Tuesday, April 6, 2010


hey, bitches. you know i love you, but i have to warn you that this change in seasons makes me grouchy. i spend all summer bitching my dick off about how much i hate every fucking thing. so i thought to myself, "sammy, why not take some of that out on unsuspecting dudes who write to popular magazines?" and yes, WHY NOT.

how can i convert my sex drive into productivity at work?

tape a picture of a moist, glistening vagina directly above your computer screen? like a horse trying to catch a carrot or a greyhound chasing that fluffy bunny or whatever. if someone were to hold a bag of oreos just out of my reach as i went through school maybe i wouldn't be such a goddamned idiot today. for inspiration, taped around our desks at the hospital laura and i have pictures of: flight of the conchords, more flight of the conchords, drake, both of those true blood dudes (laura loves that shit), pharrell, dwight howard, christian bale, more christian bale, common, dwayne "the rock" johnson, tom fine-ass wet panty ford (you would have to surgically remove me from that dude's nuts, and yes, I KNOW HE IS GAY), and DON motherfucking DRAPER. hot damn.

about that: over tacos last week laura and i were talking about how much i love big, blockhead, strong-jawed white men. especially when they're all suited-up and important-looking. i just want them to scratch me up with their five o'clock shadows, wrap their neckties around my throat until i can't breathe, hit me with bottles of glenlivet, bite me in the face, and spit in my mouth. i watched the first season of mad men on dvd with my face about an inch away from the television. bitch, are you kidding?! i would have been bent over don draper's desk at two-thirty every goddamned afternoon, smoking a cigarette while he worked on my VIP entrance.

that's why it's good that my boss is lumpy and gross and socially awkward. if i was at sterling cooper not a damn thing would ever get faxed. or copied. or mailed. i wouldn't even front like i came to work to, you know, WORK. i would punch in wearing a negligee and maribou kitten heels, drenched in perfume, and sit filing my nails and drinking a cocktail until don was out of meetings and ready to bone. so i don't know, dude. put up some pictures of hot bitches and imagine that once you finish your spreadsheets or whatever it is you're working on you get to split their wishbones.

or get a reliable coke dealer like the rest of us. stupid.

a couple of times over the past few months, i haven't been able to finish during sex. i don't have a problem keeping it up, but i can't pass go. what's wrong with me?

yeah, what IS wrong with you? i dated this dude with a five year old kid once who could never finish because, and i must quote him here, "the last time i came during sex i ended up with a baby." said while he was wearing a condom, because i like my sugar in the raw but NOT MY DICKS. i've told you before that it takes one stupid thing out of the mouth of some dude to kill it for me, and with him that was the capri sun straw that broke the camel's back.

call me crazy, but i don't like thinking about grody little tax dependents while i'm trying to tighten my belt around some dude's neck while he's facedown with his wrists tied to the legs of the bed. it is ESPECIALLY off-putting when spanking a grown-ass man with a paddle while he calls you mommy. asking "who's mommy's naughty little baby boy?" sounds WAY MORE DISGUSTING when there's a real-life son in the picture. it makes my penis soft.

so if your sperm has gotten you into trouble before (and by "trouble" i mean eighteen years bound to a bitch you sort of hate and a kid you weren't financially prepared for and have no interest in rearing), maybe that's why you're finding it difficult to let the horses out of the gate. if that's not it, i got nothing. but i WOULD like you to know how much that sucks for your ladyfriend, though. that's the glaze on the donut, man, the PROOF that she's doing her job right. or that you are into her in a big way. don't make her spend the 3 am cab ride home mired in shame and self-pity, muttering "i'm so ugly" to herself over and over as she tries to figure out what is SO WRONG with her that you couldn't get off. can you just fake it? grunt and buck and yodel, all that porn star shit, then remove yourself before she notices you still have an erection and dunk your balls in the toilet or whatever until you soften up.

can too much masturbation hurt your sex life?

good lord, i hope not. otherwise, i am DESTROYING my vagina. here's the thing: isn't masturbation for people who don't really have a sex life? so what is there to "hurt?"my "sex life" has been fifteen years of fits and starts, huge stretches of celibacy punctuated by a month here and there of getting laid on the regular. even when i've had a steady, because they all have been REALLY BAD DUDES. i can't talk enough about how much in love i am with my assortment of motorized boyfriends. i have this one that i use with frozen batteries, so its like fucking an icicle or something. i have another one that has a pulsing infrared light in the tip that glows and heats up and causes the most amazing, unbelievable orgasm you

i'll be right back.

