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 Poor kid… (not mine!) 

 I am getting the hang of this.  The key to twisting is to wear it correctly.  I was placing mine too far up.  When positioned correctly (in my body, anyway) the cup opening faces my back, slightly horizontal, it’s tail pointing to the right a little, not enough to be sticking out of my body, but not so high up that I might as well be smuggling heroin across the border.The twisting stops leaks. Period.  (ha ha ha).

Today I changed it 4 times, once in the bathroom of our organic food co-op’s restroom at Ft. Tryon Park.  Totally no big deal.  No one was in the bathroom.  

I did have a teachable moment this morning  when whatshisname toddled into the bathroom saw me about to insert the cup and wanted to examine it in his engineering/artsy way. ”It’s mommy’s,”  I said.  ”For my body.”

“Body?”  he said, smiling roguishly (he loves bodies).

“Mommy’s.  Now scram, kid,” and he went to color in the living room, hopefully unscarred.Watch, after wife #3 on his therapist’s couch he will have a breakthrough after seeing a Diva Cup in a Rorschach test… 

 The Diva Cup is the size of a fancy ceramic espresso cup with a little tail at the bottom.  You need to fold it up into a little rose and shove it all the way up in there, let it unfurl, pinch the bottom and twist it 360 degrees and then bravely leave the ladies room with nothing in your underwear.  Nothing!I can’t really feel a thing.  I have an espresso cup up in my body and no one knows and I can’t tell.  How freaking awesome is this thing!!   When I say up there I mean UP and I mean THERE.  I couldn’t quite pinch and twist it which they say is important but one step at a time.    

Later that day…        

 I can’t think about anything else today.  It’s like having a new boyfriend.  Emptying it the first time was amazing because you can SEE the STUFF that comes out of your BODY.  If you were the type of girl who almost hurled in your Women’s Health study section when your grad student teacher/Kimya Dawson suggested that you taste your mentrual blood, the Diva Cup is not and I repeat NOT for you.  So then you dump the goo and it is indeed like motor oil, into the toilet, wash it with soap and water, fold it up shove it up, twist and go.  I’m still not really twisting well.  Got up in the middle of the night to avoid total bed carnage. But still and all, so far so good.   I needed to change it every 3 hrs today but hope that lightens up as I lighten up…Please be sure to visit this freaky dude’s menstrual museum.  Yep- this guy is way into lady-blood 

There is this feminine hygiene device known as “The Diva Cup.”  It is a significant surgical grade silicone upgrade from the rubber “Keeper” and my new favorite thing.  I have a kid that kills the earth with each emptying of his bladder/bowels.  I mean, we’re using 7th generation diapers and they are not Huggies or anything but they are not hemp sackcloth either and so to offset this monstrous use of paper products I have decided to forgo tampons, sanitary napkins and pantyliners for one $32.00 silicone (surgical grade!) menstrual flow cap for my monthly requirement.

I feel like the womyn’s studies minor I almost was at the University of Wisconsin so very many years ago… and/or Kimya Dawson- which is totally OK with me!  

I am a very passionate and large uterus-ed lady and I hope this thing works.  I have a feeling that it might/not but it’s made in Canada so how bad can it possibly be?

Wish me and my large uterus luck…   Size #1 is for virgins/twentysomethings #2 is, of course, for old mothers with stretched out parts… ! As I progress, I shall keep you posted… 

Do I get to do what I really want.

Today was no exception.

But tonight- oh tonight will be an orgy of delights!

• Beer!

• Bag of Trader Joe’s frozen Buffalo wings

• Blue Cheese dressing from Ken’s Steakhouse

• Celery

• John Adams finale.

I totally have a crush on Thomas Jefferson.

This rock and roll lifestyle will kill me one day
Sigh.

I’m old enough (by now!) to understand the inner workings of the economy, interest rates, percentages and checkbook balancing.

But I don’t.

People start talking about money and I panic, instantly feeling as if I am deaf and blind and trapped in a raging inferno. This is much the same feeling I get when people give me street directions. Nod, smile, panic on the inside and get even more lost immediately. I am also not so great with numbers and mathematics, i.e. adding subtracting, dates and times. All these things are related and I think it’s a brain and/or DNA abnormality. And so there is this imminent economy collapse and I have no idea what it means, what to do, or how to save our skins. And so I drink lots of $8 wine and freak the fuck out, dog earring pages in the Grapes of Wrath for easy reference. Besides, I have other creative uses for my money.

PS Happy St. Patrick’s Day to all my Irish friends!

It’s Friday and it has come to my attention that this has been quite a week for animals breaking through the 4th wall and reaching out to the humans for sympathy, compassion and overnight tabloid success.

