❮html❯ ❮body❯ ❮p❯do you like me? ❮ul❯ ❮li❯yes❮/li❯ ❮li❯no❮/li❯ ❮li❯maybe❮/li❯ ❮/ul❯ ❮/p❯ ❮/body❯ ❮/html❯

Congratulations on Kat's second win! This makes 2 weeks in a row Put It In My Mouth has experienced 2x wins. And what incredible suggestions this week. I can't wait for the next Stiff Competition Edition. 

It is my position that the desire to communicate with others, particularly friends, was never stronger for many of us than it was in grade school.  Perhaps that is because I believe those exchanges with our friends played such an integral role in defining who we were.  And perhaps that is because I believe that defining who we were as teenagers was one of the most vital and daunting of tasks for an adolescent. 
Some of us had jobs, hobbies, or passions at an early age that helped distinguish our character—but most of us just had friends.
And those friends meant everything.  

I remember [not clearly] countless days in which my sole motivation for going to school was to see and talk to friends.  You did not need to have a lot of friends, just the ones worth talking to, listening to, and sharing everything with.  I was lucky enough to have those friends.  

If you completed your grade school career before the mass diffusion of PDA's, pagers, mobile phones, laptops, and tablets then you remember how limited that vital communication with your peers could be. 
Beyond the brief respite between classes, the sometimes desolate lunch period, or the oscillating car or bus ride—face time with friends was also limited [this is long before FaceTime®—that was shit only the Jetsons were doing].

So you pass notes! Tons and tons of fµ©$ing notes! 

Sometimes whole notebooks full of notes. You develop up an uncanny ability to fold paper into tiny shapes that no human has ever thought of [without seeing one single origami video on YouTube®, because wtf is a YouTube?]. 
The notes would get intercepted by teachers or worse. . . the boy/girl you liked. . . even though there were specific instructions written on the front in seven different shades of pastel pen,
"For Robin's Eyes ONLY"!!!!!!!!!
What, are they stupid? 

If you are like me—you consequently find yourself with boxes of these "mementos of teenage angst", as Kat fairly describes them.  If you are like my little [awesome] sister then you consequently find yourself deciding it is time to get rid of these mementos, but not before skimming them all for reminders of how completely stupid teenagers are [as she fairly describes it]. 

As a result of this behavior it would be fair to say that myself and others romanticize this note-passing period in our timeline of communication, that we are nostalgic for this tactile form of expression. 
. . .the idea that the thoughts that are in our head can literally be put into the hands of another person. . .  
Well of course thats romantic, and us romantics still participate in this behavior. . . but come on. . . we finally get to be the Jetsons!* 

I admit that adopting this sentiment about living in the digital age while holding on to my analog past happened forcibly and just a couple of years ago.  I was making a film for class and my shot list designated that Madison was to despondently flip through a photo album. This made no sense to someone (a younger peer) and it was only then that I realized. . . nobody [young] keeps photo albums and they especially don't understand the (albeit emo) habit of digging them out and obsessively pouring over them. 
So I rewrote the scene to have Madison clicking through her facebook photos and even as a romantic it was hard to capture her despondence without tangible evidence like a photo album. 

See for yourself. [shameless effort to make you watch my shameful student film]

The teenage angst that Kat wrote of in her winning suggestion, well I am sure it still exists.  But [as a romantic**] I wish to believe it has lessened.  Teenage angst is often related to the frustration of not clearly recognizing your personal identity.  Many of us suffer this for a long time and we are always susceptible to encountering such a feeling again.  
In the digital age teenagers today can construct their identity in a collage of pictures, emoticons, and snarky status updates. They can express who they are by listing the bands, movies, books, and television programs they like.  They can be cool by association by disclosing who they are with and where they are at. They can endow themselves with just about anything they want. 
Teenagers can fully contrive an identity and more significantly
they can edit it when necessary.

Am I saying that social media is the answer to teenage angst? 
No.
Certainly not [although there is nothing angsty about 5 dozen selfies].
But as powerful [and potentially harmful] that these digital tools are, perhaps they can wield some good. Suppose wrestling with your identity crisis by way of an accessible CMS could give these youths some amount of ease, if only temporary. 
Teenagers today can hoard their angsty emotions in an online archive for anyone to see, or to pour over later if they so decide. 
But if we are lucky most of them will opt into the "never have to relive this moment again" electronic communication facilitated by snapchat.
Because I'll be real, unless today's teenagers can pull off some classy John Hughes shit, I don't want to stumble upon their angsty mementos while searching for online porn. ***

In case you were wondering, my teenage angst looked a lot like this:

talk hard

Well, perhaps I just imagined it that way. 

