I know we’re all feeling a little scared, myself included, about Rick Perry entering the race. But it’s not like the man’s a monster. He’s just delusional. It’s not his fault that he thinks he’s a prophet. Luckily his condition is semi-treatable with atypical antipsychotic medications. In that sense, Perry’s condition is not much different from Michele Bachmann’s migraines which are controlled through anti-seizure medication and weekly alien probing. He who is not on some kind of psychiatric meds, please stand up. I didn’t think so.

However, after leafing through my personal copy of the DSM-IV, which I have used on several occasions to self-diagnose, Perry could also suffer from narcissistic personality disorder, characterized by a sense of entitlement, arrogance, a tendency to greatly exaggerate his achievements and talents, and an inability to walk past a mirror or storm window without admiring his hair. Unfortunately this disorder is notoriously difficult to treat with pharmacotherapy. At the very least, the governor’s performance Saturday at the Day of Prayer and Fasting was the result of a manic episode.

Am I saying that Perry’s crazy? Of course not. No one in the field of psychiatry uses that derogatory term anymore, just like no one says that someone has suffered a “nervous breakdown,” even if they so totally have. I’m simply saying that Perry’s slightly unstable. And, from one unstable person to another, I for one would like to encourage him in his run for the Republican nomination. And if I’m wrong about Perry being delusional, and he actually is the Second Coming of Christ, I’d like to say, I never doubted you.

First there was “drunkorexia.” Then there was “pregorexia.” Now there’s “bleachorexia,” yet another “exia” that is sure to be listed in the next edition of the DSM-IV. (If you’ve never picked up a copy, you can borrow mine. Pay no attention to all the dog-eared pages and index notes.) Dentists are calling their patient’s addiction to whitening their teeth “bleachorexia,” referring to the overbleachers as “bleach junkies.” Overbleaching can lead to erosion of the tooth so your teeth may look good on the outside but inside they’re dying. (Actually this may also apply to your soul.) Can this really be classified as a mental illness? People, please. Why should single women of a certain age be stigmatized just for trying to make themselves look semi-attractive, at least in dark corners?

Despite my Kennedy lineage, my teeth have been a sensitive issue for me since my barbarian of a dentist treated my cavities with toxic mercury-laden fillings before giving me metal braces with elastic bands and a head gear. And due to my lifelong sugar habit, my teeth will never be as white as they should be. Personally I think a few slightly yellowed teeth are endearing. Who am I kidding? I’m not 30 anymore. That was four years ago. It’s my bunny teeth that I have problems with.

Who else was unfortunate enough to buy the NYT yesterday and see Glenn Beck’s face on the cover of the Sunday magazine? I immediately went back to Starbucks and demanded a refund, on both that and my pumpkin spice latte because the light whip had already melted and left some toxic filmy oil spill-type residue on the top. Gross.

In case you missed it, here are some of the highlights. (WARNING TO THOSE WHO WANT TO READ THE WHOLE ARTICLE. GLENN BECK’S HEAD EXPLODES IN THE END. SPOILER.) First, you should know that Beck’s a recovering alcoholic. He reminds us of that every other sentence.

“I think what the country is going through right now is, in a way, what I went through with my alcoholism. You can either live or die. You have a choice.”

“When I bottomed out, I couldn’t put it back together myself. I could do all the hard work. I could do the 12 steps. But I needed like-minded people around me.”

“You need people to be able to reach out and connect and say, ‘Let me help hold you when you’re stumbling, and you hold me when I’m stumbling, because what we’re going through now is a storm of confusion.’ ”

“You get to a place where you disgust yourself. Where you realize what a weak, pathetic and despicable person you have become.”

Now Beck is no longer a weak, pathetic, and despicable drunk. He’s a weak, pathetic, and despicable sober person, which is much more respectable. As I have mentioned before, Beck’s Mormon so he can’t drink coffee. How can you be a recovering alcoholic and not drink like eight cups of coffee a day accompanied by two packs of cigarettes? Isn’t that what recovering alcoholics do when they’re not making amends?

Favorite quote: “He has a spiritual connection to us; you can hear his heart speaking,” Susan Trevethan, a psychiatric nurse from Milford, Conn., [said] at the “Restoring Honor” rally. “I believe he has been divinely guided to be here in this place,” she said. “He is doing the research. He is teaching us.”

More evidence that all those psychiatrists I’ve been seeing over the years (OK, decades) are crazier than I am.

