>Rebecca, Rebecca’s Friend, and Sister are watching Real World: Denver. Needless to say, it is horrifyingly trashy. Why was this made? It hurts to think about.

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>Husband and I are taking Sister and Sister’s Husband out to Brighton Beach later today. I’ve never really spent much time out there (usually I restrict myself to the boardwalk and Coney Island events), as the Russian community there is hardcore. I’m looking forward to it.

No other scandals to report thus far.

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>Thanksgiving involved 21 people from 9 different families and enormous amounts of food. Husband and I bought a 10 pound chocolate turkey, of which I will post pictures later. Good times.

During the course of the evening, Dr. H told Sister that she would be on call the next day, then on Saturday was flying to California to visit her sister and would not have time to do laundry. Sister advised her to just wear dirty scrubs on the plane. “At least it’s not the same as wearing my sister’s dirty underwear,” Dr. H replied.

Sister stared at her, and said, “Ewwwww. That’s really gross! Who would do that?” Then Dr. H reminded her of a road trip we took in June 1998. Sister and I shared a duffle bag for the trip, and by the end of the trip, our clothes were mixed together. Half way through the eight hour drive to Chicago from Minneapolis, we stopped at a wacky roadside eatery for lunch. The restaurant had a model train track that ran around the dining room, and a string that was hung high up that a mechanical bear on a unicycle went back and forth on.

Sister went to the bathroom, and when she returned, she had a funny look on her face. She explained that while she was going to the bathroom, she noticed that she was wearing green underwear. But she didn’t own blue underwear, so she figured out that she was wearing my underwear. Inside out. We all laughed. Then after a long pause, I said, “Oh, you said they are blue?” She nodded. “Hmmmm… I think those are dirty.”

Dr. H has a great memory.

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>Yesterday when I was at the reproductive endocrinologist, I had to fill out a questionnaire about my medical history, as well as my families’. Since most people seem to go to that practice because they want to pay thousands of dollars to ensure that they have a baby, the questionnaire also had a section with questions about the patient’s partner. This was fun to fill in.

One question asked whether your partner “had difficulty getting and maintaining an erection.” I couldn’t help myself. I wrote, “No,” and then drew a big smiley face next to it. One day, when someone actually bothers to look at my intake form, I hope it cracks them up as much as it does me.

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>Two big surprises were sprung on me yesterday. Alex and I planned to meet Husband, Rebecca, and Rebecca’s Friend (RF) for lunch. Then I needed to dash over to a doctor’s appointment. Alex and I waited and waited for our lunch dates to show, and when they finally did, I could not believe who came with them – Sister and Sister’s Husband!!! I was so excited, and all choked up when I saw them and hugged them up! Husband, Sister, Sister’s Husband, and about five other people (Mom, Dad, Brother-in-Law, Rebecca, and RF) conspired to get them here and surprise me. It was great!!! They’ll be visiting until Monday evening.

My second surprise was significantly less pleasant. Since my test for early menopause came back totally normal, the doctor decided to send me to a reproductive endocrinologist. The consultation was this afternoon, and I figured that I’d just be chatting the doc in his office and then getting some blood work done. After waiting an hour to see this expert, I was furious. After several surly answers to the good doc’s questions, he told me to go into the exam room. What? I had no plans to take my pants off that day. Good thing I showered in the morning.

Anyway, next thing I knew, a magic wand was shoved up my whim-wham. He poked at me. “You’re not that hairy,” he said matter-of-factly. (A symptom of polycystic ovarion syndrome is hirsutism.) Um, thanks. Perhaps I should have given him a CUSS sticker. A few minutes later, “Wow, you’ve got tons of cysts,” he exclaimed. I then started to like him because he let me look at the screen that showed my innards. I love seeing my innards.

So there it is. The happy unexpected surprise of Sister and Sister’s Husband visiting for the weekend and the strange surprise of actually having one of my mysterious ailments conclusively diagnosed. Happy Thanksgiving!

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>The article that I wrote about porn for Metro aroused many passions amongst readers. Five letters to the editor were published in the three days that passed since the article came out. Three basically said that I was full of shit, and then went on to site things that had nothing to do with my argument calling for more, but better quality, porn. Two got the point and said I got them off with my argument.

From yesterday’s Metro:

Society obsessed with wrong porn
MATT EMOND
Regarding “Porn: It just might cure what ails us” (Nov. 16): I agree with Suzanne Reisman’s view that our society is brutally obsessed with the wrong kind of porn. Our porn, as well as our pop culture, expresses the view that dominance, violence and inequality are essential to our human nature, while it is more likely that humanity originated out of community, mutual respect and open sexuality.

Monday’s Metro had one pro and one con letter. (The con was very long, so I’ll fast forward to the money shots.):

World needs healthy sexuality
ELIZABETH PRIEST
Regarding “porn: It just might cure what ails us” (Nov. 16): I think Suzanne Reisman’s column on decent pornography was right on. This city, country, and world need more people with happy and healthy sexual relationships. We all want it – I don’t think anyone can argue that – but there are so many social restrictions places on sex. Between the controversy over homosexuality, the idea that sex is a sin if two consenting partners are not married and the age-old idea that women don’t enjoy sex as much as men do, sex is looked down upon. In a world without sexual tension, I have a strong feeling we would find a good number of people getting off every night in front of their television, watching happy, healthy pornography.