I believe it probably looked a lot more like this: 

exactly like this



Thank you to my beautiful friend Alissa for taking the time out of her busy back to school schedule to confirm Kat's suspicion that teenagers no longer pass notes.
RIP 
Notes
then-now

* We only passed notes because we didn't have electronic devices.  
** Let's be honest. I'm very much a cynic too. 
*** I don't really feel that way. That's a little dramatic. Probably just some residual teen angst. 

It's About Time

It's time! 

Time to congratulate Matt on another Put It In My Mouth victory.

I was really excited about Danielle's "Middle Child Syndrome" suggestion 

and lucky for everyone

I will be discussing time travelers through the lens of 

a middle child.

See. That's me. In the MIDDLE!

Are you guys ready to explore time travel with me? 

I didn't hear you!

Twat? I beg your hard-on. <-----dirty joke

Alright! Let's go!

How People Without Mental Illness Perceive Those Who Do Have Them: A Short Story

Put It In Your Mouth did not receive any suggestions last week, so there was no winner. Or wait! Does that mean you are all winners? I have written a short story using all of your suggestions. That's right. All of them. I apologize in advance.

A dark adventure tale assembled by yours truly using your dark and wonderful suggestions. 

Thank you very much guys.

Once upon a time there was a young girl named Beth. 
Beth lived in Lubbuck, TX which, if you don't know, is 50% wind and 50% dirt. 
Beth didn't have many friends. She was often teased at school for having "men's knees" and for always forgetting jokes. The kids at school started a list called Ten Reasons Why Beth Can't Remember Jokes. Gosh—they weren't even good reasons, kids are so cruel. One day Beth snapped. She could no longer tolerate the teasing and laughing at her expense so she decided to run away. She didn't really know where she would go but she thought maybe, Chicago? Beth did, after all,  really love chicago dogs—well all dogs really. Adults would often tell her she had good dog etiquette, whatever that meant. 
She packed a bag and headed out on the road. She felt like Jack Kerouac, or Henry Thoreau. Well, actually she wasn't sure who she identified with the most. Regardless, she was gone. 
Beth had been walking for forever, at least a quarter mile, down the flat and dusty Lubbock road when she decided to stop for a snack. Beth found a lonely tree and sat beneath it. She pulled from her bag a solitary can of cheese whiz. Cheese was Beth's favorite snack, but she knew it wouldn't travel well.  Once, Beth put a piece of cheese in her pocket for school and by fourth period she smelled funny and the kids were calling her "smells like death Beth". So she sought the cheese whiz instead. 
Just then Beth spotted a goat. The goat was approaching her.  It was a strange looking goat. It appeared as though the goat had a unibrow. Beth should've been frightened. Many things frightened Beth: vajazzling, asking strangers for directions, wondering "Am I alone in the Universe"? All these things frightened Beth, but for some reason she was not afraid of this goat. The goat stood before her, blinking, with a definite unibrow. 
Beth squirted a tiny bit of cheese whiz into her hand and held it out for the goat. "You know what would be good with this?" the goat asked.

"Whoa, what!" Beth could not believe her ears. 

"Well, do you? Do you know what would be awesome with this?" the goat urged.

"Did you just talk?" Beth screamed. 

"Well since you don't know, I will tell you. Philly Soft Pretzels. It's too bad we don't have any Philly Soft Pretzels. Man. Those things are the best." 

Beth stared at the goat in disbelief for several minutes as the goat went on and on about how Philly Soft Pretzels are high in protein and how they are hand twisted every morning in the Philly Pretzel Factory where they serve over a million pretzels a year. Beth listened in awe to the goat talk about how Italian monks in 610 a.d. used bits of pretzel to reward children for learning their prayers. Beth listened to all of this while developing a fixed mechanical rhythm of squirting cheese whiz into her hand and holding it out for the goat. She examined the goat's unibrow and and tried to imagine him with other facial hair. What would be the best facial hair option for a goat? She had never thought about it before. 

"Sounds like we are out." The goat nudged Beth. "We're out."

"Huh? Oh." Beth rejoined reality or what she interpreted to be her reality of the moment. She realized she was out of cheese whiz, or as the goat had implied, they were out of cheese whiz.

"So where are we headed?" the goat asked.

"I'm running away to Chicago. Wait, 'we'? Do you want to come with?"

