Eat a dick, dude. But make sure you dip it in this first.

A friend sent this to me, and I'm sharing it here as a public service for all y'all concerned your condiments aren't masculine enough.

Problem solved, people: Manly. Sausage. Meat. "STUFFED FULL OF MEAT," even. ("Engorged" with meat. "Swollen. Turgid." "Tumescent?")

Hell, just dip your dick directly into it.

That said? That shit sounds DELICIOUS. Too bad I can't eat it -- curse my troublesome vagina.

Also, blow me, sour cream is my spirit animal. But again, vagina. Woe. I'm just not MANLY enough to hang with this new concocktion, so I'm relegated to bitch-baby sour cream.

Time does NOT heal all axe wounds

I'm a big believer in time healing all wounds when it comes to relationshits. 

But no one mentions how time can also phantom-cockblock you when you discover too late in the proceedings that one of your favorite go-to, Old Faithful masturbation fantasies -- the ones you rely on to get you there repeatedly and thoroughly when you can't quite close on your own -- doesn't...fucking...WORK anymore. (This one involved That Guy, but SHUT UP, my clitoris was always happy!) 

Personal growth is bullshit. The bulliest shit there is. (Joking. I just wish I could've somehow gotten the orgasm BEFORE the epiphany.)

BRB, changing my OkCupid profile to say my vagina is now accepting Tribute volunteers. #StuntedSingleton

I don't see how I'm NOT supposed to buy this book.

I'm not supposed to be buying any more books, because there are at least 30 on my "to-read" shelf -- books I have PAID for that are just sitting there, as untouched as my vagina.

But, I mean, I think if my instinct based on a first page is to buy copies for myself AND every woman I know, I should get a pass, no?

Rhetorical question -- I already ordered it. Don't judge me. You're not my mom.
 

WebMD’ing my vagina just peaked my “talent” as a writer.

One of the dumbest things I’ve ever Googled is “abnormal vaginal bleeding.”

I know it happens. Just generally not to me, and not off and on for 6 days.

So I looked it up and WebMD says I’m basically dying. OR, helpfully, there could be “an object” in my vagina.

AN OBJECT. IN MY VAGINA.

I love how vague that is, as if there could be, like… dice in there. Butterscotch candies. Maybe a $20 bill I forgot about.

Get out of my vagina, Object. It is not for storage!

OMG, you guys…The Cuntainer Store.

Yep, that’s it. I’m never writing again. That was my Bill Hader score on LeBron James, right there.

P.S. There is absolutely no object in my vagina. My sex toys are all present and accounted for, and no other objects have been visiting the region.

Elbows Guy: The Final Chapter...I think...

Email to a female friend, subject: "Be proud."

Me: "When I wrote the email telling Elbows Guy I don't want a second date, I revised a few different ways, but each time made myself remove the words 'I'm sorry.'"

Friend: "I am VERY proud of you. Well done."

Me: "I didn't even lie and say I met someone. I just said I didn't want to."

I ran the email past a male friend first to get a man's perspective, to ensure it wasn't douchey but didn't leave room for debate. He said the email would be fine for a normal guy, but told me with this dude, I may get asked for an explanation.

Five minutes after I sent the email, I got a text from the Bitches Get Shit Done group: "You will survive being uncomfortable. You may even be better off for it." Kelly Sue DeConnick is the aunt I've always wanted.

P.S. I just saw that he looked at my LinkedIn profile yesterday, which is not at all disconcerting. I think it's locked down to just my network, though... Probably... 

P.P.S. I underestimated him. He replied politely and even thanked me for NOT doing The Fadeaway. I mean, he said it in a way that made it sound as if all women do that (and maybe they do, to him), but I'll still give him a point for it. Only one, though -- he'd lost 50 points for heckling my dry elbow skin while all the moisture he needed was IN MY VAGINA, so he's still netting out at -49.

Vaginal Illumination

A friend sent this to me, and...

OK, Sephora, whatever you need to tell yourself. But we all know "phthalate-free, body-safe silicone" is code for "You can totally also put this in your vagina."

In which I equate my vagina with a Slip 'N Slide

There's a "self summary" section at the top of each OkCupid profile. The end of mine says: "I'm attracted to friends and romantic prospects who use their words. I don't know what to do with first messages that only say 'hey' or 'hi,' and will delete them immediately. But getting them at least helps me quickly discern who's reading about me as an actual human, versus who just looks at photos and wants to do naked things to me."

On average, I still get one "hey," "hi," or "hello" each day. Almost always lowercase, no punctuation.

