Hands Across My Labia

(WARNING: NSFW)

There’s a new movement afoot to get women to love their labias.

Why? Huh?

Because we women are supposed to feel like shit about our physical selves–even when we don’t–so some twink somewhere (probably a plastic surgeon) makes up a new neuroses for us gals to glom onto. Of course we do this since we women are also major people pleasers AND this society is allllll about promoting beauty over brains and brawn. What happens next? Our self-esteem takes a major hit, and we’re looking for the next beauty miracle to make us perfect instead of, oh I don’t know, maybe reading a good book that will make us a scosch smarter/wiser. Help us, Judy Blume!

Now, I was taken aback by this new love thyself no matter what proclamation because I had no idea that some women hate their labias.

Wait..clarification desperately needed here–90% of men don’t know what the LABIA is (no, it’s not the latest Italian sportscar, although most men ride it like it was –HEY O!), so I will do the honors of explaining to the menfolk just what AND where the labia is.

From FreeDictionary.com:

labia

[lā′bē·ə] sing. labium

Etymology: L, lip
1 the lips.
2 the fleshy liplike edges of an organ or tissue.
3 the folds of skin at the opening of the vagina. labial, adj.
Here’s the perfect graphic for show n’ tell: And to the dudes who read this blog–commit this image to memory–with particular attention paid to where the clitoris is. *AHEM*
(Courtesy of The Mayo Foundation)

(Courtesy of The Mayo Foundation)

Apparently, the hot trend these days–labiaplasty–is for women whose twats have had quite the workout birthing humans, riding horses, doing the splits during their Nadia Comaneci phase, and well, just by being a modern woman. That shit gets stretched out, see, and some women are uber-self conscious about their labias looking like elephant ears.

Huh?

Really?

This is where we get into trouble.

Ok, let’s walk through this one, mmkay? So, some woman, who has done her fair share of living (see above graf), suddenly feels like CRAP because she’s seen what the porn goddesses have and decide that them gals are the new high standard in pussy perfection.

(Side note: I’m sure most of this myth is perpetrated by men who never leave their parents’ basements.)

Yes, even though the only folks who will actually feast their peepers on her vajay, are her doc (hey, she/he has seen ’em all & they don’t care), her significant other, her lover, her mistress, and perhaps her waxologist–but she’s still quite self-conscious. Let’s be honest–any dude who is THAT LUCKY to get close to a labia–would be wise to shut his yap-yap about what it looks like or he’ll find that he is no longer welcome in that fleshy, magical, wonderful kingdom.

Apparently, and thanks to the world of social media, there are blogs, blogs and tumblrs & more tumblersand whatnot dedicated to celebrating the labia–no matter the size. Bravo to those broads who are all about putting puss pix out there for all the world to see. <golf clap>

This is what has me flummoxed: Women do the crux of the living and breathing in this society, and our bodies are the physical evidence. We’re the ones who keep this world from sliding deeper into the shitter. However, even though we are the ones made of sterner stuff, we’re still made to feel like shit if we don’t look absolutely fucking perfect all the live-long day.

To that nonsense I say “What the entire fuck??!”

In short, there is nothing wrong with you–you’re perfect.

The beauty of unemployment

Believe it or not, being unemployed has many advantages–at least that’s what I keep telling myself so I won’t throw myself off the end of Navy Pier whilst wearing ceeee-ment shoes. There are many things I don’t have to worry about doing on a daily, or even weekly, basis and I’m finding great comfort and joy in that revelation.

1) No daily shower. Unless I do Bikram of course. However, I don’t shower right away because I like to wander around in small, enclosed public spaces with horrible ventilation & opium den-esque lighting to let the common folk bathe in my aura and aroma. Since I’m quite the social butterfly and can extract an actual conversation from the meanest of souls, I make sure my breath is extra-stanky and my skin extra-ruddy. This is their punishment for any previous nefarious acts. Hey, that ‘thing you smell’ is what they get for being bullies, or Teabaggers or whatever.

2) No makeup. One of the great things about being blessed with decent skin is I don’t need to wear a pound of makeup when I leave the house. At this age, about 1/2 pound is sufficient since I don’t garner all that much attention from my fellow humans on any given day. If anyone does pay attention to me, it’s because the drag queen scared them, and they need to see what meh looks like in order to get on with their lives. I happen to like somewhat expensive makeup because I believe you get what you pay for. The cheap stuff just slides off my visage and isn’t worth it in the long run. The downside to applying makeup after a long hiatus is I have to re-learn how to put makeup on. Sometimes I look at my eyelash curler and am reminded of the time a roommate in college used one as a roach clip. This memory causes me to giggle, of course. But then I have to try to remember how to use the eyelash curler PROPERLY. That, my friends, takes some serious thought.

