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Archive for the ‘Sex’ Category

Fifty Shades of Ridiculousness

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 8:46 AM
Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Dear readers – I know I dropped a bomb on you yesterday, but I’ve no time at present to talk about all the pros (bigger boobs) and cons (doctors wanting to brainwash me with scary genetically problematic statistics) of having another baby at age blorty.

Because at present, we must talk about the world-wide phenomenon that is:

Fifty Shades.

Of Ridiculousness.

Because, readers, I mean, COME ON.

Yes, I am a human female, I did get sucked into the books’ crack-like romantic premise and promise. It’s heroin-esque depiction of a more perfect world, where a rich-but-totally-messed-up-boy-meets-poor-but fiesty-virgin-girl-who-rocks-his-world-and-turns-it-upside-down-just-as-he-does-to-her-world — via a story in which there just happens to be an overabundance of S&M pornographic sex scenes (oh great, here come the digital blog looking for the word ‘sex’ spammers; comments section- look out!!), but who really cares about those uncomfortable and downright ridiculous porno/spanking/handcuff/”silver ball”/etc. scenes when meanwhile there is a bad boy who is just secretly aching to be tamed, trained, married and made into an honest man & perfect husband & father?

No one. That’s who cares.

I, like most of my girlfriends who read the books, did not sleep for more than a few hours here and there as I sucked down the cotton candy that was the substance of these stories. As much as I was utterly annoyed with the writing and the stupid sex scenes (scenes, I might add, that somehow inspired friends of mine to go crazy with their husbands – okay, ladies, whatever floats your previously uninspired boats!) – I was, I admit, completely unable to put the things down until I was done devouring them.

I mean come on… Fifty!? (the main guy character; his real name, of course, is Christian Grey, what else COULD it be??) Of COURSE he is a self-made billionaire international businessman, aged 28, with his hooded, sexy eyes, tousled auburn hair (come on, what the F-ck does that mean!?) and sexy, ripped jeans.

And of COURSE Ana (short for – duh! – Anastasia) would be a perfectly innocent yet utterly wise beyond her years virgin who of course trips and falls, literally, into Fifty’s arms the very first time they meet? (Again, DUH! doesn’t every girl take mental lessons from our beloved Sandra Bullock as she trips her way through romantic comedy after romantic comedy? Brilliant!)

Okay, the Cirque-du-Soleil porno sex scenes I really could have done without.

But everything else? Perfection.

Perfectly, romantically, deliciously, happy-endingly…



Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

This picture tells you all you really need to know about the book. Decipher my handwriting at your own risk!

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Flashback Friday! (Like, A Virgin!)

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 12:38 PM
Friday, August 24, 2012

Every Friday, I post an oldie but a goodie blog for your enjoyment. To those of you who just started reading The Grownup Girl recently, enjoy the “new” blog! To those of you who have been with me from the start, but have memories like mine, enjoy the “new” blog!

And to those who were with me from the start and who already read this blog and burned it into your memory, word for word, photogenically, I say:

What are you doing wasting your time dilly-dallying on my website? Get out there and find me a book deal!

BTW if you hate to read, just click on the audio link, below. Then once you’ve listened, scroll down to the bottom of this page and listen to my song. It’s groovy.

BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin) – Like, A Virgin – the BLOG


Whew! That out of the way, let’s get to the juicy stuff!

I lost my virginity at age seventeen.

Some girls toy with the hormones and patience of a longtime boyfriend before caving in, or ‘giving it up,’ and go on to have a relatively healthy sexual relationship. Others get wasted, have sex with that guy they’ve always had a crush on, then feel horribly used the next day. I think my situation is very unique, in that I wasn’t waiting for the right guy to come along so much as I was waiting for the right age to come along – that age being, unequivocally, seventeen.

What – don’t tell me I was the only girl to read Forever by Judy Blume then decide if Katherine was old enough at age 17, I would be too? [For more on my obsession with Judy Blume, read past blog here] Now that I think about it, why did I assume it was her AGE that was important, not the fact that she was in love with the boy she thought was her soul mate? Hmmmmm…

Anyway, that book actually kept me celibate longer than I probably would have been. From age fourteen my boyfriends were putting the pressure on to ‘go all the way’, and it was so easy to say no – after all, I wasn’t seventeen yet! But then – the magical age finally arrived, and – lo and behold: it was time.

