The Clitoris

I found and now I think every women should have to read it. I wish they had cuter tee shirts because I would have bought one.

My life is full of random occurrences. Last night I taught a ‘private workshop’ at my place of employment. So these five girls walk in first, and one of them looks really familiar. She’s staring at me as if she knows me, and then, she asks me. As soon as she asks, I know we know each other. It turns out she’s a few years younger than me, and she grew up in Plainview. The bride of this ‘private workshop’ is also from Plainview and so are some of the other, later to arrive, attendees.

I recognize the bride, and of course I recognize the sister of one of the girls I was closer with in high school. It’s very strange to know that you’re about to reveal a lot of personal shit to some people who already know who you were as a teenager. The neighbors will never look at me the same again.

It was a personal growth step, and it helped me solidify my role in this world. Not as monumental as my first orgasm, the first one I knew for sure was an orgasm. I was 21, which might sound surprisingly old for a seasoned pro like me :) but it’s the truth. But this, this workshop for my childhood community, this, at 30, was a mental sort of orgasm. It reminded me of where I came from, and who I had become.

Have you found your clitoris yet?

Happy Halloween!

Limecat* isn’t the only one not pleased

limecat-5.jpg*Who is limecat and why is it displeased?
I’ve had a strange series of hours. A little more than 24 of them to be exact, and while at my most optimistic, things are “happy, happy, joy, joy,” - right now my personal life lies in between what the fuck and holy shit. *Since it’s personal, you’ll have to understand and accept it as such.

I’m not sleeping enough, and as a result, I’ve been sort of but not really sick for quite some time. Yes, part of it is sick in the head, but the other part is coming down with something. And while it’s running it’s course through my physical body, my emotional body is taking a beating as well.

It’s the eve before the Hallow and I don’t want to go out. I’m teaching a sex toys 101 class where I work tonight, and while this should be exciting, I have a heavy heart and head right now. I’m going to be teaching til at least 11, and after that, by the time I reconnect with the outside world, Limecat will be fast asleep. I don’t know why I care so much about Limecat, I’m not even sure if he or she lives in the United States, but there’s something that I can relate to about hir. Something about that freaking cute lime helmut, and that fuck off glare that makes me think that no matter how unhappy I am right now, Limecat understands.

So Limecat, can I tell you something?…

Limecat don’t be angry, even though I’m angry too. I love you and you’re silly cut out lime head. And I love the way you stare at me as if I’ve pissed you off, even though I know I haven’t. So Limecat, will you come over and be my friend? Will you love me like I love you Limecat?

Or is it just time to stop talking to a computer gif? Really. I think I’m growing more pathetic as I settle into my thirties.

If I only had a brain

My friend Jacob did a watercolor of me last night. Then I decided to pose for my camera…

This entry goes back a few days:
I’m starting to write this the night before (10.27), or the morning of, the day I know it will be published, but it’s been a shitty night. I’m going to admit something that would not make a proud man proud, I paid the wrong bill online for a lot of money. Let’s just say the sum was $2,006 give or a take a few hundred and let’s just say that the credit card company that should have received aforementioned bill is not as happy as the cell phone company that happened to receive the bill.

If you were the cell phone company, would you think it was weird that you received and exorbitant amount of money, enough to pay more than a year’s worth of bills, all in one day? Or do you take this as a sign from God?

I’m so dumb. Cell phone/Credit Card…they do look the same when you pay bills online. There’s not much I can do tonight. Except confess. Purging makes me feel better, but you probably already know that about me.

I never wrote yesterday (10.28), the day I thought this would be published. When you’re a wanderer like me, it’s hard to find a computer when you can’t find a home. I guess I could have written at Kinko’s cause I was there yesterday, but I had already had a shitty morning to follow the not so hot night before. I forgot to set the alarm when I had to be somewhere at 10:30 and I proceeded to drop anything of importance as I tried to photocopy my life’s work at Kinkos.

At 11:30PM I made contact with a keyboard for the first time. By 11:30 I was in no mood to write.

