Where I remember that I do in fact have 2 blogs

Miss me?

Yeah well it's been a crappy summer as far as boys and sex goes. It's amazing how fast your sex drive takes a nosedive when crisis like poverty and homelessness step in.

That said, I think I'm on the upswing, sort of.

A few weeks ago I went on a date with a perfectly charming latin guy. Educated, speaks 3 or 4 languages, wasn't mortified when i insulted the Swiss (his grandparents are Swiss. Everything was going well until the GNK (good night kiss).

We were walking back to his car when he grabbed me by the back of my jeans (nearly giving me a wedgie), spun me around and laid one on me. He's a good kisser, but i'm a top. That he-man crap doesn't cut it with me.

So now to a problem of the opposite variety.

New Dude (who shall remain nick nameless for the time being) and I have been hanging out a lot lately. Like I see him nearly every day and then we do social stuff once or twice a week.

I think he likes me. He's said a few things, done a few things to make me think that he likes me. But dude has just not done anything overt enough for me to grab him and plant a big lip smackery kiss on him to find out. I've pulled out all my peacock moves (I'm wearing a low cut pink sweater and leaning seductively over my desk as I type this)to no avail.

I think I am just going to have to get all 15 year old girl on him and ask "Do you like me or do you like LIKE me?"

It makes me feel a little weird

looking at the sitemeter stats and seeing people (boys) that I no longer talk to still reading my blog(s).

I have plenty of regular lurkers. That doesn't make me feel weird.

I have lots of real life friends who read my blogs and don't comment, but will talk to me in real life about stuff later.

But for some reason, the boy part weirds me out. It's like they still get to have a piece of me, only now it's non-reciprocal. It makes me feel a little dirty actually.

Girl Talk

me: awake? asleep? battling zombies?
Soopermouse: mana wyrms
me: I'm forwarding you the bulgarian's email. I need a good girl bitchfest
Soopermouse: what happened
me: read the email- backwards to forwards
Soopermouse: "it's not you it's me"
me: I know
Soopermouse: "i don't want you to fall in lve with me"
me: and I have learned that it really is them. Not me
Soopermouse: "you're good to fuck but not to bring home to mummy"
me: exactly
Soopermouse: that is what happened
me: either that or he really is hiding a dull wife back in the old country
Soopermouse: basically he thinks you're trying to turn a fuck into a relationship
me: it's a good fuck, but I only get serious for citizenship
Soopermouse: :P
me: you know I lurvessssss you
Soopermouse: i do
its my gypsy magic
me: it is it really is
Soopermouse: i know :)
me: stupid boy
he's losing a perfectly good fuck by being a coward
good thing I have a much younger student waiting in the wings
Soopermouse: did you yell the L thing while orgasming?
me: nope
once I wrote about it- I know longer felt the need
just had to let the anxiety go
Soopermouse: it doesn't matter
me: I will miss his cock, but I don't do annoying boys
Soopermouse: darling, you can get a new dildo, and it wont be as dumb
me: true
Soopermouse: thickheaded Bulgarians and thin nosed Greeks :)
me: at least you can get some good use out of a thin nose- if they nuzzle it in the right places
Soopermouse: :)
me: You know I'm posting this on the sex blog
Soopermouse: big hairy deal

The Problem With Being A Grown Up

I believe that we choose to fall in love. Sure, once we make that choice, we may act like idiots who cannot control themselves. But there is always a moment where we decide if we are going to take the risk and fall.

The problem with being a grown up is that I am smart enough now to choose not to fall. It means that there are fewer whirlwind romances and cases of being swept off my feet. And sometimes a good hard fall is fun, at least till you land.

Now that I am a grown up, the "little" irritating things that would send me into a tailspin of self-doubt (but why won't he call, what did he mean by that comment, etc, etc) now just annoy. And tip the scales in favor of the not falling category. I don't see them as proof of some horrible internal flaw of mine, but rather as proof of horrible manners (at best) or a serious lack of respect (at worst). And quite honestly, I don't have time for bad manners or disrespect.

But maybe I am being to harsh.

A friend and I were chatting yesterday about my current irritant.

Friend: Maybe he's just scared.

Me: I don't have any patience for emotional cowards.

Friend: Most people are emotional cowards.

Me: I'm not, I think that explains why I'm single.

Friend: You're single cause you want to be.

