How the Grinch Stole My Body Image

My friends who know how self-conscious I get about my body will enjoy that my hormonal influx/weight gain had made me quite puffy today. So my favorite basic white t-shirt is unusually snug, and I've been walking around all day feeling like I'm mostly made of breasts. I feel like they suddenly grew three sizes like the goddamn Grinch's heart.

P.M.S. P.S.

The P.S. on an email to friends about all my special feeeeelings:

"I'm also menstruating, so kindly accept this grain of salt. Just a grain, though -- I'll bite your goddamn hand off if you take my salt."

"Fuck you. Fuck you very, very muuuch..."

Earlier I wondered if I'm walking around all Bitchface McIrritable at work today because I have PMS.

And then I saw this, got viciously angry, then weepy-sad, so... that answers that.

My body image has been hovering around decent lately, so I'm pissed this got to me, but Christ, this is what *I* look like, just shorter. People are fucking awful.

But then...Hm, I still think she's hot, so I must be hot, too.

Right, then. Done and done. Good work, Brain.

Via E! Online and Hateful Fuckers Everywhere: Amy Schumer Slams Haters After Beach Body Criticism, Says She Looks ''Strong and Healthy''

Not today, Satan.

Can someone please come exorcise this weepy bitch from my brain? I'm not sure how she got here, but she's kind of an asshole. 

This is America. Medicate me.

I'm on medications to even out my mood, give me an attention span, prevent OkCupid babies, and control my heinous allergies.

There are, what, 4,000 erectile dysfunction drugs now?

I think there's one for a particular form of exhaustion you get from shift work.

They debated putting me on a drug that fixes ADHD and binge eating disorder, which... damn, I still want that drug.

So, really, you can't create a drug that will make me feel LESS like my period might actually kill me? One that keeps me from waking up weeping for no reason? (OK, there was a reason, but not a logical one.) Could you, like, get on that, Science? Or could I just get sent to the edge of the village or whatever?

I know there's stuff they can finagle for PMDD. I'm mostly kidding.

Related: the weather in Philly right now can kiss my dick. I checked the forecast and it just said, "Your mood is fucked until Sunday." That's what I saw, anyway. It's possible it just said it'll be cloudy and rainy.

Presented without comment

Via The Awkward Yeti's Facebook page:

The "P" in "PMS" stands for "pugilistic"

Apparently I'm so much of a flirt that men think it's my default setting?

I've been texting with an OkCupid guy for a couple weeks. Today's conversation began with him saying he hadn't texted yesterday because his work life had been turned upside down, and then he found out his friend had been diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic.

I told him I was sorry, that sucked, and  I hoped the weekend treated him better. He asked how my week was going, and I said, "Pretty good, no complaints," because that is the answer to that question.

Then he asked if I was "still being a proper lady," a joke I've been making about trying not to flirt too much before we actually meet.

Uh... Sorry, my bad. Didn't know "paranoid schizophrenic" was supposed to affect my panty places. Should I have said, "Bummer. So, hey, how's your dick doing?"

I told him it seemed odd to respond with smut, and he seemed pissy and said, "I was just explaining why my attentions had been elsewhere. But the turbulence has cleared and I'm back to blue skies now."

OK. Well, sorry again. I didn't notice the sun shining out of your ass, and didn't know I was obligated to taste your rainbow whenever you feel like flirting.

I started composing a response, but everything I typed just sounded cunty. I put the phone down so I could think before I spoke.

My level of irritation caused me to go do the math on my menstrual cycle, because this bitchface felt prescient. And yep, should be any day now.

When I hadn't answered an hour later, he followed up with, "Did I offend?" Yes. Yes, you did, but I don't know if it makes sense that you did, or if I'm projecting issues from a previous "relationshit." I need a minute. Plus, hi, there's this new thing called work? I waited a day, you can't wait an hour? No. That's not how this is gonna go. <-- Oof. Yeah, now that I write that, it's related to past events, for sure. Doesn't mean I shouldn't be offended, but I should take it into account.

When I told him I was, "Just confused, and also working," he said, "You're supposed to stop working when I text you. I thought you knew that. :P Sorry if I confused you, though I'm not sure how. I hate text, you can't convey tone well." Hey, you know what didn't just help your case, even with that bullshit ":P" after it...? (<-- And that's different baggage.)