So today (10.29) this shall be published. Know that I have made amends with the cellphone company and they promise they will be sending me a check for most of my money back. The rest will be used to pay my phone bill. Know that I’m am writing this around 9am so that I can have a blog to you before I go to work, since I will be “in the office” all day. Ha Ha. Funny. I will be at work, but I hate that in the office term…and no, I won’t really be in the office. Know that someone loves you, although that someone is not necessarily the one you’ll love back. Know that Jesus loves you, but he doesn’t like me. And know that Verizon does indeed take extra cash as a sign from God, unless of course you call them on it.

Back to the movies…


I saw the new Liam Neeson movie last night. Kinsey. Not so sure how I felt, but immediate reaction - didn’t like it. With few exceptions, pretty boring. I could be wrong. If you see it, let me know what you think.

I had a conversation this morning about the winter. I wasn’t here last year, as in New York, for the brunt of what has been described to me as one of the worst winter’s yet, but I will be here, this year, for the brunt of this one. Hopefully I’ll be living in my own slice of New York, in a place with a wood burning fireplace. If I keep my fingers crossed long enough, I will be sitting naked on a shag carpet, doing some shagging of my own, watching movies, reading books, and maybe even roasting marshmallows in front of an open, yet guarded, fire.

I hate the taste of raw marshmallows without some sort of melted chocolate on them. I hate the taste of roasted marshmallows too, unless of course they’re smashed between two graham crackers and melted chocolate, but I love the act of roasting them. I was the girl who always wanted to roast the sticky, sweet, white clouds of gooey delight, and then I’d give them away. Sometimes nobody wanted my roasted marshmallow because half of the fun was roasting their own bloody marshmallows, but there were some kids with really, really sweet teeth who would eat all of the marshmallows I gave them.

I haven’t roasted marshmallows in years. I haven’t sat in front of a fire since last February, when I was hobnobbing with the elite in Yosemite. Before that it had been even longer. We had a fireplace in the house I grew up in, and my father would make fires as we sat around the den watching TV and eating ice cream. That was part of our family bonding.

Family bonding.
My brother, sister and I used to watch game shows every night from 7-8PM. We always watched the shows like Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune, the ones where there were three contestants. Part of watching involved each of us picking our own player to root for. If there were less than three players/teams, one of us shared a team (think Family Feud), or sat out of that half hour of participation. If there were more than three contestants, we’d make our mother feign interest and share responsibility for the game. Our own competition in the face of the TV competition. Aah the memories.

Speaking of memories…
I still wish Silver Spoons was on TV. I had such a crush on Ricky Schroder.

Now he’s Rick Schroder, and he’s married with a lot of babies. I think I fell in love with him in The Champ, the greatest sports movie of all times. It’s also one of the saddest movies I’ve ever seen. Knowing it’s sadness factor makes it difficult for me to watch it without a box of tissues in one hand. I usually start crying midway through the movie and don’t stop til it’s done. The one and only time I saw the Michael Keaton movie about him dying of cancer, I cried for a day and a half straight. Some movies just have that effect on me, *I did almost cry in Kinsey at least twice even if they’re only movies.

Others. Not so much so. See I brought it back to movies in the end, didn’t I?

The bestest

…birthday in the world. That’s what I had. I feel so lucky.
I’m sorry if you showed up and I was distracted. I get easily distracted.

But check out the photos from Friday night…(FYI: they were a bitch to upload)..I want more pics from that night. Like one of my whole dress. Others of more of the party people..Send photos to if you have any…Also did anyone get photos of my lapdance? - cause Darlinda is so hot and I’d really like some pics of her both before and after she poured a bag of sugar down my throat.

Oh..and it’s official, but it’s always been official. I have an alter ego that you should know about. At least in theory you should know about her..

Miss E. Make Out
part of Captain Safety Pin and the Jackoff Squad..look for us everywhere soon!

Here’s an excerpt from the Steppin’ Out piece I’ll never finish:
The one about “it” - I mentioned it a few blogs back. I liked how I started ‘it’ but ‘it”s lost momentum these past few weeks…but what is ‘it’?

I’m getting it again, and often, which is the way I like to get it when it happens. It happens more often for me than for most of my friends, but it’s been a long time since it’s been this good. In fact the last time it felt like this at all was last year, when it was really good for more than a night.

