Monday, October 22, 2012

I'm reasonably sure my woo-woo looks like a dead baby bird.

This is another one of those blog posts that tells you waaaaaay too much about myself but that's who I am so I'm rolling with it.

I do not, nor have I ever really, had much occasion to examine the morphology of other women's vaginas.

I've always assumed that theirs resembled mine and that mine resembled theirs and that we all walked around with similarly looking twats and all was right with the world. I even avoided all those pictures of Hollywood stars climbing out of their Porsches and Lambos with a short skirt and no underwear on because I figured 'I've got one too, why do I need to see theirs?'

Well then the curiosity bug jumped up and bit me.

For some reason within the last month I have managed to become self-conscious about it. Mostly because I did lots of investigating when I was trying, in vain mind you, to fish out the extra birth control ring I shoved in it in my Ambien stupor. So with an elaborate set-up of mirrors and flashlights to see if I could see inside it I got the occasion to look at it. Actually look at it.

It looks like a dead baby bird.

No, mine doesn't have a beak or those really superficial veins in it or eyeballs (Wouldn't that be super fun though!) but if you take the time to really consider it and think about it, it has that kind of greyish-pinkish pall that dead baby birds have. Especially once their feathers have started to grow in but haven't completely broken through the skin yet so its just all bumpy but you can still see where the feathers would be when they do finally grow in. (I'm not a natural blonde.)

But wait! This story does have a happy ending. I mean my vagina doesn't sprout wings and fly off somewhere but I am getting to a point here.

Apparently there is this new trend in women's health where women are doing craaaaaaazy things to make their nether regions look prettier for their partners. Here is what I have to say about that.

In my lifetime, my dead-baby-bird vagina's lifetime, no one has ever taken a look at my woo-woo and said 'You know what. I cannot make love to you because your vagina is simply not pretty enough.' And if someone ever did look at my vagina and say that, I'd make them wish that my vagina really was a dead baby bird because I'd go all Velociraptor on their ass. They'd wish for a little pecking and chirping. It is a sad state of affairs when our fellow women feel the need for vaginascaping above and beyond spending the minutes it takes to shave all of the hair off of that thing.

It is a vagina. It is supposed to look like a vagina and damnit you should be proud of it. You should thank God that he had enough good sense to bless you with your sex organs on the inside of your body where they won't get smashed all to bits by anyone with a vendetta against you or because you're a clumsy mother-fucker. I for one am. That's right. My vagina looks like a dead baby-bird and I'm proud of it.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

I am preparing for my stint in Hell.

I am probably going to Hell. Who are we kidding? I'll be driving the bus to Hell.

The way I cuss and binge drink socially combined with my inherent belief that some people just deserve to die; I'm a prime candidate to spend eternity amongst the sinners and those doomed to roast ad infinitum. 

But I am starting to wonder if I'm beginning my endurance training for it now. Do you want to know the temperature of my office?

It is currently 80.4 degrees Fahrenheit in my office. Yes, that is right. 80.4 degrees. Everywhere I go it is HOT. At night, my room-mate who has absolutely zero circulation keeps it HOT in our apartment so I sweat, all night long. I wake up and the first thing I do is sigh because I'm suffocating in the heat. The heat of my own house.

The crazy thing is that I like the heat. I like it outside, when the sun is shining, and some kid named Pablo is bringing me a margarita, and I'm baking in the sun like a Thanksgiving turkey. That's the color I aspire to in my tanning - Thanksgiving Turkey. Well not really, but kind of. I do enjoy having a tan. Mostly because it is one of the few things I do well. It combines actually laying around, without pants, and sometimes drinking. Are you kidding? I should have a medal in tanning. I do all of those things superbly well.

Anyways I digress. Must I spend the rest of my dying days suffering everyone else's poor circulation and slow metabolism? Am I doomed to sweat every second of every day for the rest of my poor, pitiful life? Must I throw open a window every 15 minutes and shove as much of myself as I can get out the window to have a respite from the heat? (Which by the way is quite dangerous for me because I'm totally top-heavy and unless someone is holding on to my feet I'm a goner.)

