I Didn't Know I Was...

Lately I've become obsessed with the When Stupid People Get Pregnant line-up on Discovery Health.  

(It goes like this:  "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant," "Strange Sex" and  "I'm Pregnant And..."    What?  It's high quality educational programming, people.  Also?  It gives me something to watch while I wait around for "Hoarders" and "Confessions:  Animal Hoarders" to film some new episodes.  Priorities, ya know.)

Then there's also the whole morale-boosting angle.

Some people drink or use drugs.  I point and laugh at stupid people.  Potato, poTAWto.

They always begin the "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" episodes trying to point out how it could be completely plausible for a woman to not know she was moments away from expelling a tiny, living being from her uterus.

She's having unprotected sex, she's gaining weight, she has odd food cravings and some nausea that she inevitably decides is food poisoning but it never occurs to her that she might be pregnant.


That's kind of the part I don't get... even though I'm sure my eggs are so old and dried up that they're powdered, I'm this damn close to menopause, and I had my tubes tied 22 years ago, if my period is eight seconds late, my ass is at the drug store buying a pregnancy test.  If it comes back negative (which is always does), if I don't start within a few days, I take another one.  And even when it's negative, I have every pregnancy symptom under the sun until I either start bleeding or birth a human.


Because that's what normal people do.


What the fuck is wrong with these people??

Pregnant Woman on I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant:  "I haven't had my period for nine months, I've only gained weight in my belly, and now I'm having intermittent contractions that are making me double over in agony and feel the need to push!!  I must be constipated... I think I'll go sit on the toilet and try to poop."

Him:  "Baby, you're getting a little chunky..."  Her: "I know... maybe I need to poop."

Because needing to take a 7 to 8 lb poop happens often enough that it wouldn't be a concern, yes?

That must be why sooooooo many babies are born in the toilet, then... Because "taking a shit" and "giving birth" are almost the same thing.

Do I give birth?  Or take a shit?  Decisions, decisions... !!

Which leads me to the part where these women do, indeed, give birth on the toilet.

Because apparently, they've somehow forgotten which part of their body handles which event.

For their convenience and education, I've prepared a diagram:

All together now:  "Va-GIII-naaaa"!!

Your VAGINA, which is placed ABOVE the anus, is where a BABY comes out.

The ANUS, which is slightly beLOW the vagina, is where the POOP comes out.

See?

*Sidebar:  If you happened to catch the episode of "I'm Pregnant And... 55 Years Old" before or after "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant",  that would feature an Old Lady Vagina, not to be confused with the diagram above.

Due to slippage, you could find one of these just about anywhere.  Above, below, inside, next to the anus... You never know.

I suddenly find that there is no graceful way to end this diatribe, so I'm going to leave you with this:

Girlfriend shoulda pooped before appearing on Leno.  Just sayin'.

You say "tumescence", I say "peener"

Or boner.  Or wood.  Or "put that damn thing away!"  

But I never say tumescence.

Because I didn't realize, until torturing myself with a LaVyrle Spencer novel last week, that it was even a word.

In case you aren't familiar, LaVyrle writes the kinds of love stories that make you want to stab yourself in the eyes.  They're always filled with tragedy, deep and meaningful moments, awkward and embarrassing sex, and characters with nipples that turn into gumdrops upon arousal.  (Don't worry, I'll get to that.) 

Personally, I'm not a fan of the romance genre.  I'm too cynical and let's face it, obnoxious and jaded to lose myself in a love story.  Plus I spend wayyyyy more time picking the story apart and mocking the characters than I do actually just turning my mind off and reading the book.

HOWEVER...  Last week, while Life was having a grand old time kicking me repeatedly in the ass, I ran out of books to read.  I am too poor to download a new one onto my Kindle, so out of desperation I grabbed the lone LaVyrle Spencer novel that is sitting in my book case (why?  WHY?  HOW DID IT GET THERE???) because it's literally the only book in the house that I haven't read.  I was determined to soldier through it and get it done.  (Because nothing...NOTHING annoys me more than an unread book.  Okay, that's a lie, plenty of other things annoy me more, but unread books do call to me.)

This won't be so bad, I told myself, as I dusted off the cover, sneezed, and prepared to be swept away by Ms. Spencer's imagination.

Imagination my ass!  Whew... that's a good one!

