The other night I went to watch The Vagina Monologues, my second time watching it.

I first went with my mother, something I encourage everyone to do, but this time I had a really great friend go with me.

Naturally, I started off by buying two chocolate vaginas [dark chocolate for me, a pink white chocolate one to bring back to my mother as a small memento to when we went together].

Then I cracked open my laptop to take notes for you.

Here are my take aways.

There is so much darkness and secrecy surrounding vaginas. Women are hesitant [at first] to talk about them, but once they start, you can’t stop them. They love talking about vaginas [rightfully so].

But no one really likes using the word “vagina” and therefore we have an unlimited number of nicknames for them.

You can't pick and choose the parts of a vagina you want, and you can't truly love a vagina without loving hair.

A 72-year old woman had never seen her vagina, never had an orgasm, and when she finally had her first one, she cried.

Metaphors were used to compare the vagina to things like a cellar and space travel.

There were "accidental" orgasms and clitoris searching. "It's gone, it's gone. I've lost it!"

The fact that the clitoris has 8000 nerve fibers, twice that of a penis.

There was reference made to "vagina mother fuckers", who are all the people thinking up new ways to torture vaginas, by shoving dry cotton wads up there and all those soaps and sprays. "I don't want my pussy to smell like rain." "I want to taste the damn fish, I ordered it!"

My favorite had to be the very pregnant blonde who performed a skit about moaning, which she ends with examples of the various kinds of moans. It was spot on.

And it ended with a bit about revolution. It begins in the body, it's not waiting and doesn't need permission. It's connection not consumption, not naive but believes in miracles.

I very much so look forward to my next adventure to The Vagina Monologues.