Merry Christmas

I don't have a lot of words right now -- but it's Christmas time, and I wanted to share one of my favorite things with you. (Like Oprah. Only ... not Oprah in any way, lol.)

This isn't really a Christmas song, and it's not especially chipper, but it's beautiful and I love it.

Merry Christmas, y'all.

Huh

I was computing away yesterday morning -- lalalalalalaaaaaa -- when the internet decided that it had just plain had enough. Which, okay, that is a thing, but I was in THE MIDDLE of a job application when it went kerflooey. UGH! Which is to say: that's why there was no post yesterday. Which was too bad, because I totally wanted to tell you this:

I had a dream the other night that I was going to a fancy shindig, and I was wearing a super fabulous green dress and killer purple heels. I also had a perfect purple manicure. I was aware that I was dreaming because the shoes were comfortable, and that doesn't happen with stilettos, so that made the whole scenario more interesting, especially when I realized: Apparently, I am taking fashion advice from the Joker. What's that about, brain? What's it MEAN?

Which was when I woke up.

Huh.

Anyway, I hope that you are not too stressed this holiday season, that you can feel all of the love being sent your way, and that you don't  discover that you have accidentally dressed like a DC villain at any holiday parties you attend.

Look Outside

I live right on a river in New Hampshire. My home is beautiful, but the views outside are really what make it spectacular. Living here has given me the opportunity to see fish, otters, muskrats, the occasional beaver, groundhogs, chipmunks, and SO MANY SQUIRRELS, all up close and personal.

While I love all of those critters, what has really kind of changed my life has been the birds.

So. Many. Birds.

When I first moved back to this area, I was walking outside when I interrupted a covey of quail. (And that, by the way, is your trivia of the day... a bunch of quail are called a covey. Who knew?) They were both extremely cute and unbelievably unafraid.  I stood there and they did their little adorable quail thing around my feet, pecking the ground and occasionally looking up at me to make sure I was still being cool.

On the outside I was being cool. On the inside it was more like this: "LOOK AT THE BIRDIES* THEY ARE AMAZING OH MY GOODNESS I CAN'T EVEN SQUEEEEEEEEE."

It was a moment.

Eventually, they scuttled off on their little feet, and I realized, oh, I am going to become that person.  I mean, I've always loved owls, but ALL birds? Birds were going to be a thing now?

Yup.

When I moved into this building, one of the selling points (aside from the fact that I was homeless, haha) was this: the property manager pointed out that a heron had a nest just downstream and it was around a lot.  Usually right outside my windows, in fact.

Sold. To the crazy bird lady.

I have herons, gulls, wood ducks, mallard ducks (I once spent thirty minutes watching a momma duck herd her ducklings about, and oh my!), cormorants, phoebes, nuthatches, cardinals, titmouses (titmice?), woodpeckers, chickadees, hummingbirds -- they come to my windows and drive the cat insane, but they always make my day seem better. Always.

For the past few weeks, we haven't had a lot of birds around. I don't know if it's been the weather or what, but it's been very quiet outside of my windows. We had some weather and the birds started to come back -- new birds I hadn't seen before -- so both the cat and I were happy.

This morning, I was a little depressed. Holidays, unemployment, health, blah blah blah. I stayed in bed longer than I usually do, and then finally got up so I could feed the cat. I did our usual routine: stop in the book nook, take a look out over the water --

-- and that's when the kingfisher landed on the window sill.

I've never seen a kingfisher out there. Not once. And I certainly have never had one show up only to stare me down, which it did. It was magnificent. Feathers puffed out in the cold, regarding me patiently.

I, on the other hand, didn't dare to BREATHE. Or move. I didn't want to do anything at all that would scare it away. I felt as though it wanted to check me out, and I wanted to let it.

It cocked its head to one side, made a little bird noise as if to say, "You'll do," and then flew away.

