Safe Sex


Sometimes individual things add up to form a light-shedding, bigger picture.  Sometimes it is not a pretty one, and sometimes it is deceptively pretty, which is not to say that either may be accurate.  No, wait, come back!  I promise, I am going somewhere with this, Your Honor.

I have a Blackberry, which I regularly use as a mental scribbling pad or an electronic ribbon-around-the-finger to remind me to do stuff.  It is better than a ribbon, because it vibrates and blinks and when I pull it out of its little leather case, it says things to me, like:  (19:00) MILK, or (21:00) Client meeting tmmw – IRON/GO TO BED, or (10:30) SandPOW.  These are all recent reminders that Past Tailfeather sent myself at various points.  The first, clearly, was to remind myself to pick up some milk on the way home from work.  The second was to remind myself not to stay up until midnight drinking wine and watching Community on the internet but to, instead, pluck the least crumpled blouse out of my wardrobe and pass out at 11:00 pm after forgetting to call my mother.  The third, sadly, I have stared at for the last three weeks as a saved reminder in my Outlook calendar and still have no idea to what it pertains.  I have a friend nicknamed Sandy, but what is POW?  I refuse to delete it until I figure it out.  It is like a riddle of my own creation.

This Blackberry is a company-owned one, which is another reason I tend to keep my non-work-related reminders cryptic.  This is why one might enter “RX,” for example, instead of “pick up yeast infect meds.”  Also, it is catchier.  So with both work and personal reminders, I sometimes find myself making lists that grow throughout the day.  A work example would be if I have several clients or contacts to call in Southeast Asia.  As I sort through them the day before, my 9:00 am reminder grows from:  (9:00) Call Client X, to (9:00) Call Client X, Provider Y, Client D, Contact A, Contact C.  And then I know to start calling those people early in the day so I can spend my morning sweet-talking them.  Likewise, a personal errand list might grow from: (18:30) Nails, to (18:30) Nails, shower gel, toothpicks, sea bass, SORT RECYCLING.

Those items on my last example list are not related.  Like, that is at least two stops, if not three, plus home from there, as I do not professionally sort recycling or get my nails done at a place where I can also buy seafood.  And yet if you were a television detective trying to solve my murder by reviewing my planner, you might be confuddled.   “Let’s just go to Soho,” you would say wearily.  “It must be some underground perv thing.  Or drugs.  Shower Gel is a big thing now, right?  Oh, sorry, yeah.  That’s Bath Salts.” (more…)

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Very, very thankfully, I have had only two stalkerish episodes in my life, outside of the usual bad-breakup scenarios in which one party has a more difficult time moving on; in that scheme of things, I have been guilty of my own share of unwanted phone calls or emails for the subsequent week after The Bad Talk.  Fortunately, I can take take a hint, and believe that the one or two boyfriends I’ve had who have ended things against my wishes still regard me fondly (I base that on friendly, occasional Facebook hellos that indicate we are in good stead and happy with our mutually infrequent communication).  I wish them well, they wish me well, and there is no drama or involvement.

Yeah, so.  While I have pursued a few guys beyond the point where they displayed disinterest, I can say with honesty that I’ve never harassed anyone or caused them fear (to my knowledge; I am sort of paranoid about that now, but given the “Ice Queen” accusations more commonly thrown my way and my general unwillingness to destroy someone’s car or call their mother to tell them what shits they are, I’m pretty sure I haven’t crossed that obvious, glaring line).  Which is a good thing, as I just spent about four hours of my afternoon reading the entire contents of Psychotic Letters From Men, as fixated on this blog as I was watching the final seasons of The Wire.

