Lesbian Adjustable Bed Death and Memory Foam From Hell...

Huh.

Apparently "Lesbian Bed Death" is somehow related to a rural area in what looks a lot like Nebraska. Of course, that photo could also be altered in some way, because I have always attributed LBD's (that is clinical terminology I'm using so that I can appear to know what I am talking about) origins to Broken Bovine, Oklahoma.

It could also be that I just made all of that up.

Anyway, as usual, I'm here to make fun of something serious and sensitive.

It's what I do.

My topic for today is a phenomenon known as "lesbian bed death."

This came up "accidentally" in a recent Facebook thread discussion I was somehow participating in...uninvited (I know, weird, right?).

This is actually a phenomenon that I didn't make up (even weirder).

You see, in 1983 a sociology researcher from the University of Washington (Dr. Pepper Schwartz...yes, really) wrote a book called "American Couples." She studied all kinds of couples...and her findings were that, after about two years, lesbian couples reported having the least amount of sexual intimacy of any kind of couple.

Of course she studied all kinds of couple characteristics, and her book wasn't specifically about lesbians at all...but this term she coined, and this particular finding, were largely the "break out" attention getters.

Of course, lesbians (because of our nature) immediately got out of bed (and off their girlfriends) to protest...claiming that her methodology was faulty. Her sampling method, her definition of terms such as "sexual intimacy," her unfortunate wardrobe choices, her haircut...all were called into question.

Now, you can rest assured that a bunch of sociologists (because of our nature) jumped on this bandwagon, and did lots more research into this pressing issue. Unfortunately, the findings have been largely replicated. Our community does seem to have some kind of real issue, here.

I could exhaustively go into the possible explanations that have been suggested as to a cause, but I don't want anybody going into a coma while reading this...so, I will refrain.

Suffice to say that a lot of the suggested associations have to do with male sexuality, sex drive, and the fact that lesbians don't generally wake up with a "woody" (Unless their dog is named "Woody").

Apparently our varying need for the extra time investments, and sometimes (but by no means necessarily) our desire to utilize equipment from Home Depot in our activities, MAY play a role.

NOTE: If you are a straight visitor to this blog, and would like additional information on the correct way that we use scaffolding and duct tape, please refer to the blog entry titled Lesbian Sex: Buckle Up and Wear a Helmet

Anyway, I personally think (but have never researched and have NO data for, because I hung up my academic cleats long ago) that it's also because women's brains work a little...uh...differently. I mean, guys are always complaining about how emotionally complicated women are...you know, how we can't seem to help ourselves...how we remember and hold onto things forever...

"So, you're upset...what's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong. I'm not upset. I'm....(insert scary music here)....FINE"

"But, you're holding a meat clever."

"Well...if you must know, it's that thing your grandmother did back in 1947. Plus, you loaded the dishwasher wrong...again."

AAAAAHHHH!!!!

It really gives "memory foam" a new meaning.

And, speaking of aardvarks (what?) a little interesting side note that applied to ALL couples in the study, and also pertains to my recent interest in the concept of (insert more scary music here) polyamory...a thing called the "Coolidge effect."

The name supposedly derived from a visit to a farm that President Coolidge and his wife made. They were being given separate tours of the facilities. Mrs. Coolidge was taken into the chicken yard, where one of the roosters was mating with everything that moved. Mrs. Coolidge asked the farmer if that happened a lot, and he answered "dozens of times each day." She told him to "tell that to the president when he comes by." So, the farmer did, and Mr. Coolidge asked, "Same hen every time?" The farmer replied, "Oh no, a different hen every time." The president's response? "Tell that to Mrs. Coolidge."

On that note, I'll close this post...right after I point out that there is actually a band called "Lesbian Bed Death."

They look VERY interesting, but I'm not sure I want to listen.

What if there are subliminal messages? I'm scared.

Broken Funny Boner...

No animals were harmed in the making of this blog post...but I did, however, attack this defenseless stuffed duck here.

Some people don't think that I am very funny.

