Friday, February 19, 2010


If you're a man, or if you have no interest in reading about my fucked up menstrual cycle, I suggest you stop reading this post right now and move on to something more important and interesting in your life. I mean, who posts shit about their monthly visit from Aunt Flo anyway, right? I do. And you would too if you'd thought of it before me. I mean, if this biological wonder wasn't already insulting enough, turns out that when you hit somewhere in your 40's - the whole damned thing evolves into some fucked up mind game involving trickery and mystery.

I used to be able to clearly assess and recognize all the warning signs of her monthly visit. She'd send me little notes in advance, like hints along a great scavenger hunt - chocolate, large zit the size of Maine in middle of forehead, bitchy attitude - CHECK! I got them all! And sure enough - at the end of the scavenger hunt after successfully gathering all the items on her list, she would arrive just as planned. But not anymore. Now she's lost her fucking mind - senility has set in and she can't seem to get the shit in the right order or on the right days and I'm forever just wandering around aimlessly wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.

Last time she visited, which was NOT a month ago - now she likes to just arrive whenever the fuck she feels like it - with no rhyme or reason between visits - the only warning sign she sent was sore, throbbing boobs. Nothing like sagging, tennis balls in tube socks boobs. Throbbing. Because evidently, I did want to spend three days being fully aware of their ever-dangling presence on my chest. And also, because she wasn't scheduled to visit, I was certain I was pregnant. So for three days, I plotted my husband's death. I would fucking kill him. Dead. If I was pregnant. I'm too damned old and too damned tired to raise another kid. I don't have it in me. The oldest has already sucked the life out of me and there's barely a shard left for the remaining two. There is no way in hell I could muster up an iota of energy to raise a fourth. I loathed him for those three days. When he spoke, I glared at him - wishing death upon him. I resented everything about him and everything he stood for. That selfish fuck. Then Aunt Flo showed up and saved his life. He's damned lucky this time, that's all I have to say.

I swear that was only two weeks ago. Monday I woke up paralyzed. I looked at both my work and home calendars. Full. And yet, I could not move. I could only lay in bed and be pissed. Pissed that I had so much shit to do. Was it all necessary? No. Most of it was total bullshit. The 5:45 a.m. cheer practice runs, the 3 hour meetings, the *bleh* chili feed - What.The.Fuck. Was everyone against me? Clearly they were. They - you know who THEY are - were out to get ME. And, THEY were all being VERY loud. I could hear them - screaming in my head. Nonstop with the excruciatingly painful screaming. I could hear the mice whispering in the garage. I could hear the kids eating marshmallows from two floors down. I could hear the neighbor drop a pin on her floor. I tried to watch TV, but alas, even on volume control 1, it was too damned loud. WHY.THE.FUCK is everyone SCREAMING AND BEING SO LOUD? I screamed at the husband, "Why the hell are you eating grape nuts for dinner? Are you some type of sadist? You KNOW my hearing is on overload for some fucked up reason." He said it was not grape nuts but instead macaroni and cheese. What-the-fuck-ever. I have no humanly possible explanation for why that macaroni and cheese was so fucking loud and crunchy but it was.

One by one, I started selectively opting out of the shit on my calendar. Chili Feed? HELL NO. I'd fucking kill one of those booster club parents if they so much as looked at me crosswise. I'd had enough of their shit and I was drawing the line with them this week. Staff meeting? Lasted 15 minutes instead of 2 hours. Good enough. We met. I had nothing to say. They had nothing to say. Perfect. Meeting adjourned. The week just moved on in a lurching manner. The maid didn't show up, the laundress didn't make an appearance and the cook didn't do her job either. So we lived on whatever the hell we could find - pre-prepared foods full of carbs and sugar and shit I can't pronounce. I was going to make dinner, but the thought of the mess almost sent me into a nervous breakdown. I was going to eat an orange, but the bag of chocolate chips sounded better. Hell, it was all I could do to call the pizza place and order up a large one of everything. AND QUIT YELLING - THERE'S NO NEED TO SCREAM AT ME WHEN TELLING ME MY SHIT WILL BE DELIVERED IN 30 MINUTES. Fuckers.

And then.... she arrived. Aunt Flo. AGAIN, for the second time in less than a month. And I was all, "Wow! This is new to me! It's like you've never been here before. Who knew?" Perhaps one day I will catch on. Also in the meantime, can everyone please just sit, in one place, and shut.the.fuck.up.


  1. Hilarious and exactly what I am going through....only no zits. We should get together and not talk.

  2. Well I don't get the zits anymore either - which is what is throwing me off. And yes - let's do get together - and sit and just glare at each other in silence. I think it will be therapeutic.