the big day.

Tomorrow is the big day for Sue and Mike and the day I promised the SM that I wouldn’t have a nervous biological clock breakdown because other people are professing the undying love and devotion to each other, while we are NOT.  I need to have a pep talk with myself to make sure I keep my word to my old man.

I am going to look fabulous.  I have a hot dress, new shoes and the flyest mani and pedi that anyone could get from a huge room full of Asians.

I am going to see a plethora of people that I should have always kept in contact with better.

I am going to get a hug from Greg Amato.

We are going to see the fabulous Grays.

The weather looks like it’s going to be great.

I’m not going stag to the wedding.

The boyfriend is going to look gorgeous.

Hmm…That’s good for now. I’ll report back when I can.  I’m about to leave work now, pack and start the hike to Northeast Ohio.  Congratulations again to the lucky couple.  I can’t wait to go home.

open letter to guys lucky enough to be boyfriends.

Don’t let this be your woman.

Dear Boyfriends:

Evidently, there are some guidelines that need to be rehashed for those of the male persuasion out there so I thought I’d do you all the pleasure of hearing it from me, the sole owner of the “Grumpiest Bitch Of The Day” award.  Lucky you.

Let me preface this post with the fact that I seriously need a big, bold sign reading “Caution: Menstruating Female - Engage at Your Own Risk” around my neck today.  And part of yesterday…and probably tomorrow too.  Part of the reason I am posting this is because of my inherent need to be a gaping asshole and enormous bitch when I’m ragging.  Part of it is because, sometimes, men are totally fucking retarded.

As anybody who knows me in real life, under normal circumstances (remember, Aunt Flo’s up in this joint for a few more days); I am a very self-deprecating individual.  I’ve mentioned it many times before and very little gets under my skin.  However, a few items have been rattling around in this old noggin of mine on the topic of two things that you should never joke with your woman about, EVER, without the fear of losing your daddy bag by virtue of dull, rusty hedge trimmers.  They are as follows:

1)  NEVER joke with your girlfriend about when or if you will marry her.  Whether it’s wrong or right, most little girls grow up imagining their Prince Charming, how they will live happily ever after…and the flowers and dress involved in that ever-afterness.  Most girls out there aren’t in a long-term, monogamous relationship with you because she doesn’t want a commitment.  It’s because she has been thinking of her wedding day in some capacity since she knew what boys were good for. You don’t have to have it all figured out.  You don’t have to want to strap on the old ball and chain tomorrow.  Most of all, it’s NOT funny to watch us squirm.  Its not funny to make comments and watch our minds race and gears churn with doubt.  Fear is not funny.  We will not hesitate to cancel your ESPN Gameplan and you’ll know the knots and sweats of fear, my friend.  Don’t act like you wouldn’t be a balled-up, sobbing mess on the couch, rocking back and forth as you keep pressing the now cancelled channels over and over on your TV.  You ain’t that tough.  Additionally, do me a favor and let’s not be saving up for a motorcycle when you still have credit card debt and a barren, cold left ring finger to adorn.

2)  Under any circumstances, NEVER joke with your woman about her weight.  You love her.  You chose her from the rest of the girls at the bar that night…or the rest of the ladies from your AA group.  Whatever.  Of all people you should love her for who she is, hips, thighs, belly; no matter what.  You need to be her refuge and her rock - her oasis from the harsh world outside.  Every store in the mall, every magazine she reads and every reality TV show she watches makes her feel fat already.  When she goes to the gym, the yoga instructor and the girl next to her on the treadmill makes her feel fat.  Suggest you join the gym together.  Plan a hiking trip.  Play a sport together.  But NEVER, I repeat, NEVER say it’s because she’s fat.  Getting in shape for summer sounds entirely different than needing to lose weight.  I know it’s a game of semantics here, but word choice can be the different between that blow job you’ve been thinking about…or sleeping on the couch in the living room.

