sherrymcguinn

“J'adore,” or not?

“It smells like sex in here.”

Ever hear that line from a character in a movie? Kind of makes you cringe, doesn’t it?

You know what I’m talkin’ about: The funkified aura surrounding you and a partner after getting busy. Especially after a particularly energetic, bed-squeaking, boots-knocking, leg-shaking, multi-orgasmic sweat session. THE reason a cheating mate will jump in the shower after getting off.

Is it hot in here…?

Remember the song, “Sex and Candy,” by Marcy Playground, with the unforgettable line, “I smell sex and candy here?” With a bouncy beat and lyrics to match, the tune hit a home run with every sexually active person listening.

What causes this particular Eau de F*cking? And is it normal? This depends upon the smell, itself, doctors say. And also, the individuals involved.

According to Health.com, some smell after an aerobic activity, which intercourse is, makes sense. Vaginal secretions, possible semen, lubricants, latex condoms, and two (or more) sweaty bodies are all contributing factors to the distinctive fragrance that makes some people well…squirmy.

So once again, how do you know if the smell emanating from you and your partner is a natural result of two healthy individuals enjoying one another?

First, understand that the smell shouldn’t be “bad” or “off” to you. A distinct musky odor is considered normal. Sweat, spermicides and lubes all contribute to this musk.

Genital pH levels also come into play here. Women’s Health points out that semen is alkaline and vaginal fluids are acidic and when they combine, they create a substance with new chemical properties. That, in and of itself, could cause what is thought of as a “bad” odor.

A noticeably fishy smell is just such an odor. Bacterial Vaginosis (BV) could be the culprit. This occurs when there is an overgrowth of a specific type of bacteria in the vagina. Certain STDs, such as trichomoniasis, can also create a stink. As could a common yeast infection.

Although BV is often symptom-free, some women might notice a thin white discharge along with pain, itching and the fishy odor which, after sex, might be considerably stronger. This is the time to see your OB-Gyn, who can confirm whether an STD or BV is indeed the culprit. If so, he or she will prescribe antibiotics to clear it up.

I mentioned pH levels, and although this piece isn’t targeted to women, only, the thing is, a vagina is well, kind of insular, with mysterious tunnels, nooks, and crannies that can trap all kinds of bacteria. A man’s stuff is just BOOM, right there. In your face. Hanging out for ease of use.

A woman’s pH level down under can easily be thrown off kilter by douching, long soaks in bubble baths (yikes!) and frequent washing of the vulva with soap.

Douching is unnecessary and is not recommended by doctors as a woman’s body naturally flushes out and cleans the vagina. Again, if something smells really off, it probably is and a douche will not solve it. See the doc.

Men, you’re certainly not immune. While you’ll never smell like a peony, a stinky package could be indicative of the following:

Smegma. Yes. It really is a thing. More common on uncircumscribed penises, this is an accumulation of dead skin cells that build up over time, resulting in a thick, white substance.

Balanitis. Irritated skin on top of the penis, some of the primary causes include poor hygiene, skin conditions such as psoriasis and infections.

Sexually Transmitted Infection (STI). The two most likely to cause penis odors are gonorrhea, which causes a green, white or yellow discharge, pain or burning while urinating and an inflamed foreskin. The symptoms of chlamydia are a white, watery discharge, pain while urinating and testicle pain.

Naturally, medical attention is a must for the above conditions and for anything else that doesn’t look or feel right.

Back to the post-sex aroma. Love it or hate it, it’s not going to hang around forever. A shower and a couple of good pee sessions will send it packing. I don’t know. I kind of think it should be savored. Like a good wine. But if you’re worried about it, take note of the foods that can change how you smell down there.

Before your next romp, avoid, onions, garlic, curry, asparagus and anything with a lingering, super-strong odor. Instead, load up on the following:

Yogurt. Filled with friendly bacteria to ward off the nasty stuff.

Pineapple. Both men and women have said that ingesting this fruit makes a woman taste and smell sweeter. All fruits are beneficial here, especially blueberries and mangos. Side note: Watermelon is thought to improve sex drive. I’m in!

Walnuts. Known to improve the shape, movement, and vitality of sperm, according to India Times. Who knew?

Avocados. This fruit’s folic acid energizes the body while vitamin B6 stabilizes hormones.

Chocolate. Increases serotonin and endorphins for a mood boost. It doesn’t affect how you smell but damn, it tastes f*cking awesome.