Since no one reads it, anyway, I might as well include the REAL explanation: "I am incredibly turned on by wit and language, and you can transform my ladybits into the world's best/worst Slip 'N Slide just by giving good email. Just 'hi' not only keeps my panties ON, it makes me want to go to JCPenney and buy some of those high-top beige cotton draw's that, on a person as short as I am, can be pulled up far enough to tuck the waistband under my bra and fashion a really upsetting onesie. Use your words, be nice to servers, nibble the back of my neck, tend to my vagina with gusto, know what 'gusto' means, get yourself laid."

I'm really not a difficult puzzle to solve.

Who put this Jesus in my vagina?

So today I did the annual gyno exam, which is generally annoying as fuck. I really don't appreciate anyone touching my vagina if it doesn't end in orgasm.

Got put on a birth control pill so I can be a fatter, moodier, assholier asshole. ("What's the Lamictal for?" "It's for Crazy, so make sure I get Pill Lite so we don't make that worse.")

Then went downstairs in the same building to an on-site lab -- SUPER convenient, but the lab is more free about being part of a Jesus-y hospital system. So there are crosses on the walls, presumably so I can pray to Jesus to forgive me for fucking, and also pray while the lady jacks four vials of my blood to make sure my vagina doesn't have any biblical plagues.

This better be the best goddamn sex I've ever had. 

The bitch of it? He's starting to annoy me so I don't think that's even going to happen. But these are all good things to have done in general.

Still, fuck everything. I am dizzy, and getting tacos on my way home. Hmph.

STI-TMI

Sage advice from a friend on the STI front: "You're already going into this with your eyes open; now it's just if your legs are open, too."

I told the guy I couldn't meet him until I got tested, with a remarkable number of apologetic qualifiers for telling a man that sex with him may not be worth the risk of going the rest of my life with a disclaimer on my vagina. ("Not a big deal" depends who you ask. I will ask a doctor and go from there.)

I said if he didn't want to meet me, I'd understand, but he said HE understood and would meet me when I was ready. Later, he called me sexy, smart, and quick, so you can see why I'm trying so hard to ride this particular unicorn.

He's actually so good on paper that I'm worried it's a trap. Like, am I the only woman who didn't immediately say "no" to this? How is he saying everything I need to hear? Is that instinct honed from years of practice on various conquests he's humped and dumped? Is he, like, 70 years old? (He's not, I stalked his Facebook. Don't judge me, that's HIS fault. There's a reason MY personal account is locked down -- all you get is photos of sunsets and the profile pic they make you leave public.)

But in the meantime, another friend sent me this article/podcast, should you wish to read/hear more on the matter.

Which chakra is my vagina?

Interesting choice, yoga studio gift shop.

Though I suppose a well-oiled lady garden is one way to achieve zen.  

ESPMS

I'm pretty sure I've prayed more to get my period this week, so it's over before my vacation, than I have any time I've had a pregnancy scare. 

*staring at vagina*

Bitch, let's GOOOOO...

All the right junk (yours) in all the right places (mine)

OK, FINE, OkCupid! Jeez, I stand corrected: In the past hour, you've brought me two cute, seemingly literate men who have liked my profile and sent first messages.

And when I say "cute," I mean "cute" in the way of, um...stirrings. 

Not "You're cute and maybe we'll get to know each other and you'll get cuter." It's a, "Hey. You're hot and formed sentences, one of which said I'm funny. Come remedy this situation that seems to be developing in my pants."

Ahem. "I'll be in my bunk."

Three-fer: Admittedly snap judgments of an OkCupid guy

I'd been talking to this guy on OkCupid, and should've known he was a douche when his intro message boasted that his profile was "well-crafted." Um, yeah, his profile says he's looking to meet the "girls of my dreams." I asked about it, and he said it was originally a typo, but he decided to leave it. OK, whatever. I'm not looking to be the girl of anyone's dreams right now, anyway -- let's roll those dice.

We're chatting, maybe 10 messages back and forth total, and he asks if there's anything I want him to know about me. I write three arbitrary things right before I go to sleep, including: "I firmly believe all CVS drive-thrus should also serve fries." (Come the hell on, that'd be great.)

This morning I wake up to two messages. In them are three questions, which I will answer for you guys, but got him immediately deleted and blocked. I almost replied, "Yeah, we're done here," but decided against it. In hindsight, I wish I'd sent the message to smarter friends who could've written back and made him cry.

So here are the offending questions. (And hey, this is just my offense. If you're intrigued, comment or send a message -- I'll tell you his username and you can grab that net and catch that beautiful butterfly.)

1. "Do you go to CVS or McDonald's often enough that that's an issue?"
Uhh... yeah. I go to CVS once a month. CVS provides the lovely drugs that keep me:
A) a functional human;
B) focused;
C) not riddled with heinous allergies; and
D) most relevant to you, NOT PREGNANT.

