Yesterday at Dinosaurs Can’t Eat Pizza, I posted my favorite risotto recipe. It’s made in the microwave, so you risotto purists might want to skip it (or go over there and be horrified, whatever works for you).
So, remember how I had that hysterectomy two years ago? And then my gynecologist strongly recommended that I go on an estrogen patch due to my age. (And how what she meant was that I am a bit young to go without those hormones, but what Fred assumed she meant when she said “at your age” was that I am ANCIENT because he is stupid?) So I went on the patch and then I was like “Well, what happens if I go off the patch?” I went off the patch, and nothing at all happened, no hot flashes, nothing at all, I was FINE. Then I saw her last January and she was like “Mmm, yeah. I STRENUOUSLY OBJECT to your going without estrogen because I am old school and I think you should just do what I tell you to do, stupid, and also I have zero bedside manner and you hate me.”
(I might be paraphrasing.)
I waited until after I had my breast/ upper arm/ neck lift last February, and then I waited until after I had my neck lift revision in October, and then finally I started back on the patch in November. And I swore to myself that I would stay on the damn thing for at least three months and then I’d see how I was doing. And nothing much happened as a result of being on the patch, no difference in anything except that I gained some weight.
(Which is probably due more to the surgeries I had last year, because I have perhaps mentioned that every time I have surgery I gain 10 pounds and eventually it comes back off and I HAD SURGERY TWICE LAST YEAR AND I THINK YOU CAN DO THE MATH.)
So last week I was replacing the patch on Monday, and I thought to myself, I thought “Self, this is utterly goddamn motherfucking ridiculous. I was FINE off the patch, never had a single hot flash, perfectly perfectly fucking FINE, why am I dealing with these goddamn things?” Because those patches are ANNOYING with their adhesive and trying to figure out where to put them.
A reasonable person would have done a slow step-down off the patch, but have I ever claimed to be reasonable? I have not. So I took that patch off, and I’ve been off them ever since.
And the hormonal wallop has turned me into a raving fucking lunatic. I misread a recipe earlier this week and I was in a RAGE. I wanted to track down the writer of the recipe and I wanted to kill them DEAD. Fred was all “Ha ha, well we can still use this food, we’ll just do this”, and I wanted to stab him in the face. I was playing Words with Friends one morning, and each game was taking for-fucking-ever to load, and I wanted to HURL the fucking thing across the room. I had this actual conversation with myself in my head:
Irrational lunatic asshole me: I am going to throw this goddamn thing across the room at the wall SO FUCKING HARD that I am going to dislocate my shoulder and I will need a sling, and that is FUCKING FINE because it will be SO SO SO SATISFYING.
Rational reasonable asshole me (I cannot stand that rational voice in my head, she is SO GODDAMN ANNOYING): Don’t do that, because then you will have NO iPod to watch Gossip Girl on and you will have NO iPod to get your ass kicked on in WWF games and you will have NOTHING sitting on the bedside table to grab and use as a flashlight in the middle of the night when you have to pee!
Irrational: I WILL THROW THIS FUCKING THING AGAINST THE WALL AND IT WILL MAKE ME BRIEFLY SUPER SUPER SUPER HAPPY.
Rational: NO. Put it down. PUT IT DOWN!
And so on. Rational won out (fucking bitch, she almost always wins) and I put the iPod down and I flailed around in bed and yelled “COOOOOOOOOOOOOOME OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!”, then got up and stomped off to take my shower.
I am a pure delight to live with right now, I tell you what. In the rare calm moments, I have apologized to Fred, telling him that I KNOW I’m being irrational, that I can say to myself “You are being irrational right now”, but I cannot stop myself. It’s fucking insane. If I didn’t know that it will take about two weeks to pass – but that it WILL pass – I think I would be throwing myself off the nearest cliff or kicking chickens or something.
(Note: I would never kick a chicken. I might stab Fred in the face, though.)
(“TONIGHT on News at 10! She wrote on the internet that she was going to stab her husband in the face AND THEN SHE DID! Coming up in 10 minutes!”)
