Tantrum Warehouse
Tact Free Since 2003

Fucking PMS. Fucking Pants.

I have severe PMS. I have the "I am so sad and so fat that I just want to lay around and eat ice cream until I become to fat to leave my house" kind of PMS not the uncontrollable rage kind.

I think J would prefer the uncontrollable rage. He found out last night that I only have two pairs of pants. That I have been wearing all summer. Because the ones he ruined earlier this summer are the only other pairs I have (to be fair I do have so wool pants but can't wear those now can I?). He wigged. Drug me to the mall. Where I proved to him that there are no pants in the store I work for that fit me and are cute and comfortable. We even went to our discount division. But it's impossible. I want low rise (but no ass crack low) with a slightly flared leg that drapes. Something that is fitted but not tight. Everything is either hootchie or is high-waisted and taper-legged. There was nothing that made me magically look like Gwenyth Paltrow. Everything made me feel a little pre-surgery Carnie Wilson. Bitter.

Had a good day with my mother even though we had similar issues while shopping. And then went over to Keith and Tiffany's for a while last night. J built Keith a new computer and Tiffany and I actually found common ground to talk about. I have always liked her but we really don't have much in common. However, we discovered that we are both disgruntled employees! This provided us hours of bitching entertainment.

Dreading work in the morning. Not only do I not have anything to wear but I am sure it will be very tense. Fairly certain that one or two people will be fired this week (not me and not Monica. These two people have really asked for it but still, very stressful for the rest of us.

Off to watch the football game. Wish me luck.

1:05 p.m. :: comment ::
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