seems i've always got something on the tip of my tongue.    ©

Sunday, November 20, 2005

For the e-Dating Types: Some Tips

  • Look, everyone on the e-dating systems is taking a chance by putting their faces/profiles out there. Stop being a bonehead and saying, "I can't believe I'm doing this..." or "I don't have a lot of faith in this..." If not, then don't!
  • We all find it a little weird, all right? In a perfect world, we'd walk into a bookstore, grin at a cutey, and have a date in five. Instead, we're coming home after work, having a drink, and logging onto a dating service. Right. Yeah, that's a little odd. Stop mentioning it. It's kind of like going to a dinner party where the food's shit: Everyone knows it, but you just nod and smile anyways.
  • If you're a guy or gal looking for a class act to hook up with, it's probably not the brightest idea to get a photo where you're holding a beer bottle. Let's think about it, all right?
  • Please, for the love of god, don't make your profile read "If you want to know, ask." The whole point of e-dating is the not-having-to-ask thing. Haven't you noticed? But if you insist on staying single, have at 'er.
  • Yes, yes, yes, we can see you're a romantic because your profile photo is a sunset, but really, can we get a little skin? Come on.
  • And to the men out there, putting in your profile that she must be a little domesticated and know how to cook is so not gonna get you action. I just saw a guy's profile where he demanded exactly that. And know what? He used that filthy word, too... "Laundry."
It's incredible the amount of oblivious folks out in the world. Sure keeps it entertaining for the rest of us, though, does it?

Friday, November 18, 2005

You are Who You Love (?)

When I was a precocious teen, I was a pretty big fan of Ayn Rand’s books. In reality, her writing’s pretty black-and-white and doesn’t have those subtle shades that a great author should have, but that’s not the point.

The love relationships in her novels (Fountainhead, Atlas Shrugged) had profoundly influenced my idea of what love should be, regardless of the author’s lack of subtlety. Everything about Dominique and Howard Roarke screamed passion to me, really.

I’m on the market again. I’d had a brief fling in October that I’d hoped might go somewhere, but it was too much, too soon, and that’s another topic for another time. I’m testing the waters, many different waters, and I’m realizing once again how damned perplexing dating can be sometimes, even when you understand why it’s that way.

I’d rather be alone, though, than with someone who doesn’t fit the rather refined expectations I have for anyone who might become my lover. I’ve been thinking about it this week. Is personality enough? Are brains adequate? Does there have to be “a whole package?”

There comes a time when you start wondering if being alone versus being together with someone who’s less that what you dream of is really a wise choice. It takes a strong person, I guess, to answer "yes" to that wondering, but I believe that’s my answer.

Ayn Rand always would assert that who you choose to love is a reflection of how worthy you believe yourself to be. When you settle, you’re telling yourself you’re simply not deserving of better.

But what constitutes “settling?” There’s a loaded question, huh? I suppose it depends on your standards. I’ve had the options of settling for guys who are on my intellectual level, with whom I could really talk, but the fact is, if chemistry’s missing, if that little sizzle-bang-bang is missing, then let’s face it, you’re with a friend, not a lover.

I don’t want a friend. Is that really so wrong? I want a lover. Someone who sets me afire. I don’t care to have yet another viable conversation partner who doesn’t stir me in ways that makes me squirm and cross my legs in public in order to quench my sudden lust. I want to have that inclination to think dirty thoughts in places I have no good reason to be thinking ‘em. And yes, I want to be able to roll over in bed, weary and satiated, and discuss a book that changed my life or laugh about a classic comedy, or whatever comes with, but that camaraderie needs to go hand-in-hand with the passion I desire.

There are those who feel it’s being too picky to simply want it all. Let’s face it. It’s a big goddamned world. With six million plus, there’s got to be a few fish out there that might wander into my net. It’s a matter of patience and faith. I don't think there's only "one" person for me, but there's one type, and I'm on the hunt.

There was, however, a time when I didn’t feel I was as worthy of that level of love as I now do. There was a time when a guy being interested in me was a damned good start. There was a time when self-love wasn’t exactly tops on my to-do list. As I wrote elsewhere, learning to love myself has really been one of my greatest accomplishments. Holding out for he who is worthy of it all, it’s rough. It’s a challenge. But I suspect I’m up for it.

I do have to admit that chemistry was a hell of a lot easier to manage in high school science than it is in real life. What a mystery.

But I’m on the case, man. Just call me Sherlock. It’s time to solve the riddle.

