via Buzzfeed.

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A good friend of mine is starting an Etsy shop, and I was perusing the shops for some Xmas gift ideas (and to avoid the massive amounts of files built up on my desk) and I came across a shop called (this is no joke) Vulva Love Lovely.  It’s really and truly an entire commercial venture based on women loving their own ladybits.

The merchandise itself is not really what I have an issue with, but the descriptions of some of the products can provide some serious adolescent-sense-of-humor entertainment.  Here’s an excerpt from the description of just one of many options available for a custom-made vagine (that’s French for vah-jay-jay):

Celebrate your own beauty.

Each piece is an original, one of a kind hand sculpted image of its owner to remind her that regardless of what the world and the people in it may tell her: she is beautiful.

After purchasing you can e-mail 2-3 photos of your Yoni to: VulvaLoveLovely [!at] Gmail.com. Please include chain choice: Antique copper or gunmetal (shown in the final photo) in the ‘message to seller’ section at checkout.

First, this entire operation would be the best fraternity prank EVER -  no one could have come up with an easier way to get women to send them pictures of their ‘Yoni’ over the internet than this.  But never fear!  Nervous that your ‘Yoni’ picture will be pimped out over the internet? (because really, have LaLohan and Brit Brit taught us NOTHING about vaginas and the internet?) But you still want to wear your vagina around your neck?  There’s an alternative! Hooray!!

If you are not comfortable sending pictures you also have to option of sending me a description of your Yoni.

In your description please include:
*The shape of your inner and outer labia
*colors
*how much or how little your inner labia extend out from your outer labia
*how well hidden your clitoris is, is it heavily hooded or can you see it fairly easily?

Or really, you could save yourself the $23 plus shipping and just walk around without any pants… just sayin.

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You know you’ve thought it, too…

More often than not, when someone is telling me a story, all I can think about is that I can’t wait for them to finish so that I can tell my own story that’s not only better, but also more directly involves me.

I don’t understand the purpose of the line, “I don’t need to drink to have fun.” Great, no one does. But why start a fire with flint and sticks when they’ve invented the lighter?

That’s enough, Nickelback.

I totally take back all those times I didn’t want to nap when I was younger.

Is it just me, or are 80% of the people in the “people you may know” feature on Facebook people that I do know, but I deliberately choose not to be friends with?

Do you remember when you were a kid playing Nintendo and it wouldn’t work? You’d take the cartridge out, blow in it, and that would magically fix the problem. Every kid in America did that, but how did we all know how to fix the problem? There were no search engines or message boards or FAQs. We just figured it out. Today’s kids are soft.

There is great need for a sarcasm font.

How the hell are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?

I think part of a best friend’s job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.

The only time I look forward to a red light is when I’m trying to finish a text.

A recent study has shown that playing beer pong contributes to the spread of mono and the flu. Yeah, if you suck at it.

I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.

Whenever someone says “I’m not book smart, but I’m street smart,” all I hear is “I’m not real smart, but I’m imaginary smart.”

I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars teams up to prevent a dick from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers!

While driving yesterday I saw a banana peel in the road and instinctively swerved to avoid it…thanks Mario Kart.

MapQuest really needs to start their directions on #5. Pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.

Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.

Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets dirty. Pants? Pants never get dirty, and you can wear them forever.

I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t at least kind of tired.

Bad decisions make good stories.

Whenever I’m Facebook stalking someone and I find out that their profile is public, I feel like a kid on Christmas morning who just got the Red Ryder BB gun I always wanted. 546 pictures? Don’t mind if I do!

If Carmen San Diego and Waldo ever got together, their offspring would probably just be completely invisible.

You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you’ve made up your mind that you just aren’t doing anything productive for the rest of the day.

“Do not machine wash or tumble dry” means “I will never wash this ever.”

I hate being the one with the remote in a room full of people watching TV. There’s so much pressure. ‘I love this show, but will they judge me if I keep it on? I bet everyone is wishing we weren’t watching this. It’s only a matter of time before they all get up and leave the room. Will we still be friends after this?’

