6 pounds up this week. HELP!

Ge0rgiana

So no one noticed that the original poster of this thread is a male...

I did, but I do pretty much know who he is from the forums.

angmarie28

You should use the diva cup.

So one of the many new devices I purchased for this trip was a Diva "Moon Cup". Since feminine hygine supplies would be hard to come by and waste-producing, I opted instead to buy a thing like a Barbie Deluxe Toilet Plunger, and stuff it up my hooha.

The theory is that the cup catches your pan drippings, and you empty it a couple times a day, washing it with hippy soap, and reinserting. It presupposes you are enough of an Earth Mother to be OK not only with your monthly outpourings, but also with generally fossicking around in your flaps. Now, I am no stranger to gore. Nor am I squeamish about my delicate rose of delight, except that I have no such illusions about it and indeed am always reminded of nothing so much as stuffing an oddly-warm raw turkey. So, when after several weeks of teasing, the Period Fairy threatening to postpone the Communist Invasion until I was actually getting on the plane (I was about ready to scream and cry at some hapless unwary male just as a sacrifice to appease her) at last I greeted the rosy-fingered dawn and set about embarking on my new life as a eco-friendly Diva.

The Moon Cup comes in two sizes; Size A, for youthful nymphs under 30 who have never given birth and have silken tresses and tinkling laughs and are all size 0, and size B, for Big Ol' *****es like m'self, who have either spawned, or are so old (ie over 30) that they might as well have been poppin' them out like Duggar Donuts, because their sugar walls are now echoing corridors full of cobwebs and slackness. Of course the packaging phrases it more nicely, but I was miffed to see that despite having never replicated, I was still doomed to the Big Gulp size because of my age alone.

So, chalice in hand, fingers washed, and let's fold that thing like a taco (no, not THAT thing, the other thing!) and cram it up where only one man has gone before and even then not for a damn long time even when he WAS still around. I'm sure I imagined the rusty creaking sounds as I tried to shove something which was larger than anything previous (with the exception of various medical speculums which, I believe, were constructed by the same person who designed the Montlake Drawbridge)into the Gaping Maw.

Now, you're supposed to roll the cup up, smuggle it past the border, let it expand, then turn it clockwise (or counter clockwise, or then one way and another, stopping when you hear the click, or something...) anyway, you're supposed to be able to turn this thing like a dial in there."If the cup does not turn easily, you did it wrong" Oh, of course, I'll just grasp hold of a thing about the size, shape, and slipperyness of the pointy end of a peeled hard-boiled egg, which is now buried in the meaty folds of my innermost femininity, which, I may add, are well-sluiced with the special effects from a Quentin Tarantino film, and spin that sucker like a dredel.

There is, also, a small stem at the base of this cup, which, being made of the same slippery silicon and about a centimeter long, is about as helpful as providing a live, untrained earthworm for a handle. More on this later.

So, rotate this thing in situ, to ensure a good 'seal' and a comfortable fit.

Does. Not. Happen.

Ladies (and gentlemen, although I hope for your sake none of you gentlemen are reading this), I tried. I hauled that thing in and out of there more times, and with much less joy, than Eeyore with his birthday present, and not once could I get that thing to "turn easily". I finally gave up, since it seemed, at one point, to be "fully inflated" and more or less in the right place. Frankly I think that having left my furrow unplowed for so long, I'm not exactly the proper degree of hotdog-hallway that the instruction-writer was intending to address, but so be it. Let's give this thing a whirl, if we can't give it a twist.

Fast forward a few hours in which I've done nothing much. To its credit, I don't feel the presence of THE CUP at all, no discomfort, not even a vague sense of "eugh" as I sometimes have when knowing all that stands between me and my khakis is a small cottony Dutch boy. In fact, I'm getting rather concerned that the Diva Cup has wormed its way in like some form of parasitic jellyfish and is now eagerly migrating up my fallopian tubes, with me all unknowing. Time to go fishing.

And that is where I discover that, while it's difficult to try and 'turn' a Diva Cup newly lodged in your sanctum sanctorum, it's a freakin' log-fall compared to trying to recover said Cup after it has gotten comfortably settled in the downy folds of your blood-engorged tissues. Yes, indeed, if cram my fingers up there to the point of pain, I can just, tantilizingly, tickle the end of that goddamn silicone 'stem'. Grasp it? Not in hell.

