Yesterday at Dinosaurs Can’t Eat Pizza, I posted my favorite risotto recipe. It’s made in the microwave, so you risotto purists might want to skip it (or go over there and be horrified, whatever works for you).
So, remember how I had that hysterectomy two years ago? And then my gynecologist strongly recommended that I go on an estrogen patch due to my age. (And how what she meant was that I am a bit young to go without those hormones, but what Fred assumed she meant when she said “at your age” was that I am ANCIENT because he is stupid?) So I went on the patch and then I was like “Well, what happens if I go off the patch?” I went off the patch, and nothing at all happened, no hot flashes, nothing at all, I was FINE. Then I saw her last January and she was like “Mmm, yeah. I STRENUOUSLY OBJECT to your going without estrogen because I am old school and I think you should just do what I tell you to do, stupid, and also I have zero bedside manner and you hate me.”
(I might be paraphrasing.)
I waited until after I had my breast/ upper arm/ neck lift last February, and then I waited until after I had my neck lift revision in October, and then finally I started back on the patch in November. And I swore to myself that I would stay on the damn thing for at least three months and then I’d see how I was doing. And nothing much happened as a result of being on the patch, no difference in anything except that I gained some weight.
(Which is probably due more to the surgeries I had last year, because I have perhaps mentioned that every time I have surgery I gain 10 pounds and eventually it comes back off and I HAD SURGERY TWICE LAST YEAR AND I THINK YOU CAN DO THE MATH.)
So last week I was replacing the patch on Monday, and I thought to myself, I thought “Self, this is utterly goddamn motherfucking ridiculous. I was FINE off the patch, never had a single hot flash, perfectly perfectly fucking FINE, why am I dealing with these goddamn things?” Because those patches are ANNOYING with their adhesive and trying to figure out where to put them.
A reasonable person would have done a slow step-down off the patch, but have I ever claimed to be reasonable? I have not. So I took that patch off, and I’ve been off them ever since.
And the hormonal wallop has turned me into a raving fucking lunatic. I misread a recipe earlier this week and I was in a RAGE. I wanted to track down the writer of the recipe and I wanted to kill them DEAD. Fred was all “Ha ha, well we can still use this food, we’ll just do this”, and I wanted to stab him in the face. I was playing Words with Friends one morning, and each game was taking for-fucking-ever to load, and I wanted to HURL the fucking thing across the room. I had this actual conversation with myself in my head:
Irrational lunatic asshole me: I am going to throw this goddamn thing across the room at the wall SO FUCKING HARD that I am going to dislocate my shoulder and I will need a sling, and that is FUCKING FINE because it will be SO SO SO SATISFYING.
Rational reasonable asshole me (I cannot stand that rational voice in my head, she is SO GODDAMN ANNOYING): Don’t do that, because then you will have NO iPod to watch Gossip Girl on and you will have NO iPod to get your ass kicked on in WWF games and you will have NOTHING sitting on the bedside table to grab and use as a flashlight in the middle of the night when you have to pee!
Irrational: I WILL THROW THIS FUCKING THING AGAINST THE WALL AND IT WILL MAKE ME BRIEFLY SUPER SUPER SUPER HAPPY.
Rational: NO. Put it down. PUT IT DOWN!
And so on. Rational won out (fucking bitch, she almost always wins) and I put the iPod down and I flailed around in bed and yelled “COOOOOOOOOOOOOOME OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!”, then got up and stomped off to take my shower.
I am a pure delight to live with right now, I tell you what. In the rare calm moments, I have apologized to Fred, telling him that I KNOW I’m being irrational, that I can say to myself “You are being irrational right now”, but I cannot stop myself. It’s fucking insane. If I didn’t know that it will take about two weeks to pass – but that it WILL pass – I think I would be throwing myself off the nearest cliff or kicking chickens or something.
(Note: I would never kick a chicken. I might stab Fred in the face, though.)
(“TONIGHT on News at 10! She wrote on the internet that she was going to stab her husband in the face AND THEN SHE DID! Coming up in 10 minutes!”)
In no particular order, things which have recently annoyed, pissed me off, or crossed my irrational bitch radar.
1. My spell check knows how to spell Rihanna’s name better than I do. Why is that in my spell check? What the fuck? Anyway, I heard some song on the radio and I was like “Who’s this, I kind of like this song.” and Fred was all “Rihanna.” and I was all “Ugh.” and he was all “I take it you don’t like her?” and I was all “No, I find her repugnant.” Then he laughed and asked why and I said “I don’t care if she wants to get back together with Chris Brown, it is her right as an adult to have sexytime with whatever consenting adult reciprocates the interest, but as a (god knows why) public figure she’s got all these little girls WATCHING her, and I think she’s got a duty to be aware of that and fucking DENY that she would ever have anything to do with a man who would beat the shit out of her.” Fred said, “So she should lie?” And I said “Oh, right. Lying to the entertainment press is completely unheard-of, she should never do THAT. Shut up before I stab you in the face.”
