On Hair (down there)

Come a little closer, dearies. I'm about to share more than you could possibly ever want to know. What? You thought I already did that? Mwahahaha! How little you know. I can always get more personal.

After telling you all about my vomit, I thought it was about time to discuss an issue that's been on my mind for the past forever.

My lady jungle. My landing strip. My path to the promised land. My pubic hair.

This wouldn't even be a topic if everyone didn't seem to make such a big deal of it. Of pubic hair in general. Of the need to tame it, shape it, trim it, remove it.

Perhaps you all remember the douche who didn't approve of my soul path. Or the dude on Twitter who I got into a massive argument with over his desire to see grown women bare (sorry, I'm too lazy to find you the links). Or maybe you've had your own battles with your nether hair. Or maybe you were just as insipired as I was by the Vagina Monologues.

Long Live Eve Ensler!

Anywayyyyy.

I, myself, have gone through many phases of hairy and not so hairy glory. In the last 12 or so years, I've waxed, Nair-ed, shaved, and trimmed. Not that I've ever gone completely bare. THAT will never happen.

And now that I'm 30, you know what I've decided? I'm done fussing. Done. I like my hair and if you don't like it, well I can find lovers who do. I'm not exactly desperate for some douchecanoe to go fishing, ifyouknowwhatImean.

For one, waxing sucks. It hurts. It does. Even if you're just waxing the bikini line (which is all I'd really do), it still hurts. Even if you've found the most pain-free aesthetician ever, it fucking hurts. No denying that. Also? It's expensive! And my hair grows fast. Not just on my hooho, but on my head and legs too. I blame vitamins. But I'm not spending all that money on something that's going to be stubbly in a week anyway.

Depilatories. Nair. Veet. Well, these work okaaaay, but just okay. You have to grow out your hair first to do it (just like waxing) and a few hairs always get missed anyway. And then it takes a good ten extra minutes (doesn't sound like a lot, but I'm not one for spending a ton of time on my appearance). Then it leaves a vague chemical smell on your vag for like a day. And while it's cheaper than waxing, those bottles are still like 7 bucks a pop. That adds up. So what I'm saying? Not worth it.

Shaving. Shaving sucks balls. It leaves the little red bumps which if you shave over a second time (like the next day?), it cuts them. CUTS THEM! Like with pain and bleeding. I don't want to cut the delicate skin around my coochie, thankyouverymuch. And shaving only lasts like a day. Once again, I'm just talking about the bikini line. I can't even imagine gals who shave the whole shebang. *shudder*

Here's a news flash: women come with hair! It's a sign of puberty. Of adulthood. Of hormones and pheromones and the goodness of all that is womanhood.

Allow me to quote one of my fave ladies, Lissa Rankin (who I had the pleasure of actually meeting last winter at a book signing):

Pubic hair is not just a biological accident that forces us to the waxing salon. It serves three critical functions. First, it protects the delicate vagina. Second, it serves as a reproductive billboard to alert potential mates that you are biologically (if not emotionally) prepared to procreate. And last, it’s a pheromone carpet and traps the scents that lead potential mates to the promised land. So you might think twice before you shave it all off. It’s there for a reason. Embrace it.

Now go read the rest of her article: 15 Crazy Things About Vaginas

And you know what? The same goes for the menfolk. I don't expect or even want men to manscape. What happened to men wanting hair? It used to be a sign of manhood, of virility, and now guys are shaving it all off.



I don't get it.Why are we so ashamed of our hair? Of our adulthood?


So at the end of the day? No more. I will but swimsuits with a lower panty line. I will let my hair grow out. I may just trim up the bulk, but I am embracing my hair. I am a 30 year old woman and I come with hair. It's a package deal and a desirable package at that!
And if you're looking for the look of a 10 year old girl, I don't want you. Because there's just something wrong with that.

*shudder*

fishcunts and cum dumpsters

Disclaimer: I'd hate to start a feud or hurt anyone's feelings (which is why I'm not naming names), but something has been nagging at me lately and I need to say something about it.

This is what my blog is all about, after all, having a space where I can vent my feelings about a particular subject. And today? I am taking full advantage of this forum. Even as I write, though, I feel badly. Like I'm being a spoil sport. Like I just can't take a joke.

But I'm gonna keep on writing, because this is important to me. Because some things just aren't funny. And I know funny.

Imagine there is a website that you love. You love it because it is liberal and talks about The Sex. You read it religiously, because its columnists are some of your fave bloggers and because it makes you laugh. It is total awesome sauce, which, admittedly, is one of your favorite things.

