Hello all and welcome to the brand spanking new redesign.

Now, this doesn’t mean that we’re going uptown? Quite the contrary my faithful minions, in fact we’ve all been brushing up on our truck driver dialect lessons. I wont bore you with the details but just trust me, the best is yet to come (or something like that).

(And until I have time to tweak things it’s best viewed in anything other than internet explorer.)

This week has sucked. This week has sucked more than Britney Spears parenting skills. I don’t really know why, but it’s just been a fun little conglomeration of petty annoyances that have served to collectively piss me off. I like it much better when I have a unilateral enemy such as insecure post-high school geeks or gold lame bags. Alas, we can’t always get what we want. So because I have no clear enemy I’m going to share with you, my shit-list of the week. Just be glad you’re not on it. Or are you?

1). Summer Ale – It’s smooth, it’s golden, it’s refreshing, it goes magnificently with a beach chair and a hot little bikini, and most importantly it’s our good friend the beer company’s way of telling us that it is…yes. Summer. But wait. What’s that? NO. Guess what. If you live in San Francisco, summer equals a high of 60 degrees and a bank of fog that rolls in at about 2pm everyday. Sorry bitches, no summer for you. So as you can see I’m more than a little irritated that they even market the shit here. Talk about a fucking cock tease.

2.) Dodgy realtors – My roommate and I might as well have bent over, grabbed our ankles and bit our lips, because we got full on Brokebacked by a realtor this week. Looking for a place in San Francisco that is financially viable and not a shoebox is almost as much fun as a stint at Gitmo, but we finally thought we had a place. In fact, we fucking loved the place. It was beautiful, with hardwood floors and a gorgeous little back deck complete with our own little palm tree for chrissakes. Having charmed the pants off the “realtor” who was showing the place, and having been told that we were shoe–in’s, we applied for the place and waited. And waited. And waited some more. We loved the place so much that we stopped scavenging craigslist and waited TWO WEEKS. We even picked out a bad ass grill and patio furniture. Finally bitch-face calls us with a lame– “I’m sorry I guess I owe you a call, we rented the place”. WHORE. Are you too busy giving hand jobs to prospective tenants that you can’t pick up the phone and call and tell us you gave our place away to some yuppie scum? Really?

3.) Old nasty couples – Stop groping each other in public places. Please. I’m begging you. And really stop groping each other in restaurants when I’m trying to enjoy my food. I know you’re really psyched she got the boob job and your mullet has FINALLY grown out to just the right length, but spare me the ass caressing and the tongues.

4.) Sex – It’s EVERYWHERE. And I’m not having it. Commercials, sitcoms, buses, bill boards, music, blogs; all popping out at me like I have on those stupid 3-D glasses and conspiring to remind me that I’m NOT GETTING ANY.
Note to reader: regular ass is NOT to be underestimated.

5.) NO single friends. Not one. – Having just gotten out of a relationship I am looking for distraction, not necessarily looking for ass just yet, but looking for distraction. However, there will be a time in the future when I will need a partner in crime to go out and help me bestow my gifts (cough, cough) upon the straight men (all two of them) of San Francisco. However, somewhere along the way my previously single wingmen got ensnared in coupledom. I seriously don’t know how it happened but literally every god damn one of them is in a relationship and the next thing you know on Saturday night it’s all “Well, we’re staying in tonight and laying low” or “We’re going to so and so’s parents house for the weekend”. I realize the hypocrisy of my whining about this considering I was the worst offender but STILL, don’t you know the world revolves around me? Come on people, let’s party.

6.) Jennifer Love Hewitt – I was watching VH1 and they did some horrendous count down of top teen stars. JLH came on screen singing “Bare Naked” and I totally puked in my mouth. Shudder.

7.) Fat men pushing on the train - While your impression of Milton from Office Space is pretty funny, and I do enjoy you sputtering and accusing everyone around of pushing you- you’re sweating on me and it’s gross. Piss off.

8.) Stupid bumper stickers - Why must you invade my mental space when I’m walking home from work. Seriously?

“My kid beat up your honor student”, why don’t you just tattoo WHITE TRASH to your forehead and call it a day.

“What IS the hokey pokey all about?” Who. Fucking. Cares. Thanks for reminding me of it’s existence and getting it stuck in my head all day. Nice one.

9.) San Francisco Beer Festival – SOLD OUT. Enough said.

10.) Creepy Myspace Guys - I know I’m “single” now, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind. Thanks though, it’s touching.

Well, I hope you all can rest easier knowing that for just one day, there’s someone out there more irritated, cynical, and bitter, than you. Happy Thursday!