2. Penn Badgley. God, I hate his stupid, smug, smarmy fucking face. HATE HIM SO MUCH. We watched Margin Call last weekend and as soon as I saw him, I was like “I did not know HE was in this. UGH. I HATE HIM.” I had to look away from the TV every time he was on, because oh god I hate him so much. HATE HIM. I wish Chuck Bass would man up and push him off the nearest tall building.
3. That actress who plays the wife on Awake. Cannot stand her. Her voice is, like, baby talk. It makes me want to stab myself in the eardrums repeatedly. You know who’d be better in that role? Dexter’s wife. She’s got a similar look and voice and doesn’t make me want to commit mayhem. This makes me hope that the reality where the wife is alive is the dream. SO ANNOYING.
4. How the Alzheimer’s seems to be taking over my brain, and I can’t have a fucking conversation without having to come around to the topic by meandering is 63 other directions first. “Who’s that? She looks familiar,” Fred said when we were watching Margin Call. “She’s, oh, I can’t remember her name.” I said. “She’s the sister of the actress who’s married to Brad Paisley. Who was the girl in Father of the Bride. She’s, oh, she dated whatshisface on How I Met Your Mother. Kimberly Williams! Was her sister. She dated the guy, not Barney, come on. She was a baker?” And on and on and ON. (Ashley Williams was her name.)
5. God, I hate Penn Badgley. His stupid fucking name doesn’t even look like it’s spelled right. I just saw his face because I had to look on IMDB to re-remember Ashley Williams’s name. I HATE HIM SO MUCH.
6. Does this blanket look navy blue to you?
No, right? It looks purple? So why, when I dyed a white blanket with a bottle of navy blue dye, did it come out purple? I’d be more annoyed, but I think it’s kind of pretty. (Also, Corbie looks kind of greenish there for some reason, but the color of the blanket is what it looks like in person. If that makes sense.)
7. Why, when I am at the grocery store, do I feel guilty buying Coke products in front of the Pepsi guy, and vice versa? (Note: I loathe Pepsi products; Fred’s the Pepsi drinker. Ugh.) They don’t actually care, do they? Yet I skulk down the aisle, apologetically put the bottles in my cart, and scuttle away as fast as I can.
8. I am not even going to reread this thing, because I have kittens to cuddle. THANK GOD for the kittens. If you see any typos, let me know and I’ll fix them. Or not. Depends on how annoyed I am by them!
Tell me about your recent irrational bitch moments. I love a good irrational bitch story.
PS: God in heaven, I loathe Penn Badgley.
Previously
2011: Meet the McMaos.
2010: She’s not pregnant. She’s just big-boned.
2009: (The smell of boiling chicken livers: gag me.)
2008: No entry.
2007: No entry.
2006: Now, I’m sure I’d rather be skinny and bald than fat and hairified, but what I’d MUCH prefer to be is skinny and hairified, thanks.
2005: I think that a more accurate description would be “covered the annoyance of itching by making your skin feel as though you’re being set on fire.”
2004: Meme.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Fred’s such a bastard.
This happens to me whenever I try to go off the pill, except with fits of weeping alternating with the rage. I’m dreading what will happen when I eventually get old enough that I have to quit taking it.
You know, as much as I read you for the kittens (and I do) I really, really read you for this insane rants you do every so often. They totally make my day. Although I’m sorry you’re having hormonal eruptions, but it’s really funny to read about.
Oh, trust me – I have fun writing them, too. 🙂
Shall I actually admit that I hated my old dishwasher so much that I think I broke it? My husband and I were fighting and he left like he always does but what is really special is that he took my car. I have the newer, nicer better car because I needed one then. He is driving a nice used truck he got a great deal on. Bad part is it’s a stick and a gas hog. I can’t drive a stick and he loves to take my car. (SUV-I picked it out and love it up high fits my fat ass and is pretty burgundy and lots of carrying space and I got my first new car ever at 48!) See all over the place too. Anyway he left and took my damn car AGAIN leaving me stranded. I did Action Movie karate moves I don’t know and spun around and KICKED the piece of shit dishwasher several times in a FIT of unspeakable rage! And it burned up and died less than a week later? I’ve been doing dishes by hand ever since! Because as you know my husband broke his leg and had a bone infection less than 2 years ago and now has the big C and here I am hoping to have him around to annoy me forever. No he does not know I kicked the old dishwasher. I hate that fucker. He surprised me with it when I was away on a ladies vacation years ago and the design SUCKS!!! I FUCKING hate surprises! DESPISE them. Bit of a control freak? Yes comes from years of not expressing yourself due to living with a violent alcoholic who would hit you. So I hold things in until I EXPLODE still. Anyway I resolve not to throw things or break things either. My rational voice is winning now too. I need to hide all the keys to my car as well. We are not fighting now. He is in the angry about the cancer stage and I am lying low and yessing him to death except when he tells me “This is happening to ME.” Not just you, my dear, not just YOU.