"That's the idea, right? We're best friends now. We shared a meal. I don't know how your kind does it, but that is pretty special for us goats."

"Hmm, I don't have many friends," Beth admitted, "but my kind shares things on facebook. I guess that's pretty special. But I don't have an account anymore because I over-share online."

"Chicago is far. We will want to stop for drinks soon."

"I'm not old enough." Beth was concerned she would lose her new friend before their journey even began. 

"So what? I'm a goat. Don't worry, I know a place. Suburban Tap. They'll serve just about anybody. Follow me."

On the walk to the bar they shared stories. They talked about the iPhone and Android games they were embarrassed to admit they could not stop playing. Goat told Beth about how he was kidnapped as a baby (and how baby goats are called kids so it is a totally common phenomena) and his kidnapper tattooed his scrotum (which is a completely uncommon phenomena). Beth told goat about the teasing at school and how she started wearing leggings and tights to mask her man knees but then all the girls told her she was wearing them wrong. They talked about the music that shaped their lives. They revealed to each other (at the count of five) their favorite dinosaurs and found out they had the same one! They were having so much fun. Both of their eyes were damp with tears of laughter, which was a good thing because did I mention how dusty Lubbock is?

"Here we are."

"I am very excited goat. Wait a minute. We are best friends and I don't even know your name."

"Oh, shoot. My name is Casey. I can't believe I forgot to introduce myself. I get that way when I talk about Philly Soft Pretzels. I lose all manners."

"Casey? That is a girl's name, right?"

"Yeah. I'm a girl goat."

"Oh," Beth apologized, "I don't know why I assumed you were a boy. That makes sense, you've got nipples."

"Well boy goats have nipples too, although I don't know why. I mean what for, right?" Casey laughed awkwardly. "What are we waiting for? Let's go inside."

The inside of the bar was even better than Beth had imagined and boy was Casey right, they did indeed let anybody in here.
"Belly up!" Casey patted her hoof on the stool next to her. 
Beth looked around and could spot the many unique persons in the bar with her. She began thinking how many of these people represented the same characters she used to find online when she had a facebook account.  Wow, these people exist. 
"You should eat something. My treat. I ate all of your cheese whiz."
"What are you eating?" Beth asked.
"There is an all you can eat salad buffet on the way out of town. I am saving myself for that. It should be killer."
"Wait," Casey considered for a minute, "yeah, order me a pretzel. I have to use the little gal's room."
The server asked Beth if she was ready to order. Boy was she. "I'm so hungry I could eat my own fist."
"May I suggest the fish of galaxy 8 instead?" the waitress seemed genuinely concern that Beth may eat her own fist. 
"Yes, I'll take that please. And a pretzel. And some alcohol too. Thank you."
"Any preference of alcohol?" the waitress inquired. 
"No."
Casey came back from the bathroom noticeably upset. 
"What is wrong?"
"It is all the cell phone conversations happening in public restrooms. They make me so uncomfortable."
"May I ask why, Casey?"
"Because—I always initially get excited thinking they are talking to me and that I am about to make a new friend—then blam. What happens? I always wind up feeling like an idiot and no where near close to making a new friend."
"I think I know how you feel," Beth tried sympathizing with Casey, "I was once pressured to watch Two and a Half Men."
"I don't get it. How is that anything like how I feel?" Casey felt frustrated.
"Well, because I felt like an idiot. You know? Because it is a bad show. I only watched it because of an ex I am still close friends with. Was close friends with. I mean how do you stay friends with someone after they peer pressure you into watching Two and a Half Men?"
"I'll drink to that." Casey and Beth toast with their alcohol. 
The food arrives. Beth looks at her fish of galaxy 8 with wide optimistic eyes. It looks a bit odd, but she puts it in her mouth anyways. One bite and Beth reflects on everything she has put in her mouth before. Wow. This was special. 
After the meal Beth and Casey order more alcohol. 
"You know, I don't get it. Why don't you have more friends Casey? You are the most likable person, I mean goat, I know." Beth was slurring at this point. 
"I do have my own vlog. It's about indie films. It was pretty popular for a while. But you know, I myself often wonder, why does no one like goats? I mean, come on."
"Hey! Hey you!" a guy shouts from the corner of the bar.
"Oh great." Casey tries to hide her face with her hoof. 
"Who is that?" Beth is concerned. 
"Hey, I'm talking to you!" the guy is still trying for Casey's attention. He walks over to Beth and Casey spilling his drink on the way. 
"Crap," Casey sighs, "Beth this is Leon. Leon this is Beth."
"Oh, is Casey still talking?" Leon patronizes Casey.
"Hey, you leave my friend alone." 
"Or what?" Leon threatens.
"I don't know really," Beth backs down, "Can you just leave us alone please?"
"Sure, sure I will. But Casey, you owe me a pretzel. And some blog advice."
"What?" Casey is surprised by Leon's request.
"Yeah, I want to learn how to write more than two blogs a year. I thought you might help. You are such a powerful vlogger."
Casey is genuinely surprised by this compliment. "Yeah, okay. I'll call you."
"Okay, what was that about?"
"I met him one night over drinks and I made the mistake of discussing turbulent politics in developing countries. He has been antagonizing me ever since. But you know what they say?"
"What, what do they say?"
"Everybody poops."