I was glued to this site to the point that my live-in Boy Person was annoyed that I would not go out into the rare London sunshine for a walk or a drink, so obsessed was I with reading about Terrible Men and The Women Who Despise Them.  Why is this site so good?  A few reasons. (more…)

..Porn Gadgets!  Just in case you didn’t get what you wanted on the most commercial of holidays, fret not for the future of porn is here.  EroticVision.TV is an adult content provider who is teaming up with participating adult websites to provide streaming content previously restricted to your computer screen, on your TV.  Basically, the EroticVision.TV application works by connecting to a Roku Digital Video Player which then converts internet HD content to that which can be displayed on your TV.  There are the expected controls to prevent kids or the very prude from stumbling onto your favorite raunchy scenes, and the makers of the application say the technology is not just for porn but can possibly allow all types of online content to be viewed from the comfort of the La-Z-Boy.

My birthday is in August but it’s never too early, you know……

Heidi Fleiss couldn’t do it, but it seems the Shady Lady can. Last weekend it was announced that Nevada brothel, The Shady Lady Ranch, will be the first to offer the services of male prostitutes to it’s clientele. Christmas done come early, y’all!

AP via Las Vegas Sun

The owner of a brothel more than two hours’ drive from Las Vegas said she hopes to hire Nevada’s first legal male prostitutes within a month, now that state health officials have approved a method to test men for infectious diseases.

The world is ready for women, or even other men, to legally buy sex, said Shady Lady Ranch owner Bobbi Davis. Plus, being the first to offer male service could boost business in tough economic times, she said.

“With so many other male revues going on in Vegas, we thought it was time to give this a try,” Davis told The Associated Press.

Until now, men have been effectively barred from legally plying the world’s oldest profession in Nevada by the specificity of a state health law requiring prostitutes to undergo frequent cervical testing for sexually transmitted diseases.

The health board approved a regulation to allow urethral testing for men _ a crucial rule change by the state agency with ultimate power over whether prostitutes can or can’t work.

For more than 25 years, no licensed female prostitute in Nevada has contracted HIV, the virus that causes AIDS, said George Flint, a Reno wedding chapel owner and longtime lobbyist for the Nevada Brothel Owners Association.

“My concern is that we continue to maintain that kind of record,” he said.

Davis, Flint and Nye County Sheriff Tony DeMeo all acknowledged Friday that Davis still needs county approval to become the first of the state’s 24 legal brothels to offer a lineup of men.

“We’re going to look at it. We have some concerns,” said DeMeo, who serves as a voting member of both a county health commission and a board that oversees alcohol, gambling and brothel licenses.

“The ramifications of this are going to be statewide,” he said. “We’re going to have to deal with it at our other six brothels in Nye County if they want to offer the same service. We want to make sure we protect customers and make sure the industry is regulated with clarity and understanding.”

Prostitution has been legal in rural Nevada counties since 1971 under strict state health board oversight but is against the law in the Las Vegas and Reno areas.

Flint said he feared the idea of male prostitutes serving male clients could spur a legislative backlash. He said he works to make the brothel industry socially acceptable to both libertarians and conservatives.

“I think the Legislature is really going to give me some heartburn over this,” Flint said in a telephone interview after appearing before the state Health Board in Carson City on Friday to endorse the Shady Lady proposal.

“But I think it’s an inevitability,” he added, “and the brothel association has reluctantly agreed to support this as a test.”

Davis said she wants to add two men to the three women she currently has living and working at her compound of trailers off U.S. 95 about 150 miles northwest of Las Vegas.

She said the women usually charge about $300 per hour for the five to 20 customers who visit on any given night.

“We don’t know how to structure the men’s pricing yet,” Davis said. (more…)

I woke up this morning pretty well-rested, despite having stayed up late reading a book on internet relationships.  I was feeling a bit glum even just shifting into consciousness, though, as the knowledge I would have to go into work for a few hours on a Sunday was at the forefront of my mind.  Everything sucks, was probably my first articulated thought, which is really no way to start any day, much less a weekend day.  Negativity!  But there was something else, some vague feeling of discomfort and the sense that something was slightly off, something making me feel just a little bit nauseated as I summoned up the hazy recollection…  what…  Oh.  I had a disgusting celebrity sex dream.  Again

These don’t happen to me all the time.  In fact, if I had my druthers, I would have far more sex dreams, provided I could pick the subjects.  Sadly, that’s not the way my mind (and probably yours) works.  Most of my sex dreams tend to involve people from work (unavoidable, kind of awkward, sometimes quite hot).  Then there are the really traumatizing ones where family members or friends are somehow involved (after which one wishes to open one’s skull and apply bleach directly to the brain – these are in no way amusing and should never be discussed).