You need a new gyn. If the patch being gone does not turn your oasis into a dessert then carry on without it I say.
Classic Bitchypoo post! <3<3<3<3<3 Maybe it will work out better this way? Things you can't have all the time are appreciated and savored when you DO get them-like a piece of Godiva or two instead of Hershey Kisses any time? Yes the food analogies fat sweet loving diabetic still struggling!
I like that analogy! (Also, I know the feeling of wanting to kick the dishwasher. Though with my luck, I’d break me and not the dishwasher!)
I am 13 weeks pregnant and the hormones have me alternating between weepy and bitchy. I can go from crying to raging about something in about ten seconds. My husband and I were driving back from one of my OB appts which took longer than expected so I was starving. I asked him to go through Wendy’s drive-through and order a grilled chicken sandwich. His order is fine, I got the bacon portabella mushroom burger, not my grilled chicken. Trying to pick off the mushrooms made me so insanely angry that I start rolling down the window. My husband who knows me too well says, “No, don’t, just don’t.” That was all it took, I flung the sandwich out the window as we sat at a red light. The people sitting behind us were very amused! Now my husband and I can giggle about it but boy, was I pissed!
Oh, I love this so much. I bet the people who were behind you still talk about the flying mushroom burger! 🙂
I was having what I dubbed a Honeybadger face-eating day (Ima eat your face and think nothing of it cuz’ HONEYBADGER DON’T CARE) because everyone around me was conspiring to be stupid. We’re doing a show where we provide “unhealthy snacks” and in a totally unrelated FB post (about bacon soda and how many bottles we should bring) someone started whining about how the peanut butter bacon bars had peanut butter in them and could we make them without because they had a nut allergy? And I just wanted to rip them through the computer and eat their face right then and there. It’s not the world’s responsibility to make sure people with food allergies don’t come into contact with the allergens (albeit it is nice to label stuff so that they don’t accidentally die) so if the peanut butter bacon bars are deadly DON’T F’ING EAT THEM!!!
But no, would we mind changing the food so that THEY could have one? BAH!
AMEN TO THAT!
Also, Honeybadger face-eating day is a PERFECT description. 🙂
OMG! Honeybadger Face Eating Day!!! I am so stealing this. Utterly perfect.
Also – AMEN. Label it – then DON’T TOUCH IT!!
The anger and temper tantrums were more when I was younger. I remember THROWING my hair brush at the mirror (how I didn’t shatter the thing, I don’t know) because my hair just WOULD NOT DO WHAT I WANTED!! I also threw tennis rackets when I would hit balls against a backboard (female John McEnroe right here!).
As I got older, hormonal attacks for me mean ultimate sadness over EVERYTHING! I also carry the split personality thing where I feel like I am floating around just outside myself, watching this insane person weep over a dust bunny and I’m thinking “WTF is wrong with this pathetic creature? Oh wait – that’s ME!”
Hormones suck – which is why I adore Nance’s version – WHOREMOANS! That’s how I spell them in my head now.
YES, Nance has it right, whoremoans for sure! 🙂 I wish I knew why physical violence makes me feel better, but it certainly does. Though only for a few moments ’til I realize I broke (or could have broken) whatever.
I’m not sure now is a good time to tell you about typos!
I forgot to say, Damn, Corbie is gorgeous even when he looks a little green!
Corbie would be gorgeous no matter what color he’s sporting. 🙂 And you can ALWAYS tell me about typos, because I know they’re there! 🙂
I was voting the other day, and I got irrationally pissed off at the woman supervising the machine you put your ballot in. It took a bit for mine to catch on the roller, and the woman kept saying stuff like “hold it flatter, straighten it out, blah blah blah…” I felt like screaming “LEAVE ME ALONE-I have done this before, you bitch!”. I have absolutely no idea why suddenly I was in a murderous rage, she was being annoying but not that bad. I didn’t act on my rage, but I am sure I was giving off some vibes. I walked out to the car thinking I really need to calm down. I am post menopause, but sometimes this kind of stuff does hit me. Usually I am pretty even keeled, but so flashes like this are kind of surprising to me.
That Penn Badgely? How does that guy even get work? There is something about him, you just want to (in the words of Robyn) “stab him in the face!”.