I would think that maybe I'm having a hot-flash except for the fact that IT IS 80 FUCKING DEGREES IN MY OFFICE.

I wonder if anyone would notice if I took off my pants in my office...

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

I am in a pickle.

Normally I bumble through my life and somehow, maybe by the Grace of God, I manage to pretty much make it through unscathed. Then there are moments like now and the predicament I am currently in.

I've pretty much quit sleeping. That's really not that germane to this story except I need you to know why I am often in a drug induced stupor. Because I cannot sleep and also it's kind of fun.

Ambien is one Hell of a drug. It works. Very well. And I had the conversation with my doctor where I asked her if I would wake up in the morning with a Baby-Ruth stuck in my hair because I'd been sleep-eating and she says 'Nooooo. That's really rare.' She did not warn me however that once you take the Ambien you had better be where you plan on staying for a couple of hours because it is almost instantaneous stupor.

You need to take all of this into consideration right about now because I'm getting ready to tell you about the pickle I'm in.

I am on a steady birth control regimen (No, I'm not preggers. Thaaaaaaaat would be way more than just a pickle of a predicament.) and I would like to take this moment to thank the folks at Merck for coming up with this brilliant form of birth control where I don't have to remember to take a pill everyday, the NuvaRing. I'm not sure why I continue to take said birth control because my poor uterus isn't seeing much action these days but one can never be too careful so hence I am on said birth control. The convenience of not having to take a pill everyday is somewhat offset by the fact that when it is time to remove said device from your vaginal cavity you have to reach up there and get it. No big deal.

Except when you've put two in. And the second one has squished the first waaaaaaaaaaaaay up there and your fingers are just too damn short, no matter how far you can get your legs behind your head. All this because you decided to take your Ambien before you put your first ring in and then woke up the next morning and panicked that you forgot and went ahead and stuck the second one in. Fast forward an hour or so and you start to kind of have remembrances of maybe putting one in the night before but you aren't sure because you were in a daze from the Ambien and the only choice left to you is to go on a spelunking mission looking for one, or both, of them.

I'm no medical expert but I'm reasonably sure that they only want you to wear one ring at a time. (Is it considered 'wearing' when it's not on the outside of your person?) I'll probably actually have a stroke in the next couple of days unless I manage to get this thing out. And I'm not exactly sure how I'm going to get this done. This is just simply not one of those favors you can call in to your best friend(s).

'Hi Bestie! How's it going?'

'Good, how are you?'

'I'm in a pickle and I need your help with something.' (Notice how I don't say what it is. That would be favor suicide.)

'Sure thing. What is it?'

'Weeeeeeeeeeeell I might need you to stick your fingers in my vagina and fetch my NuvaRing.'

'----  uh. ---- Hmmmm. ---- ---- ---- You know Anna, I really gotta go. I have to go ---- do ---- things. But Good Luck!'

Maybe I should have just asked for a crochet hook instead.

This is why I need a boyfriend.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

My campaign to keep placenta off the radio.

Yesterday I was on my way home and that annoying song 'Lightning Crashes' from that band LIVE (Which is really difficult to Google by the way. Go ahead and Google the word 'Live' and see where you get.) came on the radio and I've decided that it is not only annoyingly overplayed but also inane. Here's why.

The second line of the song goes like this: Her placenta falls to the floor.

Have you EVER seen a placenta? I have. And I get that this song is about his baby being born or abortion or something meaningful but for serious? Let me tell you what would happen if a placenta fell to the floor.

First, they're not small. It takes two hands to hold them. (I know this because my office is beside the anatomy lab and I ALWAYS manage to walk by when they're changing the fixative on the placentas. Guh-ross.) And they smell. And there is a lot of fluid. They're kind of like if you took one of those plastic bags from the grocery-store and put a liver in it. And then filled it with partially bloody, smelly fish water.

