Monday, January 31, 2005

Favorable Progress and Other Nonsense

  • After only one week of a non-smoking lifestyle, I totally Smoke at the gym! You can barely see me because I run like the wind.
  • I've developed a Likert Scale to test my theory that my orgasms will improve as my cardiovascular system becomes healthier. I did a baseline test the first day I posted about it. Over the weekend, thanks to a sweet little fantasy and some private time, I have my first set of data. It may be too early to publish, but I feel it's favorable progress.
  • I realized this morning that I've hardly ever had sex in the dark. It almost seems kind of kinky. The last time was at least 10 years ago. It sounds kind of fun.
  • Check out Larry's last post. I don't ordinarily refer folks to other blogs for specific posting, but this is really something special.

Sunday, January 30, 2005

"Money's just something you throw off the back of a train"

The other day I was drying my hair when a very uncharacteristic thought occurred to me. I thought that perhaps everyone in the world was pretty much self-serving, greedy and manipulative. I don’t remember ever thinking anything like that before. The hot air must have blown a little more crazy into the pandemonium of my brain.

The thought lasted all of three and a half seconds before I said to myself, "That can’t be true. For one, I’m not like that." I then immediately thought of my Dad, whose greatest joy is finding new ways to make life better for others. There’s also my Mom, who despite her quirky agenda of year’s past to mold me into a Barbie/Betty Crocker hybrid, has grown into one of the strongest advocates for the poor that I know. She also relishes in countless opportunities to feed everyone cookies and pie. Lu popped up right away too. She’s the kindest and most accepting person I know. I was flooded with dozens of thoughts of people that I trust to be genuine, true and kind. Not just trusted friends, but also strangers who’ve been kind to me when they had nothing whatsoever to gain. I ended up sitting on the bathroom floor weeping and thinking about the generosity I’ve known. It was a good cry (especially for a girl who’s de-toxing from nicotine and god knows what else they put in those cigarettes).

When I was in college, one of my jobs was working at the world’s greatest Day Care Center. One afternoon I was doing an art activity with the 4-year old group. Things weren’t going as well as I had hoped. I mumbled under my breath, "I’m running out of patience." A second later I felt a tug on my sleeve and a sweet little voice piped up, "Miss Ka-Treesa, if you need some more patience, you can have some of mine. I have extra." What a perfect gift! I laughed and we finished the project without anymore problems. Even now when I find myself running short on patience, that funny little memory gives me enough extra to get through the rough spots.

One of my favorite treasures is a little bright blue and silver lapel pin in the shape of a high-heeled platform shoe. A dear friend gave it to me after he’d been on holiday in London last spring. It’s special to me because it’s perfectly suited for me. The other thing that makes it special is that he and I have never exchanged gifts. It’s not a pattern in our relationship. In fact, it seems a bit out of character for him. So, the fact that he thought to get me a gift at all, and that he found something so perfectly delightful, makes it very meaningful. Every time I wear it I think about how wonderful it is that I’m not always the expert I think I am at figuring people out.

I have a love/hate relationship with money. I love what money can do to help people live comfortable, happy lives. I hate what the love of money sometimes makes people do. It can blind them to what really matters. Sometimes I think I’m smart enough to be making a lot more money. If I put my mind to it, I could have more of the things that make life easy. But then I remember that I’m only motivated to make more money when my monthly budget doesn’t balance. Sometimes I get really stressed about money. To feel better, I only have to remember that my friends and family would never let anything really bad happen to me. We’re good problem-solvers. And, if I needed a helping hand, they know I'd never consciously take advantage of their generosity.

One of my favorite songs is a Kathleen Brennan – Tom Waits song. Nora Jones sings it on her second CD, Feels Like Home. The song is called "The Long Way Home". I’m not particularly fond of the music, but Nora Jones’ voice is a slice of heaven and the lyrics are phenomenal. As usual, Brennan and Waits say more in a phrase than other folks can in volumes of prose. I find myself thinking of one line in particular whenever materialistic concerns overwhelm my attention. When Jones sings, "Money’s just something you throw off the back of a train", I feel a calming sense of relief. It’s a perfect reminder that money doesn’t matter compared to other things.

The other thing I thought about as I sat crying on my bathroom floor, was the generosity of the folks who respond to this blog. More than once my breath has caught in my throat as I’ve read the thoughtful, tender, and sometimes funny messages that people have left for Lu and I. That kind of generosity is especially touching because there seems no expectation of gain. Each compassionate human connection of support and encouragement has helped so much. As I battle with this crappy addiction, these messages have often been the reassuring hand to regain my balance. I was also deeply moved by those who responded to my post about being raped. At the time, I was very afraid to post the essay. I don’t know what I expected. Now, I wonder why I was afraid.

You need only turn on the news to see the horror and cruelty that humans are capable of imposing on one another. I know it’s a cliché, but I’ve heard it all, or at least enough for one lifetime. The nightmares that I’ve borne witness to, are safely tucked away. They are entrusted to a vault where I store the purged pain of others. Yet, I’ve seen more beauty than pain, and I believe that humans are born to be loving and to be loved. I cherish each time I'm surprised by our capacity for selfless love and generosity. But then I’m a big ol’ sappy romantic Chik.

Here’s a thought from Albert Einstein. (He taught me a lot about spirituality. Perhaps I’ll share a few bits of that sometime).

"The ideals which have lighted my way, and time after time have given me new courage to face life cheerfully, have been
Beauty, and
The trite subjects of human efforts, possessions, outward success, and luxury have always seemed to me contemptible."

Saturday, January 29, 2005

The Chicken or the Egg?

All this talk about quitting smoking must be boring for you non-smokers out there. I mean, for you the reasons to quit far outweigh the reasons to smoke--I won't even attempt a list. But for us addicts, the mindgames are killers (pun intended). We can come up with dozens, no, hundreds of justifications. That's what I think my worsening depression is, although I'm not really sure. I mean, am I getting more depressed because I can't smoke, or is the lack of my drug of choice causing me to become more depressed?

Physiologically, both are true. Depression is caused by the brain's inability to manufacture or store neurotransmitters such as seratonin and dopamine. Withdrawl from a substance that one is addicted to also affects those neurotransmitters--just wacks them out completely from my understanding. All I can really tell you at this time is that my brain sure ain't functioning!

The only thing that's keeping me from smoking right now is the knowledge that I'd be letting so many people down. That simply wouldn't work if I were't so depressed--I'd just say, "Screw them" and light up. But, being depressed, my low self-esteem needs all the positive reinforcement I can get. In other words, this really sucks!

Does the title of this post make sense yet?


Wednesday, January 26, 2005

Random Thoughts

  1. Check out my Sweet Ass! As of this morning, I lost the lousy extra 10 pounds that I gained when I ran away from home for 3 months this fall. I’m still FAR above my goal weight, but my "Magic Jeans" fit perfectly now.
  2. Still want a cigarette.
  3. Still think great hair and fabulous shoes are better than a cigarette.
  4. Yesterday’s Doctor’s appointment outcome: double the ADHD meds, referral to an ADHD Coaching Clinic.
  5. I love my Shrink. She helps me not feel crazy, stupid and lazy.
  6. New Theory: If quitting smoking improves my cardiovascular health, then my body will be more efficient in pumping blood to all my parts and pieces. One of my parts is my clitoris. Increased blood flow to my clitoris, improves the quality of orgasms. Therefore, as my cardiovascular health improves, I will have better orgasms.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Pretty Soon I'm Going to Feel GREAT! Right???

Today's Schedule

7:00am - Monkey-Man wakes me up for no reason at all. No, let me think … Ah (sweet), he says he loves me.

7:20 - Haul my sorry ass out of bed and collect slippers & bathrobe.
Shuffle into kitchen to complain about the measly share of coffee left for me.
Cuddle with cute fuzzy dogs while drinking ½ cup of coffee.
Wonder about breakfast.

7:30 - Look for cigarettes. FUCK ! ! ! Don’t panic. We stopped smoking yesterday. Breathe.
Eat a sensible breakfast (something tasting of bark, but shaped like a flake, floating in soy juice).

7:50 - Wave goodbye to the boys and make more coffee.
Wonder if there’s a cigarette anywhere in the house.
Eat a Nicotine Lozenge.
Turn on the computer. Reach for my cigarettes. FUCK ! ! ! Don’t panic. Breathe.

8:10 - Pace the house.
Wonder if there are any cigarettes in my car.
Turn on a DVD a friend loaned me. More coffee and eat meds.

8:30 - Pause DVD.
Pace the house.
Do a load of laundry.
Hmmm, I used to keep a stash of cigarettes in the laundry room for secret smoking when my Mom came to visit.
WHAT THE FUCK? What the hell do non-smokers do with their hands and mouths when they are not smoking? I know there will be some
sexy ideas, but remember, I’m all by myself and my flexibility has it’s limits.

8:45 - Check e-mail and blog for a bit again.
Eat another lozenge.
Is it too early for lunch?

