All men are addicted to porn. Except Eugene who claims total indifference, but you know, who knows. And don't ask how we found ourselves amidst such a discussion because I'm not quite sure I want to remember.
Quite fair to say that most women are in various degrees of disapproval regarding their partner's pornography habits. I categorise my level of reproach as "moderate". It may have been "low" had I refrained from venturing far enough to comparatively study the importance of porn and, well, me.
For the sake of my self-worth I'm going to assume that I'm not the only female who finds herself more disposable in her partner's eyes than videos of bigger breasts or tighter vaginas. Although porn habits remain largely beyond my understanding, I'm not one to deprive a man of the luxury. However, understandably, I hope, losing to porn doesn't sit extremely well with me. My bad, though, right? Serves me right for succumbing to curiosity. But surely a man's self-esteem would shrink like a flaccid penis if his girlfriend would sooner sacrifice him than visuals of other, better-endowed boys?
I have a couple of friends in long-term relationships, who decided that it was easier to believe their boyfriends' promises to quit porn and push the issue to the back of their minds rather than ponder endlessly over whether such promises were kept. I have no doubt that every woman has seen and ignored the contents of C:\Documents and Settings\Guest\DRIVERS\SnD_User\system23\temp\Country Music and has trained themselves not to question what lies under that loose piece of floorboard. We'd rather not know, but we know. The epic battle of woman vs. porn has been fought. We battled bravely, but alas ... a small consolation prize finds itself in the form of reduced guilt when fantasising about bedding other men.
You might dismiss my little issue as "just a guy thing". Well, it is. And we won't take it away from you. We would just like to remind you that you're lucky man-fest features in Cosmopolitan rarely exert the same - and, if anything, quite the opposite - effect.
10.30.2008
10.29.2008
Day Ninetytwo
They say that when you meet ten people, two won't like you, two will, and the rest won't care. With regards to the person about to be discussed, I'm one of the former.
She works for Corum Health Services. I found her among her colleagues in the dispensary when I arrived at work on Monday morning. She was a hefty woman with arms circumferencially equivalent to my thighs, and hair of a most unnatural tangerine. The chirpy, simpering qualities of her voice was juxtaposed with the testosterone-infused vocals of her colleagues.
Several chairs were moved into the dispensary to accommodate four extra arses and one hot-air balloon in a pencil skirt. Mirjana was furious about the mass invasion of her personal space.
I observed these people curiously. The men smiled back politely and the woman sneeringly looked me up and down, and it was then that I decided I did not like her.
A few hours later, our network remained non-existent and the Corum team remained idly lounging around displacing air. The woman was chatting about shopping. I was dispensing, but spared an ear.
"Every three weeks my girlfriend and I get together for our manicure and pedicure." She squeaked. "And once in awhile we'd go to Melbourne, bringing nothing except maybe an extra pair of jeans and a top, and then come back with a suitcase full of new clothes."
What's the point, I thought.
She then threw in "one sixteenth" into conversation, and John remarked that only a true geek would use fractions with denominators larger than three in smalltalk.
"Oh, well, you know, I'm geeky!" She gushed. "But I'm not all brains. I used to be a hairdresser, you know. How's that? I've got the best of both worlds."
Mirjana leaned over and muttered: "She's so full of herself."
For the past two days, she had been coming to the pharmacy alone to train Ismat on the new program for ordering and stock monitoring. Apart from being condescending, she had failed to answer most of Ismat's queries, because the answers were not given in the manual out of which she read. It reminded me very much of lecturers whose knowledge did not carry them outside the square, and when a question was directed at them that didn't quite fit within the learning objectives, they hastily changed the subject and in reply said something correct and completely irrelevant.
Of course, the unsmiling looks she directed at me made it marginally more difficult to hold back the cattiness.
Lunch-hour at Greenwood is more like lunch-30-minutes. We in the dispensary (i.e. me and Mirjana) don't have a break, and are usually found with a fork in one hand and a script in the other. Corum lady, on the other hand, took off at 12:00 pm for "a bite" and was still nowhere to be seen two hours later, leaving Ismat waiting at the training computer. I said she'll probably be back soon, probably just ravaging the last morsels of her spit roast.
It was closer to the truth than I expected.
At 2:30 pm I clocked off. Jez had been waiting for me at Greenwood but had toodled off to EB Games. I asked him to meet me back at the pharmacy. As I walked out of the shop, I encountered a couple of FUPAs doing what people usually do when they're horizontal and naked. My eyes were glued on them like a passer-by stares at a car accident.
I watched as the two of them ate each other's faces, and finally, with a glance so devastating, as if they would never exchange saliva again, they parted. In slow motion. Holding onto each other's hands until the combined lengths of their arms could not extend the distance between them.
The woman turned around and my jaw dropped. Corum woman walked back into our pharmacy, smirking to herself. So that's where she waddled off to. To have fat sex.
I doubled back into the dispensary and in whispers distorted by hysterical giggles told Mirjana what I had just saw. Top laugh!
