Sex,Life & Frilly Bits

Happy Mother's Day

I was in my first year of high school, and out of luck in the library department. I couldn’t find anything fun to read, and then I stumbled on Erma Bombeck’s At Wit’s End and The Grass is Always Greener Over the Septic Tank and it was my first experience of well written humor. Erma knew how to make people laugh, and she had no issues laughing at herself, so for this Mother’s Day….

To all the web mums out there, a Happy Mother’s Day, and while I’m at it, a few quotes from Bombeck’s book, Motherhood: The Second Oldest Profession:

"Mother" has always been a generic term synonymous with love, devotion, and sacrifice. There's always been something mystical and reverent about them. They're the Walter Cronkites of the human race . . . infallible, virtuous, without flaws and conceived without original sin, with no room for ambivalence."

"It's [motherhood] the biggest on-the-job- training program in existence today."

and the most poignant (to me, at least):

Motherhood is the second oldest profession in the world. It never questions age, height, religious preference, health, political affiliation, citizenship, morality, ethnic background, marital status, economic level, convenience, or previous experience.

Image: Erma Bombeck musuem

Return to 1959 & 'Obscenity in the UK', or How to Create a Blackmarket

When I last blogged about the new law in the UK banning violent point, it did put a couple of noses out of joint, one commenter decided to accuse me of wanting them incarcerated, even though my definition of extreme was non-consensual content, namely paedophilia and necro,(I thought I'd make that bold so it could stand out a little more) and how law enforcement agencies ought to concentrate on those darker avenues of human exploitation (rather than lumbering everything adult into one category – because porn cannot be simplified that way), something that can be done without this sort of legislation. Most law enforcement agencies investigate illegal sexual content each day, and they don’t need laws like this to do it.

Tonight I finally got hold of the drafted copy, and I had a bit of a laugh, but also thought it quite ridiculous. I don’t understand how extreme pornography is defined as ‘pornography’ with no specific details. If something that depicts consenting adults causes arousal, it is viewed as an offence.

Does this mean that Great Britain returns to the era of book banning? It appears so. According to the definitions of this draft, books by Marquis de Sade would have to be banned, because novels like Justine, Juliette, 101 Days of Sodom, among others, contain extreme acts. Even though de Sade’s works are considered social satire by some, they can also be considered as ‘extreme pornography,’ by idiots. The acts that take place in Lady Chatterley’s lover may be deemed pornographic by some, and the fact that these love scenes can cause arousal, also fall into the law. Would Lady Chatterley’s Lover be banned also?

What I find mind boggling (referring to section 7) is the absence of under aged sex in the Extreme Images section. There are other things like bestiality and necrophilia, but there is no reference to paedophilia. Which idiot drafted this? They have probably amended it, I’m not sure, but this version on the Backlash site doesn’t have any reference to paedophilia. But the reference to the Obscenity Act of 1959 is hilarious. 1959? The current document can be read here. It's a dinosaur:

For the purposes of this Act an article shall be deemed to be obscene if its effect or (where the article comprises two or more distinct items) the effect of any one of its items is, if taken as a whole, such as to tend to deprave and corrupt persons who are likely, having regard to all relevant circumstances, to read, see or hear the matter contained or embodied in it.

Could it be that books may once again be banned, because Lady Chatterley's Lover was prosecuted as a result of this 'Obscenity Act' and the publishers were acquited, for the second edition to be published (and available) in 1961.

I don't want to come across as a harpie, or a bitch, but fucking hell, it's 2008!

One thing is certain. Governments are great at creating blackmarkets, and what happens when such a market is created? Hello organized crime. Because that is what happens when everything is banned based on little debate, and one doesn't have to be a law scholar to know this, or an idiot politician. The Prohibition Act of the Twenties in the US is adequate proof.