If this thing supposedly 'fell' to the floor then it would 'PLOP'. There's some accurate onomatopoeia for you. PLOP. Take a minute and think about the PLOP that would happen when your liver and fish-water filled grocery bag fell to the floor. Heaven forbid if there was still fluid in it because then it would dribble out and make a slippery puddle. And all the medical professionals in the room would slip and slide and fall down in a comical impression of ice dancing. Except for ice there would be nasty placenta fish water.

That is assuming that there are medical professionals in the room because why else would the placenta fall to the floor. Is there no one catching said placenta when it is shat from said lady's vagina? Or have they caught it and then placed it on a table? Why would you put it on a table? I get that they need to test it and what not but still.

'Here. Here is a lovely spot for this placenta to rest for the mean time. On this table.'


My main point here is that in no way should placenta be mentioned in this song. It by no means lends a certain amount of romanticism or gravity to the song. It's just gross. If the second line of your radio song perplexes the public so much so that they are no longer listening to your song but thinking about the sound that a placenta would make as it fell to the floor then you are not doing your job as a singer/songwriter.

But after that I did start thinking about the placenta growing legs, chucking up the deuces and walking the fuck out of the procedure room and that made me giggle. So there's that.

Monday, February 20, 2012

Apparently None of These Jokers Have Read The Tommyknockers, or Anna reviews 'The River'

Okay so they went ahead and made several episodes of this television show and they've subsequently decided to show them and it seems that people actually do care about my opinions (You people must be really cracked, you know?) so I'm going to review/synopsise (Is this a word? It is now.) the second episode of ABC's 'The River'.

The second episode opens with a Christmas episode of Emmet Cole's television show and there is this creepy scene where Emmet gives the 8 year old Baby-Bear's 8 year old girlfriend a hat or something. I'm not really sure what they're trying to do here. It's like they're trying to set this up as Emmet Cole was as a father figure to this girl but it's just off-kilter enough that it seems a smidgen pedophilic.(Is this a word? It is now.) Because for some unknown reason the Good Dr. Emmet Cole never contacted his wife or his son on his last voyage but he was in constant contact with Baby-Bear's girlfriend and she seems to know an awful lot about him. Like where he keeps his hidden stash of tapes that show him, the Good Doctor, walking on water and summoning a fireball. Clearly he has found 'The Magic' that is 'Out There.' Creepers. Also he can control dragonflies. This is important later.

So they've finally got the boat working. AGAIN. Seriously, I'd find a find a new boat. And Baby-Bear's Girlfriend, whom we'll just call Hooker for the mean time, has figured out where the Good Doctor is by reviewing some tapes and analyzing a bug bite or something. For serious people, they make GPS transponders. Jesus.

It's the middle of the night and the boat cameras catch this dragonfly flying in the boat down the stairs, making a left, then a right, and finding Ghost Girl and crawling right on in her mouth and down into her stomach. Most normal people would wake up and be seriously pissed AND have a case of heinous indigestion but apparently Ghost Girl is a medium or something and lo and behold she is possessed by none other than the Good Doctor himself. But it takes the crew members at least 20 minutes to figure this out. I'm not sure why it took them that long because they all saw the same tape I did where the Good Doctor controls the dragonflies and I knew immediately. Then again I wouldn't go traipsing through the Amazonian Jungle on a budget-ass boat with a dried-up old Harpy screaming for her emotionally distant husband, I'm practical that way.

Anyways Ghost Girl, who is really the Good Doctor at this point, tells Mama Bear not to come looking for Emmet Cole. That he's trapped deep within in the jungle and it's super dangerous. Again I feel that most normal people would go 'Welp, we gave it the college try. Emmet says not to come get him. Let's honor his last wishes and go find the nearest hotel bar and get shitty.' But alas, they decide to go trekking out into the jungle and leave Ghost Girl on the boat with her dad the mechanic. Who is displaying a pretty normal reaction by begging his daughter to barf up said dragonfly.

