Tag Archives: sex

Stuff happened, and is happening, and may or may not happen

Gosh, I suck at this blogging thing lately.  This even started as a draft two weeks ago and never got finished.

Santa Claus was good to us.   Frank got Rock Band 2 for our Wii (well, really, we all did) and I got… wait for it… a fiberglass rug for in front of our woodburning stove.

To make up for it, I’ll be getting a Motorola Droid for my birthday in six four weeks.  I have a closet case of iPhone envy.  But, I refuse to abandon our Verizon Wireless service.  It works so nicely and has always been really reliable for us, and I get a hefty discount on our bill because my old company feels no need to tell Verizon that I haven’t worked there for over two years.

I might be going back to school in the fall, or at least eventually.  I had been informed by someone who should know better that I had all the education I needed to take the tests to get certified to teach high school business.  So I got that bee in my bonnet, and started thinking about getting certified, and even started registering for the certification process, and in doing so realized I didn’t really have all the right education lined up for it.  But the bee’s still in the bonnet, and the schooling wouldn’t be too intense.  I can’t really see myself going back to corporate work, and while I love doing it, I’m not sure I have the cutthroat mentality to make my photography business be my full-time gig.  (Mostly because I don’t want to lose all my weekends to it, and I feel bad charging too much money for my work, so my income there will continue to be supplemental at best.)  However — schools that offer a line of coursework towards certification as a business teacher are few and far between!  My main choices are in Westchester county (but with a very hefty tuition price tag) or a small private college in Albany, which is somewhat farther to drive but with a much more reasonable tuition charge, and a full time option.  It would be a rough nine months, commuting to Albany (or maybe even renting a room up there to avoid some commuting) but we as a family feel like it’s a really smart choice for us, even if it takes me some time to secure a full-time position — most schools around here want substitutes that are NYS certified, and they pay decently for them.  But that’s a maybe because….

We’re also not not trying to get pregnant.  If you remember, my body is acting a little screwy, and my new midwife (who I love!) wanted me to get things checked out, even though we both theorized that it was Jake’s continual (though less frequent) nursing that was making my uterus misbehave.  Blood tests all came back with normal results, so she also wanted me to get a pelvic ultrasound, which I did last Thursday.

But let me back up just a bit.  Last Wednesday (ie., the day before the ultrasound), Frank and I had intimate relations, as married couples are wont to do.  Afterwards, he asked if I could be ovulating.  I said, “Well, I suppose it’s possible, now’s the time when I would be, if I were, but I don’t think I am.  But I suppose I might have, and if I did it would be about now.”  Once he unscrambled his brains from hearing that statement, he asked what may be the funniest question ever.  “When you have the ultrasound tomorrow, will they be able to tell we had sex?”  As in, will they be able to see his little guys swimming around?  I assured him they couldn’t (it’s not done with a microscope, after all!) but even if they could, I’m certainly not the first woman to have an ultrasound the day after having sex.  🙂

So Thursday came, and I went for the ultrasound.  I wanted to ask a zillion questions of the tech as it was happening, but she assured me she was not allowed to tell me anything of a diagnostic nature.  But I was chatty and friendly with her, and told her about having sex and Frank’s funny question, and soon enough she was pretty forthcoming about the state of my ovaries.  She started looking at my right ovary, which she described as “quite plump” and full of healthy-looking follicles (where the eggs come out).

Then she moved onto the left ovary and said, “Oh, look at that.”

OHMYGODWHAT, IS THERE A MARTIAN LIVING IN MY OVARY?  I asked, or perhaps something that sounded less batshit crazy.  “Oh no,” she said, “but it looks like you very very recently ovulated, like yesterday or this morning.”  Oh!  Well, that’s unexpected but welcome news.  She continued, “Actually, I see two follicles that look like they just ruptured.”  (For those uneducated about the workings of the female reproductive system, one follicle releases one egg; two follicles means two eggs.  Which can lead to two babies, aka fraternal twins.)

I asked, “So… not only does it look like I ovulated this month, but that I may have ovulated more than one egg?” and the panic in my voice must have been a little palpable, as I imagined telling Frank we were pregnant with twins.

She said, “Well, often, both don’t take.  But this month looks like a really promising month for you, based on what I’m seeing and that you had intercourse yesterday!  Do it again tonight just to make sure!”

OK then.

Now, she’s a tech.  I understand she wasn’t supposed to tell me ANY of what she said to me, and she might be completely wrong.  But at the same time, I have to think she’s got a fair idea of what she’s looking at.

