You Know it's a PMS Week When....

When every day "life moments" become grossly distorted, it's a PMS week for me. Only I don't notice it until I look back on them 5-7 days later. Maybe I should start a diary or a journal about them, but I have a feeling it would be a horribly embarrassing media circus if it ever got in the wrong hands. Ok, I digress. Let's look at the facts:


All month long, I normally just sigh over things that happen and they roll off my back without another thought.

Like, on a regular day, if my lighter falls out of my pocket every 5 minutes because of the crappy pockets on my Slazenger hoodie, it's no big deal. BUT-- during PMS week, I've thought about writing a "strongly worded" letter to the Slazenger Sportswear company describing a particularly embarrassing time a tampon fell out of their stupid pockets of my Slazenger sweatshirt during a business meeting and how they should get their shit together and quit ruining my life.

It's the actual scope of the difference in a regular day and a PMS day that astounds me when I'm playing "Hindsight is 20/20".

If I bang my elbow on the doorknob during a regular day, I say, "Ow," rub it, sigh and carry on with the day. On a PMS day, if I bang my elbow on the doorknob, I feel like slamming the door closed 3 times to "get back at it."

On regular day, if I burn my store-bought oven pizza, I just eat it anyway and hope the charred smell doesn't linger in the house. On a PMS day, if I burn my store-bought oven pizza, I envision myself cramming it into the garbage bin, swearing at it, then mashing it down as far as I can with a wooden spoon to be sure it's learned it lesson, all the while thinking, "I'll just have fish sticks! There! How do you like that, Pizza Fuck?!"

On a regular day, when I see the little old lady across the street putting out her rattling recycle bin, I smile to myself and think "she's feisty old coot". On a PMS day, when I see the little old lady across the street putting out her rattling recycle bin, I wonder how much longer before she kicks the bucket and that house goes up for sale.

If it's just a regular day and I can't get two frozen chicken breasts apart for dinner later, I'll fill the sink with water, drop them in and patiently wait for them to thaw. On a PMS day, if I can't get two frozen chicken apart, I can see myself stomping off to get a hammer and an ice pick and pounding the shit out of them until they fly in separate directions across the kitchen.

On a regular day, if type a super long text message and my phone says "Sending....." for the last 2 minutes, I just set it down and go about my business until it's sent. On a PMS day, if I type a super long text, and my phone says, "Sending..." for 2 minutes, I want to spin in a circle 3 times and launch the friggin' phone like a Olympic discus thrower.

On a regular day, if I notice my mail is piling up and I don't feel like dealing with it, I just stack it neatly and set it aside until I'm ready to read & sift through it. On a PMS day, if I notice my mail is piling up and I don't feel like dealing with it, I contemplate picking up the pile, throwing it on the barbeque grill and setting it on fire.

Sometimes, it's just a quick fleeting malicious thought, like when I see the neighbor's outdoor cat. On a regular day, I think "Hi, Sam!" and on a PMS day, when I see the neighbor's cat, I think "Hi, fox bait."

On a regular day, when I can't get past a certain level on my Grand Theft Auto game, I sigh and set my iPad down and do something else. On a PMS day, when I can't get past a certain level on my Grand Theft Auto game, I wonder how hard would it be to crack the fucking iPad in half with my bare hands.

On a regular day, when I see that I've been invited to 36 different events on Facebook, 30 of them from people, groups, bands and organizations I don't even know, I think, "Eh..whatever." On a PMS day, when I get 36 different invites to events, I feel like responding to each one and saying "Trust me, you DON'T want me there."

On a regular day, when I can't get the top off a jar of salsa, I calmly set it back down until I feel like attempting it again. On a PMS day, if I can't get the top off a jar of salsa, I'm tempted to launch it against the kitchen wall. Same thing with a walnut. If I can't get a walnut open on a regular day, its no big deal. On a PMS day, I can see myself putting it under the back tire of the car and running it over on the driveway, just to hear it crack, not even because I want to eat it anymore.

On a regular day, if the DVR doesn't record "Monkey World", I think to myself, "Oh well..." On a PMS day, if the DVR didn't record "Monkey World", I've thought about dropping the entire flat screen TV out the second story window.


On a regular day, when a grocery cashier is taking her sweet ass time scanning my items, and looking up prices for produce, I just smile politely and wait. On a PMS Day, I feel like clocking her pathetic speed on my "Timer" phone app, and shoving the results in her face and screaming "IS THIS ACCEPTABLE TO YOU, SALLY SLOWPOKE?"

Oh yeh, whatever, I'm sure it all sounds disturbing but the truth is I don't act on my PMS Day thoughts.
And, I'm although I'm pretty sure there's a perfectly good pill to fix this- quite frankly, I'm okay with it, Asshole. I love you. Get off my blog. No, I'm kidding......come back!