Plan B.

I woke up before dawn on Sunday, to a sweet smiling toddler with an an avocado obsession.

B- Cado, mommy. Cado.

We’re out of ‘cados, so we have to get up and get dressed to go find some at the store. I’m exhausted and in desperate need of coffee, but realize as soon as we walk in to Safeway, that I’ll need something to distract her with if I really intend to wait in line. Everyone else wants coffee this morning too. I consider the immediate options available to me and remember that she’s learned the magic of a band-aid this week. Her last tattered Minnie Mouse bandage had fallen off on our way out the door this morning. We rush down the health/first aid aisle first… in search of some new cartoon icon band-aids  to replenish our stash.

I catch sight of an old man, slowly searching through the disposable razors, the antacids and shaving cream. I hear him grumble about not being able to find something.

I’m a server. I really cannot stop myself from helping someone, no matter where or when. I’m tired… but I love the grey-hairs and he is looking more anxious by each frantic second.

So I offer.

J- Can I help you? I hate to eavesdrop but you seem to need a little help and this is the only place I shop. This is my store. I hate to say I know where everything is, but I do.

He looks relieved and because his phone is on speakerphone, I can hear his wife, clearly.

W- You never look. I could be standing beside you holding it and you couldn’t find it in my hands. For Pete’s sake.

He turns his back to me and barks briskly into the phone.

H- Would you like me to put the nice woman who offered to help me on the phone? I’m doing my best.

W- Oh My GOD damn it, Howard, you asked for help? How embarrassing.

I smiled at him to let him I know I was not a crazy person, and he opened his mouth and leveled me.

H- I’m looking for Plan B or the Morning After Pill.

W- It’s not called the morning after pill anymore, it’s just Plan B.

You could have knocked me over with a feather. I fought back laughter and leveled with him.

J- I’ve only gotten it once and I had to get it from the Health Department.

Which he relays, loudly, over the loudspeaker on his phone.

H- It’s not here Dear. She got it from the Health Clinic. Is this, Oh for hell sakes, stop shouting at me.

W- We sound like perverts. Come home. I’ll get it myself.

Meanwhile, I’ve led him to the condom/pregnancy test/tampon aisle. The pharmacy is closed and it’s the only place I can imagine it’d be.

It’s not there. You can cure a stinky vag, replenish your feminine hygiene basket and prevent pregnancy… all in the same 10 feet.

Alas, you cannot stop a misfire spermatozoa from landing his lady outside of pharmacy hours.

She’s furious. He’s frustrated. I’m crimson and biting the inside of my cheeks to hold it together.

W- Let the poor woman go. How embarrassing.

H- You’re embarrassed? A complete stranger just led me to the condoms and pregnancy tests.

I’m coughing to keep from laughing. He stammers a “thank you” in my direction and I walk away before dissolving into giggles. I was shopping for Band-aids, so we went back down the other side only to hear more of their conversation.

W- I should have gone myself.

H- It’s the Superbowl and the pharmacy is closed. I can buy condoms or pregnancy tests, which feel late and early, considering.

W- Take a picture and send it to me.

H- I’m never shopping here again. Pour me a scotch.

Wouldn’t you know it… that coffee line had emptied by the time we’d secured our Doc McStuffin’s and Hello Kitty Bandaids after the wild goose chase for the Plan B.

Never a dull moment. Never a bad day.

Whole

broken

I talked to a friend today about feeling broken. It’s human nature to take things that hurt, personally. If I know one thing well, it’s disappointment.

I really have been through hell the past two years. Hell… and I’m talking about the hardcore bitch version of hell, not the painted-on-hands princess sort of idea of what hell may be like. Envision having a bad day, a few hundred times over… That was me. Resiliency had become my uniform. I’d perfected the art of accepting anything and expecting nothing.

I’ve stepped up to the plate again and again after being blown out of the water and devastated by another bad experience. I left plenty of baggage behind while continuing to search for love and happiness. The problem with love and happiness is that it isn’t hiding, and you can’t find it. The problem with real honest-to-goodness committed love is that it has to find you.