It's really strange. In 1969 Neil Armstrong said 'That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,' but is that quote applicable in this era we are living in? An era of abstinence, diminished sex education (as a result of abstinence education or non-education, because telling people it's not 'sacred' to have sex before marriage isn't education because it removes individual CHOICE), HIV spread (and denial via abstinence prevention instead of condoms), and now returning back to the Obscenity Act of 1959? Someone give the UK politician's some coffee, because methinks there's something in the tea, and no, civilization wasn't created by keeping people in the dark, but it seems that certain governments prefer the Dark Ages and the epoch of The Spanish Inquisition.

What are they going to do next. Edit instructional sex books with images? Will Alex Comfort's Joy of Sex have illustrations removed? Is an image of a blowjob a crime? There are people out there who think that an image of fellatio is obscene, that's the thing. How are they going to evaluate if a blowjob is 'extreme'? The amount of semen? Penis size? The presence or absence of the gag reflex?

Quotations & The Theater of Life

I like quotes. They may not solve every single moment known to humankind, but there are some fine pieces of wisdom in short quotes.

I added Quote of the Day to Lucrezia Magazine for that extra injection of optimism, and I’m pleased with the selection of quotes this generator gives. Today’s quote:

"Change your thoughts and you change your world," Norman Vincent Peale.

I confess, I don't know who Norman Vincent Peale is, but a good quote can motivate one to delve further. Norman was a protestant minister and author of The Power of Positive Thinking, and although many critics have weighed in on the concept of positive thinking, viewing it on a micro level or one quaint quote, isn't all so bad. No one's theories are 100% adored, and many theories are reinvented in some way or form. But the 'change your thoughts,' quote is interesting when I think of the current wave of debate that exists in society: all the paranoia, negativity and doom-saying/apocalyptic views. The tendency to make people feel guilt for every single action isn't really wise, because it can tend to piss people off. Don't eat this, don't drink that, don't shower for longer than 3 minutes, don't use the word husband or wife use partner instead, and similar things tend to restrict freedom, and teeter on the edge of over-sensitivity, and all this is done with the view of a 'new and improved' (an oxymoron) society.

One of my favorite uses of quotes, only because it enabled me to express my own work related frustration, was my work's practice to add quotes on meeting briefs. We'd all take turns, and I couldn't wait to be the chairperson so I could add my quote to the handout and read it out (we had to read them out). Some of the quotes I've used at work:

"Always be smarter than the people who hire you. (ouch!)"
"We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give (which was dedicated to the lazy Playstation twats on my floor)."

What I like about quotes is the way they can alter one's perspective for a few moments. They can make one pause to reflect, or offer a side-splitting laugh, that can be a positive mini-break within a hectic day. Quotes like, 'never take life seriously, no one gets out alive anyway,' and 'there are no stupid questions, just stupid people' do make me smile, because life can be like that: taken far too seriously and occupied (temporarily) by stupid people who drive a person bonkers, and although it may not seem funny at the time, it's funny in the long run because it all contributes to the theater of life.

Two Pussies on a Treadmill

Yeah yeah, great title huh? You can hate me later or after you see this HILARIOUS YouTube vid:

Aural Seduction

I’m partial to male vocalists. I like hearing a unique male singer. It’s a form of aural arousal, and truth be known, I sometimes prefer listening to men sing.

I’m currently listening to John Waite (he of ‘When I See You Smile’ fame, which became a number one smash in the United States some years back, for Bad English), and I love listening to John Waite. I’ve listened to John Waite since his ‘Baby’s’ fame. He is a vocal powerhouse.

I also have a vocal crush on Steve Perry (Journey). When he ascends the highest notes, I compare it to a vocal orgasm; how can a man do that? I think.

Laugh at my lameness. I’m no trendy music fad freak. When I saw Neil Diamond, some years back (long story, but I didn’t initially purchase the tickets for myself, but ended up going anyway), he was a sprightly 60+ man, and his voice was fucking unbelievable. Yes, I do like Neil Diamond. I could listen to him sing all day long. I prefer listening to his version of, “I’m a believer,” because he did it better than The Monkees, but that’s my biased view.