A dolphin named Moko lead 2 pygmy sperm whales to safety in New Zealand Wednesday. Used to joshing with tourists in exchange for her upkeep, she decided to save a couple of dumb whales for the hell of it. No need to convince me of the intelligence of dolphins, OK? They say that the snow falling is the sound of God listening. The sound of dolphins talking is the sound of aliens impregnating humans with their plans to take over the universe. Nevertheless, it was pretty cool of them to reach across the species divide for their fellow sea creatures.

Squirrels are another one. No way are they stupid. They save nuts. For winter. I can’t even save quarters every week to pay for my own laundry. They are gutsy and this week, one crawled into the bottom of our Phil & Ted’s stroller looking for toddler snacks. Whatshisname started shouting in horror “Dot Dat! Dot Dat!” And shooed him away. Not quite tabloid worthy but nevertheless impressive.

AND THEN there’s that lady-loving lion (type “lion kiss” in search) in Columbia who loves to hug and kiss the woman who saved his life. Cute and terrifying- all at once!

There is also this amazing magazine called National Geographic whose latest issue is all about how animals are way smarter than we give them credit for. The animal portraits are beautiful but I can’t seem to copy and paste them…

Yeah, I love a good steak but it’s getting harder and harder to eat meat lately. If it’s not carbon/methane/ruining the earth through my love of rare hamburgers ruining it for me it’s the vile and inhumane slaughter of intelligent creatures angle that keeps me loading my fork with whole wheat penne. Oh, right, don’t forget ecoli, mad cow, and um, shit in the meat. And so, we’re eating ethically farmed/caught fish once a week, free range chicken/turkey once a week and beef/pork once a month - or so. We’re ok with the eggs and milk- cage free and organic, of course.

Ooh la la. My beloved midwestern family is rolling their collective eyes as we speak.

Amy Winehouse or Susan Sontag?

Unfair, I know. They are alike in every possible way.

She is a DJ on WFMU.

Her current show, Killing time with Bronwyn C is on Fridays at 6:00.

I love her.

LP loves her.

You will too once you give her amazing show a listen

She is a woman of mystery, itelligence, and great humor…

By the time you read this the WFMU pledge marathon will have ended. Please feel free to toss them money at any time. They will never say no.

Who the hell knows anymore? Amy is in REHAB. She is EATING FOOD. She is treating her IMPETIGO. She is drawing BRAS on her tattoos with SHARPIES.

We live in a charming apartment building with very nice people. But they are all crazy. I mean, don’t take their medication and wander the halls with kitchen knives, take 8 showers a day, recycle their New York Times once a year bundled in chronological order crazy. You know, crazy crazy. But nice. Or. So. I. Thought.

Our upstairs neighbor is from Italy. She is smart. She is young. She is funny. She drinks wine and has a black belt in karate. What’s not to like? Her, for one thing. She’s found herself some kind of boyfriend. We hear them having sex above our bed. Often. And it’s NOT sexy. It sounds like a robotic rabbit is testing out her bed-springs. And the moaning. Dear God the moaning.

But, whatev. Live and let live. Then there’s her cat who must weigh 50 pounds because we hear it scampering to and fro chasing imaginary mice sun up to down. They hang pictures at 10:00 pm. They wear shoes whenever they are home. There is not one stitch of carpeting, wall hanging or drapery in the entire apartment. But we endure. We have a young child who wails at all hours and does his own 25 pound scampering. But when her noise wakes him up I start to get a little er, upset.

Are you still with me?

So on Sunday at 1:15pm Whatshisname is napping, finally. We are READING. It is QUIET. We are RELAXING. And then we hear this:

Whomp! Whomp! Whomp!

Whomp! Whomp! Whomp!

Like they were playing craps with cinder blocks.

So loud and so hard our bookcases shook.

I am a camel and my back was broken. I immediately stormed upstairs, rang the bell. She opens the door- a crack-not like Oh hi, neighbor, did you totally hear that, sorry- Senora was ready to rumble before the door even opened.

I said: Hi, I hate to say anything but I’m just worried that my kid is going to wake up. He’s been having a rough day.

She said this: What? I’m done. It’s over.

I said: I’m just saying it was really loud. (can you see me biting my tongue in half to keep myself from getting into it with a black belt?)

She said: It’s 2:00 in the afternoon. (Imagine all of this with an attitude and a ridiculously thick Italian accent)

Um, it was 1:15 ON A FUCKING SUNDAY.

And I’m thinking: WWAWD?

Oh where oh where has my role model gone?

Where is she when I need her most?

Probably eating. Or letting go and letting God.

Great. I must simmer with rage, alone.