Confession: I Have Herpes. (Alternatively titled Only Practically Perfect in Every Way)
Okay, so I don't have Herpes. The nice thing about having sex with the frequency of the summer Olympics is it makes it exceedingly difficult to contract an STD. Odds are better that I'll win the Powerball on 7/7/7.
Announcing I have Herpes is less embarrassing than telling the awful truth.
I have a certain preference when it comes to men I like, and that preference is that they know less about me than they know about Britney Spears. This is easy to accomplish when you consider my vagina is rarely photographed and splashed all over tmz.com. I don't mind being open with my entourage of gay boys, but I don't want a straight guy I like to know my shameful secrets.
This isn't some die-hard dedication to maintaining a high level of obnoxious mystery. It's just self-protective, cowardly impulse. I get too anxious around straight guys. Shrink always urged me to "put down the Hanzo sword" and open up. Letting go of the sword is, as the saying goes, far easier swatted with a newspaper than scraped off the wall.
So. I'll put down the sword indirectly, via blog, and I'll pretend I'm the kind of woman who answers questions she's asked rather than answering by asking her own questions or acting like English is her third language. And I'll tell you all about my Herpes Simplex Fourteen - the most hideous form of Herpes!! And far more humiliating than regular Herpes or the Herpes that only results in a cold sore, which I personally don't think should be called Herpes at all because who needs the stigma?
The FAQs. (Aka Forgot to Answer Questions)
When was the last time you participated in this Olympic event?
Lacking confidence in what they refer to back at the convent as "skeelz" in that arena as a whole - due to afore-mentioned infrequency of Olympic participation - focus on any one event is less frequent than Paris Hilton's newfound religious expression. The last time was Beckham knows when. I believe 1999. I spent about sixteen seconds on the event before abandoning it.
I did read up on the how to's. Barnes and Noble doesn't sell [Blank]ing for Dummies, but tips can be found online. I am a nerd and refer to the Internet every time I have a question. The Internet lovingly provides answers galore. Even about that. I didn't even do 70% of what I read about because I started getting anxious. I'd only read how to's on one site, and realized during the event that I should have cross referenced with others because what if this tip sheet was all wrong and I did something you didn't like? Then you asked your question and I fell off the balance beam and assumed the judges were giving me a perfect zero. Like any dedicated athlete, I simply gave up.
So what's the deal, you have Herpes?! You skeevy bitch!
No. I've never even had chicken pox. For the most part my body shuns illness and breakage like Lindsey Lohan shuns rehab and her father. I've never even sprained anything.
I have PCOS. PolyCystic Ovary Syndrome. It's an endocrine disorder originating at the ovaries and fucking over multiple hormones. The body, struggling to balance itself, overcompensates for too little of some hormones with too much of others and ends up hijacked. It's like the endocrine system gets alzheimers and thinks everything is running fine when it's not. Your body becomes fat without the privilege of being an overeater who can't resist food. Pimpled for no reason you can fathom given you're not even a teenager anymore. And you start losing your hair.
So... how many pins do I have in my hair? Depends on how you define "my."
Like Britney and Jessica and Paris, I supplement my own hair with somebody else's. Unlike them it's not to have long fabulous hair, as I don't make that kind of money. It's to add volume to my own. It isn't pins in my hair to count, it's the bonds of the other hair attached to my own. They're like the aglets on your shoelaces, so not at all undetectable.
Thus, if someone says "I love your hair," I can't respond. It's not really all my own. This shames me. It makes me feel inadequate. It makes me shove your hands away and tell you not to worry about the pins in my hair.
Now you know a secret I couldn't even tell you after generous vodka sprites.
Announcing I have Herpes is less embarrassing than telling the awful truth.
I have a certain preference when it comes to men I like, and that preference is that they know less about me than they know about Britney Spears. This is easy to accomplish when you consider my vagina is rarely photographed and splashed all over tmz.com. I don't mind being open with my entourage of gay boys, but I don't want a straight guy I like to know my shameful secrets.
This isn't some die-hard dedication to maintaining a high level of obnoxious mystery. It's just self-protective, cowardly impulse. I get too anxious around straight guys. Shrink always urged me to "put down the Hanzo sword" and open up. Letting go of the sword is, as the saying goes, far easier swatted with a newspaper than scraped off the wall.
So. I'll put down the sword indirectly, via blog, and I'll pretend I'm the kind of woman who answers questions she's asked rather than answering by asking her own questions or acting like English is her third language. And I'll tell you all about my Herpes Simplex Fourteen - the most hideous form of Herpes!! And far more humiliating than regular Herpes or the Herpes that only results in a cold sore, which I personally don't think should be called Herpes at all because who needs the stigma?
The FAQs. (Aka Forgot to Answer Questions)
When was the last time you participated in this Olympic event?
Lacking confidence in what they refer to back at the convent as "skeelz" in that arena as a whole - due to afore-mentioned infrequency of Olympic participation - focus on any one event is less frequent than Paris Hilton's newfound religious expression. The last time was Beckham knows when. I believe 1999. I spent about sixteen seconds on the event before abandoning it.
I did read up on the how to's. Barnes and Noble doesn't sell [Blank]ing for Dummies, but tips can be found online. I am a nerd and refer to the Internet every time I have a question. The Internet lovingly provides answers galore. Even about that. I didn't even do 70% of what I read about because I started getting anxious. I'd only read how to's on one site, and realized during the event that I should have cross referenced with others because what if this tip sheet was all wrong and I did something you didn't like? Then you asked your question and I fell off the balance beam and assumed the judges were giving me a perfect zero. Like any dedicated athlete, I simply gave up.
So what's the deal, you have Herpes?! You skeevy bitch!
No. I've never even had chicken pox. For the most part my body shuns illness and breakage like Lindsey Lohan shuns rehab and her father. I've never even sprained anything.
I have PCOS. PolyCystic Ovary Syndrome. It's an endocrine disorder originating at the ovaries and fucking over multiple hormones. The body, struggling to balance itself, overcompensates for too little of some hormones with too much of others and ends up hijacked. It's like the endocrine system gets alzheimers and thinks everything is running fine when it's not. Your body becomes fat without the privilege of being an overeater who can't resist food. Pimpled for no reason you can fathom given you're not even a teenager anymore. And you start losing your hair.
So... how many pins do I have in my hair? Depends on how you define "my."
Like Britney and Jessica and Paris, I supplement my own hair with somebody else's. Unlike them it's not to have long fabulous hair, as I don't make that kind of money. It's to add volume to my own. It isn't pins in my hair to count, it's the bonds of the other hair attached to my own. They're like the aglets on your shoelaces, so not at all undetectable.
Thus, if someone says "I love your hair," I can't respond. It's not really all my own. This shames me. It makes me feel inadequate. It makes me shove your hands away and tell you not to worry about the pins in my hair.
Now you know a secret I couldn't even tell you after generous vodka sprites.
posted by Jen @ 9:16 PM
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