pms666.com

I’m just a lowly citizen who some would call “liberal” which means my view of the world is probably tainted by poorly researched Gawker gossip, Daily Show sketches and New York Times’ apocalyptic pieces about back yard chickens and peak oil.

However, I can’t help but stick out my unobtrusive and politically-challenged nose and protest, rather irritably, about the latest buzz on this whole healthcare reform thing. I mean, can it be true? Can a public option ACTUALLY be off the table? Please excuse my occasional all-caps cyber scream, but I’m just not understanding how removing the public option is going to turn whatever it is you’re mulling over into actual reform.

Look, please forgive me if I seem clueless about your decision-making process. I fully admit that I don’t give a rat’s ass that private insurers won’t be able to compete with a public option. I have no love for them. As a self-employed person who is grossly under-insured, I pay $600/month in healthcare premiums for the privilege of buying into a high-deductible family plan – one that requires me to pay out $5600 annually before I see any benefits at all. So I may be a wee, tad biased.

And it may be my own paranoia, possibly but not definitively, spurred on by PMS, that you seem to be talking about me while I’m in the room, but the thing is that my family and I probably qualify as among those statistically relevant Americans who are decidely FUCKED if we need any medical care.

And since we appear to be sitting on a fast-moving train without an engine, careening towards a cliff where the tracks are bent and broken and my healthcare coverage is the hand break that snaps off when you try to yank it back, I kind of feel like I should have a say in the matter. But instead feel like I’m just standing there staring at the broken piece of metal in a hand that now needs medical attention, and contemplating the chances that my kids and my husband can JUMP from the train without too much damage, because our health coverage sure as hell isn’t good enough to repair broken bones, much less anything more serious.

I don’t mean to go on and on about this, but can you or somebody explain why oh WHY you’re even entertaining the town-hall crazies who are afraid of socialism, and bending to the will of the free fucking market? Health insurance companies don’t care about you, Mr. President. Screw them! Let’s talk legacy here – a public option will seal your legacy forever! You will have accomplished something no other president was able to do – and save a lot of lives in the process. Be bold! Be presidential! Go all the way – I’m not just talking public option here, I’m talking single payer! THERE, I’VE SAID IT!

I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. I mean, this guy seems to have a really logical solution. Let us buy into Medicare. Would that work? Can’t doctors opt out of Medicare? Should I pretend to know what I’m talking about? Okay, I won’t…

I’m just feeling a little bit under-represented right now, and you’ll have to forgive me because I have a headache that’s been bothering me for three years and I don’t want to shell out the cash to see a specialist – but I really wonder if you or anyone else in Congress can actually relate to me and the masses of people who are on this runaway healthcare train. YOU all have insurance, and money, and actual options. If your leg falls off, someone will run up with a suitcase full of extra legs for you to choose from. If mine falls off, I have the option of cutting off the remaining leg and selling it so I can pay for the leg-removal surgery.

IT’S JUST NOT FAIR! I’M TIRED OF IT BEING SO NOT FAIR!

I’m stomping my feet, and rolling my eyes and hoping you hear me and the fifty million other people who are holding our breath and begging that the idea of dropping the public option is all a big, fat bluff. Me and my 57 cavities are waiting expectantly. Don’t let us down.

A stupid wet day
My nose and toes are cold BLA
Give me tequila

My hair bothers me
I am annoyed at appliances
5 long days

A frosty wind
My annoyances pile up by the minute
Fuck this 5-7-5 thing who made up these dumb rules anyway

I’m tired of laundry. I’m tired of the dirty basement, and the washing machine that doesn’t drain correctly so that all the clothes are sitting in 4 inches of FREEZING water ALL the time, even when I give them an extra spin.

I’m tired of the cement blocks the washing machine sits on, making it slightly too high for my very short arms to comfortably…reach.

I’m tired of the multi-level laundry obstacle course I must make each day to get clean clothes into everyone’s drawers. The dirty clothes are piled up on the second floor, the washing machine and dryer is in the basement and the main floor is where I stop to rest and fold before bringing the clean clothes back to the second floor (where I started the whole process in the first place.)

I don’t wanna do it anymore! I feel like the soup Nazi from Seinfeld.

NO SOCKS FOR YOU! YOU SHALL ALL GO BAREFOOT UNTIL YOU START DOING YOUR OWN LAUNDRY!

And while I’m putting all this PMS laundry-induced angst out into the void. I have a few more disgruntled comments to my family at large.

