Blood cups and all that jazz

Sam again.

I apparently have decided to trade my clinical addiction from Mafia Wars to this blog. So, you will probably get an update every fifteen minutes or something. You all are going to get sick of reading my shit, I’m sure of it. Oh, speaking of you all, thank you to Chelsea who has left my first blog comment. I love that I now have two readers that have been sucked into my vortex of hell.

So, back to the topic at hand, blood cups or as the package says Instead cups (or something I’m not getting off my fat lazy ass to go look). So, either the damn thing keeps slipping out because:
a) I’m retarded and cannot find my cervix (a real possibility anymore)
b) My vagina has become so huge from having two children that an elephant could fit into it. Although crapstick (I think that’s what Heather named him) swears this not to be the case, but he can be one lying sack of shit sometimes
c) I’ve put my fingers up there so many times trying to situate the damn thing that I now have a permanent sensation that something is slipping

I know, way too much information, but the reality is I talk to my employees about this shit. That might explain why they don’t listen to me when I tell them what to do. Oh well, fuck them. So, anyone have any good suggestions on how to make the blood cup stay put or what I’m doing wrong? It worked in January the last time my evil period was here, but now it just seems to be slipping a little bit. Although, at least not yet, I haven’t had any leaky times, so maybe everything is fine and I’m just freaking out about it like I do about everything. I guess I’ll just keep shoving it back up there when I feel like I should, because I refuse to go back to bloody pads. I am anti-underwear, have been for years, and wearing a bloody pad diaper cramps my style.

Oh, time for the five percent positive that I claimed I would do. Drum roll….
Sir has decided that he should save love at night. Now sir is not a big talker and I’m always freaking out and running him to the retard doctors trying to get him diagnosed with a speech delay, so I’m stoked whenever he says anything at all. He now says “ove,” but signs love so I’m sure that’s what he means. He also helped me make “cookes” (cookies) tonight, which was so sweet. Oh, and banana loved swimming with mommy. See 5% positive for you.

Have a good night, I’m going to try and switch back to my true addiction Mafia Wars.