Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Tips on Gittin Sum 101 - this one's for you, boys!

Let me preface this by readily admitting that I am not a dating professional - you couldn't pay me enough! Well... actually... I may be open to the right generous offer, or financially-backed marriage proposal... But anyway, I have suffered through the online dating world enough times to have learned lessons so excruciating that the only way for me to heal is to share them with y'all. It began primarily as me self-reporting on my OK Cupid profile, for potential boytoys to ponder. I've gotten fan mail from many gentlemen who appreciate my candor and applaud my standards, and the occasional hate message from those that can only get it up by putting me down.

Below I am cutting&pasting&editing excerpts from my gargantuan OK Cupid profile, specifically the "You should message me if..." section - which can be directly translated into "How to have a chance to get into my pants." The online dating world is full of strange creatures that defy evolution. For the sake of the future of our species, we must propagate the wisdom of our experiences! May the edification ensue!


You should message me if...

February 2012: If your profile has anything along the lines of "I don't really know how to describe myself, I guess I'm pretty cool" don't ever expect a response from me. If you can't write or think, I can't even waste my time giving you my condolences.

April 2012: Actually, just message me if you are between 90-110 years old and are really, really rich.

May 2012: Gentlemen - I expanded my "looking for" to 99 years of age (OKC doesn't go to 110, sorry older boys! I try!). Please understand that the older you are, the more I expect to be impressed by you. You've been around longer and have had more life experience (if you took advantage of it, I would hope). You should already know that is your advantage over the younger peckers on this website. Otherwise, you've just explained to me exactly why you are on this website at your age.

June 2012: 
Dudes, if I get a message from you insisting 
I'm doing myself a huge favor by replying to you... 
believe me, I'll be doing YOU a huge favor 
by NOT replying to you.

July 2012: 
Hmmm, after seeing my ex's online dating profile,  it dawns on me just how many lies people will say to snare a snatch. Any man worth his salty goodness ought to know he had better prove himself beyond the masses of bullshit out there. 

Got a problem with the fact that I think most of you are full of it? 
Great! Click Ctrl-Command-W now!

For the sake of all, boys... basic pointers when it comes to women:

1. You do NOT tell the chick you are dating to lie to her mother when you did something that you wouldn't want her mother to know about. If you did something you don't want her mother to know about, DON'T FUCKING DO IT. If you DO, have the fucking decency to own up to your fuckup and make up for it accordingly, like the worthy gentleman you could be. And please, DO be ashamed of yourself - it lets us know you are actually learning something.

2. You do NOT take a fucking SHIT in the girl's apartment without first saying hello to her, how are you, etc, and politely asking permission. Yes, I know people have needs. Including being treated with respect in one's own home. Greet first, shit later. Simple, right? You'd think. But the obvious has escaped many. Guys, don't get dumped for taking a dump, OK?

<<Nov 2013: Yes, this really happened to me. All my friends know him as "Shit Guy." Ever since I posted this on my dating profile, I have had at least 3 other boytoys develop psychological problems trying to use my bathroom.>>

3. If your date tells you she did not like something you did, the correct answer is NOT "I didn't do anything!" If you are alive, talking to her, and have interacted, yes, you actually have done something. Pretending you didn't exist in a moment of conflict is get-the-fuck-out-worthy, chickenshit (read about gaslighting). The correct answer is NOT "This isn't my problem!" Unless you mean "Trying to get in your pants isn't my problem!" The correct answer is NOT "You are projecting your issues with your exes on me!" Unless you want to be the next ex I have issues with.

No, no, noooo.... The correct answer IS "I'm sorry I did XYZ, I didn't mean to create this conflict between us. It is more important for me to figure out what happened than it is for me to be right." I don't care if what upset her was that you wore the wrong color pink shirt, or you burped in front of her folks, or you called her by your ex's name. Unlike you peckers, we women don't find it better to be right. We can be wrong as much as anyone. But our self-esteem is not wrapped up in the need to be dominant, and we don't want victory as much as we want a partnership. We would rather open our legs to someone with an open mind and open heart. No matter how ridiculous or petty it may seem to you, YOU NEED TO TAKE US SERIOUSLY. If you don't, you invalidate our feelings, you make us LESS THAN YOU. If our feelings are LESS important than your need to be right, you can jolly well go fuck yourself, coz no one else is going to do it for you.

