In the pictures above you see women with a range of facial expressions. Study the expressions, and try to imagine what is going on ….
They are all about to … SNEEZE !
Thank you to my dear friend & MM Superstar wollywally, for sending this to me. Of coures I thought they were all having orgasm’s which would be a collective multi-orgasmic marathon !
Anyone brave enough to share their ‘orgasm’ thoughts, ideas, challenges ?
Fellas and Lesbifellas, do you look at t.v for the T and A or the entertainment? It dawned on me that I only stopped the channel search to check out tits and ass. When the eye candy disappeared, I continued to change the channel. I was sitting there, loafing on my butt, scratching, thinking erotically about all the women that came across the tube, you know- man stuff. when I joked to myself, that there were hardly any chicks on t.v. I wouldn’t do. I was inspired by Dana Jacobson, the host of ESPN’s show First and Ten. She has been somewhat decent as a host and is a decent looker, but on this day, her blouse was tighter than normal. Thats the reason I took notice. She isn’t a particularly voluptuous woman, but her tits were perky enough to inspire a morning touch session (I’m human). I rubbed one out and continued to listen to the latest news in the sports world. It made my cable bill worth it. Seriously, Sportscenter is so much better when Hannah Storm in hosting.
I went through the channel for a few hours the next day writing down the names of women I saw on the tube. Unfortunately, I did notice there were alot of women I wouldn’t do anything with. I couldn’t find the mood to get it on with Dana Jacobson again either so I made this list instead.
Below is the list of women I compiled. I put them in best order possible from hottest to not hottest. How low would you go? I have pals that would do the complete list of women, but my penis won’t perform in every storm, not even with liquor. I know I misspelled a few names, so sue me. Leave a comment on this one. Let me know how low can you go.
1. Hally Berry
2. Giselle Bunchen
3. Eva Mendes
4. Melissa Ford
5. Beyonce
6. Angelina Jolie
7. Kim Kardashian
8. Cassie
9. Lauren London
10. Rihanna
11. Alicia Keys
12. Gwen Stefani
13. Ajia Nicole
14. Andressa Soares
15. Selma Hayek
16. Hayden Panitierre
17. Anna Nicole Smith
18. Jessica Simpson
19. Cameron Diaz
20. Rashida Jones
21. Megan Fox
22. Tyra Banks
23. Britney Spears
24. Keri Hilson
25. Paris Hilton
26. Christina Applegate
27. Roxy Reynolds
28. Jennifer Aniston
29. Heather Graham
30. Katy Perry
31. Olivia Munn
32. Christina Aguilera
33. Isla Fisher
34. Eve
35. Angie Martinez
36. Pink
37. Mila Kunis
38. Shannon Sossyman
39. Sage Steele
40. Whitney Houston
41. Amanda Peet
42. Taylor Swift
43. Pinky
44. Vivica Fox
45. Madonna
46. Avril Lavigne
47. Norah Jones
48. Muffy Cupcakeopia
49. Sarah Jessica Parker
50. Uma Thurman
51. Linda Fey
52. Lisa Ling
53. Rachel McAdams
54. Sarah Silverman
55. Chelsea Lately
56. Rachel Nichols
57. Jennifer Hudson
58. Hannah Storm
59. Laila Ali
60. Sharon Stone
61. Sandra Oh
62. Soledad O’Brien
63. Rachel Maddow
64. Joan Cusack
65. Phyllicia Rashad
66. Oprah
67. Monica Lewinsky
68. Monique
69. Wendy Williams
70. Brittany Griner
71. Linda Cohn
72. Robin Quivers
73. Joy Behar
74. Justice Sotomayor
75. Nancy Grace
76. Whoopi Goldberg
77. Rosanne
78. Greta Van Susteren
79. Sally Jessie Raphael
80. Martha Stewart
81. Hillary Clinton
82. Kathleen Turner
83. Kathy Bates
84. Susan Boyle
85. C. Delores Tucker
86. Maya Angelou
87. Linda Candellini
88. Barbara Bush
Tiger: Hello?
ME: Tiger! It’s Chris…how ya been?
*moaning in background*
Tiger: Uhh…good. I’m good. You?
ME: It’s fuckin cold. I hate that shit.
Tiger: Yeah…
*squealing noise*
Tiger: …yeah, I hate the cold, too.
ME: What’s wrong with your cat?
Tiger: I don’t have a cat.
ME: What the hell was that noise then?
Tiger: I’m watching TV.
ME: …the fuck you watching, dude?
[background]
“…but Mrs. Starr, what if your husband comes home?”
ME: Mrs. Starr? Who’s Mrs…HOLY FUCKIN SHIT, DUDE!!! You’re watching ‘MILF Hunter,’ aren’t t ya?
Tiger: I’m just undergoing some treatment.
ME: Treatment? By watching some dorky ginger kid bang a bunch of soccer moms? Who’s your doctor…Peter North?
Tiger: Well, yes, actually. That is his name. But he’s a totally different dude.
ME: So…basically you’re taking two jerks and calling him in the morning?
Tiger: Something like that. He checked me in to a facility in Mississippi.
ME: What sort of facility?
Tiger: For people addicted to sex.
ME: I didn’t realize you were addicted to sex.
Tiger: Me, either…
ME: …and you pay him for this?
Tiger: Well, yeah…it was Elin’s idea. Actually, it was more of an ultimatum.
ME: Fuck that shit! I told you to stay away from them Scandinavian chicks. They’re the phoniest.
Tiger: …yeah, I know, I know…
ME: You remember that day, right? Don’t tell me you don’t!
Tiger: No, I remember…
ME: Alright then. But just to reminisce about that glorious day I shall repeat it here for my own enjoyment and not invent the shit for some dumbass blog.
Tiger: …huh?
ME: Nevermind…anyway, it was the ‘84 Masters, we were 6-years-old, and you were all like, “Im gonna marry a Scandinavian bitch! I’m gonna marry a Nordic bitch!”
ME: And I was all like, “Yo, fuck that shit, homie! They be some phony-ass bitches!”
ME: And you were like, “Phony how?”
ME: And I was like, “Man, they all be like ‘Yay!! Free drugs and free sex!!’ one day. And the next day act like you gave them AIDS.”
ME: And you go, “I don’t care! They’re lovely people and I’m gonna marry one and we’re gonna have lots of babies.”
ME: So I took your Hot Wheels and threw them in the pond at Amen Corner. Little good it fuckin did…
Tiger: Uhh…Chris?
ME: …and you see, Tiger, that’s what pisses me off here…
Tiger: Chris?
ME: Here I am at Walmart, talking about some shithole named R-Pattz…
Tiger: Chris!?!?
ME: …what, dude?
Tiger: Mrs. Starr…remember?
ME: Oh, shit…my bad. Alright, call me back when you’re done.
Tiger: Later.
ME: And wash your hands first! I don’t need some freaky Scandinavian shit coming through my phone.