Kisses,
Lo

Things to do when you are unemployed, looking for work, new to town, and supposed to be working from home:

1) I don’t think I have to actually mention this first, really popular way to procrastinate, but A) it can lead to further procrastination when B) you decide you should have more porno in your Netflix queue and C) this requires calling up your ex and requesting the name of that movie that we watched that one time, you know, the one that was made in the 70’s without all the fake tits and with a surprising amount of hair whilst D) browsing adult-only sites for reviews of adult-only films that you might actually find sexy.

2) OK this is similar to number 1, as it can, well, lead right back to number 1, but if you happen to be in a long distance relationship like I am, dirty text messaging is a lot of fun and sooooo easy to do from any locale, like A) jury duty where I) you can’t bring in any magazines or reading material so II) you have to make do with the powers of your mind or III) face the deadly alternative of actually paying attention to jury selection. In such circumstances the mind is capable of coming up with a vast array of scintillating possibilities which a) I will not bore you with here but b) suffice it to say they can make one want to leave in a hurry.

3) Shop for lingerie online. This could either A) make you all hot n’ bothered and lead again back to number 1, or B) make you so very depressed because I) you don’t have the money for the aforementioned lingerie nor II) does your boyfriend, in addition to the fact that, III) you haven’t shed those winter pounds that would allow you to venture forth and actually try on the aforementioned lingerie. But a) you have bookmarked the page and b) you have sent the link to the person with whom you are sleeping along with c) a reminder that while your birthday isn’t coming up anytime soon, d) one doesn’t need any special occasion to make a holiday.

4) Make a shake with all the fruit in your fridge threatening to turn black. Okay A) I know this isn’t what you were hoping for here but B) let’s get realistic that C) the kitchen always figures prominently in any kind of procrastination scenario and D) that doesn’t necessarily rule out number 1 when E) there are cucumbers, bananas and zucchini lying around. Not only can you I) be creative and create that never-before-blended-together-in-one-drink ambrosiac concoction with, say, papaya, blackberries, ginger and lemon juice but II) it’s not really cheating on your oh-shit-here-comes-summer-and-the-weather-is-getting-warmer diet and III) you are being environmentally conscious by not wasting food and IV) you would make your mother proud.

5) Post at girlspoke. This is almost like working because A) your fingers are moving across a keyboard in rapid succession and B) it does require some thought, with C) the added bonus that writing a post like this can lead directly back to number 1 and D) at the very least, you have wasted enough time so that E) 5 o’clock has finally rolled around and F) you can pack up and call it a day and G) no longer feel guilty about, ahem, jerking off all day.

It’s a vicious cycle folks, but somebody’s gotta do it.

I could be your first date girl.

I know many of you out there enjoy the hunt and the savor of the first bite. But the idea of actually dating is less than desirable. Now you’re in luck. Today, and today only, I am offering the exclusive “First Date for a Day” Packages. This is where you get the chance to go out on a first date with me without having to make the uncomfortable ‘follow-up second date’ call. Much like many Girlfriend for a Day Packages there are options:

• Package A:aka the Gimme a P, Gimme an M, Gimme an S, Gimme a You’re an Asshole… Date: We’ve been planning this date for two weeks and in the meantime I’ve gone from the horny-attractive mid-cycle to full-blown PMSing. I am bloated and apparently color-blind with my hideously mismatched outfit. I get offended by everything you say and snear and squint when you talk. I stuff my face throughout dinner on the greasiest foods on the menu. I end the evening by crying about how my dates never work out cause I always date losers. $29.99
• Package B:Better known as the Counting Chickens Before They Hatch Date: We meet at a quaint bistro on the west side. I look stunning: a hot clingy dress, simple slingback flats (so I’m not taller than you), slighty and sexily tossled hair, red lipstick. I look over at you with those bedroom eyes all throughout dinner. You are smitten. We go to a dark bar for drinks after dinner. My ex shows up with his whorish looking date. I make a sort of loud comment about said whorish chick. She is offended. I throw my drink at her. Full blown cat fight breaks out. $49.99 (Catfight involves torn clothes, hair pulling and baby oil: $149.99)
• Package C:We’d better call this one the You Can’t Get a Break Date: This one starts out much like the last one but this time it’s your ex that shows up at the dark bar. Her and I end up chatting in the bathroom and as it turns out we have a ton in common so we exchange phone numbers and make plans to hang out for the following weekend. Oh, and she tells me about your unfortunate shortcomings, so to speak. $19.99
• Package D:or the It Can’t Possibly Be This Easy?! Date: Before we meet up I make sure to drink half a bottle of wine. And I’m not hungry. And it’s still time for happy hour 1/2 priced drinks. And I’m dressed totally slutty. $199.99 (I don’t pass out or vomit on you: $299.99)

Ok, boys; I’ve done my part to help you understand us ladies, and now it’s time you returned the favor. Typically, women folk are on-point when it comes to figuring out our male counterparts and their idiosyncrasies. The nicknames for your member, the strength of your love for a sports team, and even your silly obsession with cartoons or comic books. But there are some things about you boys that I just cannot wrap my mind around.

