Tag Archives: shaving

And Now, A Message From Mr. Northman.


So I’m all set to go to sleep last night. Kids tucked in, George — Our Elf on The Damn Shelf — posed as a school teacher in front of a bunch of Green Army Men (complete with white board strewn with kiddo equations, because I’m a nerd like that), eye cream applied, stove knobs checked (twice), and Mr. Northman texts me.

Last time I'll use this image, I promise. Maybe.

Northman: Nice blog.

Me: Did you read much?

Northman: Every bit. Loved it.

(Gotta love an encouraging man. Sexy.)

Me: Thanks! IDK who’s reading, but WTF? It’s fun.

Northman: What r u doing right now?

Me: Just in bed. Nothing. Reading. How are you?

Northman: So you’re going to sleep?

Me: Not if you keep texting me.

Northman: Sorry! Get some rest, Bunny.

(Yes, he calls me Bunny. No, I’m not ashamed to admit it. If a man that sexy gives you a nickname, especially one that has to do with how often he’d like to fuck you, you go with it, people.)

Me: LOL. Not giving you a hard time. I meant the more you text me the greater the odds are I’ll end up with my clothes off. But I do need to get some sleep.

Northman: Ok, Bunny. Go to sleep, love.

Me: Thanks, honey. Sleep well.

Northman, because he’s an asshole even if he’s the sexiest thing on two legs: And try not to think about how much I want to (BLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP. Sorry, readers. This shit’s between me and Mr. Northman.) with my fingers and my incredibly (Insert Jeopardy music here.) and then take your (How ‘bout them Chargers?) before I kiss you goodnight.

Me: Aaaaaand now I’ll be up for another hour. I will get you for that.

Northman: I certainly hope so.

And that’s why I love that man. Or at least lust him like crazy.

So I slept fucking GREAT, and I got up, properly praised Mr. Coffee, and sat down to check my site stats all before my kids got up to find George. This was thanks to my neighbor and his fucking Harley. There are noise regs for a reason, asshole! Yes, you gotta get to work. No, you don’t have to rev it like that. But it’s my New Year’s resolution to not have the neighbors think I’m a crazy person (anymore), so I got a head start on that crap by not running out in my Tweety Bird slippers to yell at that inconsiderate asshole.

Praised Be.

Anyway, so I poured my coffee and sat on the back porch with my iPad and a really fucking heavy blanket because it’s freezing but I like it because I’m weird like that and it’s just so nice and quiet out back in the winter. And I checked my site stats. Can I just say this? Do you people sleep? Holy shit on a shingle, web dwellers. That’s some ego-boosting shit right there. I used to blog about parenting, and I was lucky to get 600 hits in 6 months. I guess a hell of a lot more people want to read about barking men, shaved (and not!) pussies, being propositioned for sex by your (I realized left this part out: young, hot) girlfriend for her husband’s benefit, or misusing Skype video conferencing for completely inappropriate (and awesome) purposes. Well, you know what? That’s freaking awesome, and I salute you with my coffee. Thanks.

Shaved Pussies Are For Pussies (a non-PMS-driven rant)


I got divorced last year and slowly (really, really, slowly) started working my way into dating. And by slowly, I mean I started messing around online because I couldn’t justify spending $60 on a sitter for my two kids so I could go meet losers at a bar.

Interestingly enough, my Facebook email inbox started filling up quite a bit when I changed my status to “separated” after my ex and I decided to go our separate ways. So I’ve had some fairly safe territory to traverse in dipping my toes in the dating waters, because some of the guys I’ve been flirting with are guys who had crushes on me 20 years ago and are hoping for a second shot. Gotta say, for a mom who hasn’t had sex in oh, say, four years, that feels fucking great.

So, after 10+ years of marriage, a couple years together before that, and now another initial year of single-ness, it’s been a good 15 years since I’ve dated. And you know what I noticed right off? All these guys seem to want to know what my pussy looks like, and they all pretty much assume it’s shaved or waxed. What the fuck?

Ok, backing up. It’s not like I got a bunch of Facebook emails that read, “Hi. I see you’re single again. So, how’s your pussy?” Ah, no. But the few guys I’ve gotten reacquainted with enough to have any kind of sexy conversations have all ultimately asked the pussy question: Shaved? Waxed? Landing strip? And to that I say, “Shaved pussies are for pussies.” And here’s why.

If men can’t handle that women aren’t life-size, naturally hairless, anatomically correct Barbies designed solely for them to fuck, then I say, fuck them. And not in the good way. Women have hair. Now, am I some kind of Amazonian Pussy Bushwoman? No. But I also don’t see a need to try to make my vagina look like it did when I was 12. I don’t want to fuck anyone who wants all my girl parts to look like girl parts. These are WOMAN parts, and they’ve got fuzz.

WTF, people? And in a recession, no less?

Maybe it’s the Internet. Porn is so damn, uh, handy, these days, it’s gotten a little homogenized, and it seems like every porn star waxes her vajayjay and/or emblazons it with piercings and Swarovski crystals. Well, you know what? That’s fucking disgusting. Sure, it makes for better filming when people aren’t getting pubes in their teeth, but you know what? That’s what’s better for make-believe. In real life, sex works better when the people having it actually know one another’s names and addresses too, so there’s one point for reality.

I am not a porn star. I’m a strong woman, a busy professional, and one seriously devoted mom. I don’t have a personal assistant, a maid, a trainer, a chef, a driver, or a nanny. I don’t have time for weekly manicures, electrolysis, root touch-ups, extensions, highlights, anal bleaching (how is that even a thing?), or bush-scaping. You know why? Because I’m a normal fucking person who works her ass off taking care of herself and her kids. So, that’s it: If you want to fuck me, you better be pretty damn happy I have enough time to shave my freaking legs, let alone keep Muff City in decently trimmed condition.

Here’s the other thing: I know men are pretty visual creatures, so asking for some imagery isn’t too bizarre a request, but it’s really impractical and kind of stupid. A bush can always be whacked. But stretch marks, c-section scars, and post-nursing boobs require a hell of a lot more effort (and money) to change. So, yeah, I get that guys want to envision this porned-up little haven for their dicks, but the truth is, whether a woman waxes her lady bits is probably the last concern they should have. I’d make it a rule that I’ll never have sex with someone who asks the pussy question before having a pretty decent chance at actually finding out for himself, but I’ve been celibate long enough and making that vow would pretty much mean I have to start ordering Energizers for my Jackrabbit in bulk.

So that’s it. There’s my first rant. You’re welcome. You’re also welcome to post your own rants and questions. Let me know what you want to talk about. The floor is yours.