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  • Losing My Virginity

    I am not sure why I feel compelled to tell this story. Maybe because I spent an ample amount of time watching Madonna videos with my child over the weekend? By the way, if you ever want to challenge yourself intellectually, try watching “Like a Prayer” with a four-year old who expects you to explain the symbolism of making out with a black Jesus statue that cries blood.

    When we got to “Like A Virgin,” and I watched as Madonna writhed around Venice with a lion, I began to think back to my own virginity. Where had that pesky thing gone, and could I get it back for this networking party I am going to?

    Virginity is sacred. I say that not from a religious or moral perspective, but rather an observation of its impermanence. There is innocence to virginity because you are protected from the absurdity of mashing your genitals against another person. Although at times if can be hard to appreciate, it is still something to maintain and cultivate like a bed of flowers – even if you want someone to garden with. Virginity deserves to be cherished. Once you start having sex, you never stop. Everything after it is colored with a different context. A kiss no longer begs the question of if it will lead to sex – but when. That is the main reason to hold to your virginity is once you let go, it never comes back.

    Fly little virginity bird… fly far far away!

    We all have our “losing our virginity” stories…. This just happens to me mine.

    I was in the 8th grade, and one of my best friend’s was the “bad boy” of our class – so obviously I was into him. By the way… I went to a really preppy school, so being “bad” meant he took French instead of Latin. One day we were on the phone talking about sex while I was doing my math homework.

    Toni: What is the big deal? I don’t get it. Anyway… do you know what 30% of the square root of whatever is?
    The Boy: I don’t know… Hey, so maybe we should just do it and find out what it’s all about?
    Toni: Okay fine.

    I actually didn’t really care what it was all about, or what the big deal was. I had never even kissed a boy except once while playing “truth or dare.” It wasn’t the worst thing ever, but I also found that experience to be less enjoyable than eating skittles. I guess I was curious about sex… but I think my real motivation was that I was bored.

    The Boy came over while my parents were at the movies. He brought some weed and condoms even though I am pretty sure neither of us had any STDs, nor had I even gotten my period yet. We smoked a joint, and reality melted in that unique way that it does when you get high at 14.

    We went over to my bunk bed, and he went down on me. It lasted for about an hour, and I know that because I was looking at this pink radio clock next to my head. It would play “Here Comes The Sun” to wake me up, and I remember thinking how that song was probably my least favorite of Beatles – except for Revolution! That one really sucks. I didn’t hate what The Boy was doing, but I also wasn’t really paying attention. I knew it was a nice gesture though.

    Eventually I got up, and we sat next to each other wondering what to do next. We talked a little bit about how our English teacher was an asshole, and how science class would be okay if we dissected more stuff. We then decided that They Boy should take off his pants. Now, I had never seen a penis besides my brother’s when we were kids in the bath, so I didn’t understand why The Boy’s was pointing upwards rather than hanging down. I asked The Boy “Why is your penis floating like that?” and he looked at me REALLY confused.

    You guys this was the 90-s!! There was no easy access to porn! I had never seen an erection before!!! The only adult nudity I had ever been exposed to was my grandfather’s Playboys – and those were all naked girls. I had heard of boners before, but I didn’t really know what it meant in the flesh.

    After staring at his suspended penis for a while, we then discussed the concept of my giving him a blowjob – which also needed an explanation. I felt this was a fair trade considering The Boy’s previous effort, but I was also tentative about actually putting a penis in my mouth.

    Toni: But you pee out of there?

    I then had the amazing idea of going down stairs to get coffee ice cream to put on his penis so it would taste better. I guess had a lot to learn about the laws of physics, and the effects of cold on tissue… but I was right about the ice cream tasting delicious.

    We then had sex. At least we both thought we did. At one point he told me to turn around so we could try doggy style. I still had braces on my teeth.

    We then swore each other to secrecy and went back to being friends. I feel lucky that I happened to have a partner who was not only kind, but also prioritized my taste buds over his shrinkage. Even though we were both WAYYYYY to young to be having sex, at least he spoke French.

