Welcome to the Hormonal Bitch Festival.  Prices have been reduced, so come on in.  All you need are dwindling supplies of the very essence of what made you a rich juicy woman and a very bad mood. 

Sit down, and we will provide you with a number of opportunities to to blaze with righteous indignation and many a fine chance to weep inconsolably.  Don't worry, please.  Everyone gets a turn, and we will listen to your every word.  Later, there will be food and drink, and then nap time.

First, take a look at this recorded debate.  Stare at John McCain's lower right jaw.  Well, it's his left, but your right.  Watch it.  Doesn't it look like some kind of shiny biscuit?  Keep staring.  Watch the way only his lower lip moves.  Doesn't he need some dental work?  Now--there, yes.  His arm.  Watch his arm.  His shoulders.  See the way his button is pulling on his suit jacket?

Listen to his words.  In fact, we've turned Obama's off so you can't hear his replies.  No, you have to listen.  Pay attention.  Hear the anger?  Watch his jaw.  Keep focusing. Focus.  Focus.

Think about what he says about the rights of the unborn and Joe the Plumber.  Don't daydream.  Don't drift.

There!  You feel it, don't you.  That full fury of hormonally infused irritation!  Excellent.  Have another glass of wine.

Don't worry, we will come back to this.  But now we would like you to watch an episode of a very sad show.  Or what about a movie.  What about watching Things We Lost in the Fire.  You haven't been feeling sad enough lately, so stare at all this loss.  Look at this grief, these characters' lives.  Now, here's the best part.  Think of all the loss you've ever faced in your life.  All the people you've lost.  Maybe not in a fire but otherwise.  One, two, three, four.  Keep focusing.  Think, think, think. 

Yes!  There you have it.  You are now weeping hard.  That's the way.  That's the Hormonal Bitch Festival way.  Excellent work.

We would offer you a gallon of ice cream, but we just ran out.  Sorry.

Here's the best part.  Now we have your boyfriend coming in to our party tent.  Yes, right now, with your mascara all around your eyes, your mind in a sad whirl.  And he's late.  And this is the best part--he's not going to pay as much attention to you as you'd like.  Aren't we smart?  We think of everything.

You have to provide the fight you two have on your own, but just remember how we got you there, okay?  Here's your parting gift  bag (tampons, progesterone cream, Valium, some Chinese herbal remedies, cranberry pills) and our emergency hotline for those bitch fest moments.  Good luck.  Take care.  Go home and cry us a river.

Jessica