Keep Your Pants Off!
Earlier this week, The Bean discovered a bunch condoms in my office, which led to the inevitable question, “What are these for?”
His question was a prime opportunity for me to hone my parenting and sex educatin’ skills. And to make a new video. Check it out here:
What unexpected questions have you had to answer about sex? How did it go? Do you have a practice kid? Feel free to share your experience in the comments.
Hey, peeps!
I’m taking a crack at video blogging (or vlogging as the kids call it). I’m still fumbling my way around the YouTubes, but once I get the hang of things this could work out well. Making videos may be a good fit in the new flow of my impending academic life. And you guys get to see me in all of my early-morning, un-makeuped glory.
Keepin’ it real, folks…keepin’ it, real.
If you want to keep up with all the video fun, boogie on over to YouTube where you can subscribe to my channel and watch this rad video about how hard candy is made!
Before I get into stuff, I want to apologize to y’all for my unannounced extended absence. I won’t bore you with the dull details, but sufficed to say life stuff got in the way of blog stuff.
I also apologize, because I’m about to go on a rant. I know it’s kind of shitty when you haven’t seen someone in awhile and then the first thing they do is start complaining. But I’ve got some thoughts that are making my brain itch, so please indulge me while I purge them. I promise to hit you with some fun stuff (and new developments!) super soon, ‘kay?
Let’s get down to brass tacks…
This morning I read an article by Yummy Mummy Club contributor Kat Armstrong. She writes about Jessica Alba’s recent admission that she wore a corset for three months in order to regain her pre-pregnancy figure after her second child was born. In the wake of this revelation, apparel companies are now developing post-partum corsets so that women everywhere can pretend they never gave birth.
Kat’s take is that this is some straight up bullshit. And Yummy Mummy Club founder/editor/all around cool person Erica Ehm agrees.
I get it. It pissed me off when I read about it too. The idea that women’s bodies should quickly – or in many cases – ever return to a pre-pregnancy state is awful, body-shaming nonsense. Companies are taking advantage of Alba’s statement to hawk their postpartum corset thingies, makes me seethe! But it also makes me sad. I tweeted that to Erica Ehm, which led to a brief but interesting discussion:
I gotta pause for sec here ’cause my inner 12-year-old is having a moment.
OMG ERICA EHM TOTALLY TALKED TO ME ON TWITTER!!!
As I was saying…
I couldn’t adequately express my thoughts in 140 characters, so I’ll expand on them here. I understand and largely agree with Erica and Kat. As a Hollywood celebrity Jessica Alba is a high-profile woman with a great deal of influence and ultimately she does bear responsibility for her message and her choices. I also wish that Jessica Alba and her privileged Hollywood cohorts would use their power to promote kinder, gentler image standards for their fellow women. But also feel like that’s a lot to expect because despite their wealth and sky-high profiles I suspect that body-positivity is especially difficult for celebrity women.
I worked as an actor for a good part of my life, including a wee bit of film and television work when I was growing up in Toronto. Even with limited exposure, it became very obvious very quickly that what I looked like mattered as much as – if not more so – than my ability. I was told that in order to work I’d have to “fix” things. My hair was too wild and frizzy. My skin had spots. I once had a casting director tell me that I should lost ten pounds because I was a bit too chunky. “Not for real life. Just for television,” was how she qualified it.
That was my experience as a super, small-time actor and it did a little damage. So I can only imagine the messages someone like Jessica Alba has been receiving about her body as a high-stakes player in billion-dollar image industry. According to Wikipedia Jessica Alba began working in film and television at thirteen. Imagine that.
Like really imagine it.
Imagine being a thirteen-year-old girl going to auditions and being told by casting people, agents, directors and other influential adults that being thin and pretty is part of your job.
Imagine being a teenage girl observing the fucked up reality that in Hollywood getting fat is grounds for being fired.
Imagine being twenty years old and working your ass off as the lead of a television series, but instead of talking about your acting everyone is focused on how hot you look in your costume.
