Sick sex.

Rowdy came over, and although I am by no means better, we fucked. It was kind of awkward, definitely not one for the record books; we didn't kiss on the mouth because we didn't want to swap spit, and in my crappy physical condition I didn't get wet, didn't move around much, and didn't last super long.

But I was grinning like a lunatic all the way through this lousy sex, because it was just such a relief to be sexual again. There's few things more desexualizing than being a sick person; not only are you physically incapable, but the medical establishment makes it very clear that you have to focus on Important Things right now, and sex isn't possibly one of those.

I had gone a full week without an orgasm. A week! That may be a personal record, at least since puberty. Last Saturday morning I fucked Rowdy, and that evening I started feeling sick, and by Monday I was in the hospital, and after getting out I was just too exhausted and demoralized to even knock off a quick one. I was actually relatively subdued in my reactions (as I go), but the first time Rowdy got me off today, it was like a fucking dam breaking.

No. It was like coming home. Back to the place where I'm desirable, desiring, fuckable, fucking. Back to where pleasure matters. Back to where bodies are wonderful beautiful things for joy and exploration. Back to being a person.

The People You Meet When You Write About Rape.

TRIGGER WARNING for rape and rape apologism.



Mr. What About The Men
"The real problem here is all these false rape accusations that are destroying our society! 90 million men are falsely accused of rape every second! A woman just has to sort of mumble a word starting with 'r' and a man instantly gets a life sentence! There are no instances on record of a woman actually being raped!"

Ms. Tough Girl
"If women would learn martial arts--70-year-olds and women with disabilities can do this if they put their minds to it, darnit--and carry weapons everywhere, no one would ever get raped! All you have to do is be ready to threaten your own friends and lovers with lethal force at any moment, any anyone who can't do that must be weak or something."

Mr. Model Victims Only Please
"The victim was no angel herself. If you look at her record, she's been arrested several times, she's a single mother, and she's living on welfare. So it's not like she was some innocent little virgin beforehand. None of this makes it right, but I'm just saying, let's not overreact like a good woman got ruined."

Ms. Fashion Police
"Did you hear what she was wearing? I'm sorry but that's just not common sense. If you go out looking like a piece of meat, you have to expect you'll get treated like a piece of meat."

Mr. I'm Not Blaming Her But It's Her Fault
"Rape is never the victim's fault, of course. But I just want people to admit that she has some responsibility. That she maybe played a part in it. That in an alternate universe where she'd done things differently and she lived in a steel Battlemech wearing a chastity belt, she wouldn't have gotten raped, and she did make the choice to not use a Battlemech. I just need people to acknowledge that."

Ms. Couples Therapy
"I dunno, seems to me like they both made mistakes. Maybe he just wasn't reading her signals, or maybe she wasn't communicating clearly to him. A lot can get caught up in an emotional moment like that and I bet they both feel really bad right now."

Mr. Offensive And/Or Baffling Metaphor
"Look, if you walk down a dark alley with a wallet stuffed full of money, sure it's still a crime when you get mugged, but what if the mugger is just trying to feed his family because he was laid off by an evil solicitor and the ghost showed him a lone crutch leaning in the corner?"

Ms. CSI
"If you put the pieces together, her story just doesn't wash. She claims that he ripped her pants off, but her pants have a button fly. Ha! And she waited a whole forty minutes after the supposed rape to call the police--who would do that?"

Mr. Troll
"lol bitch deserved it loooollll"

Ms. You Don't Just Get To Decide Whether You Consent
"She was seen earlier in the night drinking with this guy, talking to him, and even making out with him! And then she went up to his apartment! What did she think would happen? No one ever goes to a guy's apartment unless they're consenting to every sex act he could possibly want."

Mr. How Do I Not Rape Someone It Is So Difficult
"I just don't understand how to tell if someone is 'consenting' or not. What if she secretly decides she doesn't like it--am I a rapist then? What if she changes her mind midway through? Or afterwards? It's impossible to know what women want, so how am I supposed to know if they want to have sex with me or not?"

