My Epidemic

I got stuck at home last night. It was a combo of snow, shitty tires, a sick mother and bored 6-year-old. It sucked. My first night in 3 weeks I had the option to go out and I was sitting at home building a lego-racer and diligently placing the racing stripe stickers were my nephew directed.

When the kid finally drifted off into his peacefull lego dreams, I settled in next to my mom and watched her flick through the channels restlessly. When I say restlessly I mean how a 90-year-old blind woman restlessly rumages the articles of the tv guide by pain-stainkingly reading each page, assessing it's grammar and then moving on to the next.

When my mother's ministrations landed on the HBO channel featuring the nightly titty special, I laughed quietly to myself.
"Busty Cops II."
"Yup," I snickered.
She read the plot information outloud, " 'Voluptous vixens travel back in time to defend and enforce justice'."
"I heard it won a bunch of awards."
"Really?" She sounded interested now. "Well then."

With my nephew on the couch next to me and my dad reading his latest novel on the life of Jesus Christ in the chair between us, my Mom flicked the channels to Busty Cops II and shot off the couch in horror.

I laughed till I was in tears as the dogs began howling in unisons at the moans and grunts coming from the tv. The big screen tv.

Two huge breasted (I mean huge. These things were like pumpkins glued to these women's chests.) bounced up and down on a very happy guy, but not very attractive (Do you ever notice the guys in porn aren't really that attractive?) while some cheesy special effect lights formed a tunnel around them. If I were to venture a guess I'd have to say they were travelling back in time at that point in the scintillating Busy Cop plot line.

My mom struggled with the new universal remote she'd so proudly acquired earlier in the day, while my dad bore a look of absolute disgust. I rolled to the floor and nearly pissed my pants.

When the room was plunged in silence, the only noise the light breathing of the still innocent 6-year-old on the couch, my mom sent a look my way that openly suggested I hide my face in shame. Instead, I rubbed the fat tears from eyes, lurched to my feet still holding my stomach in mirth and announced, "Well, that made my night." And made my way to bed.

Once again the Busty Cops came to the rescue on an otherwise shitty Saturday night. Now I realize why adolescent boys love them so.

Labels: All things Vagina

A friend sent this to me. I couldn't help but post it. It's hilarious.


Beer vs. Vagina
A running tally for the typical male who has taken part in that endless debate of which deserves more attention, beer or the vagina.

1.Beer is always wet. Vagina needs a little work.
One point to BEER.

2.Warm beer tastes awful.
One point to VAGINA.

3.A really cold beer is satisfying.
One point to BEER.

4. You don't have to worry about finding a hair in your beer. Vagina is a different story.
One point to BEER.

5. If you get home reeking of beer your wife may get mad, make a scene, kick you out, etc. If you get home reeking of vagina your wife may get mad, kick you out, even leave you. There's definitely a point to be had here, depending on your point of view and personal circumstances. I'll just call it a DRAW for the time being.

6. Ten beers in one night and you can't drive home. Ten vaginas in one night and you don't want to drive anywhere.
One point to VAGINA.

7. If you have a lot of beer in a public place, your reputation may suffer. If you eat any vagina in public, you become a legend.
One point to VAGINA.

8. If a cop stops you and you smell of beer you may get arrested. If you smell of vagina he may buy you a beer.
One point to VAGINA.

9. You normally don't find old beer.
One point to BEER.

10. Too much beer and you'll think you see flying saucers. Too much vagina and you'll think you've seen God.
One point to VAGINA.

11. Ripping off a beer bottle label is boring. Ripping off panties is fun.
One point to VAGINA.

12. In most countries there's a tax on beer.
One point to VAGINA.

13. If you have another beer the first one never gets pissed off.
One point to BEER.

14. You can always be sure if you're the first one to open a bottle or a can. One point to BEER.

15. If you shake beer it'll get all agitated but eventually it settles down.
One point to BEER.

16. With beer you always have choice: clear, dark, pilsner, ale, lager, etc... with vagina you also have a choice, white, black, asian, hispanic, and eskimo...
Call it a DRAW.

17. You always know how much beer is going to cost
One point to BEER.

18. Beer doesn't have a mother
One point to BEER.

19. Beer never expects to be hugged for half an hour after you drink it.
One point to BEER.

20. An excess amount of vagina will not force you to have your liver detoxified in the emergency room.
One point to VAGINA.

