>I am very excited. My friend Steph gave me an awesome book for Hannukah called “Very Naughty Origami: The Art of Turning Pure Paper in XXX Conversation Pieces.” How fun is this going to be?

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>I recently read in Entertainment Weekly that Rod Stewart is a dad for the 6th time at the age of 60. His current wife is a spry 34. I wondered what the hell was wrong with his wife, and for that matter, every cuntface idiot who married a guy who could be her father.

This is another rant about stupid things that women do that infuriate me. Why on earth would you not be utterly disgusted by a guy who wants to fuck a woman who is his daughter’s age, or worse, younger? Has that not occurred to people that such a desire is extremely nasty and perverse? Not that I ever want to compare adult women with children, but think about it: if your paramour expressed his sexual attraction to you when he was a young adult and you were an infant, it would be child abuse and molestation. No matter what, you can never close that age gap. An older guy who lusts after younger women has a problem. Of course, our culture fetishizes the sexual desirability of young women, so you almost can’t blame them, but I will anyway because I am mean and judgmental and older men leeching onto much younger women gross me out.
I have given extensive thought the topic and decided that there should be no more than 15 years separating a couple or else it gets gross. That’s for either sex. Really, I don’t think more than 10 years, but I’m willing to stretch a little and go out to 15. Otherwise, you just get women with weird daddy issues (assuming the guy is older, as is usually the case) and perverted old men trying to pretend they are young while they show off their Electra-complex women. The rule means that Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher are safe, but that Bill Clinton, Tony Randall, Rod Stewart, Bruce Willis, Kevin Costner, et al. are disgusting.

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>A few years ago, the woman winner of Boston Marathon had her period at the time of the race. As she crossed the finish line, blood, piss, and diarrhea were dipping down her leg. I was thinking about this brave and amazing woman a few nights ago at the gym as I pounded away on the treadmill and my crotch was super sweaty and I nearly peed myself at one point, which always happens when I run hard. I was quite grateful at my cotton bikini briefs for absorbing most of it (although I admit the crotches of my running pants permanently reek, no matter how many times I wash them).

Now that I am the proud owner of a hideous orange thong with a rhinestone B monogram, I suspect that sweat will begin trickling down my legs. My friend insists that thongs are great to work out in, and is excited to go workout together while we each wear a thong (this is not as kinky as it sounds). I think she will be very sorry as I begin stinking up the gym with crotch rot, but we’ll see. It’s an experiment, and I am all for scientific inquiry and unbiased results.

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>My Cosabella Talco thong with a rhinestone monogram B arrived in the mail today. My only disappointment with it is that it is red, not orange as it appeared in the picture on eBay. It’s actually kind of cute, too, and feels rather pleasant. A quick look at the label indicates that it is 92% viscose and 8% spandex. (Who knew viscose was so soft/silky?) Not very breathable, and yet totally wedged into your ass. The Giant Stuffed Penis is very excited to model it. His “fat” isn’t bulging too badly at the sides. I guess a medium/large size will give you more room. Nice. Even with the merkin hanging all out all over, he looks quite dashing, if I do say so myself. Perhaps this type of undergarment is more wearable with an unshaved snatch than I thought.

As I mentioned at the time I bid on this thong, I was excited because it had the rhinestone monogram B on it. Obviously, Suzanne does not start with a B, so that made it even more amusing to me. Then I remembered that one of my best friends calls me Bee all the time as a nickname for the other nickname she gave me, Bitch, which is of course a nickname for Bea-yotch. (Although according to a recent comment posted on this site, it should actually be IB for “ignorant bitch.” I know I should not keep bringing it up, but that still cracks me up. Man oh man.)

The back of this thong also makes me laugh and laugh. What is up with the butt cleavage? It seems like there is an extra dip at the top above the butt so you get top and bottom crack. (Maybe all thongs actually have room for ass cleavage? I’m a thong virgin, so I don’t know these things.) Damn, this should be fun to wear. I’m doing some more laundry tomorrow – one benefit of working from home since the strike prevents me from getting to my office – so I should be able to try them out before I go to the DR on Friday.

According to the price tag, this baby cost $30 at some point at Neiman Marcus. While it seems that it was on sale, and I’m guessing deeply discounted for whoever bought it, peeled off the sale tags, and put it up on eBay for $2.99, I still feel like I got a good deal. I’ve never owned anything from Neiman Marcus before, either. So this is a two-fer: first Neiman Marcus item (albeit indirect) and first thong.

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>I found out something horrible this afternoon – my beloved gym, source of two CUSS victories and countless episodes of contemplation on women’s grooming fads – is closing! Worse, it is being torn down and luxury housing is being built on the site. The horror! The horror! I hate luxury housing. Why can’t we seem to build anything else in Manhattan these days? I could deal with it if it was affordable housing, mixed income housing, or even supportive housing, but I am sick of the increasing gentrification in my neighborhood.

The gym will reopen as an even more luxurious gym in the new building. Unfortunately, this means that it will probably be full of even more stick thin, hairless, pointy-toe shoe wearing wenches. Bah! In the meantime, I don’t know where I am going to drag my fat ass to work out. I guess if the strike never ends, I could walk 14 miles to and from work five days a week and I won’t have to worry. It’s all crap! Go away, evil luxury housing.

