Tantrum Warehouse
Tact Free Since 2003

Tuesday Rage

Am being the most unreasonable person ever today.

To preface this, I have to say I have some seriously ugly PMS right now.

I am not one of those people who uses PMS to excuse bad behavior (oh except I do use it as an excuse to eat greasy fatty food) I just know that I am a lot less reasonable when I have PMS.

I am about twelve hours late for my period and believe me that is plenty.

To start off, I hate my job. I don't have a bad job, I work with people I like and I am paid fairly. I know that is not such a bad deal. But its boring and petty and I have a horrible relationship with my boss. These are not good qualities.

So work puts me in a bad mood. Work while I have PMS makes me bitter and a little angry.

Saturday is my birthday. For whatever reason something always happens before my birthday so that my husband and I are broke. This year, he doesn't have a job. So we don't get to go out even for dinner. And he has school all day. This is not his fault of course.

But then the kinky-sex-loving-Jehovah's-Witnesses are having a block party. I like my neighborhood. People are friendly, its safe. Its everything a neighborhood should be. But all the women look the same and have kids the same age and talk about tupperware at parties. And I don't have kids, don't like tupperware and don't really like block parties. I am basically a shy person and I am forced to make chatty small talk with women that I don't have anything in common with at work all day I really don't want to do it at home. Especially not (in a BRATTY voice) on my birthday. I would rather do shots of dog piss with Charlie Manson.

I already know what will happen. I will go. Be bored with the women. Sit in a corner by myself for an hour. Until another bored soul (usually a guy) sits next to me and we talk until his wife has a shitfit because of course at neighborhood parties you are segregated by gender and men are allowed to talk about beer, sports, tits and their lawns and women are allowed to talk about their weight, babies and vacuum cleaners.

Can't imagine why I don't want to go.

But I probably will because MLH really wants to go. And he will feel guilty if he goes and I don't. And I will feel guilty if he stays home with me while his buddies are having fun. I would almost rather go to this party than feel guilty.

But the whole thing makes me very angry at him. And I am aware that this is unreasonable. But it pisses me off that he can't ever understand why I don't like these things. Even though I always have a miserable time and usually end up leaving because some one has pissed me off so much.

This is a nice neighborhood. But people here have different values than us. At our first neighborhood function one family let their fifteen year old daughter drink. And then she drove off to meet her boyfriend. This is same family (who I actually do like) who the father came to our last party and suggested that the neighborhood do a wife swap while he stared at my breasts. He stayed until three that morning (hours after everyone else had left) and even then I had to physically make him leave. He once told me that I "had a hot ass."

Another guy told me that he moved out of the city because it was full of gays and lesbians. Except he used terms for gays and lesbians that I am very uncomfortable even typing. He then told me all about how all the women in Seattle are cunts and whores. Um I am from Seattle.

The women at these functions ask me every ten minutes when we are going to have a baby. They are all in their late twenties and early thirties (or older). I am going to be twenty-five. When I say we want to wait at least five more years before we have kids they look at me like I am an alien with a penis, a vagina and seven breasts.

I am sure they are all lovely people. I just don't have much in common with them. And I don't have a lot of free time and I prefer to spend my free time with people that I like.

I wonder if Charlie is free for shots of piss? That could be plan B for my birthday.

6:18 p.m. :: comment ::
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