Monthly Archives: July 2013

Dear God, thanks for the preview of the average daily temperature in Hell. And the hormones. Love, Kim.

Hellfire_Wallpaper_auoy3

Saludos from Puerto Morelos, Mexico a/k/a the chosen land for God’s latest demonstration project:

“Here’s what HELL feels like, people.  Straighten up!”

Just kidding.

It’s not even that hot here today. Only like 95 degrees with 10,000 % humidity.  I’m sure it’s more hot and more miserable somewhere else in the world at this very minute. And wherever that is, you can be sure there’s some smug person thinking “95 degrees with 10,000% humidity? Ha! Child’s play. That is the middle of winter for us. We start wearing jackets when it gets below 120 degrees.”

And to that person, I say:

“FUCK OFF”

Because I’m assuming that, even if they do live somewhere with extreme heat (but is it humid?  that is my new question….), they are not also simultaneously suffering from wicked perimenopausal HORMONES. You know, the ones that are totally unpredictable and sometimes decide to heat things up from the inside? Kind of like spontaneous combustion only instead of dying immediately, you get to stay alive and conscious and suffer through the heat.  Also, I’m  assuming that the person in question is a man. And if you’ve been keeping up, you know how I’ve been feeling about THOSE kinds of humans these days.

But seriously.  It’s pretty hot.  And it’s NOT a dry heat.

Which means I have ZERO motivation to do, well, anything.  But also, and more relevant to this discussion, I’ve had no motivation to write.  Yet here I am, apparently.  Let’s do this!

LIST OF THINGS I’VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT and/or DOING WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY BEING SUBJECTED TO EXTREME HEAT AND HUMIDITY AND HORMONES:

1.  As a preliminary matter: I know you’re not surprised that this is a list.  When was the last time I was able to post anything that wasn’t a list?  Oh wait — I guess we know when that was….  Here.  The very last thing I posted….  What is wrong with me?

2.  Is it just me, or do other people constantly wonder if they are losing their minds?  I’m pretty sure I have early onset Alzheimer’s.  Well, I was pretty sure that’s what I had, then I looked into it (on the internet, naturally) and decided that I might not have that exactly.  I mean, I have a LOT of the symptoms, but not all.  So I only practically have early onset Alzheimer’s.  Anyway.  Something is up.

3.  And I’m not kidding or minimizing Alzheimer’s disease.  It’s awful.  I really don’t want to have it.  But I do seem to forget things a lot.  Turns out some of that can be attributed to this whole perimenopause thing that I’m apparently caught up in.  Thanks again for the hormones, God.

4.  And then there’s a whole swath of my life which I can barely recall.  I call it the “Lost Decade”, but it might’ve been a bit longer than that…  But Lost Decade sounds dramatic.  I remember some things, but mostly it’s just fuzzy.  That has been really bothering me, so I looked into it and, believe it or not, actually talked to a doctor about it.  Heavy sigh.  It turns out that I can’t remember the Lost Decade very well because I was seriously overmedicating with clonazepam (like Xanax, only longer lasting).

Clonazepam is great.

I liked it, a lot.  But, apparently, you were only supposed to use it short term for acute anxiety and then you were supposed to learn other ways to deal with anxiety….. What?!  I used that drug for years and, consequently, didn’t even try to figure out how to deal with anxiety because the instant I felt even the little tingle of a teensy bit of anxiety (or any other emotion, if I’m honest)  I popped a clonazepam and numbed right back out.  Problem solved!  NOT… Anyway, it took me a full year to get off that medication and I’m still learning how to deal with anxiety/emotion without it (or any substance/person/activity, for that matter).  And the long-term effect of abusing clonazepam is (you guessed it!) MEMORY LOSS.  Apparently it interferes with the mechanism for making memories and with the mechanism for recall of memories.

5.  Heavy sigh.

6.  Once again, I’m writing about stuff that I had no intention of writing about.  At least not today.  But there it is.  I was a SUBSTANCE ABUSER.  It’s been hard to wrap my head around that and actually admit it.  Especially out loud.  And it makes me sad.  My son was growing up during those years and, although I was there physically, I certainly wasn’t all there emotionally/mentally.  Which was hard on him.  And everyone else who loves me or had to deal with me.