It’s scary, this whole it thing. On the one hand, you want it often, which means you spend a lot of time working on getting it. That requires phone calls, emails, hours of conversation that doesn’t focus on it, unless it is all you’re focused on. Then there’s actually getting it, which depending on the mood, can take anywhere from five minutes to five hours. On the other hand, you want other things and you don’t want it to control your free time. But these other things don’t make you feel like it does, and so you don’t know how to balance it and the rest of your world.

This can be quite distracting. Finding less time for work and more time for it is a hard balance to achieve, especially when you weren’t getting it for a while. And then there’s the it that goes along with it, just in case you weren’t confused enough by what it is and what it means. And along with the act of it, there’s the face of it, the body of it, and the mind. If you are attracted to it as a whole, it’s more difficult to remove yourself from the situation.

It’s it. But what it is?
Faith no more.

What’s in a number?


My grandmother told me that it was the worst birthday of her life. Her advice to me, “don’t let it get you down, 30 was the only birthday that depressed me, the others aren’t so bad.” I think my grandmother “might be” losing her mind.

My 30th Birthday:

My nine year relationship - it ended almost six years ago - made full (dis)closure with me TODAY. I have to say, not much surprises me, but shit, this, this email surprised the fuck out of me..and it takes a lot to get the fuck “surprised” out of me. For the first time since it ended, “this not right but a great growing experience” relationship, I feel that the boy doesn’t hate me. And, I am truly at peace with it all.

Then, I found out that the contract on my apartment should be signed by all parties today. I don’t have to go in front of the co-op board, so if all goes according to plan, I’m almost a houseowner.(Note: No use of exclamation points because until I move into the place I shall remain weary.)

And FUCK..I’m 30 TODAY. As in RIGHT NOW. And I am so excited, and nervous, and introspective…There’s so much to do. And I know I can do my small part of “it”. The time is right for me to come of age. It should be…I’m 30.

Oh my god…did I go to school with him?!


From the New York Post:


By DAN KADISON (I know his mother by the way!)

October 19, 2021 — A Manhattan attorney was busted in an Internet sex sting after attempting to meet someone he believed was a 13-year-old girl on Long Island, police said yesterday.

Steven J. Lever, 30, of East 21st Street, began an online relationship with an undercover male detective from the computer crimes section over the summer and was nabbed Sunday morning when he showed up at the Ronkonkoma Long Island Rail Road station to pick up the “girl,” Suffolk County Sgt. John Cowie said.

Lever, an intellectual property and patent associate with Kirkland & Ellis LLP, started engaging the girl in a Yahoo! chat room in July under the screen name “MADCHA-TTER — and his talk gradually “became sexual in nature,” Cowie said.

A few weeks ago, Lever began “trying to make arrangements to meet with her,” said Cowie.

“His chats were extremely sexually explicit,” said Cowie. “He talked with her about getting involved in a sexual relationship — sexual intercourse, oral sexual conduct.”

Lever was charged with one count of first-degree attempted dissemination of indecent material to minors, a felony punishable by up to four years in jail.

Lever was arraigned yesterday in First District Court in Central Islip and released on a $2,500 cash bail.

With a large travel bag in tow, Lever attempted to slip out of his Quaker Ridge apartment complex, which is half a block away from the 13th Precinct.

“I have nothing to say,” a shaking Lever told a Post photographer yesterday afternoon. “I am leaving on a long trip.”

Long trip my ass.

This is crazy!!! Crazy!!!!

I know him. I knew him. I went to an eighth grade dance with him. He was and is a dorky little Jewish Boy from Plainview, Long Island. I do recall however that the last time I saw him he looked a bit like Homer Simpson, and I remember telling one of my two friends that it was so sad. He had no hair. He had a beer belly, and when he was younger, if I remember properly, he also had a breathing problem. The kind that makes you want to puke - have you noticed how often I want to upchuck? -, the kind where you see the boogers solidified from one tiny ventricle on the roof of his nose. The kind of breathing problem where you want to scream “BLOW, DAMMIT, BLOW” but you it’s not the right time or place. However, the best thing about the “Chandelier Johnny” is that they’re generally easy to blow out of the nose, if you want to blow them out. And they fly pretty far. Sometimes farther they than should. Projectile snot. Like projectile vomit…only different.

