It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 66

Hola Wifers. First let me say that I am dragging a little bit this morning because Todd “Hot Nuts” Epstein held a benefit concert last night for the Walnut Growers of America, and Current Husband and I were both a little tipsy and crowd surfing, but we learned something important:


Squirrels will drop you. And it hurts.


Todd performed onstage, accompanied by Mike Moran, The Iowa Goatsinger, at Mojo’s in downtown Davenport. I know it’s a little unheard of to have goats and squirrels performing together because they are both total divas, but since there isn’t an Iowa Squirrel Singer, and Mr. Moran is particularly talented and knows “Blackbird” by the Beatles, he was an excellent choice. Here they are performing together:

 

But then Todd started drinking.

And making love to the crowd.

And was asked to leave.

So we were at the police station late bailing him out, and by the time we got home I was too tired to blog. But, it IS Whoreticulture Friday, and I have an obligation to society.

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 neighbors who are raising feral cats.



Today’s topic: Don’t Poke Momma Bear

I have a great boss, and I worked out a sweet deal where if I come in to work a half hour early all week, I can take off at 12:30 one day that week so I can play like I’m an at-home mom again and take the kids to the pool. Last week was the first time I’ve used this arrangement, and it was heavenly.

People magazine, sunshine, Diet Coke and happy kids.

It takes so little to make me happy.

However, getting ready for the pool? Whole different deal.

We’re running around in the whole “Got your towel? Got the sunscreen? Got your goggles?” mode, and literally at the last moment I realized the hedge needed to be trimmed before the garden party. The kids are going out the van, and I’m all “I’ll be right there!” as I’m pulling out a razor and some shaving cream. But DAMN. This was my first trip to the pool this year, so I was in East German Woman mode. I had to make an assessment:

• I’m 42.
• I have prolific family heirloom varicose veins.
• I’m married.
• My skinniest days are behind me.

Is a little Growly Momma Bear Bush my biggest problem? But then I thought of the children.

• Children are frightened by bears.
• The pool is full of children.
• My daughter is a teen and my appearance is occasionally tied up in her emotional well-being.
• My other daughter is 8 and might ask loud questions, such as “Mom, is there a bear in your pants?”

Damn it. Let’s get whacking.

After a few minutes, I realize that in order to really tame this beast, I need to be more bendy. When did I start growing hair there? Can’t…reach…knees…locking…and there are places NO ONE should go into blind with a razorblade. This is where I discover a real need. Yoga for personal grooming. Potential poses include:

• Shave Dog
• Bridge to Bikini Line
• Camel Toe
• Down Bear
• Bald Taco
• Baked Drumstick

In the meantime, Mamma Bear got tamed somewhat and the kids had their pool day. Just in case I missed anything, I positioned a People magazine on my lap and made sure I didn’t lay on my beach chair with my legs spread (which is my normal beach chair position. As a matter of fact, I normally take up two, or even three, chairs.)

When I got home, CH was all excited to see me in my swimsuit, which honestly makes me concerned for his vision. I stripped off the suit to expose my developing sunburn, and he was all, “You know you want it” and I just turned to face him, pointed down, and said, “Do not poke Mamma Bear. You might get bit.”

CH is a survivalist. He backed away from Mamma Bear this time. But I know he’ll be back when the cubs aren’t around and it’s less dangerous. Rowr.

Happy Whoreticulture Friday! Have a great weekend!

It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 65

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 neighbors who are raising feral cats.


Today's topic: Hair of the Dog

Okay, not really.  But I never miss an opportunity to promote this up-and-coming band, Nazareth.  My best friend from middle school was so badass that when she would get mad at her parents, she would go to her room and blast this song.  I would sit on her rainbow bedspread, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, amazed at her balls.  Her parents would sit upstairs and smoke and drink in silence and watch the clock, because she was the youngest of four and they were basically waiting until she moved out to make her room into the hot tub sex den.



Think about how often these dudes got laid in those outfits.

So, back to the topic.  Sort of.  A few things happened in the past few weeks that made me think of unsightly body hair.

First.  My daughters had a dance recital, and they are adorably talented and while I've seen Oldest Daughter at work and know she is a ballet rock star, this is the first year Youngest Daughter has actually known the dance and didn't just look cute and wander around confused in her $80 outfit.  YD did hip-hop, and did a splits-in-the-air-touch-your toes move, no shit, and I was all, "Who is that kid and why is she flexible and coordinated?" because that is so NOT my DNA.  However, her father is an '80s break dancer, so I'm waiting for "Baby's First Head Spin on Cardboard" to put in her book.

