Monthly Archives: June 2006

Q & A: Dear God, Stop that Already! PT. 2

Meatloaf has been neglected. But if your name was Meatloaf and you were a big, chunky singer with bad hair and a sweat problem who portrayed a man with giant breasts named Bob in a movie like Fight Club, it stands to reason you might find yourself a little neglected as well.
We’re here to fix that. Meatloaf’s on the table now, man.
Dude’s having issues. There’s an angelically moaning neighbour, a neglected girlfriend, and a completely lacking sex life, all while his hormones are raging.
In a perfect world, we’d flip the switch, the neighbour would shut the fuck up, the girlfriend would get hot and bothered and wouldn’t be able to get enough of him, and he’d be able to keep his mind on the task at hand, while suddenly having the kind of sex life he really wouldn’t want to write home to Mom about.
Unfortunately, it’s not a perfect world, and things don’t magically change. I wonder if Meat’s had a chat with girly-girl about Moana next door? If not, he should. To not talk about the sexaholic, constantly moaning Moana would be akin to ignoring that big fucking white elephant over there in the corner, and since the Laz-E Boy is now out of the question, squooshed as it is under that big white bastard, it might be time to have that conversation after all.
“So, um, she’s at it again.”
“Who?”
“You know, Moana. The neighbour. It’s getting pretty randy over there.”
“You can hear her having sex?”
“Can’t YOU?”
“Well, yeah, okay, I’ve heard it.”
“Doesn’t it get you a little hot?”
“Why, does it get you hot?”
“Well, I’d really, really like to throw you down and have some pretty wild sex right now, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“You would?”
“I can’t stop thinking about you every time I hear that woman, but I always feel a little odd, like she’s having sex and for me to come in and just take you then and there would be a little too connected to that, and I always worried you’d have a problem with it, so I’ve just stifled myself.”
“Well, that’s a shame. I’m a little underutilized around here, you know.”
I mean, that’s the ideal “If Hollywood Wrote My Life” way that conversation would go, but it’d be nice, wouldn’t it? The nice thing about talking about this shit is that you can really sort things out. Conversation may not be a cure-all, but it sure as hell isn’t just a Band-aid, either.
You need to talk to her, let her know this neighbour’s causing arousal problems because you’re a guy with a creative imagination. Tell her she’s (girlfriend, not Moana!) on your mind constantly, and that you want to know what you can do to better fulfill her sexually, so that sex is something she’s more geared to enjoy.
Besides that, you need to put your money where your mouth is. You need to constantly start being present physically, without having sex on the mind. Touch her when you pass. Kiss her often. Snuggle when it’s TV time. Put down the newspaper during breakfast and really focus on her. Listen to what she says, make eye contact. You also have to make sure that it’s her entire body that you touch – not just ass or boobs or twat. Touch her belly, her ample thighs, her lovehandles. Anything she’s insecure with, ignore her protests and prove that you find it sexy, too, via light touches and kisses. After a bit of this, it should really help to make her feel sexually secure in the relationship, and some of her hang-ups should begin to drop.
I wrote something a while back that I think deserved a little more attention, and for relationships like these, where one person has hang-ups and doesn’t like talking about sex, it’s something that can take you to a new level. In this game, the point is to take sex books and underline passages that turn you on, that you wish your partner would do for you more often, and in another colour, underline all the things you enjoy doing or wish you could do for your lover. Exchange books, and get to know more about your lover as you read corresponding chapters, and rendezvous later in the evening.
If my math is right, your loverwoman’s in her late 20s, ie: 27/28, Meatloaf, and this is a great age for her to begin getting over hang-ups. It’s really around then that most women start coming into their own for the next five years. A supportive man who loves all areas of her body and makes talking about sex a safe thing by not judging what she says or scoffing in response to revelations is bound to make her feel more secure, and a secure lover’s a better lover. Always.
As for you and your mastur-ba-thon, well, there’s nothing wrong with masturbating, but if it’s getting in the way of your sex life, much less your work or other matters, then yes, you have problems. It is about willpower. It is about knowing when to turn your attentions where they need to be. Maybe you have a sex addiction, but you claim you’ve made positive strides, so I won’t take it that far just yet.
The thing about the neighbour, if you wind up discussing it, making light of it, and acknowledging that it happens a lot, then you have the potential to having a trigger for sex in the relationship. You hear it during a smoke break, you could come in, tell girlie that Moana’s making friends again, and just seduce her then and there. Who knows, it could work out in your favour, if you finally confront the fucking issue and open up to the woman who deserves to know what’s going on in those two heads of yours.
You absolutely need to talk about it. You need to focus on your girlfriend. You need to repress some of your urges so the sexual frustration drives you to repair your relationship. If that doesn’t work, go borrow a cup of sugar and see what happens.

