It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 81

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or people I work with. Or anyone who lives within 10 miles of me. Or parents of my children's friends. Or people going to estate sales.



Today's topic: Krazy Boob




I try to have a Zen attitude about most things in life. Really, I do.


The problem is that I inherited my Dad's ability to be overly high strung about things, and there are times when I'm not mad, but people think I'm mad because I'm focused on getting something done and not screwing it up, because BELIEVE ME, I have great ability to screw things up.  I spend most days trying to anticipate which priceless piece of Wedgewood china I'm juggling is going to hit the ground and shatter.


When I get uptight, I try to think, "Hey, I'm not a victim of genital mutilation in Rwanda.  I don't have leprosy.  My children are not in prison at this time.  I remember my name and address.  I currently have my original teeth.  Wine and coffee have not yet been restricted from my diet."  This is my mental version of 'count your blessings' - things could always be worse, no?  That said, this week has been a little bit WTF.

My extremely awesome neighbor bought these for me. 

She also buys Gruet and invites me over.  I heart her.

First, it was the flags.  After that whole debacle, I drove to the high school on Wednesday over my half hour lunch to get the van with 87 freshly dried flags and take them back to the Optimists.  I pulled into the lot, and ....ohdearGod....the van was gone.  As I walked to the school office, I wondered about liability if the school cargo van was stolen on my watch.  It turns out the maintenance people at the school had another set of keys, and they moved it - WHEW - so I got in and drove it across town.  In my Jambu wedge shoes and prairie mini-dress.  I felt a little badass, I'm not gonna lie.

Second, I tore my boob.  On Wednesday, I got ready for work and noticed a little pain in Rightie, but didn't think much of it.  While talking to a co-worker, I noticed it hurt again, so when I got back to my desk, I stuck my hand down the front of said prairie dress and adjusted my cup, much like an MLB baseball player. (It should be noted here that I didn't spit.)  Suddenly, I'm convulsing in pain, because it turns out that Rightie had some fluid come out that hardened like Krazy Glue.  Remember the Krazy Glue commercial with the guy in the hardhat glued to the beam?

Well, the yellow hard hat is my boob and the beam is my bra.  And I sort of accidentally ripped it off.  So then there was bleeding.  And Band-Aids.  And I had a little secret in my bra all day while I walked around the office.  I know, male co-workers, that's pretty hot.  Bidding's over, CH won.


So I go to Book Club, my go-to panel of women on all life topics, and after we discussed 50 Shades of Grey and I found out that most of them have regular and spontaneous orgasms (What?  Broccoli is on sale?  OH GOOOODDDDD...) I brought up my boob, and they all stopped talking and two people said, "Call your doctor tomorrow."  And then everyone sort of awkwardly stood up and prepared to leave, and then whispered among themselves about who was going to start the casserole schedule for my family.  (I'm of course kidding, since I know some of you are reading this.  Remember, I'm an entertainer, not a historian.)


Instead of calling my doctor, I got on Web MD, which as anyone who does Web MD knows, it always drills down to cancer.  Of course, Web MD said, It's either Mastitis, OR, if you aren't nursing anyone, it's probably a rare cancer.  I still didn't call my doctor, I had a glass of pinot and then texted, FB'd and called my OB-GYN high school friend, Paige.  (I have been known to call her answering service semi-drunk and demand to know why she isn't at a party.  It's a miracle I haven't been blocked.)  Paige asked me questions only a doctor or someone who knew you before you got your period can, and we determined that I should see my doctor but it's probably just an infected duct.  But I'm still wearing a Band-Aid on my boob.  Now you know.  CH is one lucky bastard.


Third, my neighbor is having an Estate Sale starting today, and there is a strong possibility I'm going to hit someone with a shovel this weekend.  I love me a good estate sale, but some people like to see if they can actually drive their car through the estate sale, or pull up on lawns, or block driveways.  It's like someone is handing out free cigarettes in prison, or Justin Beiber is visiting middle school.  The crazy just oozes out of people.


BUT.  It's Friday.  I'm not a victim of genital mutilation in Rwanda.  I don't have leprosy.  My children are not in prison at this time.  I remember my name and address.  I currently have my original teeth.  Wine and coffee have not yet been restricted from my diet.  So honestly, it's all good.


Happy Whoreticulture Friday, and have a great weekend!

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or people I work with. Or anyone who lives within 10 miles of me. Or parents of my children's friends. Or people with latex fetishes.

