LIMERICK: PENIS

Private Property -- Men Confess Why They're Br...

 

 PENIS

It is said Women sprang forth from Venus,
Masterpiece of class, species, and genus.
And they reach for the stars,
Unlike Men, sent from Mars
Who must filter each thought through a penis.

 

~lisa
June, 2013

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FIFTEEN THINGS THAT SCARE A WOMAN

My father was a man.  My brothers are men.  I’ve been married to a man for nearly 30 years, and I spawned a male child.

No one gets out of here alive.

If through no means other than association, one might think I’d have come to understand men quite well by now.   Truth be told, however, my knowledge regarding those of the male gland can be summed up in two statements:

1.  In Man World, something is fun only if it a) makes noise, b) hurts, or c) smells bad.

2.  The basic difference between men and women is this:  Women wear black because it’s versatile, slimming, ageless, seasonless, sexy, and classic; men wear black because they think it’s navy blue.

Sensing many women might be lacking even the slightest comprehension of what goes on in the male mind, a popular men’s magazine offered to shed some light on the subject.   The article’s author, himself a man, claimed there are 15 basic fears harbored by all men.  They are:

*Hair in the drain (going bald)
*Getting caught noticing another woman
*Rejection
*Super Nanny
*Speedos
*His father’s death
*Her tears
*Being a lousy lover
*Not being a god to his kids
*Living paycheck to paycheck
*Beautiful women
*Getting naked
*Tofurky
*Not seeing his kids grow up
*Public humiliation

Wow—that’s a pretty daunting list.  Who knew men bore the burden of so many insecurities?  But I sincerely appreciate the writer’s effort to educate us women, and it only seems fair to return the favor.   So what scares a woman?  Here, in no particular order and compiled by me and my research department (the women I eat lunch with), is a partial list:

*How we look first thing in the morning  No matter how alluring she appeared or felt the night before, a woman dreads her early morning visage.  Greasy hair, puffy eyes, blotchy complexion, sour breath . . . intensify those charms with a bladder loaded for bear and the result is something we’d rather you not see.  That’s one reason many women aren’t interested in early morning romance . . . who can feel sexy in that condition?  Besides, there’s vulnerability in letting him see you in such a raw state.  That’s something we’d rather save for later in the relationship, such as when we’re in the delivery room giving birth to his baby.

*His silence  It’s no secret many women like to talk out their problems.  It’s a system that’s worked for us since the dawn of time, and we see no reason to change.  But in a cruel joke, the goddess created many men who prefer to suffer in silence.  They disappear to the privacy of the den or workshop to stew and putter, leaving us to wonder why we can’t just talk about it.  Oh, we know our men are just cooling off and allowing time for things to smooth over.  So what are we afraid of?  We’re afraid that in all that silence he’s contemplating a breakup or secretly wishing we would come and fix things with just the right words.   We’re afraid because that silence of his can be deafening.

*Hair issues  For women, hair is the source of endless drama.  The hair on a woman’s head is her crowning glory, and her body hair a lifelong enemy.  A man’s fear of going bald is nothing next to a woman’s; at least society accepts a bald man.  In fact, men as varied as Yul Brynner, Andre Agassi, Billy Zane, Michael Jordan, Vin Diesel, Patrick Stewart, and Cal Ripken Jr. have proven they can be attractive even without hair.  A woman, however, can never have too much hair on her head.  On the other hand, the shadow of a moustache is like the kiss of death.  Hair on your toes?  Ugh.  No, from the time a girl enters puberty she will shave, sugar, and depilate.  She’ll submit to the stinging electrolysis and the painful bikini wax—even the full Brazilian wax job.   Hair scares us.  We’re scared to lose it from our heads and grow it on our bodies.  Either situation is a self-image crisis!

*Bra or swimsuit shopping  Nothing make a woman feel less secure about herself than stepping into a harshly lit dressing room with an armload of garments designed by sadists to make her feel lumpy and inadequate.  She just knows it’s going to end badly.

*Our own girly bits  Those appendages and accoutrements which make us female are so prone to breakdown and malfunction an entire medical specialty is devoted to keeping our stuff up and running.  One body part or another is always developing a suspicious lump or oozing an unpleasant discharge.  Mammograms, pap smears, D & C’s, steel stirrups, cold specula . . . all scary stuff.  But not as scary as what could happen if we don’t submit to these uncomfortable but necessary health care procedures.

