Sally.

Sally, my sweet little guinea pig of six years, died this morning. I was lucky enough to be with her when it happened. She was very peaceful and comfortable in her little house and I petted her and told her she was a good girl right up to the end. Sally was an exceptionally bold and curious little guinea pig, running free-range around the house--she'd follow you around with cheerful little squeeks and purrs. Everyone in my family, who can't agree about one other damn thing, loved Sally and treated her as one of our own. When I, my sister and both parents were home we'd talk about "the five of us." Little Sallymander, little Squickles, little Ratty, little Meerschweinchen.



I love you, baby. See you on the Rainbow Bridge.

"Sheesh... men! Am I right, ladies?"

By popular request (one person is "popular" around here), I will point out the thuddingly obvious: this Good Housekeeping article on "18 Clues He's Still Crazy About You" is retarded. It's jokey of course, but the jokes are only funny if you accept their basic premises as true. So hopefully they're not very funny.

1. When you wear a T-shirt, boxers, and socks to bed, somehow he still thinks you're cute.
"Somehow?" "Still?" Jeez. So in general, a set of really sexy lingerie just on the hanger would be sexier than an actual slightly disheveled woman?

4. He automatically smooshes all spiders for you.
It's funny, I think of things like this as "outdated"--of course modern women can smoosh a damn spider--but they're more accurately "never-dated." My mother killed rats with a shovel and so did my grandma. Women (at least in the lower 99% of society) have never had the luxury of squeamishness. We're half of goddamn everyone; if we didn't pull our weight in scary and icky situations humanity would be up to its neck in spiders.

6. After you rear-ended that Lexus in the parking lot, his very first words were "Are you OK?"
Boy, woman drivers, am I right fellas?

10. He understands which old boyfriends are fair game and which aren't.
I read this for a slightly different interpretation of "fair game" and it made much more sense to me.

11. He doesn't "whoop!" while watching the Super Bowl anymore. OK, he does, but he's definitely cut back the whooping by about 20 percent.
Oh good, because like most women, I fucking hate seeing men enjoying themselves.

18. He may forget to give you a card for Valentine's Day, but at least he understands this is a criminal offense. And he's prepared to pay the price.
Good Lord, we're both so lame.


I guess this is just a cute little puff article that was written in about five minutes and has no particular reason to exist, but it showcases such pernicious attitudes. And I hate to play the Humorless Feminist, but eh, shit wasn't funny to begin with.

Anyway, um, I did this all on request, so if you this entry was boring, blame Lance. Shame on you, Lance! You sent me some lame jokes and I failed to make them better! And it's all your fault! Dammit, Lance!

Dude.

When I was a kid, I thought I wanted to be a boy. But I understand now that I didn't really, not penis and all. What I really wanted was to be awesome. I didn't hate skirts because they were feminine, but because you can't climb a tree in them. (You can if you really want to. But you'll scratch up your legs and adults on the ground will give you shit about not being "ladylike.") "Ladylike" was my mother's word for what I should be--modest, polite, boring. "Stop playing imaginary-laser-blaster in synagogue, it's not ladylike." No wonder I didn't want to be a fuckin' lady.

At around four years old, I wanted to be Batman. My grandma made me a Batman headband and I wore it everywhere. (Not a cape, not a cowl. A headband. You know, like Batman wears.) "Don't you want to be Batgirl? Batwoman?" "No! I'm Batman! DUHNUHNUHNUHNUH BATMAN!" I don't think this was because I didn't want to be a girl; it's just that I knew a secondary character when I saw one.

Back when I got to watch TV at work, the guys liked to watch a show called "Manswers." The basic theme was answering questions about dangerous animals, extreme sports, drinking, explosions, and sex: you know, man things. Because what use could a woman have for explosions? There's no "Womanswers" show, but I have a sinking feeling that it would not address explosions.

Now I get told a lot (particularly at work) "Holly, you're such a dude." But I'm really not. I am (or aspire to be) physically strong, mechanically competent, funny, self-reliant, playfully irresponsible, and blunt-spoken. I didn't find owning a vagina to be a hindrance to any of those things. If being awesome is inextricably male, well, I'll strap it on.

Unfeasible.

When I was old enough to be horny but too young to fully understand how these things worked, I had a recurrent sexual fantasy of coupling up with a guy and staying that way all night, falling asleep with him inside me. I was slightly crushed when I figured out this wouldn't work.

Not bad for starters.

Ten yards.

T9.

After paperwork and waiting period and "getting the money together while still eating regularly" period, I finally have my pretty!



I took it to the range yesterday and oh my gosh am I happy with it. It fits me just perfectly--when I'm holding it comfortably and naturally, wherever my arm bone points, that's exactly where the bullet goes. It's small enough for my (cargo pants) pocket, big enough that there's very little recoil. Even in my decidedly inexpert hands it was accurate and reliable. And it's also pretty and fun. I am in wuv.

