Thursday, January 20, 2011

Fuh Q

Whoever raided and subsequently devoured my entire stash of chocolate is gonna get kicked in the eye and punched in their reproductive organs. Just gon’ take my ish and then go about their business like everything is everything. Psh, no.
Ugh. I’ve been more or less out of it, suffering from the annoyingly painful, semi-monthly effects of my period 1, all week, smh. I’ve been moodier than usual, annoyed by everything and everyone, bloated like a muhfucka and prone to insanely random, utterly nonsensical crying jags.
The other day, I was listening to music and beating my high score on Bejeweled 3 filling out job applications online when I burst into tears for no effing reason.
I mean, don’t get me wrong or anything, a new job 2 would rather amazing, I can’t eem lie, but I assure you, it’s not somethin’ that I would typically cry over. The music I was listening to at the time 3 couldn't have possibly triggered my random ass crying.
And these weren’t pretty, Miss Universe accepting her crown and superficial fame. Nope. These were screw-face, eyes all red, it hurts to breathe, bawlin’ like a bitch tears, smh.
Fuck kinda hyper hormonal shit is that?

1 or, as it’s affectionately known here in Chez Ren: “That week where I’m all, ‘Damn you to Hell and back for this shit, Eve! Didn’t nobody tell yo’ ass to eat the fruit from the tree, heffa! Where' the hell is my Midol, gotdammit?!’”. This is a very stressful time for me and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t judge me for my lack of eloquence, please and thank you.

2 If I have to spend another semester tutoring and correcting, properly citing and typing papers for college students, I’ll go crazier than I already am. It’s bad enough that my methods of teaching my Psych students the difference(s) between negative and positive  reinforcement include conducting mini-experiments where I reward them with fresh baked cookies and/or punish them by throwing things at them for wrong answers. Don’t judge me; I get results. Dammit.
3 “Real Nigga Roll Call” inspires me to do a lot of things—buss a couple heads; knuck cuz gotdammit, I’m buck and shake my imaginary dreads chief among them—but crying like I just found out Santa isn’t real and that Ray-Ray has been fuckin’ that ho Sharquinetta and I had to find out from that skanky sloppy slorebucket Eggplant Peaches after she called me to borrow money again isn’t one of them.

No comments: