Is there anything more fun than walking out a postal outlet knowing that, under your arms, is a big-ass box of sex toys, and no one there has a clue?
My local postal outlet’s in a 7-11. So there I am, walking out with a box of orgasms under my arm, and everyone else has got a Slurpee. Hardy-fucking-har. Enjoy yourselves. Clearly different notions of wetting one’s whistle.
The box, of course, was just your basic brown cardboard box. Within, however, were six sex toys and a nice big bottle of Liquid Sex lube. Yep, prepared for all eventualities now. A very exciting experience, receiving more than one GOOD toy at once.
The folks at Vibe Reviews asked me if I’d be willing to play around and write some reviews for them. No real rules, I can say what I want, yet I get the toys for free, and that’s that.
Which is good, because when I’m broke off my ass and barely getting by on what I’ve got now, the last thing I can afford to splurge on, sadly, are orgasms. Besides, I’m rather adept at, urm, “knocking one out” the ol’ manual way.
So, free sex toys? Score! Yeah, sure, I can do dat. Continue reading
Teen Sex: The New After-School Special?
The news about teen sex these days just keeps getting more and more alarming. When it all comes down, it’s on Bush’s watch.
Earlier this year, studies showed that an average of one out of every four (26%) of teenage girls are now carrying an STD in the great USA. Never mind the teen pregnancies. These are sexually transmitted diseases, people.
The news is alarming now, but imagine five, ten years from now when the fallout of the STDs exchanged between today’s youths are really felt and known.
It’s been a few months now since the story came out. I’ve been quietly waiting around for the shitstorm to unleash, for when parents start screaming in outrage that their baby girls having a 25% likelihood of carrying an STD, and soon… But the shitstorm never came. The anger never rose. Continue reading
Some Thoughts on Overcoming Sexual Insecurities
Yeah, I like my rock’n’roll and I can get dirty with the best of them, but I love my George Michael, and always have. Heck, my first masturbation was inspired by George more than two decades ago.
I felt like I was 13 again last week as I waited for the concert to begin, and was over the moon when, at long last, a still-unseen George began belting out one of his lesser-known tracks, “Waiting”, from behind the stage.
All those insecurities
That have held me down for so long
I can’t say I’ve found a cure for these
But at least I know them
So they’re not so strong
Those lyrics got me through much of my teens and taught me at a very early age something I think I’m struggling to remember until I die: Insecurities never really go away, we just learn about ourselves and know how to out-think and overpower them, like George did.
God knows my insecurities have never taken leave of me, and sometimes I doubt that they ever will. Yesterday, shopping at Value Village, in their shitty lighting, surrounded by a lousy selection, and with my heat-wave water-retention at full-power, much of those insecurities that have plagued me throughout my life were brought home.
Worse, now that I’m older and wiser, I started being mad that I’d allowed myself to be so affected by old insecurities, and had so stupidly done what I knew I shouldn’t (shopping when I wasn’t feeling sexy anyhow) so there I was, both feeling all my old insecurities, and disliking myself for feeling them.
Welcome to Humanity 101, I guess. It’s how we roll.
Insecurities get in our way in life, especially during sex. How do we get past them? Like you do most impassable things: By pushing your way through, no matter what it takes. Especially when it comes to getting past your insecurities during sex.
Take me, for instance. Always being overweight in my life, about the last thing I ever wanted was to have sex on top. I always figured that it’d be horrific having to be consciously aware of my jiggling during sex. Then I had the concern of weighing too much on top of a lover. All those things that make sense to feel, but really, really get in the way of enjoying yourself, you know?
Doesn’t matter that guys have fantasies about “jiggling” or that the weight means more pressure on his penis and in a usually-good kind of way, that’s just too much logic for a girl in the throes of her insecurities, isn’t it?
Three or four years ago, I finally got past that and started not just going through the motions on top, but really trying to get out of my head and get into what it was feeling like, instead. Surprisingly, it actually felt pretty hot. Then I started to enjoy myself. In fact, I discovered this neat little trick where I can almost “ratchet” my hips through a few positions, much to the delight of the fellow who first experienced it. That LOOK he gave me as he gasped. Who knew?
When I get to thinking of all the stupid things I’m scared of looking like or feeling like as I’m on top of a guy, the thing that stops it all is that expression that first guy had, when I knew I’d finally mastered the on-top experience.
