Playin’ ketchup (only not the condiment kind)

Moving isn’t fun. I don’t know why I thought it would be, and I don’t know why I thought unpacking would take half the time that packing did, but it’s just not the case. It’s been an interesting weekend. I LOVE the apartment, it’s absolutely charming and magnificent, but it’s been trying. I only realized this past weekend that I moved in with my boyfriend. Okay, scratch that, I knew all along that I was moving in with my boyfriend. But I only realized this past weekend, what that really meant. That it is and was a bigger deal than I played it out to be. That now we’ve made a committment to stay together, and to get along, at least for the remainder of our lease. And that’s a whole year, and we have to share a not-too-small but not-too-big space. And we both know how to love and test each others limits real well.

Anyway. Here’s a sex tip du jour:

Add a bit of lube to the head of the penis before unrolling a condom down the shaft. This adds moisture to his schlong, and will help decrease the

Moving Day (again)

It could be worse. I could have this much crap.

Packing has made me insane, as in crazy like a fox, although I’ve never fully understood the term, nor used it before, but today it feels appropriate. Countdown, less than five hours til we move. This is my third move in 19 months. At least I’m only moving four blocks. At least I’m not moving back into the roach-infested housing projects.

I want to write so much on the fine points of moving in with your lover, but I’m still staring at all the crap I’ve acquired over the past lifetime and wondering why it never felt like so much before?

And, it’s also the first day I’m posting on Souldish. My column is called Relationshifts and while I try to work out how to write this thing, I’m posting the rest of this as my first installation. So here’s a teaser. Read the rest here:



I sometimes think that if I was getting paid to write this blog, I’d feel less guilty about stopping everything I’m doing because of this sick compulsion I have to write. But it’s not the only compulsion I’ve got, and since it’s one of the less offensive, less annoying ones, it’s one that I continue to carry on with. Since I’m sharing my compulsions, here are some others:

1. I feel the need to pick my nose while in a car. It doesn’t matter if I’m driving alone or sitting as a passenger, when in a car, surrounded by windows, and sometimes at a stoplight, I’ll dig deep into the warmth. The bigger the booger the better. I don’t eat them anymore, now I usually wipe the on a tissue if one should be available, otherwise on my clothing, the car, or whatever I need to to get it off my finger. I just picked my nose now, because like yawning, after talking about something, you sometimes feel inclined to do it.

2. I pick my nails and my skin too. It looks gross, it’s painful, but I do it anyway. I actually enjoy the pain, and have, since a child, enjoyed certain types of pain (yes, that also makes me a masochist). I usually pick or bite my thumbnails. My sister used to do the same and now her thumbnail is totally fucked up, but I can’t stop. I know I must, but like I said, it’s a compulsion. If you see, you’ll notice that my right thumb isn’t looking too hot these days.

3. I have a compulsion for new sponges and toothbrushes. I can’t use a sponge or a toothbrush for long periods of time. I’m constantly changing them, for fear of germs. If I see someone wipe the countertop with the dish sponge it goes bye bye and must be replaced. Yet, I am not a germaphobe in the least in most other ways. And I just got a sonicare, so I’m sure that will change.

4. If the window is open, I compusively look at my email inbox while online. I usually have to shut down the email in order to focus. It’s not that I want to feel needed, it’s that I feel like it’s my only contact with the outside world.

Eros Zine

Looks like I made it!

Check out Eros Zine.

Are you in?

Online Dating

mercy ME.


I should mention

I’m doing a women’s only sex salon next Tuesday, January 31st, at 8PM @ Happy Ending Lounge. The cost is $40 and it includes:

1. two free drinks
2. 90 minutes of girls talking about our bodies and sex
3. A parting gift bag with at least one sex toy and other yummy goodies.

If you’re interested here’s the breakdown:

The salon is going to focus on two things. You and Him. Even if you don’t have a him you could still come to learn about you, and then stay to learn about a him for some later time.

It’s salon style, so we’ll sit around, chill, sip drinks and talk. The bar itself doesn’topen until 10PM which means PRIVATE GIRL TIME.

I think it’s worth it, but hey, it might be because I’m the one teaching it. But it might be so much more. Ladies - you won’t know until you come!

So if you think you fit the bill, and you want to spend a Tuesday night together, email me at

Tuesday, January 31st
8PM - 9:30PM
Happy Ending Lounge (LES/Chinatown, NYC)

You must RSVP to attend.

I’m on iVillage Dot Com

I can’t get a direct link, so go here
and then watch video of me (although they’ve linked it wrong, to a man named Steve Nakamoto, but it will be taking care of Monday, so they say) talking about:

1. How to tell if a guy is into you
2. Sex on the first date
3. What if you (she) makes the first move

After you’re done watching these, there are a number of other segments available for your viewing pleasure. I know a lot of the guests in these segments, not to mention that I’ve worked closely with the host, and I must say, they are well worth a look. At least if you like what you see, and you want to know more about What Men Won’t Tell You, But Women Need to Know (that’s the name of the show).