Porn is sexuality in its lowest form
STEVE HOLT
A healthy dialogue about sexuality is needed in our country, but I vehemently disagree with Suzanne Reisman…Porn is counterfeit… It is to sex what O’Doul’s is to beer… It creates unrealistic expectations. Men who view porn enter long-term relationships… with expectations that their significant other simply cannot meet… Finally, porn treats sex as if it means nothing. Contrary to Reisman’s opinion, it actually devalues sex… Porn declares that any person with whom you come in contact at any point of the day or night is a potential sexual partner. Porn declares that sexual chemistry – not unconditional love – is the real meaning of human interaction. Porn is sexuality’s lowest common denominator.

You gotta admit that Elizabeth rocked the double entendres, but that Steve’s O’Doul’s crack was zesty. I’d say that the weakest argument in Steve’s very well written letter is that he assumes that only heterosexual men watch porn. What about women porn watchers? Gay porn consumers? I had lunch with a friend today who confessed that another friend of hers is a “gyne-friendly” film star. She must have very unrealistic attitudes about her partners. I’d love to meet her.

The other two letters Metro ran mostly sucked, in my esteemed opinion. One was blathering, sort of like I am doing now, and the other insisted that any guy who watches porn becomes an addicts and it destroys marriages and families. Again, a very heterocentric view, and also sort of hilarious. Alochol and prescription drug addictions destroy relationships as well, so probably we should ban them. You know how it goes down.

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Someone arrived at CUSS by googling soft-serve vagina. I had written about Steph’s friend in college who sculpted realistic female genitals out of bowls of soft-serve ice cream in the Weinstein dining hall. Tracing the link back, however, brought me to the wild land known as Urban Dictionary.com. You can learn a lot from this website, especially if you can handle extremely offensive things with a good sense of humor. If you are related to me, I highly recommend that you do not follow these links. You will be mad at me.

A repulsive term that is literally not funny at all is “soft jacob”. This was the first term that came up in my anonymous searcher’s quest for soft-serve vagina. (And I am not exaggerating its foulness. If you are easily grossed out, skip to the next term, which if offensive, misogynist, violent, and hateful, but also funny in the same way Borat is, but a bit more offensively.)

Rebecca, Elle, and I spent a good 30 minutes laughing hysterically out of shock and horror at definitions of the word “donkey punch”. Derivations of the term “donky punch” provided extra fits of laughter, as did the hideous definitions of “pink sock”.

Anyway, UrbanDictionary.com is a great way to kill time when you are bored, want to find another reason to hate people, and/or are about to participate in a contest to see how can come up with the most outrageous insults hurled at others. Eric Keroack would decidely not approve.

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Des said I am “a good banana.” Isn’t that an awesome image?

*Blush* giggle *blush*

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>The always wonderful Count Mockula sent me this informational tidbit from Women’s Health:

Girl Problem #4
Falling into the crack
Never mind butt cleavage and wedgies, thongs can be a pain in the backside for other reasons. That thin strip of fabric may save you from the dreaded VPL, but it also serves as a superhighway for microbes. When the underwear hits your perineum (the patch of skin between the vagina and the anus), bacteria hitch a ride straight to your vagina. “A thong is actually a connector,” says Adelaide Nardone, M.D., an ob-gyn in Providence, Rhode Island. As you move, the fabric shifts– and before you can say “Monistat,” you’ve got a yeast infection. To make matters worse, unlike granny panties, thongs tend to rub. This causes tiny tears in the delicate skin around your vulva and clitoris, creating access for microbes.

Problem solved: You don’t have to toss your thongs, as long as they’re cotton or have a cotton crotch. The breathable fabric keeps you drier, so bacteria can’t grow as easily. You might also consider growing out that Brazilian bikini line: Hair serves as a barrier between you and your panties, so leaving more carpet on the floor provides cushioning for your delicates, Dr. Nardone says. And don’t wear thongs when you exercise. Invest in some workout bottoms with cotton crotches and go commando.

HA! This is what I have been saying all along, both about the evils of wearing ass floss and the usefulness of pubic hair as a vaginal eyelash of sorts, keeping germs outside. Thank you Count Mockula, for providing some evidence that I am not an entirely insane crotchety prude.

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>From my buddies at NARAL:

President Bush’s new head of federal family-planning programs believes that birth control is “demeaning” to women.

Late last week, after pledging to bring the country together after his electoral losses, President Bush appointed Eric Keroack to lead the Department of Health and Human Services’ family-planning program – which helps more than five million people annually at 4,600 clinics nationwide.

Keroack has dedicated his career to telling women that birth control and abortion are wrong. His M.O.: “the crass commercialization and distribution of birth control is demeaning to women, degrading of human sexuality and adverse to human health and happiness.”

Because nothing respects women, human sexuality and health, and happiness more than repeated unplanned pregnancies. Damn, if only there were more unwanted babies in this country, we’d be so fucking happy. That’s what we are missing.

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