And yet another riveting tale :)
She works for Corum Health Services. I found her among her colleagues in the dispensary when I arrived at work on Monday morning. She was a hefty woman with arms circumferencially equivalent to my thighs, and hair of a most unnatural tangerine. The chirpy, simpering qualities of her voice was juxtaposed with the testosterone-infused vocals of her colleagues.
Several chairs were moved into the dispensary to accommodate four extra arses and one hot-air balloon in a pencil skirt. Mirjana was furious about the mass invasion of her personal space.
I observed these people curiously. The men smiled back politely and the woman sneeringly looked me up and down, and it was then that I decided I did not like her.
A few hours later, our network remained non-existent and the Corum team remained idly lounging around displacing air. The woman was chatting about shopping. I was dispensing, but spared an ear.
"Every three weeks my girlfriend and I get together for our manicure and pedicure." She squeaked. "And once in awhile we'd go to Melbourne, bringing nothing except maybe an extra pair of jeans and a top, and then come back with a suitcase full of new clothes."
What's the point, I thought.
She then threw in "one sixteenth" into conversation, and John remarked that only a true geek would use fractions with denominators larger than three in smalltalk.
"Oh, well, you know, I'm geeky!" She gushed. "But I'm not all brains. I used to be a hairdresser, you know. How's that? I've got the best of both worlds."
Mirjana leaned over and muttered: "She's so full of herself."
For the past two days, she had been coming to the pharmacy alone to train Ismat on the new program for ordering and stock monitoring. Apart from being condescending, she had failed to answer most of Ismat's queries, because the answers were not given in the manual out of which she read. It reminded me very much of lecturers whose knowledge did not carry them outside the square, and when a question was directed at them that didn't quite fit within the learning objectives, they hastily changed the subject and in reply said something correct and completely irrelevant.
Of course, the unsmiling looks she directed at me made it marginally more difficult to hold back the cattiness.
Lunch-hour at Greenwood is more like lunch-30-minutes. We in the dispensary (i.e. me and Mirjana) don't have a break, and are usually found with a fork in one hand and a script in the other. Corum lady, on the other hand, took off at 12:00 pm for "a bite" and was still nowhere to be seen two hours later, leaving Ismat waiting at the training computer. I said she'll probably be back soon, probably just ravaging the last morsels of her spit roast.
It was closer to the truth than I expected.
At 2:30 pm I clocked off. Jez had been waiting for me at Greenwood but had toodled off to EB Games. I asked him to meet me back at the pharmacy. As I walked out of the shop, I encountered a couple of FUPAs doing what people usually do when they're horizontal and naked. My eyes were glued on them like a passer-by stares at a car accident.
I watched as the two of them ate each other's faces, and finally, with a glance so devastating, as if they would never exchange saliva again, they parted. In slow motion. Holding onto each other's hands until the combined lengths of their arms could not extend the distance between them.
The woman turned around and my jaw dropped. Corum woman walked back into our pharmacy, smirking to herself. So that's where she waddled off to. To have fat sex.
I doubled back into the dispensary and in whispers distorted by hysterical giggles told Mirjana what I had just saw. Top laugh!
And yet another riveting tale :)
10.26.2008
Day Eightynine
Sitting in UNSW computer lab. Craving sushi.
I grudgingly admit that UNSW comp-labs are awesome. I also grudgingly regret the outrageously early closing-hours adopted by USyd. Lastly and irrelevantly I grudgingly accept the reality that no sushi is going honour my digestive tract any time soon. Because as much good a study environment as this is (though at the moment the goodness wanes due to reasons I'll disclose soon), I'm in the middle of nowhere, as is the Maccas branch across the road in which I hold absolutely no interest.
One thing that I find unconditionally irritating is fobs that feel as if a quiet word is a wasted word. The girl sitting in the row before mine is begging for my fist through her face. Understandably she can't help her accent but she can help her volume and despite being told to shut up a short while ago by a row-mate of mine she maintains her vociferous bleats like the other 30 people in this room weren't here.
Long afternoon ahead.
I grudgingly admit that UNSW comp-labs are awesome. I also grudgingly regret the outrageously early closing-hours adopted by USyd. Lastly and irrelevantly I grudgingly accept the reality that no sushi is going honour my digestive tract any time soon. Because as much good a study environment as this is (though at the moment the goodness wanes due to reasons I'll disclose soon), I'm in the middle of nowhere, as is the Maccas branch across the road in which I hold absolutely no interest.
One thing that I find unconditionally irritating is fobs that feel as if a quiet word is a wasted word. The girl sitting in the row before mine is begging for my fist through her face. Understandably she can't help her accent but she can help her volume and despite being told to shut up a short while ago by a row-mate of mine she maintains her vociferous bleats like the other 30 people in this room weren't here.
Long afternoon ahead.
10.24.2008
Day Eightyseven
I have the drug song stuck in my head.
I'm somewhat embarrassed not so much because I liked it, but because I was delighted to find that I knew the indications for nearly all drugs mentioned, and had they adopted a slightly slower pace perhaps I would have had time to ponder contraindications and adverse events too.
I'm somewhat embarrassed not so much because I liked it, but because I was delighted to find that I knew the indications for nearly all drugs mentioned, and had they adopted a slightly slower pace perhaps I would have had time to ponder contraindications and adverse events too.
