the great divide.

 I am so proud to be a woman. I'm empowered. I believe that females have an aura and a beauty about them that simply comes with the territory and is irresistibly enchanting when worn with confidence and dignity. There's a mystery about us; a certain grace and intangible elegance that accompanies the self-love and cool tenacity of a woman empowered by her femininity. As a 21st century dame, I've been fortunate enough to have had my battles largely fought for me by sistas of yore. Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Susan B. Anthony,
Maya Angelou, Ruth Ginsberg and Beyoncé have all contributed to the thorough inversion of the once-held notion of women as the weaker sex, and for that I am forever grateful. And while I am thrilled to have equal opportunities to those of men and consider my fellow gurlz infinitely more crafty and brilliant than any old John Doe, I'll be the first to tell you, we are out of our fucking minds.

I've always known this, and truth be told I think it can add to our girlish charm. I have to admit though, some of the thoughts that pass through my cerebellum are positively nutty. I mean, explain to me why I assume my mother MUST have been kidnapped and/or killed in a fiery car crash if I haven't heard from her in 24 hours. Oh wait, because I'm a crazy bitch. Even at my most neurotic, though,  I find solace in the fact that I will never EVER compare to my dear friend Jessica.

Jessica and I met at summer camp about 5 years ago. She thought I was cool in my Birkenstocks and I can always use a new play-thing, so I hired her. I had no idea what I was getting into. No sooner did I process her paperwork that I was thrown head-first into her world of madness, full of questions, insecurities and a monstrous fear of intimacy that many of us have to overcome. On the whole, I consider Jess a sharp young woman with a ton of wit. She's fashionable, very pretty and definitely driven. Few people make me laugh like she does, but then again I don't hang out with many other special needs adults. She's my second craziest friend, and I hope to god that she donates her body to science, because that brain deserves a hefty pickin'. Over the course of our friendship, though, I've learned that when it comes to sex, Jessica is a basket-case. And while penises were once THE obstacle in her road, the times they are a changin', and now the only thing holding her back is her own personal Great Divide. Grand Canyon. Honey Pot. Slice of Heaven. You feel me?

I'm going to talk about vaginas now. I'm just throwing it out there before I (muff) dive into all the dirty deets to allow pathetic, grow up more squeamish readers the chance to navigate away before the screen shot of Jessica's kitty. Kidding, what?! Whoa. Be still, my clit.

But Jess is in good company in her insecurities regarding her clam. I think most women, myself included,  have questions and anxieties surrounding their labyrinth of pink folds. Let's be real; genitalia is weird. Magical and wonderous, sure. But weird. And while a man's junk is out in the open for all the world to see, the vagine is a far more elusive cavern. It's like our crotches have a secret, but they aren't the type to kiss and tell. We have to explore and discover our caves to understand ourselves more fully; what we like and don't like, and just what exactly we're workin' with.

Jessica is convinced that her lady bits are in a Z-formation. A zig-zagged tunnel o' love waiting for her own matching corkscrew cock to come along and sweep her off her feet. There comes a time, though, when we've got to learn to be comfortable with our sex organs. No two are alike, not even the Olsen twins', and I think its high time for Jess to come to grips with hers. But until she finds that jagged Johnson, she'll continue to rant to me about her mistrust of perfect penises, and I'll continue to shake my head and thank my lucky stars that she provides me with enough laughing and blog content than I could ever ask for. Love you, J.