Of course the instructions say, if this happens, DO NOT PANIC. Well, thank god for that, because I was already running through the list of people I'd trust with a flashlight, a set of forceps, and an experience that would scar both of us for the rest of our lives. There were instructions for different positions, and "bearing down" and so forth, which I tried, to no avail, and I was pretty sure that my ham-fisted efforts (ahem) were just making things worse on the "swollen" front, so Diva and I took a break, and retired to our respective corners for an hour or so.

Now I brought out my secret weapon: Beer. If, gods help me, I ever have to have a baby, I intend to be drunk off my *kitten* for the delivery, and I surely hope that the Fairy Prince Unicorn Elvis who is my chosen Babydaddy will provide a bedside IV of godly ambrosia, or at least Jim Beam. But anyway, two beers and I'm good to go spelunking in quest of the Holy Grail once more.

Either the beer, or the break, or the combination of all of these and squatting on the bathmat like a Neanderthal crapping, finally, produced enough of that goddamn 'stem' to grab (which was good, because I was dreading having use the kitchen tongs Up There or something) and, with a surprising amount of horrible suctioning "discomfort", the invader was routed! And, wonder of wonders, it was indeed partially filled. Not filled with DELICIOUS CANDY, no, but it did seem to have been, you know... -working-, before I so rudely dislodged it from its parasitic feeding. I felt a combination of grudging respect and intrigue, as one might upon meeting a foe worthy of their steel. Provided we could agree to disagree on the whole "turn 360 degrees in place" aspect, perhaps this could indeed be a workable partnership. Better than bleeding into the Rupununi and attracting every caiman, pirahna, and candiru fish for fifty miles.

But not without some boundaries first. I tied a ROPE to that stupid stem this time."

OMG I laughed so hard, makes more sense being I use the diva cup, I know what you mean.

alisondavidson9

Parsley tea helps you lose the water weight.

NancyStree

Wow

NancyStree

good one...MAN!!!! LOL...

loriepaulin

Has no one except anh noticed that OP is male, according to profile?

My thoughts exactly...I noticed the photo looked off (legs gave it away). Then went to the profile and saw it was a male in the profile...I think this is all a joke :noway:

olores

Period weight gain. AND............

I browsed at your diary and it's full of sugary treats, fatty foods and whole milk........there's lot's of room for improvement.

This is not constructive. Why is everyone so mean on MFP. I would report you but the donuts are calling me.

Why not take a look at the diary that's what its for if you make it public, right? What harm does it do to help guide someone more towards more healthy habits? Didn't she ask for guidance? Hummm....actually it was vey good advise.

Graelwyn75

Lmao, cannot believe so many people thought this was a female poster, and a serious topic. Doesn't the profile picture and gender in the profile give it away a bit ? Lol. Shows how observant people are.

mamasmaltz3

You should use the diva cup.

So one of the many new devices I purchased for this trip was a Diva "Moon Cup". Since feminine hygine supplies would be hard to come by and waste-producing, I opted instead to buy a thing like a Barbie Deluxe Toilet Plunger, and stuff it up my hooha.

The theory is that the cup catches your pan drippings, and you empty it a couple times a day, washing it with hippy soap, and reinserting. It presupposes you are enough of an Earth Mother to be OK not only with your monthly outpourings, but also with generally fossicking around in your flaps. Now, I am no stranger to gore. Nor am I squeamish about my delicate rose of delight, except that I have no such illusions about it and indeed am always reminded of nothing so much as stuffing an oddly-warm raw turkey. So, when after several weeks of teasing, the Period Fairy threatening to postpone the Communist Invasion until I was actually getting on the plane (I was about ready to scream and cry at some hapless unwary male just as a sacrifice to appease her) at last I greeted the rosy-fingered dawn and set about embarking on my new life as a eco-friendly Diva.

The Moon Cup comes in two sizes; Size A, for youthful nymphs under 30 who have never given birth and have silken tresses and tinkling laughs and are all size 0, and size B, for Big Ol' *****es like m'self, who have either spawned, or are so old (ie over 30) that they might as well have been poppin' them out like Duggar Donuts, because their sugar walls are now echoing corridors full of cobwebs and slackness. Of course the packaging phrases it more nicely, but I was miffed to see that despite having never replicated, I was still doomed to the Big Gulp size because of my age alone.