    (Here is my braces clad 8th grade self)

    virginity-blog-(i)

    November 10, 2014 • Musings, Old School Stories, Relationships, Sex Stuff, Vagina Stuff • Views: 4562

  • Manicuring Pubic Grass

    Kids these days are waxing off their public hair so their genitalia looks like Daddy Warbuck’s head. Ripping out their private fabric so they’re as smooth as a marble countertop at an ice cream shop.  It is all the rage in porno culture and has become so pervasive that having a full bush is as rare as an honest politician. As a feminist, I am not supposed to be into  because said hair has a functional/sanitary purpose, and  removing it leaves women vulnerable to bacteria.  At the same time, it can block our little man in the canoe, so that is something to consider…. just saying.

    There’s a lot of rhetoric around men liking women to shave/wax because they want them to look like little girls, but I don’t really think that’s true. Most guys I know haven’t seen a lot of naked little girls, nor do they lust after them.  I don’t think a hairless cootch is a return to some sexual awakening because the majority of eight year old boys aren’t getting any. I think guys like it because it is easier to see what is going on and when his face is buried in the canyon, the hint of pee isn’t lingering in the follicles. Just as there are practical reasons to keep your pubic curtain, there also are reasons to spread it.

    Although there is logic to manicuring one’s pubic grass so it doesn’t get stuck in the teeth of  a loved one, I also think there is great potential in branding your crotch with the shape of your hair.  I mean, can’t we get more creative than a “landing strip?”  Why bother going through the trouble only to end up with a Hitler mustache?

    Why not wax your pubes into an outline of an om to prove your spirituality? Or demonstrate your punk rock personality with a vaginal silhouette of Iggy Pop? I think preppy girls should groom into a Burberry plaid and intellectual women could perhaps coif their tufts into prose from Kierkegaard. There is so much potential that is wasted when the whole mane is stripped away.

    More ideas worth consideration (applicable for men too btw — you don’t want to tickle your lady friend in the nose when her mouth is full of oysters):

    1) An alien landing pad (no explanation needed)
    2) A selfie (obvi)
    3) A bottle of champagne (so everyone knows you are a boss)
    4) Who you are voting for in the next election (so your politics are known before things get too far)
    5) An iPhone (so it gets lots of attention and finger work)
    6) A map (again, no explanation needed)

     

    public-grass-blog-(i)

    September 18, 2014 • Musings, Vagina Stuff, Women's Business • Views: 2367

  • Do You Like Kissing for Kissing’s Sake?

    Have you ever wondered why we lick each other’s tongues? Kissing is one of those rituals that seems normal, but when you think about it for too long it is actually strange as fuck. What possess us to open our mouths at each other, and then mush them together? It is not like horses kiss… or lizards? Why do us humans have the desire to smack our lips together in a somewhat rhythmic fashion?

    There are a couple of theories. One is that just like birds or monkeys, humans used to “mouthfeed” their young. Meaning prehistoric Mammas would chew up their tiger meat, and then spit it into their baby’s faces for nourishment. I feel like I missed out on some pretty cool opportunities to get my kid to eat steamed Kale by not doing this. Just saying. So there was this pre-existing practice of mouths swapping contents, but instead of food adults would exchange salvia. YUM!

    Yet the reason why tasting another person’s slobber is relevant, is because there is a lot of biological information about a person’s health inside their drool. So licking up spittle is a way of mate selection… the better the taste and the better the kissers, the better the reproducers. So that is why some people taste like rat skin! Thanks nature!

    Even though we all enjoy kissing, I do think that the genders have different relationships it. Often times, chicks like to kiss for kissing’s sake. That is why drunk girls will get all sloppy and kiss each other. Don’t freak out…. I am not hating on inebriated same sex making out. I have done it. But it wasn’t because I wanted to feel my friend’s boobs or anything – I just wanted to experience the sensation of the kiss. A girl can be totally satisfied by a kiss, and in many cases that is all she wants.

