WHAT the HELL am I doing?
Are you like me, you do the whole “I’m SO happy I’m single!” and then you get bored on the weekend, so you figure “What the fuck? I’ll go browse…” and you log onto your dating site of choice. A day or so later you’ve managed to get yourself into, like, eight possible scenarios that may or may not wind up with a date? Most likely no date, because you’re going to come to your senses and think “I so can do better than that“?
Because, somewhere along the lines you think, “Wait. How the fuck did HE get in this mix? Did my standards take a 20-minute leave of absence and somehow he magically made the cut? What the FUCK? What is WRONG with me?” Continue reading
Monthly Archives: July 2008
Who Killed Chandra Levy?
Sure, Mondays sometimes suck because they’re the start to the week. But that’s sometimes exactly why they rock, too. I’m taking my Monday the easy way — slept in, having some lattes, and then I’ll casually amble in by bike around noon. Why end the weekend sooner than necessary, hey?
But let’s talk about what I’m reading. The Washington Post is running what should be a terrific 12-part story on the unsolved death of Chandra Levy, an intern to Congressman Gary Condit, from back in 2000.
What you maybe don’t know about me is that I was addicted to true crime from about 15-25. I was a voracious reader of everything from Helter Skelter to The Stranger Beside Me. So, part of me is pretty stoked to see the Post take this topic on.
It’s going to be a story of political skulduggery, methinks. Allegations have been made by some in the past against Gary Condit, who has taken offense and launched slander suits but never won. Continue reading
Ixnay the Equilatay, Eh? Second thought, pass the mickey.
Oh, god. I was so wrong about how my night would unfold. I think I’m still drunk.
It was 4:20 pm when I decided to just randomly text GayBoy. Our exchange went like this:
“We should get drunk this weekend.”
“Should we? What do you suggest?”
“I hear alcohol works.”
“People do say that. What type?”
“I’m cooking fish later, you want some? So, big btl wine?”
“I got cider and tequila at home?
“That sounds like trouble. So, you want fish then? If so, bring a baguette.”
So, he brought the baguette, a bocce ball set, a mickey of good tequila, and a six-pack of cider.
“I can’t drink tequila straight!” I argued. “We need to mix it with something.” He dismissed this as the whining of an ignorant child, but provided orange juice in case I really “want(ed) to be a sissy”.
Unbeknownst to me, it turns out that not only can I do the salt-lick/shot/suck-on-lime tequila drinking straight, but I can do it very… very… very well. Like, none of his hissing and teeth-grinding after sucking back a shot. More like, “Oh, that hit the spot. Another?” Continue reading
From Super-Crowded Weekend to… Nothing? Score!
I was supposed to have a date this evening, but that’s been derailed by a trainwreck called life. Dude got pitched a curveball, and now has to go deal with the fallout. And I’m cool with that. I’ve opted out, since all I thought I was signing up for was some fun and companionship, not a drama.
I’m keeping that possibility open (of fun and companionship) because we all have this shit rain down on us sometimes and everyone comes with baggage. That’s just reality. Some people are worth it though. But. But. But. That’s a pretty select few, so I’m keeping all my options open, and I’m quite fine with saying “No, too much, buh-bye” if only because adversity + new relationships are like alcohol and cars. You could, but it’s pretty fucking stupid, you know? Better to say, “Hey, you’re cool. Sort your shit out and gimme a call when you’re up for something, we’ll see if it’s a fit”.
Life’s that double-edged sword: too short not to take the chance, but too long to do it at the wrong time, right? Continue reading
Christmas in July! Steff Gets a Big Box of Sex Toys!
Is there anything more fun than walking out a postal outlet knowing that, under your arms, is a big-ass box of sex toys, and no one there has a clue?
My local postal outlet’s in a 7-11. So there I am, walking out with a box of orgasms under my arm, and everyone else has got a Slurpee. Hardy-fucking-har. Enjoy yourselves. Clearly different notions of wetting one’s whistle.
The box, of course, was just your basic brown cardboard box. Within, however, were six sex toys and a nice big bottle of Liquid Sex lube. Yep, prepared for all eventualities now. A very exciting experience, receiving more than one GOOD toy at once.
The folks at Vibe Reviews asked me if I’d be willing to play around and write some reviews for them. No real rules, I can say what I want, yet I get the toys for free, and that’s that.
Which is good, because when I’m broke off my ass and barely getting by on what I’ve got now, the last thing I can afford to splurge on, sadly, are orgasms. Besides, I’m rather adept at, urm, “knocking one out” the ol’ manual way.
So, free sex toys? Score! Yeah, sure, I can do dat. Continue reading
Teen Sex: The New After-School Special?