To my children:

• Fine, don’t take a shower. I really don’t care if you’re the smelly kid at school.
• Get off of me. GET OFF OF ME.
• Fine, don’t eat that or that or that. (mmmfffllaagghhhhhh – the sound of me eating it)
• WOULD YOU STOP WHINING?? I AM NOT YELLING. AM NOTTTTT!!!

2 seconds lator…

• *sobbing* mommy’s sorry

To my husband:

• I know I already said this, but…NO SOCKS FOR YOU
• MOVE THE WASHING MACHINE UPSTAIRS
• SHRIEK SHRIEK SHRIEKETY SHRIEK!!!

2 seconds later…

• *sobbing* I’m sorry. Yes, some chocolate would be lovely.

1. You think I’ll jump at the opportunity to get free shipping when spending $100 or more at a store I live five minutes away from. HINT: If you’re Target/Kohls/Best Buy, then give me free shipping on your damn web site during the holidays no matter how much I spend.

2. You think I’ll get all excited with the promise of 10%, 20%, 25% or 30% off. No. No. No. It must be 60% or more or It’s not worth my time. And that means you, Lillian Vernon!

3. You give me a coupon for $15.00 off my NEXT purchase of $100 or more. GIVE IT TO ME NOW, BASTARDS.

4. You call EVERYTHING a “doorbuster” sale. Please stop saying that. In case you haven’t heard, someone was actually killed when a bunch of people busted down a door at Walmart. Enough already.

5. You send me the SAME catalog with the SAME crap once to twice a week, but with a different cover and/or slightly different incentives. And this means you: Land’s End, Victoria’s Secret, American Girl Doll, Lillian Vernon and the stupid ass toy company I can’t remember the name of. STOP SENDING ME SHIT. I know you haven’t added anything new for the past five years and you’re really starting to piss me off.

update 12/18/08: 6. Stop sending me things via email and mail that say, “LAST CHANCE TO ORDER BEFORE CHRISTMAS + FREE SHIPPING!” Oh really? It’s my last chance? If it’s anyone’s last chance, it’s yours. LAST CHANCE – ORDER NOW AND RESTORE US TO SOLVENCY! Plus you and I both know that if I order it now, I have a 50/50 chance (at best) to see the item before Christmas. Are you going to be available to explain why your will-get-there-by-Christmas guarantee fell through to my sobbing 7 and/or 4-year-old? Perhaps you could also tell them that Santa is a lie and define the term “unrealistic expectations” while you’re at it. So until you include your CMO’s home phone number with that offer, I’m not going to fall for it. I’M NOT, I SAY! Merry Christmas indeed.

There’s nothing like having PMS around the holidays. I can hang ornaments and garland on the black cloud that’s hovering over my head. This thought occurred to me this morning as I huddled miserably on my couch between my two cherubic children and cringed as they rolled through their typical litany of morning “wants.” My non-verbalized responses to them are in square brackets.

4-Year-Old

• I want to sit in the inside chair [I have no idea what she means]
• I’m Thirsty! [I want chocolate]
• I want to watch the leaf fairy movie [I want a plate of chocolate-covered leaf fairies!]
• I don’t get a magazine. I want a magazine. [At this point a range of rage-related colors flashed before my eyes]
• I’m hungry! Actually, I want string cheese. [Thank god daddy got up to get it]
• I hate that smell! Oh! [Not exactly a want - just an exclamation I'm supposed to respond to. I'll pretend I didn't hear it]
• I don’t need this anymore (her string cheese) – [kill me]
• Oh, I don’t get a blanket! [That's right. You don't]

7-Year-Old

• I want fabric to make Mary a santa hat [Wow, she's thinking of someone else. Wait a minute..."is Mary your stuffed animal?" (yes, it is)]
• Is Bolt out yet? I really want to see it. [I really want your father to go take you to see it]
• I want to see Madagascar 2! [Kill me]
• I wish we had enough time to make pancakes [You DO have enough time to make pancakes. You're 7]
• I want something salty [Go put salt on your imaginary pancakes]
• I don’t want to take a bath [I don't want to smell you]
• I want to keep talking on the (cell) phone with my cousin [Get a job!]

Of course I didn’t say any of that stuff, and quickly took myself out of the room and into my office so that it wouldn’t accidentally on purpose escape my lips. Don’t want to give them any MORE things to tell their therapist in 10 years now, do I?

PMS and the workday don’t mix. I fully admit this. If you happen to work with me in some way shape or form during this volatile time of the month, my sincerest (and I do mean SINCEREST) apologies. I thought it’d be kind of fun to illustrate some of my classic reactions to work-related issues with and without PMS.

