Category Archives: PSA
Saving the world one reader at a time
It’s finally acting like Spring outside, which means that the snow might be gone, but it’s windy and rainy and chilly outside. Considering what happened the last time Poof and I ventured outside in the wind, we’ve been taking to staying indoors. I head over to her place with coffee for everyone, and we chill out, watch TV, and partake in whatever is on TV that morning.
Today, commentary as follows:
L.A.: You know, that one douchebag is really starting to grow on me.
L.A.: No, I know who he is. I mean the dad douchebag.
Poof: Bruce Jenner?
L.A.: No, no. The douchebag that’s a dad.
Poof: Bruce Jenner?
L.A.: The dad that’s married to one of the daughters.
Poof: Which daughter?
L.A.: Lord Douchebag.
Poof: OH. Scott.
Poof: I mean, you really just can’t go around saying “that douchebag” with this show. I mean, it IS the Kardashians.
Guys, I hurt. I hurt real bad. It’s not one of those crazy over emotional days or anything like that. It’s more of a “I hate being a girl” day.
That’s right. I’m oversharing, interwebs. I’m TMI-ing the hell out of the blog. Because right now, I have cramps, and they’re terrible, and that means that Mother Nature is about to send Moses to part the red sea or I’m about to ride the crimson wave or whatever the hell analogy you like to use to describe that I’M ABOUT TO BE MOTHER BITCH FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS.
I seriously hate this time of the month. DESPISE IT. I get all angry, then all weepy, then all drowsy, and then every emotion ever in the history of womenkind. I’m like the theater masks times six million.
So, I get all crampy, and realize that it’s about that time, and I go to check my “supplies.” As luck would have it, I’m completely bumblefucking out of my lady products. Of course I am.
So I wrap up the Boo, and buckle him in, and it’s off to the store. We get some string cheese, we pick out some random things from the dollar section because one cannot simply walk into Target and not buy things from the dollar section, and we get him a new toothbrush because why the hell not. Then we get to the girly aisle, and I get what I need, and I toss them into the cart.
Boo: What are those?
Me: They’re for mommy.
Boo: Can I have one?
Me: You don’t need one.
Boo: Why not?
Me: They’re for ladies.
Boo: Boys can’t have them?
Me: Boys don’t need them. They’re for Mommy’s…special time.
Boo: Like your birthday? My birthday’s in September.
Me: No, not that special. This is…mommy’s time of the month.
Boo: Oh. Can I have a birthday the next month too?
Me: No, it’s not like…present time special.
Boo: Do you get presents at your special time?
Me: Not the good kind.
Boo: They should be the good kind.
Me: I KNOW, RIGHT?
Then Boo saw some yogurt with Perry the Platypus on them and totally forgot about Mommy’s special things. Yay, short attention span.
We get home, and Boo runs upstairs and I start telling my mother about the awkward.com
Me: Boo asked me what tampons were. I debated telling him it means no siblings right now.
Mom: Don’t tell him that.
Me: Well, how do you tell a four year old about a tampon?
Mom: It’s for a lady’s time…
Me: -I’m being Boo. What time? Bedtime?
Mom: No, a time for a lady’s body to…discharge?
Me: WHAT’S DISCHARGE?
I go upstairs, feeling a little better because NO ONE CAN EXPLAIN A TAMPON TO A FOUR YEAR OLD BOY and Boo is in the bedroom with all his toys out. Also. With all my toys out*.
Me: Boo, did you open Mommy’s box?
Boo: They’re for boys too.
Me: How are they for boys? These are for mommy’s…body.
Boo: Uh, they’re pew-ers. DUH.
So Labor Day Weekend marks the transition from summer to fall.
This summer has been a magical time for me. I have been so fortunate to be surrounded by so many amazing people. I wouldn’t trade the late nights that turned into early mornings, the laughter or randomness. But I’m ready for the winds of change. The air reeks of it.
The leaves aren’t the only thing changing colors.
It seems like myself and everyone around me is in transition.
I just moved into a new house. I’m also making plans to change a few other things in my life, not just geography.
My dear friend Hot Chocolate is moving to another state for a his job this week. I’m sad to see him leave, but I’m so proud of him and excited to see what this opportunity will bring him.
He has given me so much this summer. More than I could ever repay him, so I will not burden him with sadness of leaving. I rather celebrate the joy of something new and exciting.
L.A. is also in her own set of changes. Boo started kindergarten. Someone very dear to her moved away. She has other things that are in transition also.
It’s all chaotic. We don’t know what each day will bring. It all seems to be moving so fast. Not a moment to take a deep breath and enjoy it.
Even with all the confusion and chaos, I have a sense of calm.
I’m excited about all the change. It’s progression. I love progression.
I don’t know if there is something in the water or if I have reached euphoria, but I don’t fear change anymore. I crave it.
Good things can’t become great things without change.
I’ve been afraid of changing
‘Cause I, I’ve built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Children get older
I’m getting older too oh yes
I’m getting older too
I’m not that girly. I’m not going to lie. GoldDust tried once to put liquid eyeliner on me, and I cried before she even got one eye done. I’m just not a high maintenance female. I roll out of bed in the morning, brush my hair and teeth, and head out the door.
I forgot pants once because I was in such a daze.
This means, that when I go to the effort of getting dolled up, it’s a big effort. On Tuesdays and Thursday mornings, however, sometimes I’ll make the extra effort because I know I’ll be seeing my BFF Poof, who runs a fashion blog. It’s nice when our photos don’t feature her being adorable and me in a t-shirt. But that’s happened before.
One Tuesday and/or Thursday (I’m not sure which it was), I happened to be dolled up after playing photographer with Poof, and good things happened to happen. I got tickets to the most epic of epic things in the hockey world: tickets to the Winter Classic.
So, in a flurry of excitement and high energy, I headed to the most ideal place: Starbucks.
“Coffbanger,” I tell my barista. “GUESS WHAT I HAVE?!”
Coffbanger happens to have been my barista for a long time standing, and thus, he knows of my hockey love. He guessed within three tries that it was hockey tickets, and laughed at my outwardly excessive amount of glee.
His co-worker was not such a good sport.
“Wait,” the coworker tells me, interrupting Coffbanger’s and my conversation. “You can’t be a hockey fan.”
Eyebrow raise here. The awkward silence says that he should stop talking.
The coworker continues, however. “You can’t be a hockey fan. You’re in a dress.”
Cue the jaw drop. Of course, I would never take this lying down.
I’m so irritated. I’m tired of having to define icing to prove that I actually like hockey, as opposed to just wanting to hump Darren Helm*.
“Well,” I tell him. I manage to keep smiling. No amount of anger can wipe my “I’m going to the Winter Classic” smile off my face. And then this spills out faster than they’re making my coffee.
“You can’t be a man, you’re in skinny jeans.”
Coffbanger, the coworker, and I are all silent for a moment before Coffbanger lets out a snort of laughter.
Seriously though. Can’t a girl like her hockey in a dress?
Seriously. I looked fecking adorable.
Sound off, female hockey fans.
Can’t a girl wear a dress and be a hockey fan? Or a sports fan?
I know I’m not the only one with sports colored knee socks for playoff games.
*the writer acknowledges that yes, she would also like to hump Darren Helm.