The news about teen sex these days just keeps getting more and more alarming. When it all comes down, it’s on Bush’s watch.
Earlier this year, studies showed that an average of one out of every four (26%) of teenage girls are now carrying an STD in the great USA. Never mind the teen pregnancies. These are sexually transmitted diseases, people.
The news is alarming now, but imagine five, ten years from now when the fallout of the STDs exchanged between today’s youths are really felt and known.
It’s been a few months now since the story came out. I’ve been quietly waiting around for the shitstorm to unleash, for when parents start screaming in outrage that their baby girls having a 25% likelihood of carrying an STD, and soon… But the shitstorm never came. The anger never rose. Continue reading
Some Thoughts on Overcoming Sexual Insecurities
Yeah, I like my rock’n’roll and I can get dirty with the best of them, but I love my George Michael, and always have. Heck, my first masturbation was inspired by George more than two decades ago.
I felt like I was 13 again last week as I waited for the concert to begin, and was over the moon when, at long last, a still-unseen George began belting out one of his lesser-known tracks, “Waiting”, from behind the stage.
All those insecurities
That have held me down for so long
I can’t say I’ve found a cure for these
But at least I know them
So they’re not so strong
Those lyrics got me through much of my teens and taught me at a very early age something I think I’m struggling to remember until I die: Insecurities never really go away, we just learn about ourselves and know how to out-think and overpower them, like George did.
God knows my insecurities have never taken leave of me, and sometimes I doubt that they ever will. Yesterday, shopping at Value Village, in their shitty lighting, surrounded by a lousy selection, and with my heat-wave water-retention at full-power, much of those insecurities that have plagued me throughout my life were brought home.
Worse, now that I’m older and wiser, I started being mad that I’d allowed myself to be so affected by old insecurities, and had so stupidly done what I knew I shouldn’t (shopping when I wasn’t feeling sexy anyhow) so there I was, both feeling all my old insecurities, and disliking myself for feeling them.
Welcome to Humanity 101, I guess. It’s how we roll.
Insecurities get in our way in life, especially during sex. How do we get past them? Like you do most impassable things: By pushing your way through, no matter what it takes. Especially when it comes to getting past your insecurities during sex.
Take me, for instance. Always being overweight in my life, about the last thing I ever wanted was to have sex on top. I always figured that it’d be horrific having to be consciously aware of my jiggling during sex. Then I had the concern of weighing too much on top of a lover. All those things that make sense to feel, but really, really get in the way of enjoying yourself, you know?
Doesn’t matter that guys have fantasies about “jiggling” or that the weight means more pressure on his penis and in a usually-good kind of way, that’s just too much logic for a girl in the throes of her insecurities, isn’t it?
Three or four years ago, I finally got past that and started not just going through the motions on top, but really trying to get out of my head and get into what it was feeling like, instead. Surprisingly, it actually felt pretty hot. Then I started to enjoy myself. In fact, I discovered this neat little trick where I can almost “ratchet” my hips through a few positions, much to the delight of the fellow who first experienced it. That LOOK he gave me as he gasped. Who knew?
When I get to thinking of all the stupid things I’m scared of looking like or feeling like as I’m on top of a guy, the thing that stops it all is that expression that first guy had, when I knew I’d finally mastered the on-top experience.
All those years of resisting being on top, all those years of thinking from my insecurities first rather than the feeling being on top created, and suddenly I learned, with one gasp and exclamation from one guy, that if I’d just gotten past that bullshit sooner, I could’ve had that empowering feeling of a guy melting beneath me all those years earlier.
Like I said, welcome to humanity 101, eh?
I guess that’s the trouble with sex sometimes. We’re so afraid of looking like an ass or feeling like a moron, that we don’t allow ourselves to submit fully to the moment. That’s why we have bad sex, or underwhelming orgasms, or no orgasms at all. Because we get to thinking too much, and not doing.
That’s one of the reasons I’m loathe to do these step-by-step instructions people will often ask for in regards to different sex tips. I have this fear that, somewhere some woman’s going down on her man, thinking, “Now, what did Steff say to do after sucking the base of his shaft? Oh, DAMN, I can’t remember!” as if she’s baking a cake or something and just forgot an ingredient. Improvise!
Sex is hard enough without having to get all intellectual about it. Getting past our fears is hard enough, too.
So what do you do? You do what you’re scared to do. You do what you’re fearful of feeling like a loser during. You just try. You do it anyways. You hang your judgments and fears up in the closet, and you get busy, darlin’. Then, when it’s over, you look at the post-orgasmic mess of a lover lying crumpled beside you and you think “Yeah, that’s all me, baby.”