10.20.2008
Day Eightythree
Swoon!
I'm often thinking, if Jez and I have babies, I hope they inherit his grin and my eyes.
What if I could pick bits and pieces out of everyone I know and put them on my baby? Granted, the baby will probably turn out looking retarded because it'll be chock full of features that despite being attractive don't fit together. One can still dream.
So I'm thinking ... my eyes. Jenny's lashes. Abhi's nose. Jez's lips. Mylinh's skin. Sameer's teeth.
If you think this sounds odd, wait until I'm bored enough to compile the above into a mangled photo.
I'm often thinking, if Jez and I have babies, I hope they inherit his grin and my eyes.
What if I could pick bits and pieces out of everyone I know and put them on my baby? Granted, the baby will probably turn out looking retarded because it'll be chock full of features that despite being attractive don't fit together. One can still dream.
So I'm thinking ... my eyes. Jenny's lashes. Abhi's nose. Jez's lips. Mylinh's skin. Sameer's teeth.
If you think this sounds odd, wait until I'm bored enough to compile the above into a mangled photo.
Day Eightythree
HAPPY ONE-MONTH-TO-GO-UNTIL-1.5-YEARS JEZ BABY BEAR BEAR BUNNY BUGGY MOO MOO KITTEN <3
After painstakingly summarising 80-something-pages (or 1.3 MB of) obs-gyn lecture notes comprised of deliberately-baffling diagrams I was peeling my eyelids back to fight sleep.
However, after the very last page I've come to peace with it.
"WHAT DOES NOT WORK
Need elaboration on cling wrap. If they had added "and elastic band" I'd know exactly what they're talking about.
Taking an antibiotic pill after sex is funny, but probably only to the intelligent few privileged to the fact that bacteria are not what gets you pregnant. And antibiotics are in fact often responsible for the failure of oral contraceptives.
Showering is a good idea, especially when your sexual partner, like mine, suffers terrible body odour. But again, body odour does not impregnate.
I like the last two. Will try them out tonight.
After painstakingly summarising 80-something-pages (or 1.3 MB of) obs-gyn lecture notes comprised of deliberately-baffling diagrams I was peeling my eyelids back to fight sleep.
However, after the very last page I've come to peace with it.
"WHAT DOES NOT WORK
- Jumping up and down after sex
- Standing on your head after sex
- Using cling wrap
- Taking an antibiotic pill after sex
- Taking a shower or going for a swim after sex
- Thinking that if you don't want it, it won't happen
- Wishing/praying"
Need elaboration on cling wrap. If they had added "and elastic band" I'd know exactly what they're talking about.
Taking an antibiotic pill after sex is funny, but probably only to the intelligent few privileged to the fact that bacteria are not what gets you pregnant. And antibiotics are in fact often responsible for the failure of oral contraceptives.
Showering is a good idea, especially when your sexual partner, like mine, suffers terrible body odour. But again, body odour does not impregnate.
I like the last two. Will try them out tonight.
10.19.2008
Day Eightytwo
Yoza says (9:12 PM):
Can you imagine if you died on a bus.
Yoza says (9:12 PM):
And someone tried to like hump your penis.
Yoza says (9:12 PM):
That would just be quite funny.
Annie says (9:16 PM):
But it wouldn't be hard
Yoza says (9:17 PM):
Rigor mortis? XD
Annie says (9:17 PM):
Oh god
Can you imagine if you died on a bus.
Yoza says (9:12 PM):
And someone tried to like hump your penis.
Yoza says (9:12 PM):
That would just be quite funny.
Annie says (9:16 PM):
But it wouldn't be hard
Yoza says (9:17 PM):
Rigor mortis? XD
Annie says (9:17 PM):
Oh god
10.15.2008
Day Seventyeight
I'm deleting emails from my hotmail inbox. I must have felt that 5 GB was synonymous with infinity, because despite the fact that about 2 out of 3000 emails were important enough to keep, I left the other 2998 lying idly around. Granted, 3000 took up only 5% total space, and took 2.5 years to accumulate. Nevertheless, at this rate by the time I'm 71 I would've run out of space.
A vast majority of them was due to group reply-alls, most of them consisting of an extra 2-3 words in addition to the original email.
The emails dated back to February '06. It was around the time my ex and I broke up, and the inbox retained what I think might be the very last email I received from him (I only think because there was no way I could go through the other hundred pages to make sure). He asked me to help him with a report for uni and I remember yelling at him later about always having to write reports and essays for him and why can't he spell satisfactorily enough to produce his own piece of work.
I also came across an email from Jez in April '07 with a song attached. I'm quite sure it's his guitarless version of Slide but couldn't verify because of dumb library computers. I saved it. There was another one that went something like "I'm going out now, but I cleaned my room and I attached the photo so you can see it". I deleted that one without thinking, then regretted not keeping it, then thought it was probably unlikely anyway that I'd go back and read it any time soon.
A vast majority of them was due to group reply-alls, most of them consisting of an extra 2-3 words in addition to the original email.