    Just because a girl kisses you doesn’t mean she wants to fuck you, but I would bet 99 times out of 99 times when a guy kisses you, he is basically saying “lets do this with our crotches too okay?” Dudes mostly regard kissing as a precursor to sex. I bet a tongue going into a mouth just reminds them of other pointy things they have that likes going into stuff. When you kiss guy, they get a boner, and then they are like “hey, this wont’ go away until I put it inside of something warm. So you have any holes you want filled or what?”

    It is not that ladies owe a guy sex just because she kisses him, but chances are that he is going to bring it up – since it is up anyway. So for the girls who want to make out but not bang, they then have to say, “maybe you need to put that into a cup of custard instead of me because I just was just looking for a kiss.” But it is kind of awkward to reject a guy after you kissed him because he gets this sad disappointed look on his face, like you just kicked a kitten in the twatt.

    Sooooo I have an amazing idea to solve this problem. You know how dudes drug girls with roofies? Chicks should drug guys with anti-boner pills before kissing. They could just slip it in their Miller Light, make out as much as they want, but not have to deal with him trying to poke her with his penis. Everybody wins!

    (Here is Miley Cyrus kissing some pretty weird shit – you’re welcome)

    kissing-blog-(i) kissing-blog-(i2)

    September 4, 2014 • Musings, Relationships, Sex Stuff • Views: 7120

  • Turning Rape Into Art

    A Columbia student, Emma Sulkowicz, has taken the experience of her rape and turned it into a performance art piece. She has vowed to carry a mattress everywhere she goes as long as she is forced to attend the same school as her rapist. The mattress is meaningful not only as a metaphor for the burden she must carry, but also signifies the actual object where here rape occurred – in her dorm room bed.

    This is the second time I have heard of a young woman transforming her experience of rape into art. The other was Jessie Kahnweiller who made a video satirical called “meet my rapist,” where she runs into her rapist at the farmers market and then starts stalking him, much like the memory of the rape stalks her. The rapist then becomes Jesse’s shadow, and haunts her in every situation as she tries to continue living a normal life. With both these women the message is clear – if you have been raped, the rape doesn’t disappear after the actual act is completed, but it follows you as this abysmal load you are forced haul around everywhere you go.

    Sex is a huge part of relationships, intimacy, and adulthood. When you have lived through an act that taints your connection to sex, then you can never go back to your pre-rape attitude towards it. You instead have to rediscover your sexuality post trauma, which has to be incredibly challenging. I am sure that people who have been raped want to get “over it” or “move on” with their lives, but how could you not be reminded of the incident every time you are at your most vulnerable – in the bedroom with someone else about to enter your body.

    The fact that these women are expressing their pain through art is pretty remarkable. Watching someone struggle with a mattress is so pedestrian that it is in a way more relatable then trying to understand what it feels like to be raped. It contextualizes the experience so that people who haven’t been raped can viscerally connect to the emotions behind the aftermath. People who haven’t been raped need to understand the plight of those that have. How else are we going to stop rape until everyone has some sort of emotional understanding of the brutality, and feels the same impassioned need to do something about it.

    But it does make me wonder about the guys who are doing the raping? How do they feel about that same memory? Powerful? Guilty? Remorseful? Or maybe even worse … do they not think of it at all?

    rape-art-blog-(i)

    September 3, 2014 • Current Events, Women's Business • Views: 2282

  • Does Always Wanting More Make you An Addict?

    The problem with good things is that they leave us wanting more. If I have a bite of delicious cake … I want more. I have some good sex…I want more. I try some amazing pure Columbian cocaine…I want more. The nature of pleasure is to desire more, more, and more of it.

    Part of being an adult is learning to moderate the seduction of indulgence. We are expected to find balance because we have the foresight to understand that too much of a good thing is actually bad. Too much food destroys your heath. Too much sex gives you bumpy rashes. Too much drugs can kill you. Understanding boundaries is part of growing up. The alternative is to end up an addict.

    The thing with kids is they don’t get it. They have no concept of time, so rationalizing the limitation of a certain behavior because of future consequences is futile. I can tell my kid “Look, if you eat all that chocolate you are going to feel sick and shit your brains out later.” Her response will always be “I don’t care.”  It is up to me to moderate her intake, because left to her own devices The Munch just doesn’t give a fuck.

