Well, the people have spoken. Several of my guy friends emailed me privately (perhaps ashamed?) and assured me that guys, too, obsessively overanalyze emails from romantic/sexual Persons of Interest. No definitive word yet on whether they CRAFT such emails with the same absurd care, but one of these liaisons to the Y Chromosome told me he puts a lot of thought into his text messaging. And I don't know about y'all, but that makes me feel less alone.
Sidenote: I was originally going to title this post, "From The Stallion's Mouth," but it seemed weird and a bit creepy to refer to my male friends as stallions. Though I'm sure they are.
Monday, December 15, 2008
From The Mouths Of Dudes
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Gender Is Density
[sic]
While we all know I can be pretty macho, and rebel against stereotypes and whatnot, there is at least one time I am undeniably, lamentably, a total fucking girl: when reading a short email from a guy I just hooked up with.
Yes, rather than spending today being Thankful, I have mostly spent it staring at three sentences on a computer screen going, "WTF does that mean?!?!" I'm sure in reality the meaning of all such emails is perfectly clear*, but those two X chromosomes conspire, like a devil and angel over my shoulders, to drive me mad. Only the angel is kind of a bitch. For example:
Devil X: Cmon, you know you want to email him back. Do it! What if he really does like you, but he's worried you don't like him? Then you'll have missed your chance! Email him!
Angel X: Um, if he liked you he would've tried to see you. But he doesn't. Because you're fat.
Devil X: Maybe that ambiguous phrase he used is a British thing.
Angel X: Maybe you should lose five pounds.
So yeah, that's fun. Love those two.
Seriously, dear readers: do guys not do this? I'm told that they don't, but I thought I'd turn to you for confirmation. Do you withhold your feelings out of uncertainty and fear of rejection? Do you "play it cool" when you feel anything but? Do you reread emails in five different tones of voice to see how many of them the words fit, and harass all your friends over the significance of prepositions and modifying clauses?
Sorry for all the body-hatred, by the way. In fact I think my lack of citizenship might be more of an issue in this case, but why be rational at a time like this?
*"He's just not that into me."
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Chicks I Like, And Would Like To Be
This weekend I met Thea Sharrock.
She is an awesome director. Most recently, she directed the revival of Equus currently on Broadway, starring Daniel Radcliffe and Richard Griffiths. She is 31 years old. (Possibly 32.) She was Artistic Director of the Southwark Playhouse when she was 24. Peter Hall talked her into directing Blithe Spirit. There are rumors that she might be the next Artistic Director of the Royal National Theatre. She has a wedding ring and a baby. (Both of which I saw.) She looks incredible.
31 years old.
She came to my school to lead a weekend-long workshop on Noël Coward, which we directors got to attend. She is wonderful--very open and intelligent and nice, and the workshop was great. She was particularly nice to the directors--we were told we'd be observing silently, but she totally made us act, which was a lot of fun.*
So, this woman is living the dream. It is awe-inspiring, and also just plain inspiring. It is also, of course, very very intimidating. I am almost 27! I was already focusing on the fact that I should've written "Thunder Road" by now--now I know I also should've run a reputable theater. Of course, Sharrock has been in theatre school since she was nine, so that gives her a bit of a head start. But the strange part is that working with her put the idea in my head that, for professional purposes, I really do need to lose about 20 lbs. Go figure.
The thing is, I was told YEARS ago that "a woman can't succeed as a director in [New York] unless she's a lesbian." It was clarified for me that it didn't matter with whom you were actually sleeping, but it was important to seem pretty dykey. Sharrock did not seem dykey per se, but she definitely looked like what I realized was my concept of the quintessential Female Director: dark jeans, white T, flat ankle boots, no make-up whatsoever. We directors get head shots at the end of the year, and the word is that they encourage us to cultivate a persona--most of last year's head shots scream "I AM A DIRECTOR." My flatmate is horrified by this, but I'm looking forward to it. I definitely plan to push my Knowing Tough Girl self-image.
I will almost certainly be wearing make-up, however. Cross your fingers that this doesn't ruin my career.
*For me at least. At least one of my compatriots wanted the floor to swallow him up. Thea Sharrock seemed to appreciate this.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
The Times They Are A-Changed
Things are different right now.
My two-track mind used to be: theatre, sex. Occasionally there’d be a third track--Buffy, for example, or Harry Potter around the times a book or movie came out. But now THE WORLD REVOLVES BACKWARDS ON ITS AXIS…because I have not been thinking about sex AT. ALL. My two tracks are now: real estate and electoral projections. Once I finally get the keys to my flat, I suspect we’ll be down to one.
Politics are consuming me.
But I am MUCH gratified to realize I am not alone. I have recently discovered Dan Savage’s Podcast (the “SavageLovecast”), and partially out of homesickness I’ve been listening non-stop (there are 103 episodes, after all—I’m up to 78, though I always listen to the most recent update as well). I think there’s fodder for multiple posts in having listened to all of these in quick succession*, and several of his principles—so evident when you hear them in dense amounts—have helped with my latest angsty issues. But this! In last week’s episode (102), in the intro, he actually says:
...I’m a little scattered, I’m a little tense, election day approaches, and we will get to your calls, because I assume you’re scattered, and you’re tense, otherwise you wouldn ’t be calling with your sex problems—AT A TIME LIKE THIS, when the future of the whole world is at stake, when our democracy teeters on the verge of complete and total bullshitification, you’re calling with your sex problems—I’m amazed that anybody can think of sex at a time like this, but I’ll do what I can. To focus. On your genitals.
(Bold emphasis mine, caps emphasis an attempted representation of his vocal stress.]
Dan Savage, a man who has built a career on his willingness to discuss any and every sexual issue—and who in fact has been known to merge sex and politics, as when he ran a contest that ended up redefining Santorum--is not thinking about sex right now. I think he and I are two pretty fucking salient examples of the MAGNITUDE of this thing that is about to happen, the knowledge that barring a large unexpected event (knock on wood, ptoi ptoi ptoi, etc), Barack Obama will soon be our President Elect. And having heard Dan say this, I feel absolved--one of the two or three main reasons I haven’t been posting is that I’m thinking less about sex and feminism and more about the nitty gritty of this election**. So, with Dan’s unwitting blessing, I will now share these thoughts with you.
My latest addiction is fivethirtyeight.com—“Electoral Projections Done Right.” You may have heard of this by now, as its readership has skyrocketed recently. What they do is based on statistics—they take all the major polls, each time they come out, and
run 10,000 election simulations (I don’t know exactly how, but the founder was on COLBERT forchrissake so you know he’s reputable). They then post the percentage of these elections each candidate wins (showing all their data). When I started reading the site, Obama was at around 70%. Today he’s at 90.9%. Nate Silver has made clear that if nothing SERIOUSLY MAJOR happens during the next 25 days (knock on wood, salt over the shoulder, etc), Obama wins, end of story. They also have excellent, easy-to-understand analysis of both polls and debates***.
So that’s all I talk about lately. Whenever I run into an American, or a Canadian, or a Brit whom I’ve heard mention Obama, I blurt out “Obama’s at [whatever it is] percent!” And if they care they go, “What?! NO. WAY.” And I have to clarify that I don’t mean in national polls, it’s not that 90.9% of the country says they’re voting blue, but rather the 10,000 simulations blah blah blah.
And then the other half of the time I ask them where they live and what they’re paying.
The good news? The other day I noticed a cute hipster guy in a Tesco Express and thought “I would totally do him.” So the prognosis is good. Hopefully on November 5th I can go back to non-stop thoughts about fucking and Brecht or whatever.
Knock on wood, ptoi ptoi ptoi.
PS: Maybe don’t listen to the rest of that particular podcast, because the first caller has the MOST DEPRESSING STORY I’ve ever heard. She sounds like SHE’S okay with it, but if you’re in a dark mood don’t go there.
*And after posting this I will shortly write a “Dudes I Like” post devoted to the man.
**The other two reasons are still not having a place to live and some significant personal angst for which this blog is not the appropriate forum.
