Too Much Information, Vol. II: The Ring
Before I start this post, I have to apologize in advance for possibly not finishing this post. Why? Because of the man sitting near me at the library. I don't think that I've ever heard so many noises come out of one person...ever. We're not talking about your average repeatedly-clearing-your-throat-and-snorting-up-phlegm-in-a-quiet-library noises; he has serious digestion issues. The cacophany of sound coming from this man's body is so distracting that I've been forced to don some headphones and listen to streaming radio...and yet I can still hear him. I truly fear that I am going to vomit all over my keyboard (ha ha -- top that Bodily Function Man!). Damn, I have got to get my own computer. No one makes gross body noises at home. Well, no one except for Ernie when he does that hairball thing. But that's okay because he's cute; Bodily Function Man not so much.
Moving along...
So, it's time again for some personal information, and you only wish I were talking about the movie The Ring. Although making a movie about my ring might be just as thrilling. Doubt I could get Naomi Watts for it, though. She is, afterall, a blonde.
No, for me, The Ring has two meanings. To enlighten you:
A few months ago my boyfriend dumped me for no good reason (he acknowledges the stupidity of his actions); he's the one I'm still in love with. In fact, I think I shall refer to him as Boyfriend I Still Love, or BISL, pronounced like Bissell (which is a good name for him given his fondness for vacuuming). Good times. In May I started dating his best friend, who is the dude that introduced us. Yes, you're right: what a great way to win back BISL -- start sleeping with his friend. It was a short-lived thing that started out innocently enough and then ended with me screaming obscenities at the Ringed One in a parking lot late at night. That's the best friend -- the Ringed One. I've known this guy for quite some time. In December he was dumped by his longtime girlfriend (who was my idol, not just because she's extremely tall...she's a freelance copy editor, my dorky dream job) because he couldn't "commit." A month after they broke up, he went on a bender (which for him is three beers; big dude, but a lightweight) and got his penis pierced, hence the name, the Ringed One. Wow, he sounds like a winner -- goes after his buddy's girl, can't be in a serious relationship at 35 years old, takes drastic body-altering measures, acknowledges that he's "emotionally unavailable." I know how to pick 'em.
If I'm going to be completely honest, though, I have to say that I firmly believe every man should pierce his penis. That's all I'm going to say about that.
So, anyway, the first and only time the Ringed One and I had actual intercourse we didn't use any protection. I know, I know -- I must really want to be with BISL again. The next day I marched myself down to Planned Parenthood to get some good ol' Plan B and to make an appointment for an exam so that I, once and for all, could get some freaking birth control already.
Not taking contraceptive issues into my own hands goes against many things I believe in, namely, not getting pregnant. However, after I watched my freshman year roommate go crazy while on Ortho-Tricyclen, I just couldn't do that to myself. Then the girl who sat next to me in math grew a beard after getting Norplant. The Ortho-Evra patch was just too trendy for me ("Wee! Everyone look at my patch! I'm sexually freeee!"), plus it left behind all that adhesive goo. If there's one thing that I'm not about, it's goo.
Plus, it really pissed me off that I would have to spend upwards of $30/month to protect myself, when a dude had to, do what...fork out a quarter for a rubber? Did that condom require him to get a simultaneous prescription for Prozac, or cause him to gain weight, or make his acne go away? (no, wait, that's a good side effect...). I didn't want to blow all my hard-earned plasma money on contraception; that money was for beer, dammit. I also believed (and still do) that if I start paying for birth control, that means I will never have sex again. Ever. That's just the way things work.
I didn't give much thought about my decision until the incident with the Ringed One. Then I just felt like an idiot. I'm 24, for crying out loud, and after working with children for the last 7 years, I really, really don't want to have my own.
While reviewing the brochure on birth control from Planned Parenthood, I came across an intriguing method: The Ring, or more precisely, the NuvaRing. Maybe I am just birth control ignorant, but this one was new to me. IUDs, implants, norplants, pills, patches, shots...I thought I'd heard them all, but I was wrong.