9:10 - Reach for a cigarette. FUCK ! ! ! Don’t panic. Breathe.
Scream (lots of profanity. Profanity even I, who cus like a sailor, would be e
mbarrassed to type out on the written page - Thank for the tip Average Joe).
Calm the dogs down after my screaming fit.
Sing with Starbuck (the Coonhound / Lab).

9:20 - Long hot shower (with Aquassager)

9:45 - Hey, that DVD is still paused. Start DVD & fold laundry.
Pop another lozenge.
Get dressed.

10:15 - Get things together to leave for the day.
Where are my
cigarettes? FUCK ! ! ! Don’t panic. Breathe.

10:30 (NOW) - Yellow Pages: I’m looking up the number for the best hair stylist in town. If I make it through the next 10 days, I’m getting my hair done. I’m making the appointment now. If I smoke between now and then, I’ll cancel the appointment. But, I’m not going to smoke. Some things are more important than smoking, like really good hair … and shoes.
Hey, if I make it a month, maybe Chick will help me pick out a new pair of Mary Janes.

Monday, January 24, 2005

The Whining, Complaining & Belly-Aching Shall Cease! So, Says SHE

Okay folks, I have been reminded over and over again that women hold the "start / stop /pause" controls on sex. As long a girl isn't specific about Who, What, When, Where, and Why, this is true. With a crisp snap of my Love Goddess fingers, I could have one of any number of said gentlemen on his knees before me, waiting for the green light and step-by-step instructions as to how I wish to be pleased. Hmmm … a Devine Thought is coming to me ... perhaps I need a specially designed satin covered Cunniligus Throne with a pretty little hook to keep my shiny red riding crop at the ready. It should have several reclining positions and a padded kneeling bench for ... ummm, "worshipping". Doesn’t it make you a little light-headed with lofty fantasies? …


Ahem, what was I saying? Ah, yes, however, there are emotional complications like feelings of attraction, affection, and even LOVE. There are often such practical complications like travel and work schedules. Add into that the possible ethical intricacies of defining what the sex means to each of the people involved and whether silly games are being played or third party entanglements are to be considered, etc. It’s a wonder anyone ever has sex at all.

In my own particular situation, I’ve been complaining and belly-aching about having launched a campaign to make 2005 the Year of Cunnilingus, only to realize that I’m not to be a participant – as of this date. I’ve decided to hell with it! I am going to enjoy YOUR cunnilingus instead.

Perhaps I should explain that just a bit more.

What I mean is, instead of focusing on my personal deficit, I am going to be singularly happy and joyful for Ed & Sue, Jay & Kitti, Lu & Steve, Opaco & Lamby and everyone else who’s getting the muffin-lickin’ & lovin’ they so richly deserve. It’s not as if I’ve never known this sweet joy myself. In fact since the campaign began, I’ve spent some time thinking about how fortunate I’ve been to have memories of truly rich and rewarding love affairs. Perhaps this is why I’ve been determined to be very wise in choosing my next lover.

So what does The Love Goddess look for in a lover? (assuming male)

  1. He must have a belly (of any particular shape and size).
  2. He will be enthusiastic about cunnilingus.
  3. He will be intelligent and articulate.
  4. He will laugh at my jokes.
  5. He will not make fun of my hair in the morning (at least not very much).
  6. He will be honest and genuine.
  7. He will understand when I have to leave on tour as a Roadie Ho in Opaco’s new band.
  8. He will make appreciative sounds when I do things that make him feel good.
  9. He will not stifle my appreciative sounds when he does things that make me feel good.
  10. He will kiss my neck a lot.
  11. He will never lick my ears (that would be the Turn-Off Button).
  12. He will love my new wrinkle, oops, I mean laugh-line.
  13. He will never make me listen to any songs from the musical Oklahoma.
  14. He will be mesmerized by my 40-year old breasts - same age as the rest of me (Average Joe claims this means he's not a creep).
  15. He will embrace my exuberance and zest for life (really, it’s nothing to be afraid of).
  16. Extra Bonus Points for flowers. I get sappy for flowers.

Who knows when this new lover of mine will come along. When he does, I'll be in a very good humor from all of my celebrating of other people's good times.

*My decision to be particularly selective does not discount the brilliant concept of the Cunnilingus Throne. It so happens the Love Goddess has a vast array of carpentry-related power tools in her garage. If anyone is free next weekend, I could use some help with my next project.

Saturday, January 22, 2005

The Wisdom of Man-Belly Love

One of the things I’ve come to believe over the years is that you can’t love or hate something about someone else unless it reflects something you love or hate about yourself. In other words, when someone is really bugging the crap out of you, take a long hard look in the mirror. You might find the solution staring back at you.

One of the things that bugs the hell out of me is when people get caught up in petty bullshit like, "Mary Blueberry got a better bling-blang than I did. No fair!" I know it’s hard to believe, coming from a wise, mature Goddess such as myself, but every once in a while, I feel like a spoiled 4-year old that wants what everyone else has. I don’t like to admit it, but it’s true. So, when I see the same quality in others, it pisses me off even more.

The opposite pattern is true too. I love when people are open, friendly and generous. It’s a quality I really cherish within myself. Contrary to popular belief, not everyone feels the same way. When we first moved to the midwest, my city-raised Monkey Man felt out of place amidst all the friendly town-folk. I think his exact words were, "They’re all weird. They come right up to you and say ‘Hi’." It’s a good thing we didn’t move to a really small town. In rural Iowa, every time you even drive past another moving vehicle, you’re obligated to wave.

I’ve heard that a beautiful thing happens when you come to completely accept yourself and your flaws. It’s not easy. As a step in that direction, I’ve found easy success accepting differences in others. For example, the part of my body I hate the most is my tummy. Remember what part of a man’s body I LOVE the most? Yes indeed, give me all the man-bellies! Big and small, hard and soft, hairy and smooth, I happily love them all!

I’ve also found that it’s easy to love other women. When I come across a woman who doesn't love women, I can’t help but wonder if she's able to love herself. Is it that she really doesn't love herself, or that she's bought into the bitter horseshit society teaches us about women being catty, bitchy, conniving, two-faced, gossipy and disloyal? Perhaps they are related?

My personal Conspiracy Theory is that the stereotype that all women are Catty, etc. is perpetuated by the current and historical, global-wide male dominated power structure. It serves to prevent women from organizing in Sisterhood to take over the world. Not that we necessarily would, but who really knows what would happen if we stopped all the hissing, scratching, and hair-pulling?

(You know, I might not be so paranoid if someone was licking me right now.)

I Don't Need a Body Guard, I've Got a Hot Chik

Chapter 1: Three Harassing Street Demons

A couple years ago Monkey-Man, D and I took a little mini-vacation to the Twin Cities. The last day we were there, we wandered upon a HUGE Street Festival in St. Paul on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. The place was packed. It was like the NYC Gay Pride Parade without the colorful floats brimming with gorgeous Drag Queens throwing fists full of condoms everywhere, or the bodacious and tantalizing Dykes on Bikes cruising by in leather, cut-offs & halter-tops. In other words, it was a big fucking crowd of bored, sweaty pedestrians along a 25-block stretch of funnel cake and fresh-squeezed lemonade stands. Every so often there was a musician or a juggling clown on stilts. Nevertheless, when in Rome, sweat and fight your way through the funnel cake line, as the Roman’s do.

As fate would have it, our delicate Monkey-Man hurt his ankle. Rather than ruin our good time, he agreed to plant his cute little ass under a vacant tree for a bit and wait while D and I wandered around in hope of finding something amusing.

After an hour of miserable crowd-fighting, D and I returned to the tree. Mysteriously, Monkey-Man and his lame Monkey-Ass had disappeared. As we were without cell-phones, we had to make a Search and Rescue Plan. D stayed at the tree and I braved my way toward the car to see if he’d wandered that direction.

As I headed toward the car, supported by my practical earth-trodding Birkenstocks, I was glad that I was also wearing my big ‘ol comfy linen tent-style frumpy dress. It was hot outside, and the car was at least a mile away, but I tried to keep a positive attitude, remembering the sinfully delicious donuts I’d eaten at the Days Inn Continental Breakfast earlier that morning. My ass needed the exercise!

I was
moving as fast as I could, while still keeping my eyes peeled for Monkey-Man. Then, quite unexpectedly, I felt someone take my right hand as if to hold it. I assumed it was D. It felt like D’s hand. If it was, it could mean only one thing, D had found Monkey-Man and they had caught up to me. I squeezed the hand and turned with a happy smile, only to discover it was a stranger. I instinctively pulled away. But to my surprise, there was another man on my left side. They were both smiling, but not in a nice way. Again, I pulled away to maneuver behind me. However, a third accomplice guarded my final retreat. I was surrounded.

