The Knot...Not!!!

Most women of marriage age have heard of The Knot. That website where brides go for everything wedding-related...what dresses are in fashion, popular wedding hairstyles, hot honeymoon locales. They go there to commiserate with other brides about the woes of their wedding plans. Why do they have the site? Because no one but brides want to talk about this shit. Most of us really don't give a damn.

I’ve come up with a new idea for those of us that aren’t longing to be stuck with one man for the rest of our lives. A man who will piss on our toilet seats, eat our favorite snacks, and hog the bed. Men who never notice that we change our hairstyles but go to work and fawn over a female co-worker’s great new haircolor our new outfit.

I want someone to start a website call the “The Not”. It would be for those of us that enjoy being single. It’s not that I’m opposed to marriage but I’ve never met a man who could have a little dick trickle on my toilet seat that I wouldn’t want to strangle with his own scrotum. Call me picky…I don’t care. I’m sure there are men out there who go ballistic at the sight of a box of tampons in their home. I don’t fault them for that.

The Not. We singles (gals and guys) could hang out there and read stories about the meals that are best eaten while standing at the kitchen counter. Articles on how to forgive ourselves for using all the hot water or not putting toilet paper on the roller because we have no one else to blame. Articles on how we never have to feel guilty because we spent $300 on a cut and color. There will be a TV section because we can always watch whatever we want on TV without having to negotiate with "him".

*sigh*…life is good.

The Not…the hot internet spot for the single gals. Those of us that have chosen not to tie the knot. I like it!

Note: To be honest I tried typing in thenot.com and it went to The Knot! Those crafty, friggin' bastards!!!

Chick out…

Tug o' War

Have you ever heard of the menstrual cup?? I had forgotten they existed until I found a box of Instead cups in my bathroom cabinet the other day.

In case you don’t know what I’m talking about it’s a cup, much like a diaphragm, that you stick up your “Lucy” when you have your period. I thought it was a grand idea. I mean you can wear one all day long with no risk of leaking. Hell, according to the box you can have sex or run a marathon while wearing one!! Genius!!!

I thought this cup was genius. It went in with no problem and I never felt it the entire time I was wearing it. To be honest, I didn’t have sex or run a marathon while wearing it so I can’t vouch for that but it did work well for it’s intended purpose.

*Note* At this point it’s going to get a little graphic so you might want to stop reading if you’re least bit squeamish or if you have absolutely no sense of humor.

Then it came time to remove it. I followed the instructions which say to sit on the toilet with your legs spread, reach in with your finger, hook rim of the cup, and pull straight out. Easy right? Hell to the no!!!! I couldn’t hook it!!

The instructions say that if you have trouble removing it then bear down and it will be easier to remove. That should work. I tried it. I beared down like I was shitting a peach pit. Didn’t work!!!

Another little tip in the instructions: squat and bear down. WTF? It sounds like they’re giving you instructions on how to birth a baby in a rice paddy. I tried it. Didn’t work!!!

At this point I started to panic!

I tried everything. One foot on the wall and one foot on the floor… didn’t work! Head stand…didn’t work! One foot behind my head…didn’t work!! I was getting ready to do the Russian cossack dance to try and shake it out when I decided that I really needed to calm the hell down.

I tried to relax and went back in again following the instructions. One finger was definitely not going to work. I went in with my index finger and thumb thinking I could get a grip…..GAAAAAAA!!!

At this point, I really thought I was going to have to go to the emergency room. Can you imagine??? I was 38 years old and I couldn’t remove a damned menstrual cup. I know it’s nothing compared to the guy who “fell on the lightbulb” and it got stuck in his ass but still mortifying!!!

I laid down for a while because I was freaking out. I calmed down a little bit and tried again. Deep breaths…deep breaths. I decided to try to get a grip on it using my thumb and my index and middle fingers. You’re probably wondering “was she eventually going to have to use her entire hand?”. To be honest I thought I might have to…I won’t lie. But….YES…SUCCESS…I finally got it out. I felt like I’d just won a major award. If there had been anyone to high five, I would have definitely done it.

I was sore and exhausted or to be more specific “Lucy” was sore and exhausted. I swear that I heard her moan. She felt like she had run through a field of brambles and rolled on a pile of broken glass. She needed a drink and since she has no way of consuming alcohol I did it for her.

Needless to say, I never used Instead again. I had challenged “Lucy” to a game of tug o’ war and I barely beat the bitch. I wasn’t willing to risk it again…

Chick out…

We're even...

Purse…pocketbook…handbag. Whatever you call it…it’s a woman’s secret vault where she keeps everything…lipstick, year-old receipts, feminine hygiene products, stale gum, 10 pens (only 3 of which actually write), overstuffed wallet, etc.

I don’t keep anything extremely personal in my purse but it’s my place…part of my personal space. Even I feel like I’ve violated my best friend when she tells me to find thus-and-so in her purse. I proceed gingerly looking only for that specific item. It’s a weird thing but it’s just the way we chicks are.

So last week I lost a set of rental car keys in my purse and it turned into some sort of circus side show to a table full of people.

I dug and dug and dug throught my very fashionable, leopard print purse. No keys!! WTF? Where could they be? Then I remembered that I was not the last person who had the keys. It’s was my primary work husband!!!!

I turned to him and asked, “Where are the keys?”

“I dropped them in your purse”, he replied with a smirk. (Note: only liars smirk)

“You’re lying to me!”

“No, I’m not. Are they laying in the floor?”

I look….not there.

Once again I ask, “Are you lying?”

He responds, “Just give me your purse.”

And then the strangest thing happened…I. Handed. Him. My. Purse.

All conversation at the table stopped and all eyes were on WH1. I think the two other women at the table were in shock and all the other men were intrigued.

He then proceeded to rifle throught it like a 5 year-old trying to find the junkie toy in the bottom of a box of Cocoa Pebbles. He kept pulling things out like a really bad magician pulling the wrong things out of his magic hat.

My personal car keys…nope!

Rifle..rifle..rifle…

My mp3 player case…hey, I’d been looking for that!

Rifle…rifle…rifle…

A phone charger…nope!

Rifle…rifle…rifle…

Rental car keys!!!! We almost gave him a standing ovation. I guess he wasn’t lying….

So why did I let him do it? Was it because we’re really good friends? Nah, that’s not really the reason.

Was it because I know him about as well as any of my girlfriends? No, that’s not it either.

Was it because I’ve seen him pee on a bush? Yep…we’re even now!

Chick out…