Cracking the Kid Rock Divorce Nut or Something-- My thoughts.

Sorry, folks, I just haven't got much to say about anything these days -- kind of in emotional hangover period after what was a pretty wild ride for three weeks, and I'm taking a little 'who am I' self-discovery time, during which writing's just not working. I'm good, I just don't feel like appeasing an audience. I'd rather have a bath, frankly. Heh. (Actually, I'm trying to be honest with myself, and I'm finding that's not happening on the page. Pity for you. Humdinger for me.)

But, that's okay. These phases come and go like you wouldn't believe. Right around the corner is the start of yet another love affair between you and I. This is not that day, that's all.

I do have one thing to say, though: I don't normally buy into all the bullshit celebrity gossip crap that goes around, as I hate the cult of celebrity, but on the subject of my hometown girl Pamela Anderson's split with Kid Rock, I just have to chime in. The media's speculating, for some fucked-up bizarre reason, that the Borat movie's "love obsession" with Pamela Anderson is a reason behind the split. (I keep meaning to see Borat but life intrudes. Curse you, life!)

Anyone who's ever dealt with adversity in a relationship probably agrees with me that it's the goddamned MISCARRIAGE she had in the recent weeks that is likely the cause of the split. Hello? Common sense knocking. Anyone home? Fuckin' press is about as dumb-ass as it gets some days. If I were to retake my journalism degree, I'm certain one of the qualifying classes would now be "How to Keep Your Pride Amidst The Stupid Fucking Questions You're Asking", though they might truncate that a tad. Editing for brevity has always been my curse!

God knows that if I had to be accountable for my relationship in the PRESS during times of duress, I probably wouldn't make it through it either. Something like a miscarriage... well, all you need is a little fingerpointing at each other for causal reasons, and you might as well buy your relationship a pine box, 'cos it's as good as six feet under by that stage.

I don't care how good your foundation is, a sinkhole of good size is always gonna be able to take you out. The question is, how much have you got to lose if you walk away? In celebrity relationships? None. So, they walk. Big fucking surprise. Here in reality land, where we actually pay for mortgages and have to care for kids and deal with that pesky thing called real-life-on-a-budget and inconvenient job things and taxes and all, marriages drag on for years (darn it all) because of silly things like consequences that need actual heeding. And then there's that not-being-famous pain in the ass that means when we become single, we'll probably stay that way for awhile, which can be a chore for some. Go figger.

In other Steff news, with much of my region under one of the worst arctic blasts we've seen in years, I'm staying the fuck indoors until things get normalized! If I was IN a relationship, I'd be staying the hell inside, under the covers, with him, until it all subsided, too. Sadly. I'm not. Thus, I'm making my own fun. Ahem. Without ado, I bid adieu.

Stop Me Before I Do Something BAD!

Making news around the world today is the tasty morsel that UK coppers are compiling a database of the 100 people most likely to commit murder. This is the "Homicide Prevention Unit" in London's force.

I understand certain aspects of why this is a good crime-fighting tactic. I just worry about any court of opinion where my past and not my present or my future determine my fate, you know? And that's what's happening to anyone who makes that list. Albeit, anyone who makes that list probably belongs there.

I just thought that since a lot of people write blogs to try and tackle their pasts or define their presents, that the story about people getting judged before they actually fuck up might be of interest to all y'all. Any thoughts?

I mean, I saw this guy I wanted to pin against the wall and just do evil things to earlier today. The good girl in me smiled and nodded as I walked past. Secretly, in my alter universe, though, his zipper was no match for me. If I confess my little rape fantasy to a shrink, I could get flagged. In reality, it's me doing wishful thinking because I "know" he wants it, right? Like it's ever gonna happen on either counts. Yet, still.

It's Nipply Out There!

It's cold out there today. It's cold out there every day these days.

It's a lazy Monday off for me. I never work Monday, and this one is particularly well-timed. It's been snowing now for almost 48 hours. Temperatures have plumetted. Buses are going off the roads, cabbies are stuck in drifts. Rivers are bubbling with blood. It's plain old Armegeddon, and it's not even officially winter yet.

Days like this seem like the perfect time to be lustfully involved with someone. It's so cold out it makes perfect sense to bar the door and stay locked inside, the heater cranked up, played naked with a bed-buddy on the couch, watching black-and-white movies and drinking homemade cocoa.

So, naturally, I filled out an online dating profile today. Let's see where that takes us. The last time I met someone off the online world, it was this guy. I'm sort of dreading this because I know how much bullshit comes with the world of online dating. I suspect it'll take three weeks to get the ball rolling, but I'm sure dates will soon loom. Let's hope some will be positive.

And now, to bravely venture out into the subzero climes of this frigid northern place. Grr, snow! Grr! I need a bottle of wine and the ingredients for chili. This is no weather for walking, but I'd be a fool to fire up the scooter in this. Good god. (Wet snow, followed by freezing, so it's icy, chunky, and could kill someone if you chucked it at 'em. Not the fun powdery snow. Wah.)

Stumbling Towards Dating

I wrote a posting not too long ago, I guess, about wanting to get back to dating, et al. This was around when all the shit came down with my dad, so I've had a lot of time to think about things since.

A reader had commented something to the effect of, "Yeah, I hear a lot of talking, but what are you actually doing?"

I didn't respond, but I've been giving it thought. Truth be told, I wasn't doing a lot about it. I placed the Craigslist ad in the hopes that it would all magically work out and I'd suddenly stop wanting to isolate myself and work, but I've now realized the timing was off. I was telling myself I was ready for a relationship and now I think I wasn't as ready as I'd like to be.

Not that there's any kind of magical right amount of readyness. But I know I didn't really have it. I've had a lot of self-doubt lately and a lot of questioning going on inside. I'm a little lost, to tell the truth, but I'm starting to feel like I'm finding myself again. Thing is, it's been a tumultuous year for me and it's hard to get your footing when the rug keeps getting pulled out from under you. And sometimes it's easier to lie to myself about just where I'm at than it is to tell the truth. This being-human-ergo-fallible thing sucks ass.

In the past month, I've gained weight. I'm not happy about this. I've had a lot of stress and I just stopped exercising. I doubt I've gained much through eating, but still. I was pissed when I could no longer pretend that I hadn't gained weight earlier this week. This is the first time in a couple years I've put any weight on. And, I'll tell ya something, it ain't staying put.

So, you wanna know what I'm doing then, do ya? This week and next are for recalibrating myself. I started a new fitness plan yesterday and by the way my muscles feel now, it's working already. Later, to the beach for a walk. Monday, a new hairdo. My place is getting into the kind of condition where I'll finally enjoy having company, which means it's time to meet men. In the next week or so, I'll get an ad up on Plenty of Fish, and I'll see how things are going. I'm going slowly into the realm.

The Craigslist thing is difficult to do. It worked well the last time I did it, I guess, 'cause a familiar face emerged and I didn't need to really try to pick and choose through 200 guys for who might make the best date. It's VERY overwhelming to have all that interest at once. I tried to set up a few different dates, but I was being open and saying that there were a couple people I just wanted to meet and see what was happening with. Didn't work. I should lie more, it would seem. I just can't. I'm so fucking honest that I definitely have limitations in some ways. Keeps me out of some games. Whatever. I didn't enjoy the Craigslist thing this time. I'm having some negative "men are such cowards" thoughts these days, so I'm hoping to put those to bed before I jump into the Plenty of Fish pool.