Also, McDonald's fries aren't my favorite, but once a month, at a particular time, I will cut you for Wendy's fries and a Frosty, or an anytime Egg McMuffin, a societal evolution I regard as the Lord personally answering my lifelong prayer. If my occasional fast food habit is an issue, this isn't going to work. If you offer me fucking kale during my period, you WILL get murdered with a stick.

2. "Why do guys send dick pics to women? I have to assume it's appealing to some women, but I don't get it. I'd love to see photos of your boobs, ass, and curves, but I really don't want to see a photo of anyone's vagina."
AHEM. Well, first of all, my vagina is a goddamn work of art. (Kidding. I haven't looked at the area in years beyond lawn maintenance. It could be the Batcave for all I know.) Vagina pics aren't my thing, but I know some people who dig them. And if a guy I liked asked for one, and had previously earned access to the region, I would accommodate. I'd probably put makeup on it first, and obsess about its best side, but I'd do it.

But also... I enjoy dick pics, with an important caveat: I have to AGREE to them. I don't just want to see rogue dick, all superfluous and out of its natural habitat. However, I will happily behold the penis of a literate man who's said nice things to me and had dinner with me and maybe we've made out a little. I'd rather see it in person and THEN a photo, but in a proper setting, I don't mind seeing the dick that awaits me, and how I'm affecting it.

Plus, not all men do that, and it's -- if I may -- a dick move to generalize.

3. "Why do women have photos in their profiles where they're standing next to other women? Often women who are better looking??? It doesn't make sense!"
Well. To start, your triple question marks are an assault against God and humanity.

And again, not all women. For a split second I thought he was talking about me, but I don't do that because my friends are, in fact, cuter than I am. Plus I'd feel weird putting photos of them on a dating site. My photos are of ME: "This is my face, this is my [clothed] body. Can you deal with my Worf wrinkle and my extra 20 lbs? Excellent. Proceed."

Also, I've seen plenty of men do that, too, and I hate it. Not because the other men are better looking (though I've definitely wondered, "Who's your friend?"), but because I don't want to scroll through a bunch of photos trying to ascertain which guy is you. Your main pic, at least, should be just you.

In addition, "better looking" is relative. Maybe the person looking at that photo thinks the friend is a total bridge troll, and the man/woman in the OKC profile is his/her ideal.

And, again, just as a blanket "fuck you," I can't abide generalizing women OR men. I can generalize YOU, though. And you're a jag.

Happy Hanukkah from my chosen vagina.

I almost forgot to wish y'all a happy Hanukkah.

Hanukkah isn't my religion, but a) I don't HAVE much of a religion -- we celebrate Christmas, but I suspect that's mostly for the ham. And b) the first guy I had sex with was Jewish (so, he was extra Chosen), so I'll always have a soft spot (ie, my vagina) for the faith.

L'chaim!

DS&M

Via BPhope: Opening the door on hypersexuality: 

I don't have bipolar. Or, if I do, it's a really shitty bipolar -- they're still working out my special-snowflake nomenclature. (I tried making "White Trash Bipolar" happen, but oddly, they don't want that in the DSM.) But it hadn't occurred to me until I read this that a) none of the doctors I've been to have asked about any sexual behaviors at all, or that b) it might even be related.

And I can't say I talk about my vagina online and regret the entirety of 2013 and slut-shame myself because it's NOT a factor. (JUST a factor, like I'm not trying to say I have this, either.)

I have friends tell me they could GET me "just sex," but that they won't, because it's not really what I want and I'll make it a Thing and feel bad about myself and they don't want to hear it. But I still do consider bringing in a stunt dick to scratch that particular itch. My friends are right, though -- I'd need some kind of daily therapy lightning round if I did, and I can't afford that, so... tense and pent-up it is!

*twitch* No, really. It's fine...

Saving the sisterhood, one pH balance at a time.

I hear a lot of jokes about "girl code," usually in regard to dating a friend's ex or something.

Let me give you an example of the REAL girl code:

My doctor, a woman about my age, prescribed an antibiotic for the sinus infection that's been beating my ass (seriously, please come tear my face off, and also bring pie). Without me asking, she said, "I'm also calling in a script for Diflucan. If you don't need it, don't fill it, but I don't want you to have to bother calling us back and asking for it."

I go pick up the antibiotic, along with a bottle of acidophilus. I tell the female pharmacist I'm not filling the Diflucan right now, that I'll just leave that on standby for a rainy day in my vagina. She nods, notices the acidophilus, and tells me unprompted that cranberry extract supplements also help her prevent The Evil that Shall Not Be Named.

That's your girl code. Good work, Girl Nation. My pH balanced lady garden thanks you.