7.  Or maybe I’m just losing my mind because I’m getting OLD.  That’s possible, you know.  I’m practically FIFTY.

8.  And my baby will be 21 in just a few weeks…. WTF?  How does that happen?

9.  How am I almost 50 though? (I realize I’m only 48.  And a half.  But time is slippery and 50 will be here soon and then what?  Why is this freaking me out so much?)

10.  Oh.  Well.  In other news related to my early onset Alzheimer’s + HORMONES (and/or me just being a Horrible Person) – THIS will make you laugh/cringe….

Remember when I blamed Mercury for my bitchy behavior towards the Nice (well, mostly nice) Man a few weeks ago?

Well, after I wrote about what happened, I felt pretty bad (duh).  So I apologized.  And for some reason the Nice (well, mostly nice) Man forgave me.  AGAIN. (Surprise, surprise, that little episode was not the first time I had acted irrationally and unexplainably bitchy towards this particularly lucky fellow)  Which totally shocked me.

Anyway.

Almost immediately after the forgiving, the following exchange happened:

[Sitting with some friends, having wine, talking about relationships and how they are difficult under the best of circumstances, and even more difficult with cultural/language/age differences….]

Nice (well, mostly nice) Man:  “Sometimes Kim has these reactions that are crazy!  Like, it’s not normal….”

Me:  “What do you mean?” (instantly defensive and truly shocked that this has been said…)

Nice (well, mostly nice) Man:  “Seriously?” (truly shocked and a bit taken aback at the fact that I appear to be truly shocked…)

Me:  (up in arms) “What do you mean “not normal”?  What does that even MEAN?  Give me an example!” (thinking that obviously there’s some kind of weird cultural difference thing going on here, maybe the women he’s used to just aren’t allowed to have OPINIONS or something like that and he can just kiss my ass if that’s what he’s looking for because I will be DAMNED if I….”

Nice (well, mostly nice) Man:  “Kim…?  Really?” (genuinely confused and starting to wonder if I’m kidding…)

Me:  (really getting defensive now) “I’m serious.  Give me an example?  How are my reactions not normal?” (apparently I’m totally triggered by the words “not normal”)

Nice (well, mostly nice) Man:  “Sometimes you get a little bit crazy, Kim.  Like your reactions are way out of proportion to what has happened.”  (note: he’s very calm, and there is a hint of laughter in his voice, which is only pissing me off even more than being called “not normal” — which is , in itself, hilarious because, in general, I would be offended by being described as “normal”, but here we are….)

Me:  (pouting and wracking my brain for any behavior that might justifiably be called “not normal” or “crazy” and finding NO EXAMPLES…) “I have no idea what you are talking about!  (and now I’m on the verge of tears, probably because HORMONES) “And furthermore,  if I’m such a (using air quotes, because I’m an ass) “crazy bitch” why are you even hanging out with me?” (Note:  I’m the only one that said “crazy bitch”, he just said “crazy”)

Nice (well, mostly nice) Man:  (laughing, because what else could he do?) “Maybe I like the crazy bitch…”

Me:  “Hmmmmmmph!”

THIS. ACTUALLY. HAPPENED.

Yes.  In that moment, I was positively MYSTIFIED by his description of my behavior.  “How could he think that my reactions are not normal?”  Granted, wine consumption may have played a role in my failure to appreciate the humor of this situation, but it shouldn’t have been THAT hard for me to remember that I had JUST lost my shit on this poor guy, for pretty much no reason, a few days prior.

Alzheimer’s?  Hormones?  Horrible Person?

12.  And he’s still speaking to me, so I guess I have to change his name from “Nice (well, mostly nice) Man”.  To, at the very least, “Nice Man”.  Until further notice, of course.

xoxo,

kim

p.s.  OMG I GOT A CAR!!!! I can’t believe I didn’t tell you guys (fucking Mercury….) – yes, after a year of living without a car (remember that pendejo who stole it?  he’s still around and totally NOT incarcerated) I was finally able to buy one.  You’re going to laugh – I am ridiculously happy about this car, but it’s even older than the one that was stolen — it’s a 1999 Blazer — and it has a zillion miles on it and I say a little prayer every time I start the car asking her to hold together for me one more day and so far she has been perfect!  Her name is Blanquita.  And she’s mine 🙂

