Oh So Messy

Someone used the search “PMS makes me a crazy bitch” and found my blog.

Oh, sister. I share your pain. This past week has been as bad as any since I started, which is 31 years ago next month. Did you read that? 31 fucking years ago!!!!!!

The inner workings of my ovaries and uterus have caused great grief since I was 12. I’m not just talking about personal grief. Oh no. That would be too easy. It is grief that has blanketed all who are in my life with confusion and fear. I have even had co-workers and bosses mark on their calendars when the insanity and stupidity of my pms would be arriving.

Shit! What’s the date? Oh, christ. She’s messy!” Yes folks, I even taught them my shorthand for pms. It’s messy. I’m messy. Emotionally and physically. Don’t look at me!!! Waaaahhhh…

It’s been so bad that I have had people in my life walk up to me a week before my period starts and hand me a new box of Pamparin, with the words “I know you don’t know when your cycle starts, Leanne, but I do. Your gonna need this in 2 days. Oh and go buy yourself some pads.”

Shit. you. not.

(As a quick aside, guys? You know the whole Brazilian wax thinga-ma-boober going on down there? Not for esthetic purposes. It’s because no matter how careful you are as a woman wearing a sanitary necessity, you will inevitably get a couple of pubes ripped out by sticky tape. And that fucking hurts.)(I can hear several million women on the cotton pony now, yelping “Sonofabitch! ImagettinaBraziliantomorrow!)

This time around has been incredibly horrendous. I feel like I’ve been attacked by a Period Ninja. Kidney punch – KEEYAH!!!! Tailbone kick – HYAAH!!!! Speed bag boobs –HUMBANAHUMBANAHUMABANA!!!!!

Now, last spring I got sick. of. it. And like a good little girl, I trotted myself of to the health food store and got on some stuff recommended to me by my dear friend Karen of www.karensomethingorother.com. I believe ‘effortless periods’ was one of the phrases on the bottle. Sounded good, as I am really lazy. I took those and some other stuff and the universe and god smiled on my crippled hormonal bitch self and all was good. Until a month ago. When I ran out. And the stupid sales girl in the stupid health store said stupidly “Oh this is just as good. It actually will help you detox ‘bad’ hormones.” Bad hormones? Huh. They really educate you fucking people don’t they?

Anyhoo, I took the stuff. For 3 weeks. And after last week and 3 ninja cramp days, today I got pissed off.

Like a crack whore in withdrawal, I went back to that store, looking for “the good stuff”. There was me, pale, shaking, sweating, with a migraine flirting at my temples and my gunt bloated up 2 sizes, looking for relief. As I read the bottles, a lady sidled up next to me. We silently read the bottles and then I saw what the missing ingredient was. “Green tea! Look this one has green tea extract! This one doesn’t. That’s why this shit doesn’t fucking work! Just like everything else in my life, get me?”

She didn’t even smile sympathetically. She just sort of nodded and moved away. Maybe I was loud. Probably. I certainly got through the checkout quickly.

Then I went shopping. Which I should NEVER do when I’m messy. I buy the most ridiculous things right before my period and a few days later when the fog has lifted, I find myself wondering why I bought red skin-tight jeans with red tassels running down the side. Yet today, I found the exact perfect thing.

Yes. Today, yes.

Small issue. My 7-year-old is reading phonetically. He stared at this for a long time, sounding out the cuss word. Later on he said, “I feel like she’s watching me. No matter where I move, her eyes follow me.”

They do, son. They do.

The Most Important Word In My Vocabulary

It’s been a couple of weeks and by now you’re probably getting the idea why I call myself an odd duck. If not, go back, read a bit, then get your ass back here because I need to apologize to you. Maybe you know what I go through and what is created around me by my duckness, maybe you don’t but it can get pretty fucking tricky being me and I find myself apologizing almost constantly.

I need to set the scene for you. (No photos yet because my pretty highlighted hair has gone from well, pretty, to a weird, greeny-blondy shit mess. I look frighteningly like a cross between Liza Minnelli and Melanie Griffith, you know, if  they were both drunk and did each others hair. Which I would like to see.)

I’m 5’10”  barefoot and I have been *blessed* (ahem) with really long arms and legs. Like, oddly long. I’m slim, some would say coltish (me), others would say rangy and clumsy. My feet have always been too small for my height and I move like some one has lit my ass on fire, so yeah, I know how to enter a room. If something hasn’t been broken or knocked over I obviously have not arrived at your party yet. And I fall down, stub my toes, whack my elbows on things. Cross a stoned Muppet and a hormonal stallion and you’ll get an idea of the grace with which I carry myself.

I like being here, alive, I mean, and I really like people. I’m happy to meet just about everyone. Too happy. Crotch-sniffing-dog happy. (I’ve tried ad nauseum to teach my dog to do that because I thought it would be effective for keeping people I don’t want at my door away, but she never picked it up. Stupid bitch.) I’ll talk to anyone. Loudly. I don’t have good volume control. Believe me when I say that there is no way you will not notice me. Even when I am feeling shy and do my best to hide in a crowd, say nothing, and keep my flailing limbs tightly under control, I inevitably find strangers staring my way. Some look frightened, others are watching me because psychically, they know I’m about to do a uninentional cart-wheel.


Last week, I was in the throes of pms. I get pms like no ones business. I go from hurt tears to full on throw myself on the ground and break my nose tantrums over nothing. I also misinterpret everything.

Hubby:”Good morning.”


Hubby:”Umm, you okay?”

Me: through gritted teeth,”If. By. Okay. You. Are. Asking. Me. If. I. Feel. As. If. Someone. Punched. Me. In. Both. Kidneys. And. Slammed. My. Tits. In. The. Car. Door.,why, yes, I’m pretty fucking okay.”

Hubby:(leaving quietly)”I need a beer.”

In this mood, I took my dog to the vet. It’s not a pleasant experience for either of us. She had an ear infection, which hurts terribly, and I hate paying the bill.

They put us in a little room and there we waited for 15 minutes. The vet took her to the back to clean her ears out, and as she is a big dog, with very ouchy ears, it was a 3 person job. So I waited. And waited. And waited.

I could hear her crying and I didn’t like that. Plus I got bored, so I got the fuck out of that little room. Wandered around, talked to the office girls, browsed at dog food. Talked to a nice lady with a big dog. I got even more bored.

After staring out the window for another 10 minutes, I decided to sit down and be bored. Plus, I was getting pms-y, which I refer to as messy, for short, so I was getting bitchy as well.

I went to the room and the door was closed. No biggy. I opened it to find the nice lady and her dog sitting in my waiting room.

In my normal frame of mind, I wouldn’t have given a shit. But messy as I was my brain wasn’t working.

“I think they’ve put you in the wrong room. And trust me, your dog doesn’t want to run into my dog after the shit she’s just been through.”

She apologized, got up, kinda backed out of the room, apologized again, with me following her, saying “No,no! Shit happens. No problem.”

Well, we were at the reception area when we both realized that I was the one who’d gone to the wrong room.

I can only imagine what went through her mind while I was busy apologizing. Well, I did imagine it and that gave me the giggles, so her opinion of me probably turned from something like, ‘Honest mistake’ to ‘Fucking crazy bitch.’

I giggled through paying the bill and giggled all the way home.( Because if you’re me, ALL you can really do is laugh and apologize.)

Yes, I’ve already been teaching the boy. Sorry is one of  the most important words you can ever say.

The big dog with a cat on her back.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Little wallflower.

Tricky. But fun.