Look, you're about to go down a slippery slope here. Sure, there are probably one or two people in your office to whom you like to show your O face, but should you?
Hell yeah! Don't let your stupid conscience get in the way. It's the holidays! This is as good of time as any.
You've got plenty of time off from work, so if you're good at avoiding people for the few days you're in the office you can probably avoid the hell out of this person until after the first of the year. By then, it will probably be forgotten about.
And besides, it's the time of year for giving and plenty of people give it up in these situations each holiday season. You're not going to be the first or the last, but you need to follow some rules to make sure you do it right.
It's only appropriate that one of the Housewives of Bravo has come out with her own sex toy line. The network's top-rated guilty pleasure attracts millions of eyeballs every week to watch rich nipped and tucked women from various cities across the U.S. drink too much, yell and complain, and embark on entrepreneurial activities in an attempt to make themselves appear more relevant. (Keep trying, Kim Zolchiwhatever her name is.)
But one of these ladies has thrown us off. Either she's smarter than producers at "Real Housewives of Atlanta" lead us to believe or her publicist/handler/hairdresser has good taste. Kandi Burruss, a songwriter who created hits for Top 40 artists including Destiny's Child, has teamed up with techie sex toy innovators OhMiBod to create her own line of "intimate accessories."
Trendy condom company Sir Richard's has done us all a public service with its condom subscription service, which sends you a set supply of condoms once a month to assure you're never caught without a rubber.
That means we can carefully remove from the fossilized sheath we put in our wallets on prom night "just in case." None of us used it, and we most definitely shouldn't now.
Years of neglect have rendered the wrapper transparent and squinting to decipher the blurred expiration date is not worth the cataracts later in life.
All you gotta do is guess how much sex you think you're gonna have each month (be sure to round up to the nearest whole number - BJs ≠ 1/2) and enter the number at Sir Richard's convenient
ego-boost registration website.
Then the company does the leg work to determine how many boxes you'll need on your doorstep and kindly won't call your bluff when you request the Extra Large variety.
Many of you may remember when the Internet exploded with excitement and share buttons when word of a bacon-flavored lubricant broke onto the scene last year. Carnivores and nymphos alike scoured the interwebs to discover where this miracle elixir could be purchased.
But all you ended up with were bacon blue balls.
That's because it was a clever April Fool's prank pulled by J&Ds, a company that's in the business of bacon-izing as many things as humanly possible. They're the brains behind Bacon Salt, Baconnaise and Bacon Lip Balm in case you were curious.
But when thousands of eager emails and desperate phone messages flooded their customer service center weeks later, the two owners, Justin and Dave, realized they needed to make something happen - fast. The American public (and probably some horny dudes in England) demanded bacon lube and J&Ds was going to bring it to their bedrooms.
Or basements, we suppose, depending on their relationship status and creep factor.
Ever been with a guy who left your vagina feeling less than fresh? Have you taken your symptoms to the gyno only to be told that everything's clear? Your vagina's trying to tell you something. Stop and listen - it might have something enlightening to share.
I recently spent some time in love with a man who, after a few months, instilled insecurity and self-doubt that I hadn't before felt. But still in the throes of joy at the thought that I might be in the company of the guy with whom I'd grow old, those feelings manifested elsewhere. My skin, my weight, my work.
But something that took the brunt of the emotional abuse (aside from my brain) was my vulva, and I had no idea. It felt swollen and itchier than usual. Now, one can't deny that a good scratching at the end of the day feels damn good, like the ultimate ball scratch, but in this case something wasn't right.
This broke on the Telegraph in the UK a few weeks ago, but a recent incident in a small-town bar leads us to believe it didn't make enough of the rounds.
It was getting near closing time at a local watering hole where we found ourselves surrounded by several townie types and a few former high school classmates. The bar's owner was drinking with us and decided to show off his latest high-tech purchase - a giant 3D TV hanging behind the bar next to the whiskey.
We all were handed 3D glasses and as we laughed at each other the owner announced, "It's time for the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show. In 3D, bitches."
And as the first scantily clad, Amazonian women sashayed down the runway wearing pink tutus around their jutting hips, more than two of the gentlemen seated to our left exclaimed, "Holy shit. They're perfect."
Oh young boy. You have so much learning to do.