Stick a Fork in Me, I am Done with Political Correctness!

Am I alone in thinking that we have taken political correctness, or being PC, too goddamn far? We've spent so much time and effort on being worried about offending others, we've lost our sense of reality. Why are we so concerned? During any given day, do you truly believe that the folks you are trying not to upset are wandering around, holding themselves tightly, brows furrowed, searching for ways to make sure your fragile little ego remains stroked and feeling safe? If you do, you are an asshole. In all likelihood, they couldn't give a fetid shit less. Most of us go about our days worrying about number one...maybe a few family members, but that is as far as it tends to stretch. Yet, one person calls someone Oriental instead of Asian and you'd think the world stopped spinning on its axis! What the fuck is wrong with us?

Here's where we go horribly wrong with our struggle towards the land of PC Perfection...making shit up in an attempt to not offend. The other day, on the news, I heard the newscaster use the term "Muslim-American" to describe the shooters in the San Bernadino tragedy. First of all, are we worried about offending people that went into a facility and killed a large group of people? People with zero regard for human life...these are the people whose feelings we are trying to protect? What the fuck am I missing here? Why the hell do we care so much? Fear? Fear that if we use the wrong term, someone will hurt us? I refuse to live that way. And if you choose to have a paranoid existence, leave me the hell out of it. Back in the day, oh around 1978 or so, do any of you remember being concerned about how to describe someone to one of your friends or relatives? Were you oh-so-careful to use proper terminology and tried really hard to not hurt anyone's feelings? If you say yes, you are a liar! If you say no, join the rest of us on this side of normal and grab a beer. It just wasn't done! You called it as you saw it and that was that. Not so now.

Inventing terminology to classify humanity due to irrational fear has to be the most fucktarded thing we do in 2015. Far more ridiculous than twerking or selfies, this trend of "ethnic invention" has gone out of fucking control. Let's go back to the term "Muslim-American" for a moment. Since when have we ever included someone's religion in their ethnic background to convey who they are to someone else? In my lifetime, no one has ever referred to me as a Catholic American, nor do I want anyone to do so. What I believe or don't believe has nothing to do with my heritage. The same goes for the term Muslim American...Muslim is a religion, not a race or ethnicity. This distinction is borne out of hate and fear, nothing more. We are categorizing people by religion out of hatred. Is this who we've become? Apparently so, and I am disgusted by all of you who use these terms.

Let's look at the terms African American and Asian. Can we actually hail from an entire continent? Do black people claim roots in everywhere from Libya and Egypt all the way through the Congo and Eritrea? Come now...really? Does the person you are referring to as Asian have relatives who are Pakistani, Russian, Afghani, and Iranian? Or are you speaking about someone who is Chinese...or Vietnamese, perhaps? By extension of this, you could call me European American. Do it and I'll punch you in the throat. Why? Because I have no relatives who come from Sweden, Scotland, Greece, or Latvia. No, I cannot be called European American, that would be a false as fuck statement and completely not descriptive of who I actually am. Once again, these terms I started the paragraph with came from a fear of offending others and from people deciding they no longer "liked" the words used to describe them.

Going a step further, and likely to piss a shit ton of you off, shall we examine the black/white distinction? I am willing to step on this potential land mine to make some very valid points and to attempt to correct our stupidity as a whole. I completely understand that some people do not want to be called a color, such as black. No one is truly the color black, now are they? On this, we can all agree. We needed a better term, a more accurate word. I get it. And let's face it, negro is just black in Spanish. Again, an inaccurate color. However, and I am gonna get some backlash now, and I really don't care...I am not WHITE. Grab a piece of paper from your printer. That shit is white. I am not that friggin color. I am nowhere near that shade, nor do I relate to it in any way. As a matter of fact, Italians are not completely white, by census standards. If you look into our heritage, southern Italians, in particular, we have...wait for it...AFRICAN blood in us. By African, I mean Arab African, but African nonetheless. So, then, do I check the African American box on a government form? Because, if I trace my lineage as far back as it could possibly go, I know for certain that I will find some African connections. But some of you will tell me I can't. Why? I know some people who would try to check that same box and speak fluent Italian and have, as do their parents, Italian birth certificates. Yet, in this country, we'd call them African American? Why the fuck?

Are we seeing how ridiculous this is starting to sound? Not yet? If so, I am not nearly done. We can agree that people should not be referred to by a color name in a box of Crayolas. That being the case, how do we refer to each other? How about by name? Not possible always, so we need another way. We have determined that religion is not the way...what now? I suppose we can just cover all the bases to be safe and not crack the shells of the fragile egos that seem to exist in our world today. Let's see if I can do it for myself so I don't dare hurt another human. I'd be a Female Heterosexual Catholic Fair-skinned Freckled Blue-eyed Redheaded European Italian North American Canadian North American New York Born California Residing American. Did I cover it all? Was anyone offended? Show of hands, please. Imagine, if you will, trying to repeat this to someone after just meeting me and wanting to relay information about me. Could you even remember it all? If I closed this document, I couldn't either. Thus proving, this manner of distinction, this way of categorizing people, has got to stop. We are who we are: human fucking beings. All of us. But if you want to go out there and describe me to someone, I'll accept...she's an American woman. Accurate as hell, don't you agree? And I promise to be as succinct about you. We can't be that stupid...are you friggin kidding me right now???

The Perimenopause Expert is In, Part Two

Ladies, I wouldn't leave you in your time of need! If only I could tell you that it gets easier, if only I could tell you the symptoms drop off one by one, leaving you feeling wonderfully renewed. I can't and I won't lie to you. I can honestly say that each of these symptoms pertain to me personally and I know all of you are feeling the same. My goal here is to make sure you know that you are never alone in this shit storm and not only am I here with you, I am holding the umbrella for both of us. Why we were chosen to stomp through what can only be described as soggy crap fields filled with pain and angst at an age when we should be feeling our best, is beyond my scope of imagination. At this point in our lives, since our children are older and self-sufficient, we should be able to return to that freedom we enjoyed pre-motherhood. Or at least you'd hope. But the raging bitch that is perimenopause has other plans for us. While men are opening up another button to expose their graying chest hair and driving around in their poorly chosen mid-life-mobiles, we are in the throes of something that would kill someone with a Y chromosome within a week, max.

Without further stuff and blather, I present to you more bullshit you may be enduring at this very moment:

11. Hot Flashes: In previous blogs, I have mentioned these little infernos of joy, but I would like to expand upon their life altering potential, if I may. It's one thing to feel hot. Many men think they feel hot and will joke that they are having a hot flash. At which point, I am forced to suppress an urge to plunge a knife deeply into their left ventricles and watch them bleed out like slaughterhouse pigs. Hot flashes are not a subject men are allowed to laugh about, nor can they ever claim they have felt anything close. There are actually different forms, as I have been lucky enough to discover!
       -There's the "average hot flash" which is basically the sensation of boiling from the inside out that generally starts at the collarbone, wraps around your circumference, and rises like flames all the way to the top of your head. This little beauty can and usually does result in some pretty copious amounts of sweat, causing you to be "that" woman, yanking your hair into a hand-held ponytail with one hand and fanning the back of your neck with the other. Sometimes running to the freezer for a brief yet satisfying arctic blast to the face. Good times.
       -Next, I've experienced the "clown cheeks hot flash" which is self-explanatory, yet I'd like to go a few steps further. Not only do your cheeks blaze a bright and embarrassing red seemingly out of nowhere, but if you are tuned in to your body, and most of us are while enduring the bliss of perimenopause, you will notice the feeling long before you are lucky enough to have someone point out that your cheeks make you look like Bozo. I usually compare the sensation to the heat I feel when I have a fever and my face just feels abnormally warm. That. These are my personal favorites because I do love being able to be outed as having a hot flash by anyone and everyone who happens to look my way.
      -The final form I've embraced in my world, is the "night sweat hot flash" which again, is self-explanatory. But why the hell not expand once again? Not just the feeling of needing to toss off (not the tossing off that men do when they think we haven't a clue) the comforter and leave the nice, cool sheet on to sleep comfortably. Oh no. This is the waking up feeling like someone dumped water all over you. Or in my case, dumped water all over my top half and needing to change my clothes. My answer to this little burst of happiness is to tear off my sleep tee and go back to bed on top of the covers till my temperature normalizes and I am freezing again.
Funny little aside, I actually have taken my temperature at the peak of a flash, only to discover that I spike a "fever" during one. My normal body temperature is usually between 97.8 and 98.2, +/- a tenth. My hot flash temperature was a blazing 100.4!!! Have mercy!

