How I Manage my PMS - December 15, 2006

"Dear The Bunny,

I have really bad PMS, and I don't what to do about it. Can you help?

~ Sleepy in Seattle"

Dear Sleepy in Seattle,

I've currently got PMS too. This means I can't write my book, because when I have PMS and I try to write, I sound like an Indigo Girl. My paragraphs become peppered with torture, blood, love, lust, agony, bonds, wounds, longing, desire and hope, and while I appreciate the ladies, I am not an Indigo Girl, nor do I have much in common with them. When PMSing, I must force myself to take time off, maybe work on an illustration or two and hope I don't scratch them into an overemotional oblivion of ink.

But your Email came in this morning, and I thought, "Hey there Buns, you're going through the same shit as this poor girl, concurrently and with more experience. You could help this girl and complete a nice little writing exercise in the process, flex your muscles and get ready for mind to come back around the spinning wheel of hormonal fate."

And so, I sat down and spent the day writing out my thoughts on the topic of PMS. I give you:

How I Manage my PMS; a Six Part Guide
By The Bunny

* * *

[Disclaimer: I do not, in fact, have PMS. What I have been diagnosed with is something a little worse called PMDD, Premenstrual Dysphorric Disorder, or full on ovarian mutiny. Because there are fewer PMDDers out there, the majority of ladies reading this may not agree with my advice, or even be able to understand it. You may not suffer from the same symptoms as I do, and if you do it won't be at the same intensity, but I guarantee you that if you have ovaries, one or more of these complaints will smack of personal truth.

There are a few recommendations for supplemental nutrition listed within my guide, and after them, reasons why they do not work. You should not take them, but if you decide to anyway, consult your doctor. Or you can just tell them all to go to hell like I do.]

ON THE FIRST DAY OF PMS, MY OVARIES GAVE TO ME...

...slight irritability and a headache. Really, day one is nothing to write home about, as we all know. It will start innocuously. You'll wake feeling "off" which is no big shakes, because its possible that we drank too much alcohol the night prior, or had a nightmare about being chased by a Tuckersaurus Rex in a white bathrobe, or forgot to mop up the dog piss, or forgot to pay a utility bill or six...you know, the regular concerns. The usuals.

It is rather rare that we know we are smack in the middle of the pilot episode of this month's PMS drama. We just think, "It's a bad day."

Ladies who care about their appearances may notice an inability to look in the mirror, for we've magically packed on sixteen pounds in the night. Who is that sasquatch looking back at us? Fear not, this is your brain, and not your belly. (We'll worry about how big your belly is going to get later). Again, you will not know that you have PMS, only that you're fat, which should make you tear up, slightly. (We'll worry about how much you'll cry later).

You will not eat on this day. Instead you will be drawn to the siren song of the coffee maker and its magical drip, drinking no less than a pot of coffee, and using feeble logic to justify it. "Zero calories! And it lowers the metabolism, but... Its zero calories! I'm already losing weight!" There's no science behind the PMS/headache connection. It's probably just all that coffee.

Later in the evening, old emotional baggage will re-rear. You're over Bill who broke your heart a year and a half ago, and very happy that you two have been able to have friendly lunches together with no drama, but suddenly--you're not. Wait. How could Bill have confided in you about his new girlfriend at your most recent lunch? How dare he, after cheating on you with Tina, that slut who works at the car dealership on San Fernando? What the hell kind of a name is Tina? And how could Bill be so callous? Why its just like the time you went to his family reunion and he paid little or no attention to you and wouldn't let you pose in the big family photo with everyone, which turned out to be a good idea because the two of you broke up, but would you have broken up with Bill if Bill had believed a little more in a future with you, and not just tossed any hope of it away in favor of a one-night romp with that festering sore, Tina?! TINAAAAHHHH!

You may or may not ring up Bill and cry. If you do, you will get into a fight, and if you're like me, you and Bill are done. Kaput. But that's okay, because there's lots of fish in the sea...to catch, and strangle the life out of, and...eat. No! No eating ever again, you fat pig!

I'm not sure how to handle this day, since I've never once caught myself on day one. I've certainly lamented this. You have no idea the havoc it has wreaked upon my male friendship roster...

ON THE SECOND DAY OF PMS, MY OVARIES GAVE TO ME...

...a ravenous craving for dairy, and the realization that I have PMS. You may or may not have consumed a pot (or two) of coffee on day one. If you have done so, you will have a massive headache from the dehydration. You may or may not have called up Bill and unleashed your tongue into his phone. If you have done so, you will feel guilty. If you apologize to Bill, you are a bigger woman than I, but if you decide not to, don't worry your pretty little head. After all, he did cheat with that festering sore, Tina.

There is little science definitively linking PMS to any main cause. I'm not sure why it isn't an issue of major import. I assume this is because PMS involves icky blood and isn't backed by a massive, global PR machine like AIDS. Now I'm not knocking AIDS. It's really, super important that we fight to save the percentage of the world population infected with it, control the spread, etc., but one must admit that percentage is significantly lower than the percentage of people afflicted with periods, or 52%. That's more than half of us. And what about the percentage of that half that is called "Mommy?" Who needs a normal, healthy mommy? One who doesn't go insane every twenty-eight days? Fucking everyone.