21. Your access to beer is not limited by menstruation cycles, emotions, principles, or your beer being tired and/or not in the mood.
One point to BEER.

22. Having an open beer in your car is illegal. Having a girl in your car without pants on is just fucking cool.
One point to VAGINA.

23. Beer will never complain about how fast your are done with it and on to the next one.
One point to BEER.

24. No matter how many times you partake, the opening to a bottle/can of beer never gets stretched out to where it's no longer enjoyable.
One point to BEER.

25. If you are at a party and you grab a beer, regardless from where you pick it up, there is absolutely no chance that beer will give you a disease that will ruin your life.
One point to BEER.

26. Vagina from places other than Germany, Ireland and Canada are worth enjoying. The same cannot be said for beer.

One point to Vagina.

27.Vagina makes you erect and wet, beer gives you erectile dysfunction and dehydrates you.
One point to VAGINA.

28. You dont have take beer to dinner and a movie to enjoy it.
One point to BEER.

29. if a beer gives head, its a bad thing. if vagina gives head, its all good.
One point to VAGINA.

30. Two beers at one time and you're content, but two vaginas at one time and you're in heaven.
One point to VAGINA.

31. One too many beers can ruin a night; one too many vaginas... well now there's just no such thing!
One point to VAGINA.

32. If you throw up after drinking alot of beer youv'e had a good night.... if you throw up after having vagina you need to go to the doctor
One point to BEER.

33. You dont have to be 21 to get vagina legally.
One point to VAGINA.

34. The going rate for beer is around $3 at a bar - the going rate for vagina is about $50 on the street.
One point to BEER.

35. Waking up next to a disgusting beer is not as bad as waking up next to an ugly girl.
One point to BEER.

36. You might wonder what you're drinking if the beer doesn't have a label but if the girl doesn't have clothes then you could care less
One point to VAGINA.

37. If one of ur friends drinks ur beer its fine, but if they hook up with your vagina then you have a problem.
One point to BEER.

38. I've had more luck shoulder tapping for beer than I have for vagina.
One point to BEER.

39. it's simple...stick your dick in a beer can...and see how that goes...stick your dick in vagina...and well ENJOY!
One point to VAGINA.

40. Beer will not cook you breakfast in the morning.
One point to VAGINA.

41. Beer doesnt need more then a sip every once in a while to keep it happy.
One point to BEER.

42. Beer can turn green if left out to long, vagina can turn green also if left out to long, but you can stomach the beer.
One point to BEER.

43. Beer doesn't expect you to shower gifts upon it every anniversary. It doesn't even expect anniversaries.
One point to BEER.

44. When you finish a beer, seeing it again later is a bad thing. When you are finished with a vagina, seeing it again later is usually a good thing.
One point to VAGINA.

45. It takes multiple beers to get the feeling you're after. It should only take one vagina.
One point to VAGINA.

46. Beer fills a void inside your soul, you fill a void inside vagina.
Call it a draw.

47. Beer tends to be STD free.
One point to BEER.

48. Beer never checks out other potential partners. The same cannot be said for vagina..
One point to BEER.

49. You can always enjoy beer without a tightly wrapped piece of plastic around your penis.
One point to BEER.

Labels: All things Vagina, Drunken Adventures, Guest Appearances

I got felt up today. This is why I prefer Borders. Things like this happen to me alot. I would normally write my distressing experience at the local Barnes & Noble's off to my boobs' newly acquired evil super powers, but they were not male bodies being pulled unwittingly into my chest's gravitational pull. Oh no. I had a smelly forty-year-old woman with saggy boobs rub up against me in the Starbuck's line. I'm not sure if she thought it would get me to give up my key position as next to be helped, if she thought maybe she could rub some of my young boobishnous off on her own saggy pair, or if she was just into that sort of thing. All I know is that as she was rubbing against me and I babbled nervous nonsensical nothings into Chris's ear, the young college kid behind her was having a gay ol' time. After numerous attempts to ignore the rubbing and then several silent pleas for help sent over the head of the smelly-rubbing-lady to the tall college kid, he finally took some action other than grinning evilly. He tilted his head to the side slightly and checked out my ass. I glared equally between the woman rubbing on me like a cat in heat and the obnoxious frat boy enjoying the entire scene until I basically yelled my order at the Starbuck's blender lady and fucking fled. It was horrible. Why do these things always happen to me? I'm getting sick of my boobs having turned to the dark side. Darth Titties.

