February 10, 2006

Faces of Eve

I have got some wicked PMS today. I have been rude to every person I’ve spoken to, and taken everything people have said to me entirely personally. Yesterday I ate everything in sight, and so it follows that today must be the day I bring the pissitude to all around me. If you want to stay friends with me, maybe it’s better if we don’t speak until tomorrow. And if we do, I totally don’t mean whatever I say.

PMS makes you a different person.
It makes you several different people. It makes you Sibyl.

For instance…

Short Fuse Girl
This morning the mail was not sorted correctly. On the elevator, someone pushed the button for the top floor and stood directly in front of the closed doors, refusing to move from the prime exit location for NINE FLOORS. When I got off, there were people standing three-wide and five-deep across the hallway, and my arms were full of very heavy objects. These are just some things that, on any other day, I would have rolled my eyes and forgotten about. I would not have spent the rest of the day shooting looks of venom at them, hoping they all die in a fiery car crash.

Irrational Laughter Girl
I have just heard my boss say “mustard” about seventeen times in a row, and for some reason, it got funnier every time he said it. “Where’s the mustard? Do we have any mustard? Where are we keeping the mustard? Oh, is that where the mustard is? Hang on guys—I need to get me some mustard.” And I’m standing there, trying to tell him the location of the mustard, and giggling my head off like I’m five. I had to sit at my desk for a few deep breaths and a drink of water before I could speak seriously to anyone again.

Low Self-Esteem Girl
Everything is fatter, wider, or bumpier than it was yesterday. Nothing fits well. I am having hot flashes, probably because I am older, and I’ll never have my youth back again, not if I drink the blood of a thousand virgins. Not that I could find a thousand virgins in this zip code, anyway. My hair is ridiculous, and it looks worse when I try styling it. I am, somehow, shorter than I was yesterday. I am unattractive. Nobody loves me. I really wish I could see my dog right now.

Spoilin’ for a Fight Girl
I have not yet killed anyone today, but it still doesn’t look good for anyone who speaks to me. Anything you say can and will be used against you. Do not date me today. Do not ask me to find the letterhead. Do not ask me why there’s no Diet Coke. Basically, don’t ask me a question. Fundamentally, don’t speak to me at all. Not even a placid greeting is safe today—the innocuous does not exist. And by God, DO NOT GIVE ME A COMPLIMENT. I will eat you where you stand.

Guilt Girl
I shouldn’t have snapped at my father this morning. He really wasn’t any more annoying than usual. He just wanted me to appreciate his laminated signwork. Again. And hang it in my cubicle. Was that so hard? My sister just wanted to whine a little about her job—would it have killed me to listen for five minutes? And I am so totally going to Hell for that “fiery car crash” thing. Why am I so mean? Geez, I’m not a nice person at all. Can I blame that on an ex-boyfriend? Well, I could—if I were lazy and irresponsible… crap. Everything everywhere is all my fault.

Paranoid Girl
I’ve spent a lot of time typing this. I wonder if my supervisor knows that I’m doing this entry instead of work… of course she does. She knows I snuck out early yesterday, too. I’m so fired. She’ll bring up my whole backlog of transgressions—the ones I didn’t think anybody would notice. But it’s not like I’ve been stealing or anything. And hey—I bring in all the good coffee. They can’t fire me. Not easily, anyway. But they don’t want to, right? And they don’t know. They’re clueless. They’re too busy to realize I’m a slacker. Aren’t they? HUH—whatwasthatnoise? Wha?

Weepy Girl
So, you remember that part in Pride and Prejudice where Mr. Darcy tells Elizabeth that she’s not well, ‘cuz she’s all crying, and he wants to take care of her and make sure it’s all okay because IT’S LOVE and why did she have to be born poor with all the debt and the annoying family but she’s still smart and he loves her but you have to watch six tapes to get to the part where they finally kiss and now you’ve spent twelve hours on this one show and you’ll be wrecked for a month now because of all the LOVE because it’s REAL and why the hell don’t you have Colin Firth to ask you if you are feeling “unwell” and offer to go “fetch” your mother so you can have a good old-fashioned bonnet-wearing cry, YOU KNOW?!

Not Today Girl
Look—I don’t care what you’re waiting for, because if you’ve waited this long then one more day won’t kill you. Unless it’s oranges, uranium or a live human organ you are not getting it today. Because I don’t freaking feel like it. No mail, no papers, no updates, no lunches, no service of any kind. I am dead to you. If you need anything, you can ask someone else. If you’re pissed about it, you can lobby for a federally-funded working women’s PMS day, the form for which is the only thing I’m handing out today. If you can’t handle either option, I suggest you wait five minutes and you can take it up with Fight Girl, but with all the estrogen coursing through her system you’ll be lucky to get one word in before you’re picking pavement out of your various orifices. Tomorrow works for you? Yeah, I thought it might. Now run along before my face changes again.

Relapse Girl
Hee hee… “Mustard!” HA Ha HA haarr SNORT!


I am not myself. Hopefully, I will be Monday.

1 comment:

Team-C4 said...

This is the best post ever!! I was doing the mustard snort through the whole thing, and when I got to the end I lost it. This is so right on.

Jen (aka, wife of the Orange Ninja)I