Those Adorably Incestuous Pals of Mine

Let me just say (once again) that if you don't want to see stuff that you cannot deal with, you should probably not visit my page or read my blogs. I am not changing my blogs to accommodate your consciences. You're not changing your behavior to accommodate society's opinions.

If you cannot find the humor in the fucked up, pull the trigger, swallow the pills, slit the wrist. Don't come down on me for your shit.

If you cannot READ when a tag says "humor", dial 1-800-ABCDEFG. You are a soup sandwich.

Additionally, if you are also one of the people who want to "advise" me to "let it go" you may also want to advise the people that I am poking fun at to stop being insanely moronic.

If that is the case and that is your mission, start with the Bible y'all claim to follow. Those 10 Commandment thingies? Yeah. Not merely a suggestion. (I told you people not to follow that organized religion nonsense!)

You just can't fuck thy neighbor's wife and call me the asshole for shaking my finger at you while you claim to be a devout Catholic/Christian/Whatever. Do I look like futher mucking Moses to you?

Look, if people are fine with acting a fool in public, they must expect that people will have opinions on it. You. Me. Everyone. Deal with it or keep that shit behind closed doors where intelligent losers keep their lying and cheating.

Let this be the notice, I will not bring up the old and rehash shit from long ago, but if people continue to wear their stupidity like a badge of honor and flaunt that shit in people's faces as new and exciting events, I'm going to make fun of it. So what?

If you are one of the chicken-shit-futher-muckers who must hide behind an anonymous comment to tell me to "let it go", then I will assume you are either just an idiot, a coward, or are someone who engages in the act that you would like me to not make fun of. Possibly a combination of all of the above.

Let what go? Something of many things reported in 2 sentences during a weekend re-cap? 2 sentences in a paragraph in a section about modern dating?

Although it wasn't in the movie, if the person you are "dating" has a spouse, things are also not looking very optimistic for you regarding the likelihood of a "serious relationship". If you have not learned that after say 3 years (as a completely random example) of fucking the married person, you are dumber than soup and deserve to be pointed and laughed at.

*yawns*

That's hardly a rant, people. I've had farts last longer than that statement.

Here's the deal, a fair number of you are either fucking married people, have fucked married people or are married and fucking other married and/or single people. If you think that I am the asshole, you are dumber than soup and should be trampled by goats.

In some places, the method of punishment for adultery is stoning to death. I made a comment about it in a blog. Put things into perspective, people. I made a joke of your adultery. You are making a joke out of your marriages. I win.

If you think that I am the only person who thinks you people suck, you're wrong. I'm just the one who doesn't say it behind your back.

May all of your garbage dicks fall off and your rotten vajayjays be eaten by maggots.

And yes, if it even crosses your mind for a second that I may be talking about you, I probably am.

*smirks*

Weekend Re-cap

1. Every "single" person who is looking to "date" or for a "serious relationship" and who cannot fathom the idea of possibly not being in a "relationship" should watch "How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days" for starters. (Other stuff like common sense may be a little over some heads, so pretty actors and actresses may help.) This applies to males and females.

Hint 1: Stalking and/or calling the person repeatedly will almost never endear you to the person whose affection you seek. If it does, RUN!

Hint 2: Although it wasn't in the movie, if the person you are "dating" has a spouse, things are also not looking very optimistic for you regarding the likelihood of a "serious relationship". If you have not learned that after say 3 years (as a completely random example) of fucking the married person, you are dumber than soup and deserve to be pointed and laughed at.

2. Men who come to the Costume/Anniversary party of your gay friends, dressed as a woman and act gayer than the gay hosts, are likely gay. No matter how many times they insist that they "like the vajayjay". They do...to shop with; not to have sex with. When all of your gay friends also doubt that said man "likes the vajajay", believe them...then go shopping.

Hint: If talking to alleged "straight" man suddenly makes Rupaul, Boy George, Elton John, and George Michael seem butch, your man likes the penis. Deal with it. Go shopping?