Long distance…….
I believe it to be hard, knowing now after having a long distance relationship, but i still consider it to have been worth it even though it didn’t last
. 
I remember…..
Not wanting to meet Patrick, knowing beforehand that he was going to be there. I didn’t want to meet another guy that would disappoint me, tell me lies only to find that hopes were up for no clear reason. I didn’t want a guy to find me attractive from far away, i didn’t want to feel special for only one night and then end up crying the next as did Joe, i didn’t want it. So i came to a wedding with the idea that i was going to simply hang out with my family, but something changed as that weekend progressed.
I remember….
Seeing him for the first time looking all lonely unhappy to be there, different from everyone else
My mom saying at dinner “look Brittany, thats your boyfriend for the night, looks like another joe,” and thinking “I wish” as he walked by.
Walking past him as the reception had begun and smiling at him (after I had looked his way all night) and he smiled back, the first time i had seen him smile, and it was such a nice smile.
Finding that my family was no longer dancing so i danced with his family as i glanced over his way and slowly got closer to him (with the help of Jenna and Allison who were dancing and realized that we were both kinda interested in each other).
Talking to him for the first time out on the patio at night at the wedding instead of slow dancing as the night slowly came to an end and i simply hugged him, knowing i’d see him tomorrow.
I remember….
Seeing him the next day and we both smiled when we saw each other.
Listening to the Dave Matthews Band in my grandma’s computer room while everyone else watched Angie and Nick open presents, in content almost silence as we listened to the music, wanting to kiss him more and more every second we spent listening to the music.
When Patrick had to leave, i didn’t want to say good-bye, i hugged him probably ten times and he said “it was real” i laughed and made fun of his Minnesota slang and hugged him again and then slightly kissed him before he left, not knowing if i would ever see him again.
I remember him texting later on that night and talking to him till one in the morning on that school night.
Hearing from him the next morning and every morning to come, texting him all day, and putting me in a great mood.
Flirting with him referring to him as ‘this guy’ and him referring to me as ‘this girl’
I remember after only a week of knowing him he had changed my world, and from the simple this girl, this guy flirting he asked “do you want to officially be my girlfriend” i said “i would love to”.
I remember looking into his eyes, and they looked so true.
I remember we’d spend ten minutes just kissing goodbye.
How he always made my day by texting me.
How we could talk about anything and when we ran out of things to talk about there would always be smileys.
How easy it was to smile and laugh when i was around him, and how just being with him was enough to make me happy.
How talking on the phone would start with little words and end with lots of giggles.
I remember saying i love you for the first time and him responding with ‘ich liebe dich’ because he knew i spoke german.
I remember him telling me how lucky he was to have me, and how optimistic he was about the relationship as i was.
I remember us talking about being each other’s firsts but waiting till a special moment.
But maybe i was naïve to think it would work out? maybe i was naïve to think that a guy could love me despite not seeing me a lot. Because it crumbled as he began to get moodier and moodier as december went by. I kept holding on to that moment when I’d finally get to see him again, when everything could be true again, but it didn’t happen. Unfortunately when confronting occurs and silence begins, the truth comes out. The sweet boy i knew was no longer there, the love he had for me had vanished, and though i have no idea why, there was nothing i could do. I never want to be right when i confront something that i have a problem with, but i was right…..and ya, it definitely hurt. Because i was sure about him, but according to him the spark wasn’t there, and he was probably right, it’s not healthy to love someone who doesn’t love you or an unhappy person who makes you unhappy in the process. For three months he made me extremely happy and feel loved more than I’ve ever felt before, but sometimes good things come to an end, and in this case it did. And in the end all the tears and hurt are worth it, we live, we learn, we move on….it’s apart of life, i’d rather that than feel nothing at all.
…….luckily i have lots of school stuff now to keep me busy (joy).
I visit YouPorn like everyone else. Don’t lie. You do too. Admit it. In fact, that’s one of the windows you have open. Well, don’t bother closing it now.
Lesbian Porn is a big snore. Sure you hear about all those straight guys with their ultimate sexual fantasies–fucking twins or being the meat in some lesbian sandwich. But how many straight guys get to live that fantasy? Does the lesbian porn fulfill any of their needs? Because it sure doesn’t fulfill any of my needs.
It just isn’t believable. No woman is going to get off while her vagina is being stabbed by 10 inch nails. I’d be afraid. One wrong move and your clit could be quivering on a blood soaked mattress. I’m sure there are some lesbians out there with the long, fake nails, but I don’t know any of them, and I most certainly wouldn’t invite one to my bed.
It never looks like they are really enjoying it either. Their little skits leading up to the sex are lame at best, but once they get into the sex, I demand involvement. Not this timid, hardly licking of the genitalia. And then the woman on the receiving end starts moaning like it’s actually doing something. Meanwhile her vagina is about as moist as a stale crouton. Such bullshit. Get in there. Get dirty.
The women all have long hair, painted faces and shaved pussies. You won’t find any dykes or butches. I suppose that would scare away the male customers. They might not appreciate a woman who can grow a better goatee.
That’s why I watch heterosexual or gay porn. They’re actually doing something instead of pretending to do something. I can believe that they might be enjoying it, because they have the rhythm and the sound right. And they’re not afraid to get messy.
“If I praise you then I can swear whole-heartedly it was by accident. If I insult you though, be well assured it was all done with premeditation.”
Isn’t it amazing when…
You’re only five days away from moving out of your home (yet again) and you’ve only packed pegs. But still, I guess I’ll be able to hang my laundry… That’s of course if I had any.
Yes, the dastardly days of packing and squishing and attempting to make that huge amount of clothes fit into a suitcase that was never meant to hold that much in the first place. The week has arrived and as usual I’m horribly behind schedule.
But besides the fact the only thing I’ll be taking to Uni is pegs, I spent majority of my morning showed in contemplation over orgasms and the variety that I’ve experienced in my life.
Now, being one of those few people who orgasm quite regularly and easily, sometimes it even taking me by surprise, I sometimes forget that others aren’t so easy in the sack. So, while sitting on the shower floor wondering why on earth I had yet to fix the leaking shower head I thought about how I would classify my orgasmic experiences.
I’ve come up with three:
Orgasm A: clitoris, G-spot, penetration… The whole deal here, not saying that I need all at the same time to reach climax (considering that my arms are not that long, neither are my fingers sadly) but these are the three main things that result in one of those ‘oh-my-god-i-can-see-the-light’ orgasms. You know them, the ones that make it feel as though your lungs had de-compressed and that your muscles might snap under the pressure. Now, being the egotistical person that I am (even in the bed, sorry to say) I practiced and practiced this orgasm until well, I eventually got sick of it at some point. Currently, (my lovely boasting) I can have six consecutive A orgasms. I haven’t reached any further because, to be truthful, it made me too damn tired.
