The Waiting Game

My period was three weeks late. I know, T.M.I. 

And, like any woman who has had a period come late, I was majorly freaked out and panicked. Believe me when I tell you that I was mere moments away from going outside and running into traffic! In hindsight, I see that this was all part of my ever-getting-increasingly-horrible PMS, but what are you going to do?

I called any friend that would answer the phone to ask them to pray that my period would hurry up and come because not getting it on time makes me incredibly anxious and scared. And they all pretty much gave me the same response: "You aren't pregnant, so why do you care?" Um, what?! I have been getting periods every month since I was 11-years-old. Forgive me if it not coming in a month rubs me as curious on the low end and horrific on the high end. But you won't believe what I discovered in talking to my friends. I have some homies that have gone two and three months without having a period before and they were not pregnant. Is that not crazy?!

Mere hours before my period actually came, I was feeling pretty down and hopeless. "Maybe I am going into menopause," I said with a deep sigh as I talked to P on the phone. 

"It's not menopause," he said, assuredly, "but you may be on  your way there. I mean, you are almost 40."

He was not with me for me to punch him in the face, so I just screamed silently as he changed the subject about something guyish that I didn't care about. As he rambled on and on I thought about what he had said. What if he was right? He is a nurse after all. What if I was sliding on the banana peel towards middle age? I mean, is that possible? I can remember so clearly being in college and goofing off with my friends. And what about babies? True enough, I do not want kids. But for some reason it dawned on me that I did want to be married while I was still young enough to have them. I guess so that people could see that I was childless not because I am old, but by choice. Is that stupid of what?

After I got off the phone I cried and cried, mourning my lost period and my youth. Sooner than later, I imagined myself in a cold gynecologist's office, going over hormone replacement therapy and how to address vagina dryness. I though of my grandmother, who had gotten a hysterectomy. She was the picture of femininity; however, every few weeks, she would ask me to help her pluck her chin hairs. Was I going to get chin hairs? I cried myself to sleep, only to wake up an hour later to go to the bathroom and discover that Aunt Flo had arrived, unapologetically late. I sighed a sigh of relief. I was young for another month. 

Rona Stress

I know that we all have experienced varying levels of stress and even mania during this seemingly never ending quarantine. Who didn't see the live videos in the beginning of folks fighting over toilet paper and cleaning wipes? At that point, I was waking up in the middle of the night and disinfecting the door knobs and toilet seats. Now, with threats of a third wave of crazy infection numbers on the rise (How did I miss the second wave?), I find that my Rona stress has increased to new heights of nutty. 

A friend of mine got Rona earlier this summer. His roommate gave it to him and the other three boys that live in their apartment. He didn't get outrageously ill. He didn't end up having to go to the hospital or anything like that. But he has lost his ability to taste and smell. I hear that this is a common symptom. But his roommates have gotten there senses back and he has not. It has been over a month. 

After hearing this, I found myself licking seasonings off of my hands to make sure that I could taste them. This was followed by a banana, blueberries, a teaspoon of BBQ sauce, and a protein shake. Once I was sure that my sense of taste was in order, I found myself nose first in the dryer sheets, trying to make sure that I smelled those. Then I sprayed Lysol and perfume to smell them until I almost made myself puke! 

This is life in RonaWorld. You either have spazz outs like me or you go to bars without your mask on as if it is 2019 and you can still party like it's 1999. Some people fall in the middle. All of us are over it. 

Well. Until next time. Those jalepenos in the fridge aren't going to lick themselves. 

Don't Be Anal

Izzy and her sortabae, let's call him Joe, are about as complicated as complicated can get. Their texts to each other are these mind bending, incomprehensible riddles that leave each of them guessing and scratching their heads. I can't tell you the amount of brain power that she and I have invested into trying to figure out what he meant, and how much time she has put in to sending him messages that are just as confusing. 

But today the texts got shockingly clear. Joe says that he likes her, that he thinks that she may be "the one", but certain needs of his aren't being met...like anal sex. 

I found myself laughing uncontrollably. Apparently, I am one of the last folks on earth that thought anal sex wasn't an actually thing. But it wasn't a joke, and Izzy saw his response to be a door opening to relationship negotiations. 

"If I am going to do that, than we are going to have to start going on dates. He is going to have to start hugging me more and responding more to my texts," Izzy said, outlining her list of demands. 

Again, I was at a loss for words. But only for a second. "Are you serious? Girl, nothing is worth literally giving up your booty!" I shouted. 

I know that in relationships, you have to compromise, but geez, aren't we supposed to draw the line somewhere? Izzy insists that more people are into it than I think. This could be true. I didn't think that people were really into French kissing but I was wrong about that. I guess my question is this: once that is given up, what is next? Izzy says that saying that she will do it and stringing him a long is still on the table. I don't know. I don't see a man that is really into that letting it go if he doesn't get it. But again, I've been wrong about these things before. 

Hurt Feelings

For about a week, I had a crush on a dude named Jackson that I went to college with. I thought he was cute even then, but I was a freshman and he was a senior. To say that we ran in different circles is an understatement. 

These days, Jackson is more of a computer love. I pretty much stalk him on Facebook. At almost 40, he spends his days making sexest and socially irresponsible posts, that is, when he isn't posting videos of Instagram models twerking in bathing suits. I can't say that Jackson is likable because he isn't really. Ladies you know what he is: he is that guy that you can't stand that just happens to be hot. But of late, I have felt kind of numb to the world, so having a crush felt nice. Something about liking someone makes your heart feel full. 