I was so happy to get your notify, made my morning.
He’s such a smarmy asshole. I don’t get Hollywood sometimes, he should be a starving actor/ waiter. Also, if you had bellowed “OH MY GOD, GET AWAY FROM ME!” at that woman, that would make a better story. Just saying! 🙂
My irrational bitchy moment:
I was at work, contemplating what to have for lunch. A friend walked by, and said she was going out to pick up lunch, did I want anything? I asked her where she was going, and she said she wasn’t sure. Any suggestions?
Well, I was really in the mood for a cream cheese muffin from a nearby bakery. I relayed that to her, and she said that she had a better idea; another bakery (further away) had a delicious cream cheese pastry of some sort. She said it was fabulous. I said, oh, that’s OK. Never mind.
She insisted that I would love this incredible cream cheese pastry, so I relented. I gave her some money and off she went.
Much later (way later than I thought she would be), she flounced back in and announced that the bakery had been out of this wonderful cream cheese pastry. She then handed me something else to eat. A T@co Bell quesadilla.
Now, I am not a TB quesadilla hater. In fact, I used to like them quite a bit. But I had been anticipating something totally different. Plus she was late, and I was hungry.
I could barely control my irritation/frustration/anger. She returned to her work area, and I took that quesadilla and mangled it with my bare hands. I twisted it, and turned it, and ripped it into pieces and threw it in the trash can.
At this point, a co-worked turned to me with a concerned look on his face and said, “That quesadilla didn’t do anything to you.”
Oh, this made me laugh out loud. Your friend clearly takes a page from the Book o’ Fred, who will ask what I want to have for dinner and then end up making sure I get anything BUT. I want Chinese food? We get pizza. Subs? Italian. And so forth. I’d’ve strangled that quesadilla, too.
LOL! I would have probably eaten the quesadilla and grumbled at it the whole time about how it wasn’t a cream cheese pastry thing (or threw it in the fridge and glared at it every time I opened the door, still mad that it wasn’t a cream cheese pastry thing until it died of neglected fridge rot) but strangling it to death right then and there is the funniest thing ever. Next time I get totally the wrong food I’m going to up and mangle it to oblivion instead.
Regarding Penn Badgley – But he was great in “Easy A”! That’s the only think I’ve ever seen him in, so…
Oh, don’t tell me that. Easy A is on my Netflix queueeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. HMPH.
OMG, as someone in the early menopsychotic phase, I am feeling so much better reading these stories! I can’t think of any good stories right now, but the last six months has been really rocky around my house. Bet the husband and kids can remember and relate plenty of them that I’ve wiped clean on my memory bank…
Also, I should have commented over there, but I am really enjoying Dinosaurs Can’t Eat Pizza. Great job, y’all!
Ha! I’m stealing the “menopsychotic phase”. My wonderful husband is constantly dodging the spears of my displeasure, tears, insane laughter, etc. PLUS we have 3 girls between the ages of 12 and 19. Fun hormonal times at our house.
OMG. I have only ONE, and you can cut the monthly psychosis in the house with a knife. You have my admiration for not running away from home until they all turn 30.
I love menopsychotic, too. And also, a house full of hormonal women? Lordy, I can’t imagine.
Oh boy. Mine are 30, 23 and 21. Gooood times. Gah! The hormonal drama never ends.
Nothing to bitch about here. Just wanted to say I was thrilled to see on my gmail that you had posted. Now I don’t have to go everday to see if you snuck one in on me. I have gotten a lot of Kitty love at Love and Hisses this week, but it is goot to see your “ranting” self again on Bitchypoo.
You are much more pop culturally aware then me, I had to IMDB Awake and Penn Badgley – never heard of either (but I do know of Kimberly Williams and Rhianna). Speaking of ridiculous rage. I was just angry because the lunch salad I made for myself contained some deadly looking, spiky, green leaf that was in the Spring Mix blend. And every time I took it off my fork, it would magically appear on the next forkful. It was like it was intent on killing me! So I took it out and gave it to my dog cause she was being a pest and bothering me while I was eating. She is still alive, so I guess it was edible after all.
Wait to poke Fred in the face until everyone has forgotten you made the threat. More believable as an accident that way.
Yes, brilliant thinking! 🙂
I am kind of disgusted with your doctor for not discussing the risks you take with the estrogen. My mom has freaking ovarian cancer. She used estrogen starting at age 43. It’s possible it’s unrelated, but.
I had a hysterectomy myself and refused hormone therapy. My doctor wanted to put me on anti-depressants _even before the surgery_, after I refused the hormones. I ended up changing doctors. I am taking nothing, I am more or less fine.
