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30 December 2009

In Celebration of Being Off the Pill

I am horrible at remembering to schedule an appointment with my gynocologist before my prescription for birth control pills runs out. I know planning my yearly spin in the medical stirrups far in advance means my period will coencide with the visit, so I always think I’ll remember to set a date a few months before I run out of hormones. Yet without fail, every year I forget until a pissed off CVS pharmacist is reminding me I’m due at the doctor.

With the hustle and bustle of the holidays, I haven’t gotten around to making an appointment yet, so I’m currently living life off the pill. For those of you out there who haven’t made the switch to the pill or haven’t lived with a woman who has, it’s an interesting experience.

I first started on the pill because I was having horrible acne and heavy periods, but grew to love it when I was having sex on the regular. Yes, there are many things that can cause that method of birth control to backfire, but on the whole it’s effective at preventing a baby, and saves you from having to fumble with a condom once you’re in a committed relationship.

But there are downsides the chatty women on the Yaz commercials neglect to mention. Namely: The pill ruins my horny. Three days after my body realized no more hormones would be forthcoming, I was chatting with a guy I find attractive. With a smile, he invited me to a party. Like a junior high girl who just got asked to go steady, I’m wetter than Lake Superior.

My head was filled with visions of him kissing me in a dark corner, us leaving together, me fumbling, lust-drunk and stupid, with my keys as he walks me up the stairs to my bedroom. It was all I could do to control the flush in my face and refrain from asking him to take me home right then and there.

It’s been happening more often lately. Cute guy on the train? I’m envisioning throwing my legs over his lap and grinding him as people look on in horror. Sex scene on TV? I’m feigning exaustion and breaking out the vibrator. And while those thoughts occurred to me while on the pill, they’re much more vivid and get my juices flowing far faster than when I was chemically infertile.

So, boys: As long as you don’t mind putting on a rubber and can get past the acne and heavy periods, now is a great time to get with me.


Pete Nice said...

I don't mind at all.

twg said...

Since the pill doesn't quite last a year and my insurance is an asshole about scheduling my gyno visits (there has to be ONE YEAR between them -- no overlap or ELSE), I usually have to call my doc for a quick refill (if I'm not on the mail-in pharmacy plan which STOCKS YOU FOREVAH and is awesome, but which I also always forget to refill). Anyway, if you call the office they're happy to do it :)

Kelly L said...

Funny. Someone else blogged about this too... going off the pill apparently turns you into a rabid sex monster. or something.

Perhaps the pills are the only thing getting me through this horribly long dry spell I've been having.

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