I Just Want to Be Perfect Out TODAY

Guys, today’s the big day. The book you’ve all been waiting for or at least that I’ve been waiting for is out. It’s called (if you couldn’t tell from my title) I Just Want to Be Perfect. Which is so me. Actually, it’s not. When Jen Mann of People I Want to Punch in the Throat asked if I wanted to contribute, I thought, well, she’s got the wrong woman for this job. I don’t know if Jen knows this, but I’m not striving for perfection. I’m just striving for mediocrity. But I guess I Just Want to Be Mediocre isn’t a good book title.

Don’t let the Perfect title fool you, though. This book takes the cult of perfection and turns it on its head. As women we are constantly bombarded with messages to be the perfect girlfriend, wife, mother, woman, dominatrix. These “helpful” tips are provided by practically every media outlet and glossy magazine (which is why I don’t buy them – I’m perfectly fine being mediocre, thank you), and amplified by social media. Even if you’re like me (just trying to get by), we’ve all felt the pressure to be perfect – to look younger, thinner, prettier, smoother while trying out the 7 tricks guaranteed to turn him on! (like looking at him and saying yes? It’s one trick. It’s all one trick, people.) at night and then carrying in the latest Pinterest-inspired dessert to school the next morning for your little angel’s class party. The pressure is constant and overwhelming. And, it’s everywhere.

It’s also false. Perfection is an impossible goal. Yet, we fall prey to it. It’s hard not to, I suppose, when we are always being told we are not good enough, that we are in need of improvement. So we try the latest workout craze (hot or naked yoga anyone?) or diet fad or waxing trend or miracle wrinkle product or vaginal care services (forget steaming – may I interest you in a little vaginal weightlifting?) or bleaching of any kind including those parts that have no business ever being bleached or making a mad attempt to declutter our homes to vanquish all those thing that don’t spark joy. What if it’s your kids? What if your kids don’t spark joy? How do you get rid of them?

What if your kids don't spark joy? How do you get rid of them? Click To Tweet


If you've ever tried to be perfect and failed, you're not alone. In this humorous collection of stories, 37 women detail their misguided quest for perfection and the epic failures that result. Get your copy of I Just Want to Be Perfect, the fourth book in the best-selling series, today, and laugh along with us at the silly and impossible pursuit of perfection.

No one’s got that answer to that, now do they? That’s the advice we all really need. If someone figured that out, I bet we wouldn’t need all the other crap.

So, ladies, if you’ve ever tried to be perfect and failed, you’re not alone. In this humorous collection, 37 women detail their misguided quest for perfection and the epic failures that result. My piece wasn’t so much about striving for perfection in the typical sense. It was more about my pursuit of perfect health. Or, at least, decent health. Some kind of health because my back had been bothering me for years. Then several months ago I went on a quest to improve my health, and even that I couldn’t get right. Read my story in I Just Want to Be Perfect. I promise you’ll laugh. And check out the bang-up collection of other humor writers who share their funny fails along with mine.

Jen Mann – People I Want to Punch in the Throat / I Just Want to Pee Alone

Bethany Kriger Thies – Bad Parenting Moments

Deva Nicole Dalporto – MyLifeSuckers

Julianna Wesby Miner – Rants From Mommyland

LOLA LOLITA – SammichesPsychMeds / MockMom

Kim Bongiorno – Let Me Start By Saying

Alyson Herzig – The Shitastrophy

Kathryn Leehane – Foxy Wine Pocket

Harmony Hobbs – Modern Mommy Madness

Erin Dwyer Dymowski – Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms

Tara Wood – Love Morning Wood

Kelcey Kintner – The Mama Bird Diaries

Lisa René LeClair – Sassypiehole

Joelle Wisler – Joelle Wisler, Writer

Christine McDevitt Burke – Keeper of The Fruit Loops

Meredith Spidel – The Mom of the Year

Meredith Gordon – Bad Sandy

Nicole Leigh Shaw – NicoleLeighShaw.com

Allison Hart – Motherhood, WTF?