According to a study conducted by a group of French psychiatrists and psychologists, as published in the highly respected medical journal Psychiatry Research, Darth Vader suffered from borderline personality disorder. OK, let’s state the obvious. Darth Vader is NOT REAL (spoiler). And, if he was truly mentally ill, he was not borderline, he was, to put it in clinical terms, a psycho.

The psychiatrists claim that before his transformation into Darth Vader, Anakin Skywalker exhibited all of the classic borderline symptoms: impulsivity, violent outbursts, erratic behavior, and really bad acting. (Hayden Christensen? Seriously?) Also, Skywalker came from a broken home—an absent father, an early separation from his mother. What’s a latchkey kid supposed to do other than watch way too much TV and slaughter a tribe of Tuskans?

Luckily some U.S. shrinks are weighing in, saying that the French researchers don’t know what they’re talking about. Finally, a voice of reason. “Anakin shows borderline traits, but these do not persist into his adulthood,” UCLA child and adolescent psychiatrist Dr. H. Eric Bender said. (Or, as ABC News posits, “Was It the Force or Just a Tough Childhood?”) Wait. Are we still analyzing Anakin THE CHARACTER OF FICTION? This is what the world’s top doctors are spending their time on? No wonder I still have restless leg syndrome.

Bender goes on to argue that perhaps narcissistic personality disorder may be a more appropriate diagnosis because of his obvious delusions of grandeur and obsession with power. That’s about as credible as Jabba the Hutt suffering from Body Dysmorphic Disorder. Not to mention poor Yoda and his devastating early-onset dyslexia and speech impediment. However, I did always suspect that the Ewoks had ADHD. Either that, or their insufferable singing was so incredibly annoying that I almost walked out of Return of the Jedi.

You know why I like to read and write about the crazies, aside from their inherent entertainment value? Because when I read and write about the crazies, it makes me feel better about my own, how do I put this, “eccentricities,” which I like to think of as endearing. Such as my firm belief that you are all just a figment of my overactive imagination.

But then I hear about someone like Tim D’Annunzio, a tea party candidate who’s running in the Republican primary for Congress in North Carolina and will probably beat his opponent. Which the Republican establishment is not happy about, mostly because he’s a total f*cking nutbag. Not just like oh, those tea party people, they’re so wacky. This guy’s certifiable.

According to divorce records, D’Annunzio’s wife said that in 1995 her then-husband claimed he was the Messiah, traveled to New Jersey to raise his stepfather from the dead, and then discovered the Ark of the Covenant in Arizona. That’s insane. Everybody knows that the Ark of the Covenant is sealed in a “TOP SECRET” wooden crate in some giant government warehouse.

A doctor’s evaluation of D’Annunzio found that although the candidate may have had addiction issues with marijuana and heroin, his religious beliefs were “not delusional.” If claiming you’re the Messiah doesn’t make you delusional, then I don’t know what would. Unless, of course, D’Annunzio really is the Messiah. In which case, we are all really, really screwed. In a child support ruling (because he wasn’t paying child support), a judge wrote that D’Annunzio was a self-described “religious zealot” who believed the government was the “Antichrist.” Maybe he’s available to write Rick Perry’s foreword.

D’Annunzio has not responded to any of the allegations except to say that his religious conversion 16 years ago allowed him to overcome his “troubled upbringing.” And then he basically said that everyone was conspiring against him. Which isn’t paranoid at all if we’re talking about the Last Supper.

[The Gaggle]

Lately I feel like I should preface every post with “No. Seriously. I’m not making this up. I’m not that good.” Take this headline (please).

Depressed Woman Loses Benefits After Facebook Post in Which She Looked Happy
Insurance company cuts benefits after woman posts fun pictures to Facebook page.

Wait a minute. INSURANCE COMPANIES ARE WATCHING US ON FACEBOOK? So all that money I’ve been getting for my bogus hip replacement will be taken away? I’m going to start carrying a crutch around with me. I must mention my health in half of my status updates, like “Eileen Smith hopes that her insurance plan never finds out about her numerous preexisting conditions! LOL!” (In retrospect, I did think it was strange that Aetna gave it an “I like” thumbs up.)

Back to the depressed woman who clearly wasn’t depressed because she was making contact with the outside world instead of sitting in her house staring vacantly at her dog while it held its leash, begging to go out. It turns out that a Canadian woman named Nathalie Blanchard posted some photos of her vacation and a few nights out with friends on her Facebook page. According to the article, Blanchard “appears to be having a good time.” Which is unacceptable given that she’s been on sick leave from her job at IBM’s Quebec office for the past year after she was diagnosed with major depression. I mean, if she had killed herself, they probably would have believed her.