12. Apathy: Yes, you read that correctly. On any normal day, I give less than a shit about most things. Bring on perimenopause and watch that feeling dip to numbers in the negative. Even things I usually have passion for can sometimes seem like the most unappealing items on the menu of life. Why? Because my hormones suck rhino balls and they are what control my moods. For someone like me, you may think this is really no big deal. She's generally apathetic, anyway, what's the difference? Fucking huge. Generally, I care about what is really important and things over which I have some degree of control. Add some hormonal shift, and BAM. Even those things seem out of my grasp and I stop giving a fetid shit althogether. This is a problem of great magnitude when you have a job, a family, a life that you used to enjoy, for the most part. I know you ladies know exactly what I am referring to and you can't seem to shake the "who gives a fuck" feeling, either. This is where wine and I bond closely some evenings. Not a medically supported answer, but then, I'm not a doctor.

13. Nightmares: When I was a small child, I had serial nightmares. They were horrifying, I couldn't wake up, and they caused me to sleep with a blanket over my head years after they had ceased to plague me. My security blanket, which I still have, tucked away in my daughter's now unused closet, was the one thing that helped me sleep for all those years. I'm considering taking her out and using her superpowers all over again. Weird fucking dreams come when you least expect them, or so you think. Pay attention. Mine usually rear their ugly heads right before and during my blood flood days. Coincidence? I think not. Strange dreams that are clearly a rehash of all the things that cause me stress in the waking hours, manifesting themselves as images that can only be compared to the best of the best "slash and gash" B movies. Fortunately, I usually kick ass at the end of each of these little brain cinemas, unlike when I was a child. Unfortunately, I cannot wake up out of them, and this generally causes me to wake tired and semi-rattled. Thank you, estrogen, you cuntbucket.

14. Aches/Leg Cramping/Weakness: I'm just going to lump these little bits of ecstasy together because to me, they are all part of the same phenomenon. All of these symptoms seem to point to some sort of muscular trouble. Some mornings, I wake up feeling like I'm 80 years old with arthritis. Everything snaps and cracks with my morning stretch and I haven't even left the bed. Attempting to haul my bodacious ass out of the bed becomes another hurdle. As I sit at the edge of my bed wondering why the fuck I need to be up, I start to feel the leg cramping and more widespread aches. Why? Who the hell knows? What I do know, what sticks in my craw, is that this never used to happen. I'm not old for the love of all things good and holy. Why should I feel ancient? Oh, perimenopause, you assbag, this is another gift you've chosen to bestow upon me. I limp down the stairs, brew coffee, pour a cup to bring back up to the shower with me, and clomp into the shower to let the hot water beat on all the sore parts. Sometimes it works, sometimes it just feels good while I'm still in the shower. I don't get to choose the outcome. The leg weakness, I believe, is related to the gallons of blood loss I experience during my crime scene periods. This is why I take ridiculous amounts of iron all month long. I have noticed a slight change in that issue, but before you jump on that bandwagon, consult your medical practicioner. I'm not taking responsibility for diagnosing nor prescribing anything. Fuck that. I've got enough going on, or haven't you figured that out yet?

15. Itching: Not only have I seen this on all the perimenopause group timelines, but I have experienced it myself. I had attributed it to stress and perhaps it was stress. I was trying to meet a deadline for something which brought me no joy but had to be done, and I started itching. Not just your run of the mill little itch. I got tiny little bumps on my shoulders and arms and was scratching myself like a rabid animal. Actually afraid that I'd make myself bleed, I chose to soak in a bath with some Aveeno colloidal oatmeal for a bit and see if it helped. Like everything else, it was temporary and the itching and bumps continued. I've only itched like this during periods of great stress, so I figured that was all it was this time. Well, as time marches on, and I am under no real or imagined stress, I still feel itchy as fuck. I moisturize, I use lotion like it's going out of style, I take care of my goddamn skin. Why am I itchy? Oh come on. We both know the answer to this one. Perimenopause. Bless her little black and chalky heart.  This is just another treasured symptom and there's not a thing you can do. Luckily, it comes and goes or I'd go bat shit crazy. Keep your nails short and keep some unscented, hypoallergenic lotion always at hand.

16. Cravings and constant grazing: Like you're pregnant or something, GOD FORBID! In my case, anyway. I am hungry all freaking day long. My coffee habit and constant water drinking usually help to curb the incessant desire to fill my piehole with food. Thankfully, or I'd be the most zaftig bitch on the block. Sure, I'd rock it, but I'll pass, thanks. Throughout the day, I am seeking out snacks and munchies, savory and sweet. It really doesn't matter, I just want to chew. And chew, and chew, and chew. Generally, I don't eat too much crap, which is a blessing. But I have always been a volume eater (I'm Italian...sue me), and this can be problematic. Not one to eat a bite or two and move on, I need a plateful to satisfy the urge, the need, the fucking uncontrollable craving to eat. Why not add this to the list of fun and games during a time where weight shift and a creeping metabolism are at their peak? What I enjoy most about the way I attempt to control the hunger, drinking, is that the need to pee goes through the roof. And now, coughing, sneezing, or laughing are potential hazards. Outstanding! A lose/lose situation all the way around...and aren't they all during this phase of life?

Once again, I find myself at the end of another joyous share-fest about my favorite topic in the world. My sincere hope is that you've found some solace in knowing that you have a friend out there and she's as miserable as you are and can still laugh about it. So should you. Step back and just look at all this...we are all going through this and we are going to come out on the other end even stronger. How can I say this? My mom went through menopause at 40, right after her hysterectomy and I have her as my point of reference. What a fucking point of reference. Yes, I watched her mood swings, hot flashes, and other lovely symptoms play themselves out...sometimes at my expense. But ladies, this is where I can give you hope. When it was all over, and it does end, she was amazing and dare I say it, even more badass than before from the experience. What doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Damn straight it does. She was living proof, and with all of you as my witnesses, I will be, too. Don't doubt it for a minute that you'll join me. I don't. Are you friggin kidding me right now???


For more reading enjoyment on this topic:

The Perimenopause Expert is In

Why Perimenopause Sucks Moldy Balls

Perimenopause Still Sucks Moldy Balls, Four Years Later

Smart Answers to Dumb Questions About Perimenopause

The Perimenopause Expert is In

Of all the things in the world about which to have an abundance of personal knowledge, this is not the one I'd have chosen. But alas, here I am, at your service. Let me tell you, this roller coaster ride, aka Perimenopause has got to be the most jacked up ride at the amusement park otherwise known as life. I fucking hate roller coasters, always have, and at 44, that ain't bound to change. As a matter of fact, since I don't recall buying a ticket this time, I'd like someone to stop the ride like my dad did for me when I was five so I can get the fuck off! Who came up with this plan, this ridiculous design for the female human body? Definitely not a woman. Probably a 65 year old, Republican man. They still think they have rights to it, the uterus in particular, so I think my guess is spot on. Everyone ages, things slow down, some things stop althogether. Explain to me why women have to end their fertile years in such a dragged out and painful way. Are our bodies so complex that a simple cessation of fertility needs to affect every single other fucking part of our bodies? Seems cruel and inhumane...which points a finger right back at those twat waffle Republican men.

Belonging to some great groups on Facebook for women like myself, I have been reassured once again that I am not alone and we are all going through many of the same bullshit symptoms. Groups like Perimenopause Support and The Hot Flashers - A Perimenopause Support Group, provide a forum for those of us of a "certain age" to vent, chat, and ask pertinent questions without fear of judgement. This is precisely what we need...not only online, but in our personal lives. Sadly, many women do not have this kind of reinforcement from loved ones because they simply don't understand what they are going through and have been conditioned to believe that much of what women complain about is all in their heads. I call balls! Big, gigantic, low-swinging old man balls. This shit is as real as it gets and we wouldn't seem like Wendy Whiners if we could have a little more support from the medical community as well as from the rest of the goddamn world.

I'd like to address some of the symptoms I've seen flooding (now that's a word I hate more than anything) the perimenopause sites and see if we can't all feel a teeny bit better knowing that they are not only normal, but we are all experiencing them, too.

1.  Insomnia:  for those who sleep like corpses and have no idea what this is, I'll define it for you. This is when you absolutely cannot fall asleep and you lie there, mind racing, heart pounding, and fitfully tossing and turning while wishing you could put a pillow over the person next to you for sleeping so freaking soundly. There's nothing like not being able to sleep and suffering from one of the next symptoms that I will get to in just a minute, anxiety. Lying there while you can't turn your mind off, overthinking the entire day, stressing about tomorrow, pulse elevating to cardiac event levels, and possibly, only if you are one of the truly lucky, having a body-drenching night sweat. Man, I feel like a woman! I don't think that is what Shania Twain was referring to in her song, but she was young and inexperienced back then.

2.  Anxiety: while there are some of us fortunate enough to suffer from this disorder unrelated to perimenopause, anxiety can rear its ugly-ass head during these uber-fun years, throwing us a curve ball like no other. If you have never had an anxiety attack, fuck you. If you have, you know that having one feels like you just might die before it is over...and part of you wishes you would because the feeling is so horrid and scary that death seems the easier and more pleasant option. The most out of control you can possibly ever feel, accompanied by that fantastic heart racing I mentioned above, and a sweat more like a shower than a beading up on the forehead, anxiety attacks are just another lovely side effect of the perimenopause "journey" as some assholes like to call it. Luckily, there are excellent drugs for this one and we can bitch slap them out of the picture. Zoloft, I love you.