3. Thongs on men with pimples on their asses is just wrong. Taking pictures of it and making a game of it was funny until the 3rd pimpled, hairy ass.

*shivers*

Hint1: If you do not know the state of your ass, spare the world the photographic evidence that you lack manscaping skills and a gym membership.

Hint 2: Pictures that make women throw up on their keyboards are not particularly adorable.

Hint 3: At our age, it really has become more important that you provide us pictorial evidence that you are capable of an erection and lacking of a wookie bush. Spare us the ass pimples and ingrown ass hairs. Shave that shit or cover it up. Mmmmmkay pumpkins?

Hint 4: If your stomach is larger than your chest, no thong. Period.

Hint 5: If your stomach is larger than your penis, cry...then hit on that one chick who is dating the married dude. She's not at all particular.

4. If you are a waitress at a lake-side cafe on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, learn your job and the menu. Getting snippy with 4 chicks who just rode in the heat with head-winds and like a gazillion grasshoppers and crickets jumping at them are possibly exhausted and little freaked out. (Have you EVER seen so many effing jumping grasshoppers outside of a Hitchcock film?!?!?) Seriously. Your cafe is on a bike trail and the water is 20 steps away.

Hint 1: Telling us that we may have to "wait a while for our refills" is the wrong answer. You have 5 tables. You are in the service industry. We have all done your job. SERVE. You are not salary or union.

Hint 2: Working in a bar and rolling your eyes while claiming to not know the drink list because you usually "work weekdays" is a quick way to get your average looking, snotty ass back on the less-profitable weekday lunch shift. Get happy. Be nice. Wear mascara and a friggin' smile.

Hint 3: Sneering is not the same as smiling. Practice it.

5. Feet. Hmmmm...

Hint 1: That black stuff in the corner of your big toe nail? Yeah. It's supposed to be removed. Get on it.

Hint 2: If you have black stuff in the corner of your big toe nail, either A) you need to clip those futher muckers or B) you have stepped in poo. Either way, take care of it.

Hint 3: Bare feet on the inside windshield is effing gross. We don't want to see that shit. If your feet are so spectacular, get a dazzling pair of Blahniks and prove it. Putting those clammy, sweaty things on the glass is not only disgusting and redneck (despite the Lexus), but it is really rude to the owner/driver of the car...unless it is "that one dude", but then you'd be driving, now wouldn't you?

*snickers*

An Open Letter

I knew I had been neglecting you.

When I saw you there today, I don't know why, but I had to have you. My mind was suddenly frenzied at the thought of not having you.

I could not help but run my fingers over your hardness. Climbing on top of you, I felt control as the heat rose up in me.

My god, you are beautiful!

As I lowered my self on top of you and felt you slide between my legs, I felt the slow smile creep across my face.

This, I thought, is happiness.

Feeling you hard between my legs, my ass pressed down tight on you as I pumped away.

I could feel my heart rate speeding up.

I closed my eyes and listed to the sound of you beneath me.

Listened to my breath.

Listened to the sound of the gardeners cutting the grass outside the window. The smell of it mixing with sweat and heat.

It was delicious!

I felt myself getting wetter and wetter. Sweat dripping from my head. Heat soaking my breasts. Heat rising from between my legs. I am swollen and raw. I am loving it.

I grab hold of you and thrust myself forward. My body falling forward as I pump harder and faster.

Yes! This is freedom! This hot! This happiness!

I want to stop, but I can't.

Harder. Harder. Harder.

Every ounce of me is wet and dripping.

My fingers dig into you and I am lost.

Smiling. Breathing that hot, smirky, satisfied grin of a slutty heathen who has just gotten her way.

I am spent.

I collapse on you and slowly slide off you.

Legs quivering and dripping in sweat and happiness.

I am filled.

I wipe you off, letting my fingers linger for a moment.