Because it is. When you ignore your insecurities, dismiss them for what they are (humans feeling human), and fully immerse yourself in the experience, you might find yourself pretty surprised with who you were able to be for a few short minutes, and just how much your lover became a fan too.
Or maybe it’s not about the orgasm. Maybe, for once, it’s just about knowing you didn’t get in your own way, and maybe that’s enough to make next time a little easier.
Because that’s about the only way we really get past these things.
PS: The GM concert, in the end, was awesome. Of course it was. He’s a consummate pro. I posted a review on my other blog.
Oh, Fuck, I Look Like WHAT Today?
Mental note to self:
It is stupid, incredibly so, to take self shopping on first day of new heat wave because, self knows thyself, and knows bloating always comes with a heat wave. Plus, stomach wasn’t feeling well, so shopping in that state?
Fully crossing the threshold from “idiotic” to “stupid insane” because now my “Wow, I’ve lost so much weight!” is “Fuck, why do I look like THAT today? Who’s been fucking around with these mirrors, anyhow, and what, in God’s name, is WRONG with those fluorescent bulbs?”
(Of course, looking like shit is a risk you take any time you go to Value Village, isn’t it? I swear, some sections should have signs like, “For those who plan to never be laid again” or “Clothing for your repressed inner-virgin” or “For those who just don’t give a shit” or “Knits your grandmother made you wear”.)
And this is why living in a nudist colony makes good sense sometimes.
Or… living alone without roomies or other people, so I can look however I want and enjoy it. Yet another fantastic thing about being single. Where are those old Joe Boxers of mine, anyhow?
Mastering My Domain
I’ve mastered my domain, and in more than one ways, today.* Finally, at long last, my house almost looks like the perfect home I’ve been after for god knows how long.
There’s your average clean house, and then there’s fuck-on-the-floors clean, and that’s the house I’ve finally got. I mean, I even flipped the mattress when I washed the sheets. Goodness.
There’s nothing that makes me crave sex more than a clean house. I’m not sure what it is. Not suprisingly, I saw this poll the other day someplace that said male partners who increase the amount of housework they do by as much as 30% tend to see an average of 50% increase in the amount of shagging they get.
Maybe I’m not the only woman who gets turned on by a clean house. Hmm.
But as I wandered haphazardly about, cleaning hither and thither, I got to thinking about scenarios with a potential male counterpart. Little visions of what we could do where. Memories of things I’ve done in various spots of my apartment, and to-do’s still unchecked on that mighty list of mine.
So if my little sex-conjuring fairy is out there anywhere, willing to take orders, I’m looking for some smart-yet-hot guy with a wicked sex drive but who loves to discuss sex as much as have it. Someone with an open mind, but along the same lines as mine. Not overly dominant or submissive, but a healthy switch who loves to play both sides. A nice penis would be appreciated as well, and endurance. Must also get that, even if I write a sometimes-sex blog, even I have my sexual insecurities. Don’t we all?
Oh, sure, not too much to ask for at all, now, is it? That’ll just materialize in no time at all. Poof! Magic man who inspires all manner of things in me. A beefy muse. Right around the next corner, eh?
But my floors are clean! Let them not go to waste!
Well, I know I painted my place back in March and promised everyone photos back then, but I’ve been distracted. Here’s a picture of my bedroom as it looks these days. Click on ’em for bigger images so you can scrutinize my belongings. 😛 I’d show you the crappy “Before” pictures, but they’re on my laptop and it’s a hassle.
The limey part of the green is not so fresh in real life, and it’s a little more subdued than it would appear. Very relaxing. I wanted a colour scheme that wouldn’t leave men wanting to walk out, something masculine-friendly yet still very feminine for my needs, too. (Something to keep in mind if you’re single. I mean, you want ’em comfy, no?)
Is it what you imagined?
I neglected to post the last Sugasm, so I’m posting it now, but click on the heading if you want to see the whole list of participants for week 137, since I’m truncating it as it’s already outta date. 🙂
Sugasm #137
The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #138? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.
This Week’s Picks
I can only be what I am.
“It’s strangely refreshing, to really submit and give up that control, and not have to make decisions.”
Over the Edge
“He tells me to hold still, in that soft, controlling voice of his.”
A Story Told Out of Order and Out of Character – Part 4
“You thought you could just come to my room and tease me?”
Mr. Sugasm Himself
Sugar Bank
Editor’s Choice
A former slut examined
*For those who know Seinfeld. Nudge, nudge. I do mean “mastered”.
Brought To You In Part By: The Soundtrack of Your Life
I’ve been getting immersed in music for the first time in a long time.
I’ve always gone against type in that I’m neither a film girl, a music girl, nor a book girl, but a hodge-podge of the three. Love ’em all. Expert in none of them, but I’m sure as hell well-versed in them all.