Personal disclaimer: 
I have a ZERO tolerance policy for anyone who invalidates my feelings and/or takes no responsibility during conflict. That first offense IS the LAST. You are not treating me like an equal, which stems from a deep foundation of disrespect that was there long before me, and I have no interest in dealing with (anymore). "Sorry" after the fact DOESN'T CUT IT. "Sorry" is just the bullshit band aid to repeat offenses. I do NOT buy "sorry" without actions to back it up.

FYI: Just because I forgive you once, does not mean I will do it again. I learn from my mistakes, especially when others don't.

<<November 2013: invalidation is up there with gaslighting and narcissistic personality disorder (psychologically abusive behavior displayed by ALL sociopaths and psychopaths). If you are unfamiliar, please read this. And this. And this. And this. And this. And if you didn't have the time or interest to read any of the aforementioned, that pretty much tells us you fall into any/all those categories.>>

August PSA: Do you keep company with people who think it's funny to demean others? Do you laugh when your friends disrespect women? Does circle jerking or being obnoxious earn you points with your pals? Is your favorite sport to play with buddies the "fuck this fucking shit I only fucking know how to say fuck, Jesus Fucking Christ as loud as possible since I can't find my tiny little dick" game? In other words, are your friends assholes? Well guess what - that makes YOU an asshole too!

August Hate Mail Bag: 
I can only assume that the hate mail I'm getting from guys who call ME a man hater, tell me I drive men to suicide (Several of you, really? Give your gender a little credit! They won't self-destruct in my presence), accuse me of being high maintenance (high standards are NOT high maintenance), and having a cold dead heart (among other anatomical judgments), really stems from the fact that I threaten the whole recessive lot of them.

It continues to blow my mind that those idiots, being idiots after all, don't get off my page and stop reading when they hit the first part of my profile that offends them. I have multiple warnings on here for the incorrigibly stupid, and yet somehow they manage to out-stupid even that and keep reading anyway! And then I get a whiny little message about how it's MY fault that I made their fragile male ego all limp!? How they are gargling on their nuts because i made their testicles ascend suddenly? It just makes me want to keep writing this wonderfully witty shit! Keep reading yourselves right out of the dating/breeding pool... My trap is working!!! 

Plenty of Fish Intermission
(some of the juiciest blurbs guys use to make a woman want to click on their profiles)

"Wow Me Ladies!" 
(From a "something extra" guy with more hair than face)

"rocks are fearless........ ya and they sink!" 
(Another "something extra" dude. Is he the rock? Does he need a life vest? Is the diet not working out?... I... I don't get it)

"Looking for someone like me" 
(Only narcissists need apply)

"Looking for a giver not a taker!" 
(Because I'm a taker, not a giver!)

"Currently accepting applications :D" 
(Sounds like a thankless job already)

"You'll probably think I'm pretty awesome." 
(Well, I'm sold!)
"looking for somone great someone who will cuddle and be cudled someone who will love me for me and not screw me over. Ive been screwed over for the last time i just wana be happy and make that special someone happy as well." 
(OK dude, I actually get where you're coming from. Nobody wants to get screwed over. Points for putting it out there, bro!)

"nothing to say....." 

"Pretty f'n cool...and modest too!" 
(And prone to unintended irony!)

"A chance at love comes with a chance at pain." 
(50 Shades of Grey much?)

"I have the right bait and my line is in the water." 
(I have to wonder how the sea of fish taco is working out with that "line")

End of Intermission

One of my memorable OKC encounters...

Me: So hey, I showed my girlfriends your picture and they told me you messaged them too.

Him: Oh really? Was it Melissa?

Me: No.

Him: Oh wait... Julie? or Katie? Oh I know, it was Anna! Was it Anna?

Me: No...

Him: Sarah...? Alison....?

Me: No...

Him: Heather....? Lily...?

Me: No... *yawn*

What's wrong with this picture?

Speaking of pictures... Boys, I know I am not the only one you send those naked photos of your dicks and/or asses to, either. I'm not sure what's more amusing, the sunlight in your window when you "spontaneously" text a pic at 1am, or the fact that every surface in your house has been in direct contact with your teabags. How do you find the time....? Hmm, I wonder.

Pointers on how to show her you are a Desperate Douchebag -

1. Send shallow, punctuation-free messages where your first impression to her is that you find a part of her body interesting enough to make the ginormous effort of writing half a sentence. If you really want to stand out, send another message or two after you realize she doesn't respond. But this time, guilt trip her because she didn't respond to you at first.