ME: Only partly true. I like having a regular person, I just like them to go home when I'm done with them.

Whatever. I still don't have time or energy for bad manners or disrespect. There are just so many fish in the sea.

Because I promised

The cute Bulgarian is hung like a pony, a very large pony. I swear to god after every time I see him I am sore for days, but in a good way. It's hours and hours of porn star sex.

So darling boy- next time you need a jail break, you know where to hide out.

Kisses.

A Not Exactly Shameless Confession

On more than one occasion, in the middle of very hot, very awesome sex, I have belted out three little words that do not normally come easily out of my mouth.

You probably know the three little words I mean, starts with I, ends with You, and the middle is that damn L word that gets so many people in trouble.

Whether I actually mean those words is beside the point, a girl would like to control when she first says those things to someone.

So I've been spending some time with a certain someone who has phenomenal sexual prowess. Sex with him is the kind of transcendent experience that Foucault talks about in the History Of Sex. It makes my brain go whoosh and my knees weak and I feel like giddy jello for days afterwards.

So naturally I am a bit scared that those three little words are going to come out of my mouth mid orgasm. I've been worried enough that I am having dreams about accidentally saying those three little words.

So the other day, after an early morning round of mind blowing orgasms, I fell asleep on the mind blower's chest and had dreams that I was saying things I shouldn't have been saying. What's worse is that sometimes I talk in my sleep (damn- must my subconscious keep trying to assert dominance despite my wishes?)

So when I woke up, a bit panicked, I asked if I had been talking in my sleep by any chance.

"No, why are you trying to hide something?"

Uhm, not exactly. I'm just trying to keep my subconscious in line, thank you very much.

Prize fighting

Two years ago, out of nowhere, I ran into my high school boyfriend. He was still hot, and we spent the weekend together. But it was obvious that we were not meant to be in the here and now.

During the course of the weekend we rehashed some old stuff, particularly our very bad break up. HE wanted to know why I didn't fight for him and my response was "Oh baby, I'm the prize, not the prize fighter."

So now I'm feeling a wee bit of a culture clash with the Bulgarian. I don't call. I never call. I don't chase. I grew up here, where women are taught not to chase. Only crazy Fatal Attraction types chase. I also don't wait by the phone.

And in the Balkans it's the women that chase. So the Bulgarian doesn't call.

Fine, I can deal with a bit of being the chaser, but at a certain point (like now) I get tired of being the one to make the first move. And so I won't. As much as I may like a guy, I don't play stupid games.

Cause someone likes to read about himself

You know who you are. ;)

So I have had this horrible problem for the longest time. There are boys who I am totally in sync with mentally and emotionally. I can talk to them about anything and it's awesome. But the sex, the sex generally sucks bad (usually for the same reasons, too small, too fast, too selfish)

Then there are guys who can fuck like a battery operated toy. But I wouldn't want to hang out with them for more than a few minutes (for the same reasons: too dumb, too dull, too blah)

And then there is the Bulgarian. Sweet, smart, funny, kind and hot. I was absolutely sure he had to suck in bed, cause that is how it always goes.

But he's hung like a pony, a very large pony. He can fuck for day and days and days. And he's totally all about me getting off, a lot, in many different ways.

So I am crushing very hard on the Bulgarian at the moment. Actually, I wish he was here right now, naked in my bed. Why aren't you here?

Cookie Porn!

My darling friends gave me wonderful birthday party, and an even better birthday gift: cookies.

But not just any cookies, dirty dirty cookies.


Yep, those are peens and boobies. But the real fun started when we posed the cookies in naughty ways. Below is gay bukkake cookies

And my personal fave, the 2 boys and a girl menage cookies.

Can I just say, the frosted cocks were delicious.

Uhm thanks, but I crossed you off the possibles list moths ago...

So there's this guy, we'll call him bottom boy. He's cute, Australian. We talked for a while a long time ago, but all he ever talked about was sex. He happens to have a particular kink that I am rather fond of, being that he is a boy who likes to be bossed around, humiliated and hurt by women. I can do that, I even like doing that sometimes ( I have discovered that certain type A personalities are much more tolerable if you get to beat the crap out of them occasionally, with their full enthusiastic consent of course).

But I don't have any intention of living a kinky "lifestyle". I love sex, but it is not all I love. I also love art and music and food and politics and culture and travel and languages and food and fashion and history- you get the idea. But mostly what I value in a guy is his ability to be interesting. I'm bored easily, interesting is an important quality.

