Another fun game of “Period or Plague?”

“Are you there, Google? It’s me, Smug. Are swollen glands normal during a woman’s menstrual cycle? This is new for me.”

“Hi, Smug. Of COURSE they are! Isn’t womanhood wonderful?”

…Well, fuck you, Google. (Nah, I’m just playin’, baby, I love you.)

#SwollenSingleton

Auntie AmericAnne’s

OK, I don’t really enjoy malls, but if it’s where you insist on keeping my hormonal Bat-Signal… 

 And yes, I absolutely dipped those little buttery bastards in additional cheese sauce. LIKE AN AMERICAN.

For serious reals.

Via The Mary Sue: Jessica Williams Has Some Better Suggestions for Women and Money Than Putting Their Faces on It

I am why I cannot have nice things. 

Shopping for dishes and realizing I will never be a fine china type. $140 per 5-piece place setting? Oh, OK. I’ll get right on that, Kate Spade. See also: blow me. 

I need to buy dishes because I’m a giant, spazzy klutz and I’ve broken most of mine. Even if someone else bought them for me, on the cold day in hell I ever get married and have a registry, I just can’t be trusted. That’s all I need is to break a teacup and envision $28 of Great Aunt Millie’s hard-earned retirement money in tiny shards on my kitchen floor. 

I am the person for whom they invented Corelle. 

I’m really NOT a terrible person…probably…

From the department of “I’m going to hell”…

I just said something looked “more forced than buttsex on an altar boy.” 

You’re welcome. 
(Does it need to be said that I don’t actually find child molestation funny, nor do I have any qualms about religion? I did not invite that metaphor into my brain — I’m not sitting here thinking of pedo jokes as a habit. But I did think it was too good not to share. If you like, just substitute ME for the altar boy, because I don’t want that nonsense in my ass, either.)

Working out my issues

Doctor’s orders to exercise more came not a moment too soon. First, it’s 100-and-ball-sweat degrees outside, so I’ve been living in dresses, and the insides of my thighs look like I have fucking scabies. (And there’s still a whole lotta East Coast summer to go.)

But also, someone just sent me photos from the family barbecue — there’s one of me holding Baby Cousin, and it looks like I’m ready to birth his next playmate. Nope. Nooope. 

(I mean, I did get hit on that day, so I couldn’t have looked THAT bad. But dude also seemed very surprised I didn’t have kids, so maybe I just have a stereotypical “Mom Bod” now? Outstanding.)

“I’m just gonna lie down and listen to country music. The music of pain.”

I don’t know how it’s even possible I’ve never heard this song before, probably because country usually isn’t my angst. But oh, I am downloading this immediately and singing the SHIT out of it. There might even be a playlist, or as we fogies call it, a mix tape.