Orgasm B: also known to me as the pressure orgasm… This is a preparation orgasm, or one that you just squeeze in between you’ve spent the better half of the morning watching pornography and had forgotten you were meant to be out at lunch 15 minutes ago. This orgasm is quick and easy, well for me. Considering research that the clitoris, while seeming small and very localized for some, is actually about 16 to 17 centimeters long in the average woman. Now that is a lot of pleasure that can be taken use of right there. Of course the G-spot is located along the clitoris, and further up into the vagina to if I’m correct but what the pressure orgasm is, is that it focuses on a small length of the clitoris between what we formally know as the ‘clitoris’ and the ‘G-spot’. And then it’s simple. No movement, just pressure, and lots of it. Using anything I, or you like, usually. It takes only a minute as it has the same effect as Orgasm A but is a bit ‘duller’ I guess you could say. Still works to get you prepped and ready to go though.
Orgasm C: also known as the ‘look-no-hands’ orgasm… This is in fact one orgasm that I can have just reading an article on sex. It’s quicker, a bit longer lasting, even if the climax isn’t all that appreciative of the effort my brain has put in to supply the necessary pictures. I usually barely notice this nowadays, not to say I don’t enjoy it or I’ve become so used to it then I won’t ride it out for as long as possible, it’s just that I’ve been having these for three years without any stimulation of a body part; besides the brain. I’ve only ever met a few others who can have an orgasm like this, but I feel sorry for those who can’t. Some people really miss out on all the fun.
I might also add in a side-note here for all those who love a good bum-waggling femme. Apparently the most a woman wriggles her bum or ’shimmies’ when she walks, the stronger her orgasm will be. I guess this has to do with the muscles and how we use them, so get bum-waggling.
Now, enough of my orgasm talking-mind… I also just noticed that I’ve already written 700-off words. Funny how it’s so easy to write when you’ve really got nothing interesting to say.
So, what else do I have to say?
Save me, is one thing, and save her, is another. Neither of which make any sense even though in the horror movie I was watching last night, it make all the sense in the world. Maybe I need to a hire a guy running around with a chainsaw to motive this kind of logical screaming.
That’s my little insight into the strange workings of my mind, today. Hope you enjoyed and stay tuned for more runaway-through action tomorrow.
- Cal.
They say everything is bigger in Texas, and the king-sized failures of the justice system are no exception. A Harris County District had a major justice FAIL recently when he prosecuted a 13-year-old girl for prostitution, despite the fact that she’s legally a human trafficking victim and not old enough to consent to sex. And her 32-year-old “boyfriend” (aka pimp) who was having sex with her and likely facilitated her prostitution? Well, he walked off free and clear.
The Texas Supreme Court is hearing the case this week, and it’s unclear whether they’ll decide that a trafficked child too young to consent to sex can be prosecuted for prostitution.
The girl, who media are calling B.W. to protect her identity, was picked up in 2007 when she offered to give an undercover Houston police office a blow job for $20. Quickly, the police discovered that she was a minor, and that she had run away from a foster home placement two years earlier, when she was just 11. After running away, she moved in with a 32-year-old man whom she called her “boyfriend.” While staying with him, she used a number of illegal drugs, acquired several sexually transmitted diseases, and had two abortions.
While B.W. never admitted to being engaged in prostitution between the ages of 11 and 13, the high number of STDs and abortions are strong indicators that her “boyfriend” may have been pimping her out, even at that young age. But she did plead guilty to the prostitution charges related to her arrest.
So why is there a legal battle currently raging in Texas over whether or not to charge a young girl, clearly victimized by an older man, with prostitution? B.W.’s lawyers are arguing that it’s just plain ridiculous for a 13-year-old to be prosecuted for prostitution when lawmakers have otherwise determined that a child of that age is legally incapable of consenting to any sex act, much less one that involves an implied contract (minors that age are also too young to legally agree to contracts). They say a prostitution conviction would create an inconsistent legal precedent which states that a child is at the same time both legally capable and legally incapable of consenting to sex.
The D.A., on the other hand, claims B.W. was agreeing to engage in the sex act, which does not require legally-effective consent. Plus, in Texas, state law allows minors to be charged with prostitution, so they claim her consent doesn’t even matter. They also claim that in jail, B.W. will have access to all sorts of educational, rehabilitative, and other services, whereas if she were free, she’d just go back into foster care, run away, and be back on the street.
The awful truth of the situation is that jail might be B.W.’s best hope of getting help, which is a terrible, terrible solution. Her innocence is clear because of her age — and I’m livid at the D.A.’s assertion that her consent doesn’t matter because there happened to be a financial transaction involved in her statutory rape. That’s dangerously close to the fallacy that women (and children like B.W.) in prostitution check their ability to consent or refuse to consent at the brothel door. But until we begin recognizing children like B.W. for what they are — victims of domestic minor sex trafficking — we have few resources to help them heal and break the psychological control their pimps have over them. So for many girls like B.W., the choice ends up being jail or the streets, a lose-lose situation.
And speaking of pimps, whatever happened to the 32-year-old who was having sex with a 13-year-old, giving her STDs and illegal drugs, and taking her to have multiple abortions. Anyone find him, question him, or even look for him? Or was everyone so busy crucifying a little girl for a crime she’s too young to legally commit? Here’s a hint: As a rule, 11-year-old kids don’t, upon running away from foster care, decide to start voluntarily prostituting themselves. There was someone who pushed B.W. into the life, and I’ll bet a Texas-sized wad of cash on her much older, cohabiting boyfriend.
If you’re not going to hunt down her pimp, then the least you can do is do right by B.W., Texas, and show us all that the biggest thing about you is your heart.
Photo credit: lanuiop
source: http://humantrafficking.change.org/blog/view/texas_da_prosecutes_girl_13_for_prostitution_while_her_pimp_32_walks
Despite the many times I’ve checked the calendar this week, it dawned on me tonight that this week marks two years since the demise of my marriage. Am I reminiscing? Missing the ex? Oh but Hell no!
What I am doing is evaluating where I am today versus then. I still want to change some things. I still have a very low tolerance for bullshit and people who can’t screw up the courage to fix their own issues. I still need to meditate more and practice self-control and patience. But overall, I am truly happier now than I have ever been in my entire life.
I’m making progress. One big difference from two years ago is that I recognize the changes as they happen. It’s pretty cool. I’m expanding my tastes in music and food. While I still don’t like eating alone, it doesn’t depress me like it used to. Instead of waging war on my body, we have a truce and agree to compromise. I’m no longer afraid of what other people think. I’m not nervous about being seen naked anymore. Good thing since I have a new lover. I have perseverance, drive, goals. I can defend myself, question myself, supply all the things I need myself.
I’m still learning to live out loud, but I gain ground everyday. I’ve accomplished things I once thought impossible. Now my focus is on finding the things I want: my new lover, my next royalty check, the next set of stories I want to write, rekindling my love for my day job . It will be interesting to see where I am two years from now….