They seemed amused by my surprise and panic. My first thought was of the women who’d been mob
bed and stripped in broad daylight in Central Park a few years ago. FUCK THAT! I took off running forward. They tried to grab at me, but didn’t take hold.

Once I felt I was a safe enough distance ahead, I slowed down and decided they were just jack-ass college kids getting their jollies with an old lady. I returned to my search for Monkey-Man and felt somewhat at ease. About 10 minutes passed, when I found myself surrounded by the same three Demon-Boys again. They were grinning and grabbing at me as if I was an animal to torture for their amusement. This time I ran much further, and when I stopped, I stood in a crowd to watch for any signs that they could find me again.

About an hour later Monkey-Man, D and I finally reunited. To my relief, I didn’t see the three harassing Street-Demons again. We left the Street-Festival immediately. As far as I’m concerned, they were just looking for a woman who was alone, and I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Chapter 2: My Hero

A couple days later, I went out for a beer at the local watering hole with my friends from work. As usual, my girl Ruth was there, because all good times are better when Ruthie is along. Ruth is the kind of gal without a single bit of mystery. What you see is what you get. She tells it like it is, even when it pisses people off. She loves her family, her friends, football and beer. In that order … or perhaps I’ve mixed up the beer and the football.

We work-a-day stiffs were at our usual big round table up near the door. The big round table is required so we can all crowd together to bitch and moan about work, sex and … well, I guess that’s all we talk about. But, it’s always very important bitchin’.

I volunteered to make the short trek to the bar for a second round of drinks. The rest of the group carried on with the essential bitchin’ about work and sex without me. At the bar, I waved a greeting to the manager, ordered from the bartender and let my mind wander while I waited. A few minutes later, someone sat right next to me at the bar even though there were plenty of empty stools on either side. I automatically assumed it was one of my friends coming to keep me company. I smiled and turned to say hi. But, it wasn’t one of my friends. To my shock and horror, it was one of the Street Demons from St. Paul.

The only thing that kept me from tumbling to the floor as I tried to escape, were his two buddies blocking me from behind. I don’t remember saying anything, but I must have shouted or screamed, because I got the immediate attention of my friends. Within seconds, I saw a scene that will remain imprinted in my memory for eternity.

Ruth leapt from the table. She puffed up her already ample and succulent chest and strode confidently across the bar room floor. As she neared the gang of Street Demons, she absently pushed up her shirt-sleeves and said, "Is there a problem here?"

As the two lesser of the Street-Demons looked toward their fumbling leader, I was able to use the awkward moment to slip a safe distance away. I watched in wonder as Ruth continued to stick up for me ... and maybe every other woman who's been out-numbered, intimidated and harassed by assholes.

The Street-Demon Leader offered a pathetic justification, "Uhhh, We were just having some fun." He said in a dumb-ass voice.

Ruth’s right hand moved swiftly to slap his dumb-ass head before the last of his words fell off his dumb-ass tongue, "What are ya, eight? Grow the fuck up!"

A few chuckles could be heard as the crowd gathered around the sublime drama. While Ruth’s power and confidence had taken the Leader by surprise, he was clearly aware of the crowd of on-lookers. She was humiliating him at his own game of humiliation. He couldn’t allow it to continue. With a quick gesture to each of his buddies, he took a swing at Ruth. Everyone gasped, but she easily avoided his clumsy strike.

With all her might, Ruth hit the moronic Demon hard in the face. Her fist met his cheekbone just below his eye along the right side of his nose. He screamed that it hurt, and slumped against a barstool.

"You’ve got quite a punch, but you’re not really gonna take on the three of us are you?" he sneered as he wiped nose-blood on his arm.

A couple of the guys we work with stepped forward, to show they had Ruthie’s back, but she motioned them away. Ruth got right up in the Demon-Leader’s face, and with her finger pointing every syllable within inches of his good eye, she said, "You muther-fuckin’ piss-ants better get home to your mommies before you really get hurt." She stepped back with a look that convinced me she could fuck all three of them up without breaking a sweat.

"Fuck this shit." The Leader hissed. "I’m not stickin’ around here with a bunch of ugly dykes." He motioned for his Lesser-Demons to follow and they kicked a few chairs and slammed the door on their way out.

The crowd clapped for Ruth. She acted like it was no big deal and ordered another drink. We sat together at the bar for a few minutes before returning to the table.

I said, "Ruth, that was fucking amazing. You even scared me a little bit. Hey, why are you drinking ginger ale?"

"I’m pregnant you dumb bitch. I can’t be drinking alcohol."

I looked down at her belly, and sure enough, she looked quite pregnant. "When are you due?"

"In about three weeks." She chugged the rest of her ginger ale and added, "You’ve got fucking terrible taste in men."

* Chapter 1 is completely true.
* Chapter 2 is a dream I had two days later that I wish were true. It really could happen though, because Ruth is one tough Hot Chik! Those Street Demons would be cryin' like it was their first day of kindergarten if Ruth got ahold of them!

Thursday, January 20, 2005

That's Just Like a Man!

Stereotypes generally suck, but every once in a while someone says something and I laugh anyway.

I don’t get sick very often. Since I quit Social Work over two years ago, I think I’ve only had one or two little colds. However, it’s a good thing I don’t get sick very often, because when I do, I am a BIG HUGE BABY! I whine, complain, moan, groan, and generally make everyone around me as miserable as I am. Even though I’m ordinarily extremely independent and self-sufficient as a healthy person, when I’m sick I become a demanding and helpless child. I am completely aware of the fact that my pathetic behavior is so far over the top that it’s comical. It's embarassing when I'm well, but when I'm sick I forget all about the embarassment. You better be playing Nurse Nancy, or there will be hell to pay.

So today my girl Ruth came by my desk and told me that she thinks she’s coming down with the flu. I respond with sympathy and say that I’m not feeling very well either. Instead of reciprocal sympathy, she says, "Oh, for fuck’s sake, I hope to hell you’re not getting sick. You're worse than a MAN when you’re sick."

Damn, I know it’s not fair, but I laughed anyway.

* If you’re wondering, I’m not sick. I had just forgotten to eat or drink anything all day. Hunger and dehydration will make a person feel crappy. Most people learn this as children. I’m still working on it.

Wednesday, January 19, 2005

20 / 20

Twenty years ago tonight, something happened to me that changed my life forever. Since I’m 40, that very neatly splits my life in half. I have the twenty years before and the twenty years after.

Right after it happened I tried to forget about it. It was a horrible thing, it hurt a lot and I knew that if I ever admitted that it happened, my life would completely fall apart. I was pretty good at the whole denial thing. I managed to keep it up for almost two years, but then it started creeping and nagging at me. The little bits that crept out eventually became whole memories. When the memories overwhelmed me, I had to admit that they were really mine.

Just as I predicted, my life fell apart. It felt like my whole self shattered into a million pieces. When I looked down at the shards of my former self scattered across the floor, nothing was familiar. The task of reconstruction and healing was monumental. Thankfully, I found people to help me. It still seemed to take years before I felt whole again.

A big part of my struggle was dealing with hurtful things that people said and did while I was recovering. Sometimes I wonder if those things didn’t hurt more than the event itself.

One of my closest friends told my sister that she thought I had made the whole thing up just to get attention.

Early on, when I didn’t know where to turn for help, I talked with our family minister. He told me that I needed to ask God to forgive me for what I had done.

A couple years later I over-heard a conversation between a close friend and my mother. My friend was telling my mother how much he enjoyed spending time with me. She told him that it was too bad he didn’t know me before the event because I was such a joy to be around then.

Maybe I was too sensitive. For a good long while, the daily task of breathing in and out all day long was almost more than I could bear. I really wasn’t in a position to handle confrontation, shame and criticism. I suppose I’m a bit protective of the wounded person that I was back then, so if I was overly sensitive, I allow myself that indulgence.

What I’ve learned over the past twenty years is that anyone who lives through the humiliating and degrading experience of Rape is a survivor. If another person has enough power and control to sexually assault you, they have enough power to take your life as well.

I was Raped. I survived. I’m glad now, but there was a time when the pain was so fierce, that I'd wished I hadn’t survived. I very rarely think about it now. It seems like it happened to someone else. In fact, you can barely see the scars any longer. During my 15 year career as a Social Worker, I worked with over 1,000 victims of sexual assault. It’s their pain I feel now.

Many victims of sexual assault struggle with problems related to sexuality for the remainder of their lives. For those of you who have been checking this blog regularly, you know that I am a strong advocate for healthy and positive sexuality. Perhaps my motivation comes from the fact that 20 years ago someone brutally stole my sexuality from me. However, I refuse to believe that the warm, passionate, enthusiastic woman I’ve become is the result of a rape. Those qualities, and my passion for sex, were simply nurtured back to life from a pile of brittle and unrecognizable shards because the one thing he couldn't take away was my capacity for love.