*The Other Woman  She’s around every corner, she’s waiting at every social event, she’s the new hire at your husband’s office, she’s someone you’ve known for years.  She’s out there, and she’s waiting to take him away from you.  And if you and your man are in your forties, you can bet she’ll be half your age.  The bitch.

*Guy stuff  We’re smart.  We’re employable.  We’re accomplished.  We’re worldly.  But many of us feel downright stupid when you start talking about earned run averages and single malt whiskeys.  We can’t name our favorite historical battle, can’t rattle off who was named MVP of Super Bowl Whatever, or tell what car was first to use an electrical ignition system.  We can’t recite the plot of The Dirty Dozen or prove the best way to defend ourselves during a zombie attack.   What really scares us is that you can.

*Ruined relationships  A woman’s world is defined by relationships, and leaving a trail of fractured friendships, broken romances, and estranged family members is a sign of failure.  Oh, we know it’s not possible, or even desirable, to get along with everyone all the time.  But since conflict resolution and comfort giving are seen primarily as feminine traits, something must be wrong with a woman who’s followed through life by a wake of hard feelings.

*Finding purpose  The path of our foremothers was predetermined.  They reached puberty, got married, managed a home, and reared however many children nature chose to send.  It was hard work, but it was in the cards for just about every woman.  Nowadays, women struggle to find meaningful careers and balance them with the demands of their personal lives.  Yes, we know men have always wrestled with job stress and God bless them for it.  But culturally speaking, the whole thing’s still rather new for our gender, and the thought of never meeting our destiny is scary!  Plus, guys, you have to admit no one ever argued that the fall of the American family can be blamed on the emergence of working fathers.  That’s a heavy thing to lay on us.,

*Ultimate Fighting Championships  This is a concept so scary to women, most of us lack the words to describe our aversion.   Can there be any doubt this debacle was some man’s idea of fun?

*Getting naked  Most women enjoy a relatively narrow window of comfort for getting naked in front of someone else.  It’s likely to be soon after our 19th birthday, perhaps between 7 and 8 pm on a Tuesday.  That’s about it.  The rest of the time, the thought of letting another human being—especially a male human being with amorous intentions—see us in the altogether can be extremely disconcerting.  We’re painfully aware of our flaws (even the ones invisible to others), and usually prefer to keep them hidden by clothing or dimmed lights.

*Gravity  As the saying goes, Rome fell and one day, Honey, so will you.  After the age of 28 or childbirth, whichever comes first, nothing on a woman stays in its original location.  Our eyelids, jowls, breasts, bellies, butts, and knees all start to sag in what can only be explained as a terrible design flaw.  And since we can’t all pay to have our droopy parts relocated, the fear of gravity and its effects contributes heavily to the previously mentioned fear of getting naked, and to the next item on our list.

*The gift of lingerie  Unless she happens to be within that previously mentioned narrow window of comfort for getting naked in front of another person, nearly every woman cringes at the thought of opening a gift from her man to find some lacy, transparent, completely impractical garment.   Yes, we know it’s the thought that counts.  Yes, we know in his own way he’s trying to be flattering.  But good lord, does he really expect us to strap on that silly deal he found at Skanky Ho’s “R” Us?  And does he think that when we do, we’ll look like the woman he saw in the Victoria’s Secret catalog or perform like the one he saw in a porn movie?  Does he realize we’re going to feel like a right fool when our non-surgically-enhanced, non-airbrushed parts are flopping around with nothing to support them but a couple of pasties and a few , strategically placed lengths of floss?  Now that’s scary!

*Sex  OK, this one’s a wash.  I don’t think either gender holds a monopoly on bedroom insecurities.  Everyone suffers from performance anxiety, no one wants to pale against the memory of a former lover.  Life would be easier if we’d just cut each other a break, but because we’re humans that’s not like to happen any time soon.

