This just in from science:
Taking birth control can make you crazy. Because it’s got extra of what makes you a woman in it.
No, seriously. I’m on board with this. And hear me out. Think about it: as beaver bearing humanoids, we’re already destined for the genetic predisposition toward mental illness to begin with. That’s just our birthright. Our karmic reward for eating the serpent’s Granny Smith. I’m not effing with you. Look it up – it’s in the official book (Bible? DSM? Necronomicon?). Our fate’s etched there – indelibly lodged right between bloody monthly floods and menopause. We’re crazy. Then, once a month, we’re crazier. And once a nine-month-pre-person-delivery we’re even crazier. Any chill chicks you know are either trying really hard to be – or are mutants to be carefully watched, lest they sprout bilateral horns and wings, eat your flesh, and abscond with your skeleton into the heavens. So tell me: what exactly would you expect to happen to one of our kind if we took an extra dose of the hormone that makes us Jane and everyone else (excluding our F2M friends) Tarzan?
It reminds me a bit of that Amy Schumer sketch I just saw the other day:
Before I proceed, I should forewarn you to put on your eyeroll seatbelts ‘cause I’m gonna be referencing this bish a lot. It’s rare I ever find a funny female comic, so when I do, I tend to latch. Especially one that’s speaking this much truth about the unfortunate shortcomings that accompany being a mortal kiln. And, according to Pop Sci – adding extra of the insanity ingredient (chick hormones) can exacerbate said shortcomings:
The Brain Research study prompted breathless news reports suggesting that the pill makes you smarter. But Kinsley and Meyer point out that the brain works like a “neural beehive,” and disturbing one part of the hive could impact the other. The fact that one brain region becomes larger than the next does not mean a woman on hormones is more intelligent or effective. It is also possible that her brain is going haywire. (Kinsley and Meyer actually use the word “catawampus.”)
Note, Pop Sci doesn’t say we’re natch nutty. I (and Amy Schumer… and many others) do. I, never having even had a kid – or menopause – can already speak to the nutsness that is “being woman” (which is why I plan to remain barren and autodestruct before forty). And mayhaps a meme I read once said it best when it likened the chick brain to being like “having a million tabs open on your browser at once.” This is not wrong. Sadly – not a day later – I saw a dude comic explain how men have a “thinking of nothing” compartment. “Mindblow” would have been generous, had it happened; but instead a new tab just opened on the net in my noggin. And there I sat, hunting down every vendor on the internet for what kinda product I can buy to get me one of them thangs (without having to spend twelve hours doing Vippasana breathing and navel gazing).
Alas, I haven’t found anything. Yet. Instead that tab just led me into the usual hyperlink hell which – as we all know – leads to anthropomorphized pets in montage form, set to vaudeville music. And that’s where I am now. Just laugh-turbating my problems away while I try not to think about the fact that some sadistic deity constructed me with defects intentionally built into my blueprints. So much so that if I want to take a pill with extra of what makes me female (to, ya know, prevent overpopulation without performing a fun-ectomy on my social life), that I’d better be ready to morph into that cellar dwelling creature from Evil Dead 90% of the time. (The 10% being when I’m asleep. Or “accidentally” knocked unconscious by whatever male I’ve invited into my life and vagina). To make matters worse, PopSci even brings the labrats in as proof: “..in some situations estrogen has been shown to impair performance in rats. Other studies have suggested that the pill may change a woman’s preferences to the point of affecting her taste in men.” Jesus! Even the rats go crazy when turnt up on what we naturally produce!
But, as ever, here at MAPs, we look for solutions. And, honestly I don’t see a problem.
I see an opportunity. In the form of a five point plan:
1.) Begin taking testosterone (if estro. = crazy; then testos. = calm… right?)
2.) Turn into a dude.
3.) Pee on everything.
4.) Move to WeHo.
5.) Live happily, sanely, and sexily ever after… with zero conception threats.