I also use my iPod as flashlight.
I’ve got a good line on a much better (also, closer to home!) gynecologist, so I’m switching, finally. I have no good excuse for not switching long ago (I found this gyn when I first moved here; picked her out of the yellow pages and have never liked her but have been completely lazy about finding someone new), but you better believe I’m switching now!
I SHOULD be starting menopause now (I’m freaking 49!!!), but no, I still get my period, with teenage-y cramps, acne and mood swings. WTF, universe??? I’m DONE making babies, WHY oh WHY I am starting my 35th year of worrying about staining my pants???? During my last mood swing episode, one of my [four] dogs was sprawled across my lap/chest while I was relaxing in the recliner. Something disturbed the force in the room (with my dogs – who were not brain surgeons in previous lives – it could have been the clock ticking in the next room, or the refrigerator door opening in a house two streets over), and all the dogs started barking at once. The one on my lap jumped up, and in the process nearly clawed my nipple off. I leapt off the recliner and stomped around the room holding my boob and yelling SHITSHITYOUFUCKERSHIT. I probably would have stabbed that dog in the face if I could have caught him at that moment. Instead, I found the Nipple Clawer cowering in the back of his crate, no doubt completely dumbfounded about what had just happened.
Hormones and dog claws SUCK.
Claws suck no matter what kind of bastardly animal they belong to. And why is it that they ALWAYS get your boobs? WHYYYY? Oh, that drives me NUTS.
First of all, thank you for the best laugh I’ve had all week (“TONIGHT on News at 10! She wrote on the internet that she was going to stab her husband in the face AND THEN SHE DID! Coming up in 10 minutes!”).
My bitchfest? “House Hunters”..If the house is not big enough, it’s too close to the neighbors or it doesn’t have GRANITE countertops or an open concept or stainless steel or enough room for entertaining or a man cave (I HATE that term..) or a finished basement or a playroom….. I think you get the picture. So why do I keep on watching? I love to see how other people decorate their homes. I’m nosy that way. 😀
I’ve always said that I should be a realtor so I can snoop around and see how people have their houses decorated! 🙂
I had to google Penn Badgley because I was thinking Penn and Tellor and I was like, who wouldnt’ like that guy? And then I realized I’m old. FML
Now, THAT Penn I like!
Today is Friday, April 7th and you don’t have a new header for April. Is this hormone related or just a case of the blahs?
It’s pure laziness on my part. Maybe I’ll get one put together this weekend!
I bet you’ll be able to relate, Robyn…
I have one very vocal cat and one cat who is pretty much mute (the only time he really makes noise is when my Mother visit and then he loses his little cat mind with the HET! I don’t know why, though, because he’s totally not like that with anyone but my Mom)
Anyhow, there are days when I come home and I am TIRED and I had a bad day and lil’ vocal cat is all “meow… meow… MEOW!! MEOWWWWW!” and I hate to say it but I sometimes want to scream at her to SHUT UP until she can learn English because she’s got food and water and DAMMIT, I want QUIET!!” And there is a part of my brain which realizes she’s a cat and is expressing herself the only way she knows how buy RAGEBRAIN only wants QUIET!
This, by the way, is a primary reason why being the parent of a baby many, many years ago almost put me in a straitjacket. The Girl would cry for hours (like 10-12 hours, STRAIGHT) and NOTHING I did made a bit of difference… I changed diapers and rocked and walked with and sang to and tried to feed and…. NOTHING… NOTHING WORKED and it made me feel like a horrible, horrible mother. And then her Dad would come home and INSTANTANEOUS silence. One day when she was 6 weeks old or so, her Dad was gone for 12 hours. He came home to her crying in her crib and me sitting next to the crib sobbing. He picked her up and she fell asleep almost immediately. I cannot even relate to you how much I loathed him in that moment. Totally irrational, I know, but I was so angry that I had tried for all those hours and all he had to do was pick her up.
I know it’s not funny to you at the time, but thanks for sharing because it makes me feel better that my being totally bitchcakes sometimes isn’t something that is just ME!
Oh good lord – Miz Poo is lately driving me nuts, walking through the house howling at the top of her lungs. I love her to death, but I KNOW, MIZ POO! I HEAR YOU! SHUT UP!
I have been known to really just loathe the hell out of Fred when a foster cat loves him but can’t stand me. If it were a human baby? Yeah. There’d have been a murder, I’m thinking.
Obviously I don’t know the correct date. Today is the 6th!
Owing to an ongoing stress situation, I am chock-fucking-FULL of the irrational bitchy hateful moments lately. Yesterday I decided to channel some of the fury into cleaning out the refrigerator(s) which was a mistake because I threw a bunch of perfectly good stuff away just because it was in there and I was tired of looking at it and if it hadn’t had the decency to be eaten by now then why should I give this inanimate food object* the satisfaction of continuing to take up my precious refrigerator space?
