Cleanliness is next to Godliness (at least in my book).


This can definitely be classified as a “first world problem” or, my personal favorite, “white people problems,” but  I need to vent.

I wish...

My boyfriend is GROSS. Sometimes mind-blowingly so. I’ve never considered myself to be a clean/neat freak, but I do have standards and his apartment was far, far below them when I moved in. Seriously, how do you not notice that the sink is overflowing with dishes??? After leaving a cereal bowl on the living floor for TWO WEEKS, don’t you think it’s time to pick it up??? If I find one more empty pack of cigarettes in my CLEAN laundry basket, I’m going to LOSE IT (especially since I just spent 10 bucks and 2 hours at the laundromat! GRR.).

It all started on my first official move-in day. I drove 3 hours in my fully packed car with no breaks and, needless to say, when I arrived I needed to pee somethin’ fierce. I run into the bathroom, only to run right back out again in horror. Imagine what a toilet would look like in a crack den after a group of crackheads got high, had an orgy and died on top of it. That would be the best way to describe the condition this toilet was in. EW EW EW. I flipped on my boyfriend for not even having the common sense to clean the damn thing BEFORE I arrived (You do know I have to SIT DOWN when I pee, right!? Hot damn.) and forced him to take me to the nearest BK immediately before I peed my pants (and yes, this sadly was the cleaner option).

Fast forward a few months later and things are improving, but VERY slowly. I’m trying to be patient, but I start to get THAT tone with him, the “I’m a bitchy girlfriend” tone that I hate more than anything to use, but it’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks. I’ll admit, he will grudgingly do something after I ask him til I’m blue in the face and Saturdays have become our cleaning days when our apartment really needs it, but it’s not always enough. I think to myself “HOW can you not notice the filth?” and “HOW does it not bother you?” I’m almost jealous.

I’m not trying to make my boyfriend out to be a lazy bum, he has some pretty physical days at work and comes home feeling pretty beat, but I work a 40 hour week and I STILL come home and accomplish a bit of housework most days. I think(hope) he’s noticing and realizing that picking up after yourself should be part of the daily routine.

We recently found our new place that we’re moving into soon. It’s a nice size and in a great location, but the one downside? No dishwasher. And my boyfriend’s response? “.. but you’re the dishwasher, hunnie.” He was joking, of course, but STILL, it’s very close to reality. I know that with more time (and training), we’ll spend an equal amount of time doing housework, but I feel this is going to feel like this is going to mean a lot more use of “the tone”.

I consider myself an eternal optimist. But this optimist likes a clean living space and a freshly showered boyfriend, godammit! There’s always hope, right? Or will the woman always be destined to clean up after the dirty, stinky man?


No Glove, No Love


Rubbers. Jimmy Hats. Raincoats. Willie Warmers. Condoms. Call ‘em what you will. I like to call them the reason I’m not pregnant and I plan on staying that way until there is a ring on my finger, my own roof over my head and a hell of lot more money in my bank account.  Condoms are the reason Tarzan isn’t supporting his baby mama on a bank teller salary.  And the reason I am writing this article. Why, you may ask?

Because Tarzan has decided, unilaterally, that he no longer wishes to wear a condom when we do it like they do on the Discovery Channel. Which would be fine if I was on birth control. Except I’m not. I don’t have health insurance and can’t afford the extra 70 bucks a month for the script.

Tarzan says that they cut off his circulation and he can’t feel anything anymore. ANYMORE? We’ve been having amazing sex for the last year and half and now, all of a sudden, he can’t feel anything?  I offered to buy the Magnum Thin condoms, but he said he doesn’t trust them.  I offered to get the Magnum Extra Large ones and do you know what he said? “I’m a patient man. I can wait.” Well you know what?

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“Delicate” Situations


I would have found something racier, but I feel like searching for anything other than "sexy undies" would have turned up porn pictures.

I have a pretty good life. My problems are what folks on the internets these days call First World Problems. Thus, my problems aren’t really problems at all, just some trivial shit I want to rant about because I honestly have nothing worth complaining about. Luckily, I love to complain. Cue hilarious problems.

