PMS: What. The fuck.

I swear to God, being a woman is absurd sometimes. It isn’t enough that we have to carry our vaginas with us everywhere and therefore eternally concern ourselves with whether when that brooding guy hanging out on the other side of the subway platform late at night approaches we should run away or start screaming and whether if we started screaming anyone would come. No, we also have to contest with the mother of all hormonal irregularities (barring, you know, those horrible congenital ones that are actually fatal or whatever). You know what I’m talking about.

PMS, which hereafter shall solely be referred to as The Syndrome, is aka:

Pass My Shotgun
Psychotic Mood Shift
Perpetual Munching Spree

Puffy Mid-Section
Pimples May Surface
Provide Me with Sweets
People Make me Sick
Pardon My Sobbing
Pass My Sweatpants
Pissy Mood Syndrome
Plainly, Men Suck
Potential Murder Suspect

Seriously though, it’s absurd. Absolutely, positively absurd. Every month for at least 3 days – that is, EVERY SINGLE MONTH – The Syndrome turns me into an irritable (we’re talking ANGRY), lonely, sexually frustrated (OK, maybe that’s more than just once a month), angsty, self-righteous, pissy, crying bitch. I basically alternate between thinking that I’m a worthless human being who should probably just kill herself right now, or that other people are worthless human beings who should probably just kill themselves right now… or I’ll do it for them.

Let me just TREAT you to some of the thought patterns that haunt my feverish estrogen-saturated brain:

• “I HATE you, post office lady. Like literally, I feel rage right now.”

• “If those fucking people don’t stop fucking laughing I swear to God I’m going to fucking scream.”

• “My life sucks.” (note: there is actually nothing wrong with my life).

• “My job sucks.” (note: there is actually nothing wrong with my job).

• “My boyfriend sucks.” (note: if boyfriend doesn’t exist, this one is almost always replaced with, “Why don’t I have a fucking boyfriend!?” or, “Why am I not having fucking sex?!”)

Oh, and let’s not forget the ubiquitous “You’re fat and ugly” thought-toads that barge in without fail right at the beginning of the PMS cycle and take up permanent residence for the duration of The Syndrome, squatting directly over and therefore blotting out ANY and all joy that could even possibly be derived from one’s appearance at this time.

I do realize that the idea of this woman actually looking bad when bloated is retarded.

By the way, God, what the FUCK is with making women ACTUALLY bloated and have ACTUAL acne at the SAME TIME that they can’t exile the “You’re fat and ugly” loop that plays on repeat every time they look in mirrors at this time of the month, such that when you THINK you’re fattest and ugliest, you actually get impermanent but seemingly fucking permanent PHYSICAL CONFIRMATION of that fact? How is that fair??

But I digress. Here is the worst thought pattern that plays on repeat:

“Wow, that was kind of a nasty thing I just said to him/her (or look I just gave him)… I’m just so fucking IMPATIENT. And angry. I’m so ANGRY! I’m annoyed and I’m upset and I’m an emotional mess – why does anyone ever want to be with me – friends or otherwise?? What the hell?? I’m never going to have the relationship I want because no one is going to want to deal with the hot mess that is me – and they shouldn’t have to. I wouldn’t blame them. I’m awful, I should just die. This is stupid. What’s the use? I’m worthless and I’m never going to get what I want. It’s way too far away and I’m stupid and worthless and useless. And a bitch. Oh, my God, I’m a bitch. Shit. I feel so guilty. I’m a total raving bitch, and I can’t control it! Awful, awful, awful. Bitch, bitch, bitch. I just want to curl up and die.”

This is definitely the outfit I wear when I'm PMS-ing.

… and on and on. On repeat. For at least 3 days. Did I mention this is an event that occurs MONTHLY?

The thing is, as funny as this sounds, it actually FEELS REAL. It really feels like it’s the end of the world, like nothing is worth doing, like everything sucks and you’re never going to feel better. It’s not like this for 72 hours straight, necessarily, but you gotta admit that it’s pretty fucking weird that EVERY MONTH nearly every single woman on the planet goes just a little bit nuts.

And just in case you think I’m exaggerating on the little bit nuts, no kidding, this shit is real: one academic study found that 46% of all admissions in psychiatry ward and 53% of attempted suicides were during menstruation or pre-menstruation (Dalton, 1959). Do you know how MANY that is?

Know what else that same guy discovered? In a study of female prison inmates, of those who had committed violent crimes – we’re talking assault, murder, etc. – a full 62% had done so either while they were pre-menstrual or at the end of a menstrual phase (apparently PMS symptoms resurface then, which I only knew was anecdotally true but is apparently backed up by hard science).

Bottom line? Having PMS is like drinking: it doesn’t MAKE you do something, it just tips you over the edge so that that thing that would have just stayed a fantasy (or just ‘really bad idea’), becomes a reality. Sometimes one that is seriously detrimental to either your own or someone else, or someone else’s life.

Oh yeah, and since this is a blog about sex and dating, I should probably put in something about that … uh, if you’re dating someone who has PMS (ha, ha.), my advice is to TRACK IT, motherfucker. Your woman might not be aware of it, but you’re gonna wanna KNOW. And you wanna know like, ahead of time. Know when those 3 days are, and just fucking stay away, dude. Just stay away, it’s not worth it. Seriously.

But also know that if you can manage to hang in there and put up with her whining and bitching and complaining about everything (including you), what she really, REALLY wants is a massage. And a hug. And to be told that she’s beautiful even if she’s bloated, and that you’re not gonna bail just because she temporarily turned into a raving lunatic.

And – I know this sounds trite, but it’s so fucking true, it really is – a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. Now, your woman’s preference may not match my own but just in case my future mate is out there somewhere reading this, please know, darling, that while some preferences tend to come and go, this is one that’ll never change, and it really is the way to my heart:

Chocolate Fudge Brownie, baby. Chocolate Fudge Brownie.

Vixen Fact: According to Susan Lark, MD, director of the PMS Self-Help Center in Los Altos, Calif., having sex with orgasm relieves menstrual cramps because the vigorous muscle action moves blood and other fluids away from congested organs.

VIXEN LINK OF THE WEEK: Funny Euphemisms

Especially check out number 6…