Today's topic: Fifty Shades of CH

For the past week, I've been on blogging hiatus while I check out porn.  LIKE ALL OF THE OTHER GOOD MOMS AT MY KIDS' SCHOOLS.  Don't give me that look, Ms. Soccer Mom.  I know you've been all tingly with bondage tales.  The windows in your Sienna are all steamed up.  As a writer of a Whoreticulture blog, it's irresponsible for me NOT to know what is going on in the playrooms of America, and therefore I am required to read these tomes.  For you.  For those of you who have not read Fifty Shades, here is the synopsis:

"When literature student Anastasia Steele goes to interview young entrepreneur Christian Grey, she encounters a man who is beautiful, brilliant, and intimidating. The unworldly, innocent Ana is startled to realize she wants this man and, despite his enigmatic reserve, finds she is desperate to get close to him. Unable to resist Ana’s quiet beauty, wit, and independent spirit, Grey admits he wants her, too—but on his own terms.

Shocked yet thrilled by Grey’s singular erotic tastes, Ana hesitates. For all the trappings of success—his multinational businesses, his vast wealth, his loving family—Grey is a man tormented by demons and consumed by the need to control. When the couple embarks on a daring, passionately physical affair, Ana discovers Christian Grey’s secrets and explores her own dark desires.
Erotic, amusing, and deeply moving, the Fifty Shades Trilogy is a tale that will obsess you, possess you, and stay with you forever."

That last part?  I'm going to call a Bullshit Foul.  This will not obsess you, possess you, or stay with you forever.  It will shock you, mostly with the poor writing and repetition of cause and effect scenarios, and honestly, I'm now flipping through the sex parts until it says, "Come, Ana, give it to me!" and then she "shatters into a million pieces" for her orgasm, so I can get back to the story.  Because didn't we ALL come EVERY SINGLE TIME during the two or three times a day we were having sex within the first two months of losing our virginity?  And experimenting with butt plugs?  Exactly.  Since this is Every Woman's story, I'm going to give it to you, baby, Wifer Style.

PRESENTING.....Fifty Shades of CH

I walked into the smoky bar at Iowa State University, and I saw him.  Of course, I tripped and stumbled because I'm incredibly beautiful and smart, but just can't seem to keep my balance!  He was prematurely balding and drinking a beer while playing pool.  The way he held both his pool cue and his beer was a testament to his ability to use both hands.  I was intrigued.  He looked past me while my roommate introduced me to him.

 

"Hi," I said.

 

"Hey," he said.  And then I lost my balance and put my butt right against the front of his jeans.  Oh!  How embarrassing.  Now I'm going to have to have sex with him. 

 

He controlled the timetable, because he was the dominant in our relationship, and he had just ordered another pitcher of beer and had four more quarters on the pool table.  He masterfully hit his balls all over the table, thrusting the stick against the balls again and again until they slammed into the pocket.  My inner goddess was thirsty and my inner harpy was reminding me that I needed to be at my internship at the Des Moines Register early the next day.  I left with my roommate, leaving Master and I both unfulfilled.  A dark shadow passed in front of his eyes, and I felt myself filling with an unease that was making me both wary of him and willing to let him lock me up in various bondage cuffs and spreaders.  Then I realized someone was doing shadow puppets with their hands in front of his face, and it wasn't really his eyes, because who actually sees emotions flit around in someone's pupils?

 

I did stumble into bed with this domineering, smart (ass), successful (Scrabble playing), wealthy (with information), God-like(ing), (remote) controlling man, and then I tripped down the aisle into marriage.  After numerous occasions of some very hardcore, Missionary style 20-minute sex sessions, I became pregnant with our first child.  She was born every inch the smart, beautiful, clumsy person as her mom (and will get an internship at a publishing house and unexpectedly rise up to take over the senior acquisitions editor job from her boss within two weeks when he is dismissed for trying to have sex with her) and as soon as she was born, SCREECH!  All of that crazy bondage sex was over.

 

Oh CH...you are a mystery to me still.  You are like a cocktail weenie wrapped in croissant dough with Velveeta on top - so hot, a fast snack, and bad for my thighs.  I see you, and get all aroused about how you don't mow the yard.  You see me, and your blood gets all tingly because I murmur sexily about how I do everything around the house while you watch TV.  And the fucking.  Oh, the fucking.  Let me count the ways:

 

"Let the fucking dog out!"

"Why do I have to make the fucking coffee??!"

"What's this $75 charge at your fucking hair place!?"

"Is there another fucking orchestra concert THIS week too?"

"Will NO ONE fold this fucking laundry!"

 

Mmmm.  I'm getting hot just thinking about it.  No really.  I'm getting hot.  Will you get your fucking leg off of me?  Thanks. 

 

The End. 

 

I know, right?  It makes you want to go have sex with someone!  Now get crazy and take your panties off to go grocery shopping!  It's totally acceptable now.  You're welcome, America.

 

Happy Whoreticulture Friday, and have a great weekend.



It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 80

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or people I work with. Or anyone who lives within 10 miles of me. Or parents of my children's friends. Or cat vandals.