SITUATION

I’m one-day late with a deliverable, although in my defense I had two days off in the last week AND got three other things out to the client on short notice. The client says nothing about what I’ve managed to accomplish, and sends me a one-line e-mail pointing out the missed deadline while stating I must try to do better.

Without PMS:

I apologize politely and promise to have the item out to the client first thing in the morning, which requires I work until midnight that night. No problem, I’m all about customer service!

With PMS:

I write a venomous email filled with defensiveness and ire only to promptly delete it and write another, only to delete that. The email I finally send out is riddled with typos and makes no sense and sounds somewhat like one long shriek as such, “Apologies for not respnding sooner but I was in the process of completing your third deliverable fo rht eweek and for the future any time I provide you with a deadline please add three more days to the final due date.”

SITUATION

The phone rings at 10:05 a.m. as I’m frantically finishing up a report for an 11:00 a.m. call.

Without PMS:

I answer the phone on full alert, take studious notes and promise to follow-up with whoever called as soon as I’m done with my call.

With PMS:

I glare at the phone and ultimately answer it, my voice riddled with thinly masked hostility. The moment I say “hello?” I regret the action of answering the phone, and promptly feel justified in treating whoever has called like a thoughtless, productivity-sapping saboteur.

SITUATION

It’s 4:55 p.m. I’m exhausted, loaded up on caffeine and my head is throbbing with a hormonally-induced headache. The presentation I sent off to a colleague an hour ago – the one that’s due to the client by tomorrow at 9:00 a.m., comes back to me with four hours worth of changes.

Without PMS:

I scream, “THAT FUCKER!!” get more coffee and get the work done.

With PMS:

I scream, “THAT FUCKER!!” send the report back to my colleague with a curt email explaining that I’m unavailable for the rest of the evening, and get drunk.

Okay, so I get the fact that it’s the end of August and therefore I must deal with a smattering of over-eager retailers who insist on putting out Halloween decorations and costumes for (likewise) over-eager consumers. I GET IT!

But please, please, please, if you own a store, consider the children! Yesterday I took my daughters who are 4 and 7 to our local craft store (*ahem* Michaels) for some stickers and other goodies. I saw the Halloween stuff from across the store. I can’t deny it. Nor can I deny the horrendous experience I had last year when my now-7-year-old was six and a giant animatronic witch came to life and proceeded to cackle at her while its eyes glowed red. She shrieked and we left the store, not to return until after Halloween. As I recall, I had to carry her out (howling) with her face buried in my neck.

So this year, in this same store, I thought – well, we saw the witch last year so we know to avoid it. Let’s walk down the Halloween aisle because I personally love looking at eyeball-shaped candles and ghost-statuary. Only this time I had the four-year-old with me as well. I know what you’re thinking. What the fuck is wrong with me? I don’t know. I have PMS. I have a head cold. It was a poor judgement call, on my part.

The children were happily grasping their new craft paraphernalia to their little chests when we rounded the bend and approached what looked like a statue of a woman in a white dress. It took me a moment before I realized the statue didn’t have a head. My older daughter noticed right away though, and ran past it in terror. I yelled at her to stop, just as my younger daughter and I came up beside it. These things are motion activated so once the child ran past, the statue came to life.

It’s called “The Headless Bride and Her Groom”

The description on Michael’s Web site reads, “Nothing says true love like this couple. Both statues speak and are motion activated.”

The above picture really doesn’t do the statues justice. In the store, they were propped up on a table so that the head of the bride was exactly at eye-level with my 4-year-old. The head swiveled around, looked at her, began screaming and, as an added fun effect, its eyes began pulsating with a red light.

My daughter screamed as though she were being kidnapped and ran through the store (while continuing to shriek at the top of her lungs). I caught up with her as she ran past the cash registers, which were full of perplexed people watching her trail of smoke. I then heard one of the cashiers say, “yeah, all the children are reacting like that…”

At which point the PMS kicked in. Whose idea is it to put up a terrifying Halloween display in a store whose essential clientele consists of children below the age of 10? And what bright bulb decided to arrange the headless bride at eye level of most 4 and 5 year olds? And, finally, what genius propped the “groom” atop a table so that we could still see his gaping mouth and bloodless face from clear across the store?

Oh, and by the way, it’s AUGUST. Let’s get them their back-to-school crap before we psychologically traumatize them for life, k?