[And if you're saying, "AIDS kills; PMS does not," wait for day four].

In the good old days--and not the days of going to the doctor to get fucked to orgasm with an ancient dildo contraption, but as recently as 1988--doctors prescribed speed to ladies with the "women problems," and you can imagine how well that went. Current study indicates it's an imbalance of hormones curable with the right birth control pill--almost always the brand seen on two dozen promotional office implements at your doctor's place of business, most notably on the stirrup covers. These pills suck up your sex drive, but don't help the PMS. If your doctor is anything like the dozen or so I've been to in the past for PMS, he'll play the rotating birth control game. You'll try them all. Don't. Take it from someone who knows: none of them work. Perhaps they'll make your tits bigger, but I've never experienced such a phenomena.

The responsible doctors espouse the theory that excessive caffeine consumption in combination with a lack of exercise causes PMS, and their idea for a cure not surprisingly involves caffeine abstinence and working out. It does indeed help...but not a whole lot.

The only theory/cure with merit is an Australian one. I'll get to that, after I describe day two.

So you've risen and written Bill off; I know I did. Good girl. You've decided to call in sick to work because you're nauseous and therefore must have some kind of stomach flu. Its been going around. You probably got it from Tony in billing (you still don't know about the PMS). You don't shower, because that seems real confusing. Instead, you lie in your own filth and watch DVD's or daytime television, and you cry when Maury Povich fathers find out they are not biologically related to their children and wonder if Tina's two kids know who their real fathers are. Whore.

You are hungry and there is no food in the house. What's good when you have the flu? Ice cream. Yes. You must go to the store for ice cream and ginger ale. While trying to find these items in your stinky jammies, you'll be tempted to put the following items in your cart:

-Cheese
-Yogurt
-Cottage cheese
-Whipped cream
-Ice cream
-Better cheddars
-Cheese grits
-Cream cheese
-Nacho cheese
-Cheese curls
-American singles
-Cheese cake
-Cheese curds
-Cheese sauce
-Spray cheese
-String cheese
-Cheetos
-Cheezits

Boy, you could go for a slice of pizza with extra cheese, or a giant block of cheddar, or for that matter, any orange package with a yellow triangle on it.

The Australian theory involves nutrition. A lack of calcium--which is clearly at play, for you cannot cease thinking about dairy--stemming from the excess of progesterone in the blood causes PMS. Americans are somewhat on the ball with the caffeine thing, because caffeine leeches nutrients from the body when consumed, specifically calcium. When I find myself hovering over the cheese cooler deciding which six brands to bring home, I know I have PMS. I go straight to the vitamins and supplements area of my grocer and pick up a big bottle of Calcium...and then I go back to the cheese.

Now that you know you have PMS. It's time to make some changes to your daily routine to ensure that your PMS will not take control of your life.

-No more caffeine
-Lots of exercise and sunlight
-No overemotional accusations of loved ones. It's just the PMS talking

You'll do this tomorrow, because today you're too busy hitting up Starbucks for a Venti, watching an entire television series on DVD and calling your mother to berate her for selling your toys at a yard sale in 1990.

ON THE THIRD DAY OF PMS, MY OVARIES GAVE TO ME...

...paranoia. Shhh! Ninjas are in the bushes. Oh, that's just the mailman. Shhh! When's the last time I paid my student loan? Oh my god, the government's out to get me! Is that a siren? They're coming for me. Hide! Shhh!

Today is the day for conspiracy theories. The doctors are all out to make us sick, so we can be back in their offices next month. P Diddy murdered Biggie Smalls; Suge Knight murdered Tupac; Tupac is still alive on a deserted island with a recording studio. 9-11 was a hoax, cooked up by our right wing beasties to inspire us to war, that distinguished German dude said so on the Internet, and everything on the Internet is true.

If you're back at work, you're not doing any work. You showed up in earnest with your bottle of Calcium and decaf coffee, but you're still crazy. You sent a threatening volley of emails to both Bill and Tina, and at lunch, you ate the cheese off the top of Delores' nachos, which was so embarrassing. You just couldn't keep your swollen mitts off that cheese. Glorious cheese.

At this point, you may be having a problem separating your real thoughts from the PMS ones. You find yourself at your computer, clicking mindlessly, and then suddenly thinking, "I was passed over for a promotion because gay Gavin didn't want a straight girl on the design team," which is an irrational thought, because the guy who got the promotion actually did work, whereas you showed up late every day and didn't care much. You're hovering over Gavin's coffee cup in the women's room with your pants around your ankles, ready to enact revenge when you consider, "Is this my PMS? Am I overreacting?" The truth is rather disconcerting.

If you're like me, and you're probably not, you head right back to blaming doctors. Why can't they give you anything that works? What the fuck is up with that? Perhaps there's an all-natural cure for what ails you, because the synthetic don't seem to assuage any of your pain.