That quote that says “Women who chase men, only catch the slow ones”? That’s the gospel.

I’ve come to the conclusion that the problem lies with me and who I choose if the pattern is always repeating. I see a charming snake of a disinterested cheater/liar smile at me and now know that my racing heart is the universe telling me to RUN. My taste is bad so I am choosing to no longer sit at the table.

Some men are equally as vulnerable as we are. Shitty women are just as poisonously bad as shitty men and there are some scary bitches that could make a sympathetic victim out of the biggest douche bag. I know a few… and one in particular came to mind today. I’m reminded again that some men experience the same things we do. They have soft spots, tender feelings and just as much desire as we do to love someone. We need to be just as careful with them as we want them to be with us.

The women that talk about their husband like he’s the best thing since sliced bread? They’re married to one of those nice guys. They’re loved by a healthy man who safeguards her happiness as much as his own. That’s all it takes. I know some very happily married women. It’s awesome and I’m proud. I point to them when I teach my kids about what marriage should look like.

Unfortunately and more often than not… nice girls end up loving the guy who can be the biggest asshole while simultaneously making her feel the most unwanted or insecure… and nice men end up loving the black widow sort of entrails-eating women we don’t like either. Ask any woman. We all know a woman who’s skeletons make us feel SO much better about our own full closet. I may have done some crazy shit in my time, but I know a few women who’s secrets make me blush and that’s saying something.

What it really boils down to is this: there are some really bad people out there. There are some really great people too. I know a few men that give me absolute faith in their gender. My happily married friends are inspirational.  My baby sister loves and is adored by, her husband. I know the finest women.

Sadly enough… if you don’t play the games, you lose the war. It’s tragic, pathetic and unavoidable.

The world is full of broken people but if you’re attracted to people who break you, you need to love yourself enough to be alone until that changes.

Feeling broken sucks and unfortunately there are people in the world who approach love like a contest, a lottery or a war. Save yourself. Just say no to anyone who doesn’t have the best intentions where your heart is concerned.

I’m healing from the disappointment of being wrong, again. Until I can have faith in men again and believe I could love one that tells the truth, I’m ruling out men entirely. I brought a whole bunch of baggage with me this time and I’m blissfully happily single as a result.

Relationships are supposed to feel good and add to your life and that’s not my experience anymore. I’d rather take another walk with my baby. Catch a movie with my teenaged daughter. I’d rather sew the baby a quiet book to play with and learn from. I’d rather plant my garlic.

Basically I’d rather love the people who love me back and not waste any of the time I could be spending with friends on someone who isn’t making the same investment.

I’m single, but I’m whole- not broken. I’m alone, but not lonely. Finally smart, but not naive.

Join me 🙂

Confession

I don’t have the answers.

Nor do I know all the questions or always ace the test. I get so many emails from women asking me to help them or tell them what they already know. I know just as little as all of you. I’ve just failed, publicly. I just admit when I’m wrong. I highly recommend trying it.

I don’t know everything.

In fact I know very little but do my best to fake it convincingly. Making a list of priorities helps, but I still get lost along the way when I’m not paying attention.

I fail regularly.

I make a huge effort to avoid the situation entirely, but I’ve been known to make the wrong choice, more times than I can count. (please don’t help) I accept it all because it’s brought to me to where I am today- staring my fairytale in the face. When you strive to be better, good things just happen. When I valued myself more, I ended up chin deep in love and appreciated down to my unattractive toes. When I took the sale sign off that I’d been wearing around my neck, I woke up in the middle of the best dream I’ve ever had, only to realize it was my life. I’m quite imperfect, and I’m loved for my imperfections. For all I’ve ranted and raved the past two years about what we all deserved and how badly I’d chosen… I never dreamed a man could be THIS good.

I don’t feel like an adult yet.