This morning I had an interview at an adult shop in my city for a part time sales assistant position. It went pretty awfully but I may still have a tiny chance. My only redeeming factor was answering the child porn ‘moral’ question correctly. As for saying what I could bring to the job, I stuttered and stammered around saying about three words. I really didn’t do my best.
My failure is most likely because of my mum coming into my room this morning to say, ‘I won’t wish you luck. I’ll be praying all morning that you don’t get the job.’ I asked, ‘why?’ She replied, ‘At a sex shop? You’re depraved enough like that as it is.’ I didn’t know where mum could have got the fact that the job was at an adult shop from, other than reading my diary. When I went downstairs my handbag was indeed open. In my diary she’d have also read the cryptic references to the hours I was meant to be working at the club.
So I’ve told the club that I quit. My brother already warned me that mum is planning to follow me and I really can not cope with that amount of stress. No money is worth this fear. I’m totally fed up with it. I can’t hack the lying and fear of being found out. I don’t want to lead a double life anymore. Even though I’m in the right and mum is in the wrong, while I live here I just can’t be doing with stressing over her interferences in my life. I know I’ve now lost myself about £500 a month income, but I really don’t give a fuck anymore.
I have enough in the bank to pay for me and my partner’s holiday, and my petrol until I go to uni. This is all I need in life. If I want anything else, I’ll take a call. 1 hour in a hotel room is a lot easier to cover than 4 hours plus 2 hours travelling to work at the club. I’ve not been very good at getting calls lately but hopefully that will change. I had 3 messages in my AW inbox this morning. I’ve replied eagerly to them all. Now I’m just sitting here shitting myself until mum comes home from work, because I’m sure she’ll have more to say after all her snooping. God, I do hate her.
I’m a big fan of Jason Reitman’s films, but I don’t understand this at all:
But her looks were still an issue.
In a discussion about the differences between working in independent and big-studio films, she said she’s often made more aware of her physical appearance when working for the studios. This became especially true during a key scene in “Up in the Air” that involves Clooney, Farmiga and very little clothing.
“I’ve done nudity quite a bit,” Farmiga said, but “Jason (was) prudish about me being pregnant. (But) I felt great in my own skin.”
Nonetheless, Reitman hired a body double, though he let Farmiga have a say in whom he hired. Once the scene was filmed with the body double, Farmiga asked if she could film the scene.
At first, Reitman was reluctant. But he let Farmiga film the nude scene.
In the final cut of the film, though, it’s the double’s — not Farmiga’s — body up on the screen.
“I don’t know why they didn’t include it,” she said. “I know I looked good.”
My understanding is that normally body doubles are involved because the actress does not want to do the nudity involved. There are other times that I could see “fake” nudity being involved based on the context (obviously Rosemary DeWitt’s flash in the TV show United States of Tara is not her breasts, because the plot is about a botched boob job). Both of these seem reasonable enough.
If it isn’t bad enough that parts in the US are constantly prettied up (compared to British equivalents for example), apparently sometimes being pretty enough for clothed roles is not quite pretty enough for the nude parts?
In this particular case, I suppose it could just be an interpretation of how much her pregnancy was showing and whether she could be passed off as not-pregnant (which presumably is easier clothed than unclothed). But it seems like Reitman may have just been succumbing to the taboo against sexualizing (as is involved in the role) a pregnant woman, which is again a problem beyond him. But assuming she wasn’t showing enough to be seen as pregnant (it probably wouldn’t be beyond her character to have a little paunch), what excuse can there possibly be for being so intent on a body double? Or more to the point, how can they possibly argue that this difference would be meaningful to the success of the film (artistically or economically)?
There may be some natural and intractable biases in what is considered beautiful, but I don’t understand how these actions that require conscious decisions to enforce a rigid and impractical body standard (because in what world is Vera Farmiga not good enough) are made. That is the least we should expect of humanity.
As a normal red-blooded heterosexual male in my thirties I have quite a few Disney films in my DVD collection. Like everyone else I was raised reciting the dogma that “They lived happily ever after.” Anyone who questioned this was going straight to hell with the “who-mo-sexuals” and liberals who don’t like shooting things. But of late I have started to question this way of life. Through following the teachings of such learned persons as “Common Squirrel” on Twitter and watching “Donkey on Dragon” porn I have come to the conclusion that this may in fact be a complete fairy tale.
Did Snow White and Prince Ferdinand have a life long romance? Or after a few years did things die down and did “Happily” fade to mere “Contentedly”? You know how it happens. They just stopped communicating and taking time for each others feelings and needs. He got more involved in the running of the Kingdom and she poured her energies into her own business. She of course owned half of the mining company with the dwarfs. Don’t ask what she did to get them to sign those contracts. Her added capital gained from the settlement with the Wicked Queens estate after the murder attempts allowed them to expand and go global. Now they have mining interests in China and Australia and South Africa. There’s even talk that they are going to buy Disney.
Snow and Ferdinand would meet up at the dinner table, when their busy schedules allowed, and talk about the kids and the new friends they had made on Facebook. But this was companionship built on familiarity and shared interests. Not the earthshaking, dove releasing, “love you so much I think I’m going to puke”, perfect love that you find in a Twilight novel. He’d ask her if they should move the kids to a private school because he didn’t like them hanging around with those Shrek kids. She would enquire if he could remove the heads of the anti-royalists from the pikes out in front of the castle because the feeding crows were shitting all over the place. But this wasn’t a loving marriage. In the words of the most famous Fairy Godfather “This is business not personal.”
The only time they felt any real closeness or connection was when they were having some nasty, kinky, depraved, monkey sex with a like-minded stable lad or chamber maid. Snow was very much into group sex. After all she had done all seven dwarfs (Watch the infamous sex tape). Ferdinand mostly liked to watch and got his jollies videoing and uploading it to the internet. Strangely he refused to let her have sex with black men. But there were rumours that when he wore panties and a dress things were completely different. Of course because he’s a man he could get away with things like that. Snow on the other hand was vilified by the press and labelled a “bawdy wench.”
So that’s what happens when you get past “Happily ever after.” Those three words don’t allow any chance for sequels or trilogies, and to be honest if that’s how things turn out I’m not sure I want to see. As for Snow and Ferdinand, so she’s not as “snow white” as she used to be, who is, who cares. But at least she doesn’t go around kissing supposedly dead girls in glass coffins. Now if the press got hold of that story.
I often wonder why so much of my adult life has been centered around the men in it.
Why do I spend time caring for, coddling, loving, sometimes almost obsessing over men, when I could spend all that time on me? I mean, rarely does the effort get returned in kind. Half-assedly, yes, but rarely, if ever, is it returned with the same caring and attention to detail.
And yet, here I am again, not sleeping, thinking about some guy. Is he interested, is this a bad idea, is it too soon, would it end badly?