You spend the day exploring unaccredited sites with angels and lillypads on them, during which time you pound your fist on your desk, yelp, "Aha! So that's the problem" with tears in your eyes. After work you head to the health food store for any of the following:

Black cohosh, blue cohosh, coconut oil, zinc, b6, b12 (all the b's), C, fish oil, magnesium, dong quai, bee pollen, fo-ti, dandelion, watercress, parsley, yellow dock, chasteberry, licorice root, red clover, vervain, scullcap, agnus castus, spirulina, chlorella, blue green algae, hemp seed oil, linseed oil, primrose oil, E, st. john's wort, kava, or sam-e.

This will be an immense waste of money, because only cutting coffee and taking Calcium will help your PMS (Oh, and don't bother shooting the coffee up your asshole; don't ask).

You'll take your health food store spoils home, ingest twice the recommended amount and wait for the PMS to pass. When it doesn't, you cancel that fun night out with your friends, because they don't understand--will never quite get with--the sudden and infallible notion you have that the world is ending and everything is hopeless. Not even your dog wants to lie next to you, unless you're eating cheese.

ON THE FOURTH DAY OF PMS, MY OVARIES GAVE TO ME...

...suicidal tendencies. The PMS will not cease, and nothing you take works to assuage it. Your happiness is slowly unraveling; your belly is slowly expanding. Your world is cold and bleak, and you will spend the rest of your years fat and alone. This is the day for hard drugs.

Search. Search. Search.

If you're like me, any drugs lying around the house will have been ingested during previous bouts with day four. You'll have to settle on extra strength cold medication, and you'll fool yourself into thinking it's because you had the flu. Must've gotten it from Tony in Billing. It's going around.

You didn't go to work today either, but that's okay because they, like Bill, don't believe in you. You were passed up on a promotion because you didn't have a penis and didn't like to stick that penis in a man's brownhole (and mind you, the guy who got "your" job didn't call in sick two days this week).

The remainder of your day is spent surfing the net but not really retaining anything because you cannot read. What are those words before you? Is that some form of Elvish? Why, no, it's English, your native tongue, and you're too mentally foggy and jacked up on meds to notice. Instead you send twenty typo-ridden emails to Bill, and call Tina no less than a dozen times at the dealership on San Fernando. You said nothing and then hung up so it's okay. You dream up elaborate ways of getting Tina fired involving decoys, sexual harassment charges and embezzlement, and also consider going down there to key her car. You are full blown PMS insane now. Poor Tina.

After work, you fall home. The knife drawer beckons you. It could all be over with a little bravery and the flick of a wrist. If you should make it to the knife drawer, remember like I always do, that there's a bottle of wine on the counter behind you. Instead of slitting your wrist, why don't you find yourself a corkscrew and go to town on that Cab? Atta girl. Whew.

After the wine comes the sleepy, but it is only 6 pm, so you will just lie down for a nap--a light, breezy, seventeen hour nap.

ON THE FIFTH DAY OF PMS, MY OVARIES GAVE TO ME...

...a moment of rest. Today you feel better, and you should, because you've got ninety-two gel caps full of calcium in your colon. You're embarrassed about the Bill and Tina thing, and with regard to Tina you think, "You know...she probably didn't even know Bill had a girlfriend. I shouldn't be so hasty in indicting her." With regard to Bill, you think, "Boy, I really went apeshit on Bill. Maybe I should call and apologize. Yep, that's what I'll do, I'll call and apologize and take him out for lunch or something." But you don't. Whatever. He fucked that festering sore.

Earlier, you had awakened from a sex dream. You were feeling pretty randy in your woman parts down there, so why not enjoy a little rubbin? You enjoyed it six times. Whew, you feel so much better, and because of this, you play a little more in the shower. All that soap made your skin slick and it was rather hot and sexy.

At work, even the gay guys look yummy. Tony from Billing has wide shoulders you've never noticed before, and wow, that's a cute butt on him. Sheila the super Christian in accounting is sporting a tight sweater, and though Sheila is a bit repulsive, those are definitely air conditioning nipple hard-ons poking through the fabric. Your crotch is alive. You are rolling it around in your swivel chair. There is sex everywhere.

If you're like me, on day five, you will masturbate no fewer than twenty times, rubbing them out in the ladies' room, the break room, the spa or at your desk. Day five is crazy, so invest in some Astroglide.

But its about to get crazier.

You've phoned a friend. You've asked this friend out for drinks, to catch up and have a chat, perhaps get a bite to eat or something. This will be a nice distraction from your PMS. This friend arrives and looks sexier than you've ever noticed. You eat nothing and drink lots, because you and the friend are really connecting and having a great time together. This is lovely.

ON THE SIXTH DAY OF PMS, MY OVARIES GAVE TO ME...

...awkwardness. Oh boy, I'll just...erm...get my bra and be going...cuz...I've got lots of things to do at six am on a Saturday.

Day six starts with shame walking, which is embarrassing, but its also when your period starts. I'm usually too hung over to appreciate it, so I just eat some cheese and smack myself in the forehead repeatedly for attempting to piss in a man's coffee mug for no good reason. Whatever it was that you did, you'll be ashamed.

* * *

So there it is...my guide for PMS management. I suppose it would have been easier to just write "Don't drink coffee and take calcium" but that's no fun.

Posted by The Bunny at 2:46 PM

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