But one day, said website posts a column poking fun of smelly vaginas and calling slutty women "fishcunts" and "cum dumpsters," and if you sleep around, "you’re gonna smell like the dirty girl you are."

And while this was genuinely not meant to hurt, but be funny, you can't help but feel hurt. Like the butt of a joke you're not in on.

So what to do? My plan was just ignore it. It doesn't affect me. It's a site and I don't have to visit. And I still don't, I guess. But that makes me sad, because I do love that site. But this gnawed at me and gnawed at me. I had to tell my side of the story, dammit!

I get the joke. I do. It's funny to make fun of such things. I get the comedian crossing the line to make the joke. I get it. And I'm not faulting the author of the article. I'm faulting the concept that sluts are somehow excluded from acceptable sex dialogue.

Is talking about sex somehow okay only for the monogamous? And the rest of us are, what, "cum dumpsters"?

Vaginas smell. Sometimes good. Sometimes bad. But I'm reminded of the Vagina Monologues here. Why don't we love all vaginas? Why are some vaginas good and some disgusting? Some too gross for proper society? Why is it that we have a class system of vaginas?

These cum dumpsters, women who sleep around, clearly their vaginas are disgusting. Our vaginas are disgusting. What I truly don't get is the connection between these lower class, smelly vaginas (because we've already established that's disgusting) and sluthood.

I'm really trying to understand. Sex is awesome, but only if you do it with one person?

So what does that have to do with vaginal hygiene? I see my gyno. I get tested. I pee after sex (no infections for me, thanks). I wear my cotton panties. I drink plenty of the agua. I don't "scrub" my hooha, because the skin is sensitive down there and my gyno said don't scrub, but rinse gently with plain old water.

And still? Sometimes, because of hormones and body chemistry, my vajayjay smells.  Yup. It does. Better fucking believe it. And I'd bet a good bunch of money that plenty of monogamous women out there practice the same hygiene and still have smelly vaginas sometimes.

I'm going to channel my inner Eve Ensler and declare that we should love our vaginas. We should revere our vaginas. Our vaginas smell. And they're hairy. And they're delicate. And they're amazing and beautiful and unique.

But beyond the fishcunt moniker which just gets under my skin (because I think there is a line between something funny and something derogatory), my issue comes back to the derision of "loose" women. This is a bigger problem, beyond sex websites. Beyond what Summer's Eve tells you (read this article by Lissa Rankin, btw!). This is about sexual revolution.

Somewhere along the way, sex became more acceptable. But not for everyone. Somewhere along the way, it was decided that you, as a woman, can like sex, but ultimately must want it only with one person. If you have sex with multiple partners, you're a slut, a whore, a ho, a cum dumpster. Somewhere along the way, a woman who has lots of sex with different partners became equal to a sex worker, one who gets paid for sex acts, a prostitute.

And even as we take back the word slut, even as we reclaim our sexuality as empowering and important and vital and a source of pride, we're nowhere close to achieving the goal. Because sluts are still funny. That stupid cum dumpster smells like the dirty girl she is.

Because having lots of sex is clearly poor hygiene for your vagina. Or something. And that's funny I guess.

The problem with that is that it's only funny if everyone agrees it's clearly sarcastic and wholly untrue. But people still buy that. They buy that lots of sex is bad. For women anyway.

But I see it as derisive, not funny. Where does the joke end and the harmful archetype begin? When we poke fun at women who are "sluts," it doesn't feel like fun to those of us living a lifestyle that might characterize us as sluts.

I was told, in a sense, to lighten up. That it's all in good fun.

Some jokes are only funny to the comedian and those in a select circle who aren't the butt of the joke. Some jokes are passe or in poor taste because the societal mores have dictated that it's no longer appropriate to joke about.

If I heard a joke today about a lynching, I'd cringe. I could never be forgiven for blogging about racism "all in good fun," so why is this any different? Why are women who aren't monogamous or who have multiple sex partners still below society's esteem? Why?

I can't tell you how much that angers me.

So what would you do?

I'd love to challenge everyone to (first) love your vaginas!

Do you have a vagina? What do you love about it?

If you don't have a vagina, go love a vagina today. It will thank you for it.

Sex writers and people who read about sex, hell, people who have the sex: let's value all vaginas equally.

I totes want this vagina pillow

who wants to buy it for me?

hug a vagina today!

Your Gyno and You

If I haven't scared away all the male readers of this blog with my posts about babies and vibrators, this post should do the trick nicely. I had a gynecological appointment today (pee ess, are you impressed that I can spell gynecological without spellcheck? hacha!). The first with a new doctor. See, I had the same gyno for the last forever years, we'll call him Dr. A, but my employer's insurance changed and I can no longer go to said doctor. Which is traumatic.