Clearly, there is something wrong with those people.

But, that isn't why I'm writing this post. No.

I'm writing because my humor finally pi**ed someone off (I mean, besides followers of Bill O'Reilly). I actually offended a "sister"...one who also happens to be administrator of a lesbian singles site I belonged too. I realized the extent of my offense when I found that she had booted me off, and "unfriended" me.

She also called me, and all three of my friends, "sick and twisted."

See, what happened was...

uh...

...that I had put up a status posting on my personal facebook page that read, "Add, 'now if you'll excuse me I have to go put some adorable, helpless kittens through a wood chipper' to the list of sentences I never thought I would say. Ever."

Now, I hardly ever put kittens through a wood chipper. Not since that one time.

I found myself trying to explain to her that it wasn't meant to be taken literally...but that didn't seem to help. She said I was describing cruel and sadistic behavior, and that it wasn't funny.

I had a hard time defending that. Or analyzing it. It's true that once I started dissecting the whole situation, like a chloroformed frog in a biology class...it suddenly wasn't quite as funny.

I always knew that my humor was going to get me kicked out of somewhere. I had always envisioned Wal-Mart, or the Republican National Convention (if I were actually there for some reason, the reason couldn't be a good one)...but a lesbian singles page?

That was a surprise development.

I wrote a song a few years ago called "Flat Cat." It's a silly song based on a scenario where a woman accidentally backs over her girlfriend's cat. I KNEW when I finished writing it that when I performed it I might run the risk of upsetting someone...but, with lines like "I tried to tell her how I never hated her cat/and I was terribly sorry that her pussy was flat," I figured I could run the risk of people knowing I was kidding...and maybe find the humor in it too.

If you would like to hear it, here it is: http://soundcloud.com/jo-nicholson/flat-cat

The worse that ever happened is people coming up to me (with a somewhat horrified expression) to ask if it was based on something that had really happened in my life.

Oh my gosh, no! If that had actually happened to me I would have been so scarred by the experience that I probably would have needed counseling, much less be able to write a "funny" song about it.

But geez...it does kind of seem like I am hard on animals in my jokes. Especially cats, apparently.

Stupid duck

Or ducks.

I actually had made those pictures because I am a WSU Cougar...it's where I went to grad school...and I moved to Oregon, where all of my new friends were OSU Ducks fans. I did it to torment them.

I got kicked out of Oregon.

OK. Not really.

Just a few sports bars.

But, I digress. You know, when I started in the sociology program at WSU, I was thinking about doing my thesis on the social aspects of comedy. There was surprisingly little research out there on the subject. I grew up in a very funny household...both of my parents have a really good sense of humor, and we laughed a lot...and comedy has both saved my life, and hindered it, I suppose, Saved it because laughter is healing, and positive...and with so much scary and sad stuff in the world, it is very helpful to be able to laugh at the sometimes ridiculous experience of it all. "See the lighter side" as they say.

It has hindered me in that sometimes i use humor to deflect things...as a defense mechanism to avoid things I really need to feel or look at. I think I've done it since I was a little girl...trained by Looney Toons.

Wile E. Coyote is a super genius.

I ended up doing my thesis on lesbian parenting...but, I had done quite a bit of preliminary reading on the comedy thing. I mean, why do we find some things funny and some things not? Sense of humor varies personally, and certainly culturally. Some things are considered "off-color"...and where is that line? Research tries to explain why we often think videos of people slipping or falling down are funny...or getting a t-ball to the privates...(ever watch America's Funniest Home Videos?), but I think most of us wouldn't find it funny if someone really got hurt...

I don't really find the three stooges funny, but I've seen other people reduced to tears of laughter. Literal ROFLMAO kind of stuff.

Research suggests that we find humor, in a very general sense, from the unexpected...or the challenger of convention (also unexpected)...or sometimes in the outright opposition of what we hold sacred...things that we find awkward, or clever...or sensitive, unfortunately.

Wittgenstein said, "It's hard to paint a clear picture of a fuzzy object." Humor is a fuzzy object.

Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart struggled with the definition of "porn" the same way. As he suggested, "I know it when I see it."

I've become upset at humor that seems to target groups of people with a purpose to belittle them...but, then, I've shared some "short" jokes, or "blond" jokes (usually with specific blond or 'short' friends in mind who I think will laugh)...but, it's a very fuzzy line. it's a delicate one to walk, and I try to use a vague "sense" with humor...something I don't even think I could articulate.

It shifts, as I learn and grow.

I was a little hard on my critic for being so literal. I suggested she needed to "lighten up." But, the thing is...a lot of people who have been in dangerous places or situations had to learn to interpret their environment very concretely...how do I know that wasn't the case there? I have an ex who has Asperger's Syndrome, and she processes incoming information differently. Her first impulse is to literal interpretations...and we miscommunicated a lot because I'd be firing off these volleys that I thought were hilarious.

She just thought I was weird.

Which, I am...

Anyway...I can't censor myself too much, or I would get lost in the mechanics of it all...and honestly, it's a mysterious energy that I can't really analyze or dilute too much, or I wouldn't have it.

My apologies in advance for the inevitability of my future blunders.

My intention is never to really hurt anybody...even Rush Limbaugh. I suggested a while back that he might have a vagina.

My apologies to the women I may have offended.

See? I can't help myself.

Go Cougs

4 out of 5 veterinarians agree that I am pretty funny....and good for business.

Local Lesbian Labeled as Labeling Labeler...

So, when I first came out (back in THE DAY) things seemed a lot simpler.

I learned very quickly that I (and every other lesbian) were supposed to neatly fit into categories of "butch" or "femme." I grew up climbing trees, catching frogs, and I hated wearing dresses (possibly related to the climbing trees thing)-so I dutifully decided that I must be "butch."

Turns out, I'm pretty terrible at that.

I'm really emotional, and I cry at Kleenex commercials. I also like bubble baths, while listening to Enya. Sometimes I paint my toenails, and if I try to operate a power tool you should just save time and call an ambulance before I even plug it in. It also doesn't occur to me to open a door for another girl unless her hands are full...or if I happen to be the first one to reach it (like at a pizza buffet).  I had one ex who kept trying to get me to wear baggy pants and boots, and would get upset if I spent more than 5 minutes in the bathroom trying to get ready to go out anywhere. She left me for a man, ultimately. (There are some things I really can't be).

Apparently, she was one of those "bi-sexuals" I've heard so much about-but had never seen up close.

Anyway, I tried being "femme" for a while.

Turns out, I'm even WORSE at that.

I tried wearing makeup. My ex (who can go from casual ball cap day to "lipstick" like nobodies business) told me I look like a "drag queen" when I do that. I can't cook, and stopped trying eventually (because I care about myself and other people). I really had no business ever attempting to wear my hair long. I mean, I used to roll the curling iron thingy backwards, and end up with this amazing "clamp flip" effect that would cause people to point and stare. I would go into a coma if I even LOOKED at a fashion magazine (which is painfully apparent if you were to see my wardrobe).

I can eat a whole pizza. Without using my hands.

Anyway, I spent years being a mess, trying to fit in. I lived in Alaska. I mean, I could climb into the wilds and go fishing, but then I wanted to set all the fish free while apologizing for hurting them with the hook...

Someone told me I was a "baby butch"...whatever THAT means. I never liked the visual connotation that came to my head with that phrase...like the Gerber baby in flannel holding a pocket knife or something.

I finally settled into just being "me"...which seemed to work out pretty well for "me." I think as we get older, most of us get more comfortable in our own skins-accepting all of the ways that we may (or may not) fit the "molds," so to speak.

But, with social media, I'm now seeing all of these new categories-and I'm wondering if maybe my day has finally arrived.

I found an academic article from the Psychology of Women Quarterly (29, 2005) written by Lisa M. Diamond from the university of Utah titled: "A New View of Lesbian Subtypes: Stable Versus Fluid Identity Trajectories Over an 8 Year Period."

