I don't believe in PMS. I think it's a cheap excuse created by insecure chauvinist pigs in an effort to dismiss astute points raised by brilliant women simply because it makes these jerks look insignificant. 
I do, however, believe in mood swings. And I suspect my mood has been swinging lately.
Take this conversation my husband and I had yesterday:

Jason: What's for dinner?
Me: Fish.
Jason: Hooray!
Me: Hooray? Hooray? Hooray that my wife just spent her day stocking books, cleaning shelves, and vacuuming and shampooing the store carpets, and now she gets to go home and prepare me dinner? Is that what you're cheering? That you've got your own personal Dobby the House Elf?
Jason: Umm ...what?
Me: It's not like the flour and breadcrumbs mix themselves, and then the fish jumps into the breading and swims on over to the oil in the frying pan. Dobby has to do a lot of prep work before you get to eat, you know. (Starts crying)
Jason: I'm sorry! Why are you crying?
Me: Because it's your fault that Malcolm got kicked off of Survivor.
Jason: Umm ...what?
Me: It's your fault. You mentioned when we watched the first show that you hoped Malcolm won the million dollars, and you jinxed him. Now he's been voted off and I never, ever want to watch Survivor again, and it's all your fault!
Jason: Listen, you seem a little stressed. Why don't I take you out to dinner tonight?
Me: What, my cooking's not good enough for you? You insensitive jerk!
Jason: I give up.
Me: You would. You don't love me.
Jason: Yes I do. 
Me: You don't know what love is!
Jason: Listen, you're talking crazy, and I'm tired of getting yelled at for nothing. I've had it!
Me: Please, let's not fight. I love you.

See? See how he twisted everything around on me there? I'd go into further detail about how I'm perfect and he's crazy, but unfortunately Dobby has to go make dinner now.

Why, pray tell, would I start out a blog post with a picture of this book? First of all, it's a pretty good book. That cranky, crabby kid cracks me up every time I read it. Secondly, because I'm having a pretty bad day myself.
I woke up with pretty terrible bed hair, which, although I tried to brush and tame it with gel, mousse, hairspray, and even a little mayonnaise, didn't get any better, so then I had to wash it because the flies were really attracted to the mayo when I stepped out the door. Then I got on Facebook and found out from George Takei that Boston was on lockdown (that's right, people - my main source of news and current events is, in fact, Mr. Sulu.) This ticked me off. Boston is probably my favorite city ever, and I love everything about it - the chowder, the cobblestone, the Kennedys. Now, thanks to a spineless smear of dookie (that's right, I said it, and forgive my language, but I'm mad) the whole city is being locked down. Which meant that Boston Comic Con was probably going to be postponed. It was.
Now my weekend plans were shot, which meant no chowder in a sourdough bread bowl from Quincy Market for me. (Ooh! I wonder if chowder would have worked on my hair?) I scowled my way into work, only to find that someone had misfiled the Pattersons after the Picoults, and I had a sneaking suspicion it was me. (After all, I had been alphabetizing while listening to a particularly lively rendition of "The Reflex" by Duran Duran. Mistakes were bound to happen.)
I'd been hoping to make spaghetti with sausage for dinner, but when I got home after a rainy, gloomy day, I discovered that we were out of pasta and sauce. I'd meant to add both to the shopping list last week, but again, those boys from Birmingham had lulled me to distraction with "Save a Prayer," and I'd forgotten. Sure, I could recite the whole third stanza of the song, but "feel the breeze/deep on the inside/ look you down into the well" wasn't going to help dinner get made. I scrambled some eggs and went to lie down, disappointed.
Lying down turned out to be stupid, because the bed head came right back. I did finish the book I was reading, but it turned out to be disappointing, and I'm a little mad at Larry McMurtry for not being perfect. And still my favorite city is silent while they ferret out a murderer.
So all in all, it was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

I love pets. I've owned a ton, and for this reason alone I like to pretend I'm an animal expert. If you're thinking about getting a new addition, here's a guide to some animals I've owned. Take a look to see what might be the best fit for you:

CATS
Who doesn't love cats? Besides people who are allergic to them, I mean. There's nothing sweeter on a rainy day than to have a purring cat in your lap whilst reading a good book. Open a pint of Ben & Jerry's, though, and that sweet little kitten will turn into a velociraptor hunting small children in a kitchen. Deny him a lick of Chunky Monkey, and your face will become his new scratching post.
PROS: Self-cleaning; poops in one place and buries it
CONS: Withholds affection; hairballs
WHERE'S MY CAT NOW? I do own two cats, but mostly I've been known to adopt a cat and then let my parents take care of it.