    I’ve tried letting The Munch totally indulge, so she could do a little soul searching on this subject. The prevailing logic was that she would realize for herself the results of excessive behavior, and consider the impact the next time she is faced with temptation. Yeah. No. That really didn’t work. Saying to my four year old “Remember last time when you ate too much ice cream and felt really sick,” only resulted in yet another “I don’t care.”  Whatever memory of the ice cream tummy ache from the past held no power over the delicious taste of ice cream in the present. I guess The Munch is very Buddhist because she only exists in “the now,” but the awareness of past or future effects is a pivotal part of learning restraint.

    The Munch is relentless in her quest for more of everything. She is never satisfied and this is annoying as fuck. She will make a promise like “Mom, let me watch something. I will only watch one episode of My Little Pony I promise. Then you can turn it off and I won’t fuss.” So I let her because I trust her* (*want to get away from her) but when her stupid neon colored show is over, The Munch immediately says, “okay just one more. I PROMISE!”

    While I admire The Munch’s commitment to negotiation, everything becomes a battle because of her inability to be content with what she just had. She will literally be eating a cookie while asking for another. I will be like “Dude, you don’t need to double fist cookies. Just relax and appreciate what you got!” But then she will start crying because I won’t give her another cookie WHILE SHE IS STILL EATING THE FIRST FUCKING COOKIE.

    Here is my dilemma. I can’t tell if The Munch’s excessive wanting “more” of everything is a result of her age or a precursor to a struggle that she will battle with for the rest of her life. I don’t want my kid to grow into an adult with an addictive personality. That is how you end up in back allies doing things you really regret. And is a hard thing to overcome. It is difficult for me to distinguish between normal kid shit, and the makings of a person who is going to beat up old ladies to steal money for blow. It is a fine line, my friends.

    Munch: Mamma, can I bring two lollipops to the beach?

    Toni: No Munch.  One is enough.

    Munch: But what if I want another one? Let’s just bring two just in case.

    Toni: Munch, that is excessive. You don’t want to feed that part of your soul. We all crave more, but it is pivotal to know your limits. Being greedy is a detrimental trait because you will never be satisfied, nor truly appreciate anything. Be grateful for what you have. You are so lucky and have so much abundance in your world.

    Munch: Okay how about I eat one lollipop now, and we bring the other one for later.

     

    more-blog-(i)

  • The Preppy White Hiker

    Walking is like cocaine. Seriously it is. It releases the same endorphins, and stimulates the same of the brain that makes you want to talk.  Walking while talking makes you more open, and facilitates dialogue. If you are ever in an intense argument with someone, go for a walk together and immediately the energy will change.

    When you hike a mountain with someone, not only are you high as fuck from the altitude, but also the walking. Of course on your way up it is hard to communicate because you are trying to breathe while also wondering why you went hiking in the first place, and if you even like hiking at all.  Yet after you bask in the accomplishment of making it to the top, the hike down is prime opportunity for some epic conversations.

    My friend Sasha recently came to visit me, and we went on adventure hiking up a mountain. On our way down, we did what any normal person would do – start talking about sex. For the majority of the hike we were the only ones on the trail, so by this point all our inhibitions melted away as we got intimate – in the discussion… not with each other you pervert.

    We were going on and on about past experiences, fantasies, likes, dislikes – totally oblivious to the world around us.  Now, the way were were traversing down the mountain was in the following positioning. I was in front, while Sasha was behind – revealing herself as I was taking it all in.  Wait… stop begin so gross. I meant she was talking and I was listening.

    Just as Sasha was exposing one of the most personal private parts… of her story you sicko… I saw a man coming towards us.

    He was the quintessential white, New England hiker. I am pretty sure he is the type of dude who chops wood to warm his cabin at night, reads Thoreau with a warm glass of whisky on a whicker chair, and the only time he has ever talked about his feelings is when he said “see you later” to his dad on his death bead. This was not a man who seemed to be in touch with his emotions, nor would he ever share any personal details about his life beyond what brand of wool socks keeps you most warm once wet with morning dew.  He was wearing his hiking boots, shorts, plaid shirt, a back pack with water, and sun hat.  He was that guy.