(I also shot my friend's .44 magnum, and damn. On the one hand, it would certainly work as a self-defense weapon because if you shot that damn thing at me, I'd probably fall down even if you missed. [Even assuming an adversary slightly less wussy than myself, they'd still be deaf, disoriented, and thoroughly intimidated.] But on the range it's just uncomfortable to shoot. Gets a lot of attention from the neighboring lanes, though.)

I'll post the obligatory picture of a teeny little dead-center grouping as soon as I'm good enough to actually, y'know, produce one. I've got a lot of practicing to do. Oh, what a tiresome chore...

Missed opportunity.

Back when I had short hair and a defiantly unattractive fashion sense (as opposed to now when it's just accidental...), people asked me quite a few times if I was a boy or a girl. At the time I always got seriously miffed, because, well, because that's really not a question you're allowed to ask no matter how ambiguous the situation.

In retrospect, however, I wonder how long I could've gotten away with it if I'd said "boy."

Hm. I probably still could. All that's really changed is I've grown my hair long and accepted gender-appropriate clothing, and with the aid of a baseball cap and an ass-ugly outfit I could fix that. I'm not sure why I want to be a small effeminate man, or who I'd really sell on it, but it seems like it could be an interesting experience. A "social experiment," yeah, that's the ticket.

It sure will be fascinating to live a few hours as a member of a repressed underclass who are cruelly deprived of their basic human right to have constant no-strings-attached sex with multiple attractive partners. I can't even imagine. It'll really open up my eyes.

How to have terrible sex.

The key component is some measure of psychological reluctance or indifference. We'd previously agreed that we'd fuck on Saturday, but now it's Saturday and both of us are feeling a whole lot more "well, I said I would" than horny. I feel like I ought to, not like I want to. Or I feel like I ought not, and rather than gleeful naughtiness I've fallen into crushing guilt. Or I feel like I'm not attracted to him, but he's better than nothing.

Lack of body confidence definitely helps tremendously. Nothing guarantees terrible sex quite like the thought "I'm not what he wants, but he's settling for me." Turn out the lights, make little apologetic comments about your gut or your acne, go through contortions to hide the problem areas. Ask him if he finds your horrible flaws even slightly attractive and don't take "yes" for an answer.

There's two ways you can go with the foreplay. You can go way too short, and try to start when everything's still dry and limp, or way too long in the face of failure. The second method is definitely more effective in creating an atmosphere of real desperation and inadequacy--repeat the same one or two uncreative strokes over and over for hours, hoping to win over the genitalia by sheer persistence. Whatever you do, don't change it up, and for God's sake don't relax or take a break.

If you've followed these steps psychologically, physical failure is close to a given. Apologize profusely for this. Perhaps turn away from the other person and attempt to self-stimulate in front of them, but make sure to see this as a humiliating last-ditch rather than an erotic action and you're sure to fail at this too.

Should you achieve penetration, you can at least fail at orgasm. Fuck for a while--silent and monotonous are your key themes here--and give up.

Do not, however, give up on your partner. Refuse to let them even try for your orgasm, but put them through a declining series of sex toy, give up on sex toy, mouth, give up on mouth, hands, exhausted listless hands. If you're dogged enough you might get them to fake one just to make you stop.

Sleep far away from each other.

Risk/Reward Hierarchy.

High risk/high reward
Gorgeous (oblivious) stranger

Cute single coworker who keeps sending severely mixed messages but could create a horribly awkward situation if I come on too strong and I'm wrong

Friendly stranger

Real-life friend

Internet friend

Dating-site prospect

Kink-event freak

Real-life skanky pickup

Craigslist

Surgery

Benny

My hand
Low risk/low reward

The only thing you really need to know about PUA.

This man claims to be an expert on attracting women. He has carefully dressed and accessorized himself in the way he feels to be most conducive to picking them up.



...NOT WITH A BORROWED CUNT.

Fast Seduction!

Thank God that stupid holiday is over with, now I can go out by myself without having to think "dammit, I'm going out by myself on Valentine's Day." 80% of my friends are coupled up and I'm sleeping with (and thus afraid to do potentially-coupley things with) another 10%, so I basically hid under a rock today.


Also frequently found under rocks are the fine men of the "Seduction Community." Let's check out their awesome website!

Cripes, this thing is huge. I guess the writers have plenty of spare time. I'll click around a bit at random.

Don't introduce [this site] to anyone unless you know they are seeking to improve the same things as you. Why? Because through years of witnessing guys try to introduce this site to their AFC [Average Frustrated Chump] friends, the primary reactions of those friends have been negative because, until somebody understands this site or what it's about, their ingrained societal beliefs simply overpower them.
I need to use this tactic more often. "Now, I may seem like a jerk, but that's just your societal conditioning--I'm really a beautiful humanitarian, you just can't see it!"