The answer to all of those questions, in case you’re wondering, is yes. Yes, he’s interested. Yes, I may be too. Yes, it would go badly, end badly, and is way too soon for me.
But I can’t resist checking my email one more time, looking at my phone to see if he called or texted, or just peeking at his facebook photo.
I don’t want to be this girl. I want to be focused on me, intent on my own goals, complete in myself. I want to stop wasting time and energy on someone who doesn’t deserve it, when someone who does is sitting here not getting her beauty rest. Maybe I just need to get laid. In reality, I need to stop deflecting and work on myself.
Dammit, attraction is a mysterious thing.
Dearest Vadge,
Hello-hullo! How are you? How are things down there? I suppose I ought to know, since I see you every day of my life. You’re probably my most-treasured, dearest friend, though admittedly, I’ve neglected to pay much attention to you for “a while”! I reckon that like most good friendships, we may simply pick-up where we left-off! Agree?
Before I go any further — I hope you don’t mind me calling you Vadge. I could call you by your given name, Vagina, but that’s so … so … so formal, don’tcha think? After-all we’ve been together since about June or July, 1974, when my mother was in her second trimester of pregnancy, and I was but a slight bump protruding from below her navel! Would you prefer something a bit more fun & unique? Perhaps a nickname such as “Vadgesaurus” (perfect, since we’re both getting old!)? Maybe “Vadgetasma” (we could pretend that you’re a superhero — minus the cape, of course!)! Do you have a middle name, or perhaps a confirmation name too? Mine is Ann, and …
Sorry, I’m got a little distracted there for a moment. You do know what a chatter box I can be, and how much I love to talk!
Re: chatter box. Wouldn’t it be cool if I outfitted you with a set of chattering teeth next Halloween? Just think of the thrill & frights we could give everyone! You’d be like a really, really smiley guy … with a mustache!
But I digress …
The whole point of this letter is to let you know that I haven’t forgotten you, dearest. I know you’re there. Your friendly neighbours, the Ovary Twins, remind me for about a week every month, driving me mental, with my estrogen peaking. They’re a bad, bad influence on both of us, Vadge, provoking me to possibly take you out & party, picking-up anything which smells of testosterone — regardless of the calibre of man excreting that testosterone & pheromones! Do not be lead astray by the Ovary Twins, because they’re merely plotting to surprise us with an addition to their family, whom shall travel down the Fallopian Tube Highway, parking itself in the cozy accommodations above you, for nine months: an embryo-fetus, taking-up residence in my uterus. I’m not ready nor wanting of that right now, so please: be a friend, and behave yourself!
I’m staying away from our other bad influences too, as I know that Jack, Jim, and José like to play tricks on you & I! They’re bad, bad, bad men, Vadge!
Have I told you how proud I am of you, for staying-away from visitors such as Dick Player, Peter Pecker, and their various plunging, erupting cronies? (admit it: you can’t remember all of their names either!) We usually had fun entertaining those lads, but the aftermath of the parties left some empty, hurtful feelings in their wake! We certainly did know how to throw some impressive, memorable parties though, hey? On a couple of occasions, word got out about our private parties, uttered by a couple of unworthy guests (one of whom didn’t have much of party wand, but an ego & mouth the size of the galaxy), but as you & have decided, our partying daze days are over, in the future, there shall be only an exclusive invitation extended to someone who meets my other needs, first.
Like vampires, visitors may only enter if I invite them in! I intend & deserve to be extremely picky. Picky, picky, picky! I’m going to be very protective of you, my friend, as well as another dear, sweet friend of mine, Mon Couer. (she’s asked me to say “hello!” to you, by the way.)
Despite purposely placing you out of commission for a while, I hope you didn’t mind when I dusted you off, and made sure that you were still alive. (good god, lady, you had a lot of cobwebs!) You didn’t let me down, but the guest was such a let-down! So not worth our time or energy! We seem to do fine on our own, sister.
“Go, girl power, go!”
But seriously — I’m terribly sorry to have made such a bad decision in that instance. Blame it on both of our aforementioned bad influences. Damn them both to Hell!
In closing, I wish to let you know that I think our “time out” has been really, really good for both of us. Despite having been in really bad, sad way for too long, as I’ve removed a few negative influences from my life (our triple-J buddies, Facebook, and some others), and have started to include positive influences, things have become better & brighter. They’re far from perfect, but MUCH better than they were in November & December! (oy, vey!)
I’ll be sure to touch-base with you again, and give you a buzz (pun intended) as things continue to improve. Perhaps 2010 shall bring us a bit of luck, the Right One shall show-up on the scene, and after getting to know him for a while, we may … entertain him, and show him how to really party! (Damn, we are good, aren’t we? **high-five!**)
Whoever He may be, hopefully He & his buddy are compatible, suitable, and worth our wait. Until then, we shall behave. We can. We shall. We will. We must.
Anyhoo … I can see that you’re happy & healthy, so no need to wish you these things. You are in my thoughts, and words cannot express how grateful I am to have such an empathetic, understanding — albeit somewhat dusty — friend.
With much love from your life long friend & host,
Darth Kater
P.S. Wouldn’t it be AWESOME if our future guest were to look like Him? (stop drooling. you’re embarrassing yourself, and making a mess of my underpants!)
Lindsay Lohan sex tape to be made public: report
A sex tape allegedly starring Lindsay Lohan is reportedly about to be made public.
The Mean Girls actress, who recently filmed a documentary about child trafficking in India, is said to be the star of a 47-second clip which could be about to appear on the internet.
A source told the Daily Mirror newspaper: “The video film is dynamite. It is pretty seedy and shows Lindsay engaged in a particular sex act which, obviously, should remain behind closed doors.
“Lindsay was desperate to start 2010 off on a good footing and this is the very last thing she needs.
“If and when it is released on the internet, via a spurious, unofficial website, there is absolutely nothing she or her lawyers can do about it.”
Pornographic magazine Hustler is said to be offering 100,000 pounds ($175,000) for the video, which was filmed by a waiter from a chain restaurant.
The source added: “She is devastated – particularly as she is working hard on cleaning up her act.
“Lindsay has just made a serious documentary on child poverty in India for the BBC, she is terrified this will be put in jeopardy now. It is fair to say that Lindsay has had a pretty torrid past 24 hours.”
i broke it off with the pharmacist; the lawyer; the med student; the nurse practitioner. i can’t handle four relationships with only givng myself fifteen percent, at best, effort into each one of them.
and, as it would appear.. it’s impossible to develop feelings for people when you still have your mind wrapped around this one, beautiful woman who wants nothing to do with you.
i was trying to protect her. i told her minimal information because i didn’t want her to leave. but once she found everything out, she left anyway. i shouldn’t have said anything at all… and perhaps she’d still be in my life… holding my hand, looking up at me with anticipation, knowing that it really was going somewhere good.
i don’t know why she hates me so much. why she ignores me.. after everything we shared, talked about, and went through.
i would’ve made those painful, bittersweet efforts for as long as it took to find myself being the only one she loved.
i guess i’ll say goodbye to her as well… only hoping that she fnally finds the happiness and fulfillment from one person that she deserves.
i just can’t admit that i’m not shocked by her behavior.