So when the benefits were cut off and the checks stopped coming, Blanchard was told it was because “her Facebook pictures indicated she was no longer depressed and ready to return to work.” Oh BAM. This is like when Mike Brady proved that the guy wearing the neck brace in court was faking it after he turned his neck when Brady threw his briefcase on the floor. And it was like, don’t f*ck with the Bradys.

Blanchard insists that just because she has a few good hours once every couple of weeks doesn’t mean that she’s not still suffering from depression. It just means that she’s drunk for a few hours every couple of weeks. She and her lawyer Thomas Lavin are taking legal action against IBM and her health insurance company Manulife, arguing that her doctor was the one who recommended that she socialize with family and friends. Why not sue the doctor for malpractice? He should have told her to check into the nearest hospital and post photos of herself looking miserable in group therapy.

Lavin says that he’s aware of insurers that troll social networks in order to “red flag” someone and prompt further medical reviews or examinations. “It’s kind of a heads up to people about what they put on their Facebook accounts,” he said. “It’s going to be much more prevalent. I think employers and insurance companies need to have a protocol in a case like this.” I always knew this whole “social networking” thing would become a force of evil.

[via ABC]

An inmate who says he is a practicing Wiccan has filed a federal lawsuit against the Texas prison system, claiming that he is unable to practice his religion behind bars. Charles Roberts, 28, alleges that although he has repeatedly asked prison guards via mental telepathy for religious books and the chance to hold a Wiccan animal sacrifice ritual in his unit, his requests have been ignored. He is seeking $500,000 in damages. Dude. You’re a Wiccan. Why don’t you just summon your warlock powers or mix a potion or rub some crystals together to escape?

Wicca is a nature-based religion that follows the cycle of the moon and sun and seasons as opposed to one central deity. Most Wiccans worship both a God and a Goddess. Suddenly all those bumper stickers saying “Back Off, I’m a Goddess,” “My Other Car is a Broom,” and “Every Day’s a Holiday When You’re a Pagan!” make sense. OK no, not really. I think I’ll stick with “Sometimes I Wake Up Grumpy. Sometimes I Let Him Sleep!”

Apparently some Wiccans practice a tradition called skyclad, or working in the nude, which I imagine makes Charles Roberts pretty popular around the old cell block. When Wiccans do work clothed, they tend to wear “Renaissance-fair”-type clothing. This must mean that I have several Wiccans living in and around my neighborhood, as these Renaissance festival folks descend on the area park each week to engage in fencing matches on the tennis courts. Now that I know they’re actual witches and not just freaks who fancy themselves members of King Henry’s court, I will no longer yell, “Hey! Who do you have to joust to get a roast turkey leg around here?!” when I drive by.

Tonight I have book club where we will be discussing The Uses of Enchantment by Heidi Julavits. (By “we,” I mean “whoever actually read the book which usually includes myself and maybe one other person.”) The book, set in West Salem, Mass., is centered around a high school girl’s abduction, which may or may not have happened, in which she may or may not have been a victim. A side story involves a family ancestor accused of being a witch. Picking up on the whole “witch” thing, I intend to gently guide the conversation toward the Wiccan prisoner so we can engage in a feisty debate about religion and modern-day criminal justice and then I can throw in politics which will ultimately lead to me asking who can name all the members of the Supreme Court and feeling smug when no one can. Because that’s how I like to end these sorts of gathering.

Hello, my name is TJ Shroat, and I’d like to talk to you today about grief and sadness. Within the next 24 hours, millions of Americans will become very, very sad. Their beloved candidate for president will have lost, and they will feel certain that America is now doomed.

Whether it’s the Obamaniacs or the McCainiacs who are crying into their breakfast tacos on Wednesday morning, I am here to help. (Having already voted straight Bull Moose Party, I’ll be flying high.) As a former satirical writer, and sometimes sad man, I am in absolutely no position to offer advice on how to deal with grief. Let’s begin, shall we?

The five stages of grief or loss, also known as the Kubler-Ross model, was invented in 1969, shortly after the invention of things that suck. Actually, things sucked prior to 1969. However, people had the decency to silently sublimate their grief; to twist it into a little, imaginary ball and bury it inside their soul. There it would fester and consume them, but quietly, and without inconveniencing others. Then, Elisabeth Kubler-Ross had to go and publish the book “On Death and Dying,” and make a big production out of dealing with suckage. As with any good model, it has five stages which correlate with a person’s five fingers. (Fast Fact: People with hook hands cannot experience grief. Lucky!!!)