The emails dated back to February '06. It was around the time my ex and I broke up, and the inbox retained what I think might be the very last email I received from him (I only think because there was no way I could go through the other hundred pages to make sure). He asked me to help him with a report for uni and I remember yelling at him later about always having to write reports and essays for him and why can't he spell satisfactorily enough to produce his own piece of work.
I also came across an email from Jez in April '07 with a song attached. I'm quite sure it's his guitarless version of Slide but couldn't verify because of dumb library computers. I saved it. There was another one that went something like "I'm going out now, but I cleaned my room and I attached the photo so you can see it". I deleted that one without thinking, then regretted not keeping it, then thought it was probably unlikely anyway that I'd go back and read it any time soon.
10.12.2008
Day Seventyfive
I have this pair of white pumps. I haven't worn them in awhile. They're not too high, but are fairly narrow and very pointy. So pointy that my feet look a great deal bigger than they actually are. I don't remember what made me, but I tried them on last night and they weren't as bad as I remembered. They made my legs look nice. And I'm kind of leg-conscious, so I'd probably be willing to wear Hello Kitty print shoes as long as they compliment my pins. Jez however didn't approve of the pointiness, probably secretly afraid they'll find themselves between his legs the next time he upsets me. Throw them out, he said. I mentally noted that far from throwing them out, I'll be wearing them again tomorrow. Then I walked down the stairs at the train station and nearly tripped over the long pointy front part of the shoe. I think I might retire them after all.
Riveting story, no?
Eugene is turning into a menace. I wouldn't say he was ever nice, but he used to be such a docile guy. Sleeping at the dispensary desk. Reading the Sun Herald. Dozing off at the computer. Resting on the couch. Slowly he has become grumpy and cranky and refers to me and my friends as "Generation X, always about me, me, me", despite the fact that he is only about a fifth of a generation ahead of us.
Today I put on Plastic Tree on Youtube to substitute for the radio which wasn't playing anything particularly interesting. I minimise the window thinking that the old man might complain about the androgyny and I was right.
"What is this shit. Who is this guy? Is that even a guy? That's not right. I'm turning it off."
Later, we stood outside the front door to get a glimpse of the good weather and I asked him what's up with the new mean streak. He said it was my influence.
"I hope I never bump into you out of work. That would be so wrong." He said.
"I don't think I'd want to see you outside of work either, it's like seeing an animal out of the zoo." I shot back.
He was greatly offended and swore that if we ever ran into each other on a day other than Sunday he'd pretend I didn't exist.
At 2:00 pm I was in the middle of vacuuming and he kicked me out.
I went to Jez's house after work to study, but didn't get to until 6:00 pm. Because see the thing is, we're always having sex, which is cool, but what's not cool is the sleeping that comes afterwards. I'm normally a little tired, but don't have a problem or difficulties in getting up and dressed, especially with motivators like completing my antiepileptic drug table and Coco Pops. Jez on the other hand is a rock. I could insert a pineapple into his rectum and he'd sleep through it. I knew he hated waking up three hours later to realise how much time has been lost, so this afternoon I try to nudge and push and slap him awake.
He pulls me next to him and doesn't even open his eyes.
"Spoon." He commands and I grudgingly oblige. "Sleep."
We wake up hours later and he blames me for lack of persistence. I forget what I was going to say next because we bought Sueño and there was some left and I was thinking "I want to take that with me to drink on the train" and I forgot and now I'm craving Sueño.
Riveting story, no?
Eugene is turning into a menace. I wouldn't say he was ever nice, but he used to be such a docile guy. Sleeping at the dispensary desk. Reading the Sun Herald. Dozing off at the computer. Resting on the couch. Slowly he has become grumpy and cranky and refers to me and my friends as "Generation X, always about me, me, me", despite the fact that he is only about a fifth of a generation ahead of us.
Today I put on Plastic Tree on Youtube to substitute for the radio which wasn't playing anything particularly interesting. I minimise the window thinking that the old man might complain about the androgyny and I was right.
"What is this shit. Who is this guy? Is that even a guy? That's not right. I'm turning it off."
Later, we stood outside the front door to get a glimpse of the good weather and I asked him what's up with the new mean streak. He said it was my influence.
"I hope I never bump into you out of work. That would be so wrong." He said.
"I don't think I'd want to see you outside of work either, it's like seeing an animal out of the zoo." I shot back.
He was greatly offended and swore that if we ever ran into each other on a day other than Sunday he'd pretend I didn't exist.
At 2:00 pm I was in the middle of vacuuming and he kicked me out.
I went to Jez's house after work to study, but didn't get to until 6:00 pm. Because see the thing is, we're always having sex, which is cool, but what's not cool is the sleeping that comes afterwards. I'm normally a little tired, but don't have a problem or difficulties in getting up and dressed, especially with motivators like completing my antiepileptic drug table and Coco Pops. Jez on the other hand is a rock. I could insert a pineapple into his rectum and he'd sleep through it. I knew he hated waking up three hours later to realise how much time has been lost, so this afternoon I try to nudge and push and slap him awake.
He pulls me next to him and doesn't even open his eyes.
