*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...

finally...

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:

"FUCK YOU, FUCKER!  FUCK YOU UP THE ASS!  FUCK YOU SIDEWAYS, YOU MOTHER FUCKER!  FUCKETY FUCK!  FUCK FACE!  FUCKER!  FUCK YOUUUUUU!"

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....