Lately I’ve been curious about the G-shot. Initially I had negative feelings about it, viewing it as one more way that women are made to feel sexually inadequate in this patriarchal society. After all, if you’re not having orgasms strictly from The Penis, there must be something wrong with you! Any woman worth sleeping with doesn’t need a man to cater to her by orally stimulating her clitoris or other such nonsense. The Penis provides vaginal orgasms during intercourse, and if it doesn’t, you’re an inferior woman. At least, that’s the message that women are so often sent--despite the fact that most vaginas are minimally sensitive inside--and I worried that the G-shot was reinforcing this idea. As I ponder it, though, my viewpoint is changing and I’ve been curious about getting the shot myself. What I originally saw as a “solution” to a “problem” regarding female orgasms, I now see as sort of an added bonus to sex. Granted, some women may still pursue it as a quick fix for what they perceive to be sexual inadequacy, and for their sake, I hope that doctors discuss the mechanics of female orgasm with them. But for someone like me who simply has a stubborn G-spot that doesn’t seem to want to come out to play too often, the shot would force it to be ready and willing whenever I want it to be. No more pre-sex prepping, wondering, “Is it going to respond to stimulation today?” while futilely poking my fingers around. I could take control! I know that G-spot orgasms during sex are the exception and not the rule, but it would be pretty convenient to increase the odds. What woman doesn’t want her orgasms to be more frequent and easily attainable? Sign me up.
Unfortunately, the G-shot costs something like $1500 and only lasts four months, so it’s not something I’ll be trying anytime soon.
What I may be trying soon, though, is the Greenbush breast enhancement program. Actually, I tried it once before, and you’re not going to believe this so brace yourself…it was working. Yes, my breasts were getting bigger during the three-month period that I used Greenbush’s herbs. Mind you, I didn’t see the outrageous two-cup-size-increase that you read about in the testimonials, but the slight size discrepancy between them (the right one was a little bigger) evened out perfectly. Once I realized that, though, I stopped using the herbs because I freaked out assuming that I had breast cancer. There are mixed reports as to the safety of these herbs in terms of cancer. At least one study has shown that fenugreek (the main ingredient) led to an increase in cancer cells in lab animals that already had breast cancer. On the other hand, naturalists claim that the plant estrogens the herbs contain slow the body’s production of human estrogen, and according to them, an increased amount of plant estrogen is much safer than a normal amount of human estrogen. Nobody has studied this formally, so I can’t attest to its safety or danger. All I know is that it’s only $20 for the bottle of nasty smelling shit that you rub on your boobs every day, so I think I’m going to give it another whirl.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Recently I attended SlutWalk Chicago, a protest against victim-blaming and sexual harassment. The protest started in response to a Toronto police officer advising women to avoid rape by not dressing like sluts. This is a prime example of victim-blaming and so shockingly backwards that it’s disheartening to hear that some people honestly foster this mindset. Forward-thinking people with any discernible amount of respect for women would argue that women should be able to wear whatever they want without putting themselves in danger. Men who rape are the problem, not women who are victims of rape. That’s what the protest is about. True, I don’t advocate for women to go out alone at night. The unfortunate reality is that women do have to take measures to protect themselves. But that’s a coping mechanism, not a solution. Controlling how women dress should not be society’s response to the rape problem.
There was also an element of slut pride, in the sense that female sexual agency was encouraged and celebrated. My favorite chant of the day was, “No means no, yes means yes, wherever I go or however I dress.” The idea is that women can act however they please, and that a refusal to have sex should be met with respect rather than rape, and an agreement to have sex should be free from societal judgment. I’ve always supported the option of sexual promiscuity as long as it’s for the right reasons. There’s nothing wrong with a woman choosing multiple sex partners or casual sex partners if she’s making the choice in accordance with her own interests and desires. (Growing up, these women weren’t sluts in my eyes, because I didn’t see promiscuity as negative. Sluts, to me, were girls who used sex for attention or validation. Instead of shaming these girls, though, it would be a lot more productive and beneficial to offer them positive reinforcement.) Even if these empowered promiscuous women are referred to as sluts, I don’t think their behavior has to be viewed with poor favor. A lesser mission of SlutWalk was to reclaim the word “slut” and shed a more positive light on it, simply applying it to any women who is in control of her sexuality and has a healthy, exciting sex life.
