Hey, Minions. š
I’m still sick. Yes, poor me. But I’m better enough to go to work today. Which isn’t necessarily a good thing, since I’ve grown attached to my lumpy spot on the couch, but hey. Life’s rough, get a helmet.
This is what I get for thinking “Oh, hey, I should increase the amount of milk I’m drinking… and soy’s so expensive”. I know I’m very sensitive to ice cream and big yogurt shakes and stuff, as I’ve had nasty illnesses hit me after those, but I figured skim milk might be safe. So instead of gradually bumping up my intake, I started making myself a couple lattes each morning.
Yeah, so that was dumb, and now I know. š Time to bump up the calcium supplements, and back to soy I go. Shit happens, baby.
But I’m still somewhat congested, not right in the head, and not into writing, so I’ll just use this as a chance to pimp the Sugasm and wish all y’all a fine and dandy hump day.
So, without ado, Sugasm. Eat some, you’ll feel better. Continue reading
Wah! Sick! Fuck Sick!
Your beloved blogger has been sick all weekend and is home sick from work today, too. Missed my party Saturday, felt like death-warmed over Sunday. She is none too pleased, either.
Smack-dab in the middle of the nicest July I remember in some time, and here I am, hacking and coughing and groaning about headaches and stuck with vertigo.
As a result, you get nothing from me today. Hack, hack, cough, cough.
I left this voicemail for my boss on her cellphone. “Hi! Welcome back from three weeks in Europe! I feel awful. Sick as a dog. WHO GETS FLIPPIN’ SICK IN JULY?! GAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!! Call me back at home.”
She calls back, cracking up. I’m glad someone is amused. And I’m at home, miserable. But, there you have it: best bosses ever.
Ahh, well, it had to happen sooner or later. I haven’t really been sick since last September and god knows I’ve been pushing it this year. Bah. Have a better day than me, minions. Time to catch up on some daytime telly, methinks.
Thoughts on Clothes Shopping, and Sugasm 140.
Have you ever had one of those days where you just wake up apprehensive and slightly disturbed, and you’re not sure why, other than the restless sleep filled with unsettling dreams you can’t remember?
Yeah. I had one of those sleeps last night. Fraught with the unsettled, but completely in the dark as to remembering any of my dreams last night. Except for a snippet where I was having this hellish clothes-shopping experience where, every item I tried on, I’d look in the mirror and it’d suddenly distort and I’d have this hideous thing looking back at me. I woke up, smoked some pot, and tried to sleep again.
Hours later, I’ve woken up uncomfortable in my own skin, and I can’t really shake it off, but I’m about to give it a good shot.
I went to bed last night thinking all these outlandish thoughts about how exciting it was going to be to go shopping for new shorts at Old Navy today. Now I’m all apprehensive about it. I’m sitting here in the XXL shorts I bought two years ago that I now have to yank the ropes as tight as possible and roll down at the waist just to keep ’em from falling down over my hips. I’ve lost more than 40 pounds, but there are times I still feel like the girl of old.
It’s a little nerve-wracking facing the demons of Mass Produced Clothing in the post-weight-loss world. Boo, hiss, mass production. In a world without regulated sizing, it can be a pretty psychologically cruel journey for someone looking to find a sense of self in a new size. As if that’s where we’ll ever find ourselves anyhow. But once we do find our self, wherever it’s found, it can always be enhanced by a great pair of jeans, no?
Naturally, I can’t afford to buy much today. A little. Not much. The broke state of Steff will come to an end in Aug/Sept, but I can find a few pennies, and that’s okay. Anything is good, right? I’ve been wearing my three new shirts this week and my new jeans I bought, and I got an awesome email from a coworker yesterday morning, an afterthought kind of thing. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to tell you, you’re looking amazing! Those jeans you’ve been wearing really, really show it off. Way to go!”
So, now I’m about to take off and have the first reckoning with what, exactly, is my new size after all? Sure, I’m nervous, but I’m also excited. Nothing like buying new clothes to reinvent our image. It’s the single most important decision we make daily on how we want our world to perceive us, isn’t it?
Living two years without the opportunity to reinvent my image thanks to such bad financial straights for so long, and having made so many changes in who I am, and knowing who I was 2 years ago versus this wicked chick I’ve become, well, this is the beginning of a radical re”branding” of the self of Steff.
