Wednesday, January 26, 2011


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.


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. 


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.