Tag Archives: pain

That Time I Had to Go to the ER…

13 Aug

So, what happened to me that I’ve alluded to in several different places?

Well…I got bit by a dog.

On Sunday night, my roommate accidentally left the baby gate dividing the upstairs (where I live) and the downstairs (where she lives) open. Not usually an issue, so I do the same routine I always do and call my dog upstairs.

Now, I didn’t see the fight start, so I can’t say for certain what caused it, but our dogs started fighting. Her dog tends to be a little standoffish, so when my dog gets too close or tries to play, he snaps. This has led to a couple low-key fights already.

This time, however, I think it was the perfect storm for a larger fight. My dog had an ear infection, I was extremely stressed, her other dog was in heat, and put all of that in a cramped space and you have a dog fight.

I know better, but because I couldn’t get through the door to get behind my dog, I had to try from the front end. I went to smack my dog from the side, and when they turned, I ripped my hand back to get it out of the way, but it was too late.

I, actually, think I got some molar action in.

I suffered 5 lacerations, one of which spanned the entire width of my finger, and broken bone. I have stitches in 4, and my ring and middle finger are bandaged up and will be for the next few weeks. Definitely, the most pain I’ve ever been in.

So…completely my fault, and the dogs are fine. What a terrible start to the week, huh?

Advertisements

The Struggle is Real: A Rant About Tampons

15 Sep

Let me start off by saying fellas…this isn’t for you. Unless you want to hear me talk candidly about my lady bits. Then sure. Enjoy (even though you’ll probably turn away horrified very shortly).

Ladies…you know what I don’t get?

Cardboard fucking tampons. Amiright?

When I was 15, I used my first ever cardboard tampon and it was literally the size of a baby’s arm. Seriously, tampon manufacturers (who can only be men because I don’t know why a woman would torture another woman like this)? You expect a 15 year old girl to shove a cardboard tube the size of an arm up her vagina? Right. Okay.

So yes, I was 15 and I suddenly started my period while I was hours away from home, with only a convenience store at my disposal and no money. Forced to beg my friend’s mom for mercy, all she had was this huge ass tampon, so naturally I had to oblige.

I went into the bathroom, dropped my pants and sat down, and pulled apart the paper on this thing that looked like it had no business being shoved anywhere. And 1…2…3…

Nothing.

My hand wasn’t strong enough to put the damn thing in. So now I’m sitting in a gas station bathroom, pants around my ankles with this cardboard torture device that I can’t do anything with because someone decided they needed to pack 2 baby arms worth of cotton into a single baby arm sized cardboard tube.

The natural thing to do at this point would seem to be to give up. But you know what you can’t do? Give up. Because you are bleeding out of your god damn vagina.

Two hands it is.

I reach down with my left hand to hold it in place, and push with my right hand (you see, I’m right-handed). 1…2…3…

Nothing.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME!? I don’t have a third hand, tampon manufacturers. I swear to god you need two hands to hold that shit in place. Of course the cardboard is just papery enough to get dry your vajajay to something likened to a desert, but is just plastic-y enough so that those “grips” don’t even come close and you find yourself ramming this thing into your cervix, desperately hoping the cotton part is coming out.

It was like wrestling a bear. Fucking feel like Chuck Norris after that. AND WHAT, TAMPON!?

I vowed to never in my life use one of those horrible things ever, ever again.

But for some reason, every time I need a tampon, the person who has one only has CARDBOARD.

Hello crazy cardboard tampon women…2014 rang and they said IT’S CALLED PLASTIC. Your vagina will thank you. Unless you already ripped it off. In which case I’m glad because you use CARDBOARD TAMPONS!

So please ladies…ditch the cardboard tampons. And tampon manufacturers…stop making them. Thanks.

30 Day Letter Challenge: Dear Deceased

22 Jun

Dear Ty,

Yes. You get to be called by your name.

I think about you. Not every day, probably not as often as I should, but here is proof that I do. I talk about you, too.

There is one thing that I look back on every, single time I think about you. It’s kind of weird, but I long for an answer so much and I know I’ll never get one.

What is it, you say?

Let me tell you a story.

One day, the [female] manager of a football team of a small, podunk town was putting away pylons. A really nice boy was helping her. 

He wanted to ask her a question, and being naturally curious, she of course told him he could ask her anything. With a pause, the boy said 

“what’s your name?”

It was obviously not what he had wanted to ask, but no matter how much she pressure the boy to ask her his real question, he continued his strange behavior and refused to ask her the real question.

Ty. What did you want to ask me that night? Had I been less socially awkward and better able to read people, I would have handled the situation better, but I wasn’t and I couldn’t so I didn’t.

Of course I have my speculations. The only thing I could think that someone would be afraid to ask is if I would date them. That’s super scary. I’m pretty forward with my questions, though, so it probably could have been anything.

I think back to that moment a lot, and I wish that if that was what you were going to ask me…that you had.

I would have said yes.

And thinking about that always makes me think of so many other memories I had with you. There was the day when you poured a bucket of ice water on me. Or the day when you gave me a ride home, and out of habit I tried to kiss you on the cheek and said “I love you”. And way, way back in kindergarten, I defended your choice of underwear when the other boys made fun of you because you wore briefs, not boxers.

Oh, Ty. I’m sorry. But you’ll always be in my thoughts.

Always, Me