We didn’t do it again that night.  But Frank and I aren’t panicked either.  I guess neither of us really felt the need to increase our chances beyond what seemed pretty good already.  🙂

So, right now, it’s T-minus about twelve days until I could maybe register positive on a pregnancy test.


Sexual injustice

Prostitution is one of those things I waver on.  It’s not that I’m “all for it” per se, like I would be less than thrilled to find out my husband paid for services rendered, and it’s certainly not a vocation I would ever ever ever ever ever (ever ever!) want my daughter (or son, for that matter) to enter to earn a living.

But it happens, on the general principle of supply and demand.  There are women (and men) willing to service for money.  Whether it’s money to survive, or feed a child, or feed an addiction, or maintain a luxury penthouse like Eliot Spitzer’s party favor.  And there’s certainly no shortage of men (and a smattering of women) willing to pay money or favors or drugs for these services.

The legislation of morality generally leaves me with a sour taste in my mouth.  We have one of the highest prison populations per capita in the world, largely due to our legislation of morality (i.e. The War On Drugs).  I’m not saying I think drugs are cool and everyone should do them; far from it, actually.  But I do think alcohol is a more dangerous substance than marijuana (or they are at least equally dangerous)… there’s just a certain arbitrariness, to me, to outlaw certain substances but allow others.  And there’s other stuff, like sodomy laws, or Alabama, wretched state it is, where it is illegal to sell sex toys.  Yep, that’s right… you have to scurry over to Georgia or Mississippi to get yourself a vibrator.

I just have trouble with telling a consenting adult what they can do with their own body.

So, prostitution has me generally uneasy.  By and large, these people are consenting… most women are not forced into prostitution.  Granted, it’s a dangerous, thankless, demoralizing job… but so are lots of other jobs that are perfectly legal.  Some women are trapped in prostitution because it’s the only thing they can do to make any sort of decent money… but lots of people are trapped in awful jobs they hate.  But some women ARE forced into prostitution.  Women become targets for victimization and disease because they are prostitutes.  I wonder though, if keeping it illegal is helpful, or only exacerbates these problems.

Anyway, let me get to the actual point I was aiming for in the first place here.  You may have already read the latest prostitution scandal.  Specifically, a gentleman named Thomas Athans has admitted to paying a woman for sexual services.  The troublesome part for him is that he happens to be married to a U.S. Senator, Debbie Stabenow from the great state of Michigan.

To sum up what happened, he paid $150 to a woman to give him a blow job.  Cops stopped him outside the hotel where the tryst took place, he admitted to what he did, they let him go (but did ticket him for driving with a suspended license), and then arrested the woman.  (You can read the full story here.)

The awful, glaring, nauseating part of this, for me, is that he wasn’t arrested, and she was.  I completely totally hate that about prostitution enforcement.  And it’s not like he played the “Do you know who I am card?” because if you read the story, the guy didn’t name drop or anything.  But the cops just let him go.  Boys will be boys, perhaps?

Not only is it sexist and unjust and unfair, which is in itself enough to completely piss me off, but what is it doing to stem the tide of prostitution?  It’s a simple matter of economics – supply and demand in its most basic form.  If the law enforcement in the area really want to be effective, they need to go at this from both ends.  Arrest the johns!  You can try to cut off the supply, but do nothing for the demand and you just end up with fewer, higher-priced, busier hookers working an area.  What additional deterrent is there for a man to decide against seeking out these services, if he can be reasonably assured he can get off with just a warning and an “aww, shucks” from the investigating officer?!?   Arrest the johns, publish their names, shame them.  Make sure they know that if they do the crime, they’re going to do the time.  Or at least have them pay a fine and be subject to the modern day stockade of public information disclosure.

Governors, beware!!

Frank and I and the kids used to live in New Jersey, until recently.  It just so happens a couple years ago the New Jersey governor was embroiled in a sex scandal.  Oh, it was just full of salaciousness and deviancy and it brought out the voyeur in each of the state’s residents.  (New Jerseyans, I think we were called.)

Jim McGreevey seemed like a good guy, and he probably still is in many respects.  Unfortunately the world of politics does not look favorably upon a man being on the down-low, and then coming out of the closet when your former gay lover is about to sue you for sexual harassment.  Like I said – salacious and deviant.