I am also fairly open, otherwise you all wouldn't be reading about my stable boys on this blog. Openness about sex often gets confused for being obsessed by it. I am a connoisseur of sex the way an oenophile is about wine. It has become enough of a problem, my openness, that I am finding myself being much more reserved with boys I think I might want to date. I even had one guy tell me he thought I was a bit naive about sex, till I told him I just decided not to tell him about my threesomes and orgies because I wanted to talk about something else.

So back to bottom boy. After several rounds of emails and a phone call, I decided to pass on him. Subby boys are way more demanding than you might think, and this one in particular could not wrap his head around anything other than the idea of me abusing him. I was bored, and the worst thing I can be is bored. Bored with a guy makes me mean to him, and not in the fun way. For a guy who I had yet to meet, this is a bad sign.

So I was surprised tonight to see that he had sent me a little smiley. I think that I shall just send him a link here instead of sending any real reply. Subby boys like to be molded and scolded after all, maybe this will teach him not to be such a tedious bore.

Phone conversation with Hot Pharmacist

He is seriously beautiful, and nice, and unlike all the other pharmacists there he never fucks up my prescriptions. Calling for refills makes my panties wet.

Me: So I have a bunch of refills for you

HP: Ok do you have the prescription numbers.

Me: No, but I have the names. I need the nueva ring, the wellburtin, the migrin or midril- I can't remember the name but it's for migraines.

HP: That's not a bunch

Me: Would you like to take them for me? It feels like a bunch.

HP: Sure, I take drugs all the time.

Me: I'm sure you'll have lots of fun with my birth control then

HP: Hahahahahahahahahaha

After that we chatted for a bit about travel (I asked him to give me small bottles instead of big ones so they are easier to carry). I want him. Badly. But he knows my medical history. Is that weird?

I love IMDB

So to cheer myself up and just for fun, I went and did a key word search on IMDB for the word "feminist" in their biographies.

Not surprisingly, there are a shitload of anti-feminist quotes from a lot of men. There are a ton of stupid quotes from women including Sarah Michelle Geller "It makes me think of women who don't shave their legs." - on what the word "feminist" means. (Sorry B)

But there are also some really cool things I found out, like Saffron Burrows (who I have always thought was the most gorgeous, classy woman ever) is gay and dating the woman who plays Mrs. Dursley in the Harry Potter movies. I am more shocked by the Mrs. Dursley part than the gay part because I cannot picture Mrs. Dursley as anything but awful. I guess that is a testament to her acting skills.

Also, the number of actresses whose parents were feminists and/or socialist activists is astonishing, including Burrows and Nicole Kidman.

Best. Ad. Ever.

Because someone is a big whiny whiner- Girl Crush

We all have them, gay, straight, bi 0r.. Little crushes on girls we admire. Whether it is a desire to be with or be like the girls we crush on is of little matter. So fess up. I'll show you mine if you show me yours.

1) Lara Logan- CBS' foreign correspondent. She's gorgeous even in war zones. She's fearless and she is what has been missing from journalism for a long time. She grew up in South Africa under apartheid and her first job as a journalist was in high school where she went into the segregated black townships. While grown white people were afraid of the big scary black people, a teenage girl just walked in and reported what she saw.
2)Kate Winslet. She's gorgeous and goofy and bitchez loudly when airbrushed into Hollywood proportions. I have loved her since Heavenly Creatures a million years ago, but I'll never forget the scene in Holy Smoke where she pees.


3) Rachel Weisz: Her Tessa Quayle portrayal in The Constant Gardner made me cry through half the movie. She was a radical feminist in college. She has the raised eyebrow of doom .I have many many more girls that I crush on, but that's a good start.

Happy Valentines Day!

To all my single comrades, to all the mushy couples, to all the cranky cynics.

I am neither a hater of nor an obsessor over Valentines day. The thought of being single on this mushiest of days does not make me feel bad or sad or lonely. I do not want a pile of flowers or chocolates or a sappy romantic card (I don't want the sappy cards ever, not just on Valentines day).
I do not feel like a part of me is missing because I do not have that one special guy. I am a whole person all by myself. I don't expect there to be one special guy for me, I get bored too easily. I do not see my fickleness as a moral failure, as long as I am honest with people that I date.