I currently have a laundry-basket’s worth of previously clean laundry on the floor. This is because I was angry that my son hadn’t folded it (as I had asked him three times), so I picked up the basket and threw it, Hulk-style (both arms up over my head) onto the floor and then kicked the clothes around the room in a fury, increasingly angry because no matter how hard I kicked I wasn’t getting any satisfying bang-crash-boom-smash noises out of the laundry. So I picked four books off the shelf (checked them briefly to make sure they weren’t my favorites), and threw one at each wall. When one came skittering back to me, I picked it up, went into the hallway, and threw it clear to the other end of the house.
There are more stories like that (I am ashamed to say). But possibly the best example of my irrationality is this: When my son announced that he and his dad had made the important college decision without including me in the discussions (and you know there’s SO MUCH more to it than that, there are just layers and layers and LAYERS of bullshit in that story, but I’m trying to keep it short here – trust me, it’s SO MUCH MORE than just “they didn’t include me in the discussion”), I eventually stomped out of the room and then stomped back in to say, “And you know what? FINE, but you’re taking that fucking dog with you. Let her piss all over your DAD’s house for a change instead of mine. So next time you talk to him, you tell him you want to bring your dog – and don’t you dare say that this is coming from me because then he’ll stay no just to thwart me – you tell him that you want to bring your dog with you and is that okay because if not she’s going to the pound.” (NB: I would never take her to the pound, and my son knows that.)
So the next day he tells me that he talked to his dad and his dad said it was fine if he wanted to bring the dog. I said, “Did you say anything about me telling you that you have to take her?” He said no, he just asked his dad if it would be okay if he brought his dog with him and his dad said that would be fine. I said, “Did he ask if you had discussed it with your mother? Did he check first to see if it was okay with me that you take the dog away?” TJ said, “Uh, no, he just said if I wanted to bring the dog then I could.”
And off I went – “So he didn’t even stop to think that it’s MY FUCKING DOG and that maybe *I* might have an objection to you just picking up and taking across the country with her? He didn’t bother to even so much as consider for a half-second that maybe I should be consulted on this decision? Is there anything ELSE of MINE that the two of you want to take while you’re at it? You want my car? You want my cats? You want my computer? Just talk to your dad about it, and if he says it’s okay then I guess I will just have to bow my head and accept his fucking DECREES about what you take with you, whether or not that thing is even YOURS to take, or HIS to give permission for, in the first place!”
And don’t even get me started on the clusterfuck that is the graduation arrangements.
Me: TJ, after your graduation, I was thinking we [my parents and a few of my friends] would take you to Cattleman’s [expensive famous local steakhouse] for a celebratory dinner.
TJ: Oh. Well, my dad already said he wanted to take me to Cattleman’s that evening.
Me: OH OKAY FINE THEN, you just let me know what 5-minute-window you might be able to spare that you and your dad don’t already have arrangements made for, maybe I’ll be able to slip you a card or something if your father doesn’t have any OBJECTIONS to that.
I hate it, I hate hearing myself say these things, I hate the knowledge that my brain even comes up with them in the first place, but MOST of all I hate the people who are all “It’s your responsibility [only MINE, note, not my ex-husband’s] to get along with your son’s father, for your son’s sake.” Which, in this situation, translates into “lie down and let people walk, stomp, and shit all over you.” He (ex-h) has told me in the past that as far as he’s concerned, all I am is a long-term paid babysitter, that the child support he sends is my “salary” for taking care of TJ until he (ex-h) decides to step in and take over. Which he has now decided to do, and what babysitter (me) ever got consulted on or included in a parent’s (his) plans?
Is it any wonder I am secluding myself in my bedroom as often as possible until this is all over?
*Note: It’s been so long since I cleaned out the refrigerator that some of those things may have, by this time, no longer been inanimate. I threw them away anyway.
I love you, Elayne. That is all. (Also, I have my stabbin’ knife ready. Just sayin’!)
OH MY GOD!!! I love your rants!!!
“I would never kick a chicken. I might stab Fred in the face though.”
LOVE THIS.
I had a baby 3 weeks ago so the whoremones are all over the place and I’ve had lots of irrational moments, usually because I can’t find something. But I swear if my phone doesn’t stop trying to load your photos in flickr every time I scroll downwards I’m going to pitch it across the room!”
