Kick me again, life, why don't you?

Here's a little tidbit about my ohsopersonal life:

Apparently I'm not done with this whole menopause thing.

Crap!

There I was, so serenely sailing through this period (hee!) of adjustment to this period (whee!) of hormonal stability and interesting skin changes, when BAM! Here comes another uterine sputter.

Crap.

It's been MONTHS, y'all.

It's gotten so I don't even KNOW when "something" is going to happen, and I got very quickly out of the habit of carrying around emergency supplies, and got very quickly used to LOVING the freedom from all that folderol, but NoooOOOOooo! Here comes the folderol again.

You know what? I've had 34 years of this crap. You'd think Auntie Flo would know by now that after 34 years of not ONCE being invited over to my place, she's leave me the hell alone. Auntie Flo, it would appear, is maybe not so much with the waiting for an invitation. She's persistent, I have to give her that. Still, can't she take a hint? Or maybe 34 freaking YEARS worth of hints?

I had forgotten what bloating was like, and didn't miss it.

I had forgotten what the backache was like, and didn't miss it.

I had forgotten what the maintenance was like, and for SURE didn't miss it.

And yes, I'd forgotten what the gastrointestinal side effects of Auntie Flo's visits were like, and most certainly didn't miss wondering how a dog had gotten into my house and farted the place up....

(boys? you do NOT want to question too deeply here. I'll just bet though that the girls know what I'm talking about)

The real kicker? The real kicker is the sensitivity to alcohol that comes with the advent of each visit from my dumbass Auntie Flo. One drink and I'm loopy? Pshaw, that's crazy talk! Kuh-ray-zee!! And yet, so true. It's the harbinger of all the good things to come, if by "good" you mean crampy achy bitchy bloaty things.

Crap crap crappity crap crap.

Not even my daily dose of liquor can save me.

Yeah, kick me again. It would beat the hell out of the backache.