Jennifer Lizza – Outsmarted Mommy

Suzanne Fleet – Toulouse and Tonic

AK Turner – Vagabonding with Kids

Robyn Welling – Hollow Tree Ventures

Ashley Fuchs – The Malleable Mom

Kim Forde – The Fordeville Diaries

E.R. Catalano – Zoe vs. the Universe

Chrissy Woj – Quirky Chrissy

Stacey Gill – One Funny Motha

Wendi Aarons – wendiaarons.com

Jen Simon – jensimonwriter.com

Janel Mills – 649.133: Girls, the Care and Maintenance Of.

Jessica Azar – Herd Management

Susanne Kerns –The Dusty Parachute

Audrey Hayworth – Sass Mouth

Hedia Anvar – Gunmetal Geisha

Christine Organ – christineorgan.com

Shya Gibbons – ShyaGibbons

Now you can get your copy of the fourth book in The New York Times best-selling series, and laugh along with us at the silly and impossible pursuit of perfection.

Get it today on Amazon.
Or for your Nook on Barnes & Noble.

On The Big Waste of Money That is a Backyard Playset

It’s that time of year again, the time when hundred of thousands of parents across the nation will shell out their life savings for a backyard playset. I know. I was one of them. I don’t know what came over me – pure, unbridled optimism; utter delusion; dementia – but there was a point not too long ago where I just had to have a backyard playset for the kids. In my heart I harbored hope that this was the answer to all my problems. My problems being my kids permanently attached to my body like Siamese twins – or in this case Siamese triplets with one of bunch approximately 35 years older.

I needed something with bells and whistles (but not too many bells and whistles because that’s expensive) to captivate their attention outside in the glorious sunshine and fresh air where kids have played naturally for millennia. Instead of kicking them out of the house and locking the door like I should have, I plunked down good money on a playset. This is the tale of that playset, and my words of caution to you. But you’re gonna have to go over on Scary Mommy today. Well, actually, it was over there yesterday, but I forgot. Can you believe that? I completely and totally forgot. I had it marked on the calendar and everything. I had it marked on the calendar, looked several times this week at that day on the calendar, which also had several other notes and appointments marked on it, and forgot. So, I’m telling you now. But that’s OK because it doesn’t go stale. If you haven’t read it yet, go do yourself a favor and read it. It’ll save you a couple thousand dollars.

How to waste a boatload of money on your kids with a backyard playset. Parents, I got the answers for you right here. By @OneFunnyMotha
It looked something like this.

Epilog: When we sold our home a few years ago, the new owners had two small boys. They asked if we were going to leave the playset. I nodded and felt relief. I thought, at least someone will get some use out of it.

Like this? Find even funnier stuff in I STILL JUST WANT TO PEE ALONE, the third installment in The New York Times best-selling series from some of the funniest women on the web. What I’m trying to say is, I’m in this book. Buy it, ok? Available on AmazonKindleiTunes and Barnes and Noble. I will love you forever. 

My Kid Has a Potty Mouth (and He Got it From Me)

I love cursing. I do. There’s nothing more cathartic, liberating and enjoyable than letting loose a string of expletives. I love the release I get from throwing down some f-bombs, and there are certain situations in which screaming “Shit!” is just a reflexive response. No other word can capture the moment quite as precisely as that lone, four-letter one.

Of course, I don’t curse as often as I’d like because I’m aware there’s a time and a place, and I don’t want to appear rude. I reserve cursing for more private situations, like with my husband at home. The only problem is my kids live there.

For a good long while I held my tongue. Or at the very least, I was exceedingly cautious as to when I unleashed the torrent of obscenities so my kids wouldn’t overhear. It was a difficult struggle for me, but I endured for the children. As time went on, though, I found it increasingly onerous to squash my natural tendencies. As mothers, we are asked to give up so many things for our children — the late nights out, the drinking, the fun, our whole lifestyles. And I sincerely tried to give up the cursing as well. It just didn’t take. To me, spewing profanities comes as naturally as breathing. Expletives, I believe, allow me to best express myself. And, honestly, there’s no other time in life when the need for cursing is as great as after you have kids. Tell me that isn’t a kick in the teeth.

