Archive for the ‘Sex’ Category

Red ruby slippers

So they are actually more pink and are faux snake skin, but they are wicked cute. The One Formerly Known As My Intern asked why women shove their feet into these strange torture devices. Truthfully? They make us taller and more powerful, and our calves look more defined, thus attracting the male species.

It is all about sex. Reproduction. Survival of the species. Need I say more?

Wedding sex

I have a friend who has a theory, that the best hookups are at weddings. So I’ve been trying to test this theory by attending a lot of weddings. Of course, this is the same friend I tried to pick up at a wedding. I failed, but he has some very good points that validate my attempt:

1. Location, location, location!
Weddings are in cool places with great ambiance and music that you can talk over and dance to. The venue is beautifully decorated, well lit, and romantic. And sometimes you find some really great dancers. I do love a good lead…

Weddings are not in loud, smokey bars full of drunks where your shoes stick to the floor, the neon signs are flashing their way to certain death, strangers grind up against your ass, and you get caught gasping in horror in the morning when you see your hookup in natural light.

2. Appropriate attire is required
Everyone is dressed to the nines and looking pretty damn pimp. This is what your hookup looks like at their best. People spend hours primping and prepping and ironing and curling. No detail is missed.

So even if your hookup dresses like a slob in every day life, you know that if you put some effort into him, you can get him to look more like this on a regular basis.

3. Attitude
People are in a good mood and ready to party. The only tears are usually joyful and not into a beer. Mostly (see #5). Funerals are not particularly good places for hookups. Those are usually done out of desperation and despair. Not that I know any of this personally…

4. Veni, vidi, bibi vino
I’m not even going to paraphrase my friend on this one. He says:

Everyone is always drinking wine. Sure, there’s beer, but wine just makes people want to take off clothing and get some skin on skin. (Sure, hard liquor makes folks wanna get naked too, but it’s different. You wanna bone and get raw when you’re boozing. With wine, you want naked skin on skin for hours, not just a quick “get me off” thrill like you want with booze.)

How can you dispute that?!

5. Timing is everything
My friend’s theory on this:

[Weddings] always end like, at 10pm or 11pm. Rarely do they go to midnight. It’s simply more difficult to find the energy to go get laid at 2am when you’ve been pounding swill. When it’s 11pm and you’ve had three glasses of wine, there’s plenty of time and energy left in the night to get it on.

Although I have been to a few weddings that lasted until the wee hours of the morning. One of those ended with me in my bridesmaids gown, sitting on the dance floor at 2am while Brother K pulled the hundred bobby pins from my hair as Meine Schwester’s ex cried about his broken heart.

What’s your theory?

Weird dreams

This one had some hot but creepy guy who was planning to set me up to take the fall for some crazy scheme he has stealing cadavers. We lived in this big commune with lots of my family members. Everyday when I went off to school, he was training my dog to be part of his plan.

Before school this morning, I had acrobatic sex with creepy guy. What he doesn't know is that I know about his plan. I've been training my dog to do something else when he thinks she is doing what he wants. I've been making him think I am head over heels in love with him while I really am making a plan to kill him and have it look like he botched his own operation.

What woke me up was when I was taking my birth control pill and he didn't seem to realize they were just advil. I also wondered if I'd caught an STD from creepy guy. That was just too messed up even for me.

Involuntary celibacy

In my googling for information about unrequited and forbidden love, I ran into involuntary celibacy, and at the risk of making fun of myself, I have to share some of my favorite parts of the Wikipedia entry.

An involuntarily celibate person is someone who fails to initiate or sustain a sexual or romantic relationship, despite his/her desire to experience such a relationship. Afflicted people may suffer from loneliness, frustration, and may be mistaken for homosexuals who are hiding their sexuality.

Critics to this view suggest that the proper label for this is simply being “single”, which, unlike “involuntarily celibate,” is in common usage and does not carry potential social stigma.

Also, involuntary celibacy could lead to self-absorption and an unhealthy preoccupation with human sexuality .

In many societies (especially Western), heterosexual men are traditionally almost always required to assume the assertive role in pursuing the opposite sex and courtship is considered a competitive sport amongst single, eligible men, who typically employ verbal strategies and tactics to seduce women. Proficiency at these tactics, is called having “game” in American slang, and this is frequently equated with confidence, a trait that is popularly valued in men by women. Because confidence and “game” exist independently of socio-economic status, a man of lower education and status can frequently win a woman’s attention away from a man of higher education and status. This attitude is taken by the seduction community, a group that believes that “seducing” women can be scientifically studied and improved.

Although involuntary celibacy is often associated with love-shyness, love shy individuals do not necessarily experience a lack of people who would consider them attractive. Love shy individuals may simply fail to reciprocate another’s attraction toward them or fail to be proactive in pursuing potential romantic interests, even when success is in their favor.

