Posts Tagged ‘men’

Out, Damn G Spot!

Saturday, December 26th, 2009


When my friend R suddenly proclaimed herself skeptical about the G Spot during Christmas Eve dinner, I told her she was preaching to the choir. According to R, that idiot “Dr. Oz” was on TV trying to teach people how to locate the G Spot by using the roof of the mouth as a model of the female Area.   (Sorry, can’t use the V word.)

So here’s my analysis of the G Spot situation, and R backs me up on this.

The G Spot is a male fabulation, designed to put women back in their place after the superiority of female sexuality became common knowledge. In other words, since women have a better capacity for orgasm, lets find a way to make them feel inadequate again.

Ladies, are you feeling me here? Why do we need a mysterious “Spot” that almost no one has located, when the C Spot is RIGHT THERE and works great?! I love reading about how some women feel an urge to pee when you press their G Spot, while other women experience a special “V—-al Orgasm.”   Since that theory makes the whole deal seem kind of dubious, newer studies suggest that only SOME women have a G Spot. In that case, let me say that I personally have an H Spot, as well as Spots I through LMNOP, but I’m not going to tell you where they are, since you probably don’t have them.

When I googled G Spot, I came across an piece at Ask Men dot com, about the Male G Spot! I was thrilled! R and I had postulated the existence of an M Spot for men….a nebulous place somewhere between the balls that had to be pressed from a certain angle to be triggered.   How gratifying to imagine men probing desperately for a Spot that isn’t there!

I was disappointed, not to mention saddened and completely grossed out, to learn from Ask Men that the Male G Spot is up their butt. THAT’S RIGHT, you heard me. Up their butt. Ask Men suggests that guys get comfortable and relaxed before attempting to locate…..oh god, I can’t go on. It’s just too tragic. Who are these dummies they write for at Ask Men? It should be called Ask Idiots. Or maybe just “”

While I personally can accept some things on faith, other things (like the moon landing) I’m not too sure about. The moon landing, I’d say there’s a fifty per cent chance it happened. Immaculate Conception, zero per cent. Loch Ness Monster, YES, that one I feel good about. But the G Spot is nonsense and I’m not buying it.

Opinions, anyone?

The Broken Dryer: A Poll

Thursday, December 10th, 2009


Here’s the situation:

Tonight, my ex-husband came over to visit and offered to wash a fluffy foot-thing. (Don’t ask, but the tag says it’s washable.) I offered to wash it but he insisted on doing it. He probably thought he’d do a better job. (Men.)

Then, he put it in the clothes dryer, which is in the garage, because that’s where we do the laundry. He came back inside for a while and then went out to check the dryer. He came in again to report that the dryer stopped working. It worked when he turned it on, but now it’s broken. Dead. Won’t go on again.

I said something like, Shit, you broke the dryer?! He said something like, No, I didn’t break it, it broke.

I said, Well, my husband will be heartbroken when he comes home from work at 2: A.M. and finds that the dryer is broken. (My husband has been graciously doing the laundry while I have the fucking walker and can’t carry anything.)

This is like an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm, but without Larry David.

I told the ex to pay for a repairman. The ex was aghast, and furious. Because “he didn’t break it.” But it wasn’t broken before he used it. In my addled mind, HE SHOULD PAY FOR THE REPAIR. Not only that, we have no money. (I’m aware that this has no moral bearing on the issue, but still.)

Should the ex pay? Or not?

Scumbags, Douches and Jerks

Monday, November 23rd, 2009

Tonight, some friends and I were discussing some mutual acquaintances. It emerged that there was some confusion about how to categorize certain types of men we disdain.

To me, a Douche is instantly recognizable as such. He doesn’t have to exhibit any behavior; he’s just a Douche. Sometimes a Douche can increase his douchiness by bad behavior, like John Mayer, but usually it’s a done deal. Keith Urban is a Douche.


So is Pete Wentz and David Duchovny.

Joe Perry ( as per this photo from the American Music Awards show) is a Scumbag.


