My Vagina is Secretly a Sassy Black Woman

A moment ago I thought to myself, “If my ovaries had nuts, I’d kick them in them.” And then I realized that was too many thems. Also, that my ovaries kind of ARE my nuts.

And that I say also too much.

They’re not being terribly evil at the moment, but that “special time” isn’t so special. It’s irritating and it pisses me off. Like that saying goes, you shouldn’t trust anything that bleeds for seven days and doesn’t die. Therefore, I no longer trust my vagina.

I thought I would share a few of my thoughts on menstruation with you.

1.) I think it’s a horrible joke on me that my gynecologist is attractive.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s a wonderful doctor, but I don’t think his hotness is a bonus for me. Initially, this had me wanting to clamp my legs shut and waddle out the door. Gynecologist visits are in direct violation of my “Never naked with the lights on” rule and having an attractive man see me naked under fluorescents was almost more than I could take. He makes delightfully dirty jokes while his hand is up my hoo hoo, so I won’t be replacing him any time soon. Perverse conversation while being fondled by strangers makes things easier. It’s rare for a man to make you laugh when you’re naked, so it must be treasured while it lasts. I’ve grown used to him being down there and he doesn’t make me nearly as uncomfortable as the corpsman in boot camp did. Sorry, but my vagina and I will never fully appreciate the art of the donkey punch. My experience with strange men between my legs is limited, but I’m assuming that if I can feel your watch ticking, something isn’t right here.

2.) Tampons are ridiculous.

I’m not even sure why they make regular ones and I am convinced that the “Teen” size would be better marketed as a quick fix for a nose bleed. Miss Vagine will roll her eyes at a regular tampon. I can hear her snapping her fingers and saying “Girlfriend, that might get you as far as the tampon aisle and back, but I wouldn’t push it.” I think she might secretly be a sassy black woman.

The one time I briefly considered using a Teen-pon as a stopgap, I heard the bitch laughing at me. Not just an amused chuckle mind you, but a full out belly laugh with snorting that says “Go ahead and try it. One sneeze and you’ll have to reupholster the furniture.”

I’m also confused about why OB exists. There is no applicator. There is no smooth glide action to assist you. There is a cotton ball and a string… and your hand. I’m not going to do that on a good day. That shit is an ear plug at best.

I also hate how unmistakable the sound of opening a tampon is. I just feel that everyone in the bathroom is thinking “I know you’re touching yourself inappropriately right now.”

3.) The more expensive the lingerie, the stealthier the attack.

You know how awesome those matching bra and panty sets look? Well, no one else ever will. That one pair of panties that actually make your ass AND your legs look good? They will be the first casualty of war. It could be the middle of those twenty-eight beautiful days when you assume that it’s totally safe to wear that expensive and sexy pair and out of nowhere, not a cramp, a twinge, a bloat, or a random thigh pain in sight, it happens, just the once. The next day when you’re huddled on the floor of your closet, clutching your largest and ugliest pair of granny panties to your chest in fear, it doesn’t even bother to show up. Its work is done.

4.) It doesn’t show up.

I don’t care if you haven’t gotten laid in five years, when your period doesn’t show up on time your first thought is always “OHMYGODIMPREGNANT!” How did this happen? I haven’t even looked at a penis! Maybe I picked something up from a toilet seat. This is an immaculate conception. I knew I should have pulled out of church sooner.

I’m always amazed by the fact that the first thought you have during a pregnancy scare is “I need to drink as much alcohol as humanly possible right this very second or I’m going to die.”

A missed period will turn even the staunchest atheist into a woman of Christ until her uterus stops holding her egg hostage. Our thoughts often take the same turn that Jenna Malone’s did in the movie “Saved”. “Let it be cancer. Let it be cancer. Let it be cancer.” When we’ve moved on from that, we start to curse every male that has ever had any kind of physical contact with us. “How DARE he do this to me? He did this on purpose. He has ruined my entire life.” These thoughts then go to the only place our minds were too afraid to go before, our mothers. “How am I going to tell my mama? She’s going to be so mad at me.”

We then rush out to waste our money on the revered and much feared plastic sticks of doom, also known as pregnancy tests, and settle in for the longest three minutes of our lives. When it comes up negative, we shout with jubilation. “THANK YOU, JESUS! My mama would have killed me.”


Scarl3tt3 said…
I LOVE THIS. No joke.
The Randomist said…
My sassy black vagina loves you too.
Kat Lady said…
I totally agree!!!!! The tampon is a ridiculous cotton ball of an excuse to waste money when I'm being visited by Aunt Flow. I'm one of those women who have menstrual motorcycles as opposed to regular ones. I've had to get new cushions for my couch once even. To hell with the tampon!
toni in florida said…
"This is an immaculate conception. I knew I should have pulled out of church sooner."

Thanks for the snorting laugh, even if it did freak out my cats a little.
The Randomist said…
Tampons are a necessary evil though. Cotton > plastic tube you have to empty. At least we've moved up in the world since the days where "sanitary napkins" came with belts. I'd like to think that they could come up with something better, say a button that jump started your reproductive system only when you wanted to use it. That way you could keep you're really good eggs and not have to deal with those genetically mutated late in life baby eggs.

Toni, my cat would only freak out if I stopped making weird noises. He's grown accustomed to my snorting and randomly shrieking "KITTY!" as he walks by. I should probably have better hobbies.
This was too funny even my 15 year old daughter was laughing.

I am totally with you on the not being able to wear the sexy expensive bra and panty set just for that reason. So unpredictable Aunt Flow is and she fucking laughs when she ruins it for you. Makes me wanna vag punch that bitch.