My Kid Has a Potty Mouth

So I found myself occasionally slipping up. It started out with a damn and a hell, but we all know those are just the gateway curses to shit and fuck. Eventually, I couldn’t stop myself. As the kids grew, so did my repertoire of expletives. The profanities were so enmeshed in my vocabulary that they just came falling out whenever the kids pissed me off, which was frequent.

And I discovered something. Profanities can be quite effective.

Sometimes a, “Dammit, Jack, I told you no more Skittles” gets your point across more readily than, “Now what did I say about snacks before dinner?” really can. A succinct, “Your ass is grass” conveys your dissatisfaction better than, “I’m really not pleased with your grades right now” ever will. And, a nicely placed, “You’re full of shit” tends to express your feelings more accurately than a, “I have difficulty believing your iPhone broke all by itself when I found it in your pants pocket after I removed the laundry from the dryer.”

At first, I had reservations about my language, but then I thought, Fuck it. This is who I AM.

I’m not saying cursing is always the answer, and I do try to use it sparingly around the kids. You don’t want it to lose its punch. And, I did have concerns about the kind of example I might be setting. Obscenities coming out of the mouths of 12-year-olds are not cute. But I know my kids curse. They’re at the age when all kids start cursing, and they, too, must learn there’s a time and a place when it can be used. That time and place is not around me or in public. It may be a bit of a double standard, but that’s OK. I’m the adult, so I can make the rules.

In many, many areas I’m a careful, prudent and responsible parent. I make sure my kids get enough sleep and eat a healthy diet and do all their homework and brush their teeth and do their chores and treat others with respect. This is just one area where I fall short. And I fucking don’t give a shit.

Like this? Find even funnier stuff in I STILL JUST WANT TO PEE ALONE, the third installment in The New York Times best-selling series from some of the funniest women on the web. What I’m trying to say is, I’m in this book. Buy it, ok? Available on AmazonKindleiTunes and Barnes and Noble. I will love you forever. 

© 2015 Stacey Gill, as first published on Scary Mommy.

20 Things That Are Too Hard for Teens

When our children arrive at the doorstep of teendom—becoming less children and more adults—we parents feel a tremendous burden lift from our hunched, tense shoulders and rejoice in having arrived at this final frontier, the homestretch, the last leg of the tour. We can see the finish line up ahead, almost within our reach. As our children stand on the threshold of adulthood, we take pride in seeing them develop into independent, capable, intelligent human beings. If they are not ready to go out into the world just yet, they soon will be, and we delight that we have done our job and done it well.

Until, that is, we ask our children to do a rather routine task and find they are no longer able. In fact, they are incapable of doing so very many things they’d previously performed without much trouble that we start to wonder if something’s wrong. We think they may have contracted some rare, little-unknown disease–one that seems to be affecting their entire body but showing no physical symptoms. We become convinced our community is in the midst of a mysterious outbreak, because most of their peers appear to be afflicted as well. It’s so strange, because the tasks that are now too difficult were once so simple.

And we fear there is no cure.

20 things that are too hard for teens. By @OneFunnyMotha

But with time and practice, you hope they’ll be able to overcome this disability. You pray one day, they’ll be able to live full and happy lives. You persevere and alert others to look for the warning signs, because if caught early, you’re optimistic the progression of the disease can be slowed. Awareness is key, and knowledge is power. Make sure you know the signs!

