Friday, September 23, 2011

My Monthy Bill

Yesterday I was noticing that my stomach was really big and that it had gotten really FAT all of the sudden, and I could not get FULL, and everything anybody did, was making me want to scratch their eyeballs out.  I dismissed this as yet another set of personality flaws on my part, and I did sit ups until my back hurt, and then I ate an entire pot of Chicken Tortilla Soup.

That night I decided to have one and a half glasses of wine, because much to my dismay, Brad wanted a glass and all we had was a little more than half a bottle of red left, so what I am saying is, that I would have had MORE because I am COOL like that, but I was too exhausted to go and get some because I had used up everything in my tank, going to the abbreviated Whole Foods twice for cream for my coffee in the morning, because the first time I got "Fraunch Vanilla" which I discovered when I got home, and it made me want to tear the eyeballs out of the sockets of everyone at the Whole Foods. I mean, "Why didn't anybody STOP me?  I HATE Fraunch Vanilla anything!"

So, Brad comes home and I bare my teeth at him and tell him it has been 48 hours since I have showered and that I have worked out twice in that period.  "Good to see you, too, dear," he retorts as he reaches for the only bottle of red wine in the house.  I suddenly have an Ally McBeal moment (even though I hate that show and that stupid dancing baby.  What WAS that anyway?  I'll tell you what it was.  It was stupid.) where I jump on him like a Mama Puma and slice his chest open with my claws until he loosens his grip on the bottle, and I am able to take it from him and then I tip it up and drink it like it is blood (as I have now morphed into a werewolf) and it runs all down my neck and chest.

So, Hallie has to go to Hip Hop, which is thoroughly irritating because I am ready to get into my house pants and I realize that I have to get back in the car AGAIN and take her to hip hop, and then I am going to have to pick her up from it, forty-five minutes later.  I guess I could sit in the waiting room and make idle bullshit, like all the other Moms, or read a book in the car, like the Moms like me, but I wouldn't care if gas were $25 a gallon.  I am going to race home to get a few things done and then race back 10 minutes later. And that is everyones else's fault but mine.

Of course, I come home to my cold dinner that I eat standing up and I clean up the mess that everyone has left behind and I contemplate taking a shower, but I am too tired, so I wash my face and pits, in that order, (I am not THAT ghetto) and I crawl into bed with a glass of wine and my GQ magazine.

I start to feel kinda drunk after I have finished my glass, so I pour the rest of the bottle in, which is about two tablespoons, to chase the high, and I fall asleep before I finish it.

I wake up at 6:45, like I always do, to have 15 minutes to myself, and I become newly enraged because my coffee pot did not come on and I have to press the ON button.  Then, I hear what are unmistakably, Eva's footsteps on the stairs because she jumps with both feet on each step, and the dog starts to whine loudly, and is going ballistic in her crate.

I want to drop to the floor and gather in my knees so as to mimic the fetal position and chant softly (like Jennaaayyy in Forrest Gump, remember?)  "Dear God, make me a bird, so I can fly far....far, far away.  Dear God..."

I plaster a fake smile across my face and say, "Hi punkin!  You hungry?  Whaddayou want to eat?"

Eva responds her usual reply, "Whaddo you HAVE?"

"Here, hon, let me go get the Ipad for you.  I got it all charged up!  And then I'll turn on your show, Okay?"

Mother of the Year.  Locked up, again.  Dese bitches in Arlington don't have a chance.

"Where are YOU gonna be?" Eva whines.

Dear God, make me a bird...

"I'm gonna be downstairs with my coffee, for just a few minutes, watching the boring news.  You would be soooooo bored, you might fall back asleep, and you wouldn't want THAT would you?"

Just 5 minutes by myself, fully caffeinated.  I'll be a new person.  I swear.

"What is the news gonna be about, Mama?"  Eva looks up at me with those big brown eyes.

I am starting to soften now, for I have managed to slam down three gulps of coffee, like I am playing Chandeliers.  "Well, today is really SPECIAL for Mommy, because the interviewer is asking this man named Brad Pitt questions about something really stupid (I catch myself here and tell her not to use that word, that it is a MOMMY word) in an interview in a magazine, and Mommy wants to watch Mr. Pitt squirm like Scarlett is doing right now on the carpet because she wants her belly rubbed."

"Oooooohhhhhh,"  Eva's wheels are turning.  "What did the man say that was so stupid?"

I am simultaneously rescued and attacked by the sounds of four more feet bounding down the stairs.  "Dammit!  No time to myself.  Better go and record The Today Show if I am going to get any enjoyment out of this day," I think. 

Needless to say, I get the kids out the door and drop Eva off and go to my friend Cindy's house to work out (that's CFit for those of you who need a good trainer) with my friend Kim.  I am starting to feel better...more like myself, but I still have zero perspective.

