It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 48

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or people I work with. Or neighbors who are raising feral cats.




Today's topic: Periods & Exclamation Points

I'm sorry people, but I'm phoning it in a bit tonight.  But seriously, do not fuck with me because I have been waiting to get my period for three days, and really, any woman will tell you that's just as bad as actually having it.  It's like anticipating a shot and then the shot isn't so bad, except that with periods you are bleeding anyway so it actually is as bad.  Yes guys, it's THAT BAD.  And don't even try to compare what a pain in the vajayjay having a period is with any man issues you might have, like getting kicked in the nuggets, because no one kicks you in the Weebles once a month.  And if they are, that's an indication that you have other personal problems that need to be worked out.

As long as I'm bitching, let's talk about smuggling tampons.  How many of you have had to smuggle a tampon in your sleeve to a bathroom before?  I remember in middle school, when I was just a budding dork and not the full-blown social misfit I am today, when I would actually carry a brown lunch sack into the bathroom with a twin mattress sized pad in it.  Wow, that must have fooled everyone.  Either I was having my period, or I was planning on eating my lunch in the bathroom.  Or I was selling pot, but trust me, I did not look cool enough to be selling pot.

Just a few weeks ago, at The Former Full Time Job I Can't Blog About (and can I just take a moment to say how very much I love my new full time job as a Hooker?) when I was having my fourth period at that organization in two months, I was walking back up to my desk from a company-wide meeting and could hear this crackling noise in my clothing as I walked.  I started looking in my pockets and my sleeves, and lo and behold, there it was...a Tampax Tsunami size stuck down the front of my sweater.  Apparently I was diverted to the meeting on my way to smuggling the tampon into the bathroom.  Classy.

Now I am due to confer with Mother Nature any time, and I've found myself smuggling a bag of pads and a few tampons into the new job to hide in my credenza.  Mind you, I work in a small factory where they do machine tooling, so 90% of the people who work there are men who have beards and listen to Lynyrd Skynyrd.  They don't even want to know tampons EXIST much less see them.  I'm the new girl, so a random tampon flying out of my sleeve will forever brand me as The Chick on The Rag. 

I suppose my current bitchiness is advertisement enough, but the last thing I want is the eye-rolling "Oh she's that way because it's that time of the month."  Do you want to get punched in the genitals?  Because a man looking at a woman understandingly and telling her it must be her "time of the month" because she's being irrational or moody is the fastest way to pull a clamped fist into your ballsack.  And you know what?  She probably IS bitchy because of her period.  It doesn't matter.  No sex for you.  Take your beating and go to your room.

Now for the exclamation point!  When I left The Former Full Time Job I Can't Blog About, I bought myself a celebratory massage at my favorite place.  I met Current Masseusse, whom I had never met before, disrobed, did the get under the blanket thing, and then CM came back into the room to begin.  He was a nice, cute guy, and I am all about full disclosure, so I looked at him and said the following:

"Listen CM, I need to be honest with you.  We are going to be very intimate now, what with your hands and oil all over my real estate, and I didn't have time to shower this morning, my razor is dull and I'm sure there's all kinds of stubble there, I'm sporting some Hobbit feet, half of my big toenail fell off a week ago and it's rather heinous.  I'm so sorry, and I will tip you."

CM looked at me for a moment, got a big smile on his face, clapped his hands, and said,

"OH MY GOD, I KNOW YOU, YOU LOVE THE SASSY GAY FRIEND!"

And I knew we were going to get along just fine.  Hand to God, this is exactly what was said.  Normally I'm a no talking massage girl, but this time I happily chatted with CM the entire time, and he didn't dry heave even once when he touched my calves or saw my feet.  If he wasn't already married to another guy, I might have fallen in love a little bit.  If you're reading this CM, I'm still bringing that CD to you, I promise!

Happy Whoreticulture Friday, and I hope your weekend is filled with more exclamation points than periods!
p.s. Not one of you may say, "Are you pregnant?" because I am not.  Bite your tongues, you naughty monkeys.