You have never let me down. You are always there when I need my fix.

I will love you always, my sweet Dolce.

My beautiful bicycle.

She's Just NOT That Into You

Raquel and I were at one of our favorite wine spots last night.

We had some time before other members of our party joined us, so we discussed business and life all the while sipping a bit less than slowly.

Needless to say, by the time that our various parties had come and gone and we were seated with two male acquaintances, we were more than giddy and relaxed.

Having talked sex and relationships all night, this poor guy knew not what he was walking into by joining in.

The topic had turned to blow jobs. And where Raquel and I were discussing our various opinions and how common it is that women just don't do it, Glen adds that he feels no need to perform cunnilingus on a chick if she's not going to blow him.

(Awwwww, right at this point you can tell just how precious I think Glen is, yes?)

"So Glen what you're saying is that you inflict revenge on your sex partner in the form of withholding if you don't get what you want? Isn't that a bit of a temper tantrum?"

He is already defensive because I apparently said something that made him feel fat while discussing a former runner now huge alcoholic who clearly has some liver damage in that swollen gut of his. Glen looks nothing like that dude, but in his mind I guess he does. He mentioned that he was a "performance athlete" no less than 5 times.

I feel that that is much like with "that one brand of Christians"...if you have to say it a bunch out loud to people, it probably isn't true.

Eh-hem.

So Glen wants to defend his sexual tantrum and says, "No. I mean when you've had sex with the girl like 7 or 8 times and she won't blow you, that's just wrong."

I responded with, "She probably was just not that into you."

He blinks.

I know he is wondering if I really just said that out loud.

I did.

I can see the wounded look on his less-than-precious face and I continue.

"Glen, that doesn't mean that there's anything wrong with you. It just means that maybe that one girl wasn't as into you as you were into her."

He says, "I mean we were dating for a few weeks. It's not like I was in love with her."

"Right. And maybe she reserves blow jobs for when she is more comfortable with someone."

He looks at me like that is just the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard. All I can think is how the conversation with the girl regarding the lack of blow jobs may have gone with Glen.

I shiver.

"Glen, the thing is that when a chick is into you and wants a deep intimate relationship with you, she will do the things that make you happy. If she doesn't, she just isn't that into you..."

"Great. So first you make me feel fat and now I am unwanted. Thanks." He pouts.

"Glen, it's ONE girl. Who cares if ONE girl isn't into you? You said you weren't in love with her. And I didn't make you feel fat. I wasn't even talking about you and you don't look like that dude."

Jeezus! And guys say that us chicks are difficult?!?!

Fucking whiner.

I don't like blow jobs. In general, I don't do them. In general, I'm just not into that many dudes enough to sleep with them, let alone blow them.

However when you are into someone...really into someone, you do things that will bring them pleasure. You learn what they like. You don't revenge fuck them and punish them for what they are not doing to you. Where the hell is the communication?

...and honestly, Glen is no prize. He is a man who NEEDS to learn and DO what a woman wants in the sack. He needs to put her cookie in his mouth if not just to shut him up.

Ughhh...

I didn't even want to address the wookie bush topic with him. I thought he might cry.

In the end, Raquel and I left Mr. Weepy-Purple-Stained-Teeth-No-Blow-Job to cry into his vino as we giggled our way to the car discussing our fondness for vibrators and how they don't talk.

Shut Up and Drive

Back in the day when I decided to throw myself back into the dating pool, I was pretty naive about what to expect. I was 23. I was in Ft. Lauderdale. I was terrified.

It had been 3 years since I had dated someone and I was ready. So I thought.

I was a mommy. I had a good job. I was lonely.

A girl in my department whom I had become friendly with, Alexa, suggested we hit the clubs.

Since I loved to dance, I agreed.

On one of these nights when we hit our favorite spot we run into a group of guys, some of whom she knows.

A rather good looking Val Kilmer-type starts chatting with me.

