The Guilty Pleasures..Chocolate, Dr. Phil and Masturbation

I am finally back at my computer after an uncomfortable absence. I was working way too much. I also broke my little finger on my right hand and wow-you really need it to type: (like that), enter, and anything with a P. It was during this period (aha, I can type that word again) that I realized many things, like the undeniable guilt I feel for all the things I love -which are only for me: Chocolate, Dr. Phil and masturbation. I suppose that eating chocolate when nobody is looking isn't so strange, but how about the great desire I have to draw the blinds, turn off the lights and enjoy one bite at a time while standing over the trash can, just in case somebody comes home. That cannot be normal. It is with similar acts of paranoia that I enjoy the two other favorites. Yes, I shamefully watch Dr. Phil, but only when I am alone. I listen to all of his "isms" and stare in wonder while he gives people advice that I think is obviously common sense. I hold onto the remote with a tight grip for fear that the phone will ring, my husband will walk in or one of my neighbors will run out of sugar. That cannot be normal. But all of this pales in the face of the production that is my system of self-pleasure. I go through the house picking up clothes, folding laundry, putting books back on the shelves-pretending all the while that I am not headed to the closet of toys. I am alone-but convinced that someone would see my intentions if I simply headed straight up the stairs at a gallop. So, I dance around "the drawer" where all of the magic happens.....sometimes I even dust it off before actually opening it. After I have explored the drawer and done the deed, I spend 10 minutes putting EVERYTHING back right where it was. Bedspread, curtains, pillows, and I have even thrown dirty clothes back on the floor to hide the fact that I was ever there.

So why the guilt over pleasure? We all do it (eat chocolate), we all watch it (Dr. Phil), and who wouldn't do it if they had the chance (as if I need to say it)? So why the covert operation? Am I the only one who hides in the middle of my own home to take advantage of what is already mine? I bought the chocolate, it is my TV and dammit if anyone is going to touch my goodies, it ought to be me. Maybe the guilt is my way of misbehaving, because I rarely misbehave. Okay, so I misbehave all the time - and I like it. Oh...I get it. Eating chocolate over the trash can is naughty and Dr. Phil is the guy my husband won't let me see, and the masturbation...well I guess it's all about the masturbation. Maybe the trash can chocolate and Dr. Phil in the dark are just foreplay-Final evidence that romance is not dead after all.

Lap Dancing...not just for fun?

Okay, Dr. J.- I applaud the information and appreciate the insight from the Lap Dance Study in your earlier comment. Bravo, ladies-I love a stripper with an agenda. I mean, what occurs to me as I read the all-too scientific study of the ins and outs (ouch, the puns are coming fast here-dam, I did it again) of the lap dance fertility study is: well, duh. Did it really take a truly, well-organized, probably publicly funded, study run by an undeniably creative Rutgers student to tell us that strippers are hotter when ovulating? Women, help a girl out: do you guys not notice that we linger around the bedroom door on just a few nights a month? Did it occur to you that you wish we had this kind of fervor at any time other than during the Super Bowl? Did you think it was your cologne? I like football as much as the rest of the girls, but it wasn't the day we spent eating nachos on our sofa that got me to to come to bed without my underwear - obviously an oversight on my part. It was more likely the urge I get once a month to tear off the clothes of the nearest male I can get my hands on. Strippers are just girls like me, with a few DDDifferences (sorry for the stutter). Unlike the average American woman on the go, the go-go dancer has to worry about the lingering expiration of their eggs and their career. Every month, another egg down the hatch, another reminder that we only have so much time left to fertilize and tantalize. So, like a salesman on a monthly quota, the stripper seizes each passing egg with the fervor of a dying man. (or wo-man) You see, it's not as complicated as all the science would indicate. We know that when we are ovulating (i.e.: getting hot and bothered over a cover of Brad Pitt in the grocery store), the inevitable is next: the dreaded menstruation. To an average girl on the street, it's no big deal-we wear dark colors to feel less fat and our husbands spend more time online doing things we don't need to see. But that's about it. Strippers, well-to a stripper menstruation is temporary unemployment. Nobody wants to pay good money for a lap dance from a girl who has to wear her grandma's underwear to conceal the telltale signs of mother nature. So, all science aside: they have 8 days left to make the rent. So, out come the glass platforms and the extra naughty drawers. She is crossing her fingers for a bachelor party or a fraternity hazing and no man goes home with cash. Now you may need science to confirm that women are "attracting" men during ovulation as a function of physiology, but most strippers I know like girls (yes, I am quite popular with the ladies). So does the science explain why naked lesbians aren't throwing those pheromones to the ladies in the room? Maybe we aren't the ones with the wads in our pockets, or the loose grip on our dollars. Either way: work it, girl.

Dildo Wedneday

A day late, and a dollar short, here's the first weekly review of a self-pleasuring device. Picture if you will, a purple latex covered egg-shaped contraption with a squiggly tail of pure latex at the end, aka clit stimulator. It can't really be called a dildo, because it in no way resembles the shape of a penis. Attached at one end is a small white cord w/ a dial controller. Two speeds: nice, and teeth chattering. This seems to be designed for external pleasure only; I'm sure someone could get it up there, but I've never had the guts. Don't want a Richard Gere emergency room episode to add to my reperatoire, and what's more, something like that would surely ruin my political career. Says on the package it's water resistant, but again, not wanting to risk a Marilyn Monroe, haven't tried this one either. Lube is a definite must, especially if you've opted out of the Brazilian wax for the season. One little snag, and let's just say, "ouch." For the novice, the lower speed works for awhile, and then unfortunately, as with any vice, you develop a tolerance. If I were to give one piece of advice, I'd hold out switching to the higher speed as long as possible. Once you get used to those kind of frequencies, an actual person in bed with you will be a real come-down. But overall, I'd give this little guy 3 and a half penises out of five. (coming up with an icon for that is going to be the tricky part.) Stay tuned for lubrication Monday and more updates on all the things you're not allowed to talk about at work from Meghan and Laura.

The Maiden Voyage

The big bad world of blogging. I watch my geeky husband at his computer 24/7 and think: is he watching porn? what could be so engaging if not boobies? Blogging? you're kidding, right? He's posting to his blog, now defunct due to issues we can no longer discuss...lawyers sent us a letter, wagged their fingers for disrupting their solace in bourgeois Lebo-Land. If you're not from Pittsburgh-you just wouldn't understand. So, here I am trying to get my husband's attention and I figure-maybe he'll read my blog, look across the room, tear off my clothes and Bam!-blogging gets you laid! Yes, I said laid. You see, I am not trying to be a "real" journalist and I absolutely don't give a shit what anyone thinks. I take as good as I give-so feel free to let me know your thoughts (bigots and ignorants need not post). My co-author Meghan-she has trouble with the big words, so go easy. Penis, wiener, boobs, people: keep it simple. Oh, and we're thinking of doing Dildo Wednesdays: for those of you who don't know us: that's when we review a new model of self-pleasuring device. True story-don't wait 'til the next party to hear if the White Rabbit is worth the 3 D batteries, tune in Wednesday. Boys, don't be afraid to offer up any topics you'd like to get a woman's perspective on, we'll help you out wherever we can. BUT-this is not a space for dirty talk or finding Hookers or Happy Endings, just all the things you've always wanted to say to the PTA, and just couldn't get the words out. See you soon.