What’s Up Down There

I made it a special point to TiVo Ms. Banks’ ‘Va-jay-jay’ episode of her Oprah-like talk show ‘Tyra,’ figuring it would be such a goldmine of hilarity that I’d have enough material to mock for weeks.

The show didn’t disappoint.

Tyra created this special va-jay-jay episode because she feels women need to have a ‘vagina dialogue.’ According to her, the fact that most women are private about their private parts (shocking, right?) means that we’re ‘in denial.’ In denial about what exactly (the fact that we don’t have a penis?) remained unclear.

Apparently only 11% of Tyra’s audience (an audience of gap-toothed, bootylicious women who I think were paid to sit and endure the show) could properly label a diagram of the female anatomy. There’s a lot technical doctor jargon for those parts, a vocabulary most of us haven’t utilized since Sex Ed in middle school. I don’t think I could properly label an empty map of the USA (the mid-west is a mystery to me). Does that make me ‘in denial?’ I think most women are too busy living their lives to spend daily quality time with our va-jay-jay and a hand mirror. So I think 11% is pretty damn good.

To help us better understand our anatomy, Tyra produced a ‘Vulva Puppet’ that looked like a lumpy beige sofa cushion gone wrong. The doctor demonstrating didn’t make the vulva puppet talk (thank god), because if it had happened to sing happy birthday or something I would’ve laughed until peeing my pants (pee which comes from my urethra, NOT from where I have babies – Tyra clarified this, God bless her).


Next, the show followed a twenty-eight year old woman with gynophobia who’d never been in the stirrups or gotten a pap smear. No one likes the gyno, but it’s just something you suck up and do. In short, we got to see Tyra hold this woman’s hand as she got her first pap smear on national television.

Inspiring? Gross? You pick.

Next, we dealt with women who have fear of inserting tampons. I just don’t get it. Don’t these women realize the va-jay-jay is a hole that’s meant to have stuff stuck up it. The thing’s actually designed to be penetrated.

Tyra’s Four Prong Attack of the menstrual cramp proved disappointing. She came up with:

1. A pain killer
2. Hot bath
3. Heating pad
4. Hot tea

Really? That’s the best a national Tyra-led committee on cramps could come up with? If a hot tub and a tea cup of English Breakfast does the trick for Tyra I think it’s safe to say this diva’s never experienced real coat hanger-like abortion cramps in her life.

Despite the comical nature of Tyra’s show in general, and the wealth of hilarious email questions about ‘heavy flow,’ Tyra did answer some relevant, practical, nether-region questions and discussed cervical cancer while promoting the new HPV vaccine. And that’s commendable.

For me, an actually useful question came from an audience member who asked, ‘What’s the difference between those 1, 3 and 7 day yeast infection packs?’ My roommate and I immediately turned to each other:

“What is the difference?”

The answer is none. It’s just a marketing gimmick by people over at the yeast factory to mind-fuck women shopping at Duane Reade. And that’s good to know.

So you know what, Tyra?

Thank you.

Sharing and Caring

Whether you’ve entered into the ominous ‘live-in’ relationship or on what I call ‘the cheater’s live-in relationship’ i.e. the long distance relationship, where you cohabitate during prescheduled visiting hours, you and your significant other will inevitably be forced to partake in some kindergarten-spirited sharing. Since you’re most likely fantasizing about how yummy your significant other will look lathered up in whip cream while packing your suitcase, it’s no real surprise that you usually forget stuff on visits (face creams, razors, cell phone chargers and toothpaste for example, never make it into your bag). Upon arrival, you turn to your partner to supply these missing items. For me, here’s what constitutes Barney-approved sharing versus crossing the line creepy.

Okay to Share:

1. Hairbrushes and Combs: You love each other’s hair; you’re constantly caressing it, smelling it, tugging on it. And what’s the danger? If one of you has lice, you’d have already infested each other by now to the point where your lice families are celebrating the birth of great grandchildren. Communal use of the hairbrush is OK by me.

2. Socks: I’m prefacing this by clarifying that I mean ‘clean socks.’ When packing for conjugal visits, I often focus so much on lingerie and skimpy dresses that practical items like socks get overlooked entirely. When I want to hit up the gym and realize there are critical gaps in my working out wardrobe, my significant other’s oversize socks work just fine.