Ms. Traditional Values
"You know, back when women dressed modestly and simply didn't go out drinking with strangers or going home with people they'd just met, this sort of thing didn't happen."

Mr. This Wouldn't Happen If Women Would Just Fuck Me Already
"This sort of thing is inevitable when women constantly act as gatekeepers and doom beta males to a life of frustration and loneliness. Of course rape is horrible, but the pent-up rage felt by men cast aside just because they weren't billionaire underwear models has to express itself somehow."

Ms. Avoid The R-Word
"Wow, that is just not cool. Having sex under those circumstances--I mean, treating a girl like that--you know, being inappropriate with her--is a totally insensitive and downright mean thing to do."



This time I know I didn't nearly cover them all, but I have no energy (I've literally had to take mid-post naps) so this is what you get. If you want more, please send a fresh, healthy human liver, A+ or compatible, to my mailing address by certified overnight carrier.

Slow recovery.

Lying down: "This is ridiculous! I feel totally normal! I'm strong as a horse! I should get up and run!"

Standing up: "Ooog... I should lie down."

The Two Most Fatuous Conversations I Had In The Hospital.

Doctor: "I see you have this rash here, it looks like an allergic reaction."
Me: "I've had that on and off since I got sick."
Doctor: "Do you have any pets at home?"
Me: "I have guinea pigs. But I've had them for years and this rash started exactly the same time my fever did."
Doctor: "Look, I can't force you to get rid of your pets, I'm just saying..."


Nurse: "Any questions before we discharge you?"
Me: "How can I avoid giving this to my boyfriend?" [slight simplification of truth]
Nurse: "Stay away from him!"
Me: "Well yeah, but..."
Nurse: *laughing* "ABSTINENCE, GIRL!"
Me: "Forever?"
Nurse: "...Um, no. For about two weeks or til you feel better."


(Same nurse: "You're not working or going to school right now, right?" What, do I have a particularly unemployed-looking face?)


So at least the nurse eventually gave me useful information. I cannot say the same of that doctor. He's the same one who wanted to keep me in the hospital an extra day just so they could do another blood test, and it took considerable debating and heel-digging-in to point out that I could just come in and get my blood drawn without needing to spend the other 23.75 hours in storage for their convenience.

HOME!

I am home. I am still sick. But at least I get to be sick in peace and on my own terms.

More than anything--more even than that shower that I really need right now--I just want to sleep. In the hospital there were so many nighttime tests and botherings that my sleep was terrible and I think that impairs healing worse than anything.

I'll shower in the morning. Afternoon. Whenever I get up. It's my own fucking decision for once.

I'm so glad to be home.

Frustration.

I don't know if I'll go home today or not. I desperately want to. The first night here I needed the hospital, I needed my fever and fluids and pain controlled continuously. And I was so sick and medicated that I wasn't all that aware of things anyway.

The second night was a maybe. I was still having a bit of pain, and one spike of fever.

But now I'm awake. I'm walking. I'm hydrated. I haven't had narcotics in 14 hours and my pain is entirely manageable. And I still don't know if I'm going home.

All the hospital is doing for me at this moment is running a very slow IV drip when I'm taking plenty by mouth, and making me spend most of my time in a bed that wasn't comfortable two days ago. Obviously I don't want to go home and get sicker, but I hate it here. I can't bend my right arm because of the IV and I have to drag the stupid pole everywhere and I can't wear normal-person clothes and they make me save all my piss and they keep doing painful things to me without even warning me and I can't fix my hair.

At least I have wonderful friends and lovers. Jack and Sprite and Rowdy came up last night and it made all the difference in the world. I was pretty strung out but I got to feel like a human being--emotions and sense of humor and outside life and all--for a couple hours. People dance the Macarena, they fold origami dinosaurs, they draw silly cartoons, they make filthy jokes, they bend the rules and they poke fun at each other. Instead of just having to sit in the back of my head like I was at a "while-U-wait" repair shop for my body.

