$!*#@

by far, i am in one of the worst moods i've been in in a while. it's lasted for a few days, seemingly growing more intense as the week goes on. i feel...combustible. and my mouth just showers profanity every time it's open. last night i was yelling at the tv during halftime of the basketball game because some random joe (or random michael) was hosting the halftime show in the place of stuart scott. "who the fuck are you?" i yelled at the screen. "and where the fuck is stuart scott?!" this, of course, was after i'd spent the first two quarters of the game profanely transforming the last names of lakers players. gasol became g-asshole, farmar became farmwhore, vujacic became vujabitch and so one. granted, i'm not a lakers fan even on good day, but this was a new low for me.

as i was driving home last night from my weekly volunteering, i was trying to figure out why i was in such a foul state. could it be because after two years of being salaried, my position will soon become an hourly one? one where i will have to deal with time cards, set lunch breaks and rest breaks, and a general end to the freedom i've come to know (freedom which has kept me sane over the past 24 months)? possibly. i feel my doctor's appointments, dental appointments and manager meetings, all my saving graces, slipping through my fingers, and i don't like it.

or could it be because during my volunteer session, i had to read the hite report, a book about women's sexuality. the chapters i was assigned were on orgasms. orgasms in masturbation. orgasms in intercourse. are the legs together, apart, slightly apart then open, slightly open then apart, or scissoring rapidly when achieving orgasm? are fingers, hands, objects, cloth, pillows used in masturbation? and then there was the section on women who don't have orgasms at all.... could reading this have attributed to my hostility? well, it certainly didn't help. i felt my body temperature start to rise and my heart start to pound, and it had nothing to do with contracting vaginal muscles or varied clitoral pressure. i was just mad. but why? is it because i wouldn't know an orgasm right now if there was one vibrating on my welcome mat when i got home? perhaps. is it because tampax owns more stock in my vag than any penis ever has? maybe. but this is nothing new, so what's the big deal?

maybe it has nothing to do with the book. it could be because after a fantastic, whirlwind of a manager meeting last week, i haven't heard from him yet, and the lines between my personal life and professional life are blurring. i sit by the phone, hoping he'll call, checking my missed calls, refreshing my email. nothing. the following internal dialogue ensues: "will he call? when? did he like my other material? of course, he didn't. why would he? he's not going to call. he would have called by now if he was going to. should i email him? absolutely not. if he wants you, he'll call you. what if he forgot? or just got busy? or lost my number? should i email his assistant? no! i should relax. it has only been a week (minus one business day for the holiday). he'll call. maybe. if you're writing isn't complete shit." i feel primed to star in a movie titled, "he's just not that into representing you" (written by some talented, represented writer, of course).

nevermind that, my anger could very well stem from the fact that i take the "periods only four times a year" birth control for the sole purpose of avoiding bloodshed every effin month, yet i still manage to only make it 7 weeks (and i do mean this is the ONLY reason i take it. proof? see paragraph 3). 8 weeks if the gods are on my side. motherfucker! so it could just be my hormones unleashing their fury after being cooped up in the juice for a few weeks longer than mother nature would like. i would like to have a few words with big mama naturale. but i suppose i'll wait until i cool off a bit, lest i start having hair growing in places it shouldn't.

could be all of these things. could be something else entirely. all i know is,

i am in a shitty mood this week, L.A.