If she asks me a question about my family, I will IGNORE the question, but... and this is key... I will respond with something charming or a compliment. Some examples, most of which I've already used this week:
HB [Hot Babe]: So Joseph how many brothers and sisters do you have?
J: You know... I am just really admiring that dress you're wearing, that's really hot!
So, uh... did you lose your whole family in some buzzkillingly tragic incident, or are you just being a dick? Also, your tactic might be ineffective on women who haven't suffered major brain injury.

HB: What do you think about the economic crisis?
J: Why do you like/love me so much?
Too taken aback to even answer with a comeback, the HB muttered something about "stuff to do" and had a security guard walk her to her car.

HB: I am mad at you! You were supposed to call me!
J: Look, come here and give me a kiss and all will be forgiven
HB: NO! I am mad at YOU!
J: Come to daddy, it's ok, I ain't mad atcha! C'mere, gimme a kiss, I forgive you
Am I the only one who gets an "or you'll get the belt again" vibe from J's dialogue here? She answers "No, I'm still mad and you're not answering me like an adult," and he rejoinders the only way he knows how.

Browsing through this site, 90% of PUA scenarios describe the same dynamic: women want to deny you sex, and to get laid, you have to beat them at the game. Let's check out some selections from the glossary!

Anti-Slut Defense. The chick logic a woman (especially younger ones) will go through to relieve the guilt having sex too quickly with a man, assuming she has enough time to "think" about the consequences - a reaction which causes them to come up with objections or reasons that they shouldn't fuck you in order to relieve their guilt of taking *responsibility* for doing something that society would often call "slutty".
Yes, she isn't having second thoughts about fucking you, that's unpossible, she's only worried about that goshdarn society!

bitch shield: Not a derogatory term - used to describe a behavior women use when attempting to fend of would-be suitors.
Wow, I'm glad you clarified that, because otherwise calling women "bitches" for not fucking you might've sounded a little derogatory.

Display High Value (action/verb) or Display(s) of High(er) Value. An action or story which increases your perceived value. Can be used positively or negatively depending on your perceived value prior to the DHV and whether the chick is Lower Value (you increase hers or reduce yours, preferably increase hers) or Higher Value (you increase yours or reduce hers, preferably increase yours).
In other words, it's 2d20 minus THAC0, less armor value and increased by weapon damage and any enchantments currently on the target. Tap three Swamps.

There's a whole system here wherein you work out the woman's mathematical value from 0-10 and then do a variety of similarly numerical maneuvers on her. Man, it's gotta be a letdown every time you win mathematically and still don't get fucked. "No, no, you don't understand, my score is ahead of yours by eleven points, you need to take your bra off now!"

The main feature of the site is the supermassive Player's Guide, which is chockablock with oh what the fuck is this.

Me : Hey Alicia. What do you love to eat ? Something that really makes you salivate just by thinking of it ?
Alicia : Oh... I love fresh ripe mangoes from Hawaii / strawberries from Ohio... oh yes...
Me: Ripe mangoes huh? Mmmm....that's yummy. I don't know if you can IMAGINE... SUCKING into one sweet, delicious, juicy mango NOW... mmm... can you taste the sweetness of the mango... swishing INSIDE YOUR MOUTH... mmm... soo tasty... doesn't that give you lots of pleasure and ha-PENIS just thinking about that? Mmm... I bet, if there were a mango here NOW, you'd WANT IT IN YOUR MOUTH (point to dickee!).
If I got him on tape saying this, no jury would convict me for anything I did to him after that point.

Yeah, I can totally hear/feel/see what you mean. Isn't it just great how the things in life that just sneak up behind you unexpectedly? I mean, there are things you know are coming and you can see them, like, "Oh, it's Friday, I'm getting paid today." Now that's in front of you, in your future, but then the best things in life, the ones that can make you FEEL FULFILLED and FEEL SO GOOD FROM YOUR BOTTOM to your top have a tendency to sneak up behind you and COME FROM YOUR REAR. And INSIDE YOU ASS yourself, "This is so great! How can something this great (point to schlong) just take me from behind and surprise me like this?" I mean, that facinates me, take a second and think about how the greatest things (point to schlong) you have ever felt took you from the rear...think about that. It's sexually facinating if you really THINK ABOUT IT and TAKE IT ALL IN ANALlytically.
You know what else in interesting? Is how simple words that I say can make you feel so good. (remember you have been SSing her for a while by now). It's like you feel these things (point to schlong) COMING IN YOUR REAR, ENTERING YOUR REAR, being whispered to you, and it can make you feel so good. Don't you find that when I talk like that, when I DO IT, you can't resist and you just OPEN YOUR REAR and LET IT SLIDE INSIDE YOU, hearing those words and feeling so wonderful?
Shit, I just Maced my monitor.

Words I have a problem with.

Cum: It's come.

Sperm: It's a complex mixture primarily composed of fluids, proteins, and sugars from the seminal vesicles and prostate.

