Because I have to get to my second of two doctors appointments in the next half hour, I’m not going to post much today. Well, okay, I’ll post a little, starting with, I think this might be my last trip to the therapist for a while. Wow, now that I write that word on this blog, I remember a scene from a play I once read, but I can’t remember the name of the play, I want to say it has something with Room or Girls in the title, but I’d be lieing if I remembered at all, but it’s this scene where one woman talks to another woman (how exciting) about how therapists rape you. The - rapists…. it’s in their name she says. Oh, yeah, I just remembered the name of the play, its called In the Boom Boom Room. I don’t know what part of my brain that came out of, probably the same part that triggered the recollection of “the rapist”…but I don’t think my therapist is a rapist at all, I just don’t think he’s doing it for me.

But the thing is, I don’t think any therapist would do it for me. Not after last night, when I went all psycho on the boyfriend, and the only person who could talk me out of my mood was me, although the boyfriend definitely helped. He’s one of the most amazing boyfriends I’ve ever met, and he’s really good at getting out of the way when my energy gets out of control. Well, most of the time. Last night he wanted to punch the wall…Again, totally my fault. But instead, or after, I don’t think he actually punched the wall, it was more of a simulated punch, he sat and talked to me and helped me discover things that therapists usually help people uncover. He talked a lot about solutions and not problems. And he’s much cheaper (as in less expensive) per visit. And today when I go to the therapist, I’ll wind up talking about last night and processing, but I don’t usually go away with any more solutions than the ones I came up with the boyfriend last night, or this morning, when I was more lucid. I think I am my own best therapist, or at least my own second best one, my boyfriend might be better than I am.

And all I really want to do is show him how sorry I am for how I acted last night. It’s this strange viscous cycle that happens to me every so often, and I can’t really describe it or define why it’s happening.

But I hate that it does. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my own issues when it comes to relating all week, and last night they just blew up and blew so out of proportion.

But things are better today…and I haven’t even gone to therapy, only to the dentist for a cleaning. Speaking of that cleaning, the hygeniest told me she’d give me some numbing gel to ease the pain, but that numbing gel is a farce, it doesn’t work, she just wanted to make me believe that it did. It’s okay though, because I like pain, and I especially like pain pressed up against my gums. I always have, it’s this sick little factoid about me, I used to scrape my gums with my nails just to feel the pain. I wasn’t abused as a child, it was just something I liked the feel of. And the cleaning brought me back to that “happy space.” Or maybe it shouldn’t be such a happy space - is this something I should talk to my therapist about?!

I just don’t think it’s working for me (therapy). At least not right now. The only person who can make me change, and recognize my change, and talk to me about MY change is ME.

Oh yeah, and Jonny (my boyfriend)…but basically I know it’s all up to me.

Me. Me. Me…yes, that’s what’s it all about….

I’ve had a headache on the right side of my head all day… it’s only on the right side, but I’ve had it since this morning, since I walked into work. I’m beginning to think a coat of fresh paint is more like a coat of fresh pain, and I’ve neglected the blog today, but I’m staring at white walls, and I don’t have a straight jacket and I can hear everyone else’s conversations, and I think it’s time for me to go home.

I’ve had some pretty incredible correspondences these past few days. One today and one yesterday (well the one yesterday wasn’t exactly a correspondence, it was more a package that was sent to me), and they both made me happy to not only be alive, but to be me.

Which is ironic, because I’m really grumpy right now for other reasons…I know, I know, I think too much…but if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be me.

Things I should have mentioned, but I haven’t.

Ho, Ho, ho…green giant…

I’m teaching a class this Sunday at Babeland (formerly Toys in Babeland) - the Mercer Street location - in New York. Tickets are $30 and it’s a class about exploring your sex life through the senses. This is not a class about learning to orgasm or even how to get to orgasm by rubbing your genitals in any way, it’s about foreplay and ADDING other things to your sexual repetoire. Oh, and it starts at 8PM. If you want tickets, you should call the Babeland store, or stop by the shop at 43 Mercer St. Their phone number is 212-966-2120.

