Recently, my sister and a couple of our mutual friends participated in the Vagina Monologues.
Imagine one of those cool-ass Poetry Jams where the whole crowd is in to it, and each reading is more moving and powerful than the last...
...Now, take the same Poetry Jam and replace every other word with 'vagina'...that's pretty much what it is.
Said to be empowering to women and tweens alike, the Monologue has grown in popularity throughout the years. No stone is left unturned. From cunt to cooch...vaj...vajay-jay. It even addresses the issue of the cold and crude metal stirrups at the OB/GYN.
The playbill boasts such colorful titles as 'My Angry Vagina'
It's an event filled with graphic content, and everyone is invited to attend...even men.
I was not one of those men.
Don't get me wrong, I cherish and truly appreciate the beauty of the spoken/written word...but listening to chicks talk about their vaginas for four hours is pushing it...and possibly breaking it.
I know, it sounds kind of cool when you think about it, but no. It's just like in 9th grade health class. You're teacher pops in the Live Birth video, and you and all your guy friends high-five and nod at eachother...seconds later you're all recoiling in horror at what you've just witnessed.
Compared to 'the stork'...the real thing is fuuuucked up. Just like that. Absolutely nothing like you expected it to be.
The best a man can do is try to level the playing field. So, after a few drinks we agree...The Vagina MAN-ologues.
For this, we head into DC. Welcome to the jungle where Saturday Night Fever is the number one killer of all party-goers. Dupont Circle...Adam's Morgan....Georgetown...The land-based Bermuda Triangle. Weird shit definitely happens here, and everywhere the ghostly sound of parties past resonates through the street...or you're just pissed drunk.
You know it's going to be a good night when you yell out "Show us your titties!" to a group of five girls, and see nine-and-a-half bouncing in the rearview mirror. Fast, Funny, Drunk... Follow the magical paved road from bar to bar to bar to bar to bar.
We ended up at Good Guys where we learned to appreciate the Vagina Monologues a whole lot more.
I left craving a roast beef sandwich...
It is an environment which breeds fun. Short bursts of happiness with no longevity in sight.
Have your kicks. Take your licks. Jump on the train to alcoholic Nirvana...add a few new songs to your ipod. Have your fix of instant-mix love and temporary-tattoo affection.
Get home and switch on the tv to Divorce Court. Lay back and realize that love of the Shakespearian variety, only struggles to survive in today's society.
My Vagina is Angry.
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