You Are Cramping My Style
Every last Friday of each month I anticipate mother nature to terrorize my uterus and undoubtedly drop a nuclear bomb on my psyche. Fine.
But when mother nature decides to not let me know that she isn’t coming on Friday and then has the audacity to not show up on Saturday without a word, that is when she has crossed the line between womanhood and any synonym for being inhumane. A very fine line to cross.
So for two days I am taking a hopeful look at the toilet paper after every time I am done peeing. Nothing. “Mathias! NOTHING!” as I yell while sitting on the toilet bowl banging my head against the wall thinking to myself — better yet, talking shit to myself about what I have done, or had failed to do.
The end of the each month seems to be this bitter sweet moment of wanting/NEEDING your period but not wanting to deal with having your period. The best way I could ever describe the feeling of “GETTING YOUR PERIOD” is this: (*insert deep groan) “UGH… (*insert light whisper) yesss…!” And then you make an empty promise to yourself that you will take your birth control EVERYDAY EXACTLY at 8:00 am. You make this promise because in that moment, you realized how much responsibility you lacked this last month. Oops. Then you fail to get your new prescription when you get the text message from your local CVS so now you are 2 days late on starting your new pack of birth control. Oops (again).
On Sunday morning, I wake up and beat my boyfriend to the bathroom before he spends 36 minutes on the toilet taking his morning shit and scrolling down endlessly on 9gag. So naturally, I already feel victorious in my day. That is until I sit down to pee, grab a few squares of TP to wipe and realize “Oh yeah, my period…damn it!” I take a look down at the toilet paper I just wiped myself with and to my genuine surprise, MOTHER NATURE CAME THROUGH! My girl. I have that feeling of victory sweep through my entire body and I am ready to conquer the day. I beat my boyfriend to the bathroom this morning, I got my period and my boyfriend is cooking me an omelette before I head into work. I am feeling unstoppable.
Until about 1pm when I decided to eat a chorizo, avocado and egg breakfast burrito at work. A chorizo breakfast burrito and the female menstrual cycle are two things that sound compatible but realistically just create one bloated, nauseated and whining little shit — which in this particular scenario is me.
I work at a phenomenal mexican tapas joint in San Francisco. It’s cute and hip and makes some of the best mexican food I have ever ate (for those of you who are hip-hop savvy: Nipsey Hu$$le ate here and posted it on his IG). I have ate the breakfast burrito before and I have never felt this sick. So I knew it wasn’t the food. I was certain I was feeling shitty because it was my “day 1” of my period hell week, I was wearing BDG high waisted jeans (side note: BDG is essentially made for skinny Urban Outfitter broads but I am rather a thicker waist-ed woman but I still squeeze myself into BDG because they make my ass look great), and I had annihilated a chorizo breakfast burrito in less than 10 bites within 5 minutes of my quick work break.
After whining, pouting, kicking and crying about how sick I felt, I had figured that maybe it was just time to change my tampon even though I had just shoved one in before work. I dug around at the bottom of my purse hoping to find an old and smashed tampon somewhere down there. I didn’t even have that going for me. I remembered my co-worker mentioning how she just started her period. I remembered — or even cared, only because misery loves company and every woman loves when another woman is going through the same pain of uterus and ovaries (btw, those are great words: uterus and ovaries. Even the spelling looks natural). So I asked her for a tampon. We ran downstairs and she asked me if I was a regular or a super. That question excited me. You know you are a woman when someone asks you if you want a regular or a super and that question excites you. I was excited until she handed me a cardboard tampon…like it was 1993.
My cramps were so bad today that I was sent home early (also because brunch was slowing down). I milked the shit out of these cramps. I took two, yes TWO naps while my (sweet) boyfriend built us a television stand, made us penne pasta, washed the dishes and brought me Ben and Jerry’s Mint Chocolate Cookie ice cream. It is now 6pm and I am finishing a blog that contains nothing but bitching.
Milk your cramps ladies, milk your cramps.