Jalapen-oh-oh-oh!

Estrofests is thrilled to host guest blogger, Angela Barbee. Angela is a remarkable social worker who works to keep children safe. Through it all she maintains a quirky sense of humor that fits perfectly with Estrofests' irreverent view of things. 

By Angela Barbee

I recently attended a party where the hostess made a delicious cranberry and jalapeno dip.  When it hit my tongue, I was initially confused by the sweet and tart, and then BAM! the jalapeno kicked in, resulting in an instant food orgasm.  I was determined to recreate the lascivious dip for a family dinner the next day. I wanted to impress the relatives – the people who are all too well aware of my cooking disabilities.

I found a seemingly doable recipe on Pinterest for a similar dip and excitedly began creating.  It was then that I got a call from a girlfriend. Now, there are two things that are universal to women concerning girlfriends and phone calls – (1) a lack of brevity and (2) a lack of dignity when the ol’ bladder demands relief.  So my conversation continued in the bathroom while I sprinkled my tinkle and wiped. Just before I got up I felt a weird feeling. Thinking a piece of toilet paper had taken residence on my vagina, I reached down and ….. scratched. That weird feeling then turned into a “Hummmm, this is NOT toilet paper and is starting to feel uncomfortable.” So I scratched some more. OK, now it was starting to burn. Scratched again. Then suddenly, oh sweet mother of God, my vagina was on fire!! Holy crap, jalapeno juice in my lady parts!

My friend, who was still on the phone, told me to grab baking soda, and proceeded to tell me, in Nerd Speak, how baking soda will neutralize….blah blah blah.  My vagina was about to start a forest fire - I did not need a science lesson! Thankfully I had a box of baking soda in the bathroom from another botched Pinterest project. I shook the box of baking soda on the inferno that was my vajayjay until my bathroom looked like an exploded crack house. My “friend” was hysterically cackling like a hen, while I was two seconds from doing the cooch scoot across the bathroom floor. Her next brilliant idea was to apply milk to the area, as she offered up another science lesson. I screamed to my family for milk as I abruptly ended my conversation. I jumped into the shower and poured a half gallon of ice cold 2% Borden between my legs. I thought, “Hell must feel better than this!”

After frantically tearing through the bathroom cabinets, I finally found little packets of oatmeal bath that claimed to “moisturize and sooth itchy, painful or irritated skin.” I dumped multiple packets in the tub, which foamed with the baking soda, water, milk and oatmeal. My inferno began to simmer to a smoldering blaze. After sitting in a 350 degree tub for 40 minutes, all I needed was flour and an egg and I could have had a CAKE to take to dinner.

Yes, I took the dip with me the next day and proclaimed it the BVD – the Burning Vagina Dip.  For some reason nobody would give it a try. Pussies.

So, for your next girlfriends’ get together try a Flaming Hot Pussy and order takeout while you share your cooking disasters.

Flaming Hot Pussy

½ shot 151 proof rum

½ shot cinnamon schnapps

Pour into shot glass and light on fire.  Suck down with a straw.



Angie Barbee is a mother of 3 teen and pre-teen girls and recent graduate of OU School of Social Work.  Angie’s other failed Pinterest projects include sewing and gardening.

The Cat’s Out of the Bag

By Tonia

As a single woman about to turn to 60, I’m concerned about my new title. You see, I date younger men. Not MINORS - just younger.

 

According to the Urban Dictionary, a 40+ woman who dates younger men is a COUGAR and a 50+ woman who dates younger men is a JAGUAR. There isn’t a name for a woman in her 60s who dates younger men. What the hell does that mean?? ZAP! I’m no longer dating?? Surely I’m not a SABRE-TOOTHED TIGER – about to be extinct because of lack of prey!

According to AARP, 34% of 40-69 year old women date younger men. Clearly, curiosity is not killing these pussy cats! So the cat is out of the bag – or the closet, so to speak. Older women LIKE younger men and actually date them.

I applaud these women (guess I'm applauding myself, too). Older women in our culture are often made to feel invisible. So many of us are protesting this phenomenon with, “Look at me! I’m not dead yet! In fact, I’m HOT – and I’m NOT talkin’ about those flashes, Baby!”

"If you count the piano lessons we've been
dating for almost a year."

No ‘fraidy cat for me. I’m going to stick my neck out …. or my boobs …. or whatever gets noticed …. and follow the examples set by Elizabeth Taylor, Susan Sarandon, Melanie Griffith, Madonna, and others. Hope my kids don't start bragging, “My mom’s boy toy is younger than your mom’s boy toy!”

