red buttercream with sprinkles

since i know the deep and unquenchable thirst all of the internets have for knowledge of the state of my uterus, please allow me to report that i am the new, proud owner of an IUD. this one, specifically. i now no longer have to think about birth control until march of 2019. that is, like, seven years after the mayan calendar is going to end. i am 99.1% assured of no pregnancies until well after nebiru will destroy us all. convenience, thy name is intrauterine device. i have no idea why more women don't get these.

...well, i do, actually: they're expensive, and some doctors don't offer them, let alone push them. insurance (if you're lucky enough to have it) will often cover the cost, though, and over the long run they're far cheaper than pills, not to mention more convenient. they're far more common in europe than they are here. considering their safety and efficacy, it's a bloody shame more people don't know about them. so, as a public service: IUDs. you will like them, and they look cool, although once they're in your uterus you don't see them anymore. and if your anatomy is roughly normal, and you have a reasonably competent health care provider, you can have one inserted, with little discomfort, on an ordinary office visit, in about twenty minutes. since moving to santa fe, i have used Planned Parenthood as my provider, and they were more than happy to set me up with one.

of course, nothing about me tends toward the normal, and when last i tried to get an IUD, back in early february, i spent an hour with large sharp metal prongs jabbed in my cervix while a kind-but-useless nurse practitioner tried in vain to find my internal oss. (she did not explain what an internal oss was, adding to my consternation. although only slightly, because, you know, sharp things invading my nether regions, but whatever.) the oss having eluded her, she referred me to albuquerque, to a facility with an ultrasound machine.

i waited until my spring break to schedule the insertion, as albuquerque is an hour's drive away and insertions are only performed at the ABQ location on tuesday and thursday mornings, when i have class. when i called last week to make the appointment, the receptionist warned me about the likelihood of protester harrassment, and gave me the standard advice: don't engage, ignore, keep walking.

"clinic protesters", i thought. "weird! they do still exist outside of the deep south and episodes of 21 Jump Street!" (the PP clinic in santa fe doesn't perform abortions, and it hadn't occured to me that going to a clinic which did would make such a difference.)

we arrived at the clinic, greg and i. they have a parkinglot, but we passed it accidentally and decided, instead of pulling an ugly U-turn, to turn down a side-street, park in a residential area just behind the clinic, and walk. this lead us to a little alleyway, walled-off on one side. i thought this would lead to the clinic entrance, so we turned down it, and found ourselves in the midst of the protest. well, shit.

they seemed to still be setting up. there were a few signs leaning against the tall fence: "Abortion Kills", with a copyright-infringing picture of the Gerber baby; "We Can Help You", "Savior Baby" (sic?). one protester was perched on a tall stepladder; i wasn't quite sure what he was setting up. there were only a few present, but all were male and middleaged save one: a quiet, mousy, bespectacled woman of perhaps nineteen or twenty. the menfolk were greeting eachother -- it had the feel of shiftworkers punching in at the factory. she stood slightly apart, hands crossed against her chest.

we walked past them. i braced for an onslaught, but was met only with a "hello" or two. i returned the greeting, astounded at the civility.

at this point, we discovered that we had taken a wrong turning, and that we'd have to circle the block to find the entrance. find it we did, and walked on, to discover that the walled-off alleyway was, in fact, a sort of holding-pen for the protesters, meant evidently to keep them back. to be seen over the wall, they had to take turns standing on the stepladder. suddenly, the man who had greeted me politely only moments ago began shouting and jeering at us -- or, rather, i should say, at greg. he yelled at greg, and only at greg: "Don't do this! You need to be a real man! You need to stand up and take responsibility for your actions! Do your duty and step up to the plate!"not a word was said to me. against the receptionist's advice, i eventually engaged the dude, but he refused to acknowledge me at all, actually replying, "i'm not talking to you. i'm talking to HIM!"

curious, considering i was the one with the womb, and all.

i can't account for the change in behaviour, between our walk down the alley and our walk through the parkinglot and through the clinic door. it's possible they thought we were there for the protest. it's possible they thought we were just pedestrians.

in the clinic waiting room, a small television played first an infomercial for a Makeover Weight Loss Body System, then an episode of the Maury Povitch Show involving paternity testing. the latter particularly seemed a... rather uncomfortable selection, all things considered. the space was cramped and the wait was long, but the procedure itself was quick, the nurses and doctor very informative and open, and afterward they even gave me gingerale.

the protest was still muddling about when we left; a large crucifix with a rubber Jesus stuck to it had been lashed to the stepladder, and greg's interlocuter was still standing there, only his head visible above the wall. he didn't say anything.

to celebrate my liberation from my reproductive system, we went to cake fetish afterwards. scott, if you still need convincing to move out here, i would think this might do it. fuck your rockabilly hipster pie shop. CUPCAKES, bitch.

we got a dozen minicakes, one of each flavour, and a big cupcake each to eat while there. i went with Sleepless in Albuquerque, and greg went with a Red Elvis. the minicakes were intended for later enjoyment, but we've already eaten, like, nine of them, and damn they were tasty.

i wonder if the protesters know about the cupcake shop? it's a much better place to spend a wet spring day.