Denial (Index finger: wag it back and forth while saying “nuh-uh”)

The first stage is my favorite. Stay in it as long as you can. Deny, deny, deny. I like to start this stage by walking around my neighborhood, muttering “no, no, no, no” or “this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening” or “la, la, la, la, la.” Eventually, that gives way to honking at cars stopped next to me at traffic lights. I grin at the neighboring driver/passenger, make an exaggerated roll-down-your-window pantomime (always clockwise), wait for them to do so, yell “nooooooooooo,” then give them an exaggerated roll-your-window-back-up pantomime (counter-clockwise), which, by then, usually needs no prompting.

(Fast Fact: Shroatmobile 4.0, a used economy car, the most green of vehicle choices, actually has manual windows. Electric windows guzzle gasoline. Thus, I am well practiced with the roll-down pantomime. That’s fortunate, as the down-turned-index-finger-power-window pantomime is not universally recognized, and in some cultures, indicates that I have cuckolded your eldest cousin, which in many cases, I have, but see no reason to boast or advertise.)

While in denial, you should also construct an elaborate fantasy world. Retreat into it. Feel free to give yourself super powers. Eventually, denial will lead to the construction of an effigy, an idealized version of that which will never be. Kiss it. Grind on it a little bit. DO NOT have intercourse with your effigy. Even a well-crafted effigy will lose structural integrity after repeat throttlings. But of course, no one can resist banging a good effigy forever, and that’s how we move from the first stage to the second.

Anger (Middle finger: extend it and point it upward in the universally recognized obscene gesture)

Your effigy has fallen apart, so of course you are pissed. You may also find yourself angry at the state of Florida and the Supreme Court. But, you probably won’t have the opportunity to punch Florida in the mouth or give Anthony Kennedy an Indian burn (sorry, Native American burn). And so, others must suffer instead.

Mount a spring-loaded boxing glove on the handle bars of your bicycle and cruise town looking for teens selling magazine subscriptions.

Pretend to accidentally step on the toes of a child while waiting in a grocery checkout line. (Blond boys, age 6 to 10 work best. They get so red-faced when they cry.)

Scream obscenities at passersby, constantly.

Froth at the mouth.

Now that you are hoarse and headache-y, it’s time for stage three.

Bargaining (Ring finger: twist off your rings and say “how much will you give me for this”)

This stage is fraught with misconceptions. Many people think that while in the bargaining stage, the griever becomes a shrewd bargainer. In fact, the opposite is true. The subject can’t get a decent deal on anything and becomes susceptible to grifts of all kinds. Avoid three-card monte and shell games. Unfortunately, many falsely confident bargainers immediately hold yard sales upon entering this stage. But nobody wants to buy a pre-throttled effigy. Unless you are prudent, you may find yourself trading all your home electronics for a sack of bruised turnips. (Fast Fact: this is the origin of the term, sad sack.)

Bargaining dangers can be mitigated if you happen to be able to hire former Secretary of State James Baker. He’s an evil genius. If you cannot afford James Baker, just say “please baby, please” a lot. It won’t work.

Depression (Little finger: it’s so small, weak and useless)

With little more than a turnip sack to your name, you’ve hit bottom and are feeling low. But, that doesn’t mean you can’t attract the opposite sex while wallowing in depression. Red, puffy eyes are beautiful. Punch yourself, if you haven’t cried enough. Gentlemen, consider a streamer of snot, extending from one or both nostrils, to the end of your chin. Moan constantly. Your voice will have sufficiently recovered from all the stage two screaming. Don’t be afraid to mix it up with an occasional panic attack. Huffing spray paint or model glue can deepen your depression, but if you huff your way into a coma, you’ve gone too far. It’s a fine line. Experiment with it.

Acceptance (Thumb: Think Fonzie. “Aaay!”)

Also known as the “uncle” stage. Also known as the “pussy” stage. Also known as the “oh-you’re-just-going-to-take-that-laying-down” stage. In fact, you are going to take it. You aren’t going to run away from home. You aren’t going to move to Canada or to Branson.

Remember, life has so many other disappointments in store for you. Don’t blow your wad on this one. Save something for your candidate’s demoralizing defeat in 2012.

I’m so glad I could help.

So apparently Sarah Palin had a private tanning bed installed in the Governor’s Mansion. Now before you judge, let’s remember that everyone looks better with a tan. (Some people find it necessary to tell me this on a daily basis for reasons unbeknownst to me.) And Palin herself paid for the used (previously owned?) tanning bed with her own money.

