Odds. Ends.

Apr 292011
 

Clearly such hubris met with the gods’ disapproval for immediately after pushing the “publish” button I fell into a hole from which I have yet to escape. It’s times like these I think it might make more sense to drop all medicines and see where we stand — a new baseline, as it were. I’ve not been med-free in many, many years. Maybe I’d be cured! Maybe it’s the drugs that make me cranky!

When I raise this possibility to the doctor next week I feel reasonably certain that she’ll not agree — or that she will agree with the stipulation that I put the number of the ECT clinic on speed dial.

————

This made me cry yesterday:

It is terrible—terrible—to be a woman in a relationship with a man who does not reflexively and uncompromisingly respect your inherent worth as his equal. It is terrible, too, to be the sister or friend or coworker of such a man. But there is something uniquely painful about hearing one’s own father communicate you are less than.

There is something uniquely demeaning about being told by a man who brought you into this world, and/or brought you up in it, that it is not a world to which you deserve equal opportunity, equal access, your fair share, but a world in which you deserve less.

Less respect. Less dignity. Less agency. Less autonomy. Less opportunity. Less voice. Less ownership of self. Less of your humanity, because humanness is a zero sum game, and a little of yours must be given to him.

That feels like something less than love to a daughter.

Read the rest here.

————

Today this happens.

————

As a child I learned to hide loose teeth as they were simply not tolerated in my house. Did it wiggle? Then my dad insisted upon knocking it out while delivering a meant-to-be distracting but actually terrifying tooth-brushing. I swore not to do the same; in this effort I succeeded with my first child, who lost all her teeth with the usual degree of drama (lots) but only limited participation (read: cheering from the sidelines) from your truly.

I continued to succeed with my second child. Her first tooth broke free in an altogether unassisted and angst-less fashion some months back. But then a few weeks ago four teeth at once began to loosen, one of them to the point that it was laying sideways in her mouth. “Wiggle it,” we all told her, and to her credit she wiggled it like a champ. And yet on it held, through juice, through gum, through a delectable McDonald’s dinner, all designed to get her to forget about it long enough that she’d make one good bite down and the silly thing would just fall out.

But it didn’t, and when it got to the point that the tooth’s irritation caused her to limp1 she brought her tear-stained face to me and asked for help in making the annoyance go away. Can you wiggle it some more? I weakly asked, but she was done. “Pull it out for me, mommy,” she said, her blue eyes enormous as she begged for deliverance.

I did it. I pulled it out, and her relief was so instantaneous, so overwhelming, that she couldn’t stop laughing and I knew I’d done the right thing. But this is what happens in fuckedup childhoods: The past steadfastly refuses to stay in the past, intruding on the present and making you doubt even when you most need to be decisive.

It really kind of sucks.

 

  1. !!!!!!! [↩]
 AAG Entries, think  7 Responses »

What I’m Doing Instead of Writing

Apr 282011
 

I’m reading this, and if you are a reader you should be reading it too.

Give it thirty pages so you can get into the rhythm of different narrators and shifts through time — at least to the point where Scotty deposits an East River-caught fish on the record producer’s desk. Enjoy the dizziness and confusion of each new chapter.

And like each character, wonder how in the world you got from point a to point b.

With any luck I’ll be done soon, out of readin’ and back into writin’ mode.

 AAG Entries  5 Responses »

Your Earliest Memory

Apr 272011
 

Someone asked me the other day what was my earliest memory. While this is no doubt not the absolute first thing I can remember, it is the first thing for which I know a definite date:

My mother was hugely pregnant, so the year was 1973 and I would have been barely four. Fixated on the soon-to-be existence of my sister, somehow I came to the conclusion that our family was destined to raise a child with dark skin. Despite her best efforts my mother could not convince me that this new baby had no chance of satisfying that requirement. How do you know, I asked over and over and over to the point that she surely considered duct tape or banishment to my room for life. You haven’t seen it, have you? How do you know the baby won’t be black? A quick lesson in genetics modified for the pre-school set would likely have satisfied this curiosity but I recall that none was given, leaving me in desperate hope that my mother would be proven wrong at the birth.

“Interesting,” said my companion. “And did this come into play in your adult life?”

Hm, I said. I guess it kind of did.