Now..I’m also starting a series of salons that I’m uber excited about. This first salon is only open to women, so that I can create a comfortable space for ladies to talk about sex. The premier salon will be happening on Tuesday, December 13th, from 8-10PM at Happy Ending Lounge, 302 Broome Street - between Forsyth and Eldridge, in New York City. If you want to attend this class, you need to contact me directly at hottwax@gmail.com and let me know how many people are coming (not literally coming of course). It’s going to be totally cool, and we have the whole bar to ourselves, so there will be plenty of comfortable space for juicy girl talk! The salon will be divided into two sections, one about how to please your man…complete with tips and techniques, and the second about how to please yourself!!! The price is $40 and it includes two drinks and a goody bag. And I truthfully think its totally worth it.

Okay, now that I’ve talked about my class schedule, here’s something I’ve been wondering…

When you lose weight, does your vaginal opening get smaller too? (or vice versa when you gain it back)

It’s just something I’ve been thinking about since I’ve lost about 20 lbs. But, according to L. Lewis Wall, M.D., a reconstructive pelvic surgeon at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles, the answer is no. It’s practicing your kegel excercises that actually changes the strength and feel of the vaginal musles…but I knew that already, it was the weight thing I was curious about.

And here’s some other useless but interesting vaginal news, from Sexualrecords.com:

Average Vagina Size
3 inches along the posterior wall with a diameter of 0.8 inches, though in stimulated phase it balloons to 3.75-4.1 in long by 2.3-2.5 inches in diameter.

Average Clitoris Length
1 inch, though the part that shows, called the clitoral glans, is 0.20 inches long.

I guess you can say I’ve got vagina on the brain…

Once again it’s confessions of a woman who thinks to much, sponsored by me.

It’s a question I’ve been wondering ever since my last slip up this past Saturday. Being in love is tough for me, and I don’t understand why I don’t just continuously enjoy this experience. I’ve learned a lot about myself by being in love, and I’m learning about a side of myself that I haven’t really had the chance to get to know. It’s a totally young side of me that isn’t used to learning to grow up and share, and while it’s a skin I’m excited to slip into, I haven’t fully adjusted to how it looks.

In other words there are still bumps, or, more accurately, sometimes the sailing isn’t as smooth as it should be, and usually it’s because I’m creating waves.

Before I found love I was definitely on the prowl, constantly looking for the next best thing. And then I found “the best thing” instead, and he rocks my world (a phrase I once uttered to Ben Harper after grabbing his hand at a Horde Festival show in New Jersey where he was doing a meet and greet and I had to meet him because he did rock my world)…and still I have moments when I’m feeling sad, lonely or insecure.

And then I read in The Kite Runner, and it’s truly a small part of the novel, a phrase that I’ve allowed myself some time to think about and it makes being happy a bit scary to me because if I’m getting everything I want, does something bad have to happen to counterbalance the good? Or can I just enjoy this relationship without having to worry?

I konw I’m making the situation “less good” by worrying. And in this craziness I try to forget that he’s the man who’s reminded me about living, and the reasons I love myself and the reasons other people love me. And even though I can’t forget that he’s the man who’s made me believe in myself once again, and the man who has opened my heart once more, I still try to shut myself down every once in a while. And before I met him I was constantly letting myself forget, meeting people who didn’t value me the way I needed to value myself. I haven’t had a partner who was capable of completely loving me (well, one that I loved back) since I was 24, and trust me, that wasn’t a very healthy love.

So, I’ve been pondering if I’m crazy.

I love him more than I’ve ever loved anybody else in my life. I want to spend as much time with him as he’ll spend with me, and I want to live with him possibly for the rest of my life. And then I get four nights alone with him, nights we spend in a town far enough away from obligation, and on the third day, I become crabby and I close up like an oyster protecting it’s pearl.

I can acknowledge these feelings, even talk to him about them, tell him I feel cranky, but I can’t explain why. Perhaps it’s because I’ve ingested the last of my little white birth control pills, and now I’m onto the placebos for a week. Perhaps its because I haven’t written in a while. But since I can’t explain why I’m cranky, I get more upset. I mean I’m in the place I want to be with the man I want to be in that place with, and still I’m not happy enough?! What gives?

By mid afternoon Saturday I’m a wreck. I can’t figure it out, it’s not like he’s done anything wrong, in fact he hasn’t, and it’s not like we’re fighting, we’re not, and it’s not like we’re annoying the f**k out of each other, because that’s not happening either. It’s just that I’m really cranky. As in “I need to go sit in a corner by myself” cranky.