20 Things That Are Too Hard for Teens

1. Brushing their teeth.

2. Changing their clothes.

3. Opening the refrigerator.

4. Pouring a drink.

5. Putting dishes in the sink.

6. Making toast.

7. Loading the dishwasher.

8. Unloading the dishwasher.

9. Pushing buttons on the remote.

10. Getting up.

11. Sitting down.

12. Throwing garbage in the trash can.

13. Turning the lights on.

14. Turning the lights off.

15. Thinking.

16. Tossing dirty clothes in the hamper.

17. Petting the cat.

18. Peeling a banana.

19. Fetching the mail.

20. Walking.

Although the list is long and rather unnerving, it doesn’t have to mean the end of a promising life. I’m convinced kids can be rehabilitated, and I’m determined to get my children the help they need. This disease may not have been studied or written about in any scientific journal and there may not be any proven treatments, but I’m not going to let lack of medical research hinder me. Instead, I devised my own therapy, and it seems to be working.

Now, whenever my daughter says she’s thirsty, and I say, “Go get yourself a drink,” to which she responds, “Oh, just forget it,” I say, “No, now I demand you get a drink.” She may roll her eyes and slide off the couch onto the floor before picking herself up and heading to the kitchen, but when she gets there, she is actually able to remove the iced tea from the refrigerator and pour it into a glass. It’s a real confidence builder.

When I sit down on the couch next to my son, who’s watching the 5,000th consecutive episode of Regular Show, and I ask him to change the channel, he still resists, but I assure him he can do it. There’s some debate back and forth, but eventually he slowly lifts his limp arm up off the couch and moves it over the remote control lying beside him. As his hand hovers over the remote, I say, “You can do it,” and finally he pushes down and presses the button. It’s all about encouragement.

And when both are doing their homework at night and I walk into the darkened room questioning how in the hell they can possibly read in the dark, to which they insist they can see their textbooks perfectly fine, I say, “Put the goddamn light on already, because I’m not paying for glasses when you go blind.” And they do.

I find once the children have tried and see they are, in fact, successful, it makes performing those tasks much easier the next time the opportunity arises. Eventually—five or ten years down the road, perhaps—you hardly even have to encourage them at all. This method might not be perfect and it takes some investment, but with time and persistence, I truly believe our children can overcome these challenges. Who knows? They may even some day walk again or pet the cat unsolicited.

Like this? Find even funnier stuff in I STILL JUST WANT TO PEE ALONE, the third installment in The New York Times best-selling series from some of the funniest women on the web. What I’m trying to say is, I’m in this book. Buy it, ok? Available on AmazonKindleiTunes and Barnes and Noble. I will love you forever. 

©2015 Stacey Gill, as first published on Scary Mommy.

Push Presents Are Stupid

Even the name is stupid. I don’t like saying the words, and I shouldn’t have to because they shouldn’t even exist. Every time I write those words, I want to put quotation marks around them to indicate I don’t agree with this contrived term, but I’m being forced against my will to acknowledge it.

I’m not sure when push presents came into vogue, but it was after the birth of my first child over a decade ago, and I’m pretty sure it had something to do with the Kardashians – as all social ills seem to be related to them.

Idk when push presents came into vogue but I’m pretty sure it had something to do w/ the Kardashians. Click To Tweet

The thing is no one needs a present for birthing a child. You know why? Because the child is the present. After a nerve-wracking nine months of carefully planning, vigilantly protecting, and anxiously awaiting the arrival of your tiny, fragile newborn baby, you actually get the baby. That’s the reward. Presents are meant to be for birthdays or Christmas. You get them a present then, like if they were a gamer you would go to UnrankedSmurfs.com if they were a gamer who was into the game League of Legends – that’s when you buy a present, not for when someone has just birthed a baby.

The strange thing about the rise of the push present is that childbirth is not a business transaction. The implication of the need to compensate a woman for bearing a child is that she’s just some hired hand, no more than a birthing vessel, contracted to produce a child for a man rather than an equal party to the whole endeavor. That she’s being paid off for a service provided. That the two entered into this union jointly of their own agency out of a love so great it drove them to long for a child of their own gets a little lost.

I’m not saying women don’t deserve appreciation and respect or to be downright worshiped for their singular role in creating, carrying and bringing forth new life because lord knows that’s no small burden, but demanding material goods in exchange for a child seems somehow, I don’t know, grotesque.

