More Info Than You Requested

I'm too lazy to find it, but a couple months back, a commenter mentioned that I'll probably freak out when I reach menopause, because I love talking about my period so much. I'm hoping this isn't true. My Mom seems to have enjoyed being free of her lady time. She celebrated with buying all new underpants and going on a diet and appears to be happier and healthier than ever. However, I'm not sure she felt the same way about the whole menstruation business as I do.

I love my period. I love the excuse for being lazy and taking naps and eating large chunks of bloody cow. I love having a reason for being bitchy and paranoid and I love losing five pounds in the course of a day without doing a single sit-up or running a single solitary mile on the treadmill.

But most of all, I love embarrassing the hell out of people.

Someday, scientists will discover that embarrassment is genetic and I will get the embarrassment titer only to discover that I am missing that gene entirely. I think it's funny when people are squeamish about bodily functions and the language that describes them and God help you if I ever meet you in real life, dear reader, and I perceive that you are missish about teh Moon Time. I'm proud to have humiliated everyone from Duane Reade cashiers to bodega-haunting drug dealers in my time as a fertile female, and, assuming that I have another fifteen to twenty years of this left, I figure I can disturb many, many more folks before I stop bleeding.

The last time I was home my friend Kate mentioned that I told her most of what she knew about periods when we were kids, because I started early and was happy to talk about it. I expressed surprise.

"OK, I was early, but there were other fifth graders," I said. "Something to do with hormones in our chicken nuggets, I think."

"Yeah, but they were ashamed," Kate said. "You were happy to talk about it. Like, we couldn't get you to stop."

My sister claims that the bulk of my charm is in the fact that I never, ever change, and provided that you find any of these behaviors charming, I guess she's right.

Not an Original Observation, But...

...if birth control pills gave 80-year-old men erections, they would be distributed for free at every clinic, doctor's office, and pharmacy across this great nation of ours. Instead, I just had to pay fifty goddamn American dollars (or 11 Euros) for my baby-go-ways, because my health insurance hates vag.

Or something like that. There was some fine print and I wasn't feeling up to arguing. Which is how they get you.

Service Journalism

This is where you need to go to get all those last-minute gifts on your list. You're welcome.

In other news, I'm probably finally going to go to the cracker farm, because I've been cooped up in my apartment all weekend fighting with something that Ma Smash claims is the Norwalk virus. I thought that only happened to people on cruise ships. Anyway, it's been pretty ugly around here.

Although the Hanukkah mobile just went by my house, so that's cheerful. Have you seen this, fellow New Yorkers? It's pretty awesome. This white camper with a huge mural of a menorah on it drives around, blaring music from loudspeakers. I'm thinking of getting one of these myself, only instead of celebrating a holiday, it will just play whatever I'm listening to on my iPod right now.

I Love Winning

Me: My uterus hurts.

Matthew: My face hurts.

Me: Is your face shedding giant chunks of coagulated blood?

Matthew: You win!

Actual Phone Message Left for Laura Just Now

"What is up, G. Money? It's ... me. It's, um, 6:40 and I'm calling you. I am primarily eating cookies and menstruating. Also watching Psychic Detectives. So ... if you call me, I'll most likely be here. OK ... bye!"

Oh, Clerks of Duane Reade

Because I am a bad person, very few things amuse me more than making men uncomfortable when I have my period. A few moments ago, at Duane Reade, I got to do just that to a clerk who clearly has no women in his life whatsoever.

Granted, I was in line holding the following items:

1) Kotex
2) Tampons
3) Midol

Anyone might be afraid. This guy, though, turned beat red and said, "Uh, sorry, do you want to go in her line?" And pointed to the female cashier next to him.

"No, that's OK," I said. "I've been doing this for awhile. I'm fine."

"OK," he ran the items through quickly and then leaned forward a little and asked, in a low voice, "Do you want me to double-bag them?"

"Oh, God, yes," I said, trying to sound full of shame. "I don't want anyone to know."

Which is a lie, of course. Because I want EVERYONE to know.