For you men who think that in some alternate reality you actually have it just as bad as women, let me tell you; you are on some serious crack.

 There’s blood everywhere.  This CANNOT be normal.  2 pints down, 2 to go to death.  I had no idea how bad things would be when I woke up this morning.  This is BY FAR the worst period I have ever had, and trust me, I have had some doozies.

Here’s a breakdown of the week thus far:

 1. Sunday night: Daydream about what I would say to people that have pissed me off lately.  Enjoy daydream, because I am thinking of fantastic phrases to use to let them know how stupid they really are, and have no right to breathe air and live because they are worthless.  Congratulate self on superb verbal skills.  Think about buying gun to kill the same people.  Revel in my self-riteousness in superiority.  Fly to Pittsburgh.

2. Monday: Choose to take my PMS out on Wayne.  Good choice in target.  Know he won’t hate me later.  He’s taken it from me before, so it’s safe.  Feel a little badly, but then stop caring.  Can’t do my job because of client issues; lost billable time.  Lost additional billable time from previous week.  Realize I just lost $3600 in billable and $300 for boarding dogs while I am gone.  About to lose my mind in a pissed off rage.  Still thinking about buying gun.

3. Tuesday: Tell guy I am dating to go to hell, since he is using me for sex (well, not sex; sexual relations… Long story, and not worth it), and he thinks we have too many communication problems to have a relationship.  But I guess that, despite our communication problems, sex is still okay with him.  End “relationship” amicably, but still want to buy gun and kill him.  And everyone else.  Thinking about what type of gun is best to use to shoot knee-caps, nuts, stomach, and then heart.

3a. Tuesday night: Sleep ten hours after having taken two two-hour naps during the day.  Body just dead to the world.  Wondering what is wrong with me, because never been this tired in my life.  Have been depressed and tired in the past; but never this physically exhausted.  Angry because my eyes are swollen and I look like hell.  Think about buying Preparation H and slathering it around eyes to shrink the swelling.  Decide am too lazy to drive .25 miles to the Eckerd.  Figure I would kill any man I came into contact with anyway, so shouldn’t risk it.  Not sure what the homicide laws are in Pennsylvania; hoping that capital punishment isn’t legal.  Buy giant snickers downstairs at the counter of Marriott.  Not good enough.  Still feel like hell. 

4. Wednesday:  Start period.  Not too bad; think it’s going to be like last month.  Hooray!  Fly home from Pittsburgh.  Sit next to really hot guy on plane; super nice, really smart, but ten years younger than me.  Daydream about the energy a 25 year old would have, and smile the whole way home.  Getting paranoid that no one loves me, since few people are commenting on my blog.

5. Thursday: Oh my god.  I am going to die.  Take Celebrex and massive quantities of Tylenol and Ibuprofen.  Nothing.  Get heating pad out.  Turn to “third degree burn level” and shove down my pants.  Cry.  Puke.  Beg for mercy.  Change super-duper tampon and pads 17 times.  By noon.  Sit with heating pad all day.  Take two two-hour naps again.  Buy doughnuts to make self feel better.  So…. Fricken….Tired….Want….To….Die….

5a. Thursday night: Hope that cramps will subside.  Usually only last one day anyway.  Thanking god the worst is over.  9 p.m.: “The Office” is over, it’s time to go to bed, because I am dead tired, my eyes are swollen shut, and I have lost a pint of blood.  Make note to self to ask for transfusion on Friday.

6. Friday morning, 3:30 a.m.:  Wake up because blood is everywhere.  EVERYWHERE.  Run to bathroom.  Pee blood for ten seconds.  FRICKEN PAD FALLS INTO TOILET.  DAMNIT.  Close eyes and fish pad out of toilet.  DAMNIT.  Run pad to trash can.  Realize that, despite the pain, am going to have to go back to tampon since pad isn’t working.  Think about running to store to buy Depends.  Figure that might work for about two hours.  Decide am too tired and am in too much pain.  Return to bed, stick heating pad back down sweats, cry myself back to sleep.

7. Friday morning, 7 a.m.:  Can’t believe that, for two days in a row, have slept past 5:30 a.m.  Dead sleep.  Thinking that I have lost too much blood, and am worried that might actually NEED transfusion.  Cramps still there.  DAMNIT.  Let dogs out, walk to bathroom.  See blood all over floor.  Sigh.  That’s never happened before.  Make bed.  See blood covering sheets as if a murder occurred in my house overnight.  Change tampon, and see that, after 3.5 hours, I should have stuffed two of them up me earlier in the morning.  Give dogs medicine, because they are fucking messed up again. 

 So boys, when you think life is just as hard for you as it is for women, just remember what WE have to do:

1. Bleed every month.
2. Birth your children, after having been sick for 9 months.
3. Get paid $ .70 on the dollar compared to you.
4. Have to buy more clothes for work than you do; very expensive clothes.
5. Have to buy makeup.
6. Have to get hair done.
7. Have to buy “hope in a bottle” for wrinkles.
8. Have to stay in shape to be taken seriously.

And before you guys go and say, “We don’t care if you wear makeup or not, or nice clothes and shoes; you do that to yourselves”, think the following: If all women stopped wearing makeup and nice clothes, you would be shocked at how badly most of us look.  You have NO idea what it takes to stay well-groomed and looking well.  Here’s just some of it:

 1. Pluck eyebrows.
2. Wax face
3. Groom coochie
4. Shave legs constantly
5. Toenails and nails.
6. Hours upon hours at hairdresser.
7. Work out constantly.
8. Exfoliate.  A lot.
9. Moisturize skin.

And on and on and on.  And, to boot, take care of the house, work 80 hour weeks for our career, be primary caregiver of smaller children, put up with your bullshit and complaining, etc.

So don’t even go there.  You bastards.