Wednesday, July 7, 2010


In general, I don't like girls very much. I love my friends, but I don't like girls in general - the bitchiness and the fact that nothing can be straightforward and the icky walking on eggshells. I'll be the first to admit that I am 89.5% straight up crazy bitch, but I TRY to only show that side to my boyfriend. And that's the way it should be, I think (poor boyfriends!) - keep ya crazy for ya man. Your friends don't want to see what an irrational psychopath you can be. They're not in love with you, so they can be a hell of a lot less forgiving.

But all that sort of melted away this morning when I found myself in a very seventh-grade situation: wearing a white skirt during the wrong time of the month. One of the editors where I work came into the bathroom as I was scrubbing blood out of my skirt, and although I barely know her, we had such a feminine, sympathetic, wonderful moment. She didn't do anything, or even say much beyond "Awww," and "that's such a pretty skirt," but she knew, and I knew that she knew. I think maybe that's why we girls have to suffer through this awful thing every freaking month - because somewhere in that cloud of hormones, we know that if we need to, we can reach out to any woman, anywhere, even if she's just a stranger peeing in the next bathroom stall, and there won't be any bitchiness or cattiness or judgment, just a hand, slipping toward us, perfectly manicured, holding out not just a tampon, but a lifeline.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA just kidding ok but you know what I mean.

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You are truly great.