premenopause

All posts tagged premenopause

A rotary phone with a squiggly long cord

Published November 20, 2012 by Sandee

I’m half of a hundred, I’m free.  I just told a guy that I had a Facebook crush on him.  Would I have been too cautious to say this at twenty-five?  I don’t know because that was the last century.  Facebook hadn’t been invented yet.

So would I have been able to tell this same guy face-to-face that I had a crush on him?   Would I have been able to tell him during a rotary phone conversation — by Pony Express?   I’m such a silly dewy – Pony Express! Ahaha!

But I don’t even know if I would have used any of these modes of communication for conveying a crush, because like I said, it was a Facebook crush, a different animal.  I haven’t seen this guy since he was a kid either.

But generally I think I’d tell a guy I had a crush on him.  I’m bold if I have a hankering for you.  I’m possessed by my hormones then and you should hear some of the stuff coming out of my mouth.  I should have been a dude, I’ve got so much swerve.

There are many things I feel more confident saying nowadays, and not just because of premenopause hormones – speaking of hormones.  I’m on the planet half a century and have been through more.  My theories have been tested and proven to work.

It gets better.  I hear we can turn off that filter completely and, you know, let it fly.  Like grandma.  She says what she wants.  You should’ve heard what she said when I told her I kissed a boy dressed like a girl.  It was absolutely vile what she said.  I laughed two days.

That’s why I don’t want to visit her now because I’ve nearly shaved my head.  She WILL say something about it and I WILL say something back.  That’s how we roll.  But she know I luv huh.

At the half century mark I’m just warming up.  Protect your heads.  No more hemming and hawing, beating around the bush, no sugar-coating or pretty euphemisms. With time running out, my language will be condensed.  There will be nuggets of truth flying in the air hitting people in the head.  Who said getting old wasn’t any fun?

A Pot of Boiling Oil in the 9th Circle of Hell

Published June 22, 2012 by Sandee

 

Some of you may have read my post about the shriveled bat that I tried forcibly helping down the steps.  While I actually didn’t force-help Methuselah down the steps, I should have backed off when she said she could crawl to the banister by herself.  To give a summary of that post, ‘blibbity, bop, clop, cloppity, clack, crack’ is the sound we made when we both fell after she linked her arm into mine to accept my ‘forced help’.  I had asked if she was hurt, if she needed an ambulance – no and no she said.  Frankly I thought the shit was kind of funny.  Eh.  But it seems now that this woman is blaming me for her fall — yes, one might perceive that it was my fault, if they want to look at it that way.  This woman had become friendly with me, told me all these stories– so I was concerned when I saw her trying to get down the stairs.  A few days ago I helped another old woman off of the bus — I will never help another old person again, unless they beg!  This old woman is indeed a devious person who will in a matter of minutes, as she’s 200 years old, die and be relegated to a pot of boiling oil in the 9th circle of hell.  This is all I’ll say.

On a day of hormonal fluctuation and premenopausal body morphing issues, I feel like a big fat dumbass who should have known better.  But guess what?  I was the only one who got the final Jeopardy answer — Taj Mahal bitch!