It seems like recently, I've been noticing a whole lot of people being assholes. Well, actually, that's not recent. People have always been assholes. I think it should be added to the list of universal constants. What makes this in any way noteworthy, is that it seems like people are now excusing their assholery using the term "personal responsibility".
Essentially, this works as a "get out of being called a dickhead free" card. Here is how you use it:
Step 1: Do something remarkably dickish.
Step 2: Wait to be called out on your crappy behavior.
Step 3: Tell the injured party that it is, in fact, not YOUR problem, but theirs. They are responsible for their own life, actions, and feelings.
Step 4: Look all smug and generally act as though you are more emotionally evolved than the person you just screwed over.
Step 5: Feel no remorse, ever.
Still not sure? Here are some real-life examples.
- The guy who was in the playground with his kids, and decided to leave by walking through the off-leash dog park, not through the separate exit. Then, on strolling through the off leash dog park (full of, funnily enough, off-leash dogs), decided to dribble/bounce a ball on his way. When the dogs went after the ball (as dogs, in dog parks, tend to do) he got furious. We should all have trained our dogs better. Clearly, it was not HIS fault for refusing to display common sense. Nope. All on us.
- The guy who left a girl in a bar, after insinuating he would be taking her home, in order to meet a different girl (me), and actually take her home. When the first girl called him to see where he went (unsurprisingly) and tell him that she was pretty disappointed, as she thought that they had plans, he told her that he was "sorry that she felt that way, but her feelings were really up to her, not him".
- The woman who refused to pick up the litter she dropped, and when told that dogs or small children could get at it and get sick, replied that in that case, people should train their dogs and watch their children more closely.
- Every woman, ever, who has decided that she will NOT contact the man that she is interested in/seeing/dating, because "if he wants to see me, he will make the effort", not realizing that he could be applying that same logic, and she might want to try putting herself out there. Just a little.
Got it? Good.
Now don't get me wrong. I am all for actual personal responsibility. The kind where you make every effort to take control of your life and your emotions, and don't fall into the trap of the victim, blaming everyone else for your problems.
The thing is, what most people are doing is so far from personal responsibility that it is almost comical. Are you really going to tell me that you should not take any responsibility, or admit to any control over the situation, because every one else should be taking responsibility and control?!??
Why is it so difficult to grasp that this is something that you do yourself, not something that you tell other people to do, or a way to dispense with empathy, consideration, or understanding. Hint: it's right there in the name. PERSONAL. Responsibility.
Monday, 22 July 2013
Thursday, 18 July 2013
Real Life Wednesday: San Diego Comic Con
Every year, SDCC rolls around, and every year, it makes me feel like a bad nerd that I'm not there....
I go to my local comicons (in fact, I am a bit of a convention whore, what with cosplay cons, horror cons, comic cons, even food and lifestyle cons! I just...love them.) and this year I managed to get my ass to the US to go to Crypticon in Seattle.
And then, there is Comic Con. The mother of all conventions, the one by which all others are measured, the one con to rule them all.
I must journey there.
Of course, the main issue is cost. Not just the flights and hotels and tickets....frankly, that is affordable. The fact that I am physically incapable of going and not buying stuff. Lots of stuff. Stuff that can be signed. Stuff that has that magic "exclusive" label. Oh yes...and food. That too.
Oh, but it would be worth it. Anyone who has ever grown up with the nerd label knows how good it feels to find yourself in a crowd where your random references are understood, where you don't get those blank stares, where everyone else not only knows what fangirling is, but does it along with you. Aaaaaah.
For that one weekend, I would get to delve into the depths of my nerdom. I wouldn't have to hold back.
And that would be stupendous.
Because let's face it, most of the time, I tend to deal with a lot of this:
Sigh.
Wednesday, 17 July 2013
The Responsible Slut: The Phone Call No One Wants To Make
So you read last week's "Responsible Slut" post, and you went and got yourself tested. It was pretty hassle-free, painless, and you are feeling nice and proud of yourself for doing the right thing. Good for you! High five!
And then you get a phone call. Looks like your results weren't the clean slate that you wanted to have, and somehow, somewhere, from someone...you picked something up.
Shit.
Now what?
First off - don't freak out. These things happen. Unfortunately, they still carry a stigma - that only "dirty" people can get an STD. That is seventeen shades of bullshit, so put it out of your mind. For one thing, it just isn't true. More importantly, no case of Chlamydia has ever been cured with a dose of self-flagellation. Beating yourself up about it ain't gonna do a damn thing. Antibiotics will. Step one - go get them. Start taking them straight away - and pay attention to instructions on not having sex until you are sure it is out of your system.
Once you are on the way to clearing it out of your system, time to do the hard part. Telling anyone else that you have slept with that they might need to get checked as well.
I would love to tell you that this part doesn't suck. If you are lucky, it won't. Best case scenario, you contact a couple people, they don't make a big deal out of it, everybody gets on with their lives.
Worst case scenario, this is the first time you have been tested, and you have to spend a day talking to everyone you have ever bumped uglies with, and at least one of them is going to get disproportionately angry about it and make you feel like crap.
Well, you are just going to have to man up and do it anyway. As tempting as it may be to just ignore the problem, or conveniently lose some contact info, you just can't. It's a total dick move.
There are some ways to make it easier on yourself, though.
- You don't actually have to call them. You just have to get that information to them somehow. Text, e-mail, DM, whatever. It's often a lot easier to tell someone if you don't have to actually hear their reaction. Obviously, you want to be discreet about it; skywriting and facebook walls are not acceptable.
- Don't make a big deal about it. People will take their cue from you. If you calmly and simply state that you tested positive for x, therefore they may have it too, and should go to the doctor, it will actually go down a lot easier than if you are flailing and apologizing all over the place.
- If someone reacts by being a total douchebag, don't feel the need to respond. Think of this kind of like exchanging insurance information after a fender bender. You do the bare minimum to be a considerate adult, and if they fly off the handle, you get out of there as fast as you can.
At the end of the day, there may well be some point in your life when you are either giving (or receiving) the get-checked call. Either way, try to stay calm, and try to be kind.
And pour yourself a drink.
And then you get a phone call. Looks like your results weren't the clean slate that you wanted to have, and somehow, somewhere, from someone...you picked something up.
Shit.
Now what?
First off - don't freak out. These things happen. Unfortunately, they still carry a stigma - that only "dirty" people can get an STD. That is seventeen shades of bullshit, so put it out of your mind. For one thing, it just isn't true. More importantly, no case of Chlamydia has ever been cured with a dose of self-flagellation. Beating yourself up about it ain't gonna do a damn thing. Antibiotics will. Step one - go get them. Start taking them straight away - and pay attention to instructions on not having sex until you are sure it is out of your system.
Once you are on the way to clearing it out of your system, time to do the hard part. Telling anyone else that you have slept with that they might need to get checked as well.
I would love to tell you that this part doesn't suck. If you are lucky, it won't. Best case scenario, you contact a couple people, they don't make a big deal out of it, everybody gets on with their lives.
Worst case scenario, this is the first time you have been tested, and you have to spend a day talking to everyone you have ever bumped uglies with, and at least one of them is going to get disproportionately angry about it and make you feel like crap.
Well, you are just going to have to man up and do it anyway. As tempting as it may be to just ignore the problem, or conveniently lose some contact info, you just can't. It's a total dick move.
There are some ways to make it easier on yourself, though.
- You don't actually have to call them. You just have to get that information to them somehow. Text, e-mail, DM, whatever. It's often a lot easier to tell someone if you don't have to actually hear their reaction. Obviously, you want to be discreet about it; skywriting and facebook walls are not acceptable.
- Don't make a big deal about it. People will take their cue from you. If you calmly and simply state that you tested positive for x, therefore they may have it too, and should go to the doctor, it will actually go down a lot easier than if you are flailing and apologizing all over the place.
- If someone reacts by being a total douchebag, don't feel the need to respond. Think of this kind of like exchanging insurance information after a fender bender. You do the bare minimum to be a considerate adult, and if they fly off the handle, you get out of there as fast as you can.
At the end of the day, there may well be some point in your life when you are either giving (or receiving) the get-checked call. Either way, try to stay calm, and try to be kind.
And pour yourself a drink.
Friday, 12 July 2013
Bad Sex Positions: The Repeater
I love bacon.
I made myself two bacon sandwiches today.
I love bacon so much that I think it may be the one.
I may want to go shopping for a big white dress.
It's....it's BACON.
However. If I had to eat bacon every day, you can bet your ass that I would start to resent it. It would be boring. The awesome, fatty, salty, crispy goodness that is bacon (god, I want to make another sandwich just thinking about it) would become boring. Uninteresting. Dull. Even, god forbid....a little gross.
Once I worked in a cupcake bakery. It was amazing. The air smelled like sugar. I could eat all I wanted. It was sugary, fluffy, pink-frosted heaven. After the first month, I didn't gain a pound.
In the Cadbury factory in England, the workers can eat all the chocolate they want. Yet, taking the tour, you don't see employees stuffing themselves with goodies like Augustus Gloop.
What gives?
Very simply, variety is the spice of life.
It also puts the spice in sex life.
Which means that, let's be blunt, no matter how awesome it was that one time that you fucked that one girl and she came, like, seventeen million times.....if you just put your thing down, flip it and reverse it... every single night.....it'll suck.
Think you have already done "everything"? Excuse me whilst I crap myself laughing (which, btw, is a whole other fetish unto itself). There are greater things on bed and bunk, Horatio, than have been ever in your wet dreams.
That doesn't mean that you can't revisit the classics, but y'know how there is one song that is always played on the radio, that makes you want to punch yourself in the face? And that other one that is on so rarely that you pump the air and tell your passengers to shut up whenever you hear it? In bed, you want to be the second one.
The brain is the biggest sex organ. Now go use it to be creative, and don't become a repeater, or you'll find she keeps turning you down in disgust to talk to the hot guy in the passenger seat.
I made myself two bacon sandwiches today.
I love bacon so much that I think it may be the one.
I may want to go shopping for a big white dress.
It's....it's BACON.
However. If I had to eat bacon every day, you can bet your ass that I would start to resent it. It would be boring. The awesome, fatty, salty, crispy goodness that is bacon (god, I want to make another sandwich just thinking about it) would become boring. Uninteresting. Dull. Even, god forbid....a little gross.