Whereas, Steven Tyler is a Douche.   Snoop Dogg = Scumbag. Mickey Rourke, another Scumbag.

Trying to think of a Jerk, my first thought was Levi Johnston, god bless him.   Jerks are more innocent than Scumbags or Douches. I even think that a Jerk could be reformable; he could wise up, theoretically anyway. Douches and Scumbags are lost causes.

I used to be able to explain the difference between a Tool and a Jerk, but I honestly can’t remember the criteria. All I remember was that some guy named Jason (who happened to be a fishmonger) was a complete Tool.

Where do you stand on these categories, and who do you think best epitomizes a Douche, Scumbag, Jerk or Tool?

The Wisdom of the Estee Lauder Lady

Thursday, August 6th, 2009


I went to Nordstrom with my sister and stopped in my tracks at the Estee Lauder display. A new lipstick promised to say on for 12 hours. I asked the nice Black sales lady to show me the reddest red in the new formula. She admired the red I was already wearing. I told her it was Ruby Woo, one of my all-time favorites. I added, “I think every woman should wear red lipstick!” She nodded sagely and said with great conviction: “Mens like the red.”

So true.

I didn’t like the lipstick but I got the Double-Wear lip Pencil with “12 hour staying power” after testing it on my wrist and finding it impossible to remove.

What’s With the Auto-Erotic Asphyxiation?

Sunday, June 7th, 2009


You just have to ask, What the hell is wrong with these guys?

Both Michael Hutchence and David Carradine would have no trouble getting laid. Or even, getting laid in some unconventional way. So why risk death just to get off?

Apparently, this is a largely male endeavor. But don’t anyone pipe up that the reason for that is the more persistent male sex drive. Women have Needs, too. But women don’t seem to need the specter of death to add that Certain Something to sex.

Woman aren’t as likely to enjoy playing Russian Roulette, either. What is it about men that craves a brush with death? I assume it gives a rush of adrenaline, like when you nearly get hit by a car. But why do they require this boost to the experience of orgasm?

A gay friend explained that it’s all down hill for men after 16. Their sensations are duller with time, he insisted. Bummer, if that’s true! Is it, though?

I asked my husband. I wondered if the auto-erotic asphyxiation appeal was like eating blowfish. If it’s cooked the right way, it’s delicious; if not, it’s poisonous and you’re dead. I don’t know about anyone else, but I have no interest whatsoever in trying blow-fish.

The husband explained that he has always been touched by how the appetite for sex is so universal – no matter who you are, or how old, you’ll walk over burning coal to get some.

But I still wanted an answer. He thought it was pretty normal for some people to keep trying to improve their experience. Like some people are happy with a scoop of their favorite ice cream, but others think, This might be nicer with something added.

I asked him, But what if when you come, it’s already 10 on a scale of 1 to 10. Why would you be worried about trying for 11? In fact, I noted, speaking for myself, if it were any more intense, I’d pass out.

“Exactly!” he replied, happy to have effectively conveyed the point of auto-erotic asphyxiation.

Why Don’t Women Dress for Men?

Monday, May 25th, 2009


Here is a quote from the blog where I saw this photo:

When I came across this picture on the facehunter a few months ago, I started thinking about [the shoes] night and day. Staring at them didn’t do the trick though: I still had no idea about who made them and where I could get them from.”

A normal person (i.e., a male) would consider it nuts to think about a pair of shoes night and day. I am disgusted to say that I’ve been just as fucked up by a pair of shoes, and like these stupid wedges, they were shoes that would only appeal to another woman.

What the hell is wrong with us?

I can’t say what every man likes or doesn’t like, but I’m pretty sure they’re not attracted to droopy harem pants or huge wedges. We women clearly dress for each other, and I think it’s a pathetic and expensive endeavor. I’m looking for away out.

Maybe it starts when girls first go to school and begin to jockey for position. Popularity was always based on clothes and how willing you were to make other girls feel bad. Brains were not an advantage, but money was. I’m assuming that in schools with uniforms, one’s status is determined by handbags and accessories.

