I plan on being the coolest old lady. The kind who says ‘phooey’ and pinches boys’ butts and reads books. That’s right, I am going to read books made of paper until my life ends no matter how much technology tries to oust them from our lives. I hate and fear the hi-tech future of video chatting and emailing and Kindling. That’s why I’ve been using a small Nokia phone from 1998. But yesterday, on a whim, I fell to the dark side. I bought an iPhone. I couldn’t help myself. I swear. And now I have this thing that I’m scared of losing, and my fingers have so much more to do each day. I don’t want to be constantly tied to technology. I don’t want to be that girl who has to ‘check my phone’ every two minutes. BUT… them apps is mad cool. I downloaded four already, my favorite being the menstrual calendar. My phone is going to tell me when I’m menstruating. This makes my world seem wrong, but I don’t want to be right. For 19 years, I’ve been feeling cranky and randomly crying and wondering ‘why oh why.’ And every time it’s a surprise when the day arrives. But now MY PHONE is going to tell me that I’m feeling cranky and crying at Hallmark commercials because the day is about to arrive! And HOLY SHIT did I just say that I’ve been menstruating for 19 years? I am so fucking old. Wait, I’m not old. I’m just a woman. I am a woman with ovaries that are now in cahoots with a phone. Let freedom ring. When it’s that time.
Category: menstruation
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My phone said I should buy tampons.
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Day 3: Enlightenment thwarted by womanhood
I make my way 9 hours north to Rishikesh. It’s a hippie’s paradise. You can learn yoga, renew your chakras, or get your aura inspected. It’s where the Beatles spent 9 months getting high with the Maharishi and writing the White Album. (the exact location of that Indian tryst is now home to beggars, stray cows, and strewn about trash..)
I decide to get enlightened and begin knocking on doors of all the teachers in town. Turns out, it’s time for local Indians to make their yearly pilgrimage to the holy city. Hence, the foreigners leave. This means that all the teachers leave (sounded fishy to me too). I find one swami who is willing to show me the path to a higher level. Or something. He explains there will be 3 types of communication.
1. First he will watch me do the yoga poses to see my body’s potential.
2. Next he will communicate with me through touching.
3. Then he will communicate with me just through thinking.
BUT… he can only attempt such a feat if I am not menstruating.
“After all,” he says. “I am a swami.”
Where is he planning on touching me?, I think.
THOUGHTS: It’s hot. I still do not trust anyone.