But I don’t want to be alone, so why the sudden urge to be alone?

He tries everything he knows I love (the list starts with sex and surprisingly ends there as well) to get me to come around, but I won’t budge. I try everything I can not to be happy, and that works better than his plan (well, since I get to control how I feel). He gives me my space and I don’t really want it, but I don’t want him in my space either. I don’t know what I want, I still don’t understand it. And all the while I know that I’m sad about the fact that we won’t be sleeping in the same bed on Sunday night. But it’s Saturday night now, and I’ve made myself sad a day early, and finally at 2AM I crawl into bed with him because I don’t want to sulk by myself on the couch anymore. And even though part of me doesn’t want to sleep, like some little rebel girl who feels that by staying awake she’s making some point, I know that being in his arms is the only place I want to be. So why am I fighting it, especially since I know that tomorrow I’ll be sad about sleeping alone?

And now I’m alone in my apartment in Williamsburg and I want to know if I’m crazy? I mean when I’m with him, I get myself all worked up about the times I won’t be with him and then afterwards I get all worked up about the fact that I got worked up in front of him and maybe this will make him see me differently and never want to live with me, or be with me, again. And then I hate when we aren’t sleeping together. And I know things are fine between us, but am I fine?

We’ve just returned “home” from The Squid and the Whale, that divorce flick starring Laura Linney and Jeff Daniels. Fantastic acting. Beautiful writing. Disturbing imagery. But what’s up with the ending, or rather the lack of resolution in the non-ending? Don’t mean to ruin anything for people who haven’t seen it and have been desperately meaning to get themselves to the theater to pay upwards of $10/ticket (in Philadelphia we got a bargain at $9), but, no offense, for all the good work put into this really fantastic film, I feel like I paid some dirty massage parlor to jerk me off, only the hour was up before I came.

I wish we had slipped into The Protocols of Zion, because at least then, I might have felt complete. But we left the theater before I realized that the next piece of propoganda started in just a few minutes. So no two fer this time. On the walk home my boyfriend and I started discussing the movie that we didn’t go see. He heard that the Protocols of Zion was some really bad propoganda, like that Walmart movie we saw, that it had a good message but that it took the Jew thing to an all new low. While I can understand what he means by this, in some way I have to think that all movies based on some sort of radical expression are looked at as propoganda - I mean Farenheit 911 got called the “p” word, and in a way it is, but so is the sh-t that our President talks on our local news channels before the children are even tucked away in bed.

And speaking of children, since speaking on propoganda will just get me to a place that will eventually lead to the same place that The Squid and the Whale led to, I will just say that I saw a 16 year old girl today, and I know for a fact she was 16 because I heard her aunt tell another lady that she was there with her 16 year old neice, but 16 doesn’t look like I remember 16 looking…or did I really think I was as old as I was when I was 16, and only now I realize I’m not?

Phew. Too much thinking for the day after I prepared my first tofurkey. I now know that I don’t just hate the taste of real turkey, but I also hate the taste of fake Turkey. But my boyfriend, the non-vegetarian vegetarian actually enjoyed the taste, and said it was the best tofurkey he’s ever eaten, and also told his mother that he’s eating tofurkey on Thanksgiving because that’s what you do when you’re in love, and that makes me love him even more than I already loved him which was a lot more than I ever thought I’d love anyone…

Other things I love:

Philadelphia (and the fact that it doesn’t feel like we’re in the U.S. right now)

Old colonial architecture

My friend Amy and her beautiful loft apt…the one that used to be an old wicker factory

Cooking…yes, this is even a surprise to me right now

A cat named Blue

Things I’m thankful for in 2005:

1. Love in my life (That means Jonny, that means friends, goddesses, family, and people who don’t even know me, but still read my columns or like my writing, or like me for me, or whatever…)

2. Choice

3. Health, Happiness and Heat in the winter

4. The ability to follow my dreams

5. Things I can’t remember but would hate to forget (that should cover everything else)

I have so many smart friends. I knew their were reasons to go to The Stud Farm, but when I wrote about it, I was also hoping other people would send me their reasons…and some of them did..

