Wednesday, 30 July 2014

Vaginal Spelunking, Ebola, and Carlos Danger...

I got an email from my sister.  She sporadically emails me, usually to tell me she nearly pooed her pants because of the absurd lack of public toilets.  This time it was because of the Ebola outbreak.  She asks "Is it weird that Ebola reminds me of you?"  In all honesty, I couldn't say yes because Ebola reminds me of her too.  Mostly because we read "The Hot Zone" years and years ago and it freaked us out hardcore.  Scary, scary shit.  But also because we like to make up exotic illness complaints to make our boring colds sound more exciting.  So the weekend of the early miscarriage (or chemical pregnancy...pick your poison either way it sucks donkeys) when I skyped home and my mom was over at my sisters, I decided to tell them about it.  Naturally I told them I had Ebola.  My sister said "That's nice," and carried on cooking.  Mom laughed at me, until I insisted I was bleeding my guts out into the toilet.  Then she asked what was wrong, and was probably more upset about it than I was.  She told me later she even cried for me (when I laughed at her she said "not ugly sobs, just tears!").  Anyway, maybe that is why my sis was thinking of me when she saw headlines on tv about the Ebola outbreak.  She enquired after my lady parts and sent them happy thoughts.  Which was nice.  I sent her a detailed response about my cervical mucous and how my lady parts are very busy this close to ovulation.  Didn't phase her at all, so I think I lost this one-up-manship.  Damn.

But speaking of my lady parts (which will probably dominate this blog whenever I am not talking about my either way a pussyblog...damn, I should have used that name!)...the horror of all horrors, one of my worst fears ever happened during my last visit from my evil auntie Flo.  I lost the string.  To the tampon.  And it's not like it had been in long enough that it could be dislodged by a black pepper powered sneeze.  Five frenzied minutes of digging around finally produced the damn thing.  Somehow the string had looped over the top of the bastard.  They should have a warning about early morning insertions...

Maybe this is just me, but around CD6 as the last of the spotting is occurring, I start getting sex dreams.  In all honesty, I mostly dream about my husband, which is kind of cool.  Sometimes the dream bonk involves some non-real person that my brain just sort of invents.  But  Sometimes my dreams are a little freaky.  Here are a few from the past: on the (?) side, I have had two sex dreams about Hawkeye Pierce.  From MASH.  Not Alan Alda as he is now (cuz that would move this thing up a notch to extra freaky), but Hawkeye.  So not bad, but a little weird considering my age.  A bit with a viking man that my brain concocted...while Putin looked on.  I blame the news for this one.  And the top of my "what the fuck" pile...bonking away with the husband...and all of a sudden he morphs into Carlos Danger aka Anthony Weiner.

There is no hope for me.

No comments:

Post a Comment