um, anyway. i don't know how it works for dudes, but i can't have a steamy energizer session too close to the time i'm going to hang with some hot meat, because it's like my vagina's memory gets all hung up on the fuckolator 2000 (not what it's really called) and can't get all lathered up over a regular, non-vibrating fuckstick. that's not entirely true, but it's funny. the real question is: what constitutes "too much?" spanks used to jerk off five times a fucking day. FOR SERIOUS. (to spray-tanned, baby-oiled bodybuilder porn. WHAT A FUCKING WEIRDO.) but he could still get it up and work it out like a normal person. i guess if you find that the amount you masturbate starts affecting your performance or the amount of pleasure you are having with an actual woman, you should stop.

now our next question is: where do you find a girl who won't be grossed out by all that hair on your fucking palms?

do aphrodisiacs really work? if so, which have the best track record?

hmm. to each his own, but i've always found the best, most reliable aphrodisiacs to be: full-time job, own apartment, a working telephone number, sparkling wit, good taste in music, a working brain, style, finesse, grooming, manners, decent conversational skills, quality politics, picks good restaurants, doesn't drink shit beer, doesn't balk at trying new foods, has a healthy interest in something other than his testicles.

and willing to be tethered to the bedpost. duh.

i've been in a relationship for three years and the sex is getting boring. how can i spice things up again?

how does marriage work if you are tired of fucking a bitch THREE YEARS after you married her? questions like this make a lazy, insecure bitch like me so very nervous. let's say you get married at thirty, okay? and that marriage is supposed to last FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE. what is the life expectancy of a normal, healthy american? 85? 114? who the fuck knows. so, at minimum, you have FIFTY-FIVE YEARS of hollering at the same ass ahead of you. so how dare you claim to be be bored after three?

so what are you going to do for the next fifty-two years? oh i know, fuck your secretary and the check out bitch at wal-mart and the avon lady and the babysitter and the PTA co-chair, but let's pretend for a second that you have a shred of decency and plan to remain faithful to old boringsnatch over there. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO? spice be damned, there just aren't that many ways to have sex. i am a creative person. in general. i am creative and my brain works really fucking fast and i have lots of stupid ideas all of the goddamned time, but EVEN I cannot come up with fifty years worth of kinky things to do to a person. i'm just not that advanced. i have to find an amnesiac who won't remember that he's already had his balls electrocuted and his penis stuck in a vise, so it will seem fresh and shiny and new every single time.

i am pleased that you seem to want to be the one who seasons the marinade, though. most assholes would be all, "how can i get her to do something new?" LAME-O. maybe you could trim up your back hair, pluck your nose, buy her a bouquet of something NOT CHEAP (ps, roses are PLAYED), clean the house, make the bed, and when she comes home snatch that bitch by the ponytail and tell her EXACTLY WHAT THE FUCK YOU WANT TO DO TO HER. then throw her on the bed (i mean, really slam her) and TAKE THAT SHIT like it's yours.

do cybersex and/or phone sex count as cheating?

i am a hypocrite. because i want to say "yes," but i also want to reserve the right to have phone sex with people. especially if my boyfriend is being a toolbox at the time. shit. it kills me to concede anything to a man. no, it's cheating. especially if there's a real live person on the other end of the phone or the webcam. IT'S CHEATING because men are never ever satisfied, and eventually he would want that phone sex to turn into real sex. and eventually i would discover that he went over our family plan by 600 minutes, resulting in a $900 phone bill. i would put two and two together, and cut off his cell phone. then his penis.

i think my best friend's mom is smokin' hot. is it wrong for me to make a move on her?

omg. yes, lover, this is wrong. super wrong. STUPID WRONG. i'd be mortified if one of my homeboys hollered at my mother. first of all, how can you do anything with her head lolling all around? and work with those heavy limbs? how do you get around that acrid smell? and all the worms and vultures and bugs?!

oh, i'm kidding. my mother was cremated.
how can i please my girlfriend in bed if she won't tell me what she likes? any pointers?

well you know MY bossy ass has no problem with this. now don't get me wrong. i don't just start barking orders as soon as he gets his pants off. who the hell is into THAT? i let him get into his groove, see if he knows what he's doing, and as soon as he starts fucking it up i stop him and give him directions. you get three minutes of misguided pokey-stabby before i put and end to that noise and teach you how to do it right. because the worst thing EVER is a dude who doesn't know he's doing it wrong.