For instance, I bought this terrific slightly butch shirt that I just think rocks. It’s sad that I want to have shrunk out of it by Thanksgiving, but I’ll love it in the meantime. It’s almost like a cute little tailored mechanic’s shirt with cap sleeves and darting at the waist, and it’s red and blue stripes on white, but the back has a massive 10″ embroidered flower patch offset to the left, and it’s just perfect. Feminine, yet not. Looks great with my tan. It strikes the perfect balance I want my whole wardrobe to have.
I’m no girlie girl, and I never will be. I’ve had an assortment of Doc Martens over the years and love some good boots, right? I long for a new leather jacket, I dig my short hair. But I don’t want to be butch. I’m so done with butch. I want femininity without selling out completely. I want balance. Cute but hot, tough but soft.
But who we see ourselves in our mind’s eye versus who we’re able to produce as a result of the clothing we buy, the images we craft, is wildly different. We can have an idea of where we want to go, but until we find the right things on the rack, who’s to say where we actually wind up?
So, here I go. Off to see if mass production really has a “self” I’m willing to project. And what self will it be, anyhow? Ahh, the wonders of materialism.
Here, eat some Sugasm. It’ll all be better in the morning.
The best of this weekās blogs by the bloggers who blog them.
This Weekās Picks
āAre you a sex blogger or a sexy blogger?ā āIt builds a community that I am so proud to be part of.ā
The J Word āAnd while youāre with her, Iāll be with him.ā
Transcending moment āItās that place between fear and arousal, and they are so very closely related.ā
Mr. Sugasm Himself — Sugar Bank
Editorās Choice– Chill Pleasure
BDSM & Fetish
Bathroom bang
Bros Not Hoes – F/m Spanking Video Clip
Cock training
GalerĆas de spanking: Spanking Server
Games Grown Ups Play
The Most Amazing Sex (and I didnāt come)
Mr. and Mrs. Kink Have Great Sex (Again)
My First Ever Fetish Photography Shoot & Other Wonderful Things
New spanking gallerie – Two girls spanked
Religion and BDSM
Rope
TES Fest 2008 was fabulous!
Your Slut
Sex Advice
Ask Miss Bliss-How Do I Know If A Girl Likes Me?
Fetish Safety – Branding
The Kivin Method: Guaranteed Orgasm for Women
Erotic Writing and Experiences
Advanced Exhibitionism
Autobiography of a Masturbator: Porn OāGraphicus, Part 2
Club Tantra: My Experience, Unabridged
Distraction
Fucking no foreplay
Getting to fuck the neighbor 9
Him
HNT – Peach
Insanity never felt so good
Interludes – part 1
Memoir Of A Married Woman
Popping His Cherry
Re: Dinner Last Night
āRed Bottomsā (Complete)
Sloppy Seconds, Then Thirds
That Time of the Month
Whiskey Kisses (unedited)
Sex Work
Sex Worker Solidarity: Catalina
Happy Thoughts on Being a Phonesex Opā¦
Stamp on my forehead saying āask me about your fetishā
Sex & Politics
Natalia Antonova on Objectification and Desire
Teen Sex: The New After-School Special?
Women Enjoy Relative Sexual Freedom this 4th of July
NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Bedroom Radio #18: Artemis Hunter and the Silver Bullet
Calstar Spanking – Severe deep stripe marks
Cheerleader is tired in gangbang video
Free video audition of Amsterdam sex performer
Half-Nekkid and Getting Shaved
HNT – A bit cheeky
HNT – Purple Lace
Making Love to the Camera
Mz Berlin Took This Picture Of Herself In Her New Wasp Creation Corset
Sex Humor
Top 6 Reasons for Not Shaving Your Beaver
Sex News, Reviews & Interviews
Catalina loves Lochai
Comstock Films
Drink Semen for Better Health
Interview about spanking erotica with Spanked contributor Teresa Noelle Roberts
January Seraph Is A Hot Femdom Dominating Jade Indica In Lesbian Latex Role Play
The Monday Buzz: The Bandito
Penny Flame Fucks A Handyman With A Strap-On and Feeds Him His Own Cum
Product Research: Blow Job Dildo
Yes! Yes! Yes! Personal Lubricant
Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Be nice⦠until it is time to not be niceā¦
Finding out your good friends are swingers
Naughty Text Messages and Perverted Friends Makes Life Fun
Sex Advice Review: āTips to Better Sex and Sleepā
Silence
Being Stupid: Oh, for a Corkscrew…
When to feel like a moron:
You’ve bought a great bottle of wine. After you’ve looked for the corkscrew for 10 minutes, start trying to peel the cover off, in prep for removing the cork, you notice it’s a screw-top cap.