"Spoon." He commands and I grudgingly oblige. "Sleep."
We wake up hours later and he blames me for lack of persistence. I forget what I was going to say next because we bought Sueño and there was some left and I was thinking "I want to take that with me to drink on the train" and I forgot and now I'm craving Sueño.
10.10.2008
Day Seventythree
So last night I was chatting to my friend, let's call him Muffy, and somehow sex came up. I was a bit horrified because Muffy was nowhere close enough a friend to be open about something this personal. But he was desperate, and decided to ask for my advice possibly because we have just about zero mutual friends with whom I could gossip about his embarrassing predicament, or because we nearly never meet in person and it was entirely possible for him to hide behind his computer for the rest of the friendship, however long that might be.
In a separate window I was talking to another friend who will be known from this point as Buffy. Buffy is quite sexual, and was happy to give pointers.
I was initially going to brush Muffy off in case my imagination starts imagining things I don't want imagined. But he begins by telling me that his situation is "embarrassing", and I was too curious to cut him off. Then he said that while his girlfriend has had other sexual partners before him, she, wait for it, had never orgasmed. I hurriedly type "OMG ME TOO" and hurriedly delete it and substitute with "oh serious?".
It's a scary statistic, but I've read in an old issue of Cosmo that 90% of Chinese women do not orgasm, ever. I'm hoping that this ridiculous figure is as false as it sounds, but unfortunately I'm quite sure that it's not, because I remember out of incredulity I re-read the passage five times and then cried. No, not really. I didn't cry. But I was scared, somewhat.
I assumed that Muffy's girlfriend is only unable to come during sex, but can probably climax orally or digitally (and Muffy has informed me that he looked up the definition of "digitally" and found it to mean "relating to the hand" and not electronics). I only assumed so because that was my own predicament about a year ago. And then through the conversation I figured out that she had never orgasmed. From anything. Poor girl.
I threw Muffy a series of tips I've accumulated from various magazines over the years that I've never really consciously tested myself. Just the standard importance of foreplay, breathing techniques, experimenting with positions, etc etc. Drone drone. Yada yada. Muffy has heard it all and tried it all and still failed and is becoming increasingly frustrated.
"She's ticklish everywhere." He said.
I thought of a few days ago, when Jez and I were petting his neighbour's cat. I picked her up by placing my hands under her front legs. Then for some reason or other we went inside and Jez decided to mimic the picking-upping with me. When I'm expectant or afraid or caught off guard of tickling, I'm unbearably ticklish. But that time when I was lifted into the air by the armpits I was fine, because as dumb as it sounds I told myself to relax and that it wasn't going to tickle. So it didn't.
I told Muffy all of this, and that his girlfriend should follow my example and tell herself it won't tickle and when you talk to her please don't mention me or my boyfriend or the cat because she will be FREAKED OUT.
He was still doubtful, and everything Buffy suggested turned out to have been tried and failed, too. Buffy ended up saying something useless like "all girls are different". I went offline in pretense of being disconnected and then realised I haven't used dial-up in 6 years.
I don't think it's going to work out. Muffy is worrying himself stupid over it and thought of giving up the relationship just to avoid further embarrassment. I exasperated myself in telling him that if his girlfriend doesn't have a problem with it, he should chill. I also said something dumb along the lines of "if she has never tasted chocolate, she won't crave for it". Despite the "yeah" and "mmhmm" and "okay" I have a feeling he was having none of it. A boy's ego is the biggest thing in the world.
In any case, he reminded me of the old-times Jez, except less persistent and more whiny. And much more worried over what me and that Cosmo article think is no biggie. I wonder what he might have done had his girlfriend lay on her back and mindlessly gazed at a poster of Edward Norton instead. I'm sorry :)
I was reading an article on Times Online about "can an affair save your relationship?". I had a mouthful of water and nearly spat it onto the keyboard. What what? Despite its conclusion that no, affairs cannot save relationships and in fact generally do exactly the opposite, it featured three kooky couples whose relationships were revived after fucking other people.
The first woman was Catholic and only 19 when she married and equally Catholic man who knew as little about sex as she did. As a result, their sex was "rushed, unsatisfactory and occasionally even painful". Unhappy, she started an affair with the delivery man, who being more skilled in the bedroom, taught her a trick or two that she passed onto her husband. With these new techniques, their sex life improved and eventually she stopped sleeping with the delivery man. Now she describes her marriage as "very happy".
I'm a firm believer that if you cheat on your partner under any circumstance, you're an unforgivable slut. So what this woman did doesn't sit well with me. What kind of Catholic are you anyway, first abstaining from sex until after marriage but then realising you haven't got a clue how to do it and find out through adultery? GG. Porn is educational. Possibly more educational than her delivery boy. She should have known. I used to be starfish and Jez used to be very instructional and sometimes I'd be thinking "what the fuck, this is odd" and then go online later to find a couple of pornstars doing the exact same thing and realise where he had gotten all those ideas from.
Back to the article, the second couple consists of a woman who "was never that interested in sex", and after having kids "seemed to go right off the idea". The man, sexually frustrated, slept with any women he could get on business trips and followed his personal motto of "find 'em, bed 'em, leave 'em". He loves his kids and his wife, and refers to sex as "like a bodily function, it doesn't mean much".