***My mother visited last weekend, and I read her a post on why McCain’s latest Bill Ayres mudslinging isn’t going to have much of an effect, and she said, “I think that’s true,” which is quite the validation.)
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Now Where Were We...
So, hey guys, guess what? I just moved to a different country, on a different continent! That's right, I now live in New York's sister city: London, England. So, that is my excuse for not having posted in OVER A MONTH.
So, what to say...I should post on things like Palin and polyamory and Dan Savage (NOT as related to each other, ew). And I will shortly. Right now I'm dealing with looking for a flat, and getting scammed out of £250 maybe, and getting my ass to stage combat class, and getting out of my hostel where people have sex in the room when I'm trying to sleep. So hopefully...later today! I will post more.
Cherrio, Luvs!
Monday, August 18, 2008
Do NOT Use As Directed
I've been particularly achy lately, mostly in the neck and shoulders. Recently, as I lay on the sofa, my cat decided she wanted to knead the upper part of my chest--far preferable to her usual, painful practice of kneading my belly fat--and I realized the culprit was my breasts. They're pretty large, after all, which can take its toll, and the cat paws had found, below the breast itself, chest muscle that greatly appreciated the massage.
After sort of idly massaging the area myself for a few days, a bold idea occurred to me. I took out my plug-in "all-body massager" and decided to use it for--GASP!--a body massage. As I moved it across my chest, down and around my sternum, and under my arms (not the pit, but the area a bra covers), I wondered with annoyance if the thing had gone soft from years of focusing solely on the aches between my legs*. I had to press pretty hard to feel that it was doing any good. While I knew I was finding the sore muscles--because it hurt--I didn't think it was actually helping, so I gave up. Not very satisfying.
And then today. UGH. I've made things TEN TIMES WORSE. All those muscles are sore and my breasts feel like they weigh about 35 lbs. each. My sternum is so sore to the touch I'm surprised I didn't bruise it.** I wore a sports bra all day and now, in my pjs and reading, I have to lie flat on a big pillow for some support. Can't someone just build me a nice shelf to put them on? I'm very fond of them but right now they might as well be lead balloons.
So, ironically, I used my vibrator in its official, packaging-touted function and it totally backfired. It will have to stick to massaging my clit, and forget about this "all-body" nonsense. I suppose it's just as well--I can get massages from my friends and family*** far more easily than I could a hand job, which is very much as it should be. And if it comes down to a splurge, I'd rather pay a masseur than a prostitute. Masseurs are fully trained.
*Which are definitely what you'd call "recurring."
**Though I do have a little almost-hickey on my right breast, which I'm pretty sure is not from other activities.
***And cat, apparently!
Sunday, August 17, 2008
The Schmuck Debate
I'm sitting here on a Sunday listening to old Dan Savage podcasts instead of going to the gym,* and he just fielded a call from a gay man who is not attracted to uncircumcised penises. I realized I'd not yet weighed in on the topic myself. The topic, of course, has three subheadings:
1) The Attractiveness Debate
Dan's caller is the evidence here--some people find uncircumcised penises unattractive, particularly in cultures where circumcision is the norm. It is, of course, the norm in MY culture, so it was only very occasionally that I've encountered a penis that was fully intact. And frankly, you don't always notice: it's dark, or there's a condom on it, or it's erect (in which case they mostly look the same anyway). So I never had a conscious opinion either way. It was only in my recent adulthood that I got a good, lights-on look at an uncut version, and I have to say...it was ADORABLE. It's true that I really liked this guy, which Dan says is key to getting over whatever you genital prejudices are, but it looked rather sweet and mysterious, as though it needed undressing. I developed a crush on it.** So to my cock-sucking friends out there, I hope you can view the presence or absence of a foreskin as but one other facet to find endearing about your sexual partner.
2) The Health Debate
Here we get more tricky. There are very recent studies that show circumcision reducing the transmission of HIV by as much as 50%...in Africa. It's unclear why, and there are a lot of other factors that could be at play here, given that the public health landscape of Africa is pretty different from our own. (And condoms are better anyway! So use those whatever your status.) Most previous research shows that there's no hygienic difference between a circumcised penis and an uncircumcised penis, provided the penis-bearer has been taught the relatively simple art of Keeping It Clean.
3) The Penile Rights Debate
For me, this is what it comes down to. There is the argument that removing the foreskin decreases sexual sensation.*** Furthermore, sometimes the mohel or the doctor screws up, and your child is left with severely decreased, or nonexistent, sexual functioning.**** And then there's the simple fact that we as a society are saying, for no actually good reason, "Your genitals are bad. There is something inherently wrong with them which we must fix, painfully, as soon as possible." I have no opinion as to whether the pain of circumcision saddles guys with a life-long neurosis, but I wouldn't let someone shave off part of my daughter's clitoris just because the bible said so.
Obviously, most circumcised guys come out just fine. There are a lot of them out there, apparently not crippled either physically or emotionally. There's no judgment here--I suppose if I have a son, and there is a father in the picture, I would leave the decision up to him. (The baby's father would, after all, have far more experience having a penis than I.) But if the decision were left up to me, I don't think I could go through with it, not with an easy mind. I'm a Jew, but obviously not one who does things solely because my religion demands it. And since I don't know entirely which side of the debate is right, I expect I would err on the side of caution.
What do you guys think?
*Obvi.
**Of course, things went WAY south, and a few months later I would tell a friend that I hoped this dude's new girlfriend "was reluctant to suck his uncircumcised dick." Which a) sounds sort of like a gypsy curse and b) was not very mature, but heartache requires only public maturity, not private.
***In my unrelated research into the evolution of monotheism, I discovered that followers of Asherah, a pre-YHWH fertility goddess, who honored her by fucking. These worshippers (Semites, aka future Jews) believed an uncircumcised penis was blasphemous, as the lessened sensation of circumcision allowed men to last longer, and thus worship more. So there's that.
****Then there were those mohalim who were giving 8-day-old boys Herpes because, traditionally, they would put the babies' penises in their mouths after the cut as an analgesic. But let's not blame that on circumcision as a whole.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Getting To The Root Of Things
Jezebel's awesome Dodai just wrote an interesting post on her dislike of mirrors--or, more specifically, her discomfort in being confronted with her full reflection. This instantly reminded me of the brief period of time when my hair was pink:
(Strangely, not a well-photodocumented part of my life.)I dyed my hair pink in the winter, just as I was turning 23, during a time when I was SEVERELY depressed--like, Panicked-mother-screaming-at-my-pharmacologist depressed. I don't know if this was rationally, consciously my reasoning at the time, but I needed a pick-me-up. I think I was remembering a Times Magazine "Lives" piece from many years ago (which I have not been able to find) about a young Asian woman who dyed her hair pink and discovered the joyful effect it had on people around her. It made people smile. And I remember the time I first noticed my own cotton candy tresses having this effect--on myself.
Sometime before or after an appointment with my therapist, I went to DSW to look for cheap-ass shoes (another form of anti-depressant). I was unshowered, unkempt, my hair in a messy ponytail and some old show shirt on my slumped torso. I glanced up and accidentally saw my reflection in the mirror. And I smiled. It was the first time, perhaps since childhood, that I felt attractive. Attractive unto myself--not just, oh I look good today because of my hairstyle, because this top is flattering, because of my make-up, because I'm having a good face day, but actually like it didn't matter what I did in the morning, or what I wore, or any of that. I felt like if I were messy and poorly dressed, as I was that day, I looked like an attractive person who hadn't showered rather than an ugly hopeless wreck. It was an amazing feeling of relief.
Which doesn't necessarily make SENSE, because what had changed was, after all, a question of what I'd done to my hair. But I felt like me. No matter how I looked, I was getting across something about myself that I wanted to get across. And I kind of miss it. But the months passed, and as time came to redye, so came time to interview for post-grad jobs, so I went back to the red. Besides, towards the end (as my depression began to be manageable) I did start to feel a little silly. Part of what I'd been combating, with pigment, was how fucking SERIOUS everything felt all the time. But at heart I guess I'm a serious person. Pink was an important place for me to visit, but I couldn't live there.