Imagine being a very young woman who’s suddenly very successful, with an agent, a manger and probably a host of other people who are personally invested in keeping you looking a certain way, because their livelihood depends on your ability to get work.
Imagine that every acting job you get come with a big side of mandatory promotional work that is largely about being “hot” and skinny on the cover of various magazines.
Imagine living with the knowledge that if your body changes in any significant way, it will be broadcast worldwide in magazines and on entertainment news shows. Especially if you gain weight.
Imagine feeling that all your money and power is conditional on your ability to look a certain way. And that if you don’t look like that, it would probably get taken away.
Imagine you’ve just had a baby and knowing that the media will be monitoring your “post-baby body”. If you get thin again, you’ll be congratulated. If you don’t, you’ll be crucified. But either way your body is matter of public record and discussion.
So yes, I am angry about Alba’s admission. But the mere fact that she felt this was necessary also makes me feel sad for her. She’s spent more than half of her young life working in an industry that has some pretty fucked up attitudes people’s bodies. It’s not entirely surprising that she places such a high value on regaining a thin figure so soon after having a baby.
Many of us have felt the negative influence of Hollywood and mainstream media standards of beauty. But the people we see in those images have are also being subjected to the same standards, often from a young impressionable age and on a very intense level. It’s no wonder women like Alba resort to extremes in these matter. So while I do share the rage, I can’t help but feel some bit of compassion as well.
A few weeks ago, a dude known by the Twitter handle Grawly, gained the dubious distinction of being the first person to live tweet his visit to the emergency room after getting a vibrator stuck in his rectum. The Internets labelled Grawly an oversharer, but I disagree. Grawly a.k.a Rude Ass Robot (apt!) did us a solid. In my opinion we don’t chat about anal sex nearly enough. Fact is, lots of people from all walks of life enjoy doing it bumwise. But in order to have safe, healthy anal experience there are special considerations, not the least of which is the design of the tools you’re using.
A brief anatomy lesson
There are two anal sphincters. The outer one – that puckery sweet spot between the bum cheeks – is pretty much under our control and can be contracted or relaxed at will. The second, internal sphincter lies just inside the body. That buddy is more of an independent thinker. You can coax it into opening up for you during anal penetration, but generally speaking it’s a strong little sucker that likes to grab hold of objects and can close up tight.
Also? The anus and rectum are one end of the digestive tract – a long, open system. If an object goes too far up the ass, there isn’t a natural barrier to stop it. So shape matters. If you want to avoid Grawly’s fate, make sure the anal object of your choice shaped in such a way that it won’t get pulled up into your body because once it’s in there, you’re only option is to go the @Grawly route and head to the hospital.
Red Light!
Generally speaking, putting anything up your bum that has uniform width is risky business. Long, tube-y shaped things are great for sex play but not in the back yard.
Once these are in the rectum, it’s very difficult to stop them from sliding in further. If sphincter number two gets grabby or lube (which you should absolutely have back there) makes things extra slippery, these type of toys can very easily get stuck in your body.
Green Light!
Fortunately there are many anal-friendly options that provide great stimulation without needing a search party on standby. Toys with a retrival device such as a ring or an external battery pack give you a literal lifeline, should things go a bit too far up there.
Dual stem vibes (think of the famous Rabbit Pearl) are a pretty good option as long as one the shafts stay outside the body. Also, toys with a pronounced curve are unlikely to stray to far too far a field.
By BMS Factory, via Wikimedia Commons
Dildos and vibes with a flared base are classic, go-to anal toys. If your plaything of choice has a big, pancake-style circle on the bottom it’s specially designed to go safely inside your bottom.
And course when it comes to bum sex, our bodies or those of our partners are stellar combination of form and function. No matter how intense you’re unlikely unlike to lose an entire person in your ass…unless it’s metaphorically!
So props to Grawly for sharing his pain and remind the rest of us that when it comes to anal sex, it pays to play safe!
