Beware the Icy Speculum

So, today I had to go to the dreaded vagina doctor. Admittedly, it had been a long time since I brought the lady bits in for a tune-up, so it was long over due.

 This looks like it belongs in a medieval torture chamber.

There are a few things I wish guys could experience. Periods, jogging without a sports bra and having a freezing cold speculum shoved up their orifice, just to name a few. Seriously, why the hell is that thing always so goddamn cold? Do they have a special speculum freezer in the back or something? It's uncomfortable enough to have your stocking feet wedged in stirrups, the least they could do is warm the speculum before they invade your vagina with it.

At least my new doctor doesn't have a poster on the ceiling. I'm not sure why they think staring at a poster of a cute kitten while someone kneads your breasts looking for cancer is going to make everything okay. I've never once thought, "by golly, that kitty is right!! I AM going to hang in there!"

Oh shut the fuck up, Kitty. 

Generally, the only thoughts running through my mind when I'm being examined is a) hurry the fuck up and b) holy Jesus on a pogo-stick is this awkward. 

Speaking of awkward, my new gyno looked like she graduated medical school twelve minutes ago and apparently had a huge hard on for testing for STD's. Within the first five minutes of meeting her, she's asking me if I want an HIV test along with my pap smear, kind of like super-sizing my gyno experience.

Ten minutes after that, I'm laying on my back and she's poking around down below and asks, "do you want to test for Gonorrhea, Chlamydia or Syphilis?"

For a minute, I panicked. I mean, there she was, eye to labia, and she was asking about more STD tests. Then I got kind of offended. Syphilis? What the fuck do I look like, a prostitute from the 1850's?

 Scandalous! I can see their kneecaps. I see more skin at the super market.

While I do believe getting tested for STD's is extremely important, especially if you have multiple partners, I didn't think there was a very big chance that I was going to come into contact with a syphilitic penis any time soon, since ML's is the only one I play with these days. Part of me wondered if she would ask me that sort of thing if I was married. I suspect not. 

In the end, my nether region is in good working order and I don't have to endure freezing cold speculum and heaps of embarrassment for another whole year.

Hopefully by then, someone will have invented a speculum warmer.

Dear Regular Movie Theaters: We're Through!

Ladies and random occasional gentleman readers of this blog, I have a new love. I found it when I went to see The Hunger Games last month. I thought the movie was pretty damn good, but what I really couldn't shut up about was the the theater. People would ask me how I liked the movie and I would spend two minutes ranting about how they messed up Buttercup (seriously, were there NO yellow cats available, casting people???) before launching into my thirty-minute ode to Cinema Suites.

This cat is to The Hunger Games what that black Volvo was to New Moon.

I've always been jealous of the people who live in areas where they have "grown-up" movie theaters with bars and real food and stuff. Frankly, smuggling in my own snacks and a flask is getting a little old. Especially when I forget to take said flask out of my purse and find myself at the office the next day with it. But since the AMC theater near me opened a Cinema Suites recently, I can cross "coveting" off the list of my sins. Well, for that, anyway. And I will never go see a movie in a regular theater ever again if I can help it. I may not have won the lottery last week so the chances of me moving to a mansion with a huge home-theater any time soon are slim, but Cinema Suites is the next best thing.

For starters, you get to select your seat in advance. As someone who is chronically running five minutes late and always ends up getting crappy seats in the theater, reserving a seat from an online chart (like when you buy a plane ticket!) is a god-send. Almost every single seat was sold out for The Hunger Games opening weekend, but I managed to find two seats in the very back row for Mr. Snarky and me. The last aisle in the theater is Row H, which according to my mad math skills means there are only eight rows of seats in the place. Not a bad seat in the house!

The aisles separating each row are ginormous, which is awesome since I hate how in regular theaters everyone has to stand up and get trod upon when the person sitting in the center seat who bought a 164-ounce Uber-Mega-Soda realizes their bladder is about to explode. The aisles at Cinema Suites have to be wide to accommodate the over-sized pleather recliners. Recliners! That go so far out you're almost horizontal! And unless someone seven feet tall comes along, the chances of anyone sitting in front of you blocking your view are almost nil.

They serve alcoholic beverages! And they aren't ridiculously overpriced! Plus the servers will get your sodas (with free refills) candy and popcorn (served in an actual bowl) and it doesn't cost anything extra. In fact, the tickets are only a couple of bucks more than a regular movie ticket, and you aren't required to buy anything once you are there. If they somehow worked some sort of a bedpan into the deal, I might never leave.