Today's topic: Hump Day Forever


A few nights ago, my house was quiet. This is newsworthy in that my house is never quiet, but the kids went to bed without protest for a change and I had a little 10 p.m. facebook/Twitter time. I'm happily creeping on other people's pages and reading celebrity tweets when I hear this loud THUNK like a water balloon hit the side of the house, and then Raaaaaarwwwwr RAAAAWWWRRRR!!!!

It was immediatey recognizable as cats having sex, but it sounded oddly like vandalism, like someone did a drive-by and instead of throwing a Moltov Cocktail they threw f**king cats at our house. Who hates us so much they'll throw f**kng cats at the house?

Our neighborhood on a daily basis. 

It's like an opium den of cat sex in the yard.

But most of the feral cats are black

and missing signifcant chunks of fur.

I run downstairs to Current Husband's office and start saying, "Did you hear that?" when it's like they are in the room doing it. RRRAAAAAWWRRR! HISS HISS HISS! THUNK THUNK RAWWWWWWRRRR!!!! It's like the National Cat Fornication Service just activated a Cat Sex warning and the siren is going off.  Take Cover!  Take Cover!  We look at each other with wide eyes, like "Is that what sex sounds like?" because it's been awhile and we've forgotten. CH opens the curtains to the egress window in the basement and lo and behold, total cat sex peep show in our window well.  The cats see CH and they literally shoot four feet into the air, mwowling, and we can hear them howl all the way down the dark street.  We so look forward to increasing our brood of 34 feral cats to 87 this spring.

But lest ye think the mating is over in our hood, fear not, gentle reader.  Everyone in our hood is doing the Humpty Hump.

The other day I walked out to show my sister our crumbling chimney when I glanced over to our neighbor's yard, where their yellow lab was busy mounting a visiting chocolate lab.  This was an arranged date, but Zeus is a little short in the leg and was having trouble getting on his taller date.  What he lacked in height, he made up in stamina, and even without the aid of the doggie sex stilts I recommended to the neighbor, he managed to get the job done more efficiently and with less noise than his feline counterparts.  And?  Zeus is a broad daylight kind of guy.  There's no fear there.  It's a "Check it OUT, neighborhood, I've got balls bigger than your cars!"  Meanwhile, George the Superpet, ball-less wonder, stood at the fence, watching sadly.

The next night, George had his chance at love. 

The neighbor was having a little bonfire and invited me over to have a beer with her.  I brought George the Superpet, and the moment he got inside their gate his gaydar went off and he started humping their male dogs like he'd just done a line of coke at the Stonewall Inn in Grenwich Village while the DJ played Lady Gaga.  He was just born this way.  The neighbor's two male, un-neutered labs had to lay down on the grass so George couldn't hump them, and then he just walked around for a bit air-humping.  My neighbor and I were laughing, but I felt a little sorry for him.  He's so repressed, and everyone around him gets to have sex while he's stuck in the house watching the Disney Channel. 

George, mounting Grandma Jan at Christmas. 

Awkward for everyone.

So, in sum:
1.  Someone is throwing f**king cat bombs at our house in some weird kind of hate crime.
2.  Short dogs have bigger mojo.
3.  George the Superpet is a repressed sex machine.

Spring has sprung, people.  Get out there and enjoy it like an animal.

 

It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 79

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or people I work with. Or anyone who lives within 10 miles of me. Or parents of my children's friends. Or the Pope.

Today's topic: Condom Tracking

I love it when Wifers are looking out for me.  Today's Whoreticulture Friday Public Service message (because that's what it is) is brought to you courtesy of Cassie Boorn, social media goddess, recently in the Oprah universe.  Current Husband and I had the pleasure of having lunch with Cassie one day last winter, and she has likely been scarred ever since.  This is probably why she thinks of me when she sees shocking or mildly replusive things in the media.

Like this:

Where did I wear what?  My shoes? My lipstick?  A condom?!

That's right.  Planned Parenthood has a hip, happenin' new program called "Where Did You Wear It?" which consists of condoms that have QR codes on them, which are logged in on a special website that tracks where the user had sex on an interactive map. 

Oh yes they did. 

Here is how Planned Parenthood describes the program:

“Did you just use a condom to protect yourself against unintended pregnancy, HIV and other sexually transmitted infections? You go, tiger! Sex that (is) safe, should be shared,” declares the Web site.


The interactive map also includes comments from users. For example:


"A 20 something guy and a girl whose relationship is just for fun and have already talked about safer sex and STDs used a condom in the bedroom to prevent an unplanned pregnancy. It was ah-maz-ing – rainbows exploded and mountains trembled."


And:


"A 30 something guy and a guy whose relationship is non-existent and have not yet talked about safer sex and STDs used a condom at a party because their partner told them to. It was fair- a work in progress."

I think it is important to make a few points here.