What the fuck is wrong with people? If children are screaming and running from the store all day long, could it be that the display is POSSIBLY too scary??

Yes, it is. YES IT IS TOO SCARY. You bastards. I’m calling the store to complain on Monday (with the full power of PMS behind me). mmmf.

update: I called and complained yesterday. I was very nice (honest). The store manager was also very nice, but she said that all stores are mandated to keep the things out and have them plugged in – it comes down from Michael’s Central Command or something. She said the thing freaks her out too and she keeps it unplugged while she’s there (obviously not on Sunday afternoon).

How comforting.

She’s going to tell the district manager about my complaint and she advised me to call before coming into the store and she’ll throw a sheet over the thing and unplug it. Ummmm, no thanks. Looks like I need to find a good online craft store… Honestly, if I can’t even get a local craft store to push its tasteless Halloween crap to the back of the building, what the fuck can I get accomplished in life? I feel so disenfranchised.

MaxinePad: I have to cut out salt from this second on… I’m on full cankle alert

PMS666: I hate that term

MaxinePad: I love the cankle

PMS666: It’s so misogynistic. There’s no equivalent term to demean a trivial portion of a man’s body. Men don’t get cankles

MaxinePad: Kevin Nealon calls one of the men on the Agrestic board “Cankles” in season three (of Weeds). Wait, maybe it was a woman. I don’t remember

PMS666: see!

MaxinePad: I love Kevin Nealon. and his cankles

PMS666: Can I repeat this conversation on PMS666?

MaxinePad: Yes

I got my period about five hours after my last post and promptly took a two hour nap.

From that moment on, the hormones lifted from my mind like a cloud of locusts in search of their next victim, and life settled back to normal. Then things started getting better and better.

Yesterday, through cramps and discomfort, but relative good humor, I took my six-year-old to her first singing lesson. She’s a little young for singing lessons (the teacher sounded a bit hesitant when I called her two days ago), but I knew the kid could sing, even though everyone around me pretty much nods and smiles whenever I suggest she’s a prodigy. And who can blame them? She disguises her voice whenever she sings in front of anyone else.

So, yeah, this lesson wasn’t just for her, it was for me dammit! I needed to know that the quietly perfect singing voice I notice whenever she thinks no one is listening isn’t just the promise of impending senility lodged in my own head.

So after the first 20 minutes of the lesson, my child took a potty break and the teacher approached the dark corner where I hid (because the kid wouldn’t sing with ME in the room) and she had this look on her face….a look of wonder. And she said, “Your child has an amazing gift. I can’t believe she’s only six. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

And I know I speak for every mother out there who suspects their child is a genius in some way or form (because don’t we all?) when I say this..

I KNEW IT!!!

Okay, there, I’m over it. And the kid doesn’t have to do anything with it and I’m definitely not going to put her up in front of Simon or become a crazed stage mom, or start bragging on my various blogs or anything (er, oops). She can sing to me in the car for the rest of her life if that’s as far as she wants to take but, but damn if I didn’t know it!

This morning I woke up to my other child talking and laughing at 6:30 a.m. at the top of her lungs and I thought to myself, “there are a lot worse ways to wake up in the morning.”

AND…I’ve got absolutely NOTHING planned for the weekend. No birthday parties, no long trips to anywhere and almost all high-pressure deadlines filed way this week. So, yeah, the sun is definitely shining again.

Until next month…

Today I’m functioning in a PMS fog of stress and frustration. It’s one of those days where I can’t seem to get anything right.

A client is in a panic because something I did may get her fired. It’s not actually something I did, but something I can’t figure out how to do – and ultimately not my fault, but I can’t fix it, and I should’ve recommended they use a different solution in the first place and now it’s a complete mess.

My daughter is getting headaches and so of course my PMS-brain goes right to the “it’s a tumor!” scenario, but I’m just as stressed at the prospect of her needing glasses because it will require she visits the doctor.

Doctors. Another hugely stressful subject in my life. I recently switched both my kids to a new doctor because their pediatrician’s office was so crowded. I was very pleased with myself because this guy is a family doctor, and seemed very nice. But unfortunately the nurse who gave my 4-year-old her vaccinations last week was a complete idiot. She didn’t prepare the three shots in a neat little row with the band aids ready to go on a tray. As a result, my child had to wait a few minutes in between each shot and bled all over herself waiting for the band aid.

Now my 7-year-old needs to go to the doctor and I have no idea where to take her.

My head hurts, I’m tired, I can’t keep up, I’m making too many mistakes…but I’ll keep trying. What else can I do?