and ordinarily i would go all crazy about women not demanding what they want, but you know what? fuck that bitch. you seem like an attentive, sensitive fella, and if that idiot doesn't recognize that it's her fucking loss. so rabbit fuck that dumbass to your heart's content, and finish in forty-two seconds. that'll learn her. SPEAK UP.

what are the best online dating sites for meeting smart, successful women?


the woman i just started dating told me she once hired a private investigator to tail her ex. she feels she was justified because the P.I. ultimately caught the ex cheating. is this a hint of a crazy jealous streak?

it's more than a hint. THIS BITCH IS CRAY-CRAY, as allen would say. i guess there's no problem until you decide to cheat on her ass. ugh, i would never want to know. i would just assume and cut him loose, as has been my MO heretofore. i don't want to see pictures of my loverpants spoon-feeding some bitch on the beach or whatever romantical shit dudes do with women who aren't their wives.

how do relationships last? can someone please tell me? for cereal, HOW is it possible? what, do you just resign yourself to the fate of being with a person and never cheat? because everybody's shit is over before it even begins these days. that shit is terrifying. it's that time of year again, and cara and i went to a seminar (i am writing about that shit, DON'T EVEN WORRY) and the leaderbitch was like, "samantha, you just don't have your heart open." i probably don't. but why open it up for someone to move in for just a few days? you can't rent an apartment like that, so why give up what piece of a soul i have left to someone who's going to bring it back without a receipt as soon as the warranty expires? i don't have time for that shit.

and if he does hang around he's just going to stick his dick in someone who doesn't ask him if he paid the assessments yet. it's fucking hopeless. so leave this psycho bitch alone. i would hate for her to kill you when her P.I. catches you somewhere with your pants around your ankles.

she's always bringing me little gifts: a cupcake, a latte, a bottle of duvel. does she expect me to do the same?

no, she expects you to continue being the kind, caring, thoughtful, generous piece of sunshine you obviously already are. don't worry about getting her presents. who would ever want a super sweet "i was just thinking about you even though it's not a special occasion" gift? take notes, girlfriends. don't ever buy SHIT for a dude. because they don't appreciate a goddamned thing. i learned this firsthand, of course, as i have spent thousands of dollars of my after-tax salary on playstations and wiis and clothing and watches and french cologne for worthless dudes who couldn't even give me a card in return. i like to give people material things, as it renders my actual emotion unnecessary. ("of course i love you, look at that sweater i bought!" and that is the end of that. i proved my undying love with seventy bucks.) but i never expect to receive anything, because men will never give me anything, ESPECIALLY when it is unsolicited. that's why i scam dinners and rides and groceries and shit.

because i can go to saks and drop $145 on a bottle of bond no 9 for myself, and he won't. ever. BUT, if i hand him my cell phone bill and say, "remember that sweater i bought?" what is he supposed to do? what is he going to say? "aw, baby, i would rather stand helplessly in barney's for two hours racking my brain for gift ideas." his ass is probably relieved, because now he doesn't have to figure out my bra size or whatever. more on that later.

eventually she WILL stop fucking you, dude. not generous in life usually equals not generous in bed, and even if you are the most engaged lover in the history of earth, one day you're going to ask for the backdoor and she's going to cut you a dirty look and say, "REMEMBER THAT FUCKING SWEATER I BOUGHT?" then she will break up with you. and for the record, it has easily been, like, five years since a dude has subsidized a single anytime minute or kilowatt hour of mine, so don't get your hopes up on that front EITHER.

i'm going down on a girl and she doesn't taste or smell like roses. is there a polite way to back out?

now my answer is a resounding NO. it's not even polite to ask this fucking question. BUT. i don't eat bitches out. so i enlisted the expert opinion of one of the handsome wolves in my pack. i can't even describe to you what a smoking piece of shit this dude is. good lord almighty. amanda said he "has a face that makes panties drop" or something like that, and that shit is TRUE. if he walked in this room RIGHT NOW i'd get up and hang up his coat before fixing him a drink and shutting the fuck up. here is his answer. lucky you.

wow. tricky. two options. increase intensity, so much so that you don't notice the smell. get things moving so that you feel comfortable moving to sex. then you've done your job. or begin teasing her: draw it out, work between her legs for a little, then kiss her, then lick some random stuff. then go back down there for a little here and there. limit exposure.

