Posts filed under 'Birds, bees. (Sex)'
I wake up cranky and thwarted. “Damn it! I can’t even cheat on you in my DREAM. This stinks.”
“Mmmph,” says my husband. He would like to be more asleep than he is, but morning has landed hard on his chest. His wife is not even out of bed yet and already she is making very little sense.
“Do you cheat on me in your dreams?” I have a right to know. I keep an apartment in his head and if I’m going to bump into anybody in the lobby, I want to be prepared.
He opens his eyes. Some squinting. “Do I cheat on you? In my dreams?”
“Yes.”
He thinks. He thinks some more. “I really don’t.”
“It’s okay. You’re allowed to, you know. We’re supposed to be allowed to do that.”
“I know. But I really don’t.”
I believe him. Damn his noble mind. Damn my thwarted, less noble mind. It’s all very aggravating.
A few weeks later, the same damn thing. I wake up devastated and schlump around all day, knowing I have let the opportunity of a dreamtime slip right through my fat wedding-ring-laden fingers.
I bring it up with my husband that night, when he gets home from rehearsal. I am kind of mad at him. It might be his fault. His sweet Canadian-Jedi Mind Control. These aren’t the dreams you’re looking for, eh.
“I still can’t cheat on you in my dreams,” I say. I am being a little whiny. “Do you remember that conversation we had? Do you want to change your story?”
“I really don’t dream very much.” He pauses. “But I don’t think I ever cheat on you in my dreams. No, I never do.”
He is such a nice man; I can tell he is racking his brain for evidence of dream-cheating. He told me when he went to see The Dukes of Hazzard in Illinois during his business trip. He is that honest. He would tell me if he had dream-cheated; he would be happy to tell me. He has a hunch I am getting disgusted with the two of us and our unnecessarily loyal subconsciouses.
I make my little disgusted noise to confirm that I am getting disgusted. I like to confirm his hunches about me. I think it strengthens a marriage. “Errgh.”
He smiles fondly at me and takes a bite of the homemade meatloaf that Mama Stop ‘N Shop made for our home. I see now that my husband is pleased that we are not cheating on each other when we are lying side by side in bed at night.
My cheating heart is not pleased. “Last night? I met my celebrity boyfriend from The Office, and he thought I was great. He really liked me and I let him hold my hand for five seconds…AND THEN I TOLD HIM I WAS MARRIED.”
“Wow.” My husband is impressed.
“And then my celebrity boyfriend said, ‘Why did you have to move to the Berkshires?’ As in, he lived in the Berkshires too, and now he would have to be heartbroken and tortured with longing knowing that he and I lived in the same place and might run into each other. I am such an idiot.”
My husband chews his meatloaf thoughtfully, sympathetically. He doesn’t cheat in his dreams either, but all similarities between his brain and my brain stop after that.
I am very very very mad at my subconscious! I do not understand why It Hath Giveth and It Hath Taketh Away my celebrity boyfriend! It is so mean, my subconscious! I have been suffering from this dream-loyalty affliction for a very long time now. Before sleep, I beg my subconscious to let me pretend to be someone who looks like me except hotter and very not married. I tell my subconscious that I will make it a Mexican tin altar or a bathtub shrine with a picture of Freud pasted over the head of the Virgin Mary, if it will only let me be an oversexed adulteress in my head once every few weeks.
Now I’m indignant, all sizzly and jumpy like the stir-fry vegetables at that famous Japanese restaurant where you sit around and politely watch the chef be a chef but all you really want to do is hold a gun to his head and point at your plate because you’re tired of working so hard at looking revved up about him and his jazzy Ginsu knife.
That was supposed to be an analogy about the stir-fry vegetables, but somewhere along the way, it turned into something else. Let’s move on. We were talking about not cheating when you could be cheating with your celebrity boyfriend from The Office.
“I just think it’s all a HUGE STUPID WASTE,” I say. “A waste of PERFECTLY GOOD DREAMSPACE. We are wasting opportunities for GOOD GUILT-FREE EXTRAMARITAL ACTION.”
“Hmm,” says my husband. He is through with his meatloaf, and has now moved on to his carrots. In his case, a carrot is really just a carrot. I love him for it, but I still want my celebrity boyfriend. Come back, celebrity boyfriend. Please come back to me. Dangle your carrot that is not just a carrot.
March 30th, 2006
My mom’s birthday is tomorrow (that’s right! go wish The Mater a happy birthday!), and Mother’s Day is coming up, so I’ve been looking for just the right thing for my favorite little lady.
So there I was, about a week ago, perusing the Gaiam (”a lifestyle company”) catalog wondering if my mom would like a Zen fountain or some yoga pants, when I stumbled upon this intriguing item.
At which point I checked the cover of the catalog to make sure it was, in fact, the Gaiam catalog and not another sort of catalog altogether.
Yup.
