The Perfect Vagina
While working as a general practitioner, I had a patient who would not stop complaining about her flaps—vaginal flaps, that is, or labia minora, to be precise. Miss Vagina Whiner first came to me saying she had lost all pleasure from sexual intercourse because she was so embarrassed by her saggy lips, which drooped about her clitoris like the slobbery chops of an overbred dog. I found it curious she had shaved prior to her appointment and wondered if this was to highlight the outlandish size of her flaps.
Unfortunately, vaginal aesthetics—much like penis size—is an area where the National Health Service of the UK generally will not intervene. Ugly people are not referred for a face-transplant, and the same applies to bad genital luck. I apologized, saying that there was nothing I could do and that it was an area for a private cosmetic surgeon. I also reassured her that enlarged labia are perfectly normal and common among women, especially after popping out a few babies.
But she was persistent in her taxpayer’s right to free medical attention and returned some weeks later demanding I see her. I again reiterated—declining to take a second look—that there was nothing I could do. The only time the NHS will refer a patient for cosmetic surgery is if the problem is causing pain—the genitals can rub uncomfortably against clothes or during sex—or if the psychological effect is severe. She paused before saying, “If you won’t help me, I’ll just have to do it myself. How do I best cut them off?” Er, you’re really best not to, I don’t care how steady your hand is, chopping bits of your vagina off with scissors in the shower is a bad idea.
What Ladies Need to Know About Peeing Outside
When we were offered press passes to yet another outdoor festival, we seriously weighed the pros and cons. These whole day long summer music blowouts are always a commitment and a dice roll: while seeing a band you like with 10,000 other dirty, sweaty, disgusting people is not everyone’s cup of tea, sometimes they’re actually fun. If you’re lucky, you discover a new band that doesn’t suck, you get a little lightheaded from being drunk and mildly dehydrated, and if you’re reeeeally lucky you get a beejer (or fingerblasted, if you’re a lady) behind a mist tent sponsored by some tragic soda company. If you’re unlucky, the stage will fall down and kill you, or the whole thing will become a hellish burning rape-fest.
Of course one thing you can always count on is that going to the bathroom is always a terrible, nightmarish experience, especially for girls. Everyone knows the problem with girls and peeing in public—people talk about it all the time and not just at concerts—is that the line up to the girls’ washroom is always impossibly fucking long.
It’s sad that something as natural and beautiful as the act of urination becomes an inconvenience to females, especially someplace where everyone is drinking a lot and that shit’s inevitable. But what many of you might not know is that confident women have been secretly squatting to piss in the woods for ages, and ladies, it’s about time that we expose ourselves to the free pissing world. Consider the following.
PORTA POTTY IS BEST
First of all, I’m not advocating pee anarchy. When a Porta Potty presents itself, make good use out of it. Pee like there’s no tomorrow–heck, pee blood, empty your Diva Cup, adjust the socks in your bra, finger yourself, rub your vulva against the toilet seat, whatever, use the privacy when you can get it and just be thankful you’re not in the middle of a mud-caked crowd who only know half the words to that Gotye song but still insist on trying to sing every excruciating one.
PEEING OUTSIDE IS OK
Women as a whole, and especially women born and bred in urban spaces, have a lot to learn about learning how to pee properly in the wild. And by “the wild” I mostly just mean parking lots, alleyways, ditches, bus stops, banks, and pretty much every place where guys are frequent to release. The myth that girls can’t pee outside is obviously false. So here is the truth: for a girl to pee outside she requires nothing other than a vagina and legs and a private little nook that ideally features a downward gradient and pretty foliage to stare at while you “shake the dew off your lily.” There is nothing biologically disabling about female urinary anatomy when it comes to the art of pissing outside. Girls and boys just do it differently.
While searching for your secret spot, walk with purpose and don’t dally. Look for well-protected areas that aren’t too far off the beaten path. Shrubs are ideal because you can get low and hide while you do your thing and allow you to re-emerge into the broad collective quickly, elegantly, and safely. Three walls of protection are best, but two will do just fine. Remember you can also use your clothes as a barrier, sometimes so effectively that you can become your very own bathroom stall. Skirts work especially well for this, but so will your shorts or purse. Or if you’re cool, scratch everything I said, maybe just wear a skirt and go commando.
