Misery loves company, so get in here, bitches.

WARNING: This here is a post about PMS. If you have a penis or even just a weak stomach, you may want to stop reading here. This post is not intended for infants, the elderly, or basically anyone else including me. This post should not be used to mistreat or misdiagnose any exact medical conditions or any vague malaise, for that matter; if you suspect you have a horrific terminal disease, please Google your symptoms to confirm. (And if you're thinking about coming back here after diagnosing yourself with something seriously bad, like flesh-eating disease, and stealing my thunder with your complaints? You can fucking forget it. This is MY show and I will put you down with extreme prejudice.)

I am miserable. And not my regular type of miserable. The kind of miserable that calls up her BFFs Bitchy and Bloaty and they are all having a Pissy Attitude party and wearing 'I *heart* My Bad-itude' party hats and there's a matching tablecloth and banner. Did I mention the Pissy Attitude party was in my uterus? And Misery, Bitchy, and Bloaty are apparently smashing glass in there and then stomping on it. While slam-dancing. And practicing their WWE moves. Come to think of it, it's kind of like a bunch of 12 year old boys are having a sleepover.

My stomach hurts, I'm tired, I'm hungry, I don't want to eat, I can't stop eating. I stepped on the scale this morning and it said 165 lbs. Granted, I have put on 7 or 10 lbs from quitting smoking. (8 weeks today, heck yeah!) Possibly, it may also be due to factors such as eating 3.5 chocolate bars and two bags of chips in one day going a bit overboard with treats, on non-Free Day days. Really, though, I'm finding it hard enough to put down the damn fork long enough to type here. This chicken (fucking) casserole (AGAIN) is the first non-junk food thing I've eaten since breakfast. Seriously. If it weren't for drawstring work-out pants, I'd be forced to wear tight-ass jeans that would give me camel toe because of my bloated gut. Yeah, I'd pop the snap. So?

I'm cranky, and moody. One second I'm smiling and laughing, the next moment I'm the Thing What Is Trying To Kiss Sigorney Sigourney Sigurney ohfuckit The Chick In The Alien Movie. I have the best kids in the world who refuse to listen or pick up anything damn kids and I'm just a maid around here doing everything for these kids that are so awesome so Mama's handing out smoochers who wants one?

I want sex, no I don't want sex, I want sex but can you do all the work?

My face is breaking out in a giant Heater Patch with throbbing pimples everywhere. At last count, before I stopped counting, was five giant growths. On my face. One of them was like a collection of little pimples all mobbed together. I can't even exfoliate (and by that I mean "pick") because my skin is so sensitive what with all the effing PMS hormones racing around my bloodstream. I tried to pluck my eyebrows but noooooooo that hurt too much. So now I have giant Pizza face and grizzly bear eyebrows. What's that, grizzlies don't really have eyebrows because their faces are covered with hair? Yeah. Ex-ackally.

Can this stupid period just show up and put me out of my misery? The only thing worse than anticipating five days of gut-wrenching ass-dragging exhaustion is the actual gut-wrenching ass-dragging exhaustion. So can we do this already, uterus, and get it over with for another month?