He asked if he should stop texting me, and I said, "I might not respond right away, but you're welcome to if you want." He said he was afraid to, that the conversation was "colder than the air outside," and that he was going to "retreat" and I could text him whenever I was free and felt like it. Again, the fuck? And again, Bitchface McMenses.

Also? I give ZERO fucks if you don't text for 24 hours. We haven't even met. You're under no obligation to communicate with me every day, nor to explain yourself when you don't.

I'll stop this saga now. I think I just need to get some sleep. And maybe take my Midol before I come to class.

Um, no, YOUR brain went right to elf fucking...

Sent by a reader. See also: Current status. 

(CAN I fuck while eating cookies? We've already established this week that I can find anything on the Internet. Surely someone on OkCupid is looking to get naked Keebler-elf-style. I won't even make you do it in a tree -- everything on me is over-tender, I couldn't possibly fuck in a tree.)  

Musical Masochism

I've heard this song a bunch of times since That Guy "made it like it never happened and that we were nothing," and I was perfectly fine. But it just came up on my Pandora playlist and suddenly I'm a weepy bitch over it?

Li'l early for PMS, isn't it, Body? Though I suppose that would explain the recent irritability, exhaustion, insatiable libido, and mass consumption of salty, cheesy Mexican food with Girl-Scout-cookie chasers. 

This is all fine. (It actually is. It's out of my hands. There's literally nothing I can do except "breathe and reboot." Plus I think I've proven I'm stronger than Weepy Bitch, even if on occasion she IS the one who knocks.)

I'm probably not the only crazy person on OkCupid.

Oh, OK. So I can be messaging back and forth with a perfectly nice guy from OkCupid, and inadvertently say something that reminds me of my ex, then of That Guy, then back to my ex, and now I'm crying?

Sure, yeah -- I am absolutely ready to be dating, even casually. It will not end badly at all. 

I understand this is how I move on, and I'm sure a time will come when it doesn't feel like cheating, but...not so far. 

I could blame PMS, but I think I might just be ready to embrace my obvious destiny to die sexless and alone.

We'll just add this to the therapy list. That woman is earning her money.

ESPMS

I'm pretty sure I've prayed more to get my period this week, so it's over before my vacation, than I have any time I've had a pregnancy scare. 

*staring at vagina*

Bitch, let's GOOOOO...

Life Lessons from Small Ponies.

You could probably tell I didn't have the best emotional time over the weekend (fuck the entire Venn diagram of the holidays and PMS, seriously). Male BFF was concerned and invited me over for alcohol and merriment with him and his lady, one of my Female BFFs.

I declined but texted my thanks, and man, I tell ya, the My Little Ponies are right -- friendship IS magic: 

  

Relieving emotional tension < relieving sexual tension.

Between hormones and holiday stress, I just ended up Ugly Crying over something incredibly stupid, and now my brain is convinced I am unlovable and will die alone. So that's always fun. I think these particular feelings will need to be handled via pizza.

I almost never cry, so storing it all up for the twice-yearly Ugly Cry is sort of like when I finally get laid -- I never realize how long it's been since I've done it, so I just explode from the catharsis of it all. It generally works out much better during sex, but the result is the same: I end up collapsed in an exhausted, lifeless heap. And I feel a lot better. And I demand snacks.

Just what Christmas needs: Another bloated bastard snarfing cookies.

Um, no, YOU'RE getting your period for Christmas. 

(See also: Fuck you, body.) 

  

In which I am at one with everything and everyone...

I MAY have just called the yoga DVD lady a bitch out loud, and told her that if I'm spreading my legs that wide, I better have at least one orgasm as a result. 

So I'm glad to see I'm responding to the spiritual nature of regular practice. 

In my defense, I'm in my living room and menstruating, and she's doing yoga on a beach in a white bodysuit, so fuck her right in her third eye.

Ahem. Namaste. 

Introducing the new 2016 Mini-Cooper Sharp.

OK, sure, it's POSSIBLE I'm eating cheese from the package while I drive because I have PMS. 

But I think a more plausible explanation is that "driving cheese" is an amazing idea and I'm a goddamn innovator. 

Look at that tray. LOOK AT IT. That is clearly destined to hold cheese.