That’s more than I can say about lunch.

#5 Benefit of Mental Breakdowns: They Make for Good Memoirs

It is impossible to write a good memoir without at least one mental breakdown, if not 30. And they have to be good mental breakdowns too.

None of this, “Oh, I’m really sad because my dog just got run over by a train” crap; you have to move people with long run-on sentences like:

I was on the verge of extinction, lying on the cold marble, diamond-encrusted, Chanel №5-infused bathroom floor, knowing that I had nothing to live for; not only did my dog get run over by a train, but so did my husband, my aunt, my mother-in-law (though, good riddance to her — she did never like my curtains), 12 of my butlers, and my parakeet; and to top it all off: my eyelash extensionssuck — I said I wanted Audrey Hepburn, not Drag Queen Night-Walker — so there I lay, the tears filling in the gaps between my god-awful eyelash extensions, knowing that it would all be over… all be over… all be over… very soon.”

But to absolutely no one’s surprise, it wasn’t over for the writer, because they were alive enough to (hire a ghost-) write (-r for) their book.

#6 Benefit of Mental Breakdowns: You Could Blame Literally Everything on Your Mental Breakdown

Didn’t really want to go to brunch with Alice? Stole your neighbor’s mail? Embezzled money? No problem! Just blame it on your mental breakdown! It’s that easy.

#7 Benefit of Mental Breakdowns: You Could Learn Stuff About Yourself

For example: How long can you cry?

Conclusion

Like the wise sage Kelly Clarkson (‘s songwriter who was quoting an old adage) once said, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” But what doesn’t NOT kill you, kills you. So don’t do drugs, kids.

Bike Ride... of DOOM!

Part One

This weekend, I decided to go on a bike ride.

Of doom.

This is my bike.

I bought it awhile ago on CraigsList from this older guy who was the nicest, coolest person ever. I wish he could be my spiritual guide or my guru or my librarian or something.

I don't have a picture of him, so here's a picture of Jackie Chan.

My bike was pretty inexpensive, despite my being from Colorado, where it's the law that your bicycle has to cost more than your car.

It's ok though, because I don't own a car.

I put on some clothes, which are not bike riding clothes at all. But my butt* looked really good in them, so I was sure that someone would ask if they could be my boyfriend.

Here is a pictures of my clothes.

*Butt not shown here

Then I got my sunglasses, but they were broken, because it is the destiny of sunglasses to break.

Then I put on my helmet and took another picture of myself.

Then I was ready to go!

Part Two

Ten feet.

When my bike chain fell off.

Luckily, I'm a genius, so this did not phase me.

Then I was ready to go!

When this car stopped halfway down the block.

Luckily, I'm a genius, so this did not phase me.

Then I was ready to go!

When a bus came up behind me and started honking at me.

I might be a genius, but this was getting ridiculous.

I mean, OK, bus driver man. I know you want to be my boyfriend, but your wanting to check me out is no reason to honk at me when you could just stop the bus, get out, and ask me for my number. 

Then I was ready to go!

So I got off my bike and walked.

Part Three

To the park!

YAY!

YAY!!!

YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THERE WERE EVEN BICYCLES AND PLACES FOR BICYCLES TO RIDE AND BICYCLISTS!!!!! 

(Who could TOTALLY ask to be my boyfriend!)

I rode and rode and rode!

Then I was thirsty.

So I said, "Dude, why is this water $3.00? This costs half at the regular store."

And he said, "Because this stand costs $150,000 in fees to run each year, not including taxes, or cost of goods."

"Oh."

Part Four

After having a nice, long bike ride, and after enjoying the beauty of the park, the nice weather, and the fact that I managed not to get hit by any cars, the day was a complete DISASTER because no one asked me if they could be my boyfriend even though my butt looked TOTALLY CUTE IN MY PANTS.

I mean, yeah... maybe it's "hard" to ask me out when I'm riding SUPER FAST because I am SUPER AWESOME at bike-riding, but that is no excuse.

Because my butt looked TOTALLY CUTE IN MY PANTS.

Luckily I'm a genius, so I made a graph:

The end.

Photo Diary of a Psychopath on a Wednesday Afternoon

Today I was going to the library for a lecture, so instead I went to Chipotle.

I got a chicken salad with chicken on it.

I put hot sauce on it, even though it made me cry.

Here's another picture of my salad.

Here's a picture of the bathroom code from my receipt.

