For those of you saying “This feels like a Monday”, STFU, or Tuesday Tirade

Monday was a holiday, so today, I have decided to list some outrages. This could become an everyday feature, but why share my sweetness and light every day? You could become too comfortable with that and I might have a day in which everything is less infuriating and then I’d disappoint you. So, call this the Tuesday Tirade, if you will.

Menopause, you bastard. I tell you this daily. This new symptom that reminds me that you’re squatting in my body is really fucking infuriating, though: pimples. Really? My skin has been basically clear since my hysterectomy. Now, with the death of my shrinking ovaries, you see fit to give me not one, but three blemishes, and one is right near my nostril, and THAT SHIT IS NOT PRETTY. It’s painful, too. The two on my chin aren’t too spiffy, either. Thanks for making an already mildly-distressing glance in the mirror to do light makeup an actual freak show occurrence.

You revellers (who did not read my blog to understand that Memorial Day isn’t exactly a celebratory fiesta) and your fireworks late last night freaked my dog out. Who barked at every stinking sound she heard. All night long. It startled some of my cats. Who jumped in terror and knocked things over. Thanks, you fuckers, for disrupting my ability to sleep, which is tenuous at best.

Cactus weather at the end of May in Pennsylvania? After the winter we had; the one that just kept staying….and going….and returning….and staying….well, that was unpleasant. My skin never got used to it and having hives nearly every day for months isn’t pleasant or pretty (especially now that the pimple issue is back) and begging the husband to “scratch me until I bleed” wasn’t so much a sexual fetish as it was a necessary thing to keep me from running, naked and screaming, outside to fling myself into a cooling snowbank. But really….desert weather now, already? I miss the summers where this wouldn’t happen until August. Now, by the time August arrives, I’ll be so tired of swamps under my armpits, boob sweat (having big boobs is not pleasant and lightness and I do not enjoy them despite the husband’s obvious delight in them and his preoccupation with sneaking up behind me like a sex fiend for a feel), and salt water showers from my soaked hair, that I’ll be moaning for Autumn to please get here soon. I’ll be invoking Nature, doing mystical spells, and laying, prone, on the couch with the air conditioning on high, a fan blowing directly on me, fanning myself with a (sturdy) piece of mail, my head thrown back and my arm thrown over my eyes in a gesture of weary supplication. Oh… will be pathetically glorious to behold.

Did you know that you can impale yourself on a post earring? That it can, in fact, pierce the soft skin near your heel despite its blunt end? Well, you can. True story.

Finally, all you people who got yesterday off for the holiday where we celebrate dead soldiers who are now complaining that it’s Tuesday….well, yep. Same time every week. So, really? Shut the fuck up and be miserable, like you are every other day of the week at the job you hate.

I know. I’m salty. Like the cactus sweat of a hot, summer day. From June 21- September 22nd.


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