My vagina, log flumes, and errant cleavage.

I’m doing this “creative lady mixer” thing tonight, kind of a summit of artists, writers, designers, etc.I mentioned before that I’d been debating whether to introduce myself as the writer of this blog because…I don’t want to say I’m “ashamed” of it, but maybe a little embarrassed? Even more so now that my most recent post compared my vagina to a log flume.

But I don’t know, getting ready this morning, I think there’s something kind of hilarious about “vagina as log flume” coming from a nondescript Feyschanel blonde wearing a demure Michelle-Obama-lookin’ Lands’ End sundress, with a camisole under it to corral errant cleavage. I’d like to think you wouldn’t look at me and immediately assume I’m the creator of “my vagina is a log flume.” (Worst John Mayer B-side ever.)

“I write a blog about women’s issues.” That includes sex. (And log flumes, apparently.) If the real writers don’t like it, it’s not the right group. I have enough friends, fuck it. Let’s do this.

The Urban Legend of Squad Goals

I’ve been debating joining a local blogging group, but I’m hesitant, mostly because I really do want this page to stay… I guess SEMI-private? I don’t mind if close friends see it, because they know I’m a sailor-mouth nutcase, but I’d prefer that my dad not, because…ew.

Also, I have some issues with the content, like… I don’t know if I’m ashamed of this stuff or not. This page is basically my id’s blog — it’s what comes out when I let go of my filter, which is admittedly faulty sometimes. I was in mixed company the other night and made some jokes I’d make here, but I was thinking about it afterward, like, “Why did you say that? They’re going to think you’re slutty and you’ve never even DONE that.”

I alternate between a blustery, “Pfft, whatEVER, I give ZERO fucks what these people think. I am awesome and hilarious and my tribe gets me” and “I am a Carrie-Bradshaw-wannabe hack who’s not funny OR sexy, and they’re going to think I’m trashy and find my grandpa and tell him I say ‘fuck’ on the Internet.'”

Much like the rest of my life, I guess it’s time to give some thought to what I want this blog to be — if I want to continue the id of it all, or maybe write something else under my real name. Or both. Or neither.

UGH. THOUGHTS. We’ll add this to career and personal goal development, because you know what I found out, you guys? There are some people who don’t just obtain a job and then pray they don’t lose it. They, like, DO shit to advance their careers and their lives, and they have these, um… “aspirations,” I think was the word? Freaky, right? Next you’re gonna tell me people really floss.

No shame in my menstruation game.

Via Huffington Post: This Ode To Periods Puts All Shamers To Rest.

I’m really not big into the “Kumbaya sisterhood,” “menstruation is a miracle of womanly nature” shit.

But, um… fuck you. I don’t CHOOSE to menstruate — I don’t think anyone would. It’s a pain in the ladyballs, it’s uncomfortable, it’s exhausting. Salted caramel chocolates and Pamprin become necessary so I don’t fucking cut YOU every 28 days so you’re bleeding as well, and then there’s the feminine products, so menstruation is also expensive.

So you can kiss my bloated lady-belly for even ATTEMPTING to shame any woman for it. We don’t talk shit on YOU because your balls look like the shitty Christmas ornaments you don’t put on the tree because they’re not pretty enough.

Also? You’re an idiot. I’ll say it — period sex is AMAZING. At least for me, that first few days before it gets too hectic in the DMZ, you WANT to be fucking me. All the good bits are extra sensitive, so you barely have to TRY and I’m coming like an adolescent boy who’s just discovered what his dick does.

So yeah. Go fuck yourself, sir, because no one else should.