So, I'm going back to the online dating thing indeed. It's more of a manageable flow. And I really think I need to get into more light, non-committal dating for a bit. I don't know if I want the emotional intensity of a deeper relationship. That could just be fear of getting hurt talking, though. I suspect somewhere inside I'd probably really enjoy one of those deep and trusting relationships that have all those secret doors left open or at least ajar.

I do have to confess: It's about time I gained some weight. I've lost a lot and without much effort, which is a good thing and a bad. If you don't have to try and yet you're losing weight, it's easy to take food for granted. This scare with my dad kind of sent me eating bad for a bit, and now I'm trying to make up for it. It's not like I've gained that much, but all the shirts that were just becoming lose have ceased and desisted the looseness and some even got a bit tighter.

But exercise is something that I tend to be excellent at if I can keep it up. I'm a strong girl. Big girl, but strong. This is probably the most intense a workout plan I've ever undertaken, but I absolutely loved it yesterday and felt great all day. And my endurance is pretty damned good when I get going on a workout plan. Like the Energizer Bunny, babe.

As soon as I have that feeling-great feeling every day, I'm totally all-in the dating game. But there's no sense dating when you don't feel sexy. And I haven't been. Felt pretty cute yesterday though! I think, in hindsight, I was trying to provoke myself into being ready. I do that. Kinda faking myself out a bit. What? It works. Especially when some reader comes along and calls it like it is.

But don't you go gettin' ideas now. I see the light and I'm getting my shit together. The Further Chronicles of Steff will surely have some new fodder in the coming weeks. I will say this: I don't believe in New Years' Resolutions, but every Christmas Eve, I find some time to myself, do some writing, and take stock of who I've been in the last year and who I'd like to be in the coming year. It'll be nice to have momentum before the calendars change again. Kinda fun. :)

Of Locks That Lick

My hair has jumped the shark.

I knew it was coming. I knew I was approaching the no-go zone, that point at which it becomes unkempt, unsightly, and, yes, even unhip.

I thought I'd heard a giant splat on Monday. It must have been my hair belly-flopping in the pool of cool. Done, man. Done like dinner.

This whole week has been spent zombie-walking through the land of the fashionably dead. I have no right having a soapbox to the masses right now. No, the masses ought to be instructing me if I can have hair this bad.

An EMT has been scheduled in for 9:00 Monday morning. Then my ego will some rescuing.

I tried to get in sooner. "It's an emergency," I implored.

"No can do. Christmas. We're closing soon."

You see, being the financially-challenged writer I am, I'm thrifty with my pretty little pennies and I've started to go to an upscale training school where I pay a fraction of the cost the kids'll cost three months later working for the salon of the same name.

But I haven't had a cut in months. Like, four months. I tell you, my ego's so low to the ground right now that if anyone wanted to crush it, they'd be having to curb it instead. (Curb: v. foot meets head meets curb, owner of head meets maker. So to speak.)

But that's okay. A haircut will change everything. And for anyone having the fluffy foo-foo thoughts of "it's what's inside that counts", honey, you ain't done seen this hair.

I look like a bull dyke who doesn't need to look for sex anymore. That's what. But, hey, I've been trying to grow it out. I'm going for something softer and more feminine than my old shorter, punkier 'do.

I wrote down a couple dozen words I think of when I think of what I want. I'll take it in to the dresser and make sure they're good'n'inspired.

Then, with a nice, good 'do, I expect I may actually care about getting dating again. Like I said, I sorta started dating, but it was a flop. One day, I may tell you more about it beyond the cell phone saga, but today is not that day. When I am cuter, I will want to date. Then maybe I'll get some wheels on this track again.

My belly demands dinner. Wish I had me some of that turkey my southern neighbours are indulging in today.

Happy Thanksgiving, Yanks :)

Happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers, wherever you are.

As a Canadian, I'm long since done celebrating my Thanksgiving. We celebrate it the second Monday of October, which was October 9th this year. My understanding of why we do it so early is because it coincides with the ending of our harvest, thus is a true harvest celebration. I could be wrong. Whatever.

But I'm thankful today anyhow. My father came home from the hospital last night. On top of that, he's had the scare of his life, as has his wife, and they're both now wanting to be militant about diabetic diets. To hear him telling me about his new hardcore mealplans is impressive. I'm optimistic that he's not only going to recover, but is going to add a few years to his life. For now, I still have to be dutiful daughter and get out there and visit yet again this weekend. Oh, how I hate the suburbs.

So, still, I'm a happy Steff. Right now I'm not sure if work will be around for me to stay employed before the holidays, so I have some concerns, but I won't be in the dark much longer. One way or the other, I'll pull a Gloria Gaynor, and I will survive.

OH, and what should I write about? I'm sure some people have written me and stuff in recent weeks, but I have little recall -- I was just trying to get through the near-death of Dad and all the mental shit that comes with. I'm almost back to full now, and need topics, and don't have the time to scour through my inbox or anything. (If you've dropped me an email recently and want it answered/written on, then reforward it to me, just send the original email with a "yeah, can you tackle this?" note or something. Manners count. :) Sorry, I don't have the will to look for anything right now, but would love to answer, so...!) Questions? Comments? Wish list? C'mon. Clue me in! Thanks!

Marriage, Philosophy, and Sugasm #55

Life has thrown me yet another hurdle, and I'm presently percolating, just taking it in and figuring out my next step. Despite all the stuff that's going down, I'm much more even-keeled than I've been in a year or two. I'm sure it's being off the pill that's making me better able to process events. Yay. More later. I gotta get into the mindset of writing again. Chores, chores, they never end.

***

Three years ago, one of my two bestest friends got hitched. Naturally, I was bummed. I think when your formerly rebellious friends settle down and get mature there's this "god, I'm getting old" reaction that's pretty natural. This was one of these.

I was, however, touched when I learned that the two of them wished for me to do a reading of my choosing at their wedding. Reading, I'll have you know, is not something I take lightly, especially the kind done aloud in public. And while I may not desire wedding bells in my near or even distant future, I fully appreciate the importance and magnitude of declaring your love to be another's, and for life, in front of everyone who means anything to you.

So, it was something I considered for a long and hard time. What would I read? What could possibly capture the magnitude of this choice they'd made? The Christmas prior, when he emailed me to say he proposed and she accepted, I responded "How surprisingly optimistic of you to ask at all." He'd never been a big believer in marriage, you see. We can all change.

Inevitably, I discovered my answer was under my nose the whole time. Since childhood, I'd always seen the boxed special edition of Khalil Gibran's The Prophet on the family bookshelf. When my mother died, it moved in with me. Gibran was a poet and philosopher who was born in Lebanon and died in 1931, and The Prophet could rightly be described as his masterwork.

Easily a dozen or more people approached me after the services and at the reception to find out more about the author. I think it's a great statement about committing to another person in any way, and thought I'd put an excerpt here.