My primary residence these days is foggy old Londontown. I live in sin with my boyfriend… and his mother. You know, as hip young ladies in tough economic times do. And I won’t lie–it’s pretty awesome. She’s wonderful, and I get to experience lots of luxuries that most students do not: lower rent, home-cooked meals freshly prepared every night, occasional rides in a vehicle which is not part of the public transportation system, and laundry services.

Which brings me to my problem, which has been an ongoing conundrum for me. What do you do with your sexy underwear when your boyfriend’s mother does all the laundry? 

Seriously. And since England is a place that sees dryers as evil, energy-wasting appliances, things get hung on the drying rack for several days. In the kitchen. Where we eat our meals. And watch the TV which is right next to the drying rack where my sexy undies would be on display.

What to do? I can’t really do my own laundry, because it’s just too much of an inconvenience for everyone if I hog the washing machine for a load or two– there is a laundry schedule for the house, and I can’t disrupt the whole thing to wash a load of delicates. I could always hand-wash them in the bathroom sink, and hang them to dry in the bedroom–but then I’ll look like an uber-weirdo if someone wanders in and sees loads of lacy underpants hanging from the mantle of the fireplace. It would look like we live in some sort of little perv den.

So I just sort of gave up on undies for the year. It’s not like I own any weird things (like crotchless or edible panties). I’m just too damn prudish to hang something sexy, red, and lacy out for the house’s inhabitants to view during dinner.

When summer break rolled around, I got excited and packed up all my sexy undies, so I could wear them on a whim this summer and wash them at my own free will in my giant American appliances. Then I realized that my parents still require my boyfriend and I to sleep in separate rooms. GOODBYE, SEXYTIME. Sexy undies, you time will come eventually.

Sigh. What sort of First World Problems do you have?

YES, I have big boobs and NO, you may not stare at them.


As none of you know, I am a relatively well-endowed chicita. Have been since I was twelve or thirteen. It’s a hard-knock life, having to cart around big knockers. It’s not as easy as it looks. We get back pain. We have to buy larger bras, which are difficult to find in themselves. And then, because our boobs are so heavy, the bra straps and bands cut into our skin, leaving undesirable and unsexy lines and marks. We have to buy bigger shirts that have more acreage for our ta-tas. And if we want to look cute, all the cute shirts are low-cut. So yes, cleavage is an almost constant companion. We ladies accept this.

Men loves titties. We ladies have accepted this as well. When they’re babies, they drink from them, when they hit puberty, they’re curious about them, and when they start getting it in, they want to do any number of things, sucking, biting, motorboating- to name a few. So it is completely understandable that if your average guy comes across a girl with size D ta-tas that he’s going to look.



Forget the sexual harassment claim I’d have since I was at work when this happened. The guy was like 50! FIFTY! Would he like some creepo doing that to his twentysomething daughter?!


Come Again?


Over the past year, my friends and I have met some of the most interesting people. Some have the best stories to tell while others made us go, ‘I’m sorry, excuse me?’

Here are some of my favorites that I just had to share.

– About a month or two ago, my friends and I went out after a busy week to catch up with one another. We got caught up and then some. The place we went to had an outside area with a fire pit, which was great on this cool night. We started talking with this one guy outside that had come to the bar alone. He was newly back-on-the-market after an 8 year relationship. He told us that it had ended badly and all he wanted from the break up was the dog that they shared but unfortunately, it went to his ex. We learned a lot about this man who was a history buff and a budding businessmen. He was quite the talker and we were interested in hearing what he had to say. He was quite funny but not in the cracking jokes kind of way but he seemed to be a bit socially awkward. He might have lost his dog from the break up but he gained some awkward behavior. He was pretty open about his life and we enjoyed asking him questions. But perhaps he was a little too open.  The conversation turned to his personal life and we ladies aren’t ones to pry and ask evasive questions. We were really just curious at how he’s been handling the single life after 8 years with his now ex-ladyfriend. Apparently it was taking a toll. My one friend wanted to ask him how long it’s been since he went on a date since his break up. ‘How long has it been since you,’ she started saying when he quickly answered, cutting her off, ‘Since I’ve had sex? 8 months.’ Whaaaaa, that was not what we were getting too! And he was so nonchalant and quick to say that! After we looked at each other and let out a laugh telling him that is not what we were going to say, he goes, ‘So there’s been a lot of cold showers.’