Spring has sprung!
The season of rebirth is always has a slow start ’round these parts. But there are more sunny days than cloudy, the snow is melting and the air carries hints of the warmer weather to come.
Olde tyme cartoons often portray spring as the lovey-doviest of seasons. Flowers, songbirds and frolicking lambs create a heady, bucolic back-drop for moony couples who’s pupils morph into hearts as they gaze into each other’s eyes. In reality, this early part of spring still leaves me a bit cold (and wet and muddy), but my sexual and romantic inclinations often perk up in May. The blossoms and bird songs really are a bit of an aphrodisiac for me. The lambs are few and far between, but there are many sexy people frolicking in their shorts and sundresses.
Which brings us to this week’s question:
Is there a season/time of year when you feel especially libidinous/romantic?
The comments are open!
Photo Credit: James Glover via Compfight cc
Confession: I haven’t been having much sex lately.
I know that many people experience ebbs and flows of libido. Mine has been in a prolonged period of ebb…long enough that I know there’s some underlying cause. What is it? I’ve been thinking about it. A lot. The Man of Mans and I have talked about it at length. I began writing about it a few times, then back out. Truth is…I was embaraased. I was afraid to admit that despite all of my professional experience, when it comes to my own sexual issues, I don’t have the answers.
I don’t know anything. I don’t know for certain why I’m less inclined to sex these days. But I’ve cobbled together a working theory that it’s related to some changes go beyond what happens in my bedroom.
Two summers ago, I was hit by the sudden onset of depression. I didn’t understand it. My life with brimming with great things. My marriage and my child. I was playwriting, blogging and working a dream job in sex ed. I was training for a half-marathon, keeping a full social calendar and enjoying the company of dear friends. There was so much awesome, I barely had time for more than four hours of sleep a night! It was tiring, but it was worth it! I was doing it all and I pulling off…until, I wasn’t. Suddenly, I was breaking down. Neither my body, nor my mind could keep up with the pace I’d set for myself. I became strangely sad and withdrawn. I was overcome by fatigue. I didn’t understand what was wrong, but I knew I needed help.
Fast forward to the present. I’m lucky. I’ve been able to access great support through doctors, a therapists and loving community of friends and family. I’ve done a bunch of self-exploration and made few subtle but profound discoveries. I realized the jammed-packed life I was leading was the manifestation of a life-long habit of multitasking and flitting from one activity to another. I’ve always felt the need to keep my mind super-busy. Not in the lofty sense of being an avid learner or great thinker, but as protection. I don’t cope well with quiet or stillness. As I kid, I was always buried in books, pretend-play, projects and anything else that would keep my mind occupied. I never wanted to stop, because when I did, feelings would come. Feelings I didn’t understand, didn’t like and didn’t know how to deal with. So I learned to avoid them by creating endless distractions.
I still have the same struggle today. When I’m not immersed in an activity, I’m forced to stop, to think and to feel things I don’t like. Stillness is pretty intimidating prospect for me.
When I look at my sexual history, I see those same behaviour patterns at play. Sex was always best for me when there was a lot going on. Constantly stimulation. Deep, involved fantasy. A lot of noise. Anything too slow, too quiet or too tender created a prime opportunity for those uncomfortable emotions to break through. Getting into the deep feels during naked time always left me feeling way too vulnerable to do anything other than cry. And crying was definitely not on my list sexy things.
But thing thing is those uncomfortable emotions are there. Like every one else on earth, I’ve been hurt and battle-scarred from life. For a long time, distraction was easier than dealing with the pain. It’s still easier. But I’m beginning to realize that just because it’s easy and familiar, that doesn’t mean it’s good for me. I’m older . My frenetic habits are taking a bigger toll both physically and psychologically. This all started when I was a child. Back then I didn’t know what else to do. Now I’m a grown woman and I can deal with my shit. I can take care of myself.