Eggs. These little gems contain the amino acid L-arginine, which is thought to improve erectile dysfunction.

Coffee. A natural stimulant that can spike sex drive and heighten arousal.

Steak. It contains zinc, vitamin B, iron and protein, all compounds that can help improve libido in both men and women.

Finally, just to compound matters, men can tell when certain women are aroused. Yes. Arousal has its own smell. The resulting essence is unique to each woman. It’s caused by a pheromone, a kind of chemical signal that men can pick up, often without realizing it. And a woman may not even be aware that she’s sending out these signals. Chew on that for a while.

Enough talk. Time to get down to it. And when you’re done, take a big whiff. It’s perfectly natural

“I emitted some civetlike female stink, a distinct perfume of sexual wanting, that he had followed to find me here in the dark.” ― Janet Fitch, White Oleander

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

Thank you for reading. If you liked this, please check me out here:

https://medium.com/@sherrymcguinn

You don’t like me, even though I hold no ill will toward you. I see you coming for me, as I scramble over your fruit bowl.

I don’t have ears, so I can’t hear your curses…your recriminations. Why do you hate me? What have I done?

I should run. But an overripe banana gives me pause. My two stomachs rumble from its sweet, cloying, call to my antennae.

You didn’t know, did you? That I have two stomachs. One to hold food and the other to share with others.

Can you say the same? Do you share your food? From what I’ve seen of you and yours, I think not.

In fact, where I am lean and strong, you are soft and pliable. How is that treadmill working out for you?

Go ahead, hate me. You’re just lucky I’m not a bullet ant. I would sting the living crap out of you.

A phone call distracts you. Time to leave this bowl and move on. Ahh. Crumbs on the countertop. A good nosh. See how you like that.

Up ahead, a compadre signals to me. “Better pickings, over here.” But, as I hustle like a mofo, I see you reach for something.

Still on the phone, you are relentless. I hate you. As fast as I am, you are gaining on me.

Shit! One of your cats! I can’t outrun you both. Or, a blunt instrument. Please don’t hurt me. I have a family.

A bit of a rant here, people.

I've been “answering questions” on Quora for a few weeks not. Why? I'm not entirely sure. To “boost my brand,” I'd say.

I am continually blown away by the stupid-as-shit questions asked by stupid-as-shit people.

Examples: Can I teach my dog or cat to walk on its hind legs? My dog can't get up. Should I call the vet? What was the best moment of your entire life so far. Can you answer this?

And you care...why?

What's going on here? Is climate change having an affect on our brain cells? Does GMO food play a part? Our drinking water? Social media? Or, maybe, the dumb ass in the White House serves as an example of just how stupid someone can be and still hold the highest office in the land.

Someone...anyone...read a book. A classic, perhaps, like “Moby Dick.” Or, “The Sound and the Fury.” If the classics aren't your thing (no surprise, there), how about “Gone Girl?” A twisty thriller that might actually activate some of those dozing brain cells.

Enough with the selfies, already, and the endless Instagram feeds of your Keto-based meals. We know what bacon looks like.

Get off Facebook for one day. Get off your ass and take a walk outside. Without headphones or your iPhone X. Listen to the birds. Enjoy the sunshine. THINK about who you are, and who you aim to be.

I know what you're thinking: Who the hell am I? Well, I'm no Einstein, but I'm wise enough to know that, if your pet is having a seizure, asking for advice on Quora, doesn't cut it.

More evidence of widespread stupidity: Chicagoland has had what is probably its coldest spring ever. Temps have hovered for weeks in the 50s and 60s. The VERY FIRST 70-degree day, and out come the shorts and flip-flops. Are you fucking kidding me, people? You don't feel the chill that still lingers like a fart after a heavy meal?

Or, how's this for “stupid beyond belief?” I was filling my car with gas the other day and the person at the opposite pump had a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“Did you not see Zoolander, you shit-for-brains?” Lest you think I'm among the minority here, or unnecessarily harsh, there's even a book called “Why Are People Stupid? by Gordon A. Long. So, I'm not the only one scratching my head in befuddlement.

According to Inc., Harvard Scientists have an explanation for this rein of idiocy. They conducted a scientific study with these results: Smart people become dumber when the temperature soars. About 13 percent dumber, to be precise.

Damn. If this is true we really are in the shit.

Antarctica, here we come! At least until the ice is gone.

Finally, in case you were wondering, here are the 5 Habits of Stupid People That Smart People don't make, from the UK's The Independent. All are self-explanatory and need no further description.