And if I even began on Freddie Mercury, we’d be here all day long.

I seldom listen to female singers. Mariah Carey is too frou-frou for me, too perfect and lovey dovey. Then again, listening to Bono is like listening to someone running their fingernails down a blackboard for me. I don’t have definite criteria. Listening to Dilana’s version of Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire is like stepping into the seduction zone, and she doesn’t have a perfect Julie Andrews/Mariah Carey voice. She sounds like she’s smoked a lifetime’s supply of Marlboro’s, as does Tina Turner, but the sex they inject into a song is something for the ear to behold, but I can’t say that I’m able to sit there for long periods of time listening to them.

Out of most female pop singers, my selection will surprise, but I think that Anne Wilson (Heart) has to be the best. I love listening to her. What is there not to love about ‘Magic Man,’ ‘Barracuda’ and ‘All I Wanna Do Is Make Love to You’?

Songs don’t have to be smooth, and the voices don’t have to be syrup-sweet. There are days when I get off on James Hatfield’s (Metallica) anger, and you can find me (on any day of the week), listening to Metallica’s S & M album, which is like my favorite album of all time.

If only men could sing, because come on, there are moments when I’ve thought, ‘why can’t you sing instead of talk?’ or ‘why can’t you sing instead of offering me a lame pickup line?’and I guess some guys feel the same way about gals.

Sassy Spankadocious & Other Monikers

One of my previous posts highlighted the tackiness of porn spam blogs. There’s a difference between the usual porn site and these porn spam blogs, for one, the former doesn’t often take blog posts willy-nilly. There have been moments in my three years blogging when I’ve had posts being added to the most unrelated topics on porn spam blogs. You tell me how a post on something as banal as my non-porn DVD roundup can end up on an anal sex spam blog? I have no idea but it happens sometimes.

I have to hand it to the tacky spam blog I recently blogged about - they are creative with user names.

I was initially referred to as user SSAF33, but this week I have become:

Nasty Nudist
You’re My Everything
Sweet lil Thing (they should look at my arse beforehand)

This spam site has done what I’ve found difficulty doing - creating a naughty user name. Maybe they create user names for posts they link, to escape possible legal action? I don’t know, all I know is that prosecuting a porn spam site would be like running a perennial marathon, but I wonder if they have a naughty user name generator or something, because I’ve had difficulty coming up with risqué user names over the years.

I would have had to have been the dullest Internet chatter, or most uncreative ‘naughty chatter.’ Creating a user name for myself was an experience that would best resemble a hapless shopper trying to find the perfect accessory, shoe or clothes.

My virtual version of ‘does my ass look big in this,’ was more like ‘does this user name reflect the real me, or at least reflect the darker/naughtier/risqué side of my personality?’

And I’d scrap one user name, to go to the next, and feel sillier in the process, so I’d end up with a variation of my name (abbreviated in some way), with a random number at the end of it. Dull. My own recall of past user names is about as sharp as pillow fight. In the course of my tantalizing chats, I’ve been asked if I preferred to be called something ‘sexier,’ to respond with, ‘oh don’t go there because I will be here all day analyzing whether the adopted nickname suits my persona.’

If only porn name generators were around back in the time I entered the R rated net scene. I found one now, actually there are a few porn name generators that people can use to find their ideal adult user name, and it’s so easy. All you have to do is add your first name and before you can say ‘get out of town,’ your porn name materializes. Problem with our era now is that there are MANY porn name generators. It’s like I’ve returned to the origin of my dilemma. I’m spoiled for choice and can be:

Sassy Spankadocious

Busty Slams  - this porn name generator is interesting, add the name of one of your fave celebrities, and be prepared for the shock. Even George Clooney gets a better name than me: King Kong Jets! I better stop, because I can really go to town on this one: Orlando Bloom/Cockney Davis,Amy Winhouse/Bambi Ball (lmao ).

