The double-edged sword of PMS

Okay, so just returned from two weeks of fun and adventure in Palm Springs with lots of stories to tell, but since I have raging PMS right now, I'm gonna write about that instead.

I've never been a PMS apologist who claims it doesn't exist and gives anyone crass enough to mention it the hairy eyeball. Frankly, I couldn't hide my PMS if I tried.

Anyone who knows me more than casually knows how my hormones can hijack me faster than a 747 over Libyan airspace.

Back in college (when Beavis and Butthead was all the rage), I used to pull my T-shirt over my head and chase my friend Rachel around our dorm shouting, "I am the great Hormonio!"

(Remember that Beavis? I call her Beavis. Still. She calls me Beavis too).

Anyhow, last night was kind of a typical PMS night for me. I was a cranky, bitchy wreck of a human being. Valerie, be glad you weren't home!

I went to Wal-Mart to get some groceries. I had just run a bunch of mile repeats and was STARVING! The only thing I wanted was Morning Star brand Buffalo Wings (my grown up PMS food).

When I got home, I realized that I had somehow left the bag with both my buff wings and my garden burgers at Wal-Mart. So being both PMSsy and also hangry, I proceeded to have a massive meltdown.

It didn't help that when I opened the back of the Honda (still crowded with all my unpacked vacation crap), my case of Pabst Blue Ribbon came sliding out and landed on my toes.

Then I saw a box of Jen's hand-blown glass bees ($80 a pop) teetering on the verge of crashing to the pavement. Fortunately I caught it before it fell, but it only made me even more strung out.

I began to tear the car apart in search of the missing wings and burgers. When I didn't find them, I swear to you, I started cursing inanimate objects. I was like, bleep you Honda! Bleep you garden burgers! Bleep you, Wal-Mart!

Fortunately, my next-door neighbor was in Wyoming, so he didn't call the cops. But that was a pretty typical PMS evening for me.

But you know what? PMS can cut both ways. And on vacation just a few days ago, it actually worked in my favor for once.

It happened when Jen and I went to the "Amazing Animal Show" (or similar ridiculous spectacle) at The Living Desert in California. The retired volunteers at the park assured us it was a must see.

I said to Jen, "The second an animal dances, I'm outta here."

She said, "Let's sit over there by the exit." We weren't so optimistic, see.

At the start of the show, the trainer held up her glove and out of nowhere, this beautiful great-horned owl came flapping over the audience and landed on her arm. There were lots of oohs and ahs.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said the trainer. "I'd like you to meet ... Boob-o."

At the mention of this name, some synapse in my brain misfired on apocalyptic scale. I looked at Jen and said, in my best Butthead voice, "His name is Boob ..." And then I was laughing about as hard as I've ever laughed in my life.

Laughing loudly and obnoxiously and doubling over in spasms and gasping for breath. Laughing so hard tears started pouring down my face. Laughing harder than I've ever laughed at anything that was actually funny.

"Oh god," I sobbed and laughed. "Do you have a Kleenex, Jen?"

All I could picture was the trainer stopping the show to scold me for my interruption. Which made me laugh even harder.

Or getting escorted out by security, or the medical team. Which was pretty funny too.

It took me about five minutes to compose myself. But throughout the show (in which I'm happy to say no animals danced), periodic snorts of obnoxious laughter erupted from my nose.

So what set me off? I'm 99 percent sure it was PMS. It was the same overwhelming tidal wave of emotion that hits me when I'm watching the news at that time of the month and suddenly I'm crying over a dog stuck in a cave or a kid giving his allowance to the homeless.

But for once, instead of irritability, the emotion was pure, unbridled mirth. Delight. Lightness. Joy. Because for a just a minute, that poor owl's name was the funniest thing in the multiverse.

I wish I had more months like that.

POSTSCRIPT:

Okay, I realize the owl's name was actually probably spelled Bubo (though Boob-o, complete with hyphen, was the spelling that popped into my head). So when I went home and googled Bubo, this was the first link I got:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bubo

Seriously, this poor owl can't win.

Thai-style driving NOT appreciated at National Park

I got in trouble at the park today. Sort of.

