Testicaliens Learn Early in Life That They're Usually Wrong

Some things perplex The Grasshopper.

For instance, why do grown ass people continue to throw other people under the proverbial bus?

It never ceases to amaze me. I'm a grown woman. You know what that means? It means that I have bigger balls than a good number of men. I means that I own up to my mistakes. Truth. I'll claim it as mine, put my name on the birth certificate and pony up the mistake support for however long it takes for the mistake to grow up and move far, far away and start having its own baby mistakes.

Because I'm grown. That's why.

I'm convinced that this must be more of a problem among the Ovarians. Not that there aren't some Testicaliens out there who will throw a brother (or a sister) under the bus every now and then.

Pretend there is dramatic music playing here...

This is for all of you men who like to write to me and tell me that I'm a male basher. Please, read on. Please, for the love of Testicaliens everywhere, please read on. I'm balls to the wall for you today. Enjoy.

My guess is there would be more men out there throwing other men, women, children, grannies, dogs, cats, armadillos and squirrels under the bus but they've been trained. You see, these Testicaliens are taught early on that they're usually wrong. And, even when they know for a certainty of fact that they aren't wrong, they know that the right answer is that they are, indeed, wrong. Where did they learn that?

Women.

So, through generations of the Ovarians brow-beating and tongue-thrashing these Testicaliens, we have actually made them stronger and better than us. How's that?

Through generations of the Ovarians brow-beating and tongue-thrashing these Testicaliens, we have actually made them stronger and better than us.

A Testicalien will admit when he's wrong. If he has truly been groomed and beaten appropriately, he will even admit to things that he isn't wrong about or things that he isn't sure he actually did. He will even admit to being wrong about things when he has no clue what you're talking about. He will just own up to that crap like a boss, take the punch and get on with drinking a beer or looking for his decapitated balls or whatever. He knows one thing: to survive he must stem the blood flow.

An Ovarian will throw you under the bus. Every. Single. Time.

Because women, as a whole, have not learned to take responsibility. So they will divert, deflect, defend, defecate, whatever. What they will not do is step up to the fire and get the burn that they deserve.

Okay. Not all of you. I don't want a horde of you Ovarians showing up here with a Greyhound and taking turns with the poor Grasshopper's aging body. But there sure as hell are a lot of you.

So we're going to take this preschool for the Ovarians (and the Testicaliens who have not been schooled appropriately) and go through some Grasshopper Bus Rules.

1. There must be someone driving the bus.
I'd guess at least 80% percent of you women want to drive the bus. Guess what? There's only one driver at a time. And, while you bitch and moan about wanting to drive the bus, the truth of this matter is that there are very few of you equipped to do it and, of those, an even smaller number who are willing to drive it. You want to bitch about who is driving. You want to say you can do it better. You want to cluck and peck. That's fine. There's room for that -- in the back of the bus.

2. Sit down and STFU. 
That's right. Sit down and STFU. If you aren't driving, shut up. If you don't like the driving, you have a few options. Ovarians like options. So, here you go girls.
  • You can sit down and STFU. Have I already mentioned that?
  • You can learn to drive. Then, you can tell folks to sit down and STFU.
  • You can stage a hostile takeover. In which case, you will need to know how to drive. Better learn first. Then, you can tell folks to sit down and STFU.
  • You can disembark from said bus. You can use the door. You can use the window. You can use the emergency exit. If you're on my bus, I don't have a preference. I'm not slowing down no matter which option you choose. But, if you hesitate, I will tell you to sit down and STFU.
  • You can sit silently, think your silent thoughts and roll your silent eyes as much as want as long as you sit down and STFU.
3. You will not try to be a backseat driver.
This is, again, where I should mention that you need to sit down and STFU. I don't know that I've made that clear yet. 

4. You will enjoy the ride or you will get off the bus. And, of course, STFU.
It's hard enough to drive a big bus without all of the clucking and clattering from the folks in the back trying to tell you what to do. This means no gossiping with your neighbor. This means no trying to make jokes that are not funny because they are steeped in your toxic juices of jealousy. This means you make a decision to stay on that bus and contribute to the well being of said bus and its safe journey. 

Not everyone can drive the bus. Not everyone wants to. It's all good like that. 

But for your vagina's sake, will you women stop throwing other women under the bus? I mean, damn. 

In full disclosure, I will admit that I will throw someone (Testicalien or Ovarian) under the bus. But only after they've thrown me under it previously a few times. There's only so many tire tread tracks I can handle along with the c-section scar. 

One thing is certain. If you want to drive the bus, you can. Learn how. Sit right behind the driver and see how it's done. Watch. Listen. Sit up straight and STFU until it is your turn.

I think it is high time for women to learn that in life, at home, at work or wherever, you are responsible for your own place on the bus and you are responsible for your own mistakes while you are there. Making a mistake and then trying to pawn it off on someone else isn't only bad form, it's a strong indicator that you will never be strong enough to make the decisions required to drive that bus alone. Or, at least, without wrecking it. 

Everyone makes a mistake from time to time while they are driving. Life is no different.

The difference is whether or not you learn from your mistakes and use them to grow yourself bigger and bolder or whether you decide to wither behind the facade of pretending it is someone else's mistake.

Leaders aren't people who are perfect. In fact, true leaders aren't afraid to show that they are human. Bosses want to look like they never make a mistake. Be a leader. Be a boss who is a leader. Be real.