The other 50 dance numbers during the 3-recital gave me time to think about these girls' bikini areas.  Some of these outfits were pretty much bikinis and foot undies, and I prayed, "Please God, for their comfort and that of their audience, PLEASE let someone have told them about waxing."  Let me give you an example:

Much like this, without the pants.

At this point, Current Husband leans over and says, "I'm glad the girls were in the numbers with clothes."  I'm half German, so if I don't pluck my eyebrows every 20 minutes they grow together.  You can imagine what happens in bikini-land, and my vagina tells me it is allergic to wax, flame, or electroshock therapy.  This is why I now tell myself I'm not a dancer.  It's not lack of coordination, it's lack of bush coverage.

Second:  I had a massage, and Chad, my awesome masseuse, was subjected to my pre-game disclosure.  This happens every time, and now he just politely waits until I'm done purging all of my personal hygiene sins.  Sometimes I just don't shave my legs when I should, not because I don't want to, but because I sleep in and then I don't have time, and I go to work and wear pants so no one will know and forget I have a massage and won't be wearing pants.  My philosophy is that if I just TELL Chad that I'm sorry I haven't shaved in four days and I know my heels are gnarly and my varicose veins are worse than the last time I visited and I still have that Eastern German mole on my back, he won't pity me in his head while he is forced to rub these parts of my body down.  I will OWN IT.  But what he's probably thinking is "Julie, meet Wax.  Wax, strip Julie."  Then I just pray I won't get gassy during the massage, because I'm not going to own that.  The problem with gas during a massage is that if you clench, he will see it, or worse, feel your muscles tense up.  Sometimes I think Chad is subject to more torture than my OB-GYN.

Third.  I had coffee with a friend of mine, and she told me she was having dinner with her husband when he said, "I can't take it anymore, I have to pull that" and it was a hair in her mole on her arm.  I told her that while it is a pain that I'm getting more hairs around my nipular region, it sure is easier to pull them now that I can just pick my boob up off of my stomach, pull it up to my face, squint, put on my reading glasses, and pluck the hair.  When did getting older equal getting hairier?

I guess this post has no real point, other than the fact that hair is inconvenient and weird, unless it is on your head.  It doesn't have much to do with whoring either, because who wants to do someone with German bush, varicose veins, gnarly heels, a mole on their back, and nipular hair?

Oh, right.  CH!  Because when you get to his age, your vision is going anyway.

Happy Whoreticulture Friday!  Have a great weekend!

It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 54

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 neighbors who are raising feral cats. Or the ghost of Liberace.


Today's topic: The Vajacial

Somehow January has become Vagina Month.  I'm not sure why.  Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I am so effing cold that I can't feel mine anymore.  Tonight in Iowa it is -20 with windchill, and since I'm wearing about 20 layers of clothing, talking about a Vajacial is about as close as I'm going to get to one.  So let's get it on.

First, let me give a shout-out to the sisters of Chi Omega, because I get more Whoreticulture Friday topics from them than anyone.  I guess in between the videos on how to set a table and and hand-holding songs of sisterhood, we were all just a bunch of dirty hos, and honestly, I love them a little more for it.  Thanks today go to Stacey in Minneapolis, whose vagina is presumably colder than mine. Go eff a moose, darling.

A Vajacial is a facial for your smelly gal.  They were "invented" by Stript Wax Bar in San Francisco, where it seems that someone has spent a LOT of time trying to perfect the puss.  Here is some press on the topic, I hope you can read it:

Catharine Zeta-Jones is saying,

"I can't move, I'll crack my pussy masque."

I doubt you can read it, so here is the highlighted part - "Stript Wax Bar in San Francisco offers the 50 minute - we couldn't make this up if we tried - Vajacial, a facial-like service with a papaya enzyme peel, a mask, and a Vitamin C lightening cream."

Stript offers this service for $60, and you must have a Brazilian first.  Hmm. So for a total of $120, plus tip, someone can stare at my vagina, slather it in creams, masques, and wax, rip the hairs out of the follicle, and tweeze out ingrown hairs.  I am going to pay someone to torment and humiliate me.  How about if I give myself a paper cut on my tongue and fart out loud in the office for free?  Better yet, why don't I have Current Husband do all of this tonight and I will get an orgasm out of the deal, and no one has to know about it?  (Except that I just blogged about it. Is nothing sacred?  No. No it isn't.)Because hand to God, if someone is gettin' jiggy with my jay-jay for $120 plus tip, I had better see the clouds part and hear the angels sing.

Some in the press have referred to this vaginal facial as a "peach smoothie".  Sounds cute, until you see an image of a peach smoothie.

This peach smoothie looks like someone

needs to spend a little more

"me" time in the shower.

Because in my world, peach smoothies

should be more...peach.

CH asked what I was blogging about tonight, because he is always looking for the "Can we practice that at home" angle on Whoreticulture Friday.

CH:  "What's today's topic?"

translation: Will I be getting laid?

ME:  "Vajacials.  They are vagina facials."

CH:  "What does that mean?"

translation:  Is there any girl-on-girl action?

ME:  "Someone puts creams and masques on the vagina and generally diddles around with it to make it look like it's 18 again."

CH:  "I am totally going back to school for that.  I've found my purpose."

Which is a lovely thought for men across America, but really, wouldn't you get a little pussied-out?  You know someone would come lumbering in there with some nasty scent,  at the tail end of their period, or with some piercing disaster, and then you would be off vagina for weeks.  Months, even.  And I don't know about the rest of you, but if someone was tweezing individual ingrown hairs out of my chia pet, I would probably pee myself a little bit from the pain.  I've borne three children the ugly way, so I pee a little over smaller issues than tweezing short and curlies.

Before Stript Wax gets ahold of your kitten.

I have one other question about the Vajacial - what's up with the Vitamin C lightening cream?  Why do I want to go all Michael Jackson down there?  Do I really want to alter the pigmentation of my dealio?  I know there is anal bleach, and I guess I sort of "get" that, but is there really a problem with marbled vagina skin?  Is it patchy?  I guess I just don't spend enough time gazing at mine.  Perhaps instead of lighter COLOR, the lightening cream is like thunderbolt - you know, LIGHTENING cream, Ka-POW, all over your vagina!  And then I am writing my check for $60, no questions asked.


There's CH, volunteering from the other room. 


So do tell, Wifers - are you up for a Vajacial?  There is no judgement at Whoreticulture Friday.  Would it be worth your $60?  And what would your desired results be?  And why do I want lightening cream?  I will wait for your wisdom.


Happy Whoreticulture Friday, and have a great weekend!

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.

 

How I Got My Electronic Ankle Bracelet

As I write this, I am enjoying my first glass of wine since my "Jencident" with Jen Lancaster last Friday.  While it is delicious, I can tell my body is having a certain amount of trepidation as I lift the glass to my lips.  No worries, little liver.  This ain't no Borders.

So today I am working on a freelance project, and I glance up from from my desk/dining room table and look out the window at a beautiful day outside.  I feel like the dog in the Far Side cartoon, watching two other dogs attack the mailman, with a caption that reads something like "Fido wanted to go play with the other dogs, but he had to stay inside and practice his violin."  I notice that the grass is about 6 inches tall again, and think "I should mow that".  This gives you some insight into how far I am willing to go to procrastinate the work I am supposed to do.

Then I started thinking about how I mowed the yard the last time, and how many times I did it LAST summer, and I'm thinking "has feminism given Current Husband a pass on mowing?"  Then I started thinking about traditional roles of men and women, and if there is such a thing as a "Traditional" gender job anymore, i.e. husband mows and takes out garbage, wife does everything else, and then I started thinking about Nutty Bars and coffee.  I believe the medical community refers to this as "Attention Deficit Disorder".

Mmmm.  Nutty Bars.
So in order to procrastinate my work even further, I log onto Facebook and post the following on my ADITW Fan page:  Just curious...who does the mowing at your houses? Are there still traditional "Man" jobs and "Woman" jobs? Does this sound like a dangerous question, like "Do I look fat pushing this mower?"
  
(Before I get into the rest of this story, I'd like to point out that I got 22 comments on this single little post, more than ANY OTHER POST in the history of ADITW.  You Likers get really riled up about laundry and lawns.  Next week I'm going to post about dirty dishes or toilet paper and see if I can top 22 comments.)