So now I ask the same question of you. What’s your earliest memory? And did it in any way affect you later?

 AAG Entries, family  10 Responses »

No Homos, No Blacks, No Fatties

Apr 262011
 

Very, very occasionally I venture into the virtual cattle call which is my favorite pervy dating site’s IM service, where any woman so foolish as to permit the “online” icon next to her name to illuminate is instantly offered dozens of cock pix, homegrown camshows and opportunities to come give some stranger four counties away head right this very second.

Ignore (or block) the jackoffs and sometimes, just sometimes, you find interesting people. “Why not search for suitable folk and then email them directly,” you might be wondering, and for the most part I’ve followed that approach. Its drawback is this: set your parameters too narrow and the query returns no one. Set them too wide and you pull in as many possibilities as Peter and then have commensurate difficulty in sorting through the catch.

So I steeled myself, then into the breech I went. “Long thick cock, cum watch me on cam,” offered one message. I declined. “You’re picture’s going to make me explode!” said another. After ascertaining that my comparatively sedate offering of my torso in a black spaghetti-strapped cami had not mysteriously been replaced with something more stimulating I declined this invitation as well. “Wife’s out for the night, let’s play!” said another. “Chat only, no meetings!” went similarly by the wayside. “Hey cutie, come sit in Daddy’s lap” drew momentary interest, but as Daddy was 77 and lived three states away my boner quickly flagged.

And then someone addressed me politely. Politely! Over the course of thirty minutes or so we sketched out lives that had progressed along similar paths: strictly religious upbringing, early marriage that quickly went cold, deep devotion to our children and an abiding interest in all things pervy. We moved on to a discussion of our respective dating experiences since divorce; his first offering was the tale of a woman whose picture in no way represented her meatspace appearance. Hm, I said. That’s why I try to be really upfront in my profile about the fact that I’m not thin.

“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t read your profile.”

Perhaps you should, I said.

He returned within moments. “I only date women who are small or maximum HWP,” he said. “It’s a shame because you sound great otherwise.”

I see, I said. I guess we wouldn’t be a good match then, eh?

“Nope, we wouldn’t!”

Best of luck to you, I said, and then he was gone.

At MOMENTUM I slid in for the last half-hour or so of a talk given by Brandon B. He spoke about homophobia and discrimination in gay communities, where it’s not uncommon to find profile after profile proclaiming “No blacks, no femmes, no Asians.” Sitting in the back, head bent over my phone, twittering away as a few tears leaked out I realized the similarities between what he’s seen in the gay dating world and what I’ve seen in the straight, where admonitions against blacks (or demands for “BBC ONLY”) and fatties litter the scene. “You might think you’re just expressing a preference,” Brandon said during his session. “But you have to consider how it feels for someone in one of your restricted categories to read that preference time after time after time. Do you really want to do that to another human being?”

Heidi tells me that this sort of thing is an asshole filter: that anyone willing instantly to dismiss a person they find interesting in other ways simply because of a number on a scale wasn’t worth it in the first place. I’d like to believe this is true, but right now I’m having a hard time not thinking that I would have had a less soul-crushing evening if I’d chosen to watch the long thick cock come.

 AAG Entries, date  27 Responses »

End

Apr 252011
 

“Are you going to the party?” people keep asking me, and I keep answering that it all just depends. It all just depends on how much work I manage to complete as the week progresses because one of my workdays1 will be devoted to hand-holding and ferrying as my children’s mother finally submits to the surgery which will end her reproductive years.

Finally, some of you must surely be thinking, and I’d be lying if I said I’d hadn’t thought the same. I’ve been told that I should just have her fixed more times than I can count — and by so many people who would identify themselves, if you pressed the matter, as staunchly pro-choice. But as much as the “pro-life” crowd would like to paint it so, being pro-choice is not an easy philosophy to maintain. Nor is it as heartless, and I will back off of my anti-own-horn-tootin’ stance for the space of but a single paragraph:

This is what pro-choice looks like. This is pro-choice. Pro-choice means that when your own reproductive system mysteriously fails to engage a second time you do not believe that all or any women facing unexpected pregnancies owe it to you to carry their pregnancies to term so that you can have the baby they don’t want. Pro-choice means that even though the desire for a second child gnaws at your insides you still endeavor to treat each prospective birth mother as a woman, and a potential friend, and not an incubator. Pro-choice means that when one of those women contacts your agency in crisis, in need of a placement that very afternoon you take her burden in the full knowledge that it might be only for a while — and when the time comes only three days later you make one last circuit around the garden whispering encouragements more for you than for him above his  black-ringletted hair, into the chubby brown neckfolds, and when his grandmother comes to fetch him with a throwaway apology for “the inconvenience” you keep your thoughts to yourself and wish her the best. Pro-choice means that when the agency makes another match with a girl who is in need of parenting for herself at least as much as for her soon-to-be-born child you put aside your babylust and resolve to act like her mother for as long as she needs it. Pro-choice means, after she signs the surrender papers all the while clutching her baby, and finally you are let back into the room, that you hug her and let her tears soak your shirt while yours soak her hair, before you make any move toward the child. Pro-choice means you keep mothering your children’s mother even though nearly seven years later the need grows no less. Pro-choice means that you advocate for responsible relationship and sexual decisions even though you know those concepts are far beyond her understanding. Pro-choice means that if you want to scream Terminate this pregnancy! you instead only offer to be with her no matter what she decides. Pro-choice means that your hand is squeezed almost off at the delivery of a baby who will eventually be your son, and at the delivery of a baby who is placed with another family, and at the delivery of a baby whose fate is yet undecided. Pro-choice means that you listen to her pain and anger and confusion over placements gone awry. Pro-choice means that you are there after a baby is taken away. Pro-choice means that you watch your children’s siblings grow up elsewhere. Pro-choice means that with a mix of awe and terror you note your children’s features in other people’s children. And pro-choice means that when finally, finally she is ready to bring her childbearing years to an end, you are her moral support. This is pro-choice.

To be pro-choice means that the person who is pregnant gets the final say in what happens to her body. Those of us who are not the person who is pregnant can give advice (if asked) but we cannot make the decisions for her. We can only respond to the choices she makes, which in this final case is a prayer to the universe of the utmost gratitude that finally, finally, this part of the narrative is coming to a close.

This is pro-choice.

  1. Not that there really are such things as workdays and non-workdays when your office is at home and you are the mother [↩]
 AAG Entries, adoption  19 Responses »

Questions I’ve Fielded in the Past Hour

Apr 222011
 

My children are out of school. They are here. So are their friends. Hiding in the closet is not an option, as I’d like my house to be fire-free through the weekend. In the past hour I’ve fielded following questions:

  • Can we go to Subway for lunch?
  • Can we put the cat in the refrigerator?
  • What would happen if we put the cat in the refrigerator?
  • Can we go to Subway for lunch if we pay for it?
  • Why can’t we go to Subway for lunch if we pay for it?
  • Can we glue this to the wall?
  • Can we duct-tape this to the wall?
  • Did someone hide the duct-tape?1
  • Can we get out the winter clothes?
  • Can we play outside (in the rain)?
  • Can we play outside in the mud?
  • Can we rollerskate in the house?
  • Can we ride bikes in the house?
  • Can we move the dining room table to the bedroom?2
  • Can we move the dining room table to the bedroom just for a minute?
  • Can we move the dining room table to the bedroom if we move it right back?
  • Can we put the cat in the dryer?
  • What would happen if we put the cat in the dryer?
  • Can we go to Subway for dinner?
  • Can we go to Subway for dinner if we pay for it?
  • Why can’t we go to Subway for dinner if we pay for it?
  • Why don’t we ever go out for dinner?
  • Can we have some ice cream now?
  • Has anyone seen the cat?

This is but a foretaste of summer, amirite?

 

  1. No. Really! [↩]
  2. To which I said, Are you out of your damn fool mind? [↩]
 AAG Entries, family  7 Responses »

On Being Angel and MOMENTUM

Apr 212011
 

Because I’m not that guy! That guy is charming and funny and…
emotionally useful. I’m the guy in the dark corner with the
blood habit and 200 years of psychic baggage.

Of all the Whedonverse characters Angel is the one with whom I most identify. Awkward, a bad dancer, more inclined to stay at home and brood on a Friday night than socialize — take away the bit about the blood habit1 and you’ve got a pretty apt description of your humble narrator.