I think that any woman (or, at least, any woman who shares a lifestyle and the inherent privileges similar to mine) can be a slut, in the best possible way. We can make smart sexual choices and assert our sexuality in a way that addresses our independence and power. We can have great sex lives with one or a hundred partners, engaging in any activities we enjoy, and experience sexual fulfillment on our own terms, with the support and assistance of the men or women we choose to share our sex with. To me, that’s a form of empowerment, and if “slut” is a label for a woman with a positive sex life, then call me a slut. It’s a subjective term, and now I’m making the conscious choice to see it in a good way. My healthy sexual relationship and attitude toward sex make me a slut. I’m my boyfriend’s slut, and even more than that, I’m my own slut.
There was also an element of slut pride, in the sense that female sexual agency was encouraged and celebrated. My favorite chant of the day was, “No means no, yes means yes, wherever I go or however I dress.” The idea is that women can act however they please, and that a refusal to have sex should be met with respect rather than rape, and an agreement to have sex should be free from societal judgment. I’ve always supported the option of sexual promiscuity as long as it’s for the right reasons. There’s nothing wrong with a woman choosing multiple sex partners or casual sex partners if she’s making the choice in accordance with her own interests and desires. (Growing up, these women weren’t sluts in my eyes, because I didn’t see promiscuity as negative. Sluts, to me, were girls who used sex for attention or validation. Instead of shaming these girls, though, it would be a lot more productive and beneficial to offer them positive reinforcement.) Even if these empowered promiscuous women are referred to as sluts, I don’t think their behavior has to be viewed with poor favor. A lesser mission of SlutWalk was to reclaim the word “slut” and shed a more positive light on it, simply applying it to any women who is in control of her sexuality and has a healthy, exciting sex life.
I think that any woman (or, at least, any woman who shares a lifestyle and the inherent privileges similar to mine) can be a slut, in the best possible way. We can make smart sexual choices and assert our sexuality in a way that addresses our independence and power. We can have great sex lives with one or a hundred partners, engaging in any activities we enjoy, and experience sexual fulfillment on our own terms, with the support and assistance of the men or women we choose to share our sex with. To me, that’s a form of empowerment, and if “slut” is a label for a woman with a positive sex life, then call me a slut. It’s a subjective term, and now I’m making the conscious choice to see it in a good way. My healthy sexual relationship and attitude toward sex make me a slut. I’m my boyfriend’s slut, and even more than that, I’m my own slut.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Arguing Semantics: The truth behind the G-word
Ever since the Blue Jean Babies informally disbanded and stopped using the infamous G-word to avoid confrontation in romantic relationships, I can’t help but feeling that we caved to societal pressure. We did it to save face, but in doing so, we also gave up on the reformation we wanted so badly.
A Google search of “groupie definition” returned few fully adequate descriptions (except the one on Urban Dictionary posted by one of the BBA’s), and a lot of them were quite negative. Still, there does seem to be a general trend toward recognizing the positive and loving relationship between a groupie and her band(s), so I have hope that the reclamation of the word might be taking hold. Hard work pays off.
Let’s see some definitions that are floating around.
TRUE: a fan of a rock group who usually follows the group around on concert tours
TRUE: an enthusiastic young fan (especially a young woman who follows rock groups around) - an ardent follower and admirer
FALSE: an enthusiastic fan of a pop group, especially a female teenager seeking a sexual relationship with the object of her adulation
FALSE: a young woman, often under age, who seeks to achieve status by having sex with rock musicians, roadies, security, and other band-related guys
Groupies are generally perceived as girls who perform sexual favors for bands, but I would broaden that definition to include girls (or sometimes guys) who perform any type of favors for bands. In a way, they’re sort of like extra band members, who sell merchandise and write reviews and make T-shirts, rather than playing an instrument.
It’s distressing to hear the word “slut” used interchangeably with “groupie” so often. In the ’60s and ’70s, groupies were essentially rock music’s most glamorous female fans. They were sophisticated, intelligent, stylish women who also loved rock and roll and were able to become a part of the rock scene. Of course they were sexy, but they weren’t sleazy. They conducted themselves with class and poise, and the only reason they’re occasionally looked on unfavorably now is because of their high-profile relationships. While I always defend sexual promiscuity, these groupies were no more promiscuous than any average girl. Suggesting that they were sluts is a false and baseless claim.
