Ovarian Ode

Oh ovary, oh ovary, thing one and thing two,
I don’t want to be horny, it’s sad but it’s true.
There’s no room right now for a man in my life.
Remember?? I spent $12 grand to NOT be a wife.

Like clockwork you trigger my hormones and mood,
making every idiot with a beard seem like my kind of dude.
Your excitement lacks caliber or discrimination,
and what you call true love, I call OVULATION.

But you’d rather be dead than go without nookie.
“Let’s do it!” you say, “So what if he’s a Wookie?”
You think a man in my bed will offer reprieve.
But what good are you when I want him to leave?!

My higher mind wants to sever our reptilian connection,
and stop cruising Craigslist for anonymous affection. (Just kidding, that’s gross!)
I don’t need a man to make me feel giddy.
What I need is a vibrator that cuddles and tells me I’m pretty.



Bare Naked Ladies

I have a nude photo of myself that I want to share here and hang on my walls at home because I love it so very much.
I love it because my face shows a strong, confident and happy part of myself I love and want to be more often. (Also, I’m hula hooping and covered in mud– so it’s extra fabulous.)

I rarely feel strong and confident in general, never mind when I’m naked. And being naked in public in broad daylight?? Not my thing. So I also love the photo because it reminds me that I set my fears aside for the sake of art and community.

Art, politics, and naked chicks.  Thank you, Digital Latte Photography!

Art, politics, and a pack of mud-covered, naked chicks on a rampage. My community.
Digital Latte Photography

The photo I love was taken shortly after this photo shoot wrapped. My friend and I were  hula hooping in an alley behind the studio, waiting for our turn to rinse the mud off of ourselves with one of two COLD hoses held over a plastic baby pool.

(Side note: two of the photographer’s female assistants held the hoses and helped us all get the mud out of our nooks and crannies. Nooks AND crannies. How bad do you have to screw up at work to get that job??)

Anyway, I would love to be able to share my naked hula hoop photo without offending people or receiving negative judgment and criticism, but I don’t think that’s possible. As a culture we have a hard time remembering that sometimes a naked body is sexual, and sometimes it isn’t. So I also wish I could post this lovely non-sexual nude photo of my self without risking it being turned into something sexual, but I don’t think that’s possible either. So Instead I’ll celebrate the women I ran naked with, as well as the brave and beautiful women in Aleah Chapin’s nude portraits. (Click the image to see more…)

Click here to see more of Chapin's beautiful nude portraits and read about the artist.

Click here to see more of Chapin’s beautiful nude portraits and read about the artist.

Let’s Get Naked! Or Not…

Most divorce moms I know, myself included, have all asked themselves the same scary question at one point or another: Am I still attractive and what will happen the first time I let someone see me naked?

It’s the same insecurity we had as virginal teenagers– but now there are stretch marks and saggy boobs where there used to be tan lines and perky boobs. If you are back on the market after a long absence, you’re probably scared… and you should be. Post divorce dating sucks.


(For clarification, I define dating as getting to know and spending time with someone in hopes of creating a relationship. Sleeping around is not dating. Sleeping around is fun… sometimes. At the moment I’m not doing either, in part because I’m better at sleeping around than I am at dating and I want to flip that around. Being flipped around is fun too. But I digress…)

Dating sucks because we are out of practice and carrying a half ton of baggage from our last crappy relationship. It sucks because everyone we could potentially date either a) has their own half ton of baggage, or b) has never been married/partnered and therefore can’t relate to us at all.

Getting naked for the first time with someone new is definitely one of the scariest parts of dating– especially after having kids. I’m on the thin side of average, reasonably fit, still have that little mama belly pooch that never really goes away, and I was terrified. I was convinced my mama belly was the only thing he’d see. Fortunately I was wrong, and everything was fine. And by fine, I mean fun and then awkward, followed by exciting and then slightly disappointing. But we kept dating and it got better. He wooed me with flowers, massages and adventurous dates and we found our groove. The relationship was great and the sex was great.

Until it wasn’t.menwomen mirror

Six months and many naked nights later the 43 year-old short, balding, in-shape but with a beer gut man I was falling in love with started doing and saying really crappy things. He went out for drinks with his friend/ex-girlfriend without consulting me; he told me that I didn’t have the kind of butt he liked; and during a romantic weekend away he scrolled through a hot coworkers facebook photos and suggested that I “might want to try her workout routine.” Ridiculous, right??!! And yet I stayed. Equally ridiculous. I stayed for another 6 months and a whole bunch more of his stupid crap. Never underestimate the power of insecurity– his or yours.

So what’s the take away? Perhaps it’s that short bald men aren’t as appreciative when they snag a hottie as popular culture would have us believe? (Truth be told I bought into this myth and took comfort in the assumption that it would ensure his kindness towards me– something that was severely lacking in my marriage.)


Or maybe it’s this: As beautiful as you are (fat, thin, tall, short– you are beautiful) some people will not see or appreciate your beauty. Anyone who is worth your time and attention will see ALL of your beauty. Your job is to love yourself well and learn to spot the dipshits. May the force be with you!

~Ms. Sparklebritches

Vagina PSA

Want to brush up on your oral skills??
Humor delivers truth in this clip. Watch and learn:

Have you wondered if the G spot is for real and how to find it?
Come hither…

I love how Conan O’Brien seems so disgusted by vaginas. To be fair, I’m guessing that most vaginas are equally disgusted by Conan O’Brien.

