It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 33

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.


Today's topic: Summer Hair Management.

I'm sort of a slacker mom.  Granted, we've been pretty busy so far this summer, but I took my kids to the pool for the first time last week, and their summer break is halfway over.  The kids have been to the pool - they've been in swimming lessons, been with friends, and went with our local park board.  But I, the Wife, had not stripped down for the community at the local pool until last week.  Preparing for my pool trip made me realize what a hairy woman I have become in my old age.

 Actual photo of me at pool, playing water guns with kids.

Every woman deals with this issue on some level.  Honestly, I don't shave my legs much between Thanksgiving and St. Patrick's Day.  Why bother?  Current Husband isn't going to turn me down because he doesn't have a girlfriend yet and I am his only option.  Besides, it keeps me warm.  But in the summer?  You don't want even one little unsightly hair poking out of anything.  Let me break it down for you from head to toe:

 Me at PTA event in May.

I think the flower in my hair is a nice touch.

Eyebrows

I am a total Freda Kahlo.  If I don't pluck my eyebrows every few hours, I will grow a Bridge to Terabithia between my eyes.  Now that I am over 40, some of those hairs are gray or white, and much harder for me to see with my reduced vision.  I always seem to notice those little buggers about 10 minutes before I'm ready to walk out the door.  Last night is a great example - CH and I attended a John Deere Classic Golf Tournament dinner with some friends.  Nice event.  I wore a dress.  But as we were leaving home, I noticed a few stray eyebrow hairs, and I had to pluck them.  HAD. TO. And of course, I got huge welts on my eyebrows.  I told people I was hit in the forehead by a stray golf ball on my way into the event.  Kenny Parry got me an ice pack.  Zach Johnson suggested cucumber slices from the salad.

 Kids!  Let's get some ice cream with Higgins!

Mustache

There is nothing hotter than a mother of three with a fluffy 'stache.  Again, over 40, darker hair, more prevalent.  What is that all about?  I didn't have a mustache in college!  I had very little unsightly hair before I was 25.  It's like God WANTS you to get pregnant before you're ready.  I get that bad boy waxed every few months, but I have to be sure not to schedule anything in the afternoon, because when the Tom Selleck is yanked off my face, I get a huge pink Hitler for a few hours afterward.  They even douse me with witch hazel or vodka or something, and yet, I sport the FemiNazi until dinner.

 It appears that Alec Baldwin and I 

share more than calling our 

children names on their voicemail...

Nipples

Oh, you heard me.  I said it.  Nipples.  And I know lots of women who get stray hairs around their nipples, so don't EVEN try to tell me this is shocking in any way.  Fortunately, my nipular hair level has not reached shaving level, because I never want to say to CH, "Hey, wanna get it on?  I just shaved my tits."  I'm a plucker.  A mother plucker.  So hot.  Speaking of hot...

I'll pluck yours, Rob, if you pluck mine...

Stomach

Yep, here too.  I've heard this called the Dirt Trail, but Urban Dictionary, the go-to resource for Whoreticulture Friday, says that is actually a disgusting fecal issue, so don't take my word for it.  I had a friend in high school who was plucking dark hairs from her navel to her dealio, and I thought, "Wow, that sucks".  Now I think of her as a pluck those stray bad boys, because she has a terrific job and probably gets hers professionally done while sipping a Mojito and reading "W".  Touche.

Bikini Line - really, you don't want an image here.

I am not brave enough to wax yet, so I am a shaver, despite warnings from my OB-GYN friend from high school who says to be careful with the razor because she has put stitches in a LABIA (cringe) from someone doing their own bushwhacking.  And let me tell you, it is hard to be thorough for swimsuit wearing.  I was very conscious about leg placement at the pool, because honestly, I am getting old and not as bendy as I used to be, and I was a little concerned about being surrounded by hairless teens in small bikinis.  Enough said.  As for Brazilians, let me just tell you that my pain tolerance level is quite low, and until they are giving epidurals with Brazilians, I will not carry a passport.  No travel to Brazil for me.

I look just like this, 

if you add three pregnancies, 

loads of spider veins, 

hairy German bloodlines,

and 15 boxes of girl scout cookies.

 

Legs

I always shave my legs in the summer, but I notice there are spots on my knees that I miss, which is weird.  I also occasionally notice longer dark strays on the back of my thighs a few inches above my knees, like there are a couple of hairs that seem to duck whenever I am shaving, and suddenly they are an inch long and showing off my German heritage.  I guess I'm married, so who gives a shit, but really, it's more about the principle.  I used to have great legs, it was my favorite feature, but then I had kids.  Some families pass down sterling silver or china.  Some families pass down stock or ownership in companies.  My family passes down the chin gobbler, Alzheimer's, and varicose veins.  Thanks, ancestors!  Now I have a map of Toledo on the backs of my legs, so really?  The hair can stay.