Still, according to Color Me Tan manager Erin Wiese (a much more credible source than, say, Darque Tan), installation of a tanning bed can cost up to $35,000. “I don’t think it’s normal for people to have a tanning bed in their house,” Wiese said. But it’s perfectly normal to visit a tanning spa in order to lie in a makeshift coffin with goggles over your eyes.

Tanninggate brings up some important points. Either Palin is incredibly vain, willing to risk skin cancer for the perfect tan, or she is mentally ill. I’m not talking about tanorexia, per se, but about a far more serious problem.

Seasonal Asshole Disorder, clinically referred to as Seasonal Affective Disorder, is a form of winter depression. According to the DSM-IV (yes, I’ve got a signed copy at home), there are two main criteria for a SAD diagnosis: depressive episodes at a particular time of the year; and remissions or mania/hypomania at a characteristic time of year.

In Alaska, there is a SAD rate of 8.9%, and an even greater rate of 24.9% for a lesser form known as subsyndromal SAD. The use of bright light is the most common treatment, such as a specially designed lamp that is many times brighter than normal indoor lighting. Treatments typically consist of the patient staring into a light box with their eyes open for 30 to 60-minute intervals.

Obviously, Palin is substituting the tanning bed for an unsightly light box which would give her disorder away. Now just because Palin is mentally unstable does not mean she’s unfit to be vice president.

So maybe she gets alternately depressed and crazy from December through March. Maybe she has to spend an hour a day staring blankly into a blinding light. Maybe she’ll have to work in marathon CBT therapy sessions a few times a week. Maybe she’ll refuse to get up in the morning, instead barricading herself in her room and crying at commercials.

What could possibly go wrong?

Unlike a drunkorexic, there’s just nothing cute about a pregorexic. Some experts contend that certain women get so obsessed with keeping their weight down while pregnant that they might overdo it on diet and exercise, putting the health of the baby at possible risk. They call this “pregorexia” because “dumbassorexia” was already taken.

Could this latest trend have anything to do with those celebrities who gain roughly 5 pounds while pregnant only to drop it +10 before they leave the hospital? (Their stunning results are surpassed only by PureAustin women sweating out all their baby weight in one sauna session, while I look on, horrified.)

Apparently pregnant women are supposed to gain anywhere from 25 to 35 pounds, depending on her size and how much weight she loses by giving up alcoholic beverages, which made up one-third of her diet anyway, forcing her to eat things she never thought she would eat, such as “food.”

Both The Early Show and The Today Show (what’s the difference?) featured pregorexia Monday, concerning post-baby-bod blues of regular women.

Celebrity moms are not only dropping their baby weight quickly, they seem to be engaged in some sort of Postpartum Weight Loss Olympics. One week, the tabloids will be abuzz with the news that Marcia Cross has lost her baby weight (from twins!) in three months time; the next, a svelte Halle Berry will be rocking the red carpet just six short weeks after delivery. In the most recent case of celebrity shrinkdown, Nicole Kidman’s post-baby body was declared “Already Hot After 2 Weeks!” by the New York Post Chronicle.

So, OK. Let’s talk about Nicole Kidman. My hairdresser and I have a theory — she was never pregnant. She and Keith hired a surrogate, paid her plenty of hush money, and Nicole pranced around with a tiny baby bump prosthetic. Like stranger things haven’t happened. Tom Cruise made her fucking nuts.

To be clear, this woman did not give birth two weeks ago. Not even an extremist’s extreme mommy makeover could do this.

I was at Pure Austin last night, trying to blow off some steam and work through my primary grief, despite the fact that I had hurt my right knee earlier in the day by slipping and falling at Whole Foods while trying to balance an assortment of two-bite cupcakes (not a pretty sight, as you can imagine).

The new sign in the women’s locker room is promoting a “bikini work-out” clinic, a cruel reminder to single female gym members (you know, the ones who work out in full make-up) that this may be the last summer for them to land a man before the dreaded ass-sag.

I ripped the blatantly sexist, not to mention poorly designed (come on, clip art of a firm butt?), sign off the door and marched/hobbled on my one good leg, to the front desk, where I slammed it down, interrupting the girls passing out the freakishly small hand towels that are supposed to pass for bath towels but instead just make you feel like you’re a hideous creature from Planet Fat.

“What’s the meaning of this?” I demanded.

One of the girls smiled. “Would you like to sign up?” She looked at me, frowning. “Unfortunately, ma’am, we can’t guarantee that your breasts will get any bigger.”

“NO, I’m not interested in this demoralizing clinic,” I responded, shaking my fist. “Telling us to get in ‘bikini-shape’ is an affront to women everywhere! I don’t see any ‘speedo work-out’ clinics being offered for all the fat hairy men in here — like those guys,” I said, pointing over to the steriod-powered weight-lifting area.

