Beluga Lava Lamps

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This topic has been fully covered in embarrassing middle school health videos, corny pre-teen flicks, and Seventeen Magazine. But I feel like our age group needs a little refresher. Mainly, I just need to vent. Mother Nature should be renamed Mother Fucker or perhaps simply Bitch Lady.

Yes, that’s right. This blog is about menstrual cycles. Periods, days of the month, the rag, Aunt Flow, “becoming a woman”. Ugh.

Today, I felt like staying in bed all day, watching E!, and popping the leftover hydrocodone from my wisdom tooth removal. My back feels like a sumo wrestler is sitting on me and, at any moment, I fully expect my ovaries to burst out from my belly, screeching “YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN UTERUS!!!” I’m as bloated as a beluga and I go through waves of nausea mixed with severe cravings and hunger. I swear I could devour an entire pizza, a tray of cookies, and a pitcher of margarita, then puke it up, and then reach for a bucket of chicken and a box of chocolate. Along with ALL of these facts, add my roller coaster feelings. I’m basically a bipolar blob who wants to hug you, fight you, and cry on you in the span of five minutes. I’m also trying to move into my apartment and start my new job. You DON’T wanna mess with me this week. I will destroy you.

I hear pregnancy is like this, but 100 times worse. You might not ever see me with a baby bump if that’s the case. Women have to go through all this just so we can one day go through it times 100 for nine months straight? Gee thanks, Bitch Lady.

I mean, I haven’t even mentioned the most obvious little nugget of joy—we literally bleed out as if we were shot in the vagina. That’s just cruel, man. Like, who the hell thought of this process? The whole stork delivery thing is genius in my opinion. Better yet, trees bear fruit, why can’t they just dangle infants as well?

Or maybe if men could understand a morsel of our pain and suffering…ya know? Sea horses get it. I’m also a big proponent of somehow making pregnancy a fair toss-up: you have unprotected sex and there’s a 50/50 chance of one of you getting preggo. That would be sweet!

Seriously, what do men have to deal with? Morning wood, wet dreams, shaving their mustache? Gimme a break. Bleed for a week straight while feeling like death and then get back to me.

I guess I’m just here to say…we don’t exaggerate our cramps and it’s not our fault that our emotions get plopped into a high speed lava lamp (red).

So boyfriends/husbands: don’t complain or get grossed out. Definitely don’t rattle the cage. Just buy your lovely beluga a goddamn cupcake, sit through whatever movie she chooses, and rub her feet. In exchange, she’ll keep feeling horrible every month so that one day, you can teach your son how to play football. What a deal.

And then one day after that, she’ll be able to do what my mother recently did to me: grin while handing over a box of tampons and say, “I no longer need these, here you go!” I can’t wait to be that Bitch Lady.

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