My uterus made me write this

I don't like discussing politics (read: my distaste for them is not unlike being stuck in traffic, listening to a dog bark incessantly and smelling my neighbor cook curry ALL AT THE SAME TIME) but I will rant about it from time to time, specifically when someone says or does something incredibly stupid. Like Richard Mourdock. (Dick Moredick, see what I did there?)

I am so completely over all these GOP jags (and dems I'm sure but maybe they've finally learned to keep their yaps shut over shit like this) blabbing their giant douche holes about rape and conception and abortion and all that crap. OVER IT! It's my damn body, my damn uterus and my damn choice just shut up! Please. Let us ladies do our own thing. Abortion is not our first choice in birth control. It never was and it never will be. Pro-choice means just that. CHOICE. Plus, if men could do it Plan B would've been available over the counter since the '60s cause that shit would've been more important than the moon landing. Jackasses.

There are so many more important things for everyone to worry about. I don't need to insult your intelligence and list them because you're probably living them! This extremism is pulling our country places it doesn't need to go right now. Talk about things that matter. Talk about things the whole country can get behind. Just stop talking about my baby maker. She hates when you say mean things about her. And she really hates being told what to do.

At 32 I'm a grown up right...? (part one)

Because I sure as shit don't feel like it. I try to tell myself that other adults are faking it too. They hate paying bills, they hate waking up early to go to work, they hate responsibility, traffic, grocery shopping, doing laundry, meeting new people... pretty much anything that sniffs of obligation and importance.

Around this age I'm also doing a lot of explaining as to why I don't want children. Total strangers have insisted that I tell them why I don't want to force a giant living, screaming, clawing creature out of my vagina. There's your answer right there you insanely nosy person. The fact that I don't want a child, or to own property, or to even get married could in some circles make me out to be some kind of witch. Some circles of my own family even. (Don't worry, I don't hang out with that branch very often.) But not an actual witch that could turn kids into toads or swarm crops with locusts. Just an average woman who happens to speak her mind and belch a lot (especially in the morning and after going up stairs) and got burned at the stake for it. Or maybe I would be tossed off a cliff to see if I could fly. Or drowned with rocks. Oh, the possibilities are endless!