This may not be so surprising coming from someone like Kim Kardashian. Kim quite famously announced her desire for a million-dollar diamond choker for the birth of her son. But she’s not the only expectant mother making such demands. The internet is awash with stories of other pseudo-celebrities receiving 10-carat diamond rings or Bentleys or some such equally extravagant and meaningless present, which may not be bad for a day’s work. I just hope they didn’t do it for the gifts.

And now the lifestyles of the rich and idiotic have trickled down into the general population, polluting it. Regular people are trying to wrangle luxury vehicles or at least 1-carat diamond something-or-others out of the birthing experience. Childbirth is one of life’s most miraculous moments. No need to cheapen it by using it as an excuse for material gain.

Instead of push presents, you know what mothers could use? Some help. Babies are a lot of work. I’m sure celebrities don’t have to worry about that, but people who live in the real world do. It would be nice if instead of push presents, women got an equal partner to share in the tremendous work of raising a helpless human being. Of course, many fathers are such partners, but undeniably, even in the 21st century women continue to play the predominant role in caring for and raising children. The mother is primarily the one who stays up nights or does the 2 a.m. feedings or rocks the colicky baby all day or finds the right pediatrician or figures out why the baby’s fussy or researches the preschools or locates the day care. Rather than an expensive trinket to “thank” the mother, a partner who divides the responsibilities equally would be a better and more worthy gift in exchange for the contribution the mother makes, I would say.

When I gave birth to my first child all those years ago, a good friend came to visit us in our Brooklyn apartment. Along with the present for the baby, she brought with her, a gift for me. Stunned, it came in a fantastic design from Custom Mailers! It looked so good! I opened it to find a soft, pink fleece top and comfortable lounge pants inside along with an assortment of scented lotions. I was touched. It wasn’t a “reward,” but rather a personal and thoughtful gift that showed I was still valued. Amid the clamor and fuss and absorbing demands of a new baby, I wasn’t forgotten. I, too, mattered. It demonstrated an appreciation of me in my new role and of what I was going to need. Those are the kind of gifts I think mothers could use.

Not that a new car or a 10-carat diamond ring wouldn’t be nice, but they kind of miss the mark. Instead, perhaps friends, family and society on the whole could express respect and gratitude for new mothers through useful measures and genuinely supportive actions.

Push Presents given by husbands after childbirth are stupid. Yes, they are. Here's why. On @OneFunnyMotha

No one needs a present for birthing a child. You know why? Because the child is the present. Click To Tweet

© 2015 Stacey Gill, as first published on ScaryMommy.com.

Like this? Find even funnier stuff in I STILL JUST WANT TO PEE ALONE, the third installment in The New York Times best-selling series from some of the funniest women on the web. What I’m trying to say is, I’m in this book. Buy it, ok? Available on Amazon, Kindle, iTunes and Barnes and Noble. I will love you forever.

Twitter Tuesday: Funny Tweets on Marriage #103


Funny Tweets on husbands and wives. By @OneFunnyMotha

These funny tweets on marriage sum up relationships so beautifully it’s like pure poetry.


Why bother? If they’re smart they know what they have to do.



Or they’ll just guess until they get it right.


Men do try, though.


Maybe just settle for a movie night.


That might be the most accurate representation of marriage ever written. 

Of course all this is a moot point if you have Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs.


Although I do occasionally need his help with stuff like moving furniture.


Or running to the food store.



Then there’s this.

Which may lead to…


It could be worse.


But then again…



You know who else got fooled?


Like this? Find even funnier stuff in I STILL JUST WANT TO PEE ALONE, the third installment in The New York Times best-selling series from some of the funniest women on the web. What I’m trying to say is, I’m in this book. Buy it, ok? Available on AmazonKindleiTunes and Barnes and Noble. I will love you forever. 

An Ode to Mom Jeans

I’m not talking about a return to the days when jeans extend all the way up to your neck. Or the time circa 1980 of pleated, acid washed jeans that really highlighted and accentuated your burgeoning abdominal region. I’m talking about a good, old-fashioned, fully functional, basic, fitting garment that actually covers the body parts it’s designed to cover. I don’t think expecting your pants to come up past your ass is too much to ask. In fact, that was once a basic tenet of clothing.