So, chalice in hand, fingers washed, and let's fold that thing like a taco (no, not THAT thing, the other thing!) and cram it up where only one man has gone before and even then not for a damn long time even when he WAS still around. I'm sure I imagined the rusty creaking sounds as I tried to shove something which was larger than anything previous (with the exception of various medical speculums which, I believe, were constructed by the same person who designed the Montlake Drawbridge)into the Gaping Maw.

Now, you're supposed to roll the cup up, smuggle it past the border, let it expand, then turn it clockwise (or counter clockwise, or then one way and another, stopping when you hear the click, or something...) anyway, you're supposed to be able to turn this thing like a dial in there."If the cup does not turn easily, you did it wrong" Oh, of course, I'll just grasp hold of a thing about the size, shape, and slipperyness of the pointy end of a peeled hard-boiled egg, which is now buried in the meaty folds of my innermost femininity, which, I may add, are well-sluiced with the special effects from a Quentin Tarantino film, and spin that sucker like a dredel.

There is, also, a small stem at the base of this cup, which, being made of the same slippery silicon and about a centimeter long, is about as helpful as providing a live, untrained earthworm for a handle. More on this later.

So, rotate this thing in situ, to ensure a good 'seal' and a comfortable fit.

Does. Not. Happen.

Ladies (and gentlemen, although I hope for your sake none of you gentlemen are reading this), I tried. I hauled that thing in and out of there more times, and with much less joy, than Eeyore with his birthday present, and not once could I get that thing to "turn easily". I finally gave up, since it seemed, at one point, to be "fully inflated" and more or less in the right place. Frankly I think that having left my furrow unplowed for so long, I'm not exactly the proper degree of hotdog-hallway that the instruction-writer was intending to address, but so be it. Let's give this thing a whirl, if we can't give it a twist.

Fast forward a few hours in which I've done nothing much. To its credit, I don't feel the presence of THE CUP at all, no discomfort, not even a vague sense of "eugh" as I sometimes have when knowing all that stands between me and my khakis is a small cottony Dutch boy. In fact, I'm getting rather concerned that the Diva Cup has wormed its way in like some form of parasitic jellyfish and is now eagerly migrating up my fallopian tubes, with me all unknowing. Time to go fishing.

And that is where I discover that, while it's difficult to try and 'turn' a Diva Cup newly lodged in your sanctum sanctorum, it's a freakin' log-fall compared to trying to recover said Cup after it has gotten comfortably settled in the downy folds of your blood-engorged tissues. Yes, indeed, if cram my fingers up there to the point of pain, I can just, tantilizingly, tickle the end of that goddamn silicone 'stem'. Grasp it? Not in hell.

Of course the instructions say, if this happens, DO NOT PANIC. Well, thank god for that, because I was already running through the list of people I'd trust with a flashlight, a set of forceps, and an experience that would scar both of us for the rest of our lives. There were instructions for different positions, and "bearing down" and so forth, which I tried, to no avail, and I was pretty sure that my ham-fisted efforts (ahem) were just making things worse on the "swollen" front, so Diva and I took a break, and retired to our respective corners for an hour or so.

Now I brought out my secret weapon: Beer. If, gods help me, I ever have to have a baby, I intend to be drunk off my *kitten* for the delivery, and I surely hope that the Fairy Prince Unicorn Elvis who is my chosen Babydaddy will provide a bedside IV of godly ambrosia, or at least Jim Beam. But anyway, two beers and I'm good to go spelunking in quest of the Holy Grail once more.

Either the beer, or the break, or the combination of all of these and squatting on the bathmat like a Neanderthal crapping, finally, produced enough of that goddamn 'stem' to grab (which was good, because I was dreading having use the kitchen tongs Up There or something) and, with a surprising amount of horrible suctioning "discomfort", the invader was routed! And, wonder of wonders, it was indeed partially filled. Not filled with DELICIOUS CANDY, no, but it did seem to have been, you know... -working-, before I so rudely dislodged it from its parasitic feeding. I felt a combination of grudging respect and intrigue, as one might upon meeting a foe worthy of their steel. Provided we could agree to disagree on the whole "turn 360 degrees in place" aspect, perhaps this could indeed be a workable partnership. Better than bleeding into the Rupununi and attracting every caiman, pirahna, and candiru fish for fifty miles.

But not without some boundaries first. I tied a ROPE to that stupid stem this time."

I nominate for best post of the year. Thank you for that laugh.