*The whole mother thing  This is it:  the big ticket item, the whole package.  Motherhood is the queen of all womanly fears.  It represents the biological purpose of being female, and is at the core of our most intense human connections.  And a woman doesn’t even have to be a mother to experience mother-related drama.  There’s the fear of his mother.  Deep inside, women are afraid they will never measure up to the woman who raised him—especially in his eyes!  Then there’s the fear of becoming your mother.  That fear has nothing to do with love.  Even a woman who idolizes her own mother will die a little on the day she looks in the mirror and sees her mother’s face, opens her mouth utters her mother’s favorite platitude, or realizes she just bought a handbag that would look at home on her mother’s arm.

Becoming a mother affects each and every aspect of a woman’s life until the day she dies.  What’s there to be frightened about?  Motherhood is beautiful and natural, right?  The fear is of not knowing how to be a mother!  What if I don’t bond with my baby? What if I’m too strict or too permissive?  What I have no more sense than God gave a goose when it comes to parenting and I ruin this perfect little heaven-sent angel?  Being a mother, even a first time mother, is supposed to magically transform a woman.  What if it doesn’t happen?  What if motherhood swallows up my relationship with the man I love?

So there you have it: fifteen things that can scare the bejeezuz out of even the strongest, most capable woman.  My crack team of researchers and I invite your comments.  What have we misjudged?  What have we left out?  What scares a woman?

SIX TOTALLY DISGUSTING THINGS YOUR BODY CAN DO

Purely by accident, I watched the David Beckham underwear commercial 47 times in a row

I got nothin.

When I could breath again, I was fixated on this thought:  The human body is an amazing thing. 

The same revelation comes to me each time I see Christina Hendricks.

Um, girl crush.

Sometimes it’s hard to believe the species that produced David Beckham and Christina Hendricks, the class of mammals that inspired Michaelangelo’s David and the Venus de Milo, would also claim me.  And yet here we are; however separated by the conventional definitions of beauty, still united by our bodies’ abilities to do some fairly disgusting stuff.  Yes, even the pretty people might be concealing one of these horrendous conditions beneath their designer clothes.
 
 
1.  Pilonidal Cyst
 Generally–and thankfully–our bodies come equipped with the correct number of orifices and openings, each with its designated responsibilities.  It’s all good.  But occasionally the body Picture of a pilonidal cystmight decide to try out a new opening.  Take, for example, the pilonidal cyst–a pus and goo filled sac that forms at the cleft of the buttocks.   The pilonidal cyst sometimes bursts and drains, and sometimes must be excised by a doctor.  Either way, the result is a spare hole in a place where nature already provided.  Once a person has developed a pilonidal cyst, it is likely to recur–but apparently the experience is much less traumatic for men than for women, as is evidenced by the jaunty, cocky, hands-on-hips stance of the man in the illustration.  This is a man who compares the size of his pilonidal cyst with others in the locker room.
 
 
2.  Pincer Nails
One day your big toe thinks to itself, “Hey, you know what would be fun?  It would be fun if my nail started to grow all curled up like a chocolate shaving, only much, much grosser.”  And that’s how pincer nails begin.  Actually, pincer nails can be genetic or acquired, but are equally disturbing no matter what the origin.  Ugly and painful, this extreme form of the ingrown toenail can necessitate some drastic measures such as total nail removal, bracing (forcibly uncurling the nail, then fastening it to a metal brace), or creative home remedies like the one pictured below:
 
 
3.  Dermoid Cyst
Let’s be clear:  Any time your body grows something that can be refered to as a cyst, it’s just not going to be good.  This is especially true of the dermoid cyst, a teratoma that contains mature skin tissue, hair follicles, sweat glands, blood, and fat.  The dermoid cyst is your body’s grab bag of nastiness, sometimes hiding long clumps of hair, nails, bone, teeth, even a random eyeball, for the love of all that’s good and holy.   What a cyst wouldi-hope-you-are-eating-1.jpg need to look at, I don’t know— but there you have it.  The dermoid cyst is rarely malignant, which leaves it plenty of time to be creepy, foul, repulsive, and sickening.
 
 
 
4. Hydatidiform Mole
When a man and a woman love each other very, very much, sometimes they want to make a baby as a way of sending their love forward into a new generation.  And sometimes they make a hydatidiform mole instead.  On rare occasions, the tissue that is meant to form a placenta and carry nutrients to a fetus goes bat-shit crazy and morphs into a big, clumpy, mass that resembles a cluster of grapes in Tim Burton’s fruit bowl.  This mass is known as a hydatidiform mole, or a molar pregnancy.  Its other name is gestational trophoblastic disease, which officially makes it the most disgustingly named disgusting thing your body can do.  Ew.  Just ew.
 
