Archives For Gynecologist

Spring Fever

May 24, 2016 — 66 Comments

spring fever

You know that thing where you’re walking down the street and men can tell you’ve just had sex? They must have some kind of fornication radar.

If I leave a friend’s apartment in the city, after we’ve had some #sexytimes, and walk a little ways before catching a cab, men will follow me down the street. Not in a scary way. In a “Hey baby, I don’t know you but would you like to come back to my apartment even though your head might end up in my freezer?” kind of way.

Okay, that’s pretty scary.

Guys are very forward in New York. It’s an urban thing, I think. You don’t get ogled as openly in the suburbs as you do when you stroll through Lincoln Center after two hours of hardcore car sex.

Not that I have done that.

Car sex is the suburbs dirty little secret. All those minivan-driving soccer moms and dads don’t tell you the real reason they bought that Honda Odyssey is, back row comes out, middle row folds down flat, voila! it’s a bed.

The parking lot at the gym is like a scene from Caligula.

Spring fever. It’s totally a Thing, and I have it. It makes me want to do crazy things, like jump in my car and drive 13 hours straight to Nashville, to hang out with my college bestie who now lives there. Even after the debacle we had there last year.

This past weekend, one of her fave bands came in from Columbus, Ohio to perform and they crashed at her house. Six guys. They were perfect gentlemen, by the way, those Midwestern boys. They drank two cases of beer and put every CAN IN THE RECYCLING BIN and no, that is NOT a euphemism for sex.


So, getting back to spring fever. It’s Monday evening and all I can think about is how much I love tequila. I would love to knock back a couple of shots of Patron this very minute, but that would fuck up the whole homework vibe.

Today, I had my annual gynecological exam. We ladies have to get our vajetable gardens rotated once a year. I used to see the female doctor in the practice until she impersonated female SS guard Irma Grese and tried to electrocute me from inside my smush mitten during a routine “procedure,” so now I see the doctor who delivered my kid.

The thing is, the doctor is really good-looking. He was cute back then, but 12 years has made him much sexier. Which is something that ONLY HAPPENS TO MEN. He’s now ‘handsome in a late 40’s man’ way, instead of ‘cute in a boy’ way, and he has a great personality, and I have spring fever and did I mention how handsome he is?

He was all up in my bajingo and asking personal questions about my sex life, and the next thing I know I was saying flirty things and batting my eyelashes at him.

I have no idea how that happened. Yes, it was sort of surreal. Plus there was a woman in the room, she’s always there and she’s about 100 years old. I think she might be his mother?

No, that would be completely weird. But she’s old and motherly and she’s always there when he gives pelvic exams but she really didn’t interfere with our flirty flow and I’m suddenly very, very glad I’m anonymous.


After that, I went to the supermarket and within 12 seconds, some dude was hitting on me at the deli counter. And I never get hit on at the supermarket. The gas station is usually my jam. Yeah, I’m like Miss America in the Field of Dreams at the ol’ gas station, and those attendants are typically delighted with me. Or maybe it’s my red hair, which in their country means that I’m a prostitute.

The point is, Supermarket Guy knew someone had just been all up in my business, even in a routine medical way.


Is online dating for the dregs of humanity, or is that just my experience? So far, I’ve had a guy ask me about wearing diapers, and another one inquire as to how much I enjoyed doing laundry. One man in his mid 40’s told me he was a freelance “painter/filmmaker/writer” which is code for “waiting for my parents to die.”

The most recent man online sent me pictures of the trophies he earned as champion of that card game “Magic: The Gathering.” He’s hoping I will accompany him to an upcoming comic convention, and as enticing as that sounds, I’m busy that weekend shaving the lint off my socks.



Online dating is terrifying, because when you meet these people they want to have actual conversations with you about the healing properties of bone broth popsicles which is why I prefer to meet where the music is VERY LOUD.

I become even more non-filtered when I’m feeling socially anxious. While in Portland with my college bestie, I was doing my best wingman for her while some dude chatted her up at a coffee bar/drug dispensary.

I’m not sure how the conversation turned to her being a cancer survivor, but he refused to believe it. He started out flattering, telling her she was so full of life and energy and zeitgeist and joie de vivre and KonMari. Then he became super annoying and finally I interjected with, “What are you saying? CAT Scans or it didn’t happen?”
I guess you had to be there.

*This blog post brought to you by one long, continuous unedited stream of consciousness at the behest of my girl GKelly who suggested I write about flirting during a pelvic exam, after I posted it on Facebook.

Do you have spring fever? Have you had some weird online dating experiences?
What about weird gynecological experiences?
Talk to me. I’m listening. 

Join me on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter  so I can have friends without leaving the house.

shocked woman



Why exactly does a MAN become a gynecologist?

I don’t particular care to confabulate with a member of the opposite sex about my bajingo.

Unless it’s sexytime, and he’s digging in like a Pilgrim at Thanksgiving.



Is that an apple in your hand, or are you just happy to see me?


It can’t be that they want a lifetime supply of the fuzzy taco.

Just liken it to a being a dentist. Now imagine how many funky, dirty, diseased teeth you look at in a week.

Eww, right?


I prefer to see a woman gynecologist.

However, when I moved to New Jersey, the only one female gynecologist recommended to me had the bedside manner of Irma Grese.

(infamous product of the Nazi’s “Final Solution,” this Auschwitz camp guard was known for her sadistic dedication to her line of work.)