See, a woman's relationship with her gyno is complicated. Important. It's important to see the same gyno over the years because your body changes and that history is crucial. So for that, I miss my doc. But, even so, Dr. A could be a little Judgey McJudgerson when it came to my love life. Always nicer to me when I was in a serious relationship, always pestering me about my marriage and baby factory plans. Which I found stressful. Dating is hard enough without the judgement of my damn gyno, mmmk?

A word about male vs. female gynos: I have never had a female gyno. Mostly because I've never had the opportunity. Usually these women are in demand and hard to get an appointment with. And I'd rather get a good appointment with a man than wait 3 months to see a woman thankyouverymuch. Plus, a friend of mine had a female gyno that wasn't understanding or gentle at all. So there's no guarantee that female is better when it comes to your lady bits.

How to the ever, going to a new gyno today was still scary. Sca-a-a-a-ry. And the whole experience today made me miss Dr. A. Dr. A who knew me. Who asked about my job and my travels. Who was kind and his walls had Monets and his light fixtures had paintings of clouds. Dr. A whose nurses had the kind of warm smiles you see in airline commercials. Dr. A who had a changing room in the exam room so you could undress in comfort and privacy. I was very much missing Dr. A.

The experience isn't pleasant anyway. You recount every period and pain for a nurse, who weighs you shoes on (that pound is crucial!), and then sits you down in a cold room full of pictures of adorable babies that (depending on the day) either make you overwhelmed, depressed, annoyed, delighted (unlikely), or suicidal. The room also has posters of the stages of gestation or the female anatomy in full color. The room screams: BABIES AND PREGNANCY! If you're a single girl with ovaries that are not in use, you feel like a Swede on a train in Japan. Then she hands you a piece of fabric, makes you undress completely, and sits you on a table covered in  the kind of crappy, rough toilet paper they stock in rest stops on the way to Vegas.

Then the doctor comes in. He asks you the same questions about your period and your pain and any abnormalities (none for me, thanks). He checks your breasts for lumps, which is uncomfortable physically and emotionally. Then he sticks your feet in stirrups. STIRRUPS! And scoots your ass to the edge of the table. Your naked hooha might as well be sitting on the edge of the Grand Fucking Canyon and you can sure feel that desert breeze. Then the exam starts. And it's not like you can see what he's doing down there. He's sticking things up your vajayjay that feel like cooking utensils at best and torture devices on Fringe at worst and he's scraping in places that shouldn't be scraped. It's uncomfortable and awkward and often painful.

And you want the nurse and/or the doc to be making small talk through this. At least I do. It distracts me from the mayhem that's going on in my poonanie area. The nurse today was nice. She had kind eyes. It helped.

And once the doctor has finished poking and prodding, he takes off his gloves and announces that my uterus is tipped. Casually. Like I hear that news every day. Did you know that you have blue eyes? And your uterus is tipped? Good god, man! I tell him that I didn't know this (did Dr. A miss it or is this a recent development?). And he tells me that it's common and no big deal. Except, I did a bit of research today and it could be a big deal. It could cause fertility issues. Which makes me totally upset on a near hysterical level.

Seriously. Have you heard about the Baby Lust? It's avery real affliction that many women my age are stricken with. We cannot help it. And there is only one known cure. So this news is, like, ARG! So fucking frustrating!

On the up side, after much research, I decided to get the HPV vaccine. I'm not in the recommended age range for the vaccine, but I'm close. And I'm not on the vaccine bandwagon, but this is a vaccine that helps prevent cervical cancer. CANCER! A vaccine for cancer is a revolutionary thing. And while it doesn't prevent all strains of HPV, it prevents the most common known to cause cervical cancer. I've really been thinking about this a while and while all my paps have always been normal, you just never know. You don't. And while I don't plan on having dirty unprotected sex with a stranger like ever, it's important to remember that not all sex is consensual and rapists are unlikely to use protection. I'd rather take one more possible disease off the table should something like that occur.

One more lesson for the ladies: being realistic isn't necessarily being pessimistic It's perilous out there for the girlies. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

So I got the first shot of three today of the vaccine (and my arm is a little sore, yo), which could pose a problem when I move, but I'll worry about that then. I'm sure I can get my last shot somewhere else.

So to recap: many ways to say vagina, unbelievably uncomfortable morning, tipped uterus, HPV vaccine. What a day.