maybe you should cover your boob when you’re breast-feeding in public
Remember when your little black panties were enough?
Aug 26th
Disclaimer: No, this has nothing to do with my date last weekend, in case any of you try to jump to that conclusion. I started writing this several months ago and forgot about it.
I remember the days when all it took were five little words: “I’m not wearing any underwear.” I fear those days are gone, my friends.
Sex these days is like a three-ring circus. Or at least, it sounds that way. My suspicion is that sex actually hasn’t changed all that much, just the way we talk about it. But the fact remains that there is so much porn now, with people doing things that…well, that I probably don’t even want to do. And the sex toys. Wow. I mean, not that I’m against a good sex toy. I think we all know I’m not.
It’s weird, though. Maybe I’m just crazy, but it doesn’t seem that the expectations of men in the bedroom have really changed all that much. Show up, well equipped, all engines firing, and you know, get the job done. Women, however, are now supposed to be up for anything. It’s like an actual game of Hide the Salami, only apparently now, we’re expected to let you hide it anywhere. And while you’re hiding it, we should be gymnasts who are open to the idea of having sex with a woman (if that strikes your fancy) and don’t mind dressing up like your third grade teacher and giving you a spanking all the while making you feel like the king of the castle manly man.
It wears me out. What happened to regular ol’ sex? Which, by the way, was really good.
I don’t want to swing from a chandelier, dressed like Catwoman, while I regale you with my fantasies of making it with the toaster oven, but of course I’ve never done any of this before because you, you’re the only man I ever want to touch.
PLEASE.
Actually, in my life, I’ve mostly only dated simple guys (long-term). Guys who were happy with a girl in some cotton panties and a T-shirt. Guys who, if I tried to wear anything that might be considered fancy (we’re talking more than three hooks, people), would look at me and say, “Seriously. Take that off, it’s ridiculous.” And of course, I never had SEX with any of them. Hi, Aunt Kim.
For most of my life, the only thing I’ve really been confident about was sex. Again, not that I’ve had any. Hi, Mom.
These days, though, sexy feels cheap. Okay, plus, I SUCK at being sexy. Like in any sort of obvious way. I’m much more likely to giggle and fall on my face than be actual sexy. But sex was the one place I always felt I owned.
NOT in a wetsuit, with five of my girlfriends and a trout, waiting to be shot in the eye with man juice.
Just sex. The good old fashioned kind. Without a movie set full of props.
I’m just not sure how I feel about it any more. Mostly, I feel like because sex has never been some hugely emotional thing for me, I’ve had a fairly casual attitude about it. Not that I’ve had a lot of it. I mean, you know, because I’ve never had sex and all that. Hey, sister’s boyfriend.
This is getting awkward. So I’m going to shut up and just say this:
Men? When did sex become this big production? Do you guys all feel like this, or is it more talk from the peanut gallery than anything else? Is just sex good enough? Should I keep my little black panties, or shall I wear a French Maid costume permanently under my clothes? Do you feel like women have crazy expectations of what you’re willing to do during sex, too?
I was going to write a blog today, but instead I’m going to freak out about this radio situation.
Jun 3rd
Yeah.
That’s about it.
Tonight, from 10:00 pm to midnight, your very own Shine will be on the radio. Probably sounding like a jackass.
Oh, and actually, it’s not so much “on the radio” for the first couple of weeks. It’s more “streaming live on the internets.”
I’m scared that I just saw live streaming VIDEO on the website and I haven’t showered and I’m so not prepared for that and it’s clear that the person who asked me to do this doesn’t realize that putting a microphone in front of my face and a camera on me is the fastest way to get me to shut up, which, actually, probably some of my ex-boyfriends would have been happy to know now that I think about it, but it’s too late now and oh my god I’m scared. Hold me.
Oh, and for now there’s a rough website for our show here. But I just looked at it and I’m pretty sure there’s no actual useful information on it. Sorry about that.
In other news, my MOTHER told my grandparents that I have a blog. Which means, of course, that my Nana was like, “I WANT TO READ HER BLOG!” Oh, magic carrot in the sky, why did you give my grandparents knowledge of the internets? Is this still about that whole apple in the Garden of Eden thing? We should really move past that, m’kay?
Anyway, mom told Nana (and I’m not making this up), “Oh, I don’t think Shine wants us to read her blog. She talks about us and doesn’t want to have to censor herself.”
REALLY MOM?
So now my Nana is mad at ME for talking about her on the internets and I didn’t even DO ANYTHING. Thanks mom.
FML.
