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Tuesday, June 14, 2016

MY BRAIN, MY HEART, MY GUT AND MY VAG.


Every time I'm faced with man issues, there's always this little voice inside of me. And then another. And another. And another. The only one that made sense was the one insisting that I eat more fried chicken.

 

These voices came from four highly opinionated body parts: my brain, my gut, my heart and my vag.

 

These crazy bitches bark orders and advice at me incessantly, often at the same time. They are all saying something different, and sometimes I’m not sure who’s saying what. It can be quite maddening.

 

“Go out with him again, he’s hot and funny!” Wait… is that my brain talking… or my vag? I really want to go out with him again, so maybe it’s my gut. My heart jumps whenever he calls… so maybe it’s my heart talking. Shit, I don’t know.

 

Let me introduce you to the players:

 

MY BRAIN

 

In a nutshell, my brain is a workaholic. She overthinks, overanalyzes, and considers then reconsiders every possible angle of every situation.

 

I’m a cerebral chick, I know that. I always want to make the right decision but never know what it is, so I think and think and think until my eyeballs bleed. And then if I ever do make a decision, I’m never sure if it’s the best one, so I think and rethink some more.

 

I implore you, lobotomize her immediately and put her out of her misery.

 

MY HEART

 

Ah, my heart. She is… damaged. The wear and tear on this item should qualify me for a newer model, but sadly, we’re only allotted one per lifetime.

 

Sometimes she’s afraid to speak up, largely because my brain often tells her what an idiot she’s been in the past. Nevertheless, when she does speak, she speaks volumes.

 

Folks often say, “Follow your heart.” And despite all the risks this might involve, somehow, I still want to believe it. And it’s why I gave my ex-boyfriends a lot of second chances.

 

MY VAG

 

This little bitch always gets me into trouble. When she gets lonely, there’s no telling what she’ll do. I think it’s fairly common knowledge that the best decisions are not made by your hoo-ha — but she’s crafty.

 

She talks to the other organs while I’m not looking to try and sway them over to her side. She’s very charismatic and persuasive — much like Jim Jones, or Dakota Fanning.

 

She’s also a master ventriloquist. She’ll say something and I’ll swear it’s my brain talking. Gotta keep an eye on this one. When she doesn’t behave, I’ll sometimes threaten another Brazilian wax, but she remains undeterred.

 

MY GUT

 

When people tell me, “Trust your gut, it’s never wrong,” I want to kick them in the nards. It sounds like sound advice on the surface, but not when your gut has multiple personality disorder.

 

One day, my gut says, “Fuck him off! You don’t have anything in common and it’s just wrong!” The next day, she says, “Don’t dismiss it so fast! You have a great connection and he’s an amazing guy!”

 

Very rarely do I experience an overwhelming “gut instinct.” Sometimes I think I do — but it changes by the hour. How can I trust my gut when she’s so damn wishy washy?

 

I have always envied people who can make a decision on the spot and never look back. Perhaps their brain, heart, gut and vag all get along and make a team decision. Or maybe one of them is the captain and always calls the shots.

 

But mine just can’t seem to get their shit together. I’ve got the Bad News Bears playing inside of me and we lose every time.

 

The Scarecrow, the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion and Dorothy searched all of Oz for these four items. (In the original version, Dorothy asked the Wizard for a vag. That’s why she’s so popular with the gays.)

 

I want to tell them that these organs really aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. In fact, they can have mine — I’ve had enough.

 

From now on, I’m leaving all my decisions up to my buttocks.

Dick Pics


And so it happened...I was asked to blog about men sending us dick pics. Here's the first draft...

 

Hey guys, what’s up? Your penis. Right. Very funny. And original, I might add. And speaking of unoriginal matters involving Mr. Winky, I’ve got a question for you: What’s up with the dick pics?

