I make a lot of references to Mother Nature in this blog and nothing is going to change today. I think she is wasteful and redundant. I am done having children. There is absolutely no need for my body to continue to produce any sort of lining for the purpose of embryo attachment.
Nothing will attach.
Ever again.
My husband had a vasectomy. We have FOUR children. I'm out. Yet, month after month, Mother Nature puts my body through its paces "just in case". For the record I am aware Mother Nature is not a real person and that this is simple biology but for the love of God, I'm tired of it.
I was a raging lunatic yesterday. I preferred not to speak to anyone, was exhausted, hungry and crampy. However, there are five other people living in this house so it is necessary I speak to them. Though I'm pretty sure that by the end of the day none of them wanted to talk to me either.
My husband has a broken bone spur in or on his ankle. I'm not a doctor. Point being he is confined to the first floor of our home, the couch or the patio where he smokes. Yesterday I wished for my own broken bone spur to not have to really move. I wished I hadn't quit smoking because smoking is great when angry, bitchy, hungry, happy, sad, stressed, drunk, etc.
All of our bedrooms are located on the second floor. My husband wisely chose not to navigate the stairs so said his good nights to the little boys here in the living room. I sent them up to brush their teeth and said I would follow shortly to tuck them in. Which I did and then returned to my computer to do some work.
We were getting set to watch Big Brother (not a good idea to watch while PMSing because reality TV should never cause that much hate) and I said I would just use the bathroom and then be ready to go. As I got up from my chair, Ryan, my husband, helpfully added in what seemed to me, an almost mocking/accusatory but cheerful tone, that I needed to go say good night to the boys as well.
I swear to God I took a page straight out of the exorcist and mimicked an owl all at the very same time. I slowly turned to look at him (my head may have made a full rotation, it's all a blur now) and said slowly and evenly, "Again? Because I already did that". He sort of laughed and said,"Oh, you did?" I just looked at him and carried on my way.
As I started up the stairs I heard my 17 year old son say something to my husband and they both quietly chuckled but nothing further was said upon my return.
They knew better.
As did I. The rage that filled me upon, number one, his suggestion that I do something I already had done, and two, that he failed to notice me walk past him the first time and go up and then come back down the stairs, was unjustifiable. I honestly think the temperature in the room dropped by a few degrees when I responded to what I viewed as the most idiotic thing ever said by any person any time EVER.
Normally, when not shedding any lining, I would have laughed it off and made fun of him for having his "penis in his eyes". This is a fun little expression we have come up with to describe every males, at least in this house, inability to see something in plain sight when looking for it or otherwise.
Last night, he's lucky I didn't cut his penis off.
This is not okay. I will never understand this biological feature that creates temporary Multiple Personality Disorder. I can cope with the physical discomfort. It's annoying but makes sense. Me turning into Kathy Bates from Misery? Seems excessive.
For those of you wondering if my husband is okay, he's fine. He likely wouldn't mind having a word or two with Mother Nature himself, if for no other reason than personal safety.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Friday, July 8, 2011
Tankini Abuse
Last week I combined all the experiences Mother Nature has to offer. Camping while PMSing. Is there anything more magical?
Actually, yes.
Let us first focus on the positive. Camping, in our world, means eating a lot of not-good-for-you food. Not good for you food is a primary staple of any proper PMSing woman's diet. So I attacked chips, S'mores, trail mix and anything else available comprised of salt, sugar or both, with wild abandon. And then wondered why I wasn't as skinny as the blonde bitch on the beach.
The first day camping wasn't the worst. The bloating hadn't yet set in and while I knew I wasn't exactly 'rocking' my bathing suit, it wasn't horrible. Days 2 and 3 brought considerable bloating courtesy of estrogen, Coors Light and Lays. Given I refuse to buy and wear a one piece and instead remain committed to the oh-so-sexy 'tankini', my bloated belly really gave that thing a run for it's money. Just knockin' the sexy factor through the roof.
It was hot while we camped. It stormed. We spent a lot of time together hot, sweaty and sans TV. Most of the time, it was great. Other times I was known to bark out such gems as: "Clearly three days is too much!" We camped for three days. It's not too much unless you have short term Multiple Personality Disorder.
On the bright side, camping also means sitting by a fire every night and this in turn means you should drink every night. Alcohol is known to alleviate of all symptoms PMS related. I was quite a relaxed campfire girl in the evenings despite the hormonal siege I was under.
