Oh today... today, today, today. Today is a day when the thought of putting on makeup, fixing my hair, or simply putting my contacts in can be compared to climbing to the top of Mt. Everest... naked... with no oxygen... being followed by someone with a Polaroid camera. Not gonna' happen. On top of the lack of routine maintenance I feel the need to consume freakishly strange foods like chocolate covered corn dogs or a jar of peperoncini chased with a blueberry muffin and some of my daughter's apple juice. Ugh... I want to hoard my treasure of sodium and sugar laden food groups, crawl into a whole, (preferably not near anyone else as they may or may not get their face ripped off if they look at me and my corn dogs in the wrong way) eat the bounty and then fall painlessly into a deep sleep until the monthly curse that mother nature so kindly burdened us with goes away. What is with this monthly roller coaster of bull$#%! that we have to go through??? Seriously?!? Is it supposed to make me feel tough? Like women need to be any tougher than we already are? It's like... someone thought we had it too good so, "Here's an idea!" And then... SHAZAM! Every 28 FRIGGIN DAYS???
I took my daughter to the park today. I thought, "You know? A little sunshine may help me dispel the urge I have to jump off a 20 story building (Nobody get freaked and call 911, I'm fine). Well, I was wrong. While I sat and watched my daughter play innocently in the sand while trying not to nod off (my biggest struggle pre-"gift" is that I get so tired I literally wonder if someone slipped me a roofy, or however you spell it, and I ultimately end up taking a pregnancy test because I could sware I was pregnant with triplets) I realized... crap, my poor child is going to have to deal with this one day too. Yeah, I know, I know. When we mature and get our "gift/curse" it means we can have children so it's a blessing... well, at this juncture in the rationalization process I want to repeat the word, "Why? Why? Why?" Like a 2 year old trying to figure out the world. If it were REALLY a "gift" we would experience breast enlargement, lengthening of the legs, growing of the hair on our head, minimization of hair EVERYWHERE else and lifting of the booty when we were "ready" to have babies. I mean... that would make more sense. I would think it would be more inviting to a hormone driven male than a headachey, bloated, broken out, bitchy woman laid up in her bedroom with a pint of ice cream and a heating pad. But whatever. It makes me want to do absolutely nothing. My friend called me to see if I was going to head to our excercise class. When I hesitated she said, "You better have a good excuse if you don't come". I immediately proceeded to climb on the hood of my Trailblazer and hurl myself to the ground in an effort to manufacture an injury severe enough to skip our workout but not serious enough to send me to the hospital. I did this repeatedly until I realized that a twisted ankle was not going to happen that easily (the one time I was pissed I had sturdy stems... dang genes). So I went... did some squats and crunches... and quickly regreted the corn dog. Which brings me to the moral of the story: If you are trying to injure yourself in order to avoid a NON obligatory workout... you are certifiable. If you attempt it regularly, say every 28 days... you're just premenstrual.
This message brought to you by Pamprin, Tampax, Motrin and Krispy Kreme Donuts.
