I'm baaaaaack, and I should come equipped with one of those warning labels

Disclaimer: This particular post is going to be filled with angst, rage, and a whole lot of fury. It will most likely contain some obscene language as well. I realize that this is abnormal for me. (ahem) If you are the kind of person who walks around 24 hours a day with rainbows shooting from your ass, I'm going to lay odds that you'll find this post offensive. You may even judge me for being so malicious with my words, which in any case is your right. It's also my right not to give 2 shits about your opinion AND the proverbial stick in your ass.

Anyway, to say that I've got PMS is an understatement of the year. Now my PMS isn't what you're thinking. It has jack nor shit to do with whore moans, uterine lining shedding, etc. It just simply stands for PISSY MOOD SYNDROME.

Sometimes I just get this way from time to time, and there is no rhyme or reason. As a woman, it's my god given right to be a bitch when I want to be. I earned that right simply by being born with a vagina. (Fat Daddy, you keeping count?) I think it's totally fair, too. I mean, I can actually bleed from it monthly for a few days straight and actually not die, so that must mean I've got some pretty awesome magical powers, right? I thought so too.

I wish I could blame my foul mood on myself this time, but unfortunately it's just not going to happen. So instead, I think I'll blame it on the kid next door who apparently has dreams of being the next Larry fucking Bird. (I don't know any popular white boy basketball pros these days. I don't enjoy watching sports on TV, remember? Don't judge me!) Now I'm all about being active and all, but sonofabitch, can't that kid find something else to do with his time? Watch TV? Surf the internet? Play the fucking Wii? Jac....

Nevermind

Our master bedroom is unfortunately in an area of the house where I can hear every dribble, shitty shot, and brick that kid manages to throw up there. I probably wouldn't be nearly as annoyed if he didn't always decide to play right when I was taking a nap, or watching tv, or for christ's sake trying to BLOG! This leads me to want to do things. Very bad things. Things that require someone in particular getting a fucking Wilson basketball shaped suppository. Oh, and by the way, I'm all out of lube...

Then there are others that I find myself coming into contact with, whether intentionally or unintentionally, that make me realize that some people are just so fucking stupid, selfish, hypocritical, and just plain clueless, that it's actually shocking. Did I mention that I'm difficult to shock?

So what do I do?

The safest thing possible. I stay home in an effort not to end up on the evening news. Or I go workout while I listen to foul and raunchy music. I happen to think it makes me a better person. I also want to take this time to switch gears and blame all of the rappers of today for my motherfucking vocabulary issue. Why not, ya know? Sons a bitches keeping a white girl down, snuffing out my extensive vocab that I learned as a debutant, and now I talk like one of those bitches and ho's off the street. Fuckers! Don't make me pop a cap, fool!

Anyway, you may wonder what happens to my family when my reserve for putting up with stupid fuckers runs on empty.

They run and hide, mostly. That's why I love them.

Brent has also figured out these rules fairly quickly. He's smart. Very smart. And despite what I say about him here, he's a quick study. It's for this reason alone that he can still take a piss without the aid of a catheter. He learned back in our dating days, that when evil Candice comes out to play, that it's best not to try and find out the source of her rage. (So now I'm a total douche for speaking about myself in 3rd person. Something else to be annoyed with...)THAT is the main reason why he's still around. Well, that and he's hung like a moose. Oh, and he also knows that going shopping usually helps my mood, so he actually encourages it. But he does so nonverbally, and without actually looking at me because he knows I will turn his bitch ass to stone like Medusa.

So after my trip to the mall, and my much overdue visit to get my nails done and my eyebrows ripped out my head, I'm finally feeling much better. The thing that really sent me back into the light was when Brent was getting ready to go to the gym. I actually saw that asshat putting on fucking knee socks! That's right. Motherfucking knee socks! Then when I almost passed out from shock/laughing so hard, he had the audacity to scrunch them down in an effort to make it all better!

So after telling him that no man younger than 80 fucking 2 should be allowed to wear those kinds of socks, I went through his drawer and threw the remaining old man socks into the trash.

Then it sort of hit me all at once. He certainly isn't the most fashion forward man alive, but it could be MUCH worse. I could be stuck with someone who wears knee socks, who is also hung like a fucking light switch, AND is a total self-centered dickhead to boot.

I win, people!

By the way, when I edited this post, I removed 7 fucks out of this verbal work of fucking art just out of respect for my readers who don't like such language.

You're welcome.


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