You people have some weird questions. And we have some answers, so don’t ever stop.

If you are going to take yourself seriously as a blogger, which I am not, then it’s important to have a look at the search terms that people are using to find your site. So, we had a look. And some of it is disturbing, but you people need answers and that is why we’re here.

The first and most important question on the list:

“Is it safe to put wine in your vagina?”

Probably. But I’m not a doctor, so don’t sue me if it’s not safe. But I would recommend that you just drink it. It’s so much easier. If you’re in a hurry or just clumsy, there is no need to get a glass. You can drink it right from that long, thin neck at the top. It fits perfectly in your mouth and possibly your vagina. But I’m almost certain that you’ll enjoy the taste more, if you use your mouth.

Let’s move on to the second question:

“Can a cat be a sex offender?”

Yes. I think so, depending on the cat, of course. Here is a picture of one:

catconvict

Do you see the smug smile? Cats don’t feel guilty about anything, and they don’t care if you punish them, so they are the most dangerous type of criminals. This cat has been sentenced to 10 years of having water sprayed in his face, I hope. Because he is in the clink for manipulating two children who were left home alone into playing with his Things. 

And the last question I have time to answer today:

“What kind of animal would men want to marry?”

This is the toughest, because although I know a few married men, I doubt they are reading this blog. And I don’t want to offend any of my married, male friends by suggesting they would give up their wife for an animal, so we’re just going to have to wing it on this one.

However, if men did want to marry an animal, I’m guess they would want to marry a dog. Dogs like to gulp down their food, lie around in piles of clean laundry and go outside to sniff gross stuff and intermittently roll in it. It sounds like a football game or something, doesn’t it? And men, like football, right? And bonus, dogs fetch stuff and eat dirty socks, so you don’t have to make more piles of clean laundry for them to lie in.

Side note: You cannot legally marry any animals in the U.S. However, since gay marriage is gaining popularity, soon it may be possible to marry animals, at least according to the detractors of gay marriage. But I’m not in favor of marrying animals, no matter what your man wants to do. So, I’m out. But you knew that. What I mean is I’m done. For today.

But keep sending your questions. If I can’t answer them at least I can be thankful that someone is thinking to ask these things. We need you — the scientists, the explorers, the philosophers and the Googlers of the world. Keep it up!

Here are more of the questions that you asked, in case you can help me find some of the answers. And yes, the top 10 are probably me searching for myself on the internet, because clearly I am lost. 

google search

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© Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Lesbian moms’ baby is kidnapped. Call 911. Don’t send a card.

While doing some research, The Other Sarah, Director of Orifices and Copy Editing, came across this greeting card. (Seriously people, we needed a Director. Someone has to be in charge of all the assholes in this project and correct there their spelling.)

mom card

 

Are you getting a creepy feeling? Yeah! Me too! Because the caption really should read “Moms! Alert! A big hairy man has stolen your baby!” Although, I’m pretty sure that no one sends a greeting card for that. Too slow. Dialing 911 is way faster.

But maybe I’m being too alarmist. There are some other perfectly reasonable explanations for the photo on this card:

1. The son is actually the guy with the hairy arm, and he is too shy to be in the picture AND he just happens to be holding a newborn baby dressed in a blue outfit.

2. It’s the doctor’s arm. And therefore I have a follow-up question: How did they get that baby cleaned up and dressed so fast? And can you come over to my house and help out?

3. The moms are not out of the closet, so even their arm can’t identify as gay. Or maybe their arm is transgendered.

4. Neither of the moms was strong enough to hold up the baby.

5. Some women have arms this hairy. Touche.

6. The artist added the arm to be sure that we all felt the masculinity of the new baby, because boys are often emasculated in our society by the silly pajamas and the baby hats with the pink accents that are issued at every hospital in America. So the artist has added the hairy arm to make a political point in defense of men’s rights. Well played!

9. This is Tina Fey’s baby, and someone leaked this picture from the cover of her sequel to Bossypants called Babypants.

If none of those 9 reasons resonate with you, and you really do just want to congratulate two new moms on the birth of their son, might I suggest 7LM’s more simple, less hirsute options?  We make them for dads, too – – let us know if you find any of them unintentionally creepy.

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© Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Saying goodbye to a friend. And there’s just nothing funny about that.

Most of the time, I use this little space on the web to point out stuff that is funny or ironic, but today is not one of those days. Because I can’t think about anything else to write about except for a life lesson that I had this week that came in the form of a friend whose funeral I attended. She was 38 and a mother of four when she died of breast cancer on July 26. This is her.

bridgette

 

And I know what you are thinking. That woman is frigging gorgeous, and she is. This is a picture of her during her cancer treatment! And if you think this picture of her is gorgeous, you should see her heart. It’s infinitely more beautiful and longer lasting than this beautiful face.