2. If you are lucky enough to get a response from her, kiss her ass indefinitely until you feel completely entitled to ask her to do favors for you. You know.... saying things along the lines of "Hey, girl, I messaged you telling you that you're cute, so like give me your number, or send me naked photos of you because I'm so nice to you." Bonus jerk points to those who tell her she owes you!

3. By all means, blame her for the fact that you never get responses from women! It's not you, it's us.

4. Live with your parents. Hey - I know times are tough and situations are different. But if you are being taken care of by someone other than you, all you are looking for in a dating website is the exact same thing, only with fucky-fucky privileges.

5. If you score yourself a first date, be extra Smoove and make sure SHE has to give you a ride home. Put her in that awkward position of having to choose between being a decent human being to someone who isn't, or having to protect herself from the thoughtless bullshit by saying no. And of course, if she does err (and I do mean err) on the side of niceness, do invite her upstairs and joke about how that could be a rape scenario. It's so classy. Very sensitive and considerate. Who wouldn't want to have sex with you?

6. Don't take No for an answer. Make it very clear that it doesn't matter what she says, whether it is over message or in person. It is really useful to know when guys have no problems violating our requests.

7. Tell us what you think we want to hear, instead of the truth. We are women, therefore we will inevitably wither and die a horrible death at the first sign of an honest rejection. It makes you so manly to string us along and pretend you are being nice with "I like you" and "we'll get together soon," even though all you are doing is covering your woefully inadequate cojones by not saying "hey, maybe this is not a right match, but no regrets, you're cool" or whatever. Lack of balls is a great thing for us to know! FYI, I dumped a guy I had a purely sexual relationship with when he pulled the "I like your personality" shit, because he thought that was what I wanted to hear after shagging (I know I'm cool, but when there's no chemistry, there's no denying it). Sorry, but I found a dick to sit on that doesn't insult my intelligence in the process.

8. Tell us how much you want to go down on us. Especially before we've ever met. This one really blows my.... mind. Now, I do believe some of you really truly love to carpet munch selflessly for days on end. But if I had a nickel for every time I get propositioned from guys I don't know, I'd blow my wad in a sex toy store and have enough for a throbbing tip. Certainly, it doesn't occur to us ladies that your obsession with giving us oral might actually stem from the idea that you are just desperate to receive it. It's really touching too, how discriminating and charitable you must be, to offer cunnilingus to women you've never met. I'm particularly tickled at the two guys who offered to provide references from previously satisfied vagina owners in a valiant attempt to convince me. That's just not awkward at all! It makes me really want to call them and ask them utterly bizarre things - come on, guys, this is ME you are writing to. Fire up a couple of neurons and make an intelligent guess as to what I would ask them, hmmm? Here's a hint - don't expect past pussy to return to you for seconds after they talk to me!!

9. I can only assume that if you expect her to pay for her drink after you invited her, you will also expect her to pay for the condoms she is not going to buy for you.

10. Last but not least... pretend that what you do to one girl won't get around to the rest of us. Women have a hive mind. To be clear, we talk about everything. Every. Thing. Everything from your personality, to your smell, to your social standing, to the veins on your cock and how you manipulate said member. I may be spoken for, but I'm very well known for being quality control for my girlfriends' potential suitors - indeed the men are often warned about that. There is nothing I won't ask them or you, and I'm watching every single thing you do. Not just say, but do - body language tells me a lot more about you than your mouth. And I like staring indefinitely at you, it let's me know whether you are hiding something or not. You know how I say "don't piss me off"? Yeah well, don't piss THEM off either. I get waaaay too many jollies posting on this blog. plus, I'm looking out for all my girls. Rawr. I mean that.

October 2012
Here's an article for the evolved man who wants to find a good partner (or for the stupid man that has zero grasp on the notion that women are people, and who needs a penis-clad person to point out the basic aspects of human decency)

Thursday, November 7, 2013

Duck, Duck, Duck.... Goose! (or Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.... Oops!)

Once upon a time in my early 30s, my body was invisibly snatched by raging female hormones on a baby mission. It was eerily parallel to Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, complete with a marriage to a repressed homosexual (since flushed, though still requiring a vigorous plunger every week or two). Before I knew it, the only thing louder than the ticking of my biological clock was the buzzing of my loyal vibrator.