To Be Continued...

Nip, Nip, Hooray?

We have nipples. 
Most of us have two, and there are those of us who have three (or more).

Ivannah tell you your fortune

But what do we do with them? 

Feed our offspring? Gage the temperature?

As a possessor of nipples, I  admit to having found zero uses for them.
I suppose nipples serve as an aesthetic reminder of my femininity, right? 

Well no, men have nipples too. But why? 

All human babies are born with what may be referred to as a 'female template'. Testosterone is not produced for roughly six weeks after conception in most mammals, and this is when a genetically disposed male fetus would begin developing as such. 

There is a distinct biological function for women's nipples, we can agree on this. But genetically speaking, "why do men keep their nipples"? Or as week six winner, Brooks, suggests:

My inchoate response; yes. 

Yes, nipples on men is a waste. But like all burning Put It In My Mouth topics we must penetrate the surface. We must probe, we must take a deeper look.    (too many innuendos?) 

Genesis Erogenous E Pluribus Unum 

The erogenous potential for nipples (on both men and women) is something of a myth. Simply put, nipple sensation varies from person to person. 

Now, I have only ever been romantic with my current boyfriend* so I can not tell you tall tales of what men do or do not like. . . but. . . I do have friends who are huge sluts and who love to dish. 

You know how it goes? They get a mouthful, I get an earful. 

From my second hand research, and correct me if I'm wrong, men either enjoy some stimulation to their nipples or they do not. 

It is that simple.
You can ask a man candidly whether he likes it. . . or you can find out while you're in the field. Just don't be too attached to the outcome. 

Toys for Tits

Fun and games. Yes, between the ages of __ and __, tweaking a fellow's nipple(s) is considered an amusing pastime. 

Purple Nurple and Titty Twister are just a couple games you may remember. My girlfriends and I used to play a long running game of Titty-Tag. 

It is explanatory in name and I admit, it never got old**. 

Udder no circumstances; teets on tv

When appraising the worth of men's nipples, one must consider the value of a woman's nipples. 

For example, those of you who were not as (near black out) drunk as I was during Super Bowl XXXVIII may remember this:

Rock "her" body broadcast

The message to say no to prejudice, ignorance, bigotry, and illiteracy while Janet sang us out of Rhythm Nation became lost after Justin Timberlake danced onto stage and tugged at the lip of her nip creating the most memorable*** nipslip of all time. 

What did this broadcasted moment teach us about nipples? 

They are worth a lot:

How much? 

$ The development of YouTube by Jawed Karim $
$ 35,000 new Tivo subscribers $

$ The induction into the Guinness World Records as the "Most Searched in Internet History" and the "Most Searched for News Items" $

$ The Supreme Court eventually ruled in favor of CBS and Viacom but not before 

Viacom paid out 3.5 million in settlements $

This event also had a negative cost for Janet, Ms. Jackson if you're nasty. . . and MTV:

-$ MTV was told by the National Football League that they would never be involved in another halftime show. -$

-$ Janet Jackson was banned from attending the 2004 Grammy Awards and multiple radio stations were forbidden to air her music during some of the litigation process. -$

women's nipples = $$$$

men's nipples = eh? A waste?**** 

Friction non-fiction 

Men, do you ever run? Do your nipples ever chafe? Prohibited to go shirtless in a gym but don't want to wear those tight shirts that will protect your nipples? 

Are you asking yourself at that moment:

Well here is your chance to weigh in. Tell us in the comment field how you feel about men's nipples, especially if you strongly advocate for them. Put It In My Mouth encourages conflicting opinions. 

Be lascivious, be creative, be thoughtful. 

We are sure it will be titillating. 

*I love you!

