Wednesday, August 20, 2008
I have pms. I have pms real bad. I have pms and my pants don’t fit and my uterus won’t shut up. I have pms and if I don’t get some motherfucking chocolate cake in my mouth real soon I’m going to flip right the fuck out. I have pms and my brain is full of ninjas again. Help.
But I am not alone. Every time I bitch to someone about my pms, I find out that they also have pms. Like, literally every woman I talk to is an estrogen-charged harpy right now. TigerCat is cranky. TheHippie is eating 2-3 dinners/night. My friend TheQuack bought a 6-pack of baked goods on her way home from work. All of their assorted female friends are in similar states. Yesterday I was sitting on the couch in my sweatpants, gorging on cornflakes, resting my laptop on my uterus to take advantage of the warmth, when WeeOne messaged me to say that she was doing the same thing all the way over on the west coast.
EVERYONE has PMS!
There is only one reasonable explanation that I can think of:
I am not joking. If every woman in the world is about to bleed at once, then it must be the dark lord’s (clarification: not voldemort…although, I see no reason to exclude this possibility) doing. Satan is behind this, mark my cranky words. Armageddon is nigh, friends! I foresee it. In my lady tubes.
I left the scariest revelation for last:
My friend TheMarried had a baby just the other day. On the same day that my (and every other woman’s?) pms began. And she had the baby during a FULL MOON! Scary? Yes. Hypothesis? SATAN’S BABY. I’m sorry, TheMarried, but your beautiful baby girl might have been sent here by Lucifer to end civilization as we know it. Her weapon? Control of all uteri.
Maybe this theory sounds a little farfetched, but I know I can honestly say that if I don’t get some GODDAM chocolate cake in me soon then I am going to stab the next man I see right in the neck.
And that’s how it will all begin.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
So, sometimes I worry that I am…how should I put it?...the drunk bum sister.
And then my sister messaged me tonight from her trade show in the big city:
ThePeach: Hey! How’s the trade show?
TigerCat: It’s fine. Busy. I’ll be home tomorrow.
ThePeach: Oh, good. What else have you been up to in the big city?
TigerCat: I got stupid drunk last night, ended up in the gay district at a drag queen talent show, and puked the rest of the night alone in my hotel room.
ThePeach: Oh my god.
TigerCat: I had, like, 15 drinks. I was still puking all morning but I made it to the trade show. I wasn’t very chipper, though.
ThePeach: I love you.
I really do.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
I also give you, for the first time ever, in his natural habitat, TheBoss:Ya. Twins. It's so terrifying that it's hilarious. And the worst part is that The Office is one of my favourite shows on tv and I watch it religiously. I can't escape TheBoss. Ever. This is my pain. Feel it. Roll in it. Eat it.
I will end this post by yet again stealing Asian Cymbals' signature Haiku move.
Beady eyes pierce me.
Why must tv mock my life?
He's with me always.
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Day 5 of living together: The cat chews on the whammy pedal of FauxHawk's wii-guitar, leaving bite marks all over it. I yell at the cat, and he immediately bolts into the kitchen and vomits. Swell.
Day 6 of living together: Have been awake for 2 hours but haven't seen the cat yet. Suspect FauxHawk beat him to death with wii-guitar and hid body as I slept. I am distressed. Bastard cat is my only ally.