I Need Chin Hair And A Sweat Rag To Complete The Look

I’m pretty sure I’ve hit early menopause. I have absolutely no medical basis for that opinion AT ALL, but it’s fun to tell myself. However, all of the people around me who have endured actual menopause are a) laughing at me, b) assuring me that it is NOT menopause because I’m still speaking coherently, or c) telling me to be careful what I wish for. Here are my symptoms:

1) I’ve become a total bitch. Wait, that one’s not new, I just felt like I should point it out before I go any further. That symptom actually began sometime around 1987.

2) I can’t stay awake past 7:00pm without a case of Red Bull and an attendant who electrocutes me periodically.

3) Global warming be damned, there is no freakin’ way the rest of society is as hot as I am. I don’t mean good lookin’, I mean engulfed in flames under their skin. If this was all global warming-related, scientists would have fixed it by now.

4) I’m going bald in some places and sprouting odd hairs in others. Use your imagination.

5) I’ve developed weird cravings for hot tea and jalapenos and pickled broccoli. Have you ever tried pickling broccoli? It doesn’t work. There’s a weird threshold for how long broccoli can endure vinegar and heat, and if you miss the cutoff point, you have a bowl of pre-v0mited soup on your hands.

That’s it, those are my symptoms. Now, I have a degree in biology and I also have two kids so I know right away that half of you jumped to thinking, “Lorca’s pregnant!” I am not pregnant. Shut up, I already said I’m not pregnant! It’s menopause! Or a drinking problem! I don’t know which! (sorry, I warned you I wasn’t being very nice about this)

On the plus side, there are benefits to entering menopause and coming out the other side. First, it would justify the gray hair I’ve had for the past fifteen years. It would also explain the pools of sweat that mysteriously appear around me at odd times. I could finally stop buying feminine supplies in bulk, like I’m expecting Noah and the ark to pull around any minute and my hoarded stash of Always is the only thing that will hold back the flood waters.

Time for a poll!

Think carefully about your answers. Anyone who thinks I’m pregnant gets to appear on the Jerry Springer show with me when I accuse him or her of being the father. Lookin’ at you, Zorgron.

Al Gore Made Christmas Suck

Here in the South, this time of year is the season that singlehandedly kills more people than any other, and not just because we get drunk and fall out of our tree stands while deer hunting. According to everyone, the wild fluctuations in weather are responsible for literally all illness. Forget that guy who discovered the germ theory of disease, no. All sickness is caused by the fact that it might be 78 degrees one day and 27 degrees the next, meaning that we in Alabama never know how to dress for the weather. I’m sure it makes sense to someone.

The real problem with the crazy shifts in temperature is that I have been unable to decorate for Christmas this year. I’m not going to stand outside in shorts and a T-shirt and string Christmas lights or hang wreaths from every window. You might already think, “Hell, 80 degrees would be perfect for having to spend three hours in my front yard doing something pointless,” but no. You’re wrong. It’s the festivity issue at stake.

This weather thing is not new. It’s a phenomenon that has been killing azaleas and confusing farm animals for hundreds of years now. But thanks to Al Gore and his movie that I had to sit through, now I know that it’s not just something natural that happens in cycles with the constant warming and cooling of the Earth. Now I know it’s my fault. And your fault. Mostly your fault.

How am I supposed to slather on sunscreen and selfishly stand in my front yard basking in the glow of a sun that is now killing polar bears as we speak, just to toss some Walmart inflatable yard art around my property? It just feels wrong. That’s why I have not flung a single decoration at this point. It’s entirely your fault, Gore, and not at all due to my laziness. I hope you can live with yourself.