Labels: All things Vagina

For some reason my boobs have been out of control lately. I have no idea why. But every picture of me recently has been all boobs.
You can't even tell if there are other people in the photo because your eyes are drawn to the boobs. As if by some jedi-mind-trick it's just suddenly like BAM! BOOBS! People? I don't see people. All I see are huge boobs.
I have come to the conclusion that my girls have acquired evil super powers. Not only are they getting me accussed of having on a Madonesque cone bra or recently siliconed breastesses, but they have recently attracted a bit too much attention for my taste. Yesterday I received a 2-minute message from a morbid, work-related friend about my "crazy titties." And now even my mom when I walk into a room yells, "What is the deal with your boobs lately?" Fuck if I know, Mom!
If anyone has any information about why my boobs have chosen to take on a life of their own please pass it along to me. I'm about to put out a missing persons on my normally sane cleavage.

And as if by way of the almighty, my favorite male blogger chose this same topic in which to rant about in his latest post.
See A Tale of Two Titties. It's well worth it.

Labels: All things Vagina, Guest Appearances

There's this chick in my class. I can't stand her. Seriously. She's one of those people who make you want to do one of three things:

1. Punch her in the fucking vagina.

2. Shove pointy objects into your ears until you can't hear anymore. (Which just leaves you staring at her.)

or

3. Paying a dark, international mercenary to abduct her in the night and sell her to some burly eskimos to gut fish for the rest of her life in fucking Antartica.

Yes, friends. She is one of those people. It's probably her "quirky attitude" that gets to me. Or her overall perkiness no matter the day, time or situation. No. Wait, I know why I can't stand the girl. She won't fucking shut her mouth. Ever. Her jaw is continually flapping no matter if someone is listening or not.

This is my 2nd class with the girl and she's managed to talk over the Prof both times. The first class was fortunetly a music class I didn't really care for and so I skipped. Actually I think I went to it three times for three tests. Ta dah! A's all around.

But this class is all discussion and everything that comes out of her mouth has some weird catch phrase. It's not as it she's some perky blond. I'm immune to them having grown up in Omaha, but this one...no...I could never get used to her.

She's a hippie. Now, I'm not Cartman. I don't hate all hippies. But this one. This one I hate.

She's always wearing some knit scarf that looks like she pulled it out of the garbage and drinking coffee out of a little foam cup, arguing about women's rights and quoting alternative music. Normally, I'd have no problem with these things. (I'm all for women's rights but Femi-Nazi's like her make me want to take away their Vagina-Cards.)

Plus. Plus! She never shuts up! (I said this already didn't I...) The second week of class I was sucessfully tuning her out when she suddenly jumped up, marched to the front of the class and demanded that our 70-year-old Santa-looking Prof give her a high-five. He just sort of stared at her for a few moments as she kept repeating, "Don't leave me hangin'. Don't leave me hangin'." And then eventually gave her what she so desperately wanted, the attention of the entire class.

Then the other day we were discussing the sovereign rights of women in Islam and whether they should veil or not veil, when someone said, "If it's hot they should be allowed to take off whatever they need to." (Not the brightest point of the discussion but whatever.) When she started singing, "It's gettin' hot in here. So take off all your clothes." Then she did this little shimmy. ...ahem... And then I fought back the vomit.

Never mind that the chick was wearing a shirt that said, "Would Jesus use nuclear weapons?" (That was enough to irritate me) but she was singing Nelly and gyrating in her chair. The whole class again paused momentarily to stare slack-jawed at her.

Today, wasn't so bad. She only used her Razor phone to mock shave her face for a few minutes until she could rally up a forced laugh from her lackey. And then told some kid he should know what something costs because he's Jewish.

Right now...I'd say I'm leaning towards just hauling off and decking her in her vagina to teach her a lesson about being one of those women who need attention to validate themselves but are more than willing to offer advise to others on how to improve their lives.

Vagina punching. The next Olympic sport.

Stay tuned for more vagina-punching details!

Labels: All things Vagina, Scholarly Articles of Interest

Anyone who hangs out with me on a regular basis knows that I joke about being a lesbian all the time. My stock question that I'm sure everyone is really sick of hearing is, "If you were a lesbian what kind of lesbian would you be?"