At the the main gate of Rocky, I tried to drive up to the card reader and swipe my annual pass. But I couldn't get through because a big white Park Service truck was sitting in the lane, doing nothing. The driver had his hand dangling out the window, and I think I mistook a twitch as an invitation to do a Thailand-style squeeze-around.

So I did what any Thai driver would. I eased my CRV into the crack between the truck and the gatehouse. There was maybe an inch on each side--plenty of room, right? I could see I was going to have to reach over and pull in my mirror, so I slowed down. Then I heard the ranger at the next booth shout, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

Apparently, some mornings, before coffee, I still forget what country I'm in.

As the truck pulled away to let me through, the ranger made a joke about fining me 100 USD. Then he watched me swipe my pass over and over. "Turn it around!" he groaned. Which worked and the gate went up.

As they watched me go, the rangers were probably convinced I was going into the mountains to die. I wouldn't be surprised if they put out an all-points bulletin: bonehead at large, armed with Honda CRV. And dangerous!

Body Snatchin'

R. I. P.

So for the first time since high school, I killed something with my car today. So depressing. Some wood grouse were loitering beside the road near Pipestone, Minnesota. I don't know why one picked that exact moment to make a break for the far side of the street!

One consolation, I hit it so hard, there was no question it was dead. Stone cold dead. Not lying there suffering. When I looked in the rear view mirror, there was a cloud of feathers fluttering in the air.

The sad thing--I was probably the first car to drive by in about three days. Bad luck, little fella.

This isn't the first animal I've hit with the Honda. Just the first kill. I was driving to a baby shower with my mom last month and I ran over a dead, bloated skunk corpse. The splattering sound--and the smell-- were horrible. My mom and I both screamed, it was so gross! Sometimes my car still reeks like skunk.

Seat-of-the-Arse Road Trip 2010

OK, so now that have seen six years looking at cheese-ball tourist traps in foreign lands, it's time to see some in my own country! Biggest Ball of Twine in Minnesota, Corn Palace, Wall Drug, etc.,here I come!

I should mention that this is possibly the most half assed piece of travel I have ever executed, right up there with getting bored and going to Jakarta airport with a duffle bag to see if they had tickets left to anywhere kewl. (Repeat after me: the airport is not a bus station). Anyhoo, I have waited until the last possible moment to nail down my departure dates, and I'm still not sure the owner of one of the couches I plan to crash on knows I'm coming. The temporary plates on my new Honda are due to expire en route and when I arrive in Estes Park (on Saturday, Sunday or possibly Tuesday), I will crash with Kelly and Phil for somewhere between one and three weeks.

But I must say, after six years of highly regimented living, it feels kinda neat. And since my friends haven't seen me for years, hopefully they'll have mercy when I show up unannounced (or three days later than announced) at their door. Being the flaky friend from far off lands does have its moments, though I promise I really do not milk them. Too much.

A very loose itinerary (almost laugh as that word):

Thursday -- Get up, do laundry, pack and load card (as procrastinating too much to do it tonight). Attempt to depart at 10:00 am. Drive through Chicago madness to Whitewater, WI and stay with I-House friend Kevin, who is study abroad advisor at the college.

Friday -- Drive to St. Cloud, Minnesota to stay with Julie and new husband Shaun. Actually, he is 2-year old husband, but still new to me, kind of like the Honda, as I've only met him once. I hope they got the email that says I'm coming to see them. Fortunately, they live on a tiny college campus, so confident I can locate using elementary stalking techniques.

Saturday -- Going to South Dakota! Not sure why this is so exciting, as by all indications is another vast, empty state like Nebraska or Kansas. Relatives of mine were Lakota Sioux, so bet I will just feel at home there, like I'm in a biergaarten in Munich chugging Hefeweizen with all the other Maurers and Schwartzes. No friends in SD, so will probably just check in to a No-Tell Motel and attempt to sneak the cat in.

Sunday -- Inshallah, Estes Park, CO. Seems close to the Dakotas. Easy peasy driving day.

Still amazed at how little prep required to travel in the States. No visa, no passport. Every state is like visa on arrival, only don't need to stand in line for it or leave every six months to keep it. Brilliant concept.