Why can’t we get over it once we’ve grown up? I know that fashion is supposed to be a means of self-expression but it’s mostly about conforming to what the fashion media tells us is cool, so that other women will admire how quickly we jumped on board the current trend.

The feverish quest for a pair of shoes is clearly a form of sublimation.   And unless the shoes have stiletto heels,   it’s not part of a mating ritual.

What do you think fuels the desperation to be fashionable? I know that men often feel like this about cars, but the sexual symbolism is obvious there.

If you’re reading this and you’re a woman. you are going to be looking for a dress or jacket with padded shoulders. Don’t bother insisting that you’ve always liked padded shoulders. You’re going to want them and all you’ll get for your trouble is some girl going “OMG, that is so fierce!”

I’m hoping for some enlightenment or a debate, but for extra credit try showing these pants to your boyfriend or husband and ask what he thinks:


Do Women Hate Themselves?

Thursday, January 29th, 2009

A while back, I wrote on the subject “Why Men Hate Women,” and I still get comments from angry men. (If you enjoy angry men, go and look!)

Today, after reading some of my email, I’m wondering if women are starting to hate themselves, too. Why else would anyone listen to Suzanne Somers, who went on Oprah to discuss her beauty regimen: 60 pills a day and injections in her Female Area!

Why else would anyone want to wax her Female Area, spray it with “24K gold” and have Swarovski crystals glued to it? You must really have to hate the sight of your crotch to mess with it like that.   Ladies, or gay men, do you want to see your man’s Johnson sprayed gold and glued with rhinestones?

God, it’s depressing. We haven’t come very far if this is our lot in life. If the best we can hope for is to pump our faces full of Botox and work out 3 hours a day to look like Madonna at fifty, it would be better to go back to the good old days when pubic hair was actually sexy and you didn’t have to look young forever. You could just wear a girdle if you got fat, and you could stay home and play bridge instead of touring the world in a leotard and top hat.

Are there any decent role models out there besides Patti Smith and Naomi Klein? Maybe we need to cultivate other qualities besides youthfulness and hairlessness. This might be a good subject for our pajama party.

Here is the badge thingy I made for it, but I know Honeypants or someone else could improve it.   Please have a go at it, and send it to me!

When Men Get Silly

Thursday, November 20th, 2008

On one of the blogs I like to read for sheer masochistic mental anguish, the mostly male commenters are arguing about the nature of intelligence. They can’t agree what an “intellectual” is, but they know they don’t like it. They’re also going on about Blacks being “cunning” rather than intelligent.

I can’t imagine women having this sort of argument. It’s too silly on the one hand, and too racist on the other. Who gives a shit? Women know what intelligence is and they don’t pretend not to. No wonder men don’t want to talk to us; we can’t take this kind of pompous pissing contest seriously.

Elsewhere, the ever-delightful Mr. Duff, who likes to annoy my commenters, has called them “retards” and “nobodies” in a rant (about intellectuals) on his own blog. Retards, good. We’re Retards. But “nobodies?” What kind of an adult man wants to obsess over the definition of Intellectual and then call a group of people Nobodies?

Men! They are always so confused about what to take seriously. And yet, they buy Extenze. Have we all seen the commercials where a dazed looking woman promises that Extenze will make “that certain part of a man” bigger? The first time I saw it, I yelled “What, his ego?” Which I thought was a really good joke, even though my husband failed to crack a smile.

Now there’s a new Extenze commercial where a married couple sits together looking smug and self-congratulatory. The man says something like he thought is would be “fun” to be “bigger.” The woman agrees suggestively that it WAS “fun.”

Hahaha! What’s wrong with men, I mean people?? A bigger dick is not the answer. I almost hate to break the news, know what I mean? But while looking for Extenze, I just came upon a website called Penis Enlargement Planet. And it’s about penis enlargement. What a waste of a great domain name!

