Okay, it seems to be official. I’m pre-menopausal. Mood swings. Periods every 12 days (and boy, oh boy, isn’t Mr. Hot happy about that????). Unabated bloating. Can’t remember shit.

I called my mom.

Me: “So, when did you start menopause?”
Mom: “When did you get married?”
Me: “Mom - 1991. You were 50.”
Mom: “The first time you got married, idiot”
Me: “Oh. 1985. You were 44. —Pause— I’m 44. Shit.”
Mom: “Yea, don’t you remember? Your bridal shower? I had to keep leaving to go to the restroom because….”
Me: “Okay, yes, I remember. Please let us not go there”

I have a new ob/gyn (and am definitely only interested in the gyn part). She’s about 3′6″. I think she had to stand on a stool to do my exam. She gave me a “period tracking calendar” and told me to track start/end dates. I’m averaging 15 days. How fun!

I get to stress about work, family, the price of gas, whether my roses are dying, and … for even more entertainment … night sweats and periods twice a month. C’mon - I know you all are jealous.
But, you know me - always the optimist. It’s yet another thing I get to bitch about here…..so, hey. More material.

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On a more serious, job-related note:

Today is another “going away” lunch. There is at least one of these each week. I always get an invitation, but I find it hard to attend because in most of these cases, the person being feted was released from their position due to this divestiture. It’s not that these employees weren’t performing, but because the new buyer decided we had too many people here and since they (buyer) were driving the conversion effort, a certain # of people needed to be laid off.

Then, of course, what makes it worse is that I’m the one that had to determine who was a must stay and who could be let go. The decisions weren’t always made around who was “the best employee”. Sometimes it was that there was an abundance of a certain skill set (a level of which wasn’t needed). Sometimes, it was the opposite. We were woefully short-handed in a particular area and needed someone, anyone, to fill that spot.

So, when I get these invitations, I tactfully decline and then make sure that I make a special effort to thank the person for their professionalism and dedication during this difficult time. Sometimes the gesture is appreciated, sometimes I get an “Eat shit and Die” look. Of course, by not attending the lunch, then they’re free to talk about me, what a crappy hand they’ve been dealt, how life sucks, etc. I’m sure a lot of anger gets vented. A good thing. I lived in Royal Oak when “Going Postal” was first used.

—- Of course, I fully expect that this pre-menopause thing to turn into full blown hot flashes, etc. just in time for my going away lunch. I will have lots of frozen margaritas and cry in my nachos. Then I’ll fling a tampon at someone’s head…if anyone is left to show up. —-