Archive for June, 2013|Monthly archive page

But I was Drunk: Drinking is not an Excuse for Harrassing a Woman

In Uncategorized on June 30, 2013 at 10:00 pm

The other night I came home from a concert, and low and behold some neighbors were outside having a few drinks. My one nice neighbor offered to serve me up some food that was left over, which was very kind of him. I gladly took the offer, as I was starved and had no interest in cooking. I was too exhausted.

I was dressed up a bit. I had on a black skirt–which went past my fingertips if my arms laid at my side, (appropriate length) and a strapless top. For the most part, I wear my version of mom gear daily: a cute shirt and jeans or shorts. I don’t dress like I stepped out of a Talbot’s or LL Bean catalog, nor do I look overly sexy. I don’t want to be one of those moms, but I’m not a frumpy type by any means! I would love to think I’m a casual MILF, but I’m probably just a short, decently cleaned up mom with some regard for fashion and comfort.

So I do understand that when people who don’t normally see me dressed up, of course they might say something nice. A few commented that I looked nice, which was kind and appropriate.

Large neighbor with a strong presence however, went on and on about how I looked “hot.”

It wasn’t one time, it was repeatedly. He commented on how I look like I’ve been working out and how he sees me in workout clothes frequently and that I look good, but no, he’s not stalking me, and it became increasingly uncomfortable.

My nice neighbor was inside and didn’t hear all of this, but no one else said a word to tell him to shut up.

He was yammering on after I ate the delicious free food, and went on to go to my home.

Not once did anyone but myself try to get this man to just stop blabbering.

Everyone thinks, “Oh he’s just drunk, he means no harm.”

Well news flash people: I don’t exist for people to scrutinize my body. I wasn’t naked. I wasn’t dressed like a stripper. Even still–even if I was, I wasn’t asking to be hassled. I wasn’t asking to be the subject of scrutiny. I didn’t ask for this man’s opinion. I don’t care to know. I was just coming home from a concert, in which I wanted to look nice and not like a mom for a minute.

It’s one thing to compliment, and another thing to irritate the living shit out of a woman who really wanted to punch this beast.

Another time, he was rude to my husband while drunk. Of course everyone says, “Oh he’s just drunk.”

Well pardon me, but when did drinking become an excuse for being an asshole? When did it become an excuse for scrutinizing a woman until she is so uncomfortable she has to leave a place?

Maybe I should have just scrutinized him? His gelatinous fat. His staggering gait. The buttons that won’t button on his shirt or burst open.

“I notice you’ve been eating a lot. I notice you’re getting really fat. I’m not stalking you though.”

What would his wife have thought, who seems like a nice person, if she had been there?

Sure, he is nice while sober, but drinking does not give people permission to be jerks.

I am not on this earth for you to devour visually, while verbally churning your sexual desire, even if it wasn’t in a crass manner.

I don’t want to know that you are looking at me. I don’t want to know that you find me sexy or hot. I don’t care. If I cared, I would be your partner, but I’m not that stupid., and hey, I’m sober.


Daughter. A snapshot

In Uncategorized on June 26, 2013 at 3:48 am


You are not me. You are not your father.

You’re yourself, which is awesome, because I don’t think the world needs another me, and if you were like your dad, you’d both be too quiet to approach each other.

You’re 2 and want to do everything yourself, and fully believe in the power to evict other members off playground structures.

You believe in the power of attorney, except for you are always the attorney.

You like Tinkerbell, and request seeing your own doody in your diaper, unless it happens to be in the potty. Then you just want chocolate.

You are 25 lbs.

You are pale, wispy-blonde-haired, and green-eyed.

We lose your numerous dolls everywhere.

I have rescued more princesses and fairies, and other creatures in one month than any superhero could have done in his or her lifetime.

When you go to bed, you request songs, and sometimes when I sing them, like a person fiddling with a radio dial, you demand a different song.

You know the Beatles and Elvis. Elvis from Dad, Beatles from me.

A dangerous lady, you continued to jump out of your crib, so we threw you in a bed.

You wake me every morning. I hear your door creak, and then I hear mine squeak open.

“Mommy, it’s so nice of you to share your bed.”

Like I had a choice?

You sneak into the bed and lie down next to me.

You are big-bellied, skinny-legged and tiny-tushied out.

I’m supposed to run after you on the sidewalk, and you don’t want to hold my hand in the street.

