Men-o-Pause

Sorry to be so missing this week, but if you ever wanted a clear display of what happens to a middle-aged male when his hormones are fucked with, this was it.  Virtually everything I encounter this week annoys and/or infuriates me.

You are forgiven if you assume that is my natural state.

Well, maybe it is – but I can usually find something about it or me to laugh at.  That’s been a problem this week.  Ask the dog with the size 13 human footprint on her ass.

It’s exactly what happened to your mom when she first hit menopause. The next thing she hit was your dad.  Then she parked her ass in a dark room for a month crying for no reason, packed on 15 pounds, and, with her hot flashes followed by chills, made her own weather system.  All the while blaming men generally, your dad specifically, and most of all, his horrible penis.  Menopausal women are more obsessed with dicks than adolescent males, and they’re a lot more violent, too.

Fair enough, I guess.  After all, the only thing that saves me from that crazed female condition is the fact that I HAVE a dick.  Evidently the reason I’m not crying in a dark room or raving about sperm-based conspiracies against me is because somehow, actual knowledge of the hormonal basis is sufficient for me to cope with its effects.  That capacity for reason resides with my dick.  Proof: Every woman, menopausal or not, agrees that Men Think With Their Dicks.

But the side effects linger. It’s like a histamine reaction, a constant irritant, a maddening, unending itch.  Minor, everyday annoyances infuriate me irrationally.  It makes it impossible to concentrate for any length of time, or to create the linkages between circumstances that lie at the basis of both cogent dialog and humor.  It’s hard enough just wandering through the day without hurting myself, or forgetting what I was just doing.

Blame the Lupron, that fine drug they stuck in my ass over 4 months ago, spiking even as it fades away, a process that may take years.  The thought (read: hope) is that it loosens its grip over time, so that even when it acts up, its impact is reduced.  So far, no good.  But there’s no alternative, and we’re only in month #5.

So once again, sorry to be so missing and dull.  But as Johann famously said, “I’ll be Bach.”

This entry was posted in Shaken and Stirred. Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to Men-o-Pause

  1. Mumblety Peg says:

    Men are such pigs.

  2. Yono Senada says:

    “Menopausal women are more obsessed with dicks than adolescent males, and they’re a lot more violent, too.”

    Squatty,
    I just checked Snopes and this is not true. However, Mumblety Peg is right.

  3. Lois Terms says:

    You had my sympathy until you got to the part about how your dick keeps you in control. Sweat your balls off.

  4. rag says:

    now you understand…

  5. Barbara Ganoush says:

    Very interesting indeed. I don’t wish this on anybody, but I’m glad that someone other than a woman — that would be a man by default — has gained this experience and offered a sympathetic perspective (sort of). The loss of control is bad enough, but realizing you’re losing it even while it’s happening is flabbergasting and extremely upsetting. In life there’s no do-overs, and some of the things women do when they’re changing are cause for regret forever.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s