Y'all, I don't know if there's a lesson or a moral to this story. I do know this: looking outside this morning has set what was fixing to be a terrible day on a much better path, and I think I need to do that more often. So maybe, if your day is a problem, and you feel stuck and sad, you could try looking outside.

It might not help.

But it might.

*I had to take a picture of them and email it to my dad to confirm that they were quail. I didn't used to be as bird-proficient as I am now.

Chasing the Red Dot

Beansie, my beloved and still mourned cat of very little brain, loved very few things more than a nice long game with a laser pointer. She would chase the red dot tirelessly. She was also, more than once, convinced that she had caught it: she would pounce on it with both of her front paws, thinking she was holding it down, and then slowly, cautiously, lower her head down to the floor and lift one paw away, thinking, "I've got you now, red dot" only to discover that it was --GASP-- gone.

Since she was, as I have mentioned, a kitty of very little brain, all it took to raise her spirits back up was the sudden reappearance of the red dot in another location. One glimpse and she no longer was able to recall that she had a one hundred percent fail rate of catching the elusive dot. She only knew that she must chase it because this time ... this time might be the time! It could happen!

And if it didn't, well, she'd just go to sleep.

I've been thinking about Beansie and the laser pointer because the latest round of American politics feels an awful lot like chasing the red dot. I sometimes used to get the laser pointer out to distract Bean, or to herd her in the direction that I needed her to go. Need to get her into a room where I can shut the door behind her? Get the laser pointer -- she'll be so focused on catching the dot that I can get her to zoom into the bedroom and she'll NEVER EVEN KNOW that she's been hoodwinked.

Hmmmmmm. 

While there is so much that I am uncomfortable with in America's politics right now, I almost feel as though the president-elect IS our red dot. American politician are doing some increasingly horrifying things and we, as a country, are willfully blinding ourselves to horrific global events and we're just trying SO hard o catch the red dot. We can't look away from it. Oh, the president-elect is meeting with Kanye? KEEP YOUR EYE ON HIM! In the meantime, please don't look at Aleppo. Please don't look at the "qualifications" of proposed cabinet members or notice the laws that states are passing that restrict abortion rights. Instead: CHECK IT OUT. Dude's on TWITTER! What's his latest tweet?

Catch the red dot.  Don't look away from the red dot.

The thing that Bean never figured out (because 1) she was a cat and 2) she was an intellectually challenged cat) was that the red dot didn't really exist. It was not a thing that could be caught. Every time she lifted a paw to gloat over her successes, she found that she was not holding onto a damn thing. 

And I'm afraid that, if we as a people continue to act like my intellectually challenged cat, we're going to be left in the same position. If we continue to chase that red dot -- if we continue to focus on the wrong part of the story, both globally and nationally --we will not notice as we are herded into a place we didn't want to be and that place? Will be morally and spiritually empty.

We need to focus on more than the red dot.

Patience

The Fella is really, really patient. I know because I test the limits of that patience with some regularity. But how can this be? you ask. You seem as though you are the definition of "delightful" and "easy to live with"! Why thank you, but ...

Nope.

I'm a bit of a neat freak. I'm a perfectionist. I can be a stress ball because of anxiety.

Also -- and this is the super fun one -- I hate being sick. I hate it when I need help or someone to take care of me, so I will run myself into the ground until someone HAS to take care of me because I'm no longer well enough to take care of myself. Yes, I know this is contradictory, but I can't help it. It's part of my charm.

Of all of my, um, charming quirks, it's that last one that probably tries The Fella's patience the most. Having a very neat and clean house isn't so bad. Having your life partner completely in denial about a rampant respiratory infection until she reaches the point where she can't get out of bed? Notably less enjoyable.

Which leads us to conversations like we had yesterday:

"Are you not able to breathe?"

"Who, me?" (For the record, this fooled NO ONE. We were the only two people here.)

"Yes, you. Is your breathing not good? I feel like you're having a hard time."