But what is the lesson in all this for me? (Because this blog is all about me, of course.) Well. I used to be jealous of Bridgette. According to me, she had the perfect family, she made friends easily, she was beautiful, and an athlete and had the perfect body. I could go on, but I think you’re getting my drift. She was also married and had two kids. I wanted to be married and have two kids. She had the perfect life.

Then, a year later she got divorced. My first indicator of imperfection. And shortly after that she met a new love, also someone I knew and cared about. A quiet guy, who is so kind, and has the same laugh as my brother. And they blended their families to make three kids, and then had a baby to make four. She was back to great, and I was no longer as jealous, because I knew her better by then. I saw more of her pain, and more of her heart, which made her more wonderful to me which, ironically, made me less envious not more. She was not perfect, anymore. She was real.

Then, Bridgette got cancer which ate away at her like some sort of zombie terrorist for months. It didn’t seem to matter what kind of chemo or drugs were thrown at it, the cancer persisted until it had consumed the critical parts of her. The parts that let her breathe. And by Monday, we were all gathered to say goodbye to her and to weep for her husband and her children, who only have memories and photographs left of their mother.

And that same day, the day we all cried together, I got this in my inbox.

jealous

And it was a slap in the face. Because six years after I met Bridgette for the first time, I am married (or getting married at least). And I have two kids. And a perfect body, because that body is here for me to enjoy another day with everyone. And this isn’t so much about pointing out what I have now that she doesn’t, but to say that comparing is a waste of energy, a waste of the real opportunity to know ourselves, and mostly a waste of love.

If I had let my jealously get in the way of my love and admiration for Bridgette, I would have never come to know her as the beautiful person that she is. I would have robbed both of us of the love that we did have for each other, small that it is. I will miss her, but her life and her death have given me a gift. The opportunity to appreciate mine.

Thanks to tinybuddha.com for the slap in the face. 

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© Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

We’re not gay enough or something. So maybe I’ll just punch myself in the head.

I got a phone call on Monday from a guy named Andrew which is awesome, because I love phone calls. Andrew is the casting producer for Punched in the Head Productions, a film company that makes “not-so-serious” productions. This phone call was even better than I expected, because he wasn’t actually planning on punching me in the head, which is good because that would be serious, and these folks are supposed to be “not-so-serious.” And I’m not-so-serious, so I knew Andrew and I would hit it off.

Andrew was trolling the internet looking for LGBT families to cast on a new show on Bravo, and he found my blog. So he called me. And it was great. Except that the show he is casting for is called “Bravo’s Extreme Guide to Parenting,” and we couldn’t come up with anything extreme about my family. Maybe that was extremely lazy of us, but not lazy enough to be on TV. And we talked a little bit about how gay my family is, but it’s not THAT gay. I’m not sure what that means, but being gay and having two kids is no longer extreme, so that was great news. And I won’t have to wash my hair and lose 50 pounds, so I’ll look good on TV. So that’s a big relief. And now I’ve got a new friend on Facebook, which is always awesome! And he’s in a relationship with someone named Gilbert, which gets extra bonus points in my book because that’s kind of gay and because his boyfriend’s name is Gilbert.

So, if you live in a cave with your bisexual, transgendered lover and your triplets that you are raising to be Evangelical Muslims, while you wear nothing but fur and hunt for your own food using weapons recreated from The Hunger Games movie, then you might want to give Andrew a call. He’s looking for you.

Andrew Hecht
917-838-3571

punchedinhead

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© Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

People like us just a little bit more worldwide, so stop being so negative Pew-ers

I have good news. People around the world mostly like us just a tiny bit more. The Pew Foundation released a study at the beginning of the month called The Global Divide on Homosexuality. And the Pew Foundation also said that view on homosexuality are mostly unchanged. You can see it right there. See?

homosexual views

Now, I realize that overall we’re shooting for the stars here. We don’t just want acceptance, we want 100% integration and all that good stuff. We want to be just like everyone else, which is to say first we want to get married then to be able to produce 2.5 kids with a picket fence. That last part always sounded painful to me, but then, I didn’t exactly have kids the traditional way. But if there was a similar survey that said “How much do you like white people?” Would we have 100% acceptance? Totally, doubt it. So what I’m really wondering is how does this compare to acceptance, in general. But I digress.

And more importantly what I’m trying to point out here is that there is a bit of good news! People are moving in a positive direction. I would suggest that it’s a win if anyone finds anyone else more “acceptable.” And look at the top of the list. Those are some places I care about.