THE VICE GUIDE TO SPORTS
You either give a shit about sports or you don’t, and the delineation between these two types of people is usually pretty clear. Just so we’re all on the same page: Hosting a Super Bowl party or casually rooting for your hometown team is not the same thing as actual fandom. Real fans check sports sites (used to be the sports page) constantly, buy jerseys, talk back at talk radio, experience for-real emotions when their team loses or wins big, and WILL kick your ass if you make fun of their favorite player for long enough.
If you don’t “get” sports, extreme fandom seems like a psychological disorder—like, why are you so happy and jumping up and down and screaming because some guy hit a ball? And if you are a fan, you respond to these questions with a response like “YOU DON’T GET IT, PUSSY! THAT MAN WHO JUST HIT THE BALL GOT US INTO THE PLAYOFFS AND HE IS GREAT LIKE GHANDI, AND OH MY GOD I’M GOING TO CREAM MY FUCKING PANTS RAHHHHHHHHHHH!”
As a service to the world and in an attempt to prove that, like laughter, athletics can serve as a universal language, we’ve written a handy guide that, with any luck, will help bridge the gap between these two groups, like the great relationship Bill Clinton fostered between the Israelis and the Palestinians. (A fair comparison, because fans and non-fans are two groups who will never, ever understand each other. For now we’ll just make fun of both).
Plenty of fans use “we” when referring to a team: “We played well Tuesday; we really fore-checked that midget into the board with disdain; we saved money signing this rich asshole for slightly less money than the other asshole who wasn’t as rich.” Don’t do this unless you: 1) work for the organization; 2) are semi-regularly making love to someone on the team; or 3) are on the team. We understand that you like yours a ton and watch every single game intently and are convinced you would be a good GM, but when the Islanders leave your stupid town for another equally moronic but more profitable shithole, you’ll be cursing yourself for imagining a bunch of stupid strangers actually had a stake in your sad little walled-in life.They won the game. You sat on the couch and ate Wild White Nacho Doritos and tried half-heartedly to masturbate to the annoying lady in the insurance commercial.
“Now, son, I have some bad news for you: You’re a Mets fan. There’s just no two ways about it. See, I’m a Mets fan, my father was a Mets fan, and just like my alcoholism and my crippling inability to discuss my feelings, I’m passing my fandom down to you. I’ll take you to Mets games, school you in Mets history—we were really good in the 80s, when the players were doing a lot of good coke—show you my VHS tapes of games I recorded, and force you to play little league so you understand the game. Even if you try to reject your fandom, some of it will stay with you, so that one day you’ll be in an airport bar, see the highlights of yet another Mets loss on ESPN4, and curse the Lord Jesus Christ under your breath. Sorry. I am aware this makes no sense, but you are definitely going to have to live this way.”
Sylvia Gräber, 44. Freemason since 1999. Rank: Master Mason. She is a journalist, sings in a pop-rock band, and says she finds a spiritual home in the rituals of the Freemasons without being tied to one specific religion.
Conspiracy theorists have been accusing Freemasons of being an evil secret society long before that freaky pyramid eye showed up on the $1 bill. Today, grammar-challenged internet dwellers blame them for everything from the financial crisis to fooling people into believing in global warming to communicating via a mysterious Pynchon-esque encrypted mail system. Since 1738, the Catholic Church has barred its followers from becoming Masons because doing so is apparently a guaranteed one-way ticket to hell.
READ: These Masonic Ladies Are Really Quite Lovely
I have been minorly obsessed with urinals for some time now. There are many questions I have pondered for years. Such as: How is it that the males of the species just stand together in groups, with penis in hand, peeing? Is it not awkward to find yourself at the urinal at the same time as your boss or your dad? What is it that men at the urinal talk about? The whole idea of a urinal, especially in a workplace, is just bizarre to me. Are high-level corporate deals being cemented at the urinal, the last place where girls are not allowed? And I’m a little worried that the urinal is the glass ceiling. If so, can we, in fact, blame the entire financial crisis on the urinal?
Read: Men & Urinals: A Lady Investigates How Guys Pee In Public