Erotica: It's porn. Every attempt I've ever seen to differentiate sexual media into "erotica" and "porn" has always ended in the conclusion that "erotica is the porn that I happen to like." (Digression: I first encountered this distinction--and first realized its bullshittiness--when I was about twelve and the school library had a book of Gloria Steinem essays including "Erotica vs. Pornography." And I am not too proud to admit that being very young and her accounts of pornographic humiliations very detailed, I... I wanked to Gloria Steinem.) The word porn simply means media made and used for wanking and implies no evil; the word "erotica" is needless and judgmental fluff.

Kyriarchy: Kyriarchy is the hip new alternative to patriarchy--"kyriarchy" describes all the power differentials in the world, including male>female but also young>elderly, racial majority>minority, rich>poor, straight>gay, and so on. It's a word of victimhood and despair; it transforms areas where real advancement can be made into something huge and complex and unfathomable. It also has a tendency to conflate real injustice with inevitable inequalities--it's always gonna be better to be rich than poor, it doesn't have to be better to be straight than gay.

Prostituted woman: Yes, let's make it painfully linguistically apparent that we can't conceive of a prostitute doing it of her own will. Bonus points for using it to describe women who aren't actually prostitutes at all but are simply being sexual in some unapproved way.

Womyn: Oh for fuck's sake. You can't even use the letters in "the other side's" name? What are you, Crips and Bloods?

Va-jay-jay: You're not twelve.

Curvy/"Shaped like a woman"/Reubenesque/BBW/Bountiful/etc.: Fat. I'd rather say "I'm fat, and I can still be sexy" than "I'm not fat, that would be horrible, I'm just... curvy!"

Political lesbian: Sexuality is not political. Your sexuality lives in your dreams, your unwanted obsessions, the involuntary quivers and wetnesses of your loins--not in which gender you find to be morally superior. And it's rather trivializing of garden-variety lesbians; it's a cheap way to inject sanctimony into something you (hopefully) wanted to do anyway. "Oh, those suckers just date girls because they want to; I date girls because I'm fighting the good fight!"

Ecdysiast: I can't spell it.

Observation.

My entire dating history seems to be colored with unreasonable paranoia of "going too fast," to the point where I'll date a guy for six months and never so much as hold his hand in public, lest I make him think I'm some kind of crazy obsessive stalker or something.

But when I do actually like him, the stress of repressing it gets to me, to the point where I start going crazy and obsessing over him. (Um, a little bit. Not like dead-bunny-crazy. Just like neurotic.)

As in most things, the answer's clearly some sort of happy Middle Way, but it's a hell of a lot easier to say "well, it must be somewhere in the middle" than to figure out exactly what that means. Act in accordance with my actual feelings, I guess. That's a pretty scary concept.

Why You Aren't Getting Laid.

This post is for all the men out there who wail to the heavens that they're not getting laid and it isn't faaaaaiiiir. (Okay, it's for one man, and his name rhymes with "Peurosabra." But I know a few other guys who read this and demonstrate these behaviors to a lesser extent, and maybe there are others lurking, so consider this a public service announcement.) Here are five possible reasons you're not getting laid. I have to warn you, none of them are "having sex is impossible for you and it's not your fault, bitches only want millionaires with rock-hard abs."

1) You are unattractive.
I don't just mean ugly. I mean that you're not doing obvious things to make yourself attractive. You're wearing sweatpants and programming-language t-shirts everywhere, you're not so tidy with your grooming, you're not going to the gym, you're laughing loudly through your nose, you're ignoring everyone at the party except the ones you want to fuck. Losing weight takes a long time and your face and personality may never change, but there are things you can do in one day without any painful sacrifices.

2) You think you're a loser.
Few attitudes are less sexy than "I know I'm fat and shlumpy and boring... but does someone wanna fuck me anyway?" When you think you're unfuckable, you have an amazing power to transmit that belief to others. When you walk around--not like you're hot shit, that will backfire--but just like you're a regular person who's no worse than anyone else--other people start to believe it too.

3) You're aiming too high.
It never ceases to amaze me how men who complain that they can't get anyone will then turn around and tell me that they're only attracted to women who meet ridiculously exacting standards. "I can't meet a girl" turns out to really mean "I can't meet the 0.05% of girls I find acceptable." You choosy beggar. Now, I'm not telling you to fuck someone you don't find attractive, that's not fair to you or her. But I am telling you to reassess your standards. Figure out which ones you actually need to feel a connection with someone, and which ones are stupid bullshit you made up for some bullshit reason. If you only feel attracted to skinny women, that may just be you; if you find yourself exclusively attracted to 26-year-old blonde tennis players with advanced degrees and perfect skin, I'm sorry, there's some stupid bullshit in there.

Don't form a mental image of the perfect woman and then search for a real woman who matches. Empty your mind of preconceptions, look at real women for what they are, and decide how much you like them, not how close they are to your ideal.

4) You're not really trying.
Some guys who complain about not getting laid are really complaining that a sexy woman isn't knocking on their door while they sit at home twiddling their thumbs and watching "Intervention." If you don't get your ass out there, you've got no chance. It doesn't have to be a meat market; anywhere you meet people, from a dog park to a continuing-ed class to a friend's house to OkFrickin'Cupid, is better than huddling up in your cave.