(Like a fortune cookie, except it doesn't lie to you.)

Then, it was time to go home.

So instead, I walked around Lower Manhattan and had the following conversation with various people:

Me:

 Can I take a picture of you?

Them: 

OK.*

*Direct quote.

Here are my results:

Participant may or may not be called Marvin.

Participants may or may not be called Tyreese and Favio.

Participants may or may not be called Justin Timberpond and Bruno Venus.

Participant may or may not be called after 9pm.

Participant may or may not be called while taking a shower.

Gwen (unconfirmed)

Henry (unconfirmed)

Henry (confirmed)

What surprised me the most is that every male I asked said yes, and that none of them asked, "Why?" or "What is this for?" or "How come you aren't wearing any pants?"

However, the following is a conversation I had with various female humans:

Me:

Can I take your picture?

FH:

No.*

*Direct quote.

Just something I took a picture of.

In conclusion: 

Girls are smarter than boys.

Books(tores) are Sexxxxxxy

I frequently read in this position.

Chapter books have too many chapters. Ends of chapters encourage people to stop reading, which is bad. Because then Oprah wouldn't have a book club.

Oprah.

If I wrote a novel, there would be no chapters. So if someone was reading it and decided that they would put the book down at the end of the chapter, that would never happen. Actually, I wouldn't have paragraphs either—they encourage pauses. In fact, my whole novel will be one long run-on-sentence. That way, I don’t have to waste my time on “grammar” and “sentence structure” and could write the worst book ever, and get away with it. I mean, Twilight did.

The best story ever if you've never read any other stories ever.

Whoever came up with the idea to put coffee shops in bookstores was brilliant. Because there’s no way to ruin a book faster than to spill coffee on it, and there’s no way to force customers to purchase a book faster than to set them up to spill coffee on it.

I’ve heard that the only reason Barnes and Noble is still in business is because of their “Nook”—their electronic reading device—and I agree with that. What better way to make higher profits than to provide customers with an even more expensive item that they can spill coffee on?

The original nook.

Other industries should start selling products along with the products’ nemesis as well to force customers to ruin, and therefore buy, more products.

Like cell phones at the toilet bowl store.

Or cds at the Frisbee store.

Or dryers at the left sock store.

A left sock.

Everyone should judge books by their cover, because good artwork means that the illustrator was inspired enough by the book to draw something good. If I were designing a cover for a crap book, my cover would look like crap. Because I'm a very accurate illustrator. 

I would make a nice cover for a crappy book if a publisher gave me enough money for it, though. Maybe even though the book was boring or dumb or no one else wanted it, they would throw money at it because they felt sorry for it. 

I know how that feels, being a stripper and all.

Skinny Curvy Girls

I don't usually like to focus on things that "bother me", but there is something that has been bothering me for awhile now--in the same way that it bothers me when people say "imparticular" instead of "in particular". Or when people call me "Sweetie". 

I ain't yo' sweetie.

Anyway, I'd like to talk about this idea that “curvy” somehow is now a euphemism for “fat”.

Now, I have no intention of showing you pictures of "fat girls who aren't actually fat", and then saying things like:

"OMG SHE'S SO BEAUTIFULLLLL!"

or

"Let's compare her to an anorexic girl and see which one is more BEAUTIFULLLLLL!"

or

"Marilyn Monroe was curvy and she was so BEAUTIFULLLLLL!"

Sorry to disappoint you, Tyra Banks, but that's not what I'm here for.

No, I'm here to tell you that it is mathematically incorrect to be calling so-called "curvy" girls "curvy". So you better stop it.

To begin, let's look at a standard woman's sizing chart:

Numeric	Waist	Hip
00	23.5	33
0	24.5	34
2	25.5	35
4	26.5	36
6	27.5	37
8	28.5	38
10	30	39.5
12	31.5	41
14	33	42.5
16	34.5	44
18	36.5	46

Now, if your idea of a good time is creating tables in Excel like me, you would find that the waist-to-hip ratio is smaller for the smaller sizes:

Numeric	Waist	Hip	Ratio
00	23.5	33	0.712121212
0	24.5	34	0.720588235
2	25.5	35	0.728571429
4	26.5	36	0.736111111
6	27.5	37	0.743243243
8	28.5	38	0.75
10	30	39.5	0.759493671
12	31.5	41	0.768292683
14	33	42.5	0.776470588
16	34.5	44	0.784090909
18	36.5	46	0.793478261

Here is a graphic representation of this phenomenon:

(I'm very sorry, but this masterpiece is not for sale.)