I didn't have to deal with any of the super fun aspects of this special time of the month until we were home with super convenient indoor plumbing, so really I am grateful for that. As we all know, bears smell 'it'. If you don't get that reference, get a life and watch Anchorman.
So maybe after all, aside from abusing a bathing suit, PMSing while enjoying the Great Outdoors isn't a bad way to go. I'm sure my husband will say the same given he got to spend this special time with me in a camper. Come to think of it, it did seem as though he was smoking more than usual...I initially attributed that to us being outside (he's not allowed to smoke in the house) and so he was enjoying his freedom. But in hindsight, maybe it more...never mind, I am a joy and a treasure all of the time, and I'm sure he'd say the same.
Actually, yes.
Let us first focus on the positive. Camping, in our world, means eating a lot of not-good-for-you food. Not good for you food is a primary staple of any proper PMSing woman's diet. So I attacked chips, S'mores, trail mix and anything else available comprised of salt, sugar or both, with wild abandon. And then wondered why I wasn't as skinny as the blonde bitch on the beach.
The first day camping wasn't the worst. The bloating hadn't yet set in and while I knew I wasn't exactly 'rocking' my bathing suit, it wasn't horrible. Days 2 and 3 brought considerable bloating courtesy of estrogen, Coors Light and Lays. Given I refuse to buy and wear a one piece and instead remain committed to the oh-so-sexy 'tankini', my bloated belly really gave that thing a run for it's money. Just knockin' the sexy factor through the roof.
It was hot while we camped. It stormed. We spent a lot of time together hot, sweaty and sans TV. Most of the time, it was great. Other times I was known to bark out such gems as: "Clearly three days is too much!" We camped for three days. It's not too much unless you have short term Multiple Personality Disorder.
On the bright side, camping also means sitting by a fire every night and this in turn means you should drink every night. Alcohol is known to alleviate of all symptoms PMS related. I was quite a relaxed campfire girl in the evenings despite the hormonal siege I was under.
I didn't have to deal with any of the super fun aspects of this special time of the month until we were home with super convenient indoor plumbing, so really I am grateful for that. As we all know, bears smell 'it'. If you don't get that reference, get a life and watch Anchorman.
So maybe after all, aside from abusing a bathing suit, PMSing while enjoying the Great Outdoors isn't a bad way to go. I'm sure my husband will say the same given he got to spend this special time with me in a camper. Come to think of it, it did seem as though he was smoking more than usual...I initially attributed that to us being outside (he's not allowed to smoke in the house) and so he was enjoying his freedom. But in hindsight, maybe it more...never mind, I am a joy and a treasure all of the time, and I'm sure he'd say the same.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Quiet Danger
I cannot get enough salt. I couldn't be angrier. I just want to crawl into a hole with a salt lick and be left alone because right now,me and people just aren't getting along.
I haven't had PMS while stressed in quite some time. At least not that I noticed but last week was spent in a slightly stressed state and I had great difficulty coping and less patience than usual. I had lunch with my Grandma yesterday and could hardly stand her...that's when it dawned on me that perhaps it was not only incompetent and/or useless people that were making me feel psychotic. It was good ol' Aunt Flo.
That's such a stupid name. If I had a real aunt who made me as angry as Aunt Flo does I wouldn't talk to her or even send her a Christmas card. I would pretend she doesn't exist. Unfortunately one can't pretend Aunt Flo doesn't exist. That bitch is unreal. Saturday she made me get up and walk away from friends of mine. I was irrationally annoyed with them.
Were they chewing with their mouths open? No. Were they singing Celine Dion songs? No. Spitting? Nope. Actually, they had the gall to talk about working out. In front of me. I know, right?
Seriously, I found myself becoming highly irritated. I left and bought a cup of coffee. We were watching our sons play ball. They are both avid exercisers and were discussing CrossFit, the newest trend and something I think I'd like to try. I used to work out too and wish I had the discipline and drive that either of these girls do when it comes to fitness. And I think that's where Aunt Flo stepped in on Saturday. That bitch knows I feel guilty for not exercising anymore and slightly guiltier for not feeling as badly as I should about it and slightly jealous of their dedication and stomachs flatter than mine. She took all that intimate knowledge and used it to fuel an irrational fire.
