Secrets of the “Clean Out My Ya-Ya” Sisterhood

How rad are you guys? No seriously, shut up I’m being real right now. Y’all are just incredible. I posted an email address just in case some one wanted to reach out and I got a bunch of super supportive, witty, candid emails from ladies who just wanted to talk about shop about their uteri. Even one lady who offered to adopt “Tumor” (that’s why I’ve named the embryo). As I’ve gotten older I’ve become cynical about the flimsy “sisterhood” feminism preaches, but I’ve got to say I’ve been totally over taken by all the cuntlove (you have read “Cunt” haven’t you? Get on it!). This experience of writing and casual community that has been formed has reignited the same exuberant pride of being a woman that I first felt when I started reading feminist writers and going to femmy meet ups. This situation is so uniquely feminine, so intrinsic to our mystified biology that I feel so much more connected to my gender than I have in the recent past. Sadly, the times I’m most reminded that I’m a woman is when my porcine boss snapped his fingers at me and that agonizing walk from the metro stop to my front door. The complex, coveted, and controlled nature of our sex is too often realized in times of crisis. (That was probably the most overwrought sentence this blog has witnessed but you get where I’m going. Sidenote on writing: Simple expression of the abstract thought. Always. Always. ) No hate mail yet! Way to keep it classy internet! I will respond to each of you because you are you. And you are great today. ps. What about BristLOL??!!? Hilarious!