So Steven J. Lever…I think I was at his bar mitzvah and he was at mine. One of the five boys who were brave enough to pretend to be friends with a dork like me. Speaking of which, most of you have probably heard me talk about this enough already, but tomorrow night, let’s just say I’ve decided to do a “coming of age” type theme. My bat mitzvah dress will be making an appearance..but not in it’s entirety.

Which reminds me..I have to go finish my project. It’s got to be done in time for tomorrow night.

One Final Thought: Maybe if I had invited Steven Lever to my birthday party, he wouldn’t have had to go to Ronkonkoma to meet a 13 year old girl!!! Maybe he would have realized, 13′s just not a good age for a 30 year old man. Or maybe now, he can get the help he really needs. Maybe he should be seeing a therapist. I guess it just depends…

Steven Lever, what the fuck were you thinking?

Disappearing Act

Sometimes people drop off the face of this earth. Sometimes they don’t really drop off but they just disappear. Maybe they’ve been picked up by UFO’s, maybe they’ve been kidnapped by some lunatic religious zealot, and maybe they’ll wind up on the back of a milk carton, where then you discover their real age and weight, and maybe, just maybe they come back into your life at some other point. But after they’ve been part of your life already, you don’t understand why they aren’t a part of your life anymore. That’s why I make up excuses about them leaving.

I recently found out that a boy I haven’t spoken to in over three years looked me up. Don’t ask me how, cause I don’t want to tell you, but I know he was here, at this site, looking at what’s gone on in my life. I had always wished he wouldn’t leave the way he did, always wanted him to get over himself, but realized that, with his strong personality and stubborn brain, this would never happen.

Then there are other people, who after weeks or months of talking all the time, or taking the time to get to know you, just simply disappear. I like to think that it’s an alien abduction thing, it makes me feel better, like it couldn’t possibly be because of me that they’ve gone missing. Maybe all of their communication skills were lost in the car accident that happened the night after the last time we spoke. Maybe they forgot everything about their life after they were poisoned by an apple by a secret witch who was envious of their talents.

I don’t know. I just feel like this week my communication signals with significant people have been screwy. I haven’t spoken much, or at all, with the people I normally speak to everyday. I don’t care if you’ve been in Spain or in New York or in and out of touch, or visiting life on another planet, all I ask is at some time you come back. At least to say hello. Let me know you haven’t joined the freak show in Coney Island or that you are married with two babies. Let me know. Cause I once cared, and once I care, it’s hard to stop.

So, get over yourself. Get over me. Get over whatever went right or wrong/did or didn’t happen. Get over my babbling and get the fuck in fucking touch.

Fuck. Get over the disappearing acts. They are so last year.

Dead Rat in the Freezer

Okay it’s not a rat, it’s a gerbil, but does it really matter? It’s been sitting in my friend Dave’s freezer, since, it, Pooter, the gerbil that was given to him back in 2000, died in 2002. Would you want to eat anything that came out of a freezer that you knew played burial site for a dirty, smelly, sick gerbil named Pooter? I’ve been sleeping at his place, and I love him for it, but get the fucking gerbil out of the freezer. I think I want to puke.

My birthday is in four days…well, three days, but who’s counting. I am not afraid or sad about turning 30, but I have so many expectations about my 30th year, and because of that I’m placing a lot of pressure on myself. That’s where my fear lay, in not doing enough in my life, although I’ve already done a lot…but, still, it’s not enough.

This morning I woke up at Dave’s, a.k.a. freaky gerbil freezer man, and he had a fantabulous surprise for me. Old streaming audio (and video) of - the talk radio station I used to work on on the Internet. We were more than slightly ahead of our time (we, meaning me and some of the others at eyada, we, not meaning me and Dave). Those were the best (working in an office) days of my life, and I’m glad I got to laugh really hard this morning. Memories. It juxtaposes the puke I wanted to projectile vomit when I heard about the rat, er, I mean gerbil. AND he promises that I can upload the bits of “The Chaunce Hayden Show” and hopefully, you’ll be able to hear them, and me, and him, and Chaunce, and…well, you get the picture.