After my workout, I stop at the Giant Eagle Supasto' because I am craving Indian food and do a little light shopping (i.e. buy a bunch of interesting looking crackers and some fruit for my kids, and a new pepper grinder).  I am unconsciously doing little things that will make me happy, but I am completely unaware of this - thus, the use of the word unconsciously - DUH.

So, finally, I get home and I am super surprised to find that I have received my monthly bill. No, not Nordstroms.  Noooo......not T.J. Maxx, either.  Hint: my Mother calls it this and it makes me mental. Thhhaaattttsss rrrriiiiiiggggghhht.  It's my period.  I have had my monthly bill for over two and a half decades, religiously, each month, with the exception of my three pregnancies, and I am still as astounded each month, when it arrives, as I was the first time I ever had one.  It is mind blowing to me.

The bloating.  The inextinguishable rage.  The bottomless pit that is your appetite.  The unexpected napping.  (I will fall asleep like an old person in a nursing home.) The drop in hygiene.  The inability to tolerate even small amounts of alcohol.  (I read somewhere that women  experience larger concentrations of blood alcohol right before they get their periods, due to hormone shifts, and I have noticed this in myself on occasion.  It is always in hindsight, though, because I obviously have no idea each month when my period is coming.)  And finally, the 28- 32 days that elapse between each "bill".

I was thinking today as I was getting dressed after finally showering, that I should come out with a line of clothing called "Monthly Bill".  I was rummaging through my closet, trying to find the most pajama-like outfit I could find, to not only hide my enormous stomach, but that will make me happy during such an unhappy time.  I wanted something soft, and dark, and stretchy, and not binding.  I came up with this outfit and it made me very happy, but it also got me to thinking.  There are yoga clothes and maternity clothes, and hiking apparel, and clothing for just about every activity and mood a gal might engage in.  But, where or where, I ask you is the Periodwear?  Why hasn't anyone ever thought of this before?
They're called mu mu's, Y'all!

I am forced to endure erectile dysfunction commercial after erectile dysfunction commercial, every time a sporting event is on television, but I can't talk about bleeding once a month? Menstruation or Ministration, as my high school health teacher used to pronounce it, is just simply just an integral part of the reproductive system that enables women to bear children.  If men had periods, all this nonsense would be a non-issue.  It is insane if you really think about it. 

I really HATE the fact that we, as women, are expected to hide the fact that we are on our period.   They are always marketing to us, some way to disguise our pads and tampons, so that, I guess, we do not OFFEND anyone else.  Well, at least half of the population either is getting, will get, or has gotten their period on a regular basis, and the other half is at least AWARE that we are capable of having a period, so what is all the secrecy about, people?

My friend, Kim, told me this story about this friend of hers, (no, I am not covering up for Kim) that was on her period, and this guy she had been crushing on, asked her on a tennis date.  She took great care to wear her hair sporty, and went and bought a new tennis dress and stuff, and (for some reason) she was wearing one of those big thick pads.  Well, she is a pretty good tennis player, so she was all over the court, displaying her skills, and she almost beat this guy, until she realized that it would crush his fragile male ego, and thus ruin her chances of a second date, and the eventual marriage and kids she had already begun imagining.

So, the match is over and he says he'll call and she goes to the restroom and her pad is gone.  She is MORTIFIED.  She goes back to the court, and looks all around and cannot find it.  Just as she is about to leave, she notices that the pad is stuck to her tennis shoe.  And just as you have probably suspected...the guy never called her again.  Classic.

Anyway, when I lived in Texas, I had these decorative blue Mason jars I would keep in my bathroom.  There was this little indented area that was perfect for all of my bath condiments and I used to keep my tampons in one of them.

My best friend, Angela, used to make fun of me because we only had one bathroom and it was also the bathroom that all guests had to use.  She said it was "disgusting" and "suggestive" to display my tampons.

I would always respond that if she were "accusing me of 'suggesting' that I had gotten my period, then I am guilty, and people should assume that anyway."

Now, many fine restaurants actually offer tampons to their female guests in their restrooms, along with mouthwash and hairspray. That final step of integration has not yet been achieved, though, and this is what I am driving at.  I will not be satisfied until ALL restrooms, public and private have feminine wipes and Midol.  I have decided that I am going to make it my J.O.B. to demystify the whole "monthly bill"  issue and I am starting by breaking out my old decorative Tampon Jar and displaying it front and center in my guest bath downstairs.

That is, right after I have the talk with my three daughters about what tampons are actually used for.  And then the inevitable conversation that is to follow about why it is necessary that a woman have a period.  And then the conversation right after that where I break down teen pregnancy and STD's.

Oh, to Hell with it.  I'll just hide my tampons in the cabinet where I have always kept them, and continue to act as if I have a secret meeting in there fifty times a day for a week each month.

Let some Gloria Steinem with tween girls lead that march.  I'm too exhausted...and hungry...and bloated.

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