That’s when I carry your stubborn ass after trying numerous times to get you to hold my hand.

You horde pretzels, and would forsake me for a smoothie.

“Yes officer, my mother just dealt drugs. Give me a smoothie. Thanks cop. Bye mom. Enjoy Jail.”

You want to do everything yourself, besides change your clothes.

“No, you want to do it, ” you tell me, stubbornly refusing the position until you realize I won’t give in.

I will never give in too much. If I do, you will have me working as your servant for the rest of your life, and I’m afraid dear, that I’m not a submissive, although you do have my heart daughter.

I just hope you always hold positive snapshots of me in your mind. Forgive me for when I am not at my shiny-happy-people mommying best.

Remember me as I remember you always each day.

Lovely and my own.

Wear a Bra Women and cover up! When old ladies go bare…and others bare too much.

In Uncategorized on June 25, 2013 at 6:09 pm

Yesterday as I food shopped for cantaloupes in suburbia, I saw more tits than a male prostitute.

I was greeted as I pushed my shopping cart in by a pair of the hangy-est and largest bra free boobs. The old lady strolled by in her flower-print top, and I couldn’t help but look. Then, as I went into the produce aisle, a woman with the most humongous breasts known in the state of NJ, greeted me. In fact, she almost ran into me. Not with her boobs, but with her cart. She had a low cut shirt because, even a turtleneck would have drooped with those dangling, but her shirt happened to be low cut in reality. I almost saw nipple. I couldn’t help but stare. I felt like a 12 year old boy.

Look, I am not as big, but I wear a difficult size. Small band, big cup. When I was pregnant, I wore a 34 G or H…so you catch the drift. I would surprise you. I was tortured over my breasts as a kid. I have a hard time finding clothes that fit the shoulders and tummy…and the boobs. Button down shirts are not my friends. However, despite the 70 dollar price tag or more that I face when buying a bra, it’s a necessity, unless I want to attract bad men.

I know that some people say wearing a bra is bad for you and that hell, they are kind of uncomfortable, but really, there is only so much titties I want to see in a day.

I guess when I am old dragging my dogs, cats, and junk around in a cart with my hot pink lipstick and flower print dress, I may forgo the bra, but these women were young enough to not have dementia yet.

The other thing that grabs me is, I had a near panic attack wearing a bikini for the first time after having a baby. I am in good shape, but am very critical of myself. I panicked and hoped I would look okay.

Then I got to the beach.

Then I wondered why I ever worried.

Listen, I know I am a small woman. I won’t share my size. I know I have no room to talk. I totally think women are gorgeous curvy and delightful…you can be a ¬†size 12 and be beautiful…you don’t need to be a tiny skinny twit. Curves are fantastic. However, some people think mounds of fat means curves, and they show everything. Everything.

I believe I saw a vagina…and it wasn’t mine.

Embrace yourself. Love your body. Don’t believe the hype. Skinny girls are cold too often. We always shiver. It’s not sexy. Thank god for boobs, or I might pass for a little boy.

I kid.

But seriously folks, love your body. Fuck the media and its dialogue that women should be rail-thin, but at the same time, if you’re a really big woman, and by big I mean two zip codes, please wear something that doesn’t show your vaginal lips or rolls.

I guess part of me admires people that don’t care if they’re fat or not and wear what they want, but the mean part of me says, hell to the no. I wouldn’t even wear that stuff. Models don’t wear that stuff.

Maybe you all think I am a pretentious jerk, but the only vagina I want to see is my own, thanks.


A concerned citizen, bra-fan, and self-critical little gnat

PS. No one laughed at me in my bikini. If you are a mom, you know that made me very happy. I even got a few looks. Sure the looks were from old men, but I will take it.

50% of marriages end in divorce. The other 50 % end in masturbation

In marriage, sex, Uncategorized on June 22, 2013 at 1:49 am

I have only had one long-term relationship. My current marriage.

Until then, I hadn’t really known what it was like to really be with someone on an intimate level. I didn’t know anyone else’s poop habits, farting tendencies, dirty socks, shower habits, family mores, or anything until I got married.

I feel like I had a different learning curve than most, however, now I’m just as seasoned as the rest of you dull functioning adults. ūüėČ

I’ve stated that I thought it would be easier–marriage that is, and I also recognize that no one tells you how tough having a child with someone can be. It is glorious and wonderful, yet also really tough when it comes down to blending each other’s viewpoints on parenting. In-law problems that exist become amplified when a kid is around.