I like having my big bed to myself most nights. I like that my house is all mine and that I don't have to share it with anyone but the Kid. I like that boys are a pleasant diversion and not a requirement. I like that when I want to curl up in bed and spend an entire weekend watching Battlestar Galactica, I don't have to okay it with someone else.

I like the early parts of relationships. I like getting to know someone new. It's like having a puzzle to figure out. I like the electric zap of chemistry. I like the adventure. I do not like the tedium in long term relationships. There is enough tedium in everyday life without having it spill over into your sex life.

I know all these things about myself, but once every five years or so the pressure from society to couple up long term gets to be too much. Last year, on Valentines day, I ended a relationship that I had started purely because I thought it was time for me to settle down. I realized about 6 months in that "settle" is the exact term for it. I was not meant to be someone's devoted wife. Unless I get to be Anais Nin and have two husbands and many lovers all at the same time, I will probably never marry. And that is fine. Good even. Not all of us were meant to live in twos.

So this Valentines day I wish for all of us to know ourselves as well as we can. If you are coupley, be coupley. If you are not, be glad you know it. But don't let what you "should" want get in the way of knowing what you really want.

Life Lesson #3462

Save the pics of boys you have previously fucked with their emails. That way when they email you out of the blue a year later, you know who the fuck it is.

This has happened twice in the last two weeks. The first time I was able to dig through old emails and figure it out (Oh yeah, you're THAT Rick, the one who only wanted to talk about his ginormous penis).

This time, no such luck. I know he was one of a string of hot Indian boys I dated. Was he the guy I made out with in front of Victrola? Was he the one whose aunt came to live with him because his mom couldn't leave India and he needed someone to take care of him (I SHIT YOU NOT). Was he that bland other one that I might have fucked on the couch - the murder couch before it was murdered?

Also, why at the same time? Did a naked picture of me make it onto a porn site and now these boys are reminded that I'm awesome? ( A very real possibility and why I'll never run for political office). These are all boys from an exceptionally slutty period about 3 years ago. (I didn't write a blog then so I had much more time for drunken one-night stands ;)

Where the boys aren't

I am in a bit of an angry snit at the mo and will pretty much stab the eyes out of the next boy who says something even remotely sexist to me. So I am not even checking my other blog until I calm the fuck down.

And then I remembered that I have a place to write where boys fear to tread- HERE!

So you peeps might have a few more postings than normal this week.

For Bianca- cause i am a giant slacker

Things have been a wee bit tough around the royal compound lately. And when things get tough I tend to grab my trusty B.O.B. instead of the nearest hot boy. So I haven't had a lot of fodder for the pink blog and my happy co-blogger CJ went and got herself a steady boyfriend and an admonishment from work to "not post to personal blogs from work computers".

But I'm on the mend now and it's time to talk boys, or how when it rains it fucking pours.

Last summer, I asked hot hot Horst if he wanted to meet me in Paris next month. He said he'd try to arrange it. Up until December things seemed fine. Then he just disappeared for a while. In the mean time I asked Hot Doctor if he wanted to go with me. He was trying to get time off work. While he was waiting for the ok, Carlos, a Mexican artist/writer living in Paris started emailing me. Hot doctor got the OK and now I am trying to figure out if I can pull off seeing Carlos in Paris with Hot Doctor there.

But that is not the end of the story kids.

So Horst finally emails me back this week. Tickets are bought and hotels are already reserved for Hot Doctor and I, but Horst wants to know my travel plans so we can meet up.

Shit Shit Shit.

I want to be insanely selfish and see all three of them (and if I had all three of them at the same time, more the better).

Hot Doctor and I are just fuck buddies. We both sleep with other people and don't care. What do you dear readers think? Can I pull off a boy trifecta week in Paris or am I just pushing my luck?

Dreams

There is a wee bit of drama going on the the Queens Castle at the mo. Sorry for not posting but tawdry sex is the last thing on my mind right now.

Except....

Last night I had the most fucked up sex dream ever.

In my dream I was hanging out with Prince Charles (not William or Henry- though I wouldn't mind teaching either of them a few tricks) in some very old English lady type room, complete with large chintz covered sofa and a cozy fire.

I'm not going to get into the specifics of my Prince Charles sex dream, but let's just say that he has some skills and leave it at that. I woke up more than a little bit squicked out that it was Charles (eewww) and shocked that I enjoyed it so much.