3.  Heart Palpitations:  this is a strange and fucked up feeling, and if you've never experienced one, you likely won't be able to understand it. Even if you asked a doctor or your grandpa, you still couldn't fully grasp this unless and until you have one of your very own. I didn't start having them until I started having anxiety attacks, but now I am overjoyed to share that I can have one completely unrelated and not connected to anxiety. Yay, me! The only way I can describe them is, if you can imagine your heart being a person, and then envision it deciding to run, then stop dead, then skip, then run again, then walk, then skip again, stopping dead once more...and, well, you get the picture. Another glorious out-of-control feeling that women have the joy of enduring during these exciting years leading to menopause...another fucking nightmare.

4.  Exhaustion:  even without having insomnia, even with a full night's sleep and a cup of coffee in hand, we can feel as though we've been up for a week running on a hamster wheel. The worst part, for me, is waking up feeling this way. Feeling like I haven't slept a wink, even though my Fitbit would disagree, and having to get out of bed and get ready for a long day at work, O...M...F...G, it is so painful. Yet, I do it and so do you ladies, whom I now consider my friends. We haul our asses up and out of bed, jump in the shower in the hopes that the water beating down on us will rouse us from that fogged and bogged down feeling...and it doesn't. Tromping down the stairs, dressed but certainly not ready for the public, we grab our first cup of joe and pray. Yet, that does nothing, either. And so the day goes. Fake it till you make it, but you never really do. Repeat again tomorrow.

5.  Painful Periods:  not just cramps, but they do factor in to the pain we now enjoy during our crime scene periods. I never had cramps when I was younger, and yes, I am aware that my fibroid bouncy house has something to do with it, but the ones I have now are mind-blowing. Stabbing pains alternating with dull aches, oh the thrill ride I go on every month is fantastic! What I have also noticed, and I see many of you have noticed, are pains that radiate right down into the va-jay-jay, vazheen, nether yea ya, or whatever name you choose to call your cooch. Holy mother of all that is good, this is very unexepected and quite unwelcome. More common during what I now call a blood burst, or when Aunt Flo decides she wants to expel gigantic moose clots in a flood of blood violently out of your cha cha. It's bad enough you may require crime scene tape, does it have to hurt like a fucker, too? Uncool, Mother Nature, very uncool.

6.  Spotting: all I can say is WHAT THE FUCK?! It leads up to the period, happens at the end, can occur throughout the month...how the hell can you possibly prepare for and accomodate this? More annoying still, is how can you dress for this? I am not a panty liner girl, so this option does not work for me in the slightest. After wearing a mattress between my legs for 8 or 9 days accompanied by a paper towel roll up my hoo ha, there's no way I want another rash-inducing cotton object down there for any length of time. Yet, I never know when my uterus will choose to notice there's a bit of old blood up in there and feel the need to share it with me and my underwear. It's gross and frankly it smells bad. I've actually worn a lite tampon on a day such as that to avoid a disgusting panty liner. Uterus, hear me now, I will not be held hostage by you, bitch.

7.  Migraines:  mine haven't always been cyclical, and as a matter of fact, I actually started getting them at 23, right after my mom died. But now, they are most definitely cyclical and due to the hormonal swinging that occurs throughout the month. Many of us at this season of life are estrogen dominant and she is not your friend. Everyone associates estrogen with femininity but she is such a cunt biscuit! When you have too much, she kicks you right where it hurts and when you least expect it. As she dips, right before your blood flood, a eye shattering migraine can occur. In the Huffington Post article Migraines: What's Estrogen Got To Do With It?, estrogen swings are discussed as one of the migraine triggers during perimenopause and gives some possible ideas to discuss with your medical practicioner for relief. I say, bring on full menopause, that's the relief I seek!

8. Weight Shift:  I wanted to discuss this and bloating in rapid succession since they are in the same unappealing category in my eyes. As we approach that "certain age" our weight may or may not fluctuate, but where it sits will. Yes, I've gained some perimenopausal poundage over the years, and yes, I still have that love affair with food ongoing. But, what I have noticed, is that my weight, even when at a decent number, doesn't always allow me to wear the same size in clothing anymore! Why? Because, Mother Nature in all her bitchy glory, has chosen this time of life to actually move fat around my body and drop it into the most unattractive places. Instead of curves, I have fucking lumps! Lumps on my ass, hips, and thighs that I swear to Christ, I've never had even at my fattest. Where in the name of Christ in a crossover did they come from and how can I get rid of them? We are all asking this very same question and I apologize ahead of time for not having a clue what to tell you. When I figure it out, you'll be the first to know.

9.  Bloating:  I understand water retention before a period and during. Once, while doing the Weight Watchers thing, I retained 8 pounds of water during one particularly fun period. Luckily, the WW person weighing me knew to explain it right away before I started shanking everyone in sight. What I don't undertand is the random bloats throughout the month. Why should I, midcycle, suddenly have a pooch that can only be compared to a beer belly? Fortunately, I can usually pee this out if I drink enough, but there are times this isn't possible and I look godawful. We all know that I hate muffin top and have said that women should wear clothes that fit to avoid it. How can I say this when I can suddenly have it in pants that fit properly just yesterday? Frustrating as fuck and totally unfair...what is the male equivalent of this? Oh, right...nothing!

10. Vertigo: Sweet and soft newborn baby Jesus, I cannot stand the feeling of being dizzy. After a horrifying bout of labyrinthitis that made me feel like I was on a spinning boat all day and night for two weeks, I can assuredly tell you that this symptom is more than unwelcome...if it were a person, I'd rip its heart out through its mouth with my bare hands. Yet, lo and behold, it is another symptom of perimenopause. For fuck's sake, is this necessary? And tell me how this is and should be connected to the cessation of fertility? It's a nauseating and unsettling feeling at best, and a scary and crippling feeling at its worst. Imagine going about your day and suddenly, completely out of nowhere, you feel like the room has started swaying and you cannot maintain your balance to save your life. Fortunately, I have Meclizine by the dozens left from my aforementioned visit to labyrinthitis and can pop one every 4-6 when this symptom decides to come a-calling. You may want to ask your MD for some of this bottled magic.

Thankfully, we have each other and groups like Perimenopause Hell and Perimenopause - Thriving and Surviving to make us feel like we are part of something totally normal and have partners in this shitstorm segment of life. Sadly, there are even more fucking symptoms that I still haven't talked about and I know you are experiencing and wondering why I haven't mentioned them. Don't worry, in my next entry, I will discuss them at length.  I want you to know that  I am going through this with you and will continue to do so until I reach the finish line that is menopause. We are in this together, every last crappy symptom, every annoying ache and pain, every oddball bodily occurrence. Would I abandon you at this point? Are you friggin kidding me right now???


If you'd like to read more about one of my favorite topics, check out these entries:

Why Perimenopause Sucks Moldy Balls
Perimenopause Still Sucks Moldy Balls, Four Years Later
Smart Answers to Dumb Questions About Perimenopause

Anti-Vaxxers: Stop Using the Internet to Defend Your Decision

Only a fool would believe everything they read. Yet, this is what I see happening every day. People sharing proof that their way is the right way or worse, the only way to do things. How incredibly fucking stupid can you be? If there were only one way to do things, how would we have modern technology, modern medicine, and cuter clothing each season? Exactly. We wouldn't because no one would explore new venues, new techniques, new ideas. Why bother? You think you have it all sewn up, neatly packaged with your genius reasoning as researched by you. To whom do I refer? All of you fucking anti-vaxxers let loose on the social media warpath! You've decided that your way is the right way and instead of letting the rest of the world make their own educated decisions, you feel it necessary to hound the shit out of us with your incessant "proof" that your way is the only way to raise a healthy child. I call bullshit. Why? Because I don't let the Internet rule my world. I'm not stupid enough to take everything I read as gospel truth.

Let's take note of how anti-vaxxers like to tell those of us who do vaccinate our children that we are killing them, making them retarded and autistic, and basically endangering the lives of the people most important to us. That's right! You share articles you find on the Internet. Must be true, it's on the fucking Internet, for Christ's sake! How did we even function before Google? How did we do research on a subject that interests us? How did we learn anything new? Anyone remember a place called a library? You know, that building with rows and stacks of books? Those cute little drawers called card catalogs that helped you find the books you were looking for in those stacks? OMG, does any remember microfilm and microfiche? Can I get a shout out for scholarly articles? Yeah, we don't use those anymore. We prefer to find our information online on sites run by people making fat cash by allowing people with no expertise, much less real credentials proving such, to publish their "findings" on every topic under the fucking sun.

