Wednesday, September 26, 2012

SIck and Tired

Things of which I am sick and tired, in no particular order:

biased journalism
horror fiction
conspiracy theorists
classroom mommies
full cart in the express lane, paying with food stamps
other people's perfume/cologne
newscasters who pronounce nuclear "nuke-you-lar"
sharia law apologists
jihad sympathizers
media hipocracy
fake nails
feather extensions
synthetic fabrics
stripper shoes
other people's children
ghetto culture
Prius drivers
Federal overreach
"women's health"
angry atheists
guys hogging the arm machines the gym
couples who work out together
teen moms
shattered illusions


Why do I even  bother with this nonsense? I'm not the writer.

Saturday, September 15, 2012

Aunt Flo Says, "Gesundheit."

I believe there may be some kind of force out there in the ether, a malign and disgruntled force that conspires against me. This is the reason that if there is a product on the market that I especially like, that product will be discontinued. Weaver's Batter-Dipped Fried Chicken, for example. Ginza brand shampoo and conditioner. Aqua Silk conditioner. Meguiar's Tech Wax 2.0, the car wax squeezed  straight from the nipples of the gods.

When the dark force is not trolling my cupboards, trying to suss out with which products I would be most aggrieved to part, it is causing co-workers to schedule long meetings on the second day of The Curse of Eve. On the second day, the Overlook Hotel elevator doors open up, and blood fills the streets. There are clots the size of small babies, which must be checked for faces before the toilet can be flushed (just in case.) The second day, (and then often the third, and sometimes the fourth) requires the largest absorbency tampons that are made, in addition to the type of extra-long maxi pad with wings and blood-gutters down the side. Frequent trips to the can are required.

The second day is a bad day for a two-hour meeting. Yesterday's meeting took place in a small office, and one of the participants was wearing some kind of flowery, powdery old lady perfume. I kept trying to move out of the cloud of violets, talcum, and presumably, the musk produced by the dread of the impending nursing home. Eventually, though, I breathed in a great big lung bucket full, and promptly sneezed violently. Twice.

Some broads say that they pee when they sneeze. I don't have this problem, but if it happens to be the second day Auntie Flo is in town, it may dislodge something unpleasant. Like, say, a clot. And when  clot is dislodged, a torrent might follow. Which is what happened. And the back-up pad failed, so the effluvia shot over the sides and over the top, like a mongol horde.

It looked like I had been shot in the crotch, and that is why I had to go home and change my pants. Thank God for long shirts.