9 Reasons I Wouldn’t Make a Good Lesbian

 previously published on Sammiches and Pysch Meds

I work for the Post Office. I deliver #allthethings before you get to see them. A couple of weeks ago, I delivered Jennifer Aniston’s side boob. All.day.long. She was on the cover of People. It made me realize that there is no trace of wanting to be a lesbian in the corners of my mind.
Below is my list about why I don’t like cherry-flavored chap stick (AKA why I can’t see myself kissing girls).

1. I’m not into the boobs.I get boob all day, every day. Side boob, under boob, all the boobs. Knockers, tits, breasts (I’ve never really called them that) and melons. How do I prefer my knockers? Flat. I’ve warned the hubby that if he ever bulked up his pecs so that his were bigger than mine, I’d file for divorce.

2. I’m not an ass girl.I’ve got my own ass all day, every day. I don’t stare at man ass. It’s not really that sexy of a feature to me. What am I going to do with it? (Am I missing something?) I’ve never contemplated if women have a lot of “junk in the trunk.” I’m not, in general, interested in that body part on any gender. It’s also a “no-fly zone” and NOT an emergency landing strip.

3. I like penis.Sure, there are purple/green/rainbow-colored, plastic substitutes we could use, but they can never beat the real thing. There is something sexy about another person hoovering over you and knowing that they can’t fake that kind of release. Although, the no mess part would be a plus.

4. I can’t stand drama.Exit door 4. Please trip down the stairs on your way out. I’ll shut the door behind you.

5. I don’t need more mood swings.I have enough for five women. There’s Susie Q (I took a happy pill), Esmeralda (sexytime sister), Gia (I need a happy pill), Nicci (the mean bitch) and Miss Thang (ghetto anyone?). A female lover wouldn’t be able to compete. Last place is not a good place to be in a relationship.

6. I enjoy deniability.I usually wait till the last minute to go shopping for Aunt Flo’s personal needs. Like when it’s HAPPENING. I have no one else to put the blame on but myself and no else to yell at me. I’d also have to share my chocolate-flavored everything, which leads me to….

7. I’m not a fan of PMS syncing.Tsunami and Sparta make love. It creates that circle of teenage girls who pass tampons under the bathroom stalls like a new form of crack. Stay away from bitches who bleed together. Unless you get off on that kind of thing, and if so…..ewwwwwwwwwwwww.

8. I’m not all about the smell.Our room smells like sex sometimes. Usually mine. Men don’t really smell like sex. They smell like sweat from sex. A clean “litter box” is still a “litter box,” especially when you add pheromones. Gag.

9. I enjoy being the less hairy one with minimal effort.His legs are supposed to be hairy. And beards make panties come off. It’s a known fact (See: Life with the Bearded J’s). A woman with a beard? Not so much.

To The Other Woman

previously posted on Original Bunker Punks

Dear Woman I Will Never Confront,

We’ve known each other for three years now. Over the last six months, I’ve realized that we do not have anything in common, except that our kids like each other. What I have to say has nothing to do with that, though.

You try to act like one of the “guys.” You say you’re a tomboy. I get that. I don’t wear pink, either. (Really, that’s all you got?)

Honestly, you’re just not happy in your marriage. You have low self esteem from a bad childhood and a crappy relationship. I get that. But I wish you’d understand.

He’s mine. And I’m not sorry.

I’m not sorry that you’re husband treats you like it is 1960. I’m not sorry that he lets his creepy friends hit on you. I’m not sorry that you didn’t get to come over on New Year’s because he went to the bar and left you at home. I’m not sorry that you scrounge for money for birthdays and Christmas because his money is his money and your money is his money.

I pity you. I’m not heartless. However, all of the above is your problem. There are many solutions (but you may not like any of them).

Above all, stop.

Stop texting him lyrics from love songs. Stop questioning why he doesn’t respond back. Stop being pissy because he doesn’t show you attention. Stop asking for his help. Stop.

It torments me to invite you over anymore, and pretend that you do not make my stomach churn. I can’t relax around you. You’re like the mole on my back that needs to be removed. Unfortunately, I’m afraid of needles and both are expensive.

I trust my husband. Unquestionably. He’s a catch. I married him. I do not like to share. I should not have to.

~J

P.S. You don’t say “I love you” to your married, guy “friends.”