If someone wants to throw me under the bus, I have been known to look them straight in the eye while they're doing it. I'm not going to get into a pissing contest. I won't forget though. Never take my quietness as a sign of weakness. It is anything but. There's a part of me that wants to see how far you will go. I want to watch it for the good bus wreck it is. Because one thing I've learned is that we all end up under there at some point. Only some of us have what it takes to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and get back on that bus. 

And I know that I usually drive my bus. One day you're going to be standing at a bus stop and just a little too close to the edge of the road...

Naughty, Naughty: My Second Virginity

I recently had a total hysterectomy. As with most things, I think life is incomplete if you can't put a soundtrack with it. So, pardon the lyrical interventions here.

Don't tell me "I don't wanna be a girl like that"
Do you wanna see a grown man cry?
You don't wanna be a girl like that
Baby this could be the first time 

Before the procedure, the doctor let me know how the procedure was going to ummm "change" things down under. I was concerned. I was scared that my junk would lose its spunk.

Not to worry, he said. But, he warned, "sex the first time will be much like losing your virginity again." Say whaaaaaaat?

Ever hear someone say, "If I'd known then what I know now..." Yep. Yep. Yeppers.

I get a do over! A do over! Girls, let that resonate in your head. You get to do that shit over. Let that roll around in your head for a second. Guys, please put a towel over your laps. There's children around for goodness sake! Warning: offensive language coming because, well, it just fits way too snugly into the story. You get a fucking do over! (see how I did that? Smooth...)

Bedroom eyes, they undress me, take me, cut me to the bone
Lace and satin pressed against me, should we call a chaperone

The best part of this do over? Well, no one will even know if they're the first. If you wanted, you could keep that story up for, I'm guessing, two years or more.

What is most interesting is the reaction from you men out there. When I relate that I am about to embark on a second virginity, the immediate reponse? Me! Me! Me! Which makes me laugh. Because, it would appear, that guys want a do over as well. I tell ya, there's some perky peckers out there. You can practically hear the pimples popping up on their faces and the quick unwrapping of Big Red chewing gum.

Since I'm single, the process will likely be very much the same. I'm gonna be picky with my hickey. I think I'll even have a ribbon cutting. I haven't decided on the color ribbon yet although consensus at the moment is that white would be inappropriate. Hell, I may even wear a tiara and a sash.

To the married women out there, this is the perfect gift. Don't look at a hysterectomy as the end of the world. Schedule so that you emerge out of your recovery period (without periods!) near your husband's birthday, anniversary, Christmas or something. It's, you know, the gift that keeps on giving.

And you get to once again say...

Take it easy, hug and squeeze me, love outta line"

As for me, I'm contemplating selling raffle tickets for the big prize. Well, let me rephrase that. From what I understand, the small prize. I'm not reporting my earnings on my taxes, either. I wouldn't have needed a hysterectomy if Obama wasn't screwing me every time I turn around. I mean who doesn't want to drop $60,000 on uterine excavation? Big finger up to the healthcare industry on that one.

If you're wondering, the procedure itself wasn't all that bad. Bruce Jenner helicoptered in with his soft hands clutching a dazzling pink Yeti cooler to take my discarded uterus and appendages. I was a little jelly since his nails were painted and manicured much better than mine. That quickly changed however when the anesthetist walked in. Hotter than a dog in heat, he was. I quickly surmised that if anyone was going to roll me around naked in a bed, I wanted that guy to do it. Then a few hours later when I woke up and realized that Edward Scissorhands had raped me liberally while I was knocked out. Good news: there's no way that he could have knocked me up!

Astonishingly, I have found that men are turned on by a hoo hoo that is incapable of spitting out a little human that says goo goo. That's right. Female infertility is a turn on. It causes a hyster-erect-O-MY! in the testicle toters. Who would have thought?

Because the one thing that a guy is more scared of than losing his own virginity is knocking up a woman and sending her a check for the 15 minute memory for the next 18 years.

With your hair hung down, and your dress ridin' high
And your eyes burning hot like the sun,
Kiss me hard, squeeze me tight, gonna love you alright
Cause I'm a naughty, naughty, naughty guy

As an aside, I'm feeling somewhat redeemed. A few years ago, Little You cornered me in the kitchen after a riot of a slumber party with a horde of girls with no boobies yet. Evidently, one of the girls didn't approve of me. "Why," I inquired. "Because she said that you're not a virgin." I took a long pause. "She's clever isn't she," I replied. "How did she figure that out?" To which my daughter exploded in laughter. But with my virtue restored, I can now walk with my head held high.

Alas, I am a virgin again. Sort of. Except that I know now what I didn't know then. Honestly, I did not seeing this coming.

I shall be making a debut. Which means that I must have the proper clothes to wear to the balls. So, I've treated myself to an exorbitant shopping expedition to Victoria's Secret. To be honest, Victoria has never kept much of a secret. But when it's time for some naughty, naughty, she's a good person for advice.

Naughty naughty, cute and horny, t-t-t-t-t-tease me
Naughty naughty, loud and bawdy, love outta line
Naughty naughty, loud and bawdy, t-t-t-t-t-tease me.

Yes, this is like giving some guy a winning scratch off lottery ticket. Today, could be your day. The winner winner better buy me a chicken dinner though. A girl's gotta have her standards.