I feel it's only fair to tell you that I just took a short writing break to go and find my purse because I remembered I have half a bag of Swedish Berries in there. So yes, I wish I had a flat stomach but hold for the Berries. Aunt Flo also demanded I inhale a bag of Doritos on the way to Saskatoon the other night. I bought them at a gas station and just about finished the bag off before I got to the coffee shop. For my Moose Jaw friends, this would be the Superstore gas station and Tim Horton's. They are on the same stretch of road and less than five minutes apart. As a rule, I don't choose chips. On Saturday though, nothing was going to come between me and a bag of Zesty Cheese Doritos.
Cut to yesterday: I ate a giant cinnamon bun for breakfast because I was staying at my mom's and she bought it for me. It was good. I went for lunch with Grandma, as previously stated. She is the queen of buffets and so we went to a buffet that served Asian & 'Canadian' food. I didn't even sit down at the table when we got there. Granted I ate the bun before 6:30 a.m. and it was noon. I was starving. I started with a bowl of won ton soup, then ate perogies, sushi, chicken balls and a hard boiled egg. This was followed by a piece of lemon meringue pie.
Yes, I'm sure I'm not pregnant.
On the drive home I was beyond exhausted as my mother's hormones dictate her home be kept at freezer-like temperatures and although I do like the room I sleep in to be cool, I like to be warm. Like with blankets. Instead I slept in pajamas, socks and a fleece hoodie and was still cold. So not the best sleep. Then I dealt with the public all morning. Actually the 'public' was fine but other things tried my temper and patience. Point being, I stopped halfway home to fuel up and decided the best choice of afternoon snack would be an English Toffee Cappuccino, a bag of chocolate covered pretzels and the aforementioned sack of Swedish berries. I didn't eat it all but seriously?
This morning it was warm and sunny before 9 a.m. This temporarily brightened my mood. Then within an hour it had clouded over. This made me inexplicably angry. I contemplated writing a post about how I am considering returning to work full time because the only summers I have not worked full time, it is shitty out. The first one was 2004 when our son Reese was born. Mat leave all summer. One of the coldest crappiest summers in the history. of. the. world. I swear. Last summer, I was off while the Fucknut Factory decided what to do with my blogging ass, and again, not great. And here we are in 2011. I work from home so have the freedom to enjoy some weather. And where is it? In the fucking toilet. Although it is sunny out again now. It's supposed to rain for the next two days though. Of course.
I don't want to talk to anybody. Normally when in a bad mood I would phone 'Stacey'. However, I fear this is less than a good idea. I snapped at who I thought was my sister-in-law's husband on Saturday via text. I like him. A lot. I like my sister-in-law a lot too and felt super great when I found out it was her I spoke to like a woman possessed (translation: bitch). So to save a friendship, I will keep to myself today.
And that friends, is when it gets dangerous. People are used to be voicing my opinion often and loudly. When I get quiet is when they do and should start to worry.
And right now, I'm very quiet.
I haven't had PMS while stressed in quite some time. At least not that I noticed but last week was spent in a slightly stressed state and I had great difficulty coping and less patience than usual. I had lunch with my Grandma yesterday and could hardly stand her...that's when it dawned on me that perhaps it was not only incompetent and/or useless people that were making me feel psychotic. It was good ol' Aunt Flo.
That's such a stupid name. If I had a real aunt who made me as angry as Aunt Flo does I wouldn't talk to her or even send her a Christmas card. I would pretend she doesn't exist. Unfortunately one can't pretend Aunt Flo doesn't exist. That bitch is unreal. Saturday she made me get up and walk away from friends of mine. I was irrationally annoyed with them.
Were they chewing with their mouths open? No. Were they singing Celine Dion songs? No. Spitting? Nope. Actually, they had the gall to talk about working out. In front of me. I know, right?
Seriously, I found myself becoming highly irritated. I left and bought a cup of coffee. We were watching our sons play ball. They are both avid exercisers and were discussing CrossFit, the newest trend and something I think I'd like to try. I used to work out too and wish I had the discipline and drive that either of these girls do when it comes to fitness. And I think that's where Aunt Flo stepped in on Saturday. That bitch knows I feel guilty for not exercising anymore and slightly guiltier for not feeling as badly as I should about it and slightly jealous of their dedication and stomachs flatter than mine. She took all that intimate knowledge and used it to fuel an irrational fire.
