Okay, I realize it has been a while since I last posted. I would like to think I have a good story or two to share since last I was here, and honestly, I do. But I don't really feel like writing any of them right now. And here's why:
It's too fucking hot. Seriously. Have you been outside lately? After lunch today, my car said it was 103 degrees, while I was moving. Not sitting still in traffic, but actually in motion. Now, granted, my car did not agree with the nearby bank, which claimed it was only 98 degrees. It boasted being cooler due to the large amount of cash stored inside, and everyone knows that large amounts of cash make anyone look, or at least feel, cooler. My car, being Swedish, probably went by the heat index instead, which is a more accurate interpretation of how it, or I, felt out and about in the heat. It was too hot to go anywhere or do anything, so I went home to sit in the sweet sweet air conditioning.
When I got home and peed, I felt instantly cooler, temperature wise, just having my panties down at my ankles, so I took them off and sat around in just my sundress. I felt comfortable and free, the way your pubic hair does when you go skinny dipping and it floats merrily like seaweed in the ocean current. Or so I heard. But then I decided that taking my kids to their piano lessons this afternoon sans skivvies might traumatize the other children, most of whom attend Job Bones school (The name was changed to protect the innocent. Think about the children. And their God.) and thus have never had their own panties off, ever. I had this mental image of me bending over to pick up S's cracker crumbs, or crossing and uncrossing my legs, not unlike Sharon Stone, and showing the other budding musicians the abomination to the Lord I keep under my dress. And now you have that mental image too. Sorry about that.
As an aside, on my drive home, I passed yet another person on a moped. I refuse to believe he was driving one because he "cares" about the environment. I tend to think of mopeds as a form of transportation for only two classes of people: those with mental retardation who need to get to their bagger jobs at the grocery store, and those with multiple DUI's. And I love the little moped license plates, the small rectangle ones that say MOPED on them. They remind me of the personalized license plates you could get for your banana seat bike back in the 70's, when kids had normal names with normal spellings, like Mary and Jeff. Anyway, this guy was amazing, because not only could he drive his moped, but he was also picking his nose and smoking a cigarette at the same time. And he did those two things with the same hand! Talk about multitasking! And I bet he was hot too. He couldn't even roll up his window.
What was the point of this? Oh yeah, it's hot.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
You Can't Make a Silk Purse out of a Sow's Ear, But Can I Interest You in a Ham Wallet?
Recently, I read an article in Self magazine that has stuck with me in ways I am still trying to understand. Entitled “Surgery where?” it was all about women having cosmetic surgery on their genitalia. Yes, pussy surgery. Apparently, women, and not just in California, are having all kinds of new procedures done, including collagen injections in their G-spots (referred to as the “G-Shot”), “vaginal tightening, labial reshaping, liposuction of the mons pubis, and reduction of the skin around the clitoris.” According to one doctor, women “want to look pretty in that area and not old and haggard.” Any of these surgeries cost several thousands of dollars and thank the lord are not covered by insurance. Now, I understand that sometimes a few of these procedures might occasionally be performed for medically necessary reasons, such as patient pain during intercourse or urinary incontinence. But “vaginal rejuvenation” surgeries are up about 30 percent over the past two years, so either there is a push in the pee leaking community, or women are really as vain as they appear to be.
I am so disturbed by this trend, for many different reasons. Let’s start with the G-spot injections. The idea of having a needle pump my G-spot (which I am not even sure I believe in nor have) full of cow skin by-products so that I can have a mini explosion in my panties every time I go to spin class or push my shopping cart down the grocery store aisle seems a bit excessive, even for the sex starved. We are not all in a porn movie. Sometimes sitting in traffic is just sitting in traffic, not an excuse for multiple orgasms because you can feel the bridge swaying in the breeze. I don’t want cow collagen in my facial lips, let alone my nether ones. End of discussion.
Onto the vaginal tightening. We have a time in our lives when our vaginas are tight. It is called childhood. Then we grow up, and if we are lucky, we have some fun stretching it out. There might be some painful birthing at some point or another, but the point is, it is supposed to be stretched and have that lived in look. Nobody wants a pussy that has that new car smell. And if you want your vagina tighter, you have another option available that doesn’t require surgery. It is called a Kegel exercise, where you tighten your perianal muscles for better bladder control and sexual satisfaction. You don’t have to work up a sweat or have special equipment, and no one can tell you when you are doing them. In fact, I am doing them right now.
Labial reshaping is another horrific concept to me. I’ve never really given much thought to my labia, nor to anyone else’s. But evidently young women are out there comparing theirs to their friends’. Again, I have to quote this article, which addresses a young woman who “noticed that her labia minora…were longer than those of other girls.” I have never noticed another woman’s labia intentionally. Now, call me crazy, but aren’t we supposed to demurely look away in the locker room? I didn’t realize that the modern girl was spreading her legs not so much for every Tom, Dick, or Harry, but more likely for Suzie, Mary, and Angie to get a better peek, purely for comparative purposes. Do we really need to feel inadequate about yet another part of our bodies? I have curly hair (on my head, you pervs!) that I want to be either straighter or curlier. My friend wishes her boobs were bigger. But seriously, I have yet to hear any woman say she wishes her labia were shaped differently. I generally don’t hear many women make references to their labia at all, and to those women who don’t, I say Thank you! Just think for a moment about the word labiaplasty. Okay, you can stop now. I am pretty sure no one wants to fuck Barbie. Not even Ken.