As you can see, there is a greater curve of the body to the smaller size because it has to cover more distance in a shorter period than the larger size (because you don't also get taller if you get fatter, or shorter if you get skinnier, except for kids and old people).

Put even more plainly, if your body type follows this sort of chart, if you gained a lot of weight, your waist to hips would eventually be 1:1 and there would be NO curve; the fatter you were, the less curvy you would be.

And the skinnier you were, the more curvy you would be.

All right... so I know that a lot of people put on weight differently, and I know that a lot of people have different body types and may not follow sizing charts exactly. Some people are shaped like this:

Or this:

Or this:

Or this:

And you are all beautiful in your own special way. (At least to your mother. Or maybe to a blind person.)

But the point I was trying to make was that sometimes (maybe even usually), girls who fit smaller sizes are actually curvier than girls who fit larger sizes.

Hence, it is NOT correct to use "curvy" as a synonym for "overweight", as this is frequently inaccurate, misleading, and it is causing our youth to fail the math portion of their SATs. (I mean, probably.)

Unless, of course, you're talking about "curvy" as a description of the body from the side view:

Then I'd be ok with that.

Crying in Public

Sitting on the subway, I noticed a man sitting across from me. As he seemed relatively attractive, I did the one thing I always do when I see something interesting: I stare at it.

So I stared him for awhile. I stared at his dapper clothes. I stared at his expensive watch. I stared at his "I'm not trying too hard hair", trying to figure out how much of a lie that really was.

Then all of a sudden, his shoulders started shaking. I thought to myself, "Maybe he has the hiccups".

But then they started shaking more, so I thought to myself, "Maybe he's that guy who was on The Today Show who had the hiccups FOREVER!" But then I remembered that that was a 12-year-old girl. 

So then I thought, "Maybe his shoulders are shaking because he has Tourette's!" It was at that moment that I noticed the tears coming down his face, and I realized the truth of his shaking shoulders. "You poor thing," I thought to myself. "You don't have to be sad that you have Tourette's."

Surprisingly, People Crying in Public, or PCP, is not such a rare occurrence in the big apple. I see approximately 2 PCPs per week--and I rarely go outside.

But as the wise sage Rihanna once said, "You're so ugly when you cry. Please, just cut it out."

Yes, Rihanna, I couldn't have said it better myself.

So, to help the population, I've compiled a list of things you could be doing instead of crying in public.

1. Stop crying in public.

2. Ride the subway without crying in public.

3. Take the elevator without crying public.

4. Eat a hamburger without crying public.

5. Buy a sweater vest without crying in public.

As you can see, there are a plethora of activities you could be doing instead of crying in public.

Because just as the wise sage Rihanna once said, "I'mma make you my bitch cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake." 

I couldn't have said it better myself.

Author's note from 2016: Uhmmmmmmmm what? I totally cry in public like everyday. 2012 me was so emotionally immature.

On Birthdays

            “Today’s my birthday!”

            “Happy birthday!” Rick, the guy behind the cash register at the concession stand, said. I felt like we had made a connection. A deep, meaningful bond. I smiled.

            “Thank you,” I said, as I realized that telling anyone it’s your birthday basically requires them to respond with a “happy birthday”, regardless of if they actually give a damn about your happiness.

            “Hmmm so… how much is the candy?” I asked.

            “It’s different prices,” Rick said.

            “Like what?” I asked.

            “Well this one is like four dollars, I think. Let me check. It’s four dollars. This other one is… four dollars. I think that this one is four-fifty, but I’ll have to look. No—it’s four dollars.”

            “Ok, let me figure out the average cost and get back to you.”

            As I mulled over my candy purchase, I turned and saw the line of people behind me, staring at me. Was it because I had already spent ten minutes too long at the register trying to figure out what I wanted? Was it because I had been flirting with a gay cash register man? I didn’t know for certain, but I was pretty sure it was because I had nice hair.

            I looked at the woman behind me. She looked happy to see me, even though she was frowning. I was glad I had skimmed through a body language book that told me how to read beyond obvious facial expressions.

            “All right,” I said to Rick. “I’ll take your overpriced candy, and your sexy cheekbones too.”

            Rick looked confused. Or maybe he was turned on.

             “Or just the candy. The candy is good.”

            “That’ll be five dollars,” Rick said.