And life goes on. The last time I saw my reflection and felt truly, inherently beautiful was when I was on Ecstasy, but the mirror and I still have our friendly moments. And I still have fun playing the frosted cupcake now and then--pink has won itself a cherished place in my wardrobe and in my heart. Because part of the fun was, for once, letting myself be a girl. Not acting so tough. I think, looking back, that was important to helping myself heal--embracing both my toughness and my softness. And now of course we're getting into tricky territory because if pink=girl and pink=soft, does girl=soft? I think what I was telling myself was: no. Look. You are a girl, and you are not soft. And You are a human, and you are very soft. So cut yourself some fucking slack. If you don't let yourself be soft, you will break.
So, that's my anecdote. I just wish I had more pictures.
Stop The Presses, I'm In Love
With Keith Olbermann. Just watch:
It's sad to have to be thinking about Rush Limbaugh ever again, but in recompense Keith is giving me butterflies.
[via Feministing.]
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Wednesdays With Kyle (Working Girl Edition)
Remember Kyle? My favorite e-correspondent on the ins and outs of third wave feminism recently pointed out that I don't make clear on this blog my stance on prostitution. We agreed that you can probably guess based on my posts about other things, but hey--let's actually talk about it!
-I believe that prostitution should be decriminalized and regulated.
-I believe our justice system's MO of prosecuting the hooker and not the john is both stupid and reprehensible.
-An underage girl having sex for money should be treated as a victim, not a criminal.
-I am appalled by the way our society frequently treats prostitutes as negligible human beings.
I do recognize that this is a tricky subject. Obviously, many sex workers would rather not be in their line of business, and rather than punish them further we need to provide more alternatives to poverty. The Clinton administration slogan on abortion was "safe, legal and rare*"-- I suppose my stance on prostitution is "safe, legal and willing."
*Speaking of which, this phrase has been dropped from the 2008 Democratic Party platform--in exchange for more detailed language which many feminists feel improves the platform, in that it is more specific in its support for comprehensive sex ed, family planning, and post-partum help for women who DO have children. Hooray for saying "choice" and meaning it! (And it was primarily written by Obama's policy director, Karen Kornbluh!)
Poetry Corner: A View From Across The Trenches
I was tooling around on Google the other day trying to find the poem "When Man Enters Woman," because I really like the final image. I mistakenly thought it was Sharon Olds--it's in fact Anne Sexton--and thus discovered an ACTUAL Olds poem that I didn't previously know:
Sex Without Love
How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
Gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other's bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth, whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the come to the God come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? These are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of the God. They do not
mistake the lover for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio
vascular health--just factors, like the partner
in the bed, and not the truth, which is the
single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.
I myself have wondered at those who have sex exclusively within relationships, so it's interesting to have the favor returned.
Having never seen the poem before, I'm still trying to parse it. I would call it "not unflattering," certainly. I enjoy the religious imagery--that resonates--and am intrigued by the athletic metaphors. I relate strongly to the idea of sex making something of its own (aside from procreation), of taking us somewhere. But really, the poem speaks for itself; I'll let you enjoy it.
Friday, August 8, 2008
NON-Animated Role Models: Poached From Defamer
Like, forever ago, I posted a list of my animated female heroes and swore the list of live-action ladies was soon to follow. Well, obviously not. There are just too many! I will try and get back on this but in the meantime, Defamer has just posted a really awesome tribute to "The Top 10 Female TV Characters Women Want To Be Like And Men Want To Be With." It's awesome! There's one with which I viscerally disagree, but with the others I viscerally AGREE. Check it out.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Hold Your Tongue
Okay...has anyone else ever had the urge to apologize for a mediocre blow job?
I know that is the stupidest thing. I'm not even talking about accidental biting or something like that (because then a simple apology is just polite). But when my fellatio is not up to my own standards, I am filled with a heartfelt desire to apologize for wasting the dude's time, and to assure him that I'm usually better than that. Even if he knows I usually do better!
Of course I cannot actually say anything. In general, I am a fan of not apologizing in bed. (Unless, as with above, it's just a courteous "Sorry!" for accidental collision or the like.) For the most part we shouldn't have to apologize for not having orgasms or not being in the mood or wanting to do some things but not others, what have you. It doesn't help, it perpetuates feelings of inadequacy, and often makes your partner feel bad, as though its hir fault for not showing enough enjoyment. So why this remorse over the occasional awkward sex act?
The last time I felt this way, it was with an acute feeling that I was squandering a magnificent erection. I felt like Bush, taking a huge surplus and turning it into a huge deficit. But, dude, shit happens. Move on!
The Third Wheel Gets The Grease. Or Should.
After listening to a bunch of Savage Love podcasts, and watching The Secret Diary of a Call Girl and old episodes of SatC, and now checking around on the internet, I am newly irked by something: Almost anything you see/read about threesomes focuses on the effect it has on the couple...and completely ignores the third person. Askmen focuses largely on how to reassure your "girlfriend or wife," and insultingly advises you to kick the other girl out afterwards. Cosmo terms even offering your man a threesome "a bonehead move,*" and treats the hypothetical Other like a potential homewrecker. Lame and a half.
I've had two threesomes, the first of which I often don't count because it was in many ways a Bad Scene (plus it was just a drunken one-off) and the second of which rates as one of the best sexual experiences of my life**. A threesome has the power to be really life-affirming or really destructive for a single person, and not enough people talk about that.*** And yeah, I understand that there are a lot of issues a threesome could bring up with a couple, but these arrangements can be just as tricky for the non-becoupled one. Attachments can form, complications can arise, and one might wind up feeling used, feeling in the way, or just plain feeling left out.
I never really thought about this until I engaged in a threesome of my own, but one of the things that annoys me the most is that, apparently, some couples want there to be a No Kissing rule****. Why would the person agree to this??? Do you have NO concept that you owe your partner pleasure, as you do any sexual partner, and that ze's not there solely for your own entertainment??? It's important to respect a couple's boundaries, but it's just as important for a couple to make their single friend feel like ze's part of the team. If you can't handle that, you should take Dan Savage's advice, which is to hire a professional.
Dan, of course, answers the questions he gets, and he has in fact addressed questions posed by a threesome "guest star" (as Samantha Jones calls it). And most often he is rolling his eyes at a couple who thinks they're going to walk into a bar and find a hot bi girl who will come home, do exactly what they want and nothing more, and then disappear afterwards. Dan points out that there are plenty of women like this, and they are called prostitutes--if you don't want any strings on your threesome, look one up.
I have found one essay from the point of view of the non-girlfriend, a young woman named Caitlin McRae who finds herself drawn to couples as a general rule. The best part is where she contrasts the "part of the team" couples with the "probably need a hooker" variety:
These aren't invitations to sexual exploration. They're requests for a favor, wherein I'll be a means to an end, a one-time antidote to this particular couple's sexual ennui: I push from the bumper while they pop the clutch. This doesn't do much for my self-esteem, as you can imagine.
So to all you couples out there, remember there are different kinds of threesomes. Figure out which you want. And if you can't afford a good call girl, don't take it out on your friends.
On a side note, Maxim UK offers the worst piece of sex advice I've ever heard: "DON'T, whatever you do, at any point, laugh." I know it's Maxim but, seriously?!?!?! In any sexual situation, however many people it involves, sense of humor is a MUST--the best partnerships I've had are the ones that involved laughing in bed. It's extra important in a multiple partner situation, where there's more room for fumbling and awkwardness and injury.
And I mean, c'mon. It's funny.
*Which it could literally be; three people moving around in one bed can easily result in head-to-bone collisions. Not that Cosmo would know that.
**Interestingly, the first was not with a couple, though one of the dudes had a girlfriend in another state. (Yeah. Bad Scene.) The other dude was basically gay. Totally hot, followed by months of fallout. Definitely in the category of "Glad I made that mistake already so I never have to make it again."