Our wonderful crew go traipsing through the jungle and happen upon the creepiest tree in the HISTORY OF THE WORLD. IT IS COVERED IN OLD DOLLS. And not happy dolls, creepy dolls. And guess where they decide TO CAMP FOR THE NIGHT? Yes, at the creepiest tree in the HISTORY OF THE WORLD. Also, Baby-Bear's baby-bear, actual teddy bear, is tied to this tree and he steals his bear back. This becomes important later. If any of these jokers had read The Tommyknockers they'd be high-tailing it out of there to find a different fucking tree but noooooooo, they don't worry that the creepy ass dolls are going to come to life and fuck with people. I mean I get that it was the aliens in the The Tommyknockers but there are all those crackpots that swear the ancient Mayan's were aliens, or maybe that was the Egyptian,s but the point being is that something is in the mother-fucking jungle and these idiots are too damn stupid to just burn the fucking jungle to the ground and deal with the environmental backlash later. Or here's a thought: Maybe listen to the Good Doctor and GO BACK HOME.

Long story short the dolls start moving and in the middle of the night they try to steal Mama-Bear. But the crew rescues Mama-Bear and they decide that Baby-Bear needs to give his bear back and when he tries to the tree keeps throwing the bear back at Baby-Bear and they all run the fuck away. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, WHEN IT IS DARK. I swear to God if I ever have occasion to go camping again I'm taking a shotgun with me.

Apparently, the ghost of the creepiest tree in the HISTORY OF THE WORLD is a little girl who lost her mom so she steals Mama-Bear because she needs a mama. Talk about not winning for losing. If I had to pick a mom I certainly wouldn't pick one that had exposed her child to every known parasite in the tropical world by the time he was 6. There is something to be said for the constancy and safety of Surburbia. The crew then decides that the only way they're going to get Mama-Bear back is to dig up the grave of the little girl's Mama who has been dead for nigh on 150 years now. And miraculously they have shovels.

So they dig up this poor dead woman and throw her in a puddle and eventually Mama-Bear crawls out of the dead-girl's mom's grave and everyone is happy again. And they give up and go back to boat after deciding that the Good Doctor is not in that specific area. Surprise, surprise. Who in their right mind would really hang out at the creepiest tree in the HISTORY OF THE WORLD? Let's give the good doctor some credit.

So they go back to the busted-ass boat and Baby-Bear begs Ghost-Girl who is still inhabited by the Good Doctor to tell him where his exact location is but that would just be too damn easy wouldn't it? Just as Ghost Girl is getting ready to spill the beans she actually, literally gives up the ghost and the dragonfly crawls back out of her stomach and flies off into wilderness. Of course Ghost-Girl apologizes. Why, I'm not sure.

But they're all still alive and left to fight another day in this idiotic quest for a man that doesn't want to be found, and proceed down the river to the next episode which involves some dudes with no eyeballs who also lack proper hygiene and we see the true origin of river blindness.

*On a technical note, How the hell do they have any fuel left? I have not seen one single Citgo anywhere on this river. Also, I'm still confused as to where they poop?

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Every ABC Show Needs a Smoke-Monster, or Anna Reviews 'The River'

If you haven't watched ABC's newest show, 'The River', you should watch it before you read this or actually maybe you should read this first before you watch it; maybe you'll save yourself from the mind-numbing idiocy of the people in this show.

'The River' opens with this sad tale of woe about an explorer, Emmet Cole, who is lost in the jungle and pronounced dead. He had a wildly popular TV show that was on for 22 years and somehow he and his boat, the bastardized Magus (think 'mag' from magazine and add- us to it), just up and disappear into the Amazonian Jungle. Now it's up to Mama bear and Baby bear to go find dear old dad.

Here's the kicker, they all hate each other. Mom's is screwing the TV producer that is accompanying them on said journey who was miraculously left out of the last, final voyage of Emmet Cole and his boat for some unknown reason. Actually it seems as if everyone on the new expedition was somehow left off this last, final journey and they're all supremely pissed about it. God only knows why? You know your life has to suck when you'd rather be in some deep, dark jungle having your head shrunk by the locals than in civilization dealing with your daddy issues. 

