What I Did Over Winter Break 2K10:

Got paid to participate with the Ohio Valley Summer Theater production, found "my drink": martini (love those olives), had a close encounter with death, got reacquainted with some old friends, RE-realized that Athens is my home...

After nearly seven weeks of academic recess (for most) it's time to get back to Athens and start 2011 correctly.

Our first meeting of the year will take place at the typical time and location. Well aware that some people will be attempting to settle, some not even back in town, F-Word is going to reconvene, full force at SEVEN O'CLOCK inside KANTNER 306. Please, oh please bring a friend! Encourage all thinkers, male, female, student, townie, hipster, and bro alike to join us for some wonderful "Home Detox" and gear up to brainstorm, explore, discuss, and share!

I've missed you all very much and am excited to meet some new people!

-Jessica Kyle Link


Story Time with F-Word & conFessions now on YOUTUBE!

Hey there ladies and gents,

Thanks to a lovely certain gent named Zane DeLong our Story Time with F-Word show is now up on Youtube! So take a peek and leave us comments.

-The F-Word Ladies

Here is the first video of Story Time with F-Word:

Here is the first video for conFessions:


Leviticus 18:22 by Hannah A Dunn

This piece was posted in request by another party. If you would like to see the written text of the conFession pieces, then please send us an e-mail at thefwordladies@gmail.com or leave a comment on our blog. We will ask the author for permission to post it, so it may not be granted.


(Three different speakers each read one scripture. I stand in front, looking at my Bible as if reading the scriptures)

Leviticus 18:22- “Do not lie with a man as one lies with a woman; that is detestable.”

Romans 1:26-27- “Because of this, God gave them over to shameful lusts. Even their women exchanged natural relations for unnatural ones. In the same way the men also abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed with lust for one another. Men committed indecent acts with other men, and received in themselves the due penalty for their perversion.”

1 Corinthians 6: 9-10- “Do you not know that the wicked will not inherit the kingdom of God?
Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor male prostitutes nor catamites nor thieves nor the greedy nor drunkards nor slanderers nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God.”

Hannah: I was raised with these words. The Bible was the backbone of my life, and I believed whole heartedly everything it said. My family was very conservative, so I grew up with the ideas that “the gays,” people who had abortions, and basically anyone who didn’t subscribe to our version of Christianity were doomed to hell. I accepted that doctrine without question, judging anyone and everyone as I had been taught.

In middle school, I realized that I was, well, different. As all my friends started going out with their first boyfriends, I found myself looking at my friends themselves. I would think about how pretty my friends were, not how hot the boys were. It was confusing. What did it all mean? Could I be gay?

Perish the thought! Gays were sinners, they were destined for hell. The Bible says so. It calls them detestable! There was no way I could be gay! I was the pastor’s daughter, the perfect child—I couldn’t even consider the possibility.
As the pastor’s daughter, I lived in a fishbowl. I was expected to be more than perfect. There was no “just being a kid.” With my Mary Janes and perfect Sunday school answers, model interactions with my family and respectful nature, I was the model child. But even as the model child, everyone in the church would watch just to see you slip up, to catch you doing something that would somehow prove you were human.

The idea that I was somehow different filled me with fear. I couldn’t bring that shame on my family. What would they say? What would the church say about us, that my family had raised me to live a life in sin?
My mom spends all her energy trying to live up to the insane expectations steeped upon us. Anything that could threaten her status was eliminated. I asked my mom once what she would do if I told her I was gay. She said that I’d never step foot in her house again. Even me, her daughter, can’t stand in the way of her reputation within the church.
I continued through life, and as time passed, I continued trying to suppressing the thoughts, hiding the truth from myself. I thought that if I fought it hard enough I would be able to turn normal. But I could never suppress all of the doubts and insecurities.