Duh. I think I’ll unscrew this now…
RANT: Just Another Stupid Comment
I’ve been torn about posting it here. I got bitter and decided to rant on my other blog. But a reader’s comment makes me think other bloggers might also relate. And, hey. I’ve wanted to say this for four years. About fucking time. Please read the comments for further clarification — I DO LIKE COMMENTS!
First off: When someone gets into a big long treatise or essay all provoked by what I’ve written, I’m flattered. When readers get into arguments with each other over something I’ve said, I’m flattered. When people take the time to write me to say why they identify with something I’ve written, I’m flattered.
THAT is why I love to write. All of those comments. They’re so awesome to get. I love them.
BUT…
This might be totally cunty of me, but I’ve got to say I’m getting really tired of people commenting and leaving me unsolicited advice when all I’m doing is blogging for the fuck of it.
Like I’m complaining on the other blog about my mild hangover after too much tequila on Saturday night and I get the whole “You’re probably dehydrated, you should drink more water” brilliance thing happening in the comments.
Yeah, thanks, Sherlock. You fuckin’ think so? God, how did I ever get to age 35 without knowing being dehydrated is a major component of hangovers? Wow, why do I never get these memos?
Holy overstating the fuckin’ obvious, Batman. Thanks for that pearl.
I know people mean well, but it’s really fucking irritating as a blogger, when you work hard trying to keep a blog with new stuff for people to read all the time, and instead of getting a comment that’s the equivalent of a pat on the back or something, we get emails telling us what we’re wrong about or some obvious stupid thing that the reader seems to think we need to do.
Obviously I’m dehydrated after drinking tequila. I thought I’d spare you from the obvious and write about the funny part of it rather than the what-every-person-with-a-brain knows, that one should drink water after getting drunk.
A week or two ago someone left me a comment about how to make an em-dash. See the assumption is that I give a shit. In fact, I don’t. I feel kind of badly for writing that reader back privately and telling him to stop with the fucking “helpful” advice that, instead of being helpful makes me feel like I’m being condescended to, not appreciated on the basis of the CONTENT of my blog rather than just its grammar, or any other number of feelings.
These guys are not exceptions. Sadly, this shit happens pretty regularly for any blogger.
Fuck, people. I work hard enough, working 40 hours a week, exercising up to 10 hours a week, writing and editing another 10 hours a week on top of that, doing the basic caring-for-myself eating/washing/shopping/house-cleaning that takes another 25 or 30 hours of my week. The last thing I need to start giving a shit about is putting a proper em-dash into motherfucking Blogger, for whom alt-characters don’t work. Life’s too short. A double dash works fine for me.
Besides, my job uses double dashes because of its 1980s software, so I may as well stay in a frame of mind more conducive to getting my job done faster. But does the reader take any of this into consideration before saying what I SHOULD do as opposed to what’s been working fine for me? No. Does the reader assume I even KNOW what an em-dash is? No, they condescend to explain what it is. I’m an EDITOR for a LIVING. I get PAID to understand the constructs of the English language. Like I say, this guy isn’t the first dude to jump to ignorant conclusions.
I don’t get PAID to write this blog. I do it for the LOVE of it. So I take shortcuts. So fucking what? Don’t make the assumption that I’m somehow unhappy with what I’m putting out there, because that’s an insult, as if I’m somehow settling for something crappier, when all I’m doing is choosing my priorities.
There’s the whole “Oh, just ignore it” mentality that someone else may want to suggest I have about those comments. You know, sail through life in “ignore” mode. Or I could just tell people to fuck off and have it done with.
So, let me say this on behalf of any serious bloggers out there:
When we WRITE blogs — not just throw up four links and call it a fucking post, or use some easy picture as filler with a 15-word wisecrack and call that a day’s content, but we really, really WRITE blogs — and we put our fucking hearts and souls into it, COMMENTS are the juice that get us energized and keep us going. So, when the only comment you get after, say, two days of no comments or a week of no comments, is something about grammar or punctuation or “drink water”, the first reaction is, “Have I got a bitch-slap for you!”
Like, have the respect to write about the content or saying hi or patting us on the back, rather than just throwing advice or grammar tweaks at us, or don’t write at all. We don’t need it. Really. It’s a big world full of “shoulds” and criticism. We can do without yours.
If our writing provokes a thought with ya, comment. If you liked what was said, comment. If you take issue with what was said, comment. Absolutely. It’s a dialogue. So let’s do that.