I immediately screamed and threw it away.

Then I got back to my regular non-academic trajectory. All of these cool labels! Woo hoo! I mean, I could be a butch, a femme, a lipstick lesbian, a chapstick lesbian, a boi, a baby dyke, a soft butch, a stud (I'm pretty sure I'm this-because it sounds really awesome), a dyke on a bike, a dyke on a tryke, a dyke flying a kite, a granola, a diesel, a hasbian, a LUG, a lone star, a gold star, a sport, a futch, a stem...

So MANY to choose from. So MANY aspirations and possibilities.

I think, though, that I will stick with, "Just Jo"...and do my marquis flashy hands like Jack from Will and Grace.

In the words of the late, great John Prine (songwriting genius):

Bewildered, bewildered
You have no complaint
You are what you are
and you ain't what you ain't

So listen up buster
and listen up good
Stop wishing for bad luck
and knocking on wood

I think from here forward I would like to ironically be known as the lesbian sociologist who is weary of labels...I can't stand the pressure.

Which reminds me. I was at a small town crosswalk where I met a woman riding a horse. She said she was a lesbian actress from Lebanon.

 Wouldn't that make her a Lebanese, lesbian, pedestrian, equestrian, thespian?

I don't mean to unfairly label her, but you know how THEY are.

The Great Lesbian Vibrator Gift Exchange

Nothing says holiday cheer like a new vibrator for Christmas.

I'll get back to that in a moment.

But first, I have to tell two funny vibrator stories. Almost every lesbian I know has a good vibrator story...you know,,,the funny time you tried to go through airport security with it packed in your carry on...or the time the neighbor kid found it and thought it was a microphone...

If it didn't happen directly to you, it has happened to one of your friends.

In my case, both of these unfortunate incidents happened to my ex-girlfriend. Poor thing....bless her heart.

In the first, she was helping to move her best friend into a new apartment, and they were wrestling her queen size mattress towards the truck (of course it was a truck) where it would be loaded. My exe's best friend (I will refer to her here as Suzanne, mostly because her name is Suzanne) had been in a hurry, and hadn't even bothered to remove the fitted sheet from the mattress. With my ex on one side, and Suzanne on the other, they made their way onto the busy Anchorage street where the truck was parked.

They both froze when they heard the, "clunk!" followed by the "roll, roll, roll" sound. My ex looked at Suzanne, and said, "Is that what I think it is?" To which Suzanne simply responded, "Yep."

The thing (proudly and dramatically) rolled into the middle of the intersection. It may have been fluorescent pink, but that ultimately didn't save it from being struck by a car. I think both of them refused to retrieve it...and I think Suzanne may have the rest of her furniture inside and just called it good. Lord only knows what she had hidden in her box spring.

In the second incident, my ex (I will refer to her here as Jackie, mostly because her name is Jackie) had borrowed a vehicle to run some errands. She could not understand why people kept giving her disapproving looks at red lights. A few gave her "thumbs up" signs. A few more honked at her, and nearly every car that passed her had occupants straining to get a look at who was driving. She saw one family car pass with a mother covering her children's eyes.

When she finally got to where she was going, she quizzically walked around the vehicle to identify what all the fuss was about. There she found, firmly pressed up against the rear window glass and held in position by piles of clothing, a rather large, anatomically representative (and eerily lifelike) prosthetic type device-complete with painfully visible harness and extra shiny buckles. I believe the harness was studded in a rather ornamental fashion, and affixed with rhinestones.

Needless to say, Jackie had concealed the device for the trip home, and never borrowed her friend's car again.

I've never been to a "white elephant" gift exchange hosted by lesbians that didn't have a vibrator (or three) included as part of the gift menagerie. People usually include them to elicit giggles, but the competition over the "Super Rhino 3-speed beaded, rotator model with sonic, oscillating action and pull-start feature" model could get pretty fierce.

You would think the women were competing over a power tool.

Maybe they were.

