All posts for the month October, 2014

Tour de Cramps

Published October 28, 2014 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

Here’s a fun fact: Even after you stop getting your period – women still cycle together. That’s right – you don’t even have to own a blood bike anymore to ride off into the crap-set with another girl.
I mean – no one was more excited than me to stop menstruating at the ripe old age of 53 – no one. I was so thrilled at the death of my vagina that I threw it a party and registered at the White Pants Store. But to my chagrin – the joy has been short lived – and all because I sit in a room all day with a vibrant young woman named Janae. Bitch.
It happened slowly at first so I didn’t even realize it. Once a month I’d get ravenous. Then the next week I’d be exhausted. Then the following week I’d be bloated. Now normally this would constitute a typical month in the life of Heidi – or at least – three typical things you can always hear me say – I’m starving, I’m exhausted, I’m fat. In fact – I say those three things so often I should just change my name to that already. But then I realized – these feelings were timed the way my period used to be – you know – where you have that one week a month where you don’t feel like a hungry sweaty gorilla? How is this possible I thought? In the beginning it just seemed like I was still having Phantom Periods. Like a person who’s lost a limb but still feels it? Maybe that’s what my menstrual cycle was going through. Maybe my body missed having a period. Stupid body. But month after month it continued to be there. And that’s when I started doing the math and found out that my 1 + Janae’s 1 = me being fucked. Sure there’s no death scene in my pants at the end of this period piece but I get all the other hideous crap I was so thrilled to be rid of. Just the other morning as I was eating a toasted English muffin with peanut butter, followed by a bowl of berries, followed by half a cronut, followed by two pieces of matzoh with butter, followed by a bag of SunChips – Janae looked over at me with a sad face and said – “Sorry, we’re getting our period.” Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. This is so not fair people and I am here to tell you – I knew God was a dude.
I’m not sure what to do now because I kind of have to go to work everyday and I really like Janae but this is beyond the downside of a job – this is workplace harassment at its worst and I don’t think HR would take kindly to me reporting this behavior. “Uhm, Janae keeps giving me her period.” I don’t know if there’s some kind of workman’s comp claim I can make but I did not wait almost fifty years to finally be rid of something only to get it right back. Nobody asked for the bloody boomerang people!
I’m the kind of person who does not shy away from drastic solutions to fix a problem. I bought a new car when my old one had a flat tire. I cut off my boobs when my shirt buttons wouldn’t close. I quit drinking when I kept falling down. Wait – that last one was probably a good idea, but if this phantom period stuff keeps up I am so taking out my lady parts. Who needs this thing? It doesn’t write, paint, or create anything and the only thing it seems to know how to reproduce is someone else’s period.
For now, I’m going to sit in a hermetically sealed room at work with a microphone and shout my jokes through a speaker box. Maybe if I put my box in a box this long national nightmare will end. Damn you Janae.

The Real Halloweenie

Published October 26, 2014 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

I thought I was cool. I really did. I believed the hype I’d been hearing about myself – that I am a fairly happening person – and that I can hang with the kids and be counted among the hip. But last night I proved, I am not only the least cool person on the planet – I also made it crystal clear to everyone who knows me – that I don’t get out enough.
I was invited to a Halloween party at a friends house – which I have now learned is called a House Party – which I have now learned has very specific cool rules when it comes to “when to arrive.” Now I am someone who hates late. If I am supposed to meet you at 8 – I’m there at 7:59 – unless there is a horrible problem – like someone died, or I have dog barf on me, or there’s traffic or I can’t find the right lipstick. So if you tell me a party starts at 9, I will get there fashionably late – like 9:01. So when my friend said – get there at 9 – I got there at 9. Not only was I the first person there. I was there before the host. If you want to know the absolute definition of nerd – be the first to arrive at a Halloween party in a Twister Game Board outfit – complete with hat and matching handbag and roll in to an empty house. Empty. No one. The fog machines weren’t even on yet. But I went with it. I didn’t think that much about it. I put my Near Beer in the fridge, went outside, lit up a joint and waited. At 10 pm I was still waiting for people I knew to arrive. I made some new friends. No one discussed the early elephant in the room – aka me. Even the host didn’t call me out – so I thought – I guess people are just late tonight. At 11 pm some friends finally arrived. I asked what took them so long – and that’s when I found out – I’m a loser.
“What time did you get here?” my friend Carolita asked. The look on her face when I said 9 o’clock was the saddest face I’ve ever seen. She recoiled in horror and shame. “Don’t you know you never come to a party at the time they say it starts?” No people!! I didn’t know that!!! My friend Rene said – “Everyone knows that whatever time the party says it starts is the time for you to just get in the shower.” Fuck. Shit. Dammit. I need a redo. I tried to hide my shame. Carolita said – “Here’s how parties work. If it’s a black friend throwing the party and it starts at 9 and you show up at 10:20, they’ll be nowhere near ready and you’ll end up helping them set up. If it’s a white person and the party starts at 9 and you show up at 11:30 – that shit is over.” Carolita needs to write a party book. She couldn’t have been more right. I guess if I’d thought about it longer – I’d remember that parties never start at the time they say but even then I would have shown up at 9:30 at the latest and I still would have been an hour and a half before anyone else arrived. I had blown it – big time – and now everyone knew it. The chick in the twister dress – not cool.
At 11:50 I thought – I should go. The two people I was waiting for still hadn’t shown up. I figured they weren’t coming. So I snuck away like a dorky thief in the night. I stopped at the supermarket and got some ice cream and some pirate booty and went home for the real party – in my bed – high as a kite – wondering how this whole – “come late to the party” thing started. I mean – who actually wants to be LATE TO THE PARTY? If you want me to show up at midnight – put that on the fucking invitation people. I don’t have the kind of party math skills it takes to figure out what time I’m supposed to be there if you don’t just say it up front. Maybe someone should hand out a schedule, or give me an atom splitter or whatever it is that does the calculations that lets me know when the cool kids hour of arrival is. And for everyone who didn’t see me at 9pm when I was freshly dressed and ready to party like it’s 1999 – you missed it – I was amazing. Ask the guy in the kids Pterodactylus onesie. We had a blast. I rolled up to my house in my jeep at midnight with my ice cream and my cheese doodles just in time to see my friend Christian walking his dog. He literally fell over laughing at the sight of me. And that almost made me feel better. Then I told him what happened and he hung his head in shame – for me.
I really don’t understand the concept of showing up late. You can have just as much fun at 9 as you can at 11. And most people are just sitting around their houses waiting to go to the party or driving around the block until it’s an acceptable time to go in. Maybe they’re the fucking nerds and I’m the one forging a new path. Who knows. All I know for sure is – I’m gonna be so late to the next party I’m invited to – it’s gonna be the next fucking day. Deal with it.