Debbie Kramz (What do I cram? Don't answer that...)

The Internet is seen to be an usurper of traditional ways. According to a Sydney newspaper today, Sydney's Desperate and Dateless ball is having it's final night tonight due to the mainstream nature of online dating. Hello? You don't have to dress up to the nines to date online. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out, but finding the idea user name can be exhausting.

Lazing Around in the Wee Hours

I watched I Am Legend in the early hours of this morning, and I wish I knew there were going to be freakishly virulent humans writhing with anger. I jumped a few times, and almost dropped my cup of tea on my return from the kitchen.

The film made me think. In terms of film making, I couldn’t get how Will Smith’s character still had running electricity for his lab and his flat screen television, but I thought ‘ignore that, it’s a movie,’ but the fantastic thing about this film is that it mainly relied on one character and a dog. There were no hot chicks, there was no nudity. There were no sexual references, or jokes.

E!

Blogging excellence is difficult to define in a few short words, and the meaning will differ from one person to the next, and probably depend on personal preferences. I can’t pinpoint my definition, but I think going with the punches, and adapting to change is an important part of blogging. Let’s face it, there are moments - especially after a long period of time - that can test a blogger. Writing material on a daily basis can pose challenges, especially if outside events change and life hoists additional demands. I can’t say my life has been absolutely perfect or idyllic this year, but there are worse things in life, and one of the positive things in my life is being able to read others’ writings, and enter an alternative world, for part of my day, and come across things that originate in other parts of the world.

So to be included in the E award by Caroline, who lives so far away from me, is fab, and a big thank you goes out to Caroline (keep an eye out for the next feminist carnival as well).

As for my list. What criteria have I used? Various. There is longevity, variety, controversy, fun, readership, and on it goes. I remember being asked via email, early in the piece (I think in 2006), about the steps taken to start a blog. At that point this blog was a year old, and I couldn’t really give a definite answer. Finding something to write about or a focus is one thing, but getting a blog to be read is another thing. For that, patience is important, as is providing input to other blogs, or getting out there. The Blogosphere is like a party; people mingle and it is through this process that readers are found and new blogs are discovered.

So my E list, in no specific order.

Revellian: Bobby writes about various topics, but he isn’t shy of revealing his intimate thoughts on life, whether they be about racism or politics. There are many times where I read and think, 'wow, this is how I think on a subject,' and I guess it's more proof that hemispheres don't really make that much of a difference.

Marcelle: Although Marcelle has had a little break this week, she has accomplished a lot in a phenomenal time. Her sex writing is sharp and tasty, and her expressive writing adds new dimensions to topics/issues.

Alexsuze: This couple is a necessary stopover. They have been blogging for quite a while, more than three years now, and are never short of a story, review or topic of discussion.

Rupert: He’s had a recent break, but I think I saw him recently ‘open’ his doors. He drapes his writing with the literary equivalent of chocolate, and his talents also extend to film and spoken word, to name the few things.

Nina: For someone like me, who has no idea about baseball, Nina’s revealed herself to be a baseball afficionado, but apart from that, she’s a woman who adapts to change, and is quite intrepid. Everything from married life with child, to the latest iPod/Apple development can be found in Nina’s blog.

AAG: Some people ask me where I find the time to do the things I do, but I reckon they ought to be asking Always Aroused Girl where she finds the time (and get off my back lol): Jane’s Guide Reviews, Eden’s Fantasy’s product support, Fleshbot round ups, and time for her blog as well.

Alison Tyler: Alison is a new addition to my blogroll, but I have been aware of her existence as a writer and erotica editor for a while, and I have to say that I’ve learned a lot from the insights she has written about in her blog, and has had published on ERWA - all of which have made me feel like saying, ‘phew,’ I can identify, but more importantly, I consider myself a newbie, and there is always room for insight and learning.