(For those curious, my brother’s at home now. When he realized he was in the same hospital our mother died in, he did everything he could to convince the doctors to discharge him. [Quel headtrip, man.] Believe it or not, he’s at home with casts on both arms, several broken ribs, a cracked sternum, a severe concussion that’s still affecting him, a bruised heart & lung, and a touch of pneumonia. Glad to see stubbornness runs in the family. I’m playing the role of good sister, though, and pitching in as best I can, but my time’s maxed and my mind’s distracted, so I don’t think my writing’s at the level I want it at, but it is what it is, man.)

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Whew, that was sudden

So, my big brother was all-of-a-sudden released from the trauma ward AND the hospital today, which is great news. I think he's getting a reality check now as to how badly he was hurt, since the moron was talking about going into work on Thursday, but then got his ass kicked just walking down the hallways. That'll teach him.

But in the mean time, I've got two or three more hectic days of dealing with my life and running over to check on him at home before I get around to posting anything tasty and new on here. Bear with me. By Saturday, I hope to be posting something I wrote last week. I don't want to get hopes up, but it's a long-awaited third installment on a little sumthin'-sumthin'.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

Real Life Intrudes

I ride a scooter. Some of you may know that. Think Vespa, think urban goddess.

Or think victim waiting to happen, if you must. My brother also owns a scooter. Last Wednesday night, he failed to see a stop sign, blew through it, and was hit by an SUV. He's in the trauma ward still, with several broken ribs, a cracked sternum, a bruised heart, bruised lung, and bleeding into his brain.

In short: I'm a little distracted. I'll get back to this soonish, but not until things settle a little more. He's beginning to regain consciousness slowly, but he still doesn't realize he's in a hospital.

He had moved recently and his place is in a disaster, so instead of just playing little sis hangin' by the bedside, I'm also trying to create some form of normalcy in his home before he returns.

Wish life was just orgasms and kisses, but it is what it is: Complicated.

Fortunately, the best thing that ever happened to me was almost dying in a scooter accident about 15 months ago. I hope this'll turn into a positive for him, too, but it's too soon to tell.

I have something sitting around that might be good to post, but I don't really know. I'll have to look at it. Today, though, I'm Molly Maid and looking to organize the hell he calls home. Jesus. Have I mentioned how much I hate that kind of task? Moving sucks. It's why I'm working on my seventh year in the same pad. Oh, well. Clearly you need to bleed profusely to sucker me into this shit. Good one, bro.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Being Good But Behaving Badly

Despite the onslaught of winter here in Vancouver, I took a nice long bike ride by the river yesterday, capitalizing on the selfdom-seen sunshine while I could. On my way back through the industrial lands along the river, a large delivery truck passed me by. Its paintjob dominated by dirt, I saw a message scrawled into the caked-on dirt on the back door:

“Wish my girl was this dirty.”

I had a great laugh as I continued peddling my way home, but it left me thinking about the dualities that every lover should have, but that many don’t. In writing about something similar not too long ago, I said, “When it comes to the bedroom, I’m able to balance being sensual, doting, and romantic with being pretty wicked and dominant when I feel like it. Sex is supposed to embrace all aspects of our personalities, and it’s the one time in our lives when we really have the chance be the person from our fantasies.”

If I can get personal for a moment, I suspect I can break down the evolution of a lover as it should happen for most people, and did happen for me.

As a kid, I was raised Catholic. My parents felt the religion was important, but as with anything in my life, when I believe something, I believe it with a zealous passion. By the time I was seven or eight, I was taking the priest’s sermon and teaching it to the athiest kids in the neighbourhood. At about nine years old, I was seriously thinking I should be a nun when I grew up. Seriously.

Like I said, passionate. In my mid-teens, a few things happened that made me realize that I might believe in the principles of the church, but that the folks who ran it were pissing me off. It didn’t take me long to walk away from it, and within a couple years I began learning about other faiths and realized we’re all in this together. I lost my dogma, and just kept the ethics.

As a result, though, I grew up with a lot of really religious takes on sex. For me, it was a sin. I never had sex until I was 18, and I felt wrong about it for the first two years. It wasn’t fulfilling, not really, despite my enjoying it, because I felt like I was going to be judged by a higher power or something. Around 20, I met a guy who introduced me to bondage, and I lost a few hang-ups then, but I really never got past myself until my mid-20s.

In my late 20s, I took an extended break from sex while I Dealt With Shit, but slowly began to realize I’d been cheating myself and depriving myself. I realized that I’m by nature a very mischevious person, and a person who needs that intimacy in order to feel whole. Why did that never translate to the bedroom, I wondered? Why was I so repressed and such a good-girl lover when I knew I could sometimes be oh-so-very-bad? I decided to force myself to try out the role of the “bad girl” and see what it did for me.