The umbrella qualification to this whole conversation lies in one inconvenient truth for you men out there:  If you ever say anything that could possibly be misconstrewn as negative (these specific topics exponentially escalating the situation) while she is in the midst of her period, just succumb to the reality that you have officially bought your own bus ticket to Hell and you are in the front muthafucking seat.  Fully expect the fiery wrath of the woman you thought you once loved that has since left that sweet, tender, feminine body you once caressed.  You will only be debris left in the wake of the monster you have created.  Expect the next few hours of your life (hours if your lucky, days if you’re especially retarded) to be ruined and anything that had once brought you joy, to turn black and shrivel, either figuratively or literally, material things and immaterial things included.  I’ve seen a girl melt an Xbox 360 into a puddle.  True story.  The dude had to be put in a strait jacket and committed.  Just saying.  Your choice.  Choose Wisely.

xoxo,

Raging Hormonal Bitch

take a hint.

Do it.

Horoscope for today for the SM: Breakfast in bed shouldn’t be just for mornings. Any time of day, treat your sweetie to a full-course brunch with French toast, hash browns and all the usual favorites. Don’t forget the flower and a kiss.

stream of consciousness…

Campbell’s Soup at Hand Chicken with Mini Noodle, when cold, feels like already puked-up puke in your mouth.

 I can be a bad person if I let myself.

I am a good person most of the time though.

Life is rarely fair.

Twitter is kinda cool.

American Idol is on tonight! 

David Cook is the man!

Are the guys gonna play ball tonight? 

My throat hurts.   Am I getting sick again?

I need to find the SM’s old blackberry.

Diet Dr. Pepper tastes a lot like regular Dr. Pepper.  Seriously.

I have great friends.

I have a great family.  Make that a TOTALLY BOSS family.

It’s almost time to go!  Couch or bleachers tonight?  We shall see!

the importance of fighting.

I’m gonna fucking ruin your life. 

A coworker and I had a conversation today about how she and her boyfriend are currently at odds and the fight is perpetuating a lot longer than need be because her boyfriend can’t move on.  They were fighting about one issue originally and because he would not give my coworker a little space and time to think about it, my coworker blew up in his face and said things she didn’t mean.  Now they are fighting about that.

This brought up the difficult topic of fighting styles and how your style affects your relationship.  Being conscious and considerate of your partner’s fighting style is integral to a successful relationship.  You have to know if they need to duke it out until you’re both satisfied and (almost) too exhausted for make-up sex or if it works better to take your time to think about things and reconvene later. 

As for me and the SM, we’re fighters, not lovers when it comes to disagreements.  We say mean things.  Our key is knowing the difference between what you’re saying in the heat of the fight and what you mean long-term.  Todd doesn’t think I’m a fucking idiot and I don’t think he’s a gaping asshole.  But we say it because it makes us feel better.  No one sits down, every time there is a disagreement, and talks about things in a compassionate, understanding manner.

I’m not saying how we fight is healthy.  But I’m not saying how any of you fight is healthy either.  But it’s how you do it, how you’ve done it and how your going to continue doing it.  It’s maybe how your parents did it.  Or the opposite of how your parents did it.  No matter how it happens, it doesn’t feel healthy. 

I learned my fighting style from my dad.  Throw-down, knock-out, dragged-out shit with an apology at the end.  My mom takes stuff very personally and holds it forever in her well-fortified arsenal of ridiculous, snowballed resentment.  My dad was good practice for the SM.  I usually know almost exactly what to expect. 

To me, there are just important tips, regardless of your style that you need to try to keep in mind when you and your BF or GF are smacking each other around.  It’s important, first and foremost to know what battles to pick.  Thinking about what’s important to continuing in sanity and contentment and having the sacredness of the union as the first priority above everything else is key.  Beyond that, during the fight, you need to listen, not just hear, what your squeeze is saying.  And you have to know two things to close it off:  a) When you need to shut your fuckin’ mouth and b) When you need to apologize for being an ass.

Do I have this all figured out?  Absolutely not.  Do I fight about dumb things?  Yes.  Do I talk over the SM and not listen or validate what he’s saying sometimes?  Totally.  But I know its important to be considerate of how he is, how I am, and operate accordingly.  I just do my best to try to remember these things, consciously compromise and give the SM the benefit of the doubt…but speak up when I am truly concerned about something.  (Or PMSing.  Or having a weird day.  Or the Pup looked at me wrong.  Yeah, I suck sometimes.)  If your fuck buddy needs space and time, give it to them.  It’ll prevent a blow up.  If you date a raging lunatic who needs to yell and cuss, hop right in.  They’ll forget you called their mother a disgusting whore.  Just try to objectively view your relationship as it is and be compassionate as possible.