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This just in from FIPS reader Anna (eh, actually it's a month or so old, so multiply all your poopy diaper fantasies by about 1000):

The Tea Lounge has a variety of things that have drawn me in as a writer time and time again: its large seating area, mostly decent coffee, distracting art on the walls, chocolate dipped oreos, etc (just to name a few).  However, The Tea Lounge *also* has many, uhm, "features" that have consistently made me leave before I could do anything close to being productive: deranged regulars-namely, i.e. that guy that refuses to wear shoes and tries to bum cigs from me every 20 minutes, spotty internet and rarely working AC.  I love to hate it; it hates to love me.  I go in; I come out, I come back the next day.

Then finally, I found a reason to dump it for good.

Several days in a row in smelled as though a newborn crawled into the AC vent and shat itself to death.  Day after day the smell built up like aged Camembert.  I let it slide for a while until I found out where the smell was coming from.

Apparently the Tea Lounge is totally fine with letting moms change their people puppies on their couches. Waiting for the bathroom the other day, a shit riddled pre-person was screaming its lungs out while his mom was fidgeting around his diaper bag with shit all over her hands.

Food is served here.  Also, there is a changing fucking table in the bathroom.  How many a couch has invisible baby shit smears on it?  I'm not coming back to find out.

Ok, so look: we haven't actually gone into the Tea Lounge to investigate this shit with a black light, so def consider it heresay. Also, even if this IS true, if you have any illusions that the Tea Lounge would be the only spot in town where this happens, you are probs high right now.

In conclusion: eww.


American Men Are Bad in Bed. Or, Not As Good As They Think. 

Hold the presses. Per serious research (via Gawker), you men aren't quite the studs you like to think.

According to the findings of a gynormous new national sex survey by Indiana University's oddly-named Center for Sexual Health Promotion, "eighty-five percent of American men say the last person they had sex with had an orgasm. And yet, only 64 percent of American women say they had an orgasm the last time they had sex." 

Per Gawker...

What are men doing wrong? Besides being really gullible? According to the survey, "women are more likely to orgasm when they engage in a variety of sex acts and when oral sex or vaginal intercourse is included," so maybe, you know, uh, switch it up a little more. You know, in bed. If you catch my drift. Sexually

As always, the comments make for titillating reading and BLAME the women. What would be the protocol here for keeping your partner informed?

Chestrockwell: If a guy can't seem to hit the spot, she needs to vocalize the problem. Not all men are mind readers. 

SuffersFoolsGladly: Yo, some of this is the fault of we women for all the polite faking some of us do in order to boost men's egos. In addition, many of us just don't come out and tell the poor guys what makes us feel good. 

lbwilliams: If they're not as good as you want them to be, then you're not telling them how you want it. If they're still not as good as you want them to be, it's time to find someone or someTHING else. 

Chazz: these comments have officially given me a boner.

So, we're awash in Europeans lately. Are American dudes any worse in bed than your menfolk?


Bugged to Death in Park Slope

Do I really have to start sleeping in this?

I grew up in the city: a fact, yes, I like to lord over you Neauveau Yorkers whenever I get the chance. We all have our annoying qualities (perhaps me more than most).

Anyway, back in the day, I don't recall having to worry about being EATEN EFFING ALIVE night after infernal night by mosquitoes!

As if I don't have enough beasts invading my conjugal bed, seldom does a night pass that my husband or I are not lying in wait and slapping ineffectually at our heads, or worse, turning on the light to wait. 

Last night, my much needed beauty sleep was once again disturbed by the telltale horrible buzz in my ear. I managed to slide through the littered bodies to cover myself in the DEET-iest Cutter I could find and slept the rest of the night smothered under sheets.

What gives? 

And, leaving aside the whole West Nile issue, what's your strategy? Cause I KNOW I can't be the only one!

Ceiling fans? Lemongrass scented deodorant? Mosquito nets? Moving upstate (where I didn't get bitten more than a few times all summer!)?


Park Slope and the Thin Blue Line

Um, will someone please let me into this family?  A story from yesterday's Brooklyn paper reports on a father and son from the Slope who sent a camera twenty miles up into the stratosphere.  Skip the story and watch the vid; this thing is so well-planned out and full of yuppie hubris, I am beaming with 'hood pride.

I may have done rocketry with all the boys at Gifted Summer Camp in Westchester (caps for emphasis, obvs) but this beats the bloody shit out of that. 

Luke Geissbuhler: Dude. Adopt me.  I want to send shit into space with you.



Not sure how we missed this one from Gothamist, but just so you know: an adorable mommy squirrel has taken up residence amongst our prime Park Slope real estate to do what all the rest of us do: BREED. Apparently this squirrel has been cranking out a shit load of babies next to Kenneth and Michelle’s “Yoga Room” window. Rather than being totally grossed out, they’ve created an entire website with pictures, videos, and a bunch of other squirrely crap.

Unfortch, this has predictably attracted the worst kinds of people:

Dear Mommy Squirrel,

How did you lose the baby weight? What do you think of the merits of homeschooling vs. public or private schools? Are organic nuts expensive? Please advise.

– Michelle

Dear Mrs. Sqirl,

What is it like to see these sqirls grow up and be big kids? What kind of nuts do you eat? Other than nuts what do you eat anything else?


– Courtney

EPIC FAIL, Courtney and Michelle.

I myself once had a super intense hang sesh with a baby squirrel. After letting it nibble on my fingers, the wildlife lady I took it to said “it probably has rabies.” My little friend was taken away in an airtight plastic box and HAD ITS BRAIN REMOVED. I was told there is a 0.5% chance that I have dormant rabies, SO GREAT.

Hanging out in your yoga room with some adorb rodent pack seems so sweet and innocent. UNTIL THEY KILL YOU. I could go rabid any day.