because none of us is fucking up like we think we are, is what i'm trying to say

Tuesday, 30 March 2010

The Black Cloud of Doom and Celine Dion


I've got the worst PMS in this history of the universe. Seriously- I've not allowed myself to leave the apartment all day because if the guy serving me my coffee or the girl asking for directions were to look me directly in the eye I would have ripped off their heads, shit down their necks, and then asked them if they wanted to come back for seconds.

Don't get me wrong- I hate it when girls use their period as an excuse for anything. There was always that one girl in high school gym class sat at the edge of the netball court because her mum was silly enough to write her a note for excused absence because Tamika's iron levels are currently running low and thus she is particularly fatigued at this time. Any strenuous activity might lead to injury so it is in her best interests to act as an observer in today's class. And to Tamika's mama I say, SHE WASN'T FATIGUED ENOUGH TO RESIST MAKING OUT WITH EDWARD BEECHAM BEHIND THE CURTAINS IN MRS FULLER'S ENGLISH LAB AT LUNCHTIME.


(To Tamika I say: really? You had your mum write the note? I could give you lessons in how to forge her signature if you like. I was DA BOMB at excusing myself from all manner of things at school by using Mama's handwriting. But never on the grounds of menstruation. That is just lame. And my friends would have me write their notes, too.) (Sorry, Mama.) (Is that a viable business idea do you think? Forging notes for high schoolers? Or illegal?)

I've had several jobs where females of the species have requested to leave early on the pretense of 'female problems'. Bitch, please. Women throughout the course of history have not been trampled on by horses, and starved as they chained themselves to railings, and burnt expensive lingerie just for you to say, but I'm bleeding. Like,  well what else do you want me to do? What else do I want you to do? I want you to pop a Femex, go change your tampon, and SUCK IT UP, ASSHOLE.

Geez. Anyone would think I was a slave to my hormones or something.

Anyway. I was woman enough to acknowledge that I was a safety issue today. No excuses except for excusing myself from the world for a day. Not even a YouTube-athon of Jack Black singing with Tenacious D could lift my dark, black mood. I have eaten copious amounts of pastel-coloured m and m's, ordered pizza...

I even lay on my bed, closed my eyes, and listened to Jennifer Hudson singing 'And I'm Telling You' really loudly as I did all the hand movements. My roommate interrupted to ask if I was okay. I refrained from hurting her. Just. And only because it reminded me of a time when I was about 16 and I did a similar thing to a Celine Dion song. It's a great stress relief to just lay down with eyes closed and without singing a note do all the passionate body movements and throw that tension out of the tips of your fingers. Thing is, I didn't know that my baby brother was hiding in my bathroom. Halfway through 'The Power of Love' he fell through the door frame laughing harder than I ever remember him laughing. Even to this day, when he brings it up his eyes crease and and his chin jutters and he makes me feel as much of a fool as that moment he first punked me. God. Had mobile phones with built-in cameras been a thing of my teens that shit would have been online faster than you can say OHMYGOD! GET OUT OF MY ROOM YOU UGLY HORRIBLE CRETIN!

Anyway. Thinking of that did make me half smile in the end, despite myself, my hormones, and my bad mood. What a bastard. Good job he wasn't here to look me in the eye.
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