One of the myths about groupies is that they’re leeching off of famous people to try to attain fame for themselves. Totally absurd. Back in the day, groupies were fortunate in that rock and roll was popular. They got special perks because the music scene they were a part of was mainstream. And good for them. I bet it was really fun. Nowadays though, almost all of the good music is strictly underground, so the fame aspect is completely removed from the equation. Sucks for the bands, but in a way, maybe it’s even better for the groupies because it creates a stronger sense of unity and sisterhood among them. Instead of competing to stay relevant to pop culture, they’re able to support and nurture each other, while working for the bands on a considerably more manageable level.
I never would have heard of the Handcuffs or the Crash Street Kids or RTX or Sexual Harassment or Stonehand if not for the groupie network.
Another thing that bothers me is the misuse of the word. Sure, it’s misused in the sense that sexual promiscuity is implied, but even if you can’t divorce the word “groupie” from “slut,” at least give groupies the elite position of being rock and roll sluts. Groupies follow rock bands. There are no sports groupies or political groupies or theater groupies. They simply cannot exist, because the words don’t correlate. “Groupie” is not a generic term for hot, enthusiastic, female fan. A groupie is a rock fan, specifically.
Alas, in the same sense that hair metal committed suicide rather than being killed by grunge, groupies destroyed themselves by acting like sloppy, immature whores. By the late 1970s, they had completely tainted their own good name. Somehow in the process of trying to be as cool as Miss Pamela, girls started blowing roadies and squatting on beer bottles. They ruined the image and the word, and that was why modern groupie groups formed to reclaim it.
The world at large may be mostly unaware, but I believe that on a small scale, people are starting to listen.
Ever since the Blue Jean Babies informally disbanded and stopped using the infamous G-word to avoid confrontation in romantic relationships, I can’t help but feeling that we caved to societal pressure. We did it to save face, but in doing so, we also gave up on the reformation we wanted so badly.
A Google search of “groupie definition” returned few fully adequate descriptions (except the one on Urban Dictionary posted by one of the BBA’s), and a lot of them were quite negative. Still, there does seem to be a general trend toward recognizing the positive and loving relationship between a groupie and her band(s), so I have hope that the reclamation of the word might be taking hold. Hard work pays off.
Let’s see some definitions that are floating around.
TRUE: a fan of a rock group who usually follows the group around on concert tours
TRUE: an enthusiastic young fan (especially a young woman who follows rock groups around) - an ardent follower and admirer
FALSE: an enthusiastic fan of a pop group, especially a female teenager seeking a sexual relationship with the object of her adulation
FALSE: a young woman, often under age, who seeks to achieve status by having sex with rock musicians, roadies, security, and other band-related guys
Groupies are generally perceived as girls who perform sexual favors for bands, but I would broaden that definition to include girls (or sometimes guys) who perform any type of favors for bands. In a way, they’re sort of like extra band members, who sell merchandise and write reviews and make T-shirts, rather than playing an instrument.
It’s distressing to hear the word “slut” used interchangeably with “groupie” so often. In the ’60s and ’70s, groupies were essentially rock music’s most glamorous female fans. They were sophisticated, intelligent, stylish women who also loved rock and roll and were able to become a part of the rock scene. Of course they were sexy, but they weren’t sleazy. They conducted themselves with class and poise, and the only reason they’re occasionally looked on unfavorably now is because of their high-profile relationships. While I always defend sexual promiscuity, these groupies were no more promiscuous than any average girl. Suggesting that they were sluts is a false and baseless claim.
One of the myths about groupies is that they’re leeching off of famous people to try to attain fame for themselves. Totally absurd. Back in the day, groupies were fortunate in that rock and roll was popular. They got special perks because the music scene they were a part of was mainstream. And good for them. I bet it was really fun. Nowadays though, almost all of the good music is strictly underground, so the fame aspect is completely removed from the equation. Sucks for the bands, but in a way, maybe it’s even better for the groupies because it creates a stronger sense of unity and sisterhood among them. Instead of competing to stay relevant to pop culture, they’re able to support and nurture each other, while working for the bands on a considerably more manageable level.
I never would have heard of the Handcuffs or the Crash Street Kids or RTX or Sexual Harassment or Stonehand if not for the groupie network.
Another thing that bothers me is the misuse of the word. Sure, it’s misused in the sense that sexual promiscuity is implied, but even if you can’t divorce the word “groupie” from “slut,” at least give groupies the elite position of being rock and roll sluts. Groupies follow rock bands. There are no sports groupies or political groupies or theater groupies. They simply cannot exist, because the words don’t correlate. “Groupie” is not a generic term for hot, enthusiastic, female fan. A groupie is a rock fan, specifically.