**There are some double standards applied to titty twisting games. I recommend never grabbing, flicking, pinching, twisting, etc anyone's nipple unless you have been given express consent. 

***Well, memorable unless you were black out drunk.

****inconclusive 

https://t.co/zxZO6ZTrsu
— Valerie Jane (@Vajajane) July 16, 2013

Winner: Stiff Competition Edition!

I give you the winning blog topic for the first (and probably last) Stiff Competition Edition. 

Thank you to our two very special voters!


This very sexy topic was suggested by Kyle the second week of voting!
Awesome!




You may think, "How would someone go about writing a masterful blog regarding men's knees"?
And you would not be alone.
I thought the same thing.
I was up for the challenge. . .

. . . then. . .

I decided to make a video.
This is, after all, a special runner's up edition.

Many thanks to my many muses! 

Until I can fix the typo in this video (*slapping), please forgive my error. Thank you.

Stiff Competition Edition

We are celebrating one month of unique contest/friend sponsored blogging. 

This has been such a great experience for me. 

I don't know how to thank you guys enough. I would give you all money. . . if I had more of it. 

But remember that I said that. . . in the event I do one day ;-)

This week's Put It In My Mouth will honor all of your suggestions by offering everyone another opportunity to vote for the runners up. 

Here they are: 

The suggestions with blue ribbons have already merited winning blog posts

Your first choice for second chances

Please type your vote in the comment field.

Following PiiMM protocol, voting will close at 10pm Friday night (7/5/2013).

The suggestion with the most votes will be the next week's blog topic! 

Poop Doggy Blog

blog predicate

I've been a dog owner my whole lifetime, including childhood when technically I simply belonged to a family that a dog belonged to. . . ownership is such a noxious concept. . . 

That being said, it is impossible for me to be completely objective when writing about dog etiquette in the strictest sense. I will find myself making excuses for my dog's behavior or comparing my dog to other dogs—which, let's face it, won't be fun to read. 
So, in the interest of not bullshitting you I will admit now to having less than perfect dog etiquette—but tons of humility about it. 

Now, let's make our doggy decree:

1.  Establishing rules, exercising control. 
When owing a pet, specifically a dog, you've got to Scott Baio up and take Charge. I know from experience that some dogs* won't heed every command, but it is valuable that they know to listen to you and what to listen for. 
ex: stay, sit, come. 

2.  C is for caution.
Your dog is domesticated, yes. But unlike a house plant, your dog also belongs to the Animalia kingdom. Which implies a mental prowess and physical spontaneity that we have to be alert to.

This means understanding their moods, behaviors, and temperament. Have the severity of manner to know how your dog responds to other people, children, cats, other dogs? 

You are solely responsibility for their behavior. . . so if they can't behave. . . don't impose their bad behavior onto others**. 

3.  Neuter Recruiter.

This doesn't actually fall into the header of etiquette. I just hate seeing too many puppies and too few homes and I also dislike being badgered into taking puppies under the argument that "I already have a dog. . . so what is one more"?

This is an egregious argument and you're barking up the wrong tree, you know who you are. <-----haha, jk***

4.  If you like it then you shoulda put a leash on it ♪

Only 20 US states have strict leash laws, though many of the 30 w/o do allow local municipalities to enforce their own leash laws. 

It is not enough to leash your dog, you must do so responsibly. Do have control of the dog, the leash could easily become intwined with another dog's leash or be a potential tripping hazard, for example****. 

5.  Don't poop on my parade.

Simply put, "If it's brown, flush it down".

You flush your toilet after every bowel movement, right? Well, I hope so. Even a person delighted and entertained by poop, such as I, would prefer not to see it, smell it, and (supremely) step in it. 

6.  Wham, Bam, Instagram.

I used to feel guilty posting pictures of my dog on Instagram—but no longer. Every day I scroll through dozens of photos of friend's babies and children. Aww, they are cute. But so is my dog*****. 

My dog has made appearances on Vine, Twitter, Facebook, Vimeo, and Instagram. She has even been the subject of school projects. 

#nofilter #noguilt

Now grab your poop bags and party hats. Be the best companion you can be, to your dog and to your fellow non-dogs.

You have a huge responsibility, but you are rewarded with so much love and compassion (and bad breath kisses)! 

*

This dog

**Sorry guys for all the times my dog has jumped on you or stuck her wet nose up your dress. 

***I'm just kidding about kidding.

****Yes, I tripped over my own dog's leash. . . okay?

*****Not everyone can have babies.