Graelwyn75

Period weight gain. AND............

I browsed at your diary and it's full of sugary treats, fatty foods and whole milk........there's lot's of room for improvement.

This is not constructive. Why is everyone so mean on MFP. I would report you but the donuts are calling me.

Why not take a look at the diary that's what its for if you make it public, right? What harm does it do to help guide someone more towards more healthy habits? Didn't she ask for guidance? Hummm....actually it was vey good advise.

Why not get with the picture and realise that she is actually a he ?

violinkeri

goddammit, i've been had! haha.

In my defense...at the time the post was started, the profile was private and the only picture you could see was the picture of a black woman. now that the profile is open i feel like an idiot.

JossFit

I can't believe how many people replied to this thread and didn't notice that the OP is a man...

calibriintx

First, calm down. You might not have known this, but eating veggies during you TOM can make you retain extra water because fruit and veggies are mostly water. So during the week before and week of your TOM, you should avoid veggies and eat extra carbs and foods high in sodium to dry you out. Also, avoid showering so you don't get water logged.

Second, I am sorry about your panties. Soak them in cold water -- but make sure you wear gloves so you don't actually touch the water.

Good luck and just stick with it.

not sure if serious....

sodium makes you hold on to water. avoid sodium and drink lots and lots of water. and really, avoid showering? i need to shower MORE during my TOM. GROSS.

Why are you so mean?

calibriintx

You should use the diva cup.

So one of the many new devices I purchased for this trip was a Diva "Moon Cup". Since feminine hygine supplies would be hard to come by and waste-producing, I opted instead to buy a thing like a Barbie Deluxe Toilet Plunger, and stuff it up my hooha.

The theory is that the cup catches your pan drippings, and you empty it a couple times a day, washing it with hippy soap, and reinserting. It presupposes you are enough of an Earth Mother to be OK not only with your monthly outpourings, but also with generally fossicking around in your flaps. Now, I am no stranger to gore. Nor am I squeamish about my delicate rose of delight, except that I have no such illusions about it and indeed am always reminded of nothing so much as stuffing an oddly-warm raw turkey. So, when after several weeks of teasing, the Period Fairy threatening to postpone the Communist Invasion until I was actually getting on the plane (I was about ready to scream and cry at some hapless unwary male just as a sacrifice to appease her) at last I greeted the rosy-fingered dawn and set about embarking on my new life as a eco-friendly Diva.

The Moon Cup comes in two sizes; Size A, for youthful nymphs under 30 who have never given birth and have silken tresses and tinkling laughs and are all size 0, and size B, for Big Ol' *****es like m'self, who have either spawned, or are so old (ie over 30) that they might as well have been poppin' them out like Duggar Donuts, because their sugar walls are now echoing corridors full of cobwebs and slackness. Of course the packaging phrases it more nicely, but I was miffed to see that despite having never replicated, I was still doomed to the Big Gulp size because of my age alone.

So, chalice in hand, fingers washed, and let's fold that thing like a taco (no, not THAT thing, the other thing!) and cram it up where only one man has gone before and even then not for a damn long time even when he WAS still around. I'm sure I imagined the rusty creaking sounds as I tried to shove something which was larger than anything previous (with the exception of various medical speculums which, I believe, were constructed by the same person who designed the Montlake Drawbridge)into the Gaping Maw.

Now, you're supposed to roll the cup up, smuggle it past the border, let it expand, then turn it clockwise (or counter clockwise, or then one way and another, stopping when you hear the click, or something...) anyway, you're supposed to be able to turn this thing like a dial in there."If the cup does not turn easily, you did it wrong" Oh, of course, I'll just grasp hold of a thing about the size, shape, and slipperyness of the pointy end of a peeled hard-boiled egg, which is now buried in the meaty folds of my innermost femininity, which, I may add, are well-sluiced with the special effects from a Quentin Tarantino film, and spin that sucker like a dredel.

There is, also, a small stem at the base of this cup, which, being made of the same slippery silicon and about a centimeter long, is about as helpful as providing a live, untrained earthworm for a handle. More on this later.

So, rotate this thing in situ, to ensure a good 'seal' and a comfortable fit.

Does. Not. Happen.