***I will point out that the "bad threesome" was when I was younger and less mature, someone insecure about both my appearance and my virginity. It's totally possible that I couldn't have handled my "good threesome" back then--even as an adult, it's required lots of communication and reassurance. Seriously: people pay a lot of lip service to communication, but it's amazing how helpful it is, even if it seems hard sometimes.
****No one's ever tried this with me, for the record. That's what makes me so incredulous that some people do.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Susan B's Words To Live By: In The Moment
If you've just had an entire bottle of wine to yourself, and are going around telling people how miraculously/frustratingly drunk you're not, now is NOT THE TIME to put on eyeliner.
Unless you're going someplace dimly lit, which I am. So, peace!
Monday, July 28, 2008
Mythbuster: Reverse Sexism And Heterophobia
I'll cut to the chase: recent events have brought out my gay. I have realized over the course of the past few months that I am more bi than I gave myself credit for. And I am seriously craving some lady action*. Sapphic novice that I am, I have made very little headway, and before I start negging and demonstrating value and wearing fuzzy hats, I thought I'd check out the W4W section of craigslist. That is where I shattered my own preconception...
Myth: Lesbians on CL are classier than straight dudes on CL.
Not so, my friend. Case in point, the post that is right now at the very top of the page, in its entirety:
"im goin 2 make this short and sweet i want to have a good clean time with a sexy femme wit nice big tits. i am 20 years old my body type is barbie/model and im very freaky, DISEASE FREE AS U SHOULD B AND i love women and love pussy!!!!i want 2 meet up 2nite so if u wanna play email tag and nothing more please dont waste my time.NO GAMES,NO MEN.PLEASE NO MEN!!!please b able 2 host!!!!"
Yes, like their straight counterparts, lezzie CLers are addicted to abbrevs, ALL CAPS, and model-esque physiques. They also like to post photos of their butts. Ok, some of these ads were probably posted by straight dudes POSING as lesbians, but it can't be ALL of them.
So, my apologies to all demographics involved. Lesbians are people too--and people make asses of themselves on craigslist**.
Of course, there are still many fine ladies posting ads written in full sentences that made them sound like actual people. I found myself extremely turned on by a post titled "Music? Zines? Feminist? Looking for a Riot Grrl. - 24 (East Village)," by a self-described "cute punk boi," which included the sentence, "My pants have paint stains." If I were remotely cool enough, I'd have replied in a second.
Girls are so intimidating.
*Add to this my waning interest in the opposite sex, which has been going on far longer--to borrow from Tracy Letts, it seems that I don't believe in guys, as though they are something to be disbelieved.
**Sometimes literally, what with the butt photos.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Babes In Babeland
[OK, that is a lame post title, but it's hard to out-pun a pun.]
Following closely on the heels of my latest girl fest, this weekend I went on my first group sex toy shopping trip. Yes, Babeland, aka the happiest place on earth, was having a 20% off sale at ALL its New York stores, and on Sunday I went down to SoHo with a group that included veteran vibratorers and first-time shoppers alike.
OMG, why had I never done that before?
True, the first time I ever went to Babeland I brought my sister, which I thought made me a very cool older sibling, but this was the first time that I actually went with a group of people all intent on buying things, all happy to compare appliances and weigh issues of size, speed, and design together. I definitely snuck up on someone with a buzzing plastic beaver to the shoulder, and when your roommate is willing to sample edible oils off your forearm, you know you're in good company*.
Lately I've been realizing/remembering how wonderful it is to share my sex life with my friends--actually share WITH, as opposed to going on about my own stuff on this blog. Sometimes, I'm ashamed to say, I forget how cool and vibrant and in charge my friends are. They're a fun bunch. And in the spirit of my last post, this goes for boys, too--I love having guy friends I can talk openly with about sex (as I did last night over drinks and gyoza on the LES).
So to those of you playing along at home: I HIGHLY recommend buying sex toys with your friends. It's a bonding experience, a fun way to spend an afternoon, and a good way to profit from the opinions and experiences of others.
I couldn't find what I actually bought online, but here's my very first [official] vibrator, which I still use and which I did not see at Babeland on Sunday. Fortunately it's still on their site:
The Wahl 7-in-1. Tell your friends.
*They were all kind of gross, but the Chocolate Raspberry beat out the Blackberry Creme.
Daring Not To Fuck
This is a story I've been meaning to put up here 4eva. It happened in January, judging by my gchat log. I had received two free tickets to David Mamet's piece-of-shit new play November and gave the second one to Neighbor Steve. (Check out his blog!) Afterwards, on the subway, we were momentarily distracted from how awful the play was by the following encounter:
There was only one seat left, and Neighbor Steve offered it to me. Neighbor Steve ALWAYS lets me have the seat and (perhaps already feeling guilty for having brought him to the terrible play) I stubbornly insisted he take it. He did, and the gentleman sitting next to him turned and said something to the effect of:
"No, you gotta keep your lady close to you."
A blank pause from both of us, until I finally said,
"Well, we're actually brother and sister, so that's kinda gross."
Neighbor Steve is, of course, not my brother. But nor am I his lady.
This is a situation I have always found awkward. I have a lot of guy friends, I usually do, and when I'm out and about with one of them we are sometimes mistaken for a couple. So, what do you do? It's awkward not to correct the person (you almost worry about sending your friend the wrong message, even if that's silly), but if you say "oh we're not a couple" it creates a weird feeling that you're somehow disowning your friend. And then sometimes the person who made the mistake gives you a skeptical look, like you might THINK you're just friends, but actually this stranger knows better. Annoying. So my spontaneous lie was a refusal to feel awkward about something that shouldn't make people feel awkward, and united rather than divided Steve and me. (He immediately rolled with it and together we answered a lot of questions about "our" upbringing.)
Which is not to say that cross-gender friendships are always clear-cut. More than once I've gotten drunk with an old dear friend and we've had sort of a "we're not kids anymore" moment that led to some fooling around. Even in 9th grade I wrote a poem about how I sometimes I worried I'd fuck things up with my friend Jake by developing feelings for him. (He recognized immediately that it was about him and did not mind it being published in the school lit mag. Now that's a good friend.) And sometimes I'm not even sure what the recipe is--I have guy friends whom I love, and whom I think of as totally attractive, so is it weird that I don't want more? Is that pathological of me*, or even somehow insulting to them? Not really, of course not. But every now and then I have to ask myself the question. Sometimes I even feel the urge to justify to my guy friends why I don't want to date them, even though I don't remotely think they want to date me--nor should they. I suppose I just want to reaffirm that friendship isn't a consolation prize. It's not second place. It's its own event. And especially in the past year or so, my guy friends have done a really good job of making me feel like I'm *worth* dating--and hopefully I do the same for them, because they tend to be serious catches.
The upshot is that I'm lucky. I'm lucky to have had such great guy friends, and from an early age**. When my mother was in school, her only options on that score were her female friends' sweethearts. She had no co-ed post-Halloween sleepovers, no intellectual coffee groups that were both easy and quietly fraught with mismatched desire. I may have secretly wanted more from a few of those friends, but they were first and foremost my friends, people who shaped my life independent of sex or my longing for it. Because sure, when we went on those 8th grade movie outings I had a crush on Ben and Rebecca had a crush on Lucas (or was it Chris?), but that was part of the fun. That was almost more about my friendship with Rebecca***.
So here's to Neighbor Steve and all my other faux-brothers out there. I'm proud and pleased to be in a position where someone might think I'm your girlfriend.
(Side note: when subway dude asked which of us was older, we said me [because I am] and the dude seemed surprised. Cuz brothers are supposed to be older than sisters? Weird.)
*Y'know, cuz I'll always be alone and whatnot.
