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Category Archives: X-Rated
It’s hilarious and we felt it to be a public service to bring it to you so here it is:
I was recently notified by an anonymous source that I actually owned another vibrator–a mysterious FIFTH vibrator–that I did not purchase for myself (amazing–I just realized four out of five vibrators I did not pay for! I clearly win at life).
This little pocket sized bullet of fun was won at a bachelorette party. So future bridesmaids, take note: always know the bride’s celebrity crushes (Dale from Top Chef); always know the bride’s favorite drink (ginger ale and gin and tonic); always know the bride’s favorite sexual position (NSFW). Your careful note taking will be rewarded with the gift of a lifetime.
Or 24 hours.
I was so excited with my winnings, I texted the man I am dating. “LOOK WHAT I WON!” I wrote, and sent him a picture.
“A candy bar?” he replied.
I understood how the image could be misleading. This vibrator was called the Better Finger, and was in a case that looked like this:
I took the vibrator out of the casing and sent another picture.
“I get it,” he wrote.
Needless to say, we made plans to use said toy.
After returning from bachelorette weekend, I brought my vibrator in disguise over to his apartment. One thing led to another, yada yada yada, clothes came off, Better Finger was removed from case, and then as he went to turn it on, POP! The top of the vibrator flew off and landed in a large cardboard box of misc. goods, circa 2010. Never to be seen again.
Now, a vibrator isn’t very good without its top so we had to go without it. And I was devastated for about 3.5 seconds, until I got the email from Ladygasm about reviewing the Vice product.
Sometimes fate works in mysterious ways.
Note: The picture above was in reference to Rob Lowe directing a BUTTER FINGER movie?! Did this happen?! Inquiring minds want to know!
The first vibrator I ever owned was a small bullet tucked inside a leopard print thong. They were given to me by my freshman year college roommate as a Christmas present. It should be noted that my roommate and I didn’t even get along and she still gave me the best present I received that year. I can’t imagine what she would have bought me if we had actually been friends. Perhaps a prostitute to take away my virginity.
My roommate went home to Wisconsin last week and rekindle with a guy from her high school. She kept saying she misses how sweet and normal Wisconsin men are compared to California boys.
This textersation took place between my friend who I will call Doris Day and myself this past week. Her name is not Doris Day (though my old dermotologist used to have that name-RANDOM) Her name is much funnier.
11:08pm Doris: Am i a slut if i end up on my knees in the storage closet at __________ and think, typical saturday afternoon? Is this a funny question for your website or tmi?
Me: Haha!!!!! No sooooo perfect! Can we post?
11:28pm Doris: Sounds god. just replace (name of restauarant she said) with like, Mcdonalds
11:36pm Doris: Although, full disclosre, we started in the broom closet, but were afraid customers would catcbh us. Again.
11:43pm Me: Omg totally
Drunk Sex is fun. Too Drunk Sex is terrible.
And when I say terrible I mean awful. Truly, truly horrible.
Recently I engaged in some TDS. I don’t remember walking to his house. I don’t even remember making out on the couch. All I remember being naked and probably saying too much stupid shit about my bodily flaws.
After I came home I made a list of why you (I) shouldn’t have sex when you are completely inebriated:
1. I‘m just going to say it: You can’t get wet.
2. And this works both ways, guys: They can’t get off.
3. You are too tired to focus. You are too ADD to be in a position more than a minute.
4. You want it to be over so you can pass out because you know you are going to have a wicked recovery tomorrow.
5. You can’t tell if you are about to orgasm or about to pee…You get up to go to the bathroom, then realize it was an orgasm.
6. When you get back from the bathroom, you decide sex isn’t happening so you’ll finish this up another way, which isn’t going to happen because you have the patience of a two year old at a carnival and all you want to do is go to sleep.
7. The next morning, when you can’t remember how it ended, you are going to assume it didn’t end well. Another sign of this is when your man is as grumpy as a Disney dwarf.. You two barely talk except for when you tell him he HAD to give you a ride home because it is raining out. Classic.
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We missed her, but our pixie dream columnist returns.
Confessions of a Recovering Manic Pixie Dream Girl 1.6: The Awkward Midwestern Undergraduate Years, The Gallery of Regrettable Hookups, Jeremy
My misadventures with the student film crew continued well after the premiere. One night, we all snuck into the nicer student housing pool and went drunken skinny-dipping. My unrequited object of lust was once again indisposed due to the usual drama, so I made do with one of his friends visiting from Chicago who had graduated awhile back. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my brief time on this earth, it’s that settling for whatever else is around when you’re craving something in particular will never satisfactorily scratch that itch. When you want one specific skinny, student-film hipster dick, no other will do.
So I don’t remember all that much about Jeremy other than his tenuous connection to my social circle, the fact he was kind of obnoxious and gave me a ride back to my apartment from the pool in what I guess was his mom’s minivan. Being a gracious hostess, I offered Jeremy use of my shower to rinse off the chlorine and summer humidity (albeit after I used the facilities). He returned to my bedroom wrapped in my fluffy pink towel and nature took its course after a slight delay when I said “Whoa, hey. Condom?” because seriously, neither of us knew where the other had been. Jeremy was frenetic and a bit overeager, perhaps to compensate for a lack of size. I always find that misguided notion to be tragic. For those not so endowed, the last thing you want to do is draw attention to it by slamming your hipbones into the other person’s hipbones and shouting things like “Yeah! Take it, bitch!” A later conquest had sorted this out by being stellar at foreplay.
With Jeremy, it was over before anything started and thus not much to write home about.