I love my vagina. Despite its monthly release of the red demon it has served me well. And although I truly thought it might cease up and fall off during the birth of my son, it stayed the course with only minimal damage.
Those extra few stitches really helped.

I even love other vagina’s. I love to touch them and to kiss them…lick them, finger them. I was especially fond of the one with the cherry tattoo.

However, I’ve never been so enamored with the pink taco that I desired to bust out a box of Crayola’s and color it. Frankly, the thought makes me go “ew”. I don’t know why, either. Like I said, I love vagina’s. I suppose I just never found them to be aesthetically pleasing. With the right shave job or waxing the outer bits can certainly look dainty and delectable. But the actual goodie - the pièce de résistance - isn’t exactly a stunning piece of artwork. Often times it’s damn right scary looking. Obviously, I’m not talking porno pussy which has often been nipped and tucked to perfection, but rather, the average every day mound of labia and bits. It serves a wonderfully arousing, brilliant and impressive purpose, but I don’t look at a twat and automatically see art.
I know, I know. How very un-feministic of me.

And while I do appreciate that vagina’s come in all shapes, sizes and colors, I don’t particularly care to see them up close and personal on my coffee table. If I do, I’d much prefer my face to be buried in them
…
…
…
Actually, ::blulsh:: I think this whole post might be bunk. I just got slightly turned on by the idea of a pussy pop-up book.

Yet another thing has happened to put me off of online dating and this time for good. Picture it; you see a guy who you think is just soooooo super sexy and you send him a free smile. He replies, you chat and find out that he is incredibly intelligent, respectful, has a great career and a great sense of humor. What could be better?? He likes your pics, takes the time to read your work and sings your praises even though what you do seems small and pointless in comparison to the wonderful and honorable things he does for a living (sorry, no specifics). You decide that you are going to meet. Then, the next time you chat you can tell that things seem a little off and that the tone of the chat has changed. Why? I’ll tell ya’ why!! He has developed some sort of paranoid notion that I may be a man. Yes — A MAN!!!!!!!!!!

He clearly sees that the person in the pics is a female, but believes that he may be chatting with a man who is posing as a woman and has simply created this “Adrie the sex writer” persona all in the name of a career! What the f#ck???

I laughed it off and told him to call me so that he could hear my voice, which he did. While I do not have the most high-pitched girly voice; I certainly don’t sound like a guy — that I know of anyway. We only spoke for a sec before his other phone rang and he had to go. The next time we chatted he said that he was no longer worried that I was packin’ a penis and that he still wanted to meet, yet I still sensed hesitation. The next day arrived and went on without any word until the time we were actually supposed to meet for coffee. Only then did he log on to let me know that something came up at work and that he couldn’t make it. That’s it. My imaginary dick seems to have scared him off of MSN as well cuz’ he hasn’t been online since.

Having to have this conversation with someone at all was already bad enough, but the fact that he didn’t truly seem convinced after speaking to me? Oh my God! I’m crushed, horrified and mortified!

I can understand being a little paranoid if you’ve been burned. I have been told by a few people that the whole men-posing-as-women thing is kinda’ common on dating sites. What can they possibly be thinking? That they can get a man to fall in love with their personality so when they do finally meet that maybe the unannounced arrival of a penis won’t matter? I dunno. What I do know is that I am NOT one of those people and that I am really disappointed and bordering on offended now! Someone out there thinks I’m a man!! Eeeewwww!! It’s even worse that this someone seemed so promising and was just so yummy. Daaammmnnnn.

Note to said guy: You were partially right when you said I seemed to good to be true. I am too good, but am definitely true: truly a good person, truly cute, truly uninhibited with the right guy and truly 100% female with a truly immaculately groomed vagina and the closest thing I have to a penis is a truly pink, girly vibrator! (see pic)

I am also truly sorry that you have opted not to see these things for yourself because I truly believe that you would have been truly impressed.

** Would a man ever feel this hurt by a virtual stranger?? I think not! **

Craigslist is running a legalized prostitution ring. I’ve suspected this for months but now, now I’m sure of it.

