Keep Away From The Internet When Cranky (Or Not)

Normally I subscribe to the 'Keep Away From The Internet When Cranky' rule. Okay, there have been some notable exceptions (during which I have got involved in ridiculous arguments with anonymous morons on Twitter), but for the most part I stick to my guns. Nothing good can come of posting when you're shitty. Your defenses are down, your emotions are heightened, and it is very, very easy to say things you will later regret.

Well, today I am hideously cranky, and I am throwing caution to the wind. I am on my third day of tonsillitis/ear infection, and am OVER IT with a capital everything. I am taking anti-biotics for my disease, pro-biotics for the anti-biotics, and Roses Chocolates for the depression that descended late last night after two days in bed.

On top of it all, I am pre-menstrual, which would be wonderful if I planned to have any more children and needed my stupid ovaries, but I don't, so perhaps they could just dry the hell up already? (And yes, for all those menopausal women out there, I'm aware menopause is no walk in the park either, but I'm cranky, so just ignore me and trust that when my time comes I'm sure I'll be complaining about that, too.)

So what else? Well, my inbox keeps filling up at the most ridiculous rate. No sooner do I delete all the junk and see to all the vital correspondence than I have another 30 emails waiting for me. About 10% are important, another 20% are important if you want to read about minute changes to the school canteen menu and what the kindergarten kids did at Assembly today (and seeing as my kids are in years one, seven and nine quite frankly I don't, not even slightly), and the other 70% are rubbish. I get emails about penis enlargements (and I don't have a penis - the still functioning ovaries would be a testament to that), vampire facials (because who the hell wouldn't want to take blood out of themselves just to inject it back in again), offers of large amounts of money in exchange for my bank account details (which I'm sure are, like, totally valid, but who has the time to write back?), and requests to link with people on LinkedIn for no reason whatsoever because LinkedIn has never done anything for me but generate emails (having said that, all requests will be accepted, because if I'm going to be on LinkedIn, I'd rather have heaps and heaps of connections than none).

Also I have bills to pay, laundry to do, a book to write, fleas to kill (yes, the cat has fleas and has spread them all over the house and the kids keep complaining [which seems completely unreasonable, I mean, when I was their age I walked to school barefeet in the snow....]), dinner to prepare, paperwork to fill out.... and I should probably also shower at some stage, too.

So that's it. I'm cranky. And if you're cranky too, now is your time to share it. I am declaring this Day of the Crankypants, and all cranky submissions will be accepted.

And if you're not cranky, well, you can comment too, but don't expect sympathy. And YES. I know you won't need sympathy if you're not actually cranky. You don't have to point it out! Bloody hell. Everyone's giving me a hard time today....

You Won't Believe What I Ate Last Night...

Last night I ate a stock cube. Seriously. And not one of those small Maggi ones, either. I ate a giant, squishy Massel chicken stock cube, straight out of the wrapper. It was horrible. I mean, chicken stock is great in soups and casseroles, but pretty gross by itself on a fork. But I couldn't help it. I was craving that stock cube like the deserts crave the rain. (Except that the stock cube also made me crave rain. Or at least water.)

Now, the obvious conclusion to reach is that I am pregnant. And when I am pregnant I do crave strange foods. When I was pregnant with my son I bought so many spinach and feta pastries from the local baker every day (three to four, to be precise) that I became too fat embarrassed to go into the store, and had to learn how to make my own.

However, I am certain I am not pregnant. This is because:

1. My kitchen has been surgically closed;
2. I am not nauseous and dizzy and weeping for no reason at all;
3. See number 1.

No, I am not pregnant. In fact, I am as far as one can get from pregnancy without being menopausal. I am craving weird foods not because I am pregnant, but because I am not.

Yes, once gain PMS rears up its ugly head. It happens all the time. Once a month, actually. Every. Single. Bloody. Month.

I don't need to keep a chart of my menstrual cycle because I know exactly where I am based on the foods I am craving. Early in my cycle I eat my normal, boring diet. When I am ovulating I become quite extraordinarily hungry, and need about seventeen meals a day (at least three of which are based on chocolate). Clearly, my body is preparing for a potential baby by packing in enough energy in three days to last me nine months. Clearly, my body is stupid.

Mmmm.... DINNER

And then I hit PMS, and I head down to the salt mines. Oh yes. Salt salt salt salt. I eat stock cubes and drink cup-a-soup and eat Vegemite with a spoon. I chomp on Feta and swallow olives and ask for extra anchovies in my salad. And I get fluid retention and grumpy as hell and turn to alcohol to ease the pain.

You'd be in pain too if you'd been eating stock cubes.

So next time you are grumpy with PMS and cursing your hormonal surges, spare a thought for me. I am sitting at my kitchen bench eating stock cubes washed down with gin and tonic. It ain't pretty.

What does PMS look like for you?

How PMS Saves The World

The human body is remarkably complex, and the human psyche even more so. And most aspects of our bodily workings play a profound evolutionary role in the survival and propagation of the species.

When we are attacked or threatened, we experience the Fight Or Flight response. This releases adrenalin and allows us to move and act quickly.

When we fall in love, our brains release serotonin, or Happy Hormone, which encourages us to make a lifetime commitment to someone who will clear their throat loudly in the middle of the night and leave their boxer shorts on the floor.

When we ovulate, we feel a surge of sexual desire, which encourages us to have sex with the throat-clearer, and create a mini throat-clearer who will continue on our genetic line and leave their own underwear on the floor.

