“All those writers who write about their childhood! Gentle God, if I wrote about mine, you wouldn’t sit in the same room with me.” ~ Dorothy Parker
Tina Fey’s biography, Bossypants, isn’t a Pulitzer by any means, but it’s got meat.
Chapter 2 jogged a few magical childhood memories; specifically; the special ones that resurrect vivid details of going from Little Girlhood to Woo Woo Womanhood, and all the incredible little tidbits that marked that unforgettable, noteworthy moment. The question of “When did you first realize you were leaving your childhood behind and entering womanhood?" was asked to a selected group of women--
the group being racially and economically diverse. Their answers varied only slightly.
The majority of these gals recall “car creepery” and actually claim it to be that exact moment of entering the halls of womanhood. I, too, encountered what Tina refers to as “car creepery.”
You know, those times when you were just walking home from school and some dick-head drives by, rolls down his window and yells intelligent remarks like, “Nice tits.” and “Hey, baby, I’ll take some fries with that shake.” It’s hard to wrap my brain around the fact that a large majority of women claim that experience as their entering into womanhood. (It’s equally hard to wrap my brain around why the majority of women marry those dick-heads.)
Let’s just dive right in…
Uncle Tom (Time Of Month), Aunt Flo, A friend’s visiting, A snatch box filled with red roses, high tide, back in the saddle, ammunition, the beast, chasing waterfalls, Are you getting another monthly visit from an annoying relative?, code red, closed for business, the gift, on the rag, devil days, Goddess is calling, Happiness or I’m experiencing a lot of happiness right now.
My “happiness” arrived at age 12. I was with Britt Bales and the other Bible Thumpers from Oxnard Presbyterian Church. We had a play day at Magic Mountain in Valencia, California.
I was in love with Britt Bales. It was a first date.
I held Britt’s hand while waiting in this long ass line for the Log Ride.
My palms were sweating. My stomach; a 8”x 8” cage filled with fluttering monarchs. My knees were jello and my nervous excitement was killing me.
The idea of Britt Bales getting into that log and spreading his legs for me to sit in between them was more delicious than a Big Mac and fries.
I remember leaning back into his Izod-clad chest. I remember pressing up against “that area” of his Dockers and feeling what it might be like to have sex.
(FYI: We didn’t have sex back then because we were Christian teenagers in the 70’s, and Christian teenagers in the 70’s didn’t have sex because Jesus was always watching.)
My friend, Susan, and her “date," Jeff Jones, were seated behind us in the back of our log. Susan was perfect. She had beautiful olive skin that wasn’t too dark or too light. She didn’t scream like a girl or yell like a guy when we shot through the tubes of water in our “love log.” She simply muttered little appropriate exhales and sighs. It was because of her feminine perfection that I refrained from just totally letting loose.
The ride came to an end and that’s when “it” happened.
Jeff and Susan climbed out of the log, giggling and all dreamy-eyed at one another. Britt waited for me to get out of the log first, and as I did… BAM! That’s when I noticed lots of red liquid on the already water-drenched vinyl seat where I had been sitting. Britt climbed out and I remained frozen; mortified at the thought he might have looked down and seen “it.”
Of course, and this is the honest f*%king truth, I was wearing cream colored
Dittos. (which are back I hear)
Description: These were the first must-have label jeans. They came in a large array of colors and styles with names like "Hi-rise." They were so popular (at least in southern California).
I wrapped my sweater around my waist, grabbed Susan’s arm and headed for the bathroom. Neither of us had any “pads” because neither of us had faced this situation before in our lives. Yep, I entered womanhood at Magic Mountain and months before Susan Everett.
“Cigars” were out of the question for the same reason that sex was out of the question.
Pushing one of those babies up into the dark, dismal cave was most certainly a "Top 10 Sin" in the eyes of the Lord. Luckily, there was a machine than sold Maxi Pads on the wall and Susan had a quarter. And doubly lucky for me was taking the sweater; which had been at my mother’s insistence.
It never worked out for Britt and me, but of course that had nothing to do with my “experiencing a lot of happiness” on the log ride that day. It did, however, have to do with me experiencing a different kind of happiness in the years ahead though. ;)
Girls enter womanhood at various stages of their lives and as much as we hate to admit it,
there’s no way out.
My pal, Carolyn, a postal carrier, has enough material to write her own blog, fo’ sure.
She recently was delivering a package and after ringing the doorbell, a lady came to the door to sign for it in only her bra, underwear and a smile.
(Carolyn was glad it wasn't just a smile.) But I’m thinking that this lady either lives in a trailer park, or she was experiencing her womanhood at that very celebratory moment. Reaching our womanhood is when we toss out the Barbies and replace them with handcuffs.
Check this ad out on Craigslist:
Now evidently, Jay Pee’s are the best.
In the day, you just didn’t speak of your “womanhood." Straight up. My mom, like Tina Fey’s mom, bless her heart, handed me a bunch of pamphlets and told me to go talk with Ms. Utsunomya, my 6th grade teacher, about “this wonderful time in my life." (All I remember about Ms Utsunomya was that she was short, mean and walked like she had a corncob stuck up her ass.)
But that’s how we did it.
That’s how we rolled.
Seems now days, you just go online and ask Kotex for answers:
Hey... have a free ‘flowin day!~tpg