Vagina’s Have SuperPowers…

…or so I’ve discovered over the years.

No—they can’t make beds or cook a nice dinner, nor can they do the laundry, fold clothes, locate missing socks or vacuum.

If they could that would make the vagina the world’s most perfect multi-tasking machine.

Everyone would want one, even men.

Not that they don’t already want one whenever.

They can’t change a tire, weed a garden, grocery shop, or get the children off to school.

They definitely can get some things off but it ain’t the children.

They can’t play cards or bingo (although I think I’ve heard mine scream that word out loud from time to time).

We women tend to take very good care of this wonderous man/women-trap. We groom it, primp it, and prime it to function on a moments notice. Hell, now we can even bejewel it. We can make it glitter and glow like a showpiece, like it’s supposed to be seen and not heard.


I tried this a few times but I guess my idea of a joke didn’t coincide with hubby’s idea of a joke.

The first adornment was placed just above my pubic hair right after I decided it was time to tighten up the little bugger.

Yes…I had a penchant for Kagel’s a few months back after I notice that every time I sat down I’d hear that weird sound similar to a tire losing air.

That  sparkly red slogan read:


Hubby did not take this one well!

As soon as I’d accomplished all I’d set out to do that slogan was quickly replaced  with:



So okay, hubby wasn’t thrilled with that one either but at least it didn’t stop him from shopping, although if I remember correctly, I do believe he waited for the first “SALE–Save 50%” sign to go up. He’s no dummy! He still likes a bargain when he can get one!



I guess what I’m trying to say it that we forget these powers. We allow our ‘Gina’s’ to lose priority! We know it gets weary sometimes when we lose ourselves in mundane chores and everyday occurrences that cause you think about anything other that ‘workin’ it.

So what we have to do is reconfirm what benefits we can ascertain from the use of our well experienced man-cave?

What doors can it open?

What perks can it entitle us to?

How many times do you have to engage it to wreak a reward?

Yes…there are so many questions surrounding the Super-Powers of that little bugger it’s mind-boggling but in my book, re-evaluation periodically is mandatory.

Of course without constantly researching what’s in and what’s out we may never get all the answers…right girls?

So let’s break it down here.

The vagina lives in the area of our body that contains most of our breakable parts so I know it’s intelligence level, based on that fact alone, means it can’t possibly be the smartest tool in the shed, but then again, maybe smart’s not always best.

Maybe this is where that phrase ‘you dumb c@#t’ comes from. I mean, why else would anyone use this idiotic vulgar slur if it didn’t have something to do with the intelligence level of a woman’s vagina?

When you’re young, horny, and single, it can be used as a social-networking  tool while you’re trudging through the heap of men looking for Mr. Right.  After you find said man you learn to appreciate the fact that it will willingly work with you and you alone accepting only those sacrificial sperms you choose in order to create offspring.

It knows there are rules and acts accordingly.

This puckered looking pock mark can stop a man or woman dead in his or her tracks no matter how old you are. It can raise a penis as easy as it can raise a heart beat. Hell, it can even raise an eyebrow when it makes a surprise appearance. This we know for a fact from all the YouTube action surrounding those rare and spectacular celebrity accidents!

It can change the mood of a day (or night) in under thirty seconds.

It can put a smile of your face and keep it there all day.

It can also keep a smile on someone else’s face all day if you know what you’re doing.

Yes, during my 5o-some years of working this anatomical wonder I’ve learned a thing or two along the way.

Here’s a perfect example!

Just the other day hubby seemed down and out, which happens so rarely I knew he really needed my attention. I guess you could call this the emotional trickle down theory. You give a little, you get a little.

What the problem was I have no idea, I just knew something had to be done to rectify the situation.

This was one of those ‘not-so-uncommon-times’ where a ‘mercy fuck’ was in order. Yes this was definitely one of those occasions where I had to step up to the plate and use my feminine healing powers.

The mere mention of a romp in the sack immediately put a sparkle in his eye, a skip in his step, and a boner in his pants.