I’m trying. I try to quiet down and let the pain do its thing. I’m not very good at it. My busy-making impulses are part of who I am. More often than not, I fill my head and my life with stuff that block out the pain. But I do manage the occasional moment of stillness, where I sit and breathe and let those deep-down feelings float up through all my mental floatsam to the surface. It’s unpleasant. I get anxious. Sometimes I cry. Still, I find I don’t hate it as much as I once did. These past couple of months, I’ve started wanting that quiet confrontation with my pain. It’s yucky but when it’s over, there a peaceful moments and I feel a little happier.
I think these experiences might be affecting my sex drive. I suspect my desires around sex are changing. These days I’m less inclined towards the busy, somewhat frantic glut of sensation I used to want. I’m interested something that’s a little calmer, less rooted in fantasy and more connected to the present reality. But at the same time I’m intimidated by that prospect. It’s new, beyond my present comfort zone and my body is holding back a bit. I suspect this is one of those situations, where I need to tread slowly into new sexual territory. “Be gentle” with myself, as my shrink likes to say. I’m trying, but it’s hard not feel like there’s something wrong with me or that I’m failing on some level.
I definitely don’t feel like a sex expert in my own life. This stuff is HARD, yo!
Yesterday evening, I took some time to meditate. It was a rough-shot attempt, but it did sometthing. Feelings were triggered. Tears were shed. When the crying stopped, I was pleasantly surprised when I realized that I was wanting sex with both my partner and myself. My libido hasn’t left me. It’s just changing. It’s a shit ton of stuff to figure out. But it’s my job to take care of myself, so I’m willing to patient and give myself the time I need to figure it all out.
‘Tis the season of Passover, Easter and a personal “to-do” list that needs some extra attention this week. So I’m taking a little spring break from blogging today through Easter Monday. No drunken parties or topless beach rampages, but I do have big plans that include organizing my office, spending quality time with my neglected laundry pile and learning to make gluten-free creme eggs.
Girl. Gone. WILD!
See you next week,
Nadine
Originally my question for this week was going to be the 90′s rom-com standard: Can men and women be friends? But I’m not a fan of the heteronormative, exclusive wording of that question. Also, it’s kind of broad. I know men and women can be friends. I’ve seen it happen.
So going along the same lines, but tweaking the intention a little, my questions for you this week are:
Do you have friendships with people of your preferred sexual gender(s)? Have you ever experienced sexual attraction towards a friend and if so, how have you dealt with it?
I have a strong sexual orientation towards men. I’ve also enjoyed close friendships with guys for pretty much all of my adult life. As for sexual attraction? Yeah, that’s a thing that happens and I’ve dealt with it differently in different friendships. It’s not my favourite approach but sometimes I ignore it entirely. Other times I have confessed my attraction, but only in the way past tense like, “Three years ago, I was TOTALLY into you but now I just think of you as a cousin.”
Ideally, I prefer to just say when I’m feeling crush-y. Admitting to sexy feelings in a non-sexual relationship is super-awkward however; once it’s all out there, we can do helpful things like putting boundaries in place that will help protect both the friendship and our relationships with our respective sexual/romantic partners.*
Occasionally I find myself sexually attracted to people who are not men. But (with a couple exceptions) friendship often diminishes my sexual feelings, instead of triggering them. The intimacy of friendship translates to an attraction that is often very physical, but in way that has nothing to do with my nether parts.
*Except The Man of Mans. I told him I was attracted to him so we could put boundaries in place that helped us date, have sex and get married.
.Nadine is a sexual health educator, a playwright, poet, burlesque performer, partner and parent living in Ottawa, Ontario. She enjoys candy, fashion and dreck television. She does not care for pants. Photo by Justin Van Leeuwen.
Have a question about sex and/or relationships? Dirty Laundry is my monthly column at Apartment 613. There I dispense advice on all things TMI and share steamy tips about Ottawa's sexiest places and faces. The laundry room is always open, so drop me a line at dirtylaundry613@gmail.com.