Only problem? I was single.

Didn’t bother me. I had my eye on a particular boy I thought was very cute for a while, but he had always had eyes for my best friend (who dated him a little but basically didn’t care much for him). He was still a virgin… I was a virgin… I have no idea how I got up the guts to bring the subject up, but I do know that we PLANNED it out – losing our virginity together.

The act itself could not have been more of a NON-act. Did it work? I think so, but the fact that I’m not 100% sure is pretty telling….

Looking back, I can say I was happy to have something to barter with – my virginity for a shot at being your girlfriend! (Didn’t work: we did have sex a few times, but he never wanted to be my boyfriend). I guess I’m relieved I only used sex to try and make him mine – versus using an actual baby like some of the teens we see today. (That doesn’t seem to work either, does it?)

I took the hint. Stopped hoping he would want more from me than sex, and moved on to a boy who would REALLY love me for who I was: A 21 year old black Puerto Rican drug dealer who looked like Milli Vanilli.

But that’s a different blog.


Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

PS. Here’s a little ‘feel-good GrownUpGirl anthem’ to help you stop worrying about a 17 year old girl letting herself get taken advantage of:

BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin) – It’s not the First Time – the SONG

I'm sure my first time looked JUST LIKE THIS

Flashback Friday! (From the Dept of: I did WHAT???!!)

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 11:05 AM
Friday, March 30, 2012

If you hate to read, just click on the audio link, below.

BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin) – I did WHAT? – the BLOG

The summer before I moved to Los Angeles, I worked as a mostly daytime bartender in a semi-hip California-style Italian restaurant by Dupont Circle in DC. The owner was a hot Italian guy who was married but always flirted heavily with the female staff and was rumored to have slept with at least one of the vixen waitresses he kept on staff.

The day I was hired to bartend, I actually had come in to inquire about a hostess position I heard was open. Immediately, they told me they needed a daytime bartender and put me to work. I had never bartended, but I always made sure to mix the drinks with plenty of alcohol so my customers were always happy.

Once, I remember seeing a friend of mine’s mother in the back, hidden section of the restaurant, sharing an intimate mid-day meal with a man who was not my friend’s father.

My best customers consisted of a few men who would come by during the day, sit by themselves usually, though the Hot Italian Restaurant Owner and staff would always fawn over them. They’d flirt a bit with me and order their vodka. One of these men was the head of the bank across the street, I think it was Citibank. Another was a billionaire Lebanese guy. It was a game for me, trying to see how many vodkas I could get them to order, just to see how high I could cause my tip to climb – into the double digits, and yes, once in a while, into the triple.

Never occurred to me these guys were actually going back to work, making decisions that were probably affecting thousands of lives. (Hmmmm… mortgage crisis, anyone?)

Once the billionaire Lebanese guy got pretty drunk, and wound up inviting me to his nearby apartment in the middle of my shift. I can’t remember anymore under what guise he invited me – I was going to be moving to LA shortly – did he tell me he could help my career somehow? All I know is that Hot Italian Restaurant Owner was more than happy to let me off in the middle of my shift if it meant pleasing this particular patron.

And what do you think that I – a Phi Beta Kappa Yale graduate, who had volunteered countless hours at Yale in the Women’s Center, raised by a family of feminists, granddaughter to the first woman lawyer of Texas – chose to do?

I went with him.

Was I that desperate for attention? For adventure? For money?

Somewhere along the elevator ride up to his penthouse, I began to worry. The guy didn’t “feel” dangerous to me, but still… I didn’t know him. I didn’t want to sleep with him. Obviously he was hoping he could get some kind of ‘play’ from me… So what in the world was I doing with him?

We got to his apartment. I don’t remember much – just that he sat down, and looked at me with his red face and glossy eyes like, ‘The ball’s in your court.’ At which point, I made some excuse and told him I should get back. If he tried to convince me to stay, I don’t remember it. All I remember is that within a few minutes, he had escorted me safely back to the restaurant. The owner winked and scolded me, and I have no idea if I played along or told him the truth: nothing happened.

