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Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

01 March 2012

Random Sheisse



(I'm attempting to make my blog classier by swearing in different languages.  I feel like I'm giving back by broadening the horizons of the masses by making my blog more educational.  You're welcome.  No, really... it was nothing.  The giving never stops with me.  It's how I roll.)




I'm going to share with you what was literally the first thought to ricochet through my brain this morning upon turning on the computer and checking out my MSN homepage:

According to Page Six, Snooki is pregnant.
Call the National Guard, call FEMA, call a priest, for crying out loud. God help us all.
Is she carrying that baby in her left boob?


When the press begins giving us moment-by-moment updates on Snookie's "baby bump" (which is a phrase I've learned to hate... thank you for ruining it for everyone, Hollywood) I'm going to be fascinated by the growth of that one huge breast. 

Also?

Who wants to lay bets that the baby comes out wearing a Bump-it?


She must be having twins... She's carrying one in her left boob and the other on the back of her head.




Okay, True Confession time:

I've never watched a single episode of Jersey Shore.

Ever.

I've never seen The Real Housewives of New Jersey, or Jersey-licious.

And yet... I still make fun of all those shows.  A lot.  I have no idea what I'm talking about and I'm literally dragging my opinion out of my ass and basing it on NOTHING.

(It isn't like I have anything against New Jersey... Some of my best friends are from New Jersey.)






Moving right along, I've been feeling kind of "eh" today.  I'm fluctuating between wanting to throw myself face down on the bed and crying myself into a state of nearly fatal dehydration and running naked into the forest and screaming until the cows come home.  I want to lie around the house in my sweatpants and eat Ruffles potato chips and onion dip, the kind my mom used to make with sour ream and Lipton's Onion Soup mix.

And then?

I want cheesecake.

After which, I want to go back to sobbing face down on my bed and/or screaming naked in the forest.

Seriously.


I feel ya, Laura.  Now turn around and bitch slap the crap out of him. 

Naturally, I WebMD's this shit, and it's either menopause or something hideous and imminently fatal.  And painful.  And disfiguring.  And contagious.


Just as I thought!!  I love being right.



(What?  Of course it ties in to Snookie's pregnancy and Primal Scream Therapy.  Keep up, dammit.)

So yesterday I got a message from my friend Dana.  She brought something to my attention that made the very dim lightbulb in my head flicker and burn like a candelabra.  It was one of those moments where you read something seemingly so simple and then you're like, "Oh. My. God.  OH. MY. GOD."  Suddenly, the world becomes clear and bright and everything makes sense.   She very innocently made mention of an issue  that I, too, have been having... but didn't make the connection and therefore, wasn't able to be effectively bitter and angry about it!!  (That's what friends are for, people.  Making damn sure you know who, when, where and what to put on Your List.  High 5^, mama!)

(Dana and I are the same age, went to high school together, and are frequently the same person, as far as the way we think and the rate at which our bodies are falling apart).

Let me share with you a brief exert of Dana's note:

As I lay awake last night because of excruciating menstrual cramps, a full-on hot flash set in. As I flopped about, rolling into a ball and flinging blankets off me while mopping the sweat off me, I wondered why Karma was kicking my ass so badly by letting me live in both the world of the bleeding and the sweating. How can I be both menstrual and menopausal at the same time?


Right???!!

I read that and I was all, "Oh my GOD!  SO AM I!!"


I mean, really... no WONDER I am such a mess!!  I wake up at least two times a night (during the random 8 minute intervals of sleep I manage to acquire) and I am DRENCHED with sweat.  Not all-over-like-I've-been-working-out sweat... just around my head.  My head sweats like a MOTHER every single night while I'm pretending to sleep.

I wake up looking like I just participated in a Bobbing For Apples competition.  (Did you ever do that? I'm horrified to admit that I did.  *gag*)


Is it hot in here?


It honestly didn't cross my mind that this could be the onset of the dreaded night sweats.

(What did I think it was, you ask?  Okay, you want the truth?  I don't want to tell you the truth.  The truth is embarrassing.)

I laugh in the face of your truth!




Okay, fine... here's the truth:

I thought that since I was getting fatter, my head was getting fatter, too, and that's why it was sweating.


In case you  need a visual.


(Because fat things sweat more, right?  Right?  I'M RIGHT, DAMMIT!)


See?  NOT JUST ME.


Further proof that it wasn't a stupid thought:


Again, may I just say:  I informed you thusly.



(Just one little correction:  You can't "loose" fat.  You "lose" it.  F to the Y to the I.  Spell check, people... SPELL CHECK!!!)

Okay, back to the bleeding menopause.

Once Dana posed this question to me, I did some research.

Upon review, it seems that it is sheer coincidence that my nightly head sweating began at the exact same time as the Great Refatting of 2011, which is why I got confused.

It's kind of like if someone throws a match into an already raging forest fire... It's arson, but not really.


Or like those people who didn't know they were pregnant (have you seen that show???  OMG, right?) who have morning sickness and gain weight but it all happens at the same time as stress eating and rampant salmonella outbreaks amongst their friends and loved ones.  (And yet I still call bullshit.  How can you not know you're pregnant????  IT ISN'T POSSIBLE.)  




Dayummm... I really  need to cut back on those Cheetos...




Wow... I just realized...

I've come full circle.

I went from Snookie's baby bump boob pregnancy, to primal scream therapy, to menopause, and back to pregnancy.

That's right, bitches...

Rock me like a hurricane.