How to Cure a Yeast Infection In the Most Delicious Way

Let me start off this post by saying no, this isn't about farming vaginal yeast to make artisanal bread and yes, you should not continue reading this if you have a twig and berries between your legs (you've been warned, gentlemen). Now, onto the yeasty goodness.

Vaginas are a bitch. One wrong move that disrupts the delicate flora, fauna, and merryweather (possibly fairies from "Sleeping Beauty" and not vaginal components), and you're off to the gynecologist to get your

What the yeast are up to in there. Science.

hoo-ha scraped and poked. If you're like me, you try everything you can yourself before you tell an adult.

Home remedies can be almost as complicated as putting on pants and actually going to the doctor. They can also be complete Whole Foods organic bullshit. You can read the testimonials all you want, but who can you really trust on the internet? Are you really going to rest ice cubes on your forehead to get rid of belly button lint just because some lady in Omaha swore by it? I did, and I still have belly button lint.

Anyway, yeast infections can be caused by the most innocuous things such as sex or antibiotics. I've heard even thinking too hard about yeast infections can cause yeast infections (turn back now). If you suspect that your vagina is being invaded by things that are better served in a winery, follow the steps below to get rid of them without even putting on pants!


Note: I am not a doctor. If you have the clap and do this, it will probably burn like the inside of Mount Doom and be completely ineffective. Check your symptoms here and only proceed with the whole listening-to-a-random-chick thing at your own risk.


1. If you're experiencing a lot of burning/soreness, I would first suggest going out to the store and getting plain yogurt (no sugar!), dipping a tampon in it, and inserting it into your junk like you normally would. The cool yogurt is very soothing and contains the natural probiotic bacteria that gets rid of yeast! Do that overnight and then proceed with the steps below. If you're just a bit itchy/not really burning a lot, proceed to step two.

Your new best friend. LYLAS, garlic!

2. Get yo'self some garlic. You want to use fresh garlic and you'll need anywhere from 2-6 cloves depending on how bad your infection is.

3. Take one clove and unwrap the paper-like layers off. Then, with a sharp knife, slice each side off very thinly so that what's exposed is the wet part (this is all very technical wording, I know). It's sort of like you're preparing a delicious Italian dish except not at all because it's going straight into your vagoo and there's no pasta involved (I mean, there can be if you start to feel peckish).

4. Take a needle and thread and poke it straight through the center of the clove. Pull it through so that both sides are about equal in length and then cut the needle off. Tie the thread in a knot around the clove as many times as you want. Just make sure it's secure because the last thing you want is to lose a clove of garlic in your vagina for eternity.

5. For the pièce de résistance, insert the clove into your snatch with the thread hanging out so that, when you're ready, you can remove it like a tampon.


Some Extra Info:

♥ It will probably burn like a bitch going in. That is complete normal albeit annoying. It will subside in about two minutes.
♥ Replace the garlic with a fresh clove every morning and every evening before bed. You don't want it getting nasty in there.
♥ The human body is a crazy bananas thing and during this process, you will taste garlic in your mouth and it will be SO FUCKING WEIRD. I actually discussed this on my first date with my boyfriend, Sam. I'm such a keeper, right?
♥ Try to refrain from sexy things until you're all cured. Unless your significant other REALLY enjoys garlic bread.
♥ This method works because garlic is a natural antifungal and antibacterial and will kill all dat yeast for you.
♥ As my friend Erol just pointed out, your vagina will also be protected from vampires. How's that for killing two birds?


Oh, and if you have some AZO Yeast tablets, Garlic tablets, and/or Acidophilus tablets (you can get all of these at your drugstore), take two of each per day. It also helps to avoid sticking sugary treats in your vagina. Good luck!

Band Review 17 Years Too Late: The Cranberries

Before you go saying "The Cranberries? Really? Weren't they popular about 300 years ago?," I suggest you stroll on over to their Wikipedia and educate yourself on the album they're going to release in 2012. THAT'S RIGHT, BITCHES. The Cranberries are back. Alright! ("Backstreet Boys" reference. Sorry).

Anyway, now that I've schooled you, let's move on. There's nothing like sliding in a few Cranberries songs onto a contemporary playlist to take it to the absolute next level and blow the toupées off of your balding friend's shiny heads. Most of you may know them by their numero uno hit "Zombie" which is unarguably one of the best songs ever recorded on the face of the planet. "Linger" and "Dreams" were also extremely popular in the 90s and admittedly, much less about bombs. Just listening to their dulcet banshee-with-musical-training-like tones conjures up images of Jordan Catalano being sexy yet difficult and Rex Manning putting the moves on girls way too young for him (the song "How" made its orgasmic appearance in the cult classic Empire Records). Just in case you're a musical fetus and have yet to experience the Cranberries in all of their glory, here are some Youtube videos of their greatest. Have a listen:

I'm not going to post the album-version of "How" because I firmly believe that you should just watch "Empire Records" if you want to hear it. They just don't make popular rock music like this anymore, do they? What would we compare the Cranberries to today? Hinder? Nickelback? Three Doors Down? I would rather die.

This karaoke picture was technically
taken during Coolio's "Gangsta's Paradise,"
but you get the point.

Most of you reading this know who they are and have probably sang one of their songs at karaoke, much to the dismay of everyone involved. Let's face it, nobody can hit those awkward yodel-y parts quite like Sinéad O'Connor Dolores O'Riordan. Improve your life by simply downloading their albums and listening to them all the way through. If you're feeling particularly sexual and adventurous, add "How" onto your playlist right after "Gin and Juice II," but before "Judas." Trust me, you won't regret it.

