Today, in things that worry me greatly: A teen in West Palm Beach, FL, has been apprehended by police after “playing doctor” inside a real, live hospital. Dressed in a white doctor’s coat and with a stethoscope around his neck, the teen wandered the halls of St. Mary’s Medical Center, playing doctor and thankfully, not actually treating any patients. According to a statement from the hospital, “The individual never had any contact with the hospital patients and did not gain access to any patient care areas of the hospital at any time.” The teen’s mother scooped up her own Doogie Howser, relaying to authorities that he is actually mentally ill and has been off his meds, which makes this sad rather than creepy. I am thankful that the authorities apprehended the teen, and hopeful that he gets help. [Fox 13 Now]
I met up with Mark* on Friday night, eager to kiss my long workweek goodbye and roll into the weekend, drink in hand. We’d only been seeing each other a short time and hadn’t slept together yet, but if our chemistry over the last few of weeks was any indication of what was to come, we’d be doing the dirty sooner than later.
That night, we hopped around to some well-known bars in the area, having a beer here and a cocktail there. When night turned into morning, we headed back to his place and it didn’t take long before there was a trail of clothes from the front door to the bedroom. We made out for a while and were both aching to finally get it on. After about fifteen minutes of giving it a really good college try, it was pretty apparent that sex was not going to happen— at least not successfully. Mark would get hard, he’d strap on a condom and we’d try to get it in, but moments later he was limp as a wet noodle. Whiskey dick strikes again. We laughed it off and called it a night just as I was about to fall off the bed (I was pretty tipsy myself), but I vowed to try again in the morning when everything was back in working order. Keep reading »
“Are you okay in there?” my roommate asked me after I’d surpassed the 30-minute mark in our shared bathroom.
“Yep!” I hastily replied from the cold, linoleum floor where I sat naked. “I’ll be right out!”
I took one last look through the small compact mirror at my vagina, thoroughly inspecting each fold, small bump and hair, and hoisted myself up off the floor. In a matter of months, this scrupulous examination had become my daily routine…and to this day, I hate every minute of it. Keep reading »
I am convinced my vagina should have the next lead role on “Game of Thrones,” because recently, it has done nothing but plot sadistic revenge and royally fuck me. Like many women have experienced, I woke up one day with some weird itching and burning in the land down under and knew that it was the beginning of the dreaded yeast infection. Before I high-tailed my ass to the doctor, I opted to try a three-day over-the-counter, injectable cream that made me feel like I was a toddler walking around with a load in my diaper, and since then, it’s been one problem after the next (all for which I’ve consulted professionals).
But through my struggles, I’ve found solace in the fact that my OB-GYN confirmed “these are common problems,” and “these things happen to everyone.” Every day, women everywhere are betrayed by their vaginas with “normal,” pain-in-the-ass issues that interrupt our sex lives, social lives, and just our ease of existence in general. YOU try discreetly walking up subway stairs with a vile’s worth of white, foamy cream slowly leaking into your panties. Here are seven common vag problems that, in my opinion, deserve their own support groups and pocket manuals. Keep reading »
We’ve all been there: you’re at the gynecologist’s office, spread eagle in stirrups, when in walks the doctor and you’re suddenly feeling like you miiiight have to fart. Or worse, you feel a queef comin’ on. You wonder to yourself, How often does she actually get queefed on? It HAS to happen, right? So you spend the rest of your visit getting felt up and making small talk about your career ambitions, when really, all you want to do is ask about the queefing. But that’s just the tip of the inappropriate iceberg.
If you haven’t wanted to ask any of these 10 questions while getting pap smeared at the gyno, you’re probably lying… Keep reading »
Buzzfeed has a post up today called “Meet the Hottest Gynecologist Ever.” And Manuel Rico, who’s from Spain but does pap smears down in Chile, is indeed smokin’ hot. Like, model hot. “Bachelor” hot. Pool boy hot. Christian Grey hot. THAT HOT. Dr. Manuel is so hot that women are standing in line to have their vaginas checked out by him.
I do not understand this. Not just because I can’t understand getting enthused about going for my annual pap — maybe because my own gyno considers sticking her finger in my asshole part of the routine — but because the last thing I want is for my gynecologist to be fuckable. Keep reading »