Sometimes I Act Like Such a Bitch...

No seriously. And guess who gets the brunt of it. My boyfriend. I can't explain it. I just have been. Fortunately, boyfriend knows of my needs that must be met to keep me the sweet, pleasant, personable, pretty girlfriend he fell in love with four years ago. These needs include, in no particular order; food and sleep. When either one of these necessities of human nature are absent the wrath, of the Wanton Hussy is released from the bowels of the earth.

However, yesterday, I was being the BIGGEST bitch. I don't even know where it came from. I woke up. Good mood. Did a little packing. Good mood. Head off to meet boyfriend for church and surprise, surprise I woke him up with my phone call that morning. This means that there will be no coffee prior to church as I had no cash and the only coffee on the way is cash only. This also means, Wanton Hussy - coffee + having to inform boyfriend that I am on my way over = Unhappy Hussy.

Okay, make it through church thinking about what I will order afterwards. 11 a.m. and food is in the horizon. We head to a local sports bar for some lunch/beer/football. I know. Beer at 11:30, after church doesn't sit well for some people. But I am not some people. I order my beer and my club sandwich. One of my pastimes includes sampling the finest club sandwiches this side of the Miss Issip.

I drink my Fat Tire, gorging myself on my club and enjoying the football pre-game. Go Saints. Go Bush. Reggie that is. Our friends arrive and then the ordering of the Miller Lite Bucket, 6 for $10, begins. I drink and laugh and cheer and root and am that totally obnoxious girl in the bar full of middle age men. Enter bliss.

A friend that joins us informs me that the last time him and my boyfriend went backpacking together, my handsome, strong, tough boyfriend was complaining on the 10 mile hike out and that the hike had "kicked his butt." I begin to die laughing. The thought of my boyfriend being human and not acting like the hyper-masculine testosterone beast, humored me. The way these events get described to me are nothing short of the cover of a trashy romance novel. Strapping young men, living off the fruits of nature, skinny dipping in hot springs at the base of a mountain. Okay, so it sounds more like a gay trashy romance novel, but either way, I'm amused.

Point of the Story: I made a huge deal out of the difference between the stories I am told of camping days past vs. the stories I am not told. What I am left with is a pissed off, embarrassed boyfriend. Angry at me for making a deal and angry at the buddy, who he apparently got into camping in the first place, for relaying to his girlfriend, at an earlier time, and me. Rightfully so, I must add.

Moral of the Story: Don't drink too many Miller Lites because all rational thoughts, words, emotions, attitudes sail past you. Similar to the chance at a Super Bowl Championship for BOTH teams I was rooting for yesterday. Oh, Pats. Why do you have to be so cruel? So cruel.

Oh and by the way, I don't want to act like a bitch. In fact, tonight I made the best chicken tacos as the most sincerest form of apology. Hate to say it. But I think I am officially a woman. I keep having these randoms episodes of crazy, irrational female for no valid reason. None. I just act like it. Don't even know where it comes from. Like Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde. Only in my case, it's Dr. Emotional and Ms. Hussy. Apparently, the influx of hormones has also stripped me of my rapist wit. I'll try harder.