! Stupid people blame others for their own mistakes. 2. Stupid people always have to be right. 3. Stupid people react to conflicts with anger and aggression. 4. Stupid people ignore the needs and feelings of other people. 5. Stupid people think they are better than everyone else.

Whew! What more is there to say, other than: Stupid-as-shit people, please, for the betterment of yourselves and society as a whole – get a friggin’ clue.

The rest of us thank you.

Looking for me: Please check me out, here: https://medium.com/@sherrymcguinn

Friends. Lovers. Jobs. They come and go, but when your hair says, “fuck off, I’m outta here – man, that’s a hit.

I used to love my hair. Was proud of it, actually. For most of my life, it was long, healthy and, when the light hit it just right, positively shimmery. Mermaid hair, before mermaids were a thing.

And, the best part: It was low-maintenance. Wash. Air dry. A little schmutz, and I was good to go.

Let me be clear. It wasn't the kind of hair that, CNN's Erin Burnett has, for example: Locks so voluminous they need their own zip code, but it worked for me.

As I’ve aged, so has my hair. It's gone from surfer-girl, beach wavy to super fine and curly. The saving grace: No gray. No expensive dye jobs. But, as my Mom used to say, “In our family, we go bald before we go gray.”

It's normal for our hair to thin as we age. Check out women's mags in the supermarket or drug store. If the cover stories aren't shrieking, “Lose your belly fat!” they're promoting some useless product or weird technique to “Regrow your thinning hair!”

That's a great testament for aging, isn't it? Bellies and baldness. (Someone, get me a drink.)

The last three years were especially hard on my “crowning glory.” After being treated for breast cancer (lumpectomy, radiation), I was prescribed a pill called Femara (generic name, Letrozole).

Femara suppresses estrogen in the body. My particular breast cancer was what is called “estrogen-fed/positive.” Normally, doctors prescribe the drug for five years.

Now, I’ve been on this pill for a while and my body has adapted. If you Google this Femara, you’ll see it comes with many side effects. No surprise, right? Bone loss. Dizziness. Blurred vision. This is just a sampling of how it can affect your body. But, there’s another side effect that, when I checked the breast cancer forums, had survivors particularly upset: Hair thinning or loss.

As promised, my hair thinned out. Quite a bit. And the texture got weird: Kind of curly/wiry. Freaked to the max, I immediately went into action, meaning I spent a fortune on various supplements, shampoos, conditioners, and products, all promising to reverse hair loss and restore its natural awesomeness.

If you’re suffering from any kind of hair loss, whether it be from aging, or an illness, take heart: I’ve done the legwork and can share the products that have actually worked for me, so you don’t have to spend your life online searching for the Holy Grail of Hair.

I probably have about a hundred shampoos in various places throughout our home. I rotate them out and either give away the ones I don’t like (my sister and her family are usually the happy recipients), or stash them in a box in our laundry room.

Amazon.com is awash with shampoos and conditioners specifically for people who are experiencing hair loss or thinning. After much trial and error, I’ve discovered the best course of action is to avoid any products with sulfates and unpronounceable chemicals. Go as “natural” as possible. Even Johnson’s Baby Shampoo has chemicals!

Look for DHT blockers, as well. DHT is an androgen that is thought to cause hair follicles to shrink, thereby causing “male pattern baldness,” even in women.

I’ve also tried every supplement imaginable. Biotin is one that, I believe, really helps the hair. A B vitamin, Biotin stimulates hair growth, and improves the overall volume.

Along with Biotin, I take an over-the-counter supplement called Nordic Hair Volume. I like it because it contains apple polyphenols, another hair booster.

Finally, when I feel like going the extra mile, after I shampoo, I’ll massage castor oil into my scalp. Jamaican Black Castor Oil is particularly effective for strengthening hair and nourishing the follicles with the nutrients needed for healthy, rapid growth. It’s a bit messy, but I just slap on a plastic cap, throw a towel over my pillow and say “good night.”

Since I’ve been on Femara for about three years now, the hair thinning has stabilized and is at a point where I can live with it. “Live,” being the operative word.

Take it from a broad who gets it: Hair loss is a bitch, but there are measures we can take to stave it off. And, if the little pill, Femara, keeps me healthy, I’ll take it. For as long as I need to.

Some People Are Stupid As Shit.

A bit of a rant here, people.

