The Scented Tampon

This blog is dedicated to my beloved and dear roommate Erin:

I was on the phone a little big ago and Erin sent me a text message that said hey can you blog about how awkward scented tampons are? Definitely, in fact, I've had the same thought about them for a long time. The scented Tampon: WHAT is your ultimate purpose anyway? The thing is I pretend like they are an obsolete thing that no one uses, but then I get the random awkward moment where I ask a friend if I can borrow a tampon and she hands me a cardboard stick of flower smelling shit. You know, the male part of the world already has this horrid perspective on PERIODS, TAMPONS, EW GROSS. I find it funny that two gender flipped questions that are always asked are: 1. To a girl: Have you ever bought condoms? 2. To a guy: Dude, have you ever bought tampons, gross. So men just absolutely mentally shut down over periods, babies, tampons, etc...here's what I think: The scented tampon conveys that periods just are the absolute grossest thing of life. I've been around blood on multiple occasions in my life and quite honestly it doesn't have an odor, so why are we selling lilac flavored tampons? It's not like when someone falls and cracks their head someone yells QUICK get the fire lily scented gauze pads before this shit smells up the room. No, absolutely not. Blood doesn't smell and ladies, if you're showering on a regular basis, the scented tampon has got to go. It ruins my day when I forget a tampon and I end up borrowing one from a friend. For the rest of the day when someone asks me how my day's going, I just want to say well I think my flower bed is coming in nicely but I'll let you know after I re mulch in a few hours. How about those girls who send their boyfriends to buy tampons? Are they standing in the isle on the phone whispering yeah honey, did you want scented or unscented? Listen dude, I've seen you buying them and I've seen you grab the biggest box of magnums on your way out so we don't think you're losing your masculinity buying rolled gauze for your girlfriend's monthly natural disaster. Scented tampons: No thanks.

Redbull Gives me Wings

You know, a lot of people these days ask me if I am passionate about anything besides Lady Gaga? Cynically, I usually say no, however come to think I'm really passionate about a dear friend of mine these days: Miss Redbull. I love the way it tastes and how the can fits perfectly into my abnormally small hands. Whether she and I casually spend time working at my desk together or I dress her up with a splash of Vodka, we roll together, unconditionally, daily. Chilled. Unchilled. I don't discriminate. I think Redbull could hire me to be a spokeswoman at this point. I can picture the new and improved slogan: I wanna hold em (Redbull) like that Abby does on days. Perhaps I'll even write a cover inspired by Poker Face called My Redbull Face. I used to admire the slogan of "Redbull gives you wings, " but I recently made a treacherous realization that has turned me away from my reliable friend. Redbull gives you wings...**If I could type in small font with that underlying message that credit card companies manage to slip by us all, I would and this is what it would say** Warning: Redbull gives you wings, as in wings of an angel because you are now at risk for Type II Diabetes and you're probably experiencing heart palpitations and approaching death. Redbull Co. is in no way responsible for fatality. So the Lady Gaga obsession has surpassed old and my second passion is slowly deteriorating my health and I'm experiencing heart palpitations, now what?

My third passion, the gym. I love a good self induced ass kicking session and then sitting in the sauna knowing that I am losing water weight and even though it'll return tomorrow, I'm going to be one pound lighter on that scale in 10 minutes ;). But as everything in life, there's some issues with the gym for me lately. There is always a different girl within a close proximity of me talking on her cell phone while "casually" gliding her not so toned legs back and forth on the elliptical. Like I'm sweating to death and awkwardly collecting a puddle on my exercise machine, sorority girl next to me is working her thing and looking like she's approaching being able to wear a 6x again, and Biggest Loser wannabe two people down is working hard today but not so much tomorrow. BUT, bitch a couple machines down is on the phone. Here's the best part, she's usually nagging to some friend on the phone in a manner of "LIKE OMG why the f*ck doesnt he want to spend more time with me? Like I am just so good to him and he just isn't answering my calls." Newsflash honey, based on the fact that you are screaming on the phone AT THE GYM, ON THE ELLIPTICAL, I can't even imagine why he isn't calling you back. I find this scenario the most obnoxious at the gym second to Asians wearing blue jeans while they pump iron. I have to say though, these oblivious bimbos encourage bonding among other disgruntled girls. We all exchange looks that basically say: Yeah girl, that bitch really is screaming on the phone, I'm annoyed too, just keep sweating. I think one day I'm just going to do something really obnoxious and see if anyone takes note or shoots me dirty looks. What if I go to the gym today, move the bicycle close to the wall, plug my lap top into the wall, hook my blue tooth onto my ear and get peddling while obviously working up some serious line of business. I might check your facebook, tweet "Working out," and check my e-mail all while riding that bike. Give me a call, I'll have my bluetooth on, lets talk about who you shacked with last night and OMG why isn't he answering your calls today? Do people answer calls at church yet? Just curious.

