On burritos and buttsex. 

Continuing a theme… 

Every day on my way to work, I drive past a billboard for a place called California Tortilla, and the billboard says, “We stuff imagination into unlikely places.”

And every time I see it, I think, “What, like the back of a Volkswagen?”

Gap in Reasoning

Email to friends: 

“I feel bad judging another woman, but this is one of the rare moments in life when I feel like a piece of clothing would look better on me than it does on the model. C’mon, Gap, that dress needs some breasts. You’re calling it the FIT & Flare, not the Sag & Flare.”

And seriously, no hatred intended. That woman can wear 8 million things I’d never dream of wearing. This observation comes from a place of, like, 75% mad jealousy, and only 25% “Goddamn, my breasts are fantastic.”

Tom Sub-Servo!

Barnes & Noble just emailed me to tell me the Fifty Shades of Grey DVD is available for pre-order. 

TOTALLY renting it from Netflix and having a Mystery Science Theater-style party. 

Snack menu so far: licorice whips, Nerds Ropes, fruit leather. 

Oh, OH! DominaTRIX cereal! (I know, I know, she’s the sub — it was too good a pun to pass up.)

OMG, the signature COCKtail (heh) will be Fifty Shades of Grey Goose!

Fifty Shades of Gravy!

Now 50% more self-absorbent!

I downloaded an app to track my menstrual cycle and it’s asking me to add a profile photo.  

Uhhh, thanks, I’m good. This isn’t a thing I need to be social-networky about.

Also, um… Would that be a photo of my face or of my vagina? If we’re taking photos of my vagina, I’m gonna need to go to Glamour Shots or something. This can’t be of those “Shot on an iPhone 6” deals you see on billboards. I can’t selfie that, I need a pro. Studio space, flattering lighting…

What Instagram filter would work best for that? Probably one of the black and white ones, so it’ll look artsy, or, ooh, Earlybird would be good — my vagina would look all mellow and groovy.

I realize they’re not really requesting photos of my lady garden. But once I started thinking about vaginal Glamour Shots, my brain ran with it.

Though, if I could get an ultrasound printout of the whole uterus, etc., kit and caboodle, I guess that would be most accurate.

Also, I Googled “Sapphic selfie,” and apparently it’s a thing. Mostly on Tumblr (obvs). 

Calling it like you C-word it. 

Friend: “Ugh, this woman… The word that comes to mind is ‘cuntrag,’ but then I feel bad.”

Me: “Don’t feel bad. You’re pretty well educated, so I don’t think you just arrived casually at ‘cuntrag.’ Your brain assessed the situation and that’s the word it deemed appropriate. The cuntrag had it coming.”

Well… At least I don’t have balls. 

I like being a woman. We’re pretty great. Go team and all. But I envy a few things about men.

First, obviously, the penis is brilliant. I wish I always had access to one. I would name him George and hug him and pet him and squeeze him (gently).

A second, semi-related envy: I’m pretty sure men don’t often have to wonder, “Is this the regularly scheduled bleeding from my genitals? Or is it one of those times it’s just for funsies, or because I’m dehydrated or played too rough during sex?”

Then again… If a man’s genitals are bleeding, that’s probably really bad. For me it’ll probably just sort itself out.

It reminds me of a Ron White bit: “I’m not making light of women’s periods. I would never do that. That’s serious stuff. If that happened to me one time, I’d be in the hospital. It wouldn’t be any of this nonchalant, ‘Oh, I’m spotting.’ FUCK THAT. I’d be running down the road like my hair was on fire, screaming, ‘My balls are bleeding, my balls are bleeding!’”

Speaking of which, balls are pretty ridiculous. I’m glad I don’t have those.