(You should know that I had an obnoxiously ridiculous crush on Val Kilmer at the time.)

At the end of the night, Val asks for my number. I give it to him. Hey, Alexa knows him and he is hot. I feel safe.

Val calls. We schedule a date. We go on a date. We go back to his place. We watch a movie. We make out. (Yes, I am like 12 in my head.) I go home.

He called me and asked me out again.

I must admit, I scratched my head.

Seriously?

B-b-b-b-b-but I hadn't slept with him!

Why does he want to go out with me again?

I can't do that twice!

I can't get dressed up to go out with a boy twice!

I do.

We have fun.

He asks me out again.

I am starting to like him.

We go out the third time and go back to his place.

The fooling around gets a bit heated.

We are on his couch.

Things are coming off.

Places are getting wet.

Hey! I remember this!

Val strips down and exposed a pretty spectacular body and stands in front of me.

He lays me down on the couch and kisses me from head to toes.

There he stops.

He takes my French pedicured tootsies and places each toe delicately in his mouth...

If you know me, you can imagine the raised eyebrow look on my face. Mouth slightly agape in pure curiosity and stupefaction at this point.

It feels a little slimy.

I think to myself, "What the hell has been going on with sex in the past few years? Have I been asleep?"

Yeah. I had been.

He is licking and sucking my toes and starts stroking himself at the same time.

Here is where my having a poker face would have come in handy. However, I would not perfect that until some 8 years later...

He lowers my foot to his cock and starts massaging my foot with it.

OK, I know he wasn't really massaging my foot, but I was in my happy place. It was my preferred thought.

Then he speaks...

His voice husky and panting...

"Cor, I want you to drive me."

"Ummmm...huh?" My voice is far from husky or sexy at that point. I'm a little freaked out. Unfortunately, this makes my voice sound tiny and sweet. Dammit!

He comes forward and whispers in my ear. His hot breath making my skin tingle and my nipples rise.

"I want you to drive me...." he whispers.

What the fuck does that MEAN?!?!?

I search through my head for slang sex terms. I never heard that one. Crap! I don't even know what "69" is at this point. FUCK! What does he mean?!?!

I fake confidence and whisper back in what I think is a coy manner, "I'll do what you want, but I want you to show me exactly what you want."

Yeah, I think. That sounded good. That sounded convincing.

He smiles. Had I not been so full of myself at that exact moment, I may have taken notice to how creepy he looked just then.

He slides down me and kneels at my feet on the couch.

He takes my foot and puts it back on his cock.

My eyes don't leave his face. His eyes stare at my foot and his cock. I am watching him watch my foot and his dick. Fascinating.

He looks at me and says, "Drive".

I start to speak and he cuts me off.

"Drive my dick like you would drive a car."

Crap! I have a stick shift!

Is he thinking with my hands or feet?

Do I use his dick like a shifter?

Or do I use it like the pedals?

Is one ball the clutch and the other the brake?

Does he realize how hard New Yorkers ride the brake?

Will that hurt?

"Cor, use your feet and drive my cock," he says a bit more forcefully.

I do not know whether to laugh, cry or get up and run.

I start using his dick as my accelerator.

"Make the sounds, Cor..."

Is he fucking serious?

I make car sounds while playing with my son! I cannot make those sounds while driving some freak's dick! Who does this?!?!

He starts making the sounds. I start making a game of it and shift my imaginary shifter and steer my imaginary steering wheel.

"Make the sounds, Cor."

"Val, I can't make those sounds."

He grinds my foot into his cock, "Drive!"

I feel that I should explain. (Of course I should not explain, but I am young and stupid and still in my cute "aiming to please" phase in life.)

"Cory!" He cuts me off.

"Y-y-y-yes...?" I stutter.

"Shut up and DRIVE!" he growls. "I'm about to cum!"

He does. All over my pretty toes.

Yuck!

I snap.

I use the brake at just that moment.