If someone you know is sexually assaulted, these are three simple things that you can say to help:

  1. I'm sorry that it happened.
  2. I'm glad you survived.
  3. It's not your fault.

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

Love Goddess Revealed

I've been debating about whether to post a picture of myself for a while. As many of you know, I'm kind of shy. However, I've decided it's high time I abandoned my concerns about the little physical flaws that nag at me, and just put it all out there. So here be the Love Goddess. Get down with the worshipping!

You are a goddess!

Okay, so that's not really me. I took another Quizilla quiz that Cricket had linked on her Booby-Leggy Blog. While you may be a little disappointed that I was just pulling your leg, don't you think it's a blast that the quiz results turned out as they did? I really think I am destined to be worshipped!

Which Ultimate Beautiful Woman are You?
brought to you by

Monday, January 17, 2005

Depression is Boring

If you’ve been reading this blog, you’ve noticed that I’m trying to do my part to break the social stigma of mental illness. Talking and writing about it is the first step. I’ve written page after page of facts and my own personal experiences with Bipolar and Major Depressive disorders, and will continue to do so.

But Chronic Major Depressive Disorder is not exactly the best inspiration for fictional expression. It’s interesting to a certain extent, but not what one would call entertaining. I mean, it’s not one of those terminal illnesses that one can overcome through courage. You won’t see a TV movie of the week about it, unless it’s about someone who survived suicide and went on to save the world or something equally noteworthy. I dare not even imagine a telethon to raise money for a cure. At least ADD is funny (see Theresa’s posts).

I’ve been thinking about writing a play, one that takes a different approach than previous plays. One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest comes to mind, but that certainly did nothing to break stigma, especially about what they called shock treatment. It’s now called Electro Convulsive Therapy and the procedure happens to be more effective and less harmful than pharmaceutical treatments for depression, schizophrenia, and other illnesses. Ordinary People was an excellent story about a family dealing with their son’s suicide attempts, but it certainly was not very uplifting.

I loved Girl Interrupted, the movie and especially the book (I know the book was good because I read almost the whole thing in one sitting and at the end said, “Damn, I wish I’d written that!” ). The story of mental illness was told with insightful albeit morbid humor, but left me feeling pretty spooked by the heroine’s experiences. Not exactly what I’m looking for in a plot.

All these stories show the tragedy and pain of Major Depressive Disorder and other mental illnesses and I’m not saying that those stories shouldn’t be told. But I maintain that those people who live with mental illness on a daily basis are true heroes and deserve to be written about in a positive way.

You can’t imagine unless you have MDD or Schizophrenia, etc., how hard it is to go through each day, even when the symptoms are “in remission.” It’s like you lug around this huge mask that I call the Happy Face. You have to do this so that others will not know how lousy you feel inside and you won’t have to answer such questions as, “What’s wrong, honey, you look tired/sad/upset?” When you’re well, the Happy Face is made out of paper—it doesn’t weigh much or take too much energy to carry. As your symptoms increase and you must work harder to hide your pain, the Happy Face gets heavier—it changes from paper to wood to metal and ultimately to stone. It becomes more difficult, exhausting, and even impossible to carry around.

Yet there are thousands upon thousands of people who carry around the Happy Face, even if they don’t realize that’s what they’re doing. So many people suffer without needing to, whose illness is undiagnosed or misdiagnosed, who think (or are told) they are lazy or stupid or somehow less capable than they should be. That’s what I want to write about. My purpose is not to shock or horrify or make people uncomfortable, but rather to increase awareness of the actual truth of mental illness: that mental illnesses are simply physical maladies of the brain rather than of the organs below our necks.

So, readers, what do you think? Would you go see a play or film about Depression that isn’t depressing? Or one about a guy with Bipolar Disorder who lives a normal life? How about a play about a woman who has Schizophrenia but nobody she works with knows about it? I’d love some feedback about what kinds of messages you think need to be passed on to the public that would help to change negative opinions and erase social stigma in an interesting way.


Psych 101?

Several people have asked me about the treatment of Bipolar Disorder and Depression—questions about when and where to seek help, what types of treatment work best and what are the side-effects, etc. I’ve been battling with myself over whether I am qualified to answer these questions on the blog; after all, I was a psych major for only one year, and most of my knowledge is either self-taught or personal experience. I certainly don’t want my opinions to be mistaken for the facts.

On the other hand, you all know by now committed I am to erasing negative social stigma about Mental Health. This would be a good way to begin.

With that in mind, I’ve decided that I can at least do some heavy-duty research and bring what I learn to our readers. There’s a lot of valuable information on the internet and perhaps I can at least point people in the right direction with links to some reliable websites. My personal experiences with treatment over the past 20 years should be of some value, too.

So, over the next few weeks or so, I’ll be posting info a little at a time. Please feel free to comment and ask questions. If you’re a health professional, please let me know if anything I say is incorrect, although I’ll try to double and triple check everything and be very clear about any information that is subjective.

Until then, let me just say that if you think you might have Bipolar Disorder, Major Depressive Disorder, Anxiety Disorder, or any other mental illness, please ask someone for help ASAP. Talk to a friend or family member, call a crisis line, go to your family doctor — anything to help you get the treatment you need. Often, it’s as simple as taking a pill or two for a while until your body can function properly on its own. Mental illness is almost always treatable, and nobody deserves to suffer from it. Remember, it’s an ILLNESS, not a character flaw.


Sunday, January 16, 2005

The Day I Found Out I Was Black and Then I Wasn't

When I was growing up, one of the games my family used to play was an imaginary game where we made up stories about our ancestry. Because my Dad was an orphan, we could change our heritage every day if we wanted to. One day we might be related to the Kennedy’s, and the next we might be Al Capone’s long lost grandchildren. Of course, all of our imaginary relatives were very wealthy, and we were certain that as soon as they discovered our whereabouts they would buy us lots of candy and toys. My Dad was particularly fond of telling us he was from Mars. We didn’t like that so much because Martians don’t have candy and toys.

I remember one specific day in 1974. Dr. King had been gone for six years and the race riots in the city next to ours were also several summers in the past. I was ten, so I didn’t think much about Dr. King or race riots anyway. It seemed like the rest of the world never really touched our mostly white little college town. Everything horrible and ugly happened in other places. If we wanted to avoid those things, all we had to do was stay home. We could read about things and people who were different without having to take any risks. On this particular day I was finishing a really cool book that I’d checked out from the Public Library. It was called Kingsblood Royal by Sinclair Lewis.

The novel tells the tale of a wounded World War II veteran, Neil Kingsblood, after he returned to his hometown. Neil’s life changed when he began to do research into his ancestry. At one point, his father told him that the Kingsbloods were descended from English royalty. After Neil’s genealogical research convinced him that the Kingsbloods had no royal ancestors, he decided to explore his mother’s side of the family. While tracing her family history, he came across Xavier Pic, who described himself in a letter as a "full-blooded Negro." From this research, Neil realized that he was 1/32 Negro.

When he first learned about his mixed racial ancestry, Neil faced many fears about how this truth would impact his life. He even considered suicide. But when he announced his race, first to some new black friends, then to his family, and finally to everyone in town, Neil began to understand true racial hatred. Friends disappeared, his in-laws disowned him, he and his wife received hate-mail, and he got fired from his job. The developer who sold him his house offered to buy it back, suggesting that if he didn’t take the offer, he might be sued for violating a housing covenant that restricted the residence of "undesirables" in their development. At the end of the story, a white mob surrounded the house. When the police responded to the riot, they arrested Neil, rather than his attackers.

I was completely mesmerized by this book. I was right there, living inside Neil Kingsblood in 1947. When he first learned of Xavier Pic, I was just as surprised as he was. As he battled with the decision to keep his secret forever, or be proud and true to himself, I was brave with him. I felt the betrayal and the horror of racisim, cried for all of the sacrifices, and struggled against the injustice. However, the most significant information that stuck to my ten-year old brain was that Neil looked white, he had red curly hair, and he had freckles. OH MY GOD!!! He was my Dad’s long-lost identical twin brother!!! What a fantastic discovery I had made.

As soon as I finished the book, I ran downstairs with joy to announce to my family that I had solved the mystery of our ancestry. My parents were having coffee in the kitchen with a neighbor, and my brother and sister were in the next room fighting over which Saturday morning cartoon they were going to watch. I was panting when I entered the kitchen, more from enthusiasm than the flight downstairs. I gave the precious book a squeeze and held it to my chest as I made my announcement.

"Hey, guess what? We’re Black!" I proclaimed with satisfaction.

My mother looked over at me, obviously seeing her blond, blue-eyed child standing in the doorway. She said, "What in God’s name are you talking about?"

I looked to my Dad for help, but by then he was looking down and chuckling a bit. He often did that when I made one of my astonishing announcements.

"Really Mom," I said earnestly "it’s right here in this book. There’s a guy just like Dad except he’s black. So that means we could be black too."

"We are not black." She said emphatically.

"But, why can’t we be black?" I argued. "You don’t know we’re not black. The book says you only have to have 1/32 black blood and then you get to be black."