I still call my mom for help. I still wonder when I’ll have all the answers, like she does. She laughed the other day and said “Honey… I love you. What someone else thinks of you is none of your business.  Do you need eggs? Cucumbers? Flowers?” I’m still an asshole kid. I love hearing her messages but I’m a slacker about getting back to her. Sometimes her messages are just a comforting reminder that she loves me. As a mother I know she’s waiting for me to call back. I still don’t. Clearly, I’m still a child.

I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.

I feel bad for saying so, but I feel like I’ve really grown up and learned to swim in the happy details that feed me as a person, and not those that feed my insecurities. I’ve learned that alone doesn’t have to mean lonely and being in love with the right man makes you feel like a damn fool for ever discounting the woman he loves. I feel like I owe him an apology for every idiot I ever let take his place. He worries about my temperature, my smile and my soul. He makes me a nicer person and he qualifies me as the happiest women on earth… or at least puts me in running for the crown.  and I could only be happier if I had a crown on. Just sayin.

I love a man deeper than I ever knew possible.

He plans days designed around forcing me to play. He doesn’t let me politely decline to participate. He smiles a smile that sends shock waves through me and he makes me want to be nicer. He kisses me and I picture cloth diapers hanging on the line. It’s as biblical as I can get without making anyone uncomfortable. It’s a love that compels me to define it while I can’t even begin to throw every adjective I have at it. I love him more than I thought was possible and he safeguards the blessing. When I tell him I’m the luckiest girl, I’m not schmoozing him. I’m stating fact.

 

I really didn’t think nice men actually existed.

For all I rambled on and on about “real” men and ranted at the clearly pathetic examples… I had lost faith. I honestly thought they were all the same. Then I met my Superman… and ladies PLEASE… know he exists. My boyfriend is the greatest man I’ve ever known. He helps strangers in the grocery store parking lot. He plays with babies. He really is… super.

I have a huge ego… and my acre vegetable garden is testament to that fact.

In a week? I’ll be swimming in veg. My zucchini patch is just starting to produce. My 300 tomato plants are ripening, simultaneously. My 12 plum trees are just days away. I have knee high basil and 200′ of sweet corn setting ears. I have 15 heads of cabbage I have no idea what to do with. I have zinnias and sunflowers everywhere, and a million buds just beginning to open. I’m humbled by all of it… but damn if I don’t get carried away when it comes to planting this garden.

I love gas station food.

Especially the corn dogs, though I LOOOOVE those awfully unhealthy ham and cheese pocket thingies equally as much. I blame my hippie organic upbringing. I do my best to avoid it and this morning I was reminded of why I should. I bought a corn dog… and it was some sort of chili fan destruction of an already perfect food. I took a bite and it tasted like weird hot-dog laced chili and cornbread. Yuck. But yeah… I ate it anyway. A corndog is a corndog.

I survive on energy drinks.

I feel guilty buying them too- because I used to nag my son about drinking them. I humbly retract my preconceived notions regarding my Rockstar/Monster addiction. They get shit done.

I used to garden with music… now I garden in silence, because my thoughts are deafening.

I snack on peas, weed for hours and work out the worlds problems, in my head. I swear I got more done, faster, with martinis and Top 40, but whatever.

I’m bitter.

I’ve seen the worst of what mankind has to offer. I’ve been the victim of a sociopathic married liar and lived to tell the tale. I remain threatened by him and I’m bitter when I consider how stupid I”ve been and how reckless with my safety. I was destined to be special to someone amazing… how could I have been so stupid or held standards so low? I regret my mistakes.

I love the summer months where I spend little to nothing at the grocery store.

Toilet paper, pasta and pet food…. those are the grocery trips that dreams are made of. For all the friends I have that tell me I’m crazy… I laugh at them having to buy potatoes at the grocery store. I use it as my chance to get caught up on the bills I’m behind on.

I’m jealous.

I never wanted a wedding again until I met him. I never wanted to make an absolutely public statement about my undying love for someone, ever before. So when I see pictures of his first marriage… I go green, and not in a good way. I have my jealous moments and I fail best at those times.

I feel safe for the first time in my life.