The background to this really misunderstood inside joke is that my two closest girlfriends and I tend to pretend we are actually lesbians for two main reasons:

I. We think boys are funny. They think lesbianism is so hot and have all these fucked up ideas about what girls do when they leave the room. And girls, well, we love playing to these sick fantasies. It's because of chicks like my friends and I, that love manipulating simple hormone driven male minds, that guys think there is some sort of conspiracy against the male species on behalf of the female. Like we actually don't like the penis we just pretend to be jealous and overbearing so you'll leave and we can make out with our girlfriends. Sorry guys, this actually isn't how it goes...well not usually anyway...we just have fun making you think it is. Especially when you guys ask us if we ever help eachother shower. Ha. Boys. Funnier than silly putty.

II. Chris and I especially tend to pretend we're lesbians when we're getting hit on by random guys. While it accomplishes our goal of letting them know we're not interested it also has a bit of a down side when said male asks us to makeout...which we don't. (Perve, I know what you were thinking.)

The best part of our lesbianic joke is that I love asking guys who seem very interested in a little girl-on-girl action, what kind of lesbian they would be if they were magically converted to chickdom. Of course they can't say, "Hey I wouldn't be a lesbian at all!" Or all the other guys would make fun of them. I wouldn't. But any males in the immediate vicinity sure would.

The usual answer to the lesbian question is that they would be "a really butch bull dike." Huh. Okay. Not very PC but whatever. I think I've seriously asked atleast 50 different guys this question and I have always gotten the same stock answer. Butch.

That is until last weekend when I was on guard duty for Chris while she was hanging with her newest penial-interest and his friends (until she wandered off and I was left entertaining myself). I asked all the guys the same question and got the same answer except for one.

One guy stepped up and confessed that he would not be butch. In fact he would be the complete opposite of butch. He would be "a Paris-Hilton-hot lesbian that got to make out with other hot lesbians." Now that, that finally made some sense to me.

If guys like watching girl-on-girl, if guys are so hot for naked girl shower scenes where we help wash the suds off eachother's bodies...with our mouths...then why would you want to be a big butch chick that most likely wouldn't get to see such things?

This guy, who shall remain nameless, should be a model for all men, especially college boys, because he was completely shameless in his sexuality. He knew exactly what he wanted and wasn't about to let the other guys with him taunt him for wanting to be a sexy chick who gets to lick other sexy chicks on a regular basis. I am willing to bet that he, out of all the rest of the guys, will be the one to actually bear witness to one of these hot shower scenes outside of a porno.

Think on that, all my male friends. Think on that for next time I bombard you with my lesbian questions...

Labels: All things Vagina

Have I ever mentioned that I grew up with all brothers? Even my cousins are guys. I was the first girl born to my large Midwest family since...my mom.
The issue doesn't normally come up. The worst case was actually in the unfortunate living arrangements of my first year in my college dorms in which I was assigned three other crazies to my 4-vagina sweet.
Oh sure. It went fine for a few weeks and then all hell broke loose. Something about dried macaroni on plastic dishes and Catholic school. I don't know. I lost interest after one roommate threatened to kill the other and didn't.
Who can keep up with college catfights? I can't.
Anyway the whole hormonal mess (I'm convinced it was hormonal) climaxed when one of the Catholic girls was videotaped peeing in another of the roommate's muffins (One more reason not to be a Catholic) and then getting kicked out. The other got arrested shortly after for substantial drug use. I was at work that night and had to actually restrain myself from visiting her in lockup so I could point and laugh.
So when a friend of mine was complimenting me on my overall "togetherness" and maturity, I tried hard not to preen and get too wrapped up in the absolute truth of her compliments. Until she suggested I apply to the BigBrothersBigSisters program and become a mentor.
I pondered the idea for some time before agreeing to apply. After all, I'd only had experience being a big sister to little brothers. Never little sisters. And what do you know, I was accepted and handed my own Lil Sister.
So now that I have her I'm just wondering what the hell to do with her?
She can't afford to spend more than $5 everytime we hang out so it basically limits us to free activities. We've gone to the museum, we've gone to the park(where she whined about the heat the entire fucking time), we've gone to lunch (I paid), and we've went bowling (I paid).
I finally dragged her to Boyfriend's swank apartment clubhouse and let her run amuck last week. We stopped for TACOBELL before hand and sat on the pooldeck, munching.
I had a taco. That's it. A taco and a pepsi. The 10-year-old chunk next to me demolished her own 3taco meal.
When she was bored with swimming (free), bowling (free), playing pool (free) and playing in the FREE arcade, (I told you his apartment rocked.) She set her sights on the pretty impressive gym.
"We should work out," she says to me.
I stare back. "I've already worked out today."
"But we need to work out."
"You're ten. You're job is to play, not worry about weight. You have plenty of time for that."
"Don't you want to work out?"
"Nope." I relax back into my pool chair. Contently sunbathing.
"But you ate an entire taco."
I lift my sunglasses slowly to eyeball her.
"You don't want to get fat."
At this point if she were a boy in my family I'd have dropkicked her. But seeing as 1)we weren't related and 2)I'd get arrested for accosting a 10-year-old, I tried to ignore her by sliding my glasses back in place and going back to my sunbathing.
The sly little demon that she is, she stood over me whispering, "An entire taco. You'll get fat. Fat. Fat. Fat." Over and over again.
As if a college girl needs any more people judging her weight. Fiend. Finally I caved to her psychological assault.
I set her on a treadmill at nearly a completely upright angle and put the speed as high as it would go. I watched her struggle uphill on the treadmill for a few minutes and tried hard not to laugh evilly until our time together was through.
Was this negating my mature mentor status? Who the fuck cares.