Driving

I forgot how much I love driving. I haven't driven in two weeks. Getting into my car today was exhilarating. Gripping the gear shift. The feel of leather on leather as I slid my hand around the steering wheel. The simultaneous press and release motion between the gas and the clutch. The resistance of downshifting. Acceleration. Control. Power. The slow glide into the parking space. Sitting for just a moment while the heated seats embrace me before exiting into the cold, cruel world.

Me versus Religion

I was raised Catholic. Sunday school and church every Sunday.

Baptism.

First Communion.

Then there was Confirmation class. That is when I quit.

There were three of us that quit that weekend. Without speaking to each other about it, we all went home that afternoon and informed our parents that we would no longer be attending confirmation class. I told my parents that I would continue to attend church until I was out of their house, but that I would absolutely not go through the Confirmation ceremony. There would be no changing my mind.

It was hard for us to recall what exactly was said that Sunday afternoon. I had a lot of reasons not to be confirmed. The first and foremost is that I can’t agree to be part of a religion that doesn’t treat women as equals. I’ve been raised to believe that I can do everything a man can do, except, as iDad says, “piss on a campfire.” I can still do that, it might just burn a little. And writing my name in the snow is impossible. I remember being pretty pissed off when our priest explained that women can’t be priests because we can’t keep secrets.

I may not have believed what Father Thanh had to say, but I don’t think he meant harm by that. He had been a boat person from Vietnam. He’d learned English from watching Sesame Street while he lived in Canada. As a priest, he was sent to central Maine and was the only non-white adult that I knew. There were a lot of people who stopped coming to church because they weren’t willing to get past his accent. Then there were another group that stopped coming because he was old school and removed all the women from the altar. I may have been upset by that, but I also understood that he was just doing what he had been told to do. And he was in a very difficult position personally. His Latin was very good though, and I enjoyed asking him to help me with my homework. I felt bad for him being stuck in our little podunk town.

So my priest wasn’t the reason I quit. He was doing the best he knew how. He was just following the teachings of the church. It was those teachings and positions on social issues that I have a hard time with. I don’t believe that a penis is a microphone to God, so I don’t understand why women can’t be priests and bishops or be on the altar. I also don’t understand why I need to speak through a man to speak to God. He doesn’t get better reception than I do.

I prefer to confess directly rather than go through an intermediary who isn’t allowed to be married or have children. I know that you don’t have to be a drug user to know that using drugs is a bad idea, but I think if someone is going to give me advice on relationships and raising children that they should have that experience on their own.

I also don’t understand the church’s stance on homosexuality considering how many men in the priesthood are homosexual. One of my favorite priests of all time was and was asked to leave. That probably colored my perspective a lot. I recently hit on a gay guy who had previously studied to become a priest. How can it not be okay to have feelings for another adult of the same sex, but it is okay to abuse children and cover that up? Do children not have rights?

And then there is the birth control issue. I’m not even really talking about the sex before marriage issue. The world is becoming overpopulated, and yet organized religion still promotes having lots of kids because they want to make sure that their religion has lots of members. This is ridiculous. Married couples should be able to use birth control so that they aren’t having more kids than they can afford to support.

Then there is the sex before marriage issue. I don’t have any good reasoning for this other than it is just fun. And I don’t think it is necessarily the work of the devil.

Then there is abortion. I don’t believe in abortion as birth control, but I do believe that there are reasons why women might need an abortion, so I don’t think it should be illegal. I won’t go on a diatribe about this.

Of course, there is the feeling of being brainwashed. Every year, the same readings are read over and over again. I can not go to church for years and yet when I find myself there, I kneel at the right times, I say all the words without thinking about them and I cross myself without even considering what I’m doing. I’ve been taught for years to think for myself, and yet the Catholic Church was always trying to convince me to let them think for me.

Still, I don’t think any of those reasons are the reason why I quit that day. I think the reason was because Father was telling us that Catholicism is the one, right, true religion. I’ve had four years of Latin. We spent a lot of time making fun of the Greeks and the Romans for their multiple gods. Who is to say that the Catholic Church has it right? How can they say for sure that there is only one God? How can they say that Islam and Judaism and all the other religions have it wrong? How can they tell me that all my friends won’t be going to heaven?

I’m gonna hedge my bets and just not be part of any organized religion. I’ll talk to God when I want to and how I see fit. Hope to see you all wherever it is I go when I die.

Normal

What is normal?

