Shark week

Let's cut the shit, ladies. I'm not going to sugar coat it. This is how I am feeling today:

But it's not your fault, y'all. Just wallowing in my grumpy PMSness, which has been really weird this month. I didn't actually get into the game until yesterday, but last week was spent with severe headaches and sadness--a whole week early. This week (up until today, obvs) has been puppies and rainbows and smugly healthful eating. Today there needs to be pizzas, purple couches, and Real Housewives. Instead there may be coworker facemurder.

See, there's this big project that I've been working on for 9 months. It's my work baby. My work baby with fetal alcohol system and an extra 10 lbs brought on my stress eating/research. Work baby is in the final stages of labor right now, but it's not a peaceful home birth with tubs and yoga balls. It's a mother-effing, worn-off-epidural having, cuss word screaming, annoyance fest. And the end results look like it took someone 5 minutes to throw together. But it's almost done, which means I'll have to find something else to complain about. -- L

why am i crazy all the time?!

i have guests coming to stay with me from out of town and i'm excited and stressed. we moved into our house a year ago and there is still so much i want and need to do to it. i know that just like our bodies, we ladies can also be hyper-critical of our homes - we see all of the little imperfections that no one else notices....except if you are like me, you have the annoying habit of pointing them out and apologizing for them which only makes them more apparent.

ME: look at my giant zit! omg! don't look in the fridge, i need to clean it out! ugh! my cuticles are so gross! i was going to paint this bathroom before you got here but i didn't have time so forgive me! (and on, and on, and on.....)

so even though my guests are my childhood friend and her girlfriend who are moving cross country and will probably just be excited to have a bed to sleep in and take a load off, i have been freaking the eff out and painting and rearranging and scurrying around like a squirrel on meth. today i attempted to paint the tiny little half bath that no one even goes in and while my friends are here they probably will only glance in when i give the initial house tour - this makes sense right?! a totally appropriate use of my time and energy?!

no.

and here's the kicker. i did it (for the most part - it still needs a second coat) and i don't like it.

so will i leave it? let it be until next week when i have more time to reassess and repaint?

no.

tomorrow i will freak out and go to home depot and in my limited time between appointments i will attempt to paint a bathroom no one ever uses.

god help me.

i might bludgeon my husband. seriously.

he's doing that thing where he makes me feel like we live in an uber-lame-o sitcom like Everybody Loves Raymond or something. [I think you guys are more "Mork & Mindy"--said with much affection and a hazy memory]

he's in the living room watching a horror movie (i despise horror movies.) and i am trying my very best to enjoy non-killing (tv or real life) internet time alone because i already know that i have PMS symptoms and i need to be put on self-imposed lockdown in order to at least make a futile attempt at avoiding complete and utter bitchitude. FAIL. so i'm back here minding my own business reading other people's business and he keeps coming back here... to see what i'm doing... to tell me how is effing stomach hurts.... and then he's back again in five minutes to tell me he's decided the culprit is the cheese he put on his sandwich.... and then he's back again in five minutes to tell me that if he doesn't feel better before we go to a friend's house in a little while that he doesn't think he'll be drinking tonight.... and then he's back to tell me the dog peed on the rug! and i cannot. take. it. any. more. and i finally break into bitchitude and throw up my hands and ask if he came back here just to update me (cause i really don't need a fucking update!) or if he's informing me so that *i* will go and clean it up..... and then he gets all doe eyed and put-out at the same time and is like "why are you so snappy?!"

here's why i'm snappy folks:

PMS sucks. mine does fo' sho. and what sucks more than that is when you have baby-makin on the brain and your PMS symptoms are eerily similar to pregnancy symptoms:

• tender breasts
• fatigue
• IRRITABILITY
• food cravings
• skin breakouts
• bloating
• constipation
• ... etc - you get it

(mother nature: i love you most of the time, i really do. but right now you can just go suck a lemon. that is all.)

it's all too easy to say you are going to be logical and not convince yourself of the near impossible but daaay-um if that's not, well, nearly impossible. i know i'm not preggers. i know it's PMS. and yes, i'm snappy.

deal with it.

i have to.

EDIT: i am not even kidding you. he just came in here to tell me the movie is over and that it was dumb.... and that his stomach still hurts.

i didn't kill him. i deserve a medal.