Labels: All things Vagina

I've already established that lesbianism is not for me. (See Why I Stick With The Penis) There are many reasons why, but the biggest is that it's just not how I roll. Sorry. All you lesbians out there lusting after me, I'm just not into pussy.
But for some reason the topic keeps popping up.
Chris and I (who has returned from her exile) spent our entire Saturday causing trouble. We visited a Renaissance Fair --Yes, I know it's a very lesbian thing to do but we go to make fun of the chubby goths in leather and to lust after guys in kilts -- when we stumble upon a beer garden. Hooray! Beer! Instantly the entire event was vastly more entertaining.
I nursed an Ultra while underage Chris had to settle with a Dragon's Blood smoothie, and watched a bunch of guys in kilts beat on drums and dance traditional...jigs or whatever they're called.
The young, mildly handsome lead of the entire production was making eyes at us the moment we wandered in. If you've ever been to one of these things and seen the vast array of chubby teenagers and old ladies in Xena outfits, you would know that the KiltGuy's attention was not only expected but understandable.
Chris and I, being hot and in our street clothes tended to draw a number of eyes. Ofcourse we were also probably two of ten girls at the Fair under 150lbs.
Anyway, throughout the performance Kilt-Guy blew kisses in our directions and managed to flash us a few times. Unfortunetly, he wasn't actually Scottish and wore a pair of boxers under his kilt. Sigh.
When the show was over we said hi and got a few pictures taken with him. Everything was peachy. Guys in kilts rock my world.
But later, as we resumed our wandering, we kept getting hit on by creepy boys dressed as everything from pirates to trolls to bondage experiments gone wrong. One guy even asked if we wanted to ride his camel. His camel.
That line just seems lame compared to the ones we received at the biker bar in Vegas. "Hey Baby, ever had a 200mileperhour vibrator between your legs?" Now that's classic. The camel is just lame.
Soon enough we decided there was only one thing to do. We pretended we were lesbians. I'm not proud of it, but a girls got to do what a girls got to do.
The reason I told this story was not only because of my obvious love for kilts but to point out that it was really easy for Chris and I to pass ourselves off as lesbians. Not because we're butch. (We're not.) Not because we were all over eachother. (I've got personal space issues.) But because guys want us to be lesbians.
They want two cute college girls to start necking in the middle of a Renaissance Fair. Hell, it's probably the closest to any play most of those guys have gotten in a long time. Which just makes me sad.
Case in point:
Chris has been shamelessly throwing herself at this guy from her new workplace. He appears to be interested but has thusfar resisted meeting up with her outside of work. They spend all their time at work together. But he just hasn't mustered the balls to ask her out. She, the big-fat-pussy that she is, refuses to step up also. So they're at an impasse...and I've had to hear about it every fucking day for weeks.
Last night Chris called, giggling like a crazed cheerleader on speed about how WorkBuddy confessed that he thought she was a lesbian...with me.
Ofcourse!
Two chicks are close friends. Known eachother forever. Hangout all the time. Lesbians!
Well ofcourse we are. How can we not be? Why didn't we figure it out sooner?!
It took a guy I've never met, who's known Chris for about three weeks to enlighten me on my sexual tendencies. Great.
I officially hate this guy. Never met him. Hate him.
So here I am again defending my right to NOT be a lesbian. Hooray for lesbians. More power to the pussy-lovers. That's just not how I roll.
Got that? All you assholes out there who are just praying for some girl-on-girl action, NOT A LESBIAN.
I am completely Pro-Penis!