Remember that story of 72 year old Morgan Freeman and his 27 year old step-granddaughter E’Dena having an intimate relationship? Well, no denial has come from Morgan’s camp, the two still haven’t explained why they were hand in hand at red carpetevents, and Morgan’s still getting a divorce from his second wife Myrna.
And NOW…reports say E’Dena Hines is pushing Morgan (Morgan’s first wife is E’Dena’s grandmother) to start a family with her – and he’s supposedly agreed! Reports also say Morgan plans to marry his mistress E’Dena once his messy divorce from wife Myrna is finalized:
“E’Dena wants Morgan’s baby,” a close source told The Enquirer. “She believes that will give her a final hold on Morgan and, after his divorce with Myrna is over, she will end up marrying him.”
Morgan and Myrna continue to battle out of court over how to divide his complicated state worth more than $120 million. And now, in a twist worthy of any movie melodrama, the accomplished actor has to keep a second woman happy.
“Morgan has gone along with E’Dena’s wishes of having a baby,” said the close source. “he knows it would be disastrous is E’Dena blew up and went public with everything she knows.”
Myrna knows about Morgan’s relationship with E’Dena, but when she heard about E’Dena’s plans to get pregnant by Morgan, Myrna was furious, say sources.
Confided an insider: “Myrna told E’Dena, ‘If you think you’re having his baby, you’ve got another thing coming’”
Although E’Dena is convinced Morgan loves her and wants to start a family with her, Myrna made it clear she would do everything she could to talk Morgan out of it.
“But E’Dena knows Morgan wants her and that is all that matters to her,” divulged an insider.
“Myrna never gave Morgan children of his own,” said the close source. “E’Dena believes if she can give him a baby, she would win his heart forever. And if she can’t give him a child of their own, she wants to adopt.”
E’Dena’s youth is “very attractive” to the grandfatherly actor, according to the insider. “She uses her youth to her advantage. She knows it really feeds Morgan’s ego to have a young woman hanging all over him. E’Dena believes that getting pregnant would make sure she becomes the next Mrs. Morgan Freeman.”
SourceBlood relatives or not…this ish just ain’t right. My nose and upper lip are on permanent turned up “Ew” status if this mess is true. But pictures speak a million words. So I wouldn’t be surprised even if it was only true in part….
Source: www.theybf.com
www.mrlocario.com
An old column by Dan Savage got me thinking about the eroticization of power today. In this column, he wrote (as he has in many columns) about how he doesn’t think that relationships with large age differentials are necessarily bad. He endorses the “campsite rule” when it comes to younger lovers: leave younger lovers better than you found them. Make no babies, transmit no STDs, tell no lies, and break no hearts. (Not a bad set of rules for most relationships, really, although ‘make no babies’ is sometimes negotiable.)
I know a few people in relationships with partners who are more than fifteen years younger or older than they are. I know younger partners who entered these relationships when they were eighteen, when the differential wasn’t just large in terms of years, but enormous in terms of experience. I also know older partners who have chosen to date younger people and acted as mentors and guides for them, as well as lovers. The relationships I have in mind have not only been successful on their own terms, but also provided safe places for the younger partners to explore sexually and to continue maturing as adults. Some of these relationships aren’t just short term — which Savage suggests older/younger pairings always are — but long term commitments edging past years and into decades.
On feminist grounds, I think large age differentials can add a tricky extra layer of power to relationships which it can be hard for people to navigate, particularly if they aren’t used to thinking about the effects of power on intimate relationships. Younger partners, being more naive, have more at risk in these encounters. Still — it’s obvious that people can, and do, navigate the risks to create happy, safe relationships.
When it comes to accepting sexualities that are considered risky in our culture, I’m pretty radical, even for liberal feminists. But when age difference meets teacher-student relationships — well, my third-wave sex-positive wishy-washyness goes out the window, and my prudishly frowning super ego comes out to wag her finger.
It happens. I think we all hear about it. I don’t think most of us talk about it much. It’s a subject for whispers — a dirty academic secret. The TA really is making out with the student she recognized from suicide girls. The married, “monogamous” professor who hosts get-togethers at the home his wife keeps for him and his kids is slipping his own hors d’oeurves to the obnoxious boy who won’t shut up in class.
Universities round up their TAs for seminars on sexual conduct in the classroom, where they inform them about the methods for dealing with students who harrass them — and casually drop in the proper procedure for dealing with burgeoning relationships with students. “Avoid the ones in your department,” they say, “and particularly the ones in your classes.”
Or at least wait until your class is over.
But really, we all know stories about people who didn’t, don’t we?
I am aware that teacher/student romances are the subject of many an erotic fantasy, but I’m the odd one out on this kind of eroticism. On a gutteral level, I just don’t get it. Students — especially younger ones — are… bleah. They’re students. I could no more think erotic thoughts about them than I could my siblings or parents. I’ve become fairly good friends with a few of my ex-students, and even so, when they do things that I’d never blink at another young adult doing — like post pictures of themselves topless and drunk at a party — I have to suppress my gag reflex. Because ew. Students.
But my personal distaste shouldn’t be part of this conversation. Arguments from disgust are never convincing, which is why anti-choice protesters aren’t making a good logical point when they talk about how disgusting abortion looks (do they think appendectomies are gorgeous?). There have to be better reasons than “yuck” to oppose student/teacher relationships.
Don’t there?
I think it’s a good thing to discuss taboos rather than leave them hidden. I was once involved in a really interesting discussion with anthropologists about how a lot of people have relationships with their informants in the field. By making those dynamics overt, anthropologists gain the ability to discuss them, analyze them, and hopefully deal with them productively.
So, here are my questions to fellow people who are working in academia (though I know people might want to go anonymous to comment on this):
1) Policies against student/teacher relationships are a fact at most (all?) institutions. Should they be? Are the ones that exist reasonable? Are there tweaks that would make things more practical or safer for students?
2) If your students are attracted to you, how do you deal with that? If you’re attracted to your students, how do you deal with that?
3) Have you been in a relationship with a student or ex-student, a teacher or ex-teacher? From that point of view, are such relationships just like any other relationship — sometimes exploitative, sometimes fine — or are they particular minefields?
4) Are student/teacher relationships inevitable? They seem to be. Is there a way of dealing with that better than we currently do? Is there a version of the campsite rule that people involved in such relationships should follow?
5) Is it less problematic to date someone right after they get out of your class (or right after you get out of their class)? Or does that not make much difference?
6) Anyone care to attempt a good explanation for why teacher/student relationships are problematic? Obviously it’s got something to do with power, but is that sufficient? After all, heterosexual relationships involve systemic power differentials, and almost no one opposes those.