More fun with online dating

I get this email

my name is justin and im interested to know more about you and wondering if your interested and go from there please give me the respect and respond to me letting me know if your interested or not

My response is:

How about respect is earned and not demanded. Anyone who demands that I respect him when I don't even know him is not someone I am ever going to fuck.

(Besides, the severe lack of punctuation, with and intelligence shown in his email and profile are also reasons I would never fuck him)

The great thing about online dating is that rejection is quick and pretty painless, for both sides. Generally I just don't respond. But for assholes, I figure I am doing a public service by telling them off.

Boxers or briefs? How about granny or floss?

Via Jezebel comes a link to a great essay about the awesomeness that is granny panties. Throw away your thongs and cover your bits!

Personally, I hate thongs. I own exactly 2 of them and both have only been worn once (right after they were given to me). My bits are tender and sensitive, I do not need something rubbing them the wrong way all fucking day.

So I am a hipster/ bikini girl. Most days it's either black cotton or pink cotton (pink works just as well under light clothes as white does). When I want to tart it up I wear french knickers or lace cheekies. I avoid the old fashioned granny panty style cause the difference between my hips and waist is so much that I end up with baggy middle bulge in undies that come up that high. The downside of lower cut undies is that I have (on more than one occasion) actually had my undies fall of while I was wearing a skirt.

So now you want to hear a story, I'm sure? I'll tell you about the fist time I lost my knickers in public. It was just after I had the Kid. I had some friends come in from out of town and I took them on the happy tourist Pike Place Market tour that we do for all out of towners. I was wearing a long black sundress that unbuttoned for easy booby/nursing action and had worn the only clean undies I had- a pair that fit me in the last weeks of pregnancy, but not so much after I dropped 30 pounds of baby weight.

So we're walking along the sidewalk in busy downtown Seattle, la di da. I have the kid in the snuggly and my purse, diaper bag thing in one hand and water in the other. I feel the undies start to head south. I have no free hand with which to pull them up and we're in public, so I make for the nearest bathroom to do a clandestine panty pull.

The undies are faster than me though. Very quickly they are at my knees and the only thing keeping them there is my taking giganto steps. I give up the fight and let the undies fall where they may. Then I walk right over them LIKE NOTHING EVER HAPPENED.

I also seem to be THAT girl that is always accidentally getting her skirt blown up. I have flashed the security guys at the Denver airport on at least 4 occasions, a huge group of tourists at an archaeological site outside of Rome. and most of Seattle. For that reason, cute undies that cover my ass are a must.

Quick Poll

If you're in a relationship, maybe you have the "special pass" list of people you could have an affair with on the wildly outrageous chance that the opportunity came up. If you're not in a relationship (like me) maybe you just have a crush list. Share!

From my movies that make me squirmy post, you peeps prolly know that Clive Owen and Javier Bardem top my list. And you're not really a feminist unless you have a crush on Stephen Colbert. I just happen to think a Colbert/John Stewart threesome would be the ultimate sex act.

And then there's Sendhil Ramamurthy, hot Heroes doctor.

And just to get all brainy on you all, George Monbiot.

And arty, Preston Singletary

And music, Colin Meloy

Riddle Me This Readers

Everynight I take a shower and in the shower I coat my super dry skin with straight up coconut oil.

When I get out of the shower, I cover myself in Eucerin lotion for extra dry skin.

About an hour later, I use pure coco butter (not a lotion, not a cream, just straight chocolately goodness coco butter).

And every morning I wake up with the same itchy dry winter skin.

Short of spending November to March naked in a vat of olive oil, what the hell is a girl to do about really dry skin?

Did I ever tell you peeps the story

About how I broke my girl bits and had to get a new couch? No? Well, it's bloody- so don't read this if you're squeamish.

One of the former stable boys was called Ad Boy. You know those horrible Catherine Zeta Jones commercials for T-Mobile? Well Ad Boy was responsible for a few of them. Ad Boy was a lovely, brooding, dark haired misanthrope with a large cock and some fab skills.

I like couch sex. I like the leverage I can get holding on to the back of the couch when I'm on top. I used to have this awesome 70s gold velvet sectional that was huge and perfect for sex. I loved that couch, though it is now referred to as the murder couch because when we were done with it, it looked like a crime scene.

