*Don't remeber where I found any of
these gifs, sorry*
these gifs, sorry*
THERE ARE COMMUNISTS IN THE FUNHOUSE!
THERE ARE COMMUNISTS IN MY FUNHOUSE!
Yes, this is going to be a post about my menstrual cycle, oh ye of extreme squeamishness run screaming.
Back in my early teen years, I would occasionally convince my mother to buy me a Seventeen magazine. To the extremely sheltered fourteen year old daughter of hardcore Southern Baptists, this magazine was racy (oh how far I have fallen since then! *devilish smile*). Now, in these type of magazines, there was always a section devoted to embarrassing moments. Girls could write in and have their most humiliating moments published for all the country (maybe the world) to see. I always thought that was the dumbest thing ever...and now fast forward too many years to honestly admit, and here I am doing it myself...on the internet. But I digress. Most of these embarrassing moments seemed to center around mortifying menstrual cycle mishaps. The very idea of it scared the ever loving hell out of me! I was a shy young thing, not at all comfortable with my body, or what it was doing. This was way before the DivaCup, and my mother never bought me tampons, so I was stuck using pads the size of mattresses (thanks mum, really appreciate that lack of compassionate parenting there). Monthly, I lived in fear that something would happen that would surely embarrass me so deeply that I would die. Just die from mortification.
Luckily, I made it out of my fragile teen years without having any embarrassing mishaps. I got older, got a job, and was able to purchase tampons (that was a happy day), and then finally I discovered the DivaCup and my life changed forever, for the better! Seriously, I love it so much, and wish I had had it my whole life. It has made my life so much easier, and I've never had even the slightest fear of having an embarrassing moment since discovering it...
Until Thursday night....and it wasn't the DivaCup's fault. It was trying damn hard to do it's job...my fucking uterus from hell was making it impossible though...
Working in what is, essentially, a huge fucking room full of women has royally fucked up my cycle. Before starting this job, my cycle was like clock work. It came on the day it was supposed to, lasted 5 days, and would promptly leave. Now that I'm around all these other women, 8 or more hours a day, 5 days a week...my uterus, she's been a really pissed off, confused girl. I start, I stop...I'm late...I'm early...I have one right after another. It's insanity! I never know when, or if it's going to start any more.
Then Thursday...the beginning of the end started. This is the story of how I died (little Doctor Who reference there for my fellow Whovians).
I was having an amazing day Thursday. I only worked half a day, and while I did have to sit and stand at the DMV for waaaaay too long, my tag transfer cost me a lot less than what I was expecting. Thanks to my tag not costing me an arm and a leg, I was able to turn in my passport application! I went to the Post Office down the street from the DMV, and with shaking hands, gave the nice lady behind the counter all my paperwork. She was so sweet, asking me where I was going, and what I was going to do. I told her that I had been waiting to take this trip my whole life, and always thought I'd have someone special to take with me...but now at 32 I had decided that I was tired of waiting and I was going to go on my own. We chatted, and I felt so amazing when I left. I met my Mum at one of her favorite department stores, and I found a cute maxi dress and jacket on sale! I ate lunch by myself, and then decided to go ahead and drive across the street to the theater and wait. You see, that was the night I was going to see Frankenstein. Frankenstein filmed at the National Theater in London (kinda like mecca/heaven/nirvana for me). Frankenstein with Jonny Lee Miller as Victor Frankenstein...and Benedict Cumberbatch as the monster. Yes, I was about to pee myself with excitement.
I had been sitting there for about 30 minutes when I shifted my position, and felt it. You ladies may know what I'm talking about...that heart stopping moment when you shift, and it feels like a tsunami has just been released between your legs. That day I just happened to be wearing a long maxi dress, with a lot of bold jewel tones, and a blessed amount of black. As quickly as I could, trying not to let another wave escape, I gathered my things and eked towards the theater. After threatening harm to the Fandango machine (a preemptive strike, as it usually gives me trouble), I found someone to give my ticket to, and hauled ass to the ladies. Unfortunate for me, I didn't have my DivaCup with me...I did, however, have some emergency light tampons. I hate those chemical soaked wads of fucking cotton, but this was an emergency. I took care of business, cleaned myself up, and made my way into the empty theater. I'm not going to go into how phenomenal the cast and crew were, or how heartbreaking Benedict's portrayal of the monster was. It was all too beautiful to go in this post. I'm not even going to go into how the fangirls annoyed the ever-loving, fucking hell out of me, because I did that on Tumblr the other night, and accidently made someone think I was talking about them, when I wasn't. Suffice is to say, I was greatly annoyed at the rudeness, but the performance was brilliant, and emotionally powerful.
