Women never cease to amaze me with their lack of knowledge about their own bodies. Here are a few examples, but remind me later that I really came here to rant about Seasonale, okay? Great.

Two women I only know as aquaintances, really, have both revealed body crap to me lately that just blows my mind. Woman One refuses to go to the gynecologist because “it’s icky.” She’s 28, and has had several sexual partners in her time. She lets any random asshole in her vag, but won’t let a doctor in there just to look around? What’s that about?

Woman Two was placed on some very strong antibiotics for something unrelated to vag issues. She got a horrible yeast infection and had no idea that the two were related until someone clued her in. Her doctor had never warned her and she never thought to ask. Again, the Icky Defense.

That brings me to the latest offender, Seasonale. Seasonale is the new birth control pill that allows a woman to cut back to only four periods per year (brand new; they’ve only been testing its specific brand on women for the past two to three years, even if people have been playing around with the extending birth control cycles for nearly 40 years).

Now, don’t get me wrong, some women have horrible, horrible periods. I have a friend who had ovarian cancer in her teens, and her periods are horrendous. She literally doubles over and cannot move for three to five days. She takes killer knock-me-out-now type drugs because it really does such a number on her body. And guess what else? She probably complains about her period pains less than any woman I’ve ever met. Because she knows she’s lucky to be alive, and she knows that she’s lucky that she still has the ability to menstruate/procreate/whatever you want to call it, after what she’s lived through. There are also those women with specific conditions like endometriosis who could really benefit from only having four periods per year, like Seasonale offers. But so many women blame every little thing, every kerrazy emotion that hits out of the blue, every cramp no matter how minor, on their girly plumbing.

Have you ever considered that maybe you’re just fucked up on your own, that it actually has nothing to do with the small area below your waist? Stop blaming your vag! Your vag is your friend. And don’t even get me started on people who call it a curse and blame it on Eve. Fuck you!

But what brings me to the is what it says to the majority of women: your period is dirty and something to be avoided. A doctor who was interviewed recently about Seasonale really said that in her busy lifestyle, periods are just so inconvenient. Isn’t she going to the restroom about as much as she would have to deal with her feminine hygeine products anyway? Do you think she wears a colostomy bag as well? Those darn natural bodily functions just really get in the way of appointments, don’t they?

And don’t give me the whole “women today have way more periods than they are supposed to. Cave women had far fewer periods than we do!” Please cut the shit. Cave women were lucky to make it to age 35. And they were continually pregnant or nursing, so they couldn’t get pregnant.

And guess what? We evolved! Clearly, that wasn’t the way we were supposed to be, either! There’s something to be said for being a part of the cyclical nature of life. Don’t you remember reading Are You There God, It’s Me, Margaret and being happy for her when she finally got her period? Do you remember feeling like a woman when it finally happened for you? I’m not saying you should jump up and down every time Aunt Flo comes and knocks on your door, but thinking about what it would be like to be a man makes me grateful for the ol’ ebb and flow of the happy little ecosystem that lies south of the border.

Your period is not dirty. It is not a curse. It’s simply what you are made of and what you are a part of. If you hate that or think it’s icky…well. I think it says a lot about you. I’d say fuck you, but fucking involves your vag, and we already know what you think about that.