I'm not 100% better. But I'm okay. I want this IV out of my arm. I want to wear jeans. I want to walk around on the street even if it hurts. I want to pet my guinea pigs. I want to fucking masturbate, for Chrissakes, I can't even get that done properly in here.

Maybe it'll be today. They're saying maybe. I'm really really hoping. I just want my body back.

Improvement.

I'm doing a lot better and will probably go home tomorrow. I still have some pain but it's no longer double-over-crying bad, and my fever is miraculously gone. Turns out the mono is complicated by hepatitis (not the ABCDEFG kind, the "the infection done monkeyed up your liver but good" kind) so I have these unsettling yellow eyes at the moment, but that'll go away too.

Thanks so much to everyone who sent their well-wishes; when I'm lying here feeling about 98 years old it makes a huge difference to know I have friends who care.

In other news, I made the list of Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2010! I'm #54! Yay! *holds up extremely large and complicated foam hand* And huge congratulations to Quizzical Pussy for making #4 (holy crap) and everyone else on the list. Sexblogging isn't just typing, it's... typing about sex.

This is why you shouldn't write your acceptance speech while on intravenous narcotics.

Mono.

So I have mono. I have it like bad--the fever has been going way out of control, I've been getting dehydrated despite being on my fifth liter of saline, and my liver function is all screwed up. I'm going to have to stay in the hospital at least one more night, and might be kinda crappy for a couple weeks.

Oh, uh, if you've exchanged saliva with me recently... I'm really sorry. If you feel sick in the next couple weeks you're probably gonna want to get tested for mono. (Most people have actually had it and didn't know, though, and you can't get it twice. It's one of those diseases that is less severe if you get it at a younger age. So odds are good that even if we've swapped spit you'll be okay.)

At least I have a good hospital room. It's private and shiny-new and there's a nice view. The nurses and doctors have been very kind to me too. Although a bit obfuscating; it's weird that when I'm at work I have instant access to a patient's lab results and med list and care plan and progress notes, and when I'm the patient I barely know what they're injecting into me right now. I've literally learned more about my condition by overhearing conversations about me than I've had directly addressed to me.



My cellphone is dead, so please email me to contact; I have a hospital phone number I'll give out by email. I'm mightily bored and would love visitors; the hospital is close to a T stop in Cambridge.

OW.

I went to the doctor and they sent me to the ER. It is (oh joy) Random Nonspecific Abdominal Pain, again, but this time the massive fever and bloody urine convinced them this was Srs Business. So now I get at least a few hours of Funtimes. Whoo.

My cell battery is low, so it's cool to text but I need to save my calls. I'll keep y'all updated.

This sucks such balls. :p

EDIT: no cell signal. Email me, I can get that.

EDIT: Dilaudid is proof of a loving God. I was just crying and crying as the pain got worse and now I feel like all the pain turned into a warm fuzzy blanket.

EDIT: I'm being admitted, maybe for a couple days. Whoo.

Good and Bad.

Good: Discovering that trading massages with Rowdy really is a "you mean I can have candy with every meal?" situation. (Except without the part where that would be kind of gross after two or three meals, and massages are perpetually awesome.)

Bad:
Abruptly coming down with a massive fever on the way to a play party. I really really really wanted to go, I was actually at a train terminal halfway there, and *WHAM* my body informs me that I'll be lucky to stay upright. (This "wham" later clocked in at 103.8F. Damn.) I wussed out and went home alone. Ugh.

The best text message I've gotten today.

"Did you want some pretense, or just skip ahead to the sex?"

How to discuss gay rights like a reasonable adult.

Argument from Personal Responsibility
"If you choose to act in a certain way, you have to accept the consequences. For example, if you go walking and a bunch of thugs beat you up and steal your wallet, that's just the natural consequence of you going walking, so stop whining."

Argument from Lack Of Variety In My Entertainment
"Why do the gays have to keep bringing this up all the time?"

Argument from We Gave You The Vote And Everything
"Gay people are allowed out in public and we don't even lynch them that much anymore, and now they want more?"