How stupid. Despite the fact that his wife is naturally celibate, she doesn't think sex unimportant and "like a bodily function", and was devastated when she found out about his affairs, which he treated like the glue that held his family together. Sex is a significant part of the relationship for him, but isn't for her, so they should decide whether they value the marriage enough to make sacrifices - him by giving up sex, and her by having sex. It might have been another story if she was okay with it. But she wasn't. And he shouldn't be buying a cake and eating the icing off the ones he didn't pay for. Me and my food analogies. I think it's time for lunch.
The husband of the third couple cheated on his wife with the mother of one of his children's friends. He cheated for no apparent reason. It was something of a wake-up call to the couple to examine their relationship issues and problems they've been hiding under happy happyn nuclear family.
Except the thing is, when there are already problems, an affair is more likely to seal the divorce than make the couple go "oh, I guess it's time we work things out". The wake-up call concept is true, but is such overkill. I suppose if the only way to make his wife listen to him was to have his pickle tickled by someone else, then whatever. But some severe, well-directed threats should work for most, right? Like, "I'm confiscating your Hermès scarves".
In a separate window I was talking to another friend who will be known from this point as Buffy. Buffy is quite sexual, and was happy to give pointers.
I was initially going to brush Muffy off in case my imagination starts imagining things I don't want imagined. But he begins by telling me that his situation is "embarrassing", and I was too curious to cut him off. Then he said that while his girlfriend has had other sexual partners before him, she, wait for it, had never orgasmed. I hurriedly type "OMG ME TOO" and hurriedly delete it and substitute with "oh serious?".
It's a scary statistic, but I've read in an old issue of Cosmo that 90% of Chinese women do not orgasm, ever. I'm hoping that this ridiculous figure is as false as it sounds, but unfortunately I'm quite sure that it's not, because I remember out of incredulity I re-read the passage five times and then cried. No, not really. I didn't cry. But I was scared, somewhat.
I assumed that Muffy's girlfriend is only unable to come during sex, but can probably climax orally or digitally (and Muffy has informed me that he looked up the definition of "digitally" and found it to mean "relating to the hand" and not electronics). I only assumed so because that was my own predicament about a year ago. And then through the conversation I figured out that she had never orgasmed. From anything. Poor girl.
I threw Muffy a series of tips I've accumulated from various magazines over the years that I've never really consciously tested myself. Just the standard importance of foreplay, breathing techniques, experimenting with positions, etc etc. Drone drone. Yada yada. Muffy has heard it all and tried it all and still failed and is becoming increasingly frustrated.
"She's ticklish everywhere." He said.
I thought of a few days ago, when Jez and I were petting his neighbour's cat. I picked her up by placing my hands under her front legs. Then for some reason or other we went inside and Jez decided to mimic the picking-upping with me. When I'm expectant or afraid or caught off guard of tickling, I'm unbearably ticklish. But that time when I was lifted into the air by the armpits I was fine, because as dumb as it sounds I told myself to relax and that it wasn't going to tickle. So it didn't.
I told Muffy all of this, and that his girlfriend should follow my example and tell herself it won't tickle and when you talk to her please don't mention me or my boyfriend or the cat because she will be FREAKED OUT.
He was still doubtful, and everything Buffy suggested turned out to have been tried and failed, too. Buffy ended up saying something useless like "all girls are different". I went offline in pretense of being disconnected and then realised I haven't used dial-up in 6 years.
I don't think it's going to work out. Muffy is worrying himself stupid over it and thought of giving up the relationship just to avoid further embarrassment. I exasperated myself in telling him that if his girlfriend doesn't have a problem with it, he should chill. I also said something dumb along the lines of "if she has never tasted chocolate, she won't crave for it". Despite the "yeah" and "mmhmm" and "okay" I have a feeling he was having none of it. A boy's ego is the biggest thing in the world.
In any case, he reminded me of the old-times Jez, except less persistent and more whiny. And much more worried over what me and that Cosmo article think is no biggie. I wonder what he might have done had his girlfriend lay on her back and mindlessly gazed at a poster of Edward Norton instead. I'm sorry :)
I was reading an article on Times Online about "can an affair save your relationship?". I had a mouthful of water and nearly spat it onto the keyboard. What what? Despite its conclusion that no, affairs cannot save relationships and in fact generally do exactly the opposite, it featured three kooky couples whose relationships were revived after fucking other people.
The first woman was Catholic and only 19 when she married and equally Catholic man who knew as little about sex as she did. As a result, their sex was "rushed, unsatisfactory and occasionally even painful". Unhappy, she started an affair with the delivery man, who being more skilled in the bedroom, taught her a trick or two that she passed onto her husband. With these new techniques, their sex life improved and eventually she stopped sleeping with the delivery man. Now she describes her marriage as "very happy".