So, I tried to rationalize it. I studied scripture, prayed, and doubted. I realized that the new covenant created through Jesus threw out the laws of judgment and damnation preached in the Old Testament. And the verses in the New Testament weren’t necessarily referring to homosexuality, but maybe to incest and bestiality. We don’t know.
I came to this conclusion—the Bible does not have any concrete verses against homosexuality. Some may claim that it does. This includes my family. They don’t take Jesus’ message of love and acceptance as the highest law.

As I work at coming out here on campus, people might not always like what I have to say. My family doesn’t know yet, but it’s a process. Other Christian groups here on campus might not even agree with who I am, what I’m doing, or what I stand for. People judge me because of my sexuality, without even getting to know me, or changing their minds based on one little fact.
My confession—I don’t care what others say. I am a Christian, and I am gay. I’m not ashamed of either of these things. God loves me just the way I am. I don’t need the church to accept me or my family to stand behind me. I know that I am a beloved child of God, no matter who else I love.

Performed live in the Hahne Theater on November 16th, 2010 with The F-Word Ladies show conFessions.


A Missed conFession

Our show has ended. And as we look over e-mails, photos, friend requests, comments, we realized that we have missed a conFession that was submitted to us. We feel deeply sorry to this individual that dedicated time to submit us a conFession. In order to make up for it, we decided to post the conFession on our blog.

We haven't asked the author if this was o.k. But we wish that we could have done more to persent this conFession to the masses. They have decided to remain nameless.

Once again, we are deeply sorry.

They made a beautifully tragic couple. He was a scrawny, whipped spit-fuck shell of man. She was a holier-than-thou , God fearing masochist who dated pagans for fun.

The man shell had never dated before, so he was glad that the God-fearing masochist was willing to submit to his company. The God-fearing masochist had dated before, but not for several weeks. She was glad to make herself whole again, to fill herself with righteous, cardboard feelings of self-assurance. She was needed, and she needed to be needed. He was afraid. The world’s most beautiful pair of idiots. So innocent. So pure.

The couple would sit down to bi-weekly arguments. God would tell the God-fearing masochist to break away from the man shell, the pale little fucker who was too scared and weak to lift his own pride out of the gutter. And then there was the sex that followed, but sex is a strong word.

They would dry-hump in her room. Clothes had to stay on. God created humans in his image. And God has very low self-esteem. The only orgasms were accidental ones that resulted from repeated, chafe-inducing rubbing on one’s genitals on the inside of one’s undergarments. Sex is the wrong word. A more accurate term would be “jock itch.”

They both wanted more, but God and Santa Claus were watching.

But then one night came the laying on of hands. The God-fearing masochist couldn’t contain herself anymore. She unbuttoned her pants and pulled them down, but not far enough for God to see her bush while he watched through the ceiling. After all, that would make God uncomfortable. And God apparently smites those who make him uncomfortable. See: Sodom. See also: Gomorrah. See also: homosexuals.

The man shell looked at this exposed woman, a women who had always been a God-fearing masochist. In an instant, she was as depraved as he. She wanted more than dry humping and the self-resentment that followed every painful, chafing humping. She placed the man shell’s pathetic, trembling hand on her clitoris.

In the heat of the moment, this scrawny, pale spit fuck of a man reacts as though he’s been given the keys to the carnal Vatican. He pushes inside her with his finger, and she instantly regrets everything. A knock comes as the door from God-knows-who and the disappointing hand job ceases after less than 10 seconds. The God-fearing masochist insists that God knocked on the door to halt the egregious, contractual transgression that had occurred. The dumbass man shell was then smitten by the God-fearing masochist, the greatest of his agents.

Then the man shell, this horrible, tiny, pitiful shit-for-brains douche bag lets the God-fearing masochist explain how it’s all his fault. It was practically rape and get the hell out and don’t come back for several days until I decide I want to anger God again.

He cries. his tears are hot, salty snakes sliding down the sides of his face. He hates himself, goes home, shave s his face to alter his appearance – to change the awful person who the God-fearing masochist declares him to be. Two weeks later. It all happens again. The world’s most beautiful pair of idiots. So innocent. So pure.


The F-Word Ladies NEED YOU!