When the performance was over, I gathered my purse, and as someone would not get out of the way between me and the exit closest, I stood and started to make my way the long way around. When I stood up, however, Niagara Falls released itself down my legs. Again, I hauled ass to the ladies. It looked like a goddamn crime scene. I don't know if any of you have watched the first season of Dexter, but there's a couple of scenes where he's in a hotel room that is, literally, soaked in blood. That's the level of crime scene horrification I had going on. Once again, I cleaned myself up, and tried to make it to my car without another Niagara incident. From this particular theater, I have to drive 30 or so minutes over a winding, hilly, backwoods road. The entire way home my car was beeping at me that the person in my passenger seat needed to put on their seat belt (me screaming, "THERE'S NO ONE IN THE GODDAMN PASSENGER SEAT, BUMBLEBEE!!!). AND the radio that is possessed by a 6 year old poltergeist (more about that some other time) kept changing songs on my CD ever 5 seconds. I switched the CD player off, and it then changed radio stations every 5 seconds. I was irritated, to say the least. About halfway home I feel another tsunami. Fucking great. When I finally make it home, there's a place on my cloth seats. My emotions didn't know whether to cry or curse profusely. Instead of either, I went inside, took a shower, grabbed my DivaCup, and went to work on the stain. It came out. I felt secure in the fact that I now had my DivaCup, and that sucker is supposed to hold an ounce! I was set.
I sat at my computer for a long time, trying to convince the young lady I mentioned before, that she was not one of the people annoying me at the theater. When I got up...my chair was soaked. What the actual fuck was going on here? My DivaCup was overflowing. OVERFLOWING! After an hour and a half! Again, I changed, cleaned up, went to work on the stain, got it out, went to bed...with a goddamn towel just in case.
The next day I had work. I went about my usual routine. Drank a bunch of orange juice, because that's what my mother told me to do, and left for work. Work was horrific. I had to go to the ladies room once an hour because my DivaCup was overflowing once an hour! That's an ounce an hour, for those keeping track of the horror. I finally had to add pads to the equation because it was getting to be a more than once an hour situation. You may be asking yourself, "Why didn't you just go home?". Well, I had a mandatory Anti-harassment seminar that afternoon, that's why. My friend and I headed over to HQ for lunch right before the meeting. When we got there, I got out of the car and 'woosh' right down my legs. It was horrific. I ran to the ladies, and it was catastrophic. The rest of the day was just a repeat of that over and over again. I stuck it out all day, but I was exhausted, felt icky, and generally hated everything about everything. Once I got home, things were no better. No one there to take care of me, or baby me, or ask me if I'm okay or if they could do anything for me. Add that feeling to the hormones gushing through my system, and the blood gushing from my body. I wanted to fling myself off the roof.
Friday morning, I got up and had to wash my sheets because I hadn't gotten up fast enough. Thanks to this situation, which I've never experienced the like of in all my years, my iron is now low. I'm clammy, lethargic, and dizzy. I, in my infinite wisdom, try to go to work anyway. I'm ever the dedicated employee...besides I'm really fucking stingy with my sick time and ESPECIALLY my vacation time. By the time I make the hour long drive to work, I realize that the situation is even worse than it was yesterday. There was no way I was going to make it through the day without embarrassing myself in front of people I have to see practically every single day. So, I go into work. I sit down at my desk...and I email my supervisor...because I just don't know her well enough to not be mortified to tell this to her face. She's amazingly sweet, and tells me to go home. I do...with all haste. After making the hour drive back to my house, I spend the rest of the day sleeping with my dogs, and making sure my DivaCup doesn't have time to overflow. It's exhausting. My body is tired. I have no energy. I have no idea why it is doing this. All I know is that it is not normal, and I don't have health insurance for another 2 weeks.
My uterus is acting like it owns the damn place, and is staging a bloody rebellion...and winning.