1.  When, exactly, are we scanning in our QR codes?  Is it pre-unrolling, pre-coital, or, Dear God No, POST-COITAL?  That is One. Dirty. Code.

2.  Is it really productive to rate the sex?  "Rainbows exploded and mountains trembled?"  I call bullshit, My Little Pony.  "It was fair - a work in progress"?  Ouch.  I don't want THAT on the internet.

3.  Do people need to see where I've had sex?  Would a bubble over my parent's garage and the track equipment shed at my high school show up on a Google search by prospective employers?

4.  Do I need to see where OTHER people have had sex?  "Hey, let's go see Hunger Games!  But not at Rave Theaters, there are five QR codes checked in there."  I would be tempted to buy a box of QR condoms and drive around town checking them in.  School Administration Building - "Superintendent not that great, but I'll cut him some slack because it was in a stranger's Corolla."  My local grocery store, "Meat counter - special on Tube Steak - Best cut EVER!"  

What?  I like food.

Do I love this program?  Of course I do, I love anything that gives the blog material, particularly on Fridays.  But don't get the idea I'm anti-condom.  Oh hell no.  I LOVE condoms.  Particularly for any of my children when they are of an appropriate sexing age, like 26.  Viva la condom!  But be sure to check in so we can all Google your sex.

Happy Whoreticulture Friday, and have a great weekend! 

It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 78

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or people I work with. Or anyone who lives within 10 miles of me. Or parents of my children's friends. Or men missing their balls.

Today's topic: Eunuch Erections

Tonight, Current Husband hosted Poker Night at our house.  It's funny, because when I have Book Club at our house, I clean, shop for groceries, set up the basement with chairs, get the liquor, make the food, and greet the guests.  When CH has Poker Night?  I clean, shop for groceries, set up the basement with chairs, get the liquor, make the food and greet the guests, but I don't get the benefit of The Book Club Buzz, which honestly makes me a little bitter.

After the poker party started, Oldest Daughter descended from her room to get things straight.

OD:  "Soo...this is a drinking party, right?"
ME:   "No, they are playing poker."
OD:  "But they're drinking."
ME:  "Yes, but they're playing poker."
OD:  "Would they play poker if there were no drinks?"
ME:   "....................................."
OD:  "Yeah, that's what I thought."
ME:  "They would still play..."
OD:  "Too late, Mom.  This is pretty much Book Club for guys, right?"
(She has me.  I know the jig is up.)
ME:  "Yes, but the Book Club moms are smarter."

Youngest Daughter has a gift - whenever there is an adult activity in the basement, she suddenly has 20 reason to go downstairs.  After her fifth trip into the basement, I tell her No More.  Then she needs her iPod.  Which is, of course, in the basement.  I tell her I will get it.  I descend into Poker Night in the temporary Testosterone Bunker.

On about the fourth step down, the smell of chicken, Maker's Mark, and a vaguely gassy scent hits me, much like it smells when I take the children to McFarty's Whiskey House for dinner, Home of the Jack Daniels Future Hangover Meal.

When I get to the bottom step, one of the guys turns and says, "Julie will know this.  Can a eunuch get an erection?"  Apparently there is a heated debate going on about what happens when a man is castrated.  Does he want to have sex?  Can he have an erection?  An orgasm?  And apparently, I am seen as something of a local authority on eunuchs.  All the men go silent and look at me.

"Well guys, of course a man without balls can have sex.  Many do, every day, sometimes in this house.  All men WANT to have sex, it's part of their genetic makeup.  I would guess that since the balls only control the happy juice but not the involuntary constricting of the blood vessels around the soprano's member, it wouldn't affect erections.  And I'm sure he'd still have an orgasm about five minutes sooner than he should, just like normal men, but his apology might be in a higher pitch.  I'm not a doctor, but I do write an occasional blog about these things that five people read, so rest assured you have the correct information."

And then I googled it.  I was right enough.

Whoreticulture Friday:  Misinforming people about sex-related topics since 2009.  You're welcome, America.

It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 77

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or people I work with. Or anyone who lives within 10 miles of me. Or parents of my children's friends. Or my friends who love Rush Limbaugh.

Today's topic: Big Fat Sluts


A Whoreticulture Friday Open Letter to Rush Limbaugh:


Dear Rush,


Hi! My name is Julie, and I am a big, fat slut. Wanna know why? Because I used birth control, subsidized by Planned Parenthood, when I was in college. I didn't have health insurance, so I suppose it was partially paid for by the government. Because I didn't become pregnant in college, I didn't become dependent on WIC or welfare, which I also understand you to be against. Because I didn't get pregnant, I earned my college degree so I could get substandard jobs where I get paid less than my male counterparts and pay loads of income and property tax. I'm actually guessing the percentage of my income tax is higher than yours, because you have really good accountants to go along with the really good attorneys you used to get you out of that whole prescription drug abuse scenario. But I'm getting off topic.


