- The headache. I know, what could be more fun than bleeding out of the crotch for five days? Doing it while one of your eyeballs feels like it’s going to be forcibly ejected from your skull! It helps you prove you’re a REAL WOMAN by enduring constant pain without losing your temper and snapping the goddamn neck of everyone who tells you to smile because it can’t possibly be that bad. GUESS WHAT MOTHERFUCKERS I AM LEAVING A BLOOD TRAIL THAT A DEAF DUMB AND BLIND SHARK COULD FOLLOW IT IS THAT BAD AND I AM STILL UPRIGHT DO NOT EVEN FUCK WITH ME.
- Bloating is FUCKING AWESOME. Severe drought could hit us at any fucking time thanks to all those asshole world governments still refusing to goddamn thing one about global climate change. So you have to be prepared. Well guess what. I’m carrying like FIVE EXTRA POUNDS OF WATER with me. Sure my pants no longer fit but when you’re crawling through the blasted wasteland that used to be river country and pleading for a drop of moisture GUESS WHO WILL BE LAUGHING THEN.
- Normally if I want my tits to hurt, I have to go kick my own ass with bench press like other mere mortals. NOT THIS WEEK, THOUGH. OH NO. I get all the boobache I could possibly want, no effort needed. MATCH THAT, FUCKERS.
- I smell like blood and that’s how you know I AM NOT EVEN FUCKING AROUND. Sure, this time it’s not the blood of your parents, your kids, and your favorite dog. BUT THAT COULD CHANGE AT ANY MOMENT. [Note: Even if I did not love the smell of salty ruin in the morning, you could not fucking pay me enough to squirt shit that smells like flowers down there, I love my ladyjunk WAY TOO MUCH OH AM I MAKING YOU UNCOMFORTABLE? GOOD.]
- Normally a cold ass bitch of my caliber would have to watch a kitten being slowly crushed to death by the weight of societal apathy to even feel so much as a pang of sorrow. But not this week. I GET TO CRY AT FUCKING GUM COMMERCIALS. Emotional release, baby. I get it all out in less than a week and then I’m back to the uncaring gaiety of your average Bond villain for the rest of the month.
- Tell you what, I fucking love not being able to take a decent shit for nearly a week. Shitting is for pussies and people who lack conviction.
- Cramps are nature’s way of letting you know that you have a fucking pain tolerance that won’t quit because you KNOW if science could even PRODUCE something so badass as the genetic love child of Sylvester Stallone, Bruce Willis, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Chuck Fucking Norris, if that lantern-jawed piece of pure badassery had a uterus trying to turn itself inside out and crawl out of his [hypothetical] vagina, he’d be on the floor begging for a merciful death by corkscrew. BUT US? We just keep going like the fucking zombie Energizer Bunny and maybe, just maybe, slap a heating pad on that shit if it’s particularly bad this month because AIN’T NO ONE GOT TIME FOR THAT.
- I GRIND MY TEETH IN MY SLEEP BECAUSE I AM PREPARING TO TEAR OUT THE THROATS OF MY ENEMIES.
- Anyone who thinks life gets more fun than shoving a wad of cotton into your vagina like it’s the cork for a champagne bottle of gore has obviously never lived.
- The insomnia is fucking awesome, and then the headache so you like can’t even fucking THINK because thinking is that shit limp-wristed intellectuals do shut up and work with me here. Sleep is for people who don’t got shit to do, and my shit to do I mean sharks to hunt down and murder with your bare hands. I KNOW YOU FUCKERS ARE HUNTING ME I CAN FEEL IT AND I AM READY YOU DO NOT EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE FUCKING WITH.
Tag: me
I attempted to take some pictures with the new ties. Or rather, I attempted to have my picture taken, and my housemate Kathy tried to take my picture. I’m not very good at this picture taking thing, I’m afraid.
This picture kind of indicates how I feel about the whole exercise, really. I feel weird and self-conscious and never know what to do with my hands. But anyway.
Funny story, I actually did a shoot once with a photographer when I was in my goth phase. And I actually had a lot of fun doing that. Because she told me what to do. I just can’t come up with anything on my own.
Moral of the story: I need an adult. Or I just stand there and look awkward. Someone tell me what to do.
And Mike says hi.