"I don’t care what that book says. We are not black." She said again, only louder.

I could tell that she was getting angry, but I didn’t know why. This announcement wasn’t going at all like I had planned. Why weren’t they excited? Why didn’t they want to know more about it?

As I saw both my parents give the neighbor guy an exasperated look and whisper something to him, I realized that perhaps they didn’t want to be black. I decided that my discovery was a failure. Even if I was right, it wasn’t what they wanted to hear. I let out a heavy sigh and wandered back upstairs.

After that day, the imaginary ancestry game wasn’t fun for me. Every time someone brought it up, the only thought I had was that Neil Kingsblood was my Dad’s identical twin brother.

Sixteen years later my Dad finally found his birth mother. It turns out we’re 100% Norwegian on his side. There’s even a town in northern Norway with the same name as our last name. I guess the high cheekbones, fair complexion, and red/blond hair are a bit more consistent with Scandinavian than African ancestry. But in my heart, for a few short hours in 1974, I was black.

At the age of thirty-five, Martin Luther King, Jr., was the youngest man to have received the Nobel Peace Prize. When notified of his selection, he announced that he would turn over the prize money of $54,123 to the furtherance of the civil rights movement.
Martin Luther King, Jr., (January 15, 1929-April 4, 1968)

Saturday, January 15, 2005

Is That Chik on Crack or Cunnilingus?

Do you ever wonder what a woman is thinking about when you’re going down on her? Wait a second. I better be more specific. Do you ever wonder what I’m thinking about when someone is going down on me?

Since I’m not getting any (day 15 of 2005, Year of Cunnilingus), I thought it might be good to evaluate some of the little mental barriers that sometimes impair my ability to fully enjoy the experience. Here’s how the cunny-session usually goes:

There are three participants: Him, Outside Me and (Inside Me)

  • Him: You look good enough to eat.
  • Outside Me: I think you should find out if that’s true.
  • (Inside Me): Jeez, be more obvious and push his head between your legs.
  • Him: This does taste good.
  • Outside Me: Feels pretty nice too.
  • (Inside Me): When did I last trim things up down there? The poor man is probably going to suffocate. Won’t that be a nice story to tell the paramedics!
  • Him: You like what I’m doing?
  • Outside Me: That’s perfect. Keep doing that a while.
  • (Inside Me): Fuck! Shit! Fuck! When’s the last time you got you period girl? 28th, 27th, 26th ...
  • Outside Me: Ummmm, ooo baby that’s perfect.
  • (Inside Me): 25th, 24th, 23rd …
  • Him: I’m glad you like it.
  • (Inside Me): … 22nd, 21st…whew okay. I’m fine. Nothing to worry about.
  • Him: You alright? Seems like you tensed up a bit.
  • Outside Me: Oh, everything’s just fine. You’re doing great. Perfect, honey. Really. Perfect.
  • (Inside Me): Fuck, he knows I’m a crazy bitch.
  • Him: Are you sure?
  • Outside Me: Really, I’m fine.
  • (Inside Me): Just relax for fuck’s sake. This is supposed to be fun.
  • Him: Just relax.
  • Outside Me: This is great. You’re great. Please, do more.
  • (Inside Me): At this rate, I’m never going to cum.
  • Him: That’s better. You seem more relaxed.
  • Outside Me: Wow! That feels so good.
  • (Inside Me): Just concentrate on what he’s doing and stop thinking about dumb shit.
  • Outside Me: Ummmm
  • Him: You really like that don’t you?
  • Outside Me: Exactly. And, do that other thing with your finger too.
  • (Inside Me): Was that too bossy?
  • Him: Like that?
  • Outside Me: That’s right.
  • (Inside Me): This feels great, but I’m not even close yet. This poor guy is going to need a cast on his tongue by the time I cum.
  • Him: How are you doing?
  • Outside Me: Great. It feels really good.
  • (Inside Me): See, he wants me to cum now, but I can’t. Fuck! And Damn, why do I keep thinking about my fat thighs?
  • Outside Me: God baby, you are really good.
  • (Inside Me): Wish I, Wish I, Wish I could even get close to cumming!
  • Outside Me: How are you doing?
  • Him: I’m doing fine.
  • (Inside Me): Is he really fine? Or is he saying he’s fine because he doesn’t want to disappoint me?
  • Outside Me: Damn this feels good.
  • (Inside Me): Do I keep enjoying this and hope I cum? Do I suggest we move on to a different event? Or do I do the god-awful Fake-O and hope I can relax the next time?

Doesn’t that sound like every man’s fantasy?
I suppose now that I’ve revealed what’s running through my unstable mind while I’m getting head, I’ve reduced my chances of finding an eager muff-diver even further.

* That last Fake-O option is really not okay, but every girl has at least thought about it once or twice. The problem is that once you do it, you feel like crap. Think about it, if you can’t be honest about orgasms, what can you be honest about?

Riding the Rollercoaster or How to Mix Depression With Blogging

I wrote a new post the other day, but after reading Theresa’s last few entries, I decided not to publish it. All the posts currently showing on the homepage of our blog are T’s; most of them have something to do with sexuality, and all of them are brilliant examples of humorous prose (she really should write a book, for chrissakes!). I must be near the bottom of my Bipolar Self-Esteem Rollercoaster, because I felt I just couldn’t compete. My Mental Health soapbox seemed not nearly as interesting as her Sexual Awareness soapbox, and lately my writing is not as witty as usual (Depression isn’t very funny when you’re in it, don’cha know). I just adore her and enjoy her posts so much…(sniff)

Welll, I’m feeling a bit better today, thank you, and I’m a bit pissed at myself for being such a wussy. I’m brilliant and funny, too, or Theresa and I wouldn’t be best friends. And both our soapboxes are equally interesting, important, and deserving of blog-space, dammit! When we 2 Hot Chiks get together to discuss our fascinating lives, the scope of conversation frequently grows to include the whole wide world and how peoples’ ignorance of certain things really fucks things up. The purpose of this blog is to increase awareness of both Sexuality and Mental Health, issues that we know a lot about and that are prevalent themes in our lives. We want to give people something to chew on, even if it makes them choke a little. Shock factor is A-OK here. Hot Chiks are, by definition, female humans who love ourselves and each other just the way we are. If we have issues about Sexuality, Mental Health, or whatever, we deal with them, accept the truth, and move on to enjoy life to its fullest. This blog is dedicated to helping all Hot Chiks (and the men who love us) accomplish this. Hopefully, we and our readers will learn something or share something that helps improve the quality of our lives, or at least helps us become less destructive and more empathetic to those around us.

Soooo, from now on I’m going to try to be less paranoid and publish my posts without fear, regardless of what part of the aforementioned rollercoaster I happen to be on. If I think my writing is boring because it's not as funny or erotic (mmmmmm…tee hee) as Theresa’s, that’s ok. I must remember that my posts are just as relevant and have as much to do with the world we live in as hers do.

Thanks, Dear Readers, for riding along with me!


Friday, January 14, 2005

Do You Have References?

It’s January 14, 2005. Two weeks into The Year of Cunnilingus! There are only 50 more weeks left people!!! What is happening that I have yet to experience the joy and bliss that has been so beautifully described on this very blog? I feel like a hypocrite and a fraud (and now even a bit melodramatic). One has to admit that there is something amiss. I am a willing participant, and according to the comments I've read, there are other willing and eager participants out in the world. Surely a few of them live in my time zone. I may have to become more active in my efforts to get what I so desperately desire.

How fortunate that my girl Ruth came around to shoot the shit with me tonight. After rolling through the obligatory hum-drum office gossip, we finally got around to the most important subject: MY SEX
LIFE (or lack thereof). We both agreed that my current dry spell has been going on far too long. We also agreed that avoiding BAD SEX is a high priority. Bad Sex was the unfortunate theme of 2004. It was also the cause of much lamenting, at least two temper tantrums and even a few tears. This means I can’t take the easy way out and go for the sure thing. Quality is the primary goal.

After Ruth and I reviewed some of my 2004 blunders with Bad Kisser Guy (it never went any further than that), It’s-All-About-Me Guy, Ouch-Clip-Your-Nails-&-Stop-Doing-Things-That-Hurt Guy and Needs-To-Get-Off-The-Sauce Guy, we talked a bit about the things I remember about good sex
with men who seem to give a rat's ass. Do they still exist in real life? Or only in Blog-land?

I’ve been genuinely moved by some of the comments I’ve read from men about how they feel about sex
with women. It gives me a glimmer of hope. But, today's issue is how to find a real live man who thinks like my Blog-Mates, AND who wants to dive down into my yonder?

