There’s Definitely a Limit to My “Greenness”

I was sitting in class the other night, slamming my coffee, and struggling to keep my heightened level of annoyance in check when my classmate passed me this note:

Suicide Note

My heart immediately went out to her.  The only thing that could make this round of finals any worse would be f-in period cramps. *shudder*

As I frantically searched my backpack for a tampon my mind wandered (obviously) to a Google Search I once conducted entitled “green alternatives to feminine hygiene products”:

1.  The Diva Cup  is inserted into the vagina, collects the menstrual flow, and can be used up to 12 hours and then removed after being full. The menstrual cup is easily washed.

PERFECT!  I love to clean when I have my period! Although I would prefer to do everyone else’s dirty dishes (and laundry, and cleaning, and vacuuming) when Aunt Flo is in town, I would love to also have to wash my period cup!  Is it dishwasher safe? Do I use the pots and pan cycle?

2.  The Jade and Pearl Sea Sponge Tampon is a natural sponge from the ocean that is inserted like a regular tampon. They are highly absorbable and reusable so you can remove, wash it, and re-insert again many times.

Nice!  Having faint inducing cramps and feeling as inflated as a hot air balloon sparks my domestic goddess flame.  Wash my tampon for reuse?  AWESOME! (Pause for Sponge Bob Square Pants/Carrie visual.)

3.  The Sckoon Organic Cotton Cloth Menstrual Pads are reusable pads made of organic cotton that was not bleached or produced with the help of other harmful chemicals. They are also easy on your pocket because they can be used many times after proper washing and care.

Oh, pretty!  They come in such lovely patterns.  I’m sure they’ll look just like new after every wash.  Am I right, ladies?!

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a tampon for my friend.  But, I did share my Google search story which I thought was pretty funny. 

Her?  Not so much.

Know Your Triggers

*Here’s a little known secret about Yours Truly:  Libraries make me poop.

You don't say.

I can’t explain it.  If I’m in a library for more than five minutes, I gotta go.

Part of the mystery that is my poop trigger is that it doesn’t matter  if I use the restroom before I leave or when I arrive.  Five minutes+a library=Poop. 

 When I was in elementary school, the computer lab which stored our Commodore 64s was located in the library.  I was too young, then, to pinpoint my poop trigger, but my teacher was all over it.  Everyday on my way to the library my teacher would make sure I visited the little girl’s room.  It was all in vain, however.  Without fail, five minutes into class, I had to go. 

In high school I avoided taking study halls because they were located in the library.  The hump back librarian (she literally had a hump back) was not very subtle. Every bathroom pass she handed out was accompanied with the announcement:  “You have five minutes.”    I’m sorry, but you can’t rush such things.   So, I didn’t take study hall.  I instead opted for Spanish V, which I didn’t need. 

College was particularly challenging as I was a frequent visitor to the library, and it’s bathrooms.  My favorite study nook was located in the music section of the library next to a window that overlooked the lake.  The problem was that my preferred bathroom was on the 2nd floor (the toilets on the 3rd floor were weak flushers, and the locks on the stalls never worked). 

Everyday, I would unpack my backpack, set everything up just the way I like it,  and five minutes later I would pack everything up for my shameful dash to the 2nd floor.  This happened every day.  Frustrating.

On Saturday Son informed me 15 minutes before our public library was closing for the weekend that he needed to check out some books for a paper he will be working on this week.  I knew I could get him there in five minutes, but he would need my help if he was going to find all of his books before closing time.  That would take at least……………………five minutes.

I had no choice. If we were going to be successful I had to explain my poop trigger to Son.   I explained to him that he needed to be on his game, attentive, and thorough on his search for the books.  We agreed to divide his list, split up, and meet at the checkout desk in precisely five minutes.  (It should be noted that Son did not bat an eyelash.  He is used to my weirdness and likes a challenge).  We pulled into the parking lot, made a bet on who would be done first, and went our separate ways.

Our mission was successful. 

We were celebrating our awesomeness on our way out the door when I heard someone call my name.  *Stopped dead in my tracks*  It was an old teacher of mine.  I didn’t have time.  It wouldn’t take long for my body to realize where I was.  If I stayed and chatted the only thing I would have heard was “blah, blah, blah, I HAVE TO POOP, blah.”

