Or if we’re being really accurate, it’s Part 132 or so if you factor in the year where I took birth control that took away my period (#neverforget).
Yes, folks, it’s here again. My period. Aunt Flo. The crimson wave. My menses. The old uterine overhaul. The monthly cunt punt. The front hole rigmarole.
I’m still cat sitting for my friend and they haven’t figured out how to control their heat yet so it’s hot as balls in here, which if you’ve ever had your period you know is really uncomfortable. You already feel all clammy. Plus I’m the teensiest bit hungover from last night.
By the way, y’all, last night when someone asked me what the last thing I wrote about was, I mentioned the house show and the lack of female performers and our conversation about head hair ending up in your butt crack. No one was interested in discussing women and music, but it started a lively debate about butt crack hairs! Where do they come from? How do they get there? These are the questions we need to be asking ourselves in this election.
I don’t have much to add to my previous post, because I’m on my fucking period and I don’t feel like it, but I thought of a few things:
- Do y’all remember that part in 10 Things I Hate About You where she’s like “You don’t buy black lingerie unless you want someone to see it.” Homegirl, do you know what doesn’t show up on black fabric? BLOOD.
- The day I got my first period, I thought the horrible back pain that was plaguing me at Disney World was because I played DDR for five hours the day before. This is who I am.
I’m too grumpy for this right now. And sleepy. Both symptoms of having your period. So meta.