The best sex dreams, in my experience, involve either an object of affection, lust, or the occasional pleasant surprise, like when the UPS guy you hadn’t really paid much attention to makes an unexpected cameo and the next time you see him you blush and realize he actually does have great calves.  Often times sex itself isn’t even involved; one of the most intense dreams I ever had consisted of little more than me sitting on a deserted beach with the boy I was in love with, gazing straight into his green eyes and watching the waves crash behind them, in a little bit of a dream cinemascope in which we were simultaneously on the beach and yet I was the sand and he was the water.  It may not have been original, but I woke up with that same delicious, toe-curling warmth and tranquility that follows a particularly enjoyable sex dream, that feeling you try as hard as you can to prolong while your alarm blares beside you and you think, just a few more minutes here, please!  It’s just getting really good!  I also once had a three-dream arc with an actual dream lover, a blond Scandinavian guy in a black turtleneck happily conjured up by my subconscious.  I know the turleneck sounds lame, but he was kind of a beatnik character and trust, it was working. (more…)

I know how I should feel about Meredith Vieira’s sexual harrassment of a young, strapping Navy pilot who showed up on that-show-I-did-not know-still-existed, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.  I should feel unamused.  Dour.  Embarrassed.  Wet willies came up.  Eeeewwww. 

Instead, I thought it was kind of hilarious.  Vieira may be horny as she admits, but she ain’t old, and Max Shuman (which I originally heard as Nat Sherman, with my cigarette brain, which was doubly-exciting!) handles the attention with aplomb and playful modesty.  My reaction was more along the lines of, “Getchusome, Vieira!  And then pass me a piece of that action.”

Yeah, yeah, if the sexes were reversed, it would be unbelievably icky.  But I can’t get riled up about it, because Mr. Shuman seemed quite capable of taking care of himself and, honestly, I do enjoy a little reverse exploitation in good humor.  Feel free to disagree, or share your own appreciation for Max or Meredith (looking fine herself) in comments.

pageantTo be honest, I actually have a pretty high threshold for people babbling about their kids.  I like kids, I used to work with them, and I genuinely find them fascinating and their parents’ sense of delight charming.  Kids are great.  I am interested in their first words, the playground throwdowns, and how their respective parents are tackling puberty issues.  I’m a good audience for kid stories in general.

What I have a lower tolerance for, however, is both the total overshare aspects of childrearing and the stupified superiority complexes exhibited by some parents, which is why I had to stay at work an hour late today to make up for the fact that I read every single entry in the STFU, Parents tumblr.  I was alerted to this blog courtesy of a Salon Broadsheet post, and it happily exceeded my expectations.

STFUParents is a lovingly-crafted wee gem that encapsulates (and takes to task) the smug and pedestrian tendencies exhibited by some folks the second they discover they’re about to birth their own “little miracle.”  Specifically targeting the mind-numbing and nausea-inducing Facebook updates people impose on their friends (and by friends I may mean people-they-have-not-actually-spoken-to-in-twenty-years) about their shitting, puking bundles of overachieving joy, STFUParents hilariously skewers obsessive parenthood, lack of awareness, and the self-satisfied “Supermom!”

What breed of parent are we talking about here?  Not necessarily the nice people you work with, who might bust out with a wry and exhausted anecdote about their firstborn teething.  Not your cool friends who have, yeah, experienced a life-changing event and share some of the joys and punishments with you, without losing their perspective or their ability to relate.  Rather, the blog tackles those folks who have taken the self-congratulatory and exclusive road by proclaiming things like:  “You can only relate if your (sic) a parent!!!! lol :).”  Or:  “Baby Cleopatra unleashed an atomic bomb today!!!  I didn’t know poo could explode out the back of the diaper and into the hair!  LMAO!!!” (more…)

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