Thanks for the random laugh, if my husband had been home I am sure I would have gotten the What-in-the-hell-are-you-laughing-at-now look. Only to tell him and have him stick his fingers in his ears and scream lalalala can't hear you lalalala.
KC said…
I'm a visitor from Oh Noa's blog and you are freaking hilarious. Corpsmen? Boot camp? What branch of the service were/are you in? My first exam was at MEPS (military entrance and processing station), performed by an ancient bearded man. Then while I was in the waiting room for my boot camp exam, my drill instructor produced an enormous speculum and told us "they broke one off in a recruit." And guys complain about "turn your head and cough." Ha!
The Randomist said…
Sweetie, you are too kind. I now have an entire drawer dedicated to cheap but pretty awesome looking underwear from the Bali/Hanes outlet that I'll never let anyone see. My mama would not be proud if I were to die in them. She's an equal opportunity bitch (Aunt Flo, not my mother). She'll get anything that you might want to show someone some day. I actually sometimes fear for my refrigerator art...

You're welcome for the random laugh. It makes me happy that I can give them to you.
The Randomist said…
KC, I have a feeling that you might just be pretty fucking funny yourself, love.

I went into the Navy, yo. I quit. It's much harder than it sounds. Apparently they expect you to run. Run where? We're on a boat, asshole.

Our "exam" in MEPS consisted of us putting our feet in stirrups and the doctor lifting the sheet, looking, and saying "Okay". They were literally just making sure we weren't trannies.

The guy that did the exam in Great Lakes kind of looked like Dr. Death from the Holocaust and he used three pounds of KY Jelly. I squished around for days after I managed to get our of the fetal position I had assumed because the exam left me emotionally scarred.

Why in God's name would someone threaten you with the Platypus of Doom? I'm going to have nightmares about that shit now.
Elizabeth in DC said…
I too was directed here by OhNoa. FYI, I got my eyelashes done yesterday, and as always was sternly admonished "NO CRYING FOR 24 HOURS!" I'm going to have to go back to Miss Lily for a re-do because I was shrieking with laughter, tears running down my face. Sister, can I give you an AMEN?! And then can I send you the bill?
The Randomist said…
I'm going to have to give Noa the dry humping of her life for this.

Elizabeth - Amen gladly accepted. I'll be more than happy to accept the bill so long as it's understood that it goes into the pile of "Well, they won't arrest me for not paying this... so I'm just not going to."

For once I'm actually excited about making someone other than Auto Zone employees cry.

I'll get your eyelashes (what does this involve?) re-done AND I'll throw in a bonus mani-pedi.. when bitches is famous. Just keep reminding me, love.
Anonymous said…
Girl, you are hilarious. Thanks to Oh, Noa for introducing me to your sassy black vagina (I have one too, her favorite is when I think I can get through a whole 5.5 hr server shift with an ultra-super-plus tampon and a panty liner for the just-in-casies, and as soon as she leaks she makes sure she gets every part of my underwear that the panty liner is not touching since it got all wound up and twisted as I ran from table to bar to kitchen and back again. Bitch.)
Anyway! I'm really here to tell you that OB are pretty amazing once you get over the fact that you're sticking your hand in your vagina in order to deal with the mess. They expand width-wise instead of length, so you don't have that uncomfortable tampon-sticking-out-of-my-vagina feeling when it's time to change. Also they have almost no packaging so a)less noise b)really inconspicuous because they're tiny c)better for the environment (even though, let's face it, you can't give two shits about Mother Earth when you're bleeding like a stuck pig). Give 'em a whirl. I should do commercials for this shizz.
~Drops mic, walks away.
Elizabeth in DC said…
Chica, getting one's eyelashes done involves paying serious amounts of money to have individual fake lashes bonded onto your actual lashes. Sounds and is ridiculous except now I don't wear makeup, except a little lipstick. When you live in a swamp like DC you may as well throw your money in the trash as buy makeup, because it runs right off your face. So I get eyelashes, God not having blessed me naturally. It's a foolish thing to spend money on. And yet, like any addiction, I will cut a bitch to get it done!
Casey said…
This comment has been removed by the author.
Casey said…
'One sneeze and you’ll have to reupholster the furniture'...Classic, I love it!

Side note: What if YOUR sassy black woman vag and MY sassy black woman vag were both guests on the Maury Povich (sp?) show fighting over a dude who is both of our baby daddys? That would be an awesome uterine wall explosion of epic proportions.
The Randomist said…
Anonymous - Dude, no amount of leakage could make me wear a pad again. Nothing announces your presence like the crinkling coming from between your legs. That and eewww... The old girth vs. length debate. Again, my hand will not be getting any closer to my cervix than absolutely necessary, especially when there's any chance of bringing part of my uterus back with it. You totally should be doing commercials for OB. Take the hilarious twist and give Kotex a run for their money. (Kotex is where it's at...)

Elizabeth - Not to be a braggart, but if/when I put mascara on, my eyelashes get tangled in my eyebrows. For serious. Eyelashes are like boobs, if you've got some to spare, you don't want 'em, and if ya ain't got none, you want some. I didn't even know that you could get that done in a tasteful manner. I'd always assumed that strippers went to get hooker lashes from the Hair Emporium and Weave Thrift Market. The ones that come pre-glittered and as an entire set instead of one lash at a time.

I'd find a way to fuck it up half-way through the process. I live in North Carolina and there's a vote in Congress to officially have the season of Summer changed to Swamp Ass. It's 12:39am and my skin is moist (and not in a "Mike Douglas always got me moist" kind of way)... I could eat the air. I'm going to start a fund for you so that you can hit up Miss Lily for your fix without having to shank a ho.

Casey - Our sassy black vaginas would probably fit in better on Jerry Springer. "Bitch stole my man AND ruined my furniture... hold my hur."

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