Bette Midler, My Hero

Recently, my friend and I were excited to go see the amazing, wonderful, effervescent, melodious Bette Midler in concert. Why, you might ask, would two gals in their late twenties want to see Bette Midler in concert? Admittedly, we’re not her key demographic but we’re both of the firm, but pliable, opinion that every once in a while everyone deserves a good BM.

A Great BM

Unfortunately the incomparable Ms. Midler’s concert date fell on the last day of our road trip and we decided to hit a safari in Oregon instead… in our defense, we did see lions and tigers and bears and absolutely said “Oh my!” at several points during the drive through safari.

Lions and tigers and bears


So, thank you to Wildlife Safari in Oregon and sorry to Ms. Midler that we weren’t able to grace you with our presence. We know you missed us and it just wasn’t the same.

If you’re in the area and in the mood to see some some carnivores and feed some emus, stop by. I highly recommend it.



Holy crap it’s here. It’s time. This is happening.

Breathe, Megan. Just breathe.

You may not believe it, I know I hardly can, but today I am doing something momentous.

I. Am. Going. On. A. Vacation.

First time in six years.

My friend and I are roadtripping down to Napa Valley for the Bottlerock concert(s). We’ll be pausing in Oregon tonight because Voodoo Doughnuts. And then depending on how things go tomorrow, a quick stop in San Francisco before spending the night in Napa and then three days of amazing concerts, food and wine (*sigh* Heaven). After the concerts it’s back to San Francisco because I can’t go there and not see Alcatraz. Then we it’s an early start and back home to wrap up our epic adventures with the effervescent Ms. Bette Midler.


I’ll be doing some posts here about our adventures and have been asked to submit some to my new favorite people, the Voyage Vixens. Watch for our hashtag…



These Are The Days of (My Friend’s) Lives

I’m not generally a story topper but usually when a friend comes to me with a ‘woe is me’ story, I offer up my latest escapade (because there seems to always be a latest escapade) and say “Hey man, it could be worse, it could be…[insert escapade here]”

Buuuuuuuut they finally did it. Two of my friends are officially worse off than me. I can’t compete. AND IT’S AWESOME! I think I’ll strut a bit today.

Friend 1 is buying a condo.

Why doesn’t anyone tell the truth about major life events? Why must they all insist they’re magical, fluffy unicorns when, in actuality, they’re more akin to being murdered by a horde of demons armed with thick paper (for paper cuts) and lemons (for squeezing in said paper cuts and they’ll give you so many that you die from it. Eventually.)

Buying a house, getting married, spawning a child. These are all supposed to be magical life events that are wondrous occurrences, signifying your leveling-up in adulthood. But what no one tells you is the SHEER HORROR OF EACH OF THESE EVENTS. There’s no magical unicorn. No fluffy rainbow. There’s just a maniacal bunny pointing and laughing at you and you want to much to pet the fuzzy beast but you just know it’ll go all Monty Python on your ass and you’ll suddenly be the headless horseman – horsePERSON, thank you very much, it’s not the bloody 50’s anymore, no one liked the 50’s anyways except maybe Coke, I feel like they liked the 50’s… what?

Buying a house sucks worse than a broken vacuum with no suction. It’s all fun and games until you see a shiny place that you’d like to purchase for yourself and then it’s all downhill like a big rig with no brakes from there. The seller drags their feet. The seller’s realtor goes on frequent vacations (ok, we get it, you make a fuckload of money…). You have to wade through months of bullshit strata meeting minutes that basically tell you which neighbors are whiny bastards and which try to hide dog poop in the gutters (WTF people? Really?) They also tell you which neighbors are cultured and pretentious and play the piano… and which ones are intolerant rednecks and complain about the strains of Chopin ruining their shopping cart BBQ.


You’ll also find out that your mortgage broker doesn’t really want you to get any money and, as much as they don’t want to give you their money, they want you to have your own even less. “What do you mean you deposited an extra $5 in your savings seven months ago? Where did it come from? I need a notarized affidavit stating it was a gift from your dead uncle’s hamster’s estate”.

And don’t even get me started on weddings – hello, Bridezilla. It’s a thing. Do you think those bitches are happy? NO! They’re wondering what the fuck they were thinking when they agreed to the whole wedding thing. “But Megan, some brides are happy,” I hear you say. Yeah, because they’re heavily medicated – and not necessarily with their knowledge or consent. Why do you think the divorce rate is so high? Because the husband stopped being able to sneak her the happy pills.