3) Braless–All day, everyday. Or until it really starts to hurt, or until my boobs are brushing against my knees whilst standing up straight. Kudos to Ms. Jenni Spinner for reminding me about the wonderful world of going sans bra. It truly is a magical experience until it’s time for my daily break dancing practice, then I gotta bundle the gals up.

4) Schedule-free zone. This is both good and bad. If I don’t have some sort of plan for the day, I’ll just sit on my ass and futz around on the computer and watch “Teen Mom”, or my new fave “Monster In-Laws.” Or, I watch amateur Bulgarian porn but even that gets frustrating after some time because the poor production value drives me NUTS. I mean, c’mon! It’s so cheap to make movies these days, you’d think these porn auteurs would put some actual thought into lighting, camera angles, editing and sound, but NOOO. They can’t be bothered. Why can’t anything good ever come out of any of the former-Eastern Bloc countries? It’s been–what–about 12 years since the fall of the Iron Curtain, correct? One would think that would be enough time for the denizens of those countries to take a tour of the rest of Europe in their Yugos and realize just how easy it is to make porn. Maybe they’re too busy mourning the death of Yakov Smirnoff’s career.

Wait…where was I? Right–not having to adhere to any type of schedule. The only thing I have to do each day is go to Bikram. It may not be much, but it gets me out of the house AND gets me my daily dosage of Vitamin K.

5) No wardrobe malfunction. When McCrabass ain’t gracing some newsroom with her presence, she’s dressed from head to toe in sweats–usually something from Target and my alma mater. The bigger and more unflattering the better. And big socks if it’s cold out. And some sort of beanie on my head–usually the one I bought at the Sundance Film Fest a few years ago. Who am I trying to impress? The missing link who lives across the street? My motto is, if it’s relatively clean and BO/peanut butter smell is faint, it’s my uniform for the day. It saves on wear and tear, and money on dry cleaning. Plus, I don’t need to buy new threads for work.

6) Agoraphobic by choice. As I’ve aged, I’ve come to the conclusion that the less interaction I have with the citizenry of this fine city, the better for both of us. Plus, this is a rotten time of year to be unemployed with all of the holiday crap being shoved down our throats by way of cheery window displays, garlands/sparkly stuff hanging from lamp posts, red and green crap everywhere and insipid holiday music. I don’t need the constant reminder of how I can’t afford gifts for family and friends because I don’t have a job, money or prospects. I’m succeeding beautifully at that task all by my lonesome, thankyouverymuch. It’s just best that I remain inside my apartment, keeping the couch down and watching movies on my eyelids.

On My Camel

Camel Vs. Camel

Life is filled with firsts. Your first period, your first erection, your first bra, the first time you cheat on a test, the first time you sleep with your college lit professor, the first time you get so drunk you pass out in Moe’s AMC Pacer and the first time you do Camel Pose without wanting to puke. Today, I experienced my first Camel without wanting to vomit on my rental mat. Oh, and it was my first erection EVER but that’s a story for another time.

For those of y’all who are unfamiliar with Camel, it’s this one. You’re probably thinking to yourself, “Ha! That doesn’t look too hard! Pfft! I can do that in my sleep after chugging cheap gin and eating Taquitos!” G’head. Give it a try, but when you do, don’t for get to breathe only through your nose, keep your ass-cheeks tight, push your hips and thighs forward throughout the entire posture, lift your chest up, relax your face and keep looking for the ground with your eyes. OH, and keep your eyes open otherwise you’ll get dizzy. Now, try to get out of the pose the same way you went into it: by moving your hands up your ass to your middle back one at a time without twisting around. Otherwise you’ll really hurt yourself. My camel even captured the attention of the teacher: She called my camel “strong and beautiful.”

Made my day.

So, why is this important? Anyone who practices yoga or does any type of exercise routine, or participates in a sport that requires using both your physical and mental being to work together, understands how important to one’s self-esteem an accomplishment like this it. This is a very difficult pose because it’s the biggest backbend in the series, and it has been known to cause one to puke. Also, photos of this pose are deceiving because it looks easier than it is. Once you start the pose, you quickly realize just how difficult it is to do–but that’s the challenge of Bikram or any yoga practice. It’s difficult but you do it anyway. You challenge yourself–your whole self, not just the physical.

That’s yoga. At least, that’s what yoga is to me.

This is a huge victory for me.

Now, if I’m able to do this again tomorrow, I’ll be even more surprised.

Who knows … maybe the dam is starting to break.

PS: Oh me oh me oh my. I wanna go.