"No, I'm good." (This pronouncement was followed by a facial expression that he describes as the not-smile. It's supposed to look like a winning smile, but my "opposite of a poker face" can't pull it off.)

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"No, I'm okay. I'm not coughing or anything. I'm just tired."

"And really cold?"

"Yeah... how did you know?"

"You're shivering. Please go to bed."

"But I don't --"

"YELLIE."

"I don't have time to be sick!"

"When has saying that ever actually kept you from getting sick?"

"This could totally be the first time."

"Go to bed."

"But--"

"Please?"

I went to bed. I feel better today. But the point is, should he have to ask me to take care of myself? No, he should not. Does he HAVE to ask me because I'm a garbage human and he is super patient? Yes, yes he does.

I feel like I won the lottery and he ... got a shitty door prize.

Roundabouts

Yesterday, I asked The Fella, "Hey, what do you want to do today?"

"Well, I have a doctor's appointment," he said.

"No, that's Monday."

"TODAY is Monday."

"No, today is Sunday!"

"Are you sure?"

"... well NOW I'm not!"

*****

I've been trying to build a routine for myself. I get up in the morning. I eat breakfast and have some coffee, and make a list of the things I want/ need to do, like attend to Afterwords.io (which you should totally be reading, by the way), and then troll the job boards and find things to apply for, and write a blog post, and snuggle with Lizzie, who inevitably wants to be in my lap, gnawing on the edge of my computer. 

It's the afternoons that get long and start to blend together.

*****

A word about looking for jobs: nothing will ever make you feel like you've chosen poorly in life like trying to find a job, because everything that's going to be posted? Is something you are in no way qualified for. In retrospect? Majoring in English was not, perhaps, the smartest thing I ever did. 

Hindsight. It's a bitch.

*****

So. The list completed, I begin to look for other things to do to fill the time. I play video games. I clean. I make candy (because now I'm obsessed with that). We had a Firefly marathon. I drink far too much Diet Coke. I've been rereading old Nora Roberts books because they all have happy endings and I need that in my life right now. 

And I worry. I try not to, but it's always in the back of my mind, a mouse gnawing away at any semblance of peace I am able to find. I will be engrossed in my book and it pops up: rent? Health insurance? Your meds are going to run out, you know... and then it scurries away. I can be laughing at something that happens during a movie and it runs out whispering, "You have bills and no income" and then it dashes back behind a corner.  It's worst when I'm trying to sleep, because then it can have a party. An "everything is wrong, you are wrong, you are stupid and everything is going to fall apart" party.

I don't believe the worry, mostly. I think worry likes to band together with depression and anxiety and they sing a song of lies, but ... 

But.

But I don't know what's going to happen. And it IS worrisome. So I snuggle down under the covers and try not to listen, but their chorus is very loud.

So I am very tired.

*****

And the days pass, all looking like each other, until I can't remember exactly what day it is. It's just another day on the roundabout, looking for and not finding my turnoff. 

I believe it will come. I believe.

I need it to come soon.

Things I Cannot Teach My Cat

1. It is neither friendly nor loving for you to stick a paw in my open mouth while I am sleeping. And while we're on the subject of my face ...

2. I understand that you want to sleep with me because it makes you feel safe and loved. However, I like to breathe while I am sleeping because that makes me feel like I'm not going to die. Please stop laying on my face. No matter how happily you purr, there is a chance that I will suffocate. If I suffocate, I cannot feed you. This will make both of us unhappy.

3. While I am on the toilet, I would greatly prefer if you did not a) try to get in my lap or b) stand on the counter and put your paws on my head, peering over me as though you are the captain of a ship staring out into the horizon. These are both off-putting.

4. The bubbles in my bubble bath are fascinating to you. I understand. I enjoy them as well. If you put your whole face in them and breathe in, you will sneeze. This will upset you. We do not have to relearn this lesson EVERY TIME I take a bubble bath.