Hey there ladies and gents,

It's been awhile since we last updated, but like you-- we check back everyday to see if there is anything new! And what do you know, there is! Alright, so being a performance group we are always putting on the show. We are always talking about ourselves. And you know what, YOU LISTEN. Hooray!

Well now The F-Word Ladies are giving up the stage (kind-of) and we are asking, pledging and mayhaps DEMANDING that you, an F-Word supporter, share a CONFESSION with us for our next show taking place sometime in Mid-November. This show seriously cannot happen unless we get your CONFESSIONS.

Your confession can be ANYTHING. It can even be a lie-- we wouldn't know. Just in case you're still confused fellow F-Word lady Sonja Mata still sucks her thumb and she is 20 years old. Whoops! Or you can confess that you still pee in the shower or sing WAY off key while driving down Court Street. You can even confess that you have a crush on someone-- they might even be in the audience. (An F-Word show makes for a great date night! It's free!) You can confess past things, new things, any things, things you made up, things you think you made up, and things you think you didn't make up, but actually might still be made up.

And how do you submit these CONFESSIONS? Well, that's a tricky thing. The thing is YOU get to decide on whether or not you want to include anything else with your confession. Your name, age, grade level. Maybe you want to call yourself "ED," or "Lonely Boy," or even "A hopeful person." We don't know! It can be any combination of things! Or just to take pressure off, you can even be ANONYMOUS!!!!!! SO WHAT'S THE HARM?! Submit your CONFESSION.

You can submit your confessions a number of ways. We are only going to a list a few, because we want you to be more creative than us.

1. E-mail us your confession! (An e-mail address won't tell us who you are and we won't reply back!) So e-mail us at thefwordladies@gmail.com.

2. Post your confession on Facebook! (Lame and not really a confession anymore, but at least you're putting it out there for us to see!) Post that confession on The F-Word Facebook Group. You can find that by clicking this.

3. If you are looking at the Facebook group there is this neat thing on the left hand sidebar and it shows the ADMINS for The F-Word Ladies. If you're feeling brave message one us and tell us your CONFESSION. Again-- even if we know you, we won't share your confession. And we won't reply back.

4.Tweet us your confession! Check out twitter here and figure out how to let us know. Here is our twitter account.

5. Oh hey! You can even click "comment" on this here blog and leave us a CONFESSION! Remember-- ALL COMMENTS are screened before being publish. We will not publish your COMMENT/CONFESSION unless you give us permission.

6. Write your confession in the Ellis Hall bathroom. Just make sure to make a little arrow saying something like "For F-Word." Just so we don't go in there and pick random ones to make it look like people submitted us actual confessions.

7. In Kanter Hall on the 3rd floor there are mailboxes! Find Sonja Mata or Arielle Rogers or Jessica Link and place your secret in their mailbox. It won't get read by another party. Trust us, because we love our audience. Just make sure we can read your handwriting!

8. Be a creep and stalk us on campus. (If you know who The F-Word Ladies are) and whisper your sweet confession in our ear and then RUN AWAY!!!!

9. While you click "attending" for our upcoming show you can also post a confession on the Facebook event located here.


So there you go. We gave your TEN neat ways to submit your confessions. So please do and we will forever be thankful. Stay pretty ladies and gents.

-The F-Word Ladies


Convenience Whores

For those of you who may not have heard about the recent controversy involving Target's contributions to Tom Emmer's political campaign, please read this.

If you are familiar, please read on.