I get my pedicures done in Middle Earth with Frodo.

Toes

My big toes have hair on them too.  I also had five wisdom teeth, so it's like my people really haven't evolved that much from the apes.  I've been known to shave my big toes.  It's like my razor sees me coming and goes, "Oh Christ, really?"  I think I just need an all-over waxing.  Wax on, wax off.  Just like the Karate Kid.  But hairier.  And sadder.

I'm sorry to burst your bubble people, but I'm not too sexy for my shirt.  But I may be a little too hairy for it.  I know.  Current Husband is one lucky son-of-a-bitch.

Happy Whoreticulture Friday!  Keep on waxing and have a great weekend!  St. Joseph story to come, he couldn't fit into Whoreticulture Friday, Sunday seems a little more appropriate.

 

Guest Post by Oldest Daughter

Oldest Daughter is actually a more accomplished writer than I. She won a contest in Writer's Digest, back when they had a kid's contest, so she's been published in Writer's Digest and I haven't. But I'm not bitter and that's what's important.

She's been doing writing prompts she found on a website, and she sent this one to me. It's an obvious cry for help, so I told her I was posting it on my blog. Publishing your child's personal work on the Internet is what all good mothers do, right?  She looked at me incredulously, and then said, "Are you SERIOUS?" At first, I thought she was horrified, and then I realized that she was honored, which is really funny, because HELLO! Grandma already thinks you're a genius!

So OD thinks she's hit the big time because she is on A Day in The Wife. And I will allow her to think these thoughts because they might translate into me looking like an authority of some kind.  I am posting this because I think it will give you some insight into 33% of what I deal with on a day-to-day basis.

Here is her Guest Post - I believe #5 was actually written with me in mind.  Or perhaps all of them.  #3 and #6 are my personal favorites:

10 Reasons Why You Shouldn’t

Write Your Life Story, by OD

1. Writing your life story is like making people depressed with you. For example, you could have a great story up until you start writing about when you turned thirteen and you figured out you were moving to another town and that your friends were happy you were. Or that your parents were getting divorced and that you started doing things you knew were wrong - I’m not speaking out of experience here, by the way.
2. It’s like you’re just spreading out you’re personal information. Ex: “when I was thirteen I got my period at my best friend’s pool party where everyone made fun of me and started calling me ‘spot’” - again, not speaking from experience- but c’mon, really? Do we need to know your childhood nickname? No.
3.  It attracts stalkers and other pedophiles. You could answer the phone one day to an unknown number and someone on the other end could be all, “meet me at the BP gas station in five minutes or your daughter gets it!” and you could be all, “but my daughter is with me…?” and they could be all, “not for long.” and then you would be forced into a spiraling paranoia where everyone thinks you’re crazy and people have to put you in a local asylum. Do you really want that?
4.  People from your high school graduation class that you wrote about would call you and be like, “wtf were you thinking writing about how it was me who slashed the tires on principal McManny’s car?!” and you would be like, “oh I didn’t edit that part out?” and then they would be all mad and upset at you for the rest of your life.
5.  You could end up with some crappy publisher and end up just paying them to go nowhere with your book, so it’s a total waste of time and money and bad childhood nicknames (see #3).
6.  Your children would hate you. You could write about them being born and their entire freshman class could read it and be like, “HA! Your parents never meant to have you!” and your kid would be all, “what the heck were you thinking?!” and you would be all, “oh my god, that part wasn’t edited out either?!” and then they would hire a hitman to come and end you so they could be all, “who’s the accident now?” and you would look up or down at them sobbing and be like, “I’m so sorry.”

Alright, I can’t come up with ten reasons I could only come up with six. (:

SPECIAL NOTE: none of these examples are from personal experience and I apologize in advance for if they relate to you in any way.

I have to admit, I love the disclaimer at the end.  "These don't relate to you in any way, especially the part where I hire a hitman to come and end you.  Sleep well, Mother."  I'm also fond of the "spiraling paranoia".  Therapy with her is going to be fun and interesting.

Happy Thursday!  Back tomorrow with an update on what happened to St. Joseph, and let me tell you, it isn't pretty.

Taking My Teen to a Sex Den

Last weekend, I took Oldest Daughter to a Sex Den.

Actually, I took her to two of them. They were on fire, red-hot, hunka-burning-love, bulge-in-the-jeans-in-your-face places, and to my great joy, OD was stone cold, like an ice cream cone next to a volcanic fajita pan. Where are these lusty locales? In the mall, just two doors down from each other. We shopped in Hollister and Abercrombie and Fitch.

"Steve leaned against the post and 

watched his children play on the playset 

while planning his and Jenny's 

15-year-anniversary celebration."