Sure, on the surface pregnancy sounds like fun. I’ll just sit around and eat all the things, right? Not so much. For the first three months your body will attempt to eject the parasite (because that’s what the fetus is) via projectile vomiting (that’s how the reproductive system works, right?). Then you’ll have to pee fifty million times per day. Then there’s the mile long list of things that could go wrong with you or the parasite baby and unfortunately nothing that could go right. As in, the mother never comes out the other side of pregnancy saying “Hey, my boobs got bigger and stayed bigger! Woo!” No. That doesn’t happen. You’ve got a damaged body and this crying thing that you hope to hell you can mold into someone who won’t stick you in a crappy home when you’re old and frail and you’ve spent all your money gambling on bingo and greyhounds.

Friend 2 let her boyfriend do buttstuff.

Valentine’s Day. You’re Doing It Wrong

Why are boxes of chocolates considered romantic?

Seriously. What genius decided that food known, nay proven, to add inches to your hips was the quintessential symbol of romantic gestures? Why not go with something that shows you care about her safety and security?

I’d rather get a box of condoms.

Flowers and Trojans, that’s the way to my heart. And vagina.

Who Knew It Could Get Worse?

A couple weeks ago I was drunk and bored so I decided to start a social experiment. I hypothesized (to myself) that I’d either be inundated with messages due to my purposefully appealing to stereotypical male loves or get none at all because my profile was one sentence. ONE SENTENCE.

It was somewhere in the middle.

As stated in my Social Experimentation post, I created a new profile on Plenty of Fish that professed, I make amazing homemade pizza, believe bacon goes with everything, and beer takes up 90% of the real estate in my fridge. Because what guy doesn’t love a chick whose priorities are pizza, bacon and beer, right?

I’ve had a regular POF account for a while and anyone who’s ever used this site knows, it’s note exactly a brain trust. Going into this, I thought my expectations were low…

They were not low enough.

In two weeks I got around ten messages that just said, “Hey.”

Several messages that told me how interesting I sounded.

I got one that said, “I want to bite your tongue.”

Several obligatory, “Hey gorgeous” (or some variation thereof) messages. Because if you tell a chick she’s pretty her mind immediately goes into squee mode and she’s gonna want to blow you, amiright fellas?

And my personal favorite, one that said, “Nice hoots.”

Honestly, this was probably definitely a waste of time and not nearly as entertaining as I’d hoped.

I think what we’ve learned here is that telling a guy what you think he wants to hear is not conducive to beginning a healthy relationship. (Shocking, I know.)

Unless you have nice hoots.

Top 10 Worst/Most Awkward Places to Read Erotic Scenes

You know how you get bored doing mundane things and you’re like, “Hey, I know! I’ll read a book! Problem solved!” But then you’re reading the book, having a grand old time, expecting violence and/or humor when BAM! Sex scene! And you look around you, take in your surroundings, and do a mighty facepalm because you are almost definitely not in the privacy of your bedroom. In my experience and vivid imagination, these are some of the most awkward places to read steamy sex scenes. Ignore the numbers, they’re just for show.

10. At the doctor’s office while sitting next to a sick little old lady. Come on! She’s probably someone’s grandmother! Have a little respect, you deviant!

9. On public transit while sitting next to a sketchy middle-aged man in sweats – don’t want him leering over your shoulder and getting any ideas. Or getting any closer to you than he already is…

8. While eating – try it. It may not sound too horrible but it’s just weird. It brings the fact that you’re reading about sex rather than having sex into much, MUCH sharper focus.

7. While pooping. ‘Nuff said.

6. While having mediocre to bad sex – because if you have to read an erotic scene to get through the act, you’re doing something wrong! Picture, if you will, whatever dude you’ve brought home for the night (because heaven forbid you’re in a relationship where poor quality sex is the norm) is grunting away on top of you and you’re having to stop him every minute or so to turn a page – thus prolonging your torture.

5. While out for your bi-annual family dinner with your parents because after two minutes and ordering all conversation ceases and you’re dying of boredom. Don’t read smut around your parents. It ain’t right.

