Tampon Troubles

When I was a young lass, my mom and sister did their best to provide me guidance in the way of women, but failed on several counts. I don't hold it against them, anymore, because at the very least, it provides for some good blog fodder.

Some time during middle school, I was invited to go swimming with some girlfriends. I accepted. After I hung up the phone, I realized that I had a dilemma; I was on my period and I knew that I couldn't wear a pad to the pool. Other than knowing that pads and pools don't mix, I didn't know what to do. I had a vague idea that there was something that would solve my problem, but all my mom and sister had taught me was the way of the pad.

But I still had my dilemma, so I went rummaging through my mom's bathroom drawers. I didn't know exactly what I was looking for, but when I stumbled upon a tampon, I knew that this was the solution to my problem. But HOW??????

There was just the one, lone tampon. No instructions. My friend was on her way and I was panicking. Survival instincts kicked in, I tore off the paper wrapper and shoved my only solution in.

Ouch. Was it suppose to hurt? I figured the answer was "yes" so I just went with it. I was in a fair amount of pain for the entire trip to the pool, It hurt when I sat, I hurt when I stood, it hurt in a box, it hurt with a fox...errrr.... or something. About half way in, I swore off tampons for life and couldn't wait to get home and get the devil stick out of me.

When the blessed moment arrived - it wouldn't budge. I almost cried. I pulled and heaved and finally with the burning sensations of ten thousand suns, it finally plopped out and I went and gently cried and rocked myself to sleep to try to forget about the horrific pain of the day.

Fast forward to 3 years later. True to my word, I hadn't even LOOKED at another tampon, classifying all who wore them loose and flappy hussies. However, I was in the same dilemma I had been in 3 years earlier. A friend, Marie, and I were at summer camp and wanted to go "blobbing," but just like pads and pools don't mix, pads and lakes don't mix either. I share this with my friend. She hands me a box of tampons, a jar of Vaseline, the instructions and sends me to the bathroom stalls.

Not entirely convinced this is going to work, I agree to give it another shot. I find the smallest tampon in the box, lube it up with Vaseline and take a look at the instructions. Somewhere around step 3 or 4, I see where I went wrong all those years ago - I turn to Marie and ask "Oooh! You take the cardboard applicator OUT?!?!???"

Belly Dancin'

I love to dance, that is no secret. I've dabbled in multiple forms and practices - ballet, hip hop, and there was that one time Liz made/dared me to the Pase Doble in her living room - and I NAILED it. Even she was impressed. Or maybe her "WOW" didn't mean "impressive" but rather "I can't believe you actually did that." Either way...

So when Lindsey asked if I'd take a belly dancing class with her, my only response was: where can I get THIS outfit?
I think with my love for dance and my sand-people genes, I'll be a natural at this form of dance.

The Father, The Son and The Holy Hair

Saturday, August 19th, I married a couple. Before too many of you get excited - I did not become a second wife - but rather, I was the officiant at my friends', Lee & Sabrina, wedding.

Let's rewind for a minute.

In 2001 I became an ordained Reverend primarily to demonstrate how much organized religion is a joke. I mean, can you argue that it ISN'T when a college freshman went online, clicked a few radio buttons, filled in a some required fields and then praise-jesus-hallelujah became a member of the clergy? I don't think so.

Fast forward to this past February, a gaggle of us were about to go cut a rug at a Mike Hosty concert and Sabrina was talking about her wedding and her need to find an affordable Officiant. Never missing an opportunity to reveal this random fact about me, I told Sabrina that I was ordained and (jokingly), told her I would do it. Instead of laughing at the absurd idea, she asked "really?" and then told me a few weeks later that she had a dream that she and Lee were getting married and the officiant had big, curly hair.

Obviously, I was sold then and there and agreed to do it. What really sealed the deal what that the happy couple assured me that my duties were to 1. marry them and 2. have a blast at the reception. Check and check.

The ceremony was amazing; there were tears and laughs, and most importantly, it suited both of them and I was thrilled to be a part of their special, beautiful day.

The reception is a little bit more blurry around the edges. I only had one pre-ceremony drink to take the edge off, seeing how I didn't want to be a sloppy mess DURING the ceremony, so afterwards I made no qualms in catching up to everyone else in a hurry. I wouldn't say I "chugged" the wine, but double fisting it certainly made more sense than going back to the bar every 10 minutes, so, that's what I did. It was red wine, which Jesus drank, so, it's cool.

At one point, some of the groom's friends decided to by The Reverend shots. What nice boys.

And then the dancing started.

After cutting a rug every which-a-way, it was time for the bride and groom to be off. It was somewhere around this time that Russell became my anchor, not leaving me by myself and making sure I didn't stumble into the bushes. I knew I was a goner. I was touch and go with "standing," so he took action by giving me a beer and sending me to the car. What a good friend.

The ride home... was... fuck, I don't remember, but when Stef said that we needed beer for the after party, I gladly offered the beer I had up for the cause. The Reverend is all about charity.

Sabrina called me last week to tell me that her cousin has hassled her a few times about her introducing the two of us. When she asked if I remembered who he was at the wedding, I just laughed.