p.p.s.  I don’t really want to talk/write too much about the man formerly known as the Nice (well, mostly nice) Man because I might jinx it (hello) and also because there’s like a zillion reasons that it will probably never work out (whatever “work out” even means…) and I’m fully aware of all of them and still I’m kind of drawn to the fact that he hasn’t run away screaming and he doesn’t let me get away with much.  At all.  Which scares the shit out of me, but also is pretty good for me.  I think.  But seriously…. who wants to get involved with a woman on the verge of menopause?  I AM CRAZY.  He’s right!  Regardless of whether or not I was crazy before my hormones started flipping the fuck out (ummm, I probably was) I am nuts now.  My emotions are everywhere.  My body is weird.  I never know if I’m going to bleed/not bleed/ cramp/nightsweat/etc.  And I’m enormous.  Also – (WHEN DOES THE DEGRADATION OF WOMEN END, GOD??) – I’m hairy.  What could he possibly see that is at all attractive about me at this point?  I don’t get it.  And so I have a hard time trusting it.  Which is probably the exact wrong thing.

p.p.p.s.  OMG is my blog now about menopause?  How do I not have a post called “Because Hormones”?

p.p.p.p.s.  you learn something new every day — I always thought it was “racking my brain” – but the internet says it’s “wracking my brain” – huh.

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Because Mercury.

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Turns out Mercury is in retrograde.

I’m not even really sure what that means, like, scientifically, but, as a practical matter, it means that I’m totally fucked for a few weeks, and you are too, probably.

🙂

Apparently Mercury is in charge of communications and other vitally important things.  When Mercury is in retrograde, communication is wobbly, thinking is less clear, travel is difficult, mechanical things break down and frustration is rampant.  At least that’s what the “experts” say.

I believe them.

And, given what we know about Mercury in retrograde, I for one believe that, until further notice, and/or until Mercury turns direct, we are just going to have to agree that Mercury in retrograde is now an acceptable explanation for all sorts of (arguably) “bad” behavior on, well, at the very least, my part:

Why am I being an irrational man-hating bitch?  Because Mercury.

Why am I unable to converse intelligently with other human beings about everyday matters, such as the weather, sports, and the like?  Because Mercury, duh.

Why am I unable to concentrate on any one thing for more than 22 seconds?  Because Mercury, of course.

Why am I publishing a post that I haven’t really “fleshed out” and is only marginally entertaining, and quite possibly just entertaining for me?  Because Mercury, dammit!

See?  Because Mercury  is totally a thing — statement/explanation/whatever –and here are a few real-life scenarios that I believe Mercury in Retrograde is pretty much entirely responsible for:

1.  My Radical Feminist rant and related feelings of unmitigated rage against all things male (except my awesome son, who (whom?) even Mercury in Retrograde cannot tarnish, for now…).  I’m not backing off my rant entirely, I’m just acknowledging that the rage may be a tad supercharged at the moment.  Because Mercury.

2.  And the aforementioned unmitigated rage then led to this exchange on FB chat (paraphrased) with a Nice (well, mostly nice) Man (ok, he’s not the nicest guy ever, but he’s far from being a total dickhead, which is how I treated him — read on):

Nice (well, mostly nice) Man:  “Hey, I would like to see you!”

Me:  “I dunno.  Things weren’t absolutely perfect the last time I saw you.  Are you going to be a dick again?  My guess is YES…  Well  move along with your bullshit because I’M NOT HAVING IT.  I’m smarter than you, more mature than you and I don’t need you, so fuck right off and go find some stupid little slut who is entirely low maintenance and stupid and actually wants to put up with your BULLSHIT “macho” routine.”

Nice (well, mostly nice) Man:  “Ummmm? What?  Where is this coming from?”

Me:  “What do you mean, “Where is this coming from?”  Remember your little “Hey, I am not going to be sweet, I’m a “macho man” thing?  Whatever the fuck THAT means…. Have you even READ MY BLOG?  I’m sure you haven’t, because why would you?  All you care about is YOU YOU YOU.  If you had read it, you would know that I am not putting up with your male shit. EVER.  I am the LAST WOMAN ON EARTH who needs to waste her time with a self-described “macho man”…. PLEASE…Fucking men.”

[Phone rings – mostly nice man (bravely) tries to call — twice — To be honest, I am trying to get ready for work, but mostly I’m enjoying ignoring the phone and thinking “OH YAAAAA, how do you like THAT?  Sucks to be ignored, RIGHT??!”]