What it did, was get me off. What it also did, was get my lover sizzling hot. That look in his eyes told me he wanted to devour me whole, then and there. I’d never seen such unbridled passion, though I’d always had a fulfilling sex life. What next, though, I wondered? Would he treat me different? Were we going to have a weird situation after this? I realized that depended on me. Would I act normal when it was all said and done, return to the fun, irreverent Steff I knew myself to be? I had to, I decided. I had to see if I could be both.

I did, and I was. I realized then that the lover I was behind closed doors wasn’t the only person I was at heart. I was both. I was, as they say, every woman. Every woman I wanted to be, I could be. I could be bad in order to be good to my lover, and not have that impact who I was on an ethical level.

This is a dilemma I think a lot of people need to come to terms with -- that playing games and being bad in the bedroom doesn’t necessarily reflect who you really are. Living out your fantasy version of you is something that can co-exist with your reality. The trouble is simply getting past whatever moral code it is that we’ve had imprinted on us by a society that doesn’t really get the fact that duplicity isn’t always a bad thing.

Have you managed to get past your hang-ups? How did you do it? If you haven’t, are you trying to? Let’s hear it, folks.

(The kissing tips will be coming in the next couple of days, in time for the weekend.)

Friday, November 04, 2005

Kissing: Oh, So Telling

My apologies, but this posting has been relocated to my new site. Click here, and you'll be taken to its new home.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

New feature: The Sexipe!

Food and sex. Fuel and the combustion engine. Mac and cheese. Some things are just go together.

Food has been associated with sin and sex ever since Adam and Eve got evicted from the Garden of Eden for swiping an apple. If you've ever had a caramelized apple pie, you know Adam and Eve made the right choice. Good one, guys.

For me, food heightens sex. There's nothing like a well-timed strawberry tied into a bondage/blindfolding session. Except, of course, dark chocolate. Bitter, dark chocolate is in a sexy class all on its own.

I love buttering up a man with an elaborate meal before the evening's indoor sports. I love a blindfold session with fruit, since the tastes have never been as brilliant as they are in that dark. And really, with all that sweating, grunting, and working out, who doesn’t appreciate a refreshing flavour explosion or a little added sustenance?

Face it, so much can be contributed to your romance by way of your pantry. Some meals can be seduction on a plate. Some foods are teasers you can feed each other to heighten the act. Some delicacies are associated entirely with romancing a lover. (Chocolate fondue, anyone?)

I hope to bring a little delicious twist on edibles and sex to this site on a regular basis. (Not weekly, but often.) It could be a simple little trick, like today’s tip, or it could be an elaborate attempt at creating the mood for an entire night by way of an over-the-top meal. After all, food and sex both contribute to our senses in ways thatalmost nothing else can.

It’s time we acknowledge the holy union of sex and nibbling for what it is: Irresistable.

So, without adieu, the first of my favourite treats.

Vodka-Marinated Grapes


Yep. That’s it. If yer not hip to vodka and the goodness of it, and you don't know your brands, stick to the following: Iceberg, Stoli, Finlandia, and that advertising whore, Absolut.

Here’s what you do. Take the grapes you like, a seedless variety, and clean them thoroughly. Puncture each one with a toothpick at least once or twice. Put them in a Ziploc baggie and freepour vodka in there until they’re swimming in a fashion worthy of approval by any Russian.

Put them in the fridge and let them get happy for one or two (three?) days. The longer, the better.

When your lover is blindfolded, pop one of those badboys into their mouth and watch the flavour sensation bring a wicked little smile to their lips. (You can taunt them by dragging the cold, dripping wet grape up their torso to their lip. Always heightens it a bit more.)

Don’t be silly and do anything hasty with that vodka, either, kids. Get yourself a little cranberry juice, a martini shaker, some ice, and mix you and your lover a couple nice martinis when you take a break from the gruelling grind.

You can do this with cubed melon, orange slices, Granny Smith apple wedges, mango pieces, whatever gets you happy. Grapes tend to absorb the yummy booze super well, though, and are my personal preference, and really respond nicely to the vodka. If you have any left over and you’re not a martini fan, you can always mix the vodka with some nice fruit for a badly-behaved fruit salad in the morning... particularly if you’re having a stay-home-and-screw Sunday.

All in the name of fun, right?

The 30-Year-Old Virgin

I posted a question from someone a long time ago, who wanted to know if a sex life was out of reach now that they were past 30 and still a virgin. I've recently heard back from her and life is going better and she's getting in touch with her inner sexy vixen, and that's made my morning.

Another reader went and started a blog talking about her own post-30 experiences with her virginity and it makes for great reading. I'd encourage you to go along on her journey of discovery. It's very cool. You can find the 30-Year-Old Virgin's site here. Keep it up, Virgin!