5) You're a creep.
Maybe #4 doesn't apply to you. Maybe instead you're trying way too hard. You're looking for the angle, trying to beat the game. Sarging, negs, NLP, silly hats--good fuck, what is wrong with you? Human fucking beings don't fucking work like that. (If they did, you'd be getting laid enough that you'd mellow out and shut up about this bullshit.) You're going to come off as a sweaty, huffling Creepasaurus when you do that shit.

(Incidentally: have you ever noticed that guys who do the PUA shit the hardest tend to be the ones who neglect the kindergarten basics of being attractive? There's nothing quite like having a guy lay his hand "casually" in your personal space and ask you to think of a time you were very attracted to someone, and realizing that his breath smells like dead rats.)

OkDammit.

Welp, I re-registered for OkCupid, because what's the worst that could happen. (I'm not saying the profile name here, because these things need to be kept separate.)

The frustrating thing right now is that I've written some adorably witty things in the profile but I haven't added pictures yet--I need to go take them, because I don't have any that are both honest and attractive. All the photos I have on my hard drive are either squinty ill-lit party pics, naked, or two years old.

So right now I'm getting charming messages from men who haven't seen my face, which makes me feel really awkward, because I worry these guys might not be interested if they did. Or more to the point, they won't be interested when they do. I feel like somehow, when you picture "a girl," sans photo, you're going to picture someone who looks nothing like me, and when you do see me it's going to be a let-down.

I'm not afraid to show my face, but showing my face to people who've had time to preconceive of me feels daunting.

Ah well, the point of a dating site is to eventually see each other in real life, and there's no controlling your angles there. And yet some guys seem to like me anyway, without being deceived even a little bit! Will wonders never cease.

Turn-off.

You know, I think of myself as fairly open-minded, but I absolutely cannot conceive of a relationship with anyone who spells "you" as "u", under any circumstances.

Cosmocking: March '09!

All righty! Marissa Miller on the cover! "SEX" also on the cover, in two-inch letters, because this is one classy rag!

Man, I don't look like any of the women in this magazine. They're all long-necked and square-jawed and smokey-eyed and plump-lipped and flowy-haired, and I'm just... like, a person. I'm not sure I even feel uglier than them, I just feel different, like we might not be the same species.

SEXY: Sleek redheads. SKANKY: Messy redheads.
Hey! :(

HE SAYS: "Let's just be friends." HE MEANS: "We can still sleep together, but I'm not buying you dinner."
What? I thought it means we aren't going to sleep together, isn't that how "friends" is different from "a casual thing?" Also, does the whole guy-always-buys thing really apply these days? At least among people I know, it seems like splitting the check is pretty universal. After all, we've both got jobs.

["What guys think" sidebar] "I don't like it when a girl knows how much I like her, because she might use it to manipulate me and play with my emotions."
"Also, I don't turn my back on her until I've thoroughly frisked her for concealed weaponry."

Bike shorts are in this season (we're serious). Pair your gym staples with heels and a tailored jacket or cardigan.
Spandex shorts. Heels. Tailored jacket. Well. There's not really much more I can say.

"Elevator" Kegels often do the trick. While he's inside you, squeeze your vaginal muscles starting at the opening and then moving up the walls of your vagina and finally to the top.
Is this... possible? I'm no stranger to Kegels, I can just about crush an egg in there, but independently controlling different parts? I'm not sure there are even separate muscles. Hm... three minutes of research... yeah. There's only one voluntary muscle around the vagina, and it's only around the lower part. Dammit, Cosmo, next you'll be telling me I can't truly please my man until I can kiss my elbow.

There are two tubes inside the penis that fill blood during arousal and a third that always contains blood. Since increased blood flow is what causes orgasm, stimulating these supersensitive tubes with your tongue can send spasms of pleasure through your boyfriend's entire body.
Well, yes he'll like it, because you're licking his penis, but... ORGASMS AND PENISES AND LIFE IN GENERAL DOES NOT WORK LIKE THAT!!!

Yeah, guys think they want two women at a time, but when it comes down to it, it's not usually a fantasy they want to make a reality.
Oh, is that so? Fellas?

It's a huge turn-on for a guy if you're open to acting out a threesome verbally... Talk about what he would do to you, what you would do to the other chick, and so on.
"So, yeah, it's just me, but pretend like I'm two chicks."

Many men think about sleeping with someone who's as open and sexual as a porn star, but they can be uncomfortable when faced with such a woman... They don't want to feel less experienced than their partner.
Oh okay then, I'll just pretend that I'm someone else... for our entire relationship.

His "boys" are actually tougher than you think.
Dangerous advice, Cosmo. Dangerous.

Now there's a whole article about why you shouldn't trust advice your friends give you about your relationship because they're probably all just jealous haters. Yeah, I'm sure that's it. Besides, he's a totally different person since that one time with the chinchilla, right?