3. Hairdryer: Who needs to be possessive over a hairdryer? I like guys with longish hair (see definition here) and the practical side of such a preference is that they often need to mechanically dry their thick, manly locks before hurrying off to work in the morning. I’m always happy to sit back and watch this fascinating male grooming ritual. If they use hair products such as gel the entertainment level increases considerably.

4. Beverages: You’re lip-locked twenty percent of your time together anyway – so what’s a little mixed saliva on a straw? Granted, at restaurants or out with other people, it’s not so classy. But when enjoying a slurpie at the beach, I vote share.

5. Sun block: He never carries any and squints in confusion at the concept of ‘a sunburn’ or ‘skin cancer.’ So unless you want a boyfriend that looks like a boiled lobster, I say sharing is the way to go. (On a side note: Has anyone ever seen a man buy sun block, EVER? I’m asking my local Duane Reade employee – I doubt such a purchase has ever occurred.)

6. His Clothes: We love wearing his boxers and oversize t-shirts. They smell like him and unlike our corset-tight tank tops, are so roomy we actually feel comfortable pigging out on the various boy junk food in his fridge. If he can fit into your comfortable clothes…that’s just weird.

7. Sunglasses: A friend of mine has a stolen pair of shades from every man she’s ever dated. It’s like a reduced, one time alimony payment / a fashion scrapbook of past loves. Whenever she puts on a pair we’ll be like, “Oh, love those Armani. They were Alex’s, right?” Besides, dark man glasses only make a woman look more powerful and mysterious.

So now that we’ve explored some of the items that it’s okay for lovers to commune-style share, let’s examine the flip side of the coin.

NOT Okay to Share

1. Toothpaste: Even men who seem harmless and refuse to kill bugs menacingly destroy the life of your toothpaste tube. First off, they throttle the thing instead of politely squeezing from the established corner of your choice. Secondly, they force enough toothpaste out of the tube for an army of dentists and their assistants. They then use a fraction of this amount, and then irritatingly attempt to close the toothpaste lid, which is now flooded in a thick, chunk-like substance stickier than a four-year-olds’ hands. I cringe, shudder, then scream at the sight of such a toothpaste corpse in my bathroom and refuse to touch it without the aid of latex gloves.

2. Toothbrush: The ‘You’re lip-locked twenty percent of your time together anyway’ excuse does NOT apply to toothbrushes as it does to straws. Toothbrushes are a serious oral hygiene tool that have ONE designated user. They promote fresh breath and sanitary behavior. For me, if you’re sharing such a private tool you might as well lick each other’s teeth clean. No thank you.

3. My Favorite Pillow: I’ve made it clear which pillow it is; it’s the absurdly expensive fluffy one I splurged on during a weak moment at Mattress World. I compensate for the whacked amount of money I spent on the thing with unrelenting adoration and emotional dependency for its downy texture. It’s become the adult equivalent of my childhood ‘blankie’ and sleeping doesn’t feel satisfying without it. Sharing is not going to happen.

4. My Delicious Entrée: Let’s joyfully pick at each other’s appetizers and desserts – desserts were created to be shared. But my main course is MINE. I should not be punished for my partner’s inability to choose his own eatable entrée. The fact that I’m smart enough to LISTEN to the waiter’s specials announcement and order accordingly while my significant other is honed in on the football match in the background, doesn’t imply that I should share my delectable main course with the less competent chooser. Take your fork and back off.

5. Expensive Hair Products: Stuff purchased at CVS or Duane Reade is fine for my guy to lather up in. Pantene Pro V, Frieda’s Blonde collection and L’Oreal are all in my shower for him. Take a silver dollar size of product and wash away. Anything salon purchased however, i.e. products with names you can’t pronounce (Biolage, Kerestase, Keihls), products with French on them, and products that are the international-sounding names of gay man (Frederic Fekkai, Ted Gibson, Louis Licari), are OFF limits. Using fist-size glops of these products is the financial equivalent of burning twenty dollar bills with a set of matches. Don’t do it unless you want us to cry.

6. My Bathroom in General: Sharing the bathroom area during visits is understandable and inevitable, especially because let’s face it – who can afford a two bathroom apartment in Manhattan? If pursuing a ‘live-in’ relationship however, I’m overtly certain it would fail if I shared my bathroom area with a man for an extended amount of time. I think separate watering holes are in fact, one of the foundational keys to all successful relationships.



