I am still boiling mad about the terrible tragedy of Megan Meier. She is the young teenage girl who committed suicide after being bullied online by her friend’s MOM. I think it is horrible and I hope that there will be some sort of justice played out here. Even if there is no case brought against the perpetrators, I truly believe in the power of karma and that what you do comes back to you tenfold. I am so mad I can barely write.

This makes me furious because it brings me right back to my own childhood traumas. When I was about 13 – possibly the worst age ever for everyone, especially me – my parents had a falling out with the parents of the girls I believed to be my closest friends, who we will call E and G. E and G’s mom encouraged them not only to stop being my friend, but also to make sure that my life was a living hell. This included a fairly successful campaign of turning all of my church youth group against me, filling my sleeping bag at summer camp with twigs and leaves and dog shit, throwing tanbark at my eyes, and countless other kid crimes and misdemeanors that haven’t healed over time. The pain has just gone underground and now rises up whenever I don’t get a part I really want or a gig goes bad or I read something mean about myself in a magazine.

It was sad because I really loved those girls. We bought our first designer jeans together ($10 at Kmart! Dark rinse! Stretch! Bottoms rolled up because they were miles long! Imagine!), we listened nonstop to Michael Jackson and Shaun Cassidy and Chicago and watched Jodie Foster in “The little girl who lives down the lane.” We laughed and screamed and cried together and I loved them, and when one day, they weren’t my friends anymore, I questioned my thirteen year old sanity. My whole world turned upside-down and I felt so ugly and awful and hated, I didn’t know what to do.

I feel so sad for the little girl I once was and it makes me want to make sure that whenever I see young girls, however big or small or obnoxious or uncute they are, I give them a kind smile and a silent blessing that they are happy inside and grow up good. Children are terrible to each other, but what made this situation worse was that even though E and G happily carried out the plan to ruin my life like weirdly short henchmen or unflying monkeys, it was all because their mother wanted some kind of dumb revenge on my mother. I just don’t know what kind of parents would do such a thing. I think that if you are an adult that all children are your responsibility – whether they are yours are not – whether you like them or not – whether you like their parents or not! Children belong to the world and we should be kind to them all, and care for them all, like they are all precious. They are the most precious thing of all because they are the future.

I just saw a picture online of Britney’s period stain and I am horrified. I don’t know why they would post a picture of that and I really feel terrible about it. I think that the paparazzi have gone too far. It is just tasteless and barbaric. I am so sorry for Britney and I hope she ok. The only thing I can think of doing to somehow make it better is to say that this has happened to me about a million times.

I am the worst when it comes to period stains. That is why I never move because my mattress is so so so so stained that whenever I change the sheets it just looks like a murder scene. I’m serious. Somebody should put crime scene ‘do not cross’ tape up. It’s awful! I can’t understand any woman who hasn’t had some kind of hot menses mess. Those women are weird and probably perfect, and always get a pap smear every six months, and have never had a weight problem or worried about sitting on a white couch – and they are no friends of mine!

Every month my body completely purges everything it has been holding onto. My periods are heavy, long, arduous – old furniture and books and records come out. Gold coins and anchors and treasures and lace and shoes. It’s like a big clearance sale. Everything must go! That is just the way that I am built. I am just puzzled at the idea of a pantyliner or a regular tampon. I need to stuff half an emergency room in there every 28 days or I am looking at dying everything I own black (here’s a hot tip – if you stain something with your own blood, spit on the stain – your saliva has enzymes that will break it down…unfortunately it has to be your blood and your saliva – you can’t do it for anyone else). When my Aunt Flow comes to visit – the bitch brings presents. All the feminine products I use have “overnight” on the box.

The point here is let she who is without menstrual stains throw the first tampon. Britney is not “Carrie” and Chris Crocker was right – leave her alone!

This entry is cross-posted at The Huffington Post