it's sort of like being down on a girl and realizing she just started her period. just then. you can: A freak the fuck out, B notice, move to sex or play it off, or C go at it like some sort of cullen. cool and unreactive is the best answer.

i burst out laughing reading that shit. YOU will burst into TEARS when you see what a monster of desirability this man is. he is the modern day don draper. and he obviously knows how to put his face in it. more from him VERY SOON. rawr.

is there any way to guess a woman's bra size just by looking at her? all the tags are ripped out of my girlfriend's bras. i want to surprise her with lingerie for V-Day, so i don't want to ask.
your girlfriend OBVIOUSLY has small tits. because no dude whose teeth have ever had to undo four hooks would ever attempt something as silly as this. my bras are gorgeous, but their primary function is to WORK. that's why i pay fifty bucks apiece, because minimum wage bras never show up on time and are always trying to punch out before the end of the day. and i can't go for that. (no can do.)

i would be terrified if i left a manfriend to his own devices when it came to my undergarments. without a doubt he'd come back bearing the least utilitarian scrap of fabric in the entire fucking store, some tiny piece of shine with a ruffle sewn across it that would barely cover an areola. he'd come home with a 36B and not only would i be sad at the realization that i have a goddamned idiot for a boyfriend, i would ALSO feel bad about myself because maybe i could get my right elbow in that little slingshot, but that's about it.

in the magazine's answer to this question, the "expert" recommended comparing the size of her breasts to the average size of certain fruits and using that comparison as a guide. for instance, "lemons" equals "A cup." i could make a joke about watermelons, but then again YOU could make a joke about watermelons. so go ahead and do it.

and get that bitch a gift card.

my wife goes out dressed like a bombshell, but wears three layers of sweats around the house. how do i persuade her to look sexy when she's at home?

you know, just the other day i was vacuuming and dusting and swiffer mopping in a thong and ten inch patent leather pumps, and i thought to myself, "goddamn, this is comfortable! i should do EVERYTHING dressed like this!" what the FUCK is this bitch supposed to wear? at home?! i can barely get through the door at night before my shoes and bra are OFF. who sits around fully dressed at home? i don't need the annoyance of underwires and shoelaces while i'm watching tv in bed. that's crazy!

if i lived with a dude i might sweeten it up a little bit, maybe wash my ass and lint roller my pajamas, but you know how i feel about living with dudes. god, this ungrateful asshole. has a beautiful bombshell of a wife who never embarrasses him by wearing her unicorn sweatshirt and high-waisted acid wash jeans and fanny pack out in public, but that still IS NOT ENOUGH. is it ever? and i wonder what HE'S dressed like. tuxedo at three on a tuesday afternoon? washboard abs and armani underwear? nicely dressed, debonair men make me think twice when i'm about to put on your grandmother's cardigan to go out with them, but if a man with his dick bobbing around in a pair of oversized zubas and his old college t-shirt covered in beer dribbles and barbecue stains told me to step it up i would set him on fire. in other words, fuck you. you're an asshole.

my friends are giving me flak about dating a waitress. (i'm an executive.) i'm genuinely into her. how can i make them back off?

my bitchass friends have absolutely abhored every dude who ever looked at me twice. laura is so suspicious i'm scared to even tell her a anna's ass will veto a dude after hearing about him for thirty goddamned seconds. i find myself apologizing for a man i barely know all the goddamned time. "where did you meet him?" "what does he do?" "what did he say to you?" "does he have children?" "what is he into?" "where is he taking you?" "have you facebook stalked him yet?" "what size shoe does he wear?" "where did he go to school?" "what was his gross income last year?" "is he stupid?" "is he ugly?" "what does he take in his coffee?"

and no matter what i say, it's NEVER good enough. anna has crinkled up her adorable face and said, "sameeeeeeantha, i don't think i like this guy" to me more times than she has ever said anything else, and i've known that girl for nineteen years. but that's because she cares about me. i've never hung with some janitor or whatever and had my friends makes fun of him, because my friends are all good people who don't do shit like that. as a matter of fact, if i found a janitor who was nice to me and read books and showed up on time these bitches would turn cartwheels.

your friends suck, kitten. fuck what they think. sack up and give those assholes the what for. if you are genuinely into her, explain that to them.  tell them why she's awesome, then tell her my coke needs a refill.

is it overkill to make a woman breakfast the morning after a casual hookup?

