There are some things in life you just shouldn't be subjected to. The ad for sheer men's thongs of yesterday's entry, for example. Particularly horrendous in-laws. Obscene amounts of child snot (though this is manageable after one gets over the initial disgust. Believe me-- True Life: I Was A Nanny. I know. This may also be why I always have a zip-lock baggie of tissues with me. Always. Because you never know when someone else's baby is going to start leaking from the nose on you. And because I am basically like Mary Poppins with my Big Red Purse of Everything You Could Ever Want. I could entertain a child with the contents of my purse for hours [and I have] as long as you let me keep the cigarettes).
Back on topic. More unfortunate things: Running into and having to make awkward conversation with people, particularly exes or friends of your parents, in inopportune places: specialist doctor's waiting rooms, in front of the condom selection in the grocery store, any time anyone involved is blatantly drunk. (However, if it is an ex, I have a handy script for you. For doctor's offices, it goes: "Well. I guess I know where I got THAT." In front of the Trojans: "Yeah. I'm bangin' like a rabbit ready for spring. And how are you lately?" No one ever said I was tactful.) That totally unnecessary and stoke-inducing pause between when someone says "We have to talk...about who's picking up the cat," or something equally mundane. Lines at the DMV. A long winter walk without gloves or a hat. Staying on hold for more than 5 minutes. Purgatory. (One could argue the DMV and hold are lesser forms of Purgatory. I'm all for that argument and so anti-Purgatory it's not even funny. You don't just wait around after you die. Something, other than waiting, has to happen, even if it's nothing. Life is not about waiting and then going on to die and wait some more.)
But the number one thing you shouldn't have to endure? Totally pointless invasive procedures. First off, I have never had to wait so long for ANYTHING after getting naked. And at least, once you're there, get me ready by asking probing questions before you actually PROBE. This time round, there was no peeing in a cup. (Another thing I loathe. I am not a man. Peeing into and/or on things is not something that I pride myself on.) Hence, I could have toked my little self silly this morning to take the edge way fucking off instead of panicking and cold-sweating into one of those ridiculous open-back robes while being talked through that day's activities. (On the downside, this also meant no super-quick and accurate medical pregnancy test.) There was also no asking me if I was sexually active (guess the cat is out of that bag), when the last time was, about partners, etc. I mean, that's like, my bragging time. Call me immature, but after years of appointments occurring during dry spells (programmed like clockwork for the most emotionally-stunting impact like every. single. "I am alone but I really shouldn't care about it anyway" Valentine's Day,) and pregnancy tests run with me in the background going, "No, really-- it's been six months. I think even I'd have noticed SOMETHING right now. And if that comes back positive, either that sucker had some Olympic sperm, or call the freaking Pope and tell him it's happened again, and to a PAGAN," nothing makes me happier than to announce "YES" like a child who has just learned how to tie her shoes. And generally, I only let people down there for a good time, and I don't exactly call getting pried open by the Jaws Of Life "fun." Also, quit talking to me like everything is normal. This is a fucking awkward situation. If a guy I was with looked at me mid-act and said something like, "So, what are your summer plans?" or "I was thinking of repainting the walls," I'd ask him to kindly shut the fuck up with the small talk or dismount so we can talk about non-sex-related things like civilized people while not trying to accomplish the task at hand. Or...well. You know.
Can't we all just agree that if you take a look and it looks good, it's probably good and you don't need to get all up in there? I know there are few of you out there going, "Tsk tsk, Carissa-- this is exactly the sort of thinking that will wind you up dying a slow and painful death from syphilis. STDs are a serious matter. You can't just self-diagnose! Eye-balling it doesn't answer everything!" Believe me-- when I was 16, I thought I was going to be the first and only person ever diagnosed with Brazilian Vagina-Eating Disease (the country, not the wax job,) due to some young, naive--FINE, they were mostly just STUPID-- mistakes I'd made; I am all about getting a clean bill of health. (Important for both partners, people. If one of you has something, chances are, the other's gonna get it, too. It's like magnets; it's just how those parts work.) But really-- if it is a trained medical professional or specialist saying everything looks good TO THEM-- do we really need to continue to do the rest of the song and dance and swabbing? "Everything looks great!" should mean "We're stopping now." Only if you hit a "Damn, that's certainly not normal!" should it mean "Full swab ahead!" I mean, the "oww's" I am saying are not for theatrical effect. "Oww" means, "it used to be fine in there, and now you're fucking that all up!" There is no lying back and thinking of England. There is no fooling yourself about what is going on. There is just lots of squirming and manically checking the clock. Though, I am pretty sure, with catheters and all that, you guys have it much worse off. Ha. Hahaha. Small consolation prize for us being stuck with the whole childbirth thing.
My mother told me last night to stop being such a baby about it. "It's not like it's your first time," she correctly pointed out, but then she said what made my heart sing and snarky wit sensors start vibrating (...maybe this is not the best post to use the word "vibrating" in...oh well. Damage is done,) and churning. "It's not unlike anything else that goes in there."
I was practically salivating at the mouth by the time I cocked (...another unfortunate word choice...) an eyebrow at her. "I'm pretty sure I've never been with a guy with a metal penis."
Ew. Ew. Ewww.
But yeah. Getting tested is important. Do it at least once a year. Like any well-functioning machine, making sure all parts are clean and in order is para...mount. (Jesus, I don't even try, I swear.) And though it may be one of the more awkward conversations of a relationship (or evening), it really is important to make sure your friend isn't bringing other "friends" to play-- his ex who gave him herpes, the one-night stand with the clap, or some exotic STD from playing abroad. A clean bill of health in one of the most important things you can bring to a night (or nights) of fun, otherwise, well, it's not going to be fun when you have to make or receive that angry phone call, is it? So, suck it up, because if I, Miss I-Faint-At-The-Sight-Of-Needles-And-White-Coats Syndrome can do it, so can you. Make an appointment. And if you're lucky, (and clean, and someone is on some other form of preventative birth-control, and monogamous, and not totally worried about it,) maybe you can play without the raincoat. Which, I will admit, even from a woman's stand-point, is so much better. But until you see a doctor's signature or the emotional wounds from an appointment, be safe and wrap it, kiddies!
After this emotionally taxing morning, it is nap-time for this big baby.
P.S-- No Brazilian Vagina-Eating Disease yet. Thank god. In my mind, it's akin to Audrey 2 from "Little Shop Of Horrors." Sheerly terrifying.