Here is what I understand is the story, and what you said, according to The Washington Post:

Sandra Fluke said her fellow students at Georgetown, a Jesuit university, pay as much as $1,000 a year for birth control because campus health plans do not include coverage of contraceptives for women.


“What does that make her?” Limbaugh said on his show Wednesday night. “It makes her a slut, right? It makes her a prostitute.”


“She wants to be paid to have sex,” Limbaugh continued. “She’s having so much sex she can’t afford the contraception.”


On Thursday, Limbaugh expanded on his thoughts but offered no apology. Referring to controversial remarks by Foster Friess, a supporter of former senator Rick Santorum, Limbaugh said, “I will buy all of the women at Georgetown University as much aspirin to put between their knees as they want.”

What I have a problem with is saying that someone who speaks out on behalf of people who want birth control, someone who it exercising their right to FREE SPEECH, is called a slut and prostitute, and then, APPALLINGLY, told that she should post videos of herself having sex if employers or the government have to pay for the contraceptives. I'm sorry, but wanting to be on contraceptives does not make women sluts. Or prostitutes. Or obligated to post sex tapes on the internet.


So, Rush, from one slut to another? The next time you want to have sex? Maybe you should go fuck yourself.  (I feel like I lifted this from Jen Lancaster's post on the guy who asked her to save his marriage after he was caught cheating, but there is just no other way to say it.)


With Protected Love,

It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 76

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or people I work with. Or anyone who lives within 10 miles of me. Or parents of my children's friends.


Today's topic: Home Invasion

I'm going to tell you a little story that is pertinent to today's post.  Back in about 2005, I was having dinner with Oldest Daughter, 8, and The Son, 6.  At the time, I was still a bit of an over-acheiver in the parenting department, and was trying to teach the kids to count in German.  Things fell apart when we got to the number 6.
ME:  "Sechs"
THEM:  Tee hee hee hee hee
ME:  What?
THEM:  You know...hee hee...
ME:  (This is not happening) No, I don't.
THEM:  It...hee hee...sounds like...hee hee...sex!
ME:  (It is happening) Um...What do you think sex IS?
OD:  When men and women kiss a lot and rub up against each other.
ME:  (whew) And who has sex?
THEM:  College students and bad teenagers.
ME:  (solemnly nod) Yes.  That's absolutely correct.

Two out of two grade school students surveyed believe  adults do not have sex.  Thank you, third grade peers.

DATELINE:  Last Sunday.  Garbage day is Monday, so in our uber-classy white trash way, we leave a big black garbage bag in the middle of the kitchen where the other smaller garbage cans are deposited.  You know, the garbage cans from bathrooms and bedrooms.  So I'm in the basement, and I walk upstairs into the kitchen, and see that George the Superpet has been rifling through the garbage again, and that damn dog, what is that on the floor, it had better not be ....

Oh Dear God.  It isn't.  It is.

A condom.  Um...unwrapped.

I get all panicky and sweaty.  Who has been in here?  Who saw this?  The room is empty, and this is the sole item on the floor, smack dab in the middle of the kitchen.  I quickly get it back in the garbage and tie the top. 

And then I call the police to report a home invasion.

ME:  SOME REALLY BAD TEENAGERS OR COLLEGE STUDENTS HAVE BROKEN INTO MY HOME AND HAD SEX. 
POLICE:  Where?
ME:  Possibly in my kitchen.
POLICE:  Can you describe them?
ME:  I'm sure they look just like the people from Jersey Shore. 
POLICE:  Why do you think that?
ME:  Because they are clearly stupid, stupid people.
POLICE:  When did the crime occur?
ME:  Two nights ago.  About 11:30 p.m. after the kids were asleep.
POLICE:  Is this a repeat occurrence?
ME:  No, one time incident in 2012.  TRUST ME.

And if anyone asks, I can now produce a police report to back me up.

(Did I just say "Back me up?"  Will I never learn?)

Happy Whoreticulture Friday, and have a great weekend!

It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 75

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or people I work with. Or anyone who lives within 10 miles of me. Or my OB-GYN.



Today's topic: Priorities

Actual article published in a local newspaper on Thursday, January 12:

Sex Doll Worth $250 Stolen in Iowa City Knifepoint Robbery
Police said the clerk at an Iowa City adult entertainment store was robbed at knifepoint early Thursday morning and chased out of the store.



According to Iowa City Police, officers responded to Romantix Pleasure Palace, 315 Kirkwood Ave., at 3:01 a.m. Thursday for a report of a hold up alarm. As officers were responding, a store employee called 911 and reported a man had entered the store, displayed a large knife and attempted to enter the employee area behind the cash register.