So, here it is. An open call to our male readers to help me out with your inexplicable behavior.

We’ll start off with celebrity sex appeal.

Now, I know she’s fallen off as of late, but when she was cute and pudgy and illegal to screw you boys were all over that mess. I think the women saw through her school-girl outfit straight to the current state of white trash in which she currently resides. So you’ll have to tell me how you guys found all that hype to be arousing. What, then, constitutes a hottie in Hollywood?

And the next issue I have may be a bit of a personal thing, but I’m sure there are lots of other chicks out there that have dealt with the topic of makeup. Right?

So guys, which is it? Au Natural or Slathered & Seductive?

This next one is something that I kind of understand, but still have trouble reasoning through.

The idea of yelling at a woman as she walks by, whether it’s from your car as you drive by or as she’s walking by your group of guy friends, is just illogical. Is it all just to impress the boys? Does that kind of thing actually impress them? Is this behavior restricted to the likes of the Spears’ family and their kind? Please, please clarify.

And lastly, the lesbian thing. Can we shed some light on this one please? So what, two girls making out…big deal! I mean come ON…is it really all that hot?!

Ok, nevermind. That is pretty fucking hot.

But as for the rest of them, could you boys illuminate the situations at hand just a tad?

Many Thanks,
Jenna

Ah the windows are open again, the skirts are shorter, and horny men abound. I love Spring!

Just the other day I took my seasonal storage box from the closet, the one with the skirts, short sleeves, linen pants and flip flops. I replaced it with the turtlenecks, knee-high socks, wool pants and snow boots. It was like coming home from a shopping spree. All the clothes I’d forgotten about. But this post is NOT about clothes. It’s about what’s underneath.

Well, maybe it’s a little about clothes. You see, today I wore my favorite white shirt. It’s a tight, v-neck, three-quarter length sleeve gem. The kind that’s just slightly see-through. So no colored bras or funny business. It requires a plain white no nonsense cotton bra with the proper hold and shape. I did just that. The day started out with a bang.

On the subway I pull out my book on Quantum Physics. Reading the chapter on black holes and event horizons I noticed out of the corner of my eye that my nipples were damn perky. It wasn’t particularly cold nor was I excited persay, but those little guys looked like I’d stuffed garbanzo beans in my shirt. I looked down and looked up, the guy sitting across from me caught my glance and smiled. I quickly stuffed my face back in my book.

I spent the entire day at work. When I wasn’t cursing at my monitor I was having meetings with my staff, just like any other day. Today was different though. I got the distinct feeling people were staring at me and I remembered my nips. I purposely dropped my pen under the table and took the opportunity to look down. Nope, back to normal. Weird.

After my meeting I went to the bathroom. There it was. Or rather there they were. It turned out that in normal light my bra was not the opaque I was fooled to believe. And the see-through shirt was well, see-through. And we’re not talking about a hint of an idea of a kinda sorta. Nope, there was areola. Defined and present. Quite sexy actually. But not the best way to present myself professionally in front of a team of employees that I am supposed to manage and be taken seriously by.

There wasn’t much I could do. No sweater to hide under. And you can only stand cross-armed for so long. So on my way home I just walked proudly down 6th Ave, chest out, and an added swagger to my gait. Maybe my neighbors will stop whispering as I walk by after a couple of weeks. Or I’ll get a date.

Contrary to the distinct impression I give from most (okay, all) of my posts, I’m actually a really nice person. No, seriously, I mean it. I smile, I’m polite, I help old people across the street, I pet kittens. All that shit. So, considering I make a point to always be friendly and accommodating, it really fucking chaps my ass when people are assholes for no good reason.

Allow me to be more specific. Since I have quite a few friends who are total hotties, I have noticed a disturbing little phenomenon amongst men that I like to call,

“Scarred by a Cheerleader Syndrome”

It’s sister syndromes are “Fat kid Syndrome” and everyone’s favorite, the “Napoleon Complex”.

“Scarred by a Cheerleader Syndrome” generally goes a little something like this. A man, not necessarily an unattractive man, but a man nonetheless, finds himself in a minor position of power like manager of a ski rental shop, or a bank teller. A hot girl will generally approach said man for a service of some sort that she requires (get your mind out of the gutter). Suddenly drunk with power the man will take it upon himself to be a complete unrelenting dickwad, for no apparent reason. Rude, condescending and generally unpleasant, the man confuses the girl because she really hasn’t done anything but smile pretty and ask what length skis she should rent. Sneeringly, he’ll treat her like shit and leave her with an unshakable sense of injustice when she sees him service another customer with pleasantries and a sunshiney demeanor. In fact, more likely than not he was probably falling all over himself to help the girl in front of you who looks like she just took a nose dive off the ugly tree and hit every fucking branch. Bless her heart.