From my friend and the best expert I know on sex and technology, not that this has anything to do with technology, Regina Lynn:

As for what you’re paying for … it’s the attention, the knowledge thtat the guy is pre-screened not to be after your fortune and he’s not going to fall in love with you, the chance to try out fantasies in a safe environment with someone who won’t make fun of you or say no, the chance to play Heroine in a Romance Novel

From my super radiant goddess light energy girl friendHeather:

Regarding the stud farm, perhaps some women are paying for the ability to let their hair down/ indulge their fantasies/ do the stuff they’re afraid to ask a partner to do with them, without worrying about being judged — after all, they might think that a guy they’re paying for sex can’t judge them for wanting to do something kinky. Just a thought .

Smart ladies. Thinking of things that I may have thought but never said, so in that case does it really matter? It’s like, if a tree falls in the woods and no one hears it, did it make a loud crash?

I leave for Philadelphia today. To spend a few days next to the tomb of Ben Franklin and the house of Betsy Ross. But what I’m most excited about is that I get to play ‘house’ with my boyfriend, and we get to spend 3.65 days, or 4 if you don’t wan’t to be as anal about being exact as I am, together and alone. As in, nowhere else to go, no one else to see. I’ve been looking forward to this for a while, because I feel like even though we spend a lot of time together in New York, it’s not the quality time I often want it to be. The only bad part is that we’re both sort of sick and TMI! TMI! STOP READING IF YOU DON”T WANT TOO MUCH INFORMATION!!!! I’m bleeding like I’ve been shot between the legs, and it’s still a week before I should be getting my period, and I know this for a fact since I’m on the pill. But having just called my fantastic gyno, I’m not worried. Apparently, I shouldn’t be worried until this happens three months in a row, but still when you have an apartment to yourself and a whole weekend away, it’s no fun to be seeing red.

I’m going to try to blog again tomorrow, but since it’s Thanksgiving I might not. I want to try to think of something sappy to do this T-day with my B-friend, but I’m not in a sappy state of mind right now. In fact, I’m still in a, how many ways can I clear my nose in one day, sort of headspace.

We’re doing Thanksgiving alone, just me and him. No other family, no other friends, and I’m planning on cooking. Cooking is something fairly new to me, and therefore, I even had to get detailed instructions on how to make mashed potatoes - but I can’t wait to “slave away over a hot stove.” The cooking, the cuddling, the tofurkey. I’ve never had tofurkey, and I secretly hope it’s nothing like the real thing, since I’ve always hated turkey. Too dry, and no, I don’t like dark meat, well at least not when it comes to birds (at least, when I ate birds).

Gobble Gobble.

I was heading to a panel on porn when I got a text message from Chaunce. Hey U There - it asked, and within seconds we were on the phone. He was still amazed at how quickly his message had been received, and returned, as he sat by the bar at some chic restaurant in the 20s on the border of the east and west sides of Manhattan. “What are you doing?” I asked into the receiver, knowing full well that Chaunce doesn’t live in the city, but he’s always coming in to New York to attend some frou-frou party or talk to the latest ‘it’ girl. Tonight he was sitting at a bar…drinking…alone.

“You know Lisa and Brittany Gastineau?” he asked, “Well, I’m at a party for them. It’s some sort of cocktail party. They’re about to release a new line of dolls that look like them. You should come by, I have a plus one, plus nobody’s checking at the door.”

Now, I don’t own a TV and I’m not a big fan of celebrities who are celebrities because of who they married and what not, but I do love getting to see Chaunce whenever I can because it’s not all that often, and it’s almost always fun. So, I changed direction, and instead of heading to the panel on 34th and 5th, I found myself making my way to 24th and 6th.

The party was nothing special. The camera crew was there filming the latest episode for the reality show that the mother/daughter team star in. Never having seen the show, I asked Chaunce what it was about. “Oh, they live together and fight a lot.” And this, along with the fact that the release of these two dolls had brought out more press than some more important events I had attended, made me shudder.

And I grew sad.

That’s when I decided that this party had come to an end. So I went home. I wonder how the debate went, but the truth is, I feel like I had been to that same debate last week. Nobody from the adult video industry was represented once again, and it’s not fair to talk about this subject without fair representation.

So instead I sold two hours of my life to the Gastineau girls. And while it was a compeletely unsatisfying experience, the drinks were (at least) free.