I don’t worry about locking the windows and doors when he’s here. I love the smell of summertime at night but I’m a crazily overprotective single mother too. I realized it the other night when I was making my third round of window & door checks. He would protect us with his life, and I sleep easily beside him.

I’m a horrible bitch at times and you will rue the day if you fuck with me.

I’m a nasty little insect when inspired. I openly admit and apologize for it. I forever try harder to be nicer. I don’t always succeed.

I’m an amazing friend

I remember your birthday, and I’ve done this pre-Facebook, for the record. I will fight right beside you, give you my last dollar and take your kids any time you need…but if you cross me I will remember every secret you ever told me, in detail… and I will use them against you if you should make the mistake of doing the same. Trust me- that’s a lose-lose situation. I only like the coolest women, and I have amazing friends. I love them all dearly and I treasure each moment spent laughing with my favorite ladies. Most of my enemies are anonymous.

I’m an even worse enemy.

I recently had an anonymous hater contact my sweet Superman’s brother to flirt with him, then warn him about me. Mmmm… push me and you’ll only see how strong I am. I am ridiculously protective and will make quick work of anyone who would go anywhere near my loved ones. Oh Lindsey Falcon, or whatever your fake name is now- perhaps you should have tried pretending to be a nurse and not a Hooters employee. <eyeroll> Two points for blocking me so I can’t link you to the blog you fear enough that you’re willing to put on your Shady Whore panties.  If I meet you- you should be prepared because…. hell hath NO fury like mine- and I will eviscerate you. Clearly you’re stupid so let me define that for you in English.

Eviscerate: e·vis·cer·ate

verb /iˈvisəˌrāt/
eviscerated, past participle; eviscerated, past tense; eviscerates, 3rd person singular present; eviscerating, present participle

  • Disembowel (a person or animal)
    • – the goat had been skinned and neatly eviscerated
  • Deprive (something) of its essential content
    • – myriad little concessions that would eviscerate the project
  • Remove the contents of (a body organ)

Get your shovel out and keep digging because I need more fertilizer this time of year. My tomatoes are hungry.

I’m human… and trying. I don’t always win and I sometimes cry about it when I lose.
I confess, to you- my brothers and sisters… that I have failed . In my thoughts and in my words. In what I have done and in what I have failed to do.
…..But I always keep trying….

Confession #8042

I like hearing no.

Sigh.

Do you know how much that sucks to admit?

Fawn all over me, tell me I’m beautiful and rub my feet? I’ll be mopping the floor with you in a matter of days. For as much as I bitch and moan about wanting a nice guy… I’m the girl that ruins the nice ones.

It’s not that they’re boring… it’s that the balls are already in my court and I’m not even interested enough to pick them up if it’s that easy.

There’s a man in my life that loves me down to my stretch marks. He’d rip someone apart with his bare hands if they so much as touched me and I know unequivocally that every single other person that loves me, would do cartwheels if I threw myself in head first and loved him back. I could have everything I claim to want, in a second…

Happiness is standing in front of me, daring me to say yes.

Nope.

Because I want the platinum ring… not just the brass one. I want to feel about my husband the way that will keep me married. I need to crave the man in my life, if nothing else. I need to like him more than everyone else.

Which means I need to work for it. I deserve a man willing to work his balls off to have me… and I am only too happy to do the same. If it isn’t worth the effort… it isn’t worth it.

I completely recognize my insanity. I realize I should just choose happiness for a change.

I just want more than that.

I’d rather be miserable, lonely and hopeful than resigned, complacent and apathetic.

I’d rather hold out.

Which is exactly what hit me when I woke up wrapped in a bad habit yesterday.

He didn’t mind disappointing me because he couldn’t care less.

If he really likes you? He comes to you.

If he really wants you? It doesn’t matter if it’s midnight on Sunday.

If you’re really special to him… he comes when you want him to at a seconds notice.

and he tells you no when you should hear it.

Because loving a woman isn’t handing over your balls. It’s letting her hold them… and only her.