All those years of resisting being on top, all those years of thinking from my insecurities first rather than the feeling being on top created, and suddenly I learned, with one gasp and exclamation from one guy, that if I’d just gotten past that bullshit sooner, I could’ve had that empowering feeling of a guy melting beneath me all those years earlier.
Like I said, welcome to humanity 101, eh?
I guess that’s the trouble with sex sometimes. We’re so afraid of looking like an ass or feeling like a moron, that we don’t allow ourselves to submit fully to the moment. That’s why we have bad sex, or underwhelming orgasms, or no orgasms at all. Because we get to thinking too much, and not doing.
That’s one of the reasons I’m loathe to do these step-by-step instructions people will often ask for in regards to different sex tips. I have this fear that, somewhere some woman’s going down on her man, thinking, “Now, what did Steff say to do after sucking the base of his shaft? Oh, DAMN, I can’t remember!” as if she’s baking a cake or something and just forgot an ingredient. Improvise!
Sex is hard enough without having to get all intellectual about it. Getting past our fears is hard enough, too.
So what do you do? You do what you’re scared to do. You do what you’re fearful of feeling like a loser during. You just try. You do it anyways. You hang your judgments and fears up in the closet, and you get busy, darlin’. Then, when it’s over, you look at the post-orgasmic mess of a lover lying crumpled beside you and you think “Yeah, that’s all me, baby.”
Because it is. When you ignore your insecurities, dismiss them for what they are (humans feeling human), and fully immerse yourself in the experience, you might find yourself pretty surprised with who you were able to be for a few short minutes, and just how much your lover became a fan too.
Or maybe it’s not about the orgasm. Maybe, for once, it’s just about knowing you didn’t get in your own way, and maybe that’s enough to make next time a little easier.
Because that’s about the only way we really get past these things.
PS: The GM concert, in the end, was awesome. Of course it was. He’s a consummate pro. I posted a review on my other blog.
Oh, Fuck, I Look Like WHAT Today?
Mental note to self:
It is stupid, incredibly so, to take self shopping on first day of new heat wave because, self knows thyself, and knows bloating always comes with a heat wave. Plus, stomach wasn’t feeling well, so shopping in that state?
Fully crossing the threshold from “idiotic” to “stupid insane” because now my “Wow, I’ve lost so much weight!” is “Fuck, why do I look like THAT today? Who’s been fucking around with these mirrors, anyhow, and what, in God’s name, is WRONG with those fluorescent bulbs?”
(Of course, looking like shit is a risk you take any time you go to Value Village, isn’t it? I swear, some sections should have signs like, “For those who plan to never be laid again” or “Clothing for your repressed inner-virgin” or “For those who just don’t give a shit” or “Knits your grandmother made you wear”.)
And this is why living in a nudist colony makes good sense sometimes.
Or… living alone without roomies or other people, so I can look however I want and enjoy it. Yet another fantastic thing about being single. Where are those old Joe Boxers of mine, anyhow?
Mastering My Domain
I’ve mastered my domain, and in more than one ways, today.* Finally, at long last, my house almost looks like the perfect home I’ve been after for god knows how long.
There’s your average clean house, and then there’s fuck-on-the-floors clean, and that’s the house I’ve finally got. I mean, I even flipped the mattress when I washed the sheets. Goodness.
There’s nothing that makes me crave sex more than a clean house. I’m not sure what it is. Not suprisingly, I saw this poll the other day someplace that said male partners who increase the amount of housework they do by as much as 30% tend to see an average of 50% increase in the amount of shagging they get.
Maybe I’m not the only woman who gets turned on by a clean house. Hmm.
But as I wandered haphazardly about, cleaning hither and thither, I got to thinking about scenarios with a potential male counterpart. Little visions of what we could do where. Memories of things I’ve done in various spots of my apartment, and to-do’s still unchecked on that mighty list of mine.
So if my little sex-conjuring fairy is out there anywhere, willing to take orders, I’m looking for some smart-yet-hot guy with a wicked sex drive but who loves to discuss sex as much as have it. Someone with an open mind, but along the same lines as mine. Not overly dominant or submissive, but a healthy switch who loves to play both sides. A nice penis would be appreciated as well, and endurance. Must also get that, even if I write a sometimes-sex blog, even I have my sexual insecurities. Don’t we all?
Oh, sure, not too much to ask for at all, now, is it? That’ll just materialize in no time at all. Poof! Magic man who inspires all manner of things in me. A beefy muse. Right around the next corner, eh?