Anyway, Redbull stopped giving me wings and bitch on her cell phone is ruining my work out aura. I guess I'll just have to drink water and stop working out. Lame. Atleast it's going to be 80 degrees ish today.

The Little Red Composition Book

To all of my virtual followers, I felt that the best way to conclude this trip was an authentic blog that speaks more than my facebook status. As I was showering, I had a thought that my blog was currently only a one hit wonder and that was not up to my standards.

As some of you know, this short, but sweet spring break trip was a spontaneous last minute decision. They say "third times a charm," and I usually say, bull shit...but this was my third attempt at making spring break plans. Prior to the planning phase that lasted through one wretched public health lecture, the four of us had been talking about taking some elaborate trip for months, but it just never seemed that we'd make it work because Uncle Sam and the US Navy are calling for me after graduation. Amy called me one night and said, "we're going on spring break and we're getting shitty." You couldnt get down on one knee and say something more near and dear to my heart. Naturally the other two girls got on board after Amy and I made the commitment. The planning phase: Where in Florida can we go that is cheap but is not Panama City Beach? Daytona, done. Yep, this hotel is trashy and cheap enough, booked.

After driving 14 hours through the night, backtracking for one hour because I didn't like the route we were traveling, 4 tanks of gas, a bag of carrots and celery and about as much Lady Gaga as I could fit in, we arrived at our final luxurious destination: Daytona Beach, Florida. We checked into our hotel at 1:00 pm, popped a bottle of high class Cook's bubbly by 1:05 and literally went down to the pool deck drunk by 1:30 pm. 14 hours later, we had met our match, Mike the Cab Driver. When Mike picked us up from our hotel on our final night out he stated "yeah they called and said Mike, you have a personal at DBR." Sounds like a true spring break themed statement, but it was just our cab driver gloating over the four hot bitches he picked up three nights in a row. Speaking of spring break statements, these Floridians didn't understand my humor when I was standing in line one night and said who do I need to take out back and b**w to get into this bar faster? The guy directly behind me said, I cannot believe she just said that, most of you would say, I can.

Four short nights and we've documented all our best statements and stories in a small red composition book. A small souvenir that will forever hold hysterical memories. Each morning we awakened to a different girl in the group giggling in her bed with a hilarious story, pieced back our night and made some red composition entries. Perhaps they wouldn't humor others as much as they have us, but its the type of memento that makes you smile on the outside while you feel some sort of sentiment and sadness within that it's all over. A trip that I couldn't have ever anticipated being this hilarious and relaxing, it succeeded all our expectations and alcoholic needs. It's times like these that we reflect on approaching our next phase of life, which all four of us are starting new incredible journeys soon and are thankful that we fit in this ridiculous trip. Although it's not our final rally, it's a memory that we'll share with those to come for many years. I've been waiting four years for that college moment that truly depicts the simple fun and friends that we're suppose to carry for years and I feel this trip concludes college well for me. So as we raise our glasses for our final toast of Spring Break 2010, we toast to eachother for the hilarious memories and the reason we know we won't let our children go on spring break. This is Amy, Kylie, Jamie and Abby signing out. Thanks for sharing our spring break with us.

P.S...A little taste of our composition book:

Kylie asks the boy we deemed "yellow shirt boy" to buy us drinks, it was free drinks for ladies all night.

Amy asks cab driver if he takes credit, no response..tires screech and he was gone.

Abby asks cab driver what his day job is, he told us he worked with reptiles and Amy drunkenly tells him that he really needs to get his tetanus and Hepatitis B vaccinations.

An employee came and yelled at us for being too loud, Abby got really pissed off when she realized he was wearing a transformers belt.