I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello? Dammit!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voicemail. What’d you do after I didn’t answer? Drop the phone and run away?

I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.

When I meet a new girl, I’m terrified of mentioning something she hasn’t already told me but that I have learned from some light internet stalking.

I like all of the music in my iTunes, except when it’s on shuffle, then I like about one in every fifteen songs in my iTunes.

As a driver I hate pedestrians, and as a pedestrian I hate drivers, but no matter what the mode of transportation, I always hate cyclists.

It should probably be called Unplanned Parenthood.

I keep some people’s phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.

Even if I knew your social security number, I wouldn’t know what do to with it.

I wonder if cops ever get pissed off at the fact that everyone they drive behind obeys the speed limit.

I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night more kisses begin with Miller Lites than Kay.

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I did not know about this but on November 19th, Kirk Cameron – who is apparently a creationist (or in desperate need of work, thereby becoming a spokesman for the creationsit movement), and his creationist ilk are giving away thousands of copies of Charles Darwin’s “The Origin of the Species”. Wait? Why would creationists promote a book that fundamentally juxtaposes the foundations of their beliefs?

Simple: they have thoughtfully included a 50-page preface in the book that basically says “don’t believe anything you read after page 50″.

Anyway- WHO CARES!? some hot chick with a thick (slavic?) accent, tousled blonde locks, and dozens of well thought-out valid points uses big words and sass to rebuff creationist claims.

[via Discover Magazine Blog]

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Have 30 seconds to kill? You’re welcome.

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This week I was truly stumped as to what to write about. Then a few friends suggested topics. A few of them were interesting, but I felt pompous as soon as I started to tackle these subjects because I don’t want to come off like I know anything more than anyone else. When I read other people’s opinions on things, it never feels like they’re offering their opinion and the tone is often that of someone who believes their “opinion” is nothing short of fact. Let me be clear, these actual opinions are not only just opinions, but they’re often based on absolutely nothing, meaning that I could completely change my mind on any one if them once I have any kind of new experience directly related to said topic. Make sense?

One such subject was that of, “It’s not you, it’s me.”

We’ve all heard this and I’m hoping that you haven’t heard it from personal experience and merely from that episode of Seinfeld which I posted above.  The thing is, I don’t think that this line is totally bullshit.  I do believe, very strongly, that women between the ages of 21 and 26 have some growth occurring mentally, professionally and of course, emotionally.  In fact, I think that we become nearly whole other people in this time, and I think it’s very important that we fully allow ourselves the time and effort of self-exploration so that we can come out truly aware of  what it is that we want and need in life and in the person we’re looking to be with.

This isn’t always the case. 

I have myself witnessed a case of It’s Not You, It’s Me, when the person saying this line really meant it when they said it, but found themselves completely engaged in a new committed relationship only 2 to 3 weeks after that infamous line was uttered.  This person really thought they needed to do some personal work, but it turned out, that other person just wasn’t what they were looking for at all.  Along comes someone who does seem like more of a fit – maybe more of the same type, same hopes and dreams, same style, and there you go – perfect chemistry.

So, how does one decipher the difference?  Ah, there’s the rub!  There is no REAL way to know if that person just blew you off because they didn’t like you or if they didn’t like themselves.  The only way to try figure it out is to watch the person – if they’re in a new relationship in a blink of an eye, than one can assume one of two of the following things:

1.  That person was totally full of shit.
2.  That person decided that they no longer felt like doing any self exploration to really figure themselves out and they found the nearest distraction/person who has yet to realize their bullshit.

I have zero suggestions on how to deal with a situation such as this. Maybe claim the clichéd ‘not-meant-to-be’, or throw your hands up and say good riddance.  You should count yourself lucky to avoid a relationship if that person wasn’t crazy about you enough to never let you go.

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Sorry this was in my junk mail today and couldn’t resist a little Canada-bashing. And now finally, fat chicks and Canada have something in common… other than a wide, expansive, landscape that is in large part uninhabitable.

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An explicitly constructed word salad is a tool for demonstrating the difference between random utterance and coherent expression of thought.

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