The girl furrowed her brow. “You’re that same pushing-middle-age woman who complained about the strip tease class a few weeks ago, aren’t you? And, before that, the bride boot camp? And didn’t you tattle on some woman who was sitting in the sauna fully clothed, accusing us of contributing to the alleged drunkorexia epidemic sweeping this city?”

I grabbed the sign and tore it into pieces, realizing that I was the only woman still fighting for justice. I will be wearing a tankini this summer to do my part.

With all this talk of politics and debates and why Hillary is the superior candidate, we’ve neglected to focus on the Americans with real problems, the voters who have been left behind, the group which has been ignored for far too long.

Single women. And the men who don’t love them.

There is really only one explanation for their spinsterhood: they refuse to lose the weight required to become a glowing anorexic bride, dooming them to a life of eating.

According to what passes for an article in Newsweek, modern-day brides are obsessed with losing weight before The Big Day. Just for the record, this was not the case for me. Instead, I became a special kind of drunkorexic — one who drinks too much while stuffing her face with wedding cake and clearing the dance floor with her carefully choreographed dance routines. Mostly to “Tricky.”

Researcher Lori Neighbors, nutrition professor at the University of Wisconsin, published a study concerning the relationship between looming nuptials and weight loss, focusing on the dieting patterns of close to 300 engaged women who were six months away from their wedding day.

The study found that 70 percent of the women were trying to lose more than 20 pounds, and another 20 percent were spending hours in saunas fully clothed to make sure they didn’t gain any weight. A small percentage started smoking, or vomiting after meals. Wow. These are going to be some seriously fun wives.

I was horrified to see a “Bride Boot Camp” course being offered at my gym. I mean, that’s totally going to ruin your wedding gown. I immediately walked up to the front desk, grasping the sign in my fist, and demanded to know if they would also be offering a “Groom Boot Camp” for all those fat asses who won’t be able to fit into their tuxes. When they stared blankly at me, I held up the sign and shouted, “Tell your manager to meet me in Ohio!!”

Compulsive Internet abuse is now being defined as a mental disorder but, unlike shyness, premature ejaculation and canine depression, there is no known cure. It’s too late for me. Save yourselves.

Young boys in South Korea suffer from some of the most severe cases of Internet addiction, and boot camps such as Jump Up Internet Rescue School! are becoming all the rage. Internet abuse has become a major issue in South Korea as users started dropping dead from exhaustion after playing games for days on end. I’ve been known to blog for days without eating or sleeping or showering or communicating with the outside world. It’s called working at Texas Monthly.

Up to 30 percent of South Koreans under the age of 18 are at risk of Internet addiction. Symptoms include spending hours a day online, isolating family and friends, withdrawing from normal activities, and communicating solely through acronyms. Approximately nine million Americans are at risk for the disorder, and most of them blog at DailyKos.

If you or someone you love is suffering from Internet addiction, take this quick quiz. Be sure to answer the questions honestly.

• How often do you prefer the excitement of the Internet to intimacy with your partner?
• How often do you block out disturbing thoughts about your life with soothing thoughts of the Internet?
• How often do you fear that life without the Internet would be boring, empty, and joyless?

I’m guessing that most of you should be in detox.

According to a recent survey, two thirds of women say they only get a good night’s sleep a few nights a week. An estimated 29 percent take sleeping pills or other sleep aids, such as whiskey straight from the bottle. Another 54 percent of single women say that they don’t get a good night’s sleep for one of two reasons — either they’ve invited a strange man into their bed (again) on a drunken whim, or they’re busy journaling about why they can’t find a husband.

Insomnia can be a symptom of a number of underlying problems, such as anxiety, depression, Lifetime Movie Network addiction and the completely fabricated premenstrual dysphoric disorder. Go ahead and tell me a man didn’t think that one up. I ALWAYS KNEW SHE WAS PSYCHOTIC.

One of the most often missed medical conditions that can cause insomnia in women is obstructive sleep apnea. Sleep apnea occurs when people spontaneously stop breathing during their sleep because the airway gets blocked. This is also known as a cat stealing your breath. Because snoring can be a symptom of sleep apnea, the disorder is more easily detected in men, and female bloggers. Like I can help it that my sinuses are constantly blocked.

If a woman is diagnosed with sleep apnea, her doctor may fit her with a special device that delivers pressurized air through the nose to help keep the airway open. If you can’t afford a doctor, just wear a scuba mask and snorkel to bed.

