A Literal Pissing Contest.

I'm tired today, guys.  Real tired.

Why is it that men feel the primal need to mark their territory?  I mean, that's essentially what an engagement ring is; the marking of a territory. This is seen in all levels of the animal kingdom.  I recently read that male hippos will pee and poop aggressively at the same time (not that impressive, I do this all the time) in front of a female to woo her.  This is just my luck.  If I was a female hippo (which I am like two days out of the month), I would probably end up picking the man with the weak flow and constipation.  Probably not the best choice for procreation, but hey, at least things won't get too messy.

Also (I've been watching a lot of Animal Planet), male Tilapia piss in the water and use those delicious potty pheromones to attract the ladies. Fingers crossed that Tilapia didn't eat asparagus for dinner.

Exhibit C: Male giraffes will sample a female giraffe's urine, like a fine wine, to determine whether or not she's fertile. Generally, you can tell I'm fertile by my level of road rage and bloat.

It's all about pissing contests and dominance in the animal kingdom.  In my bedroom, it's less about sexual dominance (unfortch) and more about cat pee.

My cat, Chunk, hates Sexypants so f*cking hard.  And Sexypants, in turn, isn't a huge fan of Chunk. Chunk is my numba one stunna.  He's the Kanye to my Kanye.  We've been through a lot together.  But, Chunk doesn't understand that he can't be the only man in my life.  Cause momma needs to get laid. Similarly, SP doesn't understand that I would sell both of my boobs, a kidney, my left hand, and at least half of my toes on the black market for Chunk.

When I first started dating Sexypants, I kind of assumed it wouldn't last, so I didn't put too much effort into forcing the two of them to be BFFs.  But, as time went on, it became pretty clear that they weren't loving each other. So, now, Chunk pees right by the door every time SP is over.  It's becoming an issue.  I feel like it's becoming a Pavlovian experience and soon I'm going to start associating sex with cleaning up cat pee.  That isn't good for anyone.

Chunk refused to sleep with us for the first few months.  Now, following his indiscreet urination on my floor, he will come back to bed and smush himself against my face as hard as he can.  This puts me in a testosterone sammich.  Snoring on one side, purring on the other.  Again, I'm real tired.

I need a bigger bed, Jackson Galaxy, an industrial grade steam cleaner, and a refill on my Xanax prescription.

I forced SP to give me a real gross dirty shirt for Chunk to sleep on... you know, for pheromones.  I also force him to give Chunk cookies and feed him. It's a good thing I roped him in with my fabulous vagina, because my cat lady status has escalated pretty hard.

Have a fabulous weekend, my lovelies - and don't pee on anyone.  That only works for Giraffes and jellyfish stings.

XOXO,

K

The Honeymoon Phase

All women know what the honeymoon phase is... it's that time in your relationship when you continue to shave your legs and your crotch diligently, appear to have your shit fully together, and pretend to like giving BJs on the reg.  The honeymoon phase can last anywhere from one month to six months, depending on how hardcore you're trying to convince your partner (and yourself) that you're not batshit crazy.  Eventually, however, the truth must come out.  Below is the list that details the slow but steady decline from being perma-pretty and witty to having your sig other bring you toilet paper when you accidentally go #2 without grabbing a new roll.

1. The radio.  In the beginning of the relationship, it's all "let's hold hands whilst driving because I love touching you" while pretending to be into whatever he's playing on the radio because you're totes "low maintenance" and "chill".  Those two traits don't exist in anyone with two X chromosomes, so stop fooling yourselves.  After a solid two weeks of dating, I will throw myself out of the passenger side window going 65 mph before listening to house music. Which, for the record isn't music... it's noise. Forget holding hands, I won't hold your dick again if you make me listen to something that plays after 2am in every hostel across Europe.  HARD PASS.  Britney or bust.  You want a BJ?  I want J Biebs.

2. Wearing makeup to bed.  Obviously, I'm blonde.  Which translates to: I look like something out of a horror film without makeup on.  Dead and sad.  So when I first start dating someone it's all 19 coats of mascara, lash tinting, and false lashes.  That ends pretty quickly because that routine is harder than Kanye staring at himself in a mirror.

3.  Pretending you're not crazy.  This one is almost fun.  It's like a game seeing how long you can hide your desire to snoop through everything he owns, get ridiculously jealous when he looks at a female server while ordering a burger, or not go batshit when you **think** he said another girl's name in his sleep.  Eventually, we all just embrace it and it comes pouring out.  The fun thing about this one is that the longer you hold out, the more crazy you are when you eventually crack.

4. Snugging all night.  Awww... because EVERYONE loves two naked bodies sticking together all night long while he breathes in your ear like some creeper.  And I'm sure he loves all my hair going up his nose and in his mouth.  Once you hit a couple of months or like 10+ times of sleeping together (if you're not the relationship type - side note, if you identify as one of these, you're the craziest of them all) you need a solid 5 foot bubble of personal space to sleep.  Also, I need to get ready for bed because I like my routine. So, I'll come back to bed wearing my glasses that are a solid inch thick (I'm real blind), with a nightguard in (I grind my teeth), and a cat in each hand. Nothing screams sex like someone who just developed four eyes, a lisp, and grew two new pussies.

5. Lingerie.  Oh my gosh.  This one is the best.  I have SO MUCH LINGERIE that has been worn for a total of maybe 15 minutes, cumulatively.  Relationships go from lace and leather to some holey white Victoria's Secret boyshorts you got in college that somehow have a popsicle (or spaghetti... hard to say) stain on them and are slightly too small for your no-longer-college-sized ass. And forget about just the boyshorts, I also like to throw on some sweatpants, fuzzy mismatching socks, a tank with a built-in bra (read: zero sexual access), and a sweatshirt with a hood.  Because I get cold and so do my ears.  Probably because I have so little body fat.

6. Eating.  This is pretty basic.  This goes from "I'll have a salad, dressing on the side" to "Can you please smother my fries in nacho cheese and mayonnaise?"

7. Paying.  This one works in the female's favor, usually.  But at some point (usually once he's seen your unshorn crotch, holey underwear, and has caught you picking your nose at least once) you have to pay for something. If #6 is getting out of control, try and avoid paying for food at all costs.  But really, you should have a job because we're FEMINISTS, dammit! #equality

8. Pretending you're way more cultured and badass than you really are.  Eventually, you have to admit that your favorite tv show is the Real Housewives of every city and that you watch Hoarders and listen to Justin Bieber when you're sad. It's all literature, philosophy, and the History Channel for the first month.  But, eventually you're going to have to tell him you'll need to break up with him if he doesn't start paying for Bravo.

Comfort is a beautiful thing, ladies.  Let that crazy flag fly... but maybe wait until you sink your claws in.

XOXO,

K