Argument from Anal Sex
"I'm sorry, but I refuse to tolerate a group of people who get their kicks by grasping each other in a harsh, brutal kiss that turns suddenly tender, falling together into bed with their hands stroking all over each other's muscular, sweat-glistened bodies and working their way slowly, teasingly to each other's cocks, caressing each other to a state of delicious anticipation before one of these disgusting perverts gently slides first his lubricated fingers and then his huge rock-hard beautiful cock into the soft warm anus of the other."

Argument from Children Starving In India, New Millenium Edition
"Why are we even arguing about this when our economy is in the state it's in?"

Argument from Gays Starving In India
"Why are you worrying about some poorly chosen words when gay people still get beaten in other places?"

Argument from Blind Faith
"The number one, most important tenet of Christianity is to hate gay people. It's the entire foundation of my faith. Look at the first page of the Bible: "In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth, and don't be a faggot."

Argument from Blind Smugness
"Look at these stupid christians (yes I spelled that lower-case, take note) who don't know that their entire religion is a scam lie for idiots and that Richard Dawkins has the real truth about your magical sky wizard. Try reading the Origin of Species morons!"

Argument from I Confused Myself With Wikipedia
"I don't want to pass judgement on anyone, so it's important that we keep a neutral point of view and respect everyone's opinion equally. You want to ostracize and persecute gay people, and he doesn't, and I think you both have valid points on this complex issue."

Argument from I Confused Myself With The United States Congress
"I don't think it's right to tell other people what to believe, so if someone believes that homosexuals should all be sent to re-education camps in Siberia, that's their First Amendment right."

Argument from I Won't Tolerate Your Intolerance Of My Intolerance
"For a bunch of people arguing for tolerance, you sure aren't very tolerant of my opinion that homosexuals are pervert scum."

Argument from Can I Interest You In Our Line Of Deluxe Closets
"Look, I don't care what someone does in their bedroom, but why do they have to go around announcing it to the world? My wife totally agrees with my opinion here, as do my mom and dad."

Argument from La La La Can't Hear You
"It doesn't matter what you say, this is just what I believe."

Argument from La La La Nobody Can Hear Anybody
"Well, that's just your opinion. Everyone has their own opinion."

Argument from I Walked To School In The Snow
"These whiners need to realize that life is tough for everyone. I got bullied in school too! Just man up and deal!"

Argument from Hate The Sin, Condescend To The Sinner
"I have nothing but love and respect for homosexual people, but I cannot approve of homosexual behavior."

Argument from The Children
"It's one thing if people want to be homosexuals, but I draw the line at exposing children to that kind of thing."

Argument from My Right To Be A Jerk Is Really Really Important
"We've had enough of this 'political correctness.' It's just one '-American' after another. First they told me to stop using racial slurs and now they're taking away my homophobic slurs? WHERE DOES IT END?"

Argument from It's Hard To Be White, Middle-Class, and Male, Yo
"The real victims here are the straight white male Christians that everyone demonizes and discriminates against!"

Argument from You're Already Allowed To Marry A Woman
"Why should gays get all these special privileges that normal people don't, like being allowed to marry and being allowed to serve in the military?"

Argument from Look Mom I'm Using Naughty Words
"Who gives a shit about some fucking faggot shitpackers and ugly bulldykes?"

Argument from What If We Gave Everyone Rights, What Then
"Next thing you know they'll be allowing polygamy because they are all 'consenting adults' too, right?"

Argument from Guh?
"Being gay is a choice, therefore it's wrong."

Argument from I'm So Fucking Funny
"Be careful not to drop the soap, or there'll be a whole Pride Parade swishing their limp wrists at you and calling you 'thexy!' "

Argument from Discrimination Justifies Discrimination
"If being gay is so great, why is it illegal for them to get married? You know homosexuality is harmful from how many gay youth are depressed or suicidal!"

Argument from Opposite Day
"If these heterophobes get their way, normal heterosexual marriage will be illegal and we'll all have to participate in their debauched lifestyle!"