Nice (well, mostly nice) Man:  “OK, I just tried to call you… What is going on? Why aren’t you picking up?  What macho routine?  I made one joke about being a “macho man” — I even wrote “ha ha”?  We are in Mexico?  “Machismo”??”

Me:  “I don’t have time to talk on the phone, DICKHEAD.  (Re-reading what he wrote earlier and thinking:  Oh shit, he probably was joking about the macho thing…)  Go away.”

[15 minutes pass…I’m starting to realize that it’s possible that I’ve entirely overreacted and I’m feeling bad about my behavior, but also, strangely, a little smug about it, because FUCK MEN.)

Nice (well, mostly nice) Man:  “Hey, great blog.  Congrats.  I really would like to see you, but it sounds like that may not happen.  Take care.”

Me:  …… [Inside:  cringe – maybe I was a leetle harsh… Because Mercury?]

3.  And then the unmitigated rage, still unmitigated, led to this little scene:

Email from a professional colleague who is, you guessed it, MALE:

“We can meet at my office tomorrow at 4 p.m. to discuss the presentation. Please confirm.”

My reaction:

“WTF? [shoving my laptop away and dramatically pounding my fist on the conference room table!] YOU are NOT the boss of ME, asshole.  Why would I come to YOUR office?  I have an office, too, or didn’t you think women could have offices?  Why can’t we meet at my office? And who says I’m available tomorrow?  [NOTE:  I did.  In an earlier email I  had indicated that I was available all week and that my schedule was entirely flexible….] and why 4 p.m.? I didn’t move to fucking Mexico to work LATE…  Who the fuck do you think you ARE?  Fucking ordering me to your office?  I am a LAWYER.  I put up with male lawyer bullshit for years, stupid dick-swinging men who treat all women like SECRETARIES.  I AM NOT YOUR SECRETARY and you are NOT pushing me around little man….. This. Is. Not. Happening.”

What I actually wrote back:

“Great!  See you then!”

BECAUSE EVEN WITH MERCURY IN RETROGRADE, I’M A PROFESSIONAL, PEOPLE.

4.  And, finally, an event not directly related to the still unmitigated rage, but probably entirely related to Because Mercury happened like THIS:

I come into the house from the office and it’s hot and humid and muggy and all I want to do is get my work clothes off and a loose fitting mu-mu like garment on ASAFP and I take off my dress and then I can’t get my damn bra undone….. I’ve done this a MILLION times?  Why can’t I get it undone?  Eventually I realize that my fingers aren’t event touching the right part of the bra?  It’s like I’m having a STROKE or something….  I finally actually LOOK at what I’m doing and I see that my bra is on INSIDE OUT.  Yes, I’ve worn it inside out all day long.  I don’t even know how I got it on???  Only women will understand this — I must have used opposite hands in clasping it together this morning?  WHAT??  How does that even happen?  How did I not notice how uncomfortable and INSIDE OUT this bra was all day long?

BECAUSE MERCURY.

That’s how.

xoxo

kim

p.s.  do you guys read the bloggess??  if you don’t, you should.  she is hilarious and she wrote a post about the term “because wine” which, i’m sure, influenced my “because MERCURY” explanation for the weirdness of the past few days.  also, she’s famous and she’s sometimes stabby and depressed, just like the rest of us.  check her out.

p.s.s.  i’m not saying that i regret writing the radical feminist rant, i just think my rage is somewhat MAGNIFIED at the moment and that it’s entirely due to MERCURY and not hormones.

p.s.s.s.  i’m not saying hormones are not an issue, because clearly they are.  i’m pre-menopausal, peri-whatever-pausal and i just want my uterus to be GONE already and to stop fucking with me.  it’s hard enough to be fucking human without also being a human with raging hormones and have things that used to be like clockwork and easy turn into horrifying events occurring whenever they fucking FEEL like it and make you think you’re DYING from blood loss (sorry, gross, but fuck it – fact of life) and/or you’re spontaneously combusting.

p.s.s.s.s.  here’s a handy website to check when things are weird and nothing works and you wonder what the fuck is going on — is mercury in retrograde? check here: http://www.ismercuryinretrograde.com/ — it won’t fix anything, but you might feel better.

p.s.s.s.s.s.  hey, i just wrote another blog post!  yay!

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