Making The Most Out Of Your Recession
Dr. Ding spent like ten thousand years in Gradual School, so I know all kinds of helpful shit about how to survive on nothing but a flat of Ramen noodles and a single pack of generic cigarettes for a week. About sending the wrong check “by mistake” to a creditor, thereby buying yourself some extra time on what would have otherwise been a past-due bill. About making that student loan stretch just far enough to pay for an ill-fated camping trip the Badlands of South Dakota where you listened to “Personal Jesus” by Depeche Mode like seven thousand times with your very patient but very adenoidal best friend whose stentorian snoring caused you to develop a heavy-duty Benadryl addiction.
Where was I going with this verysexy post?
Tip #1: Buy generic Benadryl. It’s a lot cheaper.
Tip #2: If a donkey sticks its head inside your car window, it’s best not to drive off in a panic. What happens? Giant goddamn donkey-panic boogers, that’s what. Costly to remove.
Tip #3: Now is a good time to eat rice, beans, and eggs. And to fart with wild abandon.
Tip #4: Streaming Netflix, people. Look into it.
Tip #5: I’m back, bitchez.
| Etsy: QueenBodacious |
When Will Jesus Bring The Doughnuts?

Just thought I’d give y’all a little update. I had reams of wild and woolly dreams last night, none of which I can presently remember clearly, but I’m pretty sure there was a giant sandwich involved in one of them.
Been doing a lot of musing and introspection lately, and let me tell you this; it totally blows donkey balls at 400 psi. I need to stop asking my patients to do this, it’s totally gnarly. Anycarbs, I realized last night that my problematic relationship with food probably began at a very young age, when I attended St. Patrick’s Church. The math went something like so:
GO TO CHURCH + DOUGHNUTS AFTERWARD = ETERNAL SALVATION
Does that sound right to you? I think I’m missing some kind of metaphysical denominator here, like “NUMBER OF SPRINKLES” or maybe “YOU’RE A GOOD GIRL!”.
Also: there is a poker cue jabbing me rather impertinently in the back of my brains at the moment. How to fix besides a trip to Dunkin Donuts? Please advise.
| Etsy: QueenBodacious |
Adventures In Methane

I’m back on the Elimination Diet wagon, all old-timey like. This is Day Four. My last coherent memory has to do with chopping raw vegetables and drinking some kind of shake that tasted nothing like a bacon martini. Nothing. Like.
The hardest part so far has been withdrawing from caffeine, and it’s only been like 4 hours. Ok, that’s a lie – I’m drinking some stealthy black tea right now. Anyway, it sucks because it makes my eyeballs feel very bulgey. Bulgy. Bugly.
In preparation for downing 4 to 5 of the aforementioned scrumptious shakes per day in order to cleanse my sinful, dirty innards, I’ve been eating lots of veggies, fruits and legumes, and drinking lots of water. And farting in three-part harmony. And dissociating from reality in fun ways. To wit: this morning I found myself up early and then vacuuming, laundering, dog-walking and inexplicably making beef jerky in a food dehydrator*. I’m not sure what all this means because I should definitely be working on treatment plan updates instead of engaging in these Ding-inappropriate behaviors, but because I can’t really remember where I left my DSM-IVR I just gotta keep it real. Thusly. Bugly.
Why am I putting myself through this kind of recockulous fuckery? I’m making a list because The Beyoncé and I live across the street from a goddamned Coldstone Creamery and this makes it hard to focus on other things. No joke.
- I wanna be able to fit my voluptuous calves into supercute magenta ski boots next season.
- My aunt is a breast cancer survivor and reducing my body fat will improve my chances of not getting it.
- Eating more green stuff is good for staving off Alzeheimer’s Disease.
- I want a pair of those fancy 7even jeans in the worst way, and they only go up to a 12. Bastards.
- My allergy symptoms will get lots better.
- Having more energy and sleeping great is nice.
- My symptoms of PCOS and endometriosis will lessen considerably.
- I want to be able to perform a lot of ninja-style moves on the dancefloor.
- My thyroid function might improve.
- I think gallivanting about town surrounded by a giant green methane cloud is sexy.
I think that’s enough.
Ed. Note: I forgot to include the * thingy. * means that I actually own a real, 3-D food dehydrator and that I wasn’t referring to something related to the hot winds emanating from my hind end. Just so we’re clear.
| Etsy: QueenBodacious |
In The Future, We’ll All Be Wearing Granny Panties