I don’t know what happened in the garment industry, but it seems it has completely dispensed with its 2,000-year history of manufacturing clothing for the purpose of, well, clothing people. Although we now have more options than ever with myriad styles, cuts and washes–sadly, none of them fit. It seems a cruel paradox.

Walk into any retailer, and you’ll find a dizzying array of denim: Jeans that are skinny, super skinny, super duper skinny, slim skinny, confining skinny and can’t-breath skinny. And that’s just the skinny category. Then there are straight jeans, curvy jeans, straight curvy jeans, roundabout jeans and boyfriend jeans, not to be confused with the sexy boyfriend jeans or the metrosexual boyfriend jeans. That last one is the one I need. The metrosexual boyfriend jean: fashionable, yet fitting. Where can I find those?

Crack is Whack, An Ode to Mom Jeans. But not your mom's mom jeans. By @OneFunnyMotha

While I’ve had trouble finding my perfect metrosexual boyfriend of the denim variety, I haven’t had problems finding other options. I can choose any finish from distressed to faded to whiskered to dark wash to not-too-dark-but-not-too-light wash to my personal favorite, worn crystal. Then you have the rises. There’s mid-rise, low-rise, ultra low-rise, low low-rise and half-ass-hanging-out-rise. But where, I ask you, is the high-rise? Where is the standard cover-your-stomach-so-your-flab-doesn’t-ooze-over-the-side rise?

Don’t even get me started on the skimmer jeans. There are approximately 54,000 varieties of those too. By the end of sorting through the vast deep blue sea of denim, casting aside pair after imperceptibly different pair in search of my size only to find it, but in the wrong length (regular and long, but not ankle) because for some reason The Gap thinks the average American woman is 10-feet tall, I had to ask the perky salesperson perched atop a ladder stocking the highest rungs of the towering floor-to-ceiling denim display for help.

“Um, excuse me. Sorry, I just trashed the whole pile of jeans you painstakingly folded and now have to refold, but do you have the dark-wash, always-skinny skimmer jeans in mid-rise size 8 ankle? I don’t see it here.” The 23-year-old sales clerk responded, “Well, we have the deconstructed dark-wash, always-skinny skimmer jeans in size 8 ankle, but in low-rise…or the super-skinny-always-skinny skimmer legging jeans in 8 ankle, but not in dark wash, and those only come in ultra-low-rise.”

“Let’s make this a little easier,” I exhaled. “Do you have any skinny jeans in this store that are mid-rise in size 8 ankle?”

“No, sorry,” she said, chomping her gum before returning to the wall of denim. I didn’t get the sense she was genuinely saddened by my loss.

“But you have a million jeans in this store,” I persisted, shaking my head. “How could you not have any in my size?”

But it was no use, because I am not 18, and the world and jeans are stacked against me.

Please note, because I’d really like to avoid any confusion here, and with full understanding I think we can all come to a consensus on one very important point: I am not, under any circumstances, advocating for high-to-your-eye-rise jeans. I talk not of your mom’s mom jeans but a new jean, a better jean, a technologically enhanced jean. A jean for the 21st century with a delicate balance of fashion and function for women who have birthed a child or developed beyond the age of 21. A jean for the woman who would like to maintain a sense of fashion along with her dignity. Because while we may have become, after years of exposure, a nation desensitized to unwanted butt-crack sightings, I assert crack is now and forevermore will be whack.

What really confounds me about the whole situation is why such a jean doesn’t exist already. This idea isn’t some fanciful notion. I know it can be done, because it has been done.

When these thoughts really get me down, like, say, after a particularly hard day at the mall, I stare mournfully out my window and reminisce about the good times, the heady days of yore when clothing actually fit. I remember a more innocent time before muffin tops, before jeans needed to be hiked up every five minutes, before special complementary underwear was an essential part of an outfit because undergarments actually remained under your garments. Mostly, I wistfully recall a bygone era when one’s exposed crack would cause embarrassment, when all the world considered plumber’s crack as the height of humiliation and not a given.