– My friends and I wanted to try going out on a Thursday to see how busy this particular bar was on this particular night. Turns out, Thursday’s had a good crowd. Friendly people, great atmosphere and once again, another man that wasn’t afraid to speak the truth. Shortly after arriving at the bar we met two hard working fellas. One was a producer while the other was a retired Houston Rockets basketball player. They were working on a story about the retired Houston Rockets player that they were trying to pitch to HBO. They brought a small entourage with them as well; two older gentlemen that talked together all night and a younger one that sat at the bar while watching Duke and Villanova battle it out during the NCAA tournament. All three were lawyers. Throughout the night, we only talked to the producer and the retired basketball player. They were interesting guys as well and had some great stories to tell but it ended up being the younger lawyer that left us with the most memorable impression of the night. It was nearing last call and so we began our ‘It was nice meeting you’ and ‘Have a great night’ sentiments. While waiting for our one friend to finish her goodbyes, my other friend and I were still sitting at the bar when the younger lawyer decides to chat. Asking us simple things about us like, ‘Where are you guys from?’  ‘Where from (so and so),’ I say. And then came the great line that shows exactly what a man wants, ‘What are you guys doing after this?’ ‘I’m going to be sleeping in my bed,’ I said. ‘You don’t want to come over?’, he asked. ‘Where do you live?’, I inquired. ‘Up the street. Right behind Shoprite.’

Wow, nothing like a man living behind a grocery store to turn a girl on.

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You Can Have a Weiner and Still be a Pussy


In light of this current Anthony WEINER scandal, I have come to a conclusion. Only cowards cheat. I am a firm believer in fidelity. If you’re dating somebody, you should stay true to that somebody. If YOU’RE MARRIED AND YOUR WIFE IS PREGNANT, KEEP YOUR GODDAMN JUNK IN YOUR PANTS.

Now, I know not everyone’s perfect. And I know that not every relationship is meant to last forever.  If you’re seeing Person A and all of sudden Person B comes around and you’re tempted to cheat, then sit back and take a look at your relationship. CLEARLY, something is missing.  If you want to pursue a relationship with Person B, then end things with Person A. It’s not fair to A, who trusts you to be faithful. It’s not fair to B, who likely doesn’t know about A and if he or she does know about A, is cool with being a Homewrecker, then that says a lot about that person’s character i.e. scumbagaroo.

We’ve all been tempted, one summer, when I was dating Pinocchio (refer to Guilty as Charged) I met a man. And he was bangin.  He was a carpenter who was residing my neighbor’s house, and everyday he’d be outside, twenty feet from my bedroom, with no shirt, six-pack abs and a buzz saw, working the hot August days away.  And every time I saw him, the little devil on my shoulder screamed, Come to Mama.  But alas, I had a boyfriend- granted I hadn’t seen or heard from Pinocchio in weeks (refer to He’s Just Not that Into You) but I couldn’t conscionably get my mack on knowing that I wasn’t single.

I know that not everyone thinks this way. I have friends who cheat on their significant others. They don’t qualify kissing another man or fondling the party in his pants cheating, because they didn’t sleep with him. Or they think because their relationship is going downhill and the boyfriend is being a pussy that gives her a carte blanche to bang someone else. Or text them pictures of your goods or sext them suggestive things.

If you are unsatisfied in your relationship, and find someone who could potentially fill that void, then end your first relationship to pursue the second. If you are a New York state representative, with a wife who works for the Secretary of State and is the favorite of Democrats EVERYWHERE, if you want to run for Mayor of one of the most influential cities in the ENTIRE WORLD, or if your wife is pregnant, then you should NOT be texting strange women pictures of your weiner.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.