food is so effing delicious. if a dude made me breakfast, particularly if it were one i could tolerate, i would be with him to the end of time. and let's just say this: with women, there really is no such thing as "overkill." especially because anything a dude would consider overkill is usually just some regular-ass fucking shit, like MAKING A BITCH AN OMELETTE. let's not go crazy, brethren. proposing after the first date might be overkill, but cooking a bitch some eggs most definitely is NOT. get over yourself.

i'm lactose intolerant and allergic to animals. how do i tell the woman i'm dating?

i was going to make BIG FUN of this, but then i remembered i have crohn's disease. so do what i did before i announced to the internets that sometimes i just don't poo right: NEVER BRING IT UP. at least not until you have to. because unless it affects her directly, why does she have to know?

when i was first diagnosed i was TERROR-STRICKEN that i might have to tell a hot piece about this nasty business, and i was talking to dr. delicious about it. you know, because we're tight like that. he was just like, "why would it be any of his damn business? this is between YOU and ME." then he kissed me on the mouth, like they do in the movies. oh, just kidding. he basically reinforced the notion that i don't owe anybody a goddamned thing, CERTAINLY not a detailed recollection of my medical history, and unless he's buying my drugs or about to cover my dinner with a shit ton of gorgonzola i can keep this to myself. inevitably you will have to spend the night and turn down her proffered assortment of breakfast cereals or introduce yourself to her pet pig, but hopefully it'll be AFTER you've convinced her how awesome you really are. so she won't see you as a whiny little bitch who can't eat chicken.

that's how i trapped all you fools, isn't it?

my girlfriend shows lots of cleavage. should i speak up?

YES, and tell her how good her tits look.

my wife calls me at work to talk about our toddler, and gets ticked off when i'm too busy. help me out.

oh, you poor thing. getting a full night's sleep and uninterrupted shower, stuck all day in a bustling office full of adults with whom you can carry on intelligent conversations, entering and exiting whenever you please, spending as much time as you want taking a shit while reading the newspaper, emailing and gchatting and facebooking all fucking day, taking clients out for delicious gourmet lunches on the company dime, getting fresh air, working those traps and delts and glutes at the gym, wearing clean, pressed clothes that you didn't sleep in and aren't covered in similac vomit, fondling the penis that didn't have to spend thirty-six hours trying to stretch itself to ten fucking centimeters and force out another human being, making starbucks runs, water cooler gossiping, afternoon delights with that cute HR girl from upstairs who's always busting out of her tight sweaters, earning all the income (and depositing a percentage in that bank account the wife knows nothing about), having quiet time alone in your office, listening to something other than yo gabba gabba on a continuous loop, smoking those cigarettes you promised you'd quit, texting your ex-girlfriend about how much your life sucks and what a huge fucking mistake you made and now there's a baby and your parents would be so disappointed if you left your family but life with her is killing you and hey what are you up to remember how much fun we used to have when can i see you i love that thing you used to do with your hips, and, you know, "being busy." it must be so hard.

my fucking heart breaks for you, handsome.

i am not particularly fond of children (that is putting it mildly), with a few notable exceptions, but i want to kick your jaw off your fucking skull, sir. this right here is why NO DUDE gets to do this to me. not ever. sorry to crush your dreams, but if you had designs on me letting your alien offspring hijack my womb for nine months you better let that shit go. trap me in a house with no life and no friends with a little bitch with no motor skills i can't take my eye off for one goddamned millisecond before she's ingesting poisons and sticking her fingers in light sockets? NOT ON YOUR LIFE.

i can't call any regular people, because they are all at work. and even if they aren't, they don't want to listen to this bitch caterwauling into the phone because i can't put her down for a fucking minute. i can't take a shit or a shower or brush my goddamned teeth or make a sandwich or drink a beer because that SCREAMING BALL OF NEED wants a bottle or a rattle or is miserable and teething or rife with colic and can't situate herself comfortably. i can't get my hair done or my eyebrows waxed or my feet tended to, so i am ugly and sad and tired and fifty pounds heavier than i was before this whole nightmare started. not to mention, i have a tenuous grasp on my sanity. so when i call the ONE PERSON who should be caring and supportive and INTERESTED during this horrific time in my life and he is "too busy" to give my five minutes of his precious time, forgive me if i am a little "ticked off."

i hope you die and that your baby gets a hot stepdad.

i've heard "i'm not in the mood" from my wife too many times. i'm desperate. have any tips?