A month later, when I told the clinician I was considering the Ring, she gave me a(nother) pamphlet to review (they just really love their handouts at Planned Parenthood, don't they?). The instructions seemed easy enough; I would only have to remove it once a month. How awesome is that? I always knew the pill wouldn't be for me (aside from the psychosis part) because I would have to remember to take it every day. I'm lucky I remember to go to work every day.
The sketch on the instructions showed a woman's delicate hands squeezing the sides of this ring-sized ring to insert it, and -- voila! -- that was that. A small, petite ring that I could perhaps wear on my hand, should I decide to make a bold fashion statement (ha, I could really show those patch girls!). "Sign me up!" I said to the clinician. I finished off my super-fun pap smear, knowing that I made the right decision.
At the prescriptions desk, I picked up a three-month supply of very large foil packets. Once I got home, I took a better look at my purchase. I was alarmed. Very alarmed. I could wear this so-called "ring" as a braclet. It was huge. How on earth would I jam that thing up there?
According to the instructions, I was to insert the Ring on the first day of my period. This was June 16; my last period was May 19. According to the math, I just had a few days to stew over this dilemma before all the anxiety of fitting this giant carnival ring in my nether regions would eventually pass.
Oh, how wrong I was.
No, no, gentle reader, I didn't start my period until last Thursday. July 14. What the hell happened there? I've been regular for 14 years and now -- NOW -- I'm irregular??? I actually had a dream last week before my period that I was finally able to insert the ring, but it fell out in the middle of the night and was all tangled around my feet -- that's how big it was. Every morning for the past month, I've opened the medicine cabinet, taken out a foil packet, and shed a few tears over the thought of putting it's massive contents inside me, all so that I would be guaranteed never to have sex again. It was sad.
But when the day finally came, I held my breath, pinched the sides of the ring, and -- POP! -- it was in just like that. I can't even tell it's there, and I haven't grown a beard or a third boob, yet, or anything. All of that fretting for nothing, except...
... in a few weeks, I have to take it out. I might need to invest in my own forceps.
Moving along...
So, it's time again for some personal information, and you only wish I were talking about the movie The Ring. Although making a movie about my ring might be just as thrilling. Doubt I could get Naomi Watts for it, though. She is, afterall, a blonde.
No, for me, The Ring has two meanings. To enlighten you:
A few months ago my boyfriend dumped me for no good reason (he acknowledges the stupidity of his actions); he's the one I'm still in love with. In fact, I think I shall refer to him as Boyfriend I Still Love, or BISL, pronounced like Bissell (which is a good name for him given his fondness for vacuuming). Good times. In May I started dating his best friend, who is the dude that introduced us. Yes, you're right: what a great way to win back BISL -- start sleeping with his friend. It was a short-lived thing that started out innocently enough and then ended with me screaming obscenities at the Ringed One in a parking lot late at night. That's the best friend -- the Ringed One. I've known this guy for quite some time. In December he was dumped by his longtime girlfriend (who was my idol, not just because she's extremely tall...she's a freelance copy editor, my dorky dream job) because he couldn't "commit." A month after they broke up, he went on a bender (which for him is three beers; big dude, but a lightweight) and got his penis pierced, hence the name, the Ringed One. Wow, he sounds like a winner -- goes after his buddy's girl, can't be in a serious relationship at 35 years old, takes drastic body-altering measures, acknowledges that he's "emotionally unavailable." I know how to pick 'em.
If I'm going to be completely honest, though, I have to say that I firmly believe every man should pierce his penis. That's all I'm going to say about that.
So, anyway, the first and only time the Ringed One and I had actual intercourse we didn't use any protection. I know, I know -- I must really want to be with BISL again. The next day I marched myself down to Planned Parenthood to get some good ol' Plan B and to make an appointment for an exam so that I, once and for all, could get some freaking birth control already.