Whip Me, Beat Me, Slap Me – Just Don't Judge Me

While all the good little people were out getting in touch with their god of choice, I was having a lovely Sunday morning watching a BDSM fairytale, Secretary.
I’ve been meaning to see Secretary since its release in 2002, as I’ve been a lifelong fan of James Spader ever since I loved hating him in Pretty in Pink when I was just 13.
I remember being apprehensive about the movie, though, way back in 2002. BDSM, I thought, was largely for Weirdos. I suspect the movie was the first really mainstream movie to introduce the lifestyle to a large percentage of the population who probably walked out of the theatre with a silly grin pasted on their lips. It’s not so bad, they likely thought. A little odd, and weird, but certainly not this horridly perverse thing their churches had them believing it was.
Since then, my eyes have opened. No, I’m not into S&M, though I don’t mind a little smack on my ass from time to time, but I’ll probably never join the movement. I ain’t, however, writing that in stone.
The movie Secretary does not dispel the notion that those who gravitate to this pain-for-pleasure lifestyle tend to be somewhat broken inside. It echoes the common perception that the participants are hurting after a life of shortcomings and trouble, and this is their way of finding a coping mechanism. Control the pain that pains you, and you will control the life around you; this seems to be the prevailing wisdom.
So there are those who scoff at them and scorn them, as if they should find healthier mechanisms for dealing.
Aren’t we all hurting to a degree, though? Don’t we all nurse regrets and fears and wishes and wants? Sure we do. But the rest of us got the magic “All Better Now” button installed when we were manufactured. Or did we? Hmm, perhaps we could use a little coping, too.
And what would you suggest? How about a more socially accepted method? Alcohol to cure to ills? Cocaine’s making a comeback, you know. Perhaps cardio-holism is more your thing. Sweat, then, baby. How about a double-banana split? A bag of Doritos? How about shoplifting a new shade of red lipstick? Say, I hear they have a double-bill at church this weekend.
The point is, we all confront our demons in ways particular to us. The notion of willingly allowing ourselves to be hurt seems to be one that most people can’t handle. It’s not as if life doesn’t bruise us often enough as it is, is what people think.
And, sure, there are some right-fucked sadomasochists out there, but there are also some incredibly well-balanced ones as well. It takes all kinds, just like bowling. The thing is, do you understand why you like to have pain inflicted on you? Are you aware of what it does for you? By that same token, are you aware of why you want sex and romance to be all feathers and soft kisses?
It’s all about self-knowledge, this life thing. The more you know about what motivates you to do what you do, the greater your grasp on things will be. If you’re oblivious, then you’re in trouble. Simple.
I’d argue that the person who likes only the soft love – the gentlest of kisses, the lightest of touches – is equally as mentally ill-equipped as the out-of-touch person who prefers only pain. I’d say that they probably fail to realize just how sheltered they’re trying to be from the harshness of reality, and that they need to wake up and smell the rough sex.
I think anyone who’s only into pain for pleasure, and has no other outlets, is unbalanced. Just like in Secretary, there are plenty who like a little roughness and pain in between the soft kisses and lingering caresses. Balance is good. Experimentation is good. Sticking to vanilla all your life, or just Rocky Road, is probably never a healthy way to go.
There is nothing wrong with loving a little roughness. There’s nothing to be ashamed of when it comes to enjoying your lover smacking your ass so hard it’s red when they’re done. There’s simply nothing wrong with liking anything, as long as you understand why you like it, and you’re not just using it to cover up the ills of your existence.
Society doesn’t understand BDSM, and they’re not going to anytime soon, either. Acceptance is increasing, but as long as it’s all the hardcore folk riding front and centre and playing the roles of spokespeople, there will always be a negative perception about the lifestyle.
It is what it is. Enjoy what you do, and know that being discreet doesn’t mean being ashamed; it’s simply self-preservation in a society that just doesn’t understand. Sounds like being gay in the ’40s, don’t it? Oh, well.