Once I worked in a cupcake bakery. It was amazing. The air smelled like sugar. I could eat all I wanted. It was sugary, fluffy, pink-frosted heaven. After the first month, I didn't gain a pound.
In the Cadbury factory in England, the workers can eat all the chocolate they want. Yet, taking the tour, you don't see employees stuffing themselves with goodies like Augustus Gloop.
What gives?
Very simply, variety is the spice of life.
It also puts the spice in sex life.
Which means that, let's be blunt, no matter how awesome it was that one time that you fucked that one girl and she came, like, seventeen million times.....if you just put your thing down, flip it and reverse it... every single night.....it'll suck.
Think you have already done "everything"? Excuse me whilst I crap myself laughing (which, btw, is a whole other fetish unto itself). There are greater things on bed and bunk, Horatio, than have been ever in your wet dreams.
That doesn't mean that you can't revisit the classics, but y'know how there is one song that is always played on the radio, that makes you want to punch yourself in the face? And that other one that is on so rarely that you pump the air and tell your passengers to shut up whenever you hear it? In bed, you want to be the second one.
The brain is the biggest sex organ. Now go use it to be creative, and don't become a repeater, or you'll find she keeps turning you down in disgust to talk to the hot guy in the passenger seat.
Thursday, 11 July 2013
Real Life Thursday: Netflix is Evil
After my breakup earlier this year, I decided that keeping on top of tv shows, downloads, torrents, and all that jazz was just going to get in the way of drinking, so I wouldn't have the time anymore. I was also feeling a little guilty. As someone who bitches people out for not paying for any of their porn (I have to. If no one paid, I wouldn't have a job. I'd have to get up in the morning and wear a suit and stuff.) I was feeling just a tad hypocritical for not paying for any of my tv or movies. It's not like I'm supplementing my torrented evil with a cable package - I don't even own a tv.
Seeing as buying a tv, paying for cable, and STILL having to download all the stuff I wanted to watch (because who actually has time to stick to a tv schedule?) seemed unnecessarily complicated, I did what most people do, and succumbed to the Netflix.
Of course, I still download the stuff I can't find on it, and I also installed an unblocker so that I can have ALL the Netflix, regardless of the country I live in...but hey. Baby steps. And since that red background appeared in my browser, I really haven't downloaded much. I have actually fallen behind on my tv viewing. Because I am catching up with every show and movie ever made.
At least, that's what it feels like.
Especially because Netflix helpfully suggests other stuff you might like, as soon as you watch something. "Ahhhh. I am done with all the seasons of Dr Who. *click click click* Merlin? Don't mind if I do..." Most of these fall under the heading of "stuff I intended to watch at some point anyway", but not all of them.
Don't even get me started on the movies. And the documentaries. I am watching stuff that I would never have otherwise known existed, and watching them avidly. Glued, drooling to my laptop.
How do normal people deal with this? Is it really just me that is apparently addicted to Netflix? Or is it that working from home, on that same laptop, just makes it far too easy to suddenly look up and notice that three weeks have passed, but you now understand every fandom internet reference, ever?
In any case, I now have a list of shows to watch that compares to my stack of books to read. I would say that I will get through it one day, but I feel like I may still be adding to it on my deathbed, and I don't want to lie to you lovlies.
Of course, if you have not yet given in, and joined the cult of Netflix....RUN. Save yourself. It's too late for me....
So I'm going to go watch Sherlock now.
Seeing as buying a tv, paying for cable, and STILL having to download all the stuff I wanted to watch (because who actually has time to stick to a tv schedule?) seemed unnecessarily complicated, I did what most people do, and succumbed to the Netflix.
Of course, I still download the stuff I can't find on it, and I also installed an unblocker so that I can have ALL the Netflix, regardless of the country I live in...but hey. Baby steps. And since that red background appeared in my browser, I really haven't downloaded much. I have actually fallen behind on my tv viewing. Because I am catching up with every show and movie ever made.
At least, that's what it feels like.
Especially because Netflix helpfully suggests other stuff you might like, as soon as you watch something. "Ahhhh. I am done with all the seasons of Dr Who. *click click click* Merlin? Don't mind if I do..." Most of these fall under the heading of "stuff I intended to watch at some point anyway", but not all of them.
Don't even get me started on the movies. And the documentaries. I am watching stuff that I would never have otherwise known existed, and watching them avidly. Glued, drooling to my laptop.
How do normal people deal with this? Is it really just me that is apparently addicted to Netflix? Or is it that working from home, on that same laptop, just makes it far too easy to suddenly look up and notice that three weeks have passed, but you now understand every fandom internet reference, ever?
In any case, I now have a list of shows to watch that compares to my stack of books to read. I would say that I will get through it one day, but I feel like I may still be adding to it on my deathbed, and I don't want to lie to you lovlies.
Of course, if you have not yet given in, and joined the cult of Netflix....RUN. Save yourself. It's too late for me....
So I'm going to go watch Sherlock now.
Tuesday, 9 July 2013
The Responsible Slut: Passing The Test
Today I got up bright and early, and dragged my ass into the city to go to my favorite clinic, and get my 3 month STI check.
Lets face it, it's never a pleasant duty, but much like folding laundry, doing dishes, paying the phone bill and filing your taxes, getting tested is just part of being a grown-up. So why is it that so many people refuse to get tested at all, or wait until they think that there is something wrong before they slink into the clinic in a wig and sunglasses? Why are people so ashamed to go to the clinic, in a way they would never be to go to the optician, or the dentist?
Lets make one thing very, very clear. There is NOTHING shameful about taking care of your health. You go for regular checkups for your eyes, your teeth, your body...so why not your ladybits? (Or gentlemanbits, of course!!)
For one thing - these check-ups are not just for VD, believe it or not. Even if you are a freaking virgin, you should still be getting certain things checked on an annual or bi-annual basis. From the age of 21, you should be getting a pap-smear bi-annually, to check for cervical cancer. You will also be checked internally for lumps, bumps, weirdnesses, soreness - this can detect the beginning of issues with your reproductive system, and is pretty damn important. Far more minor, but also useful, even if you are not having sex, is getting your PH checked. You can also be screened for BV or a yeast infection, which can happen to anyone.
So what if you are actually having sex? You only need to go if you are having unprotected sex with strangers, right? FUCK NO. First off, condoms are not 100% effective. So while they are still a good idea, they don't negate your need for testing. And your assumption that your partner is faithful - well, I'm hoping they are, but you don't want to stake your fertility and health on an assumption. Besides, even if they are being faithful, if they have ever had sex before you...well, some things are symptomless, or can lie dormant for a very, very long time before an outbreak.
Obviously, there are factors that mean you may want to be tested more or less frequently. Only having sex with yourself? Bi-annually is plenty. Have a regular partner? Every 6months - 1year is fine. When I was into the whole monogamy thing, I would go every 6 months, or every new partner, whichever came around first. If you are like me, and tend to have a lot of sex with a lot of people, it's not exactly practical to go every time you manage to take home someone new to play with. In that case, borrow a practice from the world of porn, and go every 3 months.
Bottom line - its not exactly fun, but it's free, it's pretty painless, and it is smart. Suck it up. It'll take you maybe an hour or two out of every three months (tops), and you probably spend more time than that checking facebook in a week.
Time to put on your big girl panties. And then take them off again on a paper-covered table.
Lets face it, it's never a pleasant duty, but much like folding laundry, doing dishes, paying the phone bill and filing your taxes, getting tested is just part of being a grown-up. So why is it that so many people refuse to get tested at all, or wait until they think that there is something wrong before they slink into the clinic in a wig and sunglasses? Why are people so ashamed to go to the clinic, in a way they would never be to go to the optician, or the dentist?
Lets make one thing very, very clear. There is NOTHING shameful about taking care of your health. You go for regular checkups for your eyes, your teeth, your body...so why not your ladybits? (Or gentlemanbits, of course!!)
For one thing - these check-ups are not just for VD, believe it or not. Even if you are a freaking virgin, you should still be getting certain things checked on an annual or bi-annual basis. From the age of 21, you should be getting a pap-smear bi-annually, to check for cervical cancer. You will also be checked internally for lumps, bumps, weirdnesses, soreness - this can detect the beginning of issues with your reproductive system, and is pretty damn important. Far more minor, but also useful, even if you are not having sex, is getting your PH checked. You can also be screened for BV or a yeast infection, which can happen to anyone.
So what if you are actually having sex? You only need to go if you are having unprotected sex with strangers, right? FUCK NO. First off, condoms are not 100% effective. So while they are still a good idea, they don't negate your need for testing. And your assumption that your partner is faithful - well, I'm hoping they are, but you don't want to stake your fertility and health on an assumption. Besides, even if they are being faithful, if they have ever had sex before you...well, some things are symptomless, or can lie dormant for a very, very long time before an outbreak.
Obviously, there are factors that mean you may want to be tested more or less frequently. Only having sex with yourself? Bi-annually is plenty. Have a regular partner? Every 6months - 1year is fine. When I was into the whole monogamy thing, I would go every 6 months, or every new partner, whichever came around first. If you are like me, and tend to have a lot of sex with a lot of people, it's not exactly practical to go every time you manage to take home someone new to play with. In that case, borrow a practice from the world of porn, and go every 3 months.
Bottom line - its not exactly fun, but it's free, it's pretty painless, and it is smart. Suck it up. It'll take you maybe an hour or two out of every three months (tops), and you probably spend more time than that checking facebook in a week.
Time to put on your big girl panties. And then take them off again on a paper-covered table.
The Responsible Slut: A New Tuesday Theme
I am so vocal about my sex-positivity, my hatred of slut-shaming, and my happiness as a polyamorous, bi, sex worker, that sometimes people get the wrong idea. Often, people assume that just because I am happy to have lots of sex (and some pretty damn casual sex at that), that I think that everyone should be just as "slutty" as me.
Nothing could be further from the truth. I don't care if you want to bang your way through the entire US armed forces, or if you truly want to wait for that "one" and then wait until you are married to have regularly scheduled missionary bonks for the sole purpose of reproduction.
I care about two things.