We'll skip to about the middle of the episode when they actually find the Magus and go aboard.

Of course they get there and it's almost dark. Of course. It wouldn't be fun if you couldn't traipse around the river in the daylight. Noooooooooooooooooo. Let's go in the dark! So they're standing on the deck of the boat and all of a sudden they hear this banging noise from inside the boat. Do they do the sane thing and say 'Welp, we found the boat and asked if anyone was here and no one showed themselves so let's be on our merry little way. I'm sure there is a Marriott down the river a ways.' No. They go inside the boat to find the source of the noise, which happens to be the panic room. The door is welded shut from the outside.

Aaaaaaand they decide to open the door because whenever they bang on the door twice, whatever is inside the panic room bangs back twice. I'm sorry but I'm gonna need a whole lot more evidence of intelligent life than some banging on some pipes. You better damn well know some mother-fucking Morse code and bang out your full name, occupation and blood type before I go opening a door that is WELDED SHUT FROM THE OUTSIDE. Meaning, obviously, that whatever is in the panic room needs to stay in the panic room. But these people are stupid and Mom is all like 'But it could be Emmet!' so out comes the grinder.

In the mean time the engine mechanic has managed to get the electrical systems on board and all of the cameras on the boat are working again. Why in the world they couldn't just look in the panic room with said cameras I don't know. The engine mechanic's daughter also happens to talk to ghosts and she's all like 'Dude, don't open the door. No bueno.' No one listens to her because they're all racist fucks and figure a 16 year old Brazilian girl can't know what the fuck she's talking about when they should be saying to themselves 'You know, we've been on TV for 40 minutes now and she is the only person on this boat that makes any damn sense, maybe she's right?' But they don't and they open the door and this thing flies out and cuts Baby bear's girlfriend on the leg. I'm not sure how the thing cut her because it doesn't really have a body so to speak, but it does manage to cut her and now the thing is hungry because it has tasted blood. Homegirl who talks to ghosts is essentially like 'I fuckin' told you so.' Oh and guess who is not in the panic room? That would be Emmet.

Now this demon critter is flying around the jungle and the crew is straight up panicking to get off the boat (Finally.) and their rafts have been sank. Imagine that. So now they have no choice but to get the boat running and get the fuck out of dodge. To do this they need to clear the propeller of debris. So baby bear and his girlfriend jump right on in the river, in the dark mind you. I have several problems with this: 1. No sane person jumps in an Amazonian river in the dark unless you're on fucking fire and you would rather be eaten by a 12 foot anaconda than be burnt to death. 2. Homegirl was just stitched up 5 minutes previous and she is in the river. Any sane person would have enough sense to stay out of the river with an open wound because I don't know, YOU DON'T WANT TO LOSE YOUR LEG? Who knows what kind of bacteria and parasites are swimming around in the stagnant water beside that boat. 3. PIRANHAS anyone? But they do manage to get the debris cleared and the engine working and they're moseying on down the river.

They've still got the thing from the panic room to deal with though and ghost girl explains how they can trap it. The two cameramen that are on this 3-hour tour go out onto to the deck to try and get footage of the thing and this the point at which 'The River' becomes very much an episode of 'Lost'. The trees are snapping back and forth and there is this weird mechanical sound and you never really see anything; you just see the one cameraman eat it. I've often thought that the smoke-monster from Lost was really under-utilized and I have to admit I was more than a little excited when I thought that maybe, just maybe, he was making a comeback. Think about it. How much better would every show, ever made, be if it had a smoke monster?

Grey's Anatomy - The smoke monster could eat Meredith and we'd all be happier for it.
True Blood - What would bring the vamps, wolves and witches together better than a common enemy?
Law & Order: SVU - It would be a rape without evidence! That story arc would last at least 3 episodes.
The Housewives of Orange County - Oh come on, you know you'd like to see those tramps eviscerated by a smoke monster too.