The whole event was basically a non-event. Except, that now I’m a mother of 3, I SHUDDER TO THINK any of them would put themselves in an even remotely similar circumstance…


Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

That so could have been me if I had played my cards wrong.

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Things that are just Not Cool

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 10:25 AM
Monday, March 26, 2012

Hey, everyone! I’m writing this well after midnight, on Sunday night. Whereas I PLANNED to have this and every blog for this week banged out by mid-last week. SIGH…..

Writing last minute, especially when I’m dawg tired, is way NOT COOL. Which makes me think of a few other items that fall under the self-same category.

Here are the fruits of my late-night, sleepified blogging…

The Top Ten Things I Discovered Lately, that are NOT COOL:

Number 10: Young children insisting you get up and make them a 6 AM breakfast after you have slept a not-so-solid four hours. Aren’t you a cutie-pie?!

Number 9: Shouting at your friend’s four-year-old child because he won’t stop spitting and saying potty words in your car, only to find that shouting at him just causes him to spit even more and say more potty words. She warned me he was tired…

Number 8: Splinters. Had one. In the immortal words of my daughter, it was a “Super Owie.”

Number 7: Dried rat shit. All over my boxes in our outdoor storage. EEEEWWWWWWW!

Number 6: Writing a blog last minute. Case in point.

Number 5: Realizing my almost-eight year old son is plenty old enough to figure out my blog URL. GOOD GOD, WHAT THE ##*(%&#(*& AM I DOING? AND HOW SOON DO YOU THINK IT WILL TAKE HIM TO REALIZE WHAT “#@(%&#*(%&” MEANS?????

Number 4: Realizing I can no longer curse in my blog, in good conscience. Until my youngest is at least 13. Mental note.

Number 3: Wondering how Angie and Brad do it? Not that kind of “it,” you perv! I meant ‘all of it’ – the kids, the marriage, the fame – oh, forget it!

Number 2: Realizing my husband smells like girlie perfume thanks to the jacked up deodorant I bought him at Target. Well done, Sheva.

Number 1: Taking out my night-guard as I lean in to kiss my husband sexily. Sorry, Honey! Wait, come back!


Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

I can only assume that this is who my husband saw in place of his wife, as I leaned towards him...

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Flashback Friday! (Sex Toys)

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 3:48 AM
Friday, March 9, 2012

Every Friday, I post an oldie but a goodie blog for your enjoyment. To those of you who just started reading The Grownup Girl recently, enjoy the “new” blog! To those of you who have been with me from the start, but have memories like mine, enjoy the “new” blog!

And to those who were with me from the start and who already read this blog and burned it into your memory, word for word, photogenically, I say:

What are you doing wasting your time dilly-dallying on my website? Get out there and find me a book deal!

If you hate to read, just click on the audio link, below.

BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin) – Sex Toys – the BLOG

I went today to a lingerie shop across the street from where I work, to buy some sexy undies for a girlfriend’s bachelorette party. The name of the store? FUK U. Not kidding. What is wrong with people? It’s like, a couple of friends were stoned and they came up with this AWESOME NAME for a store, HA HA HA HA!! And then they stayed stoned for the next few months while they applied for a license, ordered merchandise, incorporated and paid a contractor to remodel the expensive Melrose storefront.

Or maybe… just maybe… there are just people out there who live on a completely different reality plane than I. A plane where a store’s name, FUK U, is – pick one – hilarious, mysterious, a joke on the buyer, a joke on any adult who tries to walk her just-learning-to-read child by the store, or else just plain genius.

Anyhoo – I found some cute panties and started to pay, when my eyes drifted to the far side of the store. There, on shelf after shelf, were… not lingerie. Not underwear. Not teddies.

Sex toys.

And sex… contraptions. Things like, straps that you hang in your doorway with holes for both hands and feet (these are for Her; He gets to stand on his two legs – which I know because the very graphic picture on the front of the package told me so). Also, straps for various positions, straps for bondage, “bondage sheets” – which from the picture, told me it just lies under the person, catching all the bodily fluids (ICK), fuzzy handcuffs, and –

Wait a minute. That reminds me!