Hi, Nana and Pops. If you find this, your granddaughter is an atheist. She has sex. She drinks. She says “fuck” a lot and talks about vaginas more than necessary. Aren’t you glad you’re reading this?
Awkward encounters of the stranger kind.
May 3rd
**Please don’t forget that the next installment of Women’s Writes will be on Wednesday, May 5th. The topic is Reproductive Rights and Issues. If you missed it in April, click here for links to all our amazing contributors. Please see my post about it for more details or email me if you need more information!**
If you follow me on Twitter or read this blog frequently, you probably know that I often have really awkward encounters with strangers.
In one three month period, I was licked five separate times by complete strangers. Bizarre.
Well, last week was no exception. And really, things have been fairly calm for a while. I haven’t been going out as much, and when I do, I’m usually with a group of girls, so it’s more difficult to talk to me. I’m completely okay with this.
While at Chipotle, getting a veggie bowl for lunch (no cheese or sour cream for me!), the man in front of me turned around and said, “You look really familiar. Have we met somewhere before?”
I said, “Really, dude? In the Chipotle line? Do we have to do this?” (See? I’m really pleasant!)
He said, “No, really. You look totally familiar, like I’ve seen you somewhere.”
“I really don’t think so. I don’t remember you.”
He paused. “Do you…write a blog?”
OH SHIT.
“Uh…mmmmm…well, yeah.”
Mind you, my brain was like, “WTF? What do I do? This is AWKWARD. SHIT SHIT SHITSHITSHIT.”
He said, “THAT’S why I’ve seen you before! I read your blog.”
“Um, super.”
“You’re really funny. I read it all the time. Blah blah blahblahblah.”
At this point, I had stopped listening and actually started to panic. I was about to walk out of the line, right before the salsas.
I said, “Uh, thanks. I’m, um, glad you like it? Uh, I think…yeah, this is weird.”
So clearly, I handle myself well in such situations, eh? I made it through the line, got my food to-go and hauled my cookies out of there at top speed.
So I have to ask you guys this: Is this NORMAL? Has this happened to you? Is it okay to FREAK OUT? Oh, also, everyone say hello to the stranger who reads my blog and ran into me at Chipotle. If he’s still reading. Which he probably isn’t. Let’s face it, I didn’t exactly handle that like a pro.
Then. THEN. I went to buy myself a pair of Reebok Easy Tones on Saturday afternoon (I hope that link works. If not, please feel free to use Google). I had been wanting some, because if there’s one thing my ass needs these days, it’s a little more tone. (Okay, truth? I kind of love my ass. But who’s ass couldn’t use more toning?)
Anyway, I made my way to Lady Footlocker and they had a cute new pair of black and pink ones (Previously, I hadn’t bought any of them because I thought they were all a little…bland. And sparkly. It was an odd combo). I tried them on and they fit perfectly. They’re really comfy and I didn’t feel like I was going to fall over at all. Which is new, since normally I’m about the clumsiest person on the planet.
On my way out of the mall, I hear, “Hey!” (If you already saw this on Twitter, suck it up. You knew you were going to see it again, right?)
As usual, everything is about me, so I looked in the direction of the “Hey!”
It was a strange guy, probably in his 40s or so. He said, “Are you a model?”
I looked at him, kind of dumbfounded, for a minute. Then I said, “Uh…” (I know. I’m brilliant.)
He said, “Well, a plus-sized one, obviously, but you have that model look about you.”
Again, I just looked at him, though this time my eyes were a bit more squinty. I said, “No. I’m not.”
He said, “Oh, did I offend you or something?”
And the thing is, I’m not sure if he DID. I mean, truth? I’m not a size 2, so if I were a model, I would be a plus-sized one (though I sincerely hate that term). But is it actually necessary to SAY that to me? As a stranger? And with such snideness in your tone? No, sir, I don’t think it IS necessary.
I said, “Honestly, I’m not sure. So I’m going to walk away now.” And I left. Puzzled.
I’m continually astounded by the fact that strangers seem to think that it’s perfectly acceptable to say anything they want to me. Is it something on my face? Do I just look like I need to hear whatever it is you have to say?
It’s possible that I’ll never understand this phenomenon. If anyone has any ideas, I’m all ears!
This. Is. Ridiculous.
Jan 19th
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Unless you live under a rock, you’ve probably heard the story about the soldier in Afghanistan getting charged with possession of child pornography (that’s going to do wonders for my search hits, I bet). Well, and adult pornography. Which I didn’t even know was illegal (apparently it can get you two years of jail time in Afghanistan). He’s facing a possible court martial if he’s convicted. Of having photos of his four-year-old niece wearing a bathing suit, which were sent to him…by his mother.
