Tag Archives: menstruation

Instead of killing someone, write a blog post!

23 Jun

Welcome to the show. It’s that time of the month, and I am filled with self loathing. It matters not that a cute girl stares back at me in the mirror; I’m still fat and ugly and, given the right combination of drugs, would take immense crotch-wetting pleasure in shaving my head and banging my umbrella on someone’s car window.

Aside from being the most vile looking creature this side of the Mississippi, I’m also stupid and incompetent; the proof is in the eight blog post drafts sitting to the right of the screen, as I type these pathetic words.

It is scientifically proven that to make one feel better about herself, she need only put someone else down. I’ve been running through scenarios in my head that might help brighten my mood, and the recurring one is this: run into the packed J.P. Licks of Newton Centre (full of yappy, rich housewives and their bratty kids) and yank the hair of as many of them as I can before a light goes off in their vapid brains guiding them to try and stop me. I’m not talking about the little pull on a few strands that you do to a friend sitting in front of you in class – I mean grabbing a handful of hair, dragging that hand down to waist level (along with her head), then flicking her nose with the other hand.

I did that once – except instead of flicking the nose, I punched her face repeatedly. It wasn’t my fault.

After theater rehearsal one afternoon, I got on the packed school bus and sat way in the back; it was the only seat left and, of course, was right in front of a pea-brain monstrous Hispanic chick and her big-hoop-earrings-wearing, finger-snapping friends. The whole ride they talked shit about me, pulled my hair, and at one point, one of them took my basketball from my lap. I kept quiet the whole time, ’cause I was alone, these creatures were bred for fighting, and my face was rather pretty. Finally, the Monster Chica and her friends got up to get off at their stop; one of them threw the ball back on my lap and I was relieved at the thought it might all be over. But of course, Monster Chica, the last one to leave, stomped on my foot as she walked away. I lost it. I threw my backpack and basketball down, got  up, and kicked her in the back. She turned around and for a second I almost shat my pants. At least 30lbs heavier and four inches taller, she came at me and all the kids got up, yelling “Fight! Fight!” She began scratching my face. 30 extra pounds, and all she could do was scratch my face and my shoulders. I was pushing her face away with my hands, when I grabbed a hold of her hair with my right hand. I pulled her head down to my waist, and proceeded to punch her temple and cheek with my left hand – four or five times. I brought her head back up and kicked her in the stomach, called her a bitch, and sat back down.

Other than the time I made a girl bleed while sparring in TaeKwonDo, that was my most victorious moment. This massive, scary looking chick was standing in the middle of the bus, shaking, holding her ear with one hand – I guess her earring got caught in her hair as I yanked and held it, and a bit of her ear was ripped. I watched as she got off the bus and stood on the sidewalk, still shaking.

No one. ever fucked. with me. again.

I feel better now.



2 Apr


Welcome. Today is day 1 of April PMSing. I’ve written before about a highly effective coping mechanism, but seeing as I’m at work, self-medicating isn’t an option. What I’ll choose to do instead is share this fucking burden with you, my reader (and subsequently, friend).  AND YOU WILL READ ALL OF IT, YOU HEAR ME? NO SKIPPING PARTS! AND LAUGH AT APPROPRIATE TIMES!

[deep breath]

A girl who’s in tune with her body – as I like to think I am – can generally detect the first symptoms of this recurring, unamusing prank from nature. This particular month my Redcoat visitor (so charming, all of a sudden!) brings a goodie basket of:

Sitting at my desk, fidgeting and worrying about ALL of the tasks I need to accomplish, thus spending my time engaging in none of them isn’t very efficient, is it? Well, that’s what I’m doing. Even better when I remember all of the personal tasks I have to accomplish too. Clean my apartment. Put up a Craigslist ad to help it get rented. Call Directv and ask them kindly to return the $350 they deducted from my account without authorization or good reason. I have to, I have to, I have to, I have to… PLEASE, GOD, LIFT THIS HEAVY BALL OF DUTY-VOMIT OFF MY BACK, I NEED TO BREATHE.

Can I have a hug?
Why? Are you in a bad mood or something?
No, I’m in a good mood, I just need a hug.
Okaaay. Weirdo. [he hugs me]

Irrational Thoughts
Life would be so much easier if I just got married to a really rich guy and could stay home doing NOTHING. I could deal without self-realization, being a waste of oxygen, occasionally debating if I could be classified as the ultimate prostitute, hiding my shame deep into the subconscious with the help of alcohol and drugs for every time I charge the credit card for a pair of stilettos that I think will make me look good and feel better because once someone slips a big fat shiny ring on my finger, I’ll instantly learn how to and enjoy walking strapped to such sadist contraptions. Forget exercising and challenging my faculties and finding a person who respects and appreciates my mind, and thinks of me as an equal, and a life partner with a hot bod.

Oh yea, I already went through that.


It’s very strange, because it isn’t sex that is appealing to me now. It’s just making out and smelling a dude’s scent and being touched. But not sex itself, necessarily (though I could be persuaded if I were already involved with said dude).  Note it is imperative that he be manly and sweaty, preferably post sports-match or something. It’s not gross, it’s just my hormones. I don’t appreciate your judgment. Oh, you weren’t judging? Sorry, I’m a little defensive.

Emotional Emptiness
Ever been on a really scary roller coaster, or taken ecstasy, or punched a wall/door in anger? These activities can leave you feeling pretty drained afterward, huh? A black hole of emotions where sad and happy, tired and energetic, talkative and anti-social all meet and penetrate one another, forming a blob of nothingness. Yeah, I kind of feel like that. They’re all inside me, yet I can produce nothing. It’s like a sharp, involuntary intake of breath seconds before what you THINK is going to be a massive, super satisfying sneeze and… nothing. It’s like dry humping for forty minutes, then hearing the parents walking down the hall, forcing you to take seats at opposite sides of the bedroom, borderline catatonic, unsure if you’re angry or sad, because your hormones were LIED TO.

At least there’s been no crying. On the contrary, I’m feeling sort of… RAAWWRR! I just wanna go home and take a long walk with the dog, while listening to music and then return to clean the shit out of that apartment!