I've always preferred the "kick start" models, but they require a forklift to move, and really aren't practical for potluck, gift exchange parties.

Anyway, Merry Christmas.

Batteries not included.

"Spooged" and other lesbian nightmares before Christmas..

This post doesnt actually have anything really to do with Christmas.

No.

 It's actually about the unfortunate shared lesbian experience of falling for women who are not lesbians...but given that Christmas is less than two weeks away and I am being assaulted by Christmas carols everywhere I go, AND given the fact that I'm probably never going to have another inspiration that includes discussing male genitalia in this particularly lesbian blog...I really ouldn't resist combining the two.

I've made myself giggle in a jolly manner several times as I mutilated Christmas carol titles in extremely inappropriate ways...I'm sure you can imagine..."Silver Balls,"..."Jingle Balls,"..."Let it Blow, Let it Blow, Let it Blow," "D*ck the Halls" (or "Deck the Balls" if you are an angry person)...I had one for "Jingle Bell Rock," but I think you get the idea.

I stopped with "O' Come all Ye Faithful" because I didn't want to get zapped in a freak winter lightning storm.

Anyway, after careful consideration...and after years of witnessing many heartbroken sisters drying their tears after facing the "battle of the banana"...I have to say, if you are a lesbian you will save yourself a LOT of emotionally wrenching moments if you stick to dating...uh....OTHER LESBIANS.

Really.

People gotta be WHO they are, and as surely as you aren't magically going to decide to drive a stick shift...a woman who isn't really a lesbian will eventually bypass your taco shack in search of a hot dog stand.

I remember falling in love with a gradeschool classmate who only had eyes for the boys. Oh, how i wished at the time that I could wake up and be an Oscar Meyer Wiener...that is truly what I really wanted to be...for if I were an Oscar Meyer Wiener...Mary Clark would fall in love with me.

That was until I discovered that there were other women just like me...and that I was destined to find complete bliss in the arms (and other important areas) of women who hungered only for other women...

I've been very lucky...something in me just has never led me astray...and I've managed to never fall in love with a woman who wasn't lesbian. If I know that in advance, I absolutely don't let my mind or heart go there. I think the only way that could actually happen to me is if someone presented themselves to be lesbian, but actually wasn't. Fortunately, you don't have to contend with too many "imposter lesbians"...quite the opposite, I would think.

"Yes, Marcie...you did an excellent job of using your new Acme nail driver to hang the Christmas decorations while your husband drank beer and watched the game...and I love your flannel print tree ornaments...you can come out of the closet now..."

Oh, who am I kidding? If Marcie were REALLY a lesbian she would have been on the couch with him, drinking beer and watching the game.

Anyway, my advice is to avoid falling for a woman who isn't a lesbian unless you want your heart to become more hopelessly tangled than that gigantic ball of Christmas lights you pull out of storage every year.

I realize that it is a bit confusing now in the days of Katy Perry's celebrated cherry chapstick diversions...the young'uns may not be familiar with the breed of lesbians ("super lesbians" I came to call them) who were so separatist that they even removed the word "men" from their own vocabulary of identity...

They referred to themselves as "womyn," danced naked around fires, beating drums, saving mentrual blood in mason jars...elevating all things feminine to a place of spiritual transcendence...Katy Perry probably never visited one of these communal living "womyn safe" spaces. Too bad, because they're a fun group! So fun, I'm going to give them their own blog entry someday.

In the meantime, I'm going to be thankful that I don't fall for "straight" girls...or "bi-curious" girls...

I'm dreaming of a dyke Christmas...

..and now I'm going to go sing a few bars of "Chester's Nuts Roasting on an Open Fire" in deference to all of my sisters who have ever had their Christmas ruined by testicles.

That's a sentence I never thought I would say....

 

The Great Lesbian Facebook Relationship Puke-a-thon

It starts out normally enough.

You are single...have been single...after a painfully damaging and messy break-up where you lost most of your pride, your dignity, your trust, and ALL of your Melissa Etheridge CD's.

