Sunday, January 24, 2010

Eff Health Class

I’d say health class pretty much ruined my formative years.

To be fair, my parents didn’t help much either, but if I had to provide a definitive answer to the question “Grrl, what would you say caused you to become the complete and total fuckup that we know you as today,” I’d have to say that it was health class, hands down.

Health class was where I learned the skills that would later enable me to become a more effective bulimic. While anorexia was my eating disorder of choice, on the off chance that I ate something which needed to be quickly eliminated, I learned from the health class screening of an after school special that toothbrushes are far more effective than fingers.

Health class supplied me with a wealth of information on drugs. I could not OD on pot and, as long as I was supervised to ensure I didn’t jump out of any second-story windows, hallucinogens were a fairly safe bet. Leave it to another after school special to teach me that, in a pinch, that can of whipped cream in the fridge could work wonders. Unfortunately the aforementioned after school special didn’t warn me that if I sucked all the CO2 out of the can the whipped cream wouldn’t “whip” and I’d ruin the Thanksgiving Day pumpkin pie.

Of course, nothing screwed me up more than the sex education units. Early on, we were provided with one basic message: if you have sex, you WILL get pregnant. End of story. My parents beat the shit out of me when I spilled milk on the floor; I could not begin to imagine the horrors that would ensue should milk spill from my (sorry excuse for) tits. I decided to be on the safe side. As a virginal catholic friend told me, oral is moral.

Early in my high school career the health teacher, Mr. S., was holding one of his infamous Q & A sessions when someone posed the following question:
“Is it true that cum has two-thousand calories?”
Everyone in the class busted out whooping and laughing.
“Settle down, settle down!” Mr. S. tried to recoup the totally un-recoupable class.

You know how a crowd of people will be laughing and talking and there will suddenly be a deafening silence? That unexpected lull appeared to be precisely timed with me turning to my friend and making the following comment:
“If cum had 2000 calories, I would be a fucking beached whale,”

Of course, there was more whooping and laughter and more “settle down”-ing from Mr. S.
“No. That is totally not true,” he yelled over the class.
“No, actually I think it is,” Johnny volunteered.
No, it’s not. Who’s the teacher here?” We had just finished a unit on the food pyramid and apparently Mr. S. did not appreciate anyone challenging his knowledge of seminal fluid’s caloric content.
“No, not that part,” Johnny continued. “The part about Grrl being a beached whale if cum had 2000 calories. That’s totally true.”
I am not ashamed to admit that I relished in the applause that followed.

Since my weight remained stable over the next year or two, I had no reason to change my repertoire. That is, until I had to fulfill my last health credit. That year Mr. S. announced that, statistically speaking, one in four college-aged women would be raped.
What the fuck? I was going to go to college someday! I had a better chance of being raped than I did of, like, making the track team. It was then that I decided I better get my cherry popped, and with a quickness. I’m stubborn; I’d rather give something away than have it taken away.
And that’s just what I did.

So for my first time (and only time with this guy) I subscribed to the adage “go big or go home.” And big it was. Very, very, very big. Too big.

I felt like I was being impaled. This was not what I signed up for. Entrance to a convent suddenly seemed very appealing. I was no Whoopi Goldberg but shit, I liked Sister Act.

I was fairly certain that I felt something ripping, and spent the entire three—maybe five—minutes silently contemplating how I was going to explain to my mother that i needed to make a trip to the emergency room for twat-stitches.
I was trying to climb over a chain-link fence and I fell?
A misogynist worker in the Tampax manufacturing plant was secretly slipping razor blades in the tampons?

The dialogue went something like this:
Him: ohmygooood. This feels soooofuckingooood!
Me: Oh my god, I’m going to be in so much fucking trouble.
Him: I’m gonna fucking come!
Me. I’m gonna be fucking grounded.

It has taken me years to recover from the atrocities I endured due to health class.
Now if only I could shake off what I learned at those high school slumber parties...


  1. See now, why is it you and all my friends got the big one for your first time? Not fair, and I'll tell you why: because since my first time was with a tiny peen, I went in search of having sex more with various partners because I was just plain having terrible sex that felt like "blah". The first 4 guys all had small dicks and seriosuly felt nothing almost, so I had to keep moving along til I found someone at least average sized. A traumatic large peen would have made me not want any further sex and saved me from being a mild slut in the end. That's my thoery and I'm sticking to it.

  2. I lost my virginity in the back of a Chevy Blazer. The police came, I did not.