Ho hum, ho hum.  Boy meets girl as toddlers, boy and girl fall in love, girl gets knocked up in high school and is shipped off to a reformatory for pregnant girls, girl has baby, baby is put up for adoption, boy goes insane from missing girl and being kept apart from her, becomes town drunk and bad boy, marries and divorces girls who look like her, she marries man who tragically dies of cancer and then against all odds, they get back together at her husband's funeral and despite family strife, different lifestyles, and a town full of Judgy McJudgersons, they... *wait for it* get back together.


But... to get to that climactic conclusion, I had to wade through some of the most incredibly awkward sex scenes I've ever been subjected to (and that's including some of my own).  

And this is the part where we discuss "nipples that swell like gumdrops."

This phrase was used repeatedly.


His touch triggered such deep arousal within her that her nipples swelled like gumdrops.


She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "Mmmm... my nipples are like gumdrops..."


This turned our hero on, because naturally, he was aware that when a woman wanted him, her nipples increased to the size of gumdrops.

Gum drops, you say?

*blink*

*blink*

This may be a slight case of TMI, but I can honestly say that I've never had nipples like gumdrops when my naughty bits are ready to play.

Is it me?

Should I be worried?

Maybe I should see the doctor...

(Also?  I keep scrolling up to look at the picture of the black gumdrop.  I love black gumdrops.  And black jelly beans.  And Good n Plentys... *bliss*)

Moving right along...

Eventually (immediately) the whole nipple/gum drop comparison started to annoy me.  I mean, seriously, LaVyrle.... out of alllllll the words you could possibly use to describe the nipular region on the female breasticles, the best you can come up with is gum drops???

Read and learn, LaVyrle.

But then?

She switched her focus to HIS naughty bits, and that's when the word "tumescence" came out to play.

"She pressed her hand against his tumescence..."


"She could feel his tumescence against her thigh..."


"She opened like a butterfly, receiving his tumescence like a gift..."


WHAT??!!

Dear Google,


What the fuck is "tumescence"?  Please explain.


Love,


Dani


Dear Dani,

noun \tü-ˈme-s^ən(t)s, tyü-\

Definition of TUMESCENCE

: the quality or state of being tumescent; especially :readiness for sexual activity marked especially by vascular congestion of the sex organs

First Known Use of TUMESCENCE

1859

Love,

Google

Huh.  Whaddaya know.

There actually is a pretty word to describe a boner.

Who knew?

I am famous for my tumescence... My hair is tumescent... As is my nose and my chest...

Oh, darling... your tumescence is making me want to fart...

No shit.  Tumescence.


Meanwhile, I got really irritated reading about her nipples swelling like gumdrops at the size and appearance of his tumescence.

Which was pretty much on every page.

She would giggle and let him know that she "had gumdrops" and he would "feel his tumescence pressing against the zipper of his jeans" and next thing you know, they're making beautiful, sweet, magical love together beneath the moonlight.

*cue hand to mouth fart noise*

What.  The fuck.  EVER.

In real life, the scenario would go like this:

Him:  "Oooh, baby... you're nipping!*  *flick flick*

Her:  "Knock it off!  I'm cold!  Asshole!"

Him:  *grabbing her breasts from behind and dry humping her while she tries to do the dishes*

Her:  "Get OFF of me!"

Him:  *exposing himself, because he's extremely proud of his boner, because he's a dude*  "Now look what you did!"  *wink wink nudge nudge*

Her:  "Get that thing away from me.  Jesus."

Him:  "What do you want me to do?  Cut if off?"

Her:  "Seriously?  Have at it.  The scissors are in the desk."

Him:  *looking dejected and slinking off to admire his boner on his own somewhere else in the house*

Hmmmm... I think I should try my hand at writing romance novels.  Yes?

I'm pretty sure merman would have problems maintaining tumescence, what with all the cold water...

Meanwhile, back in Hell...

Facebooking From The Edge is on hiatus until I can pull Life's giant foot out of my ass...

Ahhhh sweet mystery of Life at last I've found youuuu....

Not unlike MacArthur, or The Terminator (I don't remember which... but I know it was one of them) "I'll be back."

Vagina Enthusiasts

(Dear Shea, Kacey, and Brennan:  Don't read this.  Love, Mom.)



I recently saw this quite by accident and was immediately intrigued:

It looks like it itches, yes?  No?  Just me, then?

