We've Got a Bleeder

Girls bleed.  This shouldn't be a surprise to anyone, unless you completely ignored every health class since third grade.  We bleed, some of us sooner than others and some of us more than others (depending on the time of the week).  If you're a late bloomer *raising hand* like myself, you're in a way fortunate.  It can be a hassle having your period depending on the circumstances and the environment, but it's also something important in terms of being a female and being able to have children someday.  It's like a special bond all women have with each other.  I find it perfectly acceptable for a girl stranger to come up to me and ask if I have a tampon, isn't it an unspoken rule to be generous about that?  The real issue arises when we don't have these options available; when you're surrounded by a group of dudes.  One of the most mortifying experiences of my life, and probably one of the reasons I'm so nonchalant when talking about my period now, was when I first started mine.  Like I said, I was pretty late and it was the summer before 10th grade year.  I'd tell all you jealous ladies  to envy my late start, but I'd much rather have an earlier start than have to experience what I went through my first time:  I was on a camping trip.  I was the oldest girl.  The only adults were my dad, and his three brothers, and my older male cousins and brothers.  We camp in seclusion; not a trailer park with rest rooms, not an area with other families, not somewhere with gentle older women searching for young girls who are FREAKING out about what their vagina is doing.  And did I mention we spend our days camping usually by going somewhere to swim?  If you're not expressing empathy you're not human, not a girl, or no longer my friend.

Exhibit A: The Camping Toilet

Upon initial discovery of what I like to call the Red Stream of Womanhood, I resorted to the only thing I could think of which I know some of us girls are still forced to do; stick a wad of toilet paper down there and face the day with confidence that the toilet paper is the double-strength sturdy brand.  UM, I could tell what I had wasn't.  I may have been better off putting leaves in my underwear.  So here I am waddling to my father, wide-eyed and mortified telling him I can't go swimming today.

Dad: "What do you mean you can't go swimming?  You love it and we're all going.  You have to."
Me:   "I can't.  I can't.  I can't.  Dad.  No."

I think father intuition kicked, if there is such a thing (which I now believe in).  Or maybe the awkward waddle paired with the paralyzed look of fear on my face gave it away.

Dad:  "Oh...Um...Do you need to go somewhere...Um..To get things?"

So Dad and I drove, in the most silent of fashions, to the tiniest neighborhood corner store that ever existed and I hopped out the car, ran in, and bought my first box of tampons.  Thank God for the included diagrams in the box because all memories of health class lessons were non-existant in my mind.

This story came to my head today because we were talking about Toxic Shock Syndrome in class, which can occur with the improper usage of tampons.  And some girl made a comment about how uncomfortable the boys probably were with the discussion.  I think it's hilarious/very stupid that boys don't like it when girls talk about their periods or think it's gross.  It happens to all of us, and you should love it, because that lovely stream means your girl is fertile and healthy, and you're actually more attracted to us anyways during that time of the month because of the hormones we release.  So I kind of make a point to talk about it, not obnoxiously, but just as a conversation and it's interesting to see who accepts it.  Go with the flow.

xxxx

A

Challenge Accepted

Everyday, sometimes twice a day, I am faced with a decision that could potentially be life threatening.  To me possibly, but probably more for the man.  If you go to my university you know what I'll be talking about but if not I'll try and explain the situation logically.  In order to get onto campus we have to drive through this rather tight gate and the man in the parking booth has to verify you have your parking pass hanging in the window.  Mind you, this has got to be the easiest job of all time.  No offense to those men, but they sit in a booth and wave at people all day.  Maybe give directions or give a guest pass to every 23 cars that pass through.  Usually you'll just get a quick wave if you have your pass hanging and that means you can just drive right through.  After the first couple weeks I stopped slowing down when I drive through because even if they don't have time to see my pass hanging I still have it and therefore won't get ticketed when campus police has nothing better to do but search for illegally parked cars.  This happens surprisingly more often than not or else I definitely would not have paid the plus 100 dollars per semester for a parking pass.  If I was economically smart and financially set I would have paid the 175 dollar deal that was offered in the early summer which gets you a pass for the whole year, but what young adult thinks that way?  Not this one.  I wanted the pay the least amount of money as late as possible, I just couldn't justify spending that much in June just to be able to park my car somewhere.  I'm a dumb shit sometimes.
Now I have to muster up another plus 100 dollars to park for spring semester in the midst of holiday shopping season.  Sorry fam, you're about to get slighted.  It may even be worse than the year I wrote you all letters on notebook paper because I couldn't afford presents.

As I stated earlier about the life threatening situation when it comes to the parking thing, this happens when I drive past the booth.  The men wave, but I've found when I try to wave back sometimes while maneuvering the curve in the road that surrounds the parking booth at the same time I don't always feel  completely in control.  Yesterday I thought I was going to crash right into the booth.  I'm not driving as fast as you may be picturing, but when you're driving on a turn and you decide to wave WITH EYE CONTACT (because a wave without eye contact would be like I'm summoning him to come with me or something and these are pretty old men who stand in the booth so that's creepy.  Ok it'd be creepy no matter their age) with one hand there's no way you can 100% maintain TOTAL control of the vehicle.
I suppose I could just do a slight roll through the parking gate and I wouldn't have to worry about it.  Or just not wave and come off as a cold hearted snobby bitch.
But I'd rather face these difficult encounters daily because they make my days more challenging.