Real Adult Sex: Figleaf has been going strong for a few years now, and his posts may be written from the other side of the world, but it is one part of the world that is of interest, that seldom makes its way Downunder: the issues, debates and discussions, some of which aren’t always sex related, but also venture on gender politics, which is still a reality within mainstream society.

I'm Gonna Poke Him in the Eye

I'm not going to be the first or last woman on this planet who'll (most likely) think of better things to do when a cervical smear is due. I don't want to reveal how long it has been for me, and yes it's quite silly, but crikey, the conversations gynecologists come up with during an examination always has me wishing I  was elsewhere.

I don't feel uncomfortable about my koochie, but listening to doctors say the most incredible things while I'm lying down with my legs apart, and their speculum up my nervous vagina isn't pleasurable.

I had my first Pap smear at the age of nineteen. Mind, I didn't have that many sexual encounters at that age, but I read that sexually active women needed to have a regular smear, so I trotted off to my GP, a jovial forty-something year old bloke. I trusted him enough and felt comfortable – until he opened his mouth the second his warmed speculum entered my shaky cavern. Laying there, I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking 'hurry up, let this be over and done with,' when I felt a pinch and I howled, 'fuck!'

"So sorry…I'm really sorry," he said. I noticed the fine film of sweat covering his brow.
"That hurt!"
"It's all right, I'll try again…my wife hates me when I give her a Pap smear," he said, and that was it, the conversation from hell.

I didn't want to know about his wife. I didn't want to know about his attitude on carrots or the weather. I wanted it done so I could get out. I don't want to talk about my vagina with doctors, and I didn't want to know about his wife's vagina.

He succeeded the second time, and I thankfully left his office. The thing with any test is returning for the result, which is why they are a pain in the butt. The week passes by and your mind is rolling over any possible malady known to mankind, a few more stress points are added to your daily routine and then, after the week from hell, you return to a serious doctor who methodically picks up his pathology reports and takes his/her time to tell you the raw deal. I don't know why they do that. Do they like giving patients the creeps? Is it a moral lesson?

The test was normal, and I practically raced out of the office.

The second Pap smear occurred after I had my son. It had been a while since the last test, for my mid-wife to give me a lecture on the importance of a Pap smear.

"What are you waiting for? Unfortunately I can't give you one now as you're in your second trimester," she said, "but you're to have one shortly after you give birth."

What was I waiting for? I don't know. The Second Coming of Christ. UFO's to land. World Peace? Who knows? It wasn't the most important thing in my mind – the dreaded doc-vagina feedback haunted me.

Shortly after my son's birth I arrived at an ob-gyn office and waited for a new doctor to check me out. When I saw him I almost died. He was a walking heart attack – rotund to the point of disbelief. And it may seem mean to point that out, but he wasn't the picture of health. Bloated, with a red face, he obviously shopped from the Extra-Extra-Big and Tall section, and even then, his trousers were too tight.

In and out, I thought. It became my mantra.

This ob-gyn, Mr Specialist, had his routine down pat, which was good. There was no messing about with speculums, no vaginal wall pinching and probing, and no 'oh fuck, it hurts!' factor. He asked me to ball my hands into fists and rest them under the base of my spine – while I thrust my pelvis upward, with my thighs apart. Yeah, I felt like asking him who the fuck he thought I was? A professional contortionist? Some Cirque du Soleil prodigy?

Nevertheless, I obeyed just so I could get out, and I almost fell off his examination table.

"Try again please otherwise we'll be here all day," he said in a clinical voice.

I secretly think that many gynecologists are desensitized, and maybe they don't want to spend their days looking at yet another vagina. Who knows? I got my position right at the third attempt, and he scraped his sample, and I felt relieved that he didn't say something stupid during the smear, but boy was I wrong.