It doesn’t take much to pull a guy out of any kind of funk when you know which Band-Aide to apply!

So you must be wondering what did I get out of it? I’ll tell you what I got out of it.

New shoes, a haircut, a night out on the town, and a much happier guy on my arm!

So this just proves my point!

There is no question that a woman’s vagina has Super Powers.

My Boobs Have Moved South…

…for the winter or so it seems.

I woke up early one morning recently because my boob was suffering from a mysterious chill.

I pulled the covers up but that didn’t help.

That’s when I realized I was sleeping on my back and my boob had fallen off the bed and was lying on the hardwood floor.


I knew I should have put carpeting in the bedroom.

Accidents like this are bound to happen. I’m old enough to know better.

“What the hell girl,” I said in my most scolding tone as I reeled it back  on to the bed–back under the covers where it belonged.

Thing one and thing two are developing a mind of their own.

They have some secret agenda is what I think!

Could this be that ‘physical discontent’ they talk about–the one that comes every winter–the one that comes as each decade passes?

Are our bodies searching to redefine how it will appear to the general public right now? Is this what happens, in the way of consequences, as we slack off on our maintenance of it?

Or was thing one actually searching for something in the form of that warm ray of sunshine that was lurking just beyond the curtains as the sun began to rise?


Fuck that!

Both of those little buggers should be satisfied with the heat brought on by those gall-darned hot flashes that course through my aging body at a surprising rate of speed wherever and whenever they feel like showing up.

Or could it be I’ve reached the time in my life–once again–where a sleeping bra would make sense. I wore one during my pregnancy’s to keep the girls closer to home when all they wanted to do was play.

Oh yes! That was very interesting.

The word ‘undulation’ is what comes to mind when I think of how they used to misbehave then. Their favorite game was to imitate a yo-yo when I moved about.

Bada-Boing, Bada-Boing, Bada-Boing!

Up down, up down, and sometimes even, as an added treat, a loop de loop.

Yes, my boobs have a secret life of their own. They’re always looking for attention, good, bad, or indifferent!

I recall another occasion a few years back when I was rudely awakened in the wee hours of the morning because I couldn’t breathe.

What the hell, I thought to myself?

What on earth was happening?

The first thought that came to mind was that hubby had finally had enough of my crazy antics and was trying to off me. He sometimes has these little adventures in his sleep, which I think makes him far crazier than me.

Oops! Did I say that out loud…..sorry honey, but in my defense–you do have those wacky dreams that set you out on a mission of sorts.

My Bad!

When my eyes popped open–an auto-reflex due to lack of oxygen–I could see he was still sound asleep and facing in the other direction. He was off the hook.

I reached up towards my throat and that’s when I discovered that thing two had decided to sleep in the crook of my neck.

Little bastard! I take very good care of the girls so this kind of behavior is shocking!

Were my boobs screaming out for security once again?


Or was it just a matter of weight distribution? Could it be the extra weight I’d recently acquired had chosen to settle in my boobs as it often does?

Anyone out there with large boobs knows that if you find a top to fit the girls the bottom always makes you look pregnant. If you find a top that fits the bottom, the boobs doth protest and will not allow buttoning, zipping, or snapping to happen.

Life’s a bitch sometimes!

Maybe this is yet another reason to keep duct tape in the drawer next to my bed.

The Middle Hours…

…the ones where sleep is elusive, the ones that fall between say–two and six in the morning–are like a secret garden for me. I plant a seed, a thought, then let the idea grow until creativity sparks like a firecracker.

Whatever happens in this time frame sets the tone for my day. It determines whether it will be a FUN day or just another one of those “FUNNY DAYS“!

Why I’m up during what should be my Rapid Eye Movement hours is beyond me…it just is what it is.

It always amazes me how we adapt and learn to tolerate that which makes us crazy–that which makes us freaking exhausted later in the day when we should be functioning like a well oiled engine!

But this time of day/night, however you want to look at it, is often my most creative time IF I can harvest the thoughts running through my brain…the ones that shoot out like bullets from a machine gun.