Then Almitra spoke again and said,
And what of Marriage, master?
And he answered, saying:
You were born together,
and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together
when the white wings of death
scatter your days.
Aye, you shall be together
even in the silent memory of God.
But let their be spaces
in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens
dance between you.

Love one another,
but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea
between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup
but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread,
but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous,
but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone
though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts,
but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of Life
can contain your hearts.
And stand together
yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple
stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress
grow not in each other's shadow.

Really, I was just trying to explain that I still needed hang-time with my friend. Ha.

Here's this week's Sugasm. Party on, Wayne.

This week’s best of the sex blogs from the bloggers who blog them.

This Week’s Picks
To Tell or Not to Tell… (http://lipstickexplosion.com)
“Jane Falling claims it’s best not to tell, and she writes, ‘my identity as a prostitute is too serious a secret to trust with near-strangers.’”

Anti-Anti-Pornography, Part II (http://www.teen-porn-site.com/blog)
“One question I would like to ask them is - were there any rape or child abuse cases *before* the invention of pornography?”

To Shave or Not to Shave (http://www.model-chat.com)
“I stayed full bush for about my first two weeks as a live adult host.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Silence is better than bullshit (unless you’re a Gold-level member) (http://sugarbank.com)

Editors’ Choice
Pillow Talk: Interview with Razor Ryan (http://adelehaze.com)

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships

50 Sexual Things About Me (http://dirtytalk.wordpress.com)
Fun With Futanari (http://shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)
I’m So Tired (http://hard-and-fast.blogspot.com)
Rediscovering the Secret to Great Sex (http://www.taratainton.com)

NSFW Pics (& videos)
Alison & Peachez (video) (http://hotboxbabe.thumblogger.com)
Chelsea (4) (video) (http://ipodteens.ilovejulienight.com)
Hotel Rendezvous (video) (http://myhotbox.blogspot.com)
Jennifer Kotwal (http://desibabes.blogspot.com)
Mistress Natali Demore (Awesome ass!) (video) (http://www.thebootcam.com)
Nora Marlo (http://eroticandy.blogspot.com)

Sex Work
A Soft Click (http://radicalvixen.com/blog)

Sex & Politics
RANT: Show Me The Pussy! (http://smutandsteff.com)

Erotic Writing and Experiences
Buttered Up (http://thebutterflytemptress.com)
A Cure for Kleptomania? (http://thediaryofanenglishrose.blogspot.com)
Down the Coast, Part II (http://www.betweensheets.net)
Flying Buttons (http://bikersballsandteacherstits.blogspot.com)
Frenetic (http://ambientstorm.blogspot.com)
A holiday to remember. (http://wanklog.blogspot.com)
A Little Bit of Madness (http://femmefataleteen.blogspot.com)
Mr Henry Recommends… (http://junohenry.wordpress.com)
Outdoor Sex (http://mandyseroticlife.blogspot.com)
Recipe for Suck Sex (http://dirtydetails.blogspot.com)
Saturday Night Fun a la The Wife (http://fourstate.blogspot.com)
Sharing her… (http://dirtylittlecockslut.blogspot.com)
Starfucker: My First Time Watching Sex (http://perverselypoly.blogspot.com)

Sexy Humor
5 Reasons Why Porn Made Sex Better (http://ylovesporn.com)

BDSM and Fetish
Correction (http://secretlifeofaman.blogspot.com)
Fiction or Not, You Tell Me? (http://psoprincess.blogspot.com)
He’s Got the Look (http://www.spankingwriters.com)
HNT: Have a nice day! (http://www.the-iron-gate.com/blog)
A Nawty Story: Kitten Comes Clean (http://anawtymouz.blogspot.com)
Retribution (http://nyc-urban-gypsy.blogspot.com)
Sadism and domestic violence (http://www.bondage-guide.net)

Sex Advice, News, Reviews & Interviews
Free Shipping for your Holiday Shopping! (http://www.tarasnaughtyshop.com)
An Herbivores Guide to Safe Sex (http://blog.babeland.com)
Pillow Talk: Interview with Razor Ryan (http://adelehaze.com)
Revolutionary Cybersex (http://www.1trackmind.com/blog)
Threesome Advice (part 1) (video) (http://www.seskuality.com)

Show Me the Pussy Redux: I like Selling With Sex, BUT...

I did a thingie-thing on Show Me the Money, the blatantly sexual and sexist new gameshow. Someone commented that I should let it go, 'cos sex has always sold, and it'll never change.

So, you misunderstand me. I don't care that they're using sex to sell. I know sex sells. I count on sex selling. I beg you from my undersexed standing in life, please, continue using sex to sell. It's all I'm getting. Hell, we're all primal. We're always going to love the idea of tossing convention aside and getting heavy, shagging like beasts. If I had a problem with that, it'd make me a hypocrite.

MY problem is an altogether different thing. My problem is using chicks as statues for no reason other than they're scantily clad. My problem is that we forget that sexy can span many different looks and feels. A chick in a couple tight, layered t-shirts and tight blue jeans and 3" heels is sexy, too. A sexpot smeared with automobile grease and wearing a grease-smeared coverall unbuttoned to the navel with a sweat-soaked tank on and a sloppy ponytail's pretty fucking hot too. Then there's Meg Ryan in City of Angels with her surgical scrub bottoms and her white tanktop and bare feet looking pretty goddamned hot, too. Why does it always have to be a fucking micro tube dress? Can't we expand our perceptions? How about a sexy chick in cat-eye glasses, an open tuxedo shirt, black lace nylons, a garter, a loose bow-tie, and red silk bra and panties, standing there with a martini in her hand?

And the statues thing -- they can't really talk. They parrot cliched lines. They contribute nothing but aesthetic. That bothers me. I'm sick and tired of people forgetting that, as Pink says, sexy and smart are not oil and water.

I despise seeing mute cookie-cutter models. I want sexy brainiacs. I say bring back the naughty librarian. Overdue? You're going to be punished. Bend over.

What happened to hot chicks with authority? Remember Nicholson's controversial quote in A Few Good Men? "There's nothing more sexy on this earth, I tell you, than a woman you have to salute in the morning. Promote them all, I say. If you haven't had a blowjob from a woman that outranks you, you're letting the best in life pass you by. Unfortunately, I have to settle with cold showers until the elect a woman in the White House."

Instead, we have Barbies just standing there, looking pretty. If desire is about wanting what you can't have, then let's raise the bar for the women we have as sex objects. I should think a stupid bimbette would be far more attainable than a sexy, authoritarian, smart, bold woman emanating sexual confidence, wouldn't you?

I'm angry that stereotypes and cliches still dominate the landscape. I'm angry that we seem to be demanding less of sex than we used to. I'd rather us be exploiting women a la Foxy Brown than these gameshow cookie-cutters. Let's put the sexiness back into the bitch slap and see if we can't have a little more powerful women in these blatant sexual roles. I want more hot and vibrant women like the dynamite Sara Ramirez, who plays the smart, feisty, independent, sexually assertive, no-apologies Callie Torres on Grey's Anatomy.