Every other ad in the Men Seeking Women section involves an older gentleman promising to “take care of the whims and wishes of a college co-ed.” I was more than a little disturbed by these postings so naturally I decided to post an ad of my own.

My CL ad titled “I Want My Sugar Daddy” reads:

Me–22, 5′10, brunette, a delight to be around
You–over 40, successful, knows how to show a girl a good time

This can be beneficial for us both. Let me know if you’re up to the challenge.

Within ten minutes of going live, there were 15 emails in my inbox. Here’s a choice few:

Hi,

I’m interested in the ad you placed and would love to be of help. Let me start by telling you a bit about myself. I am a generous and successful male looking for a someone to pamper and spoil. I would like to meet someone who is bright, articulate and playful. I’d like to spend relaxed time enjoying your company. Please tell me about yourself. You will find me to be a gentleman. If possible, please send me a description of your appearance or a picture. I am sure we can work out and arrangement which will be mutually satisfying to the both of us. Looking forward to your response and to meeting you soon.

Mutually satisfying…I like?

Liked your ad. I’m 49, single (no kids). very successful (had a rewarding career on Wall St). At 49, you might consider me too old for you. Plz consider:

1. Physically, I’m in great shape (work out 4-5 times);
2. Mentally, I’m sharp as a tack. Finish the hardest crossword puzzles in minutes. In pen.
3. Emotionally, I have the spirit of a 12-year old boy.
4. Mathematically, if you average my chronological age (49) with my internal clock (of about 25), you end up with a blended average of 37 years old. Just right, I’m sure you’d agree.
5. I love spoiling the special woman in my life. You sound like you could use some spoiling.

I’ve recently returned to NYC after years out of town, and had some amazing experiences I’ll tell you about. I love smart, funny, challenging women. I love (and collect) art, music, dance, travel, great restaurants, loud clubs and quiet, intimate times.Let’s meet for a drink—who knows? Here’s a pic in a more formal moment. I know-pretty ridiculous, but the only one I have on-line. I promise not to dress this way when we meet. If interested, let me know and send a pic.
Richard

Hmm–Richard sounds nice but what about….

hi
im a bust executive looking for a weekly playmate for execlusive pleasure and friendship
would require occassional trip short trips in us..as for me white 46 5′10 if interested please send a photo and measurments..thanks and good luck in your search–MarkD

Mark D–you make an interesting offer.

hello there.
meet me for lunch so we can talk. I aim to please and settle for nothing but the best for the lady im with

Aim to please, huh?

Nice ad. I think I might be what you are looking for perhaps …
… I am a handsome, confident, Ivy-educated, adventurous, athletic, West Village residing financier with a mischievous grin and a rogue’s charm. I peruse CL for fun on occasion and, in the midst of doing that just now, saw your ad and it caught my eye. I am ideally interested in meeting an intelligent, sophisticated, stylish, feminine woman who has her own life, but who is looking to meet a very successful, high powered man who will spoil her totally rotten. Interested?

I LOVE being spoiled totally rotten! Especially by rogues!

I also received a couple of responses that were not so encouraging of trying to find me a sugar daddy.

You are a grown woman I suggest you buy your own shoes and advertise under Erotic Services like a proper Ho would. You are a prostitute. Get over it.

Oops.

After reading through a plethora of these responses, especially the ones from MARRIED MEN, I have decided that there is a reason women don’t trust men. I placed this ad pretty late at night too so that means these pervs were just perusing the internet late night, one window open to Craigslist and the other SororitySluts.com.

At first it was funny that I got so many responses. but upon further thought I don’t think it’s as funny. Just mostly disturbing now. Still, I don’t know–that message from Richard was pretty intriguing. And I’ve always been one for dating guys with salt and pepper hair.

Sacrifice is sexy.
Honor is sexy.
And taking some time out of your day for some serious shit is, sometimes, the sexiest thing you can do.

Today is that day.

Do something important this Memorial Day.

