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Archive for the ‘tellin secrets’ Category

you look at how many?

Thursday, August 14th, 2014

I know I’ve been writing about *ahem* … body stuff a lot lately. This post is going to have a lot of lady-body related words and if that’s not your thing, then just carry on with your bad self and I’ll see you in a couple of days.

Today I went to the gynecologist and it was hilarious.

To me.

So first things first. Going to the gynecologist is not, in and of itself, hilarious. It’s kind of terrible. If you’re personally familiar with a speculum, then you know whereof I speak. If you don’t know about a speculum and you have a vagina, then get thee to a doctor, girl. If you don’t have a vagina but you’ve been to a proctologist, I’m guessing it’s not that different? If that also does not apply to you, I think you’re probably 14 and you shouldn’t be reading this blog but hey, think about when your orthodontist puts those big, cold, metal tools in your mouth and it’s uncomfortable but it doesn’t last that long.

I’ve had the same lady-bits-doctor since I have had a lady-bits-doctor. I don’t remember exactly how old I was but probably 14 or 15? She’s a member of the practice that the man who delivered me belonged to, actually. (He has since retired.) Best estimate, I’ve been seeing her for close to twenty years.

Home town loyalty, baby.

So today, she tells me that her daughter just had her first pap. (The pap is the thing that requires the speculum. Other things might require speculums but those things are not on my radar and I’m more than pleased to keep it that way.)

I think oh that’s adorable.

Then she says, “She’s 21, and while she was getting it she realized that that is what I do all day”.

Who doesn’t realize that their gynecologist mother does paps all day by the time they’re 21? Do gynecologists not have bring your daughter to work day?

I totally would have let a ten year old girl be in the room eleven years ago. As long as she stood by my head.

So then my doc, I think in an effort to relax me because I freaking hate laying there staring at the ceiling with my feet in stirrups (like how I say that like I’m the only one with that feeling?), tells me that she’s been volunteering at the 9news health fair for a few years and she does 25 paps between the hours of 8 am and noon on a single day.

My immediate reaction was to say, ‘wow, that’s a lot of vaginas’. I mean, she was between my legs. If I were allowed to make dumb jokes at any time in my life, it is that time. However, when I thought about saying it I waffled over the use of the word vagina. Should I say ‘vulva’, since that’s what’s actually in her face? Should I say ‘cervix’, since that’s what I think she’s looking at while she’s using the speculum (word of the day!)? I was talking to a professional and I overthought it and then boom, she was telling me I could sit up and my moment had passed.

But still. 25 vulvas in four hours.



ask me about my IUD!

Thursday, July 17th, 2014

Or don’t. I mean, you can, if you’re curious, but that was more of a lead in to the fact that …

Drum roll please…

Wow I just realized this sounds like I might be leading up to a pregnancy announcement. Since I moved in April … actually timeline wise that would kind of make sense for me to be announcing that.

Oh, no, totally not having a baby. I am aware of that because I have an IUD and more accurately because this week I was bleeding in a way that if my uterus had been a nose a doctor likely would have insisted on cauterizing it.

Yes, I know, gross. Whatever. It happens to half of us.

Actually. I just looked this up. Based on an average period length of 5 days, an average cycle length of 29 days, and periods from age 12 to age 50, roughly 334 million women are swimming in shark week at any given time. So there’s ‘it happens to half of us’ vs 4.7%  of the world like RIGHT NOW.

So, yeah, you can say gross but there’s a one in twenty chance that the person you’re talking to is bleeding from their girl parts.

(Yes, I went to grad school for stats. No, you cannot show that last statement to my advisor and insist that she confiscate my degree.)

The whole point of this meandering diatribe is that I wore a white linen skirt, on the heaviest day of my period. It worked out fine but I was never comfortable.

I’m a crazy mofo.



Thursday, May 22nd, 2014

I ordered some pants from J Crew recently. (I cannot say enough good things about the Campbell capris, if you like pants that show your ankles. I love pants that show my ankles, they make me feel like Audrey Hepburn. I am not the first person to say that, I’m completely sure.)

Aside: I wear a lot of J Crew. I just checked my spreadsheet and the last work day that I was NOT wearing anything from J Crew was May 7th. The last work day that EVERYTHING I wore was from J Crew was May 1st. J Crew neither knows nor cares about this.

Aside aside: Yeah, I track my clothes on a google doc. I have a tab that has my whole wardrobe along with the date purchased, the suggested price, and how much I actually paid (almost exclusively less than the suggested price, whatup yo). The tracking tab references the wardrobe tab, so the wardrobe tab also has a price per wear column. It’s a serious problem. I only use it for stuff I wear to work, because my nighttime clothes are basically one pair of jeans and ten dollar tee shirts.

So these pants I ordered have a seam that’s unraveling, and due to a recent debacle in the changing room of my local J Crew (nothing to see here, move along folks) I don’t want to return them in store. I’m mailing them back tomorrow. (Yes, it was a debacle worth the $5.95 they’re going to charge me in return shipping. Still not talking about it.) I found an appropriately sized box, wrapped the pants up, and then went looking for a pen to fill out the return form.

I have no pens. Or pencils.

The only writing utensils I have anywhere in my apartment are a relatively sharp green crayon and a flat topped blue crayon.

That is not an adult way of life.

I have shame.

it’s an early to mid thirties party up in here

Sunday, May 18th, 2014

I am 33  years and four months old, and I just started a new job, broke up with my boyfriend*, and moved into a one bedroom apartment with my two dogs.

That reads like the beginning of a novel with high heels and a bouquet on the front, doesn’t it? ‘Emma thought she had it all together, and then everything changed in the blink of any eye. Can Dumbface, the guy who is probably from work that she probably thinks she hates because that’s how these things go, make her world whole again?’

You know what makes my world whole?

Repeated watchings of Melissa McCarthy movies (especially Heat, can that movie get some more love like RIGHT NOW??? I made my mom and brother watch it and I’m pretty sure they weren’t just laughing because I was threatening violence if they didn’t). Also Bachelorette which I am slowly coming to believe is better than Bridesmaids. Also, Heathers. Because if you want to fuck with the eagles, you have to learn to fly.

(Ok, yes, there are other things. Dogs, friends both new and old, family, etc. But Mel and the Sands (that’s what Melissa McCarthy and Sandra Bullock will like me to call them when we all start hanging out), that girl from Party Down who’s name I can’t currently be bothered to google, and old, crazy-ass Christian Bale are pretty solid.)

*I’m worried this sounds sad. It isn’t. Crockett and I are hanging out, all is well with the universe, I LOVE my new job so much that people are getting tired of hearing about it.

** The chicas say hi all. This was Easter, mom and dad were over, and I think I was doing math because I LOVE MY NEW JOB.

***There very definitely is no Dumbface at work.


Monday, March 11th, 2013

Today my dear friend Star is losing her very very good dog. It makes me sad for her, and sad for him – I hope that he’ll feel better, though, because he’s having a hard time. It also makes me very sad for Clo. I miss her a lot, and I wish Star didn’t have to go through the same thing.

That is all.