I feel it's only fair to tell you that I just took a short writing break to go and find my purse because I remembered I have half a bag of Swedish Berries in there. So yes, I wish I had a flat stomach but hold for the Berries. Aunt Flo also demanded I inhale a bag of Doritos on the way to Saskatoon the other night. I bought them at a gas station and just about finished the bag off before I got to the coffee shop. For my Moose Jaw friends, this would be the Superstore gas station and Tim Horton's. They are on the same stretch of road and less than five minutes apart. As a rule, I don't choose chips. On Saturday though, nothing was going to come between me and a bag of Zesty Cheese Doritos.
Cut to yesterday: I ate a giant cinnamon bun for breakfast because I was staying at my mom's and she bought it for me. It was good. I went for lunch with Grandma, as previously stated. She is the queen of buffets and so we went to a buffet that served Asian & 'Canadian' food. I didn't even sit down at the table when we got there. Granted I ate the bun before 6:30 a.m. and it was noon. I was starving. I started with a bowl of won ton soup, then ate perogies, sushi, chicken balls and a hard boiled egg. This was followed by a piece of lemon meringue pie.
Yes, I'm sure I'm not pregnant.
On the drive home I was beyond exhausted as my mother's hormones dictate her home be kept at freezer-like temperatures and although I do like the room I sleep in to be cool, I like to be warm. Like with blankets. Instead I slept in pajamas, socks and a fleece hoodie and was still cold. So not the best sleep. Then I dealt with the public all morning. Actually the 'public' was fine but other things tried my temper and patience. Point being, I stopped halfway home to fuel up and decided the best choice of afternoon snack would be an English Toffee Cappuccino, a bag of chocolate covered pretzels and the aforementioned sack of Swedish berries. I didn't eat it all but seriously?
This morning it was warm and sunny before 9 a.m. This temporarily brightened my mood. Then within an hour it had clouded over. This made me inexplicably angry. I contemplated writing a post about how I am considering returning to work full time because the only summers I have not worked full time, it is shitty out. The first one was 2004 when our son Reese was born. Mat leave all summer. One of the coldest crappiest summers in the history. of. the. world. I swear. Last summer, I was off while the Fucknut Factory decided what to do with my blogging ass, and again, not great. And here we are in 2011. I work from home so have the freedom to enjoy some weather. And where is it? In the fucking toilet. Although it is sunny out again now. It's supposed to rain for the next two days though. Of course.
I don't want to talk to anybody. Normally when in a bad mood I would phone 'Stacey'. However, I fear this is less than a good idea. I snapped at who I thought was my sister-in-law's husband on Saturday via text. I like him. A lot. I like my sister-in-law a lot too and felt super great when I found out it was her I spoke to like a woman possessed (translation: bitch). So to save a friendship, I will keep to myself today.
And that friends, is when it gets dangerous. People are used to be voicing my opinion often and loudly. When I get quiet is when they do and should start to worry.
And right now, I'm very quiet.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Sausage Links & A Mu Mu
Sometimes I think it would just be better if there was a place I could go when I am PMSing. A place where the accepted wardrobe is a mu mu. A place where both sweet and salty snacks were at the ready. A place without judgement, a place without husbands and children. Don't get me wrong, I'm merely thinking of them. This last bout was particularly rough and I am not meant to parent in an appropriate fashion while bloated up like Elvis in his last days but with the demeanor of Attila the Hun.
Patience is limited in my world at the best of times but throw some raging hormones into the mix and it gets downright ugly. My son fell asleep on the couch the other night. My husband took him to bed and then when I went to say good night to him he was awake and adamant that he brush his teeth. Instead of being pleased with his desire to practise good personal hygiene despite utter exhaustion, I practically threw a tantrum. I just wanted him to go to sleep. So finally I barked: "Fine, go brush your teeth!" in a manner one might tell their child to have another cookie or stay up an extra 15 minutes.
Did I mention I become entirely irrational as well?
And this time around I was treated to a level of bloating previously unmatched. Even my stretchy pants were uncomfortable. Granted they were my 'dressy' stretch pants and not my actual sweat pants but good Lord. It was too much. I literally could have passed as a good five months pregnant yesterday. So off I went to parent teacher interviews in elastic waisted pants and a sweatshirt. Thank God my children are good students and so, I hope, I can get away with a little more. Jeans or any pants that had an actual button and fly were out of the question. Not unless I wanted to be in pain the entire time and resemble link sausage.