Lately, I’ve seen ¬†numerous people around me or heard of acquaintances ¬†get divorced, and it makes me wonder (not in that “Stairway to Heaven” makes me wonder way):

Why do some marriages last, and others fail? I recognize that there are some hard and fast reasons why. Clearly if you are married to a man, and it turns out that guess what, he really prefers men or pimping ho’s, you’re probably going to divorce. If your wife decides to spend 25,000 on the Home Shopping Network and bangs your 21 year-old neighbor, clearly you ought to see a lawyer.

But why, what is the reason that some marriages last?

Everyone rolls eyes. JESUS LADY. It’s because of LOVE

Love isn’t the reason. Barbie loved Ken, and she had plenty of other Ken’s. Dylan loved Brenda, but he loved Kelly too.

Plenty of people love the person that they marry, but end up divorcing anyway. Sure, some people have a more solid or real love than others, but there has to be some reasons why people just make it work over the years other than that old huge umbrella term we deem LOVE.

It’s not just WORK either. I read Facebook memes announcing how the older generation worked at marriage, while the younger generation just gives up, but the fact is, all marriages are work. The good ones too.¬† It’s when the “work” of marriage feels like a never-ending battle that it’s not work, but mere survival, and not a happy situation.

Besides, that crabby older generation also stayed deep in the mud with some terrible marriages.  The older generation dealt with marital issues through alcohol.

We deal with it through counseling, and possibly alcohol, a blind-fold, and a night at the strip club.

Look, what happens in the titty bar stays in the titty bar, so don’t ask.

I think marriages that last have a few traits from what I have seen. For what it’s worth, I have been married 5 years. I’m not a jedi, and I’m not always very good at getting this whole relationship thing, but I’ve met quite a few happily married couples (counting them as couples who have been together longer than 7 years and both admittedly happy or seeming so–tricky) and many of them seem to share these traits. I’m not a scientist, and the only research I’ve done is “Does a man’s desire to give oral correlate with a happy wife?’

Survey says?

Yes, for 200!

The couples I know who seem the happiest, seem to share the same morals and religious views. Whether the two people think there’s no God¬† or that the day begins, pauses and ends with a God, being on the same track religion wise seems essential.


Hmm. This isn’t so easy to pin down. This seems so insanely variant by relationship. I would just wager that the two partners have decided to tolerate each other’s drive, kink factors, and habits enough to find a happy medium. I’ve met numerous couples who may not have had the same sexual habits, but managed to get by as long as there was some common habits. A lot of women I spoke with gave it up to keep the men happy, even if they were a bit tired that night. Some men adjusted how they approached their women. Overall, most couples I’ve met that are happy are sexually happy as well whether they’re vanilla or kinky.


Seems the happiest of couples have either two families that like both people, or if one or both families are difficult, the happy couples stayed happy because they made tight boundaries for these difficult family members. If someone in the other family is rude to the partner, most of my happily married peers seem to be able to squash the situation, or at least side up with their partners. It seemed this made the situation better. Both recognized it’s a less than wonderful situation, but seemed on the same page during crises, or were able to manage them.


the happiest couples seem like they communicate the same amount, or can tolerate one partner’s tendency to either need frequent or little communication


the happiest couples figured out how each parent works in the family dynamic, and while they still disagree from time to time, there’s a respect that’s been created. The two parties enmesh their values on parenting enough to work well.

Let it be said that when the first kid comes, this is a learning curve. Almost every parent I know goes through a rocky period with the other parent while they “battle” it out on how to parent. It seems like it would be so intuitive and everyone would just get along all ducky, but that’s not reality. It takes awhile, so be patient.


The happiest partners and parents I know are ones with a good support network. Take the strongest couple, move them away from everything and everyone they know…give the couple a child and…bam! Ripe for conflict. It takes a village to raise a child, yet many of us do it alone.

Some of us do it alone due to family conflict, and others due to a lack of available people.

It really tests a marriage. make no mistake about it. You want to have a kid? Consider your resources, and plan ahead.

Social lives

the happiest couples seem to want the same type of social life and share some friends, or the other partner has grown used to the other person’s outgoing or introverted nature.


The tolerant 50% end in masturbation and marriage. The intolerant do not. However, what makes one person more tolerant than another?

The happiest marriages are the people who married someone whose baggage they could tolerate.

When you meet someone ask yourself this question, “Can I carry this person’s baggage for eternity?”