Did you sign up for the newsletter yet?

Kudos to Heidi Fleiss. Using her “talents” to help satisfy the needs of female clientele when it comes to sex. She’s opening a Stud Farm to cater to women who are looking for some action, without any strings attached. Like Dennis Hof’s Bunny Ranch in Nevada, the Stud Farm (a conceptual brothel to be opened sometime in the near future) will be located in Southern Nevada. Nevada gets is, but why is the rest of the country so far behind when it comes to legalizing the sex trade? Now, another question, will women be enough of a clientele, or will the Stud Farm also allow gay or bisexual men to pay it a visit. Or will that turn women away? Not that it should, but it might…

I’m all for a place that caters to women, and I work for a company that would like to be dependent on the fact that women want sex and sexy things, but I’m still curious about clientele. Fleiss and her business partners should gear their farm towards women, and in doing so maybe women will continue to come out of the closet about their sexual appetites. Not that all women, just like not all men, have sexual appetites. I’m just saying that more women do than we’re given credit for. I for one, love sex.

seguing to relevant but not really relevant paragraph:

My friend Rachel is writing one of her Village Voice column’s about going “home” for the holidays - meaning going home with your boyfriend or girlfriend for the holidays. I’m heading to Missouri with my lover (didn’t want to use the term boyfriend in the sentence after the sentence in which I just used the term) so I eagerly volunteered to be interviewed for the piece. One of the questions she asked was, “Are you planning on having sex while with the family?” I had to laugh, because, going back to the sexual appetite thing for a minute, I love sex, and have a large, voracious appetite, and in order to satiate me, of course I’ll have sex in a town with a population of less than 200, and yes, meaning, yes, I’ll have sex at his parents house. My response to Rachel was, “we better have sex, I love sex.” Which is why I’m curious about the succ-sex of the Stud Farm.

Now back to your regularly scheduled program

I won’t be visiting the Stud Farm, but that’s only because I don’t think my stud-at-home wants to share me with other studs. And I’m cool with that. Now, if I were single and looking for a good story, which as a single girl I was always looking for a good story, then yes, I might have to see it for myself. But then again, I could go to the Bunny Ranch, and meet a nice lady, and the offer has been extended to me by the owner himself, but I’ve never taken him up on it, so why would I want to do this?

Now here’s the major obstacle I see for in the Stud Farm’s future. Women don’t have to pay for sex, we can usually find a willing participant, so is the Stud Farm really going to give women something they can’t get anyway..well, I guess maybe they can get a prettier man than they usually would if they’re paying for him, but other than that, what’s a woman going to get out of this that she can’t get for free at home?

Men don’t need attachment or the emotional stability. Men (usually) don’t care if you don’t call after the first f*ck. Men don’t need to see you again.

So, what are you paying for?

Last night I had the strangest dream. (Actually it was two nights and one weekend ago, which makes it harder to remember the details, but I’ve been singing this ever since) I sailed away to China in a little row boat to find you and you said you had to get your laundry cleaned…

As for the dream, well, in that dream I died in a plane crash. I’ve never actually died in any of my dreams before, and I woke up kind of freaked out by the fact that this time I had. I thought you couldn’t die in your dreams unless you were going to die in real life, and yes, we are all going to die in real life, so when I woke up to find myself still alive, I was very much relieved. Now, the other strange thing was I that I saw the date of my dream, and it was 11.22.05. (I know I’m not flying that day.) After I died, it wasn’t like I was gone, I had an all access pass to wander backstage for the show we call life, and I could see everyone, but nobody could see me.

I remember other details, but they aren’t all that relevant to the bigger picture. Dream interpretation is an individual business, with different books telling you different things about the same word. For example, when I looked up death (plane crash was much harder to find), one book told me that it meant change, while an online site didn’t have an explanation for one’s own death, but did have something about the deaths of others and it had nothing to do with change (see, maybe you’re not really supposed to be able to die in your own dreams?)

This dream was the first one I remembered with crystal clear clarity in a long, long time. And it was the first time, in a long, long time, that I physically popped up from a dream in order to end it.