Argument from Undertrained Gag Reflex
"I just don't want their deviant lifestyle shoved down my throat!"



Did I miss any?

The sad thing is I probably did.

Wrestling and model trains.

Last night Rowdy and Sprite and I went to a class on takedown and restraint--basically, how to use wrestling moves (and institutional restraint methods that, hilariously, I already knew from work) to take someone down and hold them down with your bare hands.

It was stupidly fun. Some in the kinky "now we could torment you or fuck you and what could you do?" sense, and some just in the "fun play wrestling" sense. A lot of kink has that overlap for me, between what's a hot sticky turn-on and what's just fun. Even if I had no intrinsic desire for violent sex, I'd still want a partner I could wrassle with on occasion.

But if I weren't a pervert, I wouldn't have been in that class in the first place. The class was organized by a kinky group, advertised on a kinky website, taught by a kinkster, and held in a kinky playspace. It would be damn difficult for a vanilla person to find out that class existed. Vanilla couples who wish to wrestle each other--and they do, right?--must do it without the benefit of professional instruction on how to to the Sexy Full Nelson and Sexy Armbar. (And yes, the Sexy CPI Control Position.)

It all reminds me of Bruno's spectacularly on-the-money quote about model trains:
Kinky sex is a hobby like model train building -- people labor for years in their basements to get good at it, and though most people don't want to hear about it, other aficionados happily visit to check out their work. Vanilla sex is like running -- it doesn't take much equipment, it's supposed to come naturally, it gets harder as we age, and it's socially approved, but few people really work at it.

Where do people who don't have any freaky fetishes go for sexual education and community? I guess the answer really is, nowhere. (I guess swingers' clubs come close, but they're focused on non-monogamy, not just sex in general.) If you're an ordinary average person, you don't really have a venue for talking about sex the way kinksters do. It's just sort of taken for granted.

I guess the problem is that it's hard to organize a club that could include practically everyone. It's like trying to hold a meeting of the People With Feet Society. If you're unlucky some hardcore foot freaks show up first and scare off everyone else; if you're lucky you just have a giant unruly mob with little in common and no set agenda. Most attempts at sexual community centers seem to be unlucky, and they become de facto kinky community centers.

I would like to teach ordinary people how to sexy-wrestle. I think they'd enjoy it, and it would make their home sexy-wrestling safer and more creative. But I don't know where to advertise the class and I don't know where to hold it.

Then again, I would also like to teach ordinary people how to use a singletail and how to do suspension bondage, because I really honestly think they'd enjoy it how could anyone not? so maybe my concept of "ordinary" needs work.

Slactivism.

I'm wearing a purple ribbon today. (I didn't own any purple clothing.) I'm wearing it for Tyler Clementi, Asher Brown, Seth Walsh, Justin Aaberg, Raymond Chase, Billy Lucas, Cody J. Barker, for kids who didn't make the news but suffered just as much. I'm wearing it because I pass for straight and could get away with silence but I don't want to. I'm wearing it because It Gets Better, but there's no excuse for it being so bad in the first place. I'm wearing it because JESUS FUCKING CHRIST PEOPLE, IS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN LOVING A MAN AND LOVING A WOMAN WORTH FUCKING HOUNDING SOMEONE TO DEATH OVER SERIOUSLY WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?

I'm wearing it because I'm pissed off and a little scared. After a few small steps toward equality, it seems like "Gay people: are we just going to let them get away with that?" articles and debates are becoming more prevalent in the media than they were last election cycle.

I'm also wearing it because the degree of cost, effort, and risk rounds down to just about zero. "Hooray," queer and gender-nonconformist youth around the world will exclaim, "some doofus put on a ribbon."

But so often the flip side of slactivism isn't activism but helplessness. I'm wearing a ribbon; I'm doing something. I'm reminding myself to donate to pro-equality causes. I'm reminding myself that tolerating and participating in casual homophobia and "that's so gay" and "I've got this ribbon but I want you all to know that I'm normal" are actions with consequences. I'm reminding myself that thinking good thoughts isn't much use unless you do something.