Afterward, he gave me the opportunity to ask him questions. My lactation seemed to go on forever, even after I'd stopped. His simple explanation related to hormones and of me having to wait, 'have patience it'll work itself out.' Fine, I thought, but the other thing that nagged me was the post-childbirth sex disasters I'd been experiencing with doggy style sex. That position would torture me for some odd reason. It felt as though I was being knifed, and I'd stop mid-way. I decided to rephrase my issue. I don't like telling doctors about my sex life.

"My cervix," I began.
"Yes, what about it?"
"Well, when I use tampons, it just seems different…more sensitive," I said, feeling a flush of warmth beneath my armpits.
"What do you mean?"
"It just feels different."
And then we were back to the unpalatable doctor-patient conversation, or the conversation from ob-gyn specialists that you don't want to have.

"Well, you're not a spring chicken anymore," he said.

I was twenty-four.

I gazed at him, and thought, 'well fuck me, look at you? If I'm not a spring chicken, what are you? A life sized globule of bad cholesterol?'

The most recent examination (and I’m due for one) occurred a few days after I used my office birthday gift voucher at a beauty spa and decided on the complete pubic Monty and full leg wax. Surprisingly enough, the full leg wax didn’t pain me any, but tears did well in my eyes when wax strips were being pulled off my punani. The wax technician was much better than a gyno, with ‘I’m going to do this in sections, so it won’t hurt that much,’ and shit yeah she lied, but the finished result was smoother than a baby’s bottom. I couldn’t believe it. I survived a full pubic wax and lived to tell all my friends about it - until I remembered my upcoming cervical smear.

I felt apprehensive, and couldn’t back out of the appointment or I’d pay the amount. I couldn’t chicken out of it because it is an important test women need to have, so I bit my g-string and arrived, to go through the usual mode of undress and wait for the doctor to prepare the speculum, and before you can say, ‘bad gyno,’ it came out:

“So that’s the new fashion is it?” he asked.
“Pardon?”
He nodded toward my bald crotch.
“Did it hurt?”
I thought, ‘what the fuck? The next thing he’s going to reveal is his girlfriend or wife wanting one, and him wanting to know all the details.”
“Umm…a little.”
He bent over, and I went into my ‘excruciating eyes squeezed shut’ routine, relieved he didn’t continue the conversation, but as usual, I was wrong.
“Not bad. Your new hairdo makes it easier. No tangles.”

Did I say that I hate cervical smears?

I can't say I look forward to these types of moments in my life. They are about as exciting as my visits to the dentists, and geez, dentists are conversationally challenged. I'm surprised that Seinfeld never had a gyno themed episode.

Do doctors work hand in hand? I've often wondered about that. There are some moments where one experiences an examination from hell, the type that makes you wonder if you need therapy to recover from the experience. I need therapy to recover from some dentists I've visited.

My next smear is due, and there is no bare pudendum. This time I’m going Amazon rain forest, and hopefully poke the bastard in the eye - you see, I'm growing it. No trims. No bikini waxes.

I Am an Evil Parent

To see a grown woman beg for a different Mother’s Day present is pathetic. I am that grown woman, who complained about coffee mugs, tea pots and domestic gadgets. I’m not one for domestic gadgetry. I’m not into bread makers, and the only reason I have a rice cooker is because I’m shit at cooking rice the old fashioned way; with a rice cooker, I just turn the switch and my worries about clumpy rice are in the distant past. Alas, I'm no domestic goddess. Klutz yes, walking kitchen disaster - definitely.

“You owe me twenty bucks,” my son said.

Oh yeah, I’m a criminal. I’m a terrible parent because I’ve just realized that I have indirectly taught my son about bribery.

“But if I don’t receive the present?”
“Dad got it for you, and if he hasn’t you’ll only owe me ten dollars.”

It’s all my fault because I transformed into a she-devil and made the deal. But my dilemma over the usual Mother’s Day presents overtook my objectivity: cups, plates, toasters, mixers, juicers, bread makers, crap and more crap.

“All right, but I hope he got it,” I said, because I will be uber pissed if I don’t get my Twilight Zone DVD collection this Mother’s Day.