First, leading the pack is PSY in South Korea. Thank you for being ridiculous and making gay people look totally normal. Now gay South Koreans can enjoy 21% more acceptance. Next in line is Canada and the U.S. — two of my favorite countries. Thank you friends and family for spreading the good word. Next on the list is Italy and Spain, which makes total sense because those people are hot and who wouldn’t want to have sex with any of them. And that rounds out the top 5, but I have mention Germany because my brother lives there and German women for decades have been toeing the line for lesbians with their short hair and their Birkenstocks. Thank you, my sisters.

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Does the Cat in the Hat belong on the national sex offender registry?

parental advisory

Parental Advisory: Sacred imagery and childhood memories may be desecrated in this post.

I read books to my children every night before they go to bed. Or someone does. Yes. Thank you. You can hold your applause until the end of this post. So, I’m becoming intimately familiar with the Disney princess line-up, some Winnie the Pooh and a smattering of Dr. Seuss.

And I really like reading most of these books, especially because I’m learning something new almost every time we read together. For example, did you know that it’s not easy to be a princess? Because you have to work really hard delivering hand-sewn clothes (that your entourage of seamstresses make), books and baskets of food to orphanages. But mostly because it’s really hard to walk around in that huge dress and avoid hitting your enormous mass of bows and curled hair on door frames and the ceiling of the carriage.

But there is one book that I just can’t get over: The Cat in the Hat. Is it just me or is this a story about a pedophile? Let’s review.

catconvictThe book starts when a bad mother leaves her two children unattended in their house on a rainy day. Then, a large, mostly naked cat shows up and let’s himself in. He’s wearing nothing but a striped top hat and a bow tie, and he’s carrying an umbrella. Suspicious. But at least he’s not wearing a trench coat. Although given the rainy weather, this might actually make sense.

Then the Cat proceeds to balance all kinds of household items on the tip of his umbrella, including a teacup, some milk, a cake, three books, the Fish, a rake, a toy boat, a toy man and a red fan to engage the children. And they are afraid, but they say nothing and keep staring out the window. The only one who seems to have have a voice and any education about good touching and bad touching is the goldfish. But his protests are ignored. He is the lowest vertebrate in the group after all.

But here is the real kicker: Thing One and Thing Two. Small and fuzzy, they suddenly appear out of a box. Sally and the main character don’t know what to do, so they shake hands with them. And then the Things start running around the house. But the phallic symbol in the striped hat is still in charge and trying harder and harder to convince the children that they are having fun. And when their mother arrives, right after the house has been quickly put back in order and the animated genitals have left the scene, we are posed with an important question. Would you tell your mother if this happened to you?

WTF?

And the answer is YES. You would tell your mother, both of them. And the police. And give the fish a job touring local schools to talk to children about speaking up when a perverted cat asks you to shake hands with his Thing.

 

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© Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Getting pregnant could involve a small amount of drilling. No, not that kind.

In attempt to better understand my medical records, and to do what I promised at the very beginning of this whole writing mess, I bought a book on IVF. Thank you for not pointing out that I should have done this research BEFORE I went through IVF. My rationale is the following: I could have, but I’m pretty sure that it would not have affected the outcome. And side note, I was terrified. So this blog, as a reminder, is sort of like looking up at the diving board after you have jumped off. I’m going back to scare the shit out of myself, now that I know there is a happy ending.

So let’s get right to the scary stuff. Or at least to one alarming thing that I found last night while doing some medical research. Laparoscopic ovarian drilling. Holy God! What is that? The words ovary and drilling should never be part of the same sentence. Just like genital and wart. Or wet and fart. I could on, but I won’t. Drilling should be reserved for dentists and oil companies. Or, on second thought, maybe just dentists. I am for drilling to remove bad stuff, only, like tooth decay.

However, if one has polycystic ovaries, there may be some laparoscopic drilling required. Or at least it could help. I had neither. Thankfully.

But in case you are still wondering what this all means, I will share with you what I have learned. A polycystic ovary has a large number of developing eggs near the surface of the ovary. Now, if you were trying to get pregnant, I’m guessing that this would be good news. Eggs, lots of them. That is what I’m sure I would have heard if the nurse had discussed this with me. Oh, but do not be fooled my friend. All these little, cute, dressed up eggs in miniskirts are cock teases. They just hang out with their friends and never get released into the Fallopian tube.

So, what to do? Go after them with a drill, obviously; a laparoscopic one that makes small holes in the surface of the ovaries to get those bitches out of there.

Put a check mark in the “lucky miss” category for me. I’m grateful to have avoided the drill.

 

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