But, by all means, continue using sex to sell. Just don't forget to add the smarts. We should demand more of our sexploitation. After all, isn't it about revving up our fantasies? C'mon, dream bigger. Dream better.

***

Wow, two posts, one day. Woo hoo. I'm takin' tomorrah off. It's the Grey Cup weekend here (the Canuck version of the Super Bowl) and I have managed to secure a tellyvision for my daddy's hospital room. I'm going out to watch the game with Dad. Should make his day, methinks!

Playing the Game and Taking Chances

I have had a hell of a couple of weeks, and I'm glad things are going much better. My dad should still be in the hospital this coming week, but he'll be home in the next 10 days or so.

I'm giving myself a slack weekend, and then I'll be getting cracking, back to work on things. I have trouble managing my time, so I need to find a way to get everything I need to do done in the best possible time-frame, because I need more do-nothing or wut-I-want weekend days in my life.

I need to make time available so I can find a way to get a guy involved in my life. I've been one of those people claiming I don't have time for love for too long now, and it's time I figure out a way to make that change. I don't want to be single. I want to be a party of two for a little while and I think I'm finally ready to go that route.

I saw a show recently where a person said the best thing they ever learned was To not waste time. And it's time I learn the truth of that for myself, I figure.

I was thinking about the podcast I need to finally get to when things settle down. I want to do a show about being single when you don't want to be and the frustrations it brings. There are a lot of times I'm really cool with being single, and I think it comes from sort of knowing that I need the time to sort myself out or make changes in my life, and I'm all right with that. I can almost resign myself to enjoying it, really.

But there are times when we realize that it's about as together as it's going to get, you know? Moments when you realize that, hey, there's always going to be a wrinkle in the fabric. That's just the way it goes. And I'm a pragmatist, too. I don't think there's "one right guy" for me. I'm open-minded about people and try to see the best in folks, if they'll let me. And because there's no one right guy I also don't suspect there's one right relationship for forever and ever. I would hope I could find that, a person worth making that kind of commitment to, but I know the odds are sort of stacked against that.

Relationships are subject to variables and outside factors, just like gamblers' odds. You have to acknowledge variables -- money, status, geography, careers, medical issues, time constraints, responsibilities, and plain old luck -- and you have to realize that any combination of variables could serve to bust even the most hardiest of bets. People want to think that a great combination of interests and compatibilities and even trust and communication are enough to sustain a relationship through hard times. But, no. Not often.

So, I expect most relationships to fail. A bit cynical, perhaps, but it's just realism in my books. I accept things are liable to fail at the outset. I don't try to stack the deck, though. I just watch with a bit of a removed stance. Look for variations and tells.

Relationships are a risk. And yeah, they often end not so well. But the point is to enjoy the ride while it lasts. Play the game for the game, not the outcome.

So, I'm feeling like I want to be stuck in a moment. And I know I got game. I expect I'm liable to get hurt or disappointed at some point down the line, yet it still seems like some fun could be had before that fact. I'm at the point now where I'm getting sick of being single, 'cos I actually have got the nerve up to go out there and be vulnerable again. Whump! Hear that? It's the sound of my guard dropping. So, we'll see what happens. The Craigslist thing was a waste of time -- too much has happened. I might have something in the works. We'll see. You will be apprised of developments, to be sure.

RANT: Show Me The Pussy!

Oh, wow. Just wow. Just when you thought primetime gameshows couldn’t stoop any lower. Have you seen Show Me The Money? I bet you haven’t. And you know what? That’s really okay. It will be minutes and minutes of your life that you will never get to live again, and that’s a price far too high to pay. After all, you could just go to Hooters, and then you’d at least get some wings and a beer with your t’n’a.

I’m sure there are young lesbians and boys everywhere just salivating over this show. I’m waiting for the Clearasil ads to appear in the commercial slots. That and Trojan condoms. For her pleasure.

This thing, man, it’s Reno, not Las Vegas, goes gameshow. It debuts Nov. 22, on ABC. They had a special preview tonight. Aw, gee. Special! Thanks, ABC!

Your host? William Shatner. Who, I might add, is all gussied-up like a ‘70s porn producer who has a side gig as Tony Bennet’s promoter. Black tuxedo shirt, red vest, black tuxedo suit. Shit-eating grin. Alcoholic’s doughiness.

His sidekick? Why, there’s a good dozen or so of ‘em! The Dancers! Yes, if that ‘80s institution, Solid Gold, mated with The Price Is Right, it would be this. Throw in a healthy dose of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? and Deal or No Deal? and you got yourself Show Me The Money. They're all bombshells, too, and you just KNOW their cellphones have at least one plastic surgeon's number in 'em.

This, quite possibly, could honestly be as low as it goes. I mean, you couldn’t have more blatant sexualizing of women that you’ve got in this fucking show. You got yer 13 dancers, and they’re all ho’d up with their red micro-tube dress with hollowed-out backs. They come in dancing like they’re fresh from their Girls! Girls! Girls! tour where they took on names like Fluffy Cums-a-Lot and Mi-Yung Cunt.

And they all take their places on the stage, which, I shit you not, has six or so “terraces” and each, heh heh, comes with its very own pole. Uh-huh. And all these girls do is stand there beside a scroll that’s sitting on a stool, and they wait until, yes, the “contestant” chooses them and has them serve their use. And then, well, they’re no longer of any use and they stand there looking pretty, until Shatner instructs them to dance.

Even the stage/studio is decorated like it’s a stripper club out of Beverly Hills Cop.

Good god. And you should see fucking Shatner! At the end of the show, his eyes practically POP with glee when he says, “Ladies, let’s have the dance for this-hot-young-sailor-from-the-Navy-but-I-can’t-remember-his-name.” And Shatner gets down and boogies with the girls on the stage, surrounding the sailor, who’s a fucking numbskull and lost $420,000 on a dumb-ass question. I veto his right to oxygen, all right? Paula Abul? Paula Poundstone! Fucking ditz.

The only thing I can possibly say about the show is that it’s about goddamned time that someone thanked Cameron Crowe for his "gimme" of a gameshow title, a la Cuba Gooding Jr. and his Scientologist freak of a friend, Tom Cruise. Hell. It took, what, eight years? It was only the most repeated phrase that year. Who doesn't compute it to be a good name for a gameshow? Not a piece of shit like this, but hey, good name.

The premise of the game is too fucking complicated to explain in a nutshell, ergo the show probably has an unfortunate half-life of about 2/3s of a season. If that. But the premise itself? Not too bad. No brains involved, really, and far too many safeties built in, even though you know they’re prescreening the contestants, and it’s obvious they’re stacking the deck.

Don’t even get me fucking started about the dancers. Throw any old goddamned mix of feminist complaints in there and I’ll go “Yeah! That!” Treating women as sexual objects? They DANCE on FUCKING COMMAND! They’re USED ONCE and DISCARDED. They serve no purpose but that of looking pretty… suggestive. What they do, a chimpanzee – or a signboard – could do.

Yeah, you’re bloody right I find it offensive! I find it STUNNING to be happening so blatantly, and with few apologies, in a mainstream primetime slot! Fuck, man. It’s 2006. Can we please get the hell past Barbie?