**Like that Sharon Olds poem. Sort of.
***Incidentally, it was on those same outings that Rebecca and I tested out our fledgling feminist outrage. Ben may have been cute, but asking what time "Mr. Movie" started? Patriarchal! They just didn't understand.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
More On Sex Work
Coincidentally, there's a new community post on Feministing, written by a woman who works as a stripper and identifies strongly as a feminist. It's short, to the point, and worth a read.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Have You Shamed A Slut Today? (Rape Edition)
I don't know how many of you are Jezebel fans, but you may have heard that Moe Tkacik and Tracie "Slut Machine" Egan, two Jezebel editors, were recently interviewed by Lizz Winstead as an installment of "Thinking and Drinking." This is a weekly event in which Winstead interviews media figures she likes and, I suppose, people drink. It's supposed to be serio-comedic, I gather, but this particular evening did NOT go well. Read Winstead's account here, Slut Machine's account here, and Jezebel's attempt to handle the fallout here. There's also a full video--I haven't watched it, some say the clips Winstead put on the Huffington Post are edited to put Moe and Tracie in the worst light.
Anyway, here's what I'm pissed off about*.
The whole rape discussion started because Winstead said, "But in an age where you're focusing on sexual freedom, I mean, there's just not, it's not always safe...to just have a free, 100% total sexual life." When Moe and Tracie start to sort out exactly what she means, Winstead barks, "You could get raped," in a maternalistic tone suggesting, to me, that she is already disappointed in them. So here's my question:
How does having lots of sex make it more likely you'll get raped?
Leaving the house makes it more likely, that's true, and I suppose people tend to do that when on the prowl. My understanding is that rapists are not, in general, looking for women who want to have sex, so are the slutty ones at bars really more likely to get roofied than the ones looking to go home alone? Or is being at the bar the crime? Some statistics from RAINN (the Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network): of the 73% of rapists that are known to the victim, almost half (35%) are "intimates" or family members--more than just "friends or acquaintances." "Friends and acquaintances" is itself a blanket term, obviously, and I suppose would include the random guys at bars or whoever else Winstead thinks is doing the raping. But if there are in fact any friends in that demographic, and not just acquaintances, Winstead's prejudice starts to fall apart.
I genuinely just don't understand why people think you're most likely to be raped by someone you actually want to have sex with. Is that even what Winstead is thinking about? She spends so much time on the attack against drunk-ass Tracie and Moe that I'm not entirely sure what her question even meant. These rapes that happen BECAUSE of pursuing a sex life--where are they happening? I don't understand the mathematics of this.
*For the record: I think Moe is the worst writer on Jezebel, and have been losing my affection for Tracie for some time now. I agree that most of what they said was stupid and at times offensive but they're getting PLENTY of heat for that on other sites so that's not my focus here.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Happy Ending
An email I just received:
Dear [Susan B.],
My name is Anthony Dunkley of Amazon.com's Executive Customer
Relations. Jeff Bezos received your e-mail and asked that I respond on
his behalf.
Thank you for contacting us with your concern.
The item you referenced is no longer for sale on our site.
Thank you again for your feedback. Please feel free to contact me
directly at ecr@amazon.com if I may be of further assistance.
Regards,
Anthony Dunkley
Executive Customer Relations
Amazon.com
http://www.amazon.com
[My added link, obviously.]
And I looked, and it's true. A search on Amazon (under apparel) for "date rape" found no matches and asked me if I meant "state caps."
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Quick--A Call To Action!
There's a big hullabaloo on the net today because of this shirt:
Yep, you read that right: "Anti Abortion! But Pro-Date-Rape."
This shirt, in its MANY variations, is made by Tshirts.com and sold on Amazon.com. Join me in emailing Amazon.com CEO Jeff Bezos at jeff@amazon.com and voicing your complaint. The text of my email is below, if you'd like some inspiration:Dear Mr. Bezos,
As you may or may not be aware, Amazon.com is currently selling an apparel series from Tshirts.com in which the shirts (over 200 different versions) bear the charming slogan "Anti-Abortion! But Pro-Date Rape." Whatever one's views on reproductive rights, I think we can all agree that rape is a horrific crime. Or rather, I thought we could all agree on that.
Since this has been written about on several blogs today, the number of items bearing this slogan has gone from around 12 to, as I said, more than 200--no doubt so that the negative reviews the items are receiving have less impact. I would like to point out that the shirts are in violation of your own community rules, which prohibit content that is (among other things) inflammatory, threatening, or "otherwise objectionable." Yet these shirts are not only available--they are available in youth sizes. I am sure that you understand the implications of that, and that this is not a viewpoint with which Amazon.com wishes to be associated.
However, if these shirts are not removed quickly, and if an apology is not offered, I'm afraid I will be unable to use Amazon's services ever again. I also suggest that whatever profits have been made on these shirts thus far be donated to an appropriate charity--one that aids victims of rape, or works to prevent it.
Sincerely,
[Susan B.]
former Amazon.com customer
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
A Salute To Bravery
Okay, okay. You guys know how much I love Feministing. What's not to love about a group of cool young feminists telling it like it is with some of the most articulate and intelligent analysis on the web*? But I specifically want to give props to their resilience. As most bloggers know, people's comments are not always encouraging. And when you're a blog like Feministing, forget it--they get the most awful, ludicrous, threatening, poorly spelled emails you can imagine. This is particularly true because of their regular "Friday Feminist Fuck You" feature...on YouTube. It is awesome, check out their YouTube channel.
These women get a ton of nasty comments--and, every now and then, nasty, unfunny video responses**. They get attacked for their appearances (both on the "you're ugly" and "I want to fuck you" ends of the spectrum), for being "sluts" and baby killers (even when the posts have nothing to do with abortion), and in general how feminists are ruining America and these ladies need to get laid/back in the kitchen. And the Feministing ladies don't bat an eye.
They probably do in private. And there's a particularly great video saying Fuck You to internet misogynists. But they don't let it get them down. They post on and make no apologies for pissing anyone off. Because they shouldn't. Because they have this tendency to be right. And I admire that***.
I could go on and on about Feministing and how they embody the Third Wave (globalist, multicultural, pro-sex, responsible and intellectual, etc) but that is silly because they're a well-known established blog and it's not like I'm sharing some unique discovery of mine. But they still deserve crazy amounts of respect.
And just to leave you on a positive note, Here's a "Feminist Non-Fuck You" that includes a wonderful, inspiring letter from a 13-year-old girl. Just to show that feminism is not now, nor is it like to be, dead.
*I know, not exactly a heavyweight competition, but even if it were these women would win the belt.
**One of which actually started out seeming like it was in support, and I was tricked into rating it highly before it turned into a lame screed on how feminists and abuse victims need to shut their mouths. So, watch videos in their entirety before you rate them, is my advice.
***Especially as someone who blogs under a pseudonym. The reason for that, of course, is that I don't want perspective employers to google me and read about semen in my nose. Which is a paltry excuse, but there you have it.
Monday, June 23, 2008
The Magic Of The Internet...
Right after finishing that last post, I went over to PostSecret and saw this:
...I'm glad to know I'm not the only one thinking about these things.
Hillary And Michelle: Presidential Paper Dolls
I've noticed on Facebook that some of my friends have become "supporters" of Michelle Obama. Though I truly admire Ms. Obama, in all her 5'11", fiercely-intelligent, jacked-badass-lawyer glory, fervor for her gives me a bit of a facial tic, and I'll tell you why:
Go back 16 years and all you have to do is change the names--we're talking about Hillary Clinton.
People say the same things about her that they did about Clinton back in the day--you even heard it a bit about Elizabeth Edwards before her husband dropped out. My favorite quote is always, "I wish I could vote for HER." Y'know, instead of her husband. MICHAEL MOORE said this about Ms. Clinton once. So while it's only hyperbole, sure, we endorse the first ladies. But if two administrations from now, Lady Michelle tries to run on her own? I guarantee you the coats will turn. While in the 90's even the damn Animaniacs joked about Hillary being smarter than Bill*, now it's all about how people ACTUALLY wish they could re-elect the first Clinton--or how they're afraid that if Hillary won, Bill would be running things, even though the opposite joke used to be canon.