A while ago, a friend asked me, “How often do you expect to have sex when you are in a relationship?”
“How long has this relationship been?”
“A couple months, and now we’re living together.”
“So how often do you expect to have sex?”
“Well, ideally, once a day.”
“Seriously?” I didn’t really have to ask that because at this point I knew he was. So I tried to make him feel better. “Someone once asked me if it was normal to have sex three to four times a day.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I asked when she had time to eat.”
“Wow. That is crazy.”
“Yeah, that is what I thought.”
“So what do you think is normal?”
Who made me the arbitrator of normal sex habits? “Once or twice a week?”
“That’s all?”
“And not on school nights?”
“No sex on school nights?”
“Too much stress. Can’t have sex when I’m tired from work.”
“Huh.”
“So maybe you two can compromise.”
“I hope so.”
Me too. Poor girl, having to turn him down a couple times a week. Can’t be easy.

What a mismatch between men and women. Women feel like sex is something we have to prepare for. Put on something pretty. Set the mood. Make it into a production. Men act like it is as simple as brushing their teeth. Clothes off and they are ready to go.

So what do you think is normal?

Avenue Q and The Bourne Ultimatum


This afternoon, I went with J&Y to The Orpheum Theatre to see that last showing of Avenue Q. If you haven’t heard of it (like me), it is basically what Sesame Street would look like if you you’d made a wrong turn and ended up on the other side of the tracks. With songs like “Internet Is For Porn,” “Everyone’s A Little Bit Racist,” and “Schadenfreude,” how could you go wrong? Okay, so the muppet sex was a little bit bizarre, but other than that, I laughed quite a bit. They’ve decided that my new nickname is K-Monster.

When I was walking the dog after the show, I ran into Neighbor K who suggested we go see a movie. I looked up the movie offerings on my iPhone and what did I find? I had forgotten to see The Bourne Ultimatum. I love Matt Damon. Lucky for me, so does Neighbor K. Off we went to drool in the movie theatre for a while. Another fabulous day.

Sunday

Awake at 10 am on the dot, we showered and packed. While packing, I reached to the side and pulled my computer out of its bag with one hand. The pain I felt in my back was something I’d never encountered outside of having surgery. It was so intense that I wanted to throw up right then. And no, I know what you are thinking, but I really hadn’t drank much of anything the night before because I’d been so busy dancing.

It was difficult to even breathe, but I worked through the pain, finished packing, then laid on the floor and tried to stretch. I realized this wasn’t going to work and so I started asking around for muscle relaxers. There were none to be found.

We went to The Groom’s parents house for brunch. When I walked in the door, practically the first thing I asked Best Man/Brother was for drugs. I forgot that the house was full of doctors and I was suddenly backpedalling, now asking which over-the-counter medication would be best for severe back pain. I missed my prescription drug addicted sister at that moment. I could have used something much stronger than a couple of aspirin.

I said hello to someone in the living room and was greeted with the question, “Were you one of the dancers?”

It took me a minute to understand what they were talking about. It seems the UofM/CA group had earned a reputation. We had ruled the dance floor during the reception. We were probably some of the few people drinking as well. We had stayed up late and eaten our way through the suite. And now, here I was, trying to find drugs. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever be invited back!

The aspirin at least took the edge off so that I could eat some food. Sadly, My Driver and I had to eat and run so that I could make my next flight. On the drive back to Detroit, we listened to the traffic report. One of the highways we were supposed to take was closed on the other side due to a fatality and two lanes on our side were closed. We went around, which took a little more time, but I still think it was a lot less time than sitting in traffic for an extra forty minutes.

I was at the airport just around the hour mark, which made me really nervous about making my flight. There were four agents, then three, and by the time I was the third person back, they were down to two. Amazingly enough, the two that were left were extremely efficient and processed us quickly. The line at security was short and I got to my plane with a few minutes to spare.

I boarded a Southwest plane in group C. I was certain this would land me a middle seat, but my luck was coming back just a little bit. I asked if I could sit between an older woman and gentleman who I’d seen together in the terminal. Sure enough, once I did, the gentleman offered me the window seat so he could sit next to his wife. It was a brilliant maneuver if I do say so myself.

I landed in Baltimore, having finally caught the first and only scheduled flight of my trip. Baltimore’s Southwest terminal is really nice. I grabbed a slice of greasy pizza for dinner, then settled into the beginning of the C line for my flight boarding in half an hour. I called Mom to let her know I’d be getting in around 7, then we were driving straight to Maine and should get in before midnight. Things were looking up.

I talked to Meine Schwester and we laughed about how nice it was to be on the same cell tower. When we finished, I took more drugs and laid on my back to try to get the pain to go away. I closed my eyes after starring at the ceiling. The I heard the voice of God.

She said, “The flight to Manchester is overbooked. I have a mother here who would like to get on the flight with her daughter. I can give you $200 in travel vouchers and a seat on the 8pm flight.”