Being the kick-ass, problem-solving Hot Chiks that we are, Ruth and I came up with a plan. We decided to develop a formal interview process for potential lovers. This is where I’m going to need some reader input. I’ve got a few ideas for interview questions, but I need to get some of the bugs out. Here's my list of questions so far. Imagine you are interested in getting to know me a little bit better. How would it be if I asked you these questions?
  1. List 5 adjectives for the Pussy?
  2. How do you feel about receiving oral sex?
  3. How do you feel about giving oral sex?
  4. Describe your technique(s)?
  5. What do you like to do before cunnilingus?
  6. What do you like to do after cunnilingus?
  7. How can you tell if a woman is having an orgasm?
  8. How do you feel after you’ve helped a woman reach orgasm through cunnilingus?
  9. Describe what you see when you look into a pussy?
  10. How long is too long to be performing cunnilingus?
  11. What are your thoughts on shaving or trimming? (If you know me, you know this could be the deal-breaker)
  12. Do you ever use the words "Pussy" or "Cunt" in a derogatory manner?
  13. Is this interview turning you on?

So tell me what you think. Am I on to something here? Is it better than credit card phone sex? Do you want me now? Do I have a chance in hell?

I can’t wait to try this interview idea out. If it works, there will be no more bad sex. First, I’ll have to find a willing participant who doesn’t run shrieking into the night due to fear and intimidation.

Thursday, January 13, 2005

Where's Mary-Fuckin' Sunshine?

I’ve misplaced my cheerful disposition this week due to some of the crappy circumstances noted below. I’ve also been working long hours and not getting to the gym to purge my tension. Likewise, it hasn’t helped that weather from the deepest pit of hell has descended upon our little mid-western town, making even the simplest task practically life threatening.

I hate when I lose my cheerful disposition because it’s never lying out in the open where I can easily find it again. I’ve already rummaged through a few drawers and looked under the couch. I thought maybe one of the dogs dragged it off with their chew toys, but I didn’t find it in that pile either. I’m a little concerned that it hopped a train, or took off to Bermuda for the winter.

These are a few places I’ve found it in the past:

  1. New shoes
  2. Lu’s porch during a thunderstorm
  3. A good smack on the ass
  4. A well-chosen term of endearment from a friend
  5. A great haircut
  6. Tiramisu & Champagne
  7. A good game of Scrabble
  8. Really sexy underwear
  9. Ground Hog’s Day
  10. Playing with kids at the park
  11. A cleaner house when I get home
  12. Birthday presents (for anyone, not just me)
  13. Naked Twister (just kidding, but it sounds like fun, huh?)
  14. Giving money away
  15. Arms & hands making hugging on me
  16. Surprise flowers
  17. Naked Scrabble (just kidding again, but it would be more fun than regular Scrabble)
  18. Great Sex (you didn’t think I’d leave that out did you?)
  19. A big pile of dirt in my yard
  20. Unexpected flirting

If anyone has any better ideas of where to find my cheerful disposition, please let me know, because I’m one cantankerous and surly girl. I probably even deserve a spanking. In fact, I think I do. I probably deserve more than one, or six. It's for my own good don'tcha know?


My friend’s husband died yesterday morning. I haven’t had a chance to talk with her yet, but I’ll see her Friday at the funeral. Very sad.

Mike’s first tests came back negative for cancer. Apparently some men who work out a lot can develop lumpy fibrous masses that resemble tumors upon superficial inspection. Very relieved.

My old computer is up and limping until a new one can be acquired. Content for now.

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

Dear Blog World Friends,

My computer was pronounced dead at 2:09 am this morning. Although we had a stormy relationship, I will miss the old bag of bones - - at least until I get a nice shiny new one. We have an appointment to see the computer Gurus Friday morning so they can design and build us exactly what we need. However, until we have the new baby in our grubby little paws, I may be a bit scarce. Take Care, Theresa

If Temper Tantrums Cured Cancer

I want to hold my breath ‘til I turn blue and throw myself on the floor kicking and screaming until there’s finally an end to the pain and suffering of the people I love.

Today, I don’t give a flying fuck about sex or jokes or gender politics or any of the other trivial bullshit I usually write about. I’m so angry that my people are getting sick and hurt. It’s scaring the shit out of me and there’s nothing I can do about it.

One of my girls from work has taken a leave of absence to be at home with her husband while he dies from cancer. They’ve tried absolutely everything, traveling the country from hospital to hospital, and suffering through multiple chemo and radiation treatments. Nothing worked. It’s the end, and they’ve gathered everyone together to say goodbye.

I talked to Mike today.
I’ve been in love three times in my life and he was the first. We hadn’t seen or spoken to one another for 13 years, but last summer we found one another again. As we caught up with each other’s lives, I learned that he’d had a heart attack a few weeks before 9/11 and had only returned to work a couple days before the attack. His building was across the street. He told me about watching bodies fall and the sound they made when they hit the ground. His own body was one of many we watched on TV, soot-covered, shuffling, in the mass of traumatized New Yorkers, across the Brooklyn Bridge in the aftermath. It seemed he had escaped death twice since we had parted ways.

That we found one another again was such a relief. I had recovered one of my dearest and closest friends. At the same time, it’s been difficult to negotiate a workable relationship because we both continue to have deep and passionate feelings for one another. Although I have an open marriage, he does not. Even though we only have phone and e-mail contact, it’s been challenging to set emotional and ethical boundaries. Before Thanksgiving, we decided it was best to take a break from one another for a while.

Today I phoned again.

He was cheerful and excited to hear my voice. We missed one another, and talked and laughed for a long time, as old friends do.

After a while he got to the part where he told me that they found lumps. There are a lot of lumps. They are under his arms and in his chest tissue. He had to have a mammogram last week. The results won’t be back until the end of this week, but the doctor is concerned.

I don’t want to believe that this beautiful, sweet, sensitive, intelligent man can have something so insidious as breast cancer. This doesn’t happen to huge, strong athletic men like Mike … or, I suppose it can … but it shouldn’t goddamit!

Fuck, I’m pissed off!!!!!!!!! TERRIFIED!

We ended the call with him telling me not to fret, and blah, blah, blah, And, not to worry until the results are back, more blah, blah, blah.

Then, he asks me if I’m getting any. HELL!

Sunday, January 09, 2005

Pussy Chat

Since we are all so feverishly excited about 2005: Year of Cunnilingus, I thought we should have a chat about the wonder of wonders, The Pussy.

Have you heard that some folks genuinely believe pussies are unattractive and smelly? It’s doubtful that any of them read this blog. They’re probably all hanging out over on the Vagina-Envy blog or the Bumpin'-Uglies-is-Ugly blog.

In reality, a woman’s genitalia is extraordinary to look at. Gals, go get a hand mirror and take a look. Even though we all look different down there, I bet yours looks really beautiful. Our own Georgia O’Keefe created phenomenal paintings of pussies (or flowers, depending on your interpretation). Many of them hang in art museums around the world. She painted Cala Lillies in Red in 1928. I want it!

On the outside, a pussy is soft and smooth. It’s covered with lovely hair that Mother Nature meant for us to keep (*more about that later). All the other bits are tucked in a cosy little package, called the Vulva. When most women are aroused, their vulva will deepen in color and get kind of puffy. Pretty cool, huh? When you spread apart the vulva, you will discover, to your amazement and wonder, that there are two sets of lips, the labia majora (the big ones on the outside), and the labia minora (the little ones on the inside).

"Whoa!", you say?

It’s all true. I wouldn’t lie about the blessed and wondrous cunt. These lips keep all the inside stuff protected and clean, specifically the clitoris and the vagina. Around the base of the lips is the vaginal opening. The vagina expands in size and gets ripe and juicy when a girl is sizzlin’.

Magical Cunny-land is toward the top of the lips, at the peak, just inside the little ones. This is where the enigmatic pearl, called the Clitoris lives in her special hooded house. The clitoris is the most sensational piece of flesh in the world. As I’ve mentioned before, it has twice as many nerve endings as an entire gigantoid penis (mine can also speak 47 different languages). If you lick, rub, suck, or otherwise stimulate the clit just so, it will get really happy and make an orgasm. An orgasm makes everyone happy!

Now, try to tell me that pussies aren’t anything but stupendously breath-taking. If my description hasn’t convinced you, go take a look at one ... or a dozen.

* A personal note: When women completely shave their pussy hair, they look like pre-pubescent girls. I have a difficult time with folks who get off on that. It’s one thing to keep things trim and tidy, but it’s altogether different to take it all away. Additionally, when there’s no hair down there, sexual activity becomes uncomfortable for a lot of women. I can’t imagine a rough and tumble jungle-fuck session without the cushiony comfort of my muff. Also, after I fight off the urge to heave, I find it personally insulting when someone suggests I shave it all off.

A response to Royce’s hygiene concerns: (he commented on the 1st Cunnilingus Campaign post).

The Love Goddess shouldn't have to remind everyone that issues of hygiene go both ways, but I will, cuz I want to be crystal clear on that point. I also have a handy little tip to share with the gals. Sorry boys, you’re on your own, unless you happen to carry a Man-Purse.