So I was happily on top of Ad Boy and just about to have my own happy ending, when his cock slipped. Condoms are not actually the most viscous material and the way he slipped out cause me considerable pain. But I thought it was just momentary. We stopped for a minute so we could reposition. Then Ad Boy said "Damn, you're really wet".

Not wet, bloody. When he slipped out, it torn my girl bits. And girl bits (just like boy bits) get engorged with blood when you're excited. Ad Boy's lap and my couch were covered in blood. I jumped up and ran to the bathroom, leaving a trail of blood behind me. In the bathroom I sat on the toilet. For at least 10 minutes I sat there. It sounded like I was taking the world's longest piss, but it was all blood.

Ad Boy was sweet. He kept trying to get me to go to the hospital. I was a little afraid I was going into shock, but there was NO WAY IN HELL that I was going to the emergency room at 3 am on a weekend for this. I could just see myself telling the triage nurse that "I broke my vagina on a large penis and lost enough blood to make the Red Cross jealous". While I sat there and bled, Ad Boy cleaned up the blood trail as best as he could. There was blood in the living room, in the kitchen and even a bloody hand print on the wall from where I flicked on the light switch with my blood covered hand. If you learn nothing from this story, learn that girl bits bleed copiously.

Eventually I stopped bleeding. We flipped the cushions on the couch and went to bed (with me on several layers of towels so that I didn't ruin my very expensive pink sheets). After he left the next morning, I called my friend Science Girl and she came over to take a look. I was worried that I might have given myself an at home circumcision and Science Girl has seen enough pussy to be able to tell me.

There was a large clot that made it difficult to see what had actually torn, so I made an appointment with Hot Doctor (I have the coolest doctor on the planet and I have a giant girl crush on her). Hot Doctor said my fun parts were fine, barred me from sex for 2 weeks and then we discussed various brands of lube. I now keep a tube of silicon lube with the condoms, and even if I am wet and ready, big boys get slathered in it.

A week later I found a new couch on Craigslist. It sucks for sex because it has these stupid metal parts that tear into skin if you try to kneel on it. Science Girl and I tried to donate my old couch to goodwill (3 different ones, actually) but they weren't having it. We finally took it to the city dump and hoped that two girls dumping a blood stained couch wouldn't look suspicious.

Congratulations!

To the fabulous Bianca Reagan of Steve The Penguin! She's published her novel (also called Steve the Penguin). I get to review it and I am just dying to read it.

Bianca writes sharp, funny commentary about life and pop culture and everything in between. I shoulda blog rolled her ages ago, but I am nothing if not lazy.

Roll on over and tell her congrats. Or better yet- buy her book.

(Crossposted at Elizabitchez)

Quick Poll

Since we've been talking about movies lately, what movie scene gets you all squishy and wiggly in your seat?

Gosford Park- there is a scene where Kelly MacDonald comes into Clive Owen's room while he's laying on his bed. There is this look in his eyes when he sees her that is all happy surprise, then he kisses her. There's no sex, but in my head- bam chicka wawa.


Javier Bardem in Before Night Falls (actually- Javier Bardem in damn near anything, The Dancer Upstairs is one of my all time favorite movies). It's his willingness to do full frontal swimming shots in this that makes me go all weak in the knees. I know he's playing a gay poet. I don't care. I have to wait to see Love in the Time of Cholera for it to come out on DVD, I don't know that I can control myself in a movie theater.

Total Fluff

I waxed my eyebrows last night. I prefer to do it myself rather than pay the 7 bucks to the salon girl because something about the salon wax makes me break out for weeks afterwards. So a spent last night ripping the skin off my face.

Normally, that is not what happens. But somehow I got a little overzealous on my right eyelid. Now it is puffy and red and sore and maybe even bruised.

If I wasn't so damn intent on being able to keep my raised eyebrow of doom superpower, this never would have happened.

So that's why I hate modern romantic comedies

Via Faux Real comes this piece in the New Yorker about how modern romantic comedies are less about sex and love and lust and more about responsibility and unequal matches.

I have always said that I would only marry if Cary Grant came back from the dead and asked me to elope to Italy with him. Grant, and other classic film hotties like Jimmy Stewart, were always equal to the women they were paired with, and the women were zany and eclectic and human in ways that women in modern romances are not.The point of the movies was usually women needed to save themselves from an unequal match with the kind of milquetoast buffoons who are now the leads in modern movies. In old movies, love was an adventure. In new movies, love is some horrible burden of grown up expectations.

