For those who don't know me, based on the tone and content of this blog, you can probably tell that I am normally a true delight to be around. However, and I don't like to admit this because most guys and a lot of girls just think it's a cop-out for being bitchy and sometimes I agree with them but, there are often times when I am hit smack in the face with a good ol' bout of PMS. And by often I mean every two weeks for two to three days. And why do I get PMS every two weeks instead of every month like regular women? Because I am fucking lucky, that's why. And you know who else is lucky? Anyone who is anywhere near me for those two to three days.
Ok, so technically, the second time isn't actually PMS if you're going by the literal definition, it's just the same symptoms, but IT REALLY DOESN'T MATTER BECAUSE I STILL FEEL SHITTY SO WHO CARES RIGHT? Right.
So, for a couple of days every two weeks I am slightly more irritable than normal, tired, achy and sometimes a bit depressed. Sometimes I am all of those things. Sometimes I am none of those things. The beauty is that I never know until I'm there.
Today and yesterday, as it turns out, I was all of those things. And it so happened, as I was driving home from work, the Universe decided to send me a test. And that test was in the form of a giant douchebag driving behind me.
I guess buddy was in a big hurry because he was swerving in and out of the lanes and honking at people who were going too slow in his opinion and just basically being an asshole, and I was watching his speed car racing antics through my rear view mirror and, because I am also sometimes an asshole, I decided that once he got right behind me I wasn't going to let him pass. So I stayed right in line with the car beside me, which probably almost caused his head to explode, because when the car beside me sped up to the point where I could not catch him, buddy took the chance to speed up with him and slip in and cut me off so then I thought FUCK YOU dude and laid on my horn for probably about ten minutes or likely not but for much longer than was actually necessary and he slammed on his breaks and I was pretty sure he was going to get out of his car and shoot me but then, after I slammed on my breaks, he decided to keep going but instead of actually going he kept slamming on his breaks every 5 seconds or so to try to scare me and he DID scare me because every time he did it I thought for sure THIS was the time he got out of his car and killed me but I didn't want to let him know he was scaring me because HOW COULD I POSSIBLY LET SOME CRAZY PSYCHO THAT I DIDN'T KNOW THINK HE WAS SCARING ME so I continued to ride his ass until my turn came up. Did I mention it was rush hour? It was.
So, anyways, my turn came up so I went into the turning lane and then he actually slammed on his breaks again and made it look like he was going to turn in too because maybe he thought I was scared and was trying to get away and I was like I LIVE THIS WAY ASSHOLE I'M TOTALLY NOT SCARED OF YOU and for a second I actually thought of turning back out and following him some more but then I thought that maybe I would just go home.
And that decision my friends, was the decision that probably saved my life.
I think I'm just going to stay indoors until I feel better.