Please pass the Midol.
In order to keep me from screaming this week, I will need a supply of chocolate covered cherries, a stack of fashion magazines, pineapple-orange-banana juice, a new shade of MAC lipglass, a box of regular absorbency Tampax, and Netflix.
Sometimes being a girl can be a grave illustration. Picture turning into a totally different person for 4-8 days every month. A teary, angry, in pain, emotional, undesirable ( only in my head, I hope..), bloaty, bloody, monster.
Sound gross? Fuck you. The underestimated ladies know what I'm talking about. But the boys? Deal with it. "We're here, we menses, we can't control our senses."
Chant that.
I've read all sorts of shit on the female reproductive system, and scientifically I get it. But I will never understand how two little ovaries can take total control over my brain.
Take this example of how irrational those pulsating freaks make me.
I'm out of cigarettes. No big deal, right? Then how come I want to lay on the couch with my stuffed unicorn and cry about it? Well, enough is enough. I'm on strike. You hear that, body? I'm not gonna do it. I'm not going to participate in your little monthly ritual any more. You just stay right where you are, eggs. And I don't wanna hear another goddamn word out of you. You make me sick.
Does anyone have a copy of Hysterectomy For Dummies?
Sometimes being a girl can be a grave illustration. Picture turning into a totally different person for 4-8 days every month. A teary, angry, in pain, emotional, undesirable ( only in my head, I hope..), bloaty, bloody, monster.
Sound gross? Fuck you. The underestimated ladies know what I'm talking about. But the boys? Deal with it. "We're here, we menses, we can't control our senses."
Chant that.
I've read all sorts of shit on the female reproductive system, and scientifically I get it. But I will never understand how two little ovaries can take total control over my brain.
Take this example of how irrational those pulsating freaks make me.
I'm out of cigarettes. No big deal, right? Then how come I want to lay on the couch with my stuffed unicorn and cry about it? Well, enough is enough. I'm on strike. You hear that, body? I'm not gonna do it. I'm not going to participate in your little monthly ritual any more. You just stay right where you are, eggs. And I don't wanna hear another goddamn word out of you. You make me sick.
Does anyone have a copy of Hysterectomy For Dummies?
posted by maria | 12:37 AM
2 Comments:
Do you need clean towels?
Oh no, Tommy Paulson is EVERYWHERE!
Is it wrong that this entry made me hungry for breakfast? Probably all the talk about eggs. Except I prefer mine from chickens.
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