5. Your tail is attached to you. That is actually why it is called "YOUR tail". No matter how sneaky you try to be, no matter how stealthy you are, or how small a space you chase it in, you will never get any closer to it than you already are.

6. Your mortal enemies, the squirrels, are outside. You are inside. You will never get outside. Attempting to tunnel through a glass window will not aid you in your Squirrel Eradication Plan. The squirrels know this. They are taunting you. When they go low, go high.

7. Your humans love reading with you cuddled up in their laps. That is wonderful. Your humans cannot read if you climb between them and their book and bat them every time they try to turn the page. They love this a whole lot less.

8. You may have noticed that you like to change positions as you sleep. I also enjoy doing so. If you are laying on my person and I need to change positions, it is likely because you are cutting off my circulation and I am about to lose a leg. Because I find my legs to be useful, I will likely shift. This is not to be considered a personal insult that involves retaliatory action such as squawking, attacking said leg through the covers, or sticking a paw in my mouth.

9. You do not belong in the refrigerator or the freezer. I understand that you think you do, but you do not.

10. When I am in the kitchen trying to do something like "make a meal for the humans" and you are irritated because you are dissatisfied with the brand new food I just put in your bowl, getting underfoot will only make you angrier because I will inevitably step on you. This will be unintentional, though I know that you do not care. Please stop doing this as it is terrible for everyone.

It's a good thing she's cute.

Community

You guys.

My hope for you, reading out there -- my Christmas wish, as it were -- is that you live among people as giving and generous and wonderful as the people I do. (Some of you? Are the people that this is about, so ... it's gonna get schmoopy up in here and I just need you to accept it.)

When I lived in North Carolina, I was lonely. I'd put myself in time out (it seemed reasonable) and I got some really good things out of that, like an amazing relationship with my parents which, as an adult, is kind of a big deal. You don't always get the chance to dive into your emotional closet, pull out the ugly and damaged bits, and mend them, but I did; as a result, I don't regret that time in any way. It was amazing and necessary.

But I didn't have a lot of friends, which was strange to me because I grew up with a community of people who were just ... there. Every time you turned around, there they were. All through preschool and elementary school and high school and in some cases? College! And grad school! You were never without your secondary family.  So suddenly finding myself without that was weird. Weird, and unbalancing.

Fortunately, there was Facebook. People who are all "social media is bad blah blah blah" don't know how much it can save you when you feel alone. I didn't have friends that I could go to dinner with, necessarily, but I had people I could talk to in an instant. I could feel like I was a part of things, even though I was nine hundred miles away.

Finally, I decided that I needed to come back to New England, and settle in my neck of New Hampshire. I felt like I belonged here.

And y'all -- you welcomed me. People I didn't KNOW welcomed me. The community embraced me. They didn't have to, but they did. Here, when someone knows someone who knows you? They offer you the shirt off their back.

So maybe I'm crying again (it's the first time today, though, so I'm winning), because ever since I said "Hey, I lost my job" the community here has been falling over themselves to help me. I've had offers of money, I've had people helping me to network, I've had suggestions and job applications and kindness and love and hugs pouring in from every direction that I look.  I anticipated sympathy. I did not anticipate this level of love and assistance and involvement.

I have the best life, job or no job. I have the best friends. And I have the best community, which is mostly right here but also? Spreads down to North Carolina and Florida and Texas. It goes up to Maine.  It extends to Japan.

I can't thank any of you enough for the love and help you have sent my way, so I will just promise to pay it forward.

Thank you, my beloved community.

Thank you.

The First Day

It is a Wednesday. It is snowing gently outside, the radio is on, and there is a steaming cup of coffee by my side. I feel as though I am getting ready.

But for the first time ever I have nothing to get ready for. 

I have been going to school or working since I was fifteen. That's nearly twenty-six years of get up and get ready and go. But as of today, I don't have a job. As of today, I don't have anything to do next.