Police said the employee jumped over the counter and ran from the store. The suspect pursued for a short distance before turning back and stealing merchandise from the store.

A store employee said that the suspect got away with a “high-quality sex doll.” The doll is valued at $250 and media reports that the doll was worth $1,800 are erroneous, the employee said.


Iowa City Police Sgt. Denise Brotherton said the employee was able to run toward a nearby convenience store.

The suspect is described as a white man, 5’8”-5’10” and 165 pounds. He was wearing a black coat and scarf over his face and carrying a backpack. Police said the knife was described as a large hunting knife with a 6-8 inch blade.

Iowa City CrimeStoppers is offering a reward of up to $1,000 for information leading to the arrest of this suspect. Anyone with information is asked to call CrimeStoppers at 358-8477.

I think it's a real shame that there are no federal programs available to provide people with porn.  Here's a guy, obviously suffering from a severe case of blue balls, who has been forced into a life of crime to support his porn habit.  He obviously has feelings; the store IS called "Romantix".  Why should he have to live his life using pillows or sofa cushions, when the rich people can have access to a "high quality sex doll".  We're not talking Donald Trump - this wasn't the $1800 doll it was originally rumored to be. 

Iowa City Police:  I'd be looking for a guy

who looks suspiciously like Ryan Gosling.

If you're going to turn to a life of crime, don't steal obvious things like food, clothing, or Twilight movies.  You need to be the guy who robbed the porn shop for a rubber girlfriend.  When you go to prison, you are going to be the COOLEST DUDE THERE.  And in demand for parties, I would guess.  And speaking of cool guys at parties, it makes me wonder...

Where was Current Husband going yesterday,

and why did he borrow my scarf and hunting knife?

Hello, $1000!

(BTW, do you see how this man suffers for my lack of impulse control? 

FINE.  I'LL TAKE A STUPID PICTURE FOR YOUR BLOG!)

Happy Whoreticulture Friday, and have a great weekend!

It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 74

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or people I work with. Or anyone who lives within 10 miles of me. Or my OB-GYN.

Today's topic: Gettin' Nekkid

First of all, I haven't been.  Ever since the tubes were blocked I've been living a monk-like existence of contemplation and chocolate.  Today I had a quick check-in at the gyno and we are good to go until February, when I get the dye shot up in my turkey cavity and then presumably have to walk around work all day explaining that my pen exploded in my pants pocket.

So, speaking of nakedness...have you ever noticed that nudity is so much about perception?  You see a sculpture of David and think...

I'M CULTURED.

You see this picture of a naked guy and you think:

I'M NOT SURE.

(But this is a Mapplethorpe portrait, and I actually really like most of his stuff.)

Then you see this picture of a naked guy and you think:

I'M CALLING THE POLICE.

When does nudity cross over that line from art to trash?  I was thinking about this today when I perused my new issue of Vanity Fair with Lady Gaga.  There is a photo of her buck-ass naked in Tony Bennett's art studio, with Tony looking on, thinking, "That girl is bendy."  For some reason, I look at this photo and think, "Huh.  She's an odd little thing." and I want to buy her a $2 Subway Meatball Sub.  Or two.

WHAT A KOOKY ARTIST!

Then I see the new "leaked" photo of Lindsay Lohan and I have a totally different reaction:

WHAT A SLUTTY METH ADDICT!

Again, two naked celebrities, two different reactions.  This topic came up at a hooker convention I recently attended.  There was a rug hooked by a grandma displayed:

Yep.  That's her grandson and his bits.  It's an interesting choice, to be sure, and if my mother-in-law gave me this rug I would be like, "Um, you don't need to watch Leo while we're in Bermuda, we're taking him."  Everyone is going to feel awkward when she asks him to do a revision rug when he's 18.

I was having dinner with some hookers that night and asked if there is much nudity in rug hooking.  They all looked at each other, and one said, "Are we all thinking about the self-portrait class?"  Apparently there was a class last year where the instructor asked the class to disrobe and sketch their bodies on linen, and then hook themselves naked into a rug.  Even back when I was rockin' this body 20 years ago I wouldn't want my birthday suit immortalized in wool.  If I did do that rug today?  I would totally get rid of this double chin, shave a few inches off the thighs, delete the shadowy area under my muffin top, and my hair would be bountiful and not have these wiry old lady hairs sticking out.  And even with the body revisions in the rug?  Still wouldn't hook it.

When does art become trash?  I guess it's in the eye of the beholder.  But NO ONE is wiping their muddy feet across my ass, that is fo sho.

Happy Whoreticulture Friday, and have a great weekend!

It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 73

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or people I work with. Or anyone who lives within 10 miles of me. Or my OB-GYN.


