Would I have to start planning outfits around the tattoo like I plan for weather?
I will preface this story with spooky tunes to set the appropriate ambiance for my tale. I suggest you download them on your Spotify immediately.
- Come On -- Los Saicos (Rockabilly in Spanish? Disconcertingly amazing)
- Wonderful! Wonderful! -- Johnny Mathis (Remember how this played at the end of that banned X-Files episode, “Home”? Tell me this doesn’t conjure up images of that deranged mother strapped under the bed.)
- I Was A Teenage Werewolf –- The Cramps (ALL HAIL.)
- Halloween -- Siouxsie and the Banshees (ALL HAIL, PART TWO.)
- Season of the Witch -- Donovan
- Walk Like a Zombie -- Horrorpops (Cutesy, girly rockabilly. I am very fond.)
- Bad Moon Rising -- The Meteors (I’ll say it: this version is better than CCR’s version.)
- I Put a Spell on You -- CCR (Good comeback, CCR.)
- Psyko -- Laika and the Cosmonauts (Instrumental Halloween MAGIC.)
- Suspiria -- Goblin (The best soundtrack for the best movie. If you love me, you’ll watch Suspiria on loop until November 1).
But now, you guys, I really need to tell you the story of my first period. Dim your lights because this gets all sorts of freaky.
I was a socially awkward, frizzy-haired, beanpole of a kid, as well as the latest of bloomers (15 going on 16, yo). It was the night before Halloween, my dad’s birthday. Let’s pretend it was all foggy and shit outside, with a solitary and flickering streetlamp illuminating our homely, small-town Virginia ghost street. Cue the goose bumps.
We were watching that annual AMC holiday movie marathon. You know the one. At Christmas it’s "A Christmas Story," on Halloween it’s a never-ending loop of some classic teen scare. That particular Halloween it was "Carrie." The first real horror of that night was trying to get through that bouncy locker-room scene while sitting next to my freaking DAD.
The second horror of the night was the crescendo of belly pain that ensued right as those bitchy popular chicks began shouting “PLUG IT UP” at a poor, fetal, vaginally bleeding Carrie. At first, I thought I was physically reacting to profound early teenage embarrassment, but then, moments later, I discovered the true cause.
‘Twas my first period!
CUE THE THUNDER.
I had the whole Have-Your-Mom-Come-in-to-the-Bathroom-to-Make-Sure-It’s-Your-First-Period moment and then the third horror of the night took place. She proceeded to call my grandparents and aunts and tell everyone the news.
I know everyone thinks it’s funny to say that their moms did that to add anecdotal flourish to their First Period Stories, but I assure you my mom actually did that. Like moments after this weird little phenomenon occurred. I’m pretty sure I was still in the bathroom, skeptically side-eyeing an unfathomably large maxi pad.
To say that I was overwhelmed by the synchronized slasher movies playing simultaneously on my TV screen and in my pants is an understatement.
I’m actually somewhat surprised that this didn’t result in some sort of "Ginger Snaps"-like metamorphosis. (Quick recap of the film: a girl named Ginger becomes a werewolf right as she starts menstruating for the first time. She then proceeds to eat all the boys who were ever mean to her and her sister. It’s perfection.)
I mean, officially coming into the scary, new, unsafe, and bloody realm of womanhood is one thing. Having it happen on a night that systematically harkens back to my witch sisters of yore -- you have another thing entirely. You have the best First Period Story ever, complete with a delightfully supernatural backdrop. My sisters of the occult UNITE.
Do you guys have a disturbing first period anecdote? How do you feel about my playlist? According to basic horror movie plot formulas, shouldn’t I be some sort of werewolf or crazy creature girl by now? WHY DO I NOT HAVE AWESOME SUPERNATURAL POWERS YET?
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