The Little Adventures of Penis and Vagina- Episode 1-Anus: A Somewhat Intellectual and Wordy Response

There are many things school administrators advocate for on a more consistent basis than others: I would appreciate it if studies in sexuality and healthy relationships were one of them. As a result of increasing consumption of hyper-sexualized music coupled with limited in-class dialogue around sex, I foresee administrators continuing to be burdened with the problem of having to address sexually “deviant” behavior. Before I proceed, I would like to first question the validity and cultural relevancy of the rubric used to classify “sexually deviant” behavior—if such a rubric exists at all.

When it comes to the current rise in STD/STI outbreaks among youth in Oakland, CA ( “East Oakland has the highest incidence of HIVIAIDS cases among African American and Latino women and youth in Alameda County.” ), I charge local administration and the State for having failed to hold spaces where honest and candid conversations about sex are possible and flourishing. Silence does little to equip a young person with the tools necessary to formulate healthy sexual practices of their own. Couple silence with a frontal lobe that has yet to fully develop, and we get a massive attack of burning briefs and panties. When the school doors are shut on conversations related to sex, students are left to create their own spaces to speak out. Most of which consists of their peers whose point of reference is their own trial and error.

In tenth grade, I spent the entire year of Biology talking about sex and abstaining from texts. My friends and I were each other’s counsel. Most of us have had sex for the first time and were extremely excited to talk about what felt good, what didn’t; what felt normal, what felt alien; what made us blossom and what made us cry. It held a lot of weight, and looking back I wish we would’ve have someone to spot us.

I take interest in this, because frankly youth and young adults—when engaged in unsafe sex practices—are bound to inflict pain upon themselves. The worst is the psychological strain during the time to it takes to schedule an appointment and learn of your results.

*puts on politician beanie*

I advocate for human sexuality studies to become an A-G requirement in all of California public high schools. This will serve as a factor in producing young and growing adults who better understand their bodies and themselves as a whole, who will in turn develop healthy relationships with one another—both intimate and platonic. I also recommend the State redevelop its approach to sex ed. One of the primary steps is to begin fostering discussion. The video above is my attempt at keeping the discussion candid, with hopes that our youth will learn more about their bodies and ask questions of them.

*political beanie thrown off and stomped on*

The Booty and the Pee

It’s 2:34 in the crevice of twilight and he is on the phone inviting himself into my bed. I say no. He then asks me to travel to his place so that he may feel on my booty. I’ve just come home from a night full of dance-offs and rum; walking into things with one eye half-open and desperately need to pee. My bladder is trying it’s hardest not to leak on my rugs and in the process, have gotten me looking like a senile duck trying to find its way to a safe place. I think about letting him finish his sentence whilst I squirt my last sip of evening into the urinal, but on second thought decide to place him on hold and click the mute button to save him from my streams of unconsciousness.

I vaguely remember a time when a friend of mine spoke about how rude it is to pee (or poop) while on the phone. Personally, I think it is a perfect time to indulge in a bonding experience. I pee in front of my mom, and on occasion attempt to hold elongated conversations with her while in mid-poop. I think it is a testament of security. It is also a test of interest. When I am on the phone with a potential love mate who is calling me close to 3’o clock in the morning, what better way to tell him who I really I am by grunting loudly on the receiver as I push large masses of old food from my anus. #justsaying

When we first meet someone who we find attractive, we oftentimes become stuck in our image of who and what we want them to be. To uphold this image, we refrain from placing ourselves in certain situations where unwarranted experiences may occur. I.e. bathrooms, family settings, etc. I figure, if you really want to maximize your chances of feeling on my booty (or any other woman’s glutes), then you should opt out of being content with scratching my surface and get to know me for what’s on the inside. Literally.

One who accepts being a flawed human is the perfect person I’d like to hang out with. That’s probably why I irritate me so often. To keep me interested in myself. I do my best to accept the crooks in my straight; consistently sanding my rough even when I am aware that it gives me the edge necessary to thrive.

I tell him and any man, if the goal is to feel on any woman’s booty, you’d want her to be comfortable with you while you’re peeing on the phone. That way she sees you for who you are: a human being with a functioning urinal tract. If her bubble is burst by your natural instincts, then she was never into you, only what she imagined you to be. Unfortunately, this is common and I am no exception. Though I may be comfortable with a bit of p&p (poop and pee) on the phone, I still struggle with keeping a straight face while inhaling the pungent smell of someone else’s farts.

Poly-Amore…Lovin’ Outside of the Box

On Valentine’s Day, I was not gifted with a heart-shaped anything. I did not indulge in the national ritual of human spit swapping and teddy bear cuddling. Instead, I waited four days to fondle the minds of many.

I hosted a panel discussion on polyamory as it relates to people of color (sidebar: one day I truly hope we can condense “people of color” to something that sounds more like “crayon”)

Let’s see: I hosted a panel discussion on polyamory as it relates to crayons. Eh…

On this night, Joyce Gordon’s self-entitled gallery was stuffed with an array of sexualities and gender preferences, as well as very articulate hairstyles.

