Thursday, November 17, 2011

Zombie PMS

Our regularly schedule Brilliant Word Art is on hold today, mainly because I've come down with a scorching case of Zombie PMS, and the only thing on the menu is eating brains with a righteous fury.

The question isn't Why Have a List, the question is When Have I Not Loved a List? Answer = never.

Things Today Already Deserving Brain-Eating Vengeance:

1. The microscopic clingy (and I can only assume highly flammable) chunks of packing peanuts I had to vacuum off the playroom floor.

2. The Man not promptly returning my email and two subsequent phone calls. I know you're working, The Man, but take some time out of your busy SHED-YULE to respond to the obvious devolution of my sanity.

3. My netbook's possessed mouse arrow. There I was, trying to finish an email, when it began randomly opening things like my anti-virus window. Anti-virus is just like the transmission in the Crappy American SUV = it just has to work, I don't need details.

4. My gimpy foot. I am 100% sure that I do NOT have a dirty stress fracture. It's been almost 5 weeks in the ugly-but-bedazzled boot and I still have a painful lump. It's probably a gimpy foot tumor. I'd rather start wearing my cute mule boot-lets and give up on the fake-fracture-actual-tumor foot.

5. Laundry. Never, ever ending laundry. Is this what it's all come to? Laundry?

6. Bloating. I'm within 1 pound of my pre-both-baby weight (I KNOW!) and I'm pretty sure something like an evil gremlin is gestatin' in mah abdomen. Gross. And unattractive at the same time.

7. Having to cook dinner. Again. As I do. I have to do it now, in fact; yet do not despair Friends, the kitchen is where I keep the Bacardi Limon.

Update: Actual text I sent to The Man = "Fair warning: *wicked* PMS today. I suggest rubbing my back, noticing I look thin and ignoring the crazy. His response? "Ok." He is well conditioned Friends.

Comments, questions or any righteous causes that need smiting?

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