If you say you will meet someone without baggage, you my dear, are a fat effin’ liar.

The happiest marriages are the people who share the same values and desires.

This is all just so friggin wonderful of me to discover. We all get married believing these things.

We all believe that we love, tolerate, and share enough to make it work the rest of our lives, yet 50% of us do not collect 200.00 at Go. Some of us get stuck in Jail, and only have two properties, and neither one is Park Place.

Why then do 50% of these marriages end? Why do they not go on to bicker, love, and masturbate?

Is it because the institution is a dead one? Is it because we are all a bunch of animals? Is it because none of us knows how to talk to anyone without using a computer or a phone? Is it the blending of gender roles or the stifling economy?

Too much internet porn?

What gives? What makes some last, and others end?

50% of the world can’t be normal and the other 50% unstable. My guess is 75% of the public is unstable, so that screws with the statistics. Abnormal people probably have some happy marriages. Normal people, unhappy marriages.

The 50% that end in masturbation are probably slightly unhappy at times also, but the unhappiness is either tolerable enough, or the person is a masochist.

I wish I knew how this whole marriage thing worked truly. I feel like I am learning as I go, and I don’t like that at all.

I’d prefer a manual. Maybe I should marry a robot on the side?

Inputting into hard drive, Mrs. Laura?

Well, I’ll save that and don’t forget to edit and tweak Robot.

Ooh, I love when you edit my documents.

Don’t be uptight about sex, you filthy prude!

In sex, Uncategorized on June 19, 2013 at 2:36 am

I know not everyone was raised in a heathen household like mine. I even have little half-Jewish horns.

Okay, so we weren’t heathens, but just mainly liberals, which to some people means heathen. Anywhoo, other than my one puritanical sister who I could tease by just saying “chicken breasts,” I have always been open about sex. I don’t feel the need to be all hush-hush, and proper.

This doesn’t mean that I feel the need to feel up strangers on a bus or anything, although a stranger fantasy sounds interesting, but that I feel we make it too taboo and problematic when we whisper about something that basically propagates the existence of mankind.

I would reckon to say that Europe is more nuanced and advanced than the States,and I think here in the good ol’ US of ASS-A, that we are insanely prudish about important things involving the body–breastfeeding and general body/reproductive awareness, yet we buy clothes from manufacturers that make 12 year-old girls look like 30 year-olds.

We won’t talk about STD’s, birth control, or LGBT issues, but we like to go in liquor stores in which cardboard babes with large hooters sell us beer.

Loosen the grip people.

Face the fact that sex is what makes the world go around. Without it, the Duggars would just be the disciples of God, rather than baby-making machines.

While we may be humans with complex cognitive and social abilities/mores, we are also still just animals. Have you ever been pregnant before? I swear men sniffed me out. They saw me as desirable because I was able to procreate and conceive. Evolution. Darwinism.

Have you ever gone on a date while ovulating? Were you hornier than usual? Did you go home with the person? Of course you did, you filthy whore.

I tease.

The point is, when we talk about sex openly–not in a crass or rude way, unless the company is right–we remove a lot of the shame, ignorance, and fear surrounding the topic.

It’s why I don’t feel weird discussing it, and why I didn’t feel weird nursing my kid in public. I’ve got issues sure, but I’m comfortable knowing that my body is important and sexual, not an object or horror show to fear.

True Fact: in 7th grade sex ed, on my last day of class I wrote two songs for my teacher. They were entitled “Ovary City,” and “Sperm City.”

I bet Banana boobs loved both songs.

PS-She was awesome!

Being Smart: Means Diddly-Squat

In Uncategorized on June 19, 2013 at 2:14 am

Hey there world.

There are a bunch of people here who think being educated is worth a lick of doody. I am sure my in-laws think my education is ridiculous, considering it is hard for me to find a full-time job worth daycare and student loan payments. In fact, I know they do.

I am a freelance writer, part-time teacher, and full on chocolate whore, which means I do filthy things for Godiva, Dove, and specialty chocolatiers, mainly begging. No oral.

Apparently, having spent a lot of time reading amazing books from authors like Achebe, Morrison, Dickers, Balzac,Ellison, Baldwin, etc really means I am employed to basically talk to people about literature, and when I mean talk to people about literature, I mean, I am forced to hear how shit novels are so awesome, and then proceed to say nothing about gender and Judith Butler.