As you may remember, we’ve moved back to Denver, where the cost of living is higher and psychologists are a dime-a-dozen, so my caseload is smaller and my net income is lower. There are all manner of shrinks panhandling on streetcorners for patients, hawking their wares like carnival barkers: “Chakras! Get yer chakras buffed here!” and “We’ll process your family-of-origin issues for 50% less than the other gal”. It’s cutthroat. But it’s okay, because it keeps me sharp as well as grateful for what I got. Which brings me to my majestic point.
We’re in a recession. For anyone who has ever spent more than 2 years in grad school, this is pretty much more of same. I spent ages 22-30 as a very po person in my very own personal recession. How did I survive?
1. I ate cheap. I don’t mean I ate Ramen noodles all the time (although my internal organs are now pretty much made of MSG). I almost always brought my lunch or dinner to school or work. I bought in bulk whenever possible, used coupons, and rarely bought brand-name anything. I cooked in large batches and froze what I could. I didn’t usually buy vending machine food because of the giant markup. Well, and because I needed those quarters for laundry.
2. I lived sans student loans for the 1st 3 years. I didn’t own a credit card until my 3rd year, and even then I only used it for larger purchases like airline tickets, car rentals, and conference registrations. Unfortunately I forgot to pay it off for like 5 years, but that’s another story.
3. I walked a lot, even when I could have driven.
4. Socializing often consisted of inviting friends over to watch TV like X-Files, Millenium, etc. Sometimes we’d potluck, sometimes someone would cook. It was very simple but a lot of fun. We shared our VCR tapes with each other, sort of like a flintstonesey version of Netflix.
5. My friends and I would do a lot of lowbrow stuff; farmers’ markets, street fairs, garage sales, auctions, country festivals, etc. We went to local bars to hear bands, rarely to large venues. Sometimes we’d just wander out to a nearby state park and drive around, admiring the scenery. We bowled. We went to the $2 cinema. We took walks in the old Victorian parts of town. It was decidedly low-key, and admittedly by some folks’ standards probably a bit boring. But the point wasn’t to be part of some hip urban scenester thingy, it was to enjoy each others’ company and to experience a break from the strain of research, practicum, exams, jobs. And to get stinking drunk.
6. I bought a lot of my furniture used, except for my mattress and box spring. Dr. Ding does not sleep on dried-up pee. I went to garage sales and hauled bookcases home in the back of my verysmall Nissan. I spray-painted ugly crap to make it look like new and spiffy crap. I draped Xmas lights over lots of stuff. Worked.
7. Bartering. This was pretty informal; help setting up a garage sale for a homemade pizza dinner, or a pair of inline skates for a sewing table. Sometimes my girlfriends and I would do clothing exchanges, complete w/accessories. Note: always wear deodorant when attending one of these. Trust.
8. For clothes, I shopped the clearance racks almost exclusively, and would time big purchases like winter coats or interview suits for those big semi-annual blowout department store sales. I bought a lot of my wardrobe staples at Target and Wal-Mart, basics like t-shirts, turtlenecks, sweats, hose, socks and undies where it didn’t make much difference in terms of quality. I repaired my own hemlines, buttons, and cuffs. I was like some kind of goddamned Laura Ingalls Motherfuckin Wilder, I was.
9. My friends and I would plan our trips and vacations super-carefully. Since a lot of this was pre-internet, we used AAA and Rand-McNally road atlases to compute lodging, mileage and fuel costs. We usually tried to overbudget so that there wouldn’t be any surprises. We bought cheapo package deals to Vegas, went camping, did some 3-day weekends to attend music festivals, ren faires, museum trips, etc. And we still had fun.
Despite my cheapy cheapenheimer tendencies, there have always been a few things I would gladly pay full price for, even back then. Feel free to add your own in the comments, because frankly I haven’t blogged in awhile and my fingers are getting tired.
1. Bras. Oh sweet GirlJesus™ yes. I always would try to find good ones at discount joints like Marshalls first, but it never really bothered me to buy these at regular retail. My brands: Olga, Victoria’s Secret, Le Mystère, Glamorise. Good support makes even inexpensive or poorly-tailored clothes look good.
2. Shoes. Horrid foot problems run in my family. <– Did you see what I just did there? So, I spend $$ on shoes in order to forestall the day when I will be wearing velcroed gastropod orthopedic “comfort oxfords”.
3. Eyeglasses. Because eyeballs are important.
4. Perfume. Because I’m old school like that.
5. Twice-yearly haircut. You can’t fake a really good haircut. I had long hair back then, so I would trim it up and color it myself to keep costs down, but once per semester I’d spring for a professional haircut to prevent me from looking like the Bay City Rollers.
That’s what Dr. Ding gots for ya, as far as surviving this here recession, people. Until next time, I’ll see ya at Wal-Mart, where I’ll be in the underwear aisle pondering the merits of cotton granny panties.
| Etsy: QueenBodacious |
World’s Oldest Living Irish-Luxembourger Chola, At Your Service