The sillyness of men can be mind-boggling or endearing, depending on the size of their penis. JUST KIDDING! It can also be really frustrating. Take this simple quiz:

Person A asks Person B why they are mad. Person B denies being mad. Person A asks again. Person B states angrily that they weren’t mad, but now they are.

Who is the man, Person A or Person B?

“Are Men Boring?”

Friday, June 13th, 2008

Arts & Letters led me to an essay titled “Are Men Boring?”, where I expected to find some breakthrough study that proved the obvious, beyond a doubt.

Instead, it was the usual anecdotal findings of irritated wives and girlfriends whose male companions had nothing to talk about. Not “nothing” exactly, just nothing that they cared to share in conversation with a woman. I did like this quote from neuropsychiatrist Louann Brizendine:

Connecting through talking”, she wrote in her book The Female Brain (2006), “activates the pleasure centres in a girl’s brain. We’re not talking about a small amount of pleasure. This is huge. It’s a major dopamine and oxytocin rush, which is the biggest, fattest neurological reward you can get outside of an orgasm.”

Yes,  Louann, DUH, we love to talk. We are starved for conversation if we live with men. We will make conversation with practically anyone after being home all week with kids who only know how to yell, “BUT WHY? JUST TELL ME WHY!” when you don’t cave in to some demand. We crave conversation so much that we’ll talk to anybody who’s wiling to venture an opinion or relate some experience, however mundane.

Are Men Boring? Is the Pope a former Nazi? Of course men are boring, because they talk only to achieve a goal. The process is just too girly for them and makes them uncomfortable. Sometimes you can put two obsessive men together and they’ll talk about drill bits or blues singers or even sports, but it’s not talk as females experience talking. It’s a dry exchange of information, or else a competition.

Lately, I see there’s a breed of men who talk endlessly about their game with women, but it has the same quality of men talking about business strategy, only more paranoid.

Men must know deep down how boring they are. And I guess they’re proud to be indifferent to conversation. They’re not pussies, dammit!

One thing men don’t like even more than talking is a woman with armpit hair. Every so often, I like to seperate the men from the boys by lifting up my arms. I’m not trying to be obnoxious! I’m just letting them know who they’re dealing with.

Mutton, Lamb and Misogyny

Thursday, June 5th, 2008

While I’ve been pondering the mutton-dressed-as-lamb issue (evoked by the sight of a 63 year old film director wearing silver lamé jeans,) fate led me to a blog where men were busy explaining why dewy young women are infinitely superior to women over thirty.

Ladies, prepare to give up any illusions of a post-sexist world.   There are men among us who truly believe in their tiny hearts that women are ruined for all intents and purposes once they’ve been soiled by education and experience. Not only ruined, but downright disgusting.

Ah well. Being Sister Wolf, I barged into their conversation and toyed with them. This brought about wounded cries of “Feminist! Angry Woman!” and all the usual charges meant to send women cringing back into their sewing circles.

Let me just say, I FUCKING LOVE MEN! I love them when they’re stupid insecure babies, and I love them when they’re nice grown-up men. I love them when they’re gay and I love them when they don’t even know they’re gay. I love them the most when they love women.

Back to the mutton/lamb thing: In preparing for my Golden Years, I’ve been asking friends for advice about the Cut-Off Date, as in when is it time to give up jeans and a t-shirt and settle into a more age-appropriate dress-code.   Everyone seems to think that one should keep on dressing the way one always dressed. I can’t agree, though. The silver jeans were just wrong for the nice woman who wore them, even though she was as cool as you could ask for, without being Patti Smith.

Patti is the supreme role model for maintaining your coolness and your dignity. But I plan to swap my jeans for long Victorian mourning dresses. I will wear my hair in a bun, and no one will dare bother me. Plus, I will learn to cackle.

Check out this beautiful dress below. This will be the foundation of my Look. Then, check out this whole online shop if you are still drawn to Goth finery. The bustle skirts and petticoats made me moan out loud…as only a woman over thirty can moan.