I am sure that there is a backlash against feminism in all this. We still have this idea that all women are itching to get married right now, when from my experience and that of most of the women I'm friends with, marriage is something that is only thought of in lukewarm terms if it's thought of at all. So why are we subjected to all these stupid movies about desperate women trying to turn boys into marriageable men?

One of my favorite Cary Grant movies is Indiscreet with Ingrid Bergman. Bergman is a famous actress, Grant is a diplomat who fakes having a wife so people will stop trying to get him married off. They have a lovely affair full of wit and charm and all sorts of good stuff. Of course, Grant comes to realize that he loves Bergman enough to marry her, but not because she pulls and pushes him into it, but exactly the opposite. She accepted him as he was and was fine with their arrangement.

I'm tired of only seeing women as the killjoys of adventure in movies (and television) and I am tired of this portrayal of us as the dour gatekeepers of responsibility. It seems like in exchange getting some measure of sexual freedom and education and careers, we have to put up with being turned into boring cardboard funblockers.

I think this is also why things like Sex and the City and Bridget Jones Diary were so popular. With the exception of Charlotte, these were stories full of zany eclectic women looking for the adventure of love and not the commitment of marriage. In Bridget Jones, Bridget is far closer to the screwball characters of 50 years ago than to her bland and responsible modern counterparts.

So until Hollywood starts making women fun again, I'm sticking with classics romances and foreign films. I can't find anything to relate to in the modern movies. I don't know anyone that boring.

About that married man thing

So I spent this morning trading insults in Russian, Spanish and Hebrew with a guy from an online dating place.

The married guy hackles went up pretty early on, but he's charming and funny, loves to travel as much as I do and loves Italian shoes as much as I do. Oh, and he taught me how to say warm wet pussy in hebrew.

I have no intention of doing anything more than email flirting with him, but I still feel ookey (it's a word, really. I got it from southpark so it must be real).

As the Russians would say- Piezdietz! (kinda like fuckity fuck fuck, or fuckles )

Quick Poll

David Beckham- Photoshop enhanced package or real? Curious girls and gay boys around the world want to know.

More hot or not from the RQ

It's a new year! And to help people with their resolutions, I give you my hot/not hot list for 2008!

Not hot: Boys in polo shirts. I once read that we dress the service class in uniforms similar to what the wealthy wear when at play. That's why you have a gazillion Starbucks barristas wearing polos and khakis as a uniform (put khakis on my list of things guys should not wear to get laid). A guy in a polo shirt no longer registers as wealthy preppy boy, but as someone who will take my orders at a drive through.

Hot: Boys in sweaters. yum.

So hot I will do bad things in public that could get me arrested: Boys in cashmere sweaters. I have a serious fetish for cashmere. I once threatened to do unspeakable things to someone's cashmere sweater. While he thought it was hot, he never wore the sweater around me again. Something about not wanting to explain it to the dry cleaners.

Not Hot: People (boys and girls) who LOL things that aren't funny just to seem like they are charming and witty. I never LOL, things that are actually funny make people actually laugh.

Hot: People who are actually charming and witty. Sarcasm, irony, brains are all better aphrodisiacs than a case of PBR.

Super Hot: Someone who is witty and charming and has a bigger vocabulary than me. I can remember the last time someone used a word in a way that I was unfamiliar with (the word was catholic, meaning worldly, not religious). I was impressed, but unfortunately he was wearing khakis and polo shirt so I couldn't sleep with him. That was almost 2 years ago.

Not Hot: Super short, super long, or super product hair. I know, guys don't have a shitload of options in the hair department, but super short is boring, super long is cheesy and anyone who uses more product than me is too high maint.

Hot: Long enough to put your fingers in, but not long enough to make a pony tail. Bonus points if your hair is naturally messy and wavy.

Not Hot: "natural" smelling boys. Seriously, here's some soap. I don't know if it's the crunchy granola Seattle thing or that I hang out with too many hipster musicians, but bathing regularly does not make you a sellout to corporate America.

Hot: Boys who use Downey. I can't use it myself (it gives me headaches) but I love cuddling up next to a boy who uses it.

Super Hot: a boy who smells a little bit like soap up close, and nothing else.

What's on your hot list?