Not taking contraceptive issues into my own hands goes against many things I believe in, namely, not getting pregnant. However, after I watched my freshman year roommate go crazy while on Ortho-Tricyclen, I just couldn't do that to myself. Then the girl who sat next to me in math grew a beard after getting Norplant. The Ortho-Evra patch was just too trendy for me ("Wee! Everyone look at my patch! I'm sexually freeee!"), plus it left behind all that adhesive goo. If there's one thing that I'm not about, it's goo.
Plus, it really pissed me off that I would have to spend upwards of $30/month to protect myself, when a dude had to, do what...fork out a quarter for a rubber? Did that condom require him to get a simultaneous prescription for Prozac, or cause him to gain weight, or make his acne go away? (no, wait, that's a good side effect...). I didn't want to blow all my hard-earned plasma money on contraception; that money was for beer, dammit. I also believed (and still do) that if I start paying for birth control, that means I will never have sex again. Ever. That's just the way things work.
I didn't give much thought about my decision until the incident with the Ringed One. Then I just felt like an idiot. I'm 24, for crying out loud, and after working with children for the last 7 years, I really, really don't want to have my own.
While reviewing the brochure on birth control from Planned Parenthood, I came across an intriguing method: The Ring, or more precisely, the NuvaRing. Maybe I am just birth control ignorant, but this one was new to me. IUDs, implants, norplants, pills, patches, shots...I thought I'd heard them all, but I was wrong.
A month later, when I told the clinician I was considering the Ring, she gave me a(nother) pamphlet to review (they just really love their handouts at Planned Parenthood, don't they?). The instructions seemed easy enough; I would only have to remove it once a month. How awesome is that? I always knew the pill wouldn't be for me (aside from the psychosis part) because I would have to remember to take it every day. I'm lucky I remember to go to work every day.
The sketch on the instructions showed a woman's delicate hands squeezing the sides of this ring-sized ring to insert it, and -- voila! -- that was that. A small, petite ring that I could perhaps wear on my hand, should I decide to make a bold fashion statement (ha, I could really show those patch girls!). "Sign me up!" I said to the clinician. I finished off my super-fun pap smear, knowing that I made the right decision.
At the prescriptions desk, I picked up a three-month supply of very large foil packets. Once I got home, I took a better look at my purchase. I was alarmed. Very alarmed. I could wear this so-called "ring" as a braclet. It was huge. How on earth would I jam that thing up there?
According to the instructions, I was to insert the Ring on the first day of my period. This was June 16; my last period was May 19. According to the math, I just had a few days to stew over this dilemma before all the anxiety of fitting this giant carnival ring in my nether regions would eventually pass.
Oh, how wrong I was.
No, no, gentle reader, I didn't start my period until last Thursday. July 14. What the hell happened there? I've been regular for 14 years and now -- NOW -- I'm irregular??? I actually had a dream last week before my period that I was finally able to insert the ring, but it fell out in the middle of the night and was all tangled around my feet -- that's how big it was. Every morning for the past month, I've opened the medicine cabinet, taken out a foil packet, and shed a few tears over the thought of putting it's massive contents inside me, all so that I would be guaranteed never to have sex again. It was sad.
But when the day finally came, I held my breath, pinched the sides of the ring, and -- POP! -- it was in just like that. I can't even tell it's there, and I haven't grown a beard or a third boob, yet, or anything. All of that fretting for nothing, except...
... in a few weeks, I have to take it out. I might need to invest in my own forceps.
posted by BPDubs at 7:09 PM
2 Comments:
I'm so glad I'm spreading good cheer throughout the land! Rings for all!
it's me again.. i just wanted to say that The Ring has changed my life... i have been on it for about a year now. it's very simple and with the reminder stickers, it's pretty easy to remember when to put it in and take it out. It doesnt hinder your sex life and you can't really forget to take it (which could be bad)... like the pill. altogether, i have suggested this form of birth control to several of my friends who are all highly impressed with the simplicity. never again will i go back to taking a pill, never ever.
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