    We made eye contact through the trees, and I wanted to communicate to Sasha that this man was coming – but I didn’t know how…  I just kept walking forward and letting her talk, sort of thinking everything was going to be okay because she must have seen him too right?  The Preppy Hiker kept walking towards us, and could hear everything that was coming out of Sasha’s hole…. in her face you horny toad!

    Sasha: Every time I have been in a situation where people are having sex right in front of me I get super turned on. I just really get off on watching other people fuck.

    Right as Sasha uttered that last word – she looked up and saw the hiker.

    White New England Hiker: Uhhhhh… Don’t mind me….

    That was pretty much the best moment of all of our lives.

    hiker-story-(i)

  • The Expectation of Sex

    When you are in a relationship, there is an expectation that you are going to rub private parts in some sort of a rhythmic fashion relatively often. Part of committing yourself to someone is the guarantee that you can get laid without having to spend a night on the prowl, hunting for someone to fluid bond with. We settle down not only for love, intimacy, and connection – but also so you don’t have to work as hard to get your rocks off.

    Recently, a husband sent his wife a spreadsheet documenting all the times he asked her for sex, and all the times she rejected him. Supposedly he tried to initiate banging 27 times over the course of 7 weeks, and was vetoed all but 3 times – sighting excuses such as “I am gross and sweaty, I am too full and drunk, you are too drunk, I need a shower I am gross, and I am tired.” So this charming husband sent his wife this document of proof, which she in turn uploaded to Reddit for the world to see.

    For me, the most important and relevant question that is not addressed is HOW did this man initiate sex? Did he just pull out his cock and balls and say “how about some of dese nuts?” Did he randomly grab her boob while she was watching TV and expect her to get all randy? Was he wiggling his ass in her face and pointing to his anus while she was unloaded the dishwasher? Context is important! If he was making an actual effort to entice her and she kept shutting him down than I think his frustration is somewhat justified, but if he was just pushing his boner against her ass while she was trying to reach for a glass of water, then come on man…

    There are obviously a lot of “red flags” when it comes to this particular “Microsoft Office” relationship, but I think the spreadsheet is indicative of a problem familiar to many couples. Sometimes one partner wants to boff, and the other isn’t interested. Obviously communication is key when it comes to a healthy sex life, but so is romance and courtship. When you first get together you would never assume sex just because your gonads were enflamed – you would put in a little “one two how’s your father” so the person you desire gets in the mood. In a new relationship you wouldn’t act like sex was a given, and there would be attention to sensuality.

    On the one hand if you have been with someone a long time, you don’t always want to cook a 7-course meal and light enough candles to create a fire hazard for a grind session. Yet there is a middle ground between a weekend Paris and pointing at your junk and grunting “now.” Just because you are in a relationship doesn’t mean you own their body, nor does it mean they owe their body to you. When part of a couple it is pretty common that someone will give into sex because they don’t want to reject their lover, not because they are actually interested in getting naked. People pout and get offended when turned down, but we also can be really presumptuous that it is something indebted to us.

    Sex should be a mutual exchange that is rooted in mutual desire. If you aren’t getting it enough, that is probably indicative of other parts of the dynamic that need to be addressed. Long-term monogamy isn’t exactly a recipe for lust, yet it is still important to throw a little game at your lover.

    expectation-of-sex-blog-(i)

  • How Did We Get From Wet T-Shirt Contests To Mass Blowies for A Beer?

    When I was 16, I went to Cancun for “spring break.” My friend Liz and I wanted to go somewhere where we could drink and go dancing. Mexico was the perfect solution. Of course our parents wouldn’t let us go un-chaperoned, so my 19-year old brother and a priest were recruited. Seriously, a priest came with us. He was a good friend of my parents and, luckily for us, he was also an alcoholic. The needs of all parties involved were met. Liz’s parents were reassured knowing their daughter was traveling with a priest, while the priest was too hammered to give a fuck about what we were actually doing.