I am not a new-age tree-huggin’ peace, love & happiness practitioner. Although..eh hem..I do drive a Volkswagen Beetle. Um, with peace symbol tail light covers. I’ve also spent a few years of my life as a vegetarian, along with a few months convinced that I was Pagan. Then Buddhist. In fact, I have several books and eight Buddha’s in my home and one in the front yard. I love Kahlil Gibran. I regularly buy from UNICEF. I’ve raised my children on soy milk and veggie dogs. And okay, fine, I’ll always regret not joining the Peace Corps. So maybe I do have some tree-huggin’ peace, love & happiness tendencies. But I am a southern rock-mama at heart and fully support the death penalty. Therefore, I could never truly fit the hippie, or Buddhist, status quo.

I am, however, a huge believer in Karma.

I first met Her when I was about five years old. My dad had taken me to a company picnic where I befriended another little girl about my age. She seemed nice enough, but when she smiled my world turned upside down with shock & awe. Her lateral incisors (those are the teeth that flank the two front and centers) jutted out almost horizontally to the ground. It was as if I was front and center for my own personal freak show. I distinctly remember grabbing her hand and running her to my dad who, no doubt, in my mind, would also experience shock & awe at this gangly tooth marvel! Instead, I embarrassed the shit out of him. Who knows what sort of childhood trauma I inflicted upon the ill-fated friend, but never fear. I got mine in the end. A year or two later when teeth fell out and teeth grew in, Karma retaliated by bestowing me with a copy-cat mouth full of gangly teeth, including the two horizontal side stickers.
JB-0
Karma-1

A few years later when I stared at a young teenage girl with a face plagued by raging acne you’d think that I would have thought twice about saying something negative. I didn’t. It was no shock, then, that my 13 year old skin began to mutate into a pimply mass of blotchy puss-filled mountains.
JB-0
Karma-2

I made fun of a fat girl without realizing she was standing behind me. Years later I ran in to her and she was a slender knock-out. I had gained 10 extra pounds and had a face full of zits.
JB-0
Karma-3

I honestly have hundreds of examples of the ebb and flow of Karma in my life. Most recently I bad mouthed a friends home because it smelled of years worth of stagnant dirt, grime and animal piss. No lie. When the front door opens you are literally greeted with a wall of invisible piss stench. Well, last week, after years of piss-free pet ownership, one of our cats pissed in the guest room. On the $500 futon, of course. And I’ve done everything short of setting the damn thing ablaze to get the smell out.
Then, last Friday I called the school secretary and told a little white lie. I said that I’d forgotten to set the alarm and the kids would be running late. Really, I just didn’t feel like getting up early that morning because we’d been out late the night before. I decided we would wake leisurely and I’d get them to school whenever I damn well pleased. Well, low and behold, lWednesday night I really did forget to set the alarm. I was jolted out of bed at 7:22 yesterday morning with the unmistakable “Shit! Fuck! Damnation! I didn’t set the alarm” panic. I had exactly thirteen minutes to get the kids up, dressed, fed and out the door and to their classrooms. Mornings like that, I don’t have to remind you, are pure shit.
JB-0
Karma-416

Despite the occasional relapse I have grown into a more spiritual spot with age and experience. I do think about Karma and often make decisions accordingly. Over the course of my life I have, on occasion, made stellar choices and have genuinely practiced random acts of kindness. As such, if I remove those often clouded goggles I can see that my life has been richly compensated for good deeds done.

I won’t lie, though. I am still trying to weasel my way into cleverly deceiving Karma with reverse psychology.
Like, I might say to my best pal, “Oh my gawd. Look at that bitch. She is so beautiful and thin. Gross! And that hair!!! How can she walk around with such long luscious locks? I would be so embarrassed.”

I’ll let you know when that one comes back to me.

I am a closet voyeur. I love to watch without anyone knowing I am doing it, yet don’t have the balls (or enough desire) to actually go out and engage in it. Instead, I get my fix by checking out Craigslist’s postings. It’s much like watching a soap opera really because you get read the persons first post and often times the replies and the follow up posts and you find yourself wondering if the poster ever found what they were looking for. It can be quite riveting really.

