I asked Andy to guest blog for me a couple of days ago, and she sent off something right away. I didn’t read it, I was busy. But today I knew I had to post it. And post it I did. Then I read it…..and, it totally applies to the day I’m having. I may tell y’all more about it should the fallout get worse, but we’ll see. Let’s just say this- corporate world and bloggers sometimes mix poorly. Anyway, this post is great and apropos. Thanks, Andy. I owe you one….or ten.

It’s possible Amy is the slightest bit crazy for telling me I could write about whatever I want. Her blog is now in my hands mwahahaha! (that was my evil laugh)

But I also am a little ADD. It’s like she let me loose in the Chuck E Cheese and told me to pick one game. One game? But there are so many! There’s skee ball and air hockey and the ball pit (they they still have ball pits? or did they outlaw them for fear that people were hiding heroine in the balls?) and that bopp-em game! I loved the bopp-em game. Taking that big mallet and bonking the tiny plastic rodents. I may have anger issues. And hate rodents.

Anywayyyy, so I think maybe Amy is actually getting the better end of this deal because I had a blog idea swirling around in my head, but I never write my ideas down. I just hope they stay in my ADD-addled brain (which was never ADD before the Internets, bee tee double you) until Monday or Sunday when I can find coffee shop time and write everything down. And by write, I mean type. So she’s probably getting my best material which no one would have seen anyway.

I think that’s a win.

So I was discussing with the best friend crazy lady time. (That, friends, is called a brilliant segue.) Now, I know my nickname is “the crazy lady,” but I don’t mean regular crazy (like the quirky weirdo I clearly am on a daily basis); I mean the irrational crazy which comes out in frightening bursts.

See, I had a bad morning on Wednesday. Tuesday wasn’t great either. I’ve been sick with a monster sore throat and feeling all evil PMS-y and I had to get up at the asscrack of dawn on Wednesday to take my cat to the vet.

Also: I work at home. So I don’t ever get up early. Also also: I’m an eternal insomniac. So these early mornings kick my ass.

Where was I? Oh yeah, at the ass-crack of dawn. So I set my alarm to give me time to wake up, take some Dayquil, eat some breakfast, capture the cat (who now knows when these visits are coming and hides), and drive to downtown Portland before traffic starts. Except? Oh yes. The alarm didn’t go off. Of course it didn’t. Why would it? WHY?

I wake up (by some miracle of Odin) a half an hour before her appointment, threw on clothes, captured the cat, and ran out the door. No time for eating. No Dayquil. No caffeine. Nada.

So yeah, the day didn’t start well.

It just went down from there. Every stupid thing was making me insane. Every tiny thing. No one could drive of course. I couldn’t stop coughing. I got my sweatshirt dirty when taking out the trash. I bought this tuna salad that turned out to be nasty and just about had a meltdown. Because if I could eat that nasty tuna then maybe I wouldn’t starve. STARVE! And now I can’t get the bag of tortillas open. The Universe hates me. I’m going to DIE! Right. Calm down there, crazy pants. It’s just tortillas. Not worth killing anyone over.

And the worst is when you hear yourself acting crazy but just cannot stop yourself. You’re staring down the beast and you know you shouldn’t go there, because it will win, but you just keep going, running at full speed and yelling, “TOWANDA!” (If you get that reference, you are my new best friend.)

Could any of this crazy have to do with my cold? Or the insane stress I’ve been under? Or because I should start my period in, oh, what time is it? Now? Oh hell yes it does.

Hormones are a bitch.

Look, fellas. Boyos, I know you think you know what’s what. But let me tell you, you don’t. Women hold a lot of their shit together. Yes we do. We juggle it all and we keep going. With poise and class. We rock and we still look gorgeous. But until you are a woman and have felt the crazy-making boiling concoction of hormones that rules our kind, when the crazy turns on, you need to just back away slowly while handing us chocolate and pouring some wine.

So the bestie was telling me about the first time she first had a crazy lady meltdown and could hear herself being crazy but couldn’t stop it. I think we all have those stories. And they almost all include some man who thinks it’s funny or feels the need to ask if we’re getting our periods.

Poor stupid, stupid men.

Don’t anger the beast! Don’t say anything. Shh! We know we’re crazy. We hear ourselves. Do you think pointing it out helps your cause? No. No it doesn’t. I know it’s not fair. I know, punkin. I know. Do you think we want to feel this insane? We don’t. So just appease us and then go away. Quietly. I say this for your own good. I do.

Why don’t they ever listen? You’d think that men would have developed better listening skills as an evolutionary advantage, as a survival instinct. I know many a man who almost met his death when he failed to listen to a woman.

It’s no wonder men burned women as witches for centuries. They were terrified of the crazy time. I’d curse a man too if he looked at me wrong while I’m on my period, or tried to touch my boobs, or took my chocolate. It’s no wonder. They were afraid we’d murder them all and take over the world.

Here’s the secret, though, men: we don’t want to do that. Some of us actually like you. We just don’t want you saying stupid things, looking at us wrong, touching our sore boobs, or taking our chocolate.

Andy blogs at Crazy with a side of Awesome Sauce (www.crazywithasideofawesomesauce.blogspot.com) Or on Etsy Find her on the Twitter @anydygirl. To reach her by email awesomecrazylady@gmail.com.

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