Scuzie!

There’s a point in every girl’s life when she forcibly violates herself. It’s called, Using a Tampon for The Very First Time.
For me, Using a Tampon for The Very First Time occurred to me not once, not twice, but THREE times before I got the hang of it.

Three days ago, at precisely 3:56pm, I leveled up from Using a Tampon for The Very First Time. It was amazing. I should have held a graduation ceremony and invited everyone I’ve ever crossed paths with. I should have hung up a banner that read, “CONGRATULATIONS SG, ON LEARNING HOW TO USE A TAMPON!” and served finger food that… looks like finger food. Ahem.

Honestly, honestly, I’ve never been prouder of myself. You know what they say about facing your fears and overcoming them? Well, this has probably been one of them. It’s always been kind of an unknown, mysterious fear. Like the kind of fear you develop from watching people whiz by on a roller coaster screaming their lungs out, but you have never been on that roller coaster before, and all you feel is an unexplainable fear gripping you as it gets closer and closer to your turn.

To me, the dangers of using a tampon have been shrouded in more myth and mystery than fact. My mom told me that if I used a tampon before I’d given birth, it would hurt like hell. I don’t know what that woman was talking about. Maybe the tampons in China are the size of babies?
My friend told me that if I used a tampon before I’d had sex, I would basically be losing my virginity. Unless she has sexual intercourse with her tampon, I don’t see how that works.

All in all, it was a glorious couple of days spent with me and my newfound friend, the Tampon. For once, I did not have to go around wearing a diaper during That Time of Month, which would give me a raw bum by the end unless I refrained from all movement. For once, I could go swimming during That Time of Month if I wanted to!

A man’s best friend may be a dog, but a woman’s best friend is probably a Tampon.

This is why we have girlfriends, to remind us of the important things in life:
Me: I need shoes.
WAF: You don’t need shoes.
Me: Shut up. I need shoes.
WAF: No you don’t. You may need clothes, underwear, tampons, or even birth control pills, but not. shoes.
Me: No. I don’t need any of those things. I am perfectly happy naked, underwear-less, and tampon-less. And I definitely don’t need birth control pills, because I’m not sexually active. But, I need shoes.
WAF: Oh yeah, you’re still practicing that thing called “abstinence.” How’s that working out for you?
Me: Fine. It’s working out fine. I like it.
WAF: That’s just because you don’t know what it’s like any other way. [Pause] Omg! I got my period!!! I think!
Me: Congratulations? Between being constantly worried that I might be pregnant and knowing for sure that I’m not, I choose the latter.
WAF: If you go around naked wearing only hot shoes, I’m pretty sure that won’t last long.
Me: Good point. I’ll buy some ugly shoes to balance it out then.

—

I had a job interview today, and as soon as the interview was over, I went shopping.
I didn’t mean to do it of course, but the Fairweather beside it was having a sale! I just had to have a little peek. Besides, I made a pretty good impression during the interview – surely, she was going to give me the job, right? Of course.
So I went into Fairweather looking for a dress to wear this weekend for SassyGirl in the City Part 2. Actually, I already have a dress that I’ve decided to wear this weekend, but I had to keep an open mind. What if there was a better dress out there, just waiting for me to take it home with me? One musn’t be prejudiced about these things after all.
I didn’t find anything (Fairweather’s clothes were never good enough for me anyways, I sniff), but as I was walking out of the store, I picked up a skirt off the sale rack and paid for it. What? I deserve a little indulgence, it’s going to be my birthday soon! Besides, I’m sure I got that job.
As I was walking towards the bus stop, I noticed a small wine store. I don’t have any more wine in my apartment, I suddenly recalled, and promptly walked in and bought a bottle of 2006 Muscat. How could I call myself a city girl without a constant stash of alcohol at home?
Then I checked the bus schedule and realized I still had another half hour. I’ll just go into one more store, I thought. So I walked into another clothing store, wine bottle in hand and everything. I decided I would just find a pair of shoes to match the dress I had at home. I didn’t see any shoes that matched the dress, but I did find a ridiculously cute pair of black stilettos. Come on, black is sexy, timeless, and functional! Who didn’t need a good pair of black stilettos, right? Then I noticed a couple colourful tops and dresses on the wall and decided to try them on, too.
Two hours later, I had both salesladies at my beck and call and had tried on almost every top and dress the store owned. There were at least twenty discarded items outside my change room when I finally emerged victorious with a stunning strapless dress that was perfect for a night out on the town. It wasn’t on sale, but I could always keep the tag on and return it if I didn’t end up wearing it this weekend right? I congratulated myself on being so shrewd and told the cashier to ring it up. Just then, I noticed a very Victory-Ford-esque dress on the highest rack and had to try it on. So I did. And it was adorable. Even the lady in the change room beside mine said so.
“How much is that?” She asked. I showed her the price tag.
“You have to buy it. It looks like it was made for you.”
“I know right?”
I look like Victory Ford, I thought to myself as I examined my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t think it possible, but I do. I actually look like the fictional fashionista herself!
Read the rest of this entry »