And right now you can even see Obama's lame attempts to soften her own image for those on the other side of the spectrum. While she guest-hosts The View and talks about how she has NO interest in policy decisions**, HRC once did the morning show route with her COOKIE RECIPE. Which is standard fare for first lady hopefuls--even Teresa Heinz had to make some reporter a batch of scones***.
I don't know which end holds the problems--are people fooling themselves when they say they'd vote for the wife, to convince themselves they're feminists, or are they right to espouse the theory and merely cowardly when it comes to the reality? Honestly, I think we just feel uncomfortable--we see brilliant, powerful, accomplished women like Clinton and Obama and Edwards, and feel guilty about the fashion-tipping, pastry-baking, literacy-promoting ghetto to which they must consign themselves.
It brings to mind the various vocational Barbies. We feel good about seeing that unavoidable blonde as an astronaut or surgeon or what the hell ever, because we like the idea of setting that example. But if you ask people to draw a picture of a NASA hero or a doctor, I can tell you what those drawings ain't gonna look like. In our nation's hearts, we still think the likes of Clinton and Obama will seem more at home behind the wheel of a pink plastic convertible, the word "Malibu" in front of their names. So spare me the bullshit. You're a FAN of Michelle Obama, not a supporter. What're you supporting, the legality of her marriage? Anything else rings hollow, and it's salt in the wound, hearing these lies now that we all know that's what they are. There's nothing wrong with wanting Michelle Obama to be president, it just has to be TRUE. So color me disillusioned.
It beats bright pink.
*From the "Presidents" song: "Now in Washington D.C./There's the Democrats and the G.O.P./But the one in charge is plain to see/It's Clinton, first name Hillary." Also there was a bit in a "Pinky and the Brain" sketch.
**YEAH. RIGHT.
***Oh, and pretend her last name is Kerry. But I digress.
Friday, June 20, 2008
More Love/Hate With SATC
So, I'm still funemployed* and the roommate has purchased the complete series of Sex and the City**. I just watched "What Goes Around Comes Around" and had that old familiar feeling--part of the episode made me go, "that is so my life," and another part made me go "ugh."
The first part, of course, concerned Miranda. An extremely handsome detective is totally into her, and she's so intimidated by the fact that he's "out of her league" that she ends up getting sloppy-drunk on a date and convincing him she's an alcoholic. Har. This is a problem she has more than once--suspiciously hot guy genuinely likes her and she somehow messes it up***. Which sometimes makes me roll my eyes, because guys who are hotter than me are sort of my favorites. I don't always know what's wrong with their eyes, but I shrug my shoulders and capitalize. But then Miranda drunkenly roars this:
"I'm no Mena Suvari, but I'm great in bed!"
First of all: Mena Suvari? So random, thus adorable. Also, I TOTALLY relate to that. The whole "compensation" thing. When I say it to myself, I tend to say it with genuine confidence--it DOES make up the difference, I think--but there's still the need to say it.
And then Samantha fucks a virgin and he falls ridiculously in love. Blah. Some of us virgins were totally capable of having an awesome first time without getting artificially attached.****
Look! A whole post and I never once needed "I had to wonder..." Suck it, Bradshaw.
*Though I'm moving to London in September to go to grad school so woot!
**And has given me carte blanche to blame its presence in our apartment on her should any gentleman callers balk.
***Though another time the guy seems to like her BECAUSE she doesn't know she's hot, and when her self-esteem gets boosted he bails. Yes, I'm a Miranda buff.
****Though, to be fair, the one time I know that I slept with a virgin, he did seem to get at least sort of attached.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Auto(erotic?)backpatting
I'd just like to point out to everyone the new Surfing the Third Wave avatar. Why? Well, because it was an embarrassingly long time in the making. Please enjoy it thoroughly.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Chicks I Like: Grey Hoodie Edition
If you read the blogs I do, you'll have heard the name Sarah Haskins before--she is a web-wide girl crush for the eFeminist set. I, too, have fallen hard. She is the creator and star of a new feature on Current TV called Target: Women. Humorously taking on the ridiculous ways in which the media try to interact with women, her most recent topics have been bridal shows and the McCain/Obama showdown for HRC's supporters. But most of us first came to know her and love her for one reason: yogurt. Enjoy.
"Sweet Lady New York, you're the fifth whore at this table."
So, someone from Feministing didn't like the Sex and the City movie, which is not so interesting unto itself, but it did remind me of the only SATC spoof I've seen that I actually liked: an old SNL skit featuring Christina Aguilera as Samantha. Xtina is the best part of the skit, but the whole thing is pretty good--Amy Poehler's expressions of shock are very SJP. I hope you all enjoy. Yay puns!
Friday, June 13, 2008
A Fond Farewell (For The Moment, Anyway)
Well, what kind of a feminist blogger would I be if I had nothing to say at this point on Hillary Clinton?
(I have a better photo on my computer at home, I'll switch it up later. If you image-google her, you'll find that most of what comes up are intentionally unflattering.)The problem is that so many others have had more intelligent, more eloquent things to say. Megan Carpentier of Jezebel posted something great, and Courtney Martin at Feministing, unsurprisingly, wrote a wonderful letter about HRC. What's left for me to say? I'm not sure. You all know I have a great attachment to Clinton, but I find that most of my thoughts right now are on the future.
-Assuming she isn't tapped for VP (I really cannot predict if she will be or not), let's address this "Clinton supporters will vote McCain" mishegos. That is crazytalk. No one who believes in anything Clinton stands for, and is politically aware enough to be that vehement, would vote for McCain. The election is not until November. In a month everyone will have calmed down and the Democrats will have reunited. If she's not Obama's running mate, Clinton might still campaign for him, and will at least be vocal in her support--as she already is. It might be true that some die-hard Clintonistas might just not drag their asses to the polls, but make the effort to go and then vote for the horribly anti-reproductive-rights McCain? Okay maybe the racists, but only the really motivated racists.
-I'm waiting for people to start talking about what a bad campaign she ran, how miserably she lost. Hell, they were talking about it while it was still happening. You know who lost miserably? Edwards. Huckabee. Giuliani. The people who didn't last more than a few states. Remember Mitt Romney? Yeah, me neither. So if you hear anyone talking about Hillary getting her ass handed to her, remind them HOW MANY TIMES the pundits thought THIS primary, FINALLY, would settle things...and then the next morning we were no clearer. They were neck-a-neck for a long time. Respect.
-There's a whole list of powerful female politicians--governors and the like--on whom we should keep our eye for future bids. (I'll add it later, I'm running out of internet time here at the hostel.) Megan Carpentier pointed out how incredible it is that a woman ran as the establishment candidate--I think (hope) that Clinton herself is right about having cracked that glass ceiling.
Oh, there will be a next time.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Conquistadoras
I am writing to you from London this week, and in my downtime at the hostel I occasionally get to reminiscing about the time I lived here for a bit. Specifically, my sexual exploits. Oh sure, there were other fun things involving theatre and grizzled blues musicians and friendly squatter junkies taking me in, but mostly, dear readers, I expect you want to hear about the sex. We're kindred spirits that way.
I always remember this show I saw freshman or sophomore year at college. It was a student-written documentary performance piece--yknow, like The Vagina Monologues, based on actual personal stories people had told the writer--and it was called Conquistadoras. The subject matter? Young American women traveling abroad and having lots of sex.
I then remember, when in London, flipping through a humor book at a store--the subject was how to pick up people of various nationalities, with tips on both men and women. In the section on how to pick up American women, all it said was, "Don't worry. They'll pick you up." So that is the reputation we have over here. And it's not undeserved, I think--as they play posited, being a broad abroad* is very liberating. It gives us a sense of sexual freedom to find ourselves without context, without consequence. Perhaps we're even deindividuated a bit--freed from our own identities.
So, my story? I lost my virginity just before the end of sophomore year of college**, and just before junior year started, I changed my mind about school and ran off to London on a temporary work visa. So there I was, having had sex like three times in my life, and suddenly I exploded. I was there less than two weeks when I had my first encounter--a Kiwi I picked up at a dance party at my friend's hostel. Then there was the Canadian who was visiting my friends, the drummer from Rome who played at the bar we frequented, two different Brits (both club pick-ups, the latter of whom I actually dated) and a surprise American***.