I don’t know, man. How do you close with a “bang” on something so goddamned potent as this? A creepy old dirty widower who won an Emmy playing a redneck misogynist (if it walks like a duck, talks like a duck, chances are…) and a dozen chicks who are trying to fuck their way into a better place in Hollywood, each of whom has their very own pole on primetime television (but – wink, wink – they don’t use it). I honestly am at a loss here. I’m really beginning to wonder if the whole women’s movement-success/advancement-of-women’s-issues thing was just a really dull, happy dream I had had that I’m finally waking up from. I mean, I just got to wonder.

Don’t you?

Just Checking In Again

Wow. Ever notice after a great period of stress, that when you're finally able to relax, you're just wiped right out? I am! I'm e-x-h-a-u-s-t-e-d. Whew!

But that's because I know I don't need to worry about Pops anymore. Saw him yesterday and the dude looks 15 years younger! His hair's gone all grey now, which looks distinguished on him, and his complexion's clearer than it's been in about five years. Dad'll still be in the hospital another week or two, but the scary stuff has passed now, and it's just getting that last little bit of healing in that counts. But having spoken to Dad finally, with him now being clearheaded and with his faculties intact, it's official: He's got a fight in him. Whew. And his diet that he needs to go on to get his diabetes under control has gotten a great kickstart -- he's lost about 50lbs in 10 or 12 days. Yeesh. I gotta get me an IV bag and some 24-hour bed care, huh? Where's a cute male nurse when a girl needs one?

Speaking of cute, he had the most adorable doctor. I think the guy was a gross between Dr. McDreamy and John Lennon. He had a wrinkly suit on and hipster kicks. More importantly? Dad loves him to death. My dad's always gone with the underdog, even when it comes with his healthcare. I'm calling his doctor Dr. Pampers, because I doubt he's even 30.

Sadly, I've been kicked out before the doctor's come in the last couple times. No flirting. Sigh.

Sorry, kids, but I haven't wanted to do any writing -- I'm flat-out tired. I'm SPENT. Utterly. I did some photography on the weekend, but now I need to catch up on sleep and rest. Stay tuned, I'll definitely be feeling like writing once this exhaustion hangover goes away. Yawn. Grumble. And, to think: I need to work. Ugh!

All good on a good day

Hey, peoples.

Checking in again. There've finally been some positive developments on the Dad Front. Reports indicate the battle of the bad bacteria is being won by a triple-hit of broad-spectrum antibiotics. Infections appear to be retreating, but it's too soon to tell if the revolt is going to settle entirely, or if the battle will be stretched out for a spell.

Still, positive developments and we're keeping an eye on things.

So, Dad's starting to improve, in other words. I'm a pretty pleased kid today, and this is my reconnecting with self day.

I'm about to head out into the rainy dreary Wet Coast Sunday and make a dash to the cemetery, where I'm going to get some moody weather shots with tombstones and stuff. I've always loved moody, atmospheric black & whites that use weather and the winter season to set the mood. This has been on my creative to-do list for a few years now. Cross that one off, Bertha. It's done like dinner. Then, speaking of food, off to the public markets for good fresh foods for my isolation dinner. To hell with people -- it's a quiet night in before another day at the hospital tomorrow. And muchos sleep for the third night in a row. Rest is awesome. Maybe I'll soon lose the dark bags under my eyes. How unsexy.

Thanks for your positive thoughts, people. It looks like Dad's gonna have another kick at the can. Let's hope he appreciates it and decides to fight the good fight against diabetes. If not, well, hey. I'll make do with it as I can.

Soon, we'll get back to matters of the heart. Reality breaks are needed from time to time. Speaking of cemetaries and matters of the heart, I was doing a little writing during Harold and Maude. I'll get that up sometime.

All My News That's Fit to Print

Hi there, my good people.

I'm hunkering down for a storm that's just now beginning to rage, and rage it will. Winds shall break 120 km/hr tonight. I think that's 85 miles, for you metrically-challenged Americans.

It's stormy nights like this that I enjoy not being single. Which I'm not. I'm single, not not single. Still. I did have a date recently, which I think we both realized wasn't working out. Nice enough guy, but certainly no go. Lemme give you a very, very simple tip.

If your date can't find enough time for you on the first date, and he/she keeps answering their cellphone, it may be an indicator that you're not going to be priority one any time soon in the future, either. Don't get involved and then wonder why they never have 100% of their attention thrown your way -- it was made clear that was the case from day one.

Know those little things I'm always looking for? Just another example. Me, my cellphone gets turned off.

My date was cellphone-challenged. I'm not too keen on men who don't focus their attention on me. Some careers require it, but most careers can come with, oh, a four-hour pause button.

Anyhow. As it happens, single I am. Amazing what running a Craigslist ad and then posting something freaky about your dad's health and the drama you're facing can do to make men run like they're in the streets of Pamplona, fleeing a herd of crazed bulls looking to trample them to death.

Not like I care, really. I just haven't the energy to bother. I've had better results other times, and I think I wasn't in the headspace anyhow. I think I wanted a good shagging, really. The rest is difficult to manouever at times, and my head's been in the wrong fucking place on a whole lot of levels for a whole lotta time.

I'll tell you one thing, though: Dealing with disease and the threat of loved ones passing tends to remind you that life's too fucking short to put the living on hold.

There are many variations of the same saying, and my two favourite come from 1) The Shawshank Redemption, and 2) a quote by the highly controversial Ayn Rand. They are, respectively, "Get busy livin', or get busy dyin'" and "Man's greatest fault is is inability to realize that avoiding death does not equal living life." Oh, and a third, from Virginia Woolf, "Look out! If you are losing your leisure, it may be you are losing your soul."

I've had big wake-ups in my life and many, many of them. My near-death scenarios alone are enough to make me realize how precious this all is, let alone the deaths of those around me. Yet, like everyone else, I forget how important moments are, and how unique every day is. I fall into the drone of the routine. I am just another mindless soul shuffling down the city streets, just like you. And sometimes I manage to wake the hell up and stop avoiding death just long enough to live a little life for a bit.

I have been working like a dog for all the wrong reasons. I've not been enjoying my life. I don't have fun with my friends. I don't get shagged or date or smile unprovoked these days. Something slipped away from me during all my crazy, crazy months that have started and persisted throughout this dreaded year of 2006. Some good moments in there, to be sure, but it's mostly been stress and worry, and for what? Has it all been worth it? The short answer: Not on your life. Certainly not on mine.

Now my father lies in ICU, his condition not changing, which is good and bad all at the same time. And I remember: I was always the smell-the-roses type. You know, I have previously planned roadtrips so minutely as to pre-arrange my positioning for sunrises. You know, on top of X mountain for sunrise, that sort of thing. I know how to live life. Goddamned right I do. I know how to indulge and laugh and be spontaneous. Hell, I wrote the fucking book on it. Yet I, too, have fallen victim to coasting through life on cruise control instead of grabbing the fucking wheel and just going, you know?

