On Mother Nature, Tacos, and being a great “angry New Yorker”
If you aren’t female, you probably shouldn’t read this.
Turn back now.
This is a bad idea.
But if you ARE female and have had those special talks with Mother Nature that delve into your finest and most well kept insults, slurs, and vituperations full of vibrant language only a sailor could be proud of, then please do continue and unite in a universal detestation of that loathsome bitch we love to hate.
If you are like a good portion of the population out there you have both met and gotten very friendly and comfortable with birth control. That lovely little pill that makes it okay to hate condoms! And when I say tiny, I am NOT exaggerating. I mean, really! We get it, birth control is frowned upon and we don’t want the world knowing we are sexually active – modesty, and all that jazz – but why do you have to make it so easy to lose? What is the thinking behind that?…Oh, so you wanna GO AGAINST THE WISHES OF THE ALL POWERFUL BEING?? Fine. But don’t expect it to be easy. You whore!
So you take this teeny, tiny, super pill that gives you the ability to alter your body into a state of confusion so great that it thinks it is with child and treats you extra special because, well, there are myriad reasons why a person might treat you special!…don’t make me spell them all out for you. But eventually the reason we all end up continuing to take it is because we know it will save us from anything untoward happening. However, untowardness aside, an attention whore is still a whore, girls. You don’t need that extra special treatment from your BC to know you are loved! I want all of you to get up right now, stand in front of a mirror, and hug yourself. Go, my little minions.
…did you do it? No?!? Yeah, me neither. But it’s the thought that counts. *air high five* You go girl! You THOUGHT about it! Anyway, back to BC – For many years you are accustomed to keeping a close eye on the time lest you have to excuse yourself to swallow the microscopic super power, and you don’t ever go anywhere without it because you and your BC must be one. Without it, well…you, boy, and baby could make three, and what an impressive quantitative equation for only one night. One plus one equals…what? THREE??? What madness is this?? Oh, that’s right. It is the law according to THE ALL POWERFUL BEING. Remember kids, you can only control so much and nothing is 100%. But you keep taking it and relying on it and…not having any real clue what it is doing to your body. Until that fateful day when you forget to take it for three days in a row, which brings me to my situation. Suddenly, and rather unexpectedly, my breast began to throb with pain, swell, and form a lovely lump resulting in my paying 600 dollars in doctors bills to find out that it is “hormones.” Fuck. That. Threw those left over bitches in the trashcan and have been BC-less for almost two months now. You know what? It doesn’t suck as bad as I thought it might. Yes, my back does hurt significantly more (the easing of the back pain is why I originally began taking it in High School when I was so sexually inactive that I would have made a great abstinence billboard) but that seems to be the only downside. Except for the raging bitch epidemic. But I’ll get to that later.
This all brings me to my Jesus talk with Mother Nature and it went a little something like this:
MN: Okay, I know I make life a living hell for you for a week, and I’d like to make it up to you.
Me: Fuck you. I don’t trust you.
MN: I understand. I haven’t been kind to you in your life. And I feel genuinely bad about that.
Me: Damnit! I left my wellies at home. Would you mind cutting back on the bullshit?
MN: I know you have lost your appetite and your sex drive – two things you have always been proud of – and I would like to help you get them back.
Me: Make your point, you bitch.
MN: That’s my point. I’m going to give them back to you once every month.
Me: Oh. My. God.
MN: Now instead of having something to dread all week, you will have something to look forward to!
Me: Please tell me that you’re fucking with me.
MN: Is that your way of saying “thank you?”
Me: YOU ARE GOING TO GIVE ME A SEX DRIVE FOR THE ONE WEEK DURING THE MONTH THAT I SHOULDN’T HAVE ONE?!?
Me: AND!! …And! You are going to let me eat during the one week that I feel the most disgusting and don’t want to want to eat?
Me: This is you being nice?
It never ends well when we get together but we have yet to completely cut ties. I suppose that means I actually love her….whatever. This conversation took place not long before my birthday rolled around and people started asking me what I wanted to for birthday dinner. Food? At a time like this? Who did they think I was?? Oh, I know!! ME! That’s who they thought I was!! The person who can eat an entire pizza by herself and follow it up with ice cream and salt infested potatoes. Exactly how was I to explain to everyone that I could no longer be at the top of the eating contest list? That I physically could not eat? The answer is, I couldn’t. Nobody wanted to believe me because, well, watching a “skinny” girl eat is apparently always a treat. People. Keep. Feeding. Me. It may seem as though I am complaining, but how can a monetarily challenged person refuse free food? You can’t. You just can’t. So, here my friends think I still have my normal appetite and I begin to accidentally horde food at work. Sometimes I go to work with a practically empty lunchbox and come home with some food. It’s awesome.
On one particular day a coworker brought me three tacos which I promptly put in my lunchbox, fantasizing about the lovely taco dinner I would be having when I got home. Unfortunately, when I got home, my stomach was not as excited about the tacos as I was and I was only able to enjoy a few bites before my stomach protested. But I wanted that damn taco so I made him shut up until I was finished. My stomach can be so dramatic! So, into the fridge the two leftover tacos, conveniently packaged to cover my next two meals…damn you stomach. Later that night, while dead asleep, I was awoken by a rustle. A paper rustle. A paper rustle that sounded suspiciously like a taco wrapper. I yelled out at roommate, “are you eating my taco?!?” The look on that mans face when he came in eating my taco…priceless. It was three in the morning, I woke from a dead sleep, and proceeded to yell at poor roomie. It was like watching a puppy back into a corner – this was only the beginning of the raging bitch I mentioned earlier. With little to no provocation, I was making men quiver. Thanks Mother Nature, you know how to make a girl feel super awesome *thumbs up!* Soon I was capable of making every living creature I encountered fully grasp why I was so vehement about my ability to emulate the stereotypical “angry New Yorker” when I witnessed an injustice being done to someone I felt protective over. No longer did I need any kind of provocation to yell out a string of perfectly placed obscenities mixed in with some semblance of a sentence mostly hidden by the insult baring its ugly teeth. All I needed was a little oxygen. Apparently.
If you made it through all that, I applaud you. It felt very meander-y. Because I wander. Anywho…
May your days be filled with tacos that aren’t eaten, cathartic conversations with imaginary beings, and lots of serotonin to fill the gaps.