December 15, 2006

Mail and Female

Ahhh, Friday. The end of a long and troublesome week. Unfortunately, since I stupidly chose to have two employers, I only get half of the weekend to sit lazily in a pile of myself, but still—that whole blissful day off shimmers on the horizon. It looks like a sunrise over an enormous bed. And it looks really good.

For those of you who haven’t gotten their out-of-town gifts to the post office as yet, you’ll be pleased to know they’ve installed a new automated package drop off, which allows you to totally skip the line of eighteen-plus people who will, respectively, argue about how many stamps should come in a package (and the appropriate price of same), walk / speak / remove wallet / write a check with all the speed of evolution, and require a half-hour’s worth of explanation to comprehend why one can’t send live plants in a milk crate wrapped in bungee cords through the US postal system. In short, it rocks out. I hope your town has one as well, otherwise I’m just bragging.

In other developments, and because it’s been so long since we’ve heard the news from down under, as it were: I am attempting a science experiment in the next month which may or may not drive me insane. We all know the basic backstory concerning The Dueling Uterii, a Real World-esque saga of two menstrual cycles that just will not cohabitate peacefully. I have decided to take action, namely, to quit. I give up. I will happily take the role of beta female if it means I do not have an extra period and an extra week of PMS every month. Yes. Please, ladies, imagine yourself with double the PMS: double the tight pants, double the breakouts, double the potential-homicide-turned-crying-jag because the printer jammed on you.

YOU: But what about Midol?
ME: You’re making my teeth itch.

I have decided that I would like to be myself as much as possible, because as much as my evil twin Shiva comes in handy, I like her to be on the back burner 99% of the time and keep her visits optional. Therefore, starting in January, I will align my cycle to my aunt’s by the cunning tweaking of the oral contraceptive plan. Will it be agony? Probably. Will we really be better off with synchronized moontimes? I believe so. Or will we just end up killing each other? Very possibly. But if I’m going down, I’m certainly taking someone with me, and I can’t think of anyone better than the one that started it all. What--the womb spirits give one roommate an uneventful special time, while the other become awash in waste hormones, in which the contact high forces her ovaries turn and fight each other like ‘roid-addled sock puppets? Hells no. It’s on like MarioKart, bitches.

This has been a long time coming, and whatever the result, should be fun to watch.

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