If any of the following subjects bring up mental images that make you want to throw up a little bit in your mouth, I advise that you stop reading this now. Trust me, you’ll be glad you did.
- periods, blood, etc.
- leaves stuck in my confidential crevices
- me walking a mile with my right hand cupping my pubic bone
- my dog suffering from a bad case of constipation

Also, those of you who have heard and were disgusted about the story of my bloomers that currently reside somewhere on train tracks between Rome and Paris should stop reading immediately and erase all of this from your mind.

I’m about to tell you a story that’s inappropriate for, well….for just about anyone to read. I think I’m just writing it as a reminder to myself that some things really suck, but I’ll laugh at them someday.

Right now I’m at home and, thank you, Lord, the snow has melted. It’s a glorious day, pushing 50 degrees, and the sun is shining. When I’m at home, I typically walk for a few miles down the highway because, well, there are very few cars that travel on said highway and it’s more like a wilderness walk on pavement – you know, the kind city people love.

Yesterday I went to a walk on the highway and my frigging dog found a way to make me feel guilty about not taking her with. She doesn’t do walks on the road because cars hit dogs and kill them and dead dogs aren’t fun dogs. She goes for walks on the trail behind the house. The unpaved trail with lots of anomalies to trip and hurt oneself on. (That’s why I choose the road more traveled.)

My dad told me it’s beautiful behind the house this time of year. Since I don’t doubt a word he tells me and since I didn’t want to disappoint Lucy yet again, she and I just went for a walk behind the house today.

But before we went, I realized an old pair or pants fit me. They actually fit! Khakis too, which is exciting because I’m in dire need of khakis. So I wore the khakis.

Did I mention I got my period this morning? I’ve heard a lot of women complain about the bloating and the PMS and the cramps that accompany one’s special feminine time. However, the part that really bothers me is the blood flowing from my vagina. It’s sort of inconvenient, you know?

I also have a problem with the unreal cost of feminine products. Not to mention a finance problem. I’ve been going without blood blockers, both tampons and pads, for a couple of months now simply because I’d rather spend my money on candy corn and pop, so I wadded up some toilet paper and stuck it on up there. It’s been effective enough in the past, damn it.

I suppose you can see where this is headed.

Lucy and I set off on our walk and about ten minutes in I realized there was going to be some leakage. I was reluctant to turn back (and disappoint the dog?!) so I did what any wilderness-raised gal would do. I gathered up some leaves and stuck them in my underwear.

Let me be the first to tell you, in case you haven’t figured it out for yourself. Leaves aren’t absorbent at all.

Lou and I pushed on, enjoying the leafy yellow carpet that crunched under our feet and the cool breeze that whispered secrets about winter’s coming despite our yelling, “SHUT UP! WINTER’S NOT COMING THIS YEAR!” But that was just me, not Lucy.

Five minutes later, I looked down and realize just how not absorbent leaves are. There was blood on the pants that finally fit. Blood on the khakis.

I reluctantly turned back, much to the dismay of poop-plugged dog. I thrust my hand down my pants and tried to stop the blood flow from seeping even more through my fingers and onto my pants that finally fit. I walked like this all the way home, hoping against hope that I wouldn’t meet anyone, mostly my dad, on the walk back.

All the while, Lucy kept stopping to try to shit and nothing was doing. Poor dog. Somebody feed her some fiber!

I got home, removed my pants that finally fit, tried to wash out the blood, removed the bloody underwear and picked off the bloody leaves that were stuck all over my naughty bits.

I’m pretty convinced the only reason I got my “little friend” today is because my apartment’s shower is going to be out-of-commission for the majority of the week and I won’t be able to wash the filth from my body.

Getting my period does not make me feel clean. Getting my period does not make me feel healthy. Getting my period does not make me feel pure. I think it’s great that it makes others feel that way, but it only makes me feel dirty. Dirty, dirty, dirty! And now I don’t get to wash the blood off until some time in February, when maintenance finally decides to fix our fucking shower.