MONDAY
Wow...so there's no prescription required for the Plan B pill anymore?
For the benefit of any hermits who happen to surf by, Plan B (aka, "The Morning After Pill") can be taken by a woman in lieu of preplanned protection (i.e., condoms). If taken within 72 hours (?) after the givin' up of the goods, the fertilization process stops. Or something.
Consider it the halfway point between birth control pills and abortion.
I can't get over the whole casual tone in the commercial. And the catchphrase: "For the perfectly imperfect"?
Really?
No.
"Perfectly imperfect" is when you're drawing a cat eye with your liquid eyeliner and make one eye thicker than the other.
Foregoing protection against (STDs and) unwanted pregnancy because you can just "think about that tomorrow" is "perfectly irresponsible", Scarlett.
Whatever happened to responsibility? And a little friggin foresight?
Now we've removed the guilt from carelessness?
I mean...WTF, people?
A couple of years ago, the pill had to be prescribed by a doctor. I remember this because all of the annoying local abortion clinic commercials suddenly promoted Plan B. In particular, the girl in the tv spot for the clinic on 8 Mile excitedly exclaimed that they had "doctors on-call 24/7 to prescribe the Plan B pill just for you!"
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| It's about that time. |
So before I go off on this tangent I can feel brewing in my gut, please let me explain some stuff.
First, I do acknowledge that the actors in the commercial are adult-ish. But you and I both know that Women's Capital Corp. is banking (literally) on the gazillions of teens who'll need it more.
Second, I'm all for women's choice. It is my decision ...not my government's...how I live my life and what I do to my body.
Also, I recognize that (in some situations), this method of birth control has great merit. I watch Law & Order: SVU. And (embarrassing confession that may actually help someone else) I was recently prescribed it along with a battery of tests during a recently glossed over emergency room visit. And I'm thankful for it.
But for teenagers at home with no parents around and way too much time on their hands and that stupid Mike Jay song in their ears and Nicki Minaj teaching them how to twerk on Video Vibe...
...Seriously. That video came on all New Years Day....
Its just...I feel like...it's just too easy.
Ironically, it's too easy to get the pill, but the fallout can be complicated:
1. If no doctor's visit is required, there's no parental consent. If you're not old enough, just get your older buddy to show i.d. for you.
2. You don't have to tell your parents that you've been skankin' it up, so there's no chance of discovery or scolding or chasing you with a hammer or whatever parents do these days. Which is apparently nothing if a post pubescent teen can buy a morning after pill in Aisle 7 of the local Rite Aid.
3 .Without enlightened parents or medical folks, you're now self-assessing and prescribing.
4. If you're taking stuff you don't need, who knows what else you might be doing to your body?
I foresee a dramatic rise in the number of STDs.
See, this is why I'll never have kids. My uterus is literally imploding right now.
Am I being narrow minded?
TUESDAY
It's hard out here for a pimp.
THURSDAY
I went to see Dracula Untold at the dollar show yesterday. I'd seen it already, but it's 2 degrees outside (-16 Celsius) and my house temp won't go above 68. So, like a homeless person, I found my seat and hovered over my popcorn to steal the steam all hunched over with my coat all bunched up around my face.
Alone, cause that's how I like it.
But this couple next to me. Oy vey. They were in "couple heat".
They couldn't keep the stupid "new relationship" stench to themselves (theirselves? it's plural...). It was like they'd never been to a theater before. Eating popcorn was a damned celebratory event. As if the butter had sparkles. Recliner seats were some fancy new invention. Oh, and talking during previews was oh so cool.
And then they got all cuddly...which was gross...and I could hear the skin on his fingertips stroking the rayon on the sleeve of her shirt.
Seriously. I could HEAR. It.
Like nails to a chalkboard. Grating my ears. Every two seconds he would stroke her arm and my head would explode. I could hear it over the previews. Even over their whispering and giggling.
I gave them my Father's "I will murder you" glare several times, daring them to start some shit. But nooo. They couldn't see me over all the damn butterflies flitting around...blech.
I hate couples. Their incessant giddiness and inside jokes and stupid smirks insult my sense of maturity and intellect and independence. You look stupid. And it'll be over soon enough.
Calm your asses down.
SATURDAY
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| Wait...the spinach and tomatoes go INSIDE the egg? Sigh. |
Well, since I'm headed for domestication, I should probably start learning to cook like an adult.
I tried to make an omelet.
Okay in my defense, I've never made an omelet before. Why I didn't YouTube (my go-to for everything) a few tutorials first I'll never know.
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