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Old School Sex Advice By Complete Morons

28 Sep

The full video is here, I couldn’t get it to embed but it’s great.

All The Shitty Things I Regret Writing, the name of the book that the ladies say should be the next in the series by these dead writers. I’d love to read that.

Sex advice that isn’t helpful to you can just go straight in the trash, do not pass go, do not collect $200.

Sex Ed Is The Best Ed

17 Aug

Sometimes I think about what this blog means to me. I call this ‘my sex and feminism blog’ when I talk about it with my friends. That sort of sums up what ends up on the blog but it isn’t why I started writing it.

Secretly this blog is all the things that I wish we discussed in a thorough sex education. Think of it as continuing education of a woefully lackluster high school Sex Ed.

And even more secret than that is my secret desire to be a Sex Ed teacher. Some amazing super hero sex ed teacher with a spandex suit under my teaching garb with a big S on the chest (for sex, duh).

One of my favorite things in this clip is that while John Oliver is putting on a show for his normal viewers, he’s actually giving a more comprehensive class than some of the teachers he spotlights, and he only uses 20 minutes.

Kiran Gandhi And Period Shame

14 Aug

Woman Runs London Marathon Without a Tampon, Bleeds Freely to Raise Awareness

I cry.

Don’t ask me why.

When I was in high school I have a vivid memory of sitting on a particular male friends lap and standing up to find a red spot the size of a quarter on his leg. Just conjuring up that memory while sitting here alone in my living room leaves me hot in the face with shame.

Generally I enjoyed my high school experience but that tough learning curve about exactly how long I could leave a tampon in was brutal.

There is nothing like seeing someone move through the world so shame-free concerning something you have so much anxiety about. It makes me want to hug and kiss her entire face.

The really amazing thing is that in the last few years it’s become clearer and clearer that straight guys that are worth their salt don’t really care about periods. God forbid a little blood comes up, it’s always me freaking out and him telling me to relax, it’s not a big deal. It’s amazing what shame can do.

So thanks Kiran Gandhi, my personal hero for the day.

Striking You Like A Klimt

24 Apr

I know I mention Klimt a lot on here, but I just wanted to say,

I can look at your thigh and see a beautiful, force of nature.

And this artist could look at a woman and see the surface of a distant shimmering planet.

Water Serpents, by Gustav Klimt

It’s All About That Basin

Nothing Makes Me Feel More Beautiful Than Paintings Of Women Lounging

20 Mar

Women in repose.

I think it reminds me that the artist found this sight beautiful enough to paint. And generations of people found it captivating.

And not only did the artist find her beautiful, but the artist found her as beautiful as the blue that is the shadow of her knee.

It’s a lovely blue that was chosen to express the loveliness of that knee. And an equally lovely pink to express the loveliness of her calf.

How lovely to remember that I can look at women every day and remember that they’re as lovely as my favorite shade of purple.

Maybe that’s the artist’s gift to society. To remind us that the things we don’t always look at are still beautiful.

Let’s Talk About My Mustache

11 Mar

Let’s talk about my mustache.

Or, Jesus Christ let’s not. I’m mortified already. Generally the exact same mortification I have when acknowledging any body hair I have (and, if we hadn’t covered this already, I’m a Jew, I have all of it).

Today I saw this article:

IT HAPPENED TO ME: I Got a Labiaplasty and I Feel Conflicted About It

(Editor note: Yes, I know that a labiaplasty is permanent and surgical and a lip wax is something thousands of women do twice a month but we’re talking about mortifying embarrassment here, not comparing hospital bills).

My sophomore year of high school I went to prom. Most of my friends were seniors that year so I went with a friend. I looked like Cleopatra in my dress and curling my hair took an eternity.

The morning of the dance my best friend and I went to get manicures at her local place, our manicurist was a very talkative Russian lady in her late 30s. We told her all about our dresses and who we were going with, everything fit to print.

When my nails were half dried she said “follow me” and walked me to the back of the salon and into a small room. I thought I was in trouble. I hate being in trouble.

“I’m not going to charge you for this but I’m going to wax your lip. I just don’t want you to look back at these pictures and have regrets.”

It was the first time that I realized that people could be distracted by things about me that I had decided weren’t worth caring about.

I didn’t know what to do, I was horribly embarrassed and let her do it. The pain sucked of course but what I’ve always hated about wax is that overly sensitive feeling afterwards, like a patch of my body is pure nerve ending, lacking that protective covering known as skin. I know some people love that feeling but I’ve always hated it. Like everyone knows what I’ve just done.

She promised the redness would go down by the evening and it probably did. It turned out she was wrong. I rarely ever look at pictures of that day and when I do there are other things to regret. I regret who I went with and what I cared about. I regret wearing shoes that hurt like hell and that I didn’t even like. I regret not getting the dress shortened. I regret not taking a picture with my mom.

I would not have regretted having the little NORMAL JEW LADY amount of hair on my lip that continues to NOT bother me in every picture I have taken since.

How Do You See You?

6 Feb



I love this question. There’s a picture of me from when I was about 11 where I’m just looking at the camera and thinking nothing. It’s a picture of just my face and its hanging in my mothers hallway.

My hair isn’t that long anymore, nor my eyebrows that unkempt but when I am standing in line at CVS and a stranger looks at me, that picture is what I look like. Even if it was taken 15 years ago. I’m sure that in reality I don’t look like that anymore but in my head that’s just my face.

Except now the rest of me looks like this.


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