As of late I have noticed an increase in people posting about “piss play” and their love of golden showers. Not nearly as romantic as the listings of love-at-first-sight of the “Missed Connections” page or as sexy as some of the other “Casual Encounters” ads, but read-worthy just the same whether piss play is your cup of tea (eew) or not. Personally, I don’t get it—the fascination with being urinated on. I try my best to avoid urine, but hey, who am I to judge, right?

A few of these ads have caught my attention for various reasons and while I was just in absolute creeped-out awe at first; I now find myself wondering whether or not some of these people have found what they were looking for. Like the man who blatantly announced to all of New York “I pissed myself” and posted a pic to go with it. Where did you go man who pissed himself on purpose? Did you ever find a woman who wanted to watch you pee your ill-fitting Bermuda shorts?

There is also the guy in Toronto who just recently posted that he’d love to have a gal sit on his lap while riding the subway and discreetly pee on him—has it happened yet? Is there a train that I should avoid?

Then there’s the man who posts regularly in hopes of finding a woman who will drink his pee. Is it even possible that someone will reply to such an ad? They do say that there is someone for everyone, so stay strong my disgusting friend and keep me (and all of Toronto) posted.

This won’t be long but it needs to be said.

I’ve held my tongue for all of middle school, all of high school, all of college.

I smile and nod politely, I pretend like I care.

But here’s the truth–I don’t care how tan you are. Really. I don’t.

I know that I have the voice of a white cheerleader named Tiff, but I am indeed proudly African American and from the darker end of the spectrum of my race. I’ve always had at least four white best friends though so I’ve had to hear about tanning since my social life started really.

So here are some things that I’ve always wanted to say to my tanorexic friends:

-You always look the same to me whether you are brown or whiter than white. You’re still WHITE.
- Everyone gets darker in the sun, so please stop wowing over my tan lines. It makes you sound ignorantly racist.
- Peeling is disgusting. Please do it in the bathroom, and not on my couch.
- I have no need to be at the beach from 8 in the morning until the sun goes down so please let me sleep. I’ll see you at the beach around 1.
-Never again put your arm next to mine to compare. Once again your ignorant racism is showing.
-This has nothing to do with tanning but needs to be said: PLEASE GET OVER THE BLACK THONGS UNDER WHITE SHORTS. We can see it and no one needs that on the way to work in the morning. No one.

And I’d like to end with a personal tanning story:

I’m a sucker for a sale. So naturally when I went to Duane Reade to pick up dental floss on Sunday, it’s only natural that I’d come out of the store with said floss……and a new ionic hair dryer with brush and comb attatchments…..and a new bottle of Nivea lotion.

The hair dryer and the floss are treating me well.

The lotion? Things started out fabulously but now……well, the lotion, not so much.

I didn’t need lotion. In fact, I have maybe three half full bottles each of Nivea and Skin Milk (my fav brands) in my bathroom at this moment. In fact, I am a little more than compulsive when it comes to bath products. If its on sale I’ll buy it even if I already have it at home. This is where my cheapness becomes a little retarded since I’m buying what I don’t need. But $4 for lotion or body wash or shampoo or in shower body lotion can’t be passed up. At least not by me.

So not only was this lotion $4, it claimed that within a week, I would have a sun kissed glow. Mostly I just liked the smell and the packaging.

This morning, I’m in the shower and I notice all these spots on my hands. Thinking that it’s dirt, I start to scrub furiously. It wasn’t coming off.

I get out of the shower and dry off and tell myself not to think about it. It’s just dry skin and I’ll put on some lotion and clear it right up. I pick up the lotion and as I’m slathering it all over my body I glance down and actually read the label.

This is how I found out that “sun kissed glow” means SELF TANNER.

And now the only part of me that could get “tan” is splotched with light brown. This is how God teaches me not to waste.

My manfriend recently took an online IQ test and has been gloating ever since. Just the other day, he made a fairly astute observation about something-or-other and before I had a chance to give him props, that smirk flickered at the corner of his mouth, “Must be my 136 at work.”