I suspect my father will get well. There's no hard proof. Just hope and prayers and superstitious rituals. I know I'll still be single when the windows start to clatter and the winds really howl as they rip through the gap between these two apartment buildings late tonight. I know that, no matter what happens tomorrow, with me, my father, my life, that I'll still have a pulse and life will still be there, waiting to be lived by a girl with as keen a passion for life as I know I once had and will have again.

Anyhow. This is a meandering post, but I just wanted to check in, say hey, I'm still around, and yeah, life's a bitch and a grind, but it is what it is, and even in the shittiest of days there can be pluses to be had. Just takes a little creativity and a whole lot of willingness to look at the finer points in order to find the good stuff. Somehow, I'm managing to do just that.

Meanwhile. I'm overdue for a nice hot bath. Enjoy your warm-bodied bed-buddies if you have 'em. This girl's a low-maintenance party of one this evening.

Hey, Look! An Election!

As Canadians, most of the people I know were obsessed with the voting returns last night. I applaud the new Democratic House and I'm curious to see what the next couple years will be like. I'm also happy to see a female Speaker of the House. Wow. There's a neat change in the U.S. Go, Nancy.

As for my father, ICU seems to be the perfect place for him. He's slowly improving. Had some colour yesterday, and even though he was too weak to communicate much, he had a ferocious grip in his hands and squeezed my brother's and my hands and looked on us with great affection that still makes me smile now. Who says you need words to know you're loved? I'll know more later this week, but I'm optimistic he'll get past this and I can return to being a happy Steff. Stay tuned.

(FYI: My father's taken a turn for the worse. Intensive care, life support. The news looks bad. I don't know if he'll make it through the next few days. This blog is not a priority, but it can be cathartic. I don't suspect I'll be a barrell of laughs for a bit.)

Book Review: Nina Hartley's Guide to Total Sex

The good people over at Penguin’s imprint Avery have been so kind as to send me Nina Hartley’s Guide to Total Sex.

Hmm. A book on sex that features raves on the cover from Margaret Cho and Penn Jillette? Hmm, indeed. I wouldn’t exactly list Cho & Penn as two of my sex idols. In moments of unbridled passion, where the lights are low, temperatures rising, panties in a twist, when I'm staring down an erect penis, I don't flash into the recesses of my brain and go, "Oh, god, what would Margaret Cho do right now?" I mean, obviously.

Let this be a lesson to publishers: Just because you can get a celebrity to endorse your product doesn't necessarily mean you should. Penn? Ahem.

Now, Hartley pronounces that this is the book she wished she had at 18. Okay, all right.

I have a problem getting totally behind this book. And lemme tell ya why.

First, sex is a pretty mind-blowing thing, and unlike riding the old wooden roller coaster or some other cheap thrill like that, it can vary six ways to Sunday every single time you do it. Unlike other thrills, sex has a whole world of options available to you.

Sex is one of the most expansive activities you will ever, ever engage in.

Thus, I find it pretty hard to believe that Nina Hartley’s double-spaced, 349-page Guide to (Not-quite-so) Total Sex is ever gonna be an encyclopedic reference.

Add to that the total lack of images of any kind, and you can start to wonder just how clued-in Hartley was at 18, ‘cos I gotta tell ya, some diagrams woulda gotten me to a whole new place of fulfillment back when I was 18. Describing body parts by name or vague description isn’t going to work for a lot of people. Pictures aren't too hard to do, and they can serve a whole lot of purposes. Sex books without pictures are somewhat baffling.

The other problem is this happy medley of voices employed by Miss Hartley as she narrates your way through the book – half porn-star, half biology teacher – I just find the weird voice to be a whole lot less effective a way of educating the masses. It’s missing something in its explanations, and it far too much assumes that the average reader already knows something about sex. And, unfortunately, in this case, they probably do. They’ve probably seen any number of Miss Hartley’s videos.

This is not a book for beginners. It doesn't break shit down near enough. Maybe a sex-video star knows a bit more about human biology than the average person, but this is one incident when addressing the lowest common denominator is something that would benefit the masses.

That said, this is not the book I would have wanted at age 18, and if it was the first sex book I was ever buying, I think there would be an awful lot I’d be missing out on. As a back-up book or for an out-of-practice lover, it might be a good purchase.

All the negatives aside, I often enjoyed the voice it was written in, and I like the emphasis that one can be a moral sexual being, that there is an ethic at work among the more sexually promiscuous – most of the time – but I’m not sure that it doesn’t gloss things over a little at times. Still, it's a great attempt at reminding people that sex is basic biology and not something we should be experiencing such guilt over engaging in.

That it touches on the basics of bondage, BDSM, swinging, and other less than mainstream deviations is something I do applaud. I just think it’s a little too simplistic.

And it’s not a Total Guide, however much it wishes to be.

The ultimate, absolute best book I’ve ever, ever seen on sex was and IS, with its brand-spankin’-new eighth edition, is The Guide to Getting it On.

In the next couple weeks I’ll be reviewing it, talking about the CRAZY new selection of new chapters they’ve just added in, and telling you why, if you only ever buy one book on sex, whether you’re male or female, Paul Johannides’ Guide to Getting it On is absolutely, hands-down, the one book to buy.

If you’re looking for an interesting look at other aspects of sex, and you’re wanting a good read, well-organized, basic look at a wide variety of sexual lifestyles and such, this is actually a really good book to have. It’s just not what Miss Hartley’s trying to sell you. Total guide? Not by a long shot, but certainly a good backdrop for a larger library.

Alone

My religion is well known
to those who know me.
I believe in bodies,
arms entangling and untangling.
I believe, and I know it to be so,
that there are so many
curves and hollows
in a single body
that none of us
can come to know them all
within a single lifetime.
I believe in one to one
and one on one.
No wine or magic,
no hand-me-down Bible
can improve on that.
I believe in spring,
but only if I’m rolled up in a pillow
or holding some well-loved face
in my hands...
More often I’m a spectator,
meaning I’ve no reason
to believe in anything
save what I see.
But I do.

–Rod McKuen, Alone

Citizen Steff Against Violence Against Lovers

According to a recent study by the UN’s World Health Organization, the greatest threat to a woman’s safety and life is her partner.

The irony is, most of us claim to feel safer when we’re involved. Nothing quite makes the cold, bitter world outside fade away than the comforting arms of a man. But the facts are facts, and depending where you are in the world, there’s anywhere from a 1 in 7 to 7 in 10 chance (15 - 70%) that you’re going to be victimized by your lover at some point in your life, and if it happens once, you can almost lay Vegas odds on it happening again.

Violence is never, ever okay. Apologies are just words. Actions speak far louder. Violence is never the way to solve problems. There is never an excuse that can justify someone raising a hand (or belt or frying pan or stick or tire iron) against you. And contrary to popular opinion, men are battered, too. And that’s just as wrong.

I don’t care who you are or what your excuse is, if you’ve ever smacked someone or done any kind of physical violence because you were “angry”, then you have issues and you need to deal with it if you haven't already. And if you’re in a relationship with someone who’s been violent against you, you need to walk.