Is it just the mechanics of grading that makes these relationships untenable? Is it the nature of institutionalized authority? Is it the incest taboo, repurposed to cover a different kind of relationship? Is it just prudery? Let me know what you think.
In today’s Sydney Morning Herald: My girlfriend’s hot, but she has a built-in cooling system. Roxxxy, the sex robot – or true companion, as the company describes her – was invented by Douglas Hines, apparently to honour his friend who died in the September 11 attacks:
The anatomically correct robot has an articulated skeleton, which means it can move like a person even though it cannot walk or move its limbs independently.
Robotic movement is built into ”the three inputs” and a mechanical heart that powers a liquid cooling system.
Hines says the robot is an “outlet for the shy, people with sexual dysfunction and those who want to experiment without risk”. I reckon if you can get online to order one for a specific, unusual kink, you can probably find someone online who also wants to do it. And no doubt for considerably less than the $US7000-9000 pricetag. Unless your kink is to fuck expensive robots.
“She knows exactly what you like,” says Hines. ”If you like Porsches, she likes Porsches. If you like soccer, she likes soccer.”
When did having different interests become a bad thing? Besides, sex with robots that look human – haven’t they seen Battlestar Galactica?
I was going to be a rock-star.
Instead I became a chef.
How did this happen?
It was easy. I started washing dishes at the local pub restaurant so I could save money to get some time in the recording studio. It wasn’t long before my lazy, uncooperative and perpetually stoned band-mates were superseded by the foul-mouthed, psychopathic and perpetually entertaining cast of characters that dwelled inside that kitchen.
It was a world that was a strange and tasty mash of Peter Pan’s Lost Boys and Hook’s Pirate Crew. There was so much sex, drugs, alcohol, profanity and mayhem oozing from every corner it was a wonder that any food was cooked at all.
I was home.
A friend told me that there was a job going so I rang the number. I was transferred from the bar to the kitchen after being told to ask for ‘Matt’.
“Kitchen, Natalie speaking.”
“Good afternoon, I was wondering if I could speak to Chef Matt.”
“About?”
“About a possible trial for the kitchen hand position.”
“MATT! PHONE! DISHPIG!”
Muffled silence.
“Yo! Matt speaking.”
“Good afternoon, my name is ******* ****, I was ringing about the kitchen hand position…”
“Right. It’s simple. You come in. You work your arse off. It’s shit and it’s nasty but you get to go home and not think about it after. Best job in the world.
“Ok, Woul…”
“Just don’t WASTE MY FUCKING TIME! Seriously. If you don’t want to work nights, fuck off. If you don’t want to work weekends, fuck off. If you’re going to whine that it’s hot and smelly and damp and you never see your girlfriend/mates/mum/fucking dog/cat gay lover/priest or Jesus or fucking WHATEVER, then fuck off. How’s that sound?
“Sounds good to me Chef. When can I come in for a trial?”
“Fuck. I need you tonight. How soon can you get here?”
One year I’ve been in Chicago. There’s only the memory of Chet’s trumpet being mimicked walking down the ally way to the side door I go through to get to our attic apartment. I sleep in the middle of the mattress now so I don’t keep reaching out. Four months and I’m still reaching out. In the morning when I’m still to sleepy to get all the way up but it’s too late for me to stay in much longer, I poke out my toe and slide over the black curtain to look at the snow on the roof next door. The fresh layer of white cotton balls always makes me smile and I recall the moan, “no, c’mon close it,” every morning no matter what time it was, was too early to let the light in.
Now I walk down the alley everyday on my way from work, gym, store, airport and there’s no more music. As hard as I tried to help peal back the curtains and reveal the light inside of me, life, love of all of it, his darkness remained and consumed him and alienated me. Now I don’t have to worry about their being a groove in the bed where his large body lie. But inside that groove was where the warmth was. And Chicago is too cold to go without warmth. The ride from the south to the north was long. When love is waiting 12 hours feels like an eternity. It was 34 degrees in Atlanta and -34 in Chicago. All of my prayers and all of my energy was focused on safe arrival. And when I get there, brought the boxes in. After the guy downstairs left and let us sit quietly in his apartment–ours upstars empty of any furniture except my boxes–my hand crawled into his joggers revealed his dick dripping wet. There was no walking to the bedroom just me naked somehow all of a suddent panting, screaming hands against the wall riding so deeply cumming so hard, three months of pent up desire. My desire committed suicide all over his dick my hands left grooves, my skin prickled my pussy was throbbing and inside, my heart was aching with joy.
Now in the mornings and late at night I look over and there is his face smiling and happy arms around me shoulder. He barely new me then but was smitten. Me too, and next to his face the Divine Savior with a halo above his head and a crown or thorns on top the wick so deep inside the glass it can’t be lit without a stick of incense. Did he become that for me. Why is his face next to the Divine Savior on my night stand? It’s the one image we have of us together so I know it wasn’t all a nightmare. The nighstand he built with his hands, no machines, shaped the wood with primitive tools onto the very altar that I would sleep next to every night and admire those lips that kissed my lips and kissed me other lips in ways that I could only dream. Those lips and that mouth that couldn’t get enough of the taste of my juices.
There’s snow outside and it keeps on snowing. It is supposed to snow for another two days I think. And I’ll wake up tomorrow, if it is the will of god, and slide over the black curtain to look at the fresh layer once again.
Blackberry’s and iPhones have a challenger for the title of ‘Superphone’
Google (yeah, I said Google) have come out with their first physical product: a phone called ‘Nexus One’ to try and claim that title.
It looks a lot like an iPhone, so it needs to be heavy to really rival it…
Click on the pic to see more details
I’m surprised too because I like this guy. I think he makes some good points here and there in his book but did this dude really say 10 dates. This makes no type of sense. He’s saying that you should have to earn it. This is putting sex on a pedestal.
SEX IS NOT A BIG DEAL PEOPLE!!!
Also just because I like you doesn’t necessarily mean that you are going to be good in bed. I liked a lot of girls before I slept with them but then we just remained friends after I realized the sex wasn’t that great. I believe that sex can be great if your doing it with someone you have a connection with but there are times when the sex is just so horrible that the connection can’t save it. I’m sorry.
Also it doesn’t matter how long you wait to have sex. Me and my ex girlfriend had sex on the first date and we stayed together for two years. The girl I’m with now had sex with me on the second date and we’ve been together for 4 years. Then I remember a while back I was with a girl who wanted to wait a month and a half to have sex. We had sex a couple of times and then stopped seeing each other three months later. So what the hell is the point in waiting!!!
For more relationship advice visit www.mrlocario.com
The World's Greatest Whisk
You might be wondering why it is that I have posted a picture of a whisk when the topic is National Whipped Cream Day. In theory, I suppose I should have posted a picture of mounds of creamy, pillowy, delicious whipped cream, but the thing is, without this whisk, there is no whipped cream – at least not in my house.