Labels: All things Vagina, Penis

It's already happened five more times while I was on break with Kelly. I was checked out by two guys while getting dinner. One at the local QT. And two more while walking back into the station...one of which was bellowing catcalls from across the goddamn street.
I have a different shirt on. Did a nipple check before I left the house. I've taken a shower. Check for funny smells that may attract creatures of the opposite sex. Applied new makeup. New bra. New panties. Everything.
So what the fuck is going on?!
When posing this question to Chris she answered, "It's pharamones. They can smell it. It's like dogs. You're just a bitch in heat."
"I think its horny for people."
"In heat. Horny. Whateva. It's all the same."
"You say poe-tay-toes, I say pa-tah-toes."
"Exactly. Horny bitch."

Labels: All things Vagina

Setting: The local community college campus in a small out of the way conference room
Time: Early evening
Goal: Endure a pointless introduction to a crap class I'm taking online
So there I was, one of the first to arrive, blissfully enraptured in the latest edition to one of my favorite series, when a seemingly aimless student pops his head in the door.
"Is this for French," he asked in one of those suave sounding accents.
I looked up and nodded with a "look-I-got-a-new-book" grin. "Yup." And then tucked my face back between the pages, completely ignoring him as he worked his way into the seat directly across from mine.
Minutes pass by. The teacher appears. More students filter in. The meeting starts. My eyes wander dreamily back toward my purse and the book I left off at page 37. The teacher starts babbling about who-knows-what on some page in some syllabus I'm supposed to be studying but can't seem to find the energy, when the suave foreign student raises his hand and asks a question about French being related to Russian. I smoothly turn an unlady-like bark of laughter into a "help-I'm-choking-on-my-gum" fit.
He glances over at me as I recover. I, like some newbie to the dating game, actually make eye-contact. Big mistake. He smiles, his eyes drifting from my face to my boobs back to my face and then back to my boobs before they lock like some sort of tatta-seeking missile. Then his seemingly friendly grin turns into some hot, promise of foreign lust. It was the most blatant case of eye-fucking I have yet to encounter. I nearly dropped my pen. His smile clearly said, "What are you doing later? Are you occupying anyone else's bed in oh, say, 20-minutes? I'm free. Are you free? For sex. Lots and lots of sex? With some foreign kid who's name you can most likely not pronounce?"
I quickly looked away hiding my sudden urge to flee the room with my books firmly covering my chest.
I called Chris on immediate departure from the class with only one short message, "I just got eye-fucked. Hard."

Setting: In transit. Returning from 1st Eye-Fucking-Adventure.
Time: About an hour after initial Eye-Fucking
Goal: Get the hell back to work before I get lost
While putzing along in my sweet little ride, I was busily dialing a friend when I happened to glance over my shoulder at the total piece of shit stalling next to me at the red-light. There, perched in a hatchback the size of one of those plastic race-car beds, is an aging Hell's Angel reject with wrap-around Oakley knockoffs.
Not only was he the atypical "wrecked my Harley had to take Mom's ride to work" kind of guy, but he also was oh, I'd say a good twenty-years my senior. A tattooed Mr. Clean with a jail-bait fetish. He gave me one of those feisty, "I-want-to-rip-your-clothes-off-but-I'm-going-for-the-sophisticated-Bond-look" smiles and then promptly through his chin up in the air in the classic racer, "Whazupppppppp!"
My jaw dropped. The asshole actually had the balls to sit up in his seat so he could do the once over. Which, when you're sitting down and partially concealed by the side of a CAR, means he got to about my boobs and stopped. What the fuck!
I stepped on the gas as the light changed and cut the asshole off. That's right. See if you can ogle the boobs from back there. Bitch.

Setting: Blockbuster
Time: Late
Goal: Pick out a movie without being raped!
Wandering harmlessly through Blockbuster looking for the newest Underworld (another obsession I'll probably babble about later) when I turned the corner to nearly run over some helpless fellow patron in my quest for nearly naked werewolves. Guy looks up from the back cover of some piece-of-crap chickflick (he probably didn't think I noticed but I so did) then glances back down absently.
I'm working my way past him when he suddenly jerks his head back up and rotates it on his neck like an owl so he can watch me pass. I turned to glare at him and he grinned back completely unabashed. But I will give him credit. He did keep eye contact while I was glaring.
He did however follow me to the counter without another glance to the movie he was carrying. Good. I hope he's stuck explaining that movie to all his male friends.