It’s after 3PM and I’m still an employee of Texas Monthly (visit texasmonthly.com today!). Although they’ve asked for my security card and parking pass back, I’m pretty sure this is just a formality.

According to a new survey, web surfing has become such an obsession for the majority of Americans that they cannot last for a week without going online. In fact, one in three have given up sex and/or friends for the Internet. Bloggers are even more obsessed, and would give up sex and/or friends if they had either one of them.

“People told us how anxious, isolated and bored they felt when they are forced off line,” said Ann Mack of JWT Advertising, which conducted the survey. “They felt disconnected from the world, from their friends and family. Plus they like the porn.”

Close to 50 percent of Americans said they “felt something important was missing” without Internet access. And 20 percent of single women are having less sex because they’re wasting time (they don’t have) online. They’re searching for God knows who on Match and eHarmony before switching over to Pets.com to buy their 18th cat.

“It is taking away from offline activities, among them having sex, socializing face-to-face, watching TV and reading newspapers and magazines. It cuts into that share,” Mack said. “I don’t suppose their partners are too pleased about it.”

No, I don’t suppose they are. But WHEN ELSE AM I GOING TO FIND TIME TO BLOG?!

By studying a bunch of poor desperate shoeless single women and anemic basement bloggers, researchers have concluded that the lonely among us are more likely to get sick and die young. So this could be good news, depending on how you look at it. You may be lonely and sad, but it may not last too long.

The study found that lonely people tend to have weaker immune systems. After coaxing the discarded out of their shells with false promises of friendship and understanding, the researchers used a gene chip to examine their DNA. They discovered that the chronically lonely have “distinct patterns of genetic activity” due to years of sending themselves valentines.

“What this study shows is that the biological impact of social isolation reaches down into some of our most basic internal processes,” said Steve Cole, a molecular biologist at UCLA.

“We have known for years that there is this epidemiological relationship between social support – how many friends and family members you have around you – and a whole bunch of physical outcomes,” Cole continued. “There’s a reason lonely people die alone. They completely repulse the opposite sex.”

The study did not answer the question of which comes first, the loneliness or the physical ailments. Are people born lonely, causing their bodies to turn against them because they are such total losers? Or do they become lonely and sick after eating one too many pints of Ben & Jerry’s on a Saturday night?

Researchers have discovered genes that are linked to Restless Legs Syndrome, proving that it is an actual biological disorder and not just an excuse for covering up one’s knees. Finally. The medical breakthrough I’ve been waiting for.

RLS, aka RBS, refers to a neurological condition characterized by an irresistible urge to move your legs. This serious and completely fabricated condition can present as nighttime leg-twitching and difficulty sleeping, especially for single women who are tortured by the fact that they have no one to share their beds with.

“It feels like something crawling inside your legs, biting on you,” said Betty Shaw, a 68-year-old florist in Covington, Georgia who was diagnosed shortly after her second nervous breakdown.

“This discovery demonstrates the power of genetics not only for uncovering the biological causes of disease, but also for defining diseases such as RLS and establishing them as medical conditions,” said lead researcher Dr. Kari Stefansson. A co-author of the study, Dr. David Rye, sits on the board of GlaxoSmithKline (no relation) and accepts speaking fees from… GlaxoSmithKline.

GSK is the maker of the miracle drug Requip. Ask your doctor if Requip is right for you. Side effects include sedation, driving off the road, profuse sweating, dizziness, projectile vomiting, temporary limb paralysis, permanent limb paralysis, uncontrollable Rockette-type high kicks, embarrassing dance moves, and the propensity to challenge friends and colleagues to a game of Indian (Native-American?) leg wrestling.

Dr. Steven Woloshin of Dartmouth Medical School argues that the RBS is overdiagnosed. Apparently, he enjoys watching people suffer as their legs flail about them in utter agony.

Which slutty drug rep from Eli Lilly is fuck*ing someone at the FDA? The FDA has just approved an antidepressant called ‘Reconcile’ for… depressed dogs. It’s an SSRI that tastes like snausages.

Technically, Prozac for Dogs has been approved for the treatment of CANINE SEPARATION ANXIETY and will be pushed to veterinarians across the country. “Lilly research shows that 10.7 million, or up to 17 percent of U.S. dogs suffer from separation anxiety,” said Steve Connell, manager of animal health at Lilly. “We’re thrilled that our first product for dogs can help restore the human-pet bond, which can be compromised when dogs suffer from separation anxiety.”

Did he really say that with a straight face? In the pipeline… doggie viagra for wiener dogs.