The Hot Chik Pussy Tip:
The Hot Chik who is thinking ahead will stash the o-so-handy Kleenex "Splash 'n Go!" moist wipes in her handbag. They are alcohol free and have Aloe and Vitamin E for sensitive skin. The scent is pleasant too. Also, the package is flexible and resealable, so you can keep the other 13 fresh until you meet again. (Note: these also work well to tidy up the
sex toys after use. If you want tips on stash-able sex toys, email me).

Saturday, January 08, 2005

The One Hundred

For those of you who want to know a few fascinating tidbits about the Love Goddess, you will have to discover them mixed hither and thither within this list of only moderately fascinating bits:

  1. I can fold fitted sheets perfectly.
  2. I’ve never sung Kareoke.
  3. I didn’t shave my legs from 1996 to 2004.
  4. I taught myself how to knit online.
  5. My hair is naturally curly.
  6. It’s not naturally blond.
  7. Except in the summer, when it turns to gold.
  8. I can run in high heels.
  9. My favorite super hero is American Maid.
  10. My favorite comedian is Eddie Izzard.
  11. I’m a great kisser.
  12. I know CPR.
  13. The weight on my driver’s license is 10 pounds more than I actually weigh.
  14. My driver’s license photo is one of the best pictures I have of myself.
  15. I’ve been in love 3 times.
  16. I have more than one best friend.
  17. An X-Ray tech once told me I had the best bones he’d ever seen.
  18. I told him that was the best pick-up line I’d ever heard.
  19. I’ve had sex with 21 different partners.
  20. Only three of them were women.
  21. I’ve never had an STD.
  22. I’ve never been pregnant.
  23. Sometimes I regret not having children.
  24. I only use linen napkins at home.
  25. I’m plagued by fears that someone I love will die.
  26. I hope I die first.
  27. No one extremely close to me has ever died, except my dog when I was 9.
  28. I’ve only had one job interview where I wasn’t offered the job.
  29. I’m not jealous or possessive in relationships.
  30. I don’t believe nice guys finish last.
  31. I really like other women.
  32. I’m very flexible. In 3-inch heels, I can lay my palms flat the floor.
  33. One of my lovers told me I was too exuberant in bed.
  34. Jay Leno woke me up after I fell asleep while reading in a hotel lobby.
  35. I plant gardens because I love to play in the dirt.
  36. I broke and dislocated my ankle 12 years ago.
  37. The surgical plate attached to the bone set off metal detectors at prisons, but not airports.
  38. One summer I was hospitalized for a week with swimmer’s ear.
  39. I’ve been a bridesmaid 4 times.
  40. I proposed to my husband.
  41. On Stage.
  42. There was no audience, but the cast was backstage with champagne.
  43. I’ve been to two nudist camps.
  44. I skinny-dip every chance I get.
  45. I like to have painted toe-nails, but not painted fingernails.
  46. I love to vote.
  47. I give genuine compliments.
  48. Other people’s parents really like me.
  49. I haven’t eaten meat, other than fish and seafood, since 1986.
  50. I’ve been to Great Britain three times.
  51. I have more patience with others than I do with myself.
  52. I’m terrified of mice.
  53. My college roommate’s boyfriend was an officer in a street gang.
  54. I think people who are smart-asses are funny.
  55. But, I don’t like cruel humor.
  56. I’ve never owned a couch of my own.
  57. I was arrested once for illegal trespassing.
  58. I’ve had one blind date in my life.
  59. My blood type is AB negative.
  60. I’ve never bought a bad car.
  61. I used to weigh 80 pounds more than I do now.
  62. I’ve also weighed less than I do now.
  63. In a crisis, I usually seem calm.
  64. I played the cello for 11 years.
  65. My most difficult performance was for the funeral of a 5 year-old.
  66. I love my in-laws.
  67. I look great in hats.
  68. I can start a campfire.
  69. I’ve witnessed over 50 rape exams at the hospital.
  70. I have perfect gay-dar.
  71. When I drink, I drink good beer.
  72. I don’t believe in god.
  73. I do believe in an afterlife.
  74. I have a clear sense of morality.
  75. I can be very opinionated.
  76. I have one brother and two sisters.
  77. I have two nieces and six nephews.
  78. My parents have been married for 42 years.
  79. My mother tells me things about their sex life.
  80. I don’t know what my IQ is.
  81. I don’t want to know what my IQ is.
  82. I like to tell people that I’m older than I really am.
  83. I found my first gray hair when I was 34.
  84. I’m an amazing cook.
  85. I lost my virginity when I was 20.
  86. I didn’t have sex until I was 22.
  87. I wore braces on my teeth from age 12 to 18.
  88. It’s nearly impossible for me to sleep in a bed with clothes on.
  89. I hate having my ears licked.
  90. I have extremely sensitive nipples.
  91. I’ve never seen "Gone With the Wind".
  92. I know how to flirt well.
  93. In the last 6 months, 3 people have told me I look like Glenn Close.
  94. I make friends easily.
  95. My favorite dessert is chocolate cake with white frosting and vanilla ice cream.
  96. I make parallel parking look easy.
  97. I like my partner to watch while I’m giving him head.
  98. I hate every song from the musical, "Oklahoma".
  99. Some really bad things have happened to me.
  100. I’ve survived all of them.

Thursday, January 06, 2005

Gimme Lots of Men!

Believe it or not, I, The Love Goddess, have been called a "Man-Hater" on more than one occasion. Most notably, it was during a time when I was doing something that pissed-off some muther-fucking "Woman-Hating" asshole. I have a long history of working both as a professional and a volunteer in efforts to end violence against women and children. This seems like an obvious thing for a Hot Chik to do. After all, we gotta watch our sisters' backs. However, there are a few men who find the activities of those who wish to end sexual and physical violence toward children and women a threat to their manhood. They ignorantly believe that women who participate in such activities hate men. These would be the muther-fucking "Woman-Hating" assholes I first referred to.

In reality, I unquestionably LOVE MEN! There are probably as many reasons for my heart-felt affection as there are men in my life. And, heaven forbid, there comes a time when new men cease to wander into my realm. I rely on them to provide me with even more reasons to love men.

Just for fun, I thought I’d list a few of my favorite Man-Qualities:

  • Bellies: Man bellies are sooo sexy. I’m not talking about the dudes with the 6-pack abs, although they are lickably welcome too. I’m talking about all kinds of bellies. The slightly mushy, the big hard round ones, the hairless, and those with the delightful little treasure trail, are all deliciously wonderful. I love them, love them, love them! *Warning to all men with bellies: if you get too close, I’m may blow raspberry noises all over your tummy.
  • Men are funny when they get a boo-boo. It’s really cute when they wander in from the garage with a cut on their finger. Even though they act tough about it, they have to show you the bloody gash full of dirt and lawn-mower grease anyway.
  • When Men are Heroes: When someone he cares about is upset or hurt, a man will automatically try to find a way to fix it. He will drive you anywhere you want to go, give you as much money as he can spare, get you as drunk as you’ve ever been, have sweet sloppy sex with you, or beat someone to a bloody pulp. Generally, whichever of these makes you stop crying the quickest is the one he’ll pick. The only exception to the Hero quality is when he’s the one who upset you. In that case, he’s in the difficult position of being the Anti-Hero, and he will try to find any way out of it, sometimes even blaming you. But, women can play that game too.
  • Boys like toys: It doesn’t matter how old he is, there is some gadget, computer thingy, tool, instrument, or piece of sporting equipment that he’s been dreaming of for weeks or months or years. When he sees it, he gets the same look in his eye that he did when he got his first gander at the National Geographic with the photos of the naked booby ladies who live in far away places.
  • I love the way men respond to a genuine compliment. Sometimes you’d think he’d never heard anything nice said about himself before. I’m not talking about telling him he has a nice ass, although some of the boys probably like to hear that. And, I’m not talking about telling a guy something because you think he expects it, or because you want something from him. When you notice something uniquely special about a man, he can ride on that for weeks. It always surprises me, and it’s so cool to see.
  • The Double Take: When a woman is feeling as foxy and fine as a Hot Chik can be, she’s bound to be noticed by men. It’s a blast to see the Double-Take. It’s a bigger blast when you happen to be that particular Hot Chik. I love when men show their appreciation of sexy women in subtle ways. However, when men are obnoxious about it, it’s trashy and disgusting.
  • Lastly, I love when men kiss my neck. It’s all soft and tickly, and a little whiskery, ummmm…. Granted, I don’t want all the men I love to kiss my neck, but for those I do, Damn! I Fucking Love It!

*This is by no means an exhaustive list, however, it's late and even women as powerful as great Amazon Warrior Queens need their beauty sleep. Perhaps I will be inspired to write Part II at a later date.

Wednesday, January 05, 2005


I had to stay up last night and re-decorate the blog. I was at the point where I was sure my eyes were going to bleed if I looked at that Pink computer screen another minute longer. This seems much better. It's not quite so "Barbie", and so much easier on the eyes. We'll save the pink for when we have a tummy ache and need to break out the Pepto Bismol to ease the pain & cramping.