I would like to be stoic, but I am terrified. The demons of self doubt are perched on my shoulders and whisper in my ears: What if I can't find something else? What if this happened because I wasn't very good at what I do? In fact, do I even know what I do? Will anyone want any of the things I'm good at? 

Then the cat jumps up onto my shoulders and rubs her face against mine and purrs. The demons are chased away by seven pounds of love. Whatever else, Lizzie B thinks I'm pretty awesome. It helps.

The other thing that helps is the amazing outpouring of love and kindness. I worry about the state of the world on a regular basis, but I need to remember how amazing people really are. I have never felt so loved, so cared for, and had so many offers of help and promises of hope. It's positive, and uplifting, and incredibly humbling.

So my plan for today is to clean my house until it's sparkly and shiny. Maybe I'll put out some more Christmas decorations. Maybe I'll treat myself to an extra long bubble bath. I am going to keep busy and get through this first day. Because the first day of anything is the hardest day. I will wear comfy clothes and be kind to myself. There will be tea. There may be wine.

I will stop telling myself that this is failure, that I am a failure. This is a stop on a journey. It is a time to rest and to think. I will rest for a moment and think.

And then tomorrow,  after I've seen that I can do this, I can be this person, I will start to look around and see where my next steps will take me. 

I've got this. 

It's the Little Things

I sometimes get excessively excited about what are, in all actuality, silly things.  For example:

Target Temptation

Yesterday, The Fella and I went to Target.  I love Target. A LOT. I always go in there for one thing and then come out with a cart full of stuff, and I know full well that I'm not the only person who suffers from this affliction. It's just Target. They have everything I want. (So does Kohl's, to be honest, but Target has MORE of what I want and generally for less.)

But yesterday, when we went to Target? I ... I still can't believe this happened ... but ...

I only bought the things on my list. I needed two things and ... I swear this is true ... I BOUGHT THEM. ONLY them.

We were standing in the checkout line when I realized what I had accomplished. It was like winning an Olympic event, but instead of getting a medal, I was rewarded with my own money instead of the umpteenth bottle of nail polish I didn't need (or socks and a sweater or another Christmas ornament shaped like an owl).

SO EXCITING.

Moana Mania

The Fella and I also went to see Moana this weekend. (By the way, not that Disney needs my personal endorsement, but GO SEE MOANA IT'S AMAZING.)

This was a big deal for me because I've not been to the movies in years. I would have panic attacks in movie theaters.  I would have to wait for the movies I wanted to see to be available on iTunes or Netflix so I could watch them from the well-lit safety of my couch, because even though I love me some Captain America, my love for him could not compete with the terror and inability to breathe of a theater induced panic attack.

The Fella, who likes movies, has been incredibly understanding of my "um, no no no no" reaction to the idea of going to the movies, but he also knew that I ALSO had anxiety about not being able to go to the movies. (Anxiety disorders are so very, very fun, in case you didn't know.) He also knew that I really wanted to see Moana when it came out, because I've been talking about it for ages. 

"You know, they remodeled the theater," he said. "It's a lot different. Some of the things that you find triggering are gone. Look," he said, and got out his iPad to show me how the number of seats in each theater was smaller, how the seats were set up, and that you could reserve seating. He also told me the seats were bigger, and the aisles wider. 

So I agreed to try, knowing that if I couldn't stay through the movie? He would totally understand. (And can I say -- he's just the best, y'all. Everyone's partner should be so supportive!)

I won't lie -- I had a bad moment when the lights went down. An intensely bad, "Oh noo I should not have done this" moment. But then I remembered to breathe, and to close my eyes for a moment, recite the phonetic alphabet to myself, and then spell some things phonetically. Like Mike Ohio Alpha November Alpha. Or ... Yankee Echo Lima Lima India Echo. Tango Hotel Echo Foxtrot Echo Lima Lima Alpha. (By the way, I have no idea why this works for me. It just does.) 