1. That you extend me the same courtesy of not giving a fuck what I do with my genitals, or anyone elses.
2. That however you fuck, you do so both generously, and responsibly.
Which means that you try to fuck with the greatest possible respect for the other person (or people) in your life, as well as for yourself.
That you are kind to yourself, and patient with yourself, and others.
That you do your utmost to stay healthy and safe, and to keep others around you healthy and safe, too.
That you suck it up and do the hard things. And not just the fun kinds of sucking it and doing the hard things.
It means a lot more than that, too. So For a new Tuesday theme, I bring you "The Responsible Slut". Read, consider, comment...enjoy!
Nothing could be further from the truth. I don't care if you want to bang your way through the entire US armed forces, or if you truly want to wait for that "one" and then wait until you are married to have regularly scheduled missionary bonks for the sole purpose of reproduction.
I care about two things.
1. That you extend me the same courtesy of not giving a fuck what I do with my genitals, or anyone elses.
2. That however you fuck, you do so both generously, and responsibly.
Which means that you try to fuck with the greatest possible respect for the other person (or people) in your life, as well as for yourself.
That you are kind to yourself, and patient with yourself, and others.
That you do your utmost to stay healthy and safe, and to keep others around you healthy and safe, too.
That you suck it up and do the hard things. And not just the fun kinds of sucking it and doing the hard things.
It means a lot more than that, too. So For a new Tuesday theme, I bring you "The Responsible Slut". Read, consider, comment...enjoy!
Friday, 10 May 2013
Bad Sex Positions: The Educator
You're thinking about schoolgirls right now, aren't you? Rulers, pigtails....willingness to do anything to get a passing grade...Sir.
I'll just...give you a couple minutes to yourself, shall I?
Ahem.
Now, lets move your mind to a slightly different part of the gutter, because I have absolutely nothing bad to say about "Please Professor" roleplay. For the record, it is one of my absolute favorites, and I think I was first playing schoolgirl when I was still an actual schoolgirl! Although I managed to keep my hands off the actual teachers, I swear.
Instead, I named this one "The Educator" because I couldn't bear to call something bad after Yoda, and "The Master" is a whole other thing. Starting to understand what I'm talking about? If you've ever encountered one, you've probably figured it out.
The Educator is the kind of overly-confident asshole who thinks that he (or she!) has figured it all out. The secret to sex, the universe and everything. (Which should really just be 69, shouldn't it?) And lucky you, he's going to bestow these secrets of perfect sex on you. You should be honored, to be chosen as apprentice to such a master of the bedroom arts. You should be thrilled - anything that he likes, that you don't - well, he's going to do it to you the right way! You will love it! You just haven't had HIM do it yet.
Excuse me whilst I swoon with anticipation of being in the hands of the Michelangelo of fucking.
Or not.
There is something just so horrifyingly arrogant about the Educator. Of course you don't know your own likes and dislikes. Clearly, there is one formula for perfect sex, one ideal way to do absolutely everything, and this formula works for everyone in the whole world, exactly the same way. Given that most people not only want something different than another person might, it's just a tad unreasonable. Christ, I want different things depending on my mood. Or what we did last time. Or what time of day it is. Or how much I've had to drink. Or maybe even because of a dream I had last night. It doesn't exactly work if you are just going to do the same thing that the last woman loved.
On top of the arrogance, and the resultant bad, awkward, formulaic sex involving zero give and take - the Educator is one of those few people who can actually do serious damage to a person's sexual happiness. If you are already pretty darn sure about what you want, coming up against someone who is determined to show you the "right" way to do it is just annoying. But if you are unsure, insecure, impressionable.....then this will seriously mess with your head.
That is why I hate Educators so, very, very, much. Who, exactly, do you think you are to be able to tell someone that they are wrong for not being into something? Nice way to show your partner that you think they are a little bit broken. God forbid it's your fault that they didn't enjoy it. Nope, if Mr Educator can't bring a girl to orgasm, it must be because she is broken. After all, he used to have to peel his ex off the ceiling afterwards. She couldn't even see straight. What a lovely way to smash a girl's confidence, put her down AND squeeze in a direct comparison to the ex, all in one go. Gold star for assholery.
What about those times where you have a partner who IS more experienced? Or who just wants to show you something new? What about those, I hear you cry?
Well, luckily I have a simple little test that will allow you to quickly differentiate between the person who wants to do some exploration, and the one who is just showing you the route he already knows is best. Just mentally add two little words after their suggestion, and see how it sounds. If their tone, phrasing, and general attitude seems to flow naturally with these words, run away (or prostrate yourself in front of their supposed genius, if you feel like it). Whereas if it just sounds silly, or totally out of place, you're good.
And what are these magic, revealing words?
"Young Padawan"
I'll just...give you a couple minutes to yourself, shall I?
Ahem.
Now, lets move your mind to a slightly different part of the gutter, because I have absolutely nothing bad to say about "Please Professor" roleplay. For the record, it is one of my absolute favorites, and I think I was first playing schoolgirl when I was still an actual schoolgirl! Although I managed to keep my hands off the actual teachers, I swear.
Instead, I named this one "The Educator" because I couldn't bear to call something bad after Yoda, and "The Master" is a whole other thing. Starting to understand what I'm talking about? If you've ever encountered one, you've probably figured it out.
The Educator is the kind of overly-confident asshole who thinks that he (or she!) has figured it all out. The secret to sex, the universe and everything. (Which should really just be 69, shouldn't it?) And lucky you, he's going to bestow these secrets of perfect sex on you. You should be honored, to be chosen as apprentice to such a master of the bedroom arts. You should be thrilled - anything that he likes, that you don't - well, he's going to do it to you the right way! You will love it! You just haven't had HIM do it yet.
Excuse me whilst I swoon with anticipation of being in the hands of the Michelangelo of fucking.
Or not.
There is something just so horrifyingly arrogant about the Educator. Of course you don't know your own likes and dislikes. Clearly, there is one formula for perfect sex, one ideal way to do absolutely everything, and this formula works for everyone in the whole world, exactly the same way. Given that most people not only want something different than another person might, it's just a tad unreasonable. Christ, I want different things depending on my mood. Or what we did last time. Or what time of day it is. Or how much I've had to drink. Or maybe even because of a dream I had last night. It doesn't exactly work if you are just going to do the same thing that the last woman loved.
On top of the arrogance, and the resultant bad, awkward, formulaic sex involving zero give and take - the Educator is one of those few people who can actually do serious damage to a person's sexual happiness. If you are already pretty darn sure about what you want, coming up against someone who is determined to show you the "right" way to do it is just annoying. But if you are unsure, insecure, impressionable.....then this will seriously mess with your head.
That is why I hate Educators so, very, very, much. Who, exactly, do you think you are to be able to tell someone that they are wrong for not being into something? Nice way to show your partner that you think they are a little bit broken. God forbid it's your fault that they didn't enjoy it. Nope, if Mr Educator can't bring a girl to orgasm, it must be because she is broken. After all, he used to have to peel his ex off the ceiling afterwards. She couldn't even see straight. What a lovely way to smash a girl's confidence, put her down AND squeeze in a direct comparison to the ex, all in one go. Gold star for assholery.
What about those times where you have a partner who IS more experienced? Or who just wants to show you something new? What about those, I hear you cry?
Well, luckily I have a simple little test that will allow you to quickly differentiate between the person who wants to do some exploration, and the one who is just showing you the route he already knows is best. Just mentally add two little words after their suggestion, and see how it sounds. If their tone, phrasing, and general attitude seems to flow naturally with these words, run away (or prostrate yourself in front of their supposed genius, if you feel like it). Whereas if it just sounds silly, or totally out of place, you're good.
And what are these magic, revealing words?
"Young Padawan"
Thursday, 9 May 2013
Real-Life Thursday: Less Naked, More Nerd
Sometimes I have customers ask me if I am "really" a nerd....kind of like the gamer-girl post I wrote a while ago, they seem to be under the impression that I am either faking it in order to cash in on a niche market of nerd-types, or that I am maybe jumping on the bandwagon and acting like a nerd to be cute.
Ignoring, for just a second, the irony of someone with the screenname 17"Cock4U questioning the legitimacy of the moniker I choose, I'd like to lay this to rest.
Yes, I am an actual, real, living, breathing nerd type. Always have been.
I am, however, a fairly specific nerd-type. Nothing is more frustrating than having someone randomly quote a movie/reference a comic book/talk about a game....and then crow with triumph when I don't get it. See? You don't have an encyclopaedic knowledge of everything that could ever be considered even a little geeky, ever? Well then, you are clearly not a nerd. Liar.
My nerdiness is mostly clustered around specific fandoms....Star Trek, Star Wars, LOTR, Buffy, HP....there are a few more, but those are the biggies. I have a working knowledge of a helluva lot more, but these are the things that make me go all fangirl - that I have watched/read/seen every possible version of, episode of, permutation of. These are the ones that I buy accessories from, collectibles of, and generally just funnel a huge amount of money into for no apparent reason.
Then there are the cartoons, the comic books, the games that I no longer let myself play because I get just a tiny bit addicted.
In fact, I don't think that a day often passes where there is not something just a little bit nerd-girl going on in my life. As I write this, I am watching (re-watching? Absorbing?) Angel. It's queued up on my Netflix along with Dr Who, Sherlock, Buffy...and a list of other movies, documentaries and shows that I will watch over and over, even when I can quote entire episodes (Once More With Feeling - I think I could re-create from memory).
When I was a stripper, I used to keep the most appropriate of the Ferengi Rules Of Acquisition in my dance bag. My favorite remains 189. Let others keep their reputation...you keep their latinum.
It's gotten to the point that it is actually a joke with friends of mine who aren't quite as dorky as I am. I can't remember the last present I got that didn't refer to one of my crazes - and I wouldn't have it any other way. Otherwise, I wouldn't have a personalized Hogwarts acceptance letter in a tiny gold envelope necklace - and that would be tragic.
Of course, if I really was just faking the whole thing to better empty the wallets of horny engineers, I would hardly blog about it, would I? Just to keep you thinking....
Ignoring, for just a second, the irony of someone with the screenname 17"Cock4U questioning the legitimacy of the moniker I choose, I'd like to lay this to rest.
Yes, I am an actual, real, living, breathing nerd type. Always have been.