So, 6 guys in 7 months. A personal best not to be challenged for another 5 years. When I went back to school, college boys proved very disappointing--in that they did not seem that willing to be picked up. Maybe it was American standards of beauty (Brits don't seem to mind curves), or maybe being an American Girl gave me the sexy caché that book implied...or maybe my anonymity, my untethered floating in the sea of Europe, made me more vibrant, more active, less afraid of rejection. I certainly struck out plenty of times--and I do better in New York than I did in college, as well.**** So I suppose I'm just better at scoring--fucking, loving, the lot--when there are no boxes to break out of. Perhaps I internalize others' pre-conceived notions of me, and can only truly feel attractive when people don't have them, when people don't immediately know the basics of who I am and what my story is. Because in situations where identity is preestablished, the risk of rejection is higher, and so are the stakes--it is that very preestablished identity that is rejected.
Or maybe America just needs to let us fuck already.
Heh.
**And, like two weeks later, lost my girl-virginity as well.
***I say surprise because we were making out before we actually heard each others' accents.
****Even with people who WENT to my college.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Depth Vs. Breadth
["Quantity vs. Quality" doesn't work for several reasons, including its being depressing.]
I must sometimes, reluctantly, face the fact that having had a lot of partners doesn't necessarily mean having had a lot of sex. Once, I told a friend my number* and she did in fact say, "That's a lot of sex!" But it's simple math--if you're in a long-term relationship, you're probably having sex a few times a week for years; if you're like me, you're having sex once every month or so, plus those little two-month islands in which you're actually dating someone. I'll wait while you run those numbers.
Yeah. Exactly.
I suppose I've never had extensive hands-on tutelage--at least not with the same mentor/equipment. So sometimes when I get into a naked situation I feel a bit...remedial. This is especially true when it's not a one-nighter, or when I'm with someone whom I know has had long-term relationships. While I've tried a lot of different things--usually more than your average single-digit-history person--I'm not necessarily proficient at any one of them.
This is mostly paranoia. The things I have little practice with are usually the advanced or novelty kind of practices, which most people do not expect you to be expert about. And while I think I am probably pretty good at most of this stuff, and have a good attitude towards sex (which is important), I do get self-conscious about technique**.
So, be encouraging. Even sluts get performance anxiety.
*Back when it was only ten!
**Especially when it comes to oral.
A Traitor To My People
My people, of course, being third-wave pro-sex feminist women. I say specifically women because, well, this post is about my vagina. Namely: the fact that I don't know it that well. My vulva and I are good friends, but the inside stuff is more of a mystery.
This came to my attention recently because my roommate uses Instead cups rather than tampons*. She offered me some to try, and, at least six months later, the box is still sitting on my dresser, untouched. Frankly, I'm afraid that if I use one I won't be able to get it out. I mean, Carrie Bradshaw's diaphragm got stuck once, and she's used to using one!
I admit it, I'm a little squeamish down there. I masturbate a lot**, but I generally use vibrators or massage shower heads or that Vibrance razor I once bought because I was going on vacation and that's all CVS had left***. I also usually use some sort of penetrative device (I hate the word "dildo"), but I rarely use my fingers. My hand simply does not arouse me--plus it's hard to focus on giving pleasure and receiving pleasure at the same time**** and it distracts from the process worrying about my own prowess. No one wants to worry they're bad in bed while they're in bed with just themselves.
It's a chicken-and-egg thing: do I not masturbate with my fingers because I'm squeamish, or am I squeamish because I don't masturbate with my fingers? Whichever the reason, it makes me feel kind of bad. I'm supposed to be a proponent of vagina power. And I am. But a Good Feminist should know her own anatomy, right? Female genitals are, culturally, regarded as very mysterious--a sort of sexual Rubik's Cube. And it's true I get off pretty easily, and only need to explain so much to my gentleman callers, but what about my lady callers? If I don't even interact directly with my clitoris that often, leaving it up to something inanimate, how do I effectively please a girl?
In short, and to be blunt, I wish I were more comfortable sticking my fingers inside myself. For reasons both practical and theoretical. Perhaps that will be my Second Half of the Year's resolution.
PS: I know I haven't posted in forever. I tried to make up for it with extra footnotes.
*She gave me permission to say this on my blog. Though that was awhile ago so I hope she remembers.
**You're shocked.
***It worked! Though it required some will power. I removed the blade, obviously.
****The 69 position? Overrated. Not bad, just a little silly.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Guest Blogging (Sort of) SATC
My roommate Katey is a movie critic, and actually knows about the film industry (unlike, say, me). She'd suggested I post about the recent hyperbolic uproar that the new Sex and the City movie has caused among the male critic-and-blogger population. BUT, she just blogged about it herself, and did a much better job than I could*, so I'm just going to repost it here. And now, ladies and gentlemen (and others), I give you Katey Rich:
This week I've been lucky enough to witness a large-scale panic among men of all ages, races and nationalities. They're not being threatened on any physical level, nor are any of their loved ones in any real danger. But the way they're reacting, you'd think everything precious to them, from possessions to family members, was in mortal peril. And the evil force they fight against isn't a human, or an animal, or some vague global threat-- it's a goddamn movie.
I'm talking, of course, about Sex and the City, a movie that has sent the largely male population of movie critics and pundits into paroxysms of panic. Blogger Jeffrey Wells, never one to shy away from woman-hating, says of the movie, "scratch any woman who says she liked it off the list. For anything." Variety reported, with a straight face, that most men would "rather be shot than sit through the movie." Even we at Cinema Blend offered up our help: "We don't want you to fall prey to the same threat that so many will succumb to this weekend, so we at Cinema Blend have put together our top five excuses for men to get out of seeing Sex and the City: The Movie.
Seriously, dudes, what are you so afraid of? Sex and the City, as a movie, is as good as Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull-- a revival of an old hero, with mixed results. It's better than most of the chick flick crap that gets put out there, and, even for its poop jokes and gratuitous male nudity, isn't half as offensive as something like Epic Movie. Really, if you've seen a handful of episodes from the original series, you know exactly what you're in for-- Sex and the City the movie is pretty close to five episodes of the series, give or take a few sex scenes and narcissistic voiceovers.
So what's the problem? Sex and the City has been a well-known, television phenomenon for a decade now, and anyone who hasn't caught a re-run of the show can at least name the four main characters without too much trouble. Men have been able to handle the existence of Sex and the City without feeling in personal jeopardy, but as soon as those four women head to the big screen, all hell breaks loose. The very idea that a movie starring four women, targeted at women, could be the #1 movie this weekend-- well, it's inconceivable to the men who run the movie industry.
No, seriously, most people actually can't conceive of it. Fantasy Moguls has the movie peaking at $95 million, whereas most people who know any fans of the show realize half the women in America will turn out for this movie this weekend. The last movie starring women to top the box office with Baby Mama, with an opening weekend of $18 million. Sex and the City will cream that record, and yet, no one seems willing to admit it.
Listen, boys. We saw Cloverfield with you. We laughed right along with you at Superbad and Talladega Nights. Some poor souls among us even got dragged to Good Luck Chuck and The Fantastic Four on opening weekend. Chicks sit through guy movies all the time, and we don't complain, because that's all there is. The movie industry is dominated by the men who make movies and the boys who see them, and women settle for the scraps they're handed in-between the summer tentpole blockbusters. So really, how dare you bitch and moan when there is one weekend dedicated to a movie that mainly appeals to women? One summer weekend out of twelve? Wow, you're really being deprived.
Mostly, it's sad and terrifying to see the blatant fear men have shown toward anything vaguely feminine and related to this movie. Granted, the marketers have chosen to deck the advertising out in nothing but pink and sparkles, when genuine fans of the show know that's not really what it's all about. But, guys, you've been into Victoria's Secret. You've seen a woman decked out in pink and—gasp!-- sparkles and appreciated the results. Your eyes didn't burn out of their sockets, and your penis didn't melt away. It probably won't happen at a viewing of the Sex and the City movie either, no matter how many pretty dresses float by on the screen.