Setting: Blockbuster counter
Time: Minutes after initial confrontation at Blockbuster
Goal: RENT my movie without being raped!
I won't go into the details because I've suddenly developed a killer headache right between my eyeballs. But needless to say the little guy at the counter who looked just old enough to drive was shamelessly trying to flirt with me. Thankfully, the Blockbuster account is under both I and Boyfriend's names. I did the, "Oh. That's my boyfriend. He's really big. And manly. And over protective. He practically pees circles around me."
And then I cutely tossed a few more exaggerated facts towards the creepy grinning man who'd followed me from New Releases and was now standing directly behind me.

Setting: HyVee Grocery Store
Time: About half-an-hour after the Blockbuster fiasco
Goal: Walk my happy-soy-eating-ass out the automatic doors
With my arms weighed down by two, crappily packed (Thanks HyVEE!!!) grocery bags, and slightly preoccupied with a minor-Chris-crisis, I was making my way toward the OUT door when this big guy came barreling though the IN door. Like any animal sighting some large mass heading directly toward them I had two options: A) make myself as small as possible or B) try to stabilize for the imminent impact. Me, I apparently try for option B, which at the moment meant throwing my arms out in both directions and planting my feet like a football player pushing one of those padded things across the field.
Mr. Guy suddenly seemed to realize he was about to commit non-vehicular-homicide and jerked to a stop inches from my nose. He then (I SWEAR TO GOD I'M NOT MAKING THIS UP) looked down the front of my body, which was impressive considering his nose was nearly pressed into mine and his hair was itching my forehead, and then looked back up at me (by which I mean my face) and smiled.
"Ello, senorita. Hows are u's doing dis evening?"
My arms plopped back down to my side, the rush of adrenaline completely failing to keep my groceries suspended any longer, and shouldered him aside.
I stomped out the double OUT doors and spotted a little old woman working her way in the opposite direction. I marched up to her in all my righteous fury and demanded to know if my nipple was showing.
Her mouth fell open so wide I could tell she wore dentures. She didn't answer. Just stared up at me.
I asked again, "Well is it?!" She shrugged, not even glancing down to my boobs.
Obviously she wasn't going to be much help. I stomped back to my car, feeling thoroughly manhandled.

Eye-fucked 5x's in one day. The math alone is staggering. I'm exhausted.

Labels: All things Vagina

Chris had been dating this guy, who we shall refer to as Asshole, for about 2 1/2 years. Their semi-long-distance relationship (classified as such since they were about an hour drive away) hit a downward spiral when Asshole announced he'd been offered a job three hours away. They both realized it wasn't going to work since they already had problems with 1/3 of that distance but decided not to speak of it and enjoy the last few months they would get together. Unfortunately, Asshole seemed to have other ideas while Chris was trying desperately to preserve the relationship.
A few weeks ago, Asshole was supposed to come in town but never showed. She called, emailed, talked to his mother (yes, he still lives with his mother) but received no answers or callbacks. Chris figured it was over and took it surprisingly well. As we all do when a relationship is over, she made the decision to either glorify the time they had together and wish it never ended, or see the reality of her situation and be happy it was over. Chris, being the genius she is, cried for a day or two and was done with the pity-party. She was sad, but ultimately relieved because he'd saved her any lingering regret she may have had.
It seemed that Chris' only problem with the situation was that she still hadn't finished paying off the loan for his Xmas present and that he had stashed a tool she needed for work. She emailed one last time asking for the it back but again, the spineless toad did not reply.
Last week, while we were chatting about absolutely nothing in the way that chicks do, she was checking her mail and found a Fed-Ex package. When she realized it was from Asshole, she burst out laughing at the sheer cowardice of it. But she was also a little suspicious of the size of the package considering the tool she wanted back was relatively small and the package was the size of a shoebox. When she ripped open the package (with me holding my breath on the other end of the line) she found her tool...and a box of tampons she'd left at his house for emergencies. Needless to say, we laughed till we cried.
"What a fucking pussy," I screamed, scaring the guy in the car next to me.
"Who does that," Chris asked.
"A fucking pussy, obviously."
"Well, yeah. Obviously. Damn, he spent ten bucks to send me tampons."
"Hope they're worth it."
"Oh," She laughed, "they are so worth it."
"You should put them on a shelf with his name on it so you remember not to date fucking pussies."
"Good call."
With the exception of a chick night filled with drinking the last of Asshole's wine he'd left at her house, Chris was officially over it. There are few times you can say you are truly proud of your friends (especially mine), but I am happy to say that the night Chris was passed out on my couch with the last of the wine settling at the bottom of her glass, was one of those really proud moments.