Of a time – oh, a certain number of years ago, who knows exactly, when I went to Texas for a weekend to celebrate my cousin’s bachelorette with a group of her closest girlfriends and my two sisters. My sisters had designated me the “gag gift buyer” on behalf of all of us, so I had gone to The Pleasure Chest (if you don’t know it, the name pretty much spells it out) to buy as many crazy sex toys $200 could buy.

I bought dildos, edible undies, fuzzy handcuffs, more dildos, vibrators, undies with the crotch cut out and whatever else I could grab without having to ask a salesperson for help. Packed it all in my suitcase, and went to catch my flight.

It was the handcuffs that gave me away. In security, as my bag passed through the baggage check. I had carried all the gifts with me, for fear that a checked bag could get lost and spoil the fun of giving her the gifts at the party.

A small army of airport security guards surrounded me. Never in my life did my face go as hot, or as purple red, as it did at that moment. I could barely breath as I “explained” the contents of my carry-on. Even though this was pre-9/11, they still made me go back and check the handcuffs, which I was able to do by going back to my original gate where I gave them my large luggage. There, the lady who accepted my carry-on bag to be checked, along with her friend, a gay male flight customer service guy, were really interested to know where I got my toys and whether The Pleasure Chest had locations farther south.

Maybe they’d like a store to go up near where they live, called FUK U.

My bags reached their destination, as did I, and we all had a blast that weekend. We drank lots of alcohol, played truth or dare and “I never” (whereby I simultaneously discovered VERY juicy dirt on my cousin and older sister while forever traumatizing my younger sister who was only about 14 years old) and other silly games (like “Pin the Penis on the Poster”), capped off with the gayest male stripper you will ever meet playing “who can get naked faster” with my cousin, and a pregnancy reveal of one of my cousin’s friends.

Seriously – The. Gayest. (The guy stripped for us, then hung out talking to us, waiting for his boyfriend to pick him up.)

All in the name of love & good fun…


Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

And I wonder why I get spammed by all the 'adult dating' websites?

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I want you, Mr. Mow

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 3:30 PM
Monday, March 5, 2012

Who knew period underwear could be so sexy? I certainly didn’t. I gave all men who stumbled across that particular (yeah, I know, kind of raunchy) blog ample warning that the blog was going to focus on period underwear and nothing but period underwear, and that they should run for the testosterone hills instead of reading about said subject matter.

But apparently, for some… period underwear is a MAJOR turn on.

Because twenty minutes after I posted my blog (PS, thanks to @RuthVaca for re-Tweeting me), TheGrownup Girl got a most enticing invitation. Lest I sell it short, I will re-post it here for you to feast your eyes upon:

How’s it going? I saw your site thegrownupgirl [dot] com and wanted to inquire about the possibility of working together. I work with a few adult dating offers that convert with the right targetted traffic. Right now we’re offering a competetive payout on free trial joins to our offers. Our webmaster tools generally include static banners, geo targetted iframe ads, and page peels, but we’re always open to discussing additional marketing methods as well. We’d love to have the opportunity to discuss working together. I’d be more than happy to send over the specifics about our program/sites. I can be reached anytime between 9am-5pm PST, Monday-Friday, through email or any of the contacts below. Looking forward to hearing back from you.

Nick Mow

AIM: nickmowcp
ICQ: 620744965
MSN: nick.mow [@]
Address: 7040 Avenida Encinas Suite 104 PMB 300
Carlsbad, CA 92011

Who knew there would be a man out there who would find Period Underwear so sexy and “adult dating”-worthy?

(Or that ‘targeted’ could be spelled with 2 t’s, or “competitive” with 3 e’s?)

It is possible that he mistook my blog name for its porno stepsister’s URL (www.thegrownupgirl.comminus the “the”)?

Whatever the trigger – the period underwear or the enticing blog name – I’m flattered. So flattered, in fact, that I’ve decided to reply to his email with a “competetive” offer of my own:

Dearest Nicky,

Can I call you Nicky? Or are you strictly “Mr. Mow”? Ooh, yes, I like that. Sexy.

Anyway, I’m flatterrred that you actually think THE Grownup Girl would be worthy of adult dating web traffic. And since my Google Analytics numbers have been anemic ever since the most recent Hugo Schwyzer spike subsided, I’m up for anything.

Anything, Mr. Mow.

