Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

26 March 2012

*Theme From Jaws*

Let us all herald the arrival at long last of Shark Week.

In case you think Shark Week is an actual euphemism for, well, Sherk Week, you'd be wrong.  Shark Week is one more way to make the announcement that

1,  Miss Scarlett is comin' to Tara...

2.  A dishonorable discharge from the Unitern Navy...

3.  Saddling Old Rusty...

4.  Massacre at the Y...

5.  Taking Carrie to the Prom...

6.  Riding the Crimson Tide...

7.   Parting the Red Sea...

8.  Playing banjo in Sgt Zygotes Ragtime Band...

9.  Trolling for Vampires and of course

10.  Shark Week,

So in other words, at long last, I started my period.  

I was 10 days late this month.  You had NO idea what 10 days can do to a woman.  Even if she's NEVER HAD SEX she's staring at the calendar and holding a pregnancy test thinking, "OhmyGOD!!  What if I'm pregnant??!!"

It's that kind of panic.

Sometimes we stare off towards the East, looking for Yonder Star, awaiting the arrival of three wisemen and a bunch of gifts we can't possibly use and really have to place to put but must accept politely and send out thank you notes (for example, what the fuck is "myyrh"?).  You begin to count backwards in your head to when the last time was that you may or may not have engaged in coitus, or, for that matter, come into any sort of contact whatsoever with a penis...

We pee on those little preggo sticks five and six times a day, looking to see if we can faintly see that second little blue line... or if it's one of those that says clearly "Yes" or "No" we can't our friends, 
"Is that Nyes" or Yo"?  I can't make it out..."

We instantly bloat, crave ice cream and tortilla chips. develop morning sickness, name the baby, notice that our clothes no longer fit, eat for two, and resign ourselves to the fact that in 9-ish months we will, indeed, hear the pity patter of little feets.

And then...


it happens!!!

Do NOT go IN the WATER!!

I've been cramping, bitching, and snarfing chocolate for two weeks now.  TWO WEEKS.  I had my little red letter day marked on the calendar, knowing that would be the day that alllll the ugliness would come to a screeching half, and I could finally relax, after being such a raging bitch for such a long period of time.

It's exhausting, being that kind of bitchy.

Sidebar:  If you're one of those women who doesn't get PMS, I'm here to tell you that you're  hiding a penis somewhere and I hate you.  Go away.  No one invited you to my Bloody Party.

I cried a lot last week.  Like, a LOT.  I cried watching Dr. Phil, I cried watching Murder She Wrote, I cried watching America's Next Top Model, I cried watching Criminal Minds...

I cried watching a few commercials, too.

I cried because I love my doggies so much, I cried because my pants were tight, I cried because I missed a huge hairy patch on my legs and didn't notice until I was sitting outside.

Then there were the FUCK YOU moments.  I'm not even going to begin to list all the people I screamed FUCK YOU at... but suffice it to say, there were a few.

One specific instruction went like this:


I don't even remember what all that was about but I was kind of mad.

Exactly.  EXACTLY.

This may or may not have happened:

While I was waiting on the upcoming arrival of Shark Week, I ate an entire one pound box of See's Candy.

And when I dreammmm... I dream of youuuu....

What?  So, because I ate a pound of chocolate all by myself, that means I'm FAT?  Are you calling me FAT, Judgy McJudgerson?

So what, YOU'VE never eaten a pound of chocolate?

That's right... now bitch, make me a sandwhich.

Welcome to Shark Week, my loves....


  1. You kill me. Shark week is the perfect definition!

  2. Hahahaha. Glad it finally came, at least...

  3. Dah dun . . . da dun . . . da dun . . . da dun da dun da dun DA DUN DA DUN. . . Dee da doo Dee da doo!!

    Congrats. You will not be the proud parent of another bouncing baby boy. And now you can climb down off of rage mountain. Phew!

  4. I can assure you that my testicles are strictly honorary. But no, I don't get PMS. I seldom get shark week, but that's a different set of issues entirely.

  5. Uh-huh. Sounds about right. Held a couple of pee sticks in my hand just the other day, as a matter of fact.

    I only cry a little bit. But inexplicable rage? Oh hell yes, I have that one covered, and then some.

  6. I, too, cry at Dr.Phil and Next Top Model--probably not for the same reasons though. And who hasn't eaten a whole box of chocolates by herself, sheesh.

    Excellent use of the word "fuck" in the illustration of a FUCK YOU moment by the way.

  7. Crying, Cramps, Chocolate-Craving...anything that begins with a C.

  8. And THIS is why I eagerly await the onset of full blown menopause. No waiting, no wondering, no anticipation, no good days/bad days. Nuthin' but 24/7 365 of FUCK YOU. And a legit excuse. Cant. Effin'. Wait.

  9. Oh this made me laugh so hard...and if I read it in a couple of weeks, I'll probably cry...multi-emotional functionality!

  10. A couple of months ago, I had PMS, a sinus infection, an upper respiratory infection, and one of my besties was being a fucking drama queen. I actually tweeted "PMS, sick, & some bullshit drama. Someone bring me a mocha & some cookies & back away slowly".
    Also, I saw a shirt in Girl With the Dragon Tattoo that read "Fuck You You Fucking Fuck". I need about a dozen for "the period BEFORE my period".


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