The article didn’t go deep (ha!) into the pros and cons of mons pubis liposuction and clitoral skin reduction, so I am really speculating about what these procedures entail. I would think a little fat on a mons pubis is a good thing, unless fucking skeletons is something your partner enjoys. I realize no one wants a camel toe, let alone a moose knuckle (yes, you should Google it), but I suppose if women were to actually have hair down there, the fat and cellulite would not be as noticeable. Since women are striving for the pussies of their younger days, when everything was hairless, younger, and thinner, than I suppose liposuction makes sense, almost. Clearly, it has become a top priority for women everywhere to be ready for their close-ups.
Clitoral skin reduction, however, seems more than a little akin to mutilation. Which I find remarkable. In Africa, women are traumatized, scarred both physically and mentally by genital mutilation. There exist a whole slew of humanitarian organizations to stop the practice, and even Oprah has discussed it, so you know it is really bad. In America, we pay out of pocket to have it done. I am assuming, again, that the purpose is to make the man in the boat have more of a catamaran or a pontoon than a submarine or aircraft carrier.
I know I seem to have my panties in a wad about all this pussy surgery. The Self article did not try to glamorize the surgery options, and presented just as many horror stories as it did happy endings, but in its effort to be objective and non-judgmental, it appeared to endorse the menu of treatments as an acceptable choice for a woman to make with her body. Perhaps some cosmetic surgeons out there see these surgeries as a way to enhance a woman’s life, but I would imagine there are just as many who are more than happy to take advantage with the American obsession with pretty, even parts that might not be meant to be pretty. And if all these options exist now, what’s left, asshole bleaching? Just kidding, I had that done last week.
I am so disturbed by this trend, for many different reasons. Let’s start with the G-spot injections. The idea of having a needle pump my G-spot (which I am not even sure I believe in nor have) full of cow skin by-products so that I can have a mini explosion in my panties every time I go to spin class or push my shopping cart down the grocery store aisle seems a bit excessive, even for the sex starved. We are not all in a porn movie. Sometimes sitting in traffic is just sitting in traffic, not an excuse for multiple orgasms because you can feel the bridge swaying in the breeze. I don’t want cow collagen in my facial lips, let alone my nether ones. End of discussion.
Onto the vaginal tightening. We have a time in our lives when our vaginas are tight. It is called childhood. Then we grow up, and if we are lucky, we have some fun stretching it out. There might be some painful birthing at some point or another, but the point is, it is supposed to be stretched and have that lived in look. Nobody wants a pussy that has that new car smell. And if you want your vagina tighter, you have another option available that doesn’t require surgery. It is called a Kegel exercise, where you tighten your perianal muscles for better bladder control and sexual satisfaction. You don’t have to work up a sweat or have special equipment, and no one can tell you when you are doing them. In fact, I am doing them right now.
Labial reshaping is another horrific concept to me. I’ve never really given much thought to my labia, nor to anyone else’s. But evidently young women are out there comparing theirs to their friends’. Again, I have to quote this article, which addresses a young woman who “noticed that her labia minora…were longer than those of other girls.” I have never noticed another woman’s labia intentionally. Now, call me crazy, but aren’t we supposed to demurely look away in the locker room? I didn’t realize that the modern girl was spreading her legs not so much for every Tom, Dick, or Harry, but more likely for Suzie, Mary, and Angie to get a better peek, purely for comparative purposes. Do we really need to feel inadequate about yet another part of our bodies? I have curly hair (on my head, you pervs!) that I want to be either straighter or curlier. My friend wishes her boobs were bigger. But seriously, I have yet to hear any woman say she wishes her labia were shaped differently. I generally don’t hear many women make references to their labia at all, and to those women who don’t, I say Thank you! Just think for a moment about the word labiaplasty. Okay, you can stop now. I am pretty sure no one wants to fuck Barbie. Not even Ken.
The article didn’t go deep (ha!) into the pros and cons of mons pubis liposuction and clitoral skin reduction, so I am really speculating about what these procedures entail. I would think a little fat on a mons pubis is a good thing, unless fucking skeletons is something your partner enjoys. I realize no one wants a camel toe, let alone a moose knuckle (yes, you should Google it), but I suppose if women were to actually have hair down there, the fat and cellulite would not be as noticeable. Since women are striving for the pussies of their younger days, when everything was hairless, younger, and thinner, than I suppose liposuction makes sense, almost. Clearly, it has become a top priority for women everywhere to be ready for their close-ups.
Clitoral skin reduction, however, seems more than a little akin to mutilation. Which I find remarkable. In Africa, women are traumatized, scarred both physically and mentally by genital mutilation. There exist a whole slew of humanitarian organizations to stop the practice, and even Oprah has discussed it, so you know it is really bad. In America, we pay out of pocket to have it done. I am assuming, again, that the purpose is to make the man in the boat have more of a catamaran or a pontoon than a submarine or aircraft carrier.
I know I seem to have my panties in a wad about all this pussy surgery. The Self article did not try to glamorize the surgery options, and presented just as many horror stories as it did happy endings, but in its effort to be objective and non-judgmental, it appeared to endorse the menu of treatments as an acceptable choice for a woman to make with her body. Perhaps some cosmetic surgeons out there see these surgeries as a way to enhance a woman’s life, but I would imagine there are just as many who are more than happy to take advantage with the American obsession with pretty, even parts that might not be meant to be pretty. And if all these options exist now, what’s left, asshole bleaching? Just kidding, I had that done last week.
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