But even the most socially backward ladyperson must occasionally venture out into public and those forays can’t always just be for bread, milk, clementines and Diet Coke. Sometimes she must go out for sustenance of another kind. Three weeks ago that sustenance came in the form of the hugely successful first-year MOMENTUM Conference, and I’m just now coming down enough to say something about it.

MOMENTUM brought together sexuality superstars like Susie Bright and Tristan Taormino with mere mortals like, well, me. Over two and a half days we had the chance to participate in seminars on blogging, sexwork, ethics, gender, marketing, polyamory, dating and politics. Those were of course amazing but like in any good conference, much awesomeness took place outside the meeting rooms. Such as:

  • Lunching with a friend I made five-plus years ago in my earliest days of blogging. We’d not even heard each other’s voices ’til she picked me up in front of the hotel — and we didn’t shut up for even a second during the time we spent together.
  • Discussing with Heidi and Dangerous Lilly the ins and outs2 of  masturbation with a charred femur.
  • Talking with Brandon B. about the fabulousness of boys wearing nail-polish.3
  • Visiting with Susie Bright about her new book. OMG you guys, I had a one-on-one conversation with Susie Fucking Bright!
  • Working in person instead of on the phone or over IM on websites with Megan and Colten.
  • Meeting people — in the flesh! — I’d worked on projects with in the past.
  • Learning (over dinner with a group amazing, smart women) what happens when one is inadvertently fisted with pennies.4
  • Getting to have a long talk with the beautiful Princess Kali, who I’d met a year ago in Vegas and instantly loved.
  • Viewing part of the hilarious CineKink lineup before passing out from complete social overload.

All of these conversations drove home an appreciation of how very, very lucky I am to be doing what I’m doing, and how I couldn’t be doing what I’m doing if not for the work done by those who came before me. I stand on the shoulders of giants, and hearing some of those giants speak during the closing session made me glad to be in the back, on the floor, head down over my phone twittering away where no one could see the tears of gratitude that I have come so far since this little venture5 started — and how far I, and all of us, have left to go.

Thinking of going next year? You really should. I promise to come out of the dark corner and introduce you ’round.

  1. Erm. So far. [↩]
  2. HEE [↩]
  3. Eerie prescience, we had it. [↩]
  4. Short answer, it burns. [↩]
  5. September 2006 seems like ten thousand years ago [↩]
 AAG Entries, blogging, Buffy  15 Responses »

OKCupid Charts Sex. Also, Oatmeal

Apr 202011
 

Gotta say I’m really enjoying the work done by the OkCupid data-collating gnomes. A few months ago they studied the relationship between a taste for beer and gettin’ busy on the first date. Now they’ve looked at sexytime activities for Twitter users:

Fascinating stuff! Check out the rest here.

 AAG Entries, date  1 Response »

The List of People To Call At Midnight With Random Good News

Apr 192011
 

Midnight rolls around and on your typical day I’m just deciding that it might be time to consider heading off to bed, but that night a combination of extreme work overload and familial angst knocked me out at 9. When I popped awake a couple hours later to the sound of ringing I was certain that the entire night had passed and it was time once again to take up the yoke of motherly servitude.

Instead it was a phone call from my exhusband. “Did I wake you,” he wondered. I must have sounded as bleary as I felt. We went ten rounds of what’s wrong – everything’s  fine we’ll talk in the morning before I was awake and curious enough to demand an answer. After a bit more dickering he came clean: He’d right at that moment gotten some really good news and I was among the first people he wanted to share it with.

After offering my congratulations I signed off; I fell back asleep so quickly that I would have forgotten about it entirely but that he apologized the next day for waking me. As the conversation ended I thought again about his news. Certainly it was for him a remarkable and lovely turn of events, but no reasonable analysis could tie it specifically to me, or the children, and I wondered how I’d been chosen to be on the list of People To Call At Midnight With Random Good News(tm). For a moment I was annoyed retroactively at the disturbance in my sleep but then I thought of the many, many stories I’ve heard from friends and potential dates about the cold, ugly and downright abusive nature of their post-divorce ex-spousal relationships.

In light of that, I can’t be anything but happy to have merited continued inclusion on his list.

