Dont Mince Words

Angry Marna

Anyone who has known me for more than two weeks knows I bitch about my lady parts.  Usually it’s a nice dose of sexual inactivity complaints, but the majority of the debate is about my period and 37-year relationship with Procter & Gamble products.

In the ’70s, male gyn’s generally felt the solution to long periods was a hysterectomy.  Radical, it seems and yet after another 45-day period I felt it was the only modern-day solution.  Bid my blood bag adieu.  The $20-30/month saved on feminine products could be spent on alcohol.  I searched on Blue Cross for a doctor and decided to find the oldest, whitest guy possible.  Surely he’d authorize the surgery.

I assumed the position in the exam room and waited for him.  The old guy waltzed in, looked at my card and my complaint and 10 seconds later said, “You have a confused uterus.  You are 47 and your uterus isn’t producing the right levels of estrogen and testoserone so it doesn’t know if it should ovulate.”  I tried to counter that with humor while he was blowing out the cobwebs and fingering me.  “Well, living in Santa Barbara can confuse any uterus with the lack of viable, age-appropriate sexual partners,” I said.

A week later, biopsy results came back and I can’t blame any of this on cancer.  I just have a confused uterus which means I’m going on birth control for horomone control, not because my lady parts are actually seeing combat.  So, it looks like P&G and I will be best friends for a few more years.

Today was the 40th anniversary of the landmark Roe v. Wade decision and my first date of the new year.  Two days from now, I become a less-remarkable 47 year old.  The one constant in my life is the light in my car is the best for tweezing unwanted hairs.

Nutty week, right?

First natural wonder.  If my mom had a choice, would she have…. ?   I’m pretty sure the answer is no because she liked staying home and kids gave her an excuse to be home.    I mean she wouldn’t want the neighbors talking about her.  “I hear she just stays home, watches General Hospital, and drinks.”  If you have kids, you can do all that and more.  As a pro-choice advocate, it’s hard to believe it has been 40 years and we’re still debating what life is.  Well, I’ll tell you, life is staying home, mixing drinks, and watching Intervention.

Listen up Detroit.  I believe focus groups with women resulted in the car cupholder.  Or maybe minivans.  I don’t know what came first, but I’m pretty sure it’s from a woman complaining.  So, we all know the best light is in the car.  Tweezer holders.  Please.  While I am getting older and my eyebrows thin, the hair is reappearing elsewhere.  I don’t have a choice here.

My first date of the new year was with a guy who was also too old to be an abortion.  He called, he picked the place (but asked me if it was a good choice), and he paid.  I had beer and I got to check another dive bar off my must-do list.  Win-win.

Nice choice week.

It’s that most wonderful time of the year….when single men realize they are alone.  Apparently when you combine that with home for the holidays, you have the formula for hot and horny.

About six months ago I was contacted by “Jack” because he was considering taking a job in Santa Barbara.  He was currently in West Hollywood and wanted to understand the social scene if he were to make the move.  I gave him the grim reality and he decided to take another job in Los Angeles.

I received a checkin email from him on the 23rd asking if I was still single and, if so, would I be interested in going out while he was home visiting his parents 30 miles south of me. I told him I was available and suggested we meet at a brewpub I wanted to try in his parents’ town.

His response is the reason why I stay home with my dog.  “You wouldn’t want to chose a place closer to you, just in case we feel like fooling around?”

While we did meet on a dating website, our communications have been totally career and relocation-related until this point.  Very buddy/platonic.  So, I played it off and told him I was flattered, but we should meet, have a drink and catchup.  As you would expect, I never heard from him to finalize the plan. When I used to go home for Christmas, I always tried to line up activities to get out of the house and away from my mother.  If the internet existed, I probably would have dated to dull the pain of being home too.

I just wish Jack had the balls to take me to his house to show me his trophies, varsity letter jacket, and twin bed.  That’s what I call coming home for the holidays.