There was a man who set out to prove that anyone could publish a "scholarly" report online and have people take it as factual and true. In Why A Journalist Scammed The Media Into Spreading Bad Chocolate Science, John Bohannon was able to publish his fake findings about chocolate being instrumental in significant weight loss in a pay for play journal called the International Archives of Medicine, which to people like you and I, sounds very official and trustworthy. How does this happen? How can someone just publish blatant lies? Because many publications you find on the Internet are not authentic or verified sources. These so-called scholarly journals are simply venues for jackasses with asinine opinions to get their word out to idiots who believe shit they read on the Internet. Pay a $500 fee and get your bullshit published! Mark Shrime, a medical researcher at Harvard, set out to prove that you can publish just about anything for a fee, and did so in Why A Fake Article Titled "Cuckoo For Cocoa Puffs?" Was Accepted By 17 Medical Journals. Yet, there are some who use their computers exclusively to determine what is safe for their children. Are you fucking high?

When is the last time we heard an anti-vaxxer say they sat down with their child's pediatrician and discussed the pros and cons of vaccinations? When have any of us heard them say that their child's doctor said, without hesitation, that they shouldn't immunize because their kid will become autistic? Do we actually think these disorders only started happening in our children's lifetime and that they are caused by vaccinations? Jesus in a fucking jumpsuit! What we used to call a hyper brat now has a proper medical name, ADHD. Kids who used to just "not listen" to their parents, now have Auditory Processing Disorder. And so on and so forth. So, since we can now diagnose these children properly, we can thank modern medicine for its tireless research and work towards helping our children. The same goes for vaccinations.

Many of our parents would not have been around to facilitate our existence without vaccines. Think about the diseases that were prevented back then. Small pox, whooping cough, diphtheria, typhoid, TB, and tetanus...all were prevented back in our parents' childhood. Fortunately for us, the next set of vaccines came out when we were kids. Measles, mumps, rubella, and polio...all rendered not dangerous to us. And now our children can and will benefit from the protection that is being offered to them in the form of Hepatitis A and B vaccines, Meningitis vaccines for those about to live in a college dorm where the disease becomes a serious risk and can be fatal, HPV...the one everyone is up in arms about, the one that not only prevents the HPV virus, but also by virtue of that can assist in preventing cervical cancer in our daughters. You are goddamn right I want to protect her from possible cancer! As I watch my favorite aunt's battle with ovarian cancer, I am constantly grateful for the ability to prevent my daughter from dealing with a similar struggle later on in her life.

Once again, I reference the ridiculous articles that claim these vaccines are killing children. Yet, has anyone seen actual laboratory proof? Where's the medical research that unequivocally deems these vaccines are the sole cause of the tragic deaths of young children? If I didn't die, and you didn't die, and all of our contemporaries didn't die from our vaccines...and those of us with older children didn't have issues with vaccines beyond fevers, redness, and soreness at the vaccination site...then what the fuck are you trying to say? You prove nothing. Yet, I can prove that the lack of herd immunity is starting to bring back diseases that were long eradicated during the era where people actually listened to doctors and vaccinated their children. Not only are these diseases making a return, but they are actually killing people as is painfully clear in Spanish Boy Dies of Diphtheria. Measles outbreak numbers are absolutely startling as is evidenced in CDC Measles Outbreaks in 2015. Scary, isn't it? Herd immunity is what keeps us safe, keeps us alive.

Because of herd immunity, you and I are here to have this argument. Without it, you might have died years ago from an entirely preventable disease. Yet, today you stand in opposition to the very reason you are alive to fight against medical advances in immunizations. They exist to keep us alive longer and stronger. Telling me that vaccines are made in a "disgusting" way by posting crap like this, 7 Most Disgusting Ingredients Used to Make Vaccines, only proves to me you didn't do very well in science. Making drugs, developing new cells, growing what will become life saving drugs in labs require a little thing called a host. These items serve that purpose, so keep the juvenile ewwwww to yourself.  To believe that "big pharma" is out to kill us is patently ridiculous. If we die younger and younger, who will take the drugs they make to ease our pain, cure our curable diseases, manage our chronic diseases, and eliminate the bacterial diseases that require their special brand of drugs to kill? Who will keep them in business if they are a one shot (no pun intended) deal? Your argument is fatally flawed. They want to keep us around for as long as possible, as we get older and more frail...and more in need of the relief only they can provide. Killing children is definitely not high on their to-do list. No real money in that. Trust me, I am aware of their money hungry nature and would not deny that their priority is making making more. But how can they do that if we aren't around to pay for their products?

Instead of walking around with your head up your ass, try thinking for yourself. I know that's what you think you are doing now, but face it, does believing everything you read without checking and double checking your sources make you any smarter than the asshole who paid $500 to publish what is basically their opinion? Does surrounding yourself with people who share your underinformed opinion make you any more right than those who don't share your beliefs? Keeping everyone's children safe is our job. When you choose to exclude your child from engaging in a preventative method of protection, you endanger the lives of other people's children who are innocent bystanders to your fight against "the man" and that totally sucks. Oh, and a child can carry a disease without ever manifesting it in its visible form. We all carry germs, some we transmit to others and some we don't. But if you can stop your kid from carrying something potentially deadly and spreading it to my kid, I expect you to do so. If I didn't look hideous in orange, I'd come over there and explain it to you in further detail with a shiv. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Smart Answers to Dumb Questions About Perimenopause

My perimenopause entries seem to have encouraged many of you ladies to write to me, pleading with me to give you responses to the fucktarded questions your husbands and boyfriends are asking you. I have compiled these questions and answered them for you...to be quoted directly, as needed.

1.  Is this a real thing, or is it just some excuse you can use to blame all your mood swings on?

    No, it isn't real. I've made this whole thing up. Specifically to torment you. Yes, it's personal. Because i enjoy looking like a psychotic loon half the time and bleeding like a stuck pig the other half. I've even taken into account that you may not believe me, so I've also gotten the internet in on the joke, setting up websites and support groups for women like me, who have also decided to drive their husbands and/or partners batshit crazy. I guess you'd call it a conspiracy, women determined to push everyone around them away in the most painful way possible...to us. Our suffering means nothing as long as it bugs you. Now I'm crying...great trick, right? Maybe if you lost complete control over your emotions a few times a day, unrelated to sports, you'd have a glimmer into my world. 

 

2.  Is this gonna make you get all bloated and fat? Cause that would suck.

    Are you asking if I'll gain weight? Hmmm, this coming from you? Let's see if i can answer that with a straight face. Well, since you've managed to stay high school svelte the entire time we've been together, I can see how this may concern you a smidgen. Rest assured, I am doing everything in my power to fight off the pounds on a daily basis. Funny thing is that even if I eat like a bird, I still can pack on unwanted pounds because estrogen is a harsh mistress. Tell me your excuse again? Because I know the steady diet of pizza, chips, and beer is definitely the way to six pack abs, so something else must be interfering with your regimen. 

 

3.  So that's it, you can't get pregnant anymore, right? I mean, will this decrease your sex drive?

     So glad you asked. I would have to want to have sex with you to get pregnant, wouldn't i? Nothing is a bigger turn on than stupid questions and so...now that I can see where your priorities are (my libido is doing the dance of joy as we speak), I can assure you that I cannot get pregnant...having sex with a total fucktard is not high on my list of things to do, so I should be just fine. Thanks for asking.. 

4.  Is this gonna interfere with our sex life? I mean, can we still do it? Like before?

    See above answer. I am not repeating myself for the intellectually impaired.

 

5.  How long is this peri-whatever gonna last? It's kinda annoying.

    Wow, another excellent question. Annoying you is absolutely heartbreaking for me so I will try to rush through these 5-10 years as quickly as possible so as to cause you as little distress as possible. I mean, the odd rashes, exhaustion, crotch floods, and feeling teary eyed and stabby all at the same time must be so hard for you. However do you handle it? Oh, that's right, you are happily bouncing along through life while I deal with this inexplicable bullshit. Sorry to have confused the two. I've not killed you yet, that's a good thing, right? Are you feeling better yet? 

6.  Why the hell are you bleeding so much? 

     Such a fantastic question! I can see that you are genuinely concerned by your use of "why the hell" and I want to give the same care and thoughtfulness to my response. Gee, I guess I could just make it stop and then you could breathe easily again. Because you know, it's that easy. A snap of the fingers and presto! The crime scenes are gone. Do you think I like the feeling of a rush of blood shooting out of my vazheen while I am standing up? Do you think it thrills me to have to wear industrial sized tampons and pads and still worry about spilling out of my clothing and onto whatever I may be sitting on at the time? And waking up every 30 minutes to change those industrial sized beauties because they weigh a ton and are in danger of dropping their contents onto the bed is absolutely my favorite part of the whole process. Let's just say that estrogen dominant women in perimenopause with fibroids can't help it and would like you to be understanding instead of demanding answers. Unless you'd like to be asked to wash the sheets at 3am? That can be arranged, too. 