So… call me!  It’s toll free (for the first 51 seconds, after which the call will cost you a mere $25.99 per quarter-minute): 876-HOT-LUST.


Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Pssst! I'm ready for you, Mr. Mow.

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posted by BatSheva Vaknin 1:23 PM
Wednesday, January 11, 2012


…delete them.


SOOOO annoying. I’m sure their little cyber fingers get all spammy & excited as they crawl across my blog when they discover the many porn-related words I use in my various blogs… including – uh – the WORD “porn” in one of the titles, and – oh yeah, the fact that my URL (“”) is just one little “the” away from BEING a porn site. (Did you try typing it in without the ‘the’? Don’t say I didn’t warn you…)

On the other hand, spammers I can handle with the click of a mouse. But the real deal? The people who actually live, breathe & work in that over-sexed environment?

Totally out of my element.

The other night, I uncharacteristically flipped around live television channels (normally I would ONLY watch a show I’d already DVR’d, or else just catch a show on, but this was a post-Christmas-pre-New Year’s programming draught and the pickins were mighty slim.)

After surfing the TV guide menu, what was the TV program I randomly chose?

The AVN Awards.

I’d never heard of them. Turns out, these are awards for PORN MOVIES. Good God. I don’t watch porn. I don’t like to even remember that it exists. The whole subculture of porn – the makers, the doers and the aficionados – makes me sad because it is a medium that is 100% based on instant (sexual) gratification which in my book translates into instant negativity for the doers, the watchers & the world.

Sorry folks. You didn’t realize you’d tuned into “Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin) Fallwell,” did you? But honestly, it’s not a “moral” issue I have with it – who really cares if something is “moral” or not; what does that mean anyway? It’s different to us all.

I DO, however, take psychological/emotional issue with porn, because I’ve spent enough years in therapy to know that no one just “loves sucking cock” for the camera (not to mention many, many more graphic actions that I was both shocked and mesmerized to see lauded and feted on the AVN’s) without having had one f***-ed up childhood in one way or another.

Oh, great, I just basically sent a Valentine’s Day card to all the cyber porno-spammers with the phrase I used in that last paragraph. Sighhhhhh…

Anyway, even more than the psycho/emotional problems I see with porn is the spiritual ‘problem’ I have it with it. Meaning, in a nutshell, that porn creates additional layers of negativity and chaos in our already-chaotic world. Let’s leave it at that before I get lynched by Ron Jeremy’s fan club.

But before I sign off, I have to add… does anyone out there know how to set parental controls on the TV? Is it even POSSIBLE set controls on my son’s iPod/internet? I mean, it’s one thing to have a store on a street with a pornographic name, but it’s quite another to make it easy for children to see live video of things I hope they won’t come across EVER.


O, Tipper Gore, where art thou?


Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

I really, REALLY don't want my son to trip across the TV channels and fall onto this face. Figuratively speaking, of course.

Heavy Petting

posted by Sheva 11:43 AM
Monday, November 28, 2011

I told my kids they are not allowed to kiss a boy or girl on the lips until they are married.  I originally told them that no one is allowed to kiss on the lips until they are married, but then some kids’ TV show went and ruined all my big plans.

I can’t remember now which show it was – the loose hussies of Waverly Place, the slutty Sonny with a Chance, or the trollops of Shake it Up – but whichever it was, they showed the pre-teen kiddies snogging away and dashed my hopes of protecting my children from the evils of pre-marriage smooching.

“They’re kissing!” screeched my son gleefully.

“Ew!!” seconded my 5 year old daughter.

“Close your eyes!” I demanded. “And shut off the TV! You’re only allowed to watch Little Bear from now on.”

The chorus: “Awwww!”

But I don’t think I’m wrong. Already my 5 year old tried twice to French kiss me on the mouth when I reached down to give her a goodnight kiss. Horrifying! I blame the media.

Even my two year old is tired of Little Bear. She wants Sponge Bob, Phineas and Ferb, or “Nigel the mean guy” from Spy Kids 2. Recently, I read a study that showed how kids were instantly dumber after watching a half hour of Sponge Bob. Nonetheless, I have made the executive parental decision that I am infinitely more okay with them being dumbed down than I am with them learning to French Kiss their mother by watching Disney pre-teens suck each other’s faces.

