The Red Tent

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.

Snatch.com

What is it about the Internet that brings out both the stupid and the disgusting in people? Specifically, I am talking about the weirdness that passes for advertisements a.k.a. "a profile" on one of the many dating websites that I have looked over in hopes of snagging my dork charming. Can I just say eeeww? My God, who raised these people? After several hours spent perusing the personals, I think I just convinced myself that marrying my cat is a viable option.

First, can we just agree that nobody should be posting photos of themselves without a shirt? Candid shots of you playing shirtless soccer (if you must) are sort of acceptable. But the up close and personal man titty shots belong on man-for-man websites, in case you didn't know. Most women don't want to see all that before the first cup of coffee has even been ordered. In addition, displaying yourself in a free-for-all shirtless manner says that your priority is sex, not dating. And while that's legal and all, shouldn't you just state that upfront instead of going on about sunsets, fireplaces and how sincere you are? Save the porn for the seventh date, is all I'm saying. I would never respond to a man who was shirtless in his profile. Even if he hinted that he might know how to read. Likewise, I would never respond to a man whose only photos disguised him behind a pair of shades. Look, we're all ashamed to be doing online dating. If you're willing to flash me your titties, take off the sunglasses, for God's sake.

Spellcheck is your friend. No need to elaborate. I do wish, however, that there was an equivalent function called cliche-check. Oh my God. These words/phrases should never be used:

Life's too short.
I know how to treat a lady (Don't use the word lady at all unless you're Kenny Rogers or Lionel Richie, and even then, it's dodgy.)
Big Teddy Bear
Bad Boy
The good things in life (What the hell is that? Buy one get one free at Safeway?)
Seeking my angel
Why not?
Fly boy (I have no idea what this means (pilot? unfortunate mutant?), but it is so overly used that I must protest.)
Many more offensive cliches abound, but those are the top make-me-wanna-puke appeals.

And why is everyone mentioning the Dalai Lama all the time? Yeah, right, you'd invite the Dalai Lama to dinner. Would that be before or after Pamela Anderson gives you a lap dance? Unless you're a wayward monk, cut the fake spiritual crap. In fact, don't mention your spirituality at all. Those who seek eighteen year old soul mates would do well to just stop acting like they're looking for a Buddha call. It's just bad karma.

Um, and why are there just hundreds of photos of guys wearing lei's? I don't get it. Do lei's convey a I'm-a-freewheeling-vacation-loving-kind of guy? It didn't really bug me until I noticed it was sort of a trend, which means that it is a subversive plot full of subliminal messages. Does lei equal lay in the language of manifestation? I suspect that some dating website suggested it as a "helpful tip" a la show her what a fun-loving guy you are outside of the office! Unfortunately, it makes the list of cliches that must be avoided.

This should be obvious, but posting photos of you embracing your ex-girlfriend is strictly verboten. Yeah, I know, it proves that someone was willing to have sex with you at one time, but it also implies that you might not actually be over her, and that you might cry on the first date. Likewise, no photos of you with your mom. Again, your plan to convey sincerity and sweetness backfires by telling us right up front that you are a mama's boy. Plus, you destroyed the sensitive thing when you took off your shirt, remember?

Of course, I do not speak for all of womankind. The more dense among my gender might eat up these tired cliches faster than Hugh Hefner gobbles Viagra. I suspect they do and that I am the one who is being too picky. Be that as it may, I'm three times a lady and I'm surfing in a website near you.