So I’m out walking Pooperella just now, and a minivanful of what I’m assuming might have been Japanese tourists slows to a crawl as they approach me, your formidable HBIC of this here blog. Pooperella is checking her p-mail or some goddamned Dog Whisperer thing I know nothing about when several of the tourists start pointing and gesturing at me excitedly. I gave them the side-eye and kept on hustlin’. I am pretty sure at least one of them took my picture, because some flashes went off right before they peeled out.
When I got back inside I asked The Beyoncé what the dealio was, and he took a look at me and suggested that maybe the tourists were impressed with my overall chola look. Puzzled, I eventually after a couple hours of napping ran pell-mell to the bathroom mirror and was forced to concede that indeed I looked like an Irish-Luxembourger-American who could possibly have a straight razor up in her Winehouse. Or who could punch your lights out using only the force of her Irish Catholic guiltfu*. Or who could whip up two gallons of wax bean soup in under an hour and serve it to you with a ridiculous French accent.

I definitely looked like I might cut a bitch, and apparently this completely escaped me when I did my a.m. mirror check. So I decided to have The Beyoncé commemorate my normal weekend look this auspicious occasion. I have no idea if this is what a 40 year-old chubby shrink is supposed to look like, but this is what we’re workin’ with. Good thing those tourists got their photos before I had to pull a strap.
*Just like kungfu only guiltier.
| Etsy: QueenBodacious |
Has Your Vajayjay Lost Its Pep?

With all the plastic surgery bullshit going on nowadays where women get Botox shot into their coochies, Dr. Ding thinks it’s high time we reclaimed the power of the all-mighty bergina. And not in some kind of groovy, over-solemnified 1970s Our Bodies, Our Selves kind of way. Oh no.
See that impish figure up above? That’s a Sheela na Gig, a holy vulva. They were put on buildings for protection from evil back in ancient Ireland and in other areas of Europe, and were considered pretty strong juju, spiritually-speaking. You can read more about them here.
So, the next time you find yourself worrying about what other people think about your punannie, remember its noble lineage and abilities to ward off demons and such. And the next time you’re about to go in for some ridiculous cooter-tightening, hoohoo-rejuvenating procedure, get yourself a Sheela na Gig instead. Trust. Your spirit will thank you for it.
| Etsy: QueenBodacious |