Any parent who has walked past either of these stores knows what I'm talking about. They are Temptation personified. They post gargantuan, blown up pictures of washboard abs and bulging jeans, pump their lusty, eat-the-ripened-fruit perfumes out of the doors, and crank their roll-on-the-beach-in-the-sand-with-us-and-hope-you-don't-get-knocked-up tunes at the highest decibels.

They hire people who look like models - anyone with a BMI over 20 or in need of Proactiv need not apply.  There is always a model employee folding and re-folding t-shirts by the front entrance, which looks like a surf shack people sneak into after a few beers to make out, and they greet you.  If you are over 22 and come in alone, they say, "Welcome to Hollister, let me know if I can help you" and they smile at you like "I'm sorry you got old and can't wear our clothes."  If you are under 22 they smile and say, "Hey, what's up?  Welcome to Hollister!  Holla if you need something!" and if you are the cash cow adult accompanying the person under 22 you don't exist until you approach the register.  There, they await your debit card and look at you with a kind expression that says, "You must hate being old and missing all of this fun!"  And then they hand your purchase to you in a bag with naked men on it.

"Beth asked if he took the dresser out 

to the garbage for Bulky Item Day, 

and he said 'Yes, but it kinked my neck' 

and she said 'well we can't afford 

the co-pay this month, 

let me try to adjust it for you'."

A couple of years ago, OD would actually avert her eyes if we were to walk past either of these stores, or Victoria's Secret.  She physically couldn't bring herself to look at them, because they always have the 10-foot-tall black and white artsy photos of naked college kids.  I asked her once, "Why do you put your hand in front of your eyes?" and she said, "Because the pictures are gross and those stores are for older kids", NOT adults, mind you, but as though she somehow wasn't ALLOWED to look at the stores until she reached middle school or had the sex education day films.  I thought "Well this is ridiculous - she's seen Current Husband and I walk around the house half-dressed!" and then realized "OH.  No one looks at us and thinks 'I'd like to tap that'." Because when we are half-dressed, we are usually saying things like, "Mother of Pearl my back hurts, would someone rub it?" or "Is it just me or are my varicose veins actually BIGGER?"

"Would you feel this mole on my back?  

Does it seem cancerous?  My elbow hurts 

when you bend it like that, do you think 

I have arthritis?  I can hear your knees 

cracking.  Put my tank top down, 

you can see my stretch marks! 
And don't even TRY to grab my tits, 
the kids might walk in!"

Now when I take OD into these stores, she can manage to walk in, but she doesn't dwell on the naked pictures.  She doesn't ogle the male model employees...that I notice.  She actually looks at the clothes and tries to figure out which colors will go best with what she already owns.  She looks at prices and only buys a few things that are on sale, as we make her use her own money at these places so she can appreciate how expensive sex advertising can be.  And she doesn't buy into the "wouldn't this t-shirt look great hiked up to your bra?" or "these jeans are meant to be worn down to the coin slot" philosophy.

"Jeremy looked toward the shed and thought, 

'Damn all this rain, this yard is going 

to be impossible to mow' and regretted the 

Scots Turf Builder he had applied only 

the week prior.  'I swear to God the next 

place we buy is a condo'. "

Abercrombie and Hollister are hot for her, but for now?  She's so cold.  We've always said she can't date until high school, and she is starting eighth grade in the fall.  Lately, her popular question has been "Does high school start the summer between eighth and ninth grade, or after ninth grade actually starts?"  I'm hoping Siberia sticks around for a while, but I'm realistic enough to know a thaw is coming. 

It's Slacker Tuesday!

I'm really sorry people, but you know we had that whole Fourth-of-July-Celebrate-our-Independence-Eat-Burgers-and-Drink-Beer-and-Light-Sparklers thing yesterday, and so tonight I'm feeling all guilty because I really should have blogged today, and I've gotten SO far away from the three posts a week lately, but tomorrow morning I have a big meeting at 10 a.m. and I'm a little tired, so I'm going to bed without blogging.

BAD BLOGGER! BAD! 

Current Husband has generously offered to spank me.

I am going the slacker route, and instead of blogging, I am posting the latest installment of Sassy Gay Friend, which is pretty damn funny, and yet, I didn't write it. I promise you on the stubby tail of George the Superpet that I will post Tuesday night. I hope everyone had a terrific holiday weekend in the US, and a just plain old terrific weekend in the rest of the world, and I'll be back tomorrow night.

Don't be a Summer's Eve!  I'm a stupid bitch!

It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 32

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.


Today's topic: Bella is a whore.


Let me just state for the record that I am, indeed, one of those freaky Twilight lovers. There, I said it. I love the books, I've read them all multiple times, and it's not just because of my daughter. I won't throw her under the bus. And while I think Jacob is just fine, particularly under the tutelage of Taylor Lautner, I am a Team Edward girl.


