If you are a dude, do not read this post. If you are a dude who knows me in real life and you defy my warning not to read this, you must NEVER SPEAK TO ME OF THIS. Seriously. We are not going to discuss my Special Ladies’ Time over a beer the next time I am in town, deal? Deal. I think you’d better just move right along, BUCKO.
So, Ladies, now that we have the place to ourselves here (AHEM IF THERE ARE ANY DUDES LEFT NOW IS THE TIME TO CLICK THAT LITTLE X IN YOUR WINDOW AHEMMMM), can we talk about the Special Ladies’ Time? I am experiencing this very special time right now, and frankly I am feeling pretty much exactly like all of the characters in the last half of this SNL skit.
I find myself wanting to do all the things they are doing — axing people at work, kneeing dudes in the gonads, diving into a cake face first — except for the part where Kristen Wiig is making out with her dog. (I mean that’s just gross.) I may, in fact, need to notify authorities in my town so they can incarcerate me preemptively like a wolfman.
Today has just been One of Those Days, man. Although I have actually not spoken to anyone, I have bitched out about seventeen different people in my own mind, and let me tell you those dressings-down were VICIOUS. I effing EXCORIATED people with my WORDS. I was having hypothetical screaming, ranting fights with people in my imagination as a result of situations that, in some cases, did not even occur.
Do you ever do that? Do you imagine a conversation you might have with someone only to have it turn out, in the dank crazy pit of your mind, to be a vicious fight where you end either in tears, in punching, or both? I hope I am not alone here. Sometimes it’s just that when you are walking around with horrible cramps, nonsensical food cravings, and tits that weigh eight hundred pounds, it is all you can do not to bitch someone out for real. At these times it is like an act of charity to keep the crazy rants in your own head.
In other ladies-only news, I have noticed that at least 6 pairs of my previously just-fine-and-acceptable underwear have completely given up. Effng quitters. Elastic is ripping out; actual holes are forming. So help me I do not have the money to spend right now to buy a whole new batch of underwear. SIGH.
On a final and disgusting note, please allow me to confess to you that on day two of the Special Ladies’ Time, I always wake up with so much gas and abdominal pressure that I have a backache because of it. The GAS in my BELLY is PUSHING MY SPINE OUT OF WHACK. What the everloving FUCK, biology?
Well. There you have it. Any Ladies-Only bitching you want to do? Feel free!