our younger years
First:
I received an email from the only local piercing parlour that I trust. July 11th, 11% off jewelry or $11 off a piercing + jewelry. No idea how I randomly got this mail, but figured I'd been wanting a new stud for my nose, so why not? I was going to get a bright red one, like originally when I got it done in Madtown, but they were out. So the new color is bright blue. She even shaped the ring better so that it doesn't stick out and won't move around.
I think a tattoo may be in order before the summer is over--but we'll see how funds keep going.
Second:
Fantastic books are being released tomorrow. Until I Find You by John Irving and Robert Sabuda's Dinosaurs. I'm telling you, coolest pop-up book you will ever see. We've been drooling over it in the back for the past few days. And Irving's new one is just beautiful. The quality of paper and binding is unparalleled, I promise.
Third:
Jamie and I stumbled across a book called The Ethical Slut by Dossie Easton. There are so many upsetting books [like the one with the porn star straight out of the depths of the trailer park--completely naked on the jacket, aviators on face and only his hand to cover up what you really don't want to see] that you'll find in the sex section and even more that are awfully hilarious ones [like the book about penis size with a ruler on the bind]. There aren't too many that will make you think, but there are a handful. Unfortunately, they get dumped in a section that's more about getting off than actually exploring human sexuality.
The content of the book is about polyamory, but the title itself is just enough to think on for a few days. The implications on female sexuality--or even the term slut being applied to a man. Few and far between, but it happens. And what it means anyway. Does it connotate someone being jealous, or disgusted? Feelings being hurt, whatever. Or even just the ability to speak about sex openly without someone cocking a brow at you.
Last night, we walked to VC from the apartment we were at and Jamie and I talked about sex just like Marty wasn't there. The expressions on his face were priceless, but it made me think about the title of that book, the subject matter. The worst thing is thinking about it. Most cases, you don't care how you sound because you know you're safe and you believe strongly that women should own their sexuality and that having a sex drive [and acting upon it] is both healthy and human, but most people still have a number in the back of their mind.
As long as it's less than ten. Anywhere between seven and nine. Who cares as long as you can remember [most of] their names? You know, I'd never go over four. Well, I don't want to seem like a total whore, but...Anyone you know--there's a number that is acceptable to them and one they'd like to stay in.
Really, the point is that I'm glad I'm hanging out with the kids from work more often because now there's someone to talk to as openly as possible again. I hadn't even realized how much I wasn't talking about certain things [read: sex].
I know this is a huge jumble of thoughts. Completely incoherent. Oh well. Maybe this is something to touch back on after I get my hands on that book, or whenever I finish the other book I have. After, you know, reading about 900 pages of Irving, I'll be all ready to discuss the evolution of the female orgasm. Bring it.
I received an email from the only local piercing parlour that I trust. July 11th, 11% off jewelry or $11 off a piercing + jewelry. No idea how I randomly got this mail, but figured I'd been wanting a new stud for my nose, so why not? I was going to get a bright red one, like originally when I got it done in Madtown, but they were out. So the new color is bright blue. She even shaped the ring better so that it doesn't stick out and won't move around.
I think a tattoo may be in order before the summer is over--but we'll see how funds keep going.
Second:
Fantastic books are being released tomorrow. Until I Find You by John Irving and Robert Sabuda's Dinosaurs. I'm telling you, coolest pop-up book you will ever see. We've been drooling over it in the back for the past few days. And Irving's new one is just beautiful. The quality of paper and binding is unparalleled, I promise.
Third:
Jamie and I stumbled across a book called The Ethical Slut by Dossie Easton. There are so many upsetting books [like the one with the porn star straight out of the depths of the trailer park--completely naked on the jacket, aviators on face and only his hand to cover up what you really don't want to see] that you'll find in the sex section and even more that are awfully hilarious ones [like the book about penis size with a ruler on the bind]. There aren't too many that will make you think, but there are a handful. Unfortunately, they get dumped in a section that's more about getting off than actually exploring human sexuality.
The content of the book is about polyamory, but the title itself is just enough to think on for a few days. The implications on female sexuality--or even the term slut being applied to a man. Few and far between, but it happens. And what it means anyway. Does it connotate someone being jealous, or disgusted? Feelings being hurt, whatever. Or even just the ability to speak about sex openly without someone cocking a brow at you.
Last night, we walked to VC from the apartment we were at and Jamie and I talked about sex just like Marty wasn't there. The expressions on his face were priceless, but it made me think about the title of that book, the subject matter. The worst thing is thinking about it. Most cases, you don't care how you sound because you know you're safe and you believe strongly that women should own their sexuality and that having a sex drive [and acting upon it] is both healthy and human, but most people still have a number in the back of their mind.
As long as it's less than ten. Anywhere between seven and nine. Who cares as long as you can remember [most of] their names? You know, I'd never go over four. Well, I don't want to seem like a total whore, but...Anyone you know--there's a number that is acceptable to them and one they'd like to stay in.
Really, the point is that I'm glad I'm hanging out with the kids from work more often because now there's someone to talk to as openly as possible again. I hadn't even realized how much I wasn't talking about certain things [read: sex].
I know this is a huge jumble of thoughts. Completely incoherent. Oh well. Maybe this is something to touch back on after I get my hands on that book, or whenever I finish the other book I have. After, you know, reading about 900 pages of Irving, I'll be all ready to discuss the evolution of the female orgasm. Bring it.
2 Comments:
I still believe there shouldn't be a difference between men and women when it comes to "numbers" (read: How many people you've had sex with). Both men and women are humans, ergo, have certain needs, why always think that women shouldn't be able to own their own sexuality? It's a basic human right in my opinion. Or: Keep your laws off my body...
I completely agree. But then it comes down to the Madonna vs. the Whore, which it never should. Stereotypically, men want a woman they can see as untouched (well, people in general want to be with someone who feels only for them, bla bla bla--less jealousy that way).
It's all just annoying. The worst is how you can be completely fine with yourself and whatever numbers are, because they're arbitrary and completely do not matter, but that one second when someone can make you feel like crap for them.
Sexuality is just so interesting, but even more so is how people respond to that of others.
The contrast of what's okay for men and for women would inspire days of conversation, especially between and across cultures. Even groups within those cultures.
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