I figure they can bounce back from momentary Sponge Bob-induced retardation. But once you’ve French-kissed the wrong authority figure? The one that, unlike their mother, decides to kiss them back? Not so easy.

Now, yes, it’s true, I was making out with boys at the way too early age of DON’T EVEN THINK I’M GOING TO ADMIT TO ANYTHING, NOW GO TO BED!

Are they gone? We mommy bloggers have to be ever-vigilant.

For the rest of you (who are not my children), I admit, it is possible that the sleeping bag incident was not isolated. And that my advice to my kids about no kissing before marriage could be construed as hypocritical. But I was the classic case of Mommy-and-Daddy-Get-Divorced-and-Parents-Were-By-Products-of-the–Free-Love-60’s-And-Godless-Jewish-American-Intellects-So-Daughter-Has-No-Moral-Compass.

My kids, on the other hand, (so far, with fingers crossed, wood knocked, and many “BLI AYIN HARAs” repeated) are the product of an unbroken home and spiritual parents who are respectful of physical boundaries.  They don’t have the same excuse I did, to act slutty & stupid. Except for the small problem of the rampant sex I can’t seem to stop from popping up on every billboard we drive by, every advertisement on TV, and every pre-teen Disney show that corrupts their minds while I’m not hovering over them with the remote.

Where’s Tipper Gore when you need her?


Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Get those man-eating lips away from my children, you hussy!

Flashback Friday! (Judy Blume and Porn)

posted by Sheva 12:56 PM
Friday, November 25, 2011

Flashback Friday!

Every Friday, I will post an oldie but a goodie blog for your enjoyment. To those of you who just started reading The Grownup Girl recently, enjoy the “new” blog! To those of you who have been with me from the start, but have memories like mine, enjoy the “new” blog!

And to those who were with me from the start and who already read this blog and burned it into your memories, word for word, photogenically, I say:

What are you doing wasting your time dilly-dallying on my website? Get out there and find me a book deal!
If you hate to read, just click on the audio link, below.

BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin) – Judy Blume and Porn

Judy Blume was totally my surrogate mother while I was growing up.

Gentle readers, are you there? It’s me – Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)!

I actually did a monologue from one of her books as a kid, auditioning for a Washington, DC professional children’s troupe. And I got in.

I mean, who of you can say that you didn’t cry with that Blubber girl, bite your nails with Margaret, and hold your breath along with the rest of Judy Blume’s teenage heroines, as you took breaks from your overwhelming teen & pre-teen days to just lose yourself in a book? I even liked Judy Blume’s early childhood books, with kids who had names like Turtle and Fudge.

Question: Did any of you discover Judy Blume’s other books?

Por ejemplo, Wifey?


That book… rocked. My. World.

My twelve and thirteen year old world, to be exact.

To this day I still remember Shep, the sexy man who drove by the protagonist’s house (don’t remember her name, and who cares! She was me, in my fantasy) – and how Shep dropped his pants & masturbated, then leaving her – me – alone again, with the image of a stars and stripes helmet and a naked, sexy man, masturbating for me. I mean her.

Somehow, when I write about that scene, I wonder how Judy Blume pulled that off – making that scene about basically a stranger flashing & jacking off to a woman hot and sexy, vs creepy and disgusting. But she did. That is exactly what makes Judy Blume such a frickin MASTER.

I found my dad’s stack of Playboys hidden in the basement cabinet one time when I was snooping around as a kid. I was pretty grossed out and annoyed that he had them in the house like that. But then again, I had my own secret stash upstairs… my dog-eared, worn from constant re-reading, thick sex novel, Wifey. By Judy Blume.

Holy shit. I’m revising this blog before signing off, and an old, buried memory just surfaced like a fart bubble in the bathtub. That book – Wifey? – originally belonged to my stepmother.


It’s all coming back to me – how I found it in one of their overstuffed, musty bookshelves, and stole it. I guess I just loved and obsessed about it so much, that I adopted it and it became mine. Now that I remember it first belonged to her, it feels a little grosser than before.

I still love you, Judy Blume. It’s not your fault my Dad & his wife were horndogs.