 Movie theater, civilized.

The little amenities really did me in, too - there were cloth napkins holding the silverware, they gave us hot towels after our meal, and when we were exiting the theater, instead of passing a surly, scowling teen employee who was waiting to go clean up, we had a cheerful lady proffering a tray of Godiva chocolates. Speaking of surly teenagers, Cinema Suites is 21+ only, so NO KIDS. Wheeee!!! If someone said to me "hey for an extra $2 you don't have to wait in line, you're guaranteed no whippersnappers, and someone will cater to your every need for the next two hours," I'd be a fool to turn them down!

For the sake of full disclosure, the low-light was the food... the chicken tenders I ordered, billed as "beer battered" were more like cafeteria-quality drumstick-shaped McNuggets and may or may not have been cooked in an Easy-Bake oven (perhaps along with the mini-cupcakes I spied on the desert menu but did not try). Next time I'll stick to popcorn. Extra butter-flavored grease on the side, please!

Walking Dead Mad Men!

Happy Friday, everyone - you made it! Here's a little funny to help you slide into the weekend...

Now That's 'A Whole Nother' Debate

I promise if you sit through my grammar lecture, I have a delicious treat for you at the end!

I have a degree in English. It's not like I actually use this degree in my daily work life. Quite the opposite actually. I work at an ad agency, but not the fun creative, copywriting, artistic side of advertising. Nope. I'm the boring media buyer who deals in rates and circulations and cost per points and gross rating points. I'm surrounded by numbers all day. I hate numbers. I'm more of a word girl.

I found this picture here. It made me laugh.

So I guess that's why I love it here. I get to write and it helps keep my relatively unused English degree from getting moldy. I might not always be the most grammatically correct person in the world -- I'm often in desperate need of a proofreader to fix my butchering of punctuation. And I'm unconditionally and irrevocably in love with the dot-dot-dot. Love... It... (I also recently realized that my mother is also a big fan of the ellipsis. I wonder if writing styles are hereditary...)

But alas, I didn't intend on giving you the fucking history of my writing life. There seems to be a debate brewing and I want to get your feelings on it. It's a phrase we've most likely all used at one time or another and never gave it a second thought.

A whole nother.

What the mother fuck is a "nother"?

It even looks weird. Like someone misspelled "mother."

I've done a bit of research on the subject. Some of these new fangled websites, like Wiktionary defines it as: (informal, proscribed) An entirely different; an itensified version of another. And dictionary.com also lists it as an actual word: Informal. a whole nother, an entirely different; a whole other. But then again, dictionary.com lists "bootylicious" as a real word. The day it was decided this word could be listed in the dictionary, my IQ dropped a few points.

A grammar guidelines blog I recently came across says this:

"Nother" is not a word. To correct this error, you could use "another," "a whole other," "a completely different," "an entirely different," etc.

And then I hear some real grammar-nazi types use it, or a local radio talk show host, or myself and it makes me want to stab someone. With a nother. I often feel it coming and try to head it off at the pass. My goal is to eradicate the "nother". I have nothing against making up new words when there's no other word that can express what your trying to say. Google, for instance, is an acceptable new word for me.

This is where you guys come in? What are your thoughts? Do you use it? Do you despise it? Does it make you want to jam a sharp stick into your eardrum so you never have to hear it again? I needz help, yo!

And now for your treat... a new Bel Ami trailer... if you haven't already watched is 843 times. Pay close attention at 1:55 -- I had to pause, stare and drool. I can't wait to see that boy in action. You're welcome.

Looking for New Tunes? We Got 'Em! (The Retro Edition)

It's been nearly a month and I'm still trying to wrap my head around all the amazing bands I saw while down in good ol' Texas for SXSW. (Read about some more here and here)

I'm apparently feeling a little retro today, so let's cut to the chase and check out the music, shall we?

Mr. Lewis and the Funeral 5

Mr. Lewis and the Funeral 5 pack a big punch with their live cabaret-esque set and I was thankful to hear that went ditto for the CD. Dark and rich, a little sexy and slightly more bizarre, Mr. Lewis and the Funeral 5 weave great stories accompanied by an even greater amount of instruments. It's big band meets swing meets... punk, rock, polka and then some more.

We stumbled into the venue where these fellows played and had never even heard of them before. Needless to say, their powerful performance made me fall in love with them.