But my floors are clean! Let them not go to waste!
Well, I know I painted my place back in March and promised everyone photos back then, but I’ve been distracted. Here’s a picture of my bedroom as it looks these days. Click on ’em for bigger images so you can scrutinize my belongings. 😛 I’d show you the crappy “Before” pictures, but they’re on my laptop and it’s a hassle.
The limey part of the green is not so fresh in real life, and it’s a little more subdued than it would appear. Very relaxing. I wanted a colour scheme that wouldn’t leave men wanting to walk out, something masculine-friendly yet still very feminine for my needs, too. (Something to keep in mind if you’re single. I mean, you want ’em comfy, no?)
Is it what you imagined?
I neglected to post the last Sugasm, so I’m posting it now, but click on the heading if you want to see the whole list of participants for week 137, since I’m truncating it as it’s already outta date. 🙂
Sugasm #137
The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #138? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.
This Week’s Picks
I can only be what I am.
“It’s strangely refreshing, to really submit and give up that control, and not have to make decisions.”
Over the Edge
“He tells me to hold still, in that soft, controlling voice of his.”
A Story Told Out of Order and Out of Character – Part 4
“You thought you could just come to my room and tease me?”
Mr. Sugasm Himself
Sugar Bank
Editor’s Choice
A former slut examined
*For those who know Seinfeld. Nudge, nudge. I do mean “mastered”.
Brought To You In Part By: The Soundtrack of Your Life
I’ve been getting immersed in music for the first time in a long time.
I’ve always gone against type in that I’m neither a film girl, a music girl, nor a book girl, but a hodge-podge of the three. Love ’em all. Expert in none of them, but I’m sure as hell well-versed in them all.
My project of late has been copying my music to my hard drive. Fuck, I was the first person I knew who was using Napster, but I’m the last person I know to copy her music to her hard drive. Jesus.
But I’m about 80% done. Some 15 gigs has been amassed so far, and there’s about 60 CDs remaining, then I’m done. I think I’ve got about 400 or so, so this has taken 2 weeks. Every now and then I come across a CD I have to listen to immediately. A song on it reminds me of a long-gone lover, or a good time someplace, or enduring some hardship.
Gin Blossoms: Waiting for Northern Lights in sleeping bags under the stars on the Midnight Dome in Dawson City, Yukon, with Chris and T.
Love & Rockets: The weekend I was introduced to bondage. Heh, heh.
Depeche Mode: Lots of dirty sex over the years. How to pick any one moment?
Econoline Crush: Watching a couple having sex at a gig with GayBoy.
Cake: Listening to their rehearsal in a club above us, on some street in Sacramento, Cali at 4am, with a guy from Germany who’d later pay a visit in Vancouver. ‘Nuff said.
Lemonheads/RHCP: Party weekends at Mt. Baker with the gang of old, when I realized exactly whose approval I did not need.
Santana: Playing in the background as a strange woman on San Fran’s Haight Street beckoned me in for the strangest fortune I’ve ever been told.
The Doors & The Tragically Hip: Many roads, many places — many, many, many.
Moby: Figuring out life on the shores of Oregon both before & after my mother passed away.
U2 & George Michael: Everything. 25 years of being there through every time in my life.
Music, for better or for worse, can have the effect of tattooing a time and a place in our memory for forever. I can’t tell you in words, really, about what happened in many of the stranger and most memorable incidents in my life, but I can probably tell you what was playing.
It’s amazing, the power music has to ground us in a time and place.
I know I’m not alone in having the post-30 “Why did I stop listening to new music?” quandary. Life just got hard and I didn’t have the time to indulge myself, I guess.
I’m going through CD after CD, remembering how I got it, when I got it, and what life was like. I’m remembering what emotional hole that music filled, and for how long. It’s bringing a wave of my existence washing back over me. And not in a bad way, either.
I’m finally getting some of my house together and my life’s sorting itself out nicely, in every single way, so subjecting myself to this hardcore total-immersion flashback of my life’s actually a very rewarding experience at exactly the right time in my life. I don’t think I consciously knew what effect all this would have on me, but the mind works in mysterious ways, and my timing was perfect.
For the first time in a long time, I’m feeling a lot happier about being this girl in this skin, and I take great pride in having all these flashbacks of the winding places my life has taken me over the years.