As a strong supporter of human rights, boycotting Target seemed like the least I could do in this situation. Sure, it was always fun getting Hello Kitty stickers for a dollar and the popcorn they sell in the snack shop is unbelievably salty and delicious, but my values will beat out a cat without a mouth and high sodium levels any day. After reading up on the situation, I called every member of my family to explain to them the implications of their shopping at this store. You may or may not know this, but my mother is a huge shopper. If the Target corporation were to suffer from losing any customer, she's probably the one. Even though I told my dad (although Best Buy applies more to him) and my sisters, it was the most important to get the message through to my mom. When I spoke to her, she seemed genuinely interested in staying away. Was I naive to believe that it would last?
Of course.
Fast forward a few weeks to today, when she called me from Walmart to ask if there was anything I wanted. I asked for a toaster oven, because I've got a soft spot for them. She called me a few minutes later, and tells me that she's having trouble finding a decent one. Now, as much as I happen to like them, toaster ovens aren't exactly an urgent matter so I assured her it wasn't of the greatest importance that I have one today. Still, about an hour later, she walked through the door exclaiming, "I got you a toaster oven!"
Anyone else would thank their mother and move on, but I couldn't help feeling as though I'd been wronged. The following scene went something like this:
Corinne: "Where did you buy it?"
Mom: "From the store."
C: "What store?"
M: "Walmart. I went to the Tricounty one."
C: "Show me the receipt."
M: "I don't even know where it is. Here, let's get the toaster out of the car."
(At this point, we walk out to the car. She opens the door, and the toaster oven is sitting in the back seat in a Walmart bag. Sitting next to it? Target brand laundry detergent. The conversation ended when I pointed this out to her, asked for the receipt and bought my own toaster oven online. Hello, Amazon Prime free shipping. My mom continued to try to justify her actions, including lying to me about where she bought it, by telling me that it was convenient.)
Convenience. I thought about this for a while, and wondered how much is actually done in the interest of what's easiest. How often is the right thing abandoned for the quick fix? Is it really more simple to do the easy thing and lie about it than it is just to stick to your values in the first place?

I'm taking back that toaster oven tomorrow.



Today while riding in a car [on the way back from a SOX game-- we won!] with my three fellow guy friends [Bryan, Jeff, Adam] I switched the Ipod and the music that was playing to my Ipod and to a podcast that is done by the two wonderful ladies of The Stuff Mom Never Told You. The podcast was one on "Does size really matter?" Unfortunately, we didn't get to listen to the whole 27 minute podcast, but I thought it was a significant improvement for my guy friends to a) even let me change the music that was playing in the car, even though I had shotgun and b) to let me change it to a podcast on whether or not size mattered!

I found that Jeff was more engaged than Bryan or Adam, but it made me really happy that for those few minutes they listened and gave it a chance, however small.

I don't know if I'll "get-away" with doing it again, unless I am the driver, but it was unplanned and it went nicely. If only our destination had been 28 minutes away. . .but let me ask, does size really matter?

-Sonja Mata


An Obvious Salute

Fuck butterflies. My stomach was a tube, Augustus shot up and down, only in your presence. Tippy toeing across the hardwood floor, comfort and adrenaline were always baked together making one hell of a treat to eat. I've excluded others and secluded myself from the rest. No other cooperation has ever felt as fulfilling, even when we'd share messy sentences through one, a guarded mouth and the other, a set of expressive eyes. I'd tried my hand at co-existing with men I'd eventually find myself itchy around. Itchy enough to oust myself like a coward. But even when you became my nemesis, someone I battled playfully everyday after, I never wanted to leave your side. The same conversation leaks it's way through the phone in order to disturb what I always thought could be smooth, separate waters, if only I could keep the subject at bay. It was real but only in retrospect. I was too busy trying to convince myself that my very existence wasn't a tricky dream. It felt real when I washed your dishes... twice. It felt real when you defended me in front of a very hairy past. It felt real when you'd meow. It felt real exploring the universe, translation, dragging my legs through the bars and alleys of Athens. It felt real when you drove me in my warm, cozy car. It felt real when you were big spoon. It felt real when you asked me to be nice to you. You are honest, beautiful, a victim, an archer, hilarious, a catalyst for creativity, and Snow White's Queen. Simultaneously my first, my best friend, and my daughter. My wish is that someone will cherish and respect you and you can do the same for them. I'm saddened that the next will not be you but I am so grateful that you'll be there to see me through the rest. Fuck butterflies, I'll take a tube in my stomach every time after and seek nothing less.

