Warning. Excessive Girly Content Ahead.

This post is not for the faint of heart.
Those who kvetch about girl blogs being all about feeling fat, crampy, and crabby should do well to skip today's entry.

You have been warned.




Everbody else, C'mon!



Apparently those little checks you send to Planned Parenthood whenever you have money actually do come in really handy, and they bend over backwards for ya when you come in. OK, not really- but the folks at my local PP are the sweetest, coolest, nicest bunch of people that ever lived. The Nurse Practitioner is awesome, and I don't even mind the fact that she pokes around in my girlie bits without even buying me a drink first.

In fact, my Planned Parenthood's Nurse Practitioner gets the "best ever" award because she:

1. put me in the room that didn't have the valtrex booties on the stirrups
2. told me a neat trick for helping to get rid of my persistent tinea versicolor. (a Florida fungal funk on my chest and back- looks like leopard spots) involving a microwave and some selsun blue (although not at the same time). Damned dermo didn't tell me that.
3. doesn't store her speculum in the freezer, in front of the air conditioner or in a vat of liquid nitrogen.
4. gave me the poor man's seasonale, so I can rid myself of cramps, and limit the number of migraines I've got. For this, I love her most of all.

Now I just have to kick back and wait for the "all clear" from them, and my girlie bits will be the happiest girlie bits on the block.

(OK, really, I'm just thrilled to not have the mongolian death cramps for the next three months. Beyond thrilled actually.)

Again, if you are an ovarian-american, or are related to one, consider making a donation to your local PP clinic this year, or whenever you can. They do so much more than the anti-abortion folks would lead you to believe. They provide STD and pregnancy testing, counseling, and annual exams for a lot cheaper than most places, in an environment that is warm, caring, and very empowering. If you don't have a local PP, try donating to the national federation, or look for a women's clinic in your neighborhood. (F'rinstance, Womankind in Key West is also quite swell, and in desperate need of funding.)

Bite me, Bridget Jones.

OK. I lost a good chunk of weight when I lived in Florida. I came home wearing a comfortable size 16. I was elated, and felt a lot skinnier than I had in a looooooooooong time. (Thanks to the "Outback Steakhouse Curbside Takeaway Run your Ass Off" Diet- a specialized plan that involved running from the kitchen, to the front, and then out to cars, and back again, usually about 700 times a night.) Once I moved back I knew the pounds were creeping back on. I was in denial about how many though, until I stepped onto the scale today. Um. YIKES.

So... I was reluctant to join the local fitness center, because I know I'm going to move in the next few months, and want to be closer to the city. (The fitness center is practically on top of where I live now, which is nice) Looks like I'm not putting that one off any more. (at least once I have the cash to do so) Although I *really* don't want to be working my waaaaaaaay out of shape ass out in public, I also don't want to join the local Curves, as that's just a way lot more froofy bullshit than I can tolerate. Also going to give my old boss's weight watchers stuff a try. She lost a buttload of weight, as did my aunt and cousin. So... we'll see.


Anyway.

In short-

Girlie bits- poked, prodded.
Butt- immense.
Gym Membership- inevitable
Froof- not on your life

The next posting will be somewhat more normal.


OH! And someone wants me to write a brief article for them! YAY! Free, of course, but hey. It's a good thing.