Several years ago, I straddled a big hog all summer long. Interpret that however you want to and you’ll still get it right because there’s more than one way to mount a beast.

That summer I met a guy through some mutual friends. I had shown up to help my friends move into their new house and out front there was a kick-ass, sleek looking motorbike parked in the driveway.

I remember thinking to myself, “Damn, who owns that beast?”

I was never a motorbike kind of woman but this one looked like some sort of hero’s bike, straight from the future. The type of hero who blazes through post-apocalyptic dust and rubble to sweep up the lone surviving female. …

Last week, I was feverishly cleaning my way around the house as if I were Cinderella and my next meal depended on it. Lord knows, I need my dinner.

I’m normally a surface cleaner but that day I scoured away all traces that I even exist. The FBI would have a hard time tracing my fingerprints at this point. Louise who?

Midway through my frenzy I was interrupted by a text message from an employee asking if she was on an upcoming meeting schedule.

What I wanted to reply was, “Excuse me but it’s 11:30 a.m. on a Saturday. The last time I checked, Saturday mornings translate into my personal time. Did you forget how to use the company app you’ve been using for the last seven years? …

Over the last few weeks I did something I haven’t done since I was eleven years old. I let my pubes grow out.

It wasn’t some declaration of womanhood, nor was it intentional. I just got lazy and allowed myself to revert back to cave-bitch for a while, neglecting that one extra time-sucker in the shower.

Jeez, it’s time consuming being a woman.

Today I bit the bullet and pulled out the old razor because I couldn’t even find my vagina anymore. Enough was enough, I was grossed out.

Having allowed the fur ball so much time to flourish, shaving became an actual mission that needed to be executed in methodical layers. …

Aside from the two vainest, most lackluster twin sisters on earth (Darcey and Stacey) who would probably explode at the slightest prick of a pin, the most infamous couple to come from the epic 90 Day Fiance saga has got to be Michael and Angela.

The Botox twins, along with Michael and Angela have saturated my screen time for far too many seasons now. TV nights are supposed to be relaxing, not eye-roll inducing.

To start this off, I have to admit that I have grown to like Michael, the Nigerian who has basically sacrificed his left nut and become famous for his patience and perseverance. …

Decades ago I went through the otherworldly (insert alien-like) experience of giving birth. It was a scene right out of an ER horror flick, complete with doctors yelling, panicking, and running around like chickens with their heads cut off.

When I say they messed up my episiotomy I mean they really messed it up. I won’t go into gory detail but suffice it to say that a woman should never have to endure that type of trauma. Ever.

Ever since the day a seven-pound head exited my body in the most unnatural way, I’ve been self conscious about my penis fly trap. …

In my time here on Medium not once have I bought into the “writing about Medium” scandal. Maybe scandal is too harsh a word, but is it really?

The practice of throwing around advice has never interested me because it’s a sneaky way to make money. I’d rather talk about sex and bodyweight to earn my keep around here.

However, today I tripped over an article written by Roz Warren that motivated me to join the ranks of self-proclaimed Medium faculty members who are proficient enough to give advice.

Here’s what Roz wrote:

At the end of her article she asks if she has left out any titles and I believe she has, hence the question in my…

Anyone who has engaged in quality oral sex is aware of the obvious perks. If done properly if offers gratification, fulfillment, and orgasms with the intensity of Niagara Falls.

If I’m being completely honest I have no recollection of my first oral sex experience. I have no idea when I received it the first time nor who introduced me to it.

This is shameful. The fact that I can’t remember means my first oral sex experience was absolutely forgettable. No sex should be forgettable.

I do, however, remember who made oral sex an earth shattering requirement for all future relationships. …

As a true purveyor of unpopular opinions I would be slacking if I didn’t explore what could be considered reprehensible by most normal people.

Many women are lovers of the bad boy culture. The type of guy who’s had a few brushes with the law, or the guy who has no problem engaging in a brawl when he feels the pot needs stirring.

Your basic bad boy.

But is it really so crazy to think we could love the BAD, bad boys?

Mob wives and cartel wives have done it. Hell, even normal women have done it with certain celebrity status criminals. Look at Ted Bundy. …