The moment passed. I was okay. And the movie ... well, you need to see it. I want to see it in the theater AGAIN.

Just to revel in the fact that I CAN.

Getting Saucy Up in Here

I like to cook. I've mentioned previously that I not only didn't used to enjoy cooking, but I was also terrible at it. 

Then I got real and remembered that feeding yourself (and others) is something that needs to happen with some regularity, and as long as I followed recipes, I was pretty good. I was afraid to branch out, though. I measured everything religiously, afraid to stray because if I didn't follow the recipe exactly, it might be yucky, and I have perfectionist issues.

I don't know when it was that I realized that cooking is personal. For example? I love garlic. One clove of garlic is how much you put in a recipe that doesn't CALL for garlic. Recipes that call for garlic? Probably need twice as much garlic as the recipe says. I also like things spicy, so I'm going to need more red pepper than a recipe calls for. Also, if there's cheese? Yeah, I'm going to add more cheese because there is NO such thing as too much cheese. 

So I began branching out.

And then I realized that I didn't need recipes anymore for some things, like spaghetti sauce. I have my mom's guidelines for how to make good sauce engraved in my brain, but I don't need to write them down -- and I don't follow them exactly. I like capers. I also like to toss some red wine in there. She doesn't. That's okay -- both of our sauces are delicious.

I made a huge old pot of sauce over the weekend. I froze half, we used some, I saved some for pizza, and I had lunch leftovers.

This made me stupid happy. But when a coworker said, "What is that? It smells DELICIOUS"?

I was even HAPPIER.

May the little things make you equally as happy as they make me!

You Knew This Was Coming...

... if you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you know that I'm firmly parked on the liberal side of the political spectrum.  I didn't choose to define myself as liberal. I choose to define myself as firmly on the side of all people and making sure that they have rights, and choices, and are treated fairly, so that makes me liberal.

Because of that, the results of the election hit me hard. I don't feel as though the president-elect is a person who sees people as people. I don't think he sees immigrants as people, I don't think he thinks of Muslims as people, I don't think he sees women as people, and to be honest, I don't even think he sees his supporters as people. It seems to me that he sees the world as a his personal playground, a chessboard, if you will, and the people who live in it are just pawns for him to toy with, move around, and discard at will.

I'm concerned.

I'm concerned because the president-elect has suggested that people who burn the American flag should be stripped of their citizenship and deported.  America is more than its symbols; if the destruction of a single representation of one of our symbols causes someone to become so unhinged that they are willing to trump our fundamental constitutional rights in order to preserve that symbol, I become concerned about not only his understanding of the constitution but also of what it means to be American.

I'm concerned because he seems to have tapped into and released some of the ugliest parts of human nature. He has given people permission to be their worst selves at a time when we most need people to be their best selves. He has normalized sexual assault and sexism. He holds xenocentrism as a value. He doesn't have an issue with racism and is, in fact, racist. He uses language that is inflammatory, outrageous, and offensive.

I want to have empathy for the people who supported him in his run, because I very much believe that they will require that empathy when they realize that the president-elect doesn't actually have them and their interests in mind. He did not run for president to make America great. He ran for president for HIMSELF. He has no political experience, he has no ability to control his temper or his outbursts, and he reacts to criticism with less grace than my two year old niece.

The people who supported him are going to have a difficult time. And so are the rest of us, the ones who did not support him, the ones who were afraid of what his presidency might mean for this country. To me, that means being more liberal than ever because what we need now are MORE people who are deeply invested in people. We need more people who will reach out past ethnicity and religion and gender and sexuality and immigration status and offer love and help.

So that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to speak and hug and help as much as I possibly can, whoever I can, whenever I can. I will not hide. I will not be silent.

What will you do?

Friday Randoms

I

"That would be HILARIOUS. And by 'hilarious' I mean potentially causing death or injury and also highly illegal."