It’s funny. I know a few people who are fortunate to have lived the travelled-everywhere lifestyle, something I always thought I’d have. I’ve always been a little angry that it has yet to really come to pass aside from all the awesome roadtrips I took with my old car, but this spring, just in the last two months, I’ve come to understand two things:
One, I have the home all those travelled-everywhere people are jealous they’ve never been able to have since they made their choice to travel, and it’s the home I would have longed for had I been travelling everywhere. Two, life dealt me a whole bunch of cards I could never have foreseen being played, and I had to play the hand I was dealt.
So, I’ve suddenly realized: The life I’ve lived, I’ve done the best I could have, with what I’ve had… and I’ve got some pretty fucking great stories to last a lifetime. You have no idea.
And I guess it’s easy to forget, sometimes, just how much we’ve endured, how far we’ve gone. But then something like music comes along and trips all the memories of old. I’ve been walking through so much of my life by way of music these past two weeks that I’m just blown away by how wildly deviated my path in my life became from who I thought I’d be when I was knocking on the door of age 35.
But I fuckin’ love it now that I’m looking back. Wow. What a strange and twisted road it has been, and I’m sure there’s long stretches I’d wave off and say “no thanks” if offered a chance to do it over, but I’m thrilled I did it once.
Isn’t it like what you tell a kid after a close-but-lost ball game?
“Didja have fun?”
– Yeah.
“Did you do your best?”
– Yeah.
“Didja learn anything?”
– Yeah.
“Well, there you go. That’s the point of playing. Good job.”
It’s funny what winds up bringing epiphanies upon us. Here, I thought I was just pumping up my iTunes collection. Instead, I’m reaffirming my entire existence and realizing that, while my life’s not perfect and nothing like I’d dreamed… I’m not sure I’d change a thing, and I’m thrilled for all that seems to loom before me yet. With any luck, this life of mine’s not even half over.
I love the life I’ve lived. I may not have explored my inner wanderlust to the extent my childhood self dreamed of, but my life’s been anything but boring.
And, so, the soundtrack plays on.
On Female Masturbation, Faking Orgasms, & The Psychology of Sex
[Steff note: This posting began as an attempt for me to try and explain a little why women should act out loud when they’re masturbating in the privacy of home — thrusting, grabbing at their breasts and ass, grunting, whatever it takes… but it got a lot deeper and a lot bigger than just a posting on that — and has to do with women faking orgasms, being vocal during sex, and the psychology of sex. See? Something to chew on.]
Enjoying sex is all about learning to let go. It’s difficult for both sexes for different reasons.
Men, they have the pressure to perform and the demands of making their partner come before they do. It’s all about being hard, large, and getting it done in the right order. (No wonder so many opt for safe routines.)
Women, we have to get past all the bullshit that clutters the way between us and the fabled thing of glory, the orgasm. It’s a hard journey and it’s why some women–far too many, really–will always struggle with orgasms.
Guys want the one go-to it move that’ll get a chick off every single time. I thought I heard the Hallelujah chorus when I was young and heard a bunch of guys discussing the g-spot, like it was a sure-thing orgasm trick. But, in reality, most of them had probably never found it, and their girlfriends have likely all faked an orgasm just to get it over and done with.
Yes, guys, we’ve probably all done it. Yes, it’s happened to you. I don’t care if you’re Brad Pitt, a woman has faked an orgasm on you.
Because, sometimes, it’s just easier because we know our body isn’t going that way, and we don’t want you to think it’s you. And we don’t want you to keep trying, because then you (unwittingly?) make us feel like we’re the damaged goods. So, we fake it. And you know, deep down inside, you sometimes appreciate that we do.
So, I got to thinking: If pretty much every woman has faked an orgasm, why can’t more of them use theatrics during masturbation?
Here’s the thing. If sex is about letting go, and most women face problems of inhibitions, baggage, religious issues, and/or breaking free from society’s constraints for a few wild moments behind closed doors, then why not just force yourself to cut loose a little more during masturbation?
It worked for me. More on that later.
Allow me to digress here for a second. Quiet sex is all well and good, but if you can make a little noise, you should. By being vocal during sex — I’m not saying you have to shout — but by being vocal during sex, you tap into a more primal place psychologically. Don’t dismiss the headtrip of sex; getting into the mode and allowing yourself to get primal, however you define that, is essential to really getting something out of sex.
