|First we had Ann Landers .. .|
|then along came Dear Abby|
|followed by the wit and wisom of Dr. Ruth|
|and we must not forget our present resident expert in everything from addiction to the murder of the week, Dr. Drew Pinsky . . .|
|and now you have, for your personal edification, the anti-expert, Alexis, with her new column, Ask Alexis|
(Scroll through the intro directly to the column if you're the impatient type.)
Half a bottle of Guinness can accomplish only so much when I'm facing the MoFo Killer Final tomorrow, so I'm going to have to make do with the 3.5 hours of sleep I've gotten unless a miracle happens. I probably should've taken something stronger than an ale, as in a benzo, but once I've consumed the alcohol, a Klonopin or Ativan is out of the question, at least as far as my Dad is concerned and, for that matter, in retrospect, as is Dr. Conrad Murray or whatever the doctor's name was who prescribed milk of amnesia to Michael Jackson on top of whatever he might already have consumed. I don't have benzodiazepenes at my disposal, and there's probably a good reason for that, as at this point I'd be willing to take my chances. Guinness' health benefits or not, it probably wouldn't be a good idea for someone my size to take the chance of having both in her system, even in half-life capacity.
Hence (Detectives and former detectives in Boulder, Colorado, thought only Patsy Ramsey, late mother of the late Jonbenet, used the word hence, but I, too use it on occasion. At some later date I'll blog about how the murder of the little beauty queen traumatized me, but not tonight. If I wish to have even a prayer of of going back to sleep, I need to stay away from that and similar topics.) I must find a way to entertain myself that does not interfere with the sleep of others in the house. If I were my brother, I would make my way on down to the living room and start pounding on my mom's 10-foot Steinway, but I'm not so lacking in common courtesy as my brother, so I'll blog instead.
This is the first and perhaps only (depending upon various circumstances, including how long it takes my mom to come across it; my dad would be amused and would encourage me to continue writing it) column about sex by someone who knows only what the high school and college biology courses (college biology touches upon the topic ever so lightly, as it's assumed everyone in the class knows everything by that point), textbooks, and the Internet say. . . and everyone knows that if it's on the Internet, it has to be true. Since I haven't announced this column in advance, I obviously haven't received any letters asking for advice. Guess what? Half the newspaper and Internet columnists around don't receive letters, or at least not the ones they want, so they make them up, which is precisely what I intend to do, except that I'm openly admitting it.
Think of me as the female version of Dr. Drew back when he was still a virgin and before he had any education. Everyone has to start somewhere. Sometimes learning as one goes is the very best way to learn. God help anyone who takes my advice seriously, or, even worse, follows it. That's my official disclaimer. I don't even know enough to make up any interesting questions off the top of my head, so pardon me while I cruise the web momentarily, steal questions from someone else's site, and paraphrase them so that, in a legal sense, they're not technically plagiarized.
ASK ALEXIS (first edition)
Is it possible that I am allergic to my husband's sperm? Two to five days after almost every time I have intercourse with my husband, I develop symptoms somewhat similar to a urinary tract infection, yet testing consistently reveals that no urinary tract infection is present. The symptoms, incidentally, are frequent, painful, and severely burning urination, urinary urgency, vaginal itching, and irregular bleeding in the general region. Despite the absence of test results indicating a UTI, my family physician always gives me an antibiotic injection and a prescription for ten days' worth of oral antibiotics. The doctor, who is also my husband's doctor, always sends with me a prescription for oral antibiotics for my husband as well.
I don't know if this is relevant, but the physician, who is my husband's doctor, is a personal friend of my husband. My husband, the doctor, and a few other gentlemen recently replaced our "couples" Bible study on Thursday nights with a male-only Bible study night. They've chosen to study the Bible at a tavern on the edge of our our city that has been rumored to be a front for a bordello, but I know in my heart of hearts that such is not possible in this fine, upstanding city in which we make our home. My husband says the best thing any of us can do to dispel rumors of this business' house of ill-repute status, and such is our Christian dity, is to show up weekly with their Bibles and let their light so shine that others may see it and know the truth about this establishment and its benign nature.
What do you think, Alexis? Do I need to see an allergist for further testing? Furthermore, is my doctor psychic? How does he know that my husband needs antibiotic therapy without seeing him in a medical setting?
Hunka Hunka Burning (with Burning being the operative word) Love
I'm not a doctor, nor do I play one on TV, but the rare allergy you suspect may be more common than you suspect, and it may be related to your husband's Thursday night "Bible study." (Who would've ever thought that studying the Bible could be such a hazardous and allergy-provoking activity?) If I were you, and I'm not you, so take this advice for what it is worth, which may be very little, I would reinstate "couples" Bible study on Thursday nights. You might wish to focus your next evening of study on Exodus 20:14 from the King James version; adjust for other translations of the Bible to find Commandment #7, Protestant version.
