Onward and upward, right? I’m such a basketcase right now (I’m blaming hormones – probably rightly so) – I was just at the grocery store and a blonde little boy an aisle over mashed his finger in his cart whilst sitting under it. He did that pain cry and his mother unstuck his fingers but he needed to be picked up and he kept howling. Long story short, IT MADE ME CRY, TOO. Gawd. That’s so embarrassing. I think I’d rather have hot flashes. I’m going to go drink mass quantities of alcohol to soothe it all away. Just as soon as I candy these lemons somebody brought me. Lots of lovely fragrant meyer lemons.
Short buzzword story: Somebody gave one of our buzz-word BS speaking lobbyists a framed, glassed picture of two dimes on a plain background. They were scotchtaped on. Pair a dimes, get it?
I love this one today, as I am all about menopaws right now.
When you give up looking for a husband/wife/partner and get a pet instead.
Nominated by Jacqui Scarff
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Apparently I’m not the only one who thinks they’re going through puberty at 50, to wit:
An addendum to my July 26 post:
My CRS* Syndrome is worse than ever. If I remember something 5 seconds after I hear or read it, it’s a fucking miracle. For someone who has had a near photographic memory for a large part of her life, this is a severe situation. I’ve never had to TRY to remember something. I don’t know how to go about it! Isn’t that bizarre?
It’s been bad for a few years, but in the last few months it’s affecting my job. I haven’t told anybody what’s going on, but perhaps they are smart enough to figure it out. I’m going to have to become one of those people who leave yellow sticky notes everywhere. Added to the godawful mess that is my office and workbench, it will be hard to find me when someone comes to the door. Hmmm….. Maybe this isn’t so bad after all.
*Can’t Remember Shit
Great, I’m going through puberty again. I swear I feel the same in a lot of ways, at least as much as I remember. But at 50 years old it’s not like everything is new again, know what I mean?
My armpits are suddenly stinky. My periods are flaky. On and off I’m horny as a two-peckered billy goat. When I’m not horny, I’m crying. Nice! Sometimes there isn’t much transition between the two. Sometimes they happen at the same time.
At any given moment I could be saying, “OMG, those kids are so cute BOO HOOOOO!” with tears streaming down my cheeks and then I’ll get pissed off because I’m so emotional, followed by a quick look around for my husband because getting laid or at least masturbating has suddenly become a priority. It’s been fun at work.
I’ll be watching The Dog Whisperer and Cesar gets a bad dog to lay down and “BOOHOOOOHOOOHOOO HE’S SO GOOD BOOHOOHOOOHOO” and then, “Hey, Bob, what are you doing right now?”
Oh, and don’t forget, suddenly the metabolism slows to a crawl. I might as well pour the damned [insert booze of choice here] on my damned belly.
How many years does this shit last, you say? I looked it up on Kaiser’s website. Two to eight years, people. This could be a long ride on an unbalanced cart.
Please, God, let me get through the Project From Hell at work without killing someone or storming out and PLEASE don’t let the project drag out longer than the menopause.
Where did that mellow IT Manager person go?
My advice to the people entering this dark realm: Be afraid. Be very afraid.