Thankfully, my sexless nuptials committed suicide shortly after my uterus started crawling out of my body and whispering into my sleeping ears that it wanted to manufacture yet another human sequel. So I was promptly ejected back into the dating pool in search of a new mate, only to discover it was a shallow sludge heap of questionable genetics. Natural selection, you are sorely missed. What a shame that survival of a species has so little to do with intelligence, hygiene, and manners. Look at cockroaches.

In this fast paced day and age, there are many ways to find a partner - speed dating, cultural events, social mixers, political protests, study groups, craigslist missed connections, playgrounds (single parents seeking DILFs/MILFs, tap that!), bars, churches, prisons, alleyways, etc. None are without both benefits and perils. When it comes to online dating, here are my observations for the naively inexperienced:


1. No need to waste your drinks giving douchebags facials.
2. No need to get dolled up to meet someone who didn't deserve your effort.
3. No physical limitations to finding The One, for while he may be thousands of miles away in a remote African village, he is but a quick message away! If he's even real, ha ha ha! Sigh.
4. "Block," "Ignore," and "Delete." Why oh why can't we have this in real life, too?!
5. For you grammar/spelling lovers, now you can easily eliminate 95% of the eager peckers out they're vying four you're attention...
6. May finally awaken long-awaited lesbian tendencies.


1. The realization that there's a reason why they are still single.
2. Losing all hope for humanity.

I opened up an OK Cupid account with the best intentions of finding a suitable suitor to fill my voids... but my profile quickly devolved into a lengthy diatribe of dating experiences worthy of either America's Funniest Home Videos or American Horror Story. I wrote endlessly about my encounters, hoping potential candidates would think twice before alerting me of their unworthiness. I tried to teach clueless eager males some valuable tips on how to woo the sea of single pussy out there, but it was in vain. Ladies - do yourselves and all of us a favor and don't settle for anything except your own personal Indiana Jones. And please, for the love of the human race, don't breed with anything less worthy! Recessive members of our species need to die out already!

For the sake of dissemination (pun unintentionally a propos), I shall blog a separate entry with excerpts from my OK Cupid profile.

As it turns out, my online dating rants didn't scare away all sausage. One particularly persistent penis did properly penetrate my protective prose. On our first date, even... multiple times! He turned this bitter old maid into a skimpy french maid. He swept me off my feet and got me on all fours. We went from single, to double entendre... Together, we left our balls and chains with the ex-spouses, and opted for more liberating flogs and rope. For those of you who can't swallow my innuendo, allow me to whip it out so you can take it in better. The 70s didn't have as much shag as us. We put bunnies to shame. We made Viagra jealous. In our world, "spork" became a verb to describe mutual spooning and forking.

Don't get it yet? We had sex! Lots and lots of it. Copious amounts. Oodles. Googles. You'd need goggles to ogle unscathed... Ok, I'll stop. You get the picture.

But I must give my hunny more credit than just our physical connection. We became instant friends right from the start. He saved my life the first time just days after we met. He even courted me with a bouquet of bacon. Without him, I would bitterly despise this song. We are like high school sweethearts but in our thirties... Smitten like adolescents but having way better sex, with the stamina of youth and the desperate frequency of ones approaching mid-life.

And suddenly... we're pregnant! Like stupid, horny teenagers but with the adult ability to self-facepalm. I'd like to say it was a pleasant surprise, but it was more of a "d'oh!" moment, followed by a lengthy "no, d'uuuuh." Followed by "hey, we don't have to worry about getting pregnant anymore!" Followed by clothes being ripped off, spanks being doled out, neighbors rolling their eyes and turning up their TV volumes, and so on.

Granted, this whole impending baby business threw us both for a loop. We were still getting to know each other three months into our relationship when this third wheel showed up. Like many people out there, we faced tough choices. Having had my previous child with what turned out to be an abusive, passive aggressive sociopath who is forever chained to me by our progeny, naturally I had some concerns. How could I be trusted to make the right decision? My past was cluttered with jaw-droppingly shitty taste in men, my happy ovaries were blasting hormonal fireworks through my body, and I was in the horny throes of falling in love. Not a trace of sanity or logic was to be found!