    At that point in time, I had already exposed myself to a fair amount of adult living. I smoked pot, had sex, done acid, been to bars, tried ecstasy, and knew exactly how much to drink before I blacked out. I was no stranger to “party” culture. All we wanted to do in Cancun was find the foam parties and shake our asses to Adina Howard’s “Freak Like Me.” I guess we cared about meeting boys, but not really. We were also still pretty innocent. The trip was more about having fun with each other than a quest to make out with horny dudes, or get laid.

    I saw my first wet t-shirt contest in Cancun. I remember standing in the crowd, thinking “this shit is dumb as fuck.” It wasn’t sexy, it wasn’t authentic – it was like being in a Roman coliseum with a crowd cheering on two men fighting each other to the death. I was surrounded by a primal excitement, but I couldn’t tap into it. I didn’t understand the appeal. All I could think about is “why is that girl doing this?”

    When I was 18, I went to Montreal with my boyfriend and his best friend – again so we could drink without me having to seduce pervy guys on the street to buy me a bottle of crappy liquor. On our way up, I was driving 90 mph in a 60 mph zone and was pulled over. The cop brought me to the local courthouse and the judge threatened jail time for my excessive speeding. The only way I could leave was if we paid the $700 bail. It was all the money we had, save $70 bucks. We didn’t have bank accounts or ATM cards, so we were kind of fucked. We were young and dumb so we paid the bail and went to Montreal anyway. We couldn’t afford a hotel, so decided to spend the night at the only place open all night: a
    strip club.

    Again I faced a cultural phenomenon I couldn’t understand. I get that I am not a man, and far from the intended audience, but still. As I lay my weary head on the cum covered couch all I could think was: “What is going on with these girls? Are they okay?”

    I wasn’t judging the naked ladies. I just couldn’t divorce myself from the empathy of caring about who they were. I was concerned. I saw them as people — not just flapping vaginas. Even though strip clubs are a contained environment and the strippers can make lots of money, they are still symptomatic of a consistently demeaning shadow of our society. At one point in human history, a strip club consisted of a woman showing her ankle and the bottom part of her petticoat. Now it’s commonplace to look directly into her colon.

    Sexual provocation has reached its’ saturation point– at this point, only those shockingly extreme get noticed. I recently read this article which discussed the fact that sexy party games are no longer about a white t-shirt with some nipple exposure, but rather girls giving blow jobs to 20+ guys for a drink. Is this drink made of diamonds?!?! The only way I would ever do that is if said drink was concocted by Nikola Tesla and contained an alternative fuel source that was not only renewable but also so affordable that it would replace our dependency on fossil fuels.

    Again I wondered what is going on with these girls and where is the compassion for them in the midst of this insanity?? Why didn’t anyone step in after seven guys to say: “Seriously girl. That is enough flaccid penis in your mouth for one night. Take a breather.”

    While this subject matter often raises themes around sexual freedom, exploration, and empowerment, I can’t help but think about inequality. Can you imagine a man in tighty-whities dancing on a bar while girls sprayed his crotch with water so the fabric clung to his balls? You would NEVER see a guy licking twenty pussies for a shot of Patron!!

    I guess guys may think “she likes it…” but what if she is just like Mikey, who knew Life cereal was shit, but just wanted to make people happy?

    I don’t consider myself a prude and I acknowledge that people’s sexual preferences vary drastically. Yet I can’t help but wonder how and why things are they way they are. Where is the empathy for women who are shoving two dicks in one ass? How is that sexy and not a moment of horror? I’m going to go out on a limb and suggest girls do things to impress guys more than out of an authentic interest in washing her face with the sperm residue of 17 men.

    I know giving pleasure is a turn-on for many people. Making someone else sexually excited can do the same for you. Fine. Okay. I dig it. I still think there is a stark difference between the genders in these very public moments of sexual activity (even if self-induced). Something doesn’t add up. I don’t buy the argument that men are visual so they are more interested in this type of stimulation. Yeah a schlong and big bongs are kind of funny looking, but that doesn’t explain the discrepancy. Is it as simple as girls like the attention and boys treat them like royalty when they are acting slutty? But what about after they come… how are they treating the girls then?

