Mother Nature does not fuck around and apparently she reads this blog. I was fine. I was fucking happy. Then the last two hours happened and suddenly I'm ready to kick some ass. Anybodies ass. My puppy, whom I love just accidentally head butted me and I had to put him down and walk away because the bitch/anger/homicidal factor is at it's limit. I'd prefer to be left alone to watch whatever I want and eat some chicken (I'm having an insane craving for chicken) in silence. Is that going to happen? No. Why? Because when not menstruating and homicidal I pro-created like a motherfucker and there are kids all over the place. And animals. Animals that all I had a hand in bringing into this house. Right now though? I'd kill for an empty single bedroom apartment stocked with chicken, Grape Vodka, chocolate and elastic waisted pants and no mirrors.
Is it too much to ask?
Hey, keep your fucking opinions to yourself because that, a-holes, was a rhetorical question.
I quit smoking some eight years ago but I may go find one right now before I go all Scarface on somebody. Or Gemma. Gemma from SOA. With a skateboard. If you haven't watched that show yet (and that particular reference is from Season 1) then I don't know why you're still here. It's a pre-requisite to being a party to this blog.
Which? I already fucking told you.
Get there faster.
I need a drink.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Help
I almost missed it. Well, I suppose you can't really miss it but it caught me unaware again. Then my body did the same old same old and I caught on. How did I come to almost not recognize the signs of impending discomfort? I only had a day or two of irritability unmatched by no other but that was also coupled with a night of two of bad sleep so I chalked it up to that.
I was weepy. But not regular, omigod I can't believe you spoke to me like that! weepy. More of a I'm so happy and filled with joy about life weepy. I was talking to my husband about something new I am embarking on and felt the tears creeping up. I contained them but wondered what the hell? I was embarrassed. But him, being a penis bearer? Was oblivious to the whole thing. Thank God. And that happened more than once this week. Happy almost tears.
This is why I was confused.
If you've been following along you know 'happy' is not the word to describe me at this oh-so-special time of the month. Satanic. Possessed. Mean. Those are all fitting. Happy? Kind? Joyful? These are words almost never used to describe me, no matter what the day. My 'edge' is part of my charm. Well, for those who like me, it is, for those who don't....it's not rocket science. Not that it bothers me. If you can't cope with edge than we are never going to get along. If you can't get wrapped up in Sons of Anarchy to the point where you fantasize being somebodies 'old lady' in an unhealthy fashion? We're not going to work.
Generally speaking.
Until this week. This week I'm just as apt to listen to Celine Dion (gag) while eating veggies and dip (double gag). This may be a slightly exaggeration, but I think you get my point.
Not that I think anyone around here is complaining. I've even made a concerted effort, gasp, to correct my husband less often than usual. I saw what a bitch I was being and realized it's okay to let stuff slide. What? Who said that? Who? Who?
I'm not sure if this hormonal or what but I'm afraid. Someone piss me off, quick, just so I can see if I respond in the appropriate curse-fueled/filled fashion.
Please...for the Love of God, before I go out and grab a Yanni CD.
I was weepy. But not regular, omigod I can't believe you spoke to me like that! weepy. More of a I'm so happy and filled with joy about life weepy. I was talking to my husband about something new I am embarking on and felt the tears creeping up. I contained them but wondered what the hell? I was embarrassed. But him, being a penis bearer? Was oblivious to the whole thing. Thank God. And that happened more than once this week. Happy almost tears.
This is why I was confused.
If you've been following along you know 'happy' is not the word to describe me at this oh-so-special time of the month. Satanic. Possessed. Mean. Those are all fitting. Happy? Kind? Joyful? These are words almost never used to describe me, no matter what the day. My 'edge' is part of my charm. Well, for those who like me, it is, for those who don't....it's not rocket science. Not that it bothers me. If you can't cope with edge than we are never going to get along. If you can't get wrapped up in Sons of Anarchy to the point where you fantasize being somebodies 'old lady' in an unhealthy fashion? We're not going to work.
Generally speaking.
Until this week. This week I'm just as apt to listen to Celine Dion (gag) while eating veggies and dip (double gag). This may be a slightly exaggeration, but I think you get my point.
Not that I think anyone around here is complaining. I've even made a concerted effort, gasp, to correct my husband less often than usual. I saw what a bitch I was being and realized it's okay to let stuff slide. What? Who said that? Who? Who?
I'm not sure if this hormonal or what but I'm afraid. Someone piss me off, quick, just so I can see if I respond in the appropriate curse-fueled/filled fashion.
Please...for the Love of God, before I go out and grab a Yanni CD.
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