My latest degree (subtitle: I throw awesome parties).

DISCLAIMER: Mom, Dad and other family members that diligently follow my blog: This may be awkward for you to read. It has to do with certain activities at a bachelorette party. Please read with caution. This content is most certainly not appropriate for children, or anyone who might call me daughter.

So, behind my name, I can legitimately put a "J.D." Four years of college, three years of law school and six figures in debt just for that. And after last weekend, I now also can put an "F.D." behind my name. Whaaaaa? You haven't heard of a F.D. degree? Well, it stands for for fellatio doctor, or doctorate in fellatio. (I WARNED you guys.)

You see, my friend Ruthie is getting married. I, along with her other fun-loving bridesmaids, threw her a shower and bachelorette party. She had told me about this class she went to at another friend's home in which a woman would come into your home and teach a class on, you guessed it, the art of giving blow jobs. Since Ruthie made it clear that a stripper would not be well-received, the bridesmaids and I needed a little something extra to take our party from "It was a really nice time" to "Holy sh*t, they let us stay in the VIP karaoke room so late that we had to sneak out the back door!" My opinion? Don't throw a party unless people are going to legitimately rave about it. It's kind of my thing. We were gonna learn to give blow jobs. Done and done.

So we booked a lady to come and teach us the Art of the Blow Job. We timed the class so that it would be well after all of our party attendees had drank plenty and were in fine spirits. I figured this lady would come in, bring her veggies and creep us out Andy Dick a la Old School-style. We'd all be drunk, have a good laugh, then would head out for some karaoke fun.

Turns out, they don't really use vegetables when giving a blow job class. In fact, it's a lot more scientific and informative than Andy Dick's vegetable lesson. Our instructor arrived, large suitcase in tow, ready to teach us the way. She wasn't creepy at all. Roughly our age, she was cute, smart and fun. The opposite of creepy.

Her first matter was to pass out worksheets and pens. You know, for note-taking.

Keep this by your bedside. "Hmmm, do you feel like a sausage wrap tonight, honey?"

Then she pulled out a plastic bin of dildos of various sizes and colors. Truthfully, there was a dildo for each girl no matter the preference. The bin was passed along, and we took our penis of choice out. Then she passed around the lube. (Seriously, you try rubbing your hand along a rubber dildo without it. The friction is awful.) We went down the line, learning all the names for the various hand-to-penis actions. Some people took notes, some just committed them to memory, but everyone participated. It was great fun. We learned that the maneuver called the "Pleasure Tunnel" is the best, according to some gay guys who have taken the class. We deemed that one the "Never-ending Vagina," although I highly doubt the gays would take to that nickname.

When the time came 'round for us to move onto the blow job part of the evening, we were all sufficiently comfortable with our chosen fake penises. We learned to put a condom on with our mouth first, because safe blow jobs are the way to go. We giggled, choked, learned interesting facts and ways to relax the gag factor (lay on your back with your head dangling off the bed.) Oh, and did you know that after you have been exclusively sleeping with one person for three months, your body's e. coli then becomes the same bacterial strain as that of your partner? Gross fact, yes, but interesting. This is why you NEVER lick the butt of a person you hook up with on a one-night stand. TRUTH.

It's really hard to follow up a sentence about licking someone's butt. But I must move on. Suffice it to say, the class was informative and fun. I highly recommend G Boutique for your fun lady party needs. They do other classes and have a really nice store in the Bucktown neighborhood if you live in the Chicago-area. (By the way, this endorsement is strictly based on my experience with the party that evening.)

I awoke to P.I.C.'s coffee table looking like this:

Yep, those are dildo rings on the coffee table.

And now you know how I got my F.D.

Oh, and by the way...we did have to sneak out the back door of the karaoke bar. See? I always throw a good party.