DOGS
Who doesn't love dogs? Besides cat people, I mean. A dog will be your loyal companion, your security alarm, and your faithful bed-warmer. However, he will also chew up your shoes, ruin your hardwood floors with his claws, and sniff all of your friends' crotches when they come over.
PROS: Dogs think you're the greatest. person. ever!
CONS: Poops wherever it wants; friend may not want crotch sniffed.
WHERE'S MY DOG NOW? Mom eventually got tired of walking the dog and feeding her and gave her away to a nice home. I think.

SNAKES
Who doesn't love a good snake? Besides squeamish people, I mean. And that kid in Lonesome Dove who was attacked by water moccasins. But otherwise, who else, really?
Snakes are a fairly low-maintenance pet. They don't demand attention and they poop, like, once every two weeks. What they do require, however, is for you to feed them live mice every once in a while. Also, they need a cage with a secure lock, or else "Snuggles" might try to eat you as you sleep. He probably won't succeed, but still, he'll try. Unless he's poisonous. Then you're going to die, which you deserve, because owning a poisonous snake is just stupid.
PROS: Controlled shedding; chicks will dig you because you own such a cool pet.
CONS: This is a wild animal that really should be living outside. Each time it stares at you with its sad, trapped eyes, your soul will die a little.
WHERE'S MY SNAKE NOW? Mom selfishly refused to let me dump this pet on her, so he traveled with me until he died of boredom.

FISH
Who doesn't love fish? Besides people who bore easily, I mean.
Fish won't jump on you, won't poop in your shoe, and won't try to eat you in your sleep. They won't do much of anything, really, except swim, poop where they swim, and eat foul-smelling flakes. Sometimes, they'll eat each other, which can add some excitement to the day, until you're left with just one (rather content and well fed) fish.
PROS: Fairly easy to maintain; just keep their water clean and feed them. Also, easy to dispose of.
CONS: There's not a lot going on with fish. Plus, cleaning their tank sounds suspiciously like work.
WHERE'S MY FISH NOW? Mom admirably kept my two kissing gouramis, Bill and Hill, alive for a good year after I left them with her. Eventually, however, they wound up flushed.

This week, Jason and I watched Star Wars, Episodes I through VI. Watching all of these movies back to back made me realize two things: one, Jason and I have too much time on our hands. And two, these movies are really all about the life and times of one tragic hero: Darth Vader.
I'm not really sure why Anakin Skywalker gets such a bad rap. It's not like he asked Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi to land on Tatooine and rescue him from slavery. I didn't hear him begging to leave his mother and train to be a Jedi. No, all he cared about was fixing his pod racer and building himself a protocol droid, two perfectly normal activities for a well-adjusted, content boy. It was those rotten Jedis who insisted on ripping Anakin from his home and family to train him in a career that perhaps he was a tad emotionally immature to embark on. Can't blame Vader for that - he was just a kid!
As soon as Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan get this forlorn boy on their ship, that's when that sleazy seductress, Padme, starts to work her cougar magic. Before this stupid kid can stop himself, she's entranced him with her wily seductive powers, which is a little gross, quite frankly. Really, how old is he? Eight? Padme was like a cat in heat, chasing after that child! She should be in jail instead of ruling over Naboo like some sort of pillar of society.
Well, the Nabooan tramp got her way, because by Episode III, she was pregnant with little Anakin's twins. Poor Vader now had to figure out how to support a wife and family, and as we all know, Jedi Knight is one of the lowest-paying professions in the galaxy. When the Emperor offered him a higher paying job (and really, Dark Sith Lord is right up there with lawyers and doctors on the pay scale) what other choice did he have but to accept the position? Obi-Wan didn't take Darth Vader's resignation very well at all, trying to burn him to death for his efforts. Remember, folks: employees don't quit their jobs, just their bosses -- and we can certainly see why Darth wanted to quit that toxic tyrant!
Padme the pedophile dies, and Vader's twins are hidden away, which is just a crappy thing to do to a new (and recently widowed) father. Luke and Leia grow up not knowing their dad, until Vader puts it together that this kid named Skywalker who looks just like him (maybe that's a stretch) is his son. So what does Vader do? He asks -- nay, begs! -- his son to join him on the dark side. Great pay, good benefits, and sure, you have to be the Emperor's lap dog, taking orders all day, but you get to live on a really cool Death Star. All he wanted to do was see his son follow in his footsteps. But Luke, little ingrate that he is, refuses to listen to his father. Darth Vader is killed for his efforts to try and connect with his boy, and those insensitive Ewoks actually hold a big party now that Darth Vader is dead. Quite frankly, Luke and Leia didn't deserve to have a father like Darth. Hard working, sharp dresser, eager to work with his son and rule the galaxy...what more could a kid ask for? Apparently, if you're Luke "I killed Yoda" Skywalker and Leia "I'll kiss a wookie if the price is right...just like my mother" Organa, all of that wasn't enough. They were clearly ashamed of their father, maybe because of his chronic asthma. 
Darth Vader: tragic hero and misunderstood dad. I'm really not so sad that he killed Obi-Wan after all.