The only good news is that this is not happening until October 2006, so I have 10 more months to use the locker room and find my face square in someone’s ass or shaved cooch as I look up from tying my shoes. Not that I want my face in someone’s ass or cooch (shaved or not), but it does seem to inspire many interesting trains of thought in me. I’ve learned so much about thongs and g-strings at my gym. I will miss it so.

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>The transit strike in New York City has reminded me of the importance of practical footwear. My friend and I were talking this morning about how last transit strike, in 1980, led women to wear gym shoes with their suits as they walked to work. The habit hung around even after the strike ended, as comfort continued to win over “style” in communting. How sad that we have forgotten such an important lesson.

According to Neiman Marcus, these $645 Manolo Blahnik shoes are for “Daytime.” Yes, because it is so practical to wear to work. It just adds the right touch of glamour to every secretarial/teaching/waitressing job. Perfect for commuters as they jam onto the subway:

Guy: Excuse me, ma’am, but your shoe is grinding a hole in my foot!
Shoe wearer: But that can’t be – my heel is nowhere near your foot!
Guy: No, but the fucking point on the tip of the toe is drilling a hole in my heel! Back the fuck up!

Anyway, if you hate me, want to cause me pain, and have lots of money to waste (or if you want to make me laugh/cry at the sadness of spending $645 on a fucking pair of heinous shoes), I wear a size six. Shoes like this are one reason I could never get into Sex and the City.

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>So last night/early this morning, the following comment by my blog nemesis was left on my little post about g-strings:

Belle said…
you’re an ignorant bitch. stop posting on my site.
12:53 AM

My, my. Someone has a bee in her bonnet (or maybe a g-string in her ass. That certainly makes me crabby). I may have called Belle a cuntface whore here, but I never said she was stupid. I think that calling me an ignorant bitch is completely unfair. I may be a bitch, but I am actually a highly informed one. (Unlike Belle, I didn’t need to work at Fox News to learn that they are tyrants.)

My dear Belle should remember that she made her blog public. Not everyone has to agree with it. I’m sorry if I shattered her sheltered cool existence as one of four women, four anonymous blogs, four scandals, and one city, to paraphrase her little description of her downtown lifestyle as one of the privileged beautiful people. She did ask readers if we’d watch a show about her life in New York. Pardon me and my ignorance if I happen to think it sounds like a clichéd Sex and the City rip off. (The one time I watched Sex in the City, I didn’t like it, either. It was great that the characters were such great friends and always there for each other, but I couldn’t relate to any other aspects of their lives. Somehow I don’t think that will come as a shock to anyone.) At least when I posted my comment on her site, I bothered using correct capitalization in my sentences.

Anyway, I will certainly stop posting on her site, although she can’t stop me from complaining about her on my own. The funny thing about this “one city” is that it is home to thousands of people who lead radically different lives. It’s what I love about New York and thrive on, and I hope that Belle one day understands that. (It would also be great if she learns to write, but that’s hoping for a lot.)

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>After 14 hours of wearing the g-string, I still did not find it comfortable, although there were moments were I forgot I was wearing it. Mostly it felt like I had a wad of toilet paper stuffed in my t’aint. I was surprised that my naked ass was fairly comfortable, even though I was wearing corduroy pants. I suppose the whole experience could have been worse. However, after I took it off last night, I did verify that farting directly on a string in your ass really makes it reek.

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>My day wearing a g-string is almost over, thank goodness! Just when I think I am getting used to it, I go to the bathroom. As I pulled down the undies, the sensation of a string disentangling itself from my ass crack is beyond distubing. I’m also convinced it is drying my crotch out, but I think that is just paranoia. Having a string in my ass makes me paranoid.

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>Britney Spears wears g-strings/thongs. Xtina wears g-strings/thongs. They dance around a lot on stage and their asses look fine. No one feared all the jiggling would lead to earthquake-like consequences as the earth shook. They also have personal trainers and ridiculously tiny and taut bodies. I do not. I seem to have in fact caused the metal button on my pants to snap apart today, leaving me to hold my pants closed with two binder clips. How disastrous would it be if of all days, today was the day my pants fell down, exposing my ass to the horrified general public? How sad would it be if it happened at work and I was fired for indecency that goes above and beyond my usual low standards of behavior at the office?

Back to Britney. Several post-baby photos of her have appeared in magazines and overall I’d have to say she looks like a normal healthy person. If she had a post-birth tummy tuck (as Demi Moore and other celebs have definitely had done), they did a bad job since her body looks like mine (average) with a slightly flatter lower gut and much bigger boobs. However, I’m not sure what happened to her face. It appears very large, as if it had expanded onto her neck. Sometime in October, I blogged that I was taking a new medicine with a potential side effect of “enlarged face.” Britney’s current look is exactly how I pictured this would look. Disturbing. Perhaps she is also on Entocort EC. Or maybe her g-string is too tight, and blood is trapped in her upper body, swelling her head.

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