If it's not that I'm basically limited to the challenge of trying to wash my face without soaking my entire bathroom countertop.  Or trying to cut tomatoes without having every seed come out of the middle.  These are the types of things I have on my bucket list to be able to do.

xxxx
A

Martha Stewart Home Life and Chile Rellenos

I saw on the news that a national survey was taken last week whether or not early November is too early for Christmas decorations.  Over 70% of the population said yes.  I think it might be a tad early for mass amounts of stores to go all out for Christmas but for home life it's never too early.  I want to be able to enjoy my apartment as a winter wonderland since we get a whole month off from school to go home.  Thus, Genna and I decorated this weekend.  We're certainly not finished Christmas-izing our apartment, but we're on our way.  I'm kicking myself because I should have purchased all those little Christmas knick knacks from the thrift store last weekend for like a quarter a piece, but I didn't.  Instead I had my dad deliver it yesterday morning.  There was some confusion with getting my bc pills this week at the pharmacy I usually go to, so my mom did it for me.  God bless that woman.  However, they were in Erie and I am not in Erie so father delivered them on his way to visit my uncle.  Along with my pills I was brought coffee filters, Christmas decorations, apples, Goldfish crackers (which I don't even like), and business casual pants.  A smorgasbord of kind of lame, but necessary items.  Granted, I did ask for most of those things to be sent, it would just be very strange if my mom just thought I needed them in general.  My dad said he wasn't going to be here before 10am to drop everything off so I could sleep in.  He called me at 9:15am and said he was one street away from my apartment.  Dirty liar.

Did Martha Stewart come over?

Genna saw a picture of those hanging balls (haha) on Pinterest and we decided to do it to our windows in the living room and kitchen because my mom actually sent with the decorations a large box of balls.  They turned out great except I was reminded that I suck at crafts.  I have no problem starting a project but I get bored and leave it half way or almost done, leaving Genna to finish it.  At least I try.  I like the idea of doing crafts far more than I like the action of it.  Meh.

Last night was awesome because I had my first girl's night in a super long time.  I miss hanging out with girls because they're always on the same page when it comes to talking about boys.  Leah and her friend Taylor (who I will now call my friend too) came up and we went and got Mexican food with G.  I don't know what I ordered, this pepper thing (a chile relleno), but I enjoyed playing with it and talking about the shape.  And when I cut a piece off the end white goo came seeping out.  I think it was liquidy cheese, but between that and the large consumption of margaritas we consumed I'm really now not quite sure. 

How could anyone expect me to receive this on a plate and be mature about it.

Mom read my blog again and told me to stop being rude.  I told her not to read it if she didn't like it and I asked why she even keeps reading it. 

Her response:  

"Idk its like a bad accident.  U dont want to look but u do.  yikes."

Thanks for comparing my blogs to catastrophic-could-be-life-altering-events, madre.

xxxx

A

Give That Back. It's Not Candy.

Sometimes I am swamped with so much reading to do for class that I think I would rather have busy work as assignments.  Busy work I can complete.  There is a definite end to worksheets.  Reading I will never finish.  There is always more reading for any class I can do.  I will never be caught up.  Even if I do catch up, I could always read ahead so I have less to do the following week.  I never get this opportunity of course because I'm always behind.  Even when I try to complete readings I can't get through a whole chapter without reading 7 consecutive pages and not knowing what happened for at least 2 of those pages.  Thus, I have to go back and re-read or accept the fact that the plot is going to become very much filled with holes later on.  It's a never ending cycle of torture, which is dramatic because it's not like what I have to read about is terrible it's just not readings I get to choose.  And the second I'm forced to read something I didn't pick it becomes instantly that more dreadful.  I would list all the readings I have to do but no one wants to read that list, especially me.  It would only highlight all the work I won't complete this weekend.

Instead, I will start off my weekend hanging out with my two little friends.  They are 4 and 2.  I call them my friends because I can say I honestly enjoy spending time with them.  These feelings may be partially influenced because I get paid very well to do it, I have access to a very beautiful kitchen with a wide variety of healthy food choices and this bangin' homemade trail mix, and it never fails that I get to watch a legit good Disney movie.  No, that definitely fails sometimes.  For a while they were on this kick with watching Hop consecutively, which is that computer graphic/reality movie about the Easter bunny named E.B. with the voice of Russell Brand and I had to watch it 5 times the same night, but that was only a phase.  Because it was Russell Brand I watched the movie pretending the bunny was on the side practically a male prostitute who doesn't get paid for his work.  It was a little more entertaining in my mind.

Here's your real rabbit, kids.

The movie was mildly decent the first time, and got progressively more awful as the night went on.  Last time we watched Toy Story 2 which was AWESOME.  Of course, I would still love these children and care for them even if they wanted to watch Hop tonight, I would just probably hide the DVD because if it's out of sight it's out of their mind.  I'm kidding.  I will do anything for these kids mainly because they think I'm funny.  And I can tell they think I'm smart because I know how to read and I also pulled the "Oh when you're older like me you'll know what that's for" (this occurred when the girl pulled a tampon out of my bag and questioned whether it was candy under the wrapper).  No, not candy and please give that back before mom comes home...

  Moral:  If you think I'm funny and smart I will do nice things for you.  See how simple that is if you want good things from me?  Start throwing compliments my way and I'll throw back kindness.  Fair trade...and my friends wonder why I'm a bitch to them.  Kidding.  Maybe?

I hung out with Leah yesterday and Genna and I were pumped that another person got to see our awesome apartment.  Hopefully she will come back since she saw how accommodating our place is.  We accept visitors and sleepovers.  This is limited to if we know you or not, and if we feel safe and clean with you sleeping on our couch.  Bring gifts and maybe you can share one of our beds.  You don't have to be like, super clean though, because showering to us, is a chore, and no one is perfect when it comes to maintaining chores.

xxxx
A