Apparently being in gender classes, discussing feminist issues, and working on crafting fine pieces of literature basically means I am able to sit in a seminar style class and debate the role of the sex industry, yet I won’t get paid for anything, unless of course, I decide to work in the sex industry.

Being skilled is the name of the game. Everyone needs a trade! A skill!

I have skills.

I can write. Edit.

Brandish a dildo expertly and feel comfortable talking about the pros and cons. Dr. Ruth would be proud.

I can schmooze, multi-task—did you people know that not only did I finish an article, apply for a job, raise a child, lift weights, go food shopping, and make dinner, but I also found Tinkerbell and Princess Tiana today?. Tell me, what modern Prince Charming can do all that and save 2 princesses too, and a toddler’s heart from breaking?

Bitch, please.

I can charm people into doing things they subconsciously want to do, but fear. Arrange events and meetings. Navigate the Internet. Host a party, event, or television show barely sweating.

I can deliver humor, nuance, and kindness.

I can finish a project, organize my self and thoughts, deliver on time, be nice to people, and even do it in slightly high-heels.

I am qualified. I am not just some academic cast-off who only wants to discuss good literature with a bunch of people in a dungeon, although that does still appeal to me, especially if the dungeon master wears pleather or vinyl.

I am employable. I will find more freelance work if none of you full-time employers are man enough to take on a woman who rocked MTV, dealt with hecklers on stage, wrote and published memoir excerpts, sold people’s souls to the devils, and did ¬†it all with a smile.

Sure. I am not your typical everyday employee, but for those of you job posters ranting about thinking outside of the box, it’s time you lifted your head from kissing the box, and metaphorically think outside of the narrow box in which you isolate potential employees.

Some of us are out there and willing to work, if only you wouldn’t be so narrow-minded.

I might even let you have a bite of my chocolate.

For those of you who think studying the arts is a waste of time, you may certainly be right-I would probably make a living more easily as a janitor, however, I like being happy, and doing something that comes naturally to me.

If you think otherwise, offer me a job as a mechanic and have fun walking home.

Offer me a job as a surgeon, and run fast when I accidentally start cutting the wrong things.



A woman with a liberal arts degree and an entertainment background–professional, not sexual you sick perverts.

Missing Our Fathers: A Generation of people long for the men they never had. Father’s Day Discussions

In Uncategorized on June 16, 2013 at 4:12 pm

As I peruse Facebook today, I started to notice all the highly emotional content of my friends’ statuses. While I am sure there are a zillion deadbeat mothers, when it comes to social media and Mother’s Day, I don’t notice the same emptiness and longing, unless it is for a mother who has passed away. This isn’t to say that mothers are inherently better than fathers, but that there are a generation of people, notably female, who are longing for the fathers they never had.

Some people were completely abandoned by their dads, and others weren’t abandoned, but neglected–some notably so, and others in a more hidden, behind closed doors fashion.

Post after post, women–maybe because I am female I heard more “female” voices–cried out for the father they wish they had, or wish they knew. Some had other men step in to do the job, and others did not. Some women mourn for their children; their children suffer the lack of a father, which hurts the mom and kids.

Our generation–my generation, was home to a lot of fathers who felt that paying the bills and coming home were good measures of strong parenting. While clearly many of my friends and acquaintances could have only wished for a man to show up and pay those damn bills, a lot of women and men from my generation lacked play, compassion, and nurturing from the person they called Dad, Pops, Father, Daddy-o, or what have you. ¬†Mothers filled the other needs, and fathers were financial providers and head of the house.

With the advent of women in the working world, these roles have altered, and while some argue that woman working has brought on higher divorce rates, etc, the coming generations, such as my daughter’s are truly blessed to have a whole new breed of Fathers.

Fathers today are more active and involved with their children—on the whole. Yes, there were good dads back in the day, and there are shit dads currently out there sharing their sperm, but in general, our culture has formed a different role and expectations for fathers in this day and age.

It isn’t enough to pay the bills and come home Dads and Husbands: we want you emotionally involved and invested. We want you to cook, clean, play, put on some makeup during dress up, and wipe a few dirty asses.

I would love to see what type of Father’s Day posts will crop up on the walls of my daughters’ future 20-40 year old female friends. I suspect that the dialogue on fatherhood will be much better.

