Ass and titties. Ass and titties. Ass and titties. Ass and titties. Ass and titties. Ass and titties. Ass and titties. Ass and titties. Ass and titties.Ass and titties. Ass and titties. Ass and titties.
Whilst waiting to pick up my prescription from the pharmacy counter in your-local-Walgreens-because-c’mon-they-all-look-the-same, I found myself staring down a wall of impossible looking women posing under well chosen words that seemed so hard to want to convey that if you crack their particular binding, like a Pandora’s box of beauty, you too will look like a well-pampered 23 year old. Then one aisle over, I was encountered by great, luxurious shapes — the real essence of cosmopolitan glamour. Because most middle class (guilty!) women were taught from a young age that no outfit is complete without pantyhose and if you seem to find yourself with more flesh than fits into 28 inches, well then you better go with the whole she-bang-bodystocking.
Vomit. All you dumbass people trying to talk to me about Kim Kardashian and this summer’s hottest looks to help you look instantly 10 lbs slimmer can all go fuck yourselves. Seriously. Rightnow.
Dear Reader, you must know. I must confess…
I’m in a very “vah-gina” state of mind as I just had this doctor-lady poke around my canal and feel up my rack, (and amazingly, she almost did as thorough a job as my tit-monger boyfriend) looking for cancers and making sure my that I wasn’t in danger of… contracting… v. dentata? No, no, no. I kid. Pelvic exams are great, and awesome and make me feel like a real woman’s woman. Like my pussy is so powerful, it has to be checked up on every so often, just to make sure it’s not getting out of control or doing anything seriously stupid. Sort of like you have to check up on 19 year old sorority girls, to make sure they’re not pregnant, dealing with an eating disorder or in danger of choking on their own vomit while passed out after that “superawesome party the ALPHABETADELTAGAMMAKAPPA’S threw!!!”
Vaginas are 19 year old sorority girls? UmmYES. Though Eve Ensler might say no. No, no–she’d say yes, and agree with me. But she’d also say our vaginas are also flowering pots of powerful womanhood and creative spaces where we women can explore our physical innerselves. I mean. C’mon. This is Eve we’re talking about here!
Cue to a recent addition of the “my most favorite women” club. Kristen Schaal.
You probably hate her schtick or you really love her irreverance and super sexual creepiness. Either way, she’s joined that elite group of assholes who don’t give shits, fucks, damns and all the other words Carlin complained about not being able to say on air, lest the FCC slap you in the face with hella fines. Lady comics are the jam. Lady comics work mega hard to get half the airtime (flagrant assumption not based in any fact) that dude comics do and are usually exponentially more hilarious.
I only half care about comedy though. I know about the ones that get you cool points with the cool kids but really, my funny boner could use more exercise, if you catch my drift.
On a less comic and more “fuckyeah” note, the first bombshellycat happened and people were stoked. Awesome people showed up and rode like maniacs, loving the awesome Oakland weather and having a ball reading some Neruda.
Much to the chagrin of the rest o’ the womens peloton, these foine lookin gals showed their competition mugs. However, unfortunately they did not win as they took the red herring bonus checkpoint with gleeful hunger and came in fourth and fifth place. Their points did register in at a respectable 18 and 18.5 though. Good show!
I can only hope they show up again in May to the next race. And that MILF teaches Natalia how to wear jortz. I also imagine this is what they looked like studying for their SAT’s as 16 year olds. You know, they’re resident smartypantses.
The race continued and 17 ladies came in on time, one bailed and one came in after the time cutoff. That is super amazing! There are countless stories of women winning anything simply because they were the only lady to show up. This is the bedrock of philosophy among women cyclists, “the hardest line to cross is the starting line.” What exactly does that mean for you, miss shemale? It means that I know it’s really hard to get to the motivation to do something where it’s just you or you don’t know anyone but listen to me, “THOSE. ARE. BULLSHIT. EXCUSES.” You don’t need a friend’s hand to clutch to as you embark on your own personal journey of empowerment. Just look to my very good friend Ginger and read her amazing adventureblog: The Flaming Bike Blog!
Ginger and I have toured twice together now and let me tell ya, she is such a joy to ride with. If you ever get the chance to meet this perma-smile-culturist, consider yourself one of the blessed few. Right now she’s on her way back from an amazing trip through Mexico and California! Keep her blog on your radar for more pictures and stories to come!
Well readers. It seems this is the end of the line. More shenanigans are a-foot and my name is being called by a the westerly-easterlies. Storms a-brewin.
PS: I understand that it’s sometimes way more awesome to try new things with a friend. I like to try new things with friends also, like starting a bike team. So I’ll drop my tone a bit but hold to the fact that it is important to strike out on your own sometime and really get dirty, muddy, lost. Fuck some shit up real bad. And have so much fun doing it!