Taboo Topics: Pubic Hair

To shave, or not to shave….that is the question.

I haven’t done a taboo topic in a long time, mostly because I think I covered them all. But this morning, while I was chatting with my friend Cheryl, the topic of our exes came up. Somehow, we started to discuss (okay, I started it cause I am a sicko) the overabundance of pubic hair.

Before I lost the nerve to write about it, I decided to just go for it. Shit has been sorta boring around here lately. Like, where has my edge gone, my coolness? We have to talk about these things, because they matter, damn it.

My ex did not believe in manscaping his manly bits. Nope. It was so bad that I actually needed a sling blade to whack my way inward. I can’t remember how many times I had to stop mid fellatio to pull a long and curly out of my mouth.

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It was truly disgusting, I have to say. Very Sasquatchesque.

I wanted to remind him that he wasn’t in a 70’s porno movie, but it wouldn’t have mattered. He was attached to his pubes. Maybe he thought that they gave him strength and extra power to be a complete douche. I can only make an educated guess, of course.

I suppose it’s only hair fair for me to discuss the state of my own pubic hair.

Jinx. No way, as if.

The main reason why we even have pubic hair to begin with doesn’t make all that much sense to me. I guess it was protection from the elements back in the day.

But now that we have thermal underwear, why not have some fun down south?

I recommend a kangaroo or an antelope.

Achoo

I didn’t want to believe it. That nasty tickle in my nose and throat came out of the blue. I shook my head with disbelief. I mean, I barely leave the house, how the hell did I catch a cold? This cannot be happening.

I’m sticking toilet paper up my nose to catch the dripping. I can’t breathe, my eyes burn, I want to rest, but the mucus is making it impossible.

Yep, I have a damned cold.

Having a cold

Wah.

I just took some cold medicine. Non-drowsy daytime formula. Will it give me some pep in my step and open up my sinus passages? Let’s just say that I doubt it highly. (It’s generic.) I feel goofy and should go back to bed, but as soon as I lay down, everything goes to shit on rye bread.

Go away, cold. You big bully. I was planning on running a marathon you bastard! (I’m lying.)

What I’ve learned about blogging

My two-year WordPress anniversary just passed a couple of days ago.

It occurred to me while I was smoking my evening nug of weed last night that during these two years, I have amassed a loyal crew of kindred spirits who actually enjoy reading about my life, whether or not I am happy, sad, scared, worried, gleeful, or suicidal. This continues to amaze me on a daily basis, and I feel truly blessed to have found my place in the sun, so to speak. Especially since I have a habit of giving up on things easily once I realize just how much hard work is involved.

I started this blog when having fibromyalgia was still just an afterthought. It paled in comparison next to my extreme depression. This blog was originally an online journal that was suggested by a therapist that I was seeing at the time. In fact, it was the only useful thing that she gave me during the three months that I saw her. I had heard of blogging before, but never thought that I would be any good at it. I hadn’t written a damn thing in years.

I was addicted to blogging at first, posting at least twice a day. There was no better high than seeing a new like, or a comment. Eventually though, I started to realize that I didn’t need to. Unless I really wanted to, of course. Now, if I miss a day or two, it’s no big deal. I think it had something to do with my OCD, I had to hold on to this new outlet of creativity with every fiber of my being, like a life raft in a turbulent sea.

My blog has changed in a multitude of ways. I started to see that my gift of a twisted, sarcastic sense of humor could indeed be used to fight back against my mental and physical obstacles. It has gotten me through these past 40 years on this planet. I switched over to a humor blog, and it still is primarily. As most everyone knows, it’s important to me to talk about fibromyalgia and depression, hopefully creating awareness of these two wicked shitty diseases. I still seek to find a laugh here and there, but sometimes it’s an impossible task.

And that’s okay.

I’m far from the most popular blogger, with years of experience backing me up. My follower count isn’t as impressive as some. This is okay too. I love to make new friends here, and I will often follow someone if I see that they have read my words a few times. I will reach out to newbies, because it really wasn’t all that long ago since I was in their shoes. I especially love when someone who also has depression and fibro thanks me for being so candid. I don’t sugarcoat much of anything.

I am fully myself here. My faults are displayed for all to witness. I let myself bleed, sob, whine, bitch, make people laugh, and find the courage to keep on because of the support that I get from my virtual family. I don’t feel as lonely, or as isolated. It isn’t about the stats, views, or anything like that. To me, blogging is a vital part of my life. I get to do what I have loved since I was a kid, surrounding myself in words, and creating something wonderfully awesome by using my ever fruitful mind.

I love grapes, they are nature’s candy.

There have been a few hiccups along the way. Nothing is perfect, not even blogging. I’ve had periods of time when the thought of writing has given me an anxiety attack. Sometimes, people are not kind or supportive, and would rather rip you to shreds instead. Such is life, I suppose.

The reason I keep blogging regardless is simple; it’s part of me now, ingrained into my heart and soul.