I am, however, a fairly specific nerd-type. Nothing is more frustrating than having someone randomly quote a movie/reference a comic book/talk about a game....and then crow with triumph when I don't get it. See? You don't have an encyclopaedic knowledge of everything that could ever be considered even a little geeky, ever? Well then, you are clearly not a nerd. Liar.
My nerdiness is mostly clustered around specific fandoms....Star Trek, Star Wars, LOTR, Buffy, HP....there are a few more, but those are the biggies. I have a working knowledge of a helluva lot more, but these are the things that make me go all fangirl - that I have watched/read/seen every possible version of, episode of, permutation of. These are the ones that I buy accessories from, collectibles of, and generally just funnel a huge amount of money into for no apparent reason.
Then there are the cartoons, the comic books, the games that I no longer let myself play because I get just a tiny bit addicted.
In fact, I don't think that a day often passes where there is not something just a little bit nerd-girl going on in my life. As I write this, I am watching (re-watching? Absorbing?) Angel. It's queued up on my Netflix along with Dr Who, Sherlock, Buffy...and a list of other movies, documentaries and shows that I will watch over and over, even when I can quote entire episodes (Once More With Feeling - I think I could re-create from memory).
When I was a stripper, I used to keep the most appropriate of the Ferengi Rules Of Acquisition in my dance bag. My favorite remains 189. Let others keep their reputation...you keep their latinum.
It's gotten to the point that it is actually a joke with friends of mine who aren't quite as dorky as I am. I can't remember the last present I got that didn't refer to one of my crazes - and I wouldn't have it any other way. Otherwise, I wouldn't have a personalized Hogwarts acceptance letter in a tiny gold envelope necklace - and that would be tragic.
Of course, if I really was just faking the whole thing to better empty the wallets of horny engineers, I would hardly blog about it, would I? Just to keep you thinking....
Wednesday, 8 May 2013
Wednesday Reaction: Shame-based Sex Ed
Today I stumbled across this article "The Damaging Effects of Shame Based Sex-Education".
It's definitely a thought-provoking read, although I think that the title is a little misleading, as it doesn't really talk about sex-education. At least, not in the sense I think of - sex-ed as a class in schools. It is more about the way that sex is presented to younger women, and refers heavily to a Christian rhetoric.
It's also more specifically talking about the idolization of virginity, at least for women. Kristen Howerton talks about the need to discuss both abstinence and sex as valid and "ok", especially for teens.
So what is the ideal? Talking about teens and sex ed always requires a search for a balance - trying to teach young women (and men, but this article focuses on female virginity, so it makes sense that my response does too) to value themselves, and their sexuality, but at the same time, teaching them that enjoying sex does not make them damaged goods, or less of a person.
Which is worse? Creating a situation where young girls who lose their virginity feel dirty, damaged, unwanted.....or creating a situation where sex has so little value that teenagers are giving no thought to safety or self-respect? To me, answering that question comes from looking at the situations of those who do not get to make the choice themselves. Kristen brings up that "Survivors of rape need "permission to fight back," and that requires them "to know you are of value." and she is right. I am more concerned about the mental state of the young women who are assaulted, and need to feel that that hasn't irrevocably damaged them, that they can recover and move forward.
After all, this is the root of slut-shaming. This is the foundation of the kind of thinking behind the phrase "asking for it", or the idea that somehow "giving it away" devalues a woman. "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free". We can't change the greater problem of slut shaming, until we stop putting such an emphasis on virginity.
And that IS something that needs to be included in sex-education. Then again, pretty much all sex education needs to be overhauled, in my opinion - taking out the concept of "purity" is just one tiny part of it. But as they say, every little helps.
It's definitely a thought-provoking read, although I think that the title is a little misleading, as it doesn't really talk about sex-education. At least, not in the sense I think of - sex-ed as a class in schools. It is more about the way that sex is presented to younger women, and refers heavily to a Christian rhetoric.
It's also more specifically talking about the idolization of virginity, at least for women. Kristen Howerton talks about the need to discuss both abstinence and sex as valid and "ok", especially for teens.
So what is the ideal? Talking about teens and sex ed always requires a search for a balance - trying to teach young women (and men, but this article focuses on female virginity, so it makes sense that my response does too) to value themselves, and their sexuality, but at the same time, teaching them that enjoying sex does not make them damaged goods, or less of a person.
Which is worse? Creating a situation where young girls who lose their virginity feel dirty, damaged, unwanted.....or creating a situation where sex has so little value that teenagers are giving no thought to safety or self-respect? To me, answering that question comes from looking at the situations of those who do not get to make the choice themselves. Kristen brings up that "Survivors of rape need "permission to fight back," and that requires them "to know you are of value." and she is right. I am more concerned about the mental state of the young women who are assaulted, and need to feel that that hasn't irrevocably damaged them, that they can recover and move forward.
After all, this is the root of slut-shaming. This is the foundation of the kind of thinking behind the phrase "asking for it", or the idea that somehow "giving it away" devalues a woman. "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free". We can't change the greater problem of slut shaming, until we stop putting such an emphasis on virginity.
And that IS something that needs to be included in sex-education. Then again, pretty much all sex education needs to be overhauled, in my opinion - taking out the concept of "purity" is just one tiny part of it. But as they say, every little helps.
Tuesday, 7 May 2013
Naked Nerd Reviews: Strip City
It's always a good idea to start at the beginning....which is why today, I picked the book that really started me off reading what I refer to as "strip-lit", memoirs, studies, and explorations of the sex industry. A category that will, hopefully, one day include a book of my own.
Strip City chronicles Lily Burana as she does a pre-wedding strip trip across the US, hitting all of the cities, clubs, and hotspots that she had dreamed about, heard about, wondered about....back when she was a full-time stripper in her early twenties.
This remains probably my favorite of the strip-lit genre (so far) because it combines two of the great loves of my life - stripping, and travel. The concept of setting out with nothing more than a bag of costumes and a list of clubs will always hold great appeal, although I wonder if I will ever be able to actually do it - stripping, unlike camming, has a definite age range, and I am no longer at the lower end of it. Or even, really, the middle. But if I never manage to set out on the open highway, then I can still simply re-read this book.
Lily moves back and forth between her present travels, and her memories of stripping in NYC in the late 80s. She also researches the history of the striptease - going to Exotic World Museum, speaking to past dancers, covering the history of some of the major clubs....basically, she covers all the bases, and it makes for fascinating reading.
The best part? That she manages to cover the highs and lows of getting naked for pocket change without presenting an unbalanced picture. When writing about the sex industry, the temptation seems to always be to either gloss over everything, and create a glamorous, fun ideal, or to assume that all is darkness and doubt. Sex workers (myself included) are fairly reticent to talk about the bad times, because for some reason, people love to use even the smallest of dissatisfaction to damn the entire industry. On the other hand, many people want to prevent young women from getting sucked in to the evils of sex work, and so only talk about the worst aspects - afraid that the slightest whiff of enjoyment would convert even the purest virgin. But Lily covers those nights that are thoroughly glamorous, exciting, and lucrative...but doesn't shy away from describing the times where she feels like she has been turned inside out and emotionally beaten six ways from sunday.
For once, I actually have nothing bad to say about it. I love this book.
Monday, 6 May 2013
Monday Morning Rant: Excuses, excuses
Sometimes, bad things happen. Or annoying things. Or the kind of things that manage to derail your day, ruin your mood, just stop your plans from going smoothly.
This can be something as small as having someone cancel your plans, having your computer stop working, dropping your phone in the toilet (hands up, who hasn't?)...just getting up on the wrong side of the bed. Maybe you just slept in, and now you are running late. Sometimes it's not even something really "bad" that happens, just something that isn't great.
No matter what it is, there are a few different ways to deal with it. Pretty much any way is acceptable, in my eyes, from taking out your frustrations on the nearest inanimate object, going for a run, eating all the junk food you can find, having a good vent...whatever. Whatever makes you feel better, gets the frustration out.
There is one reaction, however, that I cannot stand. The excuses. More importantly, the lowered expectations that excuses allow. That excuses create.
If you tell yourself that it's ok that you slept in because you were tired/had a late night/had some drinks/etc etc etc then you aren't going to fix it. You aren't going to change it. You are going to sleep in again, and again, because every morning, you will wake up and come up with a new excuse.
When I'm not losing weight, maybe it isn't that the diet hasn't kicked in, or that I'm on a plateau, or that I'm gaining muscle and it "weighs more than fat". Maybe it's because I need to work out more, and drink less wine.
Excuses may make you feel better, because they are just complicated ways to say "it's not my fault". But that only works in the short term, because by continually telling yourself that it's out of your hands, you never find a way to fix the problem. You never just grab a straw, suck it up, and change it.
Excuses become a habit - when one no longer works to explain a situation, you simply find another one. So at first, the dog is misbehaving because she is a puppy, and then when she is too old for that to fly, she is in adolescence. When you see other dogs the same age that are well-mannered, you blame it on breed, or temperament, or mix, or personality. All that happens in the end, is that you have a crazy dog, and a bushel of "but it isn't me". Where you could just cut all the crap, and admit that your dog is badly behaved because you aren't training it properly. Having admitted that, you can then start to train it properly. Shocking.
So stop it, people. Stop making excuses for yourself. Stop worrying about making yourself feel better right NOW, and starting worrying about actually fixing things so that you get to feel better long past the lifespan of the excuses you are creating.
It sounds harsh, but it's true. There is always an excuse. There is always something going wrong, or something that comes up. So just stop allowing that to get in the way, and take a little control of your life.
You might surprise yourself. If you stop making excuses for everyone and everything in your life, you may actually end up with a life where there is nothing shitty enough to need excusing.
This can be something as small as having someone cancel your plans, having your computer stop working, dropping your phone in the toilet (hands up, who hasn't?)...just getting up on the wrong side of the bed. Maybe you just slept in, and now you are running late. Sometimes it's not even something really "bad" that happens, just something that isn't great.
No matter what it is, there are a few different ways to deal with it. Pretty much any way is acceptable, in my eyes, from taking out your frustrations on the nearest inanimate object, going for a run, eating all the junk food you can find, having a good vent...whatever. Whatever makes you feel better, gets the frustration out.
