Bitchfest

Wow.

I am ugly busy these days at work and if I was a more dedicated blogger, I'd be writing posts on the weekends since I am struggling to get them out during the week.

But alas, I am a lazy heifer. I'm sorry.

I'm also cranky lately, largely due to the fact that I am not sleeping well. I need to get a few things off my chest so be forewarned: I'm probably going to be vulgar or profane or both. My vocabulary is shrinking in direct proportion to the amount of shut eye that I'm NOT getting and thus, four letter words, (easy to spell and versatile) have become vernacular staples.

First, the credit card companies suck. Over the last couple of weeks, we have received notices for nearly all of our cards informing us that as of October 1st, because of "unforseen market conditions", our interest rates would be switched from fixed to variable resulting in anywhere from 5 to 8 percentage point increases in APR. It doesn't really affect us for the most part except for American Express, who raised our rate AGAIN. When I decided to ring them, the woman on the other end of the line actually told me that she was expecting my call. Nice.

During the course of the phone call, I learned that American Express doesn't allow you to cancel your account and opt out of the increase, which was news to me since I believed opting out to be a consumer right. As of August 20th of this year, it is, but since Amex posted their letter to me before that date, they don't have to adhere to this new rule.

The poor woman on the other end of the line was very polite and kept nattering on saying things like, "I understand that this is upsetting for you Mrs. J." I asked her to stop talking.

I said, "I know that you are probably a nice person and that you are just doing your job but I'm going to hang up now because that script on your desk that you are reading from is just pissing me off". I hung up.

Then, I got my wallet, pulled out the American Express that I've had for nearly 15 years and cut it into 47 pieces. When I am ridiculously wealthy and famous after my brilliant novel soars to the number one position on the NY Times Bestseller List and gets optioned by a big Hollywood production company, I am going to have my agent tell American Express to take their proposed lucrative endorsement deal and go pound sand. And then Ellen, Jerry, Beyonce, Shyamalan, Tiger, DeNiro and I will discuss corporate greed over sushi at Nobu.

Second, I have been plagued lately with dreams of beating the tar out of Dallas's ex wife. I am not even kidding. I nod off to sleep with the peaceful sounds of a roaring campfire or a summer thunderstorm thanks to an application that Dallas has downloaded on his phone and then all of the sudden, I am in the proverbial dark alley throwing trash into a rubbish bin. I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around, hair raised on the back of my neck, to find Dallas's ex wife standing there. She smiles, mockingly, and asks me how I am enjoying paying her tax bill.

That's when I throw the first punch.

I don't think that I am a violent person by nature but something comes over me in this dream and I am crazed. I wake up in a pool of sweat, heart pounding, chest heaving and terrified that I have actually hit her. And then, safe with the knowledge that it was all just a bad dream, I try desperately to recall what it felt like to box her ears red.

Speaking of waking up in a pool of sweat...

The estrogen-ebbing, phantom baby-kicking, menstrual cycle havoc-creating, fucking HOT FLASH HELL known as perimenopause is original sin in overkill mode.

For ages, I've had serious issues with the whole pain-of-childbirth/subordination-in-marriage-for-all-womenkind curse thanks to some slapper named Eve. I understand she was told not to eat the damn apple. I get that. And I agree that she should have been tossed out on her fig leaf but bleeding every month for thirty eight years ought to be punishment enough. Suffering through transitional labour, papsmears, PMS and cheesy pick up lines is over the top. And now, sweet baby Jesus, my doctor tells me I can expect this new and final phase to last FIVE, MISERABLE YEARS.

And Adam's lot? What do they get?

Better pay, a request to "cough" once a year, Viagra and the ability to pee standing up.

It's all enough to make a girl drink.