Tag Archives: Mercury

Because Mercury.


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!”


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?


That’s how.



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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