So I make my little post, and no shit, within 30 seconds I get an e-mail from CH:  "What's THAT all about?" and I get really indignant because CH is following me on Facebook and Twitter and checks the blog regularly and honestly, it's starting to creep me out.  I feel like I have a CH-Cam on me.  If I cut myself shaving he is going to text me and say, "You should shave in the other direction.  Put some aloe on that."  He is the spousal version of Big Brother, the HoverSpouse.  I call him at work.

ME:  "What the hell?  Can I say ANYTHING without you butting in?"
CH:  "Well are you saying I don't mow the lawn?"
ME:  "No, I'm asking people about traditional chore roles."
CH:  "I think you're saying I don't mow."
ME:  "That is beside the point.  Why do you feel like you need to Creep in on all of my stuff?"
CH:  "Someone needs to keep an eye on you.  You were illegally posting for advice on getting out of jury duty, and need I remind you of the Jen Lancaster incident just 72 hours ago?"
ME:  "I am an adult.  Butt out, Creeper."

And then we make an appointment for a nooner because school will be out in three weeks and that will be the end of that.  I grab a Nutty Bar and refresh my coffee and mutter to myself about being a responsible adult and I can post whatever I want.  I am SO in control.  Sheesh.  But as long as I've taken a break from work I wasn't doing, I think I will go over and check The Bloggess today, because I am an equal opportunity stalker.  Of course, she is hilarious, as usual.  Today, she created an ad about BINGO, because Bingo.com asked her to create and post an ad for them on her site.  Here is what she came up with:

I scan the comments, because some of the commenters are really funny too, and someone posts something like "Get 1,000,000 People To Beg SNL to Let The Bloggess Host" and I thought, "Hey, something like that would be funny".

And that, my friends, is where things went a little south.  It's like I was stalking Jen again, except this time there was actual trademark infringement.  I blame the Nutty Bars.

My next thought was "We have a Poet Laureate, The Bloggess should be our Blogger Laureate!"  Next thing I knew, I was on Facebook, CREATING THE PAGE:

A Dozen People Who Want The Bloggess to Be Our National Blogger Laureate

And then I'm like, "Hey, what good is a Facebook Fan Page without a photo?" and so I go to her site and STEAL her image and post it on the page, and I list her as a Government Official, and then Facebook sends me a message that says YOU'VE CREATED A FAN PAGE! and I think, "HA!  That's SO funny!" and I go to her site and post a comment that says, "Make Jenny the National Blogger Laureate - click here!" and I post the link and I check the page 30 MINUTES LATER and there are 24 Likers, and then the sugar wears off and I think, "WHAT.  HAVE.  I.  DONE." 

I start sweating a little bit, and I send Jenny The Bloggess this e-mail (Actual text):

"Hi Jenny - Okay, so I read the funny blog about Bingo, and then I see someone comments about starting a Facebook page and then I think HEY that would be funny, she should be our National Blogger Laureate, and I go to FB  thinking "I'll just see if it's easy to do" and then POW, there is a page created, and I take your picture and then I'm like HOLY SHIT WHAT JUST HAPPENED!?! and I think I may have accidentally taken some Vicodin or drain cleaner and now I think I have violated you, which of course everyone dreams about, but not in this way.  So,
A)  I'm sorry
B)  Can I keep it?  I'll feed it and take care of it and make sure it doesn't get rabies
C)  You really do rule the Internet.  But not with an iron fist, and that's why we all like you so much.
D)  I will happily take it down if it is annoying and/or scary

I am now sweating.  I think I'll eat some crackers and lie down.
Julie"

You may be saying to yourself, "Self, how does she have The Bloggess's e-mail address?" and I will tell you that as I worker I may be a slacker, but as a stalker I am very thorough. 

But get THIS - she responded:

"Ha!  I love it.  It's awesome."

Swoon.  I love her.  And I am really thrilled she is not suing my ass.  So CH comes home from work and puts his things down and pecks me on the cheek and goes to his laptop.

CH:  "How was your day?"
ME:  "Um, good."
CH:  "What."
ME:  "What do you mean, 'What'?"
CH:  "I mean what did you do?  I can tell you did something."
ME:  "Well, I sort of started a FB page to make The Bloggess the National Blogger Laureate."
CH:  "No."
ME:  "Yeah.  And I kind of stole images from her site to do it."
CH:  "Oh shit."
ME:  "And it has 147 Likers.  But I e-mailed her and she said it's okay."
CH:  (head in hands)  "This?  This is why I monitor you."