Watching Eclipse brought home a theme I felt while reading the books:
Bella is a total cock tease.
(BING! Did you hear that? It's the sound of another follower leaving.)

Dig deep within your soul, Twilight people....if Edward or Jacob was your friend in high school, and Bella was on Edward like white on rice during school, but then hopped on the back of a motorcycle to straddle Jacob and tear out of the parking lot in front of Edward, and both of those hot dudes were walking around totally sexually frustrated, you would:

1. Hate Bella for playing them.
2. Have sympathy sex with at least one of them.
3. Both.
4. Call them up and be all, "I just don't get why you put up with that crap Ed, you are all that and a bag, so just let her run around with those mangy cliff-jumpers" OR "You are so much better than this Jake, go find a girl who will scramble her egg on your chest because if she wants that sparkly freesia-scented freak she deserves him!"

I was so pissed during New Moon, because even though Jacob was a great friend and all, you totally knew he wanted to get in Bella's pants, and he wasn't even that subtle about it, and she's like, "Oh, it's okay if we hold hands, because friends can do that" and "I'll hang out with him every single day even though his friends have all told me that he calls me his girlfriend".  I mean, really?  Really Bella? 

Then Eclipse came along, and I was even MORE pissed, because come ON, Edward is BACK, honey!  Hello, remember the whole Romeo and Juliet thing going on in New Moon?  Like if R & J hadn't killed themselves over their true love, maybe Juliet would've looked at Benvolio some night when he was over to play cards with Romeo and said, "maybe we could hold hands and I could tell him I love him, but not in the way I love Romeo.  That would be okay, right?"  No, Juliet.  No it would not.

And then the whole Eclipse sleeping bag scene?  It's great in the movie, don't get me wrong, I love it.  But let's take stock here:  Bella has been dry humping Edward for almost two years now, and has spent the better part of the last month trying to coax Edward into deflowering her.  She makes a deal that she will marry Edward, even though she is totally against marriage, if he will just do it with her once, even though he has explained that he will most likely kill her during intercourse.  Then enter one really inexplicably cold June night in Forks, and enter Jacob with his 108 degree body whose wolf senses CLEARLY smell a girl in heat.  Suddenly it is ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY to Bella's survival that Jacob wrap his shirtless body around her in her sleeping bag, in front of Edward.  And the entire time, Jacob is fantasizing about bangin' Bella, knowing Edward is reading his mind.

Can you say SADISM?!

Then BANG, the storm is over, Bella can run around without a coat on, and run after Jacob to dry-hump him in front of Edward, and let the wolf stick his tongue down her throat.  Even though Edward is her one true love.  And she's already agreed to marry him.  Then Jacob gets half the bones in his body broken, and after Carlisle painfully rebreaks and resets his bones, Bella walks in to weep and say that she really does love Edward more, but thanks for the smooch.  That's cold, Bella.  Stone ass cold.

I actually didn't like Bella much at the end of Eclipse, the book.  I thought she was a tease and not so naive that she didn't know she was playing both of these guys, particularly Jacob.  And I got a little fed up with the whole "UGH, do I HAVE to marry you Edward?" because who gives a crap if you are marrying him if you are becoming undead soon afterward anyway?  Yes, Bella, you HAVE to marry the superhot sparkly vampire who has pledged his life to you and promised you wedding night nookie even though you will inevitably be cock-blocking him, AGAIN.  And HELLO, can you imagine the haul from the gift registry?   "We'll need 14 Nambe bowls to hold all of the blood at parties, and four sterling candleabras, and some of those lovely Waterford goblets.  For the blood."

Let me take a moment to assure you, gentle reader, that I know these things to be true:

• these are books
• vampires and werewolves are not real
• Bella is a teenager and doesn't know shit
• no one puts blood in Nambe bowls

But still.  I can't have Oldest Daughter sitting there watching the movie thinking, "Damn girl, I need to get me two hot boyfriends and play them off of each other!"  I don't even want her to get ONE hot boyfriend.  I'd like her to be BFF's with a guy on the Lego Robotics team and Computer Club, and they can Facebook each other until they are 23, disease-free, and able to get a nice job with benefits.  But I digress.

Bella?  I know Stephenie had to drag this story out for four books, and there needed to be a conflict.  But it all ended up making you look kind of pathetic and cruel and fairly whorish for a virgin (another favorite scene with Bella and Charlie and "the talk").  And I know there is more coming (no pun intended) in Breaking Dawn, but at least we FINALLY get to see you two nutty kids get past the tentative smooching and groaning stage, because I'm starting to avert my eyes when you kiss.  It's all so pent-up-frustration-y.  As they say in boxing, "LET'S GET IT ON!"

Happy Whoreticulture Friday, and have a terrific weekend!  And go see Eclipse, it's the best one yet!