Joy of joy though, I found peanut butter cups in my van two mornings ago. I snuck them into the house with my three year old seeing and squirreled them away into a cupboard and snacked on them through the day. The same evening I ate a Snickers bar and half a KitKat. Yesterday I had a Skor latte and four Fudgee-Os.
I will not be weighing myself until sometime in the middle of next week and hopefully a good bout of the stomach flu.
Every month brings something different. Mother Nature is sweet in that way. Never wanting us, or me anyway, to get bored or be prepared for the onslaught of physical and emotional discomforts coming our way for a good week of every month. I know my family appreciates it as well.
For now though, it's off to the showers I go and then hopefully, fingers crossed, into a pair of honest to goodness pants. Is there enough stretch? We shall see.
Patience is limited in my world at the best of times but throw some raging hormones into the mix and it gets downright ugly. My son fell asleep on the couch the other night. My husband took him to bed and then when I went to say good night to him he was awake and adamant that he brush his teeth. Instead of being pleased with his desire to practise good personal hygiene despite utter exhaustion, I practically threw a tantrum. I just wanted him to go to sleep. So finally I barked: "Fine, go brush your teeth!" in a manner one might tell their child to have another cookie or stay up an extra 15 minutes.
Did I mention I become entirely irrational as well?
And this time around I was treated to a level of bloating previously unmatched. Even my stretchy pants were uncomfortable. Granted they were my 'dressy' stretch pants and not my actual sweat pants but good Lord. It was too much. I literally could have passed as a good five months pregnant yesterday. So off I went to parent teacher interviews in elastic waisted pants and a sweatshirt. Thank God my children are good students and so, I hope, I can get away with a little more. Jeans or any pants that had an actual button and fly were out of the question. Not unless I wanted to be in pain the entire time and resemble link sausage.
Joy of joy though, I found peanut butter cups in my van two mornings ago. I snuck them into the house with my three year old seeing and squirreled them away into a cupboard and snacked on them through the day. The same evening I ate a Snickers bar and half a KitKat. Yesterday I had a Skor latte and four Fudgee-Os.
I will not be weighing myself until sometime in the middle of next week and hopefully a good bout of the stomach flu.
Every month brings something different. Mother Nature is sweet in that way. Never wanting us, or me anyway, to get bored or be prepared for the onslaught of physical and emotional discomforts coming our way for a good week of every month. I know my family appreciates it as well.
For now though, it's off to the showers I go and then hopefully, fingers crossed, into a pair of honest to goodness pants. Is there enough stretch? We shall see.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Pollyanna Can Take her Banana and Shove It
Hmmmm. So one good thing about today is I found yet another pair of elastic waisted pants that I forgot I had. This means I am quite close to having a pair for every day of the week! And not that I am opposed to wearing my plain old sweat pants for several days in a row but I have pants that I feel I can leave the house in without it looking like a shit myself. Bonus!
This is even better right now as I've been bloated for approximately three days straight. Nothing makes a gal feel sexier.
Stacey and Clinton would have a hey day with me. They like to dress "Moms on the Go" in cute jeans, jackets, accessories, and heels. That's not errand running dress for me. That's a night out. I kind of hate jeans. Probably because I'm an 'apple'.
I fucking hate those fruit comparisons and the whole hourglass thing. Probably because I'm a fruit and not an hourglass. When Stacey and Clinton can find me a pair of jeans that don't make me feel like I'm physically being cut in half or resemble a sausage/muffin topped nightmare, then I'll frolic in said jeans. Which again, apple? Who the fuck decided that. Or pear? Maybe they thought it was flattering. Maybe they had a penis. Wait, I'm almost sure whoever came up with those definitions was a man.
I'm pretty cranky. Surprised? I know. It's so atypical of me.
This post has now officially taken me two days to write. Welcome to Day Two. I'm even more bloated than I was yesterday and am starving. Despite having eating three solid meals today and one snack. STARVING. Why isn't there any candy in this house? Or fucking cookies? I'll tell you why. The children. I bought cookies yesterday and they are GONE. Yes, I had two for breakfast and roughly six last night but I WANT MORE. RIGHT NOW.
Or some candy. Chewy sweet sugary candy. And chocolate. Like a Snickers bar or maybe a Skor or some fucking. peanut. butter. cups.
What do I have? Should I focus on that? I know there's at least one Pollyanna out there who's read in SHAPE or SELF or something equally inane that to satisfy a craving for something sweet, I should eat a banana. I have a few other ideas for what you can do with that banana. All I've got are oranges, apples and granola bars. And popcorn. But right now I am not interested in salt. Or crunch. Just a cheap sugar high. I want to nod off on some fructose, sucrose, corn syrup-y goodness.