Some relationships, it’s hard to walk. Hell, it might be the hardest thing you ever do. There are those who will threaten the lives of their “lovers”, in the instance that the victimized one would leave, and anyone who’s staying put as a result of that threat needs to seriously realize that staying put is almost as real a threat to your life as leaving, but that leaving at least offers the hope of change and healing.

I am not a professional. I cannot and will not pretend to understand the horrors that happen in some people’s lives. The only thing I know is, hard things can be overcome, and there are people out there who have the ability to help. They’re waiting for you.

If you’ve been a victim, you’re not alone. It happens every millisecond somewhere in the world. People understand more than you think. And you are not the person your victimizer believes you are. You are not a victim. You’re a survivor. You need to fight. You need to realize that you have the basic human right to protect yourself and to expect to be treated in a humane, caring way.

Even if you’re in a marriage, you’re not property. You can be raped by your spouse. Having sex is a choice, not an obligation – despite the fact that I believe sex to be a deeply important part of a relationship. If you do not consent, do not want to do it, and you have expressed that you don’t want to have sex, then it’s rape. There’s a lot of bickering out there sometimes about whether no really means no or if it’s possibly a maybe, but every time I’ve looked it up in the dictionary, “no” has meant exactly what rumour has suggested it means: “to reject or refuse approval.” Hmm. Seems pretty clear to me.

Some people want to be abused in different ways, and they belong to the BDSM society. They like paddles on their asses, clamps on their nipples, flogging with leather, and more. Some walk away from this "past-time" with bruises, welts, and other wounds. Yes, it’s a choice. But it’s also a very structured society built on respect and rules. There’s always a stop word. There are always rules and protocols to follow in the lifestyle, and anyone who doesn’t follow the rules will get a reputation in the circles.

In an abusive relationship, abuse is unwanted. There are no stop words. It’s an exercise of inhumanity – domination over a weaker person, and the willful act of degradation and humiliation, all in an attempt to usurp power and morale.

If you’re not getting the treatment you want in a relationship – whether it’s something as simple as the person not respecting your time or your schedule, or taking advantage of your finances, or blowing up over stupid issues and refusing to resolve them like an adult, or calling you names and mocking you, or something more harsh like their hitting you and demeaning you, or flat-out sexual abuse – then you have every right and every reason to walk.

If you’re being abused, it’s likely that more than one person in your life has seen the signs but doesn’t know how to talk about it with you. It’s likely that they’re waiting for you to ask for help. If you feel can’t trust them, that's understandable, and then you need to find an organization you can trust – shelters are found in almost every city in the world. Here in Vancouver, we have a terrific organization called Women Against Violence Against Women. There are even underground networks that will help relocate you if your life is in danger.

You deserve happiness. If being together is hurting you, you need to explore your options and find the strength to change your life. Leaving isn’t the end of the world – it’s the end of a cycle. The start of something new. The start of you having courage, pride, and the strength of will to realize that you are not your legacy, and pasts don’t need to become our futures.

Do a Google search for: violence, women, shelters, and your hometown. Be careful. Be brave.

Here are some statistics about abuse in the world:

• In both the WHO’s international study (featuring Bangladesh, Brazil, Ethiopia, Japan, Namibia, Peru, Samoa, Serbia, Thailand, and Tanzania) and in American-based studies, more than 25% of those asked (including men) have experienced violence in a relationship, and most said it had happened in their present relationship.
• Only about half of domestic violence is reported to authorities in the United States, with African-American women being more likely to report their abusers. (Good for them.)
• 25% of women and 8% of men in the American National Violence Against Women Survey reported they had been raped and/or assaulted at least once in their lives. (I’m fortunate, it has never happened to me in any way.)
• Rape victims often experience anxiety, guilt, nervousness, phobias, substance abuse, sleep disturbances, depression, alienation, sexual dysfunction, and aggression. They often distrust others and replay the assault in their minds, and they are at increased risk of future victimization (DeLahunta 1997).
• A 1996 study showed that women who had been victimized sexually and with battery showed all the same post-traumatic symptoms experienced by survivors of wars and natural disasters.
• More than HALF of all rapes against women occur before the age of 18, and more than 22% occur before the age of 12 in America.
• Domestic violence occurs in 25 – 33% of same-sex relationships.
• Annually, approximately 50,000 women and children are trafficked into America for sexual slavery and/or forced labour.
• In South Africa, a woman is raped every 83 seconds.
• In Bangladesh, more than 70% of women report violence in their relationships.
• Here in Canada, a study in the late ‘80s showed that more than 60% of women murdered were killed by their partners, a statistic that mirrors that of Zimbabwe and many other countries.

Violence is unacceptable. Regardless of how daunting and horrifying some of these statistics are, abusers are not omnipresent in our society. There are men, and women, who know how to love, cherish, and dote on their partners. I’m one, and every man I’ve been with has been one. I look for early warning signs: Is their anger in keeping with the situation? Are they aggressive drivers? Do they treat others with disdain and humiliation? Do they belittle me when I'm trying to trust them? Do they respect my needs? Do they know how to resolve conflict with conversation? Do they know how to take a deep breath and walk away for ten minutes when things are heated? If not, I know they’re not the fit for me. Little things are huge in the grand scheme of things, if you really know what you’re looking for. Don't underestimate the early warning signs, and don't let violence happen a second time. "Sorry" is the easiest thing in the world to say. Don't believe it.

Statistics found on feminist.com and who.org.
Photos taken from who.org, and The European Parliament.

Some Thoughts On Trust

As is usually the case when life throws me a curveball, I’ve been taking some time to reflect on things this morning. I’ll be seeing my father on Sunday and I’m hoping things will clear up sufficiently that he doesn’t need to lose his leg to this. He needs a good scare to help him get his shit together. I know what to say for encouragement when I see him, and hopefully it’ll have the impact I want. We’ll see.

It seems to me that every time I think I’m in the clear again, life packs another punch against me. Then it occurs to me that that’s a little grandiose a notion, and that I’m probably not nearly as important a target in the grand scheme of things as I might like to think I am, and this, as opposed to all appearances, is just how life rolls. It’s like they say, if it was supposed to be a good time, we’d be paying admission, don’t you think?

Every now and then, I’m struck by the immensity of it all. Aren’t you? One small planet, one fraction of space, and yet there are six billion people on this planet, and a good many of them facing every bit of the adversity I face on a daily basis, if not far, far more. And yet we all share so little of that pain and tribulation we endure. And yet we learn so little from it.

Me, I hate the adversity sometimes, but this morning I was sitting there somewhere in the midst of my coffee and a thought occurred. I’m so fortunate that I’m able to learn from these things, I thought.

I’ve always believed that I’m fairly good at distilling the happenstance of life into the meaning of life. I think I take all the events that I’m fortunate, or not so much so, enough to experience and glean from them some kind of meaning that makes it all somewhat worthwhile. Knowing that every experience brings with it some wisdom or understanding sometimes makes it easier to endure while it’s coming down the pipes.

But, you know what? It only works if I share it with others. I have to be able to trust others and let them in during those harder times, or else the voices in my head get a little too loud for comfort, if you know what I mean? The inner dialogue, not multiple-personality disorder. Heh.

