A couple months back I asked my very dear friend Joanna if she'd be interested in occasionally contributing a post to I For One..... I was delighted when she accepted. We share a very similar and warped sense of humor, and since we met, almost eight years ago together, we have succumbed to too many giggling fits to count. Some day I will ask her to share the etymology of the term "fire chops", or perhaps recount how the "Lance Armstrong Rap" came into existence. But for now, Joanna has other things on her mind:
Robin has asked me to be a guest blogger, at my leisure. Now, this was some time ago and I have to admit to being a little intimidated by her amazing blogs during the election season. We spent a lot of time talking politics, but I didn’t have the time or inclination to back-up any personal proclamations by doing the research that Robin was capable of doing. But, with her recent PMS entry, I knew I had an in! Now that is something I can relate to. And with that said – my first blog entry at “I For One.....”
I recently went off The Pill. If you’ve seen any of the new birth control commercials, and listen to all the subtle warnings they speed-talk into the end, or if you’ve even talked about birth control with your doctor, you know there are all those warnings about “women over 35”, blah, blah, blah. At 36, I thought this would be a good time to go “eau natural” and roll the dice. But, obviously there is a lot I don’t remember or even know about not being on The Pill.
I had been “on The Pill” for 18 years. I have been hormonally regulated for most of my fertile years (better living through chemistry!) The Pill has been very good to me over the years – less painful cramping, shorter periods; all the good things that come with being on The Pill. And, with the exception of a case of acne that was quickly cleared with a change in prescription, my skin has also benefited – normal to dry with the occasional pimple. Little did I know my complexion would pay the price......
Holy Cow! My forehead has become a small oil slick. I’m not sure what is producing this lovely mess, but we might be able to tap into my forehead for the Federal Oil Reserve. I’m honestly at a loss. Somewhat oily skin runs in my family (thanks Mom!) but can’t say I know what to do about it. This is completely un-natural for me. By early afternoon, I dab my forehead with a tissue and off comes any foundation I put on in the morning and that sheen that’s been festering under my bangs. I’m kinda grossed out by my own skin. So far, it’s only on my forehead – Thank goodness! I hope it doesn’t migrate south to the rest of my face. Can anyone suggest a course of action that doesn’t require burning my face off with acid?
No, this is not a post about a masked hoochie that rides around the Old West on a white horse named Silver with her trusty side kick Tonto. Instead it is meant to give those women blessed with daughters, living in a lesbian relationship, or otherwise fortunate enough to share their domicile with an estrogen producing being, what it is like to be a lone woman living in a house with all males. It means:
Knowing there is always a puddle of urine somewhere in the vicinity of one of your toilets.
Never being deprived of cleaning up that dish left next to the recliner or sofa.
Not being at all surprised to find three weeks worth of snack wrappers scattered around the computer.
Sighing in resignation as you discover that picking those wrappers up has resulted in the computer keyboard becoming filled with crumbs.
Finding identical piles of snack wrappers around the television and next to the video game console.
Walking by a sock deserted in the hallway and knowing without a shred of doubt that it will stay there until you, yourself bend over and pick it up.
Explaining multiple times that, on the floor and in the laundry basket are not the same place.
The amount of effort required to collect 6 loads of laundry, wash, dry, fold, and place them back in the appropriate drawer apparently requires less energetic outlay than dropping dirty clothes in the laundry basket.
Two sauce pans, a sieve, a measuring cup, a bowl and a spoon are necessary to make and enjoy a simple meal of dehydrated soup mix.Surviving in a living space in which you are outnumbered by males requires infinite patients, a good sense of humor, and a keen intuition about when to just shut up and deal. All of those talents will leave you when you are deep in the throes of PMS. At that point, the prudent owner of an X and Y chromosome will quietly tip toe around the house giving you lots of extra space. My final observation? There is no such thing as a prudent owner of an X and Y chromosome.