In no particular order, things which have recently annoyed, pissed me off, or crossed my irrational bitch radar.
1. My spell check knows how to spell Rihanna’s name better than I do. Why is that in my spell check? What the fuck? Anyway, I heard some song on the radio and I was like “Who’s this, I kind of like this song.” and Fred was all “Rihanna.” and I was all “Ugh.” and he was all “I take it you don’t like her?” and I was all “No, I find her repugnant.” Then he laughed and asked why and I said “I don’t care if she wants to get back together with Chris Brown, it is her right as an adult to have sexytime with whatever consenting adult reciprocates the interest, but as a (god knows why) public figure she’s got all these little girls WATCHING her, and I think she’s got a duty to be aware of that and fucking DENY that she would ever have anything to do with a man who would beat the shit out of her.” Fred said, “So she should lie?” And I said “Oh, right. Lying to the entertainment press is completely unheard-of, she should never do THAT. Shut up before I stab you in the face.”
2. Penn Badgley. God, I hate his stupid, smug, smarmy fucking face. HATE HIM SO MUCH. We watched Margin Call last weekend and as soon as I saw him, I was like “I did not know HE was in this. UGH. I HATE HIM.” I had to look away from the TV every time he was on, because oh god I hate him so much. HATE HIM. I wish Chuck Bass would man up and push him off the nearest tall building.
3. That actress who plays the wife on Awake. Cannot stand her. Her voice is, like, baby talk. It makes me want to stab myself in the eardrums repeatedly. You know who’d be better in that role? Dexter’s wife. She’s got a similar look and voice and doesn’t make me want to commit mayhem. This makes me hope that the reality where the wife is alive is the dream. SO ANNOYING.
4. How the Alzheimer’s seems to be taking over my brain, and I can’t have a fucking conversation without having to come around to the topic by meandering is 63 other directions first. “Who’s that? She looks familiar,” Fred said when we were watching Margin Call. “She’s, oh, I can’t remember her name.” I said. “She’s the sister of the actress who’s married to Brad Paisley. Who was the girl in Father of the Bride. She’s, oh, she dated whatshisface on How I Met Your Mother. Kimberly Williams! Was her sister. She dated the guy, not Barney, come on. She was a baker?” And on and on and ON. (Ashley Williams was her name.)
5. God, I hate Penn Badgley. His stupid fucking name doesn’t even look like it’s spelled right. I just saw his face because I had to look on IMDB to re-remember Ashley Williams’s name. I HATE HIM SO MUCH.
6. Does this blanket look navy blue to you?
No, right? It looks purple? So why, when I dyed a white blanket with a bottle of navy blue dye, did it come out purple? I’d be more annoyed, but I think it’s kind of pretty. (Also, Corbie looks kind of greenish there for some reason, but the color of the blanket is what it looks like in person. If that makes sense.)
7. Why, when I am at the grocery store, do I feel guilty buying Coke products in front of the Pepsi guy, and vice versa? (Note: I loathe Pepsi products; Fred’s the Pepsi drinker. Ugh.) They don’t actually care, do they? Yet I skulk down the aisle, apologetically put the bottles in my cart, and scuttle away as fast as I can.
8. I am not even going to reread this thing, because I have kittens to cuddle. THANK GOD for the kittens. If you see any typos, let me know and I’ll fix them. Or not. Depends on how annoyed I am by them!
Tell me about your recent irrational bitch moments. I love a good irrational bitch story.
PS: God in heaven, I loathe Penn Badgley.
2011: Meet the McMaos.
2010: She’s not pregnant. She’s just big-boned.
2009: (The smell of boiling chicken livers: gag me.)
2008: No entry.
2007: No entry.
2006: Now, I’m sure I’d rather be skinny and bald than fat and hairified, but what I’d MUCH prefer to be is skinny and hairified, thanks.
2005: I think that a more accurate description would be “covered the annoyance of itching by making your skin feel as though you’re being set on fire.”
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Fred’s such a bastard.