One D at a Time

My Bloody Valentine

I got my fucking period. It's not like I have solid plans for Valentine's Day, or that I need to have sex to make myself feel better or anything. It's just that if I do hook up with someone I meet while out (that's always the plan, no matter what day of the year), it will be someone new, and it's always a production, or at the very least, a conversation—that frankly, I'm sick of having—in order to assuage any awkwardness or anxiety a boy may have about having sex with me while my body is merely providing some extra, albeit unfortunately colored, lube.

Whatever the case, I'll be at the Duke Spirit show at Mercury Lounge tonight, looking for a boy in the crowd who wouldn't mind dipping his stick in ick, and then I'll certainly be out on the 14th, if only because single people seem to be extra fun and drunk and slutty on Valentine's Day. And since I'd been couped up with the flu since last week and am finally feeling like a human again, my fun and drunk and slutty levels are ready to shoot through the roof.

[Image via Nathan Sawaya.]

I Met Dr. Ruth!

She was eating in Cosi on 13th and Broadway all by herself. I went up to her and asked her about period sex. Read all about it here.

Bad Blood

I passed out naked—after a drunken weekday night—without brushing my teeth or removing my makeup or contacts. When I woke up early the next morning, my face was nestled in the hairy confines of the cranny of this bearded dude's neck, with one arm and one leg draped over him. The new summer sun had risen in a big way, blaring on us like lasers through the shitty Ikea blinds I'd mildly incorrectly hung myself. He and I were drenched with sweat, but my throat was arid. I peeled myself off him and rolled over to my nightstand, where an opened Diet Coke had been residing for God knows how long. After a few desperate swigs, I decided to make the enormous effort of traveling tens of feet to the kitchen for some water.

When I sat up, I felt a gush between my legs and was gripped with abdominal pain. CRAMPS! Ugh. The last thing I needed to accompany this massive hangover. Grimacing, I got up to look for a pair of old, ratty panties and some PJs. I glanced over my shoulder to see if the boy had stirred. He hadn't. But I noticed a giant multi-colored stain—half damp and maroon, half dry and chocolate-milky. And it was touching his leg. Oops.

Gimme a P, Gimme an E, Gimme an R-I-O-D!

Having a period fucking sucks. But there are two instances when I'm thankful for my menses:

1. The few seconds of relief it brings each month, confirming that the pull-out has worked its magic yet again.
2. Commercials like this one:

I love all the ways that they contort their bodies, reminding us with each split, cartwheel, and high kick that they have absorbent cotton wedged up their see you next Tuesdays. This is my favorite part:

You just know that this commercial is the work of a marketing team made up primarily of middle-aged men. They think that the best way to advertise a "sports" tampon (whatever the fuck that is) would be to show cheerleaders. And they think that teenagers wear giant, white granny panties. And they think the term "bring it" is cheerleader specific, because apparently their focus study was based on a seven-year-old Kirsten Dunst movie (which I love, btw).

But still, I really love commercials like these, because cheesy or not, it's a period vagina in your face. And that shit is funny. So, please keep making these. Bring it, boys, bring it, bring it!

Something to Chew on

There's now a spearmint-flavored, chewable birth control pill on the market called Femcon Fe, that's supposed to be a "convenient, new option for busy women on the go." Check out the commercial:

How does chewing the pill make anything more convenient for "women on the go," especially when, according to the Femcon Fe site, if you chew the pill, you have to immediately drink a full 8 oz glass of liquid? It seems like a lot less of a hassle to swallow the pill with a swig of water or some spit in your mouth.

I guess the idea is that people will just think you're chewing gum or something, so you can pop it in your mouth during a business meeting and not have your coworkers know that you—gasp!—are a responsible, sexually active person or that you—gasp!—need your periods regulated. But what happens if, during that meeting, accounts payable sitting next to you is like, "Hey, can I get a piece?" Then you'll have to discreetly explain these spearmint chews are just for you because you love riding bareback.

Femcon Fe is also designed to make oral contraception an option for women who have difficulty taking pills, even though most birth control pills are about half the size of a Tic Tac. I resent the time that was wasted catering medical research of women's sexual health to this. 'Cause like, I have a sneaking suspicion that some chick who has issues swallowing isn't all that into sex to begin with.

From the Opening Between My Legs

Yes, I love sex, drugs and cock ‘n’ balls, and while I’m a multi-input gal, I’m also multifaceted, so I get joy from non-sexual things sometimes. Like when I watch the Discovery Health Channel. I’m way into abnormal anatomy, little people, half-ton men, conjoined twins, tumors with teeth, retards, and babies born without faces.

The 1970s instructional video ABC’s of Sex Education for Trainables might just be that magical chocolate-and-peanut-butter combination for me. First of all “trainables” in this instance refers to mentally disabled people, specifically, in this clip, it refers to “Jill,” a downsy girl who is learning about menstruation from her mom, dad, and sister. What’s odd about this family is that they’re comfortable enough to talk openly about periods with a 7-year-old retarded girl, and comfortable enough to show her a bloody pad, but not comfortable enough to use the world “vagina” instead opting for the infrequently-employed euphemism “the opening between my legs.” Enjoy!