Tomfoolery of the feminine kind

Illness and injury have beaten me down all week long. To be more graphic and honest, I experienced one of the worst menstrual cycles I have had in years on top of a recurring back injury. I've been applying heat and ice packs at the same time. Plus, I scavenged my medicine cabinet for any muscle relaxers from previous injuries. God was good to me when I found some expired pills that I had to take, and they proved heavenly. My body probably cannot completely figure out which way is up with all these treatments.

At one point, nausea, lightheadness, and dizziness hit me all at one sad time during the workday. My body temperature started to rise, too. The first aid cabinet upstairs only had bandages, ointments, and alcohol swabs but no thermometers or other tools to help me out. So, to save myself from further injury aggravation that could make me cuss, I get on the elevator to go back to my area one floor below, and that's when the fun really began.

The doors closed, and I couldn't look at myself in the brassy doors. I just laid my head on the wall for what seemed like an eternity in a moving sauna greased with molasses. I swear my body was nearly on fire by the time the doors opened. Two of my male colleagues just stared at me as I exited the elevator fanning myself with my hand and rushing to the ladies' room. The cold water couldn't come out of the faucet fast enough as I started splashing my face with liquid lusciousness. The wet spots on my blouse never mattered one bit as my body thankfully started cooling down. I had to wet some paper towels to take with me because I couldn't risk spontaneous combustion before I returned to me desk.




When I barely made it back to my desk without fainting, my inner slacker immediately thought, "What da hayle? I gotta get outta here! I'm sick!" Then, another cool coworker saw me and asked if I was okay.

I'm positive I had a pathetic look on my pale face as I replied, "Noooo. I'm super hot for no good damn reason."

She quickly replies, "Maybe you're having a private summer."

Then, my face had to read, "Bulls--t". Private summer as in menopausal hot flash? No. Way. I quietly advised, "That can't be right. I'm on my cycle right now having the worst cramps ever. Hot flashes are only for old ladies that forgot who Aunt Flo is."

My co-worker, who is a couple of years under me but pretty mature, coolly and easily schools me that hot flashes can happen during a cycle for non-menopausal women. What the hell? That's news to me. Mama never talked to me about that, and I don't recall that being a subject during high school health class or even a daytime talk show. Ever. This is some hogwash joke my co-worker's trying to play on me. But a few minute later, a second co-worker tells me the same exact madness about hot flashes during a cycle.

This newsflash just shattered my little world. The situation felt bad enough when I realized one of life's secrets had just finally been revealed to me. My perspective worsened when I recognized that my maturing early thirties body had betrayed me once again. I already deal with acne breakouts from time to time. Hot flashes, too? Hot flashes. For me? For real? Damn.

Thankfully, I survived my internal betrayal and the urges to take the rest of the day off. But can I trust my body again after this? Are there more jokes and trickery for me to endure? Well, if there are more shenanigans ahead, I'll make the wise choice to endure them since this body is the only one God blessed me with, kinks and all. I'll just be sure to keep sipping ice water.

Shredded Papaya + _____ = who the hell knew that???

These papayas make me wish I was in another environment involving a beach, cocktails, and my man with Christmas songs playing on a small radio.

Instead of snuggling with my sweetie on Christmas Eve, I actually wound up hanging out with my brother, NOPI. His pregnant girlfriend was helping her mother with Christmas cooking and wasn't leavng the house at that point. So, in a not so completely odd move, NOPI invites me to an "Asian birthday party" with one of his homeboy's friends.

"Everybody's cool," NOPI assures me. "If you're cool, then everyone's cool with you."

I had nothing else I was doing, so I rolled out with NOPI. I hadn't been on the passenger side of his driving skills in a while, and I forgot THE most critical and salient rule of riding with NOPI: don't look up or out. The second you look up, he's pulling one of his moves, and you're finding anything to hold on to that'll keep you safely upright and that scream in your lungs. He knows what he's doing. The only major accident he's had lately was because his passenger said, "WHOA!" for no reason, and NOPI was hit in the side.

We get to extreme south Atlanta and find a standard recently-built apartment complex with several Asians hanging out around a grill on the bottom patio. There's more people inside just chilling. For all I know, more than one of them might be 30, but everyone looked between 18 and 26. I was probably wrong, just like most folks are wrong about my age. I just decided to fit in and just have a cool time.

I was shy like I normally am in the beginning because I'm soaking in the atmosphere. Like NOPI said, everyone was cool and welcoming. They made sure we had enough to eat and drink. Even the birthday boy was grilling all kinds of meat awaiting his 30th birthday on the 25th. I still envy that dude's Farrah Fawcett tresses that reached past his shoulders.

Eventually, I was offered a He.ineken. I've had it before and did not appreciate the watery taste. Who da hayle likes that stuff? Dude was insistent, but I politely declined. Then, he offered St. Pauli Girl. My mind starts working and asks where is the soda? I don't have to get drunk because it's a party. But that inner social butterfly in the cocoon eeks out, "Why the hell not?" It's Chrimmah, and I'm with some friendly Asians that seem to mostly be from Laos (that's what NOPI thinks). That one bottle was delicious and hit the spot. Somewhat sweet but definitely has a bite to it. That says a lot for a non-beer drinker to be all excited about it. I now have a new beer to imbibe in! That and Icehouse.

Someone insisted on offering weed, but that's not my style at all. Besides, I've smelled weed in the past.... That was some special Rastafarian superstar marijuana that I'd imagine a group of Rastas might share in the spirit of Kwanzaa because they don't celebrate no fake Christmas holiday. I politely declined and assured my new friend, "I need to keep my job on Wednesday." Come to find out, this dude owns a body shop. No random testing for him, and that's good for him.

But everyone and everything was so cool. Even the little kids were adorable and running between the kids' room and the living room. It really was all love, and I think I'd hang with them again.

12 AM comes while Birthday Boy is grilling, and we all wish him a Happy 30th Birthday. Then we wish each other a Merry Christmas. No gift exchange. No carols. But I did assure Birthday Boy that 30 will be the best year yet. It will make you forget how great you thought 25 or 20 was.


Unless they break out the shredded papaya.

According to templeofthai.com, "Green papaya has a very mild, almost bland, taste, but it is the medium through which robust flavor ingredients take body and form. It picks up the hot, sour, sweet and salty flavors, giving them a unique crisp and chewy texture unlike that of any other vegetable. When made into salad, you wouldn't know that it was mild and timid; you remember it only as bold and spicy." How fine and dandy. Even more culinary delights. Now, the fried rice dish with the pork, fresh herbs and maybe more papaya was off the chain!!! Will I ever find that in a Chinese restaurant? Probably not.

But the papaya salad... After mixing the shreds will all kinds of seasonings using a mortar and pestle...

...

...

It smelled like a menstrual cycle. Very. Heavy. Cycle. Where the kids better fend for themselves because Mama can't take these cramps and needs to just lay in bed with a heating pad waiting for the drugs to take effect. I can't make this stuff up. I actually believed it was me for a moment, but then I had to consider why am I just smelling this right now. I tried to be polite and eat the papaya salad on my plate because I could taste the boldness and spiciness. Then, I took a second bite, and all of the papaya salad returned to the plate before making it to the best spot for it: the trash. I'm all for diversity and new experiences, but I never would've imagined all five of my senses being flooded by such a "unique blend of flavors".