Let’s celebrate the gross, psychotic, majestic, fun-filled creatures we are

Woman.  Oh, what marvelous, mysterious creatures we are.  Say what you will about the female kind, but here’s my take on it.

 Ch. 1 

Call Me Crazy

Really, don’t. I may begin to cry and/or take offense to it, anyway, to my point. This wonderful thing we deal with, called hormones allows us to explore our emotions be bat-shit crazy for almost all of our lives, except that one time you were hopped up on coffee and had a miraculous moment of clarity to which everyone agreed.  It’s not like we enjoy what goes on, it’s just nature’s little gift to us to ensure that whoever decides to spend his life putting up with us, really wants to do so, or is borderline stupid, or hell, both.

Let’s run down what we go through.  There is an amazing thing that happens to us (the majority) every single month.  It’s a disgusting, painful, and emotional roller coaster of insanity, scientifically known as menstruation.  Before our bodies prepare to “clean” itself, it decides to throw us into an emotional whirlwind of self destructive eating, self loathing, and bouts of crying followed by unnecessary bitchiness.  Today, in fact, while browsing silly internet memes and funny articles, I stumbled across the best description of the female period:

“Seriously though your period is like coming home one day and finding that your spouse has constructed this entire new baby bedroom inside your house and you have to tell them “Sweetie we don’t have a baby” and then your spouse FLIPS THE FUCK OUT like “The FUCK do you mean we don’t have a baby I DID ALL THIS WORK” and then they spend the next week tearing the whole room apart and throwing it out into the street and screaming at you and then finally when the room is completely gutted they calm down and say “It’s okay hon we’ll have a baby next month” and then they start building the room again AND THIS SHIT KEEPS GOING FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE UNTIL YOU HIT LIKE 50 AND THEN YOUR SPOUSE LEAVES YOU BUT NOT BEFORE SETTING THE WHOLE HOUSE ON FIRE SO IT’S NEVER THE SAME AGAIN”

We aren’t really bi-polar, we’re just drawn that way. There’s a huge amount of emotional stress upon our weak little female shoulders.

Ch. 2

We Belong in the Kitchen

Yep.  I’m no bra burning feminist.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like certain freedoms, but I never picketed for a chance to spend the better part of my day wasting away in awful fluorescent lighting (which I’m pretty sure is aging me ten times faster than needed).  I’m actually pretty lazy in that I enjoy television, hobbies such as makeup, cooking, gaming, and general relaxation.  I don’t think we should have to work, and the funniest of all, is women these days want more time with their kids, and their families.  Well gals, if you hadn’t have thrown such a damn hissy fit about wanting equality and the ability to work, then you could be finger-painting with Jr. while doing laundry, scrapbooking, and color coordinating your husband’s socks. Nooo, you insisted, and since we had to account for paying women in the work force, by taking a percentage of the man’s salary, it now takes two people to support a family.

 Enough of my workforce soapbox…on to the “weaker” sex argument, ok? Seriously ladies, what are we trying to prove? Yes, we are strong, emotionally, vaginally, etc.  Physical strength was just meant for men, and I’m ok with that.  I’m ok with strengthening my body, but I’m not trying to surpass a man’s strength.

Now don’t think I’m taking the male’s side or that I’m all for men. Trust me, I hate those bastards, but that’s another post altogether..I’m just saying, as nice as it is to have a career, I’d much rather have a man that was willing and able to take care of me, so I could do other things I enjoyed, and focus on my hypothetical family, and cooking and what not.  

That being said, hot damn I make a mean sammich.

Ch. 3 

 We Have Vaginas (meeeeow)

Not only do we have to deal with emotions we can’t control, bleed monthly while the inner flesh is being ripped and shed from our uterus, we have to incubate another human life in our womb – for nine months.  Nine months of stress, stretching, pain, worry, joy, anger, and whatever else comes with it, as nature’s surprise deems fit for us. We sacrifice our bodies, and possibly our lives, for a chance to procreate.  Then the big day comes where we have to sacrifice our vaginas to shove that cute little meat sack out into the world. Let’s not forget the effort put in by the male.  That’s right, he oozed his life fluid into us, and possibly winded himself in the process.

We have so much resting on our tiny little pie slice.  Men cannot fathom what we go through and yet they have the audacity to tell us to quit bitching or to quit being ‘such a bitch’.  We’re miserable! I’m sorry that I’m crying because my body turned itself against me and I can’t decide if I want chips, chocolate or a pickle, or all three in one.  I’m sorry that I was slightly moody while I carried your child in my womb and gained a shitload of weight! I’m sorry that I’m dealing with emotions I can’t control…geez..blame nature’s plan…I wish I could just crawl onto something and splooge out happy fun time volume 2 and not feel pain ever just for being alive.

The birth process is gross.  We are gross creatures.  We bleed, we tear, we have fluid sacs that burst, it’s all in all disgusting.  Amazing, yes.  Miraculous even, still it’s disgusting.

Hell, at least it stretches.  They should make tires out of it. And by it, I mean our vaginas.

Ch. 4

Our Sex is on Fire

Sex is fun.  For women who aren’t completely detached, or suffereing from daddy issues, it’s a pretty serious thing for us.  It can affect us emotionally more than we want it to.  That friend with benefits just accidentally became what we could possibly imagine as the love of our life, and then we’re sitting there eating a pint of ice cream wondering how the bromance was ruined. “Did I do something wrong? Am I not pretty to him? I thought that joke was funny, and the way I incorporated sports, oh god, it couldn’t be the fact I accidentally fell in love with him, and told him one drunken evening, could it? Damn, where’d the ice cream go? I swore I just opened this.”

Your man cheated on you? Holy shit.  Time for brain overdrive.  Let’s think of that slut - constantly, forever.  Think of her face, her body, her vagina, her past lovers, what she did to him in the bedroom, where it was, what time, temperature, and what was playing on the television.  Every single detail, every single moment, forever…

Why is that? Why is sex such a large influence on our hearts and conscience?

Well ladies and gentlemen, it’s like this.  Men have something they insert into things.  Anything.  Pies, blankets, shampoo bottles, fruit, trees, the crease between the couch cusions, feet, kneecaps… whatever they can rub it on – it’s happening.  Men will dig a hole in the ground and fuck it if it would feel good.  It’s so much easier to invade something than it is to be invaded.

Women have to allow something inside of their bodies.  Something has to physically invade us like France in 1940 (and ’44), and proceed to inject us.  It’s very pleasurable for both, but it’s a scary, exciting, and attachable thing, us allowing someone to enter our body. 

Ch. 5 

Multitasking

Our brains are so fantastic that we can multitask.  We can manage a house hold, a career, and our emotions.  I’m doing it right now, in fact.  I’m watching cartoons, blogging, hatemongering on a stupid boy that chose a bushy eyebrowed midget over me, and I’m mentally planning my Friday outfit/makeup/accessory combo. It’s a blessing and a curse…so much so in fact that I’ve forgotten where I was even going after that vicious relationship status graced my news feed and ruined my night.

I’ll wrap it up. Over 1400 words are enough to make my point.  We are majestic creatures.  Cursed, I think, but man, are we fantastic.  It’s been said to be a woman is the greatest thing ever. Although, she was hospitalized shortly thereafter because they feared for her sanity. 

We’re also vindictive, hateful, and catty creatures that hate our own kind while knowing how hard it is to grow up and have boobs and feelings.  This post is all over the place, but what can I say? I’m just a woman, after all….and I think my brownies are done.

Ding, bitch.