If, however, all you want to do is patronize the blogger by assuming they’re not smart enough to know anything outside of the 600 words they’ve just written, then put a cork in it.
I know I’m getting really fucking tired of the condescending advice emails that make the assumption I’m just some stupid chick who needs a little extra hand-holding to get across the street. Seriously.
“Drink water” after waking up from passing out from tequila? Gee, YOU THINK? Sigh. Fuck, man. Wanna tie my shoes for me, too?
Nibbles and Bits: Vegetarian? Really? Doh!
I’m sorry. The minute I find out a guy doesn’t like meat, or worse, is a vegetarian, my sex drive just goes out the fucking window. I don’t know what it is.
I know, I’m so backwater hick, right? I apologize to all vegetarians. It’s not you, it’s me.
I need me a man who’s gonna tear into my flesh, or something, but there you have it. And a vegetarian with his carrots and hummous? Yeah. I’ll let the hippie girls hog ‘im. There’s no fucking way my kitchen’s going veggie any time soon. Gardenburger my ass. Continue reading
Damn You, Online Dating!
WHAT the HELL am I doing?
Are you like me, you do the whole “I’m SO happy I’m single!” and then you get bored on the weekend, so you figure “What the fuck? I’ll go browse…” and you log onto your dating site of choice. A day or so later you’ve managed to get yourself into, like, eight possible scenarios that may or may not wind up with a date? Most likely no date, because you’re going to come to your senses and think “I so can do better than that“?
Because, somewhere along the lines you think, “Wait. How the fuck did HE get in this mix? Did my standards take a 20-minute leave of absence and somehow he magically made the cut? What the FUCK? What is WRONG with me?” Continue reading
Who Killed Chandra Levy?
Sure, Mondays sometimes suck because they’re the start to the week. But that’s sometimes exactly why they rock, too. I’m taking my Monday the easy way — slept in, having some lattes, and then I’ll casually amble in by bike around noon. Why end the weekend sooner than necessary, hey?
But let’s talk about what I’m reading. The Washington Post is running what should be a terrific 12-part story on the unsolved death of Chandra Levy, an intern to Congressman Gary Condit, from back in 2000.
What you maybe don’t know about me is that I was addicted to true crime from about 15-25. I was a voracious reader of everything from Helter Skelter to The Stranger Beside Me. So, part of me is pretty stoked to see the Post take this topic on.
It’s going to be a story of political skulduggery, methinks. Allegations have been made by some in the past against Gary Condit, who has taken offense and launched slander suits but never won. Continue reading
Ixnay the Equilatay, Eh? Second thought, pass the mickey.
Oh, god. I was so wrong about how my night would unfold. I think I’m still drunk.
It was 4:20 pm when I decided to just randomly text GayBoy. Our exchange went like this:
“We should get drunk this weekend.”
“Should we? What do you suggest?”
“I hear alcohol works.”
“People do say that. What type?”
“I’m cooking fish later, you want some? So, big btl wine?”
“I got cider and tequila at home?
“That sounds like trouble. So, you want fish then? If so, bring a baguette.”
So, he brought the baguette, a bocce ball set, a mickey of good tequila, and a six-pack of cider.
“I can’t drink tequila straight!” I argued. “We need to mix it with something.” He dismissed this as the whining of an ignorant child, but provided orange juice in case I really “want(ed) to be a sissy”.
Unbeknownst to me, it turns out that not only can I do the salt-lick/shot/suck-on-lime tequila drinking straight, but I can do it very… very… very well. Like, none of his hissing and teeth-grinding after sucking back a shot. More like, “Oh, that hit the spot. Another?” Continue reading
From Super-Crowded Weekend to… Nothing? Score!
I was supposed to have a date this evening, but that’s been derailed by a trainwreck called life. Dude got pitched a curveball, and now has to go deal with the fallout. And I’m cool with that. I’ve opted out, since all I thought I was signing up for was some fun and companionship, not a drama.
I’m keeping that possibility open (of fun and companionship) because we all have this shit rain down on us sometimes and everyone comes with baggage. That’s just reality. Some people are worth it though. But. But. But. That’s a pretty select few, so I’m keeping all my options open, and I’m quite fine with saying “No, too much, buh-bye” if only because adversity + new relationships are like alcohol and cars. You could, but it’s pretty fucking stupid, you know? Better to say, “Hey, you’re cool. Sort your shit out and gimme a call when you’re up for something, we’ll see if it’s a fit”.
Life’s that double-edged sword: too short not to take the chance, but too long to do it at the wrong time, right? Continue reading