We Interrupt The Regularly Scheduled Broadcast…

…to inform you that there’ll be no regularly scheduled broadcast.
Every now and then I’ve been making mention of not feeling well. Truth be told, this has been ongoing for a long time — months. This weekend, everything changes. I’m making some radical lifestyle changes because I’m tired of feeling like I’m drifting through life. As a result, I’m probably about to enter some pretty heady spaces, and postings might be interesting over the next week or so. Most of the lifestyle changes are dietary. No sugar, no dairy, blah, blah. For a foodie like me, you might as well just instruct me to climb on up and nail myself to a fucking cross, ‘cos that’s about how it feels like. Still, I’m excited.
Motivation is hard to come by when it comes to making drastic changes. I used to always joke that, “Well, I’d love to quit smoking dope but I just can’t seem to find the motivation.” Hardy-har-har. Same thing with diet. I’m the kind of person that’d rather haul my fat ass 30k on a bike than give up the brick of 5-year-old cheddar taking up space in the fridge.
[SFX: SCREAMING]: “Not the cheese! Anything but the cheese!”
“Oh, my God, Harry. I never thought I’d see this. Is this what I think I’m seeing? Death by cheese slicer? Shit, man. Hey, can you pass me a cracker?”
But, I’m pulling a Marcellus Wallace and I’m about to get medieval on mah ass, baby. What does this mean to you? A disconnected Steff for a couple days, but ultimately, a new, improved, better Steff! Now comes in cherry flavour, too!
My mind’s been in a fog. Back when I was smoking dope chronically, I could blame the dope. When you quit being chronic, though, and you’re still in a fog months later, you need to ask questions. Me, I’m a crystal-clear kinda gal. I’m used to being razor sharp, able to argue anyone on anything, always ready to go. THIS feels weird. I feel like one of those people you see underwater, trying to talk. Bubbles come out but sound’s a murky mess, just tonal variations, and nothing with any semblance to clarity.
Ever notice that; that how you feel drastically affects all your relationships in your life? You’re less able (less wanting) to communicate how you feel? Less able to put a finger on it? More muddled in your speech? More easily confused? Check, check, check, and check.
I know what’s good about my writing, I think — or at least I know what it is that I like, and it’s my tendency to be open, introspective, and astute. I don’t feel like I’m able to be those things these days, so how I’m feeling is literally changing who I am. And the funny thing is, I’m not falling over sick or anything. I’m not debilitated, I’m not chained to a bed, or taking tons of drugs. I’m just “off.” It’s time to flip the switch.
I guess that one of the hardest things we can do in our lives is admit that we’re not happy with who we are. I’m more or less content with who I am, but these days I’m not happy about it. It’s not a negative thing, this feeling I have now. This is really freeing, actually. Realizing where your problems or lack of satisfaction stem from can be a means of unlocking yourself and promoting change. I feel like I’m on the verge of exciting times. I feel like all this grief I’ve been going through has been solely to remind myself that there’s something better around the corner, but I need to motivate myself to bridge that distance. Like I say, finding that motivation is always a challenge, but when it hits… whoomp, there it is.
And it doesn’t matter what you’re hiding from — maybe you drink too much, maybe you smoke too much, maybe you’re dishonest with friends — who cares. Deep down inside, you know you’re fucking up. You KNOW you’re the source of your own problems, but admitting it’s like stabbing a fork in your eye; you could do it, but why the fuck would you?
Of course, I’m not advising you stab a fork in your eye, but a little honesty with the self’s not a bad way to start a day, you know. What do you least like about yourself? Why? And is it so hard to change that? What’s the obstacle? Is there a way to change the difficulty factor in that?
I like me. I’m a good time to be around when I’m on my game. These days, I’ve been flat and listless and I just feel a world away from the gal I know I am. It’s a diet thing. Tomorrow, a hardcore detox begins for a few days. This means, I’m gonna be unpleasant. Expect rants. Expect grumpiness. And then, I’ll be back in black, back to cool, all that I wanna be, and more. I’ll be like a fucking Army ad, man.
Know what I love most about self-analysis, though? I save myself $120 an hour. Fuck shrinks. I own a mirror. Have an awesome weekend. I’ll be sitting over here, jealous, drinking lemon juice and wishing it was a beer.