The panel featured Mahasin Munir, Dazie Grego, Selam Mekonen, Sonya Brewer and Richard Wright, the founder of POLY/POC and the organizer of the panel. I did my best to ask questions that would better help the audience understand the mechanics behind polyamorous relationships.

We explored common misconceptions: one being that people who practice polyamory (commonly referred to as “open relationships”) do so as a means to excuse sexual deviance.

Whatever that means. Mahasin quickly retorted by stating how she’s known “people who have been in polyamorous relationships and haven’t slept with anyone but their partner. So, that [myth] can go down the toilet.”

We also delved into ways in which being in more than one intimate relationship simultaneously can stretch a human beyond their limits—allowing them to increase their capacity to tolerate and converse with their own fears of abandonment and jealousy.

Is polyamory an excuse to get your cake and eat it too? Does it lead to a fuller stomach or stomach-ache?

To hear more of what the panelists had to say, check out the first half of the discussion here. When you’re done, breathe. Then call up a boo-thang and make out in an unusual way. If you have not a boo-thang, fondle yourself. After that, check out the second half of the panel. Conclude with a review ‘pon de blog. Click “submit” and massage my mind.

Remember When Sex Was Fun?

Not only has an outing to the movie theater left my wallet in crutches, I have been prone to wake up in miniature pools of drool mid-way.

As a result of many failed attempts at catching a movie during its premier, I have decided to rent films via Netflix. This was three years ago and I have yet to re-establish my connection to the virtual Blockbuster. There is little hope for Netflix and I.

I need an incentive to use my dirty laundry fund for an hour’s plus worth of visual disenchantment. Perhaps a raffle at the end of the screening. I do not care about the prize, but I’d appreciate the thought. Plus, I have a thing for people who put forth effort into finessing the mundane.

Or what about a happy hour, where we can buy a bottomless bucket of popcorn for five dollars?

If not an incentive, then at least better romance scenes. If just as much time was spent into the creative development of tongue flicking as there has been into simulating car crashes and murders, then perhaps we would be a more empathetic, thus fulfilled species. Just saying.

Radical psychiatrist and psychoanalyst Wilhelm Reich is quoted in Ruth and Edward Brecher’s 1966 An Analysis of Human Sexual Response as having stated that “failure to reach orgasm was the basic cause of psychophisiological and behavioral disorders in human beings.” I agree and would like to progress his argument by proposing an analysis of insipid squirts of the nerf could explicate our current relationship to nature, which on a multitude of levels, is a violent and perverted one. I have a few more books to read until I can fully prove that point, but I’m sticking to it like a tongue on dry rice.

As it stands, very few movies urge me to want to jump atop something cute and straddle him. Watching a kissing scene, is more like watching Mr. and Mrs. Potatoe head swap detachable spit. Boring.

More than enough sex scenes pan away from nudity, preferring to catch close-ups of laced curtains, slivers of moonlight or a toe trying to fidget its way out the edge of a bed sheet. This is a waste of good optics. If the producer’s goal is to make me feel uncomfortable among a room full of strangers who either feel peer pressured to grope one another, or awkwardly shift in their seat, then they have succeeded.

If directors, want me to start supporting their films, I would opt for them to invest a little more time into their T.L.C campaign. No more lace curtains and censored private parts. (Unless you are watching a Tyler Perry special, then replace “lace curtains” with “domestic violence” to sustain my point). I want to see it all, so I can at least make up for the anatomy classes I fell asleep through barely passed was not as interested in during college.

(Yes, theoretically, I can supplement missed classes with life experience, but sometimes I don’t feel like getting my hands dirty. And being naked for too long makes me cold. As is normal.)

Okay. Enough of my rambling and nail-polish remover intellect. All I am wanting to suggest is that we make sex look fun(ny) again. No shooting stars special effects nor flying fists. I just want a bit of flesh and humor, for the sake of humanity.

Short Post: I’m a Hater.

Once every forty to fifty-eight days, I become an avid hater of all things beautiful. Today is one of those days. Thanks to Facebook, I just might go to bed with even more of a bitter heart than I originally planned.

Contrary to what a virtual yogi may suggest, online status updates and photo albums depicting seemingly flawless lives of “friends” do not inspire me as often as they may intend. On some nights, like this one, I go into compare mode and contrast my reality to static images. This can’t be a good thing.

Facebook has a way of reminding me that I have baggage. I swore when I first picked up my tote, it was barely big enough to carry a frail looking dog.  After a few failed relationships, my baggage has enough capacity to fit a nomadic tribe of twelve. It has become not only a burden, but the bearer of spears, occasionally shot at love infused status updates. And teenagers who relentlessly hold hands. In public. As they upload photos of clammy palms onto their profile pages.

Perhaps, I need to take my co-worker’s advice and begin a daily regimen of taking multi-vitamins. I heard nutrients increase one’s energy, thus boosting overall cheer. We’ll see.

In the meantime, I am going to tuck my bags under my bed and prepare for work. I have two and three-quarters of an article left to read by tomorrow’s a.m. #notgoingtohappen.

…and since I am a single woman working on being more committed to things I want to be more committed to, I decided to at least show my blog some love. Thanks for bearing with me.

Signed,

The Grinch Who Stole Beautiful.