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Damn, I Love My Life!

For all my bitchin’ and belly-aching, I genuinely love and appreciate my life. Hell, who wouldn’t love being a Hot Chik? It’s a wild road-trip without a map, and the scenery gets better and better every day.

These are the little treasures I appreciated today:

  1. The older I get, the better lookin’ I get. It’s like magic. Same thing happened to my Dad. Thanks Dad!
  2. It’s snowing, and it’s going to keep on snowing for a long, long time! Yay!!! I love to shovel snow. It makes me hot and cold both at the same time, and I get really strong shoulder and back muscles! (Tip: If you shovel your neighbor’s sidewalk, or dig out their car, next summer when you have a crazy-ass wild party and one of your dumb-fuck friends passes out on their porch, they’ll think twice about calling the cops.)
  3. Marine Corps Man (the hottie of all work-place hotties) came over to my Cubicle Corner of Shame today and talked to me for about a hundred hours. We laughed and laughed, and even flirted a bit too. As he was leaving, I cracked one that nearly made him burst. I love when I do shit like that!
  4. I discovered Fat-Free Whipped Cream in a can. Glory-Be! It only has 5 calories for 2 tablespoons. Imagine the possibilities. Really, go for it, IMAGINE! Ummm……
  5. My car is paid off this Thursday. It’s a Honda with under 85 thousand miles. I’m not going to have a car payment for a really long time. Imagine all the shoes, hot little skirts, and other pretties I can buy. IMAGINE! Ummm……
  6. After learning the Boobie Secret from Joe, I’m even more in love with my tits than I was before. Not that I really needed validation from men to love them (they are so nippl-y-icious), but a genuinely appreciative audience sometimes enhances self-love.
  7. There are so many Hot Chiks everywhere. I love Hot Chiks. They are so goddamn Hot!!! Are there even enough hot guys for all the Hot Chiks?
  8. I’m very excited about all the enthusiasm for the campaign to make 2005 the year of Cunnilingus. As a matter of fact, I’m so happy that I’m nearly tongue-tied! (don’t groan, you would have said it if you thought of it first).
  9. I’ve lost 4 lbs of the 10 lbs of nasty jiggly bits I gained this fall. The Stair Master of Death is a harsh mistress, but she knows how to make me strong and shape up my sweet ol’ juicy ass.
  10. I love bellies. Fortunately, I have a number of friends who let me rub their bellies, including my two cuddly fuzzy dogs.
  11. Speaking of bellies, I also flirted with Looks at His Shoes Man twice today (he’s got a good belly). In the last six months, I’ve managed to get eye contact almost on a weekly basis. Today was a no-go, but it’s always fun to try. (Note: this does not violate my New Year’s goal of not toying with the stupid. Toying with the shy and easily intimidated is fair game). Besides, he’s really adorable.

Monday, January 03, 2005

What Kind of Sexy Are You?

Kayten posted this quiz on her blog. Perhaps because I grew up on Cosmo, toxic as it is, I can't pass these things by. I thought the results were interesting. I'm not sure how accurate I'd say it is. For those who know me, what do you think?

You Are Glam Sexy

You live for flaunting your sexiness, and you totally work it.Why not? You've got the goods - you might as well use them.You're 100% woman, and you never go out without looking your best.After all, you never can tell when you might bump into Mr. Perfect! What Kind of Sexy Are You? Take This Quiz :-)
Find the Love of Your Life (and More Love Quizzes) at Your New Romance.

I'm looking at the graphic on this post thinking, "hmmm, I wish my tits looked like her's." Who the fuck compares themselves to a graphic design? Damn it, I hate the pricks who perpetutate an unattainable standard of beauty.

Saturday, January 01, 2005

Where the hell have I been?

Long story.

Actually, I’ve been recuperating from double pneumonia and pleurisy and trying to exercise my brain while my body heals. But I feel I need to explain myself (about the brain exercise part) which requires me to provide you with a little background. This is what makes it a long story.

For those of you who don’t know me, I used to be a database administrator (that‘s what I actually did, although I was named and paid as a Data Entry Clerk) for the area's Mental Health/Developmental Disabilities Services. It’s this department’s function to manage taxpayer money and other government funding to the mentally ill, developmentally disabled, and retarded folks in this area. In the spring and summer of 2003, I underwent a series of ECT (electro convulsive therapy) treatments in an effort to “control” the depressive symptoms of my bipolar disorder, which was not really responding to meds very well. Although the treatments were done on an outpatient basis, I had to take a lot of time off work. At the end of July, I was required by my employer to turn in a written doctor’s plan for the upcoming months. Well, I missed the deadline by one day, basically because I misunderstood the instructions (one’s mind doesn’t really work very well while receiving electric shocks three times a week), and was terminated. (Yeah, I know—raw deal coming from a non-profit government agency that deals with the mentally ill. But, although I had a few offers from attorneys to “take my case,” I found that I really could not maintain the level of animosity required to pursue it. As long as our clients weren’t affected by it, I didn’t feel it was necessary.)

So…by September I found myself unemployed, depressed (bit of trouble with the ECTs—more on that in another post), and in debt to University Hospital for a king’s ransom. I slept for several months, tried another combo of meds, and began to teach myself the art of being retired. Not easy to accept at 43 years of age. I was able to get disability amazingly easy, so, although tight at times, money has not been too huge an issue. But I’m still learning about how to maintain a balance between healthy activity and the rest that I so desperately need.

As a computer geek, I was required most of the time to really use my brain. When I was sick, it often took monumental effort to accomplish even the simplest tasks. There were days when I could barely add single digit numbers, let alone write a database program. But now that I am out of that oh-so-stressful environment of the average American workplace, I find that I must make an effort to find things that challenge, or “exercise,” my brain.

Obviously, reading and writing are my primary exercises—this blog has been very good for me, as I basically haven’t written anything since college, back in ’82. I plan on writing a lot more. But my favorite exercises come in the form of computer games.

Oh, I know what you’re saying—that games are time wasters, for entertainment purposes only. Not true. In fact, when I was training a group of engineers in the use of personal computers, I required them to play Solitaire or Mine Sweeper for the first half hour of every day. I wanted them to become more comfortable with the PC interface, and to get to a point where mouse use became second-nature. They all commented on how much more alert they felt after exercising their sleepy brains, and coffee consumption decreased noticeably. So there!

Below are some of my favorite sites: I fell in love with these puzzles years ago in Games Magazine. They’re even more fun online, and this international site is truly remarkable. I’ve been a member for a few years—I’m bitzi3 on the site in case you see me online and want to chat! Two new puzzles every day, and when you’re done, click on the “Crossword” and “News Puzzle” buttons at the top of the page. And don’t forget to download “Word Zap”—the best computer word game ever. This site is so much fun. I first found it in my search for free online adventure games, and it has some of the best. But there is plenty more, from logic puzzles to humorous articles to the Oscar Awards. You’ve just gotta check it out (click on the “Site Guide” after you’ve finished reading the home page). Found this site through RinkWorks—when I was having trouble with one of their adventure games and needed a few hints. You’d be surprised at the number of geeks who feel the way I do about computer games! There are hundreds of links to all kinds of online games through these forums, and tons of hints as well. This is a listing of free online adventure game sites. It’s not a very long list (there are better ones—try Google-ing for “free online adventure games” or e-mail me), but I love the name of this site so I check on it periodically. There are some very impressive games, what they call “graphic adventures” online or free for download. Check it out. Some days, all I can really do are jigsaw puzzles. These three are my favorites. Note that the Zylom site has lots of other cool games, too. This site is a recent addition to my list of favorites. I’ve only tried about half the games, but all of those have been exceptional. They claim to be relaxing, and they are—from the graphics to the music to the actual game play, I feel that they are healthy (and beautiful) stress-relievers. I’m including this site, “Weird, Wacky, & Wonderful,” because I think laughter exercises your brain, too. I met Susan Pope at the Griddlers site—she does a weekly show on BBC Radio Wiltshire called “Wacky Websites” and this site is a listing of the sites she’s covered. All are wacky, some are downright brilliant. This is not an online game, but one that you must purchase and install. But I’ve included it because it’s the best computer game I’ve ever played. The story, the graphics, the interface, the whole damn thing is absofuckinglutely brilliant. And the creators are working on the second chapter, which is due out this fall. Part II, Dreamfall (, promises to be even more fantastic—even the government of Norway has gotten involved by awarding the production company with an endowment from the national arts fund. This last entry in my list is not a game, but rather a project that I volunteer my time to. Distributed Proofreaders is a group that helps get books online for the Guttenberg Project, a huge e-book site. See the site for more info…

So that’s where I’ve been lately. I try to keep busy and healthy, and as unstressed as possible. Sometimes all this takes a lot of work—other times I just turn off the phone and sleep!