There is one reaction, however, that I cannot stand. The excuses. More importantly, the lowered expectations that excuses allow. That excuses create.
If you tell yourself that it's ok that you slept in because you were tired/had a late night/had some drinks/etc etc etc then you aren't going to fix it. You aren't going to change it. You are going to sleep in again, and again, because every morning, you will wake up and come up with a new excuse.
When I'm not losing weight, maybe it isn't that the diet hasn't kicked in, or that I'm on a plateau, or that I'm gaining muscle and it "weighs more than fat". Maybe it's because I need to work out more, and drink less wine.
Excuses may make you feel better, because they are just complicated ways to say "it's not my fault". But that only works in the short term, because by continually telling yourself that it's out of your hands, you never find a way to fix the problem. You never just grab a straw, suck it up, and change it.
Excuses become a habit - when one no longer works to explain a situation, you simply find another one. So at first, the dog is misbehaving because she is a puppy, and then when she is too old for that to fly, she is in adolescence. When you see other dogs the same age that are well-mannered, you blame it on breed, or temperament, or mix, or personality. All that happens in the end, is that you have a crazy dog, and a bushel of "but it isn't me". Where you could just cut all the crap, and admit that your dog is badly behaved because you aren't training it properly. Having admitted that, you can then start to train it properly. Shocking.
So stop it, people. Stop making excuses for yourself. Stop worrying about making yourself feel better right NOW, and starting worrying about actually fixing things so that you get to feel better long past the lifespan of the excuses you are creating.
It sounds harsh, but it's true. There is always an excuse. There is always something going wrong, or something that comes up. So just stop allowing that to get in the way, and take a little control of your life.
You might surprise yourself. If you stop making excuses for everyone and everything in your life, you may actually end up with a life where there is nothing shitty enough to need excusing.
Saturday, 4 May 2013
Bad Sex Positions: Alarm Clocks Uneccesary
I am the first to admit that when I am writing about bad sex, a lot of what I complain about seems obvious to me. Relax, have fun with it....how hard is that, really?
The more I talk to people, the more I realize how common sense is still pretty uncommon, even when it comes to getting off. That something as simple as just enjoying yourself is somehow ridiculously over complicated, whether by insecurity, bad advice, or one too many copies of Cosmo.
But somehow, even in my wildest dreams, I never thought that this would be something that I would have to be writing. Deep breath, here goes.
You should be awake during sex.
A lot of what I write is opinion, musings, personal preference, up for debate. This one most definitely isn't. In fact, it bears repeating.
You should be awake during sex.
It isn't adorable to pass out while bumping uglies. It isn't like when a small pet falls asleep in your arms, when everybody gets to coo about how comfortable Fluffy must be with you. It doesn't represent a new level in your relationship, it doesn't suggest a deeper emotional connection.
All it suggests is either a sex life in serious need of some passion, or possibly the beginnings of a drinking problem. (For the record, I am more forgiving of alcoholism than boredom.)
I don't know when, exactly, people started to think that there was something cute about passing out while balls deep, but I think I'll blame Third Eye Blind.
"How do I get back there, to the place where I fell asleep inside you"
You don't want to. Moving on.
The more I talk to people, the more I realize how common sense is still pretty uncommon, even when it comes to getting off. That something as simple as just enjoying yourself is somehow ridiculously over complicated, whether by insecurity, bad advice, or one too many copies of Cosmo.
But somehow, even in my wildest dreams, I never thought that this would be something that I would have to be writing. Deep breath, here goes.
You should be awake during sex.
A lot of what I write is opinion, musings, personal preference, up for debate. This one most definitely isn't. In fact, it bears repeating.
You should be awake during sex.
It isn't adorable to pass out while bumping uglies. It isn't like when a small pet falls asleep in your arms, when everybody gets to coo about how comfortable Fluffy must be with you. It doesn't represent a new level in your relationship, it doesn't suggest a deeper emotional connection.
All it suggests is either a sex life in serious need of some passion, or possibly the beginnings of a drinking problem. (For the record, I am more forgiving of alcoholism than boredom.)
I don't know when, exactly, people started to think that there was something cute about passing out while balls deep, but I think I'll blame Third Eye Blind.
"How do I get back there, to the place where I fell asleep inside you"
You don't want to. Moving on.
Thursday, 2 May 2013
Real Life Thursday: Porn Star Romance
In case anyone wasn't aware, I recently ended a fairly long relationship. Which accounts for my fairly long absence from the interwebs, as I was partaking in the grand tradition of break ups, and spending a couple of months flailing around, making bad decisions and a serious dent in the liquor stores of BC.
Believe it or not, far more good than bad came out of this. The breakup, not the poor decision making. It actually gives me a great opportunity to dispel a few myths about single sex workers.
Lets face it, the general response to the news of my singleness has led to a reaction of joy - suddenly, my available status means that I must be fair game, right? Because all sex workers are essentially gagging for it (non-brits may need to take a minute and look that phrase up, but I cannot honestly think of a better one), and now that there is nothing in my way, I shall be banging every available penis, right?
Sorry to disappoint, but no. I briefly debated it, but after a couple of ill-fated one night stands (note: do not lie about your wife. And even if you are actually available, do not message me every ten hours. It's just creepy. No, not even if you are messaging to tell me how casual you are.) I have decided that it simply isn't worth the drama.
That is not to say that I won't be getting any. Good lord, no. Just that I will actually, shock horror, be sleeping with people that I actually KNOW. That I have gotten to know over a period of months, or even years, and have established a certain level of sanity with.
It may wreak havok with the image of a camgirl as a wanton slutburger, but I may well just stick with the ones I know, rather than attempting to work my way through the lower mainland for the sake of it.
It's not just about avoiding messages from irate wives and annoying boys who become ridiculously over attached after one night. It's also about appreciating a little...appreciation. And even, dare I say it, a little romance.
That's right, romance. As much as I do love being slammed against a wall and fucked halfway through it, (see, I'm not completely destroying the porn star image) I also enjoy being brought coffee in the morning. Or driven home at night.
Or, in what was possibly the sweetest, most I'm-in-a-movie-right-now moment, having a flower picked for me while walking my dog.
Even those of us who fuck for a living need those moments that surprise us with a smile.
Believe it or not, far more good than bad came out of this. The breakup, not the poor decision making. It actually gives me a great opportunity to dispel a few myths about single sex workers.
Lets face it, the general response to the news of my singleness has led to a reaction of joy - suddenly, my available status means that I must be fair game, right? Because all sex workers are essentially gagging for it (non-brits may need to take a minute and look that phrase up, but I cannot honestly think of a better one), and now that there is nothing in my way, I shall be banging every available penis, right?
Sorry to disappoint, but no. I briefly debated it, but after a couple of ill-fated one night stands (note: do not lie about your wife. And even if you are actually available, do not message me every ten hours. It's just creepy. No, not even if you are messaging to tell me how casual you are.) I have decided that it simply isn't worth the drama.
That is not to say that I won't be getting any. Good lord, no. Just that I will actually, shock horror, be sleeping with people that I actually KNOW. That I have gotten to know over a period of months, or even years, and have established a certain level of sanity with.
It may wreak havok with the image of a camgirl as a wanton slutburger, but I may well just stick with the ones I know, rather than attempting to work my way through the lower mainland for the sake of it.
It's not just about avoiding messages from irate wives and annoying boys who become ridiculously over attached after one night. It's also about appreciating a little...appreciation. And even, dare I say it, a little romance.
That's right, romance. As much as I do love being slammed against a wall and fucked halfway through it, (see, I'm not completely destroying the porn star image) I also enjoy being brought coffee in the morning. Or driven home at night.
Or, in what was possibly the sweetest, most I'm-in-a-movie-right-now moment, having a flower picked for me while walking my dog.
Even those of us who fuck for a living need those moments that surprise us with a smile.
Wednesday, 1 May 2013
Wednesday Reaction - Bad Ad!!
Following on from Monday's rant about a specific form of slut-shaming, lets talk about some shaming (and shame worthy) ads that I recently discovered....for Playtex and their new "Fresh and Sexy" wipes.
The ad above is one of a set - a new campaign for wipes that are designed for before and after "intimate encounters" - apparently filling the need for daisy-fresh junk, any time, anywhere.
On the one hand, this is almost the opposite of slut-shaming. It doesn't just suggest that spontaneous sex is ok, it actively tries to take advantage of it to sell something. I'm not totally sure that that is better, of course. Slut-opportunism isn't really more positive than slut-shaming, just has a little more of a capitalist flavor.
Sadly, logic doesn't follow on the heels of opportunity. The ads are all based on the idea that having clean, fresh genitals will somehow impact your chances of getting laid. Except, the only way to discover the cleanliness of someone's junk involves being pretty up close and personal with them. And once you get to the point where you get a gyno's-eye view, you are basically past the point of no return. Frankly, if the situation is bad enough that someone is going to strip you down and then actually run away from what lurks between your legs, it may be asking a bit much of a glorified baby wipe to solve the problem.
Unsurprisingly, these ads have already provoked one helluva reaction amongst the feminist and sex-positive masses (although it does need to be noted that the ads are equally split between being aimed at male and female customers). The general response has been one of disgust, mixed with a healthy dash of anger at the suggestion that the "natural" smell of a woman is inherently wrong/yucky/bad/etc.
All I really have to say about that, is that yes, the "natural" smell of a woman (or man, for that matter) is amazing. And sexy. And nothing to be covered up, wiped away, or generally ashamed of.
However.
For anyone not aware, I've spent a lot of time in close proximity to gentials in the line of duty - and only about 60% was in strip clubs, where all the pussy is preened to perfection. The other 40% was as a body piercer, and when it isn't trimmed and tucked and functioning as a money maker, a lot of people clearly need some kind of reminder that the shower head doesn't reach there all on it's own. There was one woman in particular who earned the nickname "Grilled Cheese Vag". I'll leave that one up to your imagination.
It reminds me of the kind of anger that inevitably results from advertising that is "fat-ist", that refers to women with "curves" as "real women". It's all about loving your body, being proud of your body....which is all well and good. Except that if you are 5ft tall and weigh 200lbs, maybe pride isn't the first thing you should be feeling. Maybe you should be feeling like a trip to the gym is in order.