 AAG Entries, family  2 Responses »

Laid Stone Dildo

Apr 182011
 

You guys! I think I’m getting the hang of this “fashion” thing! Fashion means “matchy,” right? And how much more matchy can you get than this?According to Babeland, this gorgeous dildo is made of Black Norwegian Moonstone. Fancy! The nail polish is this, which is equally fancy. Both are hard, supersparkly and imbued with layers of glowy colors that make you want to turn them hither and yon in the light just to admire the pretty. It1 also comes with a storage bag, certificate with lot number and instructions. Instructions?

Picture One: As you push the head of the D.1 inside, you will feel some gentle resistance from the (vaginal) opening.

Picture Two: When there’s no more resistance, pull the D.1 gently back out until you feel slight resistance again. The D.1 will now be positioned right under the g-spot area.

Picture Three: When you feel the resistance let up, pull the D.1 gently back out until you feel slight resistance again. The D.1 will be positioned right under the g-spot area.

Picture Four: Push down on the handle the feel the head against your g-spot area.

Picture Five: You can alternate between the more pointed part of the head to the broader curved part by a simple twist of the hand.

So, a few questions about this part. a)Do we really need dildo instructions? b)Is your average vagina so very resistant? c)If you’re “under” the g-spot when you pull out, and then you pull out more and you still “under” the g-spot, did the g-spot move? d)Is the woman’s leg removed in the pictures, or just jacked so far up that it’s out of frame? e)Instructions? Seriously?2

The other thing that bugs me about the Laid D.1 is that one end is etched with a huge — I mean huge! — product name. Jesus, Laid, were you worried that someone would see this sitting around and think it was some random riverrock plucked forth from a rushing mountain stream? These etched letters shout “I am a dildo, dammit, and don’t you forget it!” And they’re not even straight! They’re kind of canted off at a weird angle, like some ridonkulous hipster with his ironic hat. I am personally offended at how full of itself this dildo is.

Someone should wipe those smug letters off. Are there any stone-masons amongst my readers? Anyone with a rock blanket? Email me, ok?

Laid D.1 isn’t a very large dildo (1.5″ at the widest point) but in my experience, hardness trumps size where sextoys are concerned. Norwegian Moonstone is 6.5 on the Mohs scale, so until someone comes out with a diamond dildo3, this is about as hard as it gets.

Huh. This makes me wonder if a well-Kegeled vagina could crush a dildo made of gypsum? How about talc? Someone should commission a study.

Anyhow. Like dildos made of steel and glass, the Laid D.1 does an excellent job of maintaining its temperature, which means that unless you enjoy shocking your vagina with a toy that’s room temperature but which will surely feel like it was just unearthed from the icy depths of the Siberian tundra, you’d best warm the Laid D.1 up. Also, once you’re done with it and you pull it out (We don’t want any injuries so follow the directions, please!) you will be shocked at the heat it gives off. Not enough to, say, pop up some post-coital corn, but enough to impress all but the most blasé lover.

I enjoyed Laid D.1′s larger end but I couldn’t bear to try the handle end — and not just because of the self-important lettering. Damn thing’s pointy! Seriously. I could just imagine what it would do to my cervix. If I were in charge of a D.1 overhaul I’d insist that the letters be removed (or toned way, way down) and the smaller end be rounded off. Having two usable ends is worth far more than lame lettering. Think about it, Laid.

If you look closely at the surface of this toy you’ll be impressed by two things. First, it is just gorgeous. It’s like you can see down into the layers that make up this lovely stone. It’s really quite mesmerizing. Next, tiny imperfections keep it from uniform smoothness. That’s fine, really. It was made by the Earth, not by a factory. It can’t be perfect. But I wouldn’t count on being able to sterilize the Laid D.1, so if you plan on sharing you should definitely use a condom. Also: I wouldn’t trust myself to put it in a bottom.

Preposterous lettering notwithstanding I’m really happy with the Laid D.1. If you like unique materials, heaviness and awe-inspiring beauty you’d probably like it too.

—————–
–Available from Babeland.

  1. the dildo, not the nail polish [↩]
  2. According to Whorebaggery, dildo instructions should be as follows: 1. Shove it in. 2. do things that feel nice. [↩]
  3. And, you know, sends it to me, at which time I would fuck myself silly with it, chip off a big hunk to make an ostentatious ring ['cuz I'm fashionable], and then sell the rest. [↩]
 AAG Entries, toys  7 Responses »
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