Men get a bad rap in many ways. You never hear people dishing the dirt on crappy mothers on their day, but with fathers, we as a culture–both female and male, really seem to be hurting. The good fathers and men I suspect, feel a bit cheated by the reputation that is held against them. The single mothers and children who have been abandoned by these men, have left a hole,¬† insurmountable at times, that these mothers have to fill.

I know wonderful single fathers, and some of these men struggle, while the women lack clearly in every sense of the word, but our culture doesn’t have much of a dialogue for these single men. There is no narrative or culture of empathy for men who parent alone, without a present mother. I feel for these men highly, but I also know that the dialogue and culture of empathy written out for single mothers, is based on a myriad of factors.

We Mothers embody a generation of children. The expectations are always that we will be nurturing, present, and active. Now we also have the expectation to provide financially. For a single mother, she not only has to fulfill the maternal roles, but now she has to be the financial provider. She has to pay the bills, show up, and be super woman, which is what society expects of all mothers usually anyway. I am not stating that we should empathize more for single mothers than fathers, but that to remember how much we automatically expect from mothers is significantly different from what we expect from fathers. When a dad changes a diaper, we all applaud him for being such an awesome guy. When a mother works full-time and raises kids, we nod and say,”That’s what she’s supposed to do. She’s a mother.”

Additionally, women make less than men, so now you’ve got a single woman trying to raise kids on her own on less income than what a present father would have provided.

Now don’t think I am pitying single moms–it’s the toughest job out there, to be a single parent, but most people I know don’t want pity–just empathy. I know amazing single moms that are so strong, and don’t feel a lick of sadness that Pops never shows up to be a dad, but it is reality that a single mom has some work cut out for her that a single dad may not have.

Please remember I am generalizing to some extent, and that obviously, a single mother who is a lawyer, is faring better than a single dad who is a grocer.

I think the Facebook and social media walls are all a “twitter” over fathers because it is also socially acceptable to speak of negligent dads. For my friends whose mothers have been disgustingly absent, it is a quiet topic. We expect mothers to be there. A negligent mother is horrifying, and crushes society’s hopes in so many ways. Think of all the horrific moms in the news in the past 10 years that we have absolutely hated without even knowing them because they were murderers, child abusers, and more. While we hated male/father absuers, killers, etc, we really felt our blood boil when as females and mothers, we saw abusive murdering moms on the news.

Our culture is invested in Mothers. We don’t shine a significant enough of a spotlight on them to really discuss the pains of those who didn’t have a mom to hug, or lean on.

It’s time to really evaluate what we ascribe to parents of both genders, and to reconceptualize what it means to parent. Men are weighed down by social mores as much as women; we just may feel it more because of the financial and societal sexism that still exists. I think we are getting closer to doing this on so many levels.

For all of you who are missing a father, loving your father, or appropriating a different man to call “daddy,” enjoy your day today. To all dads, whether you struggle to parent or find it the easiest and best job ever, enjoy today and keep on showing up and trying your best.

We need you. Today’s women and girls want you more than ever.

Sex Tips for Dummies: Please Shave. Thanks

In sex, Uncategorized on June 14, 2013 at 3:30 am

Because I like to write something funny after my more depressing rantings, I thought I would give you all 10 little rules of thumb to help out your sex lives, in case they happen to suck.

Follow these, otherwise it won’t be about your thumbs, but instead, your hands.

These tips apply to anyone by the way. I am all for sex with whomever, as long as you exclude animals and children. Animals don’t cuddle afterwards anyway.

1-Shave the pubic hair.

This isn’t the 70’s. It’s gross and unruly. You don’t need to go bald, but make it manageable for Christ sakes. Flossing is for good dental hygiene, not sex.

If you need help shaving, enlist a professional waxer or buy a cheap Wahl’s buzzer.

2-Ask politely.

If you are rude or pushy, you should sleep alone like a friggin’ vampire for eternity. Be polite like your mother told you.

Drop this rule if you happen to be into S and M, and like being pushed around, or you are dating Hitler.

3-Brush Teeth Beforehand

Sounds like a dumb rule, but then again, most of the population is stupid. Brush teeth please. While you hover over someone, he or she doesn’t need to smell your rancid breath.

4-Relax a little.

it is okay to try something new. Your mother isn’t watching. G-d, if he or she even exists, isn’t watching. If there is a higher being, this individual is busy watching muggings and big life events, not you deciding to try role -playing for the first time. Don’t be uptight. Wear the police uniform, and put her hands behind her back.

5-Do Ask, don’t tell.

