Women always get offended when men say “women are crazy,” or “I don’t understand them.” We argue that men are insensitive, oblivious, selfish, brutes, etc etc. And some of them are, but for the most part, they’re pretty straight forward.
On the other hand, women are pretty crazy. There are multiply layers to our thought process and behavior, and I’m pretty certain we expect everyone to follow the maze and arrive promptly at the exit with a smile on their faces and hopefully a bouquet of fresh organic flowers. It doesn’t really work like that. I’ve had to remind myself several times. The problem is obviously rooted in our upbringing; girls play with girls and boys “will be boys” on their own. The defining moments in our growth are spent apart and that’s where the confusion sets in. When our hormones kick in, we reconvene, but by then it’s too late and girls are already crazy and guys have already turned into swine.
First, I want to iterate, as every good feminist will, that a lot of it is not our fault. Boys are taught to be fearless, adventurous, get down and dirty and “be boys.” Girls are taught to be modest and attractive. My parents (mother, especially) always encouraged me to be smart and independent, thank God, so while I was not immune to Barbie’s awesome outfits and Seventeen magazine’s 100 Ways to Make Boys Notice You and Other Girls Envy You, I don’t hold Twiggy to be my standard of awesomeness (I don’t think anyone does these days, but you get my point). Having grown up with an older brother who had lots of cool friends also helped. I followed him around and did what he did, liked what he liked, and listened to what he listened to. I should thank him for helping me understand how easy men are to get along with.
But I digress, as I always do. Whether it’s the standards imposed by society, our biology, or a combination of both, chicks are crazy. Two days ago, I woke up hating the world. I got to work and snapped at my boss, snapped at my best friend, and I would’ve eaten his head for lunch if I could’ve. I seriously wanted to punch someone’s face in, or cut off someone’s balls and cook it for my dog’s dinner, while leaving the victim gagged and tied up to bleed to death with rabid rats gnawing on his exposed flesh. Last night I decided to go to bed early, as a good night’s sleep might help calm me down. I woke up feeling great, I’m having a wonderful hair day, and I love that it’s cold enough for me to wear my favorite purple sweater with embroidered hearts (I am 26). I get to work, and my ridiculously too nice person of a boss and I are discussing the company’s plans for the quick sale of a property when something in my brain goes “I’m sad.” Then here I am, half trying to listen, half trying to fight back tears that want to stream down my face FOR NO FUCKING REASON. Then I start thinking, “my parents are fine, my dog’s fine, I look cute today, I’m on top of work, no one is mad at me, my bills are paid, I made good coffee today, there’s delicious food for lunch… why do I want to cry???” So instead of listening to my boss, I’m just nodding at appropriate intervals and coaching myself through this mini-episode. “You are fine. This is just your hormones. Stop it. Listen to him, you could learn something important!” Phew… ok, I got over it. And missed a third of the conversation.
Yes, I’m about to get my period. Yesterday I ate more chocolate than I drank water, and I seriously considered going to a bar, getting drunk and picking up one of Waltham’s finest locals. It’s not easy going from vicious bitch to binging fatso, to desperate horn-ball, to depressed cry-baby all in a span of 3 days. I’m hoping there’s an end to this soon. The way I see it, there are two efficient ways to cope: 1. birth control. I know it will lessen the flow of my period (whatever, dude, if I bleed from the vagina once a month, I’m fucking entitled to talk about it) and probably minimize the PMS symptoms. But the truth is, I can barely remember to take my pre-natal vitamins every day (Doc’s orders! I’m anemic, apparently), let alone another set of daily pills meant to avoid pregnancy that really just end up being a reminder of how little action I’m getting these days. The second option is weed. When I spent Tuesday praying to God no one would come into my office so I wouldn’t have to fight back the urge to strangle him/her with my bare hands, I went home and I smoked weed. All of the craziness went away. I felt nice. I felt like someone who could co-exist with other living beings in peace. Even my dog liked me better, and she usually gives me the cold shoulder when I light up.
The moral of the story here is, while it is important for men to be considerate of women in their lives and understand that sometimes, we just can’t control this shit, it’s also important for girls to understand that life goes on, even though you’re PMSing. And life is already hard; it sucks double when you have to deal with a raging lunatic with a serious mood disorder. No one needs that. So ladies, be aware of yourself, your words and your actions. Understand where they’re coming from and understand that no one wants to deal with that shit. And if you can, hit the bong. It makes everything better.