PS Tampons are for fucking pussies. You're dead to us, Asshole.

Labels: All things Vagina

I haven't spoken to Boyfriend in a few weeks since I announced I couldn't possibly be conned into taking him back again. Problem is I apparently wasn't clear enough in the 'breaking up' announcement because he assumed that once classes ended, we'd be making wild monkey sex again. And in all honesty, I kind of was hoping all would be well again also, but classes ended two weeks ago and there has been no wild monkey sex.
So Boyfriend and I have been in this weird pause mode. Neither of us have really stepped up to figure out what's going on. And while I would love things to go back to their originally happy state, at this point I would settle for just knowing our official status. If we're broken up, I'd just like to know. But the thing about Boyfriend is that he really doesn't believe we are having problems (which we so are) and has decided to ignore the telltale signs. I on the other hand am ready to rip my goddamn hair out. I hate this half-way break up bullshit. That's the problem with 4-year relationships. They just won't die!
So last Friday when my cell rang at 2AM with his 'I'm A King' ring, I answered a little confused...to find that his delightfully chubby friend was drunk dialing my ass. I listened as Delightfully Chubby relayed the slurred story of their night at home doing nothing but drinking cheap beer and playing Madden.
When I asked where Boyfriend was (I could hear someone in the background trying to suppress masculine giggles) he informed me that Boyfriend was in bed since he had an early morning. I asked who was giggling and he yelled into the phone that Boyfriend's other friend (who I refer to as "The Lesbian" since he and Boyfriend are attached at the hip but refuse to acknowledge their gay relationship and got mad when I kept referring to him as "Sally") was also drunk. After a few minutes of undecipherable chattering on both their parts in which I was brought into the conversation randomly, I decided it was time to let them go and asked if they needed anything else.
At this point, Delightfully Chubby declared that Boyfriend was still "really, so, incredibly in love with you." I listened as DC went on and on about how Boyfriend has pictures of us everywhere in his new apartment and all he does is talk about how much he misses me.
"Oh yeah? So why hasn't he gotten off his dead ass and called me? Apparently, it isn't that hard, DC," I said meaningfully. DC laughed for awhile until he decided he'd done his duty as a good friend and shifted into drunk-and-horny mode. I could still hear Lesbian in the background laughing hysterically about something when DC started telling me how hot I am. No sorry, how "so crazy sexy you are. I mean your boobs...they're so great. I mean all big and --"
I interrupted before he got anymore graphic about my, admittedly great, boobs, "Hey DC, does Boyfriend know you're calling me?"
"Hell no. He'd kill me. I stole his phone when he fell asleep so I could call you and see what you're doin tonight."
"Sleeping. Or atleast I was trying to before...Look, DC I've got a long day tomorrow, I've got to go--"
"Yeah, you wouldn't want me anyway. Not after Boyfriend. He was getting out of the shower the other day and I saw his di--"
"DC! I really have to go. If you want to talk about Boyfriend's dick talk to Lesbian. I'm sure he's seen it plenty."
"Yeah. Totally. But you should call Boyfriend. He's really bummed."
"Don't worry, I'll definitely be calling him tomorrow."
"Really? Awesome. Tell him I talked you into it."
"Yeah, no problem."
I called Boyfriend the next day and relayed the conversation as he sat next to DC recovering on his couch. Boyfriend laughed a little but tended to growl more than anything, then started swearing his undying, loyal love to me. That's when I started to growl and informed him that his drunk friends were apparently capable of picking up his phone and calling me, but his undying love couldn't muster the balls to do the same. That's where the conversation ended.
Haven't talked to him since.
Which still leaves me officially fucked in trying to decipher our status, but apparently my boobs look really great. Atleast I've got that going for me.

Labels: All things Vagina, Completely Unrelated Rantings, The Boyfriend (duh Duh DUH)