Today's topic: The Factory is Closing


I'm a little bit excited and slightly anxious tonight, because tomorrow is THE BIG DAY.  I am a very fertile Myrtle.  Particularly when I've been drinking, because my eggs get all belligerent and start droppin' it like it's hot, in the club, which happens to be my uterus.  Not one of my children was planned, and all were likely conceived after a night out with Current Husband.  They were all welcomed and loved (note to future Family Therapist), but not particularly planned.  Because that's how I roll, y'all.


For about six years or so, My High School Friend Paige The OB-GYN has been telling me to get things tied up down there with some Mirena or Essure or duct tape.  She's the one who would always get the phone calls that inevitably start with, "Um, Paige, I was out last month and got really drunk, and I'm on antibiotics and I've been scraping lead paint in the basement...." and she would interrupt and say, "You're pregnant again, aren't you."  When we had our trip in Austin, Texas, talk turned once again to Oops babies and sex, and once again, I was told to get on it already.  This time, I did.


I've taken my two horse pills for the night, and tomorrow morning at 9:30 a.m. I'm going in for the Essure procedure.  This is where an actual medical professional jams metal coils in your tubes, and then scar tissue grows in a controlled fashion around said coils, and closes them shut tight and baby-free.  Am I worried about an unknown allergy to nickel?  A possible accidental perforation of my fallopean tubes and emergency surgery?  No.  What am I worried about?  How my hoo-ha appears looking north from my knees.  Because I can't have my doctor walking out of the room and muttering to himself, "That is One. Fugly. Pussy."  It's good to know I have my priorities in order, no?  Maybe it's time to weigh the pros and cons.


PROS
I can be my skanky self again without fear
It's quick and easy and hormone free
My insurance covers it
I have prescriptions for Xanax and Codeine
I can make CH feel guilty about my sacrifice
My family will be like this Essure family on the website:
 

Because I'm coming home from the procedure and painting my entire house white and buying a new white wardrobe for everyone to represent my renewed purity, and we can all have a pillow fight and laugh and yell, "Mommy can have all the sex she wants now!!"


CONS
Slight, but unlikely, chance of nickel allergy or death
People have to see my junk.  Hopefully no more than two people.
According to this photo on the Essure website, my uterus will become an iPod - hopefully an iPod Touch, if you get my drift. 

What will be on YOUR "Julie's Vagina Playlist"?

Actually, I'm moving the uPod on the PRO list.  After three kids I bet that thing can hold a million songs and the last three seasons of Mad Men.


Wish me luck, Wifers!  Happy Whoreticulture Friday and have a great weekend!

It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 72.5

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or people I work with. Or anyone who lives within 10 miles of me.



Today's topic: The Pussy Wagon is Full

Confession - I'm a total tease.  Today isn't whorish, full of or showing any vaginas.  I'm on Day One of my "time" and no one around me is getting sex.  NO ONE.  I'm sorry men expecting porn, you may now go back to searching for the nude Scarlett Johansson photos.  For everyone else...

CAT PORN.

I think I've mentioned before that my neighborhood is crawling with pussy. 

Well those days have come to an end.  Last weekend when I was at my hooker convention in Nebraska, the animal control wagon pulled up and got loaded up to the gills in pussy.  Someone finally called the po-po and reported that our street had literally 30+ cats running around, and when there is that much pussy on the street there is bound to be infection.  Hide your husbands, hide the kids.  The street was lined with cat traps.

Most of our family was happy with this news, not so much because we are cat haters (but some of us are) but because it is hard for one neighborhood to feed, sustain, medicate and deliver 30 cats to music and dance lessons.  However, it upset Youngest Daughter.  She started freaking out, and Current Husband, who was running the asylum in my absence, couldn't figure out why.  Finally, he talked her off the ledge, and she got a coherent sentence out: 

"GET GEORGE IN THE HOUSE, THEY'RE ROUNDING UP PETS!"

Does this look like a feral cat to you?

Youngest Daughter perhaps had a point.  To calm her down, and to be sure we didn't lose The Best Standard Poodle Ever, CH called George the Superpet into the house, where he watched the feral cats get loaded up and carted off with a look that could only be described as satisfaction.
Thank you, Animal Control!  Our tax dollars at work, freeing our neighborhood from this:

Happy Whoreticulture Friday, have a great weekend!

It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 72

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or people I work with. Or anyone who lives within 10 miles of me.





Today's topic: Grab Your Balls, Mate



Can I just tell you how unprepared I am to be an adult?  I'm 42, and just not quite there yet.  I leave tomorrow a.m. for another hooker convention in Nebraska, and I have not packed a thing, I don't have all of the paperwork I need, and I am dead tired, but I'm still putting it off to blog, because ORGANIZATION and ORGANIZATIONAL ACTIVITIES repel me.
I have, however, planned when I am stopping for my first Salted Caramel Mocha of the day.  It will be at approximately 8:45 at the Starbucks in Duck Creek Plaza.  I've also arranged for my friend Meem to deliver another one to me at the hooker convention on Friday.  I DO have priorities, people.