When I was unable to convey what I was experiencing to others, say seven years ago after Mom’s death, life was harder. Much. I always, always had huge issues with trust. I wouldn’t tell people what I was experiencing, and I sure as hell couldn’t open up. Learning to trust has been the hardest journey of my life, but I think I’ve made the last leg of it this past year.

(Perhaps you don’t know that about me, but this blog has definitely been a record of a personal journey as much as anything else you might think it to be.)

And the trust part of my life has only been underway in the last five years. Slowly I’ve learned to let people in. Used to be that you had to know me for years to get under my shell, but nowadays I seem to have a multi-week plan for schooling new folk in the life of Steff. And it feels great.

It seems to me that everyone needs to come upon the lesson of learning to trust in their own time. I think what winds up happening is that you open up and trust someone, then you realize you’re not going to self-detonate as soon as you reveal your innermost thoughts. This is new, you think. Then, something happens and that trust goes awry, and through all the frustration and sadness or even pain, you realize you didn’t crumble and die. “Strong. Like truck?” you wonder. Then you decide, while it was good, the trusting thing made the rest of it all worthwhile.

It’s really that simple. A cliché. The doing of it hurts far less than never doing it at all. The doing of it is worth every bit of the struggles endured along the way. And it’s amazing how stupid we are in the face of that simple truth. It seems we don’t trust anything that seems so simple. So, we stay boxed up, stoic, strong because we need to be, and we go without some of the greatest experiences we could ever have – the real bonds that form in the face of true trust. Instead, we reserve trust for a small handful of people in our lives. We put up facades for the rest.

We’re some very silly bears, it seems to me.

So, some hard times again, but one way or the other, I’ll live to see another day. Older/wiser, all that. The only thing I know is, I have absolutely zero power over what happens, so all I can do is take it as it comes. And maybe trust a friend or two to be there with me through the process.

Taking A Couple Days

Maybe my mindset will settle down, but it might not. I've gotten a disturbing call, my dad's in emergency right now. I'd written a posting earlier in October saying I had concerns about my dad's health. He had festering wounds -- weeping ulcers -- on his leg, something every diabetic needs to be terrified of developing. They've gotten worse, much, much worse, and now there's a very real prospect of him possibly needing to have his leg amputated to stop the spread, and the news is that the weeping ulcers are omnipresent over his entire lower leg... Not good. Not at all.

I know my father, and while some people might do well adjusting to losing a leg, I know it would be akin to a death sentence for him.

I predicted my mother would die within the year that she died, long before I even knew she had cancer, and, right now, I'm just a little freaked out. Writing's about the last thing on my mind. But, who knows, writing's also pretty cathartic for me. Just don't expect much, is what I'm saying.

Sugasm #52

I've got the mid-week blues. Waking up alone is so much colder in the winter. In the summer, it's fine. Y'know, it's hot, you're sweaty anyhow. A little space doesn't hurt, right? In the winter, it's freezing out, and if you've got hardwood floors like I do, you know the moment your feet hit the floor you're going to be freezing again. Sigh. It'd be so much nicer to turtle under the covers and work up some steam. But, no. Not to be had. Yet.

Grumble, grumble. Top that off with needing to work and you have a very, very pouty Steff.

Here, read something by someone who's not pouting and grumbling. ;)

The best of the sex blogs this week by the bloggers who blog them.

This Week’s Picks
Waxed (http://edinerotica.blogspot.com)
“After polishing off my testicles and perineum, Sam started on the area above and around my cock.”

Office Inspiration (http://emergingontheotherside.blogspot.com)
“You moans are quite loud now - presumably because everyone else has left the building and you don’t care.”

Home cooking, part 2 (http://erotischism.blogspot.com)
“A moan escaped her as the smooth richness hit her.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Porn Denial (http://sugarbank.com)

Editors’ Choice
The Taste Tester Sugasm Special! (http://www.maevebeckham.com)
Long time Sugasm readers will remember Maeve’s blog The Taste Tester. Her entries were a regular part of our sexy posts. Now she is releasing her blog in novel form entitled The Taste Tester. To show our congratulations we’ve made hereditors’ choice this week. She has graciously put a full chapter of her book in a special post for Sugasm readers. Thank you Maeve and congratulations again!

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Sex News, Reviews & Interviews
Half-Nekkid Sex Blogger (http://www.tarasnaughtyshop.com)
Sexy Interview - Nikki Benz (http://shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)
Venus Berlin Show Report - Porn (http://sextoysinsider.com)

NSFW Pics (& two videos)
The Good: Joon Mali and Lily Koh. The Bad: Sexy Suzie. The Ugly:Ex-Wife From Hell
Half-Nekkid Thursday: Haunted WebMistress (http://www.taratainton.com)
Hanna Hilton (http://www.ddgirlsblog.com)
Happy HNT - Speed cropping video (http://darkside-journey.blogspot.com)
Kim Harlow Pin Up Artist (http://eroticandy.blogspot.com)
A new kind of post (http://www.internetisforporn.com)
Welcome to “Marital Bliss” by Marital Bliss (http://sexblogwelcome.blogspot.com) (http://virtual-sex-tourist.com)

Sex & Politics
“Black” Webcam Chathosts (http://www.model-chat.com)
Getting Laid, Getting Tested, Getting AIDS (http://smutandsteff.com)
Help Fight the War on Porn (http://blog.babeland.com)
In Bush Country Books on Sex Don’t Sell (http://suzanneportnoy.com)

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
5 things you don’t know about me (http://hard-and-fast.blogspot.com)
Don’t fuck the pregnant lady! (http://lustylady.blogspot.com)
A New Monogamy (http://www.longrelationships.com)
Strike one (http://junohenry.wordpress.com)
Swinger vs. Poly: What IS Polyamory? Part 2 (http://perverselypoly.blogspot.com)
Tarts in Tartan, Part 1 (http://thelibertinewife.com/blog)
You Are Not Alone If You Are Alone (http://www.teen-porn-site.com)

BDSM and Fetish
Disciplinary (http://gentlygently.blogspot.com)
Distracting myself (http://sugarbutch.blogspot.com)
In which I dream of Dr Butler’s cunt (http://thediaryofanenglishrose.blogspot.com)
Isabella’s Eyes - Part XI (http://nyc-urban-gypsy.blogspot.com)
Make-Up Sex is the Best Sex (http://everythingoze.blogspot.com)
Pink Champagne (http://aliceinawonderbra.blogspot.com)
A Week in July (http://asparkle2.blogspot.com)
Your suggestion is my command (http://bratmaster.blogspot.com)

Erotic Writing and Experiences
24 (http://confessions112.blogspot.com)
Fusionnement (http://www.easilyaroused.co.uk)
I Crave Touch (http://totalsensuality.blogspot.com)
Just A Few (http://principles-of-lust.blogspot.com)
Licking my pussy (http://dirtylittlecockslut.blogspot.com)
New Found Skin (http://engrailed.com)
On The Sidewalk (http://makemycopcome.blogspot.com)
Lori - Part 1 (http://masterenigma.blogspot.com)
Touch me (http://nocloudnine.blogspot.com)
The Wave (http://baring.blogspot.com)