I get that if you're not a fan of the show, the movie may be boring for you, or may seem superficial and all that is wrong with American consumerism. But don't blame the women who love it-- ahem, Jeffrey Wells-- and don't assume you understand the appeal. Millions of women from all over the world, and all kinds of backgrounds, have found something to love in this show. Even some men enjoy it too. At a certain point you have to take a break from calling the rest of the world idiots, and wonder if maybe you're just missing something. Something pink, sparkly, funny, touching, and just a little bit fabulous.
*NB: I have not actually seen the movie.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Chicks I Really, Really Like: Doogie Howser Edition
Totally stolen from Jezebel, here is the story of Alia Sabur, THE WORLD'S YOUNGEST PROFESSOR.
(At 18 years old, she's broken the record set in 1717 by some 19-year-old bewigged dude.)There's really nothing about this that isn't perfect. Dr. Sabur has her PhD in math--so much for girls sucking at that--and she teaches the subject at Southern University at New Orleans, which she chose because she wanted to help people still recovering from Katrina. As her résumé shows, she has six different publications to her name, and her teaching philosophy takes into account "students with non-traditional backgrounds" and posits that, being close in age to most of her students, she "can understand better what they might find interesting, or difficult." Also, as the Today clip shows, she reads Jezebel!
Alia, you are inspiring and awesome. The next time you come back to your hometown of NYC, look me up and I will totally sneak you into a bar.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Because Men Shouldn't Worry Their Pretty Little Heads Over Money
CNN.com has as their main article this morning a charming story entitled "Moms struggling with prices." (Or, when you click on the article, "Moms' new battle: The food price bulge.") It bears this June Cleaver-y photo:
There's not really much that needs to be said about this, because it's pretty obvious...MOMS? To the exclusion of DADS? Because country-wide, fathers are completely absent from all grocery-related decision making? One woman in the story works in cancer research, and her self-employed husband sometimes struggles to find work. So why isn't HE the one pureeing baby food and making his own detergent? More to the point, why does CNN take that as a given?
This is offensive to both men and women--many men are actually involved in their households, and shouldn't be treated as though they have nothing to do with how their children eat. Screw this "women's work" bullshit--aren't we at least supposed to officially be past that?
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Too Much Manischewitz
So, apparently, my parents have not had sex lately because of Clinton vs. Obama disputes.
Yes, my parents are a Slate article. Or worse, A Sunday Styles piece in the Times.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Late-Night Idea
Let's call this my memo pad. Here's an idea to think about in the morning:
I kinda wanna start up a "Stuff Feminists Like" site. Anyone interested?
(The only entry I've got so far is "No Longer Liking Ani Difranco.")
Monday, April 14, 2008
Eureka!
Quite some time ago, a friend asked me why I would care what our friends think of my sex life, and why it would bother me if they had problems with it. As I reported back at the time, I couldn't come up with a clear answer. For some crazy reason, buying a mini-scone at Starbucks just now, the answer came to me:
It's mean.
There's also stuff in there about losing respect for people who pass judgment in misogynist ways, et cetera, and not wanting to spend time with people who are that square, but come on guys--it's mean! And who wants their friends to be mean? Not me.
But yeah, also all that other stuff.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Friday Opinion Poll
True or False:
-Guys are pickier about the attractiveness of people they date than about the attractiveness of people they just hook up with (because whatever, it's just one time).
-Whereas girls are pickier about the attractiveness of hook-ups than about the attractiveness of people they date (because if you're actually dating someone, personality and such things are also factors).
?
Discuss.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
PS: A Promise
I SWEAR I will post soon on the feminism end of "sex and feminism." It's unfortunately easier to just write about my sex life*. But I've actually begun the long-promised post on Girlie Feminism, so fear not!
*And I am lazy whiiiiiiiine....
Final Thought (Plus Tangent)
Here is why my fuck buddy will always have a place in my heart: I am afraid to tell him how many people I've slept with because he might find the number disappointingly low.
This is now near-inexplicably reminding me of something that happened in 10th grade. I had an ideological antagonist in high school, a self-styled conservative, and we took great joy in provoking each other. One day, while in rehearsal together for a play, I said in front of the other actors, "It's hilarious that [Redacted] thinks I'm the Queen of Sin." While another actor who knew me better, and was somewhat sinful himself, laughed at the very idea, my antagonist said, almost under his breath, "Well when you've slept with half the guys in Manhattan..."My jaw actually dropped, and I exclaimed, "[Redacted]! I'm a virgin!" It was an unusual moment in that I wasn't specifically proud of my virginity (though not ashamed), and it was nice and refreshing to have it be a point of power. And it wasn't that being a virgin was inherently good, like it made me virtuous, it just made the point that you can't assume things about a person's behavior based on their beliefs and, okay, in-your-face attitude*.
Ok, back to the fuck buddy. It's awesome to know a guy, even if I only "know" him every few months, has active respect for a girl who's, well, active. No guy has asked me my number since I was 21, and it was conveniently 3 lower than his own number, so there was no drama. But it was in fact a nice intimate moment for us, asking that question, and I'd hate to think that the answer might one day be a source of contention rather than closeness. So, in summation, there should be more guys out there like my fuck buddy. Which is sort of how I end my "Dudes I Like" posts, so perhaps we should unofficially categorize him there, as well.
*Also I was pretty flattered that he thought me capable of fucking half the guys in Manhattan at the tender, chubby age of 15. Still working on it, [Redacted]!
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
On Confidence
As you may somehow have guessed, I got laid this weekend--specifically Friday night. This was awesome for all the usual reasons, but also had an unexpected positive side effect. You see, on Saturday I FINALLY, after (no joke) a year-and-a-half of trying, got my friends to go out dancing at an indie club. I was psyched (and left my comrades with no option but to be psyched themselves), but I also had not been out partying for sometime*. I have very little idea what the kids are wearing to clubs these days, had never been to this venue, etc etc. But I had some weapons to bolster my psychitude--in addition to having on my FIRST EVER pair of skinny jeans, I proudly bore the knowledge that I'd just gotten some.
It was unexpectedly freeing. While I kept my eye out for a make-out buddy, all pressure was off. For one thing, I was too SORE to take anyone home with me**. And when I didn't really find anyone to make out with, since the club was a total sushi fest*** and this one semi-cute guy in a Hendrix shirt couldn't seem to decide whether he wanted to dance with me, there was basically no feeling of rejection. I remember flopping down next to my roommate to rest my feet and saying, "I mean, I don't look THAT fat, do I?" Which got me a deservedly pointed look, but I kind of meant it. I DIDN'T feel unattractive. It was hard to care what anyone there thought, when I could truthfully say, "This morning I fucked someone a hundred times cooler than anyone in this club."
This is both awesome and problematic. Confidence is good, but do I have to get laid every time I want to go out dancing? And, no less, by someone a 100 times cooler than anyone else? Cuz that's, like, a lot cooler, and tall experimental musicians don't grow on trees****. Surely I don't need the lingering scent of rock star jizz in my nose just to have a good time?
Probably not. I'm hoping to get people out again next Friday, and busy as I am it's not likely that I'll pick anyone up before then. Which probably will intensify the urge to meet someone at the club, but if not? Hopefully I'll be able to remember what it was like on Saturday to have a great time with my friends and feel hot regardless of what the guys around me were doing. Maybe it's unfortunate that I needed the armor of recent screwing not to end up in a pout, but that's life--one step at a time. Soon enough I won't even need skinny jeans to feel cool.
Preferably: REALLY soon. Those things are kind of scary.
*It's all very "The Good Life" by Weezer.
**Of course, I've said this before, and taken people home with me nonetheless. Yeah Party Night Trifecta!
***Yes, I'm trying to make that a thing.
****But imagine such a tree!
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