Nightmare On Bergen Street

I am officially a resident of Brooklyn, NY. Hooray! This is the third New York City borough that I've lived in, actually. Maybe I'll try out the Bronx someday. No amount of money can make me move to Staten Island though (and I'm pretty sure its existence is just a myth).

About two years ago I got this
baby for $80 on Craigslist. I'm a pro.

Sam and I have been buying all of our furniture off of Craigslist (except for our giant red IKEA Ektorp couch which, let's face it, was just an excuse to go to IKEA and stuff meatballs and lingonberries in our faces). I am a huge Craigslist enthusiast and have purchased most of my furniture from 20-somethings in the tri-state area who were moving on to bigger and better pastures. It was soon made crystal clear that Sam and I needed some furniture; we had a table-less dining room, blue IKEA tarp bags filled with books eagerly waiting to be shelved, piles of clothes that needed a home, and way more makeup than I ever use sitting on our bedroom floor. I'm kind of a huge decorating snob, so I wasn't about to just stroll into a IKEA again and buy the cheapest particle board furniture I could find. I knew how to do this. I'd done this a million times before. It was Craigslist time.


The scouring began and within a couple days, I had found a beautiful wooden dining room table for us. We went and picked it up a couple of blocks from our place and then carried it back. It was a bit heavy and we had to keep resting along the way because I have fragile, baby hands and noodles for arms. Soon after, I found a set of vintage-y purple chairs in Brooklyn Heights and we went and scooped them up. The seller ended up giving them to us for free. It was then that we were imbued with a false sense of Craigslist confidence. This was working and working WELL. We could find and buy anything on this little website.

Next came a gigantic oak bookcase. "Light and easy to carry" was how she described it on Craigslist. "Death and suffering that you can put your books on" is what she should have called it. Poor Sam carried the bookcase by himself for FIFTEEN BLOCKS while I struggled with just carrying the three shelves (remember: linguine arms). We should have seen the downhill pattern then, but when we found the perfect vanity table that was still in the box and a beautiful cherry wood armoire, we thought it would be a piece of cake. We scheduled a pick-up truck zipcar named "Tumwater" (our first zipcar was named "Mudget" and our Ikea-couch-carrying minivan was known as "Stillion").

Sam waited in the car, illegally parked, while I went into the first apartment to get the vanity. It was still in its box and very awkward to carry. Because of the aforementioned complete lack of upper body strength, I was forced to grab the lip of the cardboard box and drag it into the elevator and then out and into the lobby. I was building up a decent rhythm when I stumbled forward a bit and heard a sound from my ankle that no one should ever hear. It was somewhere in between popcorn and a chiropractic soundtrack composed by John Williams. Sam saw me struggling and came rushing in to help, but it was too late. My ankle was already screaming a big "Fuck you" to me, the vanity, and even Sam.

She looks so smug...

We dropped the vanity off at home and continued our journey to go and pick up the armoire. It retails at over $1,000, but we were getting it for $100. It was a steal. When we got to the apartment, the four-flight stair walk-up was a shock back to reality. Not even the dewy-eyed face of a happy Italian Greyhound could cheer us up. The armoire was in the living room waiting for us and it was even more beautiful in person. We pulled our britches high and, with the help of the girl selling it to us and neighbors along the way, were able to carry the 6'5" armoire down four flights of stairs and into the butt of Tumwater. "I didn't even think of how you would get it down. I had moving men bring it up and I'm not even sure how they did it!" said the girl. I wanted to sock her in the ovaries.

The worst part was over though, right? All we had to do was pull it out of the truck, roll it to our apartment door (thanks, Ethan Allen, for building your furniture on wheels), and tilt it into the doorway. We were worried about my being able to lift one end by myself, but when our neighbor saw us dragging it out of Tumwater's innards, he offered to help. We were golden.

No we were not fucking golden. The armoire did not, does not, will not fit through the front door of our stupid apartment (I love our apartment, this is just rage talking). Our neighbor was nice enough to let us bring it into his apartment and keep it there until we figure out our shit (he owns the whole brownstone), but the options are ridiculous and pretty grim. The armoire doesn't come apart (remember when I thanked you, Ethan Allen? I take it back). We either have to put it right back on Craigslist (  :'(  ) or round up some people with gigantic, beefy arms and carry it from garden to garden and then into our kitchen door, where it will fit (we measured this time). It looks like we're going to try the latter option first, but HOW RIDICULOUS IS THIS?! I have to ask the neighbor between the guy who helped us and our apartment, whom I have never formally met,  if I can carry my gigantic armoire through her garden. MADNESS. I would rather die.

We have nice friends though who are willing to come all the way the to Brooklyn tomorrow after work and lift shit for us (thanks Roy, Todd, and Aidan for your beefy arms and friendship), so maybe it won't be that bad. It's already pretty bad though so maybe my badness scale is really poorly calibrated at this point.

Consider this post my vow to never buy anything bigger than a chair off of Craigslist again. Also consider it a warning to always measure your effing doorways before being an impulsive, furniture-buying idiot. Craigslist, I do love you, but goddamnit are you a bitch sometimes. That all being said, is it weird to name the things you get off of Craigslist after the people you got them from? If not, we now have a table named "Jess," two chairs named "Lee 1" and "Lee 2," a vanity named "Bruce," and a fucking dick of an armoire named "Paloma."

On an entirely unrelated note: Anyone know how to get horrible scratches out of cherry wood? :(