Read This or I’ll Slap You
I’m hormonal as hell.  Menopause sucks scissors. I’m hot flashing and night sweating and crying and bitching and yelling and blaming and wanting to kill something. I’m fat and bloated and hot and cold and horny and you better not touch me and then I’m happy and sorry and apologizing and crying and eating all the chocolate and drinking all the beer and wine and crying more. I want your attention and you better give it to me but you better leave me the hell alone if you know what’s good for you after you give me more chocolate and wine and tell me that I don’t look fat and that’s an order. I love you all.

General Admiral CEO Diva
He came to the nurse’s desk and demanded to know, “How many people have put their fingers on my clothes since I came to the hospital?!  Cops, doctors, nurses…I demand an answer!” Disheveled and unkempt, hair cut in an unusual fashion and sporting a strong body odor, Bradley Coffey did his delusional best to get the attention of the nurses on Sunday morning. “Brad, we’re washing your clothes for you.  They were soaked and growing mold.  We’ll give back whatever you can have after they’re dry,” I informed him. “They’re my special uniform!” he bellowed.  He now had the attention of a combination of about eight other patients and st

Sunny Day Haiku
Sunshine bathes the world Skyward reaching arms and smile Bird poop on my face

Bite Me
Bite me.  Now, there’s a phrase for you.  A lot of people say it.  It’s usually said as a way to tell someone to “go to hell” or some such commentary.  I’m very fond of saying it, myself.  I’ve often wondered why I use it, because it seems I am obviously asking for harm to befall me.  Last night’s menopausically challenged sleep cycle left me with a few hours to contemplate my navel, the meaning of life and the phrase “bite me”. I imagined myself to be the recipient of this offer, rather than the giver.  I pictured someone I potentially didn’t like telling me to do this.  I tried to imagine going up to

A Conundrum: Tampons and Senior Citizen Discounts
I made a quick (OK, maybe not so quick) stop at Kohl’s today.  I needed more fat girls’ clothes and a few decorative odds and ends. I went to the check out, where the adorably cute little cashier asked me, “Are you eligible for today’s senior citizen special?”  I stopped cold and dead in my tracks.  No one has ever asked me that before.  In fact, before I gained this blasted weight, no one could ever believe I was as old as I am.  I asked her how old one had to be to qualify (hey…it’s a discount, right?), and she admitted she didn’t know.  I was fairly certain that fifty-three wouldn’t qualify and let