More than anything, I'm wearing a ribbon today because thousands of other people are wearing ribbons today, and every one of us is on the same side. One person with a ribbon is a slacktivist; thousands are a protest.

Cosmocking: October '10!

More from the backlog! Pink cover! Really pink! A woman in a pink dress on a pink background with a pink title! PIIINK! Lauren Conrad! "Own His Orgasm!" I prefer to borrow my orgasms, and give them back when I'm done! "Is He STD-Free? How to Check!" Oh no Cosmo no Cosmo no!

A new study from the University of Texas at Austin found that women begin to crave more adventurous sex starting at age 27 (and continue to crave it until age 45). Why? Our bods want us to get pregnant before we hit menopause.
Apparently having children before age 27 confers no evolutionary advantage. Also, the social and psychological effects of aging--the reduction in youthful inhibitions, added life and sex experience, the probability that you're in a long-term relationship--are unworthy of consideration. But most importantly, always remember to never draw any lines between your data and the part where you just make stuff up.

A new study from the University of Holly at Somerville found that women who bathe with soap have less body odor than women who bathe with cheese. Why? Cavewomen produced a counter-odor to attract cavemen after they'd bathed in cavecheese.

SEXY: Couples who swim together
SKANKY: Couples who swim together
Yes, it says this. I don't even... I assume it's a typo... or it's just too darn subtle for me? I don't even know.

Guys used to be the providers and protectors, but now, more women than men are graduating from college, which leads to women earning more, having more confidence, and demanding more from a boyfriend. In other words, just footing the bill doesn't fly these days. Women want an emotional partner and are encouraging guys to talk feelings... which can leave men insecure, since they have no guidelines or role models to look to.
You know what would make me insecure? Knowing that my partner was only with me because she depended on me for her quality of life or even survival. I would always wonder if she even liked me or if I was just a tolerable meal ticket. Dating someone who doesn't need me is a wonderful reassurance that they want me.

Also I am having difficulty with the statement that when men are asked to be emotional, this is so new and terrifying that it upsets their emotions.

If you need to vent your worries, blab to [friends and family] or a professional, and take a pass on turning your guy into your therapist because, as ["sexpert"] says, "you shouldn't look for your partner to fix you."
Yes, no one who loves you and shares their life with you would want to be bothered with your annoying little emotions. Don't bring your petty little woman troubles to him when he has important business on his mind, like Sputnik and Eisenhower and how to make cars that look even more like gigantic shiny rocketships.

How Not To Marry The Wrong Guy
Ooh, ooh, I know this one! The answer is not to make your life into a single-minded quest to find The One who will Complete You and get him to Commit and work out a strict timeline for reaching--nay, achieving--the Happiest Day Of Your Life!

...that's not the answer, is it.

You should not be asking yourself or your friends "How do I know he's The One?" because it's kind of like an orgasm: If you're not sure that you had one, you didn't.
Well, except orgasms exist.

Don't get me wrong; I believe in love. Love is joyous, beautiful, sustaining, magical. Love is the best thing in the world, except for cough drops. But you know the other cool thing about love? Love is abundant. There's no The One; there's thousands of people you might come to love and who might come to love you, and that love is no less true. Every potential lover is imperfect and different and many of them are wonderful.

Maybe true love is like an orgasm, in the sense that you know it when you've got it, if not in the sense that I once had one just from having my ear licked. But the idea that there's a The One out there is less likely than vampire unicorns.

Easy Ways to Feel More Aroused
[...]Wake up 10 minutes early so you have time to put away your hair dryer and makeup, hang up any rejected outfits that usually end up on the bedroom floor, and make your bed.
OH GOD BABY HOUSEWORK MMM YEAH MENIAL CHORES OOOH.

I also like how even my clutter is painfully stereotypically feminine. Because ladies don't do anything all day but lady around. Also apparently I routinely try on and reject outfits, even though they're my own outfits that I already had in my closet? Huh.

