Posts tagged as:

birth control

I Will Be Your Father Figure

May 14, 2009

I started birth control because my really abrasive Eastern European doctor, knowing I was sexually active, asked me what form of birth control I used at the time, and when I said, “condoms”, she replied with, “…and you think that’s wise?” Without giving me time for a rebuttal (which probably would’ve been something like, “your mom”), she had already written me a prescription for Alesse. I was on that for about one year and I remember none of it. I know I had a lot of sex and was thrilled that I didn’t have to mess with latex condoms anymore, but adverse side effects are hard to pin down because any irritability could’ve been attributed to the fact that I was living in Washington D.C. and hated the fact that the nearest Target was at least 30 minutes away in a car I didn’t have.

After my prescription for Alesse ran out, I wanted to try something different. Luckily, I had a new doctor who didn’t have a portrait of Mikhail Gorbachev staring back at me as I spread my lips for someone who, if given the chance, would’ve probably used a scythe instead of a speculum, so I was able to explore my options. My impulse was to try a new method with one of those trendy commercials of professional women dancing to contemporary music with their friends, staying out late and drinking appletinis because they can. However, that same impulse sometimes urges me to buy The Lizzie McGuire Movie on DVD and watch until the Cheetos run out, so I squashed it immediately and just stuck with a prescription for Yasmin. I was initially impressed with the purple velour packaging, and its defense against PMDD, but the honeymoon soon wore off once I realized that I hate velour and PMDD is complete and utter bullshit. I was on Yasmin for about 6 months, and stopped the day I vowed to never beg my then boyfriend to fuck me again.

I refilled what was left of my prescription nearly one year later, once I started a new relationship. At first, we were both thrilled at the idea of being able to fuck anywhere with little to no preparation. However, as tension grew between us, it became apparent that the birth control was altering my mood and causing us to have more conflict than what would be normal for two people, one of which was still living with an ex, the other who was out of the dating game for years and therefore having a hard time figuring out how to make room for someone else in their life. If this sounds off to you, you’re onto something because it’s more laughable than David Hasselhoff’s music career. Our problems eclipsed the Hindenburg in explosiveness, because I needed constant support and reassurance while he was used to a solitary life of Corn Flakes and The West Wing.

hasselhoff_with_puppies

We both bickered back and forth about the fate of my uterus, he cited some of its negative side effects and I resisted, knowing that it was of no consequence for me to go off birth control, but a good feminist didn’t listen to any man (this, I’ve learned, is more popularly known as shortsightedness). While I didn’t believe that birth control was entirely to blame, it was the only bargaining chip I had and the only way I could conceivably excuse myself for being a major cunt, so I quit taking my pills. I didn’t feel optimistic about anything at that point, knowing that it was very possible that we just weren’t compatible and were going through a trial of heartbreaking hopelessness, resting our expectations on the elimination of a dose of hormones.

Of course now I realize that our respective emotional IQs didn’t even add up to cover bus fare, but at the time, we needed something to control and choosing whether or not to take a pill was the easiest option. We were simply avoiding the inevitability of actually having to talk to one another and in the process, putting our concerns and insecurities out on the table. One of the hardest things I’ve had to do is share with someone who could identify my pubic hair in a lineup that I was irrationally afraid of being cheated on or worried that our relationship would morph into a sexless and tepid platonic bond. For me though, I knew I had to do it to explain my derisive outbursts, because ultimately it would’ve been even more difficult to watch a relationship that I truly cared about unravel due to my own inability to be an adult and claim my own, sometimes grotesque, humanity.

I’ve recently gone back on birth control, this time with Ortho Tri-Cyclin Lo, which is a low dose pill that should produce fewer side effects. It’s understandably a sensitive subject in my relationship, but it was openly discussed and for the first time in my reproductive history, I’ve been able to make a command decision to do what’s best for me and my individual circumstances. I don’t necessarily relish the thought of putting synthetic hormones into my body, but I feel it’s the right choice to make as someone who will soon be voluntarily and indefinitely unemployed. I know that being pregnant and broke in movies means that you can have a baby in Wal-Mart and somehow meet the love of your life, or at the very least Seth Rogen will show up to smoke pot and rent a shitty apartment for you to live in, but something tells me I won’t be so lucky.

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SILS: Plan B

May 3, 2009

I had to get Plan B today, which is why this post is really late. I’m sorry, but I had to choose between delaying this post or my period and something tells me that $26 and a plastic crab shaped plate don’t qualify me for motherhood, so here we are. I guess it’s a moot point though because clearly, I didn’t even have any material until my cervix got into the business of devouring condoms.

So, I’m doing what I normally do. Only, I’ve added lube this time because sometimes it’s like my vagina is a pair of Isotoners and the dick is OJ Simpson’s hand and then eventually, people are outraged because someone got away with murder based on a catchy rhyme. I’m moving along with a particular favorite of mine, where I basically squat over the dick and use the strength of my thighs to bounce up and down. It’s effective, but it’s brutal on my legs and so after about 5 minutes, I’m ready to strangle my boyfriend and hope that he finds it sexy enough to blow his load. Anyway, he finishes after I desperately recount some of my filthiest fantasies, as I try to pretend that my legs aren’t burning like one giant herpes outbreak. In my haste to confirm that I would, in fact, walk again, I failed to notice that the condom had come off inside of me. I was relieved that after essentially fisting me, my boyfriend was able to remove it, but it meant that I had to put on pants to go to the pharmacy, which is the real tragedy of this whole thing.

Before leaving, we called to confirm that Plan B was in stock and that we would not be denied for being fornicating heathens, and established that although we were going to hell, we would be able to at least elect to opt out of the procreation raffle. On the way there, I was calm and mostly worried about showing up with no makeup and wet hair, imagining that the pharmacist would refuse us convinced that no one would fuck me while looking like Michael Jackson. Regardless, we got our Plan B and it was easy and painless. Unlike the first time I had to get Plan B, when the pharmacist looked at me like I was the one to hand over the nails at the crucifixion, causing me to walk away shamed and embarrassed.

The thing is–there’s nothing to be ashamed of if you find yourself in a situation where you need Plan B. Unfortunately, it’s been skewed that way, and the fact that it’s commonly referred to as the ‘abortion pill’ doesn’t help. Used responsibly, Plan B is an effective method in preventing pregnancy in the case that routine birth control methods have failed, or if none were used at all.

The moral is: keep fucking, keep loving and always be careful if you are trying to be the Hercules of cock.

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