Herbs of Shame

If you dye your thumb green, is that the same as being born with it? I canNOT keep my goddamn plants alive. Why is this so hard? People have entire acres of living greenery...why can't I keep six herbs going?! The cilantro will be laid to rest this afternoon. The basil is not far behind it.

Green extremities gives me a sudden urge to quote The Big Lebowski. "I can get you a toe."

I haven't felt much like blogging lately. The usual excuses and an occasional hatred of the internet all apply. When I would normally be totally open to blogging about things that piss me off, the things in question have been either overly mundane or not for general audiences. Like birth control. But then Rachel blogged about birth control and I find myself emboldened by this. Besides, I'm at my wit's end. They have an end, you know. It kind of looks like a frayed cable after a rat has chewed on it.

Anyone sensitive to TMI factors should just stop reading here.

My chestses have gotten out of control. They've gone the exact opposite way of the cilantro. I don't know what color that makes my thumb. It's all a very strange line of ponderance.

Anyway.

To put it subtley, I haven't been able to wear a top like this since around the age of 15 (when I wouldn't have been caught dead in one anyway):

Likewise, halter tops are forever beyond my reach. And even the IDEA of going without a bra makes my back hurt. Some of it is genetics.

But most of it is from hormonal birth control.

I've been on some form of it since I was a teenager. That's also how long I've been attemping to keep ovarian cysts at bay. I think they started around 14, back when it was odd for someone so young and they kept trying to blame my appendix. Silly medical professionals.

Any woman that's ever had an ovarian cyst burst knows that HURTS LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER. Any dude that's had an appendix inflame or rupture can get the idea. There were many trips to the ER. before realizing there was no point. Then doctors realized that the Pill could help prevent them from occurring, and I was all, "YES!"

Fast forward several years where several different versions of the Pill, the Ring, the Patch, the Shot and a witch doctor-brewed Tea were all tried with nasty nasty side effects resulting. And as any woman knows, when you change a type, you go through a weight gain and some mood swings.

So I was all "fuck this" and went off it. That lasted about three years...until last October when I went back into the hospital thinking I was exploding on the inside. Since then, I've already had to change the type of Pill once. Result? I need all new bras. But the current size has finally reached the 'not sold in generic stores' status. I've officially gone porn star-sized. It's extremely depressing. I don't even know where porn stars shop. There's not a large number of them in my circle of friends. Hopefully some of you do.

So there's my "poor me" rant. My choices are the equivalent of an appendicitis on a monthly basis or ballooning lovely lady lumps. And I don't like it one bit.

I'm sorry for any mental images that might have inspired.

And any small-chested women who read the above and try tell me to stop my whining...that women pay for things like this, etc. will be given a double espresso and a puppy to take home.

Wait, that's the wrong sign.