Weird Observations from the Girls' Locker Room

Yesterday was Masochist Sunday. Not only did I subject myself to going to Ikea alone - and you all know how much I loathe Ikea [see: There are No Single People in Ikea ] but I also decided to go to the gym.

Ikea was as hellish as I had imagined it to be.  Couples with screaming kids.  Happy, smug couples looking to decorate their love nest.  Annoying mums pushing their way through the Ikea cafeteria -- which has got to be the worst food ever.  Mark my words: Swedish food will never catch on like Italian or French food.

One thing I find particularly frustrating is that there are few things that I can actually fit into my 2-seater car.  Had I realized how often I'd be going to Ikea in my life I would have bought a bigger car.  But such is life.  I can't turn the clock back to 3 years ago.

After Ikea I dropped the dog off at the flat -- yes I took my dog to Ikea.  She patiently waited in the car.  Then I drove to the Reebok Gym.  Yes, it was a pitifully short ride but since I was getting exercise anyhow I figured it didn't matter.

My experience at the gym was interesting.  Usually I'm so focused on my work out that I don't really notice people around me.  Maybe because I haven't been to the gym in a while I was observing lots of weird things.

I saw a girl, half asian, half white checking out her butt in the mirror for a ridiculously long time.  She was staring at her butt when I arrived in the locker room.  I worked out for a half hour came back to the locker room and she was in the same position still starting at her butt.

When I was in the sauna I saw a tanned woman with the most perfect tits.  They were round, and just the right size.  I couldn't take my eyes off them.  Luckily she had a towel over her head so she didn't see me looking at her.

I saw a think black woman whose tits were 3 shades lighter than her face.

I saw a near anorexic white woman drinking diet Dr. Pepper in the locker room.  First of all, Dr. Pepper is nasty.  Diet Dr. Pepper is worse.  But shouldn't you be drinking water in the locker room?  Just a thought.

And lastly, while I was showering, I looked over to the shower across from my and saw a woman fingering her vagina in a not very discrete way.

Not that any of that matters, but it just felt like an a-typical day at the gym.

Vaginal vs Clitoral Orgasms

Vaginal vs Clitoral Orgasms with special guest, Suzanne Portnoy.



Suzanne and I chat about:

• The White Jewish Mother I never had 
• Advice for living with the boyfriend 
• Ikea 
• Sex drives 
• Boredom and Orgasms 
• Gigantic Cocks 

"The quickest way to way to take romance out of a relationship is to do all that boring domestic shit."

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There are No Single People in Ikea

There are no Single People in Ikea

There is nothing that exacerbates the gulf between the things I need and my current lack of resources quite like Ikea. I was determined not to make this trip to Ikea the soul-destroying experience that it had been in the past.

After picking up Doggums from the crèche I drove there. I know that I'm not going to fit a lot in my 2-seater car, but there was stuff that I need for my flat. I feel so unsettled that there's so much to add to the flat. And the only furniture I've bought in 5 months is a waterbed, coffee table and sofa.

I feel like I'm living like a student and going to Ikea makes me feel so inadequate.

The vast majority of people in Ikea seem to be there for good reasons. What really freaks me out is that everyone at Ikea is there as part of a couple. There are no single people in Ikea. I swear I saw people laughing at me when I arrived alone – in a two seater car, no less.

The only single people at Ikea are recently singled people. The ones that have been dumped and now need to find a new place to live and new furniture in it. But there is no on there like me, you know, permanently single.

And then when you walk around Ikea you see smiley happy couples everywhere inside. They're sitting on the sofas, they're examining the settees, they're opening cabinet doors and taking measurements in the display kitchens. If there was one word to describe them it would be smug. They're so fucking smug. Oh they've finally made it in life. They bought a three bedroom terrace, Chelsea tractor and now all they need is the perfect furniture.

Buying furniture on your own is a completely daunting experience. First of all I know that I can't put any of this furniture together myself. When I look at a bookshelf or a wardrobe or anything with more than 4 screws I get all flustered. I know these items are things that I need but trying to figure out how I'm going to put it together is like doing long division in my head!

Secondly, I know it can't fit in my car. So that means I have to have it delivered. But they only deliver between 9 AM and 5 PM . Excuse me, I work! No, there's no one who can be there for the delivery. No husband. No boyfriend. I don't even have any unemployed friends that can help out. Sure, I could take the day off work, but that would add another £500 to the cost of the furniture. And let's face it, if I had another £500 to spend I wouldn't be at fucking Ikea.

Thirdly, if you're shopping at Ikea with someone else they can tell you if you're making a good decision or not. But now the burden of good taste now rests solely on me. If I make a bad furniture decision I have to live with it.

I think there's a secret Ikea conspiracy to convert people into buying wicker. I hate wicker. There are few things made out of wicker that I think are useful, yet every time I go into Ikea I find myself strangely drawn to the wicker section. Wicker is so suburban. Wicker is so bland. Wicker is so not me and I feel resentful that Ikea somehow trying to convert me.

But what I absolutely hate about Ikea is that it makes me question everything that I thought was good in my life because they have something newer and better. It doesn't matter if I thought I had a great sofa at home; at Ikea I can buy a whole room full of furniture that would match the sofa better. It doesn't matter if I thought I was cleverly storing away my clothes. They've got something that will store my stuff away even better. No matter what I have at home Ikea has something newer and better . And as I troll through the isles with twenty odd scraps of paper listing pseudo-Swedish sounding items that I'm somehow intending to buy I feel like a complete failure; that if the world ended tomorrow my life hasn't been complete because I never managed to buy and install the Läck shelf.

Why am I so drawn to a place that makes me feel so awful? Why do I keep going back if I always feel unsatisfied there? Maybe that's just how life is. Sometimes being able to feel an emotion is more fulfilling then being numb and feeling nothing at all.