Tales from the Gyno

It started out innocently enough on the eve of Thanksgiving. A twenty-escalator climb at the AMC to see Volver, a bottle of cabernet-shiraz blend at the closest thing you can get to a quiet bar in Port Authority, four youngish girls who no longer have stars in their eyes and therefore harbor no illusions. Two are failed writers, one a financial expat, and the other a future gynecological-obstetric resident. Topics moved from the film we just saw to current films, to Thanksgiving plans, to employment, and then, fueled by our cab-shiraz, one of us said to the ob-gyn, "Is it true that you shit yourself during labor?"

Things your mother and/or sex-ed facilitator never told you:

10. Yes, you can, joyously and without restraint. For the one who holds the video camcorder, take care and stay out of the line of fire. Or as one of the party proclaimed, "If you ever want your husband to go down on you again, keep him by your head and hold on to his hand."

9. Some of us received an education on the importance of exercising the PC muscle, otherwise known as performing Kegel exercises. You can do this anywhere, anytime. All you have to do is squinch in your twat muscles like you're trying to hold your pee, and release. Repeat.

8. Elaborating further, this is one of the tenets of the ancient practice of tantric sex. Otherwise known as sex for lazy geniuses. In middle age, the Kegels will also prevent your uterus from hanging outside you like an udder. If you have incontinence issues, the Kegels will allow you to hold your peepee longer, Iron Bladder.

7. Practically everyone has herpes in some form or another.

6. Thick dicks stretching out the twat will not leave you with a flapping pouch after the jewel thieves have come and gone if you do your Kegels. No, truthfully, the ob-gyn proclaims, the vagina is a very muscular and resilient organ. Amen.

5. Make no mistake, heed the insinuations from your sixth grade sex-ed instructor. Syphilis is nasty. Looks nasty. Smells nasty. Damages the penis nasty. It will eat your flesh. Just ask Queen Elizabeth.

4. Speaking of smells, do your ob-gyn a favor and wash your pubes before hopping into the stirrups. No hot tuna here.

3. One of the best things you can do to prevent a UTI is to take a leak before and after you get it on, which should really enhance your amorous inclinations.

2. Pregnancy is forty weeks long. Not thirty-six weeks. Not nine months. But fucking ten months. Liars. Which leads our dear Tiresias to say, "This line will die with me. The soothstaying stops here."

1. If your healthcare professional uses the word cauliflower when describing your genitalia, you are a back alley ass pirate, dancing for money, whore.

Where We Are

What have we been up to?

1. Intermix 15% off coupon. And yet, Cass still managed to find the one item that was an exception to this discount. And Tiresias managed to score a pair of boots that still cost more than her hobo annual salary. Alas, she will not be buying coffee this week.

2. Visitors. Like every good hobo who subscribes to the your-bench-is-my-bench philosophy, we've been opening our cardboard boxes to anyone who wishes to stay with us. Even if it means sharing the floor with a dog that hasn't had a bath in over four weeks.

3. Work. And trying to make deadlines. And trying to deal with passive-aggressive co-workers. They steal, they cheat, they have an unhealthy mastery of Outlook, they come up behind you when you're reading blogs.

4. The Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular is actually quite spectacular.

5. We're not funny. We're sucked dry of ideas. Empty, juiceless sieves.

And we're done. This is all we've got to offer. We will be back with our usual effluvium of spleen, rants, angry bitter coursing with rancor. We've been busy, and sometimes down, and sometimes just plain sleepy. We slept on the job, we failed our captive audience, we failed in our duties to lay out the course of the future, and our updates on our little world and the world beyond have fallen to the wayside. We forgot to cover the elections. We should fire ourselves, is what we should do. But alas, we're too lazy. And you know what? We'll just say we needed a little break, and like every good CEO of a tidy little non-profit, we'll just pay ourselves a neat five hundred grand and cut the administrative staff benefits for the next fiscal year.

And halfway through the day there will be a wardrobe malfunction

Nothing ill to say about the New York City Marathon?

Or about the east side?

Or about shoppers in Herald Square?

Well, then, what about women who wear ruffled polka-dotted off-the-shoulder creations and look as though they've stepped right out of a pirate romance?

Arrrr. (I figure our modern-day pirate has no need to say "Matey," because that's totally been overdone.

How about setting Miss Pirate Ass-Muncher in a corporate setting, on the thirty-first floor, in a place where some people are implicitly expected to wear suits (well, expected to, but most times should be just grateful that people show up wearing any clothes at all, especially given our resident pirate slut)?

I have this black satin and lace bustier I wore once to a fetish party (well, it was a dance to celebrate homosexuality, but what happened was everyone dropped major acid and got drunk and acted like it was carnevale or beerfest in the Adironbacks) in college. It was relatively tame for the event, as there was always Sock Boy, and girls who sauntered around wearing pasties or simply going around topless, just with the application of paint on their nipples and aureolae.

But so the bustier. Maybe I will wear this to work. Maybe I will wear it to my next weekly meeting.