The other day I actually read the instructions that come with Tampons. Seriously. There’s instructions. You’d think it would be rather obvious, but hell they give instructions on boxes of figs, so sure, why not? Besides, if you’re 12 years old and feeling left to your own devices, it could be a good thing, although I vaguely remember being 12 years old (the last time I actually bothered to look at those instructions) and being very confused by the crap illustrations. Yes, guys, it comes with pictures. But they are the most peculiar pictures of hoo-hoos I’ve ever seen. It’s like they were trying incredibly hard to be non-erotic to the point of even outdoing the non-eroticosity of high school ‘health’ textbooks.Ever since then I’ve gotten into reading the instructions on heretofore ignored household products. I cannot believe how stupid people, both manufacturers/marketing/labelling people and consumers, must be for these things to have come about.

Exhibit 1:

Right. Ears I’ve heard of, but are there people out there so delicate that they use implements to pick their noses? Tissues, sure. Sometimes ya gotta tidy up, but this is a tool, folks, and it never never never occured to me to stick it up my nose. Till now. Now it’s all I can think about. What if….

Exhibit 2:

Our drugs are so mystically powerful, that if you let the little buggers even SEE it, irreparable harm could be done.

Exhibit 3:

I so much enjoyed the fact that this drug instruction sheet included the baby-talk translation of the word “rectum” that I added my own, in case someone taking these drugs (which are part of a fertility regimen, btw), is not mature enough to know what their vagina is either. If you notice the last bit, it also made me want to go ask my pharmacist how to put something up my ass.

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Is it the cleavage that makes chicks with superpowers super? Would Wonder Woman have been so wonderful if she hadn’t gone around in a spangled high-hipped, low-cut bathing suit with bondage gear attached?

Bat-girl’s superpower seems to have been that she could ride a motorcycle.

If I had a superpower, I’d never change out of my jammies (that wouldn’t be my POWER, mind you, it would just be my POLICY). I don’t like to get dressed anyway unless pushed into it, but wearing jammies all the time is slightly eccentric. If you’re rich an eccentric, they invite you to parties. If you’re poor and eccentric, they put you on medication. I would think having superpowers, like being stinking rich, would also put you into the “she can do whatever the hell she wants” category.

So it would be jammies, a sleep mask, and my side-kick would be a teddy bear. Okay not really that different from now, except I’d be able to read your mind and shit too.

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Why do only women have guilty pleasures*, like watching Grey’s Anatomy or eating a cup full of peanuts with chocolate sauce poured over it, having sex with the UPS guy, spitefully viewing America’s Next Top Model?

Is it that men don’t feel guilty about pleasure?

Or am I wrong about the gender difference?

So what’s your guilty pleasure? What fun, food, cheap fiction or flight of fancy do you like to indulge in? (God, I love alliteration. Sorry about that.)

Me? I like to go into the kitchen and sneak marshmallows from the cabinet and pop one in my mouth when I’m passing through. I suppose what does it for me is the sneaky secretiveness and the eating something that has absolutely no nutritional value, real or imagined.

*I did a google search for “guilty pleasures” and found that a lot of people, by the way, are very close to mentally ill and I don’t think, technically, that being obsessed with weighing your own poop is a guilty pleasure. I was going to link to the place I found that, but on second thought… umm… no, I won’t. I tell ya… google is a scary place sometimes.

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Reporters keep asking, “Is American Ready For A Woman President?” And even though 92% of Americans polled by CBS say yes, dumbass journalists keep asking the question.

My favourite response to this question comes from Elayne Boosler when she said, “Go To Hell. ” But then there are others who say that America isn’t ready, because somehow a person capable of running for office isn’t capable of dealing with accusations of being a lesbian . Now I’m not a big Clinton supporter, but you have to agree that it says something for someone when the worst insult they can come up with is to say you’re tough, bitchy, and probably a lesbian. Note that among those “insults”, nobody has called her stupid.

So it’s journalists that are asking the dumb question, and not “real” people, but just to play along, what would they, the voting American public, have to do to get ready?

I suppose it depends on what you think might happen when a woman gets elected. We’ve had female leaders in the UK and around the world, and I don’t think it required that they reprint all the ballots in pink, nor did they have to close down the government one week out of four. Amazing, huh?

I suppose the biggest thing that needs to be decided before an American woman can become president is what to call her husband. The First Gentleman? That sounds… ridiculous. However, considering that there is only one woman running for president, and were she to win, her husband will be called, as he is entitled to be called for the rest of his life, President Clinton, then it really isn’t something we need to struggle with for a few more years.

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Although we’re technically Blogging for Bitter Women, this one is for the guys.

Quick Tip #3: There is NO Bank

Women might indicate otherwise, for motives I wouldn’t care to speculate on, but when it comes to earning “points” with the woman in your life, there is no bank.  The credit you earn now is the credit you have.   You can’t point back to a good thing you did a week ago and say “But hey I did the dishes without being asked last week.”  It don’t work that way.

Now some might consider this cruel, but it’s not… it’s just simply the way it is, and the sooner you understand the truth of the Chick Point System, the sooner you will be able to achieve the happy status of understanding you so desire.

Let me give you an example:

1. Monday:  Buy flowers for her.  + 10 points
2. Tuesday: Do dishes without being asked +5 points (Assuming this is a point of contention or something you don’t normally do.) Note: This gets fewer points than flowers because you dont’ have to leave the house or spend money to do it.
3. Wednesday: Give her fantastic, thoughful, multi-orgasmic sex. +10 points. (Although you don’t have to leave the house or spend money for this one… hey.. it’s good orgasms.  Shut up.)
4. Thursday: Remember to put gas/diesel in the car on the way home, knowing that she’s going to be using the car first thing in the morning and won’t want to have to stop.  +15 points.

Now.. the quiz… On Friday morning, how many points does he have?

The novice would look at that and say, “Easy… 40 points!”  Oh, you poor, dear soul.  

The correct answer: 0 points.

Don’t cry to me about it.  You should thank me for explaining this.  You got credits for what you did on Monday-Thursday, no doubt, but just remember.. there is no bank.

Remember this, and your life will get easier.  Promise.

(My apologies, by the way, for all the contextual Google  “Get Cheap Credit” ads that are undoubtedly going to be appearing for this one!)

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