I'm a firm believer that if you cheat on your partner under any circumstance, you're an unforgivable slut. So what this woman did doesn't sit well with me. What kind of Catholic are you anyway, first abstaining from sex until after marriage but then realising you haven't got a clue how to do it and find out through adultery? GG. Porn is educational. Possibly more educational than her delivery boy. She should have known. I used to be starfish and Jez used to be very instructional and sometimes I'd be thinking "what the fuck, this is odd" and then go online later to find a couple of pornstars doing the exact same thing and realise where he had gotten all those ideas from.
Back to the article, the second couple consists of a woman who "was never that interested in sex", and after having kids "seemed to go right off the idea". The man, sexually frustrated, slept with any women he could get on business trips and followed his personal motto of "find 'em, bed 'em, leave 'em". He loves his kids and his wife, and refers to sex as "like a bodily function, it doesn't mean much".
How stupid. Despite the fact that his wife is naturally celibate, she doesn't think sex unimportant and "like a bodily function", and was devastated when she found out about his affairs, which he treated like the glue that held his family together. Sex is a significant part of the relationship for him, but isn't for her, so they should decide whether they value the marriage enough to make sacrifices - him by giving up sex, and her by having sex. It might have been another story if she was okay with it. But she wasn't. And he shouldn't be buying a cake and eating the icing off the ones he didn't pay for. Me and my food analogies. I think it's time for lunch.
The husband of the third couple cheated on his wife with the mother of one of his children's friends. He cheated for no apparent reason. It was something of a wake-up call to the couple to examine their relationship issues and problems they've been hiding under happy happyn nuclear family.
Except the thing is, when there are already problems, an affair is more likely to seal the divorce than make the couple go "oh, I guess it's time we work things out". The wake-up call concept is true, but is such overkill. I suppose if the only way to make his wife listen to him was to have his pickle tickled by someone else, then whatever. But some severe, well-directed threats should work for most, right? Like, "I'm confiscating your Hermès scarves".
10.09.2008
Day Seventytwo
In this month's Cosmopolitan, one article announces "We found DUDETOPIA!". On its side line it goes "Sex and the City: Where are the boys in the big smoke?" and lists one suburb in every major city with a high single-men-to-single-women ratio. First up: "Auburn, Sydney. Odds: 2.1 single men to 1 single woman".
Um ok, because Auburn's where all the eligible bachelors at.
Not that there are no decent men to be found in Auburn. Of course there are, but they probably weren't the contributors to the impressive ratio. No seriously though, what did Cosmo expect us to do? Surely not flock to Auburn right this minute?
This morning I left my stockings in Jez's sock drawer and warned him not to put them on when he gets home. I didn't know whether to laugh or be scared when I realised I didn't know whether or not I was joking. Later today I was reading Hamish's column in Cosmo and the guy has stumbled upon e-mancipate.net. A bit late. Mia Freedman found it months ago, and my feelings about it pretty much mirrors hers. Hamish, being Hamish, thought that he couldn't legitimately criticise the idea without having first experienced it. So he mail-orders some and "to my horror, I realise I've ordered 'full support opaque thigh-high stay up stockings', not one-piece pantyhose". I don't know which is worse. "Then it occurs to me it's the middle of the day and I'm standing in my bedroom stroking my stocking-clad legs".
There's a man from Kirribilli who buys a pair of satin stay-ups and red lipstick once a week. Eugene and I are sure they're not for a lady-friend. I'm still puzzled about the lipstick, but have alluded the frequency of stocking-purchase to the cruddy quality of Voodoo.
Anyway, the whole thing is mad. Just wear them at home in secret like man mentioned in above paragraphand Jez. Please.
Um ok, because Auburn's where all the eligible bachelors at.
Not that there are no decent men to be found in Auburn. Of course there are, but they probably weren't the contributors to the impressive ratio. No seriously though, what did Cosmo expect us to do? Surely not flock to Auburn right this minute?
This morning I left my stockings in Jez's sock drawer and warned him not to put them on when he gets home. I didn't know whether to laugh or be scared when I realised I didn't know whether or not I was joking. Later today I was reading Hamish's column in Cosmo and the guy has stumbled upon e-mancipate.net. A bit late. Mia Freedman found it months ago, and my feelings about it pretty much mirrors hers. Hamish, being Hamish, thought that he couldn't legitimately criticise the idea without having first experienced it. So he mail-orders some and "to my horror, I realise I've ordered 'full support opaque thigh-high stay up stockings', not one-piece pantyhose". I don't know which is worse. "Then it occurs to me it's the middle of the day and I'm standing in my bedroom stroking my stocking-clad legs".
There's a man from Kirribilli who buys a pair of satin stay-ups and red lipstick once a week. Eugene and I are sure they're not for a lady-friend. I'm still puzzled about the lipstick, but have alluded the frequency of stocking-purchase to the cruddy quality of Voodoo.
Anyway, the whole thing is mad. Just wear them at home in secret like man mentioned in above paragraph
10.04.2008
Day Sixtyseven
I'm sick. It could be worse. Nothing really annoying like painfully sore throats or coughing or fever, but I feel like there isn't a single joule of energy left in me. Like seriously. Jelly. Spaghetti. If only I was that thin.
