"LA LOBA" - ComplexD Magazine

image: Market Releasing "Centurion"

Awoooooooooooh!

I’ve tried and tried, but found there’s no real way to write about menstruation and she-wolves delicately. But, as delicacy has never been my strong suit anyway - I’ll just go about my business and blog on. So, there are times in the lunar cycle - call it the “red moon rising” call it “the gift” or whatever euphemism suits your fancy - when I feel something awaken inside me. Something savage and instinctual, feral and primitive. Oh, and utterly female. Yes, totes female.TOTES. Outwardly, I still appear to be my gentle, mild-mannered self, but inside? Inside I am bubbling cauldron of untapped brutality - a huntress, reveling in an acute awareness of her own power and heightened senses. Combined with this wild, untamed feeling are sudden, unrelenting and inexplicable cravings for t-bone steaks and spare ribs by the rack. Naturally, I have decided that I am, in fact, part she-wolf.

Now, please don’t attempt to talk me out of it by suggesting these are the common, natural symptoms of the “womb storm.” I’m not even tryna chalk this all up to loss of iron and hormonally-induced mood swings. Why? Because those kinds of explanations are not nearly as entertaining as aligning myself with a pack of sexy lycanthropes (Leah Clearwater in Eclipse, Etain in Centurion). Nor does it give me the excuse to practice Shakira’s “La Loba” cage-dance, see? Plus, WebMD will never (nevah-evah-evah) explain the following ABSOLUTELY TRUE STORY:

One cold morning a few winters ago, I awoke to find a number of small chicken bones tangled in amongst the knotty spirals of my morning ‘fro. Perplexed as to their origin, it suddenly occurred to me to check on the leftover box of KFC I had put in the refrigerator, only the night before (4 entire pieces left). Before I go on, I should mention that I

A) Live alone

B) have no pets

So you can guess what happens next, right? Not only was every last piece of chicken GONE, but the empty, upturned, red and white box lay accusingly on the linoleum floor- along with a trail of grease-stained paper, two biscuits (curiously uneaten) and assorted crumbs of extra-crispy and original recipe coating (I can never decide).

Read the rest of the story here:

http://www.complexdblog.com/2010/12/black-lily-something-savage.html