"Your definitions. They amuse me."

II

"So then I found out that when you have a tonsillectomy? They BURN THEM OUT. Did you know that?"

"Nope."

"Do you think they use lasers?"

"No, it's probably much more primitive. Like, they knock you out and then a band of villagers bearing torches shows up."


III

"Dude, when he comes out of there he's gonna be CRANKY."

"Yeah."

"He needs carbs. Let's just throw cookies at him until he calms down."

IV

"I've come to realize that my issues with lipstick are really about the fact that I have stupid lips."

"What?"

"I mean, being a pretty shade of red? Only accentuates their stupidness."

V

"He needs to calm down. He needs, like a hot bath and a good book and a cup of tea."

"..."

"Oh wait, no. That's me. I need that."

That's It. Period.

I was going to start this post with, "Gentlemen, you may want to look away because I'm going to talk about menstruation" but then I realized that very notion is the impetus for this post. So hang on to your hats, y'all, because I'm about to give some real talk about periods.

As (hopefully) everyone knows, people who are born biologically female will likely eventually have a period. That's a thing. That's how the uterus works. Eggs get released, the uterine line thickens thinking "Oh boy! We're gonna have a baby!" and then the egg doesn't get fertilized so the uterus sheds the lining. It's actually not a huge deal, except for the fact that it can sometimes be painful, annoying, and somewhat messy. Big old whoop, right? A body doing what it's supposed to do.

So why do we treat it like it's secret and somehow shameful? I quizzed some of my biologically female friends* who are also members of the menstruation club and we came to the following conclusions:

• We have all been at work and needed either a pad or a tampon, tried to make said pad or tampon INVISIBLE upon retrieval and also attempted to tuck it away while walking to the bathroom. 
• If you have pockets, hide it in the pocket as unobtrusively as possible. Try to look completely innocent while you're doing this by somehow making a face that says, "Why NO, I would NEVER have a tampon in my pocket. What a CRAZY notion!"
• If you do NOT have pockets, but have long sleeves, try to hide the tampon or pad in your sleeve by squinching your sleeve down over your hand and holding it there, again making the "NOPE, no tampon here" face.
• You could bring your purse to the bathroom with you, but that's pretty much the same as announcing "GUESS WHAT IT'S PERIOD TIME" and no one wants to do that.
• If your period is making a surprise visit (and isn't THAT fun), and you have to ask a coworker for a pad or tampon, you will WHISPER your request as quietly and ashamedly as possible.
• After using the restroom, dispose of your feminine hygiene product of choice in a ninja-esque style by trying to cover it up with paper towels or toilet paper, so no one can see the evidence of your non-crime. 
• When you are in pain because of menstrual cramps, smile big and try to look pretty. If you cannot pretend that you are not in pain, and someone asks what's wrong, you should lie. Unless it's another period-having person, in which case you may quietly whisper what's wrong and then ask for a painkiller. 
• You can never, ever, ever tell a non-period having person about your period, because they will then blame all of your emotions on it, as though that's the only reason you ever have emotions. This will make you want to stab them, which will also be blamed on your period and not on the fact that the person you stabbed was being an asshole. 

We also came to the following consensus: this pisses us off. 

Where does it come from? Is it a holdover from separating the boys from the girls and having the sex talk? Why can't the boys and the girls have that talk together, by the way? All separating everyone does is make bodies seem scary, when let's face it: biology is not scary. Biology CLASS was occasionally a bit frightening when it came to things like dissecting an eyeball, but actual human biology, aka your body's going to do some stuff and you need to deal? Not scary. JUST LIFE.

I'm not going to be ashamed because my body is doing something it's supposed to do. So while I'm not going to make a banner for my office announcing my period, I'm also not going to hide maxi pads in my sleeves anymore, either.  It's simply ridiculous. 

That's it. 

Period.

*I understand that this is an awkward phrase, but I want to separate biology from gender, which is different.