Ladies (and gentlemen, although I hope for your sake none of you gentlemen are reading this), I tried. I hauled that thing in and out of there more times, and with much less joy, than Eeyore with his birthday present, and not once could I get that thing to "turn easily". I finally gave up, since it seemed, at one point, to be "fully inflated" and more or less in the right place. Frankly I think that having left my furrow unplowed for so long, I'm not exactly the proper degree of hotdog-hallway that the instruction-writer was intending to address, but so be it. Let's give this thing a whirl, if we can't give it a twist.

Fast forward a few hours in which I've done nothing much. To its credit, I don't feel the presence of THE CUP at all, no discomfort, not even a vague sense of "eugh" as I sometimes have when knowing all that stands between me and my khakis is a small cottony Dutch boy. In fact, I'm getting rather concerned that the Diva Cup has wormed its way in like some form of parasitic jellyfish and is now eagerly migrating up my fallopian tubes, with me all unknowing. Time to go fishing.

And that is where I discover that, while it's difficult to try and 'turn' a Diva Cup newly lodged in your sanctum sanctorum, it's a freakin' log-fall compared to trying to recover said Cup after it has gotten comfortably settled in the downy folds of your blood-engorged tissues. Yes, indeed, if cram my fingers up there to the point of pain, I can just, tantilizingly, tickle the end of that goddamn silicone 'stem'. Grasp it? Not in hell.

Of course the instructions say, if this happens, DO NOT PANIC. Well, thank god for that, because I was already running through the list of people I'd trust with a flashlight, a set of forceps, and an experience that would scar both of us for the rest of our lives. There were instructions for different positions, and "bearing down" and so forth, which I tried, to no avail, and I was pretty sure that my ham-fisted efforts (ahem) were just making things worse on the "swollen" front, so Diva and I took a break, and retired to our respective corners for an hour or so.

Now I brought out my secret weapon: Beer. If, gods help me, I ever have to have a baby, I intend to be drunk off my *kitten* for the delivery, and I surely hope that the Fairy Prince Unicorn Elvis who is my chosen Babydaddy will provide a bedside IV of godly ambrosia, or at least Jim Beam. But anyway, two beers and I'm good to go spelunking in quest of the Holy Grail once more.

Either the beer, or the break, or the combination of all of these and squatting on the bathmat like a Neanderthal crapping, finally, produced enough of that goddamn 'stem' to grab (which was good, because I was dreading having use the kitchen tongs Up There or something) and, with a surprising amount of horrible suctioning "discomfort", the invader was routed! And, wonder of wonders, it was indeed partially filled. Not filled with DELICIOUS CANDY, no, but it did seem to have been, you know... -working-, before I so rudely dislodged it from its parasitic feeding. I felt a combination of grudging respect and intrigue, as one might upon meeting a foe worthy of their steel. Provided we could agree to disagree on the whole "turn 360 degrees in place" aspect, perhaps this could indeed be a workable partnership. Better than bleeding into the Rupununi and attracting every caiman, pirahna, and candiru fish for fifty miles.

But not without some boundaries first. I tied a ROPE to that stupid stem this time."

Almost died laughing. Seriously, I'm really sick and starting hacking up a lung while reading. Thanks a lot. Try Lunette. It's a little more flexible and has a longer stem.

sk_pirate

goddammit, i've been had! haha.

In my defense...at the time the post was started, the profile was private and the only picture you could see was the picture of a black woman. now that the profile is open i feel like an idiot.

He got me too! Bravo, OP. Well played.

Lisa1971

Period weight gain. AND............

I browsed at your diary and it's full of sugary treats, fatty foods and whole milk........there's lot's of room for improvement.

This is not constructive. Why is everyone so mean on MFP. I would report you but the donuts are calling me.

How is this mean???? This person is just giving you constructive criticism. Nothing wrong with that! And I've been there, done that, got the tshirt. Drink tons of water this week and it will be fine.

Lisa1971

I can't believe how many people replied to this thread and didn't notice that the OP is a man...

HAHA...GUILTY!

3laine75

I've been eating good. Loadsa veggies and fruit. Exercising every day for at least 30 mins. But on the scales this morning I am up 6lbs!!!!

And to make matters worse, I got my period this afternoon. I had no tampons so now my favourite panties are ruined.

What can I do?

Steep said panties in COLD water and salt and don't sweat the six pounds - this is the reason, you'll find it'll come off next week if you stick to good eating habits

3laine75

Haha...got me too. I should stop being lazy and read the whole thread.

ingridms1

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