Monday, 26 January 2015

Shark Week is a Bitch

I always took pride in the fact, that I was a late bloomer.
Puberty started to hit me, when all of my (female) classmates already started to look like full grown women.
And while many girls are desperate to enter this stage of their life, because they think that this is when they start to become interesting for the other sex, I had never felt that way.

To me, puberty was - and still is - a euphemism for some rather unpleasant things:
  1.  Growing hairs in places where I neither need nor want them (and I'm talking about a lot of hair. Like dark hair. On fair skin.).
  2. Growing breasts which might look quite nice at first, but soon will fall victim to gravity (and gravity is a bitch!)
  3. Basically your entire body goes into berserk-mode, eventually resulting in greasy hair, pimples and mood swings your parents are going to hate you for.
  4. Once a month for about a week you will feel as if you were run down by a truck. You're not dead, but just lying there - suffering. And don't forget about the blood. And the mood swings!
My first shark week was at the sweet age of sixteen. And I was devastated. It not only meant that I had entered the weird circle of womanhood, it meant quite a lot of limitations to my everyday life.
Luckily I have never had a lot of problems with pain, but honestly:

Who feels extraordinarily sexy or active during shark week?

Swimming is not one of the best options (but I hate swimming anyway).
Sauna is not great either with the string of your tampon dangling between your legs.
Sexual intercourse? Are you kidding me?
You have to visit the ladies room frequently to change things up. So, longer trips can get pretty difficult.
And which girl wants to worry about her period on vacation?

It feels like one of those really annoying newsletters you sometimes get in the mail, and while this one doesn't inform me about a new vacuum cleaner I definitely do not want to buy, this one tells me each and every month:
"Listen up, girl! Are you ready to create a new, beautiful life?"

And my answer always is:
"Shut the fuck up, you little bitch! I'm still not ready to give up my selfish needs! Come back when I'm in my 30's."

And another really annoying thing is the irregularity. A lot of women I know use the pill, but they are either in a relationship, or they use it to control some of the side effects of their period.
Because I'm single and relatively carefree, I don't feel the need to buy the pill, which can also be useful for regulating your cycle.
Hence, my cycle tends to switch every few months. Sometimes I'm a week earlier, sometimes a week later.
It is just as annoying as it sounds, because it makes it hard to plan ahead, but being the cheap bastard that I am, it will stay that way until someone is ready for a risky business (namely: a realtionship with me).

But as Forrest's Momma always said:
"Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get."
And in my case: when you're gonna get it.

I will be 24 in less than two months. Maybe it's time for me to finally be cool with my body in all its gory glory, but the next time shark week hits my panties, every good intention will fall to pieces.

How do you experience "that time of the month"? Do you remember your first time?

Thursday, 15 January 2015

When a hug ignites a spark

There are different kinds of greetings which can vary greatly depending on your cultural background and the person you are facing at that moment.

There can be a handshake.
That double kiss on the cheeks.
A bow.
Or a simple hug.

Each of them has different levels of intensity as well. A handshake can be firm and reassuring, but sometimes it just feels like you are holding a dead fish.
And while a hug normally creates a rather intimate feeling, sometimes there remains some distance towards your partner.

To me it is normal to hug my friends when we meet and when we say goodbye. Normally it is a rather short, but sweet moment. However, when I hug one of my male friends, whom I see more often, it always feels kind of weird, as if he was reluctant to hug me.

Then, on Monday, I met a friend of mine by chance on my way to uni. We hadn't seen each other for a while, and even though we did not have very much time on our hands, we took a few minutes to walk together and catch up. Once it was time to separate we hugged, he pulled me really close and tight.
My scarf got caught in the buckle on the strap of his leather bag and almost ripped when I stepped back. We laughed a bit nervously and decided to meet up again (next Monday in case you're interested).

After our separation I could still feel the after-effects of this hug.
It was genuine and honest. Not one of those hugs where you feel like you have to do it, because of social conventions, because you really want it. Words were not necessary. This simple gesture alone expressed how happy he was to see me.
Maybe it's because he has a naturally genial disposition or because he was glad to see me in particular.
I don't know, but once he squeezed me so tight there was such a relieve inside my chest.

It is amazing how the feeling of human weight and heat against your body can create comfort and security and yes, even a bit of carelessness, because you just forget how bad the world can be.

I was always a bit of a sucker for heaviness.

Heavy blankets to keep me warm on a cold day.
A heavy body pressed to my back to support me.
Or just my pug lying on my lap fast asleep while I caress her.

I remembered that night over two years ago, when we were at a friends party.
Almost everyone else was already gone, and we kissed. It was cheesy, but nice.
We often met up again, but we never kissed again.
It is one of those weird relationships where you always feel that certain kind of curious tension, withrout crossing the edge.

Maybe because it is not necessary.
Maybe because you're scared.

Isn't it amazing how one simple action spark a blazing fire of feelings and thoughts?