LOL, you have an excellent excuse for being hormonal! (Don’t throw the phone. Don’t throw the phone! Come over here, I’ll let you kick Fred. 😀 )
I had an irrational moment once in front of a hotel. My then 15 month old daughter and I got stranded overnight in Detriot by a rainstorm. The airline paid for our hotel which was nice of them, but it was kind of a hole, and I am NOT usually picky about that sort of thing. I didn’t sleep well because I was afraid Mals would wake up and eat god knows what from god knows where. The next morning we just missed a shuttle to the airport and thus were first in line for the next one. When it finally finally came, I went to put the metric shit ton of baby stuff in the back of the shuttle so more people could fit in the front. While I was doing that the bastards behind me took every single seat. I went absolutely bat shit crazy. There was a (very) small rational part of me thinking “I can NOT believe I’m acting like this. What the fuck did I just say???”. In the meantime the completely insane part and unfortunately vocal part of me was shrieking “I bet your grandmothers would be so proud of you!” Wtf, me? What the hell does that mean? Apparently it’s the worst insult crazy me can think of because sadly, that was not the last time I’ve said it.
It makes PERFECT sense because in earlier-ie their grandmother’s times-someone would have given up their seat to a woman with such a small child. Bastards!
I agree, I think it makes complete sense!
Do I need to arm myself tomorrow and rescue Emmy and her babies and maybe a few other cats from your lunacy?
No, they’re the only things keeping me sane! 🙂
I’ve been reading practically since the very beginning of Bitchypoo, and I keep reading because no one else makes me literally laugh out loud. Okay, so did Fred, especially whenever he told a story that included the phrase, “And then I screamed like a little girl.”
Of course, I was reading at work, so I got some funny looks when I would suddenly guffaw (not that there’s any way to gradually guffaw…)
My irrational moments usually result in things getting thrown across the room, and the occasional hole in a wall. Good thing I know how to spackle! And because I am usually crankier when other people are involved, the bitchy moments also take the form of snarky remarks to total strangers. Like in the grocery story and someone comes barreling out of an aisle, looks STRAIGHT AT ME me, comes about >< this close to actually running me down and yet just keeps walking without apologizing? That gets a "Oh no, please, let MEEEE get out of YOOOOUUUUR way!" Or a couple of weeks ago, I come out of the store to find a massive SUV parked diagonally int he space next to me, with literally half the car blocking my spot so I have to inch out, making an s-curve to get out of my space. I left a note on their car describing my displeasure and ending it with "What a tool."
You know what? Maybe if more of us told people when they were acting like tools, they wouldn’t feel so free to act like tools! (Only, probably not – tools are tools.)
I ALWAYS feel like punching whomever is whistling. Somehow, whistling, no matter how pitch/tone perfect, annoys the hell out of me. The worst people are the ones who think no one can hear them when they are whistling under their breath…to me, it sounds like someone is stabbing my ears with a sharp knife. Just thinking about this makes me want to punch someone in the face. Grrrrrrrr.
Ooh, me too. I hate whistling and I hate hearing music leaking out of earbuds, which of course happens all the time these days. Of course, I work at a community college, so all the kids act like they cannot LIVE without the music turned up to 11. And forget trying to sit through a train ride. It’s of course impossible to beat them, so now, I don’t go anywhere without my iPod. More often then not, I don’t use it, but it’s there when I need it.
I don’t think I hear people whistling very often (probably helps that I don’t leave the house all that often, either!), but just the thought of it annoys me!
Several years ago (so I don’t even have the excuse of my recent stress situation, but I’m sure I was PMSing), I was standing in line at the credit union behind a man who kept jingling his change in his pocket, and occasionally whistling a few random notes. Standing in line is not my most fun thing to do, nor is being at the bank/CU, and this guy with his random jingling and whistling just put the cap on it.
I started by trying to ignore it, then by clearing my throat loudly every time he jingled or whistled. Graduated quickly to sighing oh so dramatically and passive-aggressively at every noise from him – I realized even in the moment that I was being ridiculous and that he had a perfect right to jingle his change as much as he wanted and whistle an entire show tune if that’s what floated his boat, and that for me to say, “Sir could you please STOP THAT SHIT RIGHT NOW YOU’RE DRIVING ME NUTS” was out of line and unreasonable – but I still HOPED that he’d realize suddenly, “Oh hey, maybe my random noises are bothering this nice but rather irritated-looking young lady behind me, let me try to be still and quiet for a moment.”
It was a payday Friday so the lines were ridiculous, and I dealt with it as long as I could before finally stomping out of the line, saying loudly, “JESUS CHRIST, what the hell, you NOISY FUCKING PEOPLE” and trying not to let the tears of frustration leak. They leaked anyway, and the guard at the door of the CU stopped me and asked me was there a problem, and I said, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot, “The man in front of me wouldn’t stop JINGLING HIS CHANGE!” The guard looked perplexed, so I clarified, “In his POCKET!” When that didn’t clear things up for him, I added, “And he was WHISTLING, but only SOMEtimes! It’s driving me NUTS!” And I continued on my way out the door.