So now I'm on Double Secret Probation, and there is a suspicious-looking stuffed bear on the buffet staring at me with a huge belly button.  But that bear can't keep me off the Internet, sucka!  Be sure to become a Liker on the Facebook page, because really, how hard can it be to get Obama's e-mail address?  Not very. 

Hey Mom, Could You Vagazzle Me?

Whoever said Disco sucks must know Jennifer Love Hewitt's vagina.

In January of this year, Jennifer appeared on the ‘Lopez Today’ show with George Lopez to give some dating tips and promote her new book, "The Day I Shot Cupid".  Go ahead.  Click the link and watch.  I'll wait.  One of her tips was to glue shiny things right on your privates. She also revealed that she was, at that very moment, sporting a vagina decorated with hot pink Swarovski crystals, which made George Lopez and his audience need to take a moment for visualization. “After a breakup, a friend of mine Swarovski-crystaled my precious lady,” she said. “It shined like a disco ball so I have a whole chapter in there on how women should vagazzle their vajayjays.”

Her precious lady.  Thank you, Jennifer Love Hewitt.

 I have crystals on my vagina and you don't.

At first, I was a little thrown by this.  It seems so easy to make fun.  But you have to feel for Jennifer Love Hewitt because she seems like such a nice girl, who just REALLY wants to be in love.  It is, after all, her middle name.  She's gone public a number of times with her desire to get married, and in the last People magazine she said she has an engagement ring picked out that she goes in to try on once in a while, and some wedding dresses on standby.  She seems nice and normal and doesn't appear to have a drug problem or an eating disorder or sleep with anyone from The Hills.  John Mayer purportedly wrote a song about her you might know, called, "Your Body Is a Wonderland".  

So why can't Jennifer find love?  Could it be that when she is getting hot and heavy with a beau and he goes below deck, there is a sparkling in her panties, like she is a human but her vagina is a vampire?  Could it be that when he sees the disco ball on her precious lady he does The Hustle right out of there?  Does he get Boogie Fever from complications from the cuts he might receive from her cut glass cave?  But I like J Love, and if she wants to vagazzle her vajayjay, that is her cross to bear.

Moving beyond Jennifer and her need to sparkle plenty, I wonder about the person who is applying the crystals.  I did a little research and found that you can book a Ladies Crystal Party, where you and three to six of your best friends can go in for a little blingy on your thingy.

Using Swarovski™ body art, choose a delicate design or create your own masterpiece working with one of our Crystal Art Artisan.

• Individual Crystal Body Art application.
• Qua Exfoliating Body Scrub with Crystal Body Art application.
• Ladies Crystal Body Art Parties (4 to 7).

60 min: from $130

I am thinking this is for a crystal butterfly on your shoulder, but if you ask for a mongoose on your muffin I'm betting they will happily do it for an extra fee.  I'm also making the assumption that you will be expected to have a Brazilian to get this service, unless they are going to just put some guiding lights down the sides of your runway strip, but it would take a very special Crystal Body Art Application Technician to agree to bling a full bush.

 I want a killer whale diving into mine!

Now that I know this service exists in the world, I need to know the particulars.  I'm becoming obsessed with Jennifer Love Hewitt's vagina.  I'm doing dishes and I think, "How do they apply her crystals?  Is she laying back, legs spread, drinking wine from a straw?  What is the name of her technician?  Does she call her by name?"  I'm folding towels and I think "How long do Jennifer Love Hewitt's vagina crystals stay on?  Do they start falling out of her clothes?  Does she scratch herself after peeing?"  I'm packing the kids' lunches and I think, "Does J Love's vagazzaling require special underwear?  Don't the crystals catch on most panties?"  I will be driving the kids to cello lessons and think "Is it like a pedicure, where they have to remove the old polish to put on the new?  How does she pick her design?  Does she do themes, like Abe Lincoln for President's Day, or Jesus for Easter?"   

Her vagina has become the siren call for all people with vaginas.  She is now setting the bar for caring for all of our Precious Ladies.  If your dealio is not encrusted with crystals, maybe you don't care so much.  Where is the love, ladies?  Where?