4. While the damn cat insists on sitting in your lap between your torso and your book and demands affection and when you stop to turn a page the cat stands and kind of walks its front paws up your chest so they end up resting on your breasticles and then the cat starts kneading. At that point you just give up reading and pet the damn cat so that after a few minutes you can kick the cute furry bastard out of your apartment without feeling too guilty.

3. While at a charity function for sick kids. The distinction should be made, however, that reading erotica at a charity for anything to do with erectile dysfunction or anything in that region is just funny and should be encouraged. 😉 (Are there charity functions for erectile dysfunction?)

2. While at work. It’s almost as bad as your boss watching porn and accidentally forgetting his volume is turned WAY up (That actually happened to a friend of mine. She works in a law office. I laughed so hard!)

1.  While on a bad date. You know when the dude is really boring so you whip out your phone pretending to read a text message but really you’re reading a page in on your Kindle app? Then if you blush or anything he just thinks you’re into him but really you’re superimposing the face of your current book boyfriend over that of the shmuck sitting across from you.

And as an added bonus: The BEST place to read an erotic scene.


Especially if you’re an exhibitionist… God’s watching you!




I was cruising a website I just found and stumbled across this article (among others): Adventures in Cooking With Semen. Naturally, I had to read it.

Then, of course, I had to make sure this book existed. It does! Because, apparently, “Despite all of these positive qualities, semen remains neglected as a food.”

The best part? The reviews!!!!

“I learned this lesson the hard way – my used copy arrived all tattered and torn and many of the pages were stuck together. My grandma still loved the gift, but she complains that some of the recipes are too salty for her.”

“I had to visit 4 separate local homeless shelters to obtain enough ingredients to make Thanksgiving dinner, but it was well worth it. Grandma said the mashed potatoes were the creamiest she ever had.”

“This cookbook changed my life. I never used to cook. Now I find myself whipping something up almost every day (sometimes two or three times a day). Plus it’s so easy. Just this morning I made a bundt cake!”

“With this cookbook my life has changed! Now my milkshakes bring ALL kinds of boys to the yard!”

Then I went to the author’s website. I just… I can’t… how is this real?! Semen Cocktails @ Huff Post

So, you know, next time you’re stranded on a deserted island with a dude, you’ve got a source of protein (before resorting to cannibalism, that is). Hurrah!

Recycling Sex Toys

First, check out this article: Inside the Complicated World of Recycling Sex Toys

The social conscience movement continues to gain momentum. Go green! Reusable bags! Recycle your sex toys! Betcha never took that into consideration when you bought your various toys now didya?

Is anyone else disturbed that apparently Safeway (among others) is selling “discreetly packaged vibrators”? Can you imagine the grocery lists?

  • Apples
  • Milk
  • Cheese
  • Cucumber Vibrator
  • Chocolate

Just sayin’…

I wonder if they’re now going to have sex toy recycling depots? Like they do for pop bottles and whatnot. Or maybe they’ll have little kiosks in sex shops – something akin to returning your wine bottles to liquor stores?

How to Make the Awkward Experience That is The Pap Smear Even More Awkward

It’s important to set the right mood.

Step 1: Pose lasciviously on the exam table while wearing your paper gown so that’s the first thing the doctor sees when she walks in. If she hangs and then slowly shakes her head and/or turns around and walks right back out of the room, well that’s mission accomplished right there.

Presuming your doctor has the fortitude of spirit to withstand your awkward posing that looks more like a suntanning walrus than Aphrodite… proceed to step 2.


Step 2: When she inevitably makes the minute amount of preliminary small talk that polite society requires prior to getting all up in your business, ie. “How’s your day going”, respond with, “It’s about to get a whole lot better.” And wink.  If you can. If you can’t, make that awkward almost wink face that resembles that of a stroke victim. S’all good.

Step 3: Be sure to make eye contact. A lot of eye contact. Demand eye contact. With your eyes.

Step 4: When your doctor packs up her equipment and says you can get off the table tell her “Well, that was fun” in a manner that causes her to pause for a second and forces her to ask if that comment was sarcastic.

Step 5: Prolong the experience by asking your doctor to also check your boobs for lumps in the following manner: “While you’ve got me good and nekkid, would you be so kind as to fondle my breasticles?”. Bonus points if, while she’s fondling, you tell her to at least buy you dinner first.

Always end on a positive note.

Step 6: When your doctor is finished and leaving the room, make sure to thank her and tell her you look forward to seeing her again soon. Real soon. Rawr.