After the first couple of times this happened, emerging from my rage blackout, I realized the source of the injustice. These are generally guys who are moderately attractive, however, you can tell that in high school they were total dorks. Nothing wrong with that. I dig dorks, I do. However, I DON’T dig dorks dripping with insecurity that take their high school trauma out on me when we are both well into adulthood. I’m really sorry that the captain of the cheerleading squad refused to lift up her skirt for you and embarrassed you in the lunch room. Really, I am. It’s not your fault you had raging acne and a lisp, she’s a total bitch faced whore. I get it.

But you know what? We all went through the publicly funded nightmare called high school and I’m sorry but NOBODY got out of that shit show without some battle scars. Maybe you deserve the fucking Purple Heart but honestly? I don’t care. I’m twenty- god- damn- five and you’re probably thirty so get over your stupid shit and be civil.

I got smacked upside the head with this bullshit on Saturday and I was livid. I was wine tasting in Sonoma (I know you hate me already but fuck off my parents were in town) and the guy who was “pouring” the wine was a total unmitigated prick. Completely uncalled for. I won’t go into the dialogue or specifics because I’ll start convulsing with anger and spill my beer, but needless to say I was a little buzzed and quite jolly so the animosity seething from his pores was completely unprovoked. My mother had to drag me out of the shop so I wouldn’t grab him by the tie and shove his little puny head into the spit bucket.

Nothing pisses me off more than people who can’t control their own bullshit and instead choose to spew it onto others. That goes double for people in bad moods, people who’ve “had a bad day” and a whole host of other excuses. You can be a pissy little bitch with a napoleon complex all you want, go crawl under your rock and keep it to your god damn self. Momma needs a drink and she ain’t got time for your silly ass.

So word to the wise for all of those past dorks out there with baggage - you might equate all women who are attractive with women who make your life hell, but maybe, just maybe, if you weren’t such an asshole I WOULD sleep with you.

Love you dearly,
Lo

Lessons in humiliation brought to you by a 13 year old….

Take notes. Tattoo them onto the back of your hand. Slap yourself repeatedly.

And stay tuned for Lo’s tongue lashing tomorrow. We love ya!

Talking about NUW brought back some memories…

I remember going to see a comedian back in college. She was a comedian with an agenda. Much of her dialogue focused on getting women to be more comfortable with their sexuality. My memory of her set is hazy at best, and I recall primarily being glad that I’d only paid $5 to see her and that we were still going to catch a party afterwards.

The other memory was her commentary of genital recognition. She’d drawn the suggestion that if a man were in a room full of penises, he’d be able to select his own bits and pieces from that group. Women, on the other hand, would have trouble finding theirs.

This brought to mind three things.

1. I’m glad our genitalia is attached at all times. Sorting through random va-jay-jays and johnsons at the local Lost & Found after a hard night of drinking would be terribly traumatic, I’d imagine. I mean, you’ve heard that Detachable Penis song and the saga involved in retrieving a lost one, right? That’d be a bitch and a half.

2. We can’t exactly SEE our region. Maybe if it were situated a bit higher, I’d even have a name for it, but I can’t and, well, I don’t. The men folk certainly have lots of visual assistance in getting to know theirs.

3. This has absolutely nothing to do with my sexuality, and I am kind of grossed out at the thought of this woman lying in bed with a mirror.

But I do think the topic is important. Women need to be comfortable with sex. How can we make up for our other inequalities if we don’t capitalize on our knack for multiple orgasms? Besides, lack of sexual confidence is facilitating approximately 500% of our gender-based issues, in my totally qualified, highly professional, and unbiased opinion.

But let’s not declare a day of clitoral celebration during which we dance around in crotchless panties and high five each other’s poonannies.

Here is my point. Girls are so fucking sexy. Scientifically speaking, we have the upper hand. There’s a reason why the male species of the animal kingdom is usually prettier to look at. It’s the guy that holds the burden of attracting the girl.

Without even trying, science just makes it happen. But when insecurities, feminine warfare, and other social activities enter the scene, we sabotage our sexual (and emotional) happiness. As the spring weather triggers our pheromones, finding a suitable mate will become a priority. The smartest way to do this is to get back to our biological roots, ladies.

For those of you shaking your head in agreement, try to look out for your fellow sister by boycotting naval jewelry and high-heeled flip-flops. For those of you rolling your eyes and reapplying your lip gloss with that Breakfast Club trick you do with your boobs as you type your bitter comments, I’m talking to you. Overcompensation is tacky at best, and you wouldn’t want that branding, would you?

First of all, who the fuck signed me up for the eHarmony newsletter? I’m gonna kick your ass when I find out.

So, this morning I got a newsletter from Mr. Dr. Neil Clark Warren PhD, aka the 29 dimensions dude. It struck me as odd so I played around with it in photoshop.