Ask a lady or man what he likes. No shame in asking for guidance. It’s more shameful to suck at what you’re doing and not care.

Don’t tell everyone what you did though. That’s crass.

6- Try other Lubes

Astroglide is not the only lube in town, nor is K-Y. Try a few out. Women parts are a bit sensitive, so I recommend playing with a few to see what works best. Besides, now you have a good excuse to politely hassle your wife.

“But Dear, wouldn’t you like to see if this lube irritates you tonight? Maybe we should try two new ones…”

7- Give and Receive

No offense but if you don’t want to visit the female genitalia for some light snacking, don’t expect it back, or vice versa. Just saying.

Don’t you remember what your fat and hairy fourth-grade teacher told you, “It’s better to give than receive.”

More giving= more receiving.

8- Don’t Fake it…unless he’s very insecure

Don’t fake it. Then the guy will never know if it’s really working when it does…unless he’s fragile. If he is fragile, fake it, or he might write a suicide note.

Do men fake it?

I am just curious

9- Lie about the number

If you’ve been rather naughty, bring that number down. Statistics aren’t needed here, but please be safe, safe, safe!! Condoms my friends.

If you haven’t been with many…I hate to say this but…you might want to beef it up a bit if you happen to be male if it happens to be a very, very small number like say, 3– 1 in reality, and 2 in your imagination. Unless you happen to both be known virgins, which in that case, enjoy, prepare for a little pain ladies, and boys, plan to land sooner than expected.

10-Be safe, and don’t compromise

Be safe. Don’t contract something. Don’t get anyone pregnant unless you have to, or want to. There are enough unwanted kids in the world already, thanks.

Don’t be with someone who is a jerk. Jerks deserve a lifetime of loneliness and abstinence. Avoid screwing a female or male jerk at all costs.

Signed, the new Dr. Ruth of the millenium, with an East Coast Accent, and a toddler in tow.

Turn Off the Voices: the static of trauma

In trauma recovery, Uncategorized on June 14, 2013 at 3:14 am

I don’t like to make you all depressed, but sometimes I have to be plainly real and not funny.

Or at least funny, but very freaking honest.

I have had a very hard time lately shutting off the voices. I don’t mean schizophrenic voices or hallucinations. I haven’t had those since I last dropped acid in High School–did you ever see a Siamese cat turn into a pig?

I did. I got that distinct pleasure as a young blip of estrogen and other hormones with a few other amoeba-aged friends of mine.

I am talking about the voices from the past. The static of memories that run through your mind, like radio frequency. When I talk about trauma, I talk about sexual, physical, or mental traumas from the past. It could be a rape. The loss of a child or parent. Being beaten. Mugged. The trauma of war.

When people experience this–at least in my case, ( I’m not a psychologist so if you are reading this to get therapy, then we should both get some help pretty fast) the static of the event tends to be very loud in the brain. It is hard to separate the event from the rest of the day’s events: the pain or recurring memories just refuse to go away.

I had an event happen over the summer, and a few months post-event, it felt like everything I did or said was colored or tinged with the heartbreak, anger, and depression from what had happened. A happy day could be disrupted by a smell, word, or sight that reminded me of what happened. It felt like a monumental roadblock was put in front of me, and yet somehow, I had to find a way around it in order to function.

I had to stay chipper and upbeat for my daughter, as I didn’t want my feelings to start pouring onto her psyche, so to speak. Toddlers are very susceptible to the moods of their parents, as are all children, however, they lack the sophistication to express their sensitivity to their parents’ moods. It was a tough act. I did fairly well, and I can say that for the most part, I managed.

No one was hospitalized, and I didn’t require a white coat or padded room, although having intercourse in a padded room might be really fun, and easy on the knees, but that’s just a thought.

My issue is there are quite a few traumas that happen to be linked as they are either similar, or dealing with the same issue. For the most part, they are all in the very far past, so the “frequency” is quiet. I am not bogged down by the stress, pain, or various emotions those experiences had once made me feel. Most of these situations I have been able to write about in my memoir, and some of these chapters were published. Life has moved on, and so have I.

However, the past few months I have undergone a good deal of personal stress, and so I am finding the static of those experiences rearing their vicious heads.

It irritates me when people say, the past is the past. While this is certainly true–we all grow and move past the person we are even from yesterday–to me, this clich√© doesn’t account for the fact that the past shapes who we are–and while it’s not impossible, it is rather hard to ditch like a filthy friend on the side of the road.