One last note: When I was seventeen I lost my virginity. Not because I was in love. Because I had read – at age 14-ish – Forever .

(By Judy Blume, DUH!)

Forever… In which the heroine, Katherine (I only know her name because I looked it up once as an adult – believe me, I wouldn’t have remembered because she was ME when I read the book), loses her virginity to Michael when she turns seventeen.

If seventeen was good enough for Judy Blume, it was good enough for me.


Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Yeah, Mom, I'm just going to stay home and read my Judy Blume book, no biggie! (hee hee hee hee...)

FLASHBACK FRIDAY! (Which form of Birth Control Sucks the Least?)

posted by Sheva 11:31 AM
Friday, October 7, 2011

Gentle readers, because I hate to think of you arriving at my blog on a Friday-Sunday and landing on the same old-same old blog (from Thursday), I’ve decided to launch a new initiative:

Flashback Friday!

Every Friday, I will post an oldie but a goodie blog for your enjoyment. To those of you who just started reading The Grownup Girl recently, enjoy the “new” blog! To those of you who have been with me from the start, but have memories like mine, enjoy the “new” blog!

And to those who were with me from the start and who already read this blog and burned it into your memories, word for word, photogenically, I say:

What are you doing wasting your time dilly-dallying on my website? Get out there and find me a book deal!

BTW, if you hate to read, just click on the audio link, below.

BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin) – Birth Control SUCKS – the BLOG

In honor of the porn website that is a “the” away from being my URL, I’ve created… a GrownUpGirl Pop Quiz about sex, just for you!

Actually, it’s about birth control. Ready?

Please consider the following options and answer honestly: Which form of Birth Control do you hate the most? Is it…?

a) The Pill! Because it pumps you full of hormones, makes you (choose as many adjectives as you want): fat, break out, hold water, worry about what future effect taking the Pill will have on you? Or, if you’re breastfeeding, like me, maybe you hate it because every frickin time you forget to take that little pill at EXACTLY the same time each day (something impossible to accomplish, even for ‘To Do Checklist Freaks’ like me), you get – yippe! Your period (again)! Like, right before I finally trashed my last package and swore myself off the pill, I had gotten my 3rd period in a row in the same month. Mother fucker cock sucker!

Sorry, Gentle readers. That wasn’t me. That was the Pill talking just now.

b) The Sponge! Because, like every single woman I’ve ever met who has used the sponge, you got pregnant from it! You know who you are.

c) The Diaphragm! That is, if you’re like me and you can’t get the damn thing in there straight to save your life. And all that gooey spermicide you have to squeeze into it. Double he-ll no.

d) The IUD! Is it because they outlawed it for a while back in our mom’s day, and although we may like our bad-boy men, we do not like our birth control to be unlawful. Nor do I like the idea of hormones being pumped through my system on a daily basis, nor do I like the idea of a copper coil being inserted into my vagina, nor do I like getting anything but my husband’s penis inserted into my vagina, aside from tampons, of course, but I don’t exactly “like” that, it’s just a necessity. (refer to section a for details)

e) Drumroll please… the VCF! (Look it up, older moms like me who didn’t use birth control for a while because we wanted to get pregnant.) Now looky here, what’s this? My friend tells me it’s the best, easiest, coolest birth control around??? NOT. Whoever can get that damned film to stick itself properly in front of your cervix gets a standing ovation from me. I went through an entire box and still my husband found it stuck to him when we were finished having sex (it was supposed to have effortlessly dissolved within me).

f) Condoms! Who doesn’t like that dry rubbery feeling try to grind its way into your most sacred of spaces? Or the way some men’s you-know-whats just shrivel and go to sleep at the mere sight of a condom? Or the way you have to remove it afterwards and you feel like you are in the good company of hookers and teenagers all over the modern world?

*** Note: to unmarried sex-having girls and married but worried that he’s cheating girls: I’m sure there are lots of amazing things about condoms, like, for example, how you can’t get a horrible disease if he wears one correctly. So choose “f”, okay?

Okay ladies – you have your first official pop quiz. And to my sistahs, the lesbians & the virgins, just consider yourselves LUCKY that this survey doesn’t apply to you!


Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

PS. Tune in again! Ciao for now, amigos. c/xo

They may look pretty but they still SUCK.

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