It's Ph.d.'s fault

What happens to women sometimes? I AM one, and I certainly can't figure it out. I am not an avid blog reader, but the few I read and love have such a fabulous mix of wit, insight, sarcasm and fun. I WANNA BE LIKE THAT. Instead, I think I end up sounding like some washed up old crow biotching about the world, when instead, my hope is to be cute and funny.

The last two days have been hell.......absolute hell. Ask Mr. Perfectly and Perfectly's sons!! Oh, and Jakki, one of the BFF's......I woke up and someone other than me; someone possessed had taken over my brain! Seriously.....

I realize I'm older and I realize that the normal course of business at my age is to begin to experience some strange things, but waking up POSSESSED is just not right. At the peak of my hormonal ride I went to a football game and nearly CRIED because my hot dog had cheese in it. CHEESE for goodness sakes (apparently a rogue package of cheese dogs got mixed in with the regular ole' beef franks, and lucky me got one of the 8 in the huge roaster full of hot dogs); and because the guy behind me was chewing tobacco and SPITTING into a gatorade bottle.....hello, could you not see me being repulsed?; or because the lady in the row next to me screamed like you WOULD NOT BELIEVE (as she does at every game), because it embarrasses me to think that maybe somehow I look nutty like she does when I cheer the game on!! ; Oh and said lady stunk like dirty hair and stale cigarette smoke, and Perfectly's dad DIDN'T NOTICE and thought I was nuts for saying I smelled it!!!

I wanted to cry that my dad and in-laws left early and I was all by myself, even though just earlier in the evening I didn't even WANT to be with them, because, of course, they annoyed me; or that my husband didn't telepathically KNOW that they'd left and come up from the field from his passion of taking pictures to sit with me; or because said BFF Jakki didn't come and talk to me during the game. Huh. The horror. Dont'cha feel sorry for me?

Oh, I forgot to mention that all my childhood compadres are highly successful--a Ph.d., and architect, and another Ph.d. that I hadn't spoken to since high school and just saw his website.....wow....I'm just a glorified clerk. Oh, and that all the cute, popular football mom's don't like me because I'm fat.

Ok, I think you get it by now. Irrational, insane, OUT OF MY FREAKING MIND......and apparently it's because I'm 41 and 'getting to that age' where the body and the mind duel to the death.

I'm done with this. I get cranky at times, and I realize I'm not behaving normally, but this was WHACKED. I. AM. NOT. JOKING. Where are the drugs. Just give them all to me now and tell me the schedule in which I should take them to prevent this from EVER occurring again.

Actually, I blame Ph.d. (the first one mentioned in the list of accomplished friends since she's my dearest friend ever---since 6th grade). She was telling me the evening before HELL hit that she's been experiencing 'hot flashes'. She cursed me. She's the one that set this psychological firestorm.

So, Ph.d., the next time you get a hot flash, KEEP IT TO YOURSELF, because I don't think family and friends will be so gracious next time.