Some really adorable cartoons to enjoy! Click Read More to see another two.
Thank you, Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal, for another good one!
After it gets around to Princess that I am fucking her brother, she starts to tell me things in confidence.
I wish she wouldn’t (it’s pretty clear what I feel about her, and that feeling can be summed up in a few unprintable names) but it is a late night at the old Indian homestead. The lizards hump the fluorescent lightbulbs in the damp evening as we begin to talk. Our parents are already either sleeping or watching television so it’s just the two of us after dinner, disinterested in bombastic serials.
Princess is beautiful. I’ve mentioned it before, but I have to keep mentioning it. I say this as someone who is not a very visual person; her beauty is so profound that I get struck dumb by it. I understand what it means when otherwise strong men declare beauty as their point of weakness. For me it is an anchor that allows me to look past the voice and the affected mannerisms, that makes me eager to hear what she has to say. She is like Ernie’s enigmatic Lola from Hey Arnold, standing on the street corner in her pristine dress, looking into the horizon with liquid eyes.
I was obvious about my intentions when I started this blog. I wanted to talk about sex. But books are better than sex sometimes. Not better, but different, and sometimes easier to handle.
A turn of phrase can get me unexpectedly horny for no good reason. Inappropriate places, too. I always turn to the line from Before Night Falls, where Arenas discusses how one of his partners and potential persecutors “dismissed him with his penis”. For a long time I took a cucumber and held it to my crotch, using my fake dick to try to dismiss others. It turned Arenas on; his prose salivates as he describes being dominated and tormented by his oppressors. Punishment and control can be sexy. Extreme control and punishment can be even sexier, something that produces resistance so sweet that the misery is almost worth it.
When I was young, I turned to books for emotional release. I needed to be loved. If not, I wanted to perceive others being loved. Different books held different promises of love for me. I turned to Dickens when I wanted to hold my ribs from being cracked open. I loved the Brontes (sometimes) for keeping me in the throes of real outrage. I adored Austen for her cool, clever quick-witted humor that hid quiet poignance.
If you’ve been paying attention to the news lately, you know that there’s even more backlash against the TSA’s tactics in keeping our airports safe. “Keeping us safe” sounds like a great thing to be doing. So, how could it be bad? Well, unfortunately, the TSA is taking things too far.
As of yet, many people haven’t had to contend with what many others have already had to endure. That is its outrageous insensitivity to people as human beings. The TSA is forcing people to decide between allowing an anonymous agent to see them naked on camera via their new scanners, or being molested by an “enhanced” pat-down. Many times in full view of the rest of the passengers waiting in line. And, even if you do opt to have the scanner take your naked picture, you are not necessarily exempt from the enhanced pat-downs. Many have gone through these things, then have been pulled aside anyway. Usually, because the scanner picked up something “odd.”
You might think that’s a good thing. After all, that’s what the scanners are for! Well, yes and no. They are used to find anything strange. And the pat-downs are used for the same purpose. However, the way that the TSA does this is increasingly insensitive to people with special needs and circumstances, and agents pretend to be oblivious to the problems they cause.
Such as the example of the man who was a bladder cancer survivor and had to wear a urostomy bag.
Something that the TSA likes to tout is that everyone has the option to take the pat-downs rather than the scanner, and everyone who opts for the pat-downs has the right to ask for a private room to have it done in. However, this man had to ask for that more than once. In fact, when he asked the first time the agents were rude enough to roll their eyes at each other and then had the gall to lie and tell him that they had nowhere to do a private pat-down.
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I’ve been thinking, maybe I don’t want a relationship.
Not right now, anyway. I’m happy. I’m happy with what I’ve got, which is a lot: school, intrinsically rewarding volunteering in my field of choice, paid employment that doesn’t involve morally or socially reprehensible activities (such as drug trafficking, prostitution, or one of those phone-fundraisers who call you at home when you’re broke to badger you for money that will go mostly towards maintaining the operation rather than supporting the cause) or insultingly mind-numbing (like working at a grocery store). I’ve got a really great friend, S, who enjoys watching my favorite shows with me and not only allows me to narrate or interject on the action or sequence of events, but gladly partakes in the discussion while we pause the show. We can talk about anything, whether trivial or deep, including everything I post here and the few things I haven’t got the balls to post here.
I’m wanting, now that I’ve been away and reading; but only mildly so, and besides there’s my cycles to consider. Never mind that he doesn’t care, but I do, though I can’t say why, except that it’s disgusting to think of; and if I don’t care to do it now, what with my cycles, then I’ll not do it now, what with my cycles- and I’ll leave it at that.
I’m worried that my appetite is unhealthily lacking; it’s been that way for a very long while. I remember cravings when I was younger- fifteen, sixteen- a number of occasions I could count on one hand when I truly wanted.
ABC Family ran Sixteen Candles a few weeks ago, so I recorded it. I just watched it, and, wow. That is some crap movie right there.
The plot is juvenile, the characters are stereotypical and there’s racism. Oh, and super obnoxious TV kids, why must there always be super obnoxious kids? I admit, it was very amusing in places, but others made my jaw drop. There were plenty of things that just were not funny to me. It alarms me that the whole theater was probably hooting.
So why was this film so popular? What made it a seminal movie of the 1980s? And what impact might it have had on the kids then, and kids now?
Sixteen Candles focuses on Samantha (played by Molly Ringwald), who is turning sixteen in the midst of turmoil. Her sister is getting married, the grandparents are coming to stay, they have to meet the in-laws, oh, and her younger siblings are brats. Her mother can’t even remember to make her lunch, let alone that it’s her birthday. On this same Friday, there’s a dance at school, followed by a senior after-party where everyone goes wild.
So, a lot has happened since the last time I wrote about the issues with my boyfriend. At the behest of a few of the readers, I wanted to update all of you.
Things haven’t gotten much better since I wrote my last post. That is really why I have been MIA for the past few days. I have been so upset, disappointed, and depressed that I really have had no energy for much of anything. I have noticed such a drop in our relationship that it is hard not to notice.
Take this weekend, for example. SB did not have to work this weekend, but yet he decided to sleep the entire time. He barely stayed conscious for longer than two hours the entire weekend. This has been a repetitive offense, occurring more often than not now. I basically expect one of two things when I get home from work: 1) SB is back at his parent’s house yet, playing Call of Duty, or sleeping, or 2) he is back at my place doing – what else? – sleeping. Now, this isn’t to say the man can’t sleep. He works overnights at a hospital; I would have to be the biggest bitch ever to not allow a cat nap before he goes to work. But these “cat naps” have grown into an all-evening event, not even allowing us to see how each other’s day went. I almost feel like he is trying to avoid me in a passive-aggressive way, which naturally upsets me like it would any woman.
Secondly, and perhaps one of the most worrisome, is that our sex life has taken a total nose dive. In the past week, we have had sex all of once. Meanwhile, previous to this, we would enjoy each other’s company every day. I love having sex every day. I have a high sex drive, and I have no qualms in saying so. I’m a woman, I have hormones, as well as a va-jay-jay. If I can have sex with my boyfriend every day, I would be an idiot to refuse. And it has been pretty great sex up until recently, where he has seemed…I don’t know how else to put it…unenthusiastic. I really have to spent an extended amount of time trying to even get him to the point of moving and taking off his boxers. Of course, this does a number on my self-esteem. It makes me wonder all of these things, and I end up having an internal dialogue similar to this: