I clicked over to jezebel.com today for the first time ever (does that mean I live under a rock?) and found this fantastic reminder of underwear gone by. I loved my underoos. I had at least two pairs, Wonder Woman and Supergirl and with my brother, Batman, we’d tramp around the house pretending to save the world from evil doers like Barbie and He-man. Underoos is kind of like wearing a strap on, because the panties made me feel strong, sexy and in charge. If you’ve never strapped on a dildo, might I suggest doing it once? Trust me, like underoos, it just feels cool to have it going on.

I think they might still make underoos, only they’re not the same. Nothing ever is.

Also, did I mention that Abby and I (and another friend) got into the elevator with Chef Mario Batali at the Venetian Hotel. Abby had no idea who he was, but me and my friend were totally stoked to be confined in a box with him. He didn’t care about the AVN’s (not that I thought he would, but still I sort of imagined that he was this pervy chef who secretly came out to get it on with Jesse Jane). If we had more than one floor to acquaint ourselves - we only rode with him from the first to the second floor - I would so have talked myself into a free meal at one of his three restaurants in the Venetian. And then I would have asked why he really came this weekend. And maybe when he’d come? And was Jesse Jane involved?

I saw so much in Vegas. probably too much.