No one needs to be frantically baby-wiping their junk until taking your panties off creates a swirly waft of Febreeze-like scent. At the same time, a little reminder of good hygiene, not a bad thing.
Monday, 29 April 2013
Monday Morning Rant: "Loose" women
I have a love-hate relationship with slut-shaming.
On the one hand, obviously I'm all for women having some class, poise, and self respect. I'm also for women having respect for the feelings of others, and don't like the idea of anyone using another person or treating them as a disposable object (at least, not without their consent!). Watching girls flail around outside the club in dresses that barely cover their panties and making out with everyone in sight for no apparent reason makes me want to go up and give them a jacket and cab fare.
At the same time, however, the vast majority of slut shaming doesn't seem to be about telling women to be safe, to be smart, to be caring of themselves and their partners. It seems to be aimed at the idea that sleeping with multiple people is BAD, no matter how you do it, and sleeping with only a few people is GOOD. No matter how you do it.
And the part of this particular obsession with putting down women with a larger "number" that makes the least sense is the idea that women who have had few partners will be "tight" and women with many partners will be "loose". You know..."down there".
It's this kind of slut shaming that really gets my back up, if only because my Vulcan side cannot figure out the logic behind it. Because there isn't any logic, just a knee jerk reaction that makes it easy to judge people without having to look deeper.
Highly illogical.
First off, that just ain't how it works. The inside of a women is basically a tube of muscle. Like any muscle, it can be strong and tight, or it can be kind of....saggy. What is it that determines this? Stretching and flexing. That's it. Kids and keigels make more of a difference than all the dick in the world....sorry boys. You just don't leave the same kind of impact.
And even if it was the sheer volume of sex a woman had, and each time a dick went in her, she became 1% "looser"....well, it STILL doesn't make sense, because the volume of sex isn't related to the number of sex partners.
When I'm in a relationship, I have far more sex than when I am single, if only because it's available all the time. The single life may have a reputation for being wild and crazy, but even as someone who loves a good one-nighter now and again, I'm still not going to have one every single night. For one thing, I just don't have the time or money to go out and pick up that many people! For another, well, I'm somewhat discriminating. In a relationship, I will have sex twice a day, if I can. Christ, I can (and have) had sex ten times in a day. So the times that I have been in relationships have pretty much always been more sexually active than the single times. Which means that the fewer partners I have.....would mean the more sex.
Sounds counter intuitive? That's because we are constantly taught to assume that slutty singletons are having waaaaay more sex than everyone else. Nope, sorry.
On top of that, there is the simple fact that the higher number of partners you have, the wider range of sizes you will experience. That's just statistical probability. It's highly unlikely that they are all going to be hung like a porn star, and far more common that there will be a lot of small and average in there. But what of the woman who lost her virginity to a guy who puts James Deen to shame, and does her every night? You can bet that'll do a lot more in terms of.....stretching...than shagging five different guys who barely break average.
Last but not least, there is that funny thing that happens when a woman is happily sexually active with multiple partners. She tends to be a little more highly sexed, and a lot more careful about her sexual health. At least, if she has half a brain, she is. Which means that she is probably going to take better care of herself...pelvic exercises included. Trust me, that makes more difference than pretty much anything except popping out a kid or two.
Why did I mention sex drive? Because if you are single, as I mentioned earlier, there are going to be quite a few nights where you aren't getting any. Which is where most women with a high sex drive will be thanking the good lord for sex toys. Most women I know orgasm more often alone than with a partner. Most single women I know masturbate more often than those in relationships. Orgasms cause contractions, actually building those magic muscles. Ergo, single women are doing unintentional tightening a lot more than those celibate or monogamous ones.
All of which adds up to suggest that the lovely lady who marries her high school sweetheart and starts having babies is actually going to feel far more like throwing a sausage down a hallway than your average "slut".
So next time you hear some moron raging on about how so-and-so must be wider than the channel tunnel because she's slept with ten guys, you may want to mention that clearly, the speaker knows sweet fuck all about the female body.
You may also want to ask that thing that I always wonder about: could you possibly be so concerned about only bedding tight girls because you are just too small to feel, otherwise?
On the one hand, obviously I'm all for women having some class, poise, and self respect. I'm also for women having respect for the feelings of others, and don't like the idea of anyone using another person or treating them as a disposable object (at least, not without their consent!). Watching girls flail around outside the club in dresses that barely cover their panties and making out with everyone in sight for no apparent reason makes me want to go up and give them a jacket and cab fare.
At the same time, however, the vast majority of slut shaming doesn't seem to be about telling women to be safe, to be smart, to be caring of themselves and their partners. It seems to be aimed at the idea that sleeping with multiple people is BAD, no matter how you do it, and sleeping with only a few people is GOOD. No matter how you do it.
And the part of this particular obsession with putting down women with a larger "number" that makes the least sense is the idea that women who have had few partners will be "tight" and women with many partners will be "loose". You know..."down there".
It's this kind of slut shaming that really gets my back up, if only because my Vulcan side cannot figure out the logic behind it. Because there isn't any logic, just a knee jerk reaction that makes it easy to judge people without having to look deeper.
Highly illogical.
First off, that just ain't how it works. The inside of a women is basically a tube of muscle. Like any muscle, it can be strong and tight, or it can be kind of....saggy. What is it that determines this? Stretching and flexing. That's it. Kids and keigels make more of a difference than all the dick in the world....sorry boys. You just don't leave the same kind of impact.
And even if it was the sheer volume of sex a woman had, and each time a dick went in her, she became 1% "looser"....well, it STILL doesn't make sense, because the volume of sex isn't related to the number of sex partners.
When I'm in a relationship, I have far more sex than when I am single, if only because it's available all the time. The single life may have a reputation for being wild and crazy, but even as someone who loves a good one-nighter now and again, I'm still not going to have one every single night. For one thing, I just don't have the time or money to go out and pick up that many people! For another, well, I'm somewhat discriminating. In a relationship, I will have sex twice a day, if I can. Christ, I can (and have) had sex ten times in a day. So the times that I have been in relationships have pretty much always been more sexually active than the single times. Which means that the fewer partners I have.....would mean the more sex.
Sounds counter intuitive? That's because we are constantly taught to assume that slutty singletons are having waaaaay more sex than everyone else. Nope, sorry.
On top of that, there is the simple fact that the higher number of partners you have, the wider range of sizes you will experience. That's just statistical probability. It's highly unlikely that they are all going to be hung like a porn star, and far more common that there will be a lot of small and average in there. But what of the woman who lost her virginity to a guy who puts James Deen to shame, and does her every night? You can bet that'll do a lot more in terms of.....stretching...than shagging five different guys who barely break average.
Last but not least, there is that funny thing that happens when a woman is happily sexually active with multiple partners. She tends to be a little more highly sexed, and a lot more careful about her sexual health. At least, if she has half a brain, she is. Which means that she is probably going to take better care of herself...pelvic exercises included. Trust me, that makes more difference than pretty much anything except popping out a kid or two.
Why did I mention sex drive? Because if you are single, as I mentioned earlier, there are going to be quite a few nights where you aren't getting any. Which is where most women with a high sex drive will be thanking the good lord for sex toys. Most women I know orgasm more often alone than with a partner. Most single women I know masturbate more often than those in relationships. Orgasms cause contractions, actually building those magic muscles. Ergo, single women are doing unintentional tightening a lot more than those celibate or monogamous ones.
All of which adds up to suggest that the lovely lady who marries her high school sweetheart and starts having babies is actually going to feel far more like throwing a sausage down a hallway than your average "slut".
So next time you hear some moron raging on about how so-and-so must be wider than the channel tunnel because she's slept with ten guys, you may want to mention that clearly, the speaker knows sweet fuck all about the female body.
You may also want to ask that thing that I always wonder about: could you possibly be so concerned about only bedding tight girls because you are just too small to feel, otherwise?
Saturday, 27 April 2013
Naked Nerd Review: What's Your Number
Movie review time!
"Whats Your Number" is one of what I like to call "sex-com"...like a rom-com, but far more about the shagging, lots of dirty jokes and side boobs. I actually quite like them - lots of fun, and not quite so sappy as the traditional fare, although as always, the movie revolves around the finding of a man.
The premise of this particular offering is that Ali, a late 20s/early 30s single girl, reads a magazine article about the average number of sex workers a woman has (10.5, apparently), and which also claims to quote a study saying that women who have more than 20 partners cannot find a husband. As she hits number 20 within the first ten minutes of the movie, she decides to revisit her old boyfriends in the hope that one will have changed and become perfect for her. She does this with the help of her hot and slutty neighbor, who she hates at first, but then (spoiler alert) ends up falling in love with.
The movie has some great points. It's really funny. The actors are great, the characters believable (if a little cliche), and there are some fantastic side stories. The sister's wedding is a really cute side story, and the character of the mother is fantastically drawn - to the point that I made my sister watch the movie because she was so similar to our mother. There are moments that are truly relate-able, which is nice - and what feels (to me, anyway) to be an appropriate amount of drinking. One of my favorite things is also that our girl Ali seems to have a reasonably sized, styled and cleaned apartment. She also has something approaching a normal wardrobe, and spends most of the movie in jeans and a tank top. Thank god.
However.
While the movie itself is cute, funny, and surprisingly engaging, the basic premise makes my little horny soul hurt. It could just as easily be called "Are You A Big Ol Whore?"
This is slut-shaming at it's finest, and an hour and a half of it, at that.
Not only is the entire movie based on the idea that there is some magic number that will make all the difference to your chances of finding a husband, it perpetuates the idea that finding a husband is the ultimate goal. Despite the fact that Ali loses her job around this time, she is fixating on finding a man, not a career. Great role modelling. The wedding side-story really drives this point home. Successful younger sister gets married, throws hot mess older sister into a tailspin. All about the big white dress.
Frankly, when I first saw it, I was appalled at the number itself! Or more to the point, I was appalled that she was so appalled. Is 20 really so appalling? More to the point, who on earth would be so affected by one little article. At no point does it occur to her just to get over it, and be ok with who she is. Her girlfriends may have something to do with it, as they seem horrifically judgemental, asking who could possibly have slept with more than thirteen people (let alone twenty), and talk about "pelvic floor" as though it's all about numbers of men rather than amount of sex....(Monday Morning Rant is brought to you by...).