7.  Aren't you kinda young to be hitting menopause?

     Aren't you kinda old to still be asking fucktarded questions? Haven't you been paying attention? I'm pretty sure I didn't say MENOPAUSE...perimenopause is what I'm in so don't confuse the two and piss me off. This isn't the hormone replacement, beard growing, slip sliding into old age portion of the program. This is the fog brained, night sweating, crying at the drop of a hat, tired for no reason, bloody portion of the program. Note the differences and remember to steer clear and bring me wine whenever you're in doubt. 

8.  Why are you always so damn tired? If you're so tired, why don't you just take a damn nap.

    Why are you such a giant scrotum? I suppose the fact that your hormones aren't having a fucking field day with you causes this kind of stupidity. My body hates me right now and there isn't a goddamn thing I can do about it. Unless you'd like to go to work for me so I can sleep all day long. Didn't think so. Maybe if I didn't have to come home and do everything while you scratched your crotch and belched the theme song to Gilligan's Island, I could actually rest. Then I may not seem so exhausted to you. But I won't ask you to do that. Wouldn't want to upset your fragile sensibilities. Maybe I'll just take a nap...

9.  Can't you just take something for this? Is there a cure?

     Really? Because if there was a "cure" out there, you think I wouldn't have a fucking IV drip of it hanging out of my arm right now? No, I would much prefer to suffer in silence while others enjoy the benefits of this miracle cure you are suggesting exists. It's far better to have hot flashes, night sweats, flooding periods, and the slow boil that is happening right now that I am struggling to prevent from steaming out of my ears so I don't kill you where you stand. Right, Why didn't I just run down to CVS and grab that bad boy off the shelf? Hold on while I do that, walking brain death.

10. Do all women go through this? How come I've never heard of it before? I was talking to my buddy about this and he said he's never heard of it. His wife is 55 and she didn't get it.

      If I had a dollar for everything your ignorant ass hadn't heard of, I'd be a very rich woman. Perhaps you should try listening when I talk to you? It's a very real thing and sadly, many like you are causing it to be not taken very seriously. Even some doctors are calling women hysterical and paranoid. Maybe if we were actually heard by the people we look to for help, we'd have something to make it easier. Not every woman is fortunate enough to go through this. Some go very gently into that dark night. The rest of us...go kicking, screaming, and bleeding to death. Thanks for not giving a real shit. Have another beer and shut the fuck up.

I hope this helps provide guidance for answering some of the dumbass questions you've been getting. Men must realize they should not, under any circumstances, needle a woman going through this time in her life. We are not responsible for any loss of limb or life that results from such stupidity. Having enjoyed five years of this shit, I can assure you, we don't appreciate moronic, self-serving, whiny assed questions from those who haven't the foggiest clue about this nightmare. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

For more info and exciting facts:
Perimenopause Sucks Moldy Balls
Perimenopause Still Sucks Moldy Balls, Four Years Later

You Don't Know Shit, Part 2

Did you think I could stop there? Did you believe that was all there was? Sadly and unfortunately, you people give me more than enough fodder to discuss daily. I have to limit it so that my sanity isn't affected, such as it is. Someone needs to stop me from hopping on Facebook first thing in the morning. I'd swear that's the cause of this headache. I'm sure it isn't the pitcher of margaritas I helped polish off last night. In any event, the sheer amount of stupid I encounter, not so cleverly disguised as a wealth of intelligence, is enough to give anyone a fucking migraine. I'd ask why you do it, why you flood the feeds of the innocent with all this senseless bullshit, but I fear the answer. This fear is not your typical fear. This is fear of hearing something so fucking moronic that my brain might actually explode inside my cranium. Without further stuff and nonsense, let's get back to discussing the rest of the things that don't belong in my feed or any other unsuspecting schmuck's feed.

5.  Diet/exercise: Do you do it? Wonderful for you. Do you follow a certain way of eating? Party on with your big, bad self. I have total respect for those trying to better themselves in a world filled with temptation and tasty snacks. Those I have no respect for are the ones trying to shove this shit down my throat. "It's the only way" "It's the RIGHT way to lose weight" "I'm at the gym doing XYZ workout and here's a link to the article I found that showed me the light" Dude, if I want to lose weight, and right now I am fighting my own battle with the bulge, I know how to do it. I don't need 379 articles that you've found, oddly while sitting on your ass, that have convinced you that their way is the only way. Here's a little advice, instead of sitting in front of your computer with a giant Costco bag of potato chips researching diets and the latest fad workout...get up, step away from the computer, and go for a walk, leaving the chips behind. Crazy theory, I know, but give it a try. My philosophy on weight loss has always been the same. When you are ready to do it, it will happen. And for fuck's sake, just put the fork down.

6.  The Vaccination Debate:  I have talked about this more than I care to, but I feel it requires another go 'round. What you do to your own child is completely up to you. What goes on in your house is your business and no one else's. If you choose to expose your child to diseases being reborn in the US by foreign travelers and those coming here to the land of the free to set up shop, that's on you. I don't agree with you and I resent you for exposing me and my family to these godforsaken germs unnecessarily. However, you do you whatever way you see fit. But, I don't need the flood of articles supporting your asinine decisions complete with your ranting and raving about how you've made the best decision for your child and everyone else is poisoning theirs. I can assure you that I'd never poison my child and that her health is a top priority for me. I would never put something in her body that I haven't (or wouldn't) put into mine safely and without incident. Let's review. All of us born in the late 60s and early 70s, my peer group, have had every vaccine out there known to man except the new ones that have become necessary as of late, like the hepatitis ones, the HPV one, and the amazing varicella zoster vaccine that could have prevented me from getting chicken pox when I was five. We've had vaccines that became obsolete because everyone was sufficiently protected for so long that the diseases left our country. Although, some are returning...wonder why??? How many of you, let's get a show of hands, have gotten deathly sick, become autistic, or gone full retard as a result of being fully vaccinated? Hello? Anyone out there have a hand to raise? Hmmm, just as I suspected. We are all here, healthy as horses, and reasonably intelligent. Amazing. Get the fucking point???

7.  Daily Affirmations:  Stuart Smalley you are not. We all enjoyed his character and still do in reruns. As a matter of fact, a co-worker and I quoted him just the other day and shared a lovely amount of laughter. You are not Stuart. Don't try to be. There's one thing I cannot stand and that's someone who is generally a loser, trying to boost themselves up publicly by posting nonsense on social media that I will wager to bet, they don't even understand. Worse still is that loser trying to boost up the people on their friend list by posting this shit. None of us are flying around on angels' wings thinking positive thoughts and feeling better about ourselves because you posted some fucktardation on Facebook. We are getting through our days like grown ass adults because it's what we do. Life-sucking platitudes are just that. No one needs to read them. It's a bunch of people writing crap that makes them think they feel better about the shitstorm that is their life. The fact is, only you can make you feel better. Take a walk, listen to music that takes you back to a better time, look at old photo albums, call a friend. Any of this making sense to you yet? I can't beat this into your head hard enough. Stop posting the feel good shit. It actually makes me need the other half of my Zoloft.

8.  Religion/Bible Thumping God Pushers:  For the record, I fully support freedom of religion. It's a constitutional right in this great country. I do NOT support your right to push your religion in my face all day, every day. Any of you who are Catholic will agree with me here. The bible does state that those who pound their chests, screaming about God on the street corners are phony motherfuckers.

Matthew 6:5 “And when you pray, you must not be like the hypocrites. For they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, that they may be seen by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward." Just proving that I went to Catholic school and am not trying to be a total bitch.  When you post all your religious shit on Facebook, you are being a total hypocrite. Telling me that I don't love God because I won't repost or share the dumbass photo with Christ on the cross is absolute and total nonsense. You don't know how I feel inside, what I believe or don't believe. Nor should it matter to you. Just like I don't give a fetid shit what you believe. That's your business and none of mine. What kind of asshole believes that Jesus has a Facebook account and is checking to see if you shared that last post? The kind that just reposted it, feeling all self-righteous. Damn, you are a special kind of stupid.

Again, I must remind you, you don't know shit and you don't know Jack Squat. The actual amount of knowledge you have about basic things could fit in my one and only cavity, leaving room for the filling. Stop embarrassing yourself and your mother by being on social media all goddamn day, posting this bullshit. You are dumb enough on your own, you need not prove it each day publicly. We can see you're stupid from miles away, I daresay we can smell it. Pick up a book, get a hobby, get a life, for Christ's sake. I sense my friend list about to be thinned out very soon. Think you are immune to the purge? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

For those of you who were busy posting moronic articles and missed Part One:
You Don't Know Shit, Part One

You Don't Know Shit: Part One

Certainly, I can't be the only one noticing this new trend? Everywhere you look in SocialMediaLand, you can see them. People who know EVERYTHING. I know, it's amazing to find such incredibly intelligent folks all in a select few places. If you want advice about anything, scroll through your Facebook timeline or your Twitter feed. Guaranteed, there will be someone claiming to know all there is to know on the topic. And lucky for us to have access to all this knowledge! Seriously, I cannot begin to explain how this shit irritates the living fuck out of me. If I want information, I'll Google it myself. I don't need your post, complete with the accompanying editorial from you. That's the part that truly gets under my skin like scabies eggs, the commentary from the "expert" with the posted article on the topic du jour. I've complied a list of things I've seen on Fuckbook and TwitTer to share with you. To help illustrate my frustration with what they've become.