One final tip (yup, just the tip…):
Telling a woman how beautiful she is to you and how lucky you are to see and touch her body will lower her inhibitions better than a bottle of wine or the like.
Try it and get back to me…

Valentines Schmalentines

I wrote this back in 2011 and am reposting now for all those who aren’t feeling the love today…

Let’s face it. Valentines Day only matters when you are single, or 14 years-old.  I am neither, and both. I’m separated, so not quite single not quite coupled. And, though many would say I have the emotional maturity of a 14 year-old, I’m actually 37. Mercifully, V Day is on a Monday this year. Unmercifully, Monday is my kidos day/night with their dad. Per our current arrangement, he spends time with the boys at our house while I go elsewhere. Alone. On Valentines Day.

I could go to a friend’s house, but all of my friends are married and the only thing more depressing than being alone on V Day is being with happy couples on V Day. On any other day I love going to movies alone, but on Valentines Day? That is a level of humiliation even I won’t subject myself to. I could go to a bookstore and pretend I spend all my free time reading instead of surfing the net and watching trash t.v.. But I wouldn’t buy anything because I already own 7 self-help books that I’m certain will spontaneously open at any moment and start working their magic in my life.  In fact, I feel more and more organized everyday when I wake-up and see “Power to the People, not the Piles!” on my bed side table.

However I choose to spend Valentines Day, I doubt I’ll remember it a year from now.  I have very few Valentines memories.  I mostly remember the awkward ones.  I remember when I was 17 and this boy I thought was “just a friend” gave me a basket with balloons, a giant heart-shaped box of chocolates, a big white teddy bear, and underwear.  I was horrified.  I was horrified because I didn’t like like him.  Not like that. I was horrified by the size of the gift.  Mostly, I was horrified by the underwear. In retrospect my heart goes out to this brave young suitor and I give him credit for covering all of the “traditional” gift bases.

This Valentines Day I am hoping for no gifts. No odd declarations or representations of feelings left on my doorstep, please.  No white teddy bears; no charcoal drawings of me you sketched in a bar one night; no poems you thought I’d like because don’t all women like poetry? I’m going to spend this Valentines Day like any self-respecting sorta-single 37-year-old woman would: watching The Bachelor. In times such as these I like to remind myself of how good I’ve got it: my love life might be in the pooper, but not once have I used the phrase “amazing journey.”

© Jennifer Sparklebritches and Poop In My Hair, 2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Poop In My Hair with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Carrot Peelers are(n’t) for Pussies

I like real food. I eat real food. (I also eat onion rings, but they have to be really good onion rings.) I think eating real food (instead of processed food) contributes positively to our overall health and happiness. Which is why I noticed and commented on this produce meme a friend posted on the facebook:Picture 12

I never would have thought there could be a connection between carrots and vaginas (what you do with your veggies is your own business) and yet, there it is!

So that got me thinking about vaginas (why not carrots?) and  so of course I googled “pretty hairy vagina art.” (I must destroy this computer before my sons are old enough to google.) This was the first work of art that caught my eye:

Picture 24

I don’t know what this is, but I want one!! I want a big vagina pillow pet that my kids can sit on while they watch tv so I can take pictures of them to post on the facebook. I’ll bring it to parties and everyone can have their picture taken with it! Will someone please make me a big vagina pillow?!

After I returned from Giant Vagina Party Pillow Dream Land, I started thinking about my own vagina and all the sites she’s seen.
We’ve  been through a lot she and I; she is one of my most loyal and trusted advisors (maybe). But after two kids, let’s face it…

Omg, I wish I'd found this in time for Mother's Day.

Omg, I wished I’d found this in time for Mother’s Day.

Overall I think vaginas are pretty (regardless of how many children or glasses of wine you’ve had)… at a distance… and with a reasonably fuzzy buffer. To be fair, I think a lot of things are prettier from a distance and with a reasonably fuzzy buffer.

Anyhoo, it’s Friday and my vagina needs a disco nap. Be good to yourselves and your lady parts…

Rape Culture

Please take a moment to read this blog post by Luaren Nelson. Nelson’s explanation of our rape culture is simple and spot on. The images and media-driven messages shared in her post are great examples of why so few women feel safe speaking out about or reporting a rape. They are also great examples of why so many men continue to feel empowered to commit violent acts against women.  

I remember everything that happened leading up to my assault at 19, and everything that happened after. My psyche took me to another place during the attack and (thankfully) left me with just one small memory: I opened my eyes to see an open window about a foot away. It was summertime, and I could hear people outside in the distance. I thought to myself, “What would happen if I screamed right now? Would anyone hear me? Would anyone help me? Or would it just make everything worse?” I didn’t scream, but I did survive.

This picture needs to be of a man instead of a woman. Men need to hold other men accountable for their behavior in order to transform our rape culture.

This picture needs to be of a man instead of a woman. Men need to hold other men accountable for their behavior in order to transform our rape culture.

It took many years and lots of therapy to be at peace enough with my experience to talk about it openly. I never reported my assault or outed my attacker to anyone who knew him. I think I would choose differently now– but I’m not the same person I was at 19. I made the right choice for the person I was at that time, in that set of circumstances.

If someone trusts you enough to tell you they were assaulted, please DO NOT tell them they have to report it. Don’t say, “You have to speak out or he’ll hurt someone else.” No one benefits from having guilt piled on top of their pain. No one else gets to decide what a woman can handle following a rape. And a rape victim is not responsible for the past or future actions of her attacker. It is the rest of us who are responsible for creating a rape culture in the first place. Like the old saying goes, “If you are not part of the solution, you are part of the problem.”