Politics As Usual? You Gotta Be Kidding Me

Don’t look now, but the fuckers are coming out of the woodwork.

I make a point of not judging people. Or trying not to. I speak my mind, I say what I really feel, and I let it fall where it may. On this, I can’t pretend to be openminded.
In the Netherlands, a political party has decided to fight for their right to be pedophiles. They want child pornography legalized, they want sex with animals legalized, and they want the legal age for sex to be lowered to 12 years old.
Most 12-year-old girls don’t even own a fucking training bra, all right?
Every now and then I hear about someone who was 11 or 12 when they had their first sexual encounter with an adult, and they go on and on about how it was so great and how wonderful it was to be christened in such a way, and yada, yada, yada. Personally, I shake my head and wonder what the fuck they’re thinking. I know they’re all well and good about their past, but I wonder sometimes if they really didn’t miss out. I wonder, too, if their take on sex is as healthy as they want to believe it is.
There’s the awkwardness most of us go through as we fumble our ways to ecstasy, as we learn about the boys and girls who sit across from us in school, get teased and taunted into sexuality, and so forth. It’s not always pleasant, but it’s a way of life and it’s how we grow.
For an adult to take that away from a child is just wrong, in my books. It’s unfair.
The one thing these “Yeah, I lost it when I was 11” types tend to report is just how long it took to find someone that didn’t disappoint them after all that time. They don’t talk about the confusion that must have ensued when this adult who was interested in them for a fleeting time just up and disappeared. They don’t talk about the strangeness of trying to account for what their daily life really was as opposed to what that surreal encounter must have been like.
Most kids can’t handle the oddness of that mix. Once in a while, someone comes along who truly does grow from a Mrs. Robinson encounter, but it’s not often.
A political party trying to pass all this shit off as moralistic, trying to label the rest of society as behind the times strikes me as laughable, and even as dangerous.
It’s not as if kids aren’t being exposed to enough sex as it is. It’s not as if teen pregnancies haven’t been a problem. It’s not as if the suicide rate for teens isn’t high enough without throwing more complications into their mix.
These laws they’re proposing are not for the good of the kids. They’re for the party members’ benefits, so they can fuck whoever they want, so they can look at pictures of kids looking terrified and scared and exploited. It’s so they can enjoy fucking a goat or sheep.
Who’s speaking for the kids? How do kids even have the emotional makeup to admit that they’re uncomfortable having these photos taken? How do we judge where the line is, who’s mentally stable enough to decide he or she wants this for the right reasons?
We can’t judge it. The kids aren’t emotionally prepared for it. And these fuckers sure as shit aren’t speaking for the kids. If kids want to explore sex, let them play doctor like we did, or have a round of “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” like I did in the forests behind our homes when I was 10. That’s how we learn.
I deplore child pornography. I loathe people who seduce children. I’m not much of an animal rights’ activist, but I sure as fuck bet a sheep would rather have a say in whether some guy’s cock enters its ass.
Yeah, I believe in free speech, but there are some people I sure wish would shut the fuck up.

