2002-02-14

Screeching Cat-ho

I have PMS. Big time. And on Valentine's Day, no less.

Actually, the pre-menstrual fun kicked in yesterday at around 2 in the afternoon. Seriously. It was like someone took the wind right outta my sails. I sat there at my desk thinking, "I hate myself, I hate this job, I'm fat and pasty-looking, my writing is going nowhere, and the cheesey country music that the receptionist is listening to makes me want to hang myself."

At that moment I desperately wanted either one of two things: a shot of whiskey or a Chunky.

In the end, I didn't get either. I opted instead to go to band practice and be as foul-mouthed and puerile as possible. I decided to channel Kim Fowley, running around the room calling everyone "dogmeat," and waxing poetic about various bodily functions. I really was pretty disgusting; Tom almost didn't want to give me a ride home.

Today's not much better. I'm sitting here trying to give off a lot of "don't bother me" vibes. I'm really in a bad mood for no real apparent reason.

My boobs hurt.

I'm trying to think of happy things, you know, like bunnies and shit, but every time I conjure up a flower, I end up stepping on it. Bouquets are arriving at the receptionist's desk every ten minutes and I refuse to go out there and coo at them.

I hate Valentine's Day.

I did think of something earlier that made me laugh, though. I went across the street to the Store 24, since lately I've been having tremendous cravings for convenience store coffee, and Alanis Morrisette was bleating out through the sound system, and I remembered what Jess had once referred to her as: "a screeching cat-ho." I laughed out loud in the middle of the Store 24.

But then I thought, "THAT'S what I feel like today: a screeching cat-ho."

Let the buyer beware.

lisamcc at 11:01 a.m.

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