I went to the post office today. Do you know all the hoops they make you jump through before renting a PO Box? I’ve felt more at ease during a pap smear. But whatever. I choked down my discomfort and approached the woman with a sassy I’m-not-50-yet haircut so I could receive mail as Vagina Drum.
She immediately noticed that I, like a dumb ass, authorized my own proof of residency on the form and flatly told me, “That’s not your job.” Yeah OK I know that now, but it wasn’t her job to make me feel like Corky that time he got behind the wheel of a car and almost killed his entire high school. Unlike a pap smear, I couldn’t comfort myself with the fact that she’s probably seen much worse, because coming off as someone who is paying for her genitals to receive mail is like rolling out the droopiest set of beef curtains ever.
Eventually she handed over the keys and promptly told me she was going on her break (to fan herself, I guess) so I would have to seek someone else for help in the event that the keys didn’t work. Spoiler: they did.
Which is why I can tell you that I am now able to receive mail without fear of anyone coming to my physical address and stealing my Troll doll collection. The address can be found here or copied down here:
VaginaDrum.com
P.O. Box 6331
Bend OR, 97708
I accept all forms of fanaticism and contempt. Also a plus: drawings that depict me riding some sort of large cat while doing really cool and awesome things with Justin Timberlake.