Men appreciate personal info like we appreciate perfume: a whiff is all we need. TMI and we're choking on the stench.
In the early days, you were full of intriguing secrets. We loved discovering your likes, dislikes, idiosyncrasies. Passion thrives on mystery, so don't show us all your cards.
Apparently passion thrives on me not being a complete human being, or at least not where my partner can see. I always thought my "personal info" was what made me interesting--I'm pretty drab-looking until you hear about how I live my life--but apparently that's out of keeping with this issue's theme of "Don't Bother Your Man With Your Boring Ol' Humanity."

Q: My boyfriend says he's not into receiving oral sex, but I thought guys loved it. Is he lying because he thinks I'm bad at it?
A: The best thing you can do is reassure him that you do get pleasure from going down on him by moaning and telling him how good he feels in your mouth or how much it turns you on to taste him. [...]say that you'd love to change his mind about oral sex, and suggest he whisper directives like harder/softer, faster/slower, and more/less pressure until it feels just right.
Well, whatever you do, for God's sake don't listen to him and believe him and respect his preferences. You're sleeping with "guys," right, not this particular guy, so it's important not to let him step out of line.

Q: My guy is convinced that most women are physically incapable of orgasming every time. I finish about half the time, but he seems to think he has no control over the situation and it just happens randomly. I've tried telling him that I could orgasm more if we worked on it, but he won't. What can I do to get him to start worrying about pleasing me?
A: You can help with this, but you're not going to do it by suggesting the two of you "work" on it. That is a word that turns guys on as much as "castration" or "Mom." Instead, you need to show him that you could orgasm more and that he'll have a hell of a lot of fun making it happen. The best way to do that may be to masturbate in front of him.
The problem with your asshole boyfriend, you see, is that you just aren't coddling him enough. How dare you. If you must have needs of your own (you selfish castrating mother harpy), at least make sure you only express them by providing even more smiling undemanding sexual entertainment for him.

Forget that paper seat cover in a public bathroom and squat instead ([burns] 5 calories).
I work, as I've mentioned, in an emergency room. I use the patient bathrooms. I sit on the goddamn toilet seats. These toilet seats can be reasonably assumed to have Ebola, anthrax, and the Black Plague, and you know what? Nothing bad happens to me, because my ass has intact skin and an immune system. Seriously people.

Also, 5 calories is equivalent to 0.023 ounces of body fat. SQUAT YOURSELF THIN.

"I found out that my boyfriend of more than a year was cheating on me with a girl he'd met on Facebook. He'd logged in on my laptop a few times, and his password was automatically saved on my computer. I signed into his account and changed the word "women" to "penises" in his favorite Dumb and Dumber quote: "Where beautiful women instinctively flock like the salmon of Capistrano..."
Wow! Take that! You really showed him! He'll be totally reeling from that totally ballsy crazy revenge scheme! Talk about getting even!

Self control.

Have you ever been hynotized? I was, once. It wasn't what I expected. It wasn't like being asleep or absent from my body or made into an automaton. It wasn't like the hypnotist said "take off your shirt" and my hands moved without me, or I felt compelled to do it.

It was like I was totally awake and in control of myself, and I freely decided that taking off my shirt was a thing I wanted to do.

Sometimes I have that same feeling during sex. I'm a totally rational and free mind, and if I so chose I could be totally stil and silent and unmoved. I just decide to thrash and clench and moan and scream, is all. To some small exent this is true--when my roommate is home I rediscover my volume control, and although I'm not exactly silent I do manage to hold in the more unholy howls. Although other times I want to be quiet and the best I can do is clasp a hand over my own screaming mouth. Like it's someone else's.

The strangest is when I have those hyper-orgasms, the ones that knock me flat so I can't move or speak right for a few minutes afterwards. During that time, when I'm crashed out quivering and babbling, I'm completely aware of myself and a little chagrined how ridiculous I'm acting. I could just decide to pull myself together at any moment... I never fully understand why I don't.