See? I KNOW stuff.

Playful looking gal, yes?

Playful looking gal, yes?


I ended up with a male gynecologist.


My blog is not to provide you with an exegesis of my romantic life because ITS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS.



After a recent encounter with someone which may or may not have involved intercourse,

He may or not have been a tad more…comprehensive than I was used to.



I’m not going to brag that I have a super tight vag or anything. Let’s just say, I’m built very small in general.



I can launch a ping pong ball out of my Enchilada of Love and hit a target at twenty paces.



I understand this, and I utilize it wisely.



I had an emergency C-section after breaking the hospital record for the longest labor ever.

So, I never had a baby stretch my brake pads to accommodate a 14 inch-diameter. But I’ve seen films of it. Where mommy’s taint looks like an exploding purple eggplant and her anus resembles a small bagel.

I’m sure that probably loosens a gal right up.




Him: Jesus, this is like putting my dick in a pencil sharpener!

Me: Ow. Ow. Owww. OWWWWW.


Yeah. He’s not high on my list of men to spend time with. As a matter of fact, I doubt I’ll ever see him again unless there is a trip to the jewelry store involved he takes me to a lovely dinner first.


A few days later, when it still felt like a Pikachu was slinging electricity at my Republic of Labia, I made an appointment to see the gynecologist.


When I arrived, I was informed that Dr. Norwich was called away to deliver a baby, and that I would be seeing Dr. Patterson.

I like Dr. Norwich, aside from the fact that he and the Ex were watching the Victoria Secret Lingerie Special on the delivery room television. While I was practically dylng in labor and they were shooting me up with Pitocin, otherwise known as Liquid Hell.

My Ex says this never happened, that I was delirious with pain I KNOW WHAT I SAW MOTHERFUCKER.


I don’t know any Dr. Patterson. They told me I could come back another time, but just then a Pikacu aimed a hot pocket right at my snake ranch, so I agreed to see the new guy.


I walked in to greet…

a KARATE DAD. Yes. A father who I see every week at my son’s karate school. Yes. A man who knows me as the crazy karate mom.




He asked, “Is this uncomfortable? Would you like to come back and see another doctor?”

I decided to be mature. Plus, he was cute.



He asked me why I was there, and I really didn’t want to give a KARATE DAD details about my sex life. I just alluded to the fact that I felt some pain, and wanted to make sure I was okay.


He proceeded with the examination.

So, now this karate dad is essentially finger banging me, and asking me questions at the same time.


While in me, (Jesus that sounds strange, even to ME) he said,

“The problem is, your vaginal opening is extremely tight.”

Well done, Captain Obvious!

“Well, I’ve always been built small.”


While still rummaging around in my lady business, he said,

You need to buy a dildo.”


Let’s marinate in that, shall we?



You know those cartoons where the character gets hit in the head with a frying pan, and their head temporarily takes the shape of a frying pan?

My head did that.



I shook my head hard, and its regular shape came back.


“Buy a DILDO?


Buy a DILDO?!”




I asked, “Since this is medical, will insurance cover it?”

I was kidding. Sort of. He answered me seriously.


“Well, actually, there are vaginal dilators sold by medical companies, but not all insurance plans…”


Oh, geez.

With my newly fucktified Obamacare plan, do you really think a dildo’s gonna be covered? If I had a surfeit of spare time, it would probably make for a whimsical afternoon on the phone.




He pulled out (sounds really weird again), snapped off his rubber gloves, and said,

“Yep. Use it or lose it.”


Wait, what?

“Excuse me? Did you just say, use it or lose it?”


I searched the examining room for cameras, because surely I was being Punk’d.




I decided I was going to fuck with him. Just because.

“Where do I get a dildo?”

Now, I KNOW where to buy sexy toys. I have to go on a 30 mile odyssey to procure them, because there are no local dildo stores. As a matter of fact, on my last pilgrimage to the sex toy store, my guy (yes, I have a “guy.” DON’T JUDGE) totally upsold me.

I wanted a standard garden variety vibrator, and he sold me a ridiculously over priced Power Tool with 10 speeds that hula hoops, glows in the dark, operates under water, sorts my laundry and files my taxes.


I only asked the doc because I wanted to see if HE knew where to buy them.

He said, “there are shops…” and he just kind of trailed off.

He TOTALLY knows where to buy them. Pfffft.



I told all my friends what had happened. Here are some of the responses I got:

1. Pics or it didn’t happen.

2. Can I help? (insert stupid winky emoticon here).

3. The dildo might help to get your juices flowing but if all else fails just have sex only with men with smaller penises. (Seriously? On PURPOSE?).

4. It doesn’t make sense, dumbass. It hurts to put a dick in it, so his advice is to put a fake dick in it instead?

5. If you studied Kamasutra, you will understand that there are three types of Vaginas; the Elephant (wide), the deer (moderate) and the rabbit (tiny). You are a rabbit.
Embrace the rabbit. (ignore this person; they’re vegan)

6. Sheabutter, giirrlll! It can conquer poverty. (my friends are very strange)

7. Look at the bright side. At least you haven’t blown out your vagina like most women your age. (I am no longer speaking to this “friend“)


This is not the first time someone has told me to go fuck myself.

It’s just never been… medically advised.



What’s the strangest medical advice you’ve ever received?
Does this doctor sound like a quack?
Have you ever had a completely awkward doctor visit?
What’s your favorite adult toy?
Talk to me. I’m listening.