-Jessica Link


@ 11:09 PM

Perhaps-- I attempt to be so open-minded
that I'm actually really closed-minded.
And when I'm annoyed or I think my
opinion is better-- I shut down, dig
my heels and begin to think of
how I wouldn't or couldn't work with
someone. It's a clash of poetry and
performance. And I feel your
opinion just doesn't compare.


This is a journal entry I wrote on 6.1.10-- the week of our final spring quarter performance Covering the Bases: The F-Word Ladies talk about sex. I thought that this could be something to share with the rest of the ladies along with other readers. Even as a performer and an overall human-- we have opinions on EVERYTHING. And we all know this. And even within a group where we talk about the things that don't really get talked about we as a group have some clashing moments and so very strong opinions about how a piece should go or how movement is specific. I like to think that we remember our purpose-- our end goal. It's not how we agree, but how we understand each other and the art that we wish to create for our ourselves and audience members.

One of my personal goals is to lessen the amount of how much I talk behind other peoples backs. This doesn't make me a bad person, because I don't want to say that I am. No one likes that. But now that I've said it-- I got to do it. I want you all to call me out on my bullshit.

I'll be counting on you.


Sonja Mata


Burning Questions.

Seeing that one of our upcoming themes is Childhood I thought I could regale our readers with a short and entirely disconnected story slash thought on the subject. Buckle up, ladies and gents, some of these feelings have been bottled up since I pooped my first pair of Hanes-Her-Way for kiddies. I'm impressed that you even made it through this seemingly unimportant preface. Moving on.

Why do adults frequently answer children with "I don't know"? We all were kids and we all wanted to know the answers to various things. Do grown-ups get so irritated because they truly don't know anything about the subject of which the kid is inquiring or is it out of sheer exhaustion that they choose to ignore the question? Nine times out of ten it's the latter. You'd be surprised how many questions I get asked daily as a YMCA Day Camp Counselor. We gon' break this down mathematically (cringe)... just as an estimate, let's say that the average ten year old asks two questions an hour. At ten kids a day from 9 AM to 4 PM, that's 140 questions a day, per counselor. With questions ranging from, "Why are your legs so hairy?" to "When is swim time?" I don't knows are thrown out of my mouth like candy from a 4th of July Parade float. Simple, yes or no answers are rare and provide a disgusting amount of relief from the cog turning, thought provoking queries like, "Why do cicadas only come out every 17 years?" Yes or No questions are quick, concise and painless... that is, until the big one drops.

Wednesday. 1:30 PM. Innocent, precious, and candid, one cherub of a boy asks, "Is there a baby in your belly?" The little rodent asked me if I was pregnant. Awesome. I fumed silently for a minute, let my self-esteem shatter and then answered calmly, "No. No, there isn't a ... a baby ... in my belly." I had to let it go. Mere seconds later he had! After hearing my response he looked down at my body then proceeded to punch my chest four times, exclaim "BOOBS!" and then scurry away. I now understood why my mom took so many smoke breaks when I was younger. Before I let the irritation penetrate any deeper I took a second to think about if I had ever asked a lady if she was toting a bun in the oven. ...

I was six. My mom and I were in some department store filled with shoulder pads and zebra print. From a distance I saw a larger woman wearing blue jean coveralls completed by an embroidered pink flower. I thought to myself, "How nice, that fat lady isn't just fat, she probably has a baby in there, that's why she's so huge. When we pass her in a few seconds, I'll ask her if she is actually pregnant and then we can celebrate her happiness together!" That was the greatest idea I had in my whole six years of life. I was going to ask a complete stranger if she was with child, just so she could beam at me and say, "Why yes! And I am so happy to be pregnant! Thank you for asking, child!" As you can imagine, that is NOT the response that I received at all. The woman, startled and dismayed snapped a vicious NO in my direction and kept walking. My mom, always willing to turn experiences into lessons, tried to explain just why the lady may not think that was the nicest question to ask. This was the moment in which my mom tried to teach me common courtesy and the virtue of a closed mouth (which clearly didn't stick). I felt ashamed that I had made the woman so mad. I thought my question was an acceptable one! I told myself never to forget that just maybe us kids aren't trying to be mean, we really just wanna know everything.

