Pertinent stuff that pisses me off

Loved that alliteration didn't you? Check this out:

I thought I had a respect for Helen Mirren. I will not respect anyone, ANYONE, who condones or dismisses date rape in anyway. I think that in this interview she has basically disregarded woman's right to make individual choices about her body.

She called a woman voluntarily taking her clothes off with a man a "tricky area."

"If a woman voluntarily ends up in a man’s bedroom with her clothes off? It’s such a tricky area, isn’t it? Especially if there is no violence."

What the hell people? So in this tricky area it's not entirely illegal (I couldn't sue according to Helen Mirren) for a man to rape me? So when I get my annual woman's health exam from my male doctor this is one of those "tricky areas?" I am doing it voluntarily after all!

So I guess we could chalk this up to me as a woman scorned, but Mirren admits that she was date raped “a couple of times” during her college years. I think this is better explained by generational and societal differences. That and Helen Mirren apparently not realizing just how violent rape innately is.

Rape is inherently violent. Rape oppresses the will of the victim. And I'd like to leave you with this nice definition I found, violence is any inappropriate physical contact that could harm another.

My fans deserve an update

Hi, and welcome back to the blog of the life of Claudia, aka young Blanche Devereaux in training.

In regards to last post, second date ensued the next evening. Back at his house after seeing Indiana Jones (WTF, people? That movie did not need to be two hours long!) he asked, and this is a direction quote, "AM I