Q: Do uncircumcised guys feel pleasure in the same way that circumcised guys do?
A: No. Uncircumcised guys actually extrude a complex proboscis during the mating act, attempting to fire barbed "sperm darts" directly into your abdominal cavity.

Q: I'm a touchy-feely flirt--I'll rest my hand on a guy's arm or touch him in some innocent way. But dudes take it as a green light to drunkenly be all over me. How do I convey that I am flirting but don't want to hook up?
"Flirting but don't want to hook up"? Uh, why are you flirting then? Well, to play crazy-chick "just because I'm acting like I want you to touch me doesn't mean I want you to touch me, you creepy letch!" head games, but other than that. I don't get it.

To get revved, lie on your back with your legs straight up. Blood will rush to your head, bringing a fresh hit of oxygen to your brain to revive you.
Believe me, honey, if your brain weren't getting enough oxygen, you'd know it.

Mountain.

I'd kinda planned to go to a munch today. A different one, a TNG ("the next generation", i.e., under 35, and you would not believe the amount of asinine "but you're discriminating" whinery this produces on the mailing lists, christ) munch, so at least it would be young social misfits this time. And who knows? Maybe there would be someone cool there, maybe there'd be sparks, I could get some play or even something really more.

But my head is stuffed with cottony fluff, so I forgot and I climbed a mountain instead. (Well, Cougar Mountain. But I did it the hard way, from the lowest trailhead to the highest peak, so it wasn't that wussy.) I started down in overcast fog and hiked up into blazing sunlight, crossing fields of ferns and blackberry and nettles into a forest of hundred-foot firs. There was no snow but it was nippy, and I had the trail to myself for hours. Red-tufted woodpeckers hammered on snags by the trail, and high overhead, bald eagles soared in vast, lazy circles.

I don't know if I can tie this back to sex. There's probably some sort of forced metaphor, maybe something about the way my legs hurt but it's a good hurt, endorphins, whatever, I didn't have sex with Cougar Mountain. (I did several times have sex on Cougar Mountain, but not today.) I don't think that's the point.

I think the point is that there are a lot of ways to love and punish my body, to feel the world with all my skin, and being a pervert is no excuse to forget the other ones.

I'm a pervert, and today I stood on top of a mountain. I could see all the way to the ocean.

Dry.

Add to my list of Underappreciated Sex Acts: dry humping! (Also to my list of poorly named sex acts. I guess Soggy Humping was a little too on-the-nose.) Surgery and I were dry humping the other night and it made me realize I haven't had a proper hump since I was a teenager.

There's something wonderfully spontaneous, almost subversive, about a sex act that you can do with your jeans on. (Or, for an interestingly strip-club-esque, submissive-ish experience, my naked ass grinding on his jeans.) It doesn't get me or Surgery entirely off, but it gets us to that place where the breathing changes and the eyes unfocus. It's a lot of work but the sweat just becomes part of the fun. And it's just so... tactile! All over.

It's hard not to giggle a little. That's okay. You stop giggling when you start moaning.

In conclusion, we will not appreciate dry humping until there is a threat on the dry hump supply, but dry humping is AWESOME!!

AUGH I CAN'T STOP MYSELF I'M SORRY GUYS.

I don't want to be doing this. I know I'm harping, I know I'm trainwrecking, I know she's just some random crazy, I know I should get back to writing about Surgery's penis (large, shaved, and circumcised--and unsettlingly pale, he's not a dark man but that thing is like ice white) and weird kinky stuff and Cosmopolitan Magazine. But I just can't stop! I'm so sorry! I have no self-control!



Twisty: Treating vaginismus is RAEP.

Once again, I totally agree with the gist of this article: it is sick and wrong that we have laws requiring women with vaginismus to be treated. And when doctors force women with this condition to have it treated against their will while they kick and scream, it's an absolute travesty.

...Wait, none of that shit happens because this condition is being voluntarily treated in women who sought out doctors to help them? I guess maybe we don't agree so much then.

And it must be treated, because what good is a vagina that can’t be penetrated? No good!... That’s right. It’s not even a real marriage until Mr takes possession of Mrs’s personal vagina with his engorged dominator.
Well, thank you very much for refuting shit that no one actually said. I think it was more like "gosh, although it does not make her less of a woman or me love her less, we would really like to have intercourse." I mean, the fact that a woman who can't have vaginal intercourse is getting married at all tells you right there that it's not all men care about.

Wait a sec, you’re saying, here’s an idea: if sex hurts, don’t have sex.
Well, sure, and if you break your ankle, here's an idea: never walk again. Ohhh, you'd rather have modern medical treatment? No, no, trust me, you wouldn't really, it's just the Patriarchy making you think that.

And here's the part where Holly gets downright angry and the reason she made this a post:
The Botoxee’s self-esteem gets a big boost once she is able to function again, albeit at diminished capacity, as her boyfriend’s receptacle.. It blows my mind...that women routinely endure pain and discomfort in order to fulfill their destiny as toilets, but fuckin A, you just can’t fight that cultural conditioning.
Yes, women who get penetrated: receptacles. Toilets.