So, since I am tired and behind, I'm making this short but sweet.  I stole this from The Bloggess, as usual, because I have no originality because she is so clever.  Really, she's enabling me, and everyone else, to not be their best selves, because she will bring the funny to the people.  Go over there right now and read her posts about the Missing Rattlesnake.  It's okay, I'll wait.


So I'm reading her weekly wrap-up, and came across this.  Watch it to the end, it's worth it.  You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll cringe, and you'll have a ballsack stuck in your head.  You can't buy that kind of experience at Target, people.



I'm going to go out and feel someone's balls RIGHT NOW.  Current Husband is SO going to wish he hadn't gone out with a friend.  I'd like to know where I can buy a set of balls like these, because they would make GREAT stocking stuffers this holiday season.

Happy Whoreticulture Friday, and have a great weekend!

It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 71

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or people I work with. Or people who represent Carolyn Keene's estate who might sue me for trademark infringement, as we are now in Nancy Drew Month on A Day In The Wife.




Today's Book: The Clue in the Crumbling Wall (again)


Oh people.  I have a real treat for you today.


So Current Husband and I have been getting the basement ready for our big remodel down there so we have a place to send the children with their friends and to play instruments.  This will mean an upswing in the sleepovers again, but I'm okay with that.  I'm ready.  Plus, I will get another full bathroom in my house, which will kick butt.


Here is what the basement looked like a few weeks ago:

Now it is worse.  All the walls are down, all the framing is gone, and all of that white drywall on the ceiling is gone.  We are having the whole ceiling painted white with the exposed beams and ducts and everything, so I guess I am going with the IKEA look, but it will look more open and cheerful and whatnot.  Which this basement needs, along with a good scrubbing with bleach after what I found.


PREFACE:  This is from the files of "Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction".  I swear this is all TRUE.  It is somehow fitting that I have a blog with Whoreticulture Friday and this was in my ceiling.  Carry on.


So the kids and I are cleaning up chunks of drywall from the floor, and I see a letter in the rubble. "Oh, an old letter!" I say to the kids.  "This is like 'If These Walls Could Talk' on the History Channel!"  The kids are only mildly interested, because, as evidenced by our "Chicago: City of the Century" experience, they are repulsed by history.  It turns out that this disinterest is a good thing.


The letter is written on a sheet of paper from a company notepad from the late 50's or, more likely, the early 60's.  I say this because it's from US Steel Corp, which closed it's Moline location some time ago, and it says "Call 4-5616" and the phone company stopped using five digit phone numbers in the Sixties.  The letter was folded into a giant postcard of Marilyn Monroe.  This all fits beautifully into Nancy Drew month, because my letter in the ceiling was written during Nancy Drew's time!  Coincidence?  I think not.

Carson Drew was NOT mailing anything like this.

Or was he?

For only 3 cents, you could spread Marilyn Monroe all over.

I think, "How quaint.  It's in a vintage postcard!  I love vintage."  And then I start reading.

I know it's a little hard to read, so here's what it says:

"This WHIP will help you to come and also punish you for willingly screwing another woman.  It gives me pleasure to whip your ASS - now return to your room - don't forget to kiss me goodbye between my legs - return Charles to his room Sheila.
Good morning, Sheila.  Bring Charles to me in garments #2 - garter belt - hose - long gloves - net blouse - earrings - makeup.
Good morning Charles, here are your things to wear - you will look dainty - all right you may rise and dress - you look lovely - I hope she sucks you off today - I would love to suck you too - come let go (??)
Good morning Charles, you look sweet, you may rise - Sheila you hold him from behind by hugging him and don't let him move - I want to suck him - he needs relief - Glub Glub - you respond quickly Charles"

Um.  Glub Glub?  I'm going to vomit now.  Needless to say, I did not share this lesson in historical porn with my kids.  Whose grandparent wrote this?  It was stuck in my basement ceiling!  Here are the emotions I felt while reading this:  Shock, disbelief, slight revulsion, laughter, and then "Oh Dear God there was a sadistic bipolar rapist killer in my house and I need to bleach the whole thing down."

I also thought of The Bloggess and Copernicus the Homicidal Monkey  - "A hug is like a strangle you haven't finished".

The men who read this think it's a woman who wrote it.  The women think it's a man.  My vote is definite man.  The handwriting looks more man-like, women had nice writing back then, and this letter has no emotion, all S&M bipolar multiple-partner role-playing stuff - HELLO!  That's a man.

If Blogger will let you comment, send in your vote - Is the author of this 1960's S&M porn a man, or a woman?  We'll leave it up to the people.

Happy Whoreticulture Friday, and have a great weekend!