Keep bleeding, I keep keep bleeding love/actual blood/angry hormonal tears

Last night, whilst having dinner with my mother in-law & sister in-laws, I expressed concern about the fact my monthly uterus shedding hadn't occurred for a few months now. I also expressed concern that it was a likely possibility that I in fact needed to go to the fanny doctor & get my bits inspected........fast forward approximately 10 minutes later......

FYI Americans, Fanny = Vagina. NOT bottom.

The mysterious disappearing bleeder suddenly appeared from wherever it was hiding. I'm thinking it was laying on a beach somewhere in Hawaii, sipping Pina Colada's, reading erotic novels & staying the hell away from the water in case of hungry sharks. The joy that exploded out of me in that moment was embarrassing. I even made my mother in-law 'give me some skin'.

For all the dudes reading this, doing small vomits in your mouth because periods are major shithouse, deal with it. If you one day discover a used fanny bullet (Blake's name for tampon) floating in your bog bowl, I'm not apologising for that either. Blame the plumbing.

Evolution/God (which ever way you swing) created the female human form to bleed once a month just so we can get our vagiola ripped to pieces by pumping out your small human babies. We women folk aren't overly fond of this process but we deal with it because we have to. And quite frankly I would rather cope with this once-a-month bitch ass hoe rag, than have a stick thing jammed down my japs eye or have strange mans finger inserted up my a-hole to check for scrot abnormalities.

Now I believed that somewhere last night in rural Africa, a small tribe of saggy titted black medicine women were sitting around in a kumbaya circle, praying to little black baby jesus for my bleeder come back to me.

 Dear Black Baby Jesus, please help our friend Becky................

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Somewhere between getting up from my seat at the pizzeria & walking to the bathroom, some magical shaman dust came from the somewhere in the atmosphere & kicked started my bitch lumps. To those saggy titted shaman ladies, I am eternally grateful for this aching back, & stomach & for crying last night for an hour about nothing really after I'd shovelled a whole cheesecake down my pie hole. I'll take that, thank you.

Normally, experiencing my 'George' wouldn't be cause for celebration, but you got to understand that I had literally begun to except the fact that I was possibly dying of some serious kooka related disease because I hadn't had no 'George' for 3 months. Prior to that short stint of absence, I had it for 3 months then nothing for 9 months. Exercising apparently messes with the menstruation. As does losing weight & going off the pill. This triple threat hormone screwer has messed with my fanny bag & made it do some whacko shit.

But sleep freely my friends, all is now right within my bloody, angry world. The bullets have been restocked & are waiting with dear sweet patience for some action.

Now I am not a fan of the vag doctor at all. In fact I would rather eat a whole box of staples than let anyone, except my husband, near my lady beave. My sister & mum have both been telling me I need to go get checked out due to my mysterious missing periods, but I said fuck that & willed until I could will no more for my body to motherfucking bleed again. It seems my willing was not in vain.

 MR VAGINA DOCTOR FROM LEGOLAND

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Before we go any further I just need to clarify that there is no baby child growing inside my person. Even though my 3 year old niece tried to tell me on Saturday night that there is indeed a baby in my stomach & lay with her head on my belly talking to 'the baby' for a good 20 minutes. Every time I laughed she said the 'baby' was moving. Very amusing but shattering for the self esteem. Especially after I made it clear to her that 'baby belly' is actually just a personal tribute to my love of chips.

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 Here is why I won't go to the gyno unless I am dragged.

• There's only 3 things that should go up hoe holes. Dicks, faux plastic vibrating dicks (not a fan) & tampons. I once had to have an internal ultrasound. Not pleasant. The radiology lady stuck a long white pole with a camera on the end right on up there. She gave me the equivalent of a small face cloth to put over myself  then threw a box of tissues on my legs when she was done. I felt cheap, dirty & used. And I cried the whole way home because that was also the moment that I found out I'd had a miscarriage. It was a really bad experience & I ended up laying an official complaint regarding how I was treated.  I now have a phobia of white pole camera & anyone that wants to inspect my goon. This is also the reason why I want to donkey kick the gyno in the head when he comes near me with the spatula thing.
• It smells in the inspection room. Like vagina's & cleaning products. It's a fact that 'Flowers' don't smell like flowers at all. So whoever came up with the name 'flower' needs a swift haymaker to the face because they lied.
• I know people who have had bad things happen after seeing a gyno & I'm scared it's going to happen to me. I don't know when this high level anxiety towards dying began. I guess when you lose loads of people you love to angry acts of freaky death sickness, it makes you over cautious & slightly hypochondriac. I worry. And I wish I could make it stop.
• The whole legs up in the stirrup act is disturbing. I feel like I'm exposing myself in an incredibly un lady like manner, to a stranger. I know it's all business but there's something so invasive about having someone you don't know poke around down there without being allowed to have an orgasm/enjoy it.
• I believe my fanny is sacred. 

 I made a decision today that I am going to be a brave girl soldier & book myself in to see the nurse at our local family planning clinic. I won't go to my normal doctor because he is a dude & a fattest. I need to go somewhere I feel safe & confident. Although I can't imagine myself spread eagling for the doc at FPC without a fight either but I'll give it a crack. For piece of mind sake anyway. I need to make sure everything's in working order because I intend on living forever.

Keeping with today's theme, this month for my Winner Wednesday prize, I am giving away Season 1 AND Season 2 of my favourite vampire porn, True Blood. 

I bloody love this TV series. Even though I have missed all of season 4 due to me falling asleep every Monday night before it comes on.

In order to win, you must be a follower of my blog & comment your ass off on any of my September posts. I want to see a little picture of your face on the right hand side of this blog post your are reading. Every time you make sweet comment love to me, BOOM you get yourself an entry. Read the rest of the terms & conditions here.

Does anyone else out there in blog land constantly think they are dying every time they feel a pain somewhere in their body? Or deathly afraid of the Fanny Doctor? Please tell me I am not the only crazy one.

 Peace x

P.S I always wondered if sharks smell period? Cos we all know they can smell blood from a thousand miles away so one would assume the same rule applies. I've always stayed out of the ocean when I'm bleeding anyway just to be sure.

P.P.S For the easily angered sensitive people, I am in no way disrespecting saggy titted African tribe ladies. They are beautiful & spiritual & I wish they'd let me join their magic club.