But, you've grown. You've gotten stronger. You've learned to like your own company...and you've finally came to a place of peace, calm and forgiveness...of finally forgiving that stupid, lying cow who will never find anybody who loved her as much as YOU did, and is OBVIOUSLY totally blind and ignorant to how awesome you are, as IF she is really going to go out and just replace you, oh she will certainly get what she deserves when KARMA FINALLY CATCHES UP WITH HER DUMB ASS AND HER LIES, LIES, LIES...YEAH...YOU KEEP LYING TO YOURSELF YOU CHEAP DIME STORE FLOOZY...

Wow, Oops...

I digress...

Anyway, your proudly "single" status on Facebook is accompanied by that awesome (super cute, perfect hair day) profile picture of you happily posing with ALL of the waitresses from Hooters...and your status updates read like a chapter from "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade"....you're skydiving, and line dancing, kickboxing and cave spelunking...sometimes all on the same day...at the same time...while on horseback...

And every once in a while you post a "sure wish I had someone to snuggle with at these 87th Annual Academy Awards..." or "it's sort of lonely here in Acapulco...NOT...lol..."

And then, IT happens...and SHE walks into your life.

First there is this:

And then there is this:

And you are off careening at full speed down the "new lesbian relationship highway"...pretty sure that the sun rises and sets in her eyes. And in her pants...

Finally, after getting to know her across space and time, and across many different contexts...after carefully considering the dynamic between the two of you...after exhaustively soul searching, and after all of the intense emotional exchanges...after intimacy so powerful and so connected that you have been tearfully brought to the most real and honest place that you have EVER been to in your whole life...you are FINALLY ready to announce to the entire world that you have found that special someone...

So, on that third day you change your relationship status to "in a relationship."

This is rapidly followed by the customary 'changing of the profile picture.' You change it to what will become the first in an endless cascade of "couples" photos...of two smiling faces photographed from up above...where once there had been only one.

You update your status when you go out to dinner with her, when you go to the movies with her, when you are shopping for curtains with her, when you are hanging curtains with her, when you are getting your oil changed with her, when you are in line at the bank with her, when you are waiting in traffic with her, when you brush your cat with her, when you vacuum the sofa where you brushed your cat with her, when you brush your teeth with her, when you vacuum the sofa where you brushed your teeth with her (after the night out at the bar with her....which you also posted)...

A veritable avalanche continues...of cutesy pictures, touching song dedications, love mush memes, adorable love notes, nauseating pet names...leading your friends to be pretty sure you have been abducted by aliens...and leading several of them to take you off notifications (or to just 'un-friend' you entirely) because you are making them physically ill...

 
And then suddenly after a few months of this "deliriously happy blizzard of togetherness" there is a sudden radio silence...followed by the ominous and cryptic status update that reads only:

"Up my ass with a fuc**ng microscope."

 And that is all.

Followed by more silence...

...and then a relationship status change to "it's complicated."

And...IT begins.

The thinly veiled meme attack...the cryptic status update tsunami...the precisely placed character attacks (in comments sections) that are just vague enough so that they can be both made and denied at the same time...

And you hope SHE sees them, even though you have blocked each other and unblocked each other 437 times...and broken up and reconciled so frequently that even YOU can't remember where your relationship status stands...

You finally settle on single, after that whole "mutual restraining order" incident...and also settle on the pretty consistent belief that your ex is Satan. The 'melodic snoring windchimes' turn into:

...and the same girl who once made the birds sing turns into:

Fortunately, you are doing OK, as evidenced by the new profile pic of you licking whipped cream off of someone's face at the local club...

Welcome back, Indiana Jones. A few of your friends probably held on...and will probably keep on holding on until IT happens again...until, out of the blue, SHE walks in...

The next girl who will sit on your Facebook, and tell you that she loves you.

Hey, My Rainbow Pookie Bear! Get Your Cleats On!

So, I went to go take a shower (or perhaps a nice long, hot, lavender scented bubble bath-because I'm stone cold butch like that) and I found this wonderfully expressive note perched on the faucet handle.