"SCREEEEECH!....CRASSSSHHHHHHH!"

I get up.

He looks at me with his lip out.

What is he, 2?

I walk out and finish putting on my stuff in the hallway.

I walk a few blocks to the beach and soak my feet.

I find a taxi, get in and give my address.

I look like a wreck.

This should be no new thing for a cab driver in South Florida.

He starts talking to me in Spanish. I think he assumes that I am Latin.

I am too tired to attempt to figure out what he is saying, so I just mumble, "Shut up and drive."

I find this funny after a moment.

I start giggling uncontrollably.

The cab driver is looking at me in the mirror like I have lost my mind.

I had never been so happy to not drive in my life.

The Lazy Indifference of a Would-Be Stalker

I have been pondering lately whether I am lazy or just completely indifferent to certain things.

I guess the fact that I am now writing about it may point to a lack of laziness, but truth be known, I am sitting on my keister as I type this. (Though I am told that that is quite common and in most cases, preferred.)

I mean, who types in Tree Pose or Downward Facing Dog? (That would be a real bitch to accomplish.) I'm just saying. What? It would.

Anyway, back to my original point. I often do not know the changes that my friends have made to their MySpace pages. I often do not know which friends they have on their friend list. I often do not know if someone has replied to a comment I have left on a blog. I often don't read pages of people I see or who friend request me. I read their emails and that's pretty much it. Sometimes I look at their pics. Sometimes I "steal" their pics if we were all at the same event. (I seem to have gotten lazy about taking pictures. And honestly there are usually 5 cameras at any given event. Who needs another?)

Mostly my curiosity on the topic of lazy v. indifference is specific to men and dating.

*yawns*

Here's how it started...or at least how I started to figure it out...

A friend is moving from Hotlanta to Chicago. I love Chicago. It is pretty close to me and I go there quarterly. It is as close to my hometown of NYC that I can get at the moment. It's a bit like "NYC Lite". So of course I was excited by having another excuse to go up there. Something was mentioned about the yummy males of the city and I made a joke by saying, "...Ughhhh...I LOVE Chicago men! I can't wait until you move there so that I have another reason to stalk...errrr...I mean visit them..."

Then it hit me.

Dammit. I wish I had the energy to stalk. Or the interest.

I tried to think back to a time that any person had held my attention enough for me to want to find out anything about them.

I searched my mind...

I looked at my Google history...

(This gets scary...)

...Longview Farm Park...

...images for "manginas"...

...Sarah Silverman...

...800 pound gorilla...

...Alessandra Ambrosio...

...area code 208...

You get the point, yes?

Very sad.

Why do I not care enough to stalk?

I think men are hot.

I think they are sexy.

Why do I yawn about it more than not?

I met a nice guy on Saturday. We exchanged numbers. He called me 4 times in 6 hours. I have put zero effort into pursuing that. I don't know why. He is cute. He has a dog, a bike, and a kayak. He has his dog's pic on his phone. This makes me happy. He photographs well. Yet, I yawn, stretch and do nothing.

Am I really this bored by people?

A cute guy who is a friend of a friend sent me a friend request. He is balanced and sweet and lives in Colorado and rides a bike.

*yawns*

I am not actually yawning at him. Those things actually all appeal to me. Yet I have made zero effort in communicating with him.

Zero.

I know I am shy around the opposite sex sometimes, but come on. Gimme a friggin' break.

I literally almost never flirt anymore and actually come across a guy that I am attracted to in person very rarely. So far this year I have been physically attracted to TWO (yes the number 2) males who were non-celebrities.

One of those physical attractions got quickly watered down and flat out extinguished by the fact that the dude drove a red Porsche Boxster (yuck) and fucked a friend (now former-friend) of mine.

The other was the guy I met Saturday.

