Portable, disposable penises - Yes, please!

I was shopping at an outdoors'y store the other day (looking for a fanny pack, as ya do) and nestled right between the travel eye masks and the reading lights, I found unexpected gold.

I remember a while ago finding a similar contraption to this, but they are bigger and kind of remind me of the stainless steel ice scoopers that I used during my bartending days -- not exactly something you'd want to carry around in your over-sized purse unless it really is the ice scooper that you're stealing from the bar. Amirite?

They do have a very nice website, though.
http://www.go-girl.com/

Anyhow, my initial reaction to these products are always giggley and immature. I mean, the function of them is quite silly, BUT then my ever-existing phobia of public toilets kicks in, and I think it's an amazing concept. The further away my ass can be from where some other stranger's dirty ass has been, the fucking better!

I know I'm a bit of a different beat when it comes to my toilet logic, because it's not "germs" per se that make me squirmy (I actually don't give a crap about germs), it's the human filth; even my own filth. Anyone in public health has my utter respect, because I just can't go there. Ever. This is another reason why the "GoGirl" and other reusable devices like the Diva Cup are things I have a hard time with, even though I know they're better for the environment as well as my body . . . blardy bargh blar. And let's face it, not everywhere has a working sink or clean water, so the thought of not being able to properly clean off said reusable device terrifies me beyond anything that could gross me out from the old fashioned alternative.

That's yet another reason why this "new" disposable (yet biodegradable, so that's at least something) product tweaked my interest. Perhaps some day soon, when I can actually SEE my vagina again, I might entertain the idea of trying out one of these little P-Mates -- on a plane comes to mind for sure, because BARF-GAG-WRETCH.

So what?! We still cannot know what it's like to jerk ourselves off just yet, but this is a good start in the right direction to conquering penis envy, for sure.

Somethings are priceless, apparently.

I recently had a one on one consultation-slash-tutorial to pass on some of my social media and other various interweb skills. I had been referred to this older gentlemen by a past colleague (thanks, by the way) and at $100/hr, I couldn't refuse.

I'm sure this is how the first prostitute began as well, probably.

After being led down to what could best be described as THE BASEMENT OF DEATH, he revealed a tiny (very, very tiny) corner that had been carved out from the mountains of boxes and clutter . . . and saws and other electric tools that could have cut through a human body like butter.

I knew from the moment he first opened the door that he was harmless, but considering a guy I went to high school with was just murdered by someone he met off Kijiji, I couldn't help but get crazy, awful thoughts racing through my mind.

Stranger, danger and all that.

Anyway, once we got settled in the claustrophobic work space, he began walking me through his dozens upon dozens of dusty "get rich on the internet" schemes, binders, videos and products that he had bought into, and it exhausted me.

He was full of quotable quotes and deep thought observations which I'm sure I've seen all of them assaulting my Facebook feed at one time or another . . . in Papyrus font and pasted on top of filtered sunset photos, of course.

Then he hit me with the golden tuna of sayings: "Your true wealth can only be measured once you've lost all your money."

And I gave him a raised eyebrow, nodding expression as to politely acknowledge the "wisdom" he was attempting to share with me.

"Do you know what that means?" As if he mistook my expression for one of confusion, and he continued to explain, "It's about your family; your children. How much are your children worth?"

"I dunno. How much do you think I could get for them?" I smiled.

He didn't smile back. "THEY ARE PRICELESS."

Oh yeah, right.

Obviously, my humor wasn't appreciated, so we cut short the chit chat and got down to work . . . showing him how to write a blog and make his millions.

LAUGH. OUT. LOUD.

That will be one hundred dollars, thanks.

5 Reasons Why Soap Opera Pregnancies Suck

It's no secret that one of my many vices, (after chocolate, cheese and cunnilingus) is my addiction to soap operas. As I'm vegging out on the couch during my currently very stress-filled life, I watch all these women (and often girls) go through these tumultuous pregnancies -- I mean, really -- has there ever been a full term pregnancy go by on a daytime show that was uneventful? Preposterous!

And we thought we had issues? I guess it could always be worse . . . like, soap opera worse.

5. Your pregnancy is high risk because a few years back you got shot in the Fallopian tube & the very fact that you conceived is nothing short of a daytime miracle. You lose it anyway and feel you should make the most of it, so you throw yourself down the stairs and blame it on that bitch that you hate so she can be charged with murder.

4. You have your entire pregnancy in hiding & let no one know about it because the father of the baby is a guy who is a crime boss that you just so happened to shoot in the head a while back. He must have managed to let that little detail slide and decided you two needed to have sex . . . obvs!

3. You're rushed in with premature contractions, get drugged and have your baby taken right out of your womb. Then, when you come to, you're told that your baby was still born and are handed the ashes, all the while your actual baby is fine and healthy and has been given to someone else to raise.

2. You actually lost the baby but in order to hang on to your man, you get various sizes of fake baby bumps and try to pretend that you're still pregnant, while plotting to steal someone else's baby. You get around the whole intimacy thing by telling him that due to the "high risk" nature of the pregnancy, no intimacy whatsoever is allowed. Baby kicks? Fuck that. Stay away from ma' fake belly!

1. You have sex with two different men within 48 hours and end up falling pregnant with twins that have different fathers. Shut up! My twins were apparently conceived 3 days apart, so it could, like, totally happen.