Rumble in the Red Jungle

I woke up today feeling extremely bitchy (shocking). On a normal morning, I can easily determine the cause of my malevolent mental state after flipping through my regular list of grievances/enemies. Today, however, I couldn’t pinpoint why I was feeling so harassed, which annoyed me. The annoyance quickly turned into rage, which then spiralled into anxiety, followed by fear and finally full-on depression. “Why happening???” I whimpered to myself from beneath the covers, lower lip quivering and eyes filling with tears of shame. Moments later, when I instantly gained five pounds and my chin broke out into a beard of zits, I understood: Shark Week.

Every 28 days, when the above cycle-of-cray repeats itself, the first stop on the roller coaster of emotions that ensues upon the discovery that my south-mouth is about to spend the next few days puking blood is, oddly enough, elation. Yay! Not only am I not crazy, I’m not pregnant!! In your FACE, nature!

The conversation I then have with myself usually goes something like this: “I win! Time to party! I know, I’ll go out! With girls! Girls who understand me! Girls who feel my suffering! And we’ll look hot! I’ll wear my new dress! ...My stomach hurts... I’ll drink through the pain! ...I feel bloated. No, I’m fine. More than fine, I’m great! … Wait, I AM bloated. I’m dying. I can’t wear that dress! I can’t wear ANYTHING! I’m a big, fat, SEA COW of a woman! No, not a woman......a MONSTER!!” Cue hysterical sobbing.

Side note: for all the “men” out there who are all “Ew! She’s writing about her reproductive cycle, yucky! I never want to picture this! I only want to picture her making out with her hot girl friends and making me dinner forever!” I’m sorry. :( But also, go fuck yourself with your sister’s used tampon. Bitch, please. You got into an argument with your roommate over something legitimate that you were able to easily identify and discuss? That’s tough. What’s that? You’ve got a little tummy-wummy ache from all those bread sodas you chugged last night? Poor baby. Sorry? Your muscles are sore from your baseball (standing around) game? Aww, muffin. Shut up.

THIS is what real pain looks like:



...THE FUCK IS THIS?! I still don’t really know. But something in this choda lickin’ graph is responsible for the bullshit mental and physical agony we lady humans have to deal with every month. In a nutshell, it basically feels like you’ve turned into an enormous beached whale who swallowed a thousand fire ants that are shooting arrows at your uterus, while spiders lay exploding eggs in your brain and an unknown force is filling your tits with poisonous lead. While all of this is happening, you can see a big flashing “stop crying!” button but it’s *just* out of your reach, and any time someone looks at you you’re suddenly filled with terrifying murderous rage.

You’d think since more than half the population is suffering from the symptoms that come with riding the crimson wave at any given time, scientists would have figured out a way to hook a bitch up. Au contraire. Here are the most common treatment options your doctor (or the internet) will recommend:

1. Lifestyle changes (because it’s your fault)

From everywhere on the Interweb: “Below are some steps you can take that may help ease your symptoms” (note “may help ease” - as in, “there is no cure.”)

- Exercise regularly (Sure! Because when your tits, back, head and stomach are blinding you with pain and blood is pouring out of a hole in your body, the first thing you want to do is hit the gym.)
- Avoid salt, sugary foods, caffeine, and alcohol (You might as well tell me I’m going to war, but I’m not allowed to have a gun)
- Get enough sleep. Try to get about 8 hours of sleep each night (This is like telling someone you can’t swim and you need help and their advice being “just swim.” Thanks?)
- Find healthy ways to cope with stress. Talk to your friends or write in a journal (Dear Diary, Fuck You.)

2. Over-the-Counter Medications

Google (my other doctor) says: “Over-the-counter pain relievers may help ease physical symptoms, such as cramps, headaches, backaches, and breast tenderness.” These include:
- Ibuprofen and Aspirin (Imagine going to the hospital with a broken asshole and being offered a band-aid.)

3. Prescription Meds

From our friends at Wiki: “In more severe cases of PMS, prescription medicines may be used to ease symptoms. One approach has been to use drugs that stop ovulation, such as birth control pills.” Thanks. Because everyone over the age of 8 is already on the pill, and guess what? Nothing, that’s what. NEXT.

Since none of the above is even remotely helpful, I decided to make myself (and all of you lovely ladies out there) a list of home remedies to help you cope when when you’re attracting the lesbian vampires:

1. Kill everyone.

2. Eat only chocolate and donuts dipped in bacon-flavoured butter cream frosting sauce forever.

3. Yell at anything boyfriend says or does, even if he is attempting to help or understand how you feel. Especially if he is attempting to help or understand how you feel. HE’LL NEVER UNDERSTAND!!!

4. Burst into tears if anyone asks you a question about anything. What are you, some kind of goddamn question-answering wizard?!

5. Grab a box of cooch diapers and proceed to the nearest body of water. Throw each one dramatically into the water and scream “RETURN FROM WHENCE YOU CAME!!”, like so:



6. Call anyone you love and pick a fight with them. When he/she asks why you’re upset, scream “BECAUSE YOU RUINED MY LIFE!” and hang up. Immediately start crying and break whatever is closest to you.

7. Buy everything. Online, in-store, whatever. Just fucking buy the shit out of it until your credit card bleeds like you do.

8. At work, sit in murderous silence at your desk all day. Snap at anyone who looks at you. Answer questions with terrifying intonation: “I’m WORKING on it, JASON. I’ll GIVE it to you when I’m DONE.” Sigh audibly every 15 seconds or so.

9. Go to Dairy Queen. Purchase 1 large ice cream cake. Ask them to write “Fuck off” in red frosting on top. Cry for hours after you eat the whole thing.

10. Anything. You’re hemorrhaging out of your vag. You can do anyfuckingthing you want.

C U Next Time!

xo
m