Sperm Bank Babies

1. If you were dating some guy who donated his sperm to a sperm bank somewhere, sometime before you ever met, would that be okay with you?

2. Would it still be okay with you if, years later, you’re happily together with that guy and you have “that guy’s” babies of your own, and his old-sperm-bank-sperm-turned-baby contacts him because it wants to know its daddy?

3. If you were a sperm bank baby would you want to know your daddy?

4. Should sperm bank babies have the right to know their sperm daddy’s?

For some reason, and it isn’t that I’m dating someone who donated his sperm to a sperm bank (the more I write sperm the more I realize I like the sound of the word sperm and I like to say sperm…s-p-e-r-m, and I don’t mind the taste of sperm and…), because I don’t think he has, at least not to my knowledge, but it’s something I’ve been thinking a lot about lately. I think it’s because of a story I read a while back about a sperm bank baby who was seeking out its father. It’s kind of scary really, if you think about it. A college kid donates sperm for quick and easy money and years later he finds out that he’s not only a daddy, but the kid wants him to be his daddy.

I don’t know what I’d do. But I’m not sure that a person should ever have to leave any identifying info, like his name, at a sperm bank. Maybe you don’t have to leave your info, maybe I should do more research into sperm banks before I post this, but I’m thinking about it now, so I’m posting it.


Me and my news

Blue: After hitting the bottle.

I’m a clown in the circus, the one who learned to juggle, only I can’t really juggle and I keep dropping things.

I’m a hamster in a glass cage with to many toys and not enough space, only I don’t want to throw anything out.

I’m Augustus in the Chocolate Factory with everything going for me, only I get too excited and I fail to see beyond the Chocolate river.

I am a little bit of all these people, but at the same time knowing that I am all of these things puts me at an advantage. I can change. I can take my weaknesses and make me strong.

Nobody is watching me try to juggle. My cage isn’t glass and I can get rid of things. And I haven’t fallen into the chocolate river.

But for not working a full time job, I have no free time. Well, not none, of course I have as much free time as I want, but I’m not using most of my time in that way. Okay, yes, fine, I had a lot of free time this weekend when Jonny and I headed to Rochester, NY for a nice, fun time, but back in Brooklyn, things feel different.

And now here’s my big, personal news (oh yeah, give me the big news baby):

Jonny and I signed a lease TOGETHER last week. Yes, we’re moving in together. It’s both of our very first time’s living with a significant other, or former flova, or whatever, except for those three months I lived in SF and I had a relationship with an already unavailable man and he basically lived with me. But that was different. I also had a roommate, and it also happened to be his apartment. This is our place, our very own space to decorate and make a home. It will be the two of us and Blue, the most amazing Siamese cat I’ve ever met. He purrs like no other and I love to love him too much.

I’m really excited to live with my boyfriend. Everyone keeps telling me that this is such a big step, but the truth is, it feels right. Although this may continue to affect my writing, at least when it comes to a certain “dating” column, it’s something I’ve been wanting for a very long time. I think the time and the place were just right for both of us. He’s really excited as well. We move in less than two weeks and I can’t wait. I am so tired of constantly dragging my stuff from one place to another. I’ve been staying at his place these past few days because his roommates are gone. And it’s nice, but it doesn’t feel quite right because I’m still a guest in his home. When we get into our space, then this won’t be an issue.

And then I can focus on everything else that just might happen. And I will learn to juggle with less balls, I will get rid of the big, plastic wheel in my cage, and I will overcome the temptations of the Chocolate River.

Ladies Pee Standing

I’ve been doing some research for my next Playgirl column, and have come across a number of websites that offer products for women who want to pee standing up. Who knew it was such a competitive market with so many options? There’s the TravelMate or the Pee Zees, both devices designed for the serious standee.

For the non-commital, or throwaway community, there’s the Urinelle and the Whizzy. I like the Whizzy’s name best, because it makes me think of going down a slide. But that’s the only reason.

I tried to use a Pee Funnel from Pee Funnel Camp at Burning Man but preferred to squat over the toilet instead. But maybe I just wasn’t cool enough to get it. Maybe, I’ll buy some of these products and test them out and see what the deal is.

Oh, and I learned the basics to pee standing up. It’s all about spreading your inner lips wide. But what if you don’t have a lot of inner lip to spread? Well then I guess it’s about spreading any lippage open so that the urine doesn’t trickle down your leg. The trickle down is definitely one of the negatives of squatting. That and the seat sprinkinling. Once in a while it doesn’t hit exactly where you want it to, and that’s when it pays to learn to pee standing up.

Still, I’d rather be sitting.

© Copyright Jamye Waxman M.Ed.