1.  Parenting: If you find an article about parenting that fascinates the shit out of you, fan-fucking-tastic! Should it help you through a rough time you are having with your own family, awesome. Maybe you'd like to share it with the entire planet. Stop right there and back away from the computer. Not everyone in the world gives a shit. Not everyone wants to hear your problems. But...and here's where it can get a bit messy...when you aren't even a parent, you need to shut the fuck up. I can't tell you how many people I see posting parenting/right to life/common core shit who have never even been pregnant much less have actual children of their own. No, being an aunt, godmother, neighbor does not qualify you to have an opinion on these topics. As much as you think you know...you know SQUAT. Until you've actually been there, your knowledge can be placed on the head of a pin leaving room for a dance party. Childless people seem to be the most opinionated on these topics...takes a particular kind of balls, don't you think? Ask women who've gone through labor and delivery if they want your opinion about natural childbirth, for example. I'd be willing to bet you should steer clear of them when expressing these opinions, unless you want your uterus pulled out through your mouthhole.

2.  Gun control:  So many of you fuckers posting about gun control don't know the first thing about responsible gun ownership, have never owned a gun, nor have you been in the presence of one. Yet, you are scared shitless of the concept of anyone in the world owning one aside from police officers and the military. Let me ask you this question, and I have asked it before, do you think criminals buy their weapons from reputable gun shops? Moreover, do you think they are subject to a background check and waiting period when they buy their guns out of the back of a van in a deserted alley from some dude who goes only by the name Killer? When I go out to buy a gun, I am subject to all kinds of checks, a waiting period, and I need my current certificate. When Inmate #37698 gets his gun, he just hands Killer cash in an envelope and is handed the weapon in a paper bag. Note the differences. Keeping guns out of the hands of law abiding citizens is like keeping forks out of the hands of the kids at fat camps. Neither serves any good purpose. Plus, you are taking away a means to protect ourselves and families from Inmate #37698 when he busts through our front door brandishing his new "gat" and threatening to kill everyone in the fucking house. What are you thinking? People who do not practice safe gun ownership should be shot with their own weapon, I totally agree. But the grand majority of us have gun safes...that stay locked. Another question that begs asking, have you been personally affected by gun violence? I'll answer that for you, NO. Crying about what happens on the news doesn't count. Get back to me when you've lost a loved one to a round of ammo.

3.  Recipe flooders: You know who you are. You've all become either master chefs or health nuts. But have you really? If you find a recipe that looks fantastic, try it out at home. Should it come out perfectly, taste amazing, and look like something out of a magazine...post it for all of us to ooh and ahhh. But stop flooding my timeline with ridiculous and basic shit. If you didn't know how to cook vegetables with garlic and oil before locating the recipe on the internet, that's a huge problem in your personal kitchen. One that can't be fixed by posting it on Facebook. I'm sorry you didn't grow up Italian, but as I've said before, not everyone can be Italian...but everyone wishes they were. On the flip side, if you find something incredibly difficult but that looks beautiful, feel free to post with the admission of, "Boy, I sure wish I could make something like that" because that is the truth. Also, when I see you posting all this healthy shit like you actually eat that way, I have to laugh. Ooh, look at the gluten-free, no carb, low cal, no fat thing I posted...I'm such a healthy eater! Right. Then, three hours later you check in at the drive thru at your local McDonald's. Ummm, WTF? Did you think you fooled us with the Paleo recipe from earlier? Believe me when I say that you, in all your SuperSized eating glory, are fooling no one.

4.  College Campus Dangers:  Well, then. Let's start with asking you a fairly simple question. When was the last time you stepped foot on a college campus? How many decades was it? Right. Exactly my point. Because nine out of ten frightened little veal posters haven't been in college for over 20 years. Eight out of ten don't even have kids nearly old enough to be applying to college...forget about living on a distant campus away from your smothering arms. OMG, there's rape running rampant on campuses because there are no rules about drinking there. They have no policy about saying no and that NO means NO. REALLY? Is that what you believe? No rules? So, I send my kid to a school devoid of rules meant for her safety? Absolutely. And I pay for it, too. What kind of drugs do you take when you sit and Google the shit you find and post on this topic? My daughter's school is a DRY school and has very serious rules and consequences for those who can't take NO for an answer. The girls have rape whistles. Does this sound unsafe and without rules? Ahhh, but you had no fucking idea, did you? You just read about some redneck schools in the middle of bumfuck 'Murica having issues with drunken consent and assumed it was happening everywhere. You assumed and you posted it complete with your ignorant opinion. Did you realize how fucktarded you sounded right after you hit the blue "post" button? Of course you didn't. You sat there in your little righteous world, without a clue on earth regarding your article share, feeling superior to everyone else. Probably even me. Dumb bitch doesn't know what goes on in her own daughter's school. She should read this motherfucking article before she lets that child go back into that Caligula-ass lion's den of drunken debauchery. She'll be sorry, mark my words. If I shake my head any harder, I'll lose all my fucking marbles. Dumb ass.

Let's be honest with each other, you don't know shit. You think you have a wide body of knowledge that begs to be shared with the rest of the world, but in reality, you are simply an ignorant twatburger who wants people to like and agree with something you've said. A pathetic attention whore. Losing respect for people like this happens so quickly for me that I barely notice it occurring. But the effects are deep-rooted and long-lasting. Once I think you have committed douche baggery, I can't unsee the damage you've done. Forever will you be that asshole. Are you frigging kidding me right now???

For the rest of my opinions on your stupidity:
You Don't Know Shit, Part 2

Italians are Better Than Everyone

We just are. I said it, I meant it. When I refer to Italians, I am really referring to NY Italians, and more specifically, Queens and Brooklyn Italians. From here on out, just keep that in mind. Idaho Italians...wtf are they anyway? Do they even exist? I must add that I find Italians from anywhere else very odd. They don't seem to embrace their heritage and certainly don't act very much like me or anyone in my family. Almost like they are ashamed of who they are and don't want anyone to know that they are...greaseballs. Oh, keep your fucking stupidity to yourself. I can use all the slurs I want, I am Italian. If I want to call myself a WOP, I will and you'll like it. The difference is, I know the origin of the slurs, and when I use them it's because I find them hilarious, not offensive. People who get offended by these things see a glimmer of truth in them. I know they're all bullshit. That's what makes me smart and you...well, you.

Let me tell you about the basics of being Italian American by telling you what we aren't so you can understand who we really are...and love us as much as we do.
We are not all connected to the Mob, and if we were, we wouldn't tell you...that's where omerta kicks in to the equation. Don't fucking ask. Yes, the Cosa Nostra is real. No, not every Italian man living in NY is a member. Our male family members often held regular jobs, like the rest of you white folk. Mostly blue collar back in the day, but all honorable jobs.  Which brings me to the next stereotype...Italian men all work as: construction workers, garbage men, pizzeria owners, marble workers, or bakers. So maybe I had an uncle who owned a bakery, but that was not the norm. Italian men are police officers, firefighters, doctors, lawyers, accountants, and tennis instructors. Imagine that, not everyone named Tony was in waste management. And let me further refute the nonsense that all Italian women were housewives. Yes, many sacrificed to stay home with their children during the early years of their lives. But most went back to work when they deemed the children independent enough to unlock the front door on their own, get their homework done without prodding, and fix their own after school snack. They did worry about us not eating enough. Hence my mom's ever popular question over the phone, "Jjeeet?" Which translates to, "Did you eat?" As though I would forget to partake in the stuffing my face process. Hell would have frozen ten times over before that happened.

It's been said that we talk with our hands. I have no idea from where that nonsense originates. Does the fact that my own husband thinks its funny to ask me to "sit on your hands and say that" reveal anything about my heritage? Mind you, he's Italian, too. But his Italian is more in his appearance and his last name. Based upon his pronunciations, I'd swear he was raised by Eskimos. My way of being definitely screams Italian in every sense of the stereotype. Hands flying; loud excited expressiveness; peppering my speech with bastardized Queens Italian; that crazy twinkle in my eye that can be found in most of us. Yeah, I'd say I embody the fucking stereotype. But that doesn't mean that everyone from Queens and Brooklyn born of Italian heritage acts that way. Some are quite embarrassingly subdued. Actually, many are far quieter and less animated than I. Most of my family members are no longer living so that gene might die with me. I know my kid doesn't have the gesturing down as she should. Christ Jesus, she can't even answer basic questions about The Godfather correctly. I think she may be losing her membership in the nationality shortly. That's a whole other story that I don't want to dive into right now because it makes me very emotional.