I think I could probably have just finished robbing the place blind, and that security guard would have been so baffled by my totally-disproportionate response to someone “jingling his pocket change” that he would have let me walk on out of there unhindered.
I still think of that, every time I catch myself fidgeting in public, and remind myself that I might be pushing some poor momentarily-deranged soul’s last nerve. Then, depending on my mood, I might even stop.
Visions of Fred holed up in his bedroom with the door not only locked but barricaded too 😉
Hope you feel better soon Robyn.
I agree that this post was worth waiting for. You are even funnier when you’ve had a few days to build up the pent-up rage. 50 years old here, so I’m getting the joy of starting the menopsychotic phase along with still having my regular psyco-les and the joy that comes with both. I just recently threw a Pledge can up the steps of my house (because the sprayer was clogged) so hard that I actually embedded it in the wall. For a week until I fixed it, there was a huge Pledge can shaped dent in the drywall. (I let it stay there for a week and think about what it’s done). And just recently, I was cleaning my steps with my canister vac and it ran over my foot, and in another Pretty Pretty Princess moment, I kicked the sweeper down the steps. It still runs, thank goodness, although it lost a wheel in the trip. Not my proudest moments…. And the night sweats! Thank goodness my fiancee frequently sleeps in another bedroom too, because I’m sure he’d wake up and utter a Fredism, and then I’d have to haul off and clock him one with whatever I could find on my bedside table (and hold on to, considering I’m covered in sweat and slippery. Yeah, I’m a hottie).
If I had a big floofy pile of kittens to snuggle with, I think that would make me feel better. Until the biting started.
P.S. Uh……card = cart? (hiding) Please don’t stab me in the face.
Um, the blanket came out purple because it knows you love purple and didn’t want you to get mad at it and stab it in the face?
Re to hormone or not to hormone…the thing is (I found out when I stopped taking them) is that over time your vajaja atrophies and you have no elasticity at all. At. All. Can we say OWIE? OMG. Lubrication isn’t a problem but even a pap smear will make you think an airplane just flew up there. I went through menopause at a very young age too, and oy vey, without HRT I’d never have sex again (yes after time I went back on them – quality of life and all that). It became that bad.
So I stopped reading anything and everything about it when I ran across articles, and I stopped researching. It was six of one, half dozen of the other.
I have occasional irrational bitchy moments quite often lately, I think I’m suffering from some slight depression. But anyway, sometimes I will just go off and I KNOW I’m being irrational, and my husband knows as well, and he will say something along the lines of ” … handles flying everywhere”, and then I just crack up and can’t be mad any more. If you don’t understand the “handles flying” metaphor, it’s his expression for me when I’ve completely “lost my grip,” or “gone flying off the handle” as the expression goes.
LOVE handles flying everywhere!
Love your entries like this!
omg this entry had me laughing so HARD! I can so relate. My pms days go a little something like that. Poor Aaron can do nothing right, I want to stab him repeatedly for offenses such as making me repeat a question… or not muting the television during the GODDAMN commercials or whatever happens to strike my fancy. And I’m aware that I’m being crazy and irrational, but I can’t do anything about it. That pisses me off even more. Then I end up crying because I feel guilty. It’s pretty awesome.
the best part? Is that when I’m going through it (EVERY.SINGLE.MONTH.) I am like “Wtf is my problem? God!” then I start my period a couple days later and it’s like oh yeah. Idiot.
I tell my friends, “You know how the ‘rule’ is that if a woman’s acting grumpy or moody or whatever, you’re not ever supposed to ask her if she’s about to have her period? Well, ASK ME. PLEASE ASK ME. Because I honestly FORGET from one month to the next that this happens, and I need to be reminded.” When I realize, “Oh right, PMS” I can usually handle it much better. I’ve been having periods for 31 years now – you’d think I’d remember! And as I’ve aged, my cycles have gotten so irregular that the calendar notes or Post-Its on the bathroom mirror just don’t work anymore.
Hi, Robyn.
My nieces and nephews found 3 kittens in a sink in my parents’ backyard. They say they haven’t seen the mama cat. I was looking on your site for bottle-feeding instructions or information that I could link to them but I couldn’t find a complete one (based on “bottlefed” word search). Do you have a post that would be helpful to them? Thank you!
This page has the best information I’ve seen anywhere: http://www.kimberlyskittens.com/kitten-care/infant-kittens/formula-feeding/
Let me know if you have any questions!
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Thank you so much, Robyn! I’ll send them the link.
BTW, I really enjoyed this post above. You are too funny!