BAM–there goes another one!

Just when I think I’m coming into focus, honing in on the ramblings/ideas/thoughts scooting back and forth in my brain like a hockey puck being played by two trophy winning teams…

…Just when I think I can sit at my computer and force words to flow through my fingers onto the blank screen, words that should make sense…


I realize I forgot to switch the laundry over before going to bed.

This sets off the train of frustration because I know I will have to run the wash again to get rid of the overnight stench of sitting water.


It’s the chain reaction theory working to keep me running behind, like a watch whose battery is on the verge of dying but not quite. It keeps a little time, the wrong time, but it’s moving just enough to keep me going even though I may reach the TOTAL FAIL POINT…the place where I give in and say time or lack of it wins–I lose.

I wonder whether or not I can achieve all the tasks ahead of me during the correct hours of being awake! Can I fit my creativity onto the list of the ‘honey do’ portion of my day?

What’s a girl to do?

Me–I do what I always do. I step away from the computer, go out to the laundry room, set the wheels in motion once again–and feel some odd sense of satisfaction rain down in my brain.

Score Card

Chores done–10 points!



This happens all too often.

Returning from the laundry room, I wonder what it was I was about to write? The idea eludes me and I feel, well, disappointed, put upon, and bummed out! Will the idea/thought return? Maybe, but maybe not!

I hate my brain some days.

But I’m a creature of habit and force myself to sit and think.

There’s an inkling of something lurking at the end of my finger tips waiting to spring free but the release is not there. It fades away…it’s like a rain cloud that’s moved in front of the sun. That’s right about the time when I notice a pile of crumbs on the floor next to the table upon which my computer sits. This would be a remenent of snacks ingested by my children long after I’d hit the sack the night before.

I try to ignore the distraction by focusing on the blank screen of my computer.

One word…just type one fucking word and you can break the spell I tell myself!

I see the broom taunting me like it always does. It leans against the cupboard all yellow and bristly trying so desperately to seduce me, to get and keep my attention.

“Come on…you know you want to feel my handle in your hands,” it whispers into the air as though I can really hear it…as though I will really truly give a shit.

“Fuck off…I’m trying to work here!” I let these words spin around in my brain silently!

“No, no, no,” it whispers. “You know you can’t write a God Damned thing now that you’ve spotted the mess on the floor!”

“Shut the hell up!” This time I say it out loud, but not loud enough to wake anyone else up.

I have, on occasion, said things too-out-loud during the wee hours and as a result one of my children have wandered out of their bedroom sleepy eyed to ask me who the hell I’m talking to at this unGodly hour.

I have to decide between telling an outright lie, or admit that I’m having a perfectly normal conversation with the broom!

They know I talk to myself…but admitting that I have a real honest-to-God relationship with most of my cleaning utensils may lead to a lot of unsettling questions later on.

I try to ignore it by Googling “Dealing With ADD”.

Focus daily on your overall health, both in mind and body!

Don’t fail to plan. Plan to succeed!

Surround yourself with a positive environment as much as possible!



The authors of these great suggestions obviously do not know me or my family! They must be referring to those who are either only a tad affected by this syndrome or are medicated so heavily they turn into iron-clad-doer’s who TUNNEL VISION everything until they’ve accomplished everything on their list or the med’s have worn off!

My eye’s are once again drawn away from the empty computer screen to those BASTARD crumbs!

Now, call me a freak, but this time when I look at them I see they’ve somehow reshaped themselves to form words.



The earth feels like it’s moving beneath me. I thank God for living in California because the earth does move here. If this is an earthquake it will relieve my of my creative duties, hallelulia, because now I’ll have to run into the kitchen and try to hold as many cupboards closed as I can in order to maintain damage control.

I wait for the bigness of it………………but NOTHING.

I realize as my eye’s turn towards the kitchen that it’s just the fucking broom doing the tango because it’s as ADD as me. It is demanding my attention!

At long last I close my computer in defeat!