Altered states are like that, though. They always seem real and ordinary when you're in them; a person with schizophrenia or tripping on hallucinogens, or even just dreaming, doesn't experience just images but the knowledge that those images exist and make sense.

(Or maybe all of existence is like that. Right now, I have the sensation that everything I'm experiencing is real and sensible and I'm in control of myself--and that proves what, exactly?)

Maybe the line between "the devil is talking to me through the rats" and "oh god fuck me fuck me fuck me" is a whole lot finer than I'd like to believe.

Umfriend.

Dear nurse:

The gentleman sitting with our patient, holding his hand and comforting him for hours in the middle of the night as he goes through a frightening and disabling illness, is not his "um, friend." He is his husband. Are you twelve years old, or what?

Next time we have a heterosexual couple in I'm going to smirk and blush and giggle and refer to them as "um, friends." Because I know we have policies to be polite about that sort of thing, but that kind of person puts penises in vaginas, and here they are just flaunting that.

How good life can be.

I just spent this evening in bed with two wonderful people. There was a little fucking and a lot of snuggling and a whole big lot of laughter. I spent the day before with a whole bunch of wonderful friends, with almost as much snuggling and even more laughter.

Ten years ago, I was pretty sure I'd never have sex and I figured I'd never have too many friends, either. At the most I figured I'd stumble into some sort of dating relationship eventually, maybe, if I was lucky and I wasn't picky. I figured bullies and indifferent strangers would always surround me and I'd always be lonely inside.

And one year ago, although I certainly had established my sex and relationship bona fides by then, I still never dreamed I'd be this happy. Even then I never dreamed I'd have this many friends and lovers and that they'd be as awesome as they are.

My days are happy and my nights are wild and I'm never lonely anymore. Life is fast and crazy and good.

I can't say "well, good thing I didn't kill myself back when I was a sad-sack," because I'm just not made to ever consider that, but I can say that I'm glad I stuck it out. I'm glad I didn't give up or settle. I'm glad I kept chasing joy. Because I've motherfuckin' caught it.

There's a story behind this picture.

I have this friend who's awesome. Sadly he's moved out of town so I only see him every couple months, but he's one of the most awesome people I know. He's exceptionally smart and funny, but far more importantly, he just has the kind of effortless self-confidence you can't buy in stores. I'm hesitant to describe him in too much detail because he knows basically everyone including famous people and all my friends including the ones I met in completely different ways, but he's the kind of guy who can walk down the street in a floral dress and diving mask with a live weasel on his head and elicit only admiration. And he's the kind of guy who would.

Let's call him PJ.

This morning, PJ was in town, and he called me up to accompany him on a little project. PJ had to repay a debt to a friend. This friend had loaned PJ a couple thousand bucks when PJ was going through hard times, and now that PJ was going through easy times, he wanted to repay the loan in style.

Our first stop was at the Bank of America. "I want to withdraw $2600," PJ said, "in one-dollar bills." We'd thought we might have to go to a few branches and maybe some fast-talking to accomplish this, but no, they had 2600 dollar bills on hand. They gave PJ 6 stacks of $100 and 2 fat plastic-wrapped bricks of $1000 without raising an eyebrow.

I should mention that PJ's friend is getting married tomorrow. Part of PJ's dream is that the friend and his new wife will now be able to fuck on a giant pile of money on their wedding night.

Our second stop was a luggage store. PJ bought a nice leather briefcase--crisp classic lines, rectangular profile, built-in combination lock.

Our third stop was at a grocery store. PJ bought six pounds of powdered sugar and a box of plastic baggies.

We went back to PJ's apartment and set to work. PJ carefully stacked the bills in the suitcase while his roommates and I packaged "the shit" in securely wrapped bricks. They had a glass coffee table, so I rolled up a bill and did a few lines. It was pretty sweet stuff.

Once the briefcase was packed, we were taking pictures, and we (okay, probably I) decided that the pictures could use a little pizazz. A little showcasing. I took off my top. PJ loaned me his 1950s smoking jacket.

And that's the story behind this picture.

NWS.

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