Then we moved to New York, where Eliot Spitzer was now governor.  He was the NYS attorney general when last we lived here, and was practically a hero of the people.  One of his big things was going after price gougers in times of crisis – like, for example, those with the audacity to charge exorbitant prices for generators during the massive ice storm that hit the Adirondacks in ’98 or ’99.  He was tough as nails and just generally awesome, and I was psyched when he won the governorship last year.  He seemed like a man whose time had come.

Heh heh, come.  Pun not intended but during my proofread, I started giggling. 

Then, we moved back to New York State late last year, and brought certain doom to his governorship.  I don’t need to talk about the details, I’m sure you’ve read enough of them.  Or maybe not — that salacious and deviant angle can be addictive.  But it turns out he’s a big perv, asking hookers to do stuff even they might not be comfortable doing, all behind the back of his MILF-tastic wife (who looks uncannily like Pam from The Office in ten years) and their three daughters.

Frank and I chatted briefly about this, and while two may not QUITE be a pattern yet, it certainly looks promising.  Anyone have a governor they’d rather be without?  For an appropriate fee, we will move to your state and a sex scandal could very well follow.

That’s using your schmekl

Right now we are subletting an apartment from a man named Michael.  We share a house; we live on the first floor and Michael lives above us.  Michael’s mother used to live where we live, but she passed away a few months ago, creating the vacancy.

Michael simply defies description.  Picture a caricature of the dweebiest, creepiest, smallest, weirdest, introverted, middle-aged Jewish man you can think of, and you probably have a fair image of Michael.  Except Michael has a full head of hair.  And is really into jazz.

Honestly I don’t think Michael looks especially Jewish, but he sounds Jewish.  Anytime I talk to him (which I try to avoid as much as possible, given the weird and creepy factors) I keep waiting for him to tell me about the shpilkes in his geneckteckessoink.  

But all that is really beside the point.  The man has loud orgasms.  Often.  In all his creepy weirdness he has managed to be dating a rather attractive Hispanic woman, which were his mother still alive, she would probably think it was completely meshugeh and she would most certainly think it was a shande.  I assume I’m mostly hearing them shtuping but I also assume at least occasionally he’s operating by himself.  Talk about adding to the creepy factor all around.


But seriously, we’re operating on the famine end of things around here.  It’s rough to know, first-hand, that Michael is having a feast.

Oy vey!

(Yes, BeThisWay, I did have to look up how to spell schmekl, and a couple other words.  I promise I actually knew all the words though!!  I’m sure you’ll tell me how good or bad my usage is.  🙂 )

(Also, I swear this isn’t meant to be pandering to the sex tag clickers.  I just needed to vent!!) 

Lest you think I’m making it up

Here’s my site views. The big peak near the end is from the two days with posts tagged with “sex”.


You people are perverts. 😀

Drought over

‘Nuff said.  😉

Lessons learned

So, yeah, no sex last night, as I stated.

Yeah, I could have woken my husband up, and he probably would have been glad I did.  But at the same time, if he’d woken me up to have sex with me, I’d probably kick him in the taint, so that’s what mostly guided my decision to let him sleep last night.  Lesson learned from the comments from yesterday’s post — it’s OK to wake him up.  🙂  I really already know that… but really, his sleeping was a convenient excuse to use a little free time to do something I’ve been meaning to do for weeks…

There’s a certain baby soap I’ve bought for my kids’ baths, that consistently makes my hands break out in vesicles, a common result of contact dermatitis.  I’ve thought about taking it with me to the doctor to find out what random lotion/soap ingredient is the perpetrator of this annoyance, but in a stealthy swash of wisdom (did that phrase even make sense?) I figured I could cross-reference ingredients from products that don’t cause an allergic reaction and try to figure out this mystery.  Another lesson learned: I was able to narrow the potential culprits down to about a half-dozen different ingredients, so that’s productive.
A completely pathetic activity to pursue in lieu of sex, but productive nonetheless.

To make amends with myself and my husband, who doesn’t know he missed out on the first sex in about two months last night, I’ve alluded that if he puts Lane to bed and gets her to sleep fairly soon, he will totally score.  I figure this accomplishes three things:  1) it will hopefully get Lane to bed at a reasonable hour, AGAIN, and 2) I will get to have sex even though I still would have probably initiated even if *I* put Lane to bed and 3) it buys me some time to sit here and type.  I rarely try to manipulate him with promises of sex, but hell, if it works and we’re both happy with the end result, maybe that’s not a bad thing.  Lesson learned.

And my last lesson learned?  Tagging a post with “sex” brings on an inordinate amount of traffic to my blog.