I say it’s time to take action. I submit to you, good people of the world, that a society in which mass unwanted crack sightings are tolerated is not a civilized society at all. We had fitting jeans once, and we could have them again. In fact, we must insist upon it. We must rise up and demand our jeans do the same, because while we have a multitude of rises, they have not risen far enough.

I submit to you, good people of the world, that a society in which mass unwanted crack sightings are tolerated is not a civilized society at all. Click To Tweet

You might want to like me on Facebook, too, because I’m just as funny over there but even more times a day.

If you like this, you’ll love my book, I STILL JUST WANT TO PEE ALONE, the third installment in The New York Times best-selling series from some of the funniest women on the web. For a good time get it on AmazonKindleiTunes and Barnes and Noble. I will love you forever. 

photo credit: Tinuesque via photopin (license)

Just Say No to Vaginal Weightlifting

I tried to ignore this when I first saw it come across my Facebook feed, but it seems I am unable. I need to weigh-in on the subject of vaginal weightlifting. As with so, so many other things brought to us by the internet to which we need to just say no like naked yoga and micro bikinis and sex with your iPad, we must raise our voices again in protest against vaginal weightlifting.

Do women not have enough nonsense to contend with? We are perpetually bombarded with messages to have flatter stomachs, smaller waists, bigger chests, tighter butts, plumper lips, smoother skin. Now we’re being told even our vaginas need fixing? If you wanted to make your vagina tighter my friend got some good results out of skin pro tighening gel.

Holistic sex and relationship coach and self-described vaginal weightlifter, Kim Anami, is behind this most recent ridiculous trend to make women feel they’re not measuring up and in need of constant improvement.

Vaginal weightlifting: Just Say No. By @OneFunnyMotha

When you first “Meet Kim” virtually, through her website, she poses an essential question: “My vagina can lift coconuts. Can yours?”

Um, no. Then again that’s not really a goal of mine. Anami claims this vaginal weightlifting is the key to empowering women, connecting them to their sexual power which in turn helps them to harness everything they want in life. Because, of course, the only way for women to get what they want in life is through sex or use of their sexuality.

According to the site, vaginal weightlifting, which appears to be basically doing Kegels while household objects are hanging out of your vagina, has a host of benefits. It strengthens the pelvic floor, eliminates incontinence, and purportedly enhances libido and intensifies sexual pleasure.

If you’re asking, “But how do you hold household objects with your vagina?” The answer is easy! Just find a stone, Anami uses a jade egg threaded with a string just like the ancient Taoists used to do, which she inserts into her vagina and then attaches whatever she has lying around – pineapples, chandeliers, small pieces of the Berlin Wall – to the string dangling from her groin.

If you're asking, But how do you hold household objects with your vagina? The answer is easy! Click To Tweet

Just say no to Vaginal Weight lifting. By @One Funny Motha

Anami, who by the way gave herself that name, which is a Sanskrit word meaning the unnameable one or the highest plane of God, not to be too self-aggrandizing, has been practicing this ancient Chinese secret for 20 years. (I don’t know if technically chandeliers are part of the method. I’m thinking not since I don’t think chandeliers date back 5,000 years.) She likes to call it vaginal Kung Fu. Kung Fu being the intense study to develop mastery over something. In this case your vagina. In a video she explained, “So it’s when you immerse yourself so deeply in something that it reveals it’s internal mysteries.”

Anybody else catch the double meaning?

Anami believes this intensely personal training teaches women the power of the vagina. But I think we already know its power. Women give birth. There is nothing more powerful than that. Suspending pineapples from your innards really can’t compare.

But I think we already know the power of the vagina. Women give birth. There is nothing more powerful than that. Suspending pineapples from your innards really can't compare. Click To Tweet

Still, Anami insists, “This method creates an articulate, sensitive and strong vagina.” A vagina that can speak for itself!