I want to be loved completely, but I don’t want to be allowed to be a brat. I care about the type of woman I am in a man’s life. I’m not jealous, I’m thoughtful, I’m sexually inexhaustible….  I bake, I cook, I garden, I sew, I make every bad situation, better. I’m a female deadly weapon and I deserve the same. So I’m making a list, if only to remind myself how broken my picker is.

The Absolutes.

1. He must dance. Absolutely not negotiable. I want someone that wants to dance with me.

2. He must be employed. Ambitious too, while we’re at it. I don’t care how much money he makes, I just want him to be capable and financially stable.

3. He must kiss me stupid. I love to kiss, and it’s a buzz kill when you don’t want to kiss someone. It wont last if I don’t love kissing him. It’s positively doomed.

4. He must care about the example he sets, and the kind of role model he is. He must adore my children as much as I do. Preferably his are grown or nonexistent. No offense to anyone, but I don’t want to deal with another babymama in this lifetime.

5. He must have his own life, and pursue his own passions… including trips away from me. I can’t be the center of someone’s life again- it makes me miserable to be around. He must have friends and places to go, etc, and not need me there for everything.

6. He must NOT spoil me, always let me get my way or kiss my ass. I’m a confident woman, I can handle a disagreement and I’ll only lose interest in him if he’s a pushover.

7. He must look out for me and guard my happiness as much as I guarantee his. Without fail and without asking. It should be second nature to him.

8. He must chase me around the house and objectify me and understand if I want to install a stripper pole in my bedroom and take lessons. I’m happiest when desired, loudly. Attention whore? Yeah… that’s fair. It’s easily managed and it should not be a problem.

9. He must be honest to a fault. To the point of telling me I look fat in what I’m wearing. He must love me enough to honor me with the the truth, and respect me enough to be a blessing, not a curse, in my life.

10. He must be willing to walk through fire because I can be a royal pain in the ass when inspired to be, and because I devote myself completely and deserve to know what that feels like in return.

This is precisely why I’m single, lol… because there are women everywhere looking for this one mythical creature.

I’d be better off stockpiling yarn and ending up on that Hoarders show with cashmere stacked from floor to ceiling.

Now that’s bliss…

A real Man.

 

Every once in a while, you come across a man that reminds you why it’s worth it. A shining example of a guy who does what he says he’s going to do or dies trying. Faithful, honest and funny, he makes the other guys look bad just standing still.

He’s my best friend’s boyfriend and in honor of his birthday, I’m outing him for being a fabulous enough example that he gives me faith on a week I shouldn’t have any left.

She met him a year ago (or so) and after ten minutes with the two of them you can’t imagine one without the other. She steals the bread off his plate and he steals it back and licks the whole thing. She laughs and steals it back. He’s confident enough to baby talk to her in front of anyone.

R- I love you sho, sho….

C- Sho, sho?

Yeah… sickening and fabulous all at the same time. It’s quite a bit priceless.

He’s one of those real men. Complete with the commercial fishing career. He’s cute as hell, sweet as sugar and the most confident man I’ve ever met. He walks beside her, with his hand on her back or wrapped around hers. He’d flatten anyone for disrespecting her AND he doesn’t mind hanging out with her friends.

He dances with us… (and he might kill me… but it’s just too good not to share)

He’s taken a pretty serious ration of shit for it from his buddies, but in my not so humble opinion, this is the guy we all hope our boyfriend/husband is like. He’ll make you laugh till you cry, protect you with his whole soul and throw down with a little Katy Perry…

Robby Meyer, well done my friend… you give me faith that there are good men in the world, and that when you meet one it’s pretty obvious right off the bat.

He doesn’t have to lie, because he’s living a life he respects and believes in. He doesn’t have to cheat, because he cares about the value of his love and his word. He doesn’t have to, because he doesn’t want to be anything less than everything to my dear friend.

THAT right there- is a real man.

Way to go, Mr. Man-card, and Happy Birthday 🙂

Dear Dad…

Smiling to my toes and happy… I got ready for work with the music blasting, dancing through the house between the bathroom and my bedroom looking for something to wear. High on love and anticipation.