According to internal Lilly studies featuring 600 dogs, 73 percent of dogs on Reconcile showed marked improvement in separation anxiety as opposed to the control group. At least 15 of those dogs not receiving Reconcile killed themselves. As always, there are adverse reactions. The most common include vomiting, shaking, diarrhea, aggression, seizures and suicidal thoughts.

Connell said that separation anxiety is commonly misunderstood by humans. When a dog is left alone for even short periods of time, the dog can engage in undesirable behavior. Like what? Chewing on furniture? Peeing in slippers? It’s called BEING A DOG. This particular canine mental illness can come with comorbid disorders such as anorexia, depression and the inexplicable desire to roll over and get its belly scratched.

For 10 years, Eli Lilly has asserted that its top-selling drug, the antipsychotic Zyprexa (as if you didn’t know) doesn’t pose any real health risks to users, such as severe obesity, diabetes or an erection lasting more than 12 days. According to Lilly’s internal documents, however, 30 percent of patients taking Zyprexa gained 22 pounds or more after one year. Some patients gained 100 pounds or more. 100 POUNDS. That’s like gaining two Nicole Richies.

As early as 1999, Lilliputtians expressed concern that side effects of Zyprexa (or olanzapine) could negatively impact patients sales. “Olanzapine-associated weight gain and possible hyperglycemia is a major threat to the long-term success of this critically important molecule,” said Dr. Alan Breier in an email to employees. In 2000, a group of diabetes doctors warned Lilly that “unless we come clean on this, it could get much more serious than we might anticipate… Those fat, crazy people just might come after us.”

According to Lilly execs, the documents acquired by the Times should not have been made public because they might “cause unwarranted fear among patients that will cause them to stop taking their medication.” Really? Because I think gaining five more asses in three days would have been enough for patients to stop taking their meds. Once psychiatrists noticed the girth of their clients, Lilly decided to expand its marketing to primary care docs who were more susceptible to drug reps in short skirts.

Lilly sales material encouraged reps to promote Zyprexa as the “safe, gentle psychotropic” suitable for patients with milder mental illness (anxiety, depression, excessive blogging), and even older patients displaying symptoms of dementia. Zyprexa is not approved to treat dementia and can increase the risk of death in older patients. But according to a Lilly spokesperson, “Older patients who seem to have dementia may actually have schizophrenia that has gone untreated.”

Yes. Now that you mention it, Meemaw has been a little off for the past 80 years.

Have I ever mentioned my hatred of Big PhARMA?

Sure, I’ve been known to partake of a few pharmaceutical cocktails (shaken, not stirred) while experiencing the benefits of better living through chemistry but I can’t read an article on the drug industry without my blood boiling. That’s typically when I pop a Xanax.

Last week, the industry’s top executives met to discuss their new strategy for dealing with a decidedly less friendly Democratic Congress.

Hoping to prevent Congress from letting the government negotiate lower drug prices for millions of older Americans on Medicare, the pharmaceutical companies have been recruiting Democratic lobbyists, lining up allies in the Bush administration and Congress, and renewing ties with organizations of patients who depend on brand-name drugs.

These are the real evildoers. And don’t believe the hype about how they spend all this money on researching new drugs. The pharmaceutical industry spends twice as much money on PR and marketing (especially direct to consumers) than on research and development. These people spend over $100 million a year just on lobbying DC.

As a forward-thinking Appropriations staffer, I wrote a detailed report on how to save the state’s money regarding government-sponsored health programs such as Medicaid and CHIP through preferred drug lists, use of generics and giving people placebo pills which work just as well. NO NOBODY READ IT. YES THEY THINK I’M A SOCIALIST. (And yes, when drugs are in the hands of many, it’s a lot better than when they’re controlled by a few corporate giants. [smirk])

Democrats are pushing for stricter regulation of drug safety and for legislation to encourage development of low-cost generic versions of expensive biotechnology drugs. They are determined to allow imports of drugs from Canada, where brand-name products are often cheaper.They want to investigate drug pricing and profits, drug advertising aimed at consumers and the marketing of drugs to doctors for purposes not approved by the Food and Drug Administration.

Obviously, this doesn’t make the druggies happy. Safer, cheaper drugs? Fewer Lunesta commercials claiming how sleep aids are not addictive? (Please. It took me a month and bottomless cups of coffee to go through withdrawal and I never even saw that damn butterfly. Not once.)

Adults are one thing. At least grown-ups have a choice. But when an estimated 1.6 million children and teenagers are on at least two psychiatric drugs, and over 500,000 are prescribed at least three drugs, isn’t it time to start asking why?