Possessed with doubt, HCG, and a humanoid parasite, I took a step back and examined the situation. I had two abortions under my belt, one which I never regretted, and one which I did. I also raised a wonderful little boy despite his father's toxic genes and influence. I survived an excruciating miscarriage, which was a blessing in disguise I am still thankful for every day. Basically, there wasn't a single reproductive dilemma I hadn't faced. And here I was again, poised to potentially eject another personal sequel into the planet. The only difference was that the man I was with was unlike all others. Thoughtful. Selfless. Loving. Respectful. Talented. Well-hung. Yes, these unicorns are out there! Whatever challenges lay in the future, here was someone who I knew I could face them with. A man who still saw beauty in my ugliest moments, who could read me so well I couldn't even hide from myself. A man who challenged me, taught me, and learned from me. Whose naturally persistent erection never once wavered in the presence of my constantly changing body. A man who made me proud and grateful. A man who made me coffee, even before making his own coffee. And if that last one isn't a blowjob-earner, I don't know what is!

So we chose to have this little consequence of our kinky appetites. The first few months were a bumpy road, and not just from all the humping - we moved out of our single lives and moved in together. We blended our families, consolidated all our stuff, and prepared for the baby by having as much nookie as possible before childbirth. We figured if the fetus could survive mommy and daddy's vigorous recreational activities during gestation, it earned some serious tenure on the outside world upon eviction.

Finally, the day arrived to welcome the fruit of our sexual side-effects, just one day shy of our first anniversary! Labor was completely natural, with zero pain meds, and no tearing or complications. I must have thanked the baby for not destroying my vagina at least ten times in those first few hours. And of course, I thanked my beloved as well, for his very active role in keeping my girl bits elastic! Little did we know that fateful day when we first met, that exactly one year later we would be celebrating by giving our son his name. How some things change!

Of course, now we're back to the initial dilemma of thwarting pregnancy again. Hopefully, better birth control and a coitus-interrupting screaming baby will improve our odds? Some things never change!

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

You're pregnant! Fuck!

Once upon a time in 2004, I distinctly remember finding out about my first pregnancy. It was nothing like all those pregnancy test commercials, where you pee on the magic stick and all your dreams of having/not having a baby come true.... Boy, I'd love to sue those companies for false advertising!

It was my birthday, and just a few short hours after being fired from a job for reporting my boss for stealing company property and being highly inappropriate with his staff (Corporate America Lesson #273: Don't report unethical behaviour from supervisors, chances are they are covering worse things being done by THEIR bosses). Sitting at home, depressed, dejected, in the middle of moving, and exhausted from climbing up 3 steps, I figured my incredible crap birthday luck (a yearly tradition) was not entirely spent yet. Why not do a pregnancy test, just for laughs? Whilst still on the porcelain throne, the two lines of the pregnancy test become clearer and clearer, like two erect middle fingers wishing me a happy 25th clueless year on the planet. No. Noooo. NOOOOOOOO!!! (for full effect, that last one should be in slow motion and lower pitch, like the sound of someone drowning with cement block feet)

Why don't those pregnancy test commercials keep it real? Oh right - we women are only supposed to show joy and happiness at discovering our fertility status! We always get what the answer we want - of course, we are women! We are never disappointed in anything, ever. It's supposed to be:

"I'm pregnant! Now all I want to do is wear pastel pink floral-pattern tents, sit on a rocking chair and stare at the sunset with a placid, vapid smile of contentment and ultimate purpose while my body turns into a blimp and I lose my identity!"


"Woo, I'm not pregnant! Honey, let's keep fucking with wild abandon indefinitely! Wink wink!"

What I would give to see something more realistic, like:

"I'm not pregnant... again.... WAAAAHHHHH! Why, god, whyyyyy? I'm so sore from banging all the time I can't sit down, why won't it take?!?!"


"I'm pregnant! Dammit. Well, at least we don't have to worry about birth control for 9 more months. Honey, let's keep fucking with wild abandon indefinitely (for now)!"

or, as was in my case

"Pregnant?! How the fuck did that lousy orgasm-devoid coital gesture negate my birth control and inject me with a parasite?? That was practically immaculate conception, WTF. Ortho Evra - you owe me child support!!"

Yes, pregnancy. The most stereotyped and undignified moment in a woman's life - if she so chooses. And I will state, for the record, that choosing to have a child can be just as difficult as choosing not to have a child. I respect a woman's decision, whatever that may be, without judgment. There is no right or wrong decision when it comes to procreating - it is what one does with that decision that makes all the difference.

