Honorable Mention Boobies: Bamboo

I discovered Bamboo several years ago, and was totally gob-smacked by her amazing, big, perma-erect nipples! Her nipples never fail to usher me into orgasmic bliss. She hasn't made a whole lot ot movies, but she's popular enough that you'll find her if you look. Yay nipples!!

the problem with "new age"

There's a little place in San Francisco's Inner Sunset called Cafe Gratitiude (I'm sure I've griped about it before). Everything on the menu is vegan and uncooked. But this isn't what bugs me. What bugs me is that I can't just order a nasty, overpriced, "live" pizza made of sunflower and weed if I want to. Oh, no. I have to sit through a new age prosletyzing session given by my waiter. A while back one of the Cafe G's waiters asked me out, and while on our date, I asked him if all the gibberish and faddishness of the SF new age population (and Cafe Gratitude) irked him even a little. He said that he initially felt a little resistance, but then realized that it was just his jaded self that prevented him from subscribing to a life-affirming philosophy. Even though I didn't believe him (and he didn't get any pussy), I couldn't put my finger on where exactly my beef with the vegans and the Secret people lie...

Until last week. I had begun reading the book, The Happiness Myth. There was a line or two that spoke to world view. The popular belief among SFers nowadays is that what you bring is what you get out; if you think it's hard to make friends, it's not that in actuality it's hard, it's that some part of you is creating a world where people aren't open to being your friend. Or, say, if you have cancer. It's not because various multinational corporations are shamelessly dumping waste into our water supply and genetically modified food pervades our diet. It's because we didn't think away the cancer hard enough.

But the truth of the matter is that that is utter bullshit. To say that the world is only what we make of it, that our misfortune is created by ourselves, is to presuppose that the world and its various societies don't have structural problems, like racism or ableism, sizeism or ageism, preferences toward beauty and youth, or heirarchies based on class and wealth. Would the Secret make any sense in Iran? Would you turn to a 11-year old girl with a fistula and tell her that this was all part of some great plan that would bring her to reconciliation with the universe?

That is to say, this New Age is yet another scapegoating mechanism for the well-off. They're tired of not taking care of the rest of us, but they're also tired of feeling guilty about it. All they want to do is sit back on their prayer bench, have some nice organic wine and realize that the world isn't as bad as they made it. Is that so wrong?

Honorable Mention Boobies: Linda Friday

You know how much I love, love, looooooove boobies! Well, I have my favorites, and I figured why not share? The first honorably mentioned tatas are those of Linda Friday. Even if you don't love boobies, she is down for just about anything you can imagine. She's chubby-ish with an entirely empowering love of wang. So, bon appetit.

Two tits up for Friday!!

I hate you, twitter

I'm mad at twitter.

Background: I got "roped" into twitter by friends who insisted that I join twitter to promote my book and other writing. They said the same about facebook and myspace and, and, and....

My claim: There is no quicker and more effective way to self-importance than having your vacuous drivel published on the internet. These online communities are all about making important the person with the most free time.

My problem with twitter: Twitter promotes the inflation of people's realities, and I feel that it engenders one-upmanship. With a blog, for instance, it would take some effort to hyperbolize your life consistently and substantiate it by hyperbolizing all the other elements of the story. On twitter, however, it's a non-comittal sort of thing. It doesn't take much thought to say "had dinner with Woody Allen" (when in reality you went to the Cheesecake Factory with your toothless mother-in-law) because you don't have to make up the story about how this came about. And it's lying in isolation. People are less likely to lie when they have to make up tons of other lies to support the central lie.

Context is the essence of any image; when you see something and you don't know the back story or the moment-to-moment reality, you can never really understand what it is you're seeing. Take for instance, someone I know whom I am (was!) following on twitter: he's a ginormous nerd for all intents and purposes, last time I was spending time with him he was sleeping where he worked because he didn't have a car and no one would drive him home, and was what some folks call a "wigger" (I'm sure this is on urban dictionary or wikipedia, if you don't know what it means). I didn't have a problem with his lifestyle or his nerdiness. Yet, on twitter he's fashioned a personality for himself that would enumerate him amongst the glitterati.

You might ask: why do you care? BECAUSE it makes those of us who are living *actually* amazing lives a little less sparkle. It spits in the face of my cosmopolitan, multilingual, manicure-getting, sexy-boyfriend-having, jet-setting, big-tit-having, egomaniacal reality.

So, am I proposing that if your life sucks you shouldn't have any free, online life-enhancer of any kind? not a place where you can create fairy tales about your greatness to salvage some part of your humanity?? that you should just wallow in your achievementlessness???

Yes, I believe I am.

Boobiesexuals!

A friend - and fellow breast fetishist - just sent me this link to a Cunning Minx video featuring boobies and my book cover. Hot! Just thought I'd share.
Click a boobie.

My Mexican Butt

I've had a strange on-again, off-again relationship with my butt for a long time. Everyone knows I prefer the twins upstairs, but my butt... I dunno, I've always felt that it was the wrong shape. Ok, it's square. I have what's known as Mexican-butt. I've seen plenty of fellow Mexicans girls with this syndrome: it's flat with a little bit of a squarish detail at the part where it meets the lower back. On twitter today, someone commented on how he loved square butts. I was pretty amazed by the idea that someone preferred my type of butt.

In terms of sexual pleasure, my butt is sort of a source of private pleasures. I've tried to do the hot turkey butt slut thing (hot turkey is when you try go straight into becoming an addict.. rather than ending an addiction abruptly. I made it up), but I totally couldn't handle it. Sometimes I get this insane need to masturbate or get fucked. It's really quite crazy. One minute I'm, like, eating pudding and the next minute I'm getting it on with myself. This started happening about 3ish years ago. I actually shared this with my friend Sara, and she said that it was my poop. She said that need for #2 was a great source of arousal for her. Most of my friends and I aren't on the poop talk level, so I didn't venture to research how true this was for other women, but I'd imagine that me and Sara aren't the only ones who get turned on right before a great shit.

Otherwise, my flat ass makes it hard to sit on planes and anywhere for too long. It also makes spanking hard because there isn't much there to spank. There's a little "jelly" right where it meets the backs of my thighs, but my talent lies in my titties, I think. They can get spanked for hours. hee hee.