If you are vagazzaling your vajayjay, I want to hear about it.  Release me from my torment.  I need to know.

Because Proper Grooming Is Important

In an article that is sure to go viral, a few of my man-friends on Facebook have posted the following article and asked for input from the women:
Florida Driver Lacks Razor Sharp Focus 

As authorities nationwide warn motorists of the dangers of driving while texting, Florida Keys law enforcement officers add a new caution: Don't try to shave your privates, either.

Florida Highway Patrol troopers say a two-vehicle crash Tuesday at Mile Marker 21 on Cudjoe Key was caused by a 37-year-old woman driver who was shaving her bikini area while her ex-husband took the wheel from the passenger seat.

"She said she was meeting her boyfriend in Key West and wanted to be ready for the visit," Trooper Gary Dunick said. "If I wasn't there, I wouldn't have believed it. About 10 years ago I stopped a guy in the exact same spot ... who had three or four syringes sticking out of his arm. It was just surreal and I thought, 'Nothing will ever beat this.' Well, this takes it."

If that weren't enough, Megan Mariah Barnes was not supposed to be driving and her 1995 Ford Thunderbird was not supposed to be on the road.

The day before the wreck, Barnes was convicted in an Upper Keys court of DUI with a prior and driving with a suspended license, said Monroe County Assistant State Attorney Colleen Dunne. Barnes was ordered to impound her car, and her driver's license was revoked for five years, after which time she must have a Breathalyzer ignition interlock device on any vehicle she drives, Dunne said. Barnes also was sentenced to nine months' probation.

Barnes and Charles Judy were southbound in her Thunderbird at 11 a.m. when they slammed into the back of a 2006 Chevrolet pickup driven by David Schoff of Palm Bay. His passengers were a man and two women; the latter were treated for minor injuries at Lower Keys Medical Center, FHP spokesman Alex Annunziato said.

Schoff had slowed to about 5 mph to make a turn when the Thunderbird hit him, traveling about 45 mph, which was within the speed limit, Dunick said.  Barnes allegedly drove another half-mile, then switched seats with Judy, who allegedly claimed to be driving, Annunziato said.

Burns on Judy's chest from the passenger-side airbag deploying belied their story, Dunick said. The airbag in the steering wheel did not deploy, he said.  Troopers charged Barnes with driving with a revoked license, reckless driving, leaving the scene of a wreck with injuries and driving with no insurance. Judy was not charged.  Barnes faces a maximum of a year in jail if found guilty of violating her probation due to the wreck, Dunne said.

I understand the importance of a nicely trimmed hedge, as evidenced by this post:
The First Ever Whoreticulture Friday on...Bushwhackery!!! 

And I can also relate to feeling the need to multitask.  I may put on some lipstick while stopped at a stoplight.  I may take a drink of my Starbuck's skinny vanilla latte while driving.  But something I will NEVER, EVER do?  Hold my vagina hostage with a razorblade while doing 45 mph with my EX-HUSBAND at the wheel...from the PASSENGER SEAT. 

There are so many wrongs in this story that it very nearly makes a right.

I'm actually impressed that Miss Megan Mariah Barnes had the presence of mind to make the seat switch with her ex, because after this crash, I am guessing the boyfriend in Key West who was expecting some topiary is going to be tending to his own gardening for a while.
 
Let's recap:

1. Holds a blade to her netherparts...
2. While driving with a suspended license from a DUI...
3. With ex-husband driving the car...
4. (I mean 1995 Ford Thunderbird...)
5. While she preps her dealio for her Current Boyfriend (CB)...
6. Crashes the car into a truck...
7. And asks Ex-husband to take the rap.

Hmm.  This sounds oddly familiar.

Urban Dictionary, I give you the RIDE OR DIE DUMBASS EX.  Part of "But Wait There's More Monday", an extension of the March 5 Whoreticulture Friday.  Because some stories are too big for Friday alone.  As for my male friends on Facebook who want the women to spill the goods on their mobile bushwhacking?  I gave them this post:

"That's nothing. I've had a pap smear on I-80 in a construction zone driving an 18-wheeler. Get back to me when you have some real news."

 Ask and ye shall receive.  I am nothing if not a giver.  

It's Whoreticulture Friday!

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 hygeine mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word culture.