 
5.  Prolapsed Uterus
Gravity is not a girl’s friend.  Every girl grows up knowing that eventually gravity will commit aggravated rearrangement and redistribution on her body; it’s a fact of life.  So is it too much to expect that at least her uterus will stay put?  Do I even need to explain the prolapsed uterus to you?  I didn’t think so.  But I’m guessing no one explained the prolapsed uterus to this woman, who one day looked down  to see something hanging outside her body that used to be inside.  Why, God, why?
 
 
 
 
6.  Parasitic Twins
Conjoined twins are a rare phenomenon, occurring only once in every 50,000 to 100,ooo births.  More common are parasitic twins, in which one of the An Indian boy with eight limbs whose veneration as a god propelled him in to the public spotlight has been operated on to give him the chance of a normal life.developing fetuses becomes dominant and grows normally, at the expense of the other–which ceases to thrive and becomes vestigial, or parasitic.  The parasitic twin is incompletely formed and incapable of living without the autosite.  A parasitic twin can present as extra arms or legs, an extra torso, even a second head.  Not long ago a Chinese boy was born, whose parasitic twin was nothing more than a second penis growing on his back (Fact:  This baby could be found by Googling  the term Chinese two penis boy.).  About half of parasitic twins don’t survive, and years ago those who did were often displayed by sideshows as human oddities.  Nowadays it’s possible to surgically separate parasitic twins, a procedure which was successfully performed on this little boy a year ago.
 
 
    
Famous parasitic twins: Mariah Carey’s breasts, Donatella Versace’s lips, Ashley and Mary Kate Olson.
 
 
 
Despite the fact that it can do some totally disgusting stuff, I stand by my observation that the human body is an amazing thing.  So I’ll leave you the way we met—  with pictures that prove my point: 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  Paul Newman, who would have been 87 this year, and Marilyn Monroe, who would have been 86.
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
 
 
Oh, and did you know that Marilyn supposedly was born with six toes on her left foot?  Now, that’s disgusting. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
~lisa
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

ENCORE: BOY PARTS AND GIRL PARTS

At this time of year, I think a lot about boy parts and girl parts–which is not as much fun as it sounds.  You see, it’s during the summer months when three major health-related events converge:  my yearly physical, my pap test, and my mammogram.  I call it The Perfect Storm.

I know that only the physical is an experience shared by both genders; the other two procedures are all about the girls.  So why are boy parts on my mind?  Well, spending my afternoons in a doctor’s waiting room allows me time to ponder this postulate:

Every part of a girl’s body has a job to do and requires a lifetime of upkeep and maintenance.  Every part of a boy’s body is just one more thing for him to play with.

Having only first-hand experience at being a girl, I am limited to making observations.  But it is my observation that from the time a boy learns how to pee standing up, his remaining years are one long quest to discover what else it can do.  While the female body seems determined to develop suspicious lumps, secretions, and glitches, the male body romps through life carefree and giddy with its own impressive repertoire of party tricks.

Yes, guys, I know you have that whole prostate thing lurking in the shadows.  But until you’ve experienced the sensation of cold speculum against warm flesh, unless you’ve feigned indifference while another human being palpates your cervix as though choosing a ripe avocado, I just don’t want to hear it.

In a few weeks I’ll report for my yearly mammogram, and I know exactly how it will be.  The mammography room of our local hospital is designed to make  a woman feel comfortable and comforted.  The decor is muted tones, all peachy and rosy.   A delicate floral border and attractive art prints serve to draw one’s attention  away from the scary machine that dominates the room’s center.  The attending technician will smile pleasantly and speak softly as she asks a series of personal quesions:  Are you, or could you be, pregnant?  Do you have breast implants?  Have you been performing monthly self exams?  She will calmly explain every single step of the procedure, apologize for the coldness of her hands as she arranges me in unnatural positions against hard glass plates.  I will be reassured and complimented on the amount of discomfort I can stand–because as we both know,  mammograms are a “no pain, no gain” kind of a deal.  And thirty minutes later I’ll leave for home feeling as though I’m smuggling matzah in my brassiere, but satisfied that I’ve taken an important step in safeguarding my health.

