Cookies for redheads!

Someone -- not saying who -- baked a special batch of cookies just for me yesterday. (No, not that kind. More's the pity, right?) They were hand-delivered right to my front door in a small paper bag.

They were, I was told, special cookies because I'm a redhead, and these cookies are a classic recipe made from ginger and molasses known as ginger snaps. Ginger snaps for a ginger! Yummy!

Classic ginger snaps

I confess, the last thing I need to eat is more cookies. (Notice I said eat more cookies. I did not say I don't need more cookies. I digress.)

Coraline and I went to a cookie swap Tuesday night and swapped 5 dozen lime-in-the-coconut balls and salted dark chocolate shortbreads for 5 dozen assorted other cookies. We came home with a ton of cookies to go with the rest of the balls and shortbreads I had here. A few of them made it into the freezer.

So my ass really does not need more cookies. But I am a ginger, and I do love me a good, fresh ginger snap, so I reached into the bag and pulled one out. It was delicious. I reached in again, but this time I didn't pull out the round cookie I expected. No, this one was ..... this one was .... OMG, I thought. Is that what I think it is? No! Yes! Could it really be a .....?

A new classic

Yes, it was exactly what I thought it was. A vagina! A vagina-shaped cookie called ..... wait for it ...... a ginger snatch!

Early Merry Christmas to me! Sometimes it doesn't suck at all to be a ginger.

Oh, Timmy.

Mama told me not to come

A bunch of us were out drinking Kool-Aid brand soft drink mix, eating cookies, and playing pool the other night when the Three Dog Night song “Mama Told Me Not to Come” started blasting nostalgia from the jukebox.

Billy Montana chewed wistfully on a cookie and said, “That song came out the year I was born.”

I thought, Awww. I had already kissed a boy by the time Billy Montana was born. Of course, I was 10 and there were actually 2 boys…. Oh, memories. My first kiss ... my first 3-way …..

Anyway, another friend said, “So, Billy, what song was playing when you lost your virginity?”

Billy Montana stroked his pool cue and answered, “I’d tell you, but that song hasn’t been played on the radio yet. It hasn’t even been written yet.”

Poor Billy Montana. He took the title of that song just a bit too literally didn’t he?

I seem to have used up all my pink and purple

Still looking for the perfect gift to buy me for Christmas? Not sure you want to get me the HoodiePillow or the Glass Tank? I really only need one of each anyway, so coordinate, people.

If you're still racking your brains and cruising Amazon.com into the wee hours of the morning for an outside-the-box gift for me, look no further.

This .... now, this is a coloring book. And it has fun activities too! Fun vagina activities! I'm dying to find out what kind of activities we can do with coloring pages and a vagina.

A quote from the description on Amazon: "Vaginas are a fingerprint ... From the compact smooth vagina to a coiffed vagina with full lips. Some are pierced, some are tattooed, some are soft spoken and some are in your face!"

In your face!

Why didn't I think of this?

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000R0HU92/ref=olp_product_details?ie=UTF8&me&seller

Actually I didn't even find this book. A friend posted it on my Facebook wall, and I had to share it here. And if your next question was, "Do people really post vagina products on your Facebook wall?" the answer is "Duh. Of course they do."

And they talk to me about vaginas at parties and at karaoke. Sometimes they complain that I'm a dirty bitch I write about vaginas too much. Sometimes they're just looking for a diagnosis. So far nobody has sent me a photo and I'm fine with that.

Mother always said, "Find something you're interested in and stick to it." How could she ever have guessed I'd good at writing about vaginas?

I want this coloring book. I also need 9 more dates.

10 Dates, 10 Men

I'm going to do something I've been talking myself into for months, but have been loathe to commit to. Here's what it looks like in my head.

I'm going to start dating.
I'm going to start dating
I'm going to start dating.
I'm going to start dating.


No, I'm going to do it. I'm going to start dating.

For a very long time my standard answer to even the suggestion that I go out with someone was, "No, thanks. I don't date." It has become my mantra. And I don't. Or I didn't.

I will admit I've possibly been phobic about dating. I have just a few reasons, and no matter what anybody else says, they are very good reasons. I could tell you their names, but it's kind of irrelevant now.

Not only that, but I've got so many stories from other women about their horrible experiences. Lordamercy, just my sister's story about the basketball player with the penis the size of my pinkie was enough to put me off men for 5 years.

I hate giving into that kind of fear. I've written about that before. 

It hasn't been easy to avoid dating. Close friends and family members have waterboarded  lovingly encouraged me to get out there and enjoy spending one-on-one time with the opposite sex. Even strangers have tried to hook me up with men they thought were just my type. And a number of potential dates themselves have done their best to persuade me to call them or give them my number.

I don't call. I don't give my number. I don't date.

My resistance has left claw marks on more than a couple of conversations. 

However, I have slowly come to terms with the idea that I might want to change my mind. The vague language in that sentence should give some indication of the trepidation I've felt.

I will talk more in future posts about my reasons for changing my mind. My reason for bringing it up here is because I don't think I can do it unless I make it a project. A project that I write about. Here.

New chapter

So here's my stupid brilliant idea. I call it 10 Dates, 10 Men.

Right here, right now, I'm making a commitment to go on 10 dates with 10 different men. I'm not going to put a time limit on how long it will take to go on those 10 dates, because let's be honest: I'm not entirely in control.

It could be 10 Dates, 10 Men, 10 Weeks or it could be 10 Dates, 10 Men, 10 Years. I'm betting on the latter.

I've floated this idea to at least 3 dozen a few close friends, and they've been excited. They think there's some deserving man out there just waiting for me to say yes to a relationship. In spite of my discouraging track record, and those of many other women my age, they still somehow believe that. Suckahs.

To tell the truth, I don't.


But it doesn't matter. I'm not looking for my soulmate. I don't believe one exists. I just want to meet some new people and have some fun. Maybe get laid. (I did not say that. My kids read this blog. Sorry, kids. We'll have that talk about the birds and the bees real soon. Promise.)

Of course I wish for something a little deeper than just having fun for a few hours will come out of this, but I don't expect anything. I'll write about that later too. I've got plenty of time to write about this.

I don't promise I'll tell all the details, and I will certainly try to maintain anonymity for the dates. (Datees?)

But I need to make a commitment to write about dating, as well as a commitment to going on a concrete number, or I just won't do it. Even knowing the writing about it will influence the experience as much as the experience influences the writing, I need to write about it.

And one reason I need to write about it is because my expectations are so low. Writing a story about anything negative that comes out of this will, I hope, help make it not so personal. After all, every story needs tension. And this will be just a story about 10 dates.

Finally, just so you know, I'm open to advice and suggestions. This is mostly new ground for me. I was married for many years. Dating is the devil a new adventure.

So confession time. I mean, while I'm at it, right?

The reason I launched this project now instead of just talking about it until I die is because I've already started. I already went out with One of Ten. (See how easy it is to ensure anonymity?)

I'll be writing about that soon. Already I may have bent one of my dealbreakers. Already I see that this could get complicated -- but only if I let it.

10 Dates, 10 Men. How hard can it be?