I love the Vagina Monologues. Eve Ensler is a personal hero of mine. If you haven't seen them I recommend it. Heck, get the book, perform it yourself, and give all the proceeds to a women's shelter. I've got the book and a video version and I can't get enough of it.
I had my first women's doctor exam today and it made me think of my favorite monologue: The Angry Vagina. When I had the pleasure to see this performed at William and Mary the actor used a British accent. I think it works very well for this piece so that's how I imagine it.
It's extremely vulgar, but if you can get past that, I hope you find things that you can enjoy about it.
oh, and if my vagina could talk it would say: "I am the essence" and it would wear Audrey Hepburn's beatnik outfit from
Funny Face.
My Angry Vagina*
(a monologue originally written for Whoopi Goldberg)
(* In performance, this title is normally not read aloud)
My vagina's angry. It is. It's pissed off. My vagina's furious and it needs to talk. It needs to talk about all this shit. It needs to talk to you. I mean what's the deal — an army of people out there thinking up ways to torture my poor-ass, gentle loving vagina. Spending their days constructing psycho products, and nasty ideas to undermine my pussy. Vagina Motherfuckers.
All this shit they're constantly trying to shove up us, clean us up — stuff us up, make it go away. Well, my vagina's not going away. It's pissed off and it's staying right here. Like tampons — what the hell is that? A wad of dry fucking cotton stuffed up there. Why can't they find a way to subtly lubricate the tampon? As soon as my vagina sees it, it goes into shock. It says forget it. It closes up. You need to work with the vagina, introduce it to things, prepare the way. That's what foreplay's all about. You got to convince my vagina, seduce my vagina, engage my vagina's trust. You can't do that with a dry wad of fucking cotton.
Stop shoving things up me. Stop shoving and stop cleaning it up. My vagina doesn't need to be cleaned up. It smells good already. Don't try to decorate. Don't believe him when he tells you it smells like rose petals when it's supposed to smell like pussy. That's what they're doing, trying to clean it up, make it smell like bathroom spray or a garden. All those douche sprays, floral, berry, rain. I don't want my pussy to smell like berries or rain. All cleaned up like washing a fish after you cook it. I want to taste the fish. That's why I ordered it.
Then there's those exams. Who thought them up? There's got to be a better way to do those exams. Why the scary paper dress that scratches your tits and crunches when you lie down so you feel like a wad of paper someone threw away? Why the rubber gloves? Why the flashlight all up there like Nancy Drew working against gravity, why the Nazi steel stirrups, the mean cold duck lips they shove inside you? What's that? My vagina's angry about those visits. It gets defended weeks in advance. It won't go out of the house. Then you get there. Don't you hate that? "Scoot down. Relax your vagina." Why? So you can shove mean cold duck lips inside it. I don't think so.
Why can't they find some nice delicious purple velvet and wrap it around me, lay me down on some feathery cotton spread, put on some nice friendly pink or blue gloves, and rest my feet in some fur covered stirrups? Warm up the duck lips. Work with my vagina.
But no, more tortures — dry wad of fucking cotton, cold duck lips, and thong underwear. That's the worst. Thong underwear. Who thought that up? Moves around all the time, gets stuck in the back of your vagina, real crusty butt.
Vagina's supposed to be loose and wide, not held together. That's why girdles are so bad. We need to move and spread and talk and talk. Vaginas need comfort. Make something like that. Something to give them pleasure. No, of course they won't do that. Hate to see a woman having pleasure, particularly sexual pleasure. I mean make a nice pair of soft cotton underwear with a French tickler built in. Women would be coming all day long, coming in the supermarket, coming on the subway, coming happy vaginas. They wouldn't be able to stand it. Seeing all those energized, not taking shit, hot happy vaginas.
If my vagina could talk it would talk about itself like me, it would talk about other vaginas, it would do vagina impressions.
It would wear Harry Winston diamonds, no clothing, just there all draped in diamonds.
My vagina helped release a giant baby. It thought it would be doing more of that. It's not. Now, it wants to travel, doesn't want a lot of company. It wants to read and know things and get out more. It wants sex. It loves sex. It wants to go deeper. It's hungry for depth. It wants kindness. It wants change. It wants silence and freedom and gentle kisses and warm liquids and deep touch. It wants chocolate and trust and beauty. It wants to scream. It wants to stop being angry. It wants to come. It wants to want. It wants. My vagina, my vagina. Well...It wants everything.
I thought my tree turned out very "Dr. Seuss-esque" this year. The topper is just some spray I got from work last year when every thing went 90%. I just tied it together with some ribbon.
This is one of four huge red bulb ornaments I got for $1.50 at Lowes. Score.
This is probably my favorite Pier 1 ornament this year: my cute little moose.
This is my German pickle ornament. Sadly, I was the only one who could find it. Since I was also the one who put it on the tree I couldn't get a prize. Oh well.
So far this is what I've gotten done for Steven's stocking. That snowflake took me forever to cut out! It is actually two overlapping pieces. I have a feeling it's going to take me forever to do the bead-work too. I have all the supplies I need for it so that's a start.
This is my "smile-for-the-camera--Oliver--and-make-Mommie-happy" face. Needless to say, he wasn't impressed.
I know I don't have kids but that doesn't stop me from keeping up with the latest toys. Tonight Steven and I were going through the toy section at Target and we stumbled upon the Wall-E game for Leapster. 
(Elvgren, my favorite pin-up artist)
My grandmother, and crafting hero, had a tradition where she made everyone in the family a stocking. When she was still well the whole family met up at her house for a huge Christmas celebration. Aunts and uncles and brothers and sisters and cousins that I haven't seen in years used to come. Basically, it was my favorite time of year and my Maw-Maw is the reason I love-love-love the holidays so much.
I ended up doing a silhouette of Jane Austen! I'm such an English dork and I love it!
