Blame it on the A-A-A-A-A-Ambien.
It's the amended chorus I've been singing to the tune of Jamie Foxx's "Blame It (on the Alcohol)" ever since comedian Roseanne Barr got herself barred from television and her talent agency last week.
In a stunning act of self-inflicted social-mediacide, Barr attacked former President Barack Obama's senior adviser Valerie Jarrett, who is black, tweeting, "muslim brotherhood & planet of the apes had a baby=vj."
Attempting to explain herself, Barr said: "It was 2 in the morning and I was ambien tweeting-it was memorial day too-i went 2 far & do not want it defended. it was egregious Indefensible."
In other words, the sleep medication made her do it. It was a classic PUI -- Posting Under the Influence -- and a costly one, which resulted in ABC canceling Barr's No. 1 sitcom reboot and channels pulling Roseanne reruns.
Pharmaceutical company Sanofi, maker of Ambien, wasn't about to dull Barr's pain.
Sanofi tweeted: "People of all races, religions and nationalities work at Sanofi every day to improve the lives of people around the world. While all pharmaceutical treatments have side effects, racism is not a known side effect of any Sanofi medication."
Side effects for Ambien, a brand name for insomnia drug Zolpidem, according to the FDA, include: "getting out of bed while not being fully awake and do an activity that you do not know you are doing," "abnormal thoughts and behavior," "memory loss," anxiety," "severe allergic reactions."
But side effects according to the JMC -- that's me -- include buying lots of QRAP on QVC.
During a particularly stressful season of life years ago, I was prescribed the medication and learned firsthand that sleep meds can be a bitter pill to swallow.
It did help me fall asleep.
It also helped me fall into some credit card debt.
Trying to wind down, I'd pop a pill and click through television stations. Inevitably I'd end up on the shopping channels where they -- aware that weary, overwhelmed people make ill-advised impulse decisions late at night -- reveal their daily special at 11 p.m.
In my hazy, hypnotic state, a cheery host -- and by then, I knew all their names and their kids' and dogs' names -- could talk me into ordering whatever they were pushing. Lab-created (that's shopping-channel speak for "fake") tanzanite jewelry. Cologne I couldn't smell through the screen. A back massager -- no, two, because then I'd get free shipping.
Whatever it was, in that moment, I had to have it. And they already had my credit card number.
Only I never remembered any of it. Boxes arrived on a regular basis, and I would have no idea what I ordered until I opened them.
Ceramic dipping bowls shaped like crabs?!
Another set of pots and pans?!
A remote-control Christmas tree?!
Luckily, merchandise could be returned within 30 days. Unluckily, I'd have to eat the postage. I'd also eat Junior's Cheesecake and Kansas City Steaks because I apparently ordered those too.
At least one good thing came out of it. It was job security for the delivery guy. He got to know me pretty well. Too well.
Some time later -- after I kicked the Ambien and my sleep-shopping habit through a combination of prayer, melatonin and prudence -- he had a delivery to make at my new address.
"Oh my gosh!" he exclaimed, excited to see his old friend and former best customer. He was so glad I was alive as I was dying of embarrassment. "It's you -- it's The Ordering Lady!"
The Ordering Lady? It's better than "Racist Tweeting Lady." But still. My crazy had been that of nickname proportions.
No more. I sleep peacefully -- drug- worry- and unsecured-debt-free. And I only I shop during daylight hours.
The Ordering Lady has found order and control.
Speaking of control, anyone need a Christmas tree with a remote?
Sleep on it, and email:
jchristman@arkansasonline.com
What's in a Dame is a weekly report from the woman 'hood.
Style on 06/05/2018