Make-up done, hair in pigtails… and my phone rings. My little brother!!! I love him the best and we connect even though we didn’t grow up together. I answer and he’s quiet.

B- I have bad news. Dad died.

Time stops for a second when you hear this sort of news. Everything seems too loud….and I have 20 minutes to get to work. Totally and completely in shock and facing a busy night with the BCS Championship game on.

I was on autopilot all night. Coasting through a packed restaurant and somehow ending up with all the little tables. Thank God too, because I’m definitely not very chipper. Everybody was happy and watching the game, so it was easily managed chaos all night. My last table was my favorite Ms. Sassypants- who I’ve missed. I swear she tipped me more than the total of her tab, lol… I sat down at the bar with a beer and sunk into it finally. Grief… such an overwhelming feeling.

I met my Dad for the first time when I was 8 years old. I’d asked my mom if I could meet him and we were visiting family in Utah. He agreed and we had lunch at Wendy’s. First time I ever had a chocolate frosty and a cheeseburger. He didn’t know we were vegetarians and didn’t ask what I wanted. My only clear memory beyond the food was that nobody said anything. Super awkward… and we parted with a wave. He sued my mom for custody a month later, and won holiday visitation with me every year. Spring break, summer vacation & Christmas.

I remember it being a strange feeling to see someone that I looked so much like, and didn’t know. I was never comfortable with him, ever. He just never really was my dad. My dad was the one who drove me to school and baked my birthday cake.

He blessed me with a brother and two sisters that I love more than anything. He gave me another mom in my siblings mother. Then he divorced her and never took care of any of us ever again. No child support, no call on your birthday. Nada. King Deadbeat.

There’s really no other way to put it. These are facts…

I bought myself a ticket to go see him when I was sixteen. It was Christmas, and I missed my siblings and knew he’d have them for the holiday. He spent the entire time with his girlfriend and I left and went to stay with my Aunt instead. He never forgave me for it.

I tried to mend things with him after my son was born, about 4 years later. We stopped by my grandparents house for a visit and he spent a half hour calling himself Grandpa to a two year old that clung to my thigh and eyed him warily. For good reason, considering it was the only time he ever saw him.

He never met my daughter. I sent pictures when she was born, and we sent him a Christmas package. I sewed him a quilt, and tried one last time to salvage some sort of relationship with him. Something about the birth of my own children made me want to fix everything. He said he never got it… but the confirmation came through that he had. I’m not sure why he’d lie about it… but he did… and it was the last straw.

I wrote him one last letter, and never spoke to or saw him again. I told him about all the holes his absence left in my childhood, and about the dad I made up to tell people because he was so unmentionable. I gave all the hurt and the pain and disappointment every kid with a deadbeat dad can empathize with- back to him. I told him how much I hated him for what he made my mother go through & thanked him for my promiscuity and early entry into parenthood.

Not necessarily what every dad wants to read, and certainly not entirely his fault on every level… but I went above and beyond to hurt him in return.

I never heard from him again…. so those angry hurtful words are the last thing my dad heard from me. He was 56, and died alone, when he had four of the most loving people in the world as his children. Talk about the definition of tragic.

I’m too happy and too much in love to be angry or hurt by him anymore. I feel sorry for him more than anything, and I wish I’d left him with nice words in his heart instead of the rant he got. He deserved it- for sure- but on a personal level it’s hard to fathom that there’s not time to fix it anymore. He’s gone, never having been my dad… or my children’s grandfather.

I can’t mourn him like I should because I don’t have any way of knowing what a loss it is.

So I’m tossing words on up to heaven… or down to hell if that’s where he ended up. I’m on the fence about either place but if the rumors are true and you have to be virtuous to get in? He’s heading south. Sorry, but it’s true.

Dearest Dad,

Whoa… time ran out, huh? I didn’t see that coming, and I’m sorry that you died alone like I told you I hoped you would. It could have been so different, and I’m sorry you died with so many things left undone and so many apologies left unsaid.

