Chantix and Chocolate Cake

Okay, so I started my Chantix and have been on it for a week. And, let's just say, my nicotine receptors are pissed the fuck off and are just not having any of this shit. Chantix has turned me into a crazy bitch. A zoned out, mean, constantly sobbing crazy bitch. First of all, I'm in a contast fucking fog. I don't even have the mental clarity to make fun of the dumbassess that come into the restuarant. And that just isn't me. Also, I'm usually the quickest bartenter in the place but now I'm moving at a pace of a goddam Golden Girl (no disrespect). Worst of all, it makes me MEAN. And I don't just mean bitchy, but mean. And there is a huge difference. Bitchy is just an additude. Mean is hateful. And I am not hateful.I would never want to truely hurt someones feelings and the people I love, I would die for. And when I talk shit about people, it's usually behind their backs (um, it's called manners).
 Two nights ago I came home and my mom told me to go look at the fridge. She had found an old picture of an ex-boyfriend and me and hung it on the fridge because she though it was a very pretty picture of me. I broke up with this guy almost five fucking years ago and, on a side note, a few months ago her and I were looking at some pictures of him and it didn't bother me and we laughed about how ugly all of my ex's were. So I guess she thought I would just laugh about it (and it was a good pic of me). I didn't. I flipped the fuck out! I mean completely flipped the fucked out. I started crying and then started yelling and screaming like a fucking madwoman at my mom. Then I proceeded to say things that I knew would hurt her feelings. But my mom, being the badasss that she is, basically told me to never disrespect her like that, shut the fuck up, and stop taking that Chantix shit before they put my ass in a padded cell because it was making me batshit crazy. Then she gave me a hug and told me she loved me. Then I went home and cried some more because of the nasty things I said to her. I just don't know what the fuck came over me. It's like the fucking devil himself jumped into my ass and started playing his fiddle. And I don't even live in Georgia.
Not really sure what to do at this point. I did some research and there are dozens of pages dedicated to how this is an awful drug and will probally turn me into Cybil. But then of course there are those that said its worked great for them.But I have a huge distrust of pharmicudical companys and doctors with their  kickbacks, so I don't know. I'm going to give it one more week and if I'm still acting monkey bananas apeshit crazy, I'm done. If the regulars that took up my collection to pay for the shit, get pissed, well, fuck 'em. They can either have my regular, lovely smoking self behind the bar or deal with a wingnut who can't make their tasty beverages because she's in a fucking straighjacket.
On a lighter note, eariler this week before this shit started fucking with my head, one of my co-workers got the "Jesus table" from my earlier post. She follows this blog and when the first thing out of this guys mouth was if we had chocolate cake because last time it was his birthday and didn't get any. ..blahblahblah, she knew exactly who she was dealing with. Okay, first of all, what the fuck is this guys deal with our goddam chocolate cake? It's not made in house.It's not even that good. I wanted to just slip this fucker a note that said "Piggly Wiggly bakery, look into it". It's like when he askes himself What Would Jesus Do, the answer is "Jesus would go to that one place and annoy the fuck out of the waitstaff about the chocolate cake". Is there a fucking Chantix pill for chocolate? Is he already on it, thus making him a crazy fuck?
He made her go check before they even ordered. What a dickface.
She then told me the pulled that "We tip good" shit. Oh for fucks sake! Are you goddam kidding me? I HATE it when people pull that shit. "I tip good" to me is the equal of saying, "I'm not racist." Which pretty much means you don't and you are. 
First of all, its just goddam awkward. We both know that how much money I'm going to make depends on what you feel the need to leave me. We both know it, let's not discuss it. Don't tell me dickhead, just fucking show me. I mean, what the fuck is a server/bartender supposed to say to that shit? Well, as a bartender I can let you know your assurance to me that "I'll be taken care of" is NOT going to get you a stronger drink. At least until I have solid proof in the form of a credit card receipt that you are not totally full of shit (as most of you are). And as a server, agian, what the fuck? "Well sir, I guess I'll just have to take your order and bring your food. You know, like it's my goddam job to do anyway, you clueless dumbass fuckchop!"
Anyway, as further proof that this Jesus table was a bunch of dumbasses, he wasted his fucking breath. From what I understand there were 8 of them and they were getting grat'ed. So yes, asshole, you will tip good. Because it says on the goddam menu that you will. Unfortuanlly they ran her ass off to Biblical  proportions. But he did get to stuff his holy-rolling fat bloated face with our fantastic storebought chocolate cake. And Jesus wept.