Why Women Gotta Be so Crazy and Shit?

This Song has nothing to do with this post- I just fuckin love it right now. That's All. Watch this shit.

Ok- now that I gotten that outta the way, let's get after it.  Sometimes I think the ideas from my posts come from one place, (ok, I really only think they come from one place, actual conversations I have with my peeps, usually via text) when in reality they come from another.  More about where this post really came from at the end, but in the interim check out the transcripts from actual texts I exchanged today.   Names have been changed to protect those plotting the destruction of others, and I took a little poetic license cause this is my fucking blog and I can do what I want.
Convo #1
Txtr 1:I'm obsessing about him what should I do
Txtr 2: Chill- you just need to chill the fuck out
Txtr 1: and that includes like leaving a note and shit?
Txtr 2: Yes!
Txtr 1: Ok,ok- that's what I thought I was just making sure.  Why the fuck am I so crazy?
Txtr 2: Because you're a girl. I include myself in that. I really like him too.  Fucking hormones they make us crazy.
Txtr 1: Wait you like him too- this might be a problem.
Txtr 2: no asshole....my him not you're him

Convo #2:
Txtr 1: 2 things- #1- Can I borrow your Wizard of Oz DVD-#2 I had dinner and also sex w/ XYZ Saturday night
Txtr 2: Wizard of Oz -Sure
Txtr 2: XYZ- who the fuck is that?
Txtr 1: Oh I haven't mentioned him? Oh well yea...he's cute.
Txtr 2:  Nice.  The most exciting thing that happened to me this weekend was that I dropped a paint can on my toe and cursed for like 10 mins straight.   Then I imagined, in a pms haze, what it would be like to beat the shit out of my husband for an entire hour.
Txtr #1: Yea that shit happens. Oh!  that reminds me lets have a playdate this week.

Good Shit- which of course leads me to the pondering of why women are so fuckin crazy!  Why do we have these minds that cling and dwell and attempt to parse every single thing to the nth degree? Why do we sometime feel that it might really be ok, even justifiable, to beat the shit of or kill someone.   Why is that? 

We sit around and watch Oprah.  So in awe of her Buda like peacefulness are we as a race we completely gloss over the fact that she's  a gazillionaire.  I'd be a zen as fuck if I had money like that. Or like this.

We read all these books about being in the present moment and accepting what is.  We go to that amazing yoga-Pilate's-transcendental meditation combo class like our life depends on it every other day because it promises to release us from the burden of the monkey mind.

And we come home, make the perfect vegan saute that everyone we lay before adores and the second we pour our post dinner glass a wine and settle in to catch up on email we get some 3 sentence email from our boss that by the time we finish dissecting it like were in fucking third grade English looking for a predicate that has us convinced were headed to the soup kitchen and the unemployment line and we are fucking beating the shit out of ourselves for spending money on botox and meditation because in 3 short weeks we will not be able to feed our children and we decide to crawl inside a bottle of Merlot and start reading the fucking Twilight Series again because life would be so simple if a hot Mormon vampire would just feast on myl bood. 

See how wrote that entire thing with no punctuation?  If you're a woman that's exactly how your mind works- 90 fucking miles an hour with no punctuation. 

So this evening as I was plotting in what way I would answer this timeless question, (I know that's why anyone would ever read this shit to figure out why shit is the way it is that's why I'm here),  rewind to this morning, I'm fucking stumbling around my kitchen completely disoriented because I don't have a hangover like I usually do.   I'm trying to make some coffee when I knock my Goddamn (see GD- soo gangsta) Zoloft behind the stove.  Seriously yo- right now is not a time for me to be off the meds, but I figure I'll just call in the refill and pick it up cause it was almost gone anyway.  I get home. Make the perfect vegan meal.  (Well it was vegetarian, but whose counting right?)  Call in the refill and am informed by the pharmacy that my insurance won't pay for the shit until tomorrow.  I start to panic. I need that shit.   It is an amazing mood elevator and appetite suppressant all at once.  I promised my self 6 months of of fucking serotonin treatment while I got my shit together.  I am not fucking missing 2 days of that shit.   I have a fucking 8 hour meeting with my boss tomorrow.  I go to the stove and I start trying to pull it out.  It is not fucking budging.  I discover that I will need  to tip to over.  I am trying to be careful because it's a gas stove and I will asphyxiate the whole house if I pull the line out of the wall. And I'm tipping, and tipping, and tipping. And Boom! I tip that motherfucker right over! The oven racks fall out. I break one of my burners.   But I get the fucking Antis. Triumphantly  I clutch the Zoloft in my hand and fantasize about how calm I will be taking today's dose before bed and tomorrows before my meeting. I will have such a sublime serotonin buzz that my boss' boss' boss (foreva,eva, eva?) could fuck with me tomorrow and I wouldn't give a shit. Then...  Crash! Boom!  Back to reality as my 4 year old shrieks "Oh no Mama!  How can this happen?  What will we do?  How will eat"  Really? This from the child that gets 90% of her meals from a restaurant? Melodramatic little shit.   And then it hits me. Women are fucking crazy because our Mother's are fucking crazy and they made us that way by doing crazy shit like almost ripping a gas line out of the wall so that we can have a fucking coping mechanism.   That's My Word.
R