“Dear Gaiam Customer Service Team,
I’m searching for a special gift for my mom’s birthday, and the Kegelcisor (#43-0043 and #15-0786) really caught my eye. Your organic cotton pajamas (#04-0288) look very nice, but this year I want to get my mother something she’d never get for herself. I figure she’d get a week (tops) out of a vase of roses, but I get the distinct impression that the Kegelcisor is forever.
Before I splurge, I have a few questions:
1) Your catalog description says that the Kegelcisor comes in two sizes (the original Kegelcisor, 7″ long, and the Kegel Enhancer, 3 7/8″ long). I see online that the original Kegelcisor is $80, but the more petite Enhancer costs a full $10 more. This seems counterintuitive, but it’s true that I am not well-versed in Kegelcisors. I assumed the “more bang for your buck” concept would apply to the 7″ model, but now I’m wondering if the mini version (”ideal for beginners and those who want a smaller device”) is the way to go for Mom. Can you explain the price difference?
2) If I go in this direction for my mom’s birthday, I want to be sure I can explain the Kegelcisor’s features to my mother in full, so she doesn’t wind up using it as a rolling pin or as a stake for her tomato plants.
The Gaiam catalog description says “when inserted, the cool (70-degree F) temperature automatically causes your pubococcygeus (PC) muscle to contract correctly, and with regular use, helps reduce incontinence and enhance pleasure.”
Can you be more specific? My mother is the kind of woman who likes to follow a recipe exactly. Does the Kegelcisor need to be kept in the refrigerator between uses, or will it stay at room temperature? Does it require a cool-down period to keep it from overheating?
3) I know my mother will ask me about the three distinct lumps on the Kegelcisor. I was wondering if the manufacturer provided your company with any material on that feature?
4) I was thinking about having my mother’s bowling nickname engraved on the Kegelcisor, but I’m worried that the “lightly textured stainless steel” surface might not take engraving well. Thoughts?
5) I’m assuming this is a all-sales-final no-returns item?
Thanks for any additional information you can provide on the Kegelcisor, the gift that keeps on giving. Apparently!”
_________
Sadly, the Gaiam Customer Service Team has not responded to my product inquiry.
_________
I had better luck at the manufacturer’s site, where the customer reviews were compelling:
“I love my Kegelcisor! Being stainless steel, it shall never wear out! Every woman should own one!! Thank you!!!”
“All I have to say is wow. Sometimes I leave it in and do my daily activities. IT IS SO AMAZING!!!!!!!”
“Unintimidating, sturdy and effective. Easy to use but would prefer to have explicit exercise instructions. Quick note, being stainless steel it conducts heat easily so be prepared to gently warm it up on a cold day and definitely wait for it to cool if you have put in boiling water.”
_________
But I needed more info. I found another place online that offered the Kegelcisor—a friendly company called Babeland—and emailed my questions.
A very nice lady named Kerry responded right away:
“Hello Jenn,
Thanks for writing. The Kegelcisor does have a paper with slight instructions. For a warmer and thorough welcoming, you might want to include Betty Dodson’s book “Sex for One” and a bottle of lubrication with your mother’s gift.
We also carry Betty’s Barbell, but the Kegelcisor is made of solid stainless steel and doesn’t have the possibility of chipping, so it’s safer.
The PC muscles can be exercised with or without a weighty kegelcisor, by squeezing and releasing the kegel muscles in a set of reps; it’s the same motion as stopping a flow of urine midflow. The coolness of the Kegelcisor can definitely contribute to the PC muscles contracting. However, like iron weights at a gym, room temperature will suffice to keep it cool. If she’d like it colder or warmer, she can run it under water or put it in the fridge. The bulbous parts of the Kegelcisor ensures that it bumps against the right places.
I advise against engraving the Kegelcisor unless your mother uses it with a condom. Bacteria can grow in the grooves and lead to yeast infections.
Babeland’s 30-day returns policy allows returns for any reason for this product, even after it has been used, so it’s a no-fear purchase.
Your mom’s a very lucky lady to have a thoughtful daughter as you.
Good luck and tell your mom, Have fun!
Kerry
Babeland Customer Fulfillment”
_________
All of which left me thinking:
Who is Betty?
Why does she do that with her barbells?
I forgot to ask about gift bags.
March 14th, 2006
The window of opportunity has closed, but it’s still nice to see ‘pudgy’ and ‘yum’ in the same sentence.
Continue Reading October 19th, 2005
Sure, it’s a suitable dress, if tantric wedding operas happen to be your kind of thing.
Continue Reading August 22nd, 2005
There are too many etiquette questions, too many social niceties left unaddressed, and this is why the prospect of public nude frolicking—even in the name of art—leaves me reeling.
Continue Reading August 5th, 2005
Lately, I’ve been receiving a lot of emails from a real friendly guy named Ron Black:
“Finally! I have always worried about the size of my penis. When I have sex, even though my wife says that the sex is good, I know that what she really wants is an extra inch!”
Continue Reading June 26th, 2005