DIVORCE. or reconstructive plastic surgery. because you're hideous, obviously. or you fuck wrong, which might be an even more insurmountable issue. i've got the libido of a fourteen year old boy, so "not in the mood" doesn't really register in my teeny brain. too sick to fuck? yes. too drunk to fuck? maybe. not in the mood? NEVER. unless the dude is lecherous and gross or i'm afraid of getting scabies in his dirty apartment and don't want to take my shirt off.

ask that lady what she's in the mood FOR. i bet that never occurred to you. when's the last time you took her to a movie? or a nice dinner? because if some dude was constantly panting after my shorts but not buying me steaks or sitting through iron man with me i could certainly see myself getting OUT of the mood. you can't be constantly trying to stick your fingers in it, youknowwhatimsaying? at least not if you're not doing the other stuff, like getting tickets to the opera or asking what she thought of the last jodi picoult novel. (smirkety smirk smirk smirk, you literary snobs!) i'm just saying, it doesn't take much, but you do have to do SOMETHING. bring home some tacos and see what happens. in my house, that's worth a handjob. give it a shot.

between their moisturizer, shampoo, lip gloss, and perfume, most women smell like potpourri. it's gross. how do i convince a woman to go unscented?

this would be refreshing if it were at all believable. because whenever a dude claims to want someone who is "natural," he means television natural, not REAL-LIFE sweat gland gingivitis cracked lips fishy vag natural. this is why i try to surround myself with homosexuals, because they understand and appreciate beautyyyy and glamourrrr. that is obviously written in jest, as i just looked at some tagged photos of myself (stop doing that to me) and threw the fuck up. barf. in my head, my face looks better than every picture of my face i've ever seen. this is how you know there is no god, because if there were cameras would do things like highlight your winning personality and sense of humor instead of your chinssss and blotchy skin. OR a bitch would stop you on your way out the door and whisper, "not that shirt."

tangent. i would appreciate it if you sluts would say "that makes you look pregnant" when i have some weird shit on. at the sex show i was wearing this shirt i bought online and NOT A SINGLE PERSON said "YOU SHOULD NEVER WEAR THAT IN PUBLIC AGAIN." and they should have. same goes for that goddamned shirt i wore on my birthday. sarah was WITH ME when i bought it, she even paid for it!, but never said, "you will sorely regret being photographed in that shit." i almost bought this gorgeous emerald michael kors drapey, blousey thing, but she was kind enough to point out that unless i stood like a statue the entire night i was going to spend the whole party pulling the back down. i am pretty hard on myself (though not hard enough to say, put this kobe beef burger down), but let's be for real here. friends don't let friends look all bloated and greasy in photographs, mmkay?

so back to this liar. women done up like drag queens are sort of icky, but i'm all about a woman feeling good about herself. i ALSO am all about thinking men have no concept of what maintenance is required when you've got ladyparts and that some bitches can't just "go unscented." (not me, though. i'm the laziest piece of shit ever. like, i'll do the shit, but i won't really DO the shit. for example, i got a pedicure yesterday, and when she went to paint my toes i was like, "you know what? just do clear. i'm too lazy to maintain anything else." why do you think my hair is so insane? L-A-Z-Y.) so convince her by shutting the fuck up and holding your breath when she and her braidable armpit hair and knee-length bush come strolling into the bedroom smelling like a billy goat. silly hippie.

guys fish, play softball, build stuff. how come so few women have hobbies?

wait, talking shit and trying on lipsticks isn't a hobby? well i'll be buggered! hmm. some girls read dozens of books, listen to their amazingly huge and awesome music collections, work on their novel, take care of animals, work fifty hours a week, go back to community college, watch tons of political shit on msnbc, read utne and the new yorker, party all the fucking time, maintain fabulous friendships with dozens of incredible women and menfolk, make delicious recipes, drink fancy beers, read their work in public, do open mic standup at raggedy comedy clubs, and write a hilarious vagina blog. i see what you mean. TOTALLY BORING.

ps, this is that goddamned $100 birthday shirt. barf!

pps, kimmah is ridiculous. i should never be photographed near her ass. i have the dimples at least. that's something. *sigh* and look at ginger in the background!

ppps, my hand looks monstrous. but at least it was manicured!

pppps, this is what NATURAL looks like. well, natural + drunk at 2am, which is natural for me. i literally took seventeen seconds to get ready. still think makeup is gross? yeah, that's what i thought.