When I consider it, I realize it really wasn't a physical attraction. It was more rounded. I've gone back and looked at the photo he took of us. He's cute. The bike, dog, and kayak made him smokin'. Much like when a hot guy opens his mouth and is a complete assclown and is rendered immediately "un-hot", this guy was made hot by the other factors.

Be that as it may, I still have done nothing. Nothing.

Have I been brainwashed by Greg Behrendt?

Or am I a fan of Greg Behrendt because his philosophy has long been mine?

I just do not pursue men.

Period.

I rarely get giggly.

I assume that if the dude likes me, he'll let me know.

Women who stalk men are oft called psychos, bunny-boilers and loons, yet is there something wrong with me for having no inclination to stalk?

Why am I so disinterested in these men?

I explored whether it is possible I switched teams and no, I have not. (Much to the displeasure of my aunt who was hoping that I too would put on the Beaver Liquors team jersey.)

Nope.

Am I just bored of the game?

Fed up and discouraged by the ridiculousness of it all?

What does that mean?

Why do they all seem so very similar?

Are they?

Are these not the same men that I was once attracted to?

Does it mean that I have decided that I don't like them or that I simply could care less?

I want to be attracted to a man to the point where my stomach turns and I feel nauseous.

Instead, I feel nothing.

Not even a slight rumbling of gas.

I want to blush and sweat and giggle.

I want to be nervous.

I want to get goose-bumps.

Not that I want to be Kim Nowak and slap on some diapers and drive cross country for some dude who is just not into me, but I would love to feel passionately about maybe going to dinner and having a glass of wine perhaps.

The Magical Bunny Ears

More than 4 years ago, I bought a pair of bunny ears for my littlest.

They were purchased so that pictures for Easter that I will later torture her with could be taken.

Recently and for no explainable reason, she has rediscovered these ears.

They are magical ears in her mind.

One night last month she came out of her bedroom wearing her hot pink snow cap. In her hands she held the bunny ears.

To see her in the 90+ degree weather wearing a snow cap...in the house...late at night was funny enough. Of course I felt inclined to ask her about the cap. She looked at me serenely, smiled, said nothing, and slipped those bunny ears on top of the snow cap.

How could one not laugh?

She went about playing as if this were the most normal thing ever. Doesn't everyone wear snow caps and bunny ears while walking around the house in September?

I quickly dismissed images of her walking around later in life pushing a shopping cart and talking to herself about horses and the color purple.

Over the past month, the bunny ears have become a nightly thing. No snow cap. That now serves as a baby basket for her smallest ponies and horses.

Late at night, right before bed time, those magical bunny ears come out.

Here's where the magic kicks in...

She is calm and serene until she puts them on.

Suddenly, on with the ears, out with the sanity.

She then runs around the house tormenting her brother as a fit of squeals and screams erupt from her as she hides behind pieces of furniture, hoping to avoid his view.

She is much like a cat in her hiding. Sometimes we see nothing but the ears.

Most of the time she just cracks herself up and doesn't care if we join in or not.

I think because we looked at her in a stupor when she first starting doing this and then cracked up as she went nuts, she thinks that it's OK to go wild as long as she has those ears on.

The other day she realized that there are "sticks" in the ears which make them stay up.

She said, "Momma, can I get real bunny ears?"

"Real bunny ears?"

"Yeah. These have sticks in them."

"So you want me to find a bunny and take its ears?"

"Yeah", she said with an excited smile as if I could run right out and do that. I secretly wonder if she has recently seen 'Dances With Wolves' or some such horror flick.

"S, don't you think it will hurt the bunny if we take his ears?"

"No."

"Would it hurt you if someone came and took your ears?"

She thinks for a moment. She sighs deeply. "Yesssssssss."

"So if it hurts you, don't you think it would hurt the bunny?"

Her baby lip comes out. Her eyes do that weepy thing. "I don't want to hurt the bunnies!"

She looks down at her bunny ears. "These are better."

"They are?"

"Yeah. If we cut off the bunny ears there would be blood on them. That's gross!"