I feel rather passionately about whipped cream, making me a bit of a shoe-in (is that how you spell it?) for this post. As I mentioned on National Cream Puff Day, I am a bit of a purist. I like my whipped cream made fresh and preferably not tampered with a great deal. I loathe the idea of whipped cream in a can. Dea and I have debated this at length as she is a proponent of the canned cream. I understand her perspective. Whipped cream in a can is convenient, mess-free and keeps longer than the fresh stuff. There is no labour involved whatsoever and no dishes other than the ones you eat from.
For me, however, it is simply not worth it. The texture of canned cream is all wrong and it is, almost without fail, too sweet and kind of chemical-y tasting. There has been more than one occasion when I have walked out of Dea’s house late at night in search of a container of whipping cream in order to service whatever dessert we are having; this despite the fact that there is a perfectly useful can of whipped cream already in her fridge. Reading this you are probably in agreement with Dea and whichever other house guests have been present on such occasions – yes, I am a little nutty. I won’t deny it.
I used to work in a restaurant that used whipped cream in a variety of things, including special coffees and most all the desserts. We used those whipped cream canisters that use those little Whip-It cartridges. We would pour a litre of whipping cream into the canister and then add just one small packet of sugar before screwing on the top and putting in the cartridge. This is when I came to the understanding that whipped cream is really just better on its own. A tiny bit of sugar – 1 teaspoon to an entire litre – is really more than enough to flavour it. You might add a smidgen, just a smidgen, of vanilla too. But whipped cream is sublimely decadent and is usually paired with desserts that are verging on the obscene when it comes to sweetness. You need a delicate touch to balance that out.
I do not use Whip-It cartridges at home. Whipped cream that is produced via the instant injection of nitrous oxide bubbles is unstable and a little light in texture. It won’t hold it’s “whip”, so to speak, and reverts to liquid form too quickly for my tastes – particularly when served over a hot food, beverage or … I leave it to your imagination.
I also don’t use a power mixer to make my whipped cream. Why? Because when I use my magical whisk, I am faster and less messy than any electric beater. I recently confirmed this at Christmas dinner at my parents’ house where I used their electric mixer and managed to spray the entire kitchen, top to bottom, with little white droplets of cream; and it took ages for the cream to thicken.
The trick to good and fast whipped cream is to use the freshest whipping cream and to chill the cream and the stainless steel mixing bowl in the freezer for 5 – 10 minutes before whipping it. And you have to have the right whisk. Note the large tines of my whisk and how there are multiple layers of tines set in different directions. This whisk aerates the cream so fast you hardly have time to think about it before you’d better stop or you’re making butter.
I would be remiss if I did not note the fact that whipped cream and its accoutrements have and are used for a variety of illicit and naughty purposes. The notion of whipped cream as sex toy is so common as to be cliché, and surely more than one high school student has enjoyed experimenting with a few Whip-Its from time to time (if you didn’t know, Whip-Its are canisters of nitrous oxide, a.k.a. Laughing Gas). But these things simply add to the Whipped Cream Mystique, the aura of the forbidden, the decadent, and yes, the divine.
Whipped cream is more than just a garnish. Indeed, it can be a dessert in itself (as witnessed at Christmas dinner this year when my sister-in-law, N, a woman after my own heart, chose to forego the pumpkin pie and simply have a bowlful of whipped cream for dessert). It is deceptively light and utterly delicious and I can eat dangerous amounts of the stuff.
Whipped cream is one of the top 5 reasons I took up triathlon.
xoxo B.
In recent years there has been a major change in university policies banning student prof sexual relationships. The change has been the incorporation of the following “sexual or amorous” relationships. Almost all new or revised statements incorporate amorous relationships, eg, the new Yale statement incorporates amorous. And this change has been without critical comment.
The dankprofessor has been delinquent in addressing the incorporation of amorous. No longer will such be the case.
OK, let’s start out by being quite clear that these policies do not state sexual AND amorous; it is sexual OR amorous. So said policies definitely cover relationships that may not have a sexual component. This hugely increases the size of the population covered by the anti-fraternization policies.
We all know that being in love, that falling in love can occur without sex. And we know that some loving couples do not engage in sex because for one reason or the other they feel the time is not right. And some loving couples believe that their relationship should not be consummated until marriage. The makers of these policies know this, including the erudite members of the Yale Women Faculty Forum who play a critical role in creating Yale policy.
So are we really confronted here not just with a war against student prof sex but also a war against student prof love? On the surface, the answer is yes, but there is more, much more.
The reality is that if there was just a ban on sex between student and professors, many couples would be untouchable. They would be untouchable because they could simply deny having sex and there would be no one available who could dispute this. Faculty and students come under suspicion based on words and deeds, and appearances. Loving words, walking too close to a student, being seen too often with a student, having dinner with a student, notes of love to a student, loving emails to a student, a look of love directed toward a student or a look of love directed to the professor, this is what gets people in trouble. The assumption that underlying all of the foregoing is sex is just that- an assumption.
And, of course, what the amorous clause does is to not make it necessary to prove that sex has occurred. For the accusers, staying at the amorous level is just fine. Being found to be amorous with a student makes one a sex code violator.
But there is still more. What the amorous clause does is to make all close relationships with a student suspect. And therefore to diminish the possibility of becoming suspect many faculty refuse to be close with any particular student. Or for some profs playing it safe means that all interactions with students occur in a group context, never on a one to one basis. Sure having lunch with a student is OK as long as there are others who are partaking in said lunch.
It comes down to professors keeping their distance, and student professor couples becoming more and more closeted. Such is the nature of contemporary university life.
Catch Tomiko our lead star from 9 Muses in The Hangover, you can see her at the 11 minute mark at the cashier she’s on air for about a minute. Good job Tomiko getting into Hollywood, I’m happy 9 Muses has gained exposure for all our actresses.
Now 9 Muses 2 update, we have shot the first few minutes of the film, as we are traveling to various locations for the other scenes. The release date for it will not be until 2011, I know it’s a long time but big productions take time, happy new again everyone for 2010.
Ginna Micheals
This chick is hot. I remember she did this one movie where she was running outside naked and had sex with some guy in a video store. It was great
Ava Devine
What I like most about Ava is that she always seems like she is into the sex. Like she would do the porn shit for free or something.
Heather Hunter
I don’t think she does porn anymore but she would still get it.
Alexis Texas
This chicks booty is amazing.
Eva Angelina
When i first saw this chick I kept forgetting this chicks name. Every time I try to tell my friend about this chick I try to describe how hot she is so I could let them know who I’m talking about.
Sara Jay
Dudes be trying to front on Sara Jay but her body is sick
Teagan Presley
This chick reminds me of Brittany Spears. Something about that is hot to me for some reason
Nina Hartley
I would give this old lady the business
Go to www.mrlocario.com for sex dating and relationship advice