“This is what I use to lift various pieces of furniture and tropical fruit.” Naturally.

She goes on to assert a “masterful vagina ought to be able to move furniture.” I never thought of it that way. I do consider mine to be pretty masterful since I’ve birth a child, but I’m not certain it can move furniture. To be honest I’ve never really tried, most likely because moving furniture with a vagina would never occur to a sane person. Can you image how long it would take to move a couch like that?

But that’s not all a vagina should be able to do. Anami also raises this philosophical question on her site: “Can you shoot ping pong balls with your vagina?” She then comforts women by assuring them that if they can’t, they aren’t alone. Oh, thank God! I was worried for a second. She goes on to report, “99.9% of women haven’t mastered this essential life skill.” Essential. Life. Skill. I don’t know how essential this life skill is given I’ve managed at least 40 years without it, and I’m still breathing. Sure, maybe it would have come in handy in college during a game of beer pong, but other than that, I’m not really clear on the practical applications. Is it a skill I can put on my resume?

For Anami, genital ping pong ball blasting is elevated to an art form, one she’s incredulous doesn’t take place the world over. The “art of vaginal ping pong ball shooting, for example, is simply unheard of in these parts.”

I can’t imagine why. She continues, “Yet in many South East Asian countries it is a popular sport.” I know I’d like to order up my tub of popcorn, grab a seat in a stadium and watch a good match.

Although I hate to say it, you really have to go check out her site. She loves to pose all decked out with fruit hanging from her nether regions. On the main page I think it’s a pomegranate or maybe an apple, which when you’ve been photographed suspending coconuts or doing backbends while clutching a bunch of bananas with your lady bits, is not all that impressive. But what I’d really like to point out is the moving, downward facing arrow underneath the picture that reads, “Enter here.” Perhaps the arrow should be pointing in the opposite direction.

On the site, you’ll also see her listed accomplishments, among them are lifting 10 pounds with her vagina, living part-time on a surf yacht in Indonesia and having 20 orgasms in a row. Which assuredly will induce you to immediately sign up for her retreats. Oh, and make sure not to miss out on her Vigina-on-Tour, which you can follow on Instagram.

Funny thing about all this weight training and conditioning, you never see anything about it for penises. No one ever asks how much weight a penis can benchpress. And I think that’s just sexist.

If you like this, you’ll love my book, I STILL JUST WANT TO PEE ALONE, the third installment in The New York Times best-selling series from some of the funniest women on the web. For a good time get it on Amazon, Kindle, iTunes and Barnes and Noble. I will love you forever.

Photo credit: Facebook/Kim Anami

I’m Bringing Mom Jeans Back but Not Your Mom’s Mom Jeans

Crack is Whack- An Ode to Mom Jeans

Well, at least I’m bringing my Mom Jeans essay, Crack is Whack, or An Ode to Mom Jeans, back to Club Mid today. Because this is an important issue, people. It’s a basic human right, and I will not stop in my crusade for fitting jeans until every woman in America has jeans she can safely and comfortably wear without fear of exposure and humiliation. We must demand this of our political leaders and our fashion executives. We deserve clothing that doesn’t expose our private parts to the masses (unless we chose to do so, of course). But it’s our choice, one we’ve been stripped of (literally) as well as a say over our own bodies. And we must rise up against the surge of rampant, persistent and pervasive butt crack exposure. If we don’t, who will? So join me in this fight won’t you? You can get started by going on over and reading my piece.

photo credit: Tinuesque via photopin (license)

The Micro Bikini: For When Bikinis Just Aren’t Small Enough

Micro Bikinis Are Happening
We need to talk about this. The other day as I was casually scrolling through the internets, I came upon pictures I did not think I’d ever be subjected to outside of a porno magazine. And, my innocence was stolen. What I saw (and have since discovered is being worn by more than just one, lone, crazed individual) is something called the micro bikini.

Continue reading “The Micro Bikini: For When Bikinis Just Aren’t Small Enough”