I'm taking a page from NPR's Science Friday - every other Friday will be Whoreticulture Friday, when I will report on the field of Whoreticulture. If you have any suggestions for topics in the study of whoreticultury, I welcome them.

Today's topic: Bushwhackery.

Watching television with my kids has become increasingly interesting. Not only are they getting older and better able to understand the commercials, the commercials are getting into our pants a lot more than they used to. I give you Viagra, Levitra, Mother Nature, and best of all, Schick and the topiary commercials.

IT IS IMPERATIVE THAT YOU CLICK THE TITLE "It's Whoreticulture Friday!" OF THIS POST TO TAKE YOU TO THE SCHICK "MOW THE LAWN" VIDEO. THEN HIT THE BACK BUTTON TO COME BACK TO THE BLOG. If you haven't seen this commercial, it will change your life. It did mine.

Did you click it? Are you nearly wetting your pants? Because if you are, you should really be doing some Kegel exercises. More on that later.

Never feel untidy-
Just spruce up your aphrodite!

I have to say that the first time I saw this commercial was on YouTube, and I think it is the British version. The version I see on TV is quite a bit more tame (pun intended!), and yet, my 10-year-old son somehow knows what they are talking about. It brings me back to an e-mail conversation between my high school friends years ago regarding personal hedge trimming.

A bunch of us got together for a weekend, and one of them is an OB-GYN. I could spend every single day with her at the office. Not because I want to look at anyone's treasure trove in stirrups, but because I want to stand in the hall and talk to her about every single patient she sees.

ME: "So, Doc, what was her deal?"
HER: "The usual, pap and pat, no issues."
ME: "Was she tattooed? Piercings? Look like she likes it rough?"
HER: "No, none of that. But she was trimmed in the shape of Florida."
ME: "Excellent."

Whenever we get together, we try to ply our OB friend with wine and get her to tell us stories, but she rarely does, probably because she is a good doctor who doesn't dish. She will occasionally give us educational stories, like "Be careful with the type of thong you wear, I had to lance a boil last week." We don't want names or gossip, we just want to know what kind of wacky shit goes on in those rooms.

For instance, once, when I had to go to Student Death in college because my monthly deal was so heavy I thought I was bleeding to death, the woman doctor finished up and said "Looks like endometriosis - is there anything else you want me to look for?" and I couldn't help myself, I had to say, "Yes, I lost a watch recently." I thought it was hilarious, but the doctor rolled her eyes, snapped off her latex gloves, said "check out at the desk" and walked out. These are the stories I need to hear.

Anyway, after a few glasses of wine, I asked my OB friend how people maintain themselves - does she see a lot of Brazilians? Strips? Shapes? Hairy Growler? She said she has seen it all, and to be careful if you're a shaver, she has put in stitches when someone cut their labia with a razor while shaving. (Taking a moment to shudder.)

After the weekend, we e-mailed each other about this topic. What do you do? We started talking about the different things we do, and stories we'd heard from friends. (Such as the gal whose friend got her starfish waxed - think about that for a second - but only once. Or the woman who decided to go Brazilian, and as soon as they got the wax on, she sat up and tried to leave because she freaked out, and said she would've run down the streets of Chicago with no pants and a big patch of wax on her taco.)

So as we're talking, one friend who wasn't with us that weekend sent a panicky e-mail that said, "GIRLS! What is this!? Does everyone do some sort of trimming, because I never have! Are all of my high school boyfriends talking about my huge bush!?!" So we all e-mail her what we do to reassure her that yes, they are all talking about her.

In the middle of our e-mail frenzy, she sends out another e-mail with the subject "STOP" and reads, "Hello. Please stop e-mailing me about this. I will explain later." It turns out that the guys in IT sent her an e-mail reminding her about the No Personal E-mails Policy at her job. At the time, she was a VP of a large department at a national corporation. Shortly thereafter, her boss sent her an e-mail saying, "The IT department has informed me that you are sending and receiving a large number of personal e-mails, and that you should re-acquiant yourself with the personal e-mail policy."

Oh yeah. The IT department guys, likely all crowded around one computer in the dark IT room, now knew she was sporting a hairy growler, and had possibly enlightened her boss. However, they waited until she had received over 25 e-mails describing every possible way Aphrodite could be styled.

Well played, IT guys. Well played.

Happy Whoreticulture Friday, and have a great weekend!