Lord.

The thing is, I started taking the damn thing right after him, but it kind of fell to pieces when, after question, like three, he saw that I’d pulled up the computer calculator.

“Hey! That’s cheating!”
Well, fuck. I closed my laptop. “Forget it then.”

I remember taking an IQ test when I was a chubby kid in elementary school and being told that it was around 140. But now that I know more about intelligence–namely my own–I’m not so sure I can trust this hazy recollection.

So a few days later, I’m tempted to take the damn thing again. Plopped on my couch, I sit and debate in silence, with a bit of E! TV droning on in the background. I play it over in my mind. What if I score lower? Or, worse–better!? I mean, my man is manly in every sense of the word and I just don’t know if his bruised ego would be worse than his inflated one.

Then…faintly in the background I hear those two letters…IQ…coming from the TV set.

Just for reference, E! had been doing a show on Hollywood’s Sugar Daddies and James Woods is currently being profiled. They’d just finished talking about how he fucked his best friend’s daughter for a few years or so, when she was 19 and he, about 102. Anyway, I missed the transition, but now they were talking about his IQ. This fucker was casually talking about his score of 180! Fuck that, Woody! You mean you’re smarter than Einstein, my fair weathered actor? *That* must be what your young ladies are drawn to, eh? Not the money roll that you use to pad your shorts!

I mean, did no one else hear this? We’re just taking his word for it?! Fuck that shit! Put that dirtbag on Maury Povich and get a polygraph running or something! Seriously, let’s just drop the whole system if Woody-McFucks-a-Teen can spew such nonsense without raising any suspicion. 180 my ass!

If James damn Woods is pushing 200, then does it even matter if I’m in the 130-140 range? I think this just about settles the little situation between my manfriend and myself. We’re both relative retards. Fuck.

I know it’s nearly a week late but I have to send a shout-out to my mum. I screwed up this mother’s day, didn’t get the lady nothin’. In fact, my plan to call her after dinner was foiled when she called me in the afternoon. What kind of fucked up daughter am I that my mother has to call me on Mother’s Day? (Stop your judging. You know all you did was send your mom an e-card after you got the email from that holiday reminder service you signed up for years ago. How fucking original.)

I had intended to get her something but she doesn’t like gifts. She’s got too much stuff already (trust me, this is true…Mom: stop buying books and read the stacks you already have!) So I thought about how she just got herself an iPod and had all the best intentions to send her a cool playlist on iTunes. Um yeah, that never happened cause I didn’t know what songs to send her, which ones she already had, and if she said she likes Sir Mix-a-Lot or not.

Anyway, I had one song in mind to put on the playlist:

Then of course I came across this:

It’s on order.

I’d like to take this opportunity to thank Mr. Depp for bringing the sexy pirate back. Pirate paraphernalia was once bogarted entirely by Halloween and renaissance faire goers. But thanks in part to Disney and Depp, pirate garb is the new black. Shoes, t-shirts, hand bags, iPod cases, jewelry, cellphone covers and even band aids now sport the familiar skull and crossbones emblem. What was once a tattooed symbol of rebellion for bikers, sailors & criminals is now a must have for all the wanna-be teeny-bopper fashionistas.
It’s slightly overkill, but I happen to like a little dark glam, so whatever.

However, despite its growing popularity brought on by recent Hollywood hits I have to contest captain cross bones making an appearance on one x-marks-the-spot location:

Nothing says “come hither” like a big poison control symbol on the blossom of your love nectar. When I worked at Hot Topic a couple of years back and we received a shipment of pirate panties we all giggled at the cryptic message behind wearing the Jolly Roger on your poonani.

Danger: Poisioness!
Do Not Enter!
Hazardous Materials!
Warning: You’re about to enter the tunnel of chlamydia!

Leave the skull and bones loot to the band aids, chucks and t-shirts. It’s always a good idea to avoid any possible cooch wear that could cause potential partners to recoil. Otherwise you could find yourself in bed alone resorting to phone sex with the poison control center operator.