Speaking of pictures. I was one freaky looking kid. I think I have one of the biggest heads I’ve seen on a little girl in a long time. It’s scary….but not as scary as a dead Pooter in the freezer.


So spur of the moment I am sometimes. On Saturday night my friend Abby asked me if I had any interest to go with her on a sploshing adventure. I had heard about sploshing, the erotic fetish involving food fights, and while it had never interested me sexually, I knew that it had it’s niche. I don’t know if it was because I was plain curious or because I was curious and didn’t want Abby to have to do this alone, that I agreed to go.

Lenny picked us up in front of Abby’s apartment at around 3PM. He fit the typical fetish mold, if there were such a thing, of nice nebishy older man who still lived in the house he basically grew up in and worked a regular job. And of course he happened to be a fiscally conservative, socially liberal Republican. Abby was afraid it was going to hurt, because she had heard that it can. The fact that she had known other people who had partaken in the pie face shot made me feel better about the whole thing, because I will admit, that for a moment I floundered about going, only because I could imagine us running for our lives in some field off of Route 3 in New Jersey as this depraved sicko threw pies at us and pointed his NRA approved handgun.

Lenny looked like the father on “Family Guy.” picking us up in his leather Cadillac, or car that resembled something like that. He was an aggressive driver, which began to scare me more than the thought of us running scared and naked across some corn field, and I was more than relieved when we eventually made it out of the city and to our hotel. The hotel, okay, it was more of a motel, was actually quite nice, and cheesy, with a mirrored ceiling over the bed, and a really modern, newly redone bathroom. It was one of those motels where they knew you weren’t going to be staying all that long, no shampoo in the shower, no cups for drinking water. I don’t know if Lenny paid by the hour or the night, but we weren’t there very long.

He got everything ready as Abby got dressed. She had brought a few outfits, as she was scheduled to sit there and take pies in the face in two different scenes, and as Abby buckled up her leather corset, Lenny prepped the room. First he covered the back wall and the floor with disposable dropcloth. Next he placed a folding chair in the center of the dropcloth and placed even more dropcloth over that dropcloth. Then he covered the bed with one final sheet, set up the video camera and began meticulously placing pies on the bed. There were 32 pies total, 8 per box, 16 per shoot. (I have so many more pictures of this experience, I promise to link to an album soon).

The pies were all chocolate and coconut cream. Abby says the chocolate tasted much better than the coconut, but I’m jumping ahead of myself here. Once Abby was ready she sat down in the chair, and Lenny asked me if I’d mind manning the camera. I guess this means I officially got my adult directing debut doing a pie fetish video in a cheap motel in New Jersey. Sort of exciting.

Lenny took great pleasure in smearing the pies in Abby’s face, in her hair, down her top, and once in a while, upon her request, on her ass. It was really funny to watch. Super messy and smelly, although the chocolate did give the room a nice scent, I couldn’t help but laugh everytime Abby got smashed in the face with another pie. I tried to look and see if Lenny got an erection, he had already told me he used to get hard when he saw the Three Stooges pie a pretty lady in the face, but I really didn’t want to look that hard, so after a while of not really looking to closely at his baggy shorts, I decided to stop caring.

Every once in a while, when Abby’d wipe pie away from her eyes, she’d exclaim that there was indeed light in here, and then she’d look in the mirror and crack up. Abby finished the first sixteen pies with only minor breathing difficulties - have you ever had cream pie shoved up your nose? and then got up, got cleaned off, and did it a second time.

We were done at little more than two hours after we began and it was a great experience. Lenny was super nice, super harmless, although a little bit intense in his pie fetish, and a super cordial host. He even invited Abby and me out to dinner at a later date. I do want to go, as I find his candid honesty and acceptance and pleasure so interesting.

So, that’s most of the story. Yeah, there’s some more, but I have work to do, and maybe, if I ever get paid to write this piece, I will and then you can hear all about it.

Until then, Lenny, if you ever need another director, I’m here for you baby, I’m here.

© Copyright Jamye Waxman M.Ed.