And I want to do so while watching something other than Teletoon or Sportsnet.
And since we're playing this game I also want to be effortlessly thin. I want to go from ho-hum to stunning in five minutes with minimal effort. And no, a 'quick slick of lipstick and coat of mascara' will not do this for me as Cosmo, Glamour, etc etc etc, would have you believe. Lipstick and mascara will simply upgrade my look from haggard to tired.
Fuck it.
I'm going to the store.
This is even better right now as I've been bloated for approximately three days straight. Nothing makes a gal feel sexier.
Stacey and Clinton would have a hey day with me. They like to dress "Moms on the Go" in cute jeans, jackets, accessories, and heels. That's not errand running dress for me. That's a night out. I kind of hate jeans. Probably because I'm an 'apple'.
I fucking hate those fruit comparisons and the whole hourglass thing. Probably because I'm a fruit and not an hourglass. When Stacey and Clinton can find me a pair of jeans that don't make me feel like I'm physically being cut in half or resemble a sausage/muffin topped nightmare, then I'll frolic in said jeans. Which again, apple? Who the fuck decided that. Or pear? Maybe they thought it was flattering. Maybe they had a penis. Wait, I'm almost sure whoever came up with those definitions was a man.
I'm pretty cranky. Surprised? I know. It's so atypical of me.
This post has now officially taken me two days to write. Welcome to Day Two. I'm even more bloated than I was yesterday and am starving. Despite having eating three solid meals today and one snack. STARVING. Why isn't there any candy in this house? Or fucking cookies? I'll tell you why. The children. I bought cookies yesterday and they are GONE. Yes, I had two for breakfast and roughly six last night but I WANT MORE. RIGHT NOW.
Or some candy. Chewy sweet sugary candy. And chocolate. Like a Snickers bar or maybe a Skor or some fucking. peanut. butter. cups.
What do I have? Should I focus on that? I know there's at least one Pollyanna out there who's read in SHAPE or SELF or something equally inane that to satisfy a craving for something sweet, I should eat a banana. I have a few other ideas for what you can do with that banana. All I've got are oranges, apples and granola bars. And popcorn. But right now I am not interested in salt. Or crunch. Just a cheap sugar high. I want to nod off on some fructose, sucrose, corn syrup-y goodness.
And I want to do so while watching something other than Teletoon or Sportsnet.
And since we're playing this game I also want to be effortlessly thin. I want to go from ho-hum to stunning in five minutes with minimal effort. And no, a 'quick slick of lipstick and coat of mascara' will not do this for me as Cosmo, Glamour, etc etc etc, would have you believe. Lipstick and mascara will simply upgrade my look from haggard to tired.
Fuck it.
I'm going to the store.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Linkity-Blink
I'm fucking lazy and apologize for the lame title. Something stinks in my house right now but neither my husband or son will confess. Likely out of fear.
Check me out at Driven.
Now!
Check me out at Driven.
Now!
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
My Chassis is Chapped
The title really has nothing to do with this post but I actually uttered this exact phrase earlier and couldn't leave it there.
So here we go again...I clued in to the upcoming festivities after I nearly wrestled a burger from my son yesterday. It was quite a strong hint because never ever have I coveted a burger before. I couldn't stop looking at it. The smell was intoxicating. And I generally can take or leave a burger. Yesterday though, I would've traded my first born for that delicious Burger King sandwich.
Then today I experienced mood swings like no other. I've always been a little prone to the odd mood swing. Those of you who know me will not believe this, but yes, yes, it's true. I can be a little up and down. On top of that I'm not sleeping well this week and I am so bloated that even if I didn't love an elastic-waisted pant I would have no choice but to wear one anyway.
Point is: I'm hot.
I left my husband a special incoherent message on his cell phone today. I couldn't reach him due to some charging issue with his phone. This was driving me beyond any point of rational thought and to top it off I hit my head on my vehicle while I was getting out and I had my sunglasses on my head because for some reason I think I'm fucking Malibu Barbie, and friends, if you didn't know, it really hurts when you hit your head on something and your sunglasses cut into your head.