The last two weeks, I’ve been living the life of a true city girl – going for mid-day brunches, overpriced coffee, expensive dinners, and specialty desserts on a whim. How am I paying for this? By a magic little piece of plastic whose account balance I am not checking because I’m sure I’m almost maxed out and I don’t want such a depressing thought to burst my Carrie Bradshaw moment.

This past weekend, I was in The City and met up with two girlfriends (WriterAndFashionista and SlantedShanghaiSmile) for a little reunion. We met at WAF’s boyfriend’s house (actually, mansion), and in true Candace Bushnell fashion, we started drinking early in the afternoon, opening and pouring copious amounts of Soho (lychee liqueur) mixed with peach schnapps and OJ, rum, and white wine (in that order) for each other. We’d been planning to watch Sicko, but once the booze started flowing, we were happily chatting away, never leaving the kitchen counter except to visit the washroom. At first, the three of us were simply having a good time, smoothing over our time spent apart with alcohol-assisted conversation. Soon however, we were deep in girlfriends-commiserating zone, and the drinking took a turn for the dramatic. We began knocking back shots of rum instead of sipping on our peachy, lychee and orange juice cocktails, and before I knew it, we were flushed and giggly. We started talking about the boys in our lives, or lack thereof for some of us, and inevitably they started grilling me about MFL.

“Why aren’t you two back together?” They demanded.
“Huh? Why would we be back together?” I asked, blinking blankly at them.
WAF rolled her eyes. “AW, AW’s boyfriend, ALS, and I have been trying to get you two together since 2007!”
Still, I stared blankly.
“Remember? Bubble tea? Karaoke?” She shook her glass at me and the ice cubes clinked.
“Ohhh,” it finally registered what she was talking about. “Well I thought there might’ve been some hope there too, at the time, but now, nope,” I said decisively as I took a gulp of wine.
“What do you mean nope? You two are like meant to be together!” WAF exclaimed as she poured herself another shot of rum.
“Like Rachel and Ross,” SSS added helpfully, grinning as she swayed in her chair.
“I thought so too, but nope. There is no way. We are not getting back together. Nuh uh.” I was resolved. There is no way in a million years MFL and I will get back together, I told myself. Not only does he have a girlfriend, but I don’t want to get back together with him. No! Of course not! Why would I? I definitely wouldn’t!
“What if… he didn’t have a girlfriend? What if he dumped his girlfriend right now and came and asked you back? What would you say?” WAF persisted, as if reading my mind.
“Um…” I was suddenly thrown off track. “No, no, that would never happen. No.” I tried to regain my composure and my resolve.
“Ok, but what if? If he asked you out right now, would you say no?”
“Erm…” I squirmed in my seat, unwilling to admit that I’d probably reconsider. “I don’t know…” I darted a quick glance at SSS for help but she was staring happily at her cocktail and still swaying her in chair. “I don’t know.”
Exasperated, WAF rolled her eyes at me and gave up. I drained the rest of the wine in my glass and poured myself another.

MFL-grilling session aside, this was exactly what I needed. Despite how I’ve been filling up my time in Horrid City so I don’t get lonely or bored, I’ve been yearning some good company and good wine. And that’s exactly what I got this weekend.