Son saw the panic wash over me and…..this brings a tear to my eye….he saved me.  He politely interrupted, introduced himself, and with a wink reminded me that we had to get to the store before it closed.  With that, we were free to go, and I was very grateful. 

Am I teaching Son how to lie?  Yes.  Yes I am.  However,  I’m also teaching him to someday save his wife or girlfriend from having to talk to someone she hasn’t seen in years when she really has to poop.  I think that’s a very valuable lesson.

*This isn’t true at all.  In fact, I think a lot of people knew this about me.  It’s also now on the internet so it’s not really a secret anymore.  So, nevermind the “secret” part.

Wish I Would Have Known

From Yahohomimi on Flickr

A Michigan Applebee’s has recently come under fire for serving a toddler  “apple juice spiked with an alcoholic margarita mix magical goodness“.  I wouldn’t have thought to mix the two, but now I can’t wait to try it. 

Fortunately, the drunken baby is ok, but, apparently, this isn’t the first time a mix up like this has happened at an Applebee’s.  Before the A-Rita (see what I did there?)  incident an Applebee’s employee served a  5 year-old a Long Island Iced Tea.  A Long Island Iced Tea.  That’s the drink equivalent to a Vicodin!

The mother of the toddler said she knew her son was drunk because:

“I mean within minutes his eyes were glazed, he started behaving so peculiar, laughing uncontrollably, licking the bread basket that was on the table…”

Ok.  Personally, what that mom described sounds exactly like every toddler I’ve ever met.  Kudos to her for coming to the conclusion that Jr. was wasted.  I wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference since I think toddlers act like alcoholics most of the time anyway:

1. They can hardly walk.
2. You can’t understand 90% of what they’re saying.
3. They pee their pants.
4. They can be hilariously silly (e.g. licking the bread basket).
5. They can have really shitty attitudes, and usually need to sleep it off. 
6. They drool all over themselves.
7. They shove food in their faces and only get 1/3 of it into their mouths.
8. When they get pissed off, they can clear a room by making everyone feel uncomfortable and sorry for their parents.
9. They’re co-dependant.
10. They can be emotionally abusive.

I can’t stop thinking of this A-Rita!  After I drink my lunch, I’m going to start the rumor on Son’s Facebook page that Applebee’s serves to everyone so long as they use the code word “Juice”.  Then, I’m going to take him and a bunch of his friends there for dinner tonight.

Workin’ It- The Importance of Recovery Time

 *What follows is a conversation between husband and wife regarding sexy time.  If you would rather that your virgin eyes remain in your virginal head, STOP HERE. 

Me:  Sounds like you’ve shaken that cold.

Hubby:  Yeah, this one really wiped me out.

Me:  I noticed.  You’ve gone to bed early every night this week. 

Hubby:  I know.  The NyQuil knocked me out.  I didn’t even need your girly bits to fall asleep.

Me:  *giggle*  That’s ok, my vage needs a break once in a while.

Hubby:  (Sarcastic disbelief) Really?  Your vage needs a break?

Me:  It gets tired if it works out too much.   Picture a Richard Simmons video where my vage is sweating to the oldies.  It needs to recover.

Hubby:  NO, DMTF!  I will not picture your vage as Richard Simmons!!!

 

*A moment of silence while I check an incoming text message*

Me:  Ok, picture…

Hubby:  I KNEW IT!

Me:  …listen, picture my vage wearing a sweatband and workout gear.

Hubby:  I don’t know what you mean.

Workin' It

Can you see it, now?  Do you see how hard it’s working?  Recovery time is important in avoiding injury. 

P.S.:  I’d like to thank my mom for reading this blog.  I will miss her as I know this is the last blog entry she will ever read.

Ralph Called. He Wants His Insides Back.

More than once in the last 24 hours I have vomited so violently and with such force that I was afraid to look in the toilet for fear that I would see my small intestines bobbing up and down like a buoy.  I have not been this sick in forever.  Think of this video as how I’ve been feeling.  I’m the kid who just wants to puke and get it over with, and the tornado is the stomach flu kicking my ass.