Maybe that’s why so many couples move to Brooklyn …

Recent Discoveries

#1

I was lucky enough to have dinner at Morimoto two nights ago, which is a highly regarded Iron Chef restaurant in Chelsea. It’s also one of those obscenely expensive be-seen places where the food is supposed to be worth every penny and the ambiance is supposed to blow your overburdened Manhattan mind. I’m often cautious about such establishments. To me, the food at Pastis tastes like every other French bistro in the city and Spice Market’s over-flavored, microscopic portions would make me want to puke if they’d ever let me ingest enough fingernail-size dumplings to feel full without having to file for chapter eleven. Overall, I was pleased with Morimoto. The soups were large enough for a family of four, the black cod was out of this world, and the lobster was delicious even though the chef was heavy handed with the paprika. My soft shell crab sushi did not disappoint, nor did the booze selection. But were any of these things the highlight of the evening? No. The only reason I’d truly return to Morimoto is…

To use the bathroom.

That’s right. Morimoto is the first of many New York restaurants who are taking their establishment’s rest room experience as seriously as the dining one. Morimoto is equipped with “luxury toilets,” and no, I’m not making this up. First off, a floral hologram encompasses you in the stall so you feel like you’re peeing in a never ending rose briar. I found this quite sickening. Yet I instantly felt revived when I sat down and realized the toiled seat was not only comfortable, but heated. HEATED. Then I noticed a panel of buttons on the wall next to me. See, the toilet not only anticipates your every need with motion sensors, it also doubles as a bidet. I’m a big fan of bidets and have missed them since abandoning residence in Europe. Besides what bidets are supposed to be used for (which I think is great), they’re also indispensable when cleaning your feet, Chihuahua or hand-wash laundry. These luxury toilets have a built in personal hygiene system with a remote control bidet in the form of a retractable pipe inside the toilet. I pressed one of the many shiny, silver buttons and the toilet spayed warm water on my ass followed by and a gust of warm wind to dry the area. Note: I could have sprayed my ass in rotating, rhythmic, or pulsating movements if I hadn’t been so overwhelmed by the fact that this toilet had more buttons than my TV remote control and was probably smarter than me. For those of you fascinated, perplexed and simultaneously disturbed with this latest New York ridiculousness as I am, I suggest pasting the below URL into your browser to learn about the new “throne toilets” quite popular with billionaires.

http://jscms.jrn.columbia.edu/cns/2007-04-24/gould-ritzytoilets

Happy automatic flushing!

#2

In other local news, I made a more useful discovery. Duane Reade sells beer! If I ever meet the mastermind who first decided to sell hair products, food, pharmaceutical goods, greeting cards, booze, and tampons all in one place I’ll probably break down in tears. It’s just so genius it hurts. See, in Italy there’s the Farmacia which is your pharmacy, the bread store which just sells bread, the Cartoleria which just sells paper and greeting cards, and tiny boutiques for hair and make-up products. While this is all very cute, it’s important to keep in mind that each of these stores are only open for about five hours a day – two hours in the morning (while you’re at work) and two hours in the afternoon (while you’re at work). So unless you have magical helper elves assisting you on daily errands, the chances of making it to even one of these shops on a weekday is slim to none. Oh, and they’re closed Sunday – so stock up on milk. In fact, a backup career plan of mine is to bicycle around Milan with a mini fridge of milk in toe on Sunday mornings selling it for ten Euro a pop. People will pay. Why no one’s thought of keeping their store open for this profit making purpose on Sunday remains a mystery to me.

The point is that it’s only when you come back to the US after years in such a barely functional country that you can truly appreciate that magnificence that is Duane Reade (or CVS for non-New Yorkers). Not only do they have it all, many of them are open 24-7! And I haven’t even got started on the Duane Reade card yet!

For those of you who don’t have a Duane Reade card, get one stat and start reaping the glorious rewards. Every 100 points you spend you get a five dollar gift certificate to use on whatever you want. That’s two cases of Pepperidge farm cookies – FREE! Or five bucks off your next six pack of Corona. Fabulous! Now when I have to pick up booze to bring to someone’s lame house party as a gesture of goodwill, I no longer have to stop at those rip-off Asian delis sprinkled around the city where a box of Cheerios is six dollars. Instead I can load up on liquor at a 24 hour Duane Reade reaping heavenly points on the way. Drinking can be justified as cost effective. This could get dangerous…

More about Italy, specifically a tribute to Dr. X , is coming up…