My project of late has been copying my music to my hard drive. Fuck, I was the first person I knew who was using Napster, but I’m the last person I know to copy her music to her hard drive. Jesus.
But I’m about 80% done. Some 15 gigs has been amassed so far, and there’s about 60 CDs remaining, then I’m done. I think I’ve got about 400 or so, so this has taken 2 weeks. Every now and then I come across a CD I have to listen to immediately. A song on it reminds me of a long-gone lover, or a good time someplace, or enduring some hardship.
Gin Blossoms: Waiting for Northern Lights in sleeping bags under the stars on the Midnight Dome in Dawson City, Yukon, with Chris and T.
Love & Rockets: The weekend I was introduced to bondage. Heh, heh.
Depeche Mode: Lots of dirty sex over the years. How to pick any one moment?
Econoline Crush: Watching a couple having sex at a gig with GayBoy.
Cake: Listening to their rehearsal in a club above us, on some street in Sacramento, Cali at 4am, with a guy from Germany who’d later pay a visit in Vancouver. ‘Nuff said.
Lemonheads/RHCP: Party weekends at Mt. Baker with the gang of old, when I realized exactly whose approval I did not need.
Santana: Playing in the background as a strange woman on San Fran’s Haight Street beckoned me in for the strangest fortune I’ve ever been told.
The Doors & The Tragically Hip: Many roads, many places — many, many, many.
Moby: Figuring out life on the shores of Oregon both before & after my mother passed away.
U2 & George Michael: Everything. 25 years of being there through every time in my life.
Music, for better or for worse, can have the effect of tattooing a time and a place in our memory for forever. I can’t tell you in words, really, about what happened in many of the stranger and most memorable incidents in my life, but I can probably tell you what was playing.
It’s amazing, the power music has to ground us in a time and place.
I know I’m not alone in having the post-30 “Why did I stop listening to new music?” quandary. Life just got hard and I didn’t have the time to indulge myself, I guess.
I’m going through CD after CD, remembering how I got it, when I got it, and what life was like. I’m remembering what emotional hole that music filled, and for how long. It’s bringing a wave of my existence washing back over me. And not in a bad way, either.
I’m finally getting some of my house together and my life’s sorting itself out nicely, in every single way, so subjecting myself to this hardcore total-immersion flashback of my life’s actually a very rewarding experience at exactly the right time in my life. I don’t think I consciously knew what effect all this would have on me, but the mind works in mysterious ways, and my timing was perfect.
For the first time in a long time, I’m feeling a lot happier about being this girl in this skin, and I take great pride in having all these flashbacks of the winding places my life has taken me over the years.
It’s funny. I know a few people who are fortunate to have lived the travelled-everywhere lifestyle, something I always thought I’d have. I’ve always been a little angry that it has yet to really come to pass aside from all the awesome roadtrips I took with my old car, but this spring, just in the last two months, I’ve come to understand two things:
One, I have the home all those travelled-everywhere people are jealous they’ve never been able to have since they made their choice to travel, and it’s the home I would have longed for had I been travelling everywhere. Two, life dealt me a whole bunch of cards I could never have foreseen being played, and I had to play the hand I was dealt.
So, I’ve suddenly realized: The life I’ve lived, I’ve done the best I could have, with what I’ve had… and I’ve got some pretty fucking great stories to last a lifetime. You have no idea.
And I guess it’s easy to forget, sometimes, just how much we’ve endured, how far we’ve gone. But then something like music comes along and trips all the memories of old. I’ve been walking through so much of my life by way of music these past two weeks that I’m just blown away by how wildly deviated my path in my life became from who I thought I’d be when I was knocking on the door of age 35.
But I fuckin’ love it now that I’m looking back. Wow. What a strange and twisted road it has been, and I’m sure there’s long stretches I’d wave off and say “no thanks” if offered a chance to do it over, but I’m thrilled I did it once.
Isn’t it like what you tell a kid after a close-but-lost ball game?
“Didja have fun?”
– Yeah.
“Did you do your best?”
– Yeah.
“Didja learn anything?”
– Yeah.
“Well, there you go. That’s the point of playing. Good job.”
It’s funny what winds up bringing epiphanies upon us. Here, I thought I was just pumping up my iTunes collection. Instead, I’m reaffirming my entire existence and realizing that, while my life’s not perfect and nothing like I’d dreamed… I’m not sure I’d change a thing, and I’m thrilled for all that seems to loom before me yet. With any luck, this life of mine’s not even half over.
I love the life I’ve lived. I may not have explored my inner wanderlust to the extent my childhood self dreamed of, but my life’s been anything but boring.
And, so, the soundtrack plays on.