Alas, in the same sense that hair metal committed suicide rather than being killed by grunge, groupies destroyed themselves by acting like sloppy, immature whores. By the late 1970s, they had completely tainted their own good name. Somehow in the process of trying to be as cool as Miss Pamela, girls started blowing roadies and squatting on beer bottles. They ruined the image and the word, and that was why modern groupie groups formed to reclaim it.
The world at large may be mostly unaware, but I believe that on a small scale, people are starting to listen.
Monday, June 13, 2011
When you feel like blogging but don’t know what to blog about, “your problems” is always a good topic to fall back on. Right now my problems are cramps and jealousy, and I’m guessing that jealousy will be a more interesting/tolerable subject to read about. I’m actually not feeling intensely jealous right now, but it’s a recurring problem and I know my craziness will cause it to flare up again.
I have obsessive-compulsive disorder, heavy on the obsessive part, and one of the manifestations of my disorder is obsessive retroactive jealousy, or jealousy of a partner’s romantic and sexual past. Apparently it’s pretty common for retroactive jealousy to be associated with OCD, although I haven’t discussed this with my shrink yet.
This jealousy is completely irrational and not based on any logical fears or concerns. I’m not afraid that my partner will leave me. I’m not afraid that I’m unattractive (usually). I’m not really afraid of anything. I’m just jealous of every girl he’s ever had any sort of intimate relationship with. For no real reason.
Of course, I make it worse by actively seeking out information. One of my favorite hobbies is looking at pictures of him on exes' Facebook or MySpace pages. That’s pretty sick and masochistic. I get a huge adrenaline rush from seeing photos of him wrapping another woman lovingly in his arms or rereading the exchange of dirty e-mails that somehow ended up on my computer. My heart races, my face flushes, I sweat and shiver. I get so worked up to a point that I feel feverish, and then I crash into a horrible depression. Sometimes I cry in bed by myself. Other times I start fights with him. It’s a vicious, fucked-up cycle, and no matter how much reassurance he gives me, I can’t stop obsessing and suffering the resultant depression because it’s part of a psychological disorder.
Honestly, I think it’s extremely rude and disrespectful for me to treat him this way. It’s not fair to pry into his past—which is over—and then to have bad reactions that negatively impact our relationship and make him feel guilty. Totally, totally not okay. I worry I’m going to lose him if I keep this up.
I've always had this problem, but it's so much worse with him because I really love him.
If anyone reading this has had success treating retroactive jealousy through therapy, medication, or other means, please share your story.
I have obsessive-compulsive disorder, heavy on the obsessive part, and one of the manifestations of my disorder is obsessive retroactive jealousy, or jealousy of a partner’s romantic and sexual past. Apparently it’s pretty common for retroactive jealousy to be associated with OCD, although I haven’t discussed this with my shrink yet.
This jealousy is completely irrational and not based on any logical fears or concerns. I’m not afraid that my partner will leave me. I’m not afraid that I’m unattractive (usually). I’m not really afraid of anything. I’m just jealous of every girl he’s ever had any sort of intimate relationship with. For no real reason.
Of course, I make it worse by actively seeking out information. One of my favorite hobbies is looking at pictures of him on exes' Facebook or MySpace pages. That’s pretty sick and masochistic. I get a huge adrenaline rush from seeing photos of him wrapping another woman lovingly in his arms or rereading the exchange of dirty e-mails that somehow ended up on my computer. My heart races, my face flushes, I sweat and shiver. I get so worked up to a point that I feel feverish, and then I crash into a horrible depression. Sometimes I cry in bed by myself. Other times I start fights with him. It’s a vicious, fucked-up cycle, and no matter how much reassurance he gives me, I can’t stop obsessing and suffering the resultant depression because it’s part of a psychological disorder.
Honestly, I think it’s extremely rude and disrespectful for me to treat him this way. It’s not fair to pry into his past—which is over—and then to have bad reactions that negatively impact our relationship and make him feel guilty. Totally, totally not okay. I worry I’m going to lose him if I keep this up.
I've always had this problem, but it's so much worse with him because I really love him.
If anyone reading this has had success treating retroactive jealousy through therapy, medication, or other means, please share your story.
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