I think maybe we should revisit the definition of child pornography here. Especially since WalMart is apparently refusing to develop or return pictures of people’s newborn babies, if they’re naked. I don’t know if you know this, but babies are usually born nude. Perverts.
Crap, I’m probably going to get sued by WalMart now. But people were calling in to the radio station I was listening to this morning to complain about it. It’s not me, WalMart! I think you’re horrible for many, many other reasons.
So click here for a definition. And just by the way, you know how google always has search suggestions when you start typing in the search box? Yeah, not if you type child porn. I feel like a creepy, creepy pervert. But I didn’t get any results that were anything other than what I requested. WHICH WERE DEFINITIONS, PEOPLE.
ABCNews.com‘s article on the matter has the military claiming that possession of child pornography must meet the federal definition of “any visual depiction of a minor, or what appears to be a minor, engaging in sexually explicit conduct.” But the fact of the matter is, this soldier was supposed to be coming home from Afghanistan in September, and he is being held there involuntarily because of these charges. Charges that his family had been told were dropped in August. So what’s going on here? Is it just that the military desperately needs this soldier in Afganistan and they’ve found a way to keep him there?
In what world does having three photos of your niece in a bikini really constitute child pornography? Are we allowed to take pictures of children at all any more? Should I go find the pictures taken of me as a child and destroy them? It’s bad enough that children are getting charged with child pornography because they send naked pictures of themselves to each other all the time, but this…this is just ridiculous. Where does it end? (I’m talking to you socially conservative, right-wing, fundamentalists.)
Is anyone else wondering how you can charge someone with possession of child pornography based on pictures of someone who just APPEARS to be a minor? So the person in the photo doesn’t actually have to be a child at all? I’m sure that just means that you can charge someone…surely they can’t be convicted of child pornography for having photos of someone simply APPEARING to be a minor. But even an investigation about something like that could devastate someone’s life. Especially considering that, as a society, we don’t really care when someone is acquitted of a crime. Just the accusation is enough to cause massive amounts of damage. Seriously, for the most part, it might as well be Salem in the 1600s.
Maybe take a few minutes today to really think about what this would do to you, if you were to be accused of something so heinous based soley on some completely innocent photos. I can’t speak for this soldier, who is trapped in the Middle East pending investigation. Maybe his computer was chock full of actual child porn. But if that were the case, surely they would have confiscated it? Limited his access to the internets? Anything that might indicate they’re concerned that he might actually be guilty? Instead, he has lost none of his privileges, access to computers, or anything else. He’s just being held. In Afghanistan.
Way to go military.
Cancellation feels pretty darn good.
Nov 23rd
I canceled my MySpace account today.
Let me say, though, that I probably hadn’t logged in or used the thing since February, at least. I would have probably canceled sooner, but I couldn’t remember my password. It came to me in a flash of brilliance and short-term memory this morning, so I took the plunge.
I know there are probably some friends that I only communicate with that way, which probably means I haven’t talked to them in nearly a year. So I guess maybe we weren’t very good friends, eh?
Canceling my MySpace account feels like permanently closing a door on a past I no longer care to contemplate. It’s not about you, MySpace friends. I assure you. If I remember who you are, I’m sure I love you dearly.
I would say you should look me up on Facebook, but I barely use that. What can I say? Follow me on Twitter. Occasionally, my head finds its way out of my ass and I tweet something. Sometimes it’s even funny. No promises, though.
So long MySpace. I doubt I’ll miss you.
Oh, and Princess and I went to see Bob Saget on Saturday night. He wasn’t really as funny as I might have hoped. And I love Bob Saget. The problem, I think, is that he’s Bob effing Saget, so he doesn’t have to bother to write material any more. He just says whatever comes to mind, with a healthy dose of curse words and a foul mouth. My thought for a good half of his act? I’m funnier than that (okay, maybe not today, shut up)…
That’s not a good sign, Bob. Pull it together.
It didn’t help that the people sitting in the row with us each individually climbed over us to take a piss/get a drink/smoke/have sex in the bathroom three to four times (there were four of them). The rows at House of Blues are so tiny that there’s literally no way to get out of the way without standing up. So every five to ten minutes, we were having to stand up to let these people by. Until the fourth or so time…then we just sat there and let them struggle. And seriously…DON’T touch me. If you can’t hold your pee for an hour and a half, I have no sympathy for you. None. And if you know you have a bladder problem or are just completely obnoxious and rude, please…get an aisle seat.
The guy who opened up for Bob, though? He had me doubled over and unable to breathe in all the right ways. Ryan Stout? Call me.
