27 September 2009

Vaginas, Jumper Cables, and Michael Jackson's "Thriller"

My mother is fond of naming her years and especially her
seasons.  We’ve recently had “The Summer of the Completed Project,” “The
Summer of Relaxation,” and “The Winter of Finishing the Basement.”  Now, in true form of becoming a bit more like
my mother each day, I think I’m naming this semester “The Semester of Personal

To begin that process, I decided it was finally time to go
to the Women’s Center and have my nether-regions examined.  “They” say young ladies should start doing
this when they’re 21, and I completed that last January.  Now, for those who don’t know what it’s like
being a young lady full of Midwestern modesty, the prospect of deliberately
going to a health center in order to spread your legs to a complete stranger is
quite daunting.  I decided to dig my
heels in (no pun intended) and make the phone call.

Much to my surprise, the entire ordeal was quite simple
(though I would still call it an ordeal). 
I went to my appointment, was greeted by the nicest reception I’ve
encountered anywhere, and kindly shown to an examination room.  A friendly young woman then entered and we
went through my medical history.   She
then left so I could change my clothes. (Quick aside—dropping your pants in a
public place like that is both very strange and highly liberating.)  The doctor then entered and talked to me
about what she was going to do, and in general that conversation helped to calm
me down.  She was very kind and had the
gift of making me feel like I knew her in seconds.  She had an almost grandmotherly appeal—except
she then put my heels in stirrups and performed an examination.  I’ll spare you the details, but suffice it to
say the rest went well, and I went home happy I had finally overcome one of the
scariest doctor appointments of my life.  To all those ladies out there waiting to take
the plunge for vaginal health, I highly recommend Ball State’s Women’s Center
as a first step.


Last night, in accordance with “The Semester of Personal
Health,” I attended my second meditation class. 
My best friend and I decided it would be beneficial and fun to learn to
meditate, so we joined this course offered through Ball State’s Center for Peace and
Conflict Studies
.  The classes are
taught by George Wolfe, and so far I’ve really enjoyed them.  Anyway, I drove my friend home after class and
we sat in front of her house for a short while just chatting; however, when it
was time to go home, my car wouldn’t start—my battery had died.

Now, my friend and I consider ourselves independent, emancipated
young women (my friend has even been known to plunge her own toilets; yeah,
that’s right), so we figured this was a prime time to flex our womanly muscles
and jump my car.  Susan had jumper cables
and a working car, so we set about our task, highly confident in our innate abilities
to handle any historically masculine task life could set before us. 


Rosie. . . A gal to look up to. . .    Susan and me. . . see the resemblence?

Those feelings lasted about ten seconds.  After a brief discussion, we both realized
that even though we had the necessary components for car-jumping, neither of us
had a CLUE what to do after that.  Slightly
humbled, we called my roommate and asked him to talk us through the
procedure.  The real kicker came when I got
confused and for some reason became convinced that if I clipped the cables on
in the wrong order I would explode the cars and die.  Seeing a highly uncomfortable death in my
immediate future, I chickened out and Susan and I both buckled and asked Josh
to just come and jump my car for us. 

On the plus side, now we DO know how to jump a car, should
the occasion come again.  HA!  Women still rule (even if occasionally we
need the assistance of gentlemen). 


Finally, a word about Ball State football.  Last year, we did quite well, and I didn’t
get to see a single game.  This year, I’ve
seen every game, and we’ve lost every game. 
Cardinal fans, I hereby formally apologize: it’s clearly my fault our
season is going less than well.  I’d like
to say I’ll stop watching, but I just can’t help myself now. 

On the plus side, the Marching Band did something REALLY
COOL during half-time at the last home game: the whole band did “The Dance” to
Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.”  I kid you
not.   Of course, I couldn’t predict that happening,
so my video only captures the last few seconds of possibly the best half-time
show ever
.  Hopefully they do it again!

(Note: I'm still trying to figure out how to get the video to just "work" on this page, so if you can't see the image, just click the link instead.  Enjoy!)


No comments:

Post a Comment