I was strolling through the halls of my high school as a young sophomore when I was grabbed at the scruff of my neck by the turkey lady. (more…)
A coworker commented today on my perma-cheery demeanor. I’ve worked at this job for almost a year now, and my coworker joined about six months prior to my arrival. She remarked that when she started, she was cheery like me on a daily basis, but since before I started working here, she has been under such constant stress that she wants to start pulling her hair out. (Figuratively. I checked.) (more…)
Let me first give a heartfelt thank you to all of you men who have shared (or have offered to share) your bodies with me, in any capacity. That’s a gift that I do not take lightly. What puzzles me, though, is why you can’t recognize your own appeal. (more…)
Since the last time I visited the Hirshhorn Museum in D.C. a few years ago, which was the first time I’d been since I was maybe seven years old, one work of art has remained fixated in my mind and left within me a lasting, emotional impression.
Big Man, by Ron Mueck, is a larger-than-life sculpture of a round, hunched, naked, scowling man. In person, I found him to be breathtaking. He bears a look of tired frustration across his brow and jaw, and fleshy curves across his abdomen. His skin is wrinkled, dimpled, and splotched.
In the aftermath of my recent breakup, one decision I’ve been pondering is whether or not to continue taking birth control pills. I love making executive decisions, but this one has me helplessly on the fence.
Do I need birth control pills? No, but knowing what I know now, I probably didn’t need them at all during the relationship; they were merely a source of comfort that I felt gave me access to a greater variety of activities. The fact that those riskier activities were rarely explored is beside the point. (more…)
In celebration of my beau’s move into his new apartment this weekend, we (read: I) decided the best way to celebrate was to christen the new whiteboard on his bedroom wall with a game of I-can-do-anything-better-than-you. Behold — genitalia! (more…)
To my dear boyfriend, please read with caution, though none of this will come as a surprise.
In follow up to this article I recently shared on here as well as on my personal Facebook page about vagina-bearers having unintentionally painful sex, I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching lately. I know the pain the author talks about all too personally. Although my boyfriend and I have attempted intercourse several times in the past few months, it has never been pleasurable because I’m in too much pain for us to actually do anything. At best, we try to insert him into me, then lay motionless until I’m sufficiently numb from the stinging to naively think I can tolerate more. Thrusting hasn’t even been a possibility yet, just (barely) insertion and the occasional wriggle forward and back a couple of times. Who’d have thought that something with such a soft, pliable tip could feel so sharp, like a dagger piercing through my flesh?
I decided to try something new at the dungeon this week. I was looking for a stimulating change to my usual routine, and despite my terror of the unknown, I took the plunge. Wednesdays are good days for new things.
When I arrived, I asked the attendant how long the sessions usually last. “An hour,” she said. “Would you like a pass?”
My heart raced. I hadn’t planned for this; I didn’t know I needed a pass. Luckily, she smiled sweetly and tendered a laminated slip my way. Then, off I went to undress. (more…)
My yoga buddy, a sixty-something-year-old engineer from an affluent family, told me this week that I have a perfect body. He meant it as a compliment because I’m thin with socially privileged body measurements, but his statement left me wondering about its deeper implications. The perfect body… what does that mean? (more…)
My friends know that my ideal daily uniform would be absolutely nothing, followed by nothing but my favorite sweatpants, followed by nothing but my favorite sweatpants and my favorite flip flops. But alas, I’m not rich enough (read: at all) to be able to afford to not work, so the next best thing is making my daily outfits as comfortable as possible. It’s not that I don’t care about how I look these days, because I do, but I care much, much less than when I was younger. Why? … because have learned to value myself as both a person and a woman even when I’m not my most conventionally attractive, despite my years of relentless social programming. Go figure that I’m the only one not self-fat-shaming at the office happy hour. SHOCKER.
In my office, the women dress quite differently from one another, based on their roles. Everyone wears makeup, but the non-attorney staff wear pants, sweaters, and general business-casual comfort-wear. The attorneys, however, wear dresses, pencil skirts, and high heels every single day — the stale, trite essence of professional hyperfemininity branded many decades ago. (more…)