On that note, remaining quiet keeps you more internalized. Besides that, it limits the amount of sharing. You grunt, groan, gasp, shudder, whimper… All of those things contain very readable signs for a lover. They don’t need a megaphone, they don’t even need words. It all says so much. Plus, it’s amazing what some good rhythmic grunting can do to heighten the arousal… when it’s coming from you. And it typically excites men much, much more… and considering the challenge of owning a penis, that’s sometimes a pretty nice helping point.
Hell, I was one of those quiet-in-sex girls until I was about 30 or so, and I couldn’t believe how much more bang for my orgasm buck I was getting when I was getting vocal during sex. Much better result. I live in a wood-framed building, so I’m not some banshee or anything, but I’m no mute, either. Find the level that works for you, it’s not about volume. It’s about expression, expression of how you really feel, but without having to put words to it, all right? But words sure as hell don’t hurt. (Usually.)
So this exercise is all about that. Masturbating, for women who have no sex toys kicking around, doesn’t often involve a lot of inspired imagining when it comes to the idea of a guy inside her. That’s a very difficult sensation to imagine in the mind’s eye. Visualize it, yeah. Identify with its feeling, no. Clearly the girl in this underwear ad had no such struggle.
I think the trick is, you have to grunt or gasp or moan or whatever you like to do, in the cadence that you wish you were thrusting with someone. You know, “Oh… oh… oh! Oh…” It helps flick the switch in your mind and helps fool you ever so briefly that you’re transcending from fantasy to reality, and it gets a little bit hotter. Especially if you mimic the thrusting action at the same time. Grabbing your breast never hurts, either. No, really.
Until you’re able to get past your bullshit enough to grunt and moan aloud to yourself when no one’s going to see or know, you’re never, ever going to let down enough of your guard and reservations to really have some experiences with your lovers.
There are different places you can come from when you’re being sexual, and some of them are pretty unbelievable, and you don’t get there by being timid in bed or afraid to express yourself. There’s sex, and then there’s the mindblowing sex you always file away as a go-to image for masturbation down the line, and for that kind of sex, you need to lose your hang-ups.
Being a good (and confident) lover takes practice and the courage to try moves and techniques blind. It involves studying. It involves curiousity. And it really involves having a voice and knowing not only what you like… but how you like it.
That’s why we masturbate. We masturbate because, well, getting off feels fantastic and shouldn’t have to wait until we’re a party of two, but we also should be masturbating so we can sort of take notes on what blew our mind best. It’s how we’re able to tell a lover what part needs to be nibbled or toyed with, and where what should go.
Why we expect that lovers should just magically know how to make us orgasm I’ll never understand. You wouldn’t show up to a wardrobe stylist, tell them to dress you, but not give them any information about you, your life, your job, or your preferences, would you? So why won’t we tell our lovers what we want?
Masturbation’s the research process through which you can do that. Of course, they can and will bring their mix to the equation, but since it’s your body, you should at least give them an orientation now and then.
Practice, grasshopper. In fact, what are you doing? Go download some porn or something. Idle hands are the devil’s playthings, they say. Don’t be idle.
For the women out there who are more expressive in their masturbation:
Were you always? When you became that way, did it change sex for you? How?
All Wound Up and No One to Spring On
A storm is brewing. The air is thick, heavy, clinging,and almost chewy. Now and then a salt-laden breeze sweeps through my apartment, bringing a fragment of relief. And then it goes away, and all that’s left is this ominous forbearance of a change about to rain down on us, literally.
I love when a storm comes at the end of a heat wave. A thick wall of humidity is just cut through with sudden winds and rain, when we’re lucky with lightning. It’s nature’s equivalent of that intense tension that sometimes builds between a couple — whether that oppressive bad tension or that sizzling hot tension, doesn’t matter — and can only get broken by some good animalistic sex that doesn’t include “please” or “thank you” or small talk.
Sigh. Aside from the heat wave about to shatter, and with it this sticky clingfilm that seems to envelope me, I’m just generally hot and bothered these days anyhow. It’s that time of the month, so I’m amped on hormones, but I also had to spend a couple eight hour days last week working on sexual programming for TV at work, which can be bothersome and troubling when you’re in a well-lit office with lots of people. It’s an inappropriate time to get “into” your work, you know?
So, I’ve been eating tonnes of chocolate this week. That’s just great for the diet. Booze and chocolate, en masse, for several days. I’m chalking it up as an unholy convergence of a few sources of arousal over several days that have left me very sexually wound. A little too tightly so.