 

Over the past couple of years as a single blogger, I’ve talked to many ladies about many dating issues. And I have learned that a sizeable number of women have at least once fallen victim to the unwelcome cock shot. It might appear in a text, an e-mail or just hanging out on an online dating site. In fact, in her hilarious memoir, Jenny Lawson reported that as an HR manager she’d catch a different employee e-mailing his junk at least once a quarter. That’s a lot of peen to screen.

 

And of course, it leaves us women asking one question:

 

WHY???

 

Is “Looking forward to meeting you” code for “Send a portrait of your Johnson”? Are you afraid I won’t recognise it in person? Are you running for Parliament?

 

Now, I’m not talking about the online exhibitionists who get their jollies exposing themselves, hoping for a shocked reaction. I’m talking about guys who are actually trying to score with us.

 

After musing on it a bit, I’ve come up with the only plausible explanation for this odd behaviour: You think it turns us on because it turns YOU on.

 

Please guys, use your brain. The other one. WOMEN ARE NOT MEN. We know you dudes would love nothing more than to receive copious photos of our beautiful lady junk. You like porn. We get it.

 

But let me make one thing clear: seeing a digitised image of your dork does about as much for me sexually as watching my neighbour's cat vomit and then eat it.

 

There is no circumstance in which I need to see a photograph of your wang. Not even if we’re just fuck buddies. Not even if it has won some sort of penis pageant. Not even if it bears an uncanny resemblance to Meryl Streep. I don’t need to see if it’s big enough or pretty enough or circumcised enough – I’d honestly rather wait for the unveiling in person. In fact, I kind of like the suspense.

 

Let’s say I meet a guy on Tinder and he texts me a visage of his one-eyed wonder worm. Here’s what will happen: First, I exclaim, “Ew.” Second, I consult my friends immediately and we analyse the shit out of it. This is what our conversation might sound like:

 

Me: Sweet Jesus. This guy just sent me a picture of his dong. Look!

 

Girlfriend: Whoa. What a weirdo. Why would he do that?

 

Me: Shit if I know.

 

Girlfriend: Did you send a boob pic? Did you ASK for it?

 

Me: No and HELL, no.

 

Girlfriend: Ewww, look at it, it’s all veiny. And the head is, like, freakishly bigger than the shaft.

 

Me: Ha! That’s so bizarre! And he didn’t even bother to manscape. It’s like his weiner has an afro.

 

Girlfriend: And check out the shag carpet in his bedroom. That’s just bad taste. Wait a second, what is THAT?

 

Me: What is what?

 

Girlfriend: That little dot right there.

 

Me: Oh, yeah… Maybe it’s something on my screen. [Wipes screen.] Nope, still there. Perhaps a freckle?

 

Girlfriend: Perhaps a genital wart?

 

Me: Omigod. You think?

 

Girlfriend: You never know. I saw some wart pics online that looked like cauliflower. Do you want cauliflower growing out of your junk? Girl, you need to lose this dude. He’s obviously a major perv who may or may not have genital warts.

 

Me: Agree. Delete. Wait… let’s show Sharon and Heather and Jamie first.

Incidentally, a conversation with my gay bf would go something like this:

 

Me: Sweet Jesus. This guy just sent me a picture of his dong. Look!

 

Gay bf: Seriously? Could you forward it to me?

 

Is this what you want, fellas? To be the subject of ridicule amongst our girlfriends or the subject of masturbation amongst our gay bfs? I thought not.

 

Trust me, we’re not nearly as obsessed with your manhood as you are. I mean, sure, we love it when we’re in the throes of passion and think of it fondly if it’s given us pleasure in the past. But I don’t need a picture of it. Ever. And if the two of us have not yet met or are just beginning to date, an Instagrammed version of it will not make me want to instantly bang your brains out. This I promise.

 

So for the love of God, put your camera down and your penis away. And please, tell your friends. Make this go viral. Spread the word, my darlings, spread it like genital warts.

 

Love,

Women