Pills really do make it all better.

There comes a time in every girl blogger’s life where she takes it upon herself to get all up on her weblogspace and talk about Feminine Stuff. And no, not Feminine Stuff like we might refer to it in a women’s studies class, the one where we all agree Simone de Beauvoir was just as smart as her famous boyfriend dude, whats-his-tits, but the one where she talks about Lady Things, like time o’ the month and other such things that send the manpart-wielding readers running for the hills.

Fear not: this is only sort of one of those posts, boys. In fact you will probably like it because this is a post where ima just say it: Bitches be crazy.

I feel for you, manfriends. Woman can be more nuttier than a nutcake, and there’s nothing any of us can do about it. Really, we promise.

And I only feel compelled to write about it because I only recently rejoined this world. Because, you see, I was on the little joydrops known as birth control. Now some baby preventer mints only enhance the crazy juices flowing through the female endocrinals. BUT, if you get on the right little magic button, you become Woman 2.0. A more evolved and refined creature: permanently clear skin, a mere nod to a period, no painful, swelling body parts, no creepy emotional outbreaks, an inability to reproduce. Basically perfection.

I was actually very similar to a bionic woman.

And, not to give y’all too much info about my bizsnatch, but I’ll be frank, Clover really does not have much of a need to be on year-round miracle pill action. I am more likely to spend the eve turning out a round table discussion with my ladiez about which dude we would pick if we had to get with one of the dudes from Daisy of Love (easier than it sounds!) than I am actively doing things where I would need to prevent a baby creature from taking residence in my womb region.

Yes, 2008’s anti-baby vitamin lifestyle was primarily because I enjoyed being untethered by things like “crying for no reason” and “emotional eating” and “blood”.

And then I had the brill plan to stop. If I deeply analyze this decision, it was pretty much some clever reverse psychology I was trying to pull with the universe, like, as soon as I stop taking this for no reason, I’ll be up to my eyeballs in Danny McBride! a nice, normal fella just perfect to take home to mom & dad. Okay, I was hoping for Danny McBride. So far this trick has only served to clown me further. Physically and emotionally.

And now for the past week or so, I am plagued by the following symptoms:

1) Ten extra pounds of ache, though no actual discernible weight gain.

2) The desire to consume anything but a vegetable

3) The Sads. Permanently.

4) Face-disfiguring chin pimples

5) Attempting to will myself into the Superhero Power of DEATH GAZE

6) Amped up hate towards most living things, the human baby creatures in particular (See: DEATH GAZE, recipients of)

Numero seis especialmente, since as I pen this on the airplane, THE MOST ANNOYING CHILD EVER WILL NOT STOP KICKING MY SEAT NOR SHUT UP. I heard the parents say that after we land in LA they are continuing on to Australia. LOL. Good luck with that, suckers.

This shizz is for the birds, people. I can tell you I am the opposite of interested in this phenomenon. I miss the old me, which I truly believe is the Real Me. I do not enjoy the psychos, nor relate to them for that matter. It feels foreign and confusing. Hold me, interfriends. Most of all, I do not like feeling like I am nothing more than a hard-wired set of biological information, cellulars screaming out in pain because I am operating on a program I did not choose to run on, one that says I should shoot something large and loud out of something small and dignified AND FINE JUST THE WAY IT IS.

Next month baby preventer mints are back on. Until then, I’ll just be here practicing my Superhero Power on the Seat Kicking Cretin behind me.