But I’ve been able to cash in and order some sex toys…
Yeah, I’m thinking the best thing that could happen for my diet right now is sex toys. Okay, well, getting laid would be nice, but that’s another dilemma altogether and we’ll just leave that for another little chat, shall we?
Sex toys: Easy to adapt to, easy to incorporate into my life, and I’ll always get the last word, and get it exactly how I like it. Right? Yes, there you go.
I have no good sex toys right now. THAT’s my problem. Ain’t that I’m not getting laid, it’s that masturbation has gotten boring. Bring on the multi-speed. That’s what I say. I mean, there’s only so much your poor little hand can do, right?
Sex toys are something we all should have. Too bad we see them as being such an extravagance. I’ve been wondering the last few days how much of my road rage and periodic grumpiness could be mitigated by some serious shagging. Or maybe I just need more chocolate. Shagging burns calories, though, as opposed to parking them on my already-ample ass.
See? This is why we need the sex toys. Because too much chocolate could ensure increased difficulty in the getting-laid capacity if it keeps appearing on one’s ass. Sleeping around is dangerous. Sex toys are safe, provided they’re cleaned properly and all that fun stuff.
This is exciting. Within a week I’ll be motoring my way to happier, more interesting orgasms. Gee, life just gets better all the time. Yes, of course I’ll share my experiences with you. I may be doing very regular sex toy reviews, actually. Let’s all keep our fingers crossed.
Being well-adjusted and even-tempered could actually loom in my life. Ludicrous, yes, but seemingly entirely possible! And all due to the fun of sex toys. Well, well. Yet another great thing about the internet.
Inspired? Have a lookie here at VibeReview, where I’ll be getting my toys. Splash-proof!
Funny enough, I’m editing this thing now and a few flashes of lightning have since devoured the humidity, and everything’s cooling off all of a sudden. Fantastic. 🙂
Quickie: Trouble at the Whorehouse
Oh, minions, minions… what cruel beast has wreaked the wrath of morning upon me? Why must work loom?
WRONG. That’s what working for a living is. Wrong. One of these days the spirit in the sky’s gonna get the memo where I asked for a stretch of private beach in Bali with a cute pool boy playing lapdog and bringing me drink after drink and newspapers. Working for a living is so uncouth. I’d be so good at a life of slack.
But at least I not only have a job, but a cushy, easy job of watching television. The good thing about recessions is, you can always count on people eating, and watching television. So my job’s secure.
Which is not really what you can say to some of the fine women plying the world’s oldest profession down in the great state of Nevada.
Sadly, the Nevada Brothel Owner’s Association is admitting they’ve been hurt something awful by the new economy and the crippling gas prices. Even truckers just can’t find the coin to get shagged roadside anymore.
Times they are a-changin’, friends. The brothels, of course, are thinking outside the sex-filled box, and coming up with creative ways to jog their businesses. According to CNN:
Under a promotion under way at the Moonlite BunnyRanch near Carson City, the first 100 customers who arrive with government stimulus checks receive twice the services for the same regular price.”We’re calling it double your stimulus,” said BunnyRanch owner Dennis Hof. “The brothel industry is having to get more creative just like all consumer products in America. Everybody has got to deal, and we’re doing the same thing.”
Twice the services, hey? Very nice. But strangely out of keeping with a government cheque.
You can read the rest of the story here.
Tomorrow, I’ll feed you something new. Come back then.
I AM CANADIAN! Happy Canada Day!
It’s Canada Day! Yay! Canada! Happy Canada Day, my fellow Canucks.
I love my country. Love my country! I hate my period cramps I’m suffering through right now, but I love my country.
Tonight I’ll be at a concert after I feed my friend and I. Today, I hope to pop by Value Village to see if they’ve any affordable clothes to fit my budget. Fingers crossed.
If you’re in Vancouver today, and haven’t done it before (I have), make sure you swing by the Cannibis Day festivities down at Robson Square. Hey, you can smoke a joint AND chat with the cops at the same time. No, really, a surreal headtrip I recommend everyone as they’re there only to direct traffic. 🙂 Or if you’re out in the ‘burbs, go check out the always-awesome WIL at the Golden Spike Days in Port Moody for free.
This advertising campaign just engulfed our country about a decade ago, and is every bit as awesome today as it was then, and will always be something *I* feel, and most Canadians feel, speaks for us all. If you’ve never seen Joe Canada and his “I Am Canadian!” rant, here’s your lucky day.
Back to our regularly scheduled program tomorrow. It’s a holiday today, dontcha know?