You missed all of your children’s weddings. All three of your daughters were given away by someone else. You didn’t know any of your seven grandchildren, many of whom look like you. I am so sorry for you that you missed so much.

Thank you for our beautiful smiles- that look just like yours. Thank you for the strength you taught all of us in not being reliable. Thank you for the fine examples of women you gave us by forcing our mothers to raise us alone. You had amazing taste in women, truly.

You fed me steak and crawdads for the first time. Thank you- I love both ♥  You taught me how to fish in the summer and spent days in the sun chasing lizards with us at Flaming Gorge. You were a pretty awesome Disneyland dad when you wanted to be. You bought me my first designer jeans… bright red even. You spoiled me rotten when I was in front of you, and you always told me you loved me.

More than anything though… you get out of life what you put into it. You taught me to love out loud and sincerely, and to follow up my words with actions because integrity is rare.

Though you didn’t help much in the shaping of who I’ve become, you gave me life and the tools I needed to make mine a happy one. I love you- and I hope your soul is at peace.

The Vagina Doctor

Ugh.

Quadruple UGH.

How is it that I am 35 years old and still dread this like the first time, every time. It never gets better. It never gets easier. I’m absolutely neck deep in dread just waking up this morning.

Oh no… it’s THAT day. That one I’ve seen looming for weeks.

I’m forgetful. I forget my eyebrow wax appointments enough that I spoil and overtip my esthetician.

I don’t forget a vagina doctor appointment. I panic. I cross my legs twice, and my fingers even.

Noooo… ugh. Damn it men have it so easy sometimes.

I walk in reluctantly… hating every single second…ugh. They’re so nice- really- and nobody loves the vagina doctor experience, so they’re sensitive about it. She hands me the clipboard and I fill out every detail of my family history of every damn disease known to humankind, and every detail of my sex life.

Lovely.

My favorite question?

* Have you been with a partner who had multiple partners?

Thank God they don’t ask for a number next to that one… I think I’d have to dig a hole, climb in & die. I think Nathan and the Hoarder should have to have prostate exams just cause.

At any rate- the details are down in ink and it’s my turn. Oh joy. My hands are so cold she can’t prick my finger, so I have the pleasure of reading the STD poster while I run them under warm water.

Who needs a poster to get them to go to the doctor? If you have any of the symptoms listed on this chart, nobody is going anywhere near you and you should be very worried. Yikers.

By the time she finishes the AIDS test I’m positive I have it, and this is going to be one of those days like in a Lifetime movie, where I go in for a pap and end up HIV positive.

Weighed- oh joy… and hey… I’m still 5’4″… shocker.

Ugh… crunch time. Ugh. She gives the usual schpeel.

V- Take all your clothes off, you can leave your socks on. Put the wrap over your lap.

Gee, thanks… my socks are going to make me feel so much better. Oy.

This is the one moment I hate being a woman. I’d give anything for a penis right now, and not in any way sexually. They give you a thin paper tablecloth to somehow make you feel covered, while sitting your naked ass on a paper covered table. It’s as cold as Siberia, not that you’d ever be comfortable enough to feel warm anyway. Those dreaded stirrups may as well have flashing lights and sirens, because you can’t help but look at them with increasing dread.

I think they listen to your heart and lungs and grope your boobs, just to ease you into the most dreaded moment of the vagina doctor.

V- Go ahead and put your feet in the stirrups and move your bottom down to the end of the table.

Hey hi there. My gawd it fucking sucks- worse than any other part of being a woman. Give me an abscessed tooth over this bullshit, any day.

But… ya gotta love your vagina… and if you’re going to play with her then you have to take care of her and make sure she’s healthy. It’s the price of being sexually active- and hey…

I don’t have AIDS!

… and it’s out of the way until next year!

Make the call ladies, maintain your vagina.

…and gentleman… take a moment on my behalf and thank God for your penis because you will never know the joys of the vagina doctor.