Sometimes being a woman is for the birds. Othertimes It's For The Boobs!

When I get to heaven the first thing I'm gonna ask God is, Why the PMS?

This post is NOT going to appeal to everyone, so if you are offended by a woman talking about her, "monthly" please Stop-Reading-Now! Hell, I'm giving you a clean version. Check out Kyra's take here...

Ok, for those of you brave enough to continue reading, let me kvetch for a sec...

WTF is up with PMS?!?!?! I seriously thought this would pass as I aged. But nope! It's actually become worse. I gain a minimum of ten pounds. The weight is so random that I almost drank the kool-aid and purchased a damn lapband. And I eat like a chihuahua - nibbling all day. And not on carrots and peas alone. Suddenly chocolate has become my course Du jour. 

If I'm not eating, I'm crying. For no particular reason (or for the most microscopic reason). I pity the fool that takes me there. Unfortunately, there's always a victim. I don't know about you ladies, but when I PMS, everything that annoys me expands. Even things that I don't think about. Sometimes I wonder what's worse, PMS or being drunk? Both bring out the  passive-aggressive truth in a person. My poor friends have been catching it lately. It's akin to a knife being twisted in your spine: Agonizing. And I can't hold back! 

That's the most severe bit of this. I'm sure that I've lost plenty of friends because of the beast that I become. But, if you know me, you understand that my beast is a fuzzy, chocolate, cry-baby. Suddenly all the hardness I left back in Newark takes first position and along with it...waterworks. A Royal Mess. 

But there is a wonderful event that happens when I PMS: I Grow Tits!

Yes, they perk up and take on a dense-fluffiness otherwise remiss on me. I can even ignore the pain that's involved with the additional fluid (especially when bouncing around on a bike. I understand why women with "real" breast hate running- it hurts as they bounce). But my boobs just look so damn hott! P.s if you ever see me with a low-cut top and my boobs present themselves first, you know It's that time. TMI? Yeah, Whatev. Anywho, this is a passing phase. 

Two days after Flo arrives, my boobs loose their juice and deflate like a sad balloon. The pounds shed faster than a Christian at a Pride Parade. My blase' personality resurfaces and salads entice me once again. 

Oh, but don't get comfortable, this happy-go-lucky phase lasts approximately 10 days. The remaining 20 are spent ninnying from one end or the other.

In the words of Celie,

Dear God...

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