... Back to present day. I couldn't be mad at the kid. Yes, he unintentionally insulted me, but hey, maybe he just wanted to bask in the glory that was my potential pregnancy. At least a girl can hope. After reminiscing for a few more moments, I felt secure in knowing that A: I am, in fact, not pregnant, and B: I was wearing an unflattering t-shirt/short combo that day. Before you angrily throw out an "I don't know" or an emotionless yes or no robotic response at a child, think about from which direction their question is coming. They could be earnestly seeking an answer to one of lives burning questions.

Who invented grass? Why do we have to sing songs everyday? What is cotton made out of? When do I get to go home? Can I see your name tag? Are you cross-eyed? Where is Shaleena from? Is Shaleena from India? Where is India? Does that mean Shaleena is an Indian from Cowboys and Indians? Who is Shaleena?

-Jessica Link


An F-Word Quickie: Comments

Hey everyone,

We have been getting A LOT of positive feedback since this blog started and we truly thank you for that. We will do our best to stay updated on future shows and things like that. Also, if you have or have tried to publish a comment and it does not show up-- do not worry! The F-Word Ladies have decided that we will monitor comments left before publishing them for everyone else to see. This is because we do not want down right hateful comments or attacks. If someone does disagree with us and we find the comment appropriate in language we will still publish it. As you know our readers are vast and different and everyone has a voice here.

So continue to check back and follow us on our Twitter account or join our Facebook page here. Lastly tell us anything you like and send it to thefwordladies@gmail.com!

-The F-Word Ladies


F-Word Merchandise!!!

As this is my first post here on the F-Word blog, I figure that I should introduce myself:

My name is Arianna, and I am a rising senior (!) here at OU, with a sociology major and women's and gender studies certificate. I blog about gender, human sexuality, and sex education (read: my minor obsession) here, although I haven't touched my blog in a while--hoping to change that soon. I speak Chinese. I enjoy Pilates. I absolutely adore penguins. I'm filled to the brim with stories...I'm sure you'll hear many of them soon!

Okay, so I had a fundraising idea for us Ladies and Gents: shirts! I decided to make a design that would look really good on us, as well as on other people who might want to buy our shirts. Even if others don't, it still might be cool for us to have our own brand to be visible on campus.

I tried a few different designs, and the design below was the best looking that I considered. On the front, there are a variety of f-words covering the entire front of the shirt, seam to seam, top to bottom. These words are colored just slightly darker than the color of the shirt, so that they form a background, but one must get closer to see each individual word. The pictures below are just for a white version; technically, the design could work on any color (I was thinking red). For the important headline text, I have four different fonts, as shown below.

I used my handy-dandy "print screen" button and paint program to make the following pictures, which I created in Word (hence the little squigglies under a few words on the left, and the cursor on the left on option 4- neither of those are part of the design.) Here are the options so far:

Option 1: Block Type (click for close-up)

Option 2: Handwritten Type
(click for close-up)

Option 3: Scribble Type
(click for close-up)

Option 4: Typewriter Type
(click for close-up)

Other ideas:

  • Going local: Getting them printed at places in Athens
  • Going organic: Organic shirts, social responsibility style?
  • V-Necks: they look good on everybody
Which one is your favorite? Do you have ideas for the shirts yourself? Talk to us in the comments!


Monsoon written by Glenna Brucken

UPDATE: Glenna performed this exact experience with The F-Word Ladies show: Story Time with F-word. To see Glenna perform this piece check out the Youtube video here.


Sonja has inspired me to share the story of my very first period. I wonder who will end up reading this. Like most of my work, half of me hopes that no one will ever read this. And the other half really hopes that everyone will read this.

