Sisterhood of the traveling porn.

About 10 years ago, I worked at a dot.com start-up with a group of really cool, really fun women. Though the company did not last long, our friendship has managed to last. Those long working hours and all that creative passion has created a very strong connection between us all, even now that life and love have scattered us to the winds.

Back then, we were all young and single. But when the first of us fell and accepted a proposal of marriage, we did the only thing we could think of to celebrate the milestone. We headed to the local sex shop to buy the nastiest, dirtiest porno movie we could find to give to her at her bridal shower.

I remember specifically being the one, full of some liquid courage, asking the balding, creepy store clerk for the "grossest, most out there" video they had. I should have known that the bar was set pretty high when he had trouble deciding.

Anyway, we bought the video -- I think it was called Bukkake Twins or something like that -- and laughed our asses off when K. opened it up in between crockpots and 250 thread count sheet sets.

But K. had the last laugh. When the next of us succombed to marriage, H., guess what she received at her shower?

And since then, every momentous occasion -- weddings, babies, promotions, a divorce, the decision to leave a job to travel for 6 months -- has been celebrated with the gift that keeps on giving -- nasty porn.

So I should have known when I received an unexpected package from S. that there were shenanigans afoot. But I was so busy entertaining my family, who had been staying for a few weeks, that it didn't even occur to me to be suspicious. Instead, I said, "Oh! How awesome!", touched by the unexpected gift, and then handed the package to my mother to open, as Munchkin was running amok.

"Here's to a Busy and Satisfying Deployment!" the card read, covering a DVD with a gaping vagina and erect penis on the cover.

I don't think my mother will ever recover.

Will wonders never cease...

Placentophagy? Really? I mean, it's fascinating but what is the chemical/biomedical basis to believe that it actually fights post-partum depression?

A bargaining chip.

CPT Dick wants to have another baby. Six months ago, I would have told you that I do not want to and totally meant it. I already have two kids -- him and Munchkin -- and I just can't stretch any further.

But the idea has started to grow on me a bit. But I am not keen at all about being pregnant again. And this is the dealbreaker. When I tell CPT Dick this, however, he immediately forgets about the bed rest, the hospital stays, my looking and feeling like a drowned rat, and, most importantly, our son's premature entrance into this world. He just says, "How bad could it really be?"

And so I read Darren Garnick's "Labor of Love," with interest. To surprise his wife, he wore an Empathy Belly (shown above -- on two teens, no less, I guess with the idea that it will stop them from having sex) for 24 hours so he could also partake in the bladder-squeezing, weight-gaining, back-paining joy that is pregnancy. I just wanted to give Garnick a big hug. What a great gesture!

So now I'm wondering how I can slip one of these babies on CPT Dick without him noticing and see what he says next time we discuss pregnancy.

Oh no, they didn't.

But yes, they did.

Introducing the new "Par-Ass Hilton" butt plug. You, too, can buy your own little piece of Paris memorabilia at CelebrityButtPlugs.com (how wrong is it that there is even a business in making butt blugs from celebrity faces? Who thinks of this? And then who has the balls to actually write it up as a business plan?).

I remember thinking during the Paris prison coverage that she should crawl up someone's butt and disappear. But I wasn't being literal. Sadly, someone else had a similar thought and decided to make it a reality.

Seriously, you can't buy publicity like this.

(Side note: I need someone to get married so I can bring this to the bachelorette party).

First Harry, now Bart?

Bart gets naked in his new movie.

What is up with all of these childhood icons nuding up for the stage and big screen?

I think I'm traumatized a little.

I cannot believe I missed this on Father's Day.

The Rocco Ritchie one just made my day.

Going to my happy place.

So I go to read Salon this morning and am faced with an animated .gif of smiley faces on butts.

It's an ad for a toilet.

I'm not outraged or offended. Sure, I went for news and was accosted by a bunch of bottoms but that seems par for the course these days.

But as I look at butt after shapely butt flashing in front of me, all I can think of, besides wondering why people want a toilet to blow warm air up their kiester, is that once these actors decided to do this campaign, they then had to seriously consider whether or not they should include the ass with a smiley face photo in their portfolio. Did they or didn't they?

When I'm not saying na-na-na-na-boo-boo...

Apparently, I wasn't the only one who read the story about higher IQs in eldest children with interest. People are all in a tizzy since this is an environmental effect that they might just be able to explain. The NY Times has published a follow-up article about why this phenomenon might occur. And in it, they make a really interesting suggestion:

Something else is at work, Dr. Zajonc said, and he has found evidence that tutoring — a natural role for older siblings — benefits the teacher more than it does the student. “Explaining something to a younger sibling solidifies your knowledge and allows you to grow more extensively,” he said. “The younger one is asking questions, and challenging meanings and explanations, and that will contribute to the intellectual maturity of the older one.” (Only children receive the benefit of
more parental attention but miss the opportunity to tutor a younger brother or
sister.)

So, in point of fact, I shouldn't be sticking out my tongue and telling my sister to suck it at this finding. I should be thanking her for asking me all of those annoying questions over the years.

Somehow, someway it all ends up being about her.

(Sidenote: I wonder how long it will be before my MIL sends me this study as part of her scientific-reasons-why-I-should-provide-a-sibling-for-Munchkin campaign. I give it two days).

Reading past the headline.

A recent AP interview with John Travolta garnered the following headline: John Travolta says no to psychiatric medication.

And while I find this stance completely and utterly mindboggling, I read on. And bless my e-meter, but wouldn't you know that ol' Johnny T. and I agree on something?

"I have never been compelled to share with you my bathroom habits or share with you my bedroom habits," says the married father of two. "Everyone has a right to privacy, so I have never felt -- even though I am famous -- that I had to share that with anybody."

Do the rumors bother him? Does he think they've affected his career?

"No and no," he says. "What affects your career is the quality of the product. I don't think anyone can hurt me."

Quality of the product. Hear that, people? Not who he's sleeping with. Not what he thinks of psychotropic medication or Tom Cruise calling someone glib. Not even showing his nipples or manly garden on the red carpet. The quality of his work.

And just in case you weren't paying attention, that work is acting. Not doctoring. Not scientific research. Not even public spokesperson for weird religion. Acting. And as such, we shouldn't be looking for him (or Tom Cruise) to tell us what is okay in realms other than those. And when they decide to say something about those other realms (or, thanks to Tom Cruise's public comments are goaded into doing so by the press), we should just nod our heads and roll on through. Not worth getting into a tizzy over.

Thank you, John, for the reminder.

The man behind the curtain.

The NY Times has put up a fascinating slideshow featuring people and their online avatars. It's a really interesting look at just how much people will put into their online lives.

I find, though, as I scroll through it, I want to ask these people for some details. Why pick one of the opposite gender, especially such a girly-girl? Does the fact that you picked an avatar so close to what you look like in real life mean that you are that comfortable in your own skin? For those that have selected one who is identical except for that extra 20-30 lbs., does that mean that you see your weight as the only thing keeping you from being the person you want? Why so many over-sexualized females? Enquiring minds want to know!

And then I have to wonder what avatar I would choose. As I scroll through these, I wonder about the appeal of appearing to the (virtual) world as a scantily-clad, hot chick who can kick ass and take names instead of the military wife/Mommy/misanthrope with a large post-baby ass. Would it hold any appeal? Would it make me appreciate my real life more or less?

I can't answer that question. But certainly, it's fulfilling enough for the millions of people who religiously play these games.

Interesting times, these. Indeed.