I've been “answering questions” on Quora for a few weeks not. Why? I'm not entirely sure. To “boost my brand,” I'd say.

I am continually blown away by the stupid-as-shit questions asked by stupid-as-shit people.

Examples: Can I teach my dog or cat to walk on its hind legs? My dog can't get up. Should I call the vet? What was the best moment of your entire life so far. Can you answer this?

“The best moment of MY entire life.” And you care...why?

What's going on here? Is climate change having an affect on our brain cells? Does GMO food play a part? Our drinking water? Social media? Or, maybe, the dumb ass in the White House serves as an example of just how stupid someone can be and still hold the highest office in the land.

Someone...anyone...read a book. A classic, perhaps, like “Moby Dick.” Or, “The Sound and the Fury.” If the classics aren't your thing (no surprise, there), how about “Gone Girl?” A twisty thriller that might actually activate some of those dozing brain cells.

Enough with the selfies, already, and the endless Instagram feeds of your Keto-based meals. We know what bacon looks like.

Get off Facebook for one day. Get off your ass and take a walk outside. Without headphones or your iPhone X. Listen to the birds. Enjoy the sunshine. THINK about who you are, and who you aim to be.

I know what you're thinking: Who the hell am I? Well, I'm no Einstein, but I'm wise enough to know that, if your pet is having a seizure, asking for advice on Quora, doesn't cut it.

More evidence of widespread stupidity: Chicagoland has had what is probably its coldest spring ever. Temps have hovered for weeks in the 50s and 60s. The VERY FIRST 70-degree day, and out come the wife-beaters, shorts and flip-flops. Are you fucking kidding me, people? You don't feel the chill that still lingers like a fart after a heavy meal?

Or, how's this for “stupid beyond belief?” I was filling my car with gas the other day and the person at the opposite pump had a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

Did you not see Zoolander, you shit-for-brains? If you want to blow yourself up, have at it. Just don't take me along.

Lest you think I'm among the minority here, there's even a book called “Why Are People Stupid? by Gordon A. Long. So, I'm not the only one scratching my head in befuddlement.

According to Inc., Harvard Scientists have an explanation for this rein of idiocy. They conducted a scientific study with these results: Smart people become dumber when the temperature soars. About 13 percent dumber, to be precise.

Damn. If this is true we really are in the shit, because climate change is going to result in an increasing number heatwaves around the world, in future years.

Antarctica, here we come! At least until the ice is gone.

Finally, in case you were wondering, here are the 5 Habits of Stupid People That Smart People don't make, from the UK's The Independent. All are self-explanatory and need no further description.

  1. Stupid people blame others for their own mistakes.
  2. Stupid people always have to be right.
  3. Stupid people react to conflicts with anger and aggression.
  4. Stupid people ignore the needs and feelings of other people.
  5. Stupid people think they are better than everyone else.

Whew!

What more is there to say, other than: Stupid-as-shit people, please, for the betterment of yourselves and society as a whole – get a friggin’ clue.

The rest of us thank you.

My Big Red Lips The “sex” in my sex appeal.

By Sherry McGuinn

For as long as I can remember, I’ve rocked a red lip. All shades of red. From scarlet to crimson to orange-reds, blue-reds, the whole spectrum. Matte, preferably. I’m just not a gloss type of gal. Shiny lips look sexy as hell on other women, just not me.

Years ago, I tried out the “mood” lipsticks and loved the shit out of them. They stained my lips in variant shades of red that lasted the whole day — and night. I loved the fact that they didn’t feel heavy. And, that they didn’t transfer to your teeth, or your wine glass, or your bad boy of the moment.

Eventually, I gave up the mood thing and switched to “real” lipstick. It was time. I was a real woman.

Red lips are my personal signature. They’re my jam. Oh, I’ve tried the nudey, glossy, J-Lo thing but the end result is always the same: Cadaver.

I feel fierce as hell in my red lips. Like I can take on the world. And, I’ve discovered that men either love ’em or hate ’em. Luckily, my husband falls in the former category.

Yet, even if they’re not a fan, I’ve noticed that, when I’m in full sex-bomb mode, they can’t take their eyes off my mouth. You know why, right? Sure, you do. Labia, lips. Lips, labia. Like the flush that spreads across your chest after a full-on, leg-shaking orgasm. Perfection.

Red lipsticks are a huge component of my beauty stash. One whole drawer and another box are filled to overflowing. All brands, from drugstore to elite. As I said, I prefer a matte texture. For some reason, glossy lipsticks look ridiculous on me. Like I’m trying too hard. My ingenue days are long behind me. And that’s f*kng okay with me.

