Confession: I had an affair

Not while I was married . . . when I was 15.

I’m an only child so I always hung out with people older than me.  I’m very confident, athletic, and outgoing.

I knew when someone was flirting with me and I knew how to reciprocate, but my knowledge ended there.  So when my high school swim coach came onto me – I reciprocated.  I was getting the attention I craved and – DAMN!  he was a good kisser.  That was my introduction to sex.

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Confession: My Pee is Probably a Symptom

So I guess I’m turning this tampon debacle into a live-tweet kind of thing. Only in this case, it’s live-blogging.

A short recap: My Lady Bits are Not a Black Hole, even though I think there’s a lost tampon up there somewhere, and at first I thought I was fine, but upon further investigation I found out My Cervix Might be a Doughnut, and that I’m showing an array of symptoms and might die.

I’m here to tell you that I did not keel over in my sleep. So that’s good.

And I did call that clinic, which is also good, kind of —

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Confession: My Lady Bits are Not a Black Hole

I’m just going to dive right into this.

I think I have a lost tampon somewhere in the depths of my vagina.

*Disclaimer (that I purposely added after the initial shocking confession) — to those who are squeamish or uncomfortable talking about bodily stuff or private parts or women’s health, or tampons or periods or vaginas, I am not sorry. And you should continue reading. Because it’s about damn time we made this stuff okay to talk about. And if I offend any of you, why the hell are you here in the first place?

Photo Credit: Towe My / Flickr (CC BY-NC 2.0) This is a legit tampon holder called "the red flower of shame". Um, what?!

Photo Credit: Towe My / Flickr (CC BY-NC 2.0)
This is a legit tampon holder called “the red flower of shame”. Um, what?!

So here’s what happened —

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Confession: My Spam Secret

I have a confession to make.

I’m not quite as loved as I lead you all to believe. (Though, I don’t think I’m hated either, soo . . .)

We all know about those pesky spam comments that show up in our spam queue for us to, nearly 99.999% (okay fine, 100%) of the time, delete and curse the Gods over because we were hoping just one was thrown in there by mistake and was actually a real person saying nice things about what wonderful writers we are.

Photo Credit: Mike Mozart / Flickr (CC BY 2.0) The thought of this guy making and serving me this spam is more alluring than internet spam.

Photo Credit: Mike Mozart / Flickr (CC BY 2.0)
The thought of this guy making and serving me this spam is more alluring than internet spam.

Well, after immediately deleting them for a few months, I decided screw them. If they’re going to make me take time out of my day just to confirm that they are indeed spam, I’m going to use them to my advantage.

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