FANTASTIC FLASHBACK FRIDAY FUNNESS!

Welp since most everyone is into spookiness this week, this is about as spooooooky as I get!

I AM CAUSING YOU TO FLASHBACK!

Hehehehhehhehe

What in the what do I mean you ask? Well, in case this is your first time around these parts, or if you just didn't pay attention, get the memo, really care in the first place...um...I am dedicating Fridays to re-posting a post that, based on the comment numbers, wasn't read by um, anyone, OR they are sooooooo old 'cause my blog was sooooooo new that they weren't read by anyone. Hmm. Moving on...

So here now I present to ya'all...

FANTASTIC FLASHBACK FRIDAY FUNNESS! (echo! echo! echo!)

AAAAAAAAAAAA! Scared yet? Hope not...it's the same cat from last week. You should be used to it by now.

So, I had trouble deciding, but since I look like I'm in a scary costume in this picture, it fit the weekend. Have a fun, safe weekend everyone and, enjoy!!

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Hey Bruce, It's Chocolate

So I crashed into bed last night, and managed to prop myself up on my pillow, as hubby turned on the DVD so we could watch the latest arrival from Netflix: The Hulk.

The NEW The Hulk. Not the one with the other people…you know? I get confused, too.

So despite that, the movie fits my criteria VERY well. There was no real plot (actually there were HUGE chunks of plot connectors missing, which is OK when you have no plot) LOTS of explosions (of course they are selective explosions-just because you have gas pouring out of a gas tank with trillions of sparks around doesn’t mean you’ll blow up!). And, there were monsters, car chases, people screaming and running in terror, etc…all good stuff.

Then, I connected with The Hulk.

At the end of the movie, when he was fighting the Mutant/Half Dinosaur/Half Hulk guy, there were two poignant (yes, I said poignant) moments where the camera panned in on Hulky and, he sighed. Yes, he sighed, like, “WHY do I have to deal with this AGAIN?”

THAT’S what is making him so angry! He's just irritated about having to do the same thing, over and over! Suddenly, on the inside, I was like, “yeah Hulk! I know! Why DO you have to pound Mutant Dinosaur Hulk into the ground AGAIN with the helicopter? Why do I have to do ANOTHER load of laundry?”

How I see it, is Hulk just has a bad BAD case of PMS.

It’s like this.

I am going through my day, minding my own business. I have broken up about 50 WWF-like fights between my kids and I have administered 8,245 snacks. We have covered math, science, and reading for school, and I have done the dishes 423 times in the past three hours, and folded 98 pairs of pants. My eyes are puffy and I am little more tired than usual. I sit down periodically only to be interrupted by a request or the buzzing of some irritating appliance, signaling me to finish my chores. Once that’s done, I am craving potato chips and salsa drowned in vinegar. Something is happening…

Early evening rolls around and I am becoming “snippy”. I can only do everything so many times in a day anyway, but now I feel like the hairs on the back of my neck are standing up and I have a pit in my stomach. Every question asked of me is answered with an ascending growl that causes the inquisitor to ask another question, which is, “what is wrong with you?”

Suddenly, I am a clumsy mess of “fricks” and “friggins” and “FOR THE LOVE!” exclamations, as I gave up swearing like a sailor YEARS ago, but I still have that inner agitation that used to accompany it. In the pit starts a raging fire. My head starts to pound like a bass drum. I can feel my lips curling and my muscles tensing and twitching, and that familiar lump sits in my throat. My stomach starts to bloat and the elastic on my pajama bottoms stretches to capacity…

Frantically I run to the calendar and check the dates. Yep, PMS has arrived, and there is NO going back!

Unfortunately it’s dinner time and PMS has infiltrated every vein, every mitochondria, every fiber of my being, and, in this state of mind and physical distress, it is downright dangerous for me to be in the kitchen. Now as The PMS Momster, I am:

-slamming doors, pots, pans, sharp knives, and my head against the wall
-burning various parts of my hands
-spilling food on the floor, and my feet
-burning and melting plastic utensils on the stove coils
-screaming “FRICK”, “FRIGGIN”, and “FOR THE LOVE!” every three seconds
-crying
-looking upwards, raising my fists in the air, and screaming
-burning the food
-banging on the stove as the coils stop working, again, just to mock me
-yelling to the kids that their “thinking” is too loud and to knock it off
-falling into a tirade when poor hubby asks me ANY question like, “what’s for dinner?”, “what’s that?”, “when will we eat?”, and “what day is it?”
-throwing dinner on the table, 25 minutes late, burned and mutilated, with threats that everyone better like it, or else...
-so frustrated by the time dinner is done that I can’t even eat it, so I go into the bathroom with some chocolate and cry while I stuff my face. With each bite the fire dwindles, the lips relax, the tears dry, the pseudo-swearing stops, and my muscles smooth out, but my stomach still stretches out my pj’s…it’s ok. Chocolate is worth it.

Hulk, chocolate is the antidote…