hillbilly ovaries.

Last night, I had cramps like no other. Seriously, it was like my ovaries were the Hatfields and the McCoys, and the Hatfield ovary had stolen the McCoy ovary's pig or something, and they were duking it out. Even Emmy, my very chubby and adorable cat, took pity on me and kneaded my abs with her paws before sitting on my stomach (it was like a massaging heat pad... I have the best cat in the world) as I was lying and writhing in pain around midnight.

Best cat in. the. WORLD.

Okay, maybe writhing in pain is an exaggeration, but whatever. I didn't feel good. Put the combination of my pain tolerance level (which is in the negative 60s) with the fact that I'm an only child, and a paper cut may as well be a gunshot wound.

I fought back today. I just finished my Winsor Pilates 20 minute workout DVD. I've always been told exercise helps cramps and, even though I always thought that was bullshit, I decided to give it a shot.

It turns out that I was right. Exercise doesn't relieve cramp pain. It just makes you forget about your hillbilly ovaries because your actual abs hurt so much more from "breathing into your powerhouse" and, you know, exerting energy.

So, from here on out, I think I'm just going to relieve cramp pain the old fashioned way: by eating Hershey's chocolate bars and telling the Always commercials that urge me to "Have a happy period. Always." to fuck off.