Bloody Mess

So there we were. Everything was perfect. Too perfect, maybe?

Do you ever get suspicious when everything seems to be going well? Like at any moment I’m going to rip a deafening fart in front of a lot of people in a quiet room or I’m going to be humming along having a great day and get a TEXT message that says- totally unexpected- “your sister-in-law is dead” (yes, that happened).  I’m always suspicious of any span of time that seems a little too happy-go-lucky. But I think I have justification to be the total paranoid freak that I am.

Anyway – there we were, my husband and I. We were on vacation in Key West, back when we were only dating. We were young, hot, care-free, and enjoying some serious rays out on a motor boat in the ocean. We were on a little parasailing excursion with about 10 other people. It was very relaxing as we waited not too long for our turn to fly. Then, up we went. Oh, this is so fun! Oh, the wind feels so nice! Oh, this is a lot more fun than the last time when I went parasailing and fell through the restraints that hadn’t been properly put on me and was hanging on for dear life!

Then, they reeled us in. They did that fun little thing where they have you float all the way down and hit the water splashing and pop back up before they pull you on board. So we’re dripping wet when we get back on the boat. Oh yeah – important plot point – I was wearing nothing but a tiny white bikini. I had no other clothes with me out on that boat nor a towel. But no biggie, it felt nice – I’ll air dry.

We reclaimed a seat on the padded white cushions along the perimeter of the boat as the next couple got up to fly. As we were instructed, the remaining 8 of us scooch over so that we’re rotating our position allowing for whoever is next to be seated right next to the parasail equipment. As I slid, I noticed something awful.

BLOOD. Whaaaaaaaaaat? I look down, alarmed, and realize that yes, this is my life. My period has begun full force. As I scoot, I’m leaving behind a watery blood puddle on the white cushions from my white bikini for others to scoot onto. Is this a nightmare? Sadly, no. I begin to panic. I look around frantically trying to see if anyone else has noticed my situation. I see some eyes darting away from mine. I’m paranoid. Everyone knows.

It’s time to scooch again. I lean over to my then-boyfriend, and command him to grab the tiny little half-towel that is also WHITE that I spot under someone’s seat across the boat. He gives me a quizzical look – he hasn’t noticed yet. I give him the “don’t ask questions just freaking do it” look and he gets up to grab it. Some more people notice this strange activity as he is likely grabbing a fellow passenger’s teeny towel – was it a freaking wash cloth? So I snatch it out of his hands, ball it up, soak up the existing blood trail, and stick it underneath me. AWKWARD. I’m now straddling this white (ish) towel between my legs outside of my white bikini on my white cushion. And when we scoot, I have to scoot in this very intense, purposeful way so as to not have to move the towel with my hand and bring more attention to it.

I went into this “zone” that didn’t allow me to fully comprehend what was happening – the humiliation- to protect me from imploding. I was focused on getting off that damn boat and on to the bigger sail boat where I had no change of clothes, but at least a normal-sized towel to wrap around my shame.

Finally, it was over. I had to carry my bloody mess of a towel that I STOLE with me off of the boat for all to gawk at. But it was over.

I regaled my cooky coworkers with this story some time after, and they were horrified for me. They said that they really didn’t think the situation could have been any worse than that.

But you know I disagree.



Back when I lived at home with my parents, I found Bare Minerals make-up in a random drawer one day. I came out of the room all excited and confused. “Look what I found! Some nice, super-expensive make-up! It’s mine now!” As soon as I said it, my dad was up in my face in a panic. Apparently, the make-up was his. Hmm, unexpected. His explanation was that he has Rosacea, and needs make-up to cover it up. Funny thing is that his “rosacea” is hardly noticeable. But he’s so vain that he’d cough up the cash to spend on Bare-Minerals, hide it in a secret place, and wear make-up as a grown-ass man. When he wore it, he looked quite clownish. Therefore, I shall forever refer to him as Ass Clown.

Anyway, back in their early days as newlyweds, Ass Clown was just as ridiculous as he is today. Expecting him home from work any minute, my mom was watering the grass in the front yard. Probably humming to herself a little, maybe some little Janet Jackson number, thinking to herself, Man, I’m getting hungry for dinner. What sounds good? Lasagna perhaps? Or maybe we can go out for a burgWhat the hell?! Interrupting her thoughts, she catches sight of their Mustang parked down the street. Alarmed, she drops the hose and starts marching toward the vehicle. Her heart’s pounding, the voice of Ms. Jackson no longer fills her head. Is he cheating? With a neighbor? That can’t be- it’s too strange! Does he secretly work as a door-to-door insurance salesman on the side? As she gets close, she realizes that Ass Clown in still in the car. And he’s alone. Oh, thank God! However, when she peers into the driver’s side window, she’s astounded by what she sees.

McDonald’s. A big McDonald’s bag is on the passenger seat along with some stray fries. There’s a crumpled burger wrapper or two on the console next to his seat, and he’s scarfing down cheeseburger #3 when he’s startled by her stare. “What the hell are you doing?!” she asks. Ass Clown has no words, no reasonable excuse for his behavior. It turns out that he simply did not want to spend the extra money buying his wife a Happy Meal too- despite the fact that McDonalds burgers were something like 30 cents a pop back then. This sneaky-eating habit of his continued throughout their marriage as he learned from his mistake, and parked a little farther from home the next time.


So, my mom likes women. I found this out when I was in the eighth grade. I came home from school one day excited about our Relay for Life fundraiser that would take place overnight at the high school track. My mom had agreed to chaperone our team for the night, which was weird because she had major anxiety issues around other human beings. I was angry when I found her sick in bed. Of course! I knew she’d let me down. Come to find out, she’d actually overdosed. Tried to check out early. And in case I missed this nugget of information, my father showed up that evening at Relay for Life to inform me that my mom had attempted suicide. Then he left me there. To soak that in. To marinate on that. Great parenting.

Oh yes- my mom being a lesbian. I’m getting to that.

So fast forward a day or so later- my dad comes to me in tears. “Your mom cheated on me… with… another woman!” he blubbers. Surprise! This is news to me. Not so much the cheating part as the lesbian part. How could she have kept that secret from me? I felt a bit hurt. Apparently, her sexual orientation had something to do with why she tried to bite the big one. So my father told her not to come back and changed all the locks, leaving me feeling very sad and confused, and my mom homeless and mentally unstable. Smart move, Dad!

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