This prompted me to shout "Fuck!", throw my sunglasses and then yell at my two teen aged children who were with me to "Just go". We were in the mall parking lot. What did they do to incur some of my pre-menopausal wrath? They were smirking. They were smirking in unison. Most of their lives is spent strongly disliking one another but at that very point in time, they were unified in their amusement at my crazy ass antics. And whilst hormonal? This does not please Mama.
And all of this took place without me realizing I had failed to hang up the phone after trying to call Ryan for the sixth time today to see if he could pick up the little boys from daycare.
Psychotic.
So I caught up to the kids in the mall, basically refused to talk to them and we went our separate ways. After a brief bit of shopping we decided to get some cookies. We went to Cookies By George and bought 8 cookies, a bottle of water and two 500 ml cartons of milk, one white and one chocolate. The nice Asian man was very polite while serving us. As we walked away to our table I couldn't help but wonder what he thought of this woman and her children. Eight cookies in a take out bag but did we take them out? No. We found a table and ate six of the cookies right then and there. The other two were for the little boys. We ate our cookies and drank our milk and carried on.
And guess what? Apparently cookies and milk is some sort of happiness elixir for a premenopausal Mama and her at times, difficult and annoying, teenagers. We left the mall parking lot about twenty minutes later full of giggles wholeheartedly singing along to "Forget You" by Cee-Lo.
More shopping ensued, as well as a trip to Wendy's. None of these choices are helping with the bloat and I currently feel like and resemble a woman with child. Just early on, you know maybe three to four months.
Dead sexy.
And now it's time for bed. Where I will no doubt have zero difficulty falling asleep but will dream absurd dreams the entire night and toss and turn and wake up all the bitchier tomorrow morning.
Who am I kidding? Before bed there will be chocolate and more milk. Apparently this month's poison is burgers, chocolate and milk. Times like these I'd give anything to be a man. If you have an itch, you scratch it. If it needs adjusting, you adjust it. Never ever does having a penis mean at some point in your life you will be miserable just because you have one. It will not cause bloating. Or mood swings. In fact, from what I can tell, and remember I have a husband (my second one at that) and three boys; what I know is from firsthand observation and penises seems to be a pretty consistent source of amusement, pride and good feelings.
Fuck it.
Got Milk?
So here we go again...I clued in to the upcoming festivities after I nearly wrestled a burger from my son yesterday. It was quite a strong hint because never ever have I coveted a burger before. I couldn't stop looking at it. The smell was intoxicating. And I generally can take or leave a burger. Yesterday though, I would've traded my first born for that delicious Burger King sandwich.
Then today I experienced mood swings like no other. I've always been a little prone to the odd mood swing. Those of you who know me will not believe this, but yes, yes, it's true. I can be a little up and down. On top of that I'm not sleeping well this week and I am so bloated that even if I didn't love an elastic-waisted pant I would have no choice but to wear one anyway.
Point is: I'm hot.
I left my husband a special incoherent message on his cell phone today. I couldn't reach him due to some charging issue with his phone. This was driving me beyond any point of rational thought and to top it off I hit my head on my vehicle while I was getting out and I had my sunglasses on my head because for some reason I think I'm fucking Malibu Barbie, and friends, if you didn't know, it really hurts when you hit your head on something and your sunglasses cut into your head.
This prompted me to shout "Fuck!", throw my sunglasses and then yell at my two teen aged children who were with me to "Just go". We were in the mall parking lot. What did they do to incur some of my pre-menopausal wrath? They were smirking. They were smirking in unison. Most of their lives is spent strongly disliking one another but at that very point in time, they were unified in their amusement at my crazy ass antics. And whilst hormonal? This does not please Mama.
And all of this took place without me realizing I had failed to hang up the phone after trying to call Ryan for the sixth time today to see if he could pick up the little boys from daycare.
Psychotic.
So I caught up to the kids in the mall, basically refused to talk to them and we went our separate ways. After a brief bit of shopping we decided to get some cookies. We went to Cookies By George and bought 8 cookies, a bottle of water and two 500 ml cartons of milk, one white and one chocolate. The nice Asian man was very polite while serving us. As we walked away to our table I couldn't help but wonder what he thought of this woman and her children. Eight cookies in a take out bag but did we take them out? No. We found a table and ate six of the cookies right then and there. The other two were for the little boys. We ate our cookies and drank our milk and carried on.
And guess what? Apparently cookies and milk is some sort of happiness elixir for a premenopausal Mama and her at times, difficult and annoying, teenagers. We left the mall parking lot about twenty minutes later full of giggles wholeheartedly singing along to "Forget You" by Cee-Lo.