Do you think Italian women are hot tempered? Spicy meatballs? I hate that phrase as used to describe one of us, by the way, so don't ever use it on me. I daresay if you piss off many women of a variety of national origins, you'll get your balls handed to you in some way.  Maybe not with the flair that we can and do, but it happens. Perhaps what we view as honest and open with our feelings, you see as being hot headed. Perhaps you are just a fucktard who grew up in a milky white, Wonder Bread eating, Leave it to Beaver, boring ass family. In my house, screaming and crying, then laughing so hard you had tears streaming down your face was considered an average Thursday. Emotions worn on the sleeve, that was a fact of life and it was good. No bullshit, no hiding behind a wall of indifference. That didn't exist in my world and I'm damn glad. I'd hate to be one of you dispassionate, cold-blooded. phony assed shit bags. Would you rather I lie to your face? I think we've gone over this and I would like to believe that you have come to expect quite the opposite from me. Actually, I think down deep inside, you like it.

On the flip side of that fun little coin, do you also believe that all Italian men are violent? That, to me, is absofuckinglutely hilarious. Let me start by saying that the men in my family were among the most affectionate people I have ever met in my entire lifetime. Ma's side of the family was always hugging, kissing, cheek pinching, hand holding...some form of loving touch. Much to my disgust when I was very young. My uncle would chase me around the house trying to pinch my cheeks and kiss me. The more I resisted, the more he pursued. A fun game to him, a stressful episode that made me cry every goddamn time he came over. He became my favorite family member over the years, and thank the newborn baby Jesus he never gave up on me, that he never stopped chasing. That abundance of affection was just an outpouring of love for his goddaughter, his niece, his surrogate daughter. God, I miss him. Back on track, the only man I knew with a quick temper and quicker hands was my dad, a French Canadian, not Italian. So think before you judge us, dickweed.

Let me think about the last time someone was shocked that I was Italian...yeah, it was just as frustrating as the first, second, and 3,145th. Yes, I have red hair, freckles, and blue eyes. Yes, I am half Italian. My grandpa had blue eyes. My Uncle Tommy was a platinum blond as a young boy. My mom burned with even the slightest sun exposure, she was so pale. Am I blowing apart your predetermined view of us as olive skinned, chocolate eyed, raven haired inhabitants of this planet? Do you know how many times Italy was invaded and by whom? Moors and Arabs to the south. Are you aware of who borders Italy to the north? Switzerland! Loads of darkies in Switzerland, right? No, far more Nordic looking aren't they? Combine us all somewhere in the middle and then spread us out over the countryside once again. Not what you saw in Good Fellas now is it? Get over it. Lose the preconceived notions of what we are supposed to look like. And for the last time, I'm NOT Irish. Christ on a fucking cracker.

The whole Jersey Shore thing drives me fucking bat shit. Let me back up and tell you I loved that show. It entertained the shit out of me. If they weren't so much younger than I, I'd swear I went to high school with them. Christ the King RHS was a hotbed of guidos.  That being said, they do NOT exemplify all Queens and Brooklyn or Jersey Italians in the least. They are the low rent, classless breed that we all try not to be. Yes, we all go through the phase, even if briefly, at some point in our lives. But, if we are even remotely intelligent and slightly educated, it doesn't last long and we become the amazing people you see before you now. We are college-educated, well-rounded people on the whole. Not the bumbling buffoons you see on TV. Not all of us have those thick, mildly retarded sounding accents, either. And not just those of us who moved out of Dodge. Some still live in the thick of the gravy and don't sound like Rocky Balboa. What kills me, what really rubs my ass in the wrong direction is when non-Italians try to sound like that. Why the fuck on God's green earth would you WANT to sound like that? First of all, you don't sound like us. You'll never have the proper inflection and intonation to sound Italian. Secondly, and even more to the point, you sound completely fucking idiotic.

I don't disagree with our food obsession. To deny that would be to deny my entire life and the family I love. Food and I go way back. My fondest memories of family all relate to some kind of eating frenzy. Bowls, platters, dishes everywhere! Filled with the most delicious and mostly homemade delights imaginable. I say mostly because we didn't cure our own meat. We did live in Queens, not on a farm with our own goat. But between Grandma Rose's cooking, Ma's cooking, and Aunt Dolly's cooking...you were in an eater's paradise. There was no "Thanks, but no thanks, I'm full" bullshit going on in my family. You ate till your eyes were about to pop and then you had dessert. And it was good. We used the Queens Italian words for everything on that table and everyone knew exactly what we were talking about. "Pass the ricott'" "Who has the scungeel?" "Who wants more sawzeech?" "Have another dish of gavadeel" and yes, "Where's the gabagool?" We ate and laughed and yelled over each other and never tired of the present company. That's how it should be. Polite, quiet dinner conversation over boring meatloaf and other white food is not for me. I need sensory overload, dammit. I need a Las Vegas dinner experience. Fill my senses and don't stop until I explode. That's how we do, no apologies.

Being Italian is such a huge part of who I am, of how I am, of my every day life. I know of no other way to be. If we are being totally honest, and when am I not, I am thankful to be Italian and not any other nationality. We have our own way of looking at things and handling the things that life throws at us. We are strong, yet sensitive. If you get on our bad side, just keep on walking, we do not tolerate shit and are very slow to forgive and definitely do NOT forget. Family comes first, don't you dare try to test that theory. Friends are just extended family and get treated as such. We love with such abandon and full hearts you won't know what hit you if you are lucky enough to be on the receiving end. It may sound prejudiced, but we actually prefer to be around our own kind. It's not that we don't like you, we are just more comfortable with those who embody the awesome that is a fellow Italian. They understand us, they get where we are coming from, appreciate the references, relate to the point of view, and can keep up with the conversation. Face it, you all want to be Italian, even for just one day. Think we don't know? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

For more reasons to find Italians better than anyone, or simply for a better understanding of how we speak because God knows you have no idea about half of what we are saying:

Queens/Italian English, a lesson in linguistics

Queens/Italian English, lesson #2

Queens/Italian English: Lesson #3, the final chapter

Perimenopause Still Sucks Moldy Balls, Four Years Later

Ladies, I never promised you a rose garden. Here we are, four years after my doctor told me that my hormone levels were, on a scale of one to ten, somewhere around dust. Those words were, at the time, music to my ears since I was long since done having children and bleeding like a stuck pig every fucking month. The excitement was off the charts! Then, oh then, I found out that it could last something like ten years. Ten goddamn years. What the holy mother of the baby Jesus are you talking about? I have to do this for how long? Who has the time or the patience? Certainly not I! But, with an end in sight, I took up my cross and plodded forward. It can't and it won't go on forever. I can do this. Right? Bless me with all that is holy and good, I've considered digging into my own vagina with a long tool and yanking my uterus out violently and with great malice. Whether it be common sense, a fear of actually killing myself accidentally, or not being in possession of said tool, I haven't done it...yet. Fast forward to today. All those symptoms I've described to you, still in full annoying as all fuck force and now being joined by new ones. In case you've forgotten them considering the mental fog we are all walking around in...Why Perimenopause Sucks Moldy Balls should remind you.

Feeling bone tired no matter how much I sleep. Can I get a show of hands if you are drinking way more coffee than you ever have in your entire life? I can't be the only one who is feeling like her ass is dragging the floor every day. The absolute worst time is in the morning. That alarm goes off and I'd swear there are tears in my eyes. The first thing I do, after peeing, is stumble downstairs and turn on the coffee maker. Why? Because I need coffee to take a shower. Pathetic, yes. But it's my reality and I've learned to deal with it...using copious amounts of very strong coffee. The exhaustion, for me, leads to a lack of motivation to do basic things. Cleaning the house has become a feat that feels like I'm plowing the fields, barefoot, using my hands. Something that used to only require pumping up some righteous tunes, grabbing those paper towels and Mrs. Meyers spray. Today, I have to psych myself up like a prize fighter getting ready for a bout. I sure would love to have half of my energy back. Perimenopause, you harsh mistress, give it back!

Night sweats. Like sleeping hot flashes with a hose turned on your entire upper body. Nothing says good night's sleep like waking up from it soaked and needing to change your shirt and pillowcase. Luckily, these don't come all too frequently. When they do, I feel like I'm on fire and it jars me awake because my drenched hair is dripping on my face and neck. Because I'm not tired enough without the joys of interrupted sleep. I know I'm giving off fierce heat in those moments because even the cats can't come near me and they will sleep on me in the dead heat of summer. Don't for a minute think that the hot flashes have stopped. They are still a large part of my life. I often find myself asking someone at work if it's really friggin hot and did our landlords turn on the heat, only to hear, "It's not hot at all, it's actually kind of cold." Cold my ass. Why am I holding my hair up and fanning my neck like my life depends on it? Why do my cheeks feel like I've spiked a massive fever? Oh, right. The evil otherwise known as perimenopause.