Shortly after I found out I was kidnapped by an alien, I walked over to my closet and promptly had a fashion funeral, knowing I wouldn't be able to wear all my adorable clothes ever again. Goodbye, midriff-exposing tank tops! Adieu, tight pants and hourglass waist! Dear god, was I going to need a bra now?? How could this happen.... my beloved vanity, snuffed out in one quick, lousy routine lay...

Little did I know back then what it meant to be pregnant in the United States. Having been freshly fired, I had a clue that my employability was inversely proportional to the size of my growing belly (I have giant rants about this, to be shared later on). What I didn't know was that the fashion industry had a very specific opinion about what women should wear while they are baby factories - basically pink, red, white, black, baby blue, floral, and pretending the human tumor protruding from your midriff wasn't really there. No yellow. No orange. Green? No. Sexy clothes? Bwahahaha fuck you, mom-to-be, your attractive days are O-V-E-R! If you are pregnant in America, you are supposed to look like a delicate fucking flower, and should be treated as such. That's what you get for having sex, shameful hussy, cover thy sin with purity! In this society where female innocence and virginity is the biggest marketing tool, daring to show the consequences of feminine sexuality is a direct threat to corporate profits being raped reaped by insidiously sexualized advertising. It's sickening. No no no, ladies... cover that shit up! Men want to fuck you - they don't want to think of what might happen beyond that! Tsk tsk.

After going maternity clothes shopping - well, no. Let me rephrase. After crying my eyes out in yet another futile attempt to find any maternity clothes that didn't reduce me to a sexless blob or clean out my bank account (talk about a scam targeting a specific female demographic), I rebelled against the forced fashion stereotype and went back to all my cute clothes, completely at peace with baring my belly in social protest. I'd be damned if this kid was going to cramp my style! Fuck that! Thrift stores were also a treasure trove of interesting non-maternity clothes - I highly recommend! With some selective shopping on a budget, I found clothes that fit better and looked better than all the overpriced mall garbage. I also wrote to Victoria's Secret and asked them "howbout making a sexy maternity line for all those women who you helped to get laid?" To which they actually replied with an apology and that it was not their concern. Anti-motherfuckers!

But then I found myself with another annoying predicament of this culture. Apparently, a visible pregnancy bump has an irresistible gravitational field. Random strangers will be powerless to stop themselves from grabbing and rubbing your bump.... Nay, they will swiftly hurtle towards you with grubby paws, demanding personal information because... well, shit, lady, you're sticking it out there! You're not a person anymore, you're public property! A personality-free vessel answering the same damned questions in an endless loop. Yes, people, everyone asks: What are you having? What's the name is going to be? When we are due? Did we crave pickles and ice cream? Like it's any of your business. I'm telling you, it's like fucking deja vu every 15 minutes. The Twilight Zone was probably the brainchild of frustrated pregnant ladies. But for the inquiring minds, my general response to the usual Qs was always: "Definitely liberal, hopefully gay," "Rhino. Yes, Rhino," "Not soon enough," and "That stereotype offends me deeply. Fetch me bacon or I shall cry." We did not end up naming the kiddo Rhino after all... but it's close!

I got pretty good at smacking away entitled hands reaching out to touch my belly bump. But my kung fu chops were not enough to thwart the inquisitive, touchie-feelie fuckers from invading my personal space. So I dyed my hair green, in the hopes that it would either 1) distract from the baby belly, or 2) inform others that I was a punkass (I'm really more of a hippie, with bite), and/or 3) clue people in to the fact that I was ready to chomp any hands getting near me. Oh, and of course, 4) it made me look cute as fuck. My last few months of pregnancy were spent in adorable anti-social bliss.... What a relief!

I must say, I got hit on a lot when I was building baby from scratch. You'd think peckers on the prowl would consider an impregnated female off limits, but I was pleased to learn otherwise. I can only attribute that to one thing: pregnant women are voluptuous, curvaceous like all delectable femininity, and sexy goddesses to be revered and desired. Even men cannot deny that in this pro-eating disorder world. We are ripe, flush with life, and undeniably powerful. We are Mother Nature in all her creative glory! Who wouldn't want to tap that?

Be proud, MILFs - show your beautiful, growing selves to the world! I'll be damned if this country is going to force me to cover any of that incredibly fabulous shit up, and you shouldn't either. Taking pride in your body now is a lesson you will teach your babies for the rest of their lives. So start with you!