More shopping ensued, as well as a trip to Wendy's. None of these choices are helping with the bloat and I currently feel like and resemble a woman with child. Just early on, you know maybe three to four months.
Dead sexy.
And now it's time for bed. Where I will no doubt have zero difficulty falling asleep but will dream absurd dreams the entire night and toss and turn and wake up all the bitchier tomorrow morning.
Who am I kidding? Before bed there will be chocolate and more milk. Apparently this month's poison is burgers, chocolate and milk. Times like these I'd give anything to be a man. If you have an itch, you scratch it. If it needs adjusting, you adjust it. Never ever does having a penis mean at some point in your life you will be miserable just because you have one. It will not cause bloating. Or mood swings. In fact, from what I can tell, and remember I have a husband (my second one at that) and three boys; what I know is from firsthand observation and penises seems to be a pretty consistent source of amusement, pride and good feelings.
Fuck it.
Got Milk?
Thursday, January 6, 2011
No, I'm not Pregnant
Confused? I chose this as my title because it's been at least two months, if not more, since I posted here. And no it's not because I have stopped experiencing PMS, it's just that I couldn't find anything very funny about it. It's also due to my continued daftness about the whole thing. It's not until it's painfully obvious that I realize the rage and incessant stuffing of my face are connected with something other than my generally sparkling personality.
For example, I was lucky enough to ring in 2011 with Mother Nature's greatest gift to us gals there is. Which meant that Christmas was more than its usual free for all food extravaganza. I ingested mass quantities of food. Turkey, turkey and more turkey. And pop. And candy. So much delicious candy. Turkey buns soaked with butter. White buns, no less. Also, I was extremely bitchy between Christmas and New Year's. One day in particular I preferred it if no one spoke to me at all. Doesn't that sound festive?
My annual New Year's Day hangover was blessed with a headache. This is not terribly unusual, I know, but for me it is. Normally I'm a nauseous Norma. Instead I prayed my eyeball would not expose and nothing would crawl out of the actual eye socket. I am blaming this on Mother Nature as well.
She's like the Mother of all Mothers to blame for one's issues. I am currently choosing not to weigh myself but when I do, it's likely going to reflect my Christmas/PMS binge and I will blame her for that too. Not my complete and total lack of self control or sugar addiction. Nope, never. If I wouldn't have been coming up to this blessed event I bet I would've snacked only on fresh vegetables and hummus. And drank only water and ate grilled chicken with half a piece of dry brown toast. Every day. Sweet tooth be damned. I would've quelled it with a delicious Christmas orange. Mother Nature fucked that all up and now I'm afraid to put my jeans on today. They'll be uncomfortable. Although I do believe I have a pair I haven't washed yet that will be a little more forgiving.
Don't judge me in my comfortable dirty jeans. It's not my fault, it's Hers.
For example, I was lucky enough to ring in 2011 with Mother Nature's greatest gift to us gals there is. Which meant that Christmas was more than its usual free for all food extravaganza. I ingested mass quantities of food. Turkey, turkey and more turkey. And pop. And candy. So much delicious candy. Turkey buns soaked with butter. White buns, no less. Also, I was extremely bitchy between Christmas and New Year's. One day in particular I preferred it if no one spoke to me at all. Doesn't that sound festive?
My annual New Year's Day hangover was blessed with a headache. This is not terribly unusual, I know, but for me it is. Normally I'm a nauseous Norma. Instead I prayed my eyeball would not expose and nothing would crawl out of the actual eye socket. I am blaming this on Mother Nature as well.
She's like the Mother of all Mothers to blame for one's issues. I am currently choosing not to weigh myself but when I do, it's likely going to reflect my Christmas/PMS binge and I will blame her for that too. Not my complete and total lack of self control or sugar addiction. Nope, never. If I wouldn't have been coming up to this blessed event I bet I would've snacked only on fresh vegetables and hummus. And drank only water and ate grilled chicken with half a piece of dry brown toast. Every day. Sweet tooth be damned. I would've quelled it with a delicious Christmas orange. Mother Nature fucked that all up and now I'm afraid to put my jeans on today. They'll be uncomfortable. Although I do believe I have a pair I haven't washed yet that will be a little more forgiving.
Don't judge me in my comfortable dirty jeans. It's not my fault, it's Hers.
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