I've always been a very slow person. Slow to wake up in the morning, slow to get out of the car, a slow runner, a slow reader, a slow eater. It only makes sense that I was a "late bloomer." I found the startling smear of reddish brown in my underwear at the age of fifteen years, five months, and twenty nine days; just one day shy of being exactly fifteen and a half.

That night, I mistook my menstrual cramps for the need to poop. Upon seeing the unfamiliarity on the toilet paper in my hand, I burst in to song.


No one was as excited as I was. If only I'd known what the next eight days had in store. That's right-- my first period lasted eight days. EIGHT FLIPPING DAYS!

With the heaviness of my flow, I couldn't ignore the convenience of a tampon. That's not to say I wasn't totally freaked out to use it, demanding that my older sister aid me on the other side of the bathroom door. She was a pro, having gotten hers at the age of twelve. It wasn't putting it in that scared me (although it was almost six months later during my second period when I discovered I'd been putting it in wrong... so THAT'S why it was so uncomfortable) but rather pulling it out. I had horrific images in my head of the white cotton absorbing the monsoon that had formed in my uterus and swelling to the size of a baseball. I wasn't ready to pull a baseball out of my vagina! However, once I had worked up the courage to just yank it out, through my tears I could see that it was nothing more than what Sonja brilliantly describes as a "dead mouse." I had never been so relieved to see such a gruesome sight.

Unfortunately, even the toughest of tampons couldn't help me through this week of hell. To this day, I do not wish this experience upon anyone-- even my worst enemies. Within one hour, I could soak through a maxi pad AND a maxi tampon. I distinctly remember shifting in my seat in geometry sophomore year, and being able to feel the warmth slip out past the tampon and in to my pad. In the same day, I was in the bathroom after school, trying to clean up before play practice, a rather involved and lengthy task. As soon as I'd finally finished cleaning myself up in preparation to insert my last tampon, a huge clot of blood plopped in to the toilet, settling in the bottom and revealing itself to be about the same size as a china saucer.

I lost it.

Sobbing, I called my sister Charlotte, and she picked me up from school. I can't remember if she later returned me to practice. But that night, my mother insisted on taking me to the emergency room. She was convinced that I was losing an unhealthy amount of blood. I was all for it until she informed me that a resident might have to do an examination. Even though I started crying when she told me this, to the emergency room we went.

After a night with a needle happy, blood thirsty, yet very jovial phlebotomist and NO examination (phew!) I returned home with the doctor's order to take the following day off. I was glad to do so, considering I was literally sore just from all the times I'd twisted around to get toilet paper while on the toilet. I finished out the week and my second period was not to come for another six months.

Now, almost five years later, my period is no where near this horrific. As to why it was so incredibly heavy the first time, I still don't know for sure. But as for bursting in to Chaka Kahn's 1978 hit for that special time of the month? Well... that's hardly changed.


Be sure to check out Sonja's first period experience here. Also submit your own stories to The F-Word Ladies at thefwordladies@gmail.com


F-Word Service Project

In relation to the last post, The F-Word Ladies still need ideas on a service project. There were some ideas about The Ladies heading to New Orleans or somewhere closer to home-- Cincinnati being the other.

Also at last years spring quarter meeting two potential (well not really they have been determined) themes for next fall quarter were brought to a vote. One being a show about Childhood and the other one being about Confessions (a sort of Post Secret esque show). Details on that theme have yet to be determined.

And as a generic last note-- START THINKING! Once you do that submit your ideas to either the Facebook page or to our lovely gmail e-mail ----> thefwordladies@gmail.com

-The F-Word Ladies


The F-Word Ladies Welcome You--

Hello interwebs!

Currently we are in the process of raising money for our upcoming performances in the fall. Members have started F-Word Jars. Every time we say an F-Word (any swear pretty much) we place a whole .25 cents into the jar! We've also added no swears in text messages. Most of us are already $10 bucks in the hole.

Stay in touch for more updates.

Edit: Also check out our Youtube channel (scroll below)! We only have our Winter quarter performance up. We are currently working on getting our spring show up as well.

-The F-Word Ladies