And, by the way, these women aren’t just dating younger men because they can. A recent study published in Psychology of Women Quarterly found that women with partners 10+ years younger have greater relationship satisfaction than women who have partners the same age or older. Hmmmm. Wonder what THAT's about <wink, wink>.

So, after your next boy toy date, get some girlfriends together and fix the Superstar Vixen. You earned it! 

SUPERSTAR VIXEN                   

1 oz Vixen Vodka


3 oz Ginger beer


1/2 oz Raspberry lemonade

Urine Trouble Now

by Tonia

“Life is hard. Then you die. Then they throw dirt in your face. Then the worms eat you. Be grateful it happens in that order.” – David Gerrold

Recently I had blood in my urine for no good reason. I’m not sure what a GOOD reason would be but I didn’t have one. So I trotted off to the doctor to see why my bladder was having a period. I suggested a diagnosis of Mistaken Identity Disorder (bladder thinking it was a uterus) but the dr. was not amused. She seemed concerned. Not. Good. She suggested that I have several expensive tests to make sure that I didn’t have bladder cancer. CANCER???? WTF??? Now my bladder was really pissing me off.

 

I’ve always had a Theatre Bladder – you know, a tiny tank that is over active during movies. (It’s about ¼ the size of a standard bladder.) And I’ve had my fair share of Fires in the Hole (aka UTIs). But BLADDER CANCER? Geez. So I left the doctor’s office and did what most typical Americans do – I googled “bladder cancer” and immediately became a medical expert.

Except that my medical expertise immediately turned into “Holy shit, I’m going to be a chemo therapy skeleton and then I’m going to die.” I began looking at wigs, planning my memorial service, writing my obituary…..things that I felt were more pressing than washing my dishes, taking a shower and walking my dog. My girlfriend suggested I was overreacting. Uh. Maybe.

So I went for tests. Blood tests, CT scans..…and, my favorite, the cystoscopy - where a tube is inserted into the urethra and the dr. peeks at the inside of the bladder. You can imagine the fun. I kept wanting to say, “Wrong hole! Wrong hole!” but, this wasn’t sex. No foreplay. Afterwards, for pain relief, I was supposed to hold a warm, damp washcloth over my urethral opening. I decided not to go back to work. I didn't think my colleagues would want to watch me hold my crotch.

As it turned out, I was cancer free. And it was a good thing because after all those co-payments, I didn’t have enough money to buy a decent wig.

For your next girlfriends' get-together, consider inviting over your besties and distributing bladder health tips while watching these adorable Vulva Puppets sing the Do the Kegel song. (Click HERE) It'll be good for ALL of you!

Mom FAIL

By Tonia

"If evolution really works, how come mothers only have two hands?" – Milton Berle

I never duct taped my kids to the wall, put them on leashes, or held them upside down off a balcony, but I certainly had my share of Mom Fails. I mean, I really tried to be a good mother, but there were THREE of them and only ONE of me. Something had to give.

So I may have let one of them eat cat food; and I may have let another one eat dirt.......and I can't bring myself to say what the third one ate.

I might have run out of cloth diapers and used my ex-husband’s shirt as a baby pee-pee absorber. I might have been in my nightgown when I took them to school and ran out of gas on the way. And I might have forgotten to pick one of them up after school once ….. uh, OK, twice.

And, yes, I may have let Anna believe that some of Rachel’s baby pictures were hers. And I might have laughed when Josh used the Barbie dolls for BB practice. And I could have told one of them that I only gave birth to her to be my personal slave. And ….. well, I may have said that I took up gardening to hide the dead bodies of my other disobedient children. Geez. Everyone is such a critic!

I made sacrifices, you know! All those nights with a sleeping baby on my chest when I soooo needed to pee. All those shopping trips with teenage girls who wouldn’t make up their minds which swim suit to buy. And all those years of body fluids. OMG, the body fluids. You know the ones – pee, poop, snot, vomit, breast milk. I’ve worn them all  – in both genders!

So, as Mothers Day approaches, I wanted to come clean – and give other mothers permission to let go of perfection. The parenting literature talks about the "good enough mother" - not the "do-it-all-perfectly-or-your-kids-will-be-fucked-up-forever mother." And I can attest to that. Despite me, all three of my kids turned out to be delightful adults. Two of them are even on this blog. 

SO, for your next girlfriends’ get together, those of you who are moms may want to play our Bad Mom Bingo. It'll make you feel better! Happy Mom's Day!