Posted By AmyD. on June 8, 2007

Everyone jokes about PMS and hormones, hahaha, great punchline… blah blah, aren’t you clever. You married men may think you get it, but I promise, you don’t have a clue. Today, all that changes because today is the day that I am going to give you some real insight into what it’s like to experience PMS first-hand through a series of situations and reactions that I personally experienced in one day.

Dear Diary,

I got up this morning early because Maggie had climbed into our bed (again) and had some sort of nightmare that inspired her to shriek in my ear like the most annoying alarm clock on the planet. I stepped out of bed and realized that my feet were puffy, I was bloated, and my back and head ached. I stumbled to the bathroom and took 2 midol and a couple of advil for good measure.

On my way out of the bedroom I took note of the two assholes people in my bed (Maggie and Mike) sleeping soundly and snoring like freight trains and briefly considered jamming whole rolls of toilet paper up their noses.

I only had two files two work on today, I decided that I would snap them out in time to lock myself in my room just as the rest of the family was stumbling about trying to find their asses. Not only am I willing to completely isolate myself for my own sanity, but for their safety as well.

The software we use had an update. I patiently installed it and restarted the software in hopes that the stupid, fucking, morons software designers might have come up with some decent improvements. Apparently, their only desire was to ensure my wrath and confirm my opinion that they are indeed completely useless.

Upon reopening the software I discovered that I had to go back through and reset all the settings, the sketch software refused to work properly, the menu with the labels disappeared as soon as I selected something and my only means of resolving this issue was to calmly and rationally throw my motherfucking monitor through the office window. Fortunately, I took a moment and counted to 3, this gave me just enough time to reconsider since eliminating the monitor might have restricted my blog reading. Instead I decided to put my head on my keyboard and sob hysterically for 2.5 minutes.

Mike finally made his way downstairs and kissed me good morning before going out to meet with a few other appraisers. I think it is great for him to get together, occasionally, with friends / colleagues as it keeps everyone on the same page. Plus it means I don’t have to look over my shoulder and try not to beat him to death with my stapler as he hunts and pecks his way through the morning.

I had barely finished my first cup of coffee when my darling demon 3-year old came tripping down the stairs. Usually I’m thrilled to see her cherubic little face and angel-like curls, just not when the sheer volume coming from that little body causes my eardrums to ache mercilessly. Swallowing the urge to jam ice picks in both my ears I gritted my teeth and wished her a “good morning” before sending her on her way to catch the current episode of “Little Einsteins.”

Not long after Maggie the other two tripped downstairs and apparently were under the impression that it was my job to supply them with breakfast. I’m a woman who can recognize my limits at any given moment, so I drafted a kid and drove to McDonalds in search of sausage McMuffins. I might not have been the most patient driver on the road that morning but with careful navigation and several well-timed birdies we made it to the golden arches well-before the breakfast deadline.

For what was undoubtedly the 2000th time that morning, I sat down and attempted to get back to the first file of the day. By that time it was 11am and any hope of finishing up early and taking a long bath with my ipod at top volume was dying a slow and painful death.

Mike returned from his morning “meeting” and began blathering incessantly telling me all about his breakfast meeting. I distinctly remember glancing at my sausage McMuffin wrapper as I reached over and picked up my stapler wondering how hard it would be to get chunks of tissue and hair out of the spot where the staples come out.

Ethan wandered into the room muttering something about Xboxes and wireless controllers on Ebay. I almost didn’t resist the urge to smack him in the back of the head with my keyboard.

Puffy, bloated, crampy, and grumpy, I could barely focus on the task at hand (file numero uno) long enough to finish. Instead I decided to glare at it as it sat there mocking my existence open on the desk waiting for me to finish it.

From behind me I heard Mike ask Maggie, “Did you poop? You better go tell Mom about it.” And, once again, I found myself barely resisting the urge to beat him to death with my stapler or at the very least shriek in a demonic tone “WTF is WRONG with YOU?!?!?! I’M RIGHT BEHIND YOU!!!!!!!!!!! And I can DAMN well hear YOU!!!”

Someone mentioned putting panties on Maggie and giving potty-training another go-round, Maggie began to scream and flung herself on the couch like one might imagine a broke stockbroker flinging himself out a window during a stock market crash. And, in a moment of desperation I jammed post-it notes into my ears.

Mike, in a semi-sympathetic condescending, patronizing tone told me that I had all day to complete those two files, he suggested that perhaps I should take a break since the desk top was looking awfully tired of having my nails dug into it. What he failed to realize is that I didn’t want to sit there all day. I wanted to be done, I wanted to go lay down, I wanted a bath and a nap. I wanted (and still would greatly appreciate) a little peace and quiet.

Instead, I finished up the files and climbed the stairs only to encounter Ethan and a comforter the cat had puked on. I managed to put the comforter in the washer without damaging either. Quite a feat when you consider I’m the same woman who threw a mouse through the window when it stopped working properly.

And, while all of this is pretty normal day-to-day things that happen, the big difference was the hormone levels that I was experiencing and my constant desire to bolt from the house and run screaming down the street as if my hair were on fire and satan himself was riding my ass.

I did finally manage to get a little alone time, but I think I displaced something in my back when I barricaded the door with furniture. Overall, I’m going to consider this one a win since I didn’t have any bodies to bury, no felonies were committed, and my family members all have their limbs and they are all in working order.

Who knows, maybe next month will be better.

Categories: Girl Talk, Love and Marriage, Personally, Psycho Bitch Rants, Stupid Husband Tricks, Stupid Wife Tricks, Things That Could Get Me Killed
Tags: Classics, Girl Talk, Love and Marriage, Personally, Psycho Bitch Rants, Stupid Husband Tricks, Stupid Wife Tricks, Things That Could Get Me Killed