Originally published on Deb on the Rocks

I have a theory that humans take a fancy to the things that keep them in a perpetual state of foreplay. Not in a perpetual state of pre-orgasm, because as we have established, constantly living on the edge of a volcano could be a bit too much. But foreplay, a continuous state of desire, arousal, exploration and craving, that is the human preference.

Baseball, politics, film, cooking, eating, organizing, Viggo Mortensen,
aquariums, god only know what you are into. I’m betting that if we
could start in the part of your brain where your love of whatever it is
you love resides and follow the sparking and frayed wiring past where
it crosses the blue synapses and the firing yellow connections and that
knot of red wire, we would find a glowing hotspot in your neural
network that’s throbbing and straining to break through a zipper.

That said, I love the roller derby.

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Originally Published on Dutch Blitz

I was a “big girl” growing up.

I was not comfortable in this body of mine. Yes, it was my body, but I felt as though it did not belong to me. I struggled with the fact that friends of mine could eat McDonald’s, and candy, and wear skinny acid-washed jeans. I would hang with them and curse my chubby thighs and flabby arms. I would shake my fist and silently scream, “It’s not FAIR!”

I resigned myself to the fact that I was destined to be BIG. My friends had flat stomachs and no inner thigh to speak of and it was so foreign to me. My thighs rubbed together as I walked and would get red from the friction.

There were a couple of stints where I got skinny. Because I did not eat. I remember when I was in grade eleven, I ran into an old friend from out of town. She praised me with those words I longed to hear. “You are so SKINNY!” And I told her (innocently) that I had not eaten in forty-eight hours.

That would be TWO DAYS.

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Originally published at Strange Musings of a Distracted Spunk.

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Originally posted on Bitch Ph.D.

So here is the biggest, most annoying problem with having a feminist marriage:

No matter what you and your partner have agreed on, other people will cling to their antiquated notions.

It’s the biggest evidence to me that marriage is not just a
contract between two people; it’s also a kind of social contact (for
better or for worse). Like, if you and your partner decide to reverse
conventional gender roles–you work the day job, he stays home with
kids and kitchen–and you are perfectly happy with this arrangement
(ok, reasonably happy). Lovely! You win! You and your partner have done
all the hard work necessary in arriving at this decision, you have had
principled discussions about division of labor, you have made sure that
neither one of you is feeling coerced, that this is how you both want
it to be, blah blah blah and now you can sit back and enjoy your
domestic life. WRONG. Because now you have to deal with constantly
explaining to everyone around you that, “no, this really is what we both
want, no, I am not an emasculating bitch, actually this was his idea,
no really you can ask him, no, he isn’t doing it “for” me, no, we’re
not doing this to “prove” something, really, we are doing this because
it works for both of us, individually and as a couple.”

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Originally published at oh my seven.

I’ve
been thinking a lot about this subject lately… so many women have
issues with their bodies, myself included. And you girls all know all
the usual suspects… billboards, magazines, movies, television, romance
novels (would you really want a heaving bosom anyway? I don’t get
that.) and the like. I love this Dove commercial
that’s been floating around on YouTube, because it displays an
important truth: Advertisements lie to women. They say that you have to
be This Thin and have beautiful flowing hair and sultry, smoky eyes and
full, pouty lips and be a 32D… but most people don’t look like that!
It’s telling that models even have to be Photoshopped, because they’re
not good enough! Girls, why are we buying this lie? It sucks.

I read in a book recently that you can’t give what you don’t have.
We’re taught that loving ourselves is just vanity and pride, but can
you really love other people if you don’t know how to love yourself?
Even the Bible says, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” (Leviticus 19:18)
So if that’s the case, obviously we are to love ourselves. Otherwise
we’ll go around saying, “You’re fat, and you’re ugly, and whoa! Look at
that bird’s nest of hair. Looks like you could use a shower. You’re a
lazy bum, and you’ll never amount to anything. You can never do
anything right… you always just screw everything up.”

I want to kick that habit, so that someday when I have children,
they won’t grow up thinking poisonous thoughts about themselves that
will only cause them hurt and not growth.

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Originally published at Flutter – Dark and Divine

We are all set upon this earth with our own set challenges. Some of
us have it more difficult than others, some are blessed, some are
damned. Some are equal tinctures of both.

Some persevere and blossom, others flicker and fade. To which end,
is not predetermined, rather guided by the decisions we make. Every one
thing effects every one other. From the minute to the grand, our daily
pro and con list steers us in one direction or another. As fragrant
petals in a windstorm, yet guided by a hand of our making.

Our experiences are not always ours to control, but how we react to
them is. I have been mired in a sickly sweet cloud of terror for the
better part of 15 years. Until recently, there was a sense of continual
fleeing. A sense of having to watch over my shoulder, as I ran forward.
Fear, panic, fear, panic.

The truth? Until recently I thought it was all my fault.

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Originally published in Cafe Philos: an internet cafe.

When Danielle was 22, she wanted to go to an erotic dance club. She
did not want to go alone, however, and instead, she thought it was a
good idea for me to take her.

The first time she brought it up with me, I was skeptical.

Erotic dance in this town is very much hit or miss. You are lucky to
find a dancer who can express her sexuality through dance. I feared
Danielle would encounter some poor dancers and consequently be hard
pressed to understand what good erotic dance is all about.

The second time she brought it up with me, I was reluctant.

I was only a little younger than Danielle the first time I saw an
erotic dance, and the dancer was so numbingly awful, I didn’t go back
for 27 years.

In hindsight, I understand what that dancer’s problem was: She
wasn’t dancing her own sexuality. Instead she was going through a
series of motions someone perhaps had mistakenly told her were sexy.
Most likely, she was pandering to the crowd for tips. Witnessing that
ugly farce was enough to put me off erotic dance for almost 30 years. I
certainly didn’t want Danielle’s first experience to be anything like
mine.

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