It was accompanied by the following discription:

Wear your Fancy on the outside! This vulva in chocolate-violet-rose flesh tones and fuzzy golden hair is soft, adorable, and anatomically complete. She measures 3.25” from clit hood to perineum, 2” across the widest part of the outer labia. 


This piece is made from the gorgeous hand-dyed wool of a fellow esty vendor backed with a piece of commercial felt for durability. She can be smartly finished with a pin back to wear as shown in the photo, on a barrette for a charming hair ornament, or a with superstrong wafer magnet for household display. Please convo your preference of these three with your order. 


The jewels arrive ready for gifting in a silver stars-and-moons fabric bag inside a bubble mailer. A truly unique one of a kind gift – what a perfect accessory for the discerning vaginal enthusiast!


Please note that the photo shown is intended to serve as a style inspiration, the model is not wearing this exact pussy. Please check out my policies and convo me if you are wondering anything at all. Thanks for taking a look!

Wait... what?  

There are a few things about this paragraph that make me want to know more.

For example:

"She can be smartly finished with a pin back to wear as shown in the photo, or on a barrette for a charming hair ornament, or with a superstrong wafer magnet for household display."

Because everyone wants to wear a vagina in their hair, yes?

Or as a lovely conversation piece pinned to their lapel, perhaps at a job interview or a funeral?

Next, "A truly unique one of a kind gift (no argument there...) -- what a perfect accessory for the discerning vaginal enthusiast!"  

Vaginal enthusiast?

Personally, I'm partial to my own vagina, but I wouldn't say I'm "enthusiastic" about it.  Sometimes it's actually quite a pain, to be honest.  I've never had Penis Envy, because let's face it, they're silly looking, always in the way, and just kind of annoying, and I'm rather glad that my girly bits are nicely tucked away, to be accessed only when needed, but again... I don't feel rampant enthusiasm when thinking about it.

And I definitely don't want to pin it to my sweater or wear it in my hair, or for that matter, attach a magnet to it and hang it on my fridge.  I'm good with it where it is, thank you very much.

(*Sidebar:  I'm also quite relieved that mine isn't that fuzzy.)

So this got me thinking...

Who are these Vagina Enthusiasts?  In my head, they're all 15 year old boys... but the odds of a 15 year old boy purchasing a felt va-jay on Etsy are slim to none, so I'm assuming there are others...

So I went on a quest.

A quest for Enthusiasts of the Vagina Variety.

Enthusiasm at it's finest.

Number 1:  I wish MY vagina was that frilly, and had feet, and could talk.  It would save me a lot of time and irritation during sex.  It would be all, "Okay, yeah... right there.  NO, NOT THERE... A quarter inch to the left... okay, stop.   Now go.  Stop.  Go.  Okay, I'm done.  Go away."

Or when we're driving some where and I need to pee but SOMEONE who has a bladder like a tank keeps saying, "Can't you hold it to the next rest stop?  It's only 200 miles away..." my vagina could say, "It's like this:  Stop now or I'm going to pee all over your awesome blue truck, mmmkay?  And then I'm going on strike."


Or best of all, during those seven fabulous days a month known as Shark Week, I could walk around while my crotch announces, "You won't like me when I'm angry..."


Number 2:  See what I mean about the ridiculousness of the penis?  It's like the tall, dorky, red-headed, big-nosed, long-legged, big-footed, gap-toothed, pimpled-faced dork with a bad hair cut that got shoved in the locker all through high school and pantsed in gym class.


Moving right along...

Vagina Cupcake, anyone?

Being a True Fatty, I want the one with the most frosting.

This kind of makes me want to go out and buy several boxes of pubic hair dye, to make my vagina sparkle and shine and match my mood.  (Is it just me, or does the multi-colored one on the far left in the second row from the bottom remind you of something that should be on a Muppet???)

Then I saw this:

Yeahhhhhh...

No.

I'm not eating chocolate that was poured and hardened on ANYONE'S pussy, up to and including my own.

If I saw a little tiny hair in a piece of vagina chocolate, I would die.  Like, for real.

Which leads me to...

Vagina Chocolate.

Just in time for Easter!!


And of course, we can't forget the Fine Art of Vajazzling!!!

Make a statement with your vagina!! 

Why would you want a cobweb with a spider crawling out of it next to your vagina?  Dust that sucker off, for God's sake.

Okay, yeah... I'm getting distracted.  I've been off looking for Vagina Enthusiasts and I got completely drawn in by Things To Do With Vaginas.

I had no idea the possibilities were so endless.


Meanwhile, let me leave you with this:

I'm pretty sure he's a Vagina Enthusiast.  Now we know.

Things I can't get out of my head...

Dear Target,


This damn song has been playing over and over and OVER AGAIN in my head for WEEKS now, thanks to this freaking commercial.


HOWEVER, I need to point out that even though the tune is catchy and relentless, your commercial is a major fail because I get so distracted by the song that even to this day I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT IS YOU'RE ADVERTISING.


NONE.


WHATSOEVER.


I had to Google to figure out who the commercial was for.


And even after watching it and forcing myself to pay attention to something other than the freaking song, I STILLLLL don't know what you're advertising.


This just in:  American's have short attention spans.  Get to the fucking point without the damn balloons and people in brightly colored really stupid clothes prancing around.


Also?


This song is driving me crazy.


Please fix.


Yours On The Brink Of Insanity,


Dani

Wow, it felt good to get that out.

Okay, next:

My friend Bridget posted this photo on Facebook last week and if I don't comment on it, I'll die.

Seriously.

I.

Will.

DIE.

I am transfixed by the tramp stamp that is so beautifully showcasing the mesmerizing display of ass-crack.

I can't stop looking at it.  It's like, it's following me.

Let's break it down, shall we?

I'm a big fan of starting at the top and working my way down, so let us begin with the charming too small striped tee, that oh-so-becomingly nestles in her back fat, allowing the upward tilt of her buttocks to stand at attention as well as leaving the tramp stamp and crack un-obliterated by an unnecessary use of fabric.

Bravo, I say.  Well planned, Young Fashionista.

And that brings me to the shorts.

Ohhhh, the shorts.

THE SHORTS.

I wish I could say that words fail me, but alas, that rarely happens.  I'm drawn to them, like a bee to nectar.

Or something like that.

I love how boldly they sit, resting happily below the expanse of belly overhang in the front and shoving up the bum in the back.

Then the little come-hither slits in the sides, winking and beckoning and whispering, "Hey fella..."

Daisy Duke is off in a corner somewhere, sobbing for What Might Have Been, if ONLY she'd eaten those bacon rinds, if only she'd married Boss Hogg, if only Jessica Fucking Simpson had gotten as fat as she's supposed to be...

(*Sidebar:  Jessica Simpson has TRUE FATTY written all over her, I'm tellin' ya.  She is one wedding ring, a baby, and a fried Twinkie away from being the size of a Volkswagon.  Mark my words.)


And finally...

Pinterest.

I know, I know, I'm desecrating Holy Ground.

I apologize in before to all my lovely friends who are as addicted to Pinterest as any addict is to crack.

And part of me gets it... all those little crafty things that looks so amazing...

Give it a rest, people.

Nobody needs to eat deviled eggs that look like baby chicks.

"Saaaave meeeeee...."

Besides, who has that much fucking time on their hands?  Three hours to make two dozen deliciously edible baby chicks which will be devoured in five minutes.

No.

Somethings are just not worth the effort.  I maintain that deviled eggs take enough time to prepare without adding caps, beaks, and eyeballs.

It's one of those preparation time - eating time ratios that don't add up.

But because it was posted on Pinterest, everybody went, "Oooh, sooo cute!!  I'm going to make those for Easter!"

No you won't.  You'll plan to, but you won't do it.

Because it simply isn't worth the effort.

Pinterest lies.


FOR EXAMPLE:

These are ugly.  Not cute, not clever... ugly.

This is not a good idea.  Really.  No matter how clever it appears at first glance, DON'T DO IT.

Just... no.  Please.  Your friends will not be amazed or impressed.  They'll just think you drink too much.

I would point and laugh at this.  Sorry.

This was actually about the nail polish but let's face it, no one is looking beyond those shoes.

Some things are meant to be left as-is.  For example, pancakes.

Okay, this I actually like.  Someone make it for me, please?

There is no way to end this post gracefully.

So I will leave you with this:


Dear Pinterest,


Sometimes a fish bowl is just a fish bowl, an air fern is just an air fern, and a lion cub figurine is just, well, a lion cub figurine.


If you put them all together, it's tacky.


Quit trying so hard.


Also?


An air fern is never okay.  Invest in a real fern.  Trust me on this.


Love,


Dani