In my mind’s eye I can see the male counterpart–let’s call it a testography.  The testography lab is sparse and set up for both a quick entrance and a quick exit.  No time for formalities or delicacies–after all, the testographer doesn’t want to be there any more than his patient does.  Instead of  artwork, there is a single sign on the wall announcing that happens in the testography lab stays in the testography lab.  Eye contact is avoided, as is physical contact of any kind.  No need to apologize for cold hands here–the patient will position his own misters between the plates of glass, thank you very much.  And when the procedure ends, he can soothe himself in an anteroom where hot wings are served and gigantic tv monitors alternate Great Moments in Sports and classic Three Stooges reels.

Or perhaps the thought of spending my summer being poked, flattened, and scraped within an inch of my life has me just a bit touchy.  Man might have been created in God’s own image, but at least Mother Nature was wise enough to tuck my girly parts safely inside my body.  And that might be an even trade for not being able to do that cool standing up to pee thing.

BOY PARTS AND GIRL PARTS

At this time of year, I think a lot about boy parts and girl parts–which is not as much fun as it sounds.  You see, it’s during the summer months when three major health-related events converge:  my yearly physical, my pap test, and my mammogram.  I call it The Perfect Storm.

I know that only the physical is an experience shared by both genders; the other two procedures are all about the girls.  So why are boy parts on my mind?  Well, spending my afternoons in a doctor’s waiting room allows me time to ponder this postulate: 

Every part of a girl’s body has a job to do and requires a lifetime of upkeep and maintenance.  Every part of a boy’s body is just one more thing for him to play with.

Having only first-hand experience at being a girl, I am limited to making observations.  But it is my observation that from the time a boy learns how to pee standing up, his remaining years are one long quest to discover what else it can do.  While the female body seems determined to develop suspicious lumps, secretions, and glitches, the male body romps through life carefree and giddy with its own impressive repertoire of party tricks.

Yes, guys, I know you have that whole prostate thing lurking in the shadows.  But until you’ve experienced the sensation of cold speculum against warm flesh, unless you’ve feigned indifference while another human being palpates your cervix as though choosing a ripe avacado, I just don’t want to hear it.

In a few weeks I’ll report for my yearly mammogram, and I know exactly how it will be.  The mammography room of our local hospital is designed to make  a woman feel comfortable and comforted.  The decor is muted tones, all peachy and rosy.   A delicate floral border and attractive art prints serve to draw one’s attention  away from the scary machine that dominates the room’s center.  The attending technician will smile pleasantly and speak softly as she asks a series of personal quesions:  Are you, or could you be, pregnant?  Do you have breast implants?  Have you been performing monthly self exams?  She will calmly explain every single step of the procedure, apologize for the coldness of her hands as she arranges me in unnatural positions against hard glass plates.  I will be reassured and complimented on the amount of discomfort I can stand–because as we both know,  mammograms are a “no pain, no gain” kind of a deal.  And thirty minutes later I’ll leave for home feeling as though I’m smuggling matzah in my brassiere, but satisfied that I’ve taken an important step in safeguarding my health.

In my mind’s eye I can see the male counterpart–let’s call it a testography.  The testography lab is sparse and set up for both a quick entrance and a quick exit.  No time for formalities or delicacies–after all, the testographer doesn’t want to be there any more than his patient does.  Instead of  artwork, there is a single sign on the wall announcing that happens in the testography lab stays in the testography lab.  Eye contact is avoided, as is physical contact of any kind.  No need to apologize for cold hands here–the patient will position his own misters between the plates of glass, thank you very much.  And when the procedure ends, he can soothe himself in an anteroom where hot wings are served and gigantic tv monitors alternate Great Moments in Sports and classic Three Stooges reels.

Or perhaps the thought of spending my summer being poked, flattened, and scraped within an inch of my life has me just a bit touchy.  Man might have been created in God’s own image, but at least Mother Nature was wise enough to tuck my girly parts safely inside my body.  And that might be an even trade for not being able to do that cool standing up to pee thing.