so it's friday night, and instead of hitting up el charro's for some dancing with the girls from work, taking in a new movie at la cinemazillionscreenplex, or even just crashing at a friend's place for a round of popcorn, soda, and trashy 80's tv on dvd (because my options always come in sets of three), i am instead curled up on the couch with a bottle of chocolate milk, a bowl of fettucini with chicken, and a stack of the OC on dvd (again, options in sets of three) barely able to move and not really wanting to, either. why, you ask? well i'll tell you why, mother fuckin sherlock holmes on the case of a girl who darest not go out on a friday night, I'M PMSING LIKE AN ANGRY DRILL SEARGANT HERE, and the cramps + fat ankles x general disdain for all of humanity divided by hunger for every kind of protein-rich beast sear-marked on a grill square rooted by the most wicked mood swings this side of sybil sort of get in the way of friendly interaction with males and females alike. thus, i have decided to whip up a quick clickable list of things for the ladies to do when the p motherfuckin m goddamn s machine cranks into high gear. so here. i throw it at you and go.
10 things for the ladies to do when the pms is a-raging and murdering the general populace isn't an option, because apparently if they'll throw paris in the clink, they'll def throw you in and orange is *nobody's* color
1. go to hershey park. If not in pennsylvania, visit local godiva chocolatier. they’re better anyway.
this place is magical, i tell you. despite the fact that this was the first place my parents took me after a six week sentence of fat camp (for real, you now officially know a fat camp veteran) and didn't let me touch a SINGLE PIECE OF CHOCOLATE, this park holds many a magical memory. or maybe i'm mixing it up with nostalgia of the hansony kind, since this is where i saw my first *real* concert, all the old-skool dmb and pat mcgee band sessions at wolf trap not withstanding. though perhaps for street cred i should say they did. though the first to decry hanson as useless will say the same of my original virginia-based man-names-band-after-himself and then plays at wolftrap farm park loves, so, nevermind. anyway, back to the point- hershey park shows you how they make the chocolate, and instead of mickey mouse puppets and character costumes baking to 110 degrees in the heat of velour costumes, there are GIANT CHOCOLATE BARS. this obviously wins. why, you might ask, does a woman want chocolate during pms? well wimps might say magnesium, but a lady will tell you, fuck off and give me the orgasmic creamy mouth delight wrapped in a cookie or bonbon form and nobody gets hurt. it's simply a mystery. it is a delectable treat and it holds power over those of us with xx chromosomes. deal. and when i say deal, i mean [men,] deal [with our fucking pms or our general everyday actions by giving us lots and LOTS of chocolate, okay, you bastards? okay.] the end.
2. call your ex boyfriend, remind him what he’s missing in a snarkalicious voicemail and then go play with your ex bf voodoo kit.
i mean really. haven't we all wanted to do this with our boyfriends who are one of the following:
*any sort of european, actually
*the best sex you ever had
*the only person who could ever get your damn car to start
*provider of much good music
*provider of much good weed
*the reason behind every angry song you ever met
*again, with the best sex, cause, damn, that was nice
what ex haven't you wanted to break out a voodoo doll on? i'm not saying that shit works, but i'm not decrying it either. go forth, my ladies, and prick him* where pricks were not meant to go.
*yes, i am approximately 14 years old in my use of the word 'prick'. take it or leave it, loves.
3. buy a new voodoo kit if you don’t already have one.
if this isn't a buyable option, visit bath and body works instead. seriously. their 'temptations' line is divine. at least you'll smell lovely (like peaches and apples and lavender!) when the cops show up at your door all 'ma'am, do you know anything about (insert ex's name here)'s disastrous impalement via rhinocerous horns?'
first of all, they deserve death for calling you ma'am, but secondly, you'll smell so innocent and lotion-in-a-bottle lovely that they won't be able to convict you EVER. so do what you will, mes sistres. just don't tell me.
4. do some light exercise. that includes strangling your neighbor for perfectly grilling a delicious, juicy, protein-rich steak and not inviting you.
for real. what an ass.
5. doing some crunches or sit ups can actually help cramps.
however, if you can't manage these, then turn on some fitness show that shows people doing them, and upon realizing you're in no mood and/or shape to follow suit of the bodies on the screen, throw your tub of cheap non-fat ice cream at them. trust me. you're better off with full fat anyway.
6. brain food- which includes fish, fruit, and the souls of newborns.
actually i heard mostly it's salmon and blueberries, but, frick newborns. the fact that we decided not to harbor them in our tubes this month is the reason we're cramping anyway. DEATH, DEATH TO ALL RAFFI-LISTENING LIFE-FORMS.
7. take a bath. equip yourself with the portable phone, a bowl of fruit, a book, and a taser.
first off, the hot water soothes the abdominal muscles. obviously have a phone on hand in case irrepressible gossip from a friend comes over the wire and you seriously can't let a bitchfest slip through your fingers *that* easily, and as for the fruit bowl, blueberries are known to ease the damn cramps. so there, science guys. of course, the taser is obviously for anybody who decides to hijack the phone line, flush the toilet and thus secure you a talktime with the cold water god, or who even dares to enter the bathroom when you are SO NOT READY. trust me, ladies. you'll want one on hand. always.
8. research meathooks on the internet.
determine the best model for your budget, and strongly consider which type of uterine removal works best for you, cause seriously, that’s the problem with being female. in the end, decide bleeding for a bit every month-ish is better than sticking a metal hook up your hoohah. seriously. just imagine the mess. my roommate and i back in college always used to leave cryptic 'pass me the hook' away messages when it was that time, but since then i've decided liberal doses of cynicism and icyhot seem to work better anyway.
9. go to blockbuster. rent a stack of south park, reno 911, animaniacs, and whatever else makes you laugh. top it off with popcorn and goobers.
i really hope this needs no further explanation. humor trumps all, obviously.
10. fuckin slayer.
a dear friend of mine always urges that slayer is the cure to any bad mood. but it's not just slayer according to him, oh no- it's 'fuckin' slayer'. so, really, just crank up the fuckin slayer ('angel of death' and 'god hates us all' are good choices for the beginner) and scream your pretty little heart out. it's the best legal option this side of cutting a bitch and/or setting fire to the union hall. and if you seriously can't handle the hormones making a mush out of your brain and uterus, read up on african ladies and be thankful you don't get your squiggly sawed off with a rock and upon the age of monthly goo, sent into the bushes until your demons are gone, or whatever it is they do over there. no, i don't pretend to know, that would detract from my charming idiocy. the end.
no, seriously. the end. to this entry, anyway.