As if possessed, I stood, walked to the counter and raised my book when I was within sight of the ticket agent. She stopped talking on the loudspeaker and I handed her my ticket. She printed a ticket for the mother who was thanking me profusely. I’m not sure what she said, but I remember telling her, “I just needed some good karma points. I seem to be running low lately.”

Good karma came my way in the form of a ticket on the 8 pm flight and a travel voucher for $425. Seems my ticket had been pretty expensive. The ticket agent thanked me, and I thanked her. I called Mom to let her know I wasn’t coming until 9 pm. I called Meine Schwester back and told her about my good fortune. She offered to come have dinner with me, or at least bring me some drugs, but I decided I only really had an hour now before my flight.

I headed straight for the wine bar I’d passed earlier. The cute bartender suggested the Pinot Noir tasting, and we all know I can’t say no to a hot guy. So this is what I tried:

Country: California France New Zealand
Winery: Morgan Joseph Drouhin Seifried
Grape: Pinot Noir Pinot Noir Pinot Noir
Wine: Twelve Clones Chorey-Les-Beaune Nelson
Year: 2005 2004 2005

I liked the California one the best and said I should go visit the vineyard when I get home. His favorite is the French one that was a little more dry and a little more fruity. I told him about my good fortune in switching flights. He told me about a trip to Italy and missing his flight. All in all, nothing of any significance really happened. I could make up some story about how when our eyes met, sparks flew and we went to the storage closet and had crazy stranger sex, but the truth is I spent most of the time at the bar writing the Thursday and Friday blog entries. Sorry I didn’t try to make Sunday more exciting for you.

Back in reality, I boarded the 8 pm plane with group A. I snagged a window seat and had a different older couple sit next to me. I fell asleep before we finished boarding.

Half an hour later, I woke up to find us still at the gate. The stewardess was on the loudspeaker, “If you have a lap child that the child MUST be on your lap.” Then they counted again. The next announcement was for everyone to pull out their IDs so they could go through the passenger manifest and figure out who wasn’t supposed to be on the plane.

At that point, a gnome-ish looking man ran by. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. The woman next to me turned and I said, “I’m so sorry that my bad karma is now affecting everyone.” I guess the guy just had to use the bathroom, but why the one in the rear of the plane?

I called Mom again. “Guess we are going to be another hour or so late. They have to figure out who isn’t supposed to be on the plane. We might as well just stay at your place tonight.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll keep watching the flight to see when it leaves before I do.”

“Fabulous. Oh, I have to go. The people a couple rows back are talking about voting people off the plane and I need to make some alliances first! Ciao!”

I called Meine Schwester and we had a covert conversation about terrorists. It included her saying everything I was thinking but couldn’t say on a plane without getting myself kicked off as being suspicious. I knew she would know what I was thinking. There were some people on the plane who wanted to just let the stowaways stay, but I sure didn’t.

Finally the announcement came, “It seems that there has been a computer error. It decided to delete some passengers from the list. The people we took off are good people and are supposed to be on the plane.” There was clapping as they returned and we took off soon after.

We landed in Manchester around 10 pm. I went directly to lost luggage to find my once again dizzy bag that was waiting patiently for me. Mom took me back to her place, made me a sandwich and we went to sleep. I think I finally got a full eight hours.

Secretary

I finally watched Secretary tonight. It was everything I had hoped it would be. A little self-mutilation, some sadomasochism, and a lot of submissive/dominant behavior. It was fabulous. I enjoyed every moment of it.

I know I probably shouldn’t admit that, but I think that everyone has a little bit of these tendencies. They may not be played out in a sexual fashion, yet they exist. You may not even realize that you do enjoy it, but it is probably what gets you into that situation again and again.

Personally, I think marathon runners are definitely masochistic. Seriously, why else would anyone cause themselves that much pain? Isn’t that what athletics is really about—enjoying the pain? My legs are sore right now and it feels great every time I stretch them.

Catholicism definitely encourages this behaviour. I was sorting my mail once when a coworker said, “You’re Catholic, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“You put all of the personal mail at the bottom and the bills on top.”

It is true. I do this in all aspects of my life. I’ll eat my vegetables first and save the french fries for last. I’ll run the last half mile after hiking a mountain. I’ll take seven classes my last semester in school. Truth be told, I enjoyed having braces. I liked the subtle constant pain. There was something comforting about it. I still sleep better with my retainers on.

You can deny it all you want, but there are probably things you do as well. I don’t think we talk about it because sadomasochism is such a sexually charged term, and as a society we don’t talk about sex. If you think about it, maybe there is a strange rule that you’ve set in place for yourself, or something you do ritualistically. Maybe you put yourself into positions of power or weakness. Maybe you bite your nails until they bleed. Maybe you wait incessantly for someone to call. Whatever it is, I bet you have a secret too.

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