I never did the Radio Chick radio show (note: redundant use of word radio). I had this guttural instinct this morning that something had happened to the show, but I didn’t have any messages when it was time to go, so I hopped on the trains to get there at noon. When we got there we found out the Chick had been cancelled from Sirius Satellite Radio because she was defecting to NY- Terrestrial-Soon-To-Be-Former-Alternative-Rock Radio Station, K-Rock.

Strange to show up for a show that isn’t showing. But not as strange as this weekend. *story will end here to build suspense for a possible future blog.

My friend Heidi (and subsequently two other people I know) were all interviewed for Nerve’s Sex Advice (from new parents) article. I decided to post her advice (my short comments are in parenthesis):

Heidi, 32
Is there anything your husband can do with your breasts while they’re sore from breastfeeding, or are they totally off-limits?
Well, the titty-fucking was far from the nipple so it wasn’t so painful. You get these porno boobs, which is so bittersweet because my husband just wanted to grab them and play with them but they were so painful, it was like this cruel joke. So I just let him look at them while I masturbate him. (She’s so hot, don’t you agree?)

I have a friend who’s pregnant and she’s worried that her husband is becoming less attracted to her the bigger she gets. I’m trying to tell her that if he’s acting more reticent toward her, there are probably legitimate reasons. What are some reasons I could give her?
He might be a little distracted by the pressure of being a dad and by financial pressures. It’s stressful for the dad because they don’t really know what to do while the mother is going through this process. He should totally be thinking that she’s the sexiest thing ever, the bigger she gets the sexier she gets, because she’s about to have their love child, a product of their beautiful sex. (This is so Heidi, of course, she answered the questions)

Should one try to dress sexy while pregnant?
If you just wear baggy clothes and throw on whatever, you won’t feel great about being pregnant and that could translate to motherhood. I thought to myself, “I have bigger boobs now,” so I bought some stuff that accented my breasts and my cleavage, and got some necklaces that hung down into the cleavage. You’ve never had boobs before, so celebrate them now. (Well, some people didn’t have boobs before!)

I’m a girl who wants her boyfriend to perform anal sex on me, but he thinks it’s gross. How can I make him more comfortable with that part of my body?
After a shower or a bath, while you’re going down on him, go down there a little with your tongue, introduce him to it. Start with fondling with your fingers and tongue, and then, in the heat of passion with a lot of lube, put your finger in and see if he likes that. He probably will because most people do, as long as you’re gentle. Get him used to it being performed on him. Then, if he knows how good it feels, he might be more interested in trying it on you. The key is don’t tell him you’re going to do it. Just do it.

How can new parents keep their sex lives active with all the exhaustion, responsibilities, bodily changes and spit-up that comes with a new baby?
A lot of tender hugging and kissing, if you’re too tired to have sex. Maintain that affection. And oral sex is a good thing to do, man on woman obviously, because it’s really healing. Porn. We definitely watch a lot of porn. And when you first start breastfeeding, your boobs get humongous, so do some titty-fucking. (see, above question for more on titty fucking)

I’m thinking about moving in with my boyfriend. We’ve been together for two years, we’re committed and we love each other. The main reason I’m moving in, however, is that it will be cheaper to split the rent. Is this a reckless use of our relationship? What advice do you have for couples moving in together in general?
One way to look at it this is to assume things happen for a reason. You can view losing your job is an opportunity to look at your lives together. It’s an opening to discuss your lives together. Rather than thinking, “We wouldn’t be moving in together if not for the job loss,” look at it as, “If not for the job loss, we wouldn’t have had this opportunity to have a conversation about our relationship and how happy we are together.” Just decide that you’re moving in because you’re in love with the person and you want to live with them (she really is this happy. Personally, I’ve almost done this before myself and was glad I didn’t. I think moving in together is a bigger deal than some people realize and that you have to be truly ready to work through shit when you live with someone. It’s nice to do, but it’s not that easy).

If you want to read the rest of the parent’s advice, it’s here.
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ALSO…I’m taping something for ivillage tomorrow and if you have a minute between now and say, midnight tonight…answer me this:

1. How can you tell if I guy isn’t into you?

3. Is sex on the first date always a bad idea?
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And one last thing. Tomorrow at 12 NOON I’ll be a guest on the Radio Chick on Sirius Radio. If you’ve got one, tune in. I’m doing a segment called Chick on Chick where I’ll be offering advice to guys who want to get insider information on the women in their lives. Could get interesting.