AIDS: Another Rant Against the Bush-League

First off, a big thank you to the cute blonde across the way who keeps wandering around in boxers and no shirt. Love those pecs. Welcome to the neighbourhood, neighbour.
Kindness… With Strings
If you attach conditions to kindness, it doesn’t seem to be so much that it’s humanitarianism you’re after, y’know?
So, it was with great amusement – albeit bitter and pissed amusement – that I took note of the sanctimonious stipulations attached to all the “donations” being made by the Bush administration since 2003 in the name of AIDS assistance throughout the world. This was all shown during the brilliant Frontline “The Age of AIDS” documentary I mentioned in an earlier posting.
When it comes to countries like Uganda and Brazil, they’ve stood face-to-face with some pretty grave dangers posed by the horrific disease, and through understanding the culture and society in their nations, they’ve managed to come up with social programs to stem the rate of infections.
In Uganda, they teach abstinence and faithfulness, but they also implore the public to use condoms. There’s an intense movement towards education, and they’ve managed to go from having one of the highest incidences of AIDS to a much more stable number (and I’m too lazy to grab facts right now). The government was providing copious free condoms for the public to use. This proved extremely effective.
In Brazil, they’re not kidding themselves. It’s a very sexual country. They work hand in hand with the sex trades to try and control the amount of unprotected sex going around, and they push condoms onto the public awareness stage. It’s working. They’ve also created a system by which their citizens are ENTITLED to the drug cocktail known to keep HIV in check (most of the time). They’ve struck deals with pharmaceutical corporations and they have in-nation drug-manufacturing plants that allow them to make drugs for their citizens at a reasonable price. This is not a wealthy nation, but they have their shit together.
The US has attached stipulations to both these nations. In Uganda, the government provision of free condoms for the masses has apparently dropped by 80% since the Bush administration intervened, favouring instead the preaching of abstinence. In Brazil, they were insisting the Brazil government condemn prostitution (as it’s legal there), which prompted the Brazilian government to say, essentially, “Fuck you” to the money so they could maintain their autonomy.

Brazil’s aggressive approach to controlling AIDS, which includes HIV treatment, massive condom distribution and explicit HIV education, has produced one of the few success stories in the developing world: In the early 1990s experts projected 1.2 million infections in Brazil by 2000, but the interventions cut that number in half.

Read the source here.

As the Brazilian government rep said to the documentary’s producers, “This year it’s prostitutes, and maybe next year it’s homosexuals. Where do you stop?”
That’s a very good question. Where do you stop?
You stop when it’s your moralizing that is limiting the potential for other nations to save the lives of their citizens. You stop when it’s your failure to realize that husbands and wives get AIDS and, thanks to their marriage vows, they should expect to be able express their love in physical terms, and telling them to abstain, and not to use a condom is something that will get you laughed out of most bedrooms. You stop when your vision is so narrow that you’re not even seeing the dangerous ramifications of your moralizing. You stop when the disease has afflicted more than 5 million people in a single year (2005). You stop when the total number of dead now exceeds 25 million in just 25 years. You stop when more than 40 million people are living with it worldwide.
You stop when your sanctimonious beliefs mean you’re being a hypocrite to the very faith you profess to believe in. It’s about saving lives. It’s about letting people live, helping people live, and, if you happen to believe in an afterlife, letting God do the judging at the end of those lives.
You just fucking stop. You help. You do whatever the fuck you can to end the deaths. Because that’s what a good person does. They help in the face of all adversity. They help when they’re called upon. They don’t put conditions on it. They don’t judge those needing help. They just help.
If, in fact, AIDS (as Pat Robertson and his ilk believe) is an epidemic unleashed by God in an effort to punish the immoral, then why has “He” given man the tools to treat it even the least little bit?
I despise hypocrisy. More importantly, I despise the knowledge that 40 million people on this planet will more than likely die from this disease that we seem unable to find a cure for, but that many of them will die far sooner than they need to, and more will contract it than are necessary, all because of to many governments who have been too ashamed to admit they need help, or those who are too fucking sanctimonious to offer help without strings.
The United States wants to be a world leader? Then fucking lead from the trenches, not the pulpits. Get in there and get dirty, and don’t worry how the fuck it looks. Be like Nike, and just do it.
IMPORTANT NOTE: I just read this, and it blows my mind. YOUTH, AGED 15-24, ACCOUNT FOR MORE THAN HALF OF ALL NEW HIV INFECTIONS WORLDWIDE. More than 6,000 are infected daily. Wear condoms, kids! Fuckin’ hell!