The thing I had to ask myself, besides, "I'm hungry. I wonder if we have any buttery toast bacon crackers?" was, "How did our humble beginnings of 'baby' and 'honey' evolve into such an exhaustively thorough and mouth-watering terms of endearment exchange?"

Some might even argue that my girlfriend and I have become a little competitive with our pet names for each other.

Almost as if it were some kind of....contest...

Why do I say, "contest" might you ask?

Because...not that I want to generalize (yes I do), but as a group, lesbians seem to have a few 'issues' with competitiveness. At our Super Bowl parties we often have more gear on than the players do-to protect ourselves from each other. Things can abruptly spin out of control, and we (as a people) are aware of the potential for rapid escalation.

In this case, things had started sweetly and innocently enough.

You know, I was her "little love chops," or her "cookie pie," or "kitten toes." I was even her, "squiggly love cakes." And, in turn, she was my "little snuggly bear," or my "fluff muffin," or "nectar niblets." At the VERY most she was my, "soft skinned huggy bunches."

Before long, "kitten toes" turned into "pumpkin slippers." And then, all hell broke loose.

Before long, I got THIS:

"Good morning, puppy whiskers! You're beautiful when you sleep..and when you're awake, and when you're a little tired but not yet ready to sleep, and you're also beautiful when you're waking up but not yet wide awake...I just love you my sexy skittle knees."

So she got THIS:

"Thank you my little honey shorts hamster dumpling. I can't wait to achieve new heights of co-dependence with you. The future is our to bake together, you hot basket of syrup socks."

And it was ON...like an affectionately impaired psychotic Donkey Kong.

At this point, I have been:

Dimple waffle sugar knickers.
Tootsie sprinkle shoulders.
Silly monkfruit cuttlefish.
Sponge pudding baby turtle monkey.
Fuzzy doodle drumstick butter opossum.

I called her out on the opossum one.

"You probably say that to all the girls, my creamy dollop of fluff munchies." (The 'fuzzy doodle drumstick butter opossum' term of endearment is SO overused).

"My creamy dollop is for you only, my teensy, wombat, pancake cricket...and I'd never share my fluff munchies with anyone, lemon pie honey squares! Never!!"

I must admit, I was nearly rendered speechless with that last one.

I managed to refer to her as my "amorous agave ankles," and my, "stevia snuggly squirrel shins" before I ran out of cute animals, sweeteners, and body parts.

Fortunately, my friend (I will refer to him here is Duane, mostly because his name is Duane) tried an intervention...

"Couldn't you PLEASE put some healthier food references in with the 'snicker doodle lemon honey fluffy truffle' stuff? I'm gaining weight and you're making me hungrier. Maybe some, 'basil pepper stuffed snapper?'"

Well, my girlfriend totally suited up for THIS suggestion:

"My dearest savory hummus bundle, let's take a long and exhilarating walk to Trader Joe's, hand in hand my little carrot crunch bits, where we will purchase organic love morsels and other foods that are healthy and less fattening, and also gluten-free...ooh yeah, my sexy svelte buff jungle...ooh, yeah..."

I've been severely constrained by the healthier parameters.

It's very hard to make the word "legume" sound romantic. She's my "lovely love lentil." But, that's all I've got.

I feel defeated. Deflated. Struggling with existential angst, and a mild headache. Plus, I'm having vivid dreams about gerbils and cilantro-lime brown rice.

So, yeah...I'm thinking this all might have a slight element of competitiveness to it.

She just referred to me yesterday as her, "baby cactus smooshy stop sign frog legs."

Granted, my girlfriend would be the first to characterize her inner-most nature as one of cooperation and peace-loving pacifism. I mean, she used to be an activist, for goodness sakes.

"My anti-war peace sign placard is bigger than your anti-war peace sign placard."

"Shut up, or I will cut you."

Hahaha! Just kidding, honey! Don't hurt me!

My itsy bitsy, sweet, yummy, ferret-nose, wispy nipple curd lips!