This blog is your blog

No, it’s not like I’m in seventh grade (my academic peak) again.  No.  I know why I threw up.

NO!  (Third ‘no’ of the post.)  I’m not pregnant.  But it does have to do with hormones.  Stay tuned for an awesome lack of TMI filter.  But, before I gross out all two of you, I interrupt the scheduled programming for my “mea culpa” to you:

I sketched y’all a little doodad.  That’s me.  Circa…oh, from the haircut, I’d say, 1992.  There’s a picture of me hanging over my desk with that hairstyle.  While I’m wearing a navy blue dress in that photo, the dress I MSPainted e’er so lovingly was a bit of artistic license.  I didn’t actually own that dress until several years later.  It was a lovely navy Laura Ashley dress with snowflakes.  (Note that the Wiki article includes an Audrey Hepburn reference!  At some point, I should return to my Audrey Admiration…but not in the same post as what I’m about to say.  I was about to say “entry” and corrected myself, using “post,” instead.  Such is the nature of blogging?)  I probably wore it to a piano recital sometime in my youth, so I’m sure there’s an actual photograph somewhere.  Oh, too bad I’m so lazy.

TMI ALERT!

Are you ready?  It’s not that bad, for those who are accustomed to me.  For those who aren’t?  Mea culpa [see above].

Long before puberty hit, back in the days when I read much more than I could pronounce, my mama bought me a book on Growing Up.  Actually.  Let me go check.  Dude.  It’s called Growing Up.  I checked the dust jacket.  Apparently, it cost £17.99.  We got it from the Borders at La Place in Beachwood, OH, so that probably wasn’t exactly what we paid, but, I mean, that was the going rate back in the day.  1995, I guess.  Today, you can get it for £11.50, which is either $22.13 or $22.82, depending on which site you check out.

Then, in 5th grade, we started the maturation unit in gym class.  (Yes, we called it “gym.”  Here in the Yay, it’s “PE.”  I wonder where “phys ed” is in vogue…?)  The girls were on one side; the boys, the other.  There was a heavy curtain/net/thingamajig in between.  We learned about…you know.  *Giggles*  JOKE!  (Not about what we learned.)  I’m not that immature.  Anyway, getting to the point.  In all those lessons about growing up, maturation, &c., all their descriptions of menstruation were so benign.  “You may experience some minor discomfort,” “there is some discharge,” whatever else.

Bull.

Shit.

I always had seven-day-long periods.  My cramps were horrendous.  As in, to the point of throwing up.  Once, I threw up in the middle of Eric Horen’s sax solo during A period jazz band.  Unfortunately, Eric saw.  I think it ruined his concentration a little bit.  There were also the days I woke up vomiting, but having nothing in my stomach meant bile-in-the-wastebasket.  Yeah.  Gross.  My mama made me drink an Asian herbal concoction for three days straight after each period.  Also gross.

The books/lessons taught us that cycles can be irregular, but that they’d even out after awhile.  So, when my cramps eased off, I thought, “Oh, cool.  I’m becoming an adult.”  (Ha!)  By the way.  Tampons are not my friend.  I thought I’d stick that in there (hardee har har) as well, as if this weren’t TMI already.

Well, it turns out the Period Fairy still likes to sprinkle his fairy dust all over my ovaries.  And that, my dear friends, is why I threw up Friday night.  The end.