At the risk of alienating my teeming mass of male fans, I'll tell you right now that I've had PMS this week. And I'm going to talk about it. The good news is that the volatile/weepy part ended and I'm now happily skipping through the wildflowers in all my tampon commercial glory. I wouldn't say I feel super fresh, but I probably won't cut off your lips with my nail clipper either. I couldn't say that yesterday, which is why I avoided driving, speaking and interacting with humans as much as I could. I did, however, put together a little list of PMS survival tips that I have found helpful now that I don't have any more pain pills left.
It's important to monitor your exposure to the media. Watching films like An Inconvenient Truth or The Accused is a really bad idea. Now is not the time to reinforce your thoughts of the-planet-is-doomed-and-unworthy-of-saving-because-people-are-horrible-grubby-things. Don't make it worse. You're in no shape to go to a Greenpeace meeting, trust me.
On the contrary, some media does actually increase the peace. Tonight I watched Divine Trash, a documentary about filmmaker John Waters. I found it inspirational as an artist, and it made me laugh. Granted, watching the director who convinced his leading lady to eat dog poop may not be every gal's idea of a good time, but that's not the issue. The point is to find some medium that inspires you and uplifts you even if you're carrying an extra ten pounds in water weight. Provide yourself with the films, books or TV shows that remind you that you're a worthless, greasy slug less than six days a month. I downloaded several episodes of The Office and laughed my bloated ass off. Plus, I created my own media by posting on my blog and journaling for hours. I also spent a couple days re-reading much of Augusten Burroughs' work. No other author makes me laugh as hard as he does. In fact, I think he cures PMS.
Media tips for extreme PMS emergencies only: 1) Watch The Joy Luck Club. You'll be bawling the second that swan feather hits the screen. Go ahead, let it carry all your good intentions. I did, and I never looked back (within that month.) 2) Check out trashy online gossip sites. The worst (and my favorite) is awfulplasticsurgery.com. You will feel superior. You will feel smug. This is all that matters. Consider it your own Extreme Emotional Makeover. Note: Not recommended when you don't have PMS. LaToya Jackson won't seem funny at all, and you'll realize immediately that you are a bad person.
Limit your exposure to big box stores. Fluorescent lighting, screaming toddlers and loudspeaker cacophony cause your hormones to wreak even more havoc on your temporarily limited ability to make wise shopping decisions. In fact, shopping at all is ill-advised. You will regret the S'mores Pop Tarts and the low-rise jeans. The best time to shop is when you're riding that postmenstrual wave of estrogen empowerment like you were Sara Maclachlan at the Lilith Faire. You choose vegetables high in anti-oxidants. You buy kale and you actually eat it. And you buy new sponges because you can't wait to clean up the dishes you avoided for three days when you were Courtney Love.
Driving under the influence is never a good idea. I already dislike driving, but only because I have to interact with others who are also driving. I do not trust the thick-necked yahoos in their loud monster trucks or the massage therapists in their powder blue Vanagons powered by biodiesel and bumper stickers that say things like "Breathe." I've been nearly rear-ended or run off the road repeatedly by these people for my excellent skills in impersonating an old lady driver. Add PMS, and I suddenly have the desire to go Road Warrior on people. I want to be the Punisher, the one who truly makes them Fear This. Unfortunately, I never do this because I don't own one of those blade boomerang thingees. Plus, I am so hurt that no one's being sensitive to my needs that I have to go home and lay down with my cat.
Eventually, the tides shift and the moon begins to wane. Just before I get my period I snap out of it and remember that I am a goddess with special powers. All of a sudden I remember how much I like my boobs, my hair and that song Too Shy by Kajagoogoo. And, if that weren't enough, two of my books on hold at the library came in! I come to the realization that my life has become manageable again and that I don't need a social worker afterall. And I will feel grateful to be alive -- for approximately three weeks.
It's important to monitor your exposure to the media. Watching films like An Inconvenient Truth or The Accused is a really bad idea. Now is not the time to reinforce your thoughts of the-planet-is-doomed-and-unworthy-of-saving-because-people-are-horrible-grubby-things. Don't make it worse. You're in no shape to go to a Greenpeace meeting, trust me.
On the contrary, some media does actually increase the peace. Tonight I watched Divine Trash, a documentary about filmmaker John Waters. I found it inspirational as an artist, and it made me laugh. Granted, watching the director who convinced his leading lady to eat dog poop may not be every gal's idea of a good time, but that's not the issue. The point is to find some medium that inspires you and uplifts you even if you're carrying an extra ten pounds in water weight. Provide yourself with the films, books or TV shows that remind you that you're a worthless, greasy slug less than six days a month. I downloaded several episodes of The Office and laughed my bloated ass off. Plus, I created my own media by posting on my blog and journaling for hours. I also spent a couple days re-reading much of Augusten Burroughs' work. No other author makes me laugh as hard as he does. In fact, I think he cures PMS.
Media tips for extreme PMS emergencies only: 1) Watch The Joy Luck Club. You'll be bawling the second that swan feather hits the screen. Go ahead, let it carry all your good intentions. I did, and I never looked back (within that month.) 2) Check out trashy online gossip sites. The worst (and my favorite) is awfulplasticsurgery.com. You will feel superior. You will feel smug. This is all that matters. Consider it your own Extreme Emotional Makeover. Note: Not recommended when you don't have PMS. LaToya Jackson won't seem funny at all, and you'll realize immediately that you are a bad person.
Limit your exposure to big box stores. Fluorescent lighting, screaming toddlers and loudspeaker cacophony cause your hormones to wreak even more havoc on your temporarily limited ability to make wise shopping decisions. In fact, shopping at all is ill-advised. You will regret the S'mores Pop Tarts and the low-rise jeans. The best time to shop is when you're riding that postmenstrual wave of estrogen empowerment like you were Sara Maclachlan at the Lilith Faire. You choose vegetables high in anti-oxidants. You buy kale and you actually eat it. And you buy new sponges because you can't wait to clean up the dishes you avoided for three days when you were Courtney Love.
Driving under the influence is never a good idea. I already dislike driving, but only because I have to interact with others who are also driving. I do not trust the thick-necked yahoos in their loud monster trucks or the massage therapists in their powder blue Vanagons powered by biodiesel and bumper stickers that say things like "Breathe." I've been nearly rear-ended or run off the road repeatedly by these people for my excellent skills in impersonating an old lady driver. Add PMS, and I suddenly have the desire to go Road Warrior on people. I want to be the Punisher, the one who truly makes them Fear This. Unfortunately, I never do this because I don't own one of those blade boomerang thingees. Plus, I am so hurt that no one's being sensitive to my needs that I have to go home and lay down with my cat.
Eventually, the tides shift and the moon begins to wane. Just before I get my period I snap out of it and remember that I am a goddess with special powers. All of a sudden I remember how much I like my boobs, my hair and that song Too Shy by Kajagoogoo. And, if that weren't enough, two of my books on hold at the library came in! I come to the realization that my life has become manageable again and that I don't need a social worker afterall. And I will feel grateful to be alive -- for approximately three weeks.
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