I do have this batshit crazy mix of hayfever and headache. My eyes have stopped watering now but the nose is going nuts secreting stuff and I feel like my neurons have turned into little firecrackers.
It's the damn air-con at work, set to bloody 16 degrees or at least that was what it felt like. It was twice as hot outside yesterday. I already felt hayfeverish in the morning and by the tenth hot-cold transition from walking back into the shop after being out running an errand I wanted to crumple up and eat my head.
Glenda messages me. She took my Kirribilli shift today because of my unfulfilled Canberra plans.
"You didn't tell me that all loops live in Kirribilli. Or was there a convention there?"
I tell her they're probably all from Greenway. Government housing. I ask her what happened.
"Nothing happened as such. I was just not expecting quite so many nutters, even from Greenway!"
I wonder who she encountered, the transvestite or the addict or the thief or the dealer or the man who comes in every hour to tell us the specials at Aldi.
Speaking of work, Sameer mentioned at Copa that he worked with a pharmacist named Sally, who happened to have been blonde, and a babe. He said she was Norwegian but I had never asked Sally where she was from so I didn't know. Other than "blonde and hot" and "a nice ass", he couldn't tell me much else.
I asked Sally yesterday whether she had worked with someone called Sameer at Rozelle. She said yes, and that he was a nice kid who always got told off. I opened my mouth to say "he thinks you're a babe" but instead said "he thinks you're really nice". Sameer later accused me of making him sound like a tool.
I wonder if Sally knows she's attractive. If she owns a mirror, she has to know. She has two 21-year-olds swooning over her. One of which might I add is dating another extremely hot 21-year-old. I suppose it's hard not to crush on her. She hides a cockroach under paper before stepping on it. When a customer commented that she looked tired she spent the next half hour behind the dispensary putting on make-up. She talks to herself when she does scripts. It's quite cute.
Jez came over this afternoon. I thought we'd study together but I felt too sick and wanted to take a nap instead. So he perched his laptop on my parents' bed and typed notes while I slept. I was tired but not sleepy so I feigned sleep and peeked at him from behind the pillow. He was copying his lecture notes straight from the slides, and stopped typing every now and then to stare at my breasts. I wanted to giggle but didn't. It wasn't until he shut off his laptop and joined me that I fell asleep and was then promptly woken by my mum's phone call.
I wish Jez hadn't taken away the two cans of soup he brought over. I'm deathly hungry and there's nothing to eat in the house and my parents won't be back for another 1.5 hours.
I do have this batshit crazy mix of hayfever and headache. My eyes have stopped watering now but the nose is going nuts secreting stuff and I feel like my neurons have turned into little firecrackers.
It's the damn air-con at work, set to bloody 16 degrees or at least that was what it felt like. It was twice as hot outside yesterday. I already felt hayfeverish in the morning and by the tenth hot-cold transition from walking back into the shop after being out running an errand I wanted to crumple up and eat my head.
Glenda messages me. She took my Kirribilli shift today because of my unfulfilled Canberra plans.
"You didn't tell me that all loops live in Kirribilli. Or was there a convention there?"
I tell her they're probably all from Greenway. Government housing. I ask her what happened.
"Nothing happened as such. I was just not expecting quite so many nutters, even from Greenway!"
I wonder who she encountered, the transvestite or the addict or the thief or the dealer or the man who comes in every hour to tell us the specials at Aldi.
Speaking of work, Sameer mentioned at Copa that he worked with a pharmacist named Sally, who happened to have been blonde, and a babe. He said she was Norwegian but I had never asked Sally where she was from so I didn't know. Other than "blonde and hot" and "a nice ass", he couldn't tell me much else.
I asked Sally yesterday whether she had worked with someone called Sameer at Rozelle. She said yes, and that he was a nice kid who always got told off. I opened my mouth to say "he thinks you're a babe" but instead said "he thinks you're really nice". Sameer later accused me of making him sound like a tool.
I wonder if Sally knows she's attractive. If she owns a mirror, she has to know. She has two 21-year-olds swooning over her. One of which might I add is dating another extremely hot 21-year-old. I suppose it's hard not to crush on her. She hides a cockroach under paper before stepping on it. When a customer commented that she looked tired she spent the next half hour behind the dispensary putting on make-up. She talks to herself when she does scripts. It's quite cute.
Jez came over this afternoon. I thought we'd study together but I felt too sick and wanted to take a nap instead. So he perched his laptop on my parents' bed and typed notes while I slept. I was tired but not sleepy so I feigned sleep and peeked at him from behind the pillow. He was copying his lecture notes straight from the slides, and stopped typing every now and then to stare at my breasts. I wanted to giggle but didn't. It wasn't until he shut off his laptop and joined me that I fell asleep and was then promptly woken by my mum's phone call.
I wish Jez hadn't taken away the two cans of soup he brought over. I'm deathly hungry and there's nothing to eat in the house and my parents won't be back for another 1.5 hours.
10.02.2008
Day Sixtyfive
I was reminded of one of Yoza's earlier blogs about pharmacowords.
Here's another one: pharmacognosy - the study of medicines derived from natural sources.
Here's another one: pharmacognosy - the study of medicines derived from natural sources.
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