But all things have to come to an end. My crush was coming to a slow down just two days in when he made some ridiculous, double standarded (new word) posts about female sexuality. He is the type of guy that places unrealistic and unfair purity standards on women while he slides in DMs and most likely sleeps with anyone who will give him the time of day. I know, sexy. 

I was talking to P about his crazy posts today and P goes, "I remember this guy. I was eating lunch at his table once while we were in school and you walked into the cafe and he called you a fat bitch."

Just as he said this, it sounded like a car was crashing in my ears, and I got a weird feeling in my chest. It didn't alarm me as random chest pains often do because I remembered the feeling. I hadn't felt it in a while but it was very familiar: my feelings were hurt. 

I got off the phone and took a two hour nap so that I wouldn't cry and woke up to a text from P. He apologized for telling me. I said it was cool. I mean what can I do? Go on FB and curse Jackson out for something he said about me when I was 18? That would be silly. Yet, as old as the remark is, it still hurt my feelings. 

Sea Salt & Sunshine Recipe from Jana Blankenship

Dry skin is a nightmare for so many of us during the fall and winter months. Luckily, Jana Blankenship, founder of Captain Blankenship products and author of Wild Beauty: Wisdom & Recipes for Natural Self-Care, has the recipe for smooth, hydrated cold weather skin. 

Sea Salt & Sunshine Scrub Recipe 

YIELD: 8 OUNCES

INGREDIENTS

• 1 cup fine sea salt, or mix of fine and medium grain
• 1⁄4 cup coconut oil, or more as desired
• 1⁄2 teaspoon vitamin E
• 20 drops sweet orange essential oil
• 10 drops lemongrass essential oil
• Optional: 1 tablespoon shea butter

 

ADDITIONAL EQUIPMENT

8-ounce glass jar with lid

 

INSTRUCTIONS

Mix ingredients together in bowl with spoon. (If coconut oil is hard, you can melt quickly and add to mixture once cool. If you want to add shea butter for even more nourishment, do the same thing.)

Once mixed, with spoon, scoop scrub into jar with lid.

Use once or twice weekly or as desired; by rubbing salt with dry, clean fingers in circular motion all over body and feet.

Rinse well.

If stored out of direct sunlight, will keep for up to a year (if water is kept out of jar).

Bacardi Mai Tai Recipe

BACARDÍ MAI TAI

INGREDIENTS:

·        1.5 oz BACARDÍ Añejo Cuatro rum

·        0.75 oz Orange Curacao

·        0.5 oz Lime Juice

·        0.75 oz Orgreat

·        Orange Bitters

METHOD: Shake and serve over crushed ice in a tiki mug. Garnish with a dehydrated orange wheel and/or mint sprig

2 Types of Girls

You should be proud of your girl! I am finally- after five years of irritation, loss, depression, obsession, anxiety, laziness, and tomfoolery- making moves to get my life together. And those life coach blogger Youtube ladies on Instagram are not kidding: making a change in your life is hard. It is taking a little bit of patience and a lot of Jesus, but I am in-cre-men-tally seeing some positive changes. Izzy thinks that my road to self-repair could end quicker if I just got a man. 

"Izzy," I tried to explain as calmly as I could, "I don't have  my own place, my dream job, or two pennies to rub together. When and if I get a man, I want to be an addition to his life, not a drain."

"I get it," she said, but she doesn't. "But I'm telling you, a man could help you with some of these things."

I sighed deeply. Sadly and unfortunately, I was going to have to have an uncomfortable conversation with my beautiful yet naive friend. 

"Izzy," I began, "you have been in some type of relationship consistently since I met you...when we were 18. And you have dated the type of men that will come through and help you in a crunch. But it's not like that with men in my life. They typically want to use me for something." And this is true. I am reminded of the guy who came over to my old apartment, acting as if he wanted to hang out, but he really just wanted to burn CDs on my computer. 

"But aren't all men users though in some way?" she asked. 

She wasn't making the conversation easy. So I just had to tell her the hard truth. There are two types of girls in this world: the ones who will always have a man swooping in to save the day and the kind that never will. 

Let me say that I am NOT being down on myself. I am finally at a place where I feel that I am super attractive and I understand my value. But you can not debate with me what I already know and have learned through experience. We could go back to high school. I remember when my friend Tray was holding the door open to the school for all the pretty, skinny girls as they got off the bus. Then he let it slam in my face. Working at fast food joints after school, the cuter girls were able to flirt their way into the work schedules they wanted while I was stuck working holidays. And by college, the "2 Types" theory became painfully obvious. I spent the whole four years paying for my own drinks and dragging my own groceries into the dorm. Aw, to be in my 20s again. 

I imagine that their would be some relief in some guy coming in and helping me. To be honest, I have secretly wanted that over the years so it wouldn't feel like I was taking every punch on my own. But I have to say, I am eager to see how well I get myself out of my hole. I am eager to see myself show up for myself. Some smiling lady on Twitter with a bunch of followers said that showing up for yourself builds confidence and we could all use some of that. If I can get out of this hole, I may just mess around and become the most confident woman on earth, even without a man on my side.