Or: Lupron + PMS = The Perfect Storm
I don’t know where you all live, but in Ohio, we had a fucking blizzard. Not just a blizzard. A fucking blizzard. All told, I think we got about 12 – 15 inches, but I didn’t go out there with mah measurin’ stick or anything.
Now, in my part of Ohio, every weekend the weather forecast is something like, “2 – 20 inches of snow and mostly cloudy. Bend over.” And usually, we get about 3 inches and it’s totally not a big deal because WE LIVE IN OHIO! We are badass! We are used to crappy weather from October until May and we deal with it because it’s cheap to live in Ohio, so suck it, California!
I love snow, until about March, then I’m over it. I think snow is beautiful and I have no interest in living in an area where there is never snow. I also love weekends where I can lay on my ass and eat nonstop because I have no choice – it’s a fucking blizzard outside! So, Friday and Saturday were just peachy and I enjoyed the cabin feverishness of it all.
Sunday, the shit hit the fan.
I don’t know if it’s the Lupron, or just your run of the mill PMS (AF due Wednesdayish). But there was Rage, people. Pure, unadulterated RAGE (and Loathing, if you saw Wicked). Two particular Rage incidents occurred and I will share them with you, because I love to air my dirty laundry to the entire Internet.
Incident 1: Some asshole had a baby.
OK, not just some asshole, but my cousin. She went into labor with her second baby since we started trying. (You see where this is going, don’t you Internet?) Maybe it’s not fair to call my cousin an asshole. I could go back and delete, but meh. Too much work.
It gets a little sticky here because this blog is “public” and I’ve given the link to some of my family. As I’ve metioned before, they don’t read this blog often (if ever). So when my family pisses me off, do I post it? Do I not? The dramz.
The Rage made it’s first appearance when my mom called to follow up on the email she sent me to let me know that my cousin was in labor. Email? Fine. I can have my private reaction and nobody knows about the Rage. No problem. Phone call? Not so much fine, because: 1.) I am not at a place in my life where I can be expected to have an appropriate response to such news, and 2.) WTF?, and 3.) the Rage! Oh, the Rage!
Let me replay this for you:
*Sex and the City Ringtone*
Mom: Hey! Did you get my email?
Jen: Yes, I did.
Mom: OK, good. I just wanted to let you know.
Jen: Yes, I now know.
Mom: Well, I just want to make sure you’re sending out good vibes to Cousin.
Jen: What? (seriously, I thought I didn’t hear her)
Mom: Good VIBES. You know, you always feel sorry for someone who has to give birth, so we need to send out good vibes.
Jen: I don’t feel sorry for people giving birth. She’ll get an epidural. She’ll live. She has two kids now, so no, I don’t feel sorry at all.
Mom: OK then. (probably wondered how she raised such a Raging bitch)
Jen: * head spins a full 360 degrees and mouth expels green, pea soup-like substance. Possibly begins to grow horns *
Incident 2: Trying to get some damn chicken at Wal-Mart almost leads to divorce.
Apparently I am a poor planner and also I think meterologists are LIARS because I planned to get groceries on Saturday even though we were supposed to get a fucking blizzard. We needed groceries hard core – we were out of every. thing. We did have toilet paper, so that was good.
Since we couldn’t get out of the driveway on Saturday, this had to wait until Sunday. The day of the Rage. Now I don’t have kids so I can only guess, but I think grocery shopping with Mark would be like grocery shopping with a 4 year old.
First: decision making is not Mark’s thing, so it takes him forever to pick between things. Granola bars? 5 minutes. Deodorant? Bring a snack, it’ll be a while. Etc. Second: while putting things on the belt at the check out, you see that Mark has thrown in about 10 items in some covert mission to fill our house with shit. Example: 97 cent chocolate bunny? Gotta have it. He would be a great contestant on Supermarket Sweep.
Mark is also a conisseur of chicken, particularly chicken fingers. A true, rare expert, especially in the fried or breaded niche. He loves the chicken at Wal-Mart, and in all fairness I love it too because YUM! It smells like heaven near the chicken counter.
Rage struck at the chicken counter.
I won’t put the conversation down for you, but it was ridiculous and I wanted to rip Mark’s face off. And I swear, the Wal-Mart chicken counter worker was giving me the finger. The finger that requires two arms, because you put your fist on your elbow of the hand giving the finger to emphasize the FUCK YOUness of the finger giving.
But there was much indecision and mind changing about the damn chicken. I striaght up walked away and let Mark finish ordering because I couldn’t stand there for one single additional second.
A few minutes later we were waiting to check out, because there were literally 3 lanes open. On a SUNDAY, after a fucking blizzard, at 2 in the afternoon. And I told Mark, “I wonder if it was the Lupron that made me want to rip your face off just now.” And Mark was all, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I told you exactly what I wanted, blah blah blah.”
And this additional conversation made me not only want to rip his face off, but throw it on the ground and maybe pee on it.
Then I changed the subject to Suri Cruise because talking about the Rage only makes the Rage worse, especially when your husband doesn’t understand the Rage. And why should he? I don’t expect him to understand. He’s good about it, too, he just ignores it. That’s the reason we get along so well – he’s just a nicer person than me.
So that was my weekend. I should also mention that my weekend included about 9 hours of studying because I have a test today, so I’m sure that made me irritated and maybe contributed to the Rage because SUCK! I hate school and I want it to be over now now now! Why must you, higher education, be such a bane to my very existence?
I'm off to take this damn test. Hopefully I don't fall into a Lupron induced coma while taking it, because I am all kinds of tired right now.
DISCLAIMER: This post is me, making fun of myself for being a Raging hormonal bitch. I should point out three things:
1. No, I don't really think my cousin is an asshole. Of course it is great news that she had her baby.
2. No, I don't think it was wrong for my mom to call and let me know that my cousin was in labor.
3. No, I shouldn't have rushed Mark while he was picking out his chicken. It was a big big decision.