The most appalling (or possibly, the most reassuring) thing is the comparison between Ali and Colin, the slutty neighbor. Seeing as Colin sleeps with around four women during the movie (that we know of - there is definitely the possibility of more, seeing as part of the help-me-out deal is allowing him to hide from one-night-stands in her apartment), it is safe to assume that his number is well above the dreaded twenty. However, he doesn't seem to care. In fact, he is the only person who asks her why she cares. But Ali doesn't seem to be fazed by his man-slut behavior. She seems to think it's fairly normal for guys, simply calling him a "pig" once or twice. And by the end of the movie, when she realizes that she loves him (obviously), not once does she even think about the sheer number of people he has slept with.
Apparently, she is in on the double standard - fully on board with the idea that she is a skank for banging a few guys, but that he can (in her words) sleep with all of Boston, and it's ok.
The ending killed me a little. For a moment there, I thought it would work. It looked like she was figuring out that she shouldn't stress about an arbitrary number, that she shouldn't fake a personality for a guy....
But then they blow it. Not only does she leave her sister's WEDDING to go hunt down a man (who wouldn't exactly be hard to find the next day - for Christ's sake, he lives across the HALL), but it ends with the discovery that she had passed out next to someone on her list without actually having sex, so she is still not over twenty.
Sigh.
By all means, watch the movie. But only if you are old enough and ugly enough to make your own decisions about what, exactly, counts as "slutty".
Or just ignore all of the underlying messages, and pay attention to one thing. Colin. Who is sharp, funny, and makes a lot of sense. Pay especial attention to his advice on sex (give a great blowjob, but don't worry about figuring out the hand job, because every guy already has) and sluttiness (that a guy isn't going to care how many people you have slept with). Luckily, he is also played by Chris Evans, and he spends a vast amount of time partially clothed.
I can cope with a little slut-shaming for those abs.
"Whats Your Number" is one of what I like to call "sex-com"...like a rom-com, but far more about the shagging, lots of dirty jokes and side boobs. I actually quite like them - lots of fun, and not quite so sappy as the traditional fare, although as always, the movie revolves around the finding of a man.
The premise of this particular offering is that Ali, a late 20s/early 30s single girl, reads a magazine article about the average number of sex workers a woman has (10.5, apparently), and which also claims to quote a study saying that women who have more than 20 partners cannot find a husband. As she hits number 20 within the first ten minutes of the movie, she decides to revisit her old boyfriends in the hope that one will have changed and become perfect for her. She does this with the help of her hot and slutty neighbor, who she hates at first, but then (spoiler alert) ends up falling in love with.
The movie has some great points. It's really funny. The actors are great, the characters believable (if a little cliche), and there are some fantastic side stories. The sister's wedding is a really cute side story, and the character of the mother is fantastically drawn - to the point that I made my sister watch the movie because she was so similar to our mother. There are moments that are truly relate-able, which is nice - and what feels (to me, anyway) to be an appropriate amount of drinking. One of my favorite things is also that our girl Ali seems to have a reasonably sized, styled and cleaned apartment. She also has something approaching a normal wardrobe, and spends most of the movie in jeans and a tank top. Thank god.
However.
While the movie itself is cute, funny, and surprisingly engaging, the basic premise makes my little horny soul hurt. It could just as easily be called "Are You A Big Ol Whore?"
This is slut-shaming at it's finest, and an hour and a half of it, at that.
Not only is the entire movie based on the idea that there is some magic number that will make all the difference to your chances of finding a husband, it perpetuates the idea that finding a husband is the ultimate goal. Despite the fact that Ali loses her job around this time, she is fixating on finding a man, not a career. Great role modelling. The wedding side-story really drives this point home. Successful younger sister gets married, throws hot mess older sister into a tailspin. All about the big white dress.
Frankly, when I first saw it, I was appalled at the number itself! Or more to the point, I was appalled that she was so appalled. Is 20 really so appalling? More to the point, who on earth would be so affected by one little article. At no point does it occur to her just to get over it, and be ok with who she is. Her girlfriends may have something to do with it, as they seem horrifically judgemental, asking who could possibly have slept with more than thirteen people (let alone twenty), and talk about "pelvic floor" as though it's all about numbers of men rather than amount of sex....(Monday Morning Rant is brought to you by...).
The most appalling (or possibly, the most reassuring) thing is the comparison between Ali and Colin, the slutty neighbor. Seeing as Colin sleeps with around four women during the movie (that we know of - there is definitely the possibility of more, seeing as part of the help-me-out deal is allowing him to hide from one-night-stands in her apartment), it is safe to assume that his number is well above the dreaded twenty. However, he doesn't seem to care. In fact, he is the only person who asks her why she cares. But Ali doesn't seem to be fazed by his man-slut behavior. She seems to think it's fairly normal for guys, simply calling him a "pig" once or twice. And by the end of the movie, when she realizes that she loves him (obviously), not once does she even think about the sheer number of people he has slept with.
Apparently, she is in on the double standard - fully on board with the idea that she is a skank for banging a few guys, but that he can (in her words) sleep with all of Boston, and it's ok.
The ending killed me a little. For a moment there, I thought it would work. It looked like she was figuring out that she shouldn't stress about an arbitrary number, that she shouldn't fake a personality for a guy....
But then they blow it. Not only does she leave her sister's WEDDING to go hunt down a man (who wouldn't exactly be hard to find the next day - for Christ's sake, he lives across the HALL), but it ends with the discovery that she had passed out next to someone on her list without actually having sex, so she is still not over twenty.
Sigh.
By all means, watch the movie. But only if you are old enough and ugly enough to make your own decisions about what, exactly, counts as "slutty".
Or just ignore all of the underlying messages, and pay attention to one thing. Colin. Who is sharp, funny, and makes a lot of sense. Pay especial attention to his advice on sex (give a great blowjob, but don't worry about figuring out the hand job, because every guy already has) and sluttiness (that a guy isn't going to care how many people you have slept with). Luckily, he is also played by Chris Evans, and he spends a vast amount of time partially clothed.
I can cope with a little slut-shaming for those abs.
Bad Sex Positions: The Princess
Whenever I listen to the song "Walk of Shame" by Pink, I am struck by one line.
"I'm wearing last night's dress
And I look like a hot ass mess
Although my hair looks good
'cause I haven't slept yet."
Whaaaaaaaat?
Who on earth manages to stay up all night getting fucked six ways from Sunday, but doesn't mess up her hair?
Oh right, the Princess.
The girl who puts sooooooo much effort into looking good enough to pick someone up, that they seem to forget that once that mission is accomplished, looking good isn't quite as important any more.
Maybe they have watched a little too much softcore, and think that hair and makeup can actually stay perfect while fucking (without breaks and a makeup team? Right.). Maybe they are just hideously insecure and worry that if they look less than perfect, he'll run screaming. Maybe they didn't intend to get laid, but did intend to keep that expensive style for the morning.
Whatever the reason, you find yourself in bed with a Princess.
You can't pull her hair, because you'll mess it up. This also limits your positions somewhat, as at no time can she be pushed up against something that would crush her 'do. Nothing too energetic on her part, either. God forbid she sweats off her perfectly applied MAC. She has a lipgloss in her bag for touchups, so she can suck your dick....but don't you dare get too into it, or the mascara will run.
She'll make all of this very clear as time goes by. Princesses have absolutely no problem (and a surprising amount of strength) with flinging a man off them and shrieking "not the HAAAAAAIR".
Really girls? Does it really matter that much? To me, it is a mark of great sex that you end up looking a little like you have been dragged through a hedge backwards. Taking more than twenty minutes to brush out all the knots in my hair just makes me smile.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Sex should be FUN. You should get into it, you should enjoy it, you should give in to how fucking fantastic it feels, and screw the hair, screw the neighbors, screw everything else, and just screw.
So what if you end up looking like a raccoon hiding under a bird's nest? Who cares?
Trust me, the person you are in bed with should care about two things. Is he having fun, and are you? And if you do manage to meet a man who could go from balls deep to one foot out the door just because you got a little smudged, trust me. You don't want him.
"I'm wearing last night's dress
And I look like a hot ass mess
Although my hair looks good
'cause I haven't slept yet."
Whaaaaaaaat?
Who on earth manages to stay up all night getting fucked six ways from Sunday, but doesn't mess up her hair?
Oh right, the Princess.
The girl who puts sooooooo much effort into looking good enough to pick someone up, that they seem to forget that once that mission is accomplished, looking good isn't quite as important any more.
Maybe they have watched a little too much softcore, and think that hair and makeup can actually stay perfect while fucking (without breaks and a makeup team? Right.). Maybe they are just hideously insecure and worry that if they look less than perfect, he'll run screaming. Maybe they didn't intend to get laid, but did intend to keep that expensive style for the morning.
Whatever the reason, you find yourself in bed with a Princess.
You can't pull her hair, because you'll mess it up. This also limits your positions somewhat, as at no time can she be pushed up against something that would crush her 'do. Nothing too energetic on her part, either. God forbid she sweats off her perfectly applied MAC. She has a lipgloss in her bag for touchups, so she can suck your dick....but don't you dare get too into it, or the mascara will run.
She'll make all of this very clear as time goes by. Princesses have absolutely no problem (and a surprising amount of strength) with flinging a man off them and shrieking "not the HAAAAAAIR".
Really girls? Does it really matter that much? To me, it is a mark of great sex that you end up looking a little like you have been dragged through a hedge backwards. Taking more than twenty minutes to brush out all the knots in my hair just makes me smile.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Sex should be FUN. You should get into it, you should enjoy it, you should give in to how fucking fantastic it feels, and screw the hair, screw the neighbors, screw everything else, and just screw.
So what if you end up looking like a raccoon hiding under a bird's nest? Who cares?
Trust me, the person you are in bed with should care about two things. Is he having fun, and are you? And if you do manage to meet a man who could go from balls deep to one foot out the door just because you got a little smudged, trust me. You don't want him.
Thursday, 25 April 2013
Real Life Thursday: Explaining the Disappearance
As I mentioned a while ago, I decided that I would write about my real life, in an attempt to prove to the masses of the internet that sex for money doesn't mean that I am a degenerate junkie.