I’m not having flashbacks really…the pretty colorful or ugly ones, but the voices of self-doubt, fear, and anger have become louder than I would like them to be. It sometimes feels as if I have regressed to those sad places when I am alone and away from others.

I have worked hard to turn down the frequency, and the static is barely audible, but I hear it.

I think I wrote this to really just share that while the past is the past, and we can move on from bad experiences, traumas, and heartaches and be a happy person, sometimes when our lives present stress, these past traumas come back because the associations are so strong, that it’s hard to disconnect from them.

It’s a process, and one that takes work. If anyone is going through the motions of trying to move forward from such an experience, I say, keep doing the work. It gets better. The static subsides, and while it may present itself during difficult times, you can move past it. This is not forever.

Go Eat Worms: Surefire Signs You have Low Self-Esteem

In Uncategorized on June 12, 2013 at 2:38 am

Sometimes in life, you need a few people to knock you down, otherwise you wouldn’t realize how worthless you are, right?

if you answered yes, you are the owner of Low Self-Esteem.

If you answered no, you are awesome, amazing, and probably really annoying.

Okay, I kid, but I want to help out the public, my friends, myself, and my readers decipher when they may be having a period or lifetime, or moment of Low Self-Esteem.

Clearly, there are real clinical signs I am sure, but reading that stuff is a drag and boring.

You’d rather hear from me and my expertise, no?

The First Sign you may have the self-esteem of a Gnat:

Sure, there may be some incredibly cocky and self-important Gnats, but usually, Gnats feel like little pests no one likes.

Hanging Out with Douchebags

Do you occasionally hang out or know someone close to you who is a real prick? Does this person constantly point out your flaws? Is this person certain that he or she is some bigshot everyone should worship? Does this person have access to numerous mirrors, clothes, sex, money, or any of the above? Does this person note your flaws casually, seriously, frequently, or empathetically?

If you answered yes, this cocky individual is trying to bring you down because he or she has decided that he’s the best, and knows best, so basically, be grateful for this person’s input.

If you tolerate this individual in most forms, you probably have low self-esteem. You probably fear that this person is right, and that yes, you are a screw up, no-good, filthy old bastard. People like this have a way of finding the Low Self-Esteem Individual– here after known as LSEI (sounds like some shitty boy band formed of 3 pubic hairs, and one acne mark)–incredibly easily. LSEI’s make Cocky people feel good about themselves because LSEI’s don’t object to being put down, and therefore, Cocky person feels awesome and can live another day admiring how “rad” he or she is, and polishing the mirror to reflect his or herself just a little better.

A sign you may feel you are less important than poo.

What did I do wrong?

Are you constantly wondering what you did wrong when a situation in your life goes awry? Do you wonder when you’re dumped, divorced, singled out, or treated poorly what you did to make this happen? Of course, there’s probably some legitimate reasons why you may have brought on or dealt with a tough situation that has to do with your own blame, but it’s not always your fault LSEI! Sometimes, the other person was a real jerk. Sometimes, you both were. It’s more productive to ask yourself how you contributed, and what you can gain from the situation. It’s helpful to consider what the situation did for you, as well as how to move on past it. Taking all the blame is not only a sign that you feel less than a piece of gum on a sneaker, but also keeps you from fully seeing a situation.

You’re not all that bad, kid.

Walking Away Silently

Do you find yourself coming away from a situation wishing you had said something, but didn’t?

Do you find yourself reenacting that moment when some little jerk said the rudest thing to you, and you just sat there and cried like you lost your puppy?

Are you unable to concentrate on anything else but that time in which you let someone treat you badly, without you saying a word?

It’s Low- Self Esteem.

In case anyone cares, I don’t charge much for my advice, and sometimes, I’ve lived and learned from an experience I talk about. I’m not an LSEI, or a pube or acne mark, however, I do doubt myself more than I should. I do walk away sometimes thinking, “Shit, why did I let that person get away with that?” “What could I have done differently?” I do sometimes let Douchebag people get away with crap.

It’s important to recognize when you’ve let someone get the best of you in life. Some jerks just rob people of worth, dignity, and happiness, and you have let them. You have let someone take away a bit of your sunshine, and it’s not easy to gain back. Don’t let them! Don’t let just anyone eat from your dish. It’s okay to act like a dog, and guard your dinner bowl.

Not everyone deserves to take a drink from your being.