RAAAWWWWWWWWRRRRRRRR! Period Monster

I took a break from chipping away at the story I'm writing to call Dr. Moo, number one because my mood has partly to do with female trouble, something we in the McPolack sisterhood refer to as Period Monster, and number two because she's my only sister and is bound by blood to listen to me bitch.

PM causes me to say things like this, in reaction to her tale of a potluck dinner party she attended with a bunch of college professors and librarians, to which she brought both pee-warm beer and pee-warm greasy store-brand appetizers:

1. God, remind me never to invite you to a dinner party. I bet the beer was Miller Lite.

And this, when I heard the main course at said potluck was baked ziti:

2. Baked ziti is a pussy thing to cook.

Of course Moo cheered me up both with the fact that a six-figure education and the letters D and R before your name aren't enough to convince you that the beer that's on the floor OUTSIDE of the refrigerated beer is not, in fact, made cold by its proximity to said fridge, and that, on the way back from the potluck, she flung some 40 now-cold still-greasy store brand appetizers out the window, one by one.