Of course, having made this announcement, then my actual real life got flip turned upside down, fresh prince style. But with better clothing and worse jokes.
Now that I am back to regular scheduled programming, I have to find stuff to talk about, don't I?
And in an interesting crossover, I have to find things to talk about that are interesting enough to read, yet "normal" enough to help my case that porn people aren't that different from the rest of you. I may be the only blogger in the world debating if something is actually TOO interesting to write about.
Well, to catch you up, in the past month, I moved into a new place, which is much cozier (and all mine, thank god) but brings with it the fear that my neighbors may have a small issue with the amount of sex noise coming through the walls on a daily basis...I have also discovered that this new place is surprisingly easy to break into.
Don't panic, no one broke in. Well, except me. At four in the morning. Drunk. Oops. I may have forgotten (thanks, alcohol. I can always count on you) that unlike my last place, the buzzer does not go to my cell phone, so I need keys to get back in. One cigarette later, and I was climbing up a tower of recycling bins (only falling off once!) and sliding through the window into my kitchen sink. I didn't even break a nail!
Speaking of which, I got my nails back. In the grand tradition of break ups, I dyed my hair, and did the only other thing I could think of to change my appearance, which was to return to having extended claws. Ah, I love them.
Other than that, I am still, wonderfully, extremely boring. I get up in the morning (admittedly, much later in the morning than most people, seeing as 9am is early..), take my dog to the beach, go to the gym, do whatever needs doing, walk the dog again, make dinner, and start work. Not a needle or crazy club night in sight!
Apart from the piercing needles. Oh, and the other night when I did actually end up drinking in a club at 2am.
I think I may fail at the attempt to show my life as normal, but it is definitely going to be interesting!
Of course, having made this announcement, then my actual real life got flip turned upside down, fresh prince style. But with better clothing and worse jokes.
Now that I am back to regular scheduled programming, I have to find stuff to talk about, don't I?
And in an interesting crossover, I have to find things to talk about that are interesting enough to read, yet "normal" enough to help my case that porn people aren't that different from the rest of you. I may be the only blogger in the world debating if something is actually TOO interesting to write about.
Well, to catch you up, in the past month, I moved into a new place, which is much cozier (and all mine, thank god) but brings with it the fear that my neighbors may have a small issue with the amount of sex noise coming through the walls on a daily basis...I have also discovered that this new place is surprisingly easy to break into.
Don't panic, no one broke in. Well, except me. At four in the morning. Drunk. Oops. I may have forgotten (thanks, alcohol. I can always count on you) that unlike my last place, the buzzer does not go to my cell phone, so I need keys to get back in. One cigarette later, and I was climbing up a tower of recycling bins (only falling off once!) and sliding through the window into my kitchen sink. I didn't even break a nail!
Speaking of which, I got my nails back. In the grand tradition of break ups, I dyed my hair, and did the only other thing I could think of to change my appearance, which was to return to having extended claws. Ah, I love them.
Other than that, I am still, wonderfully, extremely boring. I get up in the morning (admittedly, much later in the morning than most people, seeing as 9am is early..), take my dog to the beach, go to the gym, do whatever needs doing, walk the dog again, make dinner, and start work. Not a needle or crazy club night in sight!
Apart from the piercing needles. Oh, and the other night when I did actually end up drinking in a club at 2am.
I think I may fail at the attempt to show my life as normal, but it is definitely going to be interesting!
Wednesday, 24 April 2013
Wednesday Reaction: Jezebel, Bingo for Misogyny
I'd like to start by saying that I ADORE jezebel. If I anticipate spending a lot of time writing Wednesday reactions to articles on their site, it's not because I dislike the site, or disagree with it, or really have any negative response to it at all. Instead, it is because I read it nearly daily, and because it is incredibly relevant to who I am and what I do. So funnily enough, it makes me think. When I think, I write. Simple as that.
Sometimes, however, the things I think are that some articles get a little too overly "feminist" - unnecessarily angry about misogyny in the media.
A prime example of this is "Bingo for a Misogynistic World".
The title alone bugs me with its negativity. The assumption that the world is misogynistic reminds me of a certain kind of woman. The kind of angry woman who can't listen to a joke, no matter how funny, without getting in a snit over the fact that blonde/bad driver/dumb women jokes are completely unacceptable. The kind that is as concerned about form as content in the media, but gets very, very angry when any OTHER woman is as concerned about her own form as she is about the content of her personality. In short, the worst kind of self-described "feminist".
The article is a set of three bingo "cards" with words/phrases taken from comments on articles/videos/web content. These are all words that are supposed to shock and appall, and we are advised to have a drink to "numb the pain" when we find one.
I'm pretty sure that the drink part is supposed to be a joke - hopefully the writer isn't actually advocating drinking as a way to deal with emotions. Of course, even as a joke, it is as miserably negative as the title.
Now, some of the words are definitely an issue. I won't argue that I am appalled when someone tells a complete stranger "Kill Yourself". And I understand why some of the words, those that relate to physical appearance, could be seen as an issue. It is definitely frustrating to see how much appearance matters to the media, if you are a woman, and seeing someone reduced to the idea of "fat" or "ugly" as the ultimate insult, well, that's not ok.
Yet, I think that if you take context into account, you will discover that the words are not the problem. That we could create a world where all of these words disappear, but the attitudes still remain, because the words are not the problem.
There seems to be a belief held by a lot of people that words create the world. As a writer, I wish that that was the case. As an optimist, I believe that changing your words can go a long way to changing your mindset. But also as an optimist, I believe that words only have the power we give them. That words are the way we express our thoughts - and that changing out words does not actually change the way we think, it just represents a deeper change in what we are thinking about.
Seeing all these negative words isn't just about misogyny, and claiming it as such is fairly selfish. Assuming that the root of the problem is a hatred for women seems kind of narcissistic, as a gender. It's not hating WOMEN that is the issue. It is simply hate. It is a lack of accountability for the things that we say when we are online, because you don't get to see the reaction. It is a lack of empathy for other people, a lack of awareness, of connectedness. Most worryingly of all, it is the loss of the ability to express oneself accurately, without resorting to mindless insults.
These are issues that need to be resolved at the level of education, of communication, of community. Not by getting angry that some stranger called another stranger a "cunt". By getting angry at the system that created a person with an inability to articulate their thoughts, and without the desire to do so. A system that creates people who believe that their opinion is more important than the feelings of others, and that it is necessary to vomit out every thought that passes through their head. And yes, I am aware of the irony of that sentence, as a blogger.
At the end of the day, its not about women. It's not about women as victims, or men as women-haters. And really, if you think it is, I invite you to peruse the cam rooms of male models. These are words and phrases that the average cam girl hears a hundred times a day. They are also words and phrases that the average cam-GUY hears just as much. I mean, not, TITS OR GTFO. But the phrase DICK OR GTFO gets thrown about. In fact, random insults, death threats, suggestions to suicide....these are just the tip of the iceberg. It may still be men flinging the mud, but they are flinging mud at other men.
Misogyny my ass.
Full Article Here
Sometimes, however, the things I think are that some articles get a little too overly "feminist" - unnecessarily angry about misogyny in the media.
A prime example of this is "Bingo for a Misogynistic World".
The title alone bugs me with its negativity. The assumption that the world is misogynistic reminds me of a certain kind of woman. The kind of angry woman who can't listen to a joke, no matter how funny, without getting in a snit over the fact that blonde/bad driver/dumb women jokes are completely unacceptable. The kind that is as concerned about form as content in the media, but gets very, very angry when any OTHER woman is as concerned about her own form as she is about the content of her personality. In short, the worst kind of self-described "feminist".
The article is a set of three bingo "cards" with words/phrases taken from comments on articles/videos/web content. These are all words that are supposed to shock and appall, and we are advised to have a drink to "numb the pain" when we find one.
I'm pretty sure that the drink part is supposed to be a joke - hopefully the writer isn't actually advocating drinking as a way to deal with emotions. Of course, even as a joke, it is as miserably negative as the title.
Now, some of the words are definitely an issue. I won't argue that I am appalled when someone tells a complete stranger "Kill Yourself". And I understand why some of the words, those that relate to physical appearance, could be seen as an issue. It is definitely frustrating to see how much appearance matters to the media, if you are a woman, and seeing someone reduced to the idea of "fat" or "ugly" as the ultimate insult, well, that's not ok.
Yet, I think that if you take context into account, you will discover that the words are not the problem. That we could create a world where all of these words disappear, but the attitudes still remain, because the words are not the problem.
There seems to be a belief held by a lot of people that words create the world. As a writer, I wish that that was the case. As an optimist, I believe that changing your words can go a long way to changing your mindset. But also as an optimist, I believe that words only have the power we give them. That words are the way we express our thoughts - and that changing out words does not actually change the way we think, it just represents a deeper change in what we are thinking about.
Seeing all these negative words isn't just about misogyny, and claiming it as such is fairly selfish. Assuming that the root of the problem is a hatred for women seems kind of narcissistic, as a gender. It's not hating WOMEN that is the issue. It is simply hate. It is a lack of accountability for the things that we say when we are online, because you don't get to see the reaction. It is a lack of empathy for other people, a lack of awareness, of connectedness. Most worryingly of all, it is the loss of the ability to express oneself accurately, without resorting to mindless insults.
These are issues that need to be resolved at the level of education, of communication, of community. Not by getting angry that some stranger called another stranger a "cunt". By getting angry at the system that created a person with an inability to articulate their thoughts, and without the desire to do so. A system that creates people who believe that their opinion is more important than the feelings of others, and that it is necessary to vomit out every thought that passes through their head. And yes, I am aware of the irony of that sentence, as a blogger.
At the end of the day, its not about women. It's not about women as victims, or men as women-haters. And really, if you think it is, I invite you to peruse the cam rooms of male models. These are words and phrases that the average cam girl hears a hundred times a day. They are also words and phrases that the average cam-GUY hears just as much. I mean, not, TITS OR GTFO. But the phrase DICK OR GTFO gets thrown about. In fact, random insults, death threats, suggestions to suicide....these are just the tip of the iceberg. It may still be men flinging the mud, but they are flinging mud at other men.
Misogyny my ass.
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