But what, I ask, oh what is the point of PMS????

I have had a shocking bout of PMS these past few days and have been racking my brains to determine its evolutionary purpose. A hankering to kill, pimples and sore boobs, a propensity to weep for no reason, and a massive appetite satisfied only by hot chips and ice cream... how, pray tell me, does this help the human species?

Well, I have come up with some theories, and have listed them below, in no apparent order.

Why PMS Is Necessary:

1. PMS is nature's way of redressing the gender imbalance in niceness. Women are, naturally, much more kind and selfless than men, which can result in us being taken advantage of by the opposite sex. PMS makes us temporarily shrew, cross and generally revolting, allowing us to snatch back some of the ground we have lost the previous month by being caring and considerate.
2. Monthly pimples allow us to keep the cosmetics industry afloat; after all, if it was only teenagers getting pimples, the market would be limited, and many pimple control products would become redundant. The adult hormonal pimple market is a multi-million dollar business, which creates jobs for other hormonal women like ourselves.
3. Kids benefit from their mothers' monthly mood swings. They see their caregiver snarling and growling and learn to Staying Away From The Crazy Lady for a few days. This teaches resilience and fosters independence, thus preparing them for adulthood.
4. Sore breasts are nature's way of reminding us that we have breasts, and to check them for lumps and bumps when our period is finished.
5. Being tearful is unpleasant at the time, but marvelously cleansing for the soul. Having an excuse to lose it every four weeks and sob heartily for no reason at all is as detoxing as one of those freaky herbal enemas, but without the inconvenience of having something placed in your bottom.
6. Eating junk food for several days results in a feeling of guilt, which results in a resolution to eat healthily after our period has arrived and the cravings are over. Though the resolution is not always carried out, the guilt feelings persist, which can only be helpful in spurring us on to action.
7. Being a total bitch to our partners for a few days a week serves as a test to separate the men from the boys. If our male partner runs at the first sign of irrational anger or baseless tears, then clearly they're not going to stick around for the hard times. If they take it all in their stride, providing support and slabs of Cadbury Dairy Milk, then they are worthy of all the wonders that Woman can bring.

Feel free to add your own reasons to the list. But don't criticise mine. I still have PMS and I'm either going to kill you or cry.

Choc Wars - The Official Post

Over the past few weeks, the Choc Wars has been fought bravely.

In the Wrong Team, Sarah and Cate have argued that 'white chocolate' is not an oxymoron.

In the Right Team, Kylie and I have laughed derisively.

In the middle, Heath from ColesOnline (thisisnotasponsoredpost) has moderated, and will soon come to his own, no doubt well considered and mature, conclusion.

There have been many words spoken, and many words written.

But, as we all know, actions speak louder than words, and I believe, my friends, that now is the time for action.

So I present to you this footage, taken from my home just this week. The footage is genuine, but faces and voices have been disguised slightly to protect my family.
Once you have watched it, you will know, without a shadow of a doubt, that white confectionary is not worthy of the fine name of ‘chocolate’.






Now don't forget to go to the ColesOnline ChocWars site, read the other arguments, and then vote for TEAM REAL CHOC!!!

A Conversation......

Don't Mess With Ms PMS

Today, my friends, I am not your friend. (And yes, that previous line didn't make sense. So what are you going to do. SUE me???)

Right now, I am not anyone's friend. I'm angry at the world. Particularly at... well... particularly at nothing, nothing that I can think of, anyway (and believe me, I'm thinking, I'm thinking). But I'm irritable and I'm angry and I want to show it.

So why am I so irritable? Well jeez, can't you work it out?

Obviously, I am irritable because I am pre-menstrual. Yes, my period is about to start and my body is doing the Monthly Dance Of Mad. The hormones are at work, rushing through my poor womanly veins, sloshing around my brain, making me want to stab everything that moves with the fork I am currently using to spear bits of extremely salty fetta off my plate. (I crave salty things when I'm pre-menstrual. Got a problem with that? SUE me.)

What's more, my breasts are sore, I'm absolutely starving (even after 23 pieces of salt toast), I have no energy, and my tummy is poking out of my jeans like a partially inflated helium balloon. And why? For what? I've had my kids. I don't want anymore. Why do I need to keep menstruating for another decade or so? And even if I did want to keep menstruating,why does it need to make me feel cranky and horrible? Isn't menstruating itself bad enough?

Furthermore, things keep going wrong today, just when - in my delicate, pre-menstrual state - I need them to go right. This morning, for example, we ran out of Vegemite. I mean, can you believe it? How the hell does that happen? Who on earth was responsible? Well, me, most likely, but that is completely beside the point. It made me furious and distraught, and so desperate for my salt fix that I was forced to eat salt on hot buttered toast, which, I can assure you, is remarkably inferior to Vegemite (though it has a similar effect on your fluid retention). And you know what? I reckon it was your fault. Okay, not really, but I'm angry, and who else am I going to blame?

And this is the worst part. Because to be honest, the only thing that has gone wrong today is the lack of Vegemite. And - whilst certainly that pained me tremendously - it wasn't sufficient reason to get really angry. And I want to get really angry. Desperately. I want to yell and scream and, if at all possible, smack someone really hard. And everyone has been perfectly charming. It's terribly frustrating.

So for the moment, I'll just have to suffer in silence. But god help anyone who contradicts me. And if my husband tries to suggest that I'm pre-menstrual, well, he's going to get a smack.

And if you've got a problem with that, SUE me.