Thinning hair. My hair used to be so thick, I'd break pony tail holders trying to put my hair up. Now, I feel like I've regressed and my hair is more like that of a toddler. Okay, maybe not THAT thin, but certainly thin enough to be held tightly between a circle made by my pointer finger and thumb. What the hell? Do we not suffer enough as women? Can't we keep our crowning glory well into our forties? Why do we have to have something so basic stripped from us while we are in our prime? Can't be a balding cougar, now can we? Not that I am suggesting that is the only reason to have nice hair. How about the fact that most of us work and need to be seen in public on a regular basis. How about the fact that our hair makes us look youthful and pretty? How about the plain and simple fact that a woman going bald is probably more unattractive than a bag of assholes? Men can rock a chrome dome, we cannot. We are not made that way. We wear makeup, we use hair products. You need hair for that!!! Baby Jesus, leave my hair out of this "natural, beautiful" process.

This one is a doozy and if you can't handle the truth, stop reading here. The cough pee. Yes, you read that right. Peeing when you cough. This didn't occur after childbirth so don't go all Kegel Nazi on me. I gave birth almost 20 years ago at the youthful age of 24. My bladder and pelvic floor weren't affected at all back then. But do explain to me why, at 44, my muscles aren't doing their job now. If you see me crossing my legs...chances are, the next thing I am about to do is cough. Since I've been coughing since Christmas, this is a regular occurrence. I guess my thighs are getting a workout, but REALLY?!?! Why is this even necessary? I cough like a barking seal, is that not embarrassing enough? Clearly not. If I'm home, I'll run up the stairs and sit on the toilet to cough. That's hot. Talk about a sexy MILF. 'Scuse me while I cough in the can. I know, you want some of that.

How about we keep on the path of the gross and unmentionable and talk about the spotting? I don't mean just your run of the mill between period spotting, because that is a given during perimenopause. I'm talking about the spotting after any sexual activity. Oh yes, I went there. Orgasms lead to uterine contractions for those of you ignorant of basic human anatomy. And since your uterus has gone over to the dark side at this point, it chooses to ruin your fun by spewing out a little bit of liquidy off color happiness. That's really the epitome of desirable right there. Not to say it happens every time. But enough to make you second guess your need for sexy time. Do I want to chance staining the sheets? I just changed them. UGH. Can we just jump to the end and directly into menopause? Is there a rule that we have to go through the prelude instead of skipping over this shit? I don't need to follow a straight line. When do I ever?

One day, this will all be a distant memory. One day, I will look back on all this and laugh. Truthfully, I laugh about it now. Ahora en este momento as one of my closest friends likes to say. How can you not laugh at this shit? The symptoms may suck rancid donkey dong, but ladies, I ask you...don't you find it all funny as fuck? Only women go through all this which says what? It says that we are the stronger sex. Not only do we go through PMS, periods for decades, pregnancy, and childbirth, but we forge through this nightmare and come out on the other end as pretty fucking amazing women. Our bodies can take it all. Fucking incredible when you think about it. Recall the stupid joke about not trusting anyone who bleeds for 7 days and doesn't die? How about us? We basically hemorrhage for 9-15 days and not only don't we die, but we go to work, care for families, run households, and lead completely normal lives. We're superheroes! Are you friggin kidding me right now???


For answers to men's questions:
Smart Answers to Dumb Questions About Perimenopause

50 Shades of Shut the Fuck Up Already

Would we be so up in arms if the main characters were reversed? Would angry moms be protesting outside movie theaters if the man was being dominated? I am going to go out on a limb and say hell to the no. But we all jump ugly when we perceive something as a crime against women. Do you know what domestic violence actually is? Another time I'm going to stretch here and say you haven't a fucking clue because you never lived with it, never witnessed it, never survived to tell the story. Yet, here you are, screaming with righteous indignation about a book trilogy that was turned into a movie. Did you actually read all three books? Do you understand the lifestyle? And do you also comprehend that things are made more dramatic for Hollywood? The movie bears some resemblance to the book, but not completely, as is the usual way for Hollywood to treat such things. It's neither bad nor good. It just is. Why the raging fury?

Let's start with your laundry list of how Christian is abusing Ana.

1. He is a stalker. I'll give you that. This is a man with way too much power and he is used to getting what he wants. He actually has no idea how to approach the situation. If you read the whole book, you'll see he is ignorant as fuck about this. He is trying to feel out the situation, figure her out, determine if she would be amenable to his desires. Trust me when I tell you, his intent was not to intimidate or scare her. Had he done that, would she have succumbed to his wishes? She'd have called the cops and let them deal with him. He intrigued her. Mission accomplished.

2. He tells her when to eat and what to eat. I'm going in two directions with this one. One, she is horrid at taking care of herself. That is evidenced throughout. She is young and foolish. He was looking out for her best interest. However, you can say he was being controlling. Fine, he is being controlling. Did you also know that in the BDSM scene, the dom often controls when the sub pisses and shits? Bet you didn't. They remove the burden of decision-making and take over even the basic stuff. It's part of dominating someone. Some only order their sub around and never touch them. In their scene, it works for them. It's another world, a world you don't understand. That's fine, as long as you don't stand in judgement of it.

3. He "takes" her against her will. Does he? Really? Are you determining this based on Hollywood's sensationalizing the content of the book? Are you fearful of a lifestyle you don't understand? Allow me to enlighten you a bit. The submissive holds all the power in a BDSM scene. He/she decides how far, how much, to continue or to stop. The submissive is the person handing over their body to the Dom. The Dom isn't taking it. Sex against one's will is rape. Sex in which a rape fantasy is fulfilled is not actual rape. Note the difference. Remember, there was a contract in the movie and the book. She eventually asks for it to be amended. She knew exactly what she was getting into right from the start. She could have told him to go fuck himself six ways from Sunday. Did she? No. She didn't sign right off the bat. But she did have all the details laid out before her. Imagine that. Informed consent.

4.  He whips her until she cries. Again, I present to you the lifestyle you don't seem to comprehend. Sometimes a sub cries. It doesn't mean they don't like it. Some subs want to cry. They want to release the inner demons that are trapped inside them and this is a viable way to do it for them. The safeword is created to prevent a scene from going too far. It stops the pain, the humiliation, the too-intense moment immediately. Some are looking for that intensity, while some are looking to just get to that point right before the safeword becomes necessary. It's a delicate balance. One to be determined between the Dom and the Sub, but ultimately decided upon by the...you guessed it, the SUB. She was always in control, much to your uninformed and ignorant dismay.

5.  BDSM is all about violence. This is Domestic Violence, dammit. What the fuck are you even talking about? Nothing could be further from the truth. It does not come from a desire to hurt someone. Not in that way. DV is a horrific thing and one I don't wish on my worst enemy. I wish she gets far worse. Back to the topic. Domestic violence and BDSM share one thing in common and I think that is what confuses the fuck out of you tiny-brained fucktards. They both come from a place of control. DV is seeking it. BDSM is sharing it. Yes, I said sharing. The sub wants to relinquish control, so he/she passes it over, willingly, to the dom. In cases of DV, the abuser wants control and attempts to usurp it from the abused by any means necessary. Without prior consent and without anyone's pleasure in mind. The abuser doesn't even get pleasure out of doing what he/she does. The BDSM scene is based on mutual pleasure, whether you see it or not. They both get something out of it. Something positive. I can sense your shock. Poor Pollyanna.

6. I don't want this to be what my 13 year old perceives to be a healthy relationship. I want her to respect herself and not allow a boy to hurt her. Well, DUH. No one wants their daughter abused. But this isn't what we are talking about. That is not what the trilogy is about. It's about an erotic fantasy, played out by the author. It's not even accurate so far as the BDSM world is concerned. What we are looking at is the darker side of sexual fetishism. We aren't peering into the lives of the abused, nor are we saying that this is the standard by which our very young daughters should base their future relationships. Furthermore, allow me to pose a question of you. Why the fuck are you taking your 13 year old daughter to this movie? It is R rated, so she can't get in on her own. Do you always watch soft porn with your kids? And you are criticizing the movie? Seriously? This shouldn't affect younger children in any way. And if you are completely honest with your spawn, they will already know what is healthy in a relationship and what isn't. They will also have the good sense and testicular fortitude to know what they like and what they don't like and be able to speak their mind to those points when needed. Do your job and let Hollywood do its job, which is to entertain me.

All this ignorant righteous indignation has given me a fucking headache. You people drive me absolutely insane with your chest pounding and soapbox preaching about what's right and wrong. Why don't you worry about what goes on in your own backyard and leave the fun stuff to me? Clearly you can't handle anything beyond your very sterile and vanilla life. And, hey, to each his/her own. I'm not the one standing on the street corner yelling about your insistence on missionary with the lights off on alternate Tuesdays. If you think for one minute you are going to stop the movie from being played in every theatre from here to Timbuktu, you are as crazy and stupid as I've imagined you to be. While you're busy protesting the movie, have a peek in the back of your husband's sock drawer. I'll bet his porn collection will send you spinning on your axis. Everyone has deep, dark secrets...fantasies that only exist in their minds. Check out the sock drawer if you think I'm wrong. I'm never wrong. Are you friggin kidding me right now???