FEMINISM IS THE RADICAL NOTION THAT WOMEN ARE PEOPLE. OR, IF THEY HAVE SEX, TOILETS.

Know your BDSMers.

I just can't stop being intolerant! It's funny too, because I had a really nice day today--I spent most of the day on a long beautiful drive through the mountains with some of the first really good weather of the year--and then I come home and get on the computer and sound like I'm some massive grouchypuss when in fact I'm feeling quite pleasant.

Anyway...

Know Your BDSMers.
1: Happy Sparkle Fairy Girl. "Oh my GODDESS I love being hitted it's like ZOMG the BESTEST! HUGS! Oh wows there are new people here! HUGS FOR THEM TOO!"

2: Very New Master. "So, uh, do you want to, uh, do some stuff if that's, uh, okay... we'll do whatever you're into, I don't really have any ideas of my own."

3: Very Old Master. "Yeah, I've been doing nipple suspensions and quadruple bullwhippings for twenty years now, I don't have any time for kids, move along now."

4: Extremely Upfront Woman. "Nice to meet you, so tell me, what are you into sexually? I like cunnilingus--giving and receiving both, heh--having my nipples stimulated, and paddling when I play with my husband or either of my poly girlfriends. Oh, I know you didn't ask, I'm just being open with my sexuality."

5: Kilt Man. [Walks around, wearing kilt.]

6: The Persecuted Minority. "Does anyone know where to find a kink-friendly pizza delivery service? I just can't stand the thought of some vanilla pizza guy accidentally glimpsing a piece of rope in my house and reporting me to the Republicans!"

7: The Body Confident. "Ooh, look at those curves! That's what a real woman looks like, so beautiful and natural and bountiful, not like all those FUCKING SKINNY BITCHES WHO ARE ALL ANOREXIC WHORES FUCK THEM."

8: The Living Self-Help Book. "Excuse me, but I'd like to respectfully dialogue with you about how you're intersecting my self-actualization in the way you relate to my space as a sexual and spiritual being."

9: I Work At Microsoft. "Up until recently I used VS 6 quite a bit and found the code wizard quite handy; I have a number of Form Views in my application and I've been able to access the Events, Overrides, and Messages from the Properties window when I'm in the .h file for the Form. But I just created a CDialog derived class for a pop up window, and when I go to the .h the property page gives me no options." [three inches away from a bound woman being fisted]

10: The Filthy, Filthy Liar. "My wife isn't kinky, but she's given me her full permission to come here to seek outlets for those desires she's not comfortable with. She's very understanding."


----------
Additional Twisty Faster mocking, because it's too soon to do another line-by-line takedown but ooh I wish I could:

Don't make fun of the lady having fourteen kids, because EVERY mother is just as stupid and patriarchy-enslaved! That sure is an... original angle.

You'd think a feminist would at least like women, really...

PINK!

Ladies and gentleman, by popular demand, a pink Sig Sauer.

Twisty Faster Is Fucking Insane.

Okay, I think this needs to be a recurring feature. Like Cosmocking! I never could resist a good fish in a barrel.

The funny thing about Twisty is that at least a third of the time I agree with what she says, while still being completely appalled at the way she says it. Like this post. I totally agree that ultrasounds should not be a prerequisite for abortions! I think that's a medically and morally unnecessary pain-in-the-ass law that shouldn't be passed. The only place where I part ways with Twisty is the part where she's crazy.

If they are given the opportunity (i.e. forced) to endure a fetus-screening (”Here’s baby’s precious little beating heart, here’s his adorable little brain stem …”), they will see the error of their ways and comply with the godbag mandate to shut up and be punished for the sin of fornication by incubating to term, followed by a lifetime of child-rearing drudgery.
A) Uh, I don't mean to sound like a "godbag" or nothing but human development really is pretty amazing and... gosh, I hope it isn't antifeminist to say that babies and fetuses are cute and a little bit awe-inspiring.

I feel like there's something in Twisty that's utterly resistant to shades of gray: in order to be pro-choice, you must feel that fetuses--indeed all children--are totally worthless and disgusting! You can't reluctantly support early-term abortion as a lesser evil, you have to be WOOO ABORTION I'D ABORT A TWO-YEAR OLD IF I COULD! Otherwise you're exactly the same as the godbags.

B)I honestly don't believe that even the godbaggiest of godbags wants to punish women. I really don't. I think that they either want to save fetuses, or they want to gain the approval of people who want to save fetuses.

And here's the black-and-white again: people who oppose me can't possibly think differently, they must be evil and hate me! That's the only possibility! It's positively paranoid.

