Every time I'm faced with man issues, there's always this
little voice inside of me. And then another. And another. And another. The only
one that made sense was the one insisting that I eat more fried chicken.
These voices came from four highly opinionated body
parts: my brain, my gut, my heart and my vag.
These crazy bitches bark orders and advice at me
incessantly, often at the same time. They are all saying something different,
and sometimes I’m not sure who’s saying what. It can be quite maddening.
“Go out with him again, he’s hot and funny!” Wait… is
that my brain talking… or my vag? I really want to go out with him again, so
maybe it’s my gut. My heart jumps whenever he calls… so maybe it’s my heart
talking. Shit, I don’t know.
Let me introduce you to the players:
MY BRAIN
In a nutshell, my brain is a workaholic. She overthinks,
overanalyzes, and considers then reconsiders every possible angle of every
situation.
I’m a cerebral chick, I know that. I always want to make
the right decision but never know what it is, so I think and think and think
until my eyeballs bleed. And then if I ever do make a decision, I’m never sure
if it’s the best one, so I think and rethink some more.
I implore you, lobotomize her immediately and put her out
of her misery.
MY HEART
Ah, my heart. She is… damaged. The wear and tear on this
item should qualify me for a newer model, but sadly, we’re only allotted one
per lifetime.
Sometimes she’s afraid to speak up, largely because my
brain often tells her what an idiot she’s been in the past. Nevertheless, when
she does speak, she speaks volumes.
Folks often say, “Follow your heart.” And despite all the
risks this might involve, somehow, I still want to believe it. And it’s why I
gave my ex-boyfriends a lot of second chances.
MY VAG
This little bitch always gets me into trouble. When she
gets lonely, there’s no telling what she’ll do. I think it’s fairly common
knowledge that the best decisions are not made by your hoo-ha — but she’s
crafty.
She talks to the other organs while I’m not looking to
try and sway them over to her side. She’s very charismatic and persuasive —
much like Jim Jones, or Dakota Fanning.
She’s also a master ventriloquist. She’ll say something
and I’ll swear it’s my brain talking. Gotta keep an eye on this one. When she
doesn’t behave, I’ll sometimes threaten another Brazilian wax, but she remains
undeterred.
MY GUT
When people tell me, “Trust your gut, it’s never wrong,”
I want to kick them in the nards. It sounds like sound advice on the surface,
but not when your gut has multiple personality disorder.
One day, my gut says, “Fuck him off! You don’t have
anything in common and it’s just wrong!” The next day, she says, “Don’t dismiss
it so fast! You have a great connection and he’s an amazing guy!”
Very rarely do I experience an overwhelming “gut
instinct.” Sometimes I think I do — but it changes by the hour. How can I trust
my gut when she’s so damn wishy washy?
I have always envied people who can make a decision on the
spot and never look back. Perhaps their brain, heart, gut and vag all get along
and make a team decision. Or maybe one of them is the captain and always calls
the shots.
But mine just can’t seem to get their shit together. I’ve
got the Bad News Bears playing inside of me and we lose every time.
The Scarecrow, the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion and Dorothy
searched all of Oz for these four items. (In the original version, Dorothy
asked the Wizard for a vag. That’s why she’s so popular with the gays.)
I want to tell them that these organs really aren’t all
they’re cracked up to be. In fact, they can have mine — I’ve had enough.
From now on, I’m leaving all my decisions up to my
buttocks.
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