Stupid fucking period. Stupid uterus sloughing it’s nutritious lining. Stupid pants that fit a day and a half ago, now cutting into my stomach and leaving a button and waistband mark in my flesh. That’s real sexy. Lookin’ good. Nice complexion too. Blech.
And what of the headache? The throwing of knitting needles? The eating of 25 hot wings? And the cramps, my god the cramps :: punching self in stomach hard ::
Stupid tampons and big girl underpants…and general ickness, stickiness grossness.
I feel like eating a bag of butter with a pound of salt on it. I don’t want to be here.
I want to wear a big huge sweatshirt and big huge sweat pants and watch soap operas I don’t care about and read comics and eat
OK, this is really gross, but how awful is that warm gushy feeling that makes you want to flee from the room and climb diretly into the toilet where all filthy things belong - escpecially when you’re in the middle of a conversation.
Last week was bad. All that Halloween candy shoved down my gullet didn’t help me feel any less bloated, so I washed it down with salt ’ vinegar chips. Now I’m not bloated, I’m just plain old fat.
JesusFuckingChrist. I know I spend too much on the boards when I start CYCLING WITH JARBABYJ. Not the moon, not the tides, but JARBABYJ.
I hate that I spent a week waking up and knowing “I’m going to get my period today” and then not getting it.
“Yes, today is surely the day! I’m going to get it today! I’m crampy, I’m crying for no reason…today is the day!”
“Um, is today the day? Because I’d sure like it to come today and get it over with!”
“Hello! Aunt Flo!?! The guest room is ready for you. I can even meet you at O’Hare. The Girl Scout Cookies I ordered are here, I know you’ll like that.”
Of course she shows up the day I run out of ucky old underwear and am forced to wear the nice silky pretty underwear if I want to wear any underwear at all.
My leather jacket that normally fits like a glove is too tight and bunchy.
My boobies are twice their natural size. Those of you who have seen by boobs, just try to imagine that, will ya? TWICE THEIR NATURAL SIZE. This means each one is pretty much bigger than my head. They hurt and ache and my bra is tight and I have to keep monitoring it to make sure I’m not producing quadraboob. I want to perform a double mastectomy with a chain saw right now, but the logical part of my brain knows that this will not give me the perky B-cup I so desire.
I ran out of all ibuprofen products and had to ask the CEO of the company where I’m temping if he had any aspirin. He gave me two Advil.
But look! I brought Girl Scout Cookies to the Menstrual Hut. Who’s got the milk and ice cream and potato chips?
My favorite part is when I’m curled up in a little fetal ball moaning because of the cramps and the hubby says, “What’s for dinner?” CAN YOU NOT SEE THAT MY INTERNAL ORGANS ARE TYING TO ESCAPE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION? Can you not see that I can’t STAND UP right now, let alone fix you some freaking dinner? See that can of soup there? Why don’t you open it and pour it in a pot and shut up before I cram the can-opener up your nose, you non-uterus having, no-cramp-getting, dinner-wanting, gonna-have-my-shoe-up-your-ass-any-second-now steaming pile of man!
And that goes for you too, Reeder and Cheesesteak. Don’t mess with the wimmin when we’re riding the cotton broomstick.
Oh, I am SOOOO with you on that!!! I try not to laugh for five days each month for exactly that reason.
Not to mention…
The raiding of the cabinets and 'fridge at 10:00 at night, eating a handful of everything 'cause you can’t figure out what you want.
The ‘adjusting’ you have to do when you sit or lie down.
The hysterical sobbing at long-distance-service commercials.
And… the absolute worst thing of all…
*WARNING FOR WAAAAAAYYYY TMI!!! WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP
That damn chunk that is determined to fall out as you’re going to the bathroom, but it winds up taking its own damn sweet time about it and winds up drrriiiiipppping out like drool on grandpa’s chin and you’re stuck waiting for it to finish 'cause you can’t get up with this bloody tail hanging halfway out of your privates. I HATE THAT!!!
::arms himself with chocolate, ice cream and potato chips::
So, um, am I the only guy here who isn’t by now thoroughly disgusted and wondering how he’s ever going to look at another genital area without thinking of bobkitty and her chunks?
::gets last word out as last of food gets snatched by the Evil Flowing Women::
Okay, I clearly have nothing more to offer you, so I’ll be back on my way.
So… to tally, that’s jarbabyj, magda, n’ me, all happily bleedin’ to death, with cramps making us twitch and snarl…
Who brought the cookies? Mag, care to share? Be a pal… And would someone please tell the boyfriend to keep his paws off of me right now before I bite his hand off? Everything’s sensitive! Now fuck off!
Sua, I think that’s a great image - can I quote you on that bleedin’ penis thing? Please?
Hallelujah and pass the Midol! I am with you sister!
Can someone tell me why in the hell it is fair to go through this bullshit every month from puberty to menopause for those of us who have made the decision never to reproduce?!? My mind has decided to never have children but my uterus is ever hopeful. Once a month it’s down there singing fucking lullabies, picking out cribs and baby proofing the walls only to be let down once again.
Well listen up, uterus, and listen good! There will be no babies. Repeat: There will be no babies. You can stop hanging up the teddy bear’s picnic wall paper border right now. Find another hobby; preferably something that allows me to burn an enormous amount of calories while watching TV.
Obviously you’re the Alpha Female around here jarbaby, ‘cus I’m ridin’ the cotton pony as well these days.
Personally, I always like camomile tea. And actually, I just at some yoghurt, and that was pretty good too. I have to be honest though - since I went on the pill I don’t really have any problems with that particular function.
I can still empathize though - I used to be practically suicidal once a month.
Hang in there, and remember, ibuprofen is your Friend!
Well, I just finished yesterday, so next time 'round I should be right on schedule with the rest of you. Guess I’m still a little too new to snap into cycle right away.
How could I forget that!!! Yes, sweetie, I want you to come up behind me and grab my breasts just as hard as you can. That’s a total turn-on. Don’t mind me, I’m just going to pass out from the pain. Just cover me up when you’re done, 'k?
Sorry jar. [sub]tee hee… I made jarbaby sick!![/sub] Here. Have a cookie. Or a salty thing. Whatever you need.
Wait a minute. I knew wimmin who lived/worked together could compete in the freestyle synchronized menstruating competition, but this shit happens on-line too? Are my phone lines somehow transmitting estrogen when I’m not looking?
Sorry, I’ll go kick my own non-ovary-having ass for that.
Hey me too! Jarbabyj you ARE Alpha female around here! Or, as I prefer to think of it, Boss Mare. Know what a mare does when she’s “cycling”? Kicks the shit out of anything that touches her. Or at least tries.