Regarding your doctor's extra sensory perception, he is most definitely seeing your husband in a different light than you are seeing him, though the source may not necessarily be any form of psychic awareness.
In terms of visiting an allergist, I would instead invest in a visit to an epidemiologist who is an MD (not all epidemiologists are MDs), an internist, a gynecologist, or possibly all three, and insist upon a complete testing panel for communicable diseases including HIV and all forms of hepatitis andSTDs. Your husband would do well to seek similar testing. One never knows what pathogens may be picked up on toilet seats, in hot tubs, or in various other out-of-the-way places.
Alexis, otherwise known as #
I am a technical virgin, with heavy emphasis on the word technical, but I am not free from experimentation. Recently, the object of my experimentation was an Oscar Mayer wiener. Let this serve as a warning to all others: an Oscar Mayer hot dog is not the ideal object for sexual experimentation, as the rest of my story will illustrate.
During the course of my recent experimentation, the Oscar Mayer wiener (a large part of the problem may have been with the quality of the Oscar Mayer product; I haven't yet decided, but may seek compensation from the corporation for its role in my fiasco; have you any advice as to how best to pursue this through legal avenues?) ) broke. Part of the wiener I was able to remove manually, but the remainder of the wiener refused to be coaxed out.
I'm only sixteen, and do I not have my own insurance cards, so I was forced to tell my mother in order to visit the emergency room. My mother drove me to an E.R. in a city about 90 miles from where we live to in order to minimize the chances of my becoming fodder for local gossip. The wiener was removed with minimal fanfare, and I was sent home with computerized pre-fabricated printed instructions concerning foreign objects in body cavities. (Is there any condition for which the hospitals' ER computers are not prepared to dispense advice on the spot?) With the distance between the hospital and my home, my anonymity was presumably protected. My mother, however, told my father, who made the mistake of mentioning it to my brother. My brother says he only told two people, but those two people must have told at least ten people each, who in turn told maybe twenty each, with the end result being that by the following day, everywhere on campus that I went, I heard variations of the commercial ditty, "Oh, I'd Love To Be an Oscar Mayer Wiener."
How can my dignity be restored, and how can I stop the "Oscar Mayer Weiner" song from being my personal theme song?
Oscar's former friend with benefits
Dear Oscar's former bestie,
First and foremost, if you think your dignity is compromised under your present circumstances, you have not yet begun to suffer the humiliation you will endure from the resulting publicity should you take this one to the court system. For one thing, you will have an uphill battle in seeking to establish that the source of the problem was in any way related to the quality of the product. (If you don't believe me, purchase hot dogs of a few other brands and test the solidity of each in comparison to that of Oscar Mayer's wiener (but PLEASE don't test them in the manner you originally tested, i.e. experimented, with Oscar Mayer's wiener). I wouldn't even try negotiating with the company with the hopes of reaching an out-of-court settlement. Do you really wish to be known as the reason all hot dog packages come with the disclaimer "not to be used as a sexual object" printed on the label?
You caused the immediate problem youself, but the ones who turned it from a minor embarrassment into a life-altering experience were your father and brother. If I were to sue anyone, they are the ones I would sue, although I'm not certain on what grounds, and again, the very last thing you need at this point is additional publicity. Just be aware that neither one appears to have your best interests at heart, and be sure that your mother is aware of this as well.
If your family is in a position to relocate, your father certainly owes it to you. In this economy, however, such may not be practical or even possible.
I hesitate to recommend this, but you have not mentioned graduation, so my assumption is that you were not an early high school graduate. My recommendation is that you get the hell out of your particular high school. Move in with a relative who is further away than the local rumor mill extends, or take a high school exit exam and attend an out-of-town college that accepts exit exams in lieu of graduation. In the event that big mouths run in your family, ensure that your mother threatens your father and your brother with the worst consequences imaginable should either of them mention the particulars of your situation to anyone else. Period.
People in college won't be nearly so intrigued with this situation as are the students in your high school, but at the same time, surround yourself with students who know nothing about the incident, and just to be safe, don't take your new friends home with you for the weekend, as your father and brother may be slow learners.
P.S. There are commercially manufactured objcts known as vibrators and [this is probably a crude term, but I don't know of a proper term for the object] dildoes. You might be wise to invest in one. Multi-use products, such as produce and other foods, may be desirable for many purposes, but for the use you obviously are seeking, an object designed specifically for your intent is your safest bet.
Alexis, otherwise known as #
Anyone who wants to know anything about sex from someone who knows little to nothing about the subject should submit questions in the "comments" section of this blog. Otherwise I'll be forced to make up my own questions again.