Of course the megatheocorporatocracy’s conspiracy against pregnant women has always sought to control them through medical procedures.
No, a wide variety of individuals and institutions have used medical procedures to make pregnant women die less. Humans got kind of a shit deal on childbirthing, with our babies' heads just too damn big compared to our hips, and it's taken a lot of knowledge and technology to minimize the dangers associated with that. Sweeping it all away in a wash of "they really just want to control me" paranoia... damn.

I guess the weird part isn't that this woman exists, the weird part is that she has followers.

Nobody knows what the fuck they’re looking at when they see an ultrasound image of a fetus, but thanks to clever marketing by Medical Nation, it is widely touted as a sentimental bonding moment and has achieved the status of a cultural institution.
Ooh, anti-intellectualism always looks good on a feminist. "Hurf durf amazing technology giving stunningly clear views inside the body if you know how to interpret it, hurf durf that don't look like no photograph so I guess it's all just squiggles, hurffff." And, um, does it really take that much marketing to make people get warmfuzzies about seeing their baby for the first time? Seems like sort of a gimme...

The state colonization of the American uterus must end.
Abortion isn't just about uteruses. Abortion, pro or con, is also about fetuses.



EDIT: Of course, Twisty Faster's commenters are fucking insaner.

another thing–ultrasounds have not yet been proven safe–especially in the early stages of pregnancy. “nothing’s happened yet…” is the medical world’s guarantee of safety. so they want to force a procedure on a woman that could–in theory–damage the child? interesting.
A) Well, considering this is happening at abortion clinics, geez, does it really matter?

B) "Nothing's happened yet" (in many, many years when millions of ultrasounded babies have now grown to adulthood) is anybody's guarantee of safety. How do you know oranges aren't deadly poisonous? Nothing's happened yet.

in conservative societies like pakistan where there is no place for ‘illegitimate’ children and ‘illicit’ sexual relations are meant to kept hidden, this social anti-abortion mandate is absent. you can get abortions easily because pregnancy is not a medicalized institution. only the family (minus the children) and closest friends know about pregnancy and it doesn’t get out into the wider social circle. there are no regular scans and no ultrasound baby-mother bonding. there is no talk of the woman being ‘with child’, because the child is what happens after your pregnancy gets the social recognition. and this shows how ‘baby’ is a socially constructed concept, which is variable across societies.
But... abortion's illegal in Pakistan! Five minutes of Google, I tell ya, it's worth two hours of pomo deconstruction.

One of the other common rhetorical tactics of the anti-abortionist godbags (right after the “medical information” racket) is giving the kid up for adoption after birth. But why do the godbags support adoption at all? Wouldn’t that give women an out for the latter half of the godbag’s punishment? They won’t adopt the kid themselves when the woman is from certain minority groups, so it’s not to get extra Jesus soldiers. Do they expect Maury Povich to corner the woman in ten years to reunite her with a resentful biological child? What’s their scheme?
Their "scheme" is actually caring about the kid, and it's weird how you almost worked that out for yourself before retreating back into your paranoia comfy zone.

In fact, why not just go a step further and make all abortion services free? Well I think I know why.
Because doctors and nurses and drugs and facilities aren't free, durrr.

And there's a whole bunch of people kerfuffling about how a vaginal wand ultrasound is basically rape, because anytime anything goes in the vagina that's rape. Hell, in three to five days I'm going to have to rape myself with some tampons. Tonight if I get to bed early I might rape myself a little before turning in.

More Surgery.

Last night after the Superbowl I went over to Surgery's place after all. And we fucked like bunnies in bunny season.

He hurt me! A little bit. I'm very pleased. He's no Master Top Daddy but he knows how to make a girl make squeaky noises and squirm, and he's not squeamish about it.



Lately I seem to be falling into this weird in-betweeny crevice in masochism. I want more pain than is vanilla, but find that when I play with Officially Kinky guys, they sometimes dish out more than I can handle. Some of them seem to feel that "I want to be hurt" automatically means "I want to be hurt as much as possible without physically damaging me," and... no! OW!

(Digression from my digression: I've heard several kinky people say that they like bigger girls because you can hit them harder. This doesn't make sense to me, because my skin is on the outside.)

It seems to be worse recently, maybe because I'm out of practice or I've been playing with the wrong people or something, but my body seems to be drawing an increasingly fine line between "oh, more, hurts so good" and "aaaugh, too much, gonna freak out now." I'm embarrassed to be so finicky, but tolerating un-fun pain is a difficult thing to do for the sake of politeness, yet I'm not quite ready to write myself off as vanilla and drop out of the pervert world altogether.

And in recent months I seem to have tremendous difficulty finding understanding partners. In a community that theoretically prides itself on "your kink is okay!", the kink of "I want to be tied up, humiliated, and lightly beaten" is staggeringly difficult to communicate sometimes. I know "light" is a squirrelly term, but I wish there were more dominants out there with settings somewhere in between "lightly tap, look incredibly bored, whine 'I thought you said you were a sub'" and "puree."

*sulk*

I would be tangled up with a naked Surgery right now if not for the frickin' Superbowl.

Stupid football.

:p