    I think it has to do more with control. When you don’t feel in control of your own life or feel a sense of autonomy, you look for the other to save, validate, and define you. When you know you can take care of yourself, there is less fear and feelings of desperation. I don’t think women who are financially and emotionally independent are giving out blow jobs to strangers like candy. There is a sense of insecurity which is specific within the female human experience. Maybe because we are physically weaker? Maybe because men are still the keepers of money, power, and politics? Maybe because the psychological impact of having decisions made for us by men for the past 2000+ years still lingers?

    I’m not trying to be divisive or fan the fire of gender wars, but rather wanting to deconstruct a very real and very disturbing aspect of our society. We are living in a digital age when teenagers can not only film several guys in the act of rape, but then make fun of it on Twitter by re-enacting the poses of an unconscious naked girl who was just horribly violated. Sex is neither playful or fun in this context, and it’s getting to a point where we are becoming totally desensitized. Will young girls be shoving a live goat up her pussy for a beer in the near future? Maybe we could start trying to prioritize empathy over exploitation…

    mass-blow-job-blog-(i)

    July 17, 2014 • Current Events, Musings, Vagina Stuff • Views: 10907

  • Fox News Feminism Is So Sweet

    Fox news recently did a segment about “how to keep your husband happy” where they interviewed the lovely “Princeton Mom”- author of the book Marry Smart. It was really cute. They talked about how women have become uppity princesses who need to shut their damn mouths and make their man a drink so he can be content while she cooks him dinner. So sweet!

    The Princeton Mom blames feminism for the degradation of how men are treated in marriages, and her advice is that women hold onto their husbands with their little pussy paws so he doesn’t leave you a lonely cat-woman spinster old maiden. She doesn’t say you have to wait on him hand and foot, but it’s probably a good idea if you do. If the Princeton Mom is going to crown herself the queen of knowing what makes men happy, then how would she advise gay couples? Shouldn’t relationship counsel ultimately be in the universal language of love? If the rational can’t be applied to all dynamics how is it even legitimate? If you are both husbands or wives then who is making who the damn drink?

    Initially I felt a lot of rage towards this Princeton Mom and the Fox News pundits egging her on, because the logic was so condescending and seemingly backwards. Yet there was an underlying message she was espousing that was reasonable – it was about kindness. Be caring towards the person you live with, parent with, and have committed yourself to. Yes! I agree with that. That is a human quality all people should strive towards because that is a decent way to behave – not because you are trying to make someone else happy.

    In fact, the expectation to make your husband or wife happy is totally absurd.

    It is not your spouse’s job to make you happy. That is your responsibility. Happiness comes from within because it is an esoteric feeling that passes like gas. Another person can’t make you happy any more than they can make you love yourself. In any given day we feel a variety of complex emotions, and the only way to find balance within the chaos is our own internal maturity of how we deal with the stresses of life. Happiness is not a goal to achieve but rather a state of being that comes with contentment of self.

    I am pretty sure the Dalai Lama isn’t expecting some lady friend to make his ass happy after she makes him bacon and eggs for breakfast – and he seems like a pretty happy dude. Relationships aren’t about holding the other person responsible for your mental well-being. They are about helping each other with the bullshit minutia of life, and listening to the other person bitch about the bullshit minutia of life.

    The only person you are accountable for making happy is yourself. And guess what? A happy person is usually a nice person to be around. They are inherently more thoughtful, compassionate, and giving because their mind isn’t clouded with anxiety or depressing thoughts. When people solely prioritize the happiness of others it makes them feel like shit, and therefor eventually act like it too. Just as you could alienate your spouse by being selfish, you could also turn out to be a bitter bride who has given her life to a man only to dream about poisoning his martini. When your own happiness is a priority it is easier to be a giving partner because you don’t feel emotionally depleted.
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    July 9, 2014 • Current Events, Musings, Relationships, Vagina Stuff, Women's Business • Views: 2180