PMS and Men...

So I've been discussing PMS on my page because mine this month is brutal. My normally barely C Cups have swollen into DD Cups, hard cups like someone inserted rocks to make them bigger. My ass is also an inflated puffy bulge that is twice the size of its normalness, and if I weren't so pissed off at the world, I'd probably enjoy dropping it like it's hot. But it's not hot. In fact it's all temperatures. I go from cold sweats to hot flash in point five, and it's constant. For days. Cold sweat for hours where I'm hovering over the broiler followed by a sweaty hot flash where I'm hugging the freezer just to get cold again....

Then on top of it, I have the mood swings. One minute, I want my own hotel room to get away from everyone and the next second I'm thinking that's not a good idea because then I'd miss everyone and I start crying thinking about not seeing my kids for a whole whopping night, and then I think how it would be awesome to not see my kids for one night just be free and then I feel super guilty for it because PMS IS A BITCH.

And that thought process goes for everything. Talking to people. Talking to other people's kids. Talking on the phone. THe husband. Taking a shower. Not taking a shower. Cooking dinner. Watching Dora....

Then the men come in with their brilliance. I think regardless of where you stand on the PMS psycho spectrum, you've probably had part of this conversation at least once a month...

Woman: Don't bother me right now. I have hormonal issues that make me mad over nothing and because i know that's not fair to you, I'm just saying don't bother me okay?

Man: But I'm really concerned for you. That's not fair you have to go through that. Let me help.

Woman: No, you can't help, and you are starting to  piss me off already.

Man: But I can make you laugh. Let me try with some stupid horseshittery...

Woman: Stop it. You are really starting to piss me off.

Man: Fuck you and your fucking woman problems and stupid mood swings like I'm not having one right now. Let me piss you off out of concern for your pissed offness. Let me help by making it worse. And now this isn't even about you or your PMS but about me and my stupid mamby pamby feelings, because pissing you off isn't enough for my sadistic evil pleasure. I must add guilt and make you second guess your sanity and self worth with it because I'm the alpha dog and you are the woman.

And then in many cases like mine:

Woman: Are you serious with that horse shit? (throw out evil glare where I really am thinking about divorce and murder at the same time)

Man: No, I was kidding. It was a joke. If you didn't have PMS you'd think it was funny. I'm sorry. I love you.

Woman: I don't know. Rub my feet. Then we'll see how I feel.


So I say this to all you ladies out there. Milk your men. If they are going to be inconsiderate assholes to you during your time of psycho where your body is preparing to tear down walls, whether it's intentional or not, whether it's sadistic maniacalism or not, use it to guilt him into doing the shit he should be doing anyway, whether it's taking out the trash, washing dishes or rubbing your feet. Yes you men SHOULD be rubbing our feet and our backs and what not because a massage therapist is 60 an hour. If I clean the house to avoid paying maid service, and I watch the kids to avoid paying nanny services, then you can rub my motherfucking feet to avoid paying massage therapy services.

My Sexy Pillow Talk

To give you a glimpse of the romantic sweet nothings the husband and I have before bed, here's last night's conversation. Now mind you, they are not always this romantic. Sometimes, okay a lot of the times, our conversation before bed is more like, "Did you lock the door?" and that's it. There are times too we get into deep discussions about kids and his work. Now I should point out, the nights we passionately fuck like it's a sin, we don't talk at all. 

They do say it's important for marital couples to communicate...

The husband explains that after work the next day, he's stopping home to get his pedal he sold and taking it up to the guy who bought it. He plays guitar. It's a guitar pedal. Not sure if it's one he bought before, or one he made. How cool is that though? He builds guitar pedals. He's naming them after the kids too.

Me: If the kids are crazy tomorrow, will you take them with you?

Husband: Sure.

Me: That's awesome. Already looking forward to it. If they are anything like they were today, I will NEED that break... Well, actually, I was thinking earlier... you know how the kids get crazy every full moon? What if, in my Keanu Reeves voice, what if the moon don't make the kids crazy? What if it makes me crazy? And I just think it's the kids?

Husband: Hahahahaha. Well the moon does affect you.

Me: Really? Were the kids any different today than usual?

Husband: No.

Me: Are they ever any different than usual when I'm like, "kids are crazy, must be the moon."

Husband: Not really.

Me: Is that look on your face a sign that you are really afraid to say this to me?

Husband: No. Not at all.

Me: Shit, I can't tell if you are fucking with me or telling the truth

Husband: Hahahahahahaha

Me: Fuck you… (I roll over and face opposite direction). With your own hand.

Husband: Whatever.

Me: whatever, that was a pretty good fuck you. I mean, you can't get better than that. Fuck you. With your own hand.

Husband: eh, not really

Me: You really aren't trying to get laid anytime soon are you.

Husband: Would I get laid anytime soon?

Me: Well, your chances for it were much better 5 minutes ago.

Husband laughs, proceeds to get closer, cuddles, and then dry humps my butt.

Me: Really? You are dry humping my butt now?

Husband makes humping much more obvious.

Me: Keep it up and you'll end up like the bull in the movie we watched.

Husband: Really? You'd cut off my dick?

Me: Yep, and I'd wear it on my neck as a trophy.

Husband: That's fucked up.

Me: And I'd slap people in the cheek with it.

Husband: Fuck you.

Me: My fuck you was better than yours.

Husband: Hahahahahaha, I love you.

Me: I love you too.

Husband: Good night.

Me: Good night. And quit stealing my blankets you blanket whore.

The Koolaid that brought no one to our yard.

I'm watching one of my nephews for a few days just because his brother pissed him off. For purposes of this story, we shall call him the boy. He just turned 13.

Me: (as I was getting up off the husband's lap) I don't like that girl.

Boy: Who?

Me: (pointing to the TV), that girl

Boy: Why?

Me: Because she stole Captain America's heart from me. That man belongs to me.

Boy: What about the Puerto Rican Air Force (pointing to my husband)

Me: Who?

Boy: The Puerto Rican Air Force you married.

Me: Oh, but she stole Captain America's heart!

Husband: Awww, no you don't. Denied.

Boy: I can't believe she just dissed you.

I start walking to the husband who is not having any hugs.

Husband: No, no. You already made your choice. Go be happy with Captain America.

Boy: Yeah. You can't diss him like that and think he's just going to take it.

So I jump on the husband and lift my big red shirt (it's his shirt he got for Christmas from my mom one year and has never worn because he hates it) over his head and jammed his face in my boobs and wiggled. Laughing hysterically.

Boy: Gawd, what are you people doing? What is wrong with you?

I start to get off and the husband takes the shirt, puts it back over his head, lifts up my tank top and places his head in my boobs and starts shaking his head screaming "Ahhhh" Of course, he's the only person who can see my boobs because my shirt is still on me. I'm just pregnant with the head of my husband for a second, that is all.

Boy: Oh wow, y'all need to stop. Seriously, you people are crazy.

Me: Yeah, I think we are scarring this child for life hun. We should stop.

Husband: Yeah.

Me: Our kids are used to this sort of thing.

Boy: Just go make me some Kool Aid. Some Black Drink.

Me: I'm making the Kool Aid. Wanna know why? Because I'm the blackest motherfucker here.

(Mind you, I'm white. My husband is Puerto Rican, and my nephew is black, well actually he's mixed but you wouldn't know that looking at him).

Boy: She is.

Me: See. Proof.

Boy: I'm surprised you didn't stick your face in the Puerto Rican Air Force's boobs.

Husband performs milk shake. It brought nobody to our yard.