Nick Waterhouse and the Tarots

There is always something really amazing about listening to "new" old music. It's just the slight little nuances that inevitably occur when a group adopts a style that's been around for quite some time that make it that much more interesting.

Admittedly, R&B and soul aren't genres of music I tend to listen to on a regular basis. It comes up on the iPod, I like whatever song is playing, and then I carry on.

Nick Waterhouse and the Tarots changed that for me. With his Buddy Holly-esque glasses, great talent and charisma, Nick Waterhouse had the crowd captivated. The backup singers had extraordinary range and the entire set was just very lively and very tight.

So there you have it! As always, feel free to leave your own recommendations/two cents in the comments!

Surf's Up! Robert Pattinson Catches a Wave: Life is Good.

Late on Sunday, Latchkey Wife sent me & the girls an email with the title "Is this some kind of April fools joke?"

I didn't know what to expect - I hadn't played any jokes on anyone this year... Actually, I don't think I have tried to prank someone on April 1st since I was a kid and went with the ol' reliable "MOM! MOM!!! The toilet is overflowing!!!" every year (my mom was either a good actor or usually fell for it).

So you can understand how ridiculously pleased I was when I found THIS! THIS is not April fools - THIS is Christmas and birthdays and Easter baskets overflowing with chocolate bunnies and Peeps all wrapped up in one big happy package with a wet bow on it:

Clicky for super high-def wet happy trail goodness!

So it appears he went...surfing...or longboarding...or maybe it's paddleboarding. Honestly I have no idea what it's called or if he's just making up his own thing here and I don't care. All I know is that it got him running around mostly nekkid on a beach in Malibu. And yes, these photos are intrusive, but what's a girl to do??? My morals all went out the window when he took his shirt off and got wet - I am weak - what can I say?

Please to enjoy -

 ...aaaand muffin-tops just became smexy.

 SUCCESS! 

We can't see it, but I like to think there is a big shit-eating grin on his face here as he rides his first wave on whatever that thing is called.

You can see all 100+ images in all their glory here at ROBsessed (via Popsugar) - AND they just added video - squeee!!! I needed this...

Medicinal Sneak Attack

I would just like everyone to note the date. It is April 1st. I have been sick with one thing or another (or multiple things at one time) since Christmas Eve. I normally get one sinus infection a year and that's all. I can only guess that I let myself get so run down when Baby TK was in the hospital my immune system went to crap and has never recovered. This shit is getting old.

I had almost an entire week where I didn't feel like that stray antelope on Animal Planet. You know, the sickly, limping one at the back of the pack that will undoubtedly get picked off my a cheetah before the end of the episode. For four glorious days I thought I might live to see 2013. (Unless the Mayans were right. Then I'm going to be pissed I spent my last days coughing, running a fever, puking, etc, etc.) Surprise, surprise! [To be read in Gomer Pyle's voice] I'm sick again.

I got a prescription for some antibiotics, and put my car on autopilot to the pharmacy. I didn't think I was a stupid person. (Spoiler alert: I was wrong!) I know you have to take antibiotics with food or you will puke out your stomach. I was stuffing myself like that Asian dude who wins all the food eating contests and I was just getting increasingly nauseated with every dose. The other day, as I was fighting with the childproof cap that only children can open, I noticed this label clearly printed on the bottle.

 

Fuck my stupid ass! I shouldn't be allowed to do anything without adult supervision.

Then I read further...

 Hold the phone. I didn't sign up for that. 

At least I'm halfway through with the bottle, and then I don't have to worry about potential explosive bowel movements anymore.

 

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!! Are you telling me I could be in line at the Target in July and suddenly shit my pants?!!! 

This is a startling development. I need to know how long I have this ticking time bomb in me. Obviously there will be no more Chipotle until months from now. That would just be asking for complications. Do I need to wear an astronaut diaper for the foreseeable future? How did researchers even determine this side effect? Were there a rash of soiled people in the ER stating it HAD to be the antibiotic they took four months ago, and not the questionable gyro they ate for lunch? I kind of have a lot on my plate right now, and I certainly don't have time for the ramifications of shitting myself in public. I could possibly work in a private shitting, but a public one is not an option. 

This subject is really Jenny Jerkface's forte. I haven't a clue as to how to end this, so I'm just going to slink quietly off, my back to the wall in case of emergency. Happy end of the weekend.