As a screenwriter, I have to say that there is also something very “noir” about a red lip. Cinema’s most lethal femme fatales — the ones that inspired men to do really stupid things — wore their red lips like a badge of honor. “Come and get me, baby, if you’ve got the balls.”

Barbara Stanwyck. Rita Hayworth. Gloria Grahame. These were women to be reckoned with. This is how I’d like people to see me. As a serious badass.

When I was going through four weeks of radiation treatments for breast cancer, I was never without my red lipstick and a pair of shades.

I felt invincible. And thankfully, I was.

The Boogeyman. He lives. He breathes. He feeds on your darkest fears.

By Sherry McGuinn

The Boogeyman comes to me at night. At random times. Like an overly-attentive lover.

He whispers in my ear. His breath, a feather on my cheek.

My husband is not here to protect me. He is busy fending off his own demons in another part of the house. A sliver of light under the closed bedroom door tells me, in my half-conscious state, that he is still awake.

One of our cats, Conor, is curled up in the crook of my legs, the warmth of his body like balm to my soul.

I time my breathing to my cat’s, the gentle rise and fall lulling me into a deeper state. I embrace it…this cocoon of warmth, of relative safety and just as I am about to fully succumb, he strikes.

In the film, “Halloween,” when eight-year-old Tommy Doyle asks his babysitter, Laurie Strode, “What's the boogeyman?” she basically dismisses the question and tells him he has nothing to worry about.

That was before the arrival of Michael Meyers, Haddonfield, Illinois' very own Boogeyman.

Every culture seems to have its own version of the boogeyman. (Also known as Bogeyman.) Krampus. Baba. Yaga. Bhoot. Although the names may change, the monster's purpose is the same: To steal and punish children.

Allegedly invented by adults to scare the bejesus out of children and elicit compliance, because the Boogeyman is universal, it's virtually impossible to track down its true origins.

The Boogeyman may have originally been birthed to frighten children, but mine is for “adults only.” He...it...instinctively knows what scares the bejesus out of ME. Evil and relentless, he gnaws at my soul like a rat on a cinder block. His voice, so deep in my subconscious, is low, dark, a rasp.

“Sherry...what are you thinking about...hmmm? Is it your husband? His health? I bet I know. You're wondering...what will happen if he goes first. If you're alone, in t his house, with the mortgage, and the bills and the cats who depend upon you. How will you manage? How will you live without the love of your life? Think, Sherry. Think on this as your breathing quickens and your eyes dart to the sliver of light under the door. You want to check on him...don't you? You want to get right out of this bed and make sure he's alright. But you can't, can you? You literally CAN'T MOVE.

I put my hands over my ears, bury my head in the pillow. But he is relentless.

“And think, Sherry...what will happen to your husband if you're the one who checks out, first? He needs you...you need him...and your cats need you both.”

All of a sudden, I can't breathe. I am drowning in the dark. Quickly, I sit up and turn on the bedside lamp, jostling Conor from his warm nook. My breathing is elevated now, my brain churning in a million directions at once.

Gingerly, I get out of bed and tiptoe into the adjoining bathroom where I pick up my bottle of Seroquel. I shake it, flip off the top and peer inside. Plenty left. I consider taking a “chaser” to the pill I took earlier, but the possibility of being too groggy to write the next day puts me off. I replace the bottle and climb back into bed. Thankfully, Conor is still there.

I lay on my back and stare at the ceiling, the light still on. I consider turning on the TV but don't want to wake my husband, in the event he's actually getting some much-needed rest.

I'm stronger than a phantom. I tell myself this. Whisper it over and over like a mantra, but it's not working. I'm a fraud.

It's cold in the room. A breeze stirs the curtain at one of the windows. I get up to close it. I return to the bed and stop before getting in.

I go back into the bathroom, grab the Seroquel, pop the top and shake a pill into my hand. I swallow it down with a handful of water from the sink. I look at my face in the mirror: Pale, except for the blue-tinged shadows under my eyes.

After a second's hesitation, I swallow another pill, my third of the day. I flip the bathroom light off and climb back into bed. I pull Conor closer to me, his soft purring like balm for my soul.

I consider leaving the lamp on, but turn it off. After all, I'm a big girl.

Quite soon, the Seroquel starts to kick in and my last conscious thought is: Fuck writing. I need peace.