Anyways, back to The River. They manage to trap the thing, which would be better as a smoke-monster, in a large pecan shell and it tells the Mom that Emmet is still alive by scratching her twice on the belly. (Yeah, I don't know either.) At this point Baby bear is convinced too and he and Mama bear decide they need to go deeper into the unexplored wilderness to find dear old dad. Baby bear, Lincoln, decides that whoever does not want to go should have the opportunity to get off the boat and not go. I don't mean to be critical but I'm not exactly sure what he was going to do with them if they in fact did decide they didn't want to go on this wild goose chase as they are in the middle OF NOWHERE. 'Oh you don't want to go with us? Well I'll just pull the boat on over to the river bank here and you can hop off. The nearest highway is only about 500 miles that way through the uninhabited jungle fulls of poisonous snakes and God knows what but here's a sandwich!'

Lo and behold they all decide to stay on the boat and go on further down the river to the next episode which involves some creepy ass dolls, ghost girl swallows a possessed dragonfly, and once again, they're all traipsing through the jungle in the dark.

*On a technical note, I'm not sure exactly how they plan to stay alive on Emmet's boat as they didn't bring any supplies from their original boat on the rafts nor do they stop for supplies? Also, where do they poop?

Thursday, January 26, 2012

I'm sexual and It's awesome.

I was reading this article* at about this girl who is 'asexual' and about how awesome it is and how she has all these great intimate relationships and how they're so awesome and then I saw a link on the side-bar about a dubstep cat and I immediately lost all interest I had in hearing said girl's tale of woe about not being respected as an 'asexual.' For serious, dubstep cat is the greatest thing ever btw. Check him out: DUB-STEP! Cat yo!.

For some reason this seems to be a hot topic lately, it even made it to an episode of House which I consider to be the epitome of the medical frontier. Asexuality, not dubstep. Although dubstep does seem to be quite popular these days...

Look, I don't care if you're asexual. Exactly like I don't care if you're heterosexual or homosexual or trisexual or whatever-sexual you want to be just as long as you shut the hell up and quit bitching about it. You, as an asexual, cannot even bitch about not being able to get married because you're aromantic and don't want to be married so exactly what are you complaining about?

Oh, you're complaining because people ask you if you have 'someone special' in your life? You're whining because people actually care enough about you to inquire as to your happiness? Aaaaand they're nice enough to not assign a gender to it. Should we just look at you from now and say: 'Gee Connie are you non-suidicidal today?' Count your lucky stars that you're mother doesn't take you down the kitchen accessories aisle in every store and gesture no-so-surreptitiously to the turkey basters and wink at you because even she now assumes you've got no chance in hell of scoring a significant other. According to you, you have a significant other. According to you, it's awesome being asexual. Why do you feel the need to write about it and prove it to people?

(I'm going to leave out my theories on your gender identity issues since you abbreviate your name to initials only. Not there is an issue with that. Own it, I say. Say it loud: I'm confused and I may be proud?!)

You've got a vagina, might as well use it right? Never mind that whole biological imperative business where we as human being, nay animals, have a biological imperative to procreate. Hell, even the plants have sex. It's the burden of being a higher order organism. Let us all shake our fists angrily at evolution and its need to introduce genetic diversity through this clever mechanism!

I think your general displeasure with the societal acceptance of being 'Ace', which is about the lamest pseudonym I've ever heard in my life by the way, is your general displeasure with life. Okay, you're best friends forever with a couple of people and you don't bone. You know what? The next time I get the urge to have sex, I'll think about you and feel sorry for you that you can't appreciate the richness that sexual activity lends to a relationship.

Congratulations on being asexual and owning it and willing to advocate for it.

I'm sexual and it's way awesomer than you remember. 

*Here is the article if you want to read it for yourself. If you can get through this entire article without being distracted by dubstep cat you're clearly a psychopath.