"Yeah, hon. It really is."

She slides the bunny ears back on her head.

"Mama?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Can I get a horsey?"

I raise my eyebrow at her and she bursts into a fit of giggles and starts running around like an ADHD kid with a crack-and-Mountain Dew milkshake.

Last night as we were getting ready for bed she noticed that I was a little down. (I had found out earlier that a family member had passed away and was finally absorbing and processing that little bit of information.) She asked me what was wrong and I told her. She takes my hand and leads me to her bedroom. She tells me to close my eyes. I do, as she turns on the light.

There, next to her bed is her 3 ft. horse that is sound and motion activated. It is wearing the bunny ears. Upon seeing this, she bursts into another fit of giggles and the horse's head turns our way. She falls on the floor spazzing and giggling hysterically.

How can I compete with that?

I broke into hysterical giggles too and let her tell me about how funny what just happened was.

Some days are like that.

Wookie Pits

OK, so I started to write a piece on females with hairy armpits, after a pre-dinner discussion I had last night. Little did I know (but quickly discovered) that there is a whole underworld of armpit hair fetish out there!

Whooda thunk it?

I was just going to find a pic for the story and "POOOOOF!" there's all this armpit hair fetish nonsense.

I cracked up.

The women that I know who do not shave their pits (or legs...or bush) sure as shit don't do it for fetish purposes. They are against the ridiculous marketing in American culture that insisted that visible hair on women was not only unsightly, but a curse. There was even a 1982 article from the Journal of American Culture by Christine Hope titled "Caucasian Female Body Hair and American Culture." Since it was males making these claims and males seemed to rule everything at the time of the original female shaving movement (1915), these modern women went against the grain and stopped shaving.

It had become something that was specifically attached to male attraction, so they tossed it out the window.

And they were grounded in their reasoning...yet that was here in America. In many other cultures around the world, women do not shave. And in some cultures it is just downright sexy for a woman to be hairy.

hmmmm...

Now, that would never work for me personally, because I don't like hairy people. Male or female. Then again, I had a crush on Mr. Clean when I was 4, so there's that...

I don't think pit hair is sexy. I do not think armpit hair, regardless of gender, belongs in pictures or marketing pieces and wish to dog that dudes would shave their friggin' pits too. They're effing stinky or clumped with balls of antiperspirant/deodorant.

YUCK!

So in looking this all up, I even came across some people who are outraged by those who shave or like shaved "stuff". Apparently, according to one dip shit, we are "no better than pedophiles".

*GASP!*

Now seriously, I won't rail on someone who doesn't shave, so long as I don't have to fuck it and it isn't serving my food (which is what came up during the pre-dinner discussion). But I think it's a bit out there to say that those who shave their hoo-has are no better than pedophiles.

Seriously, have you ever been in the middle of receiving some mind-blowing cunnilingus and about to climax and have your partner stop to remove a pube from their mouth? Yeah. That can suck and truly fuck up the flow.

*snickers*

Let me say that a family member of mine has embraced this not shaving thing. YEARS ago. She loves to taunt me with her hairy pits and legs, but she doesn't wave that shit over my food.

When I left my husband, I got rid of the bimmer, got a Jeep, chopped off my hair and started climbing again. My friends were worried. I said, "If I stop shaving my pits and get like 27 cats, be worried."

This is the deal; a man can't serve food wearing a tank top because of those pit hairs, so why should a chick be able to? She is allowed to wear a tank because it is assumed that chicks shave their pits. Now, having worked there for a while, you KNOW that management knows that she is a non-shaver. Why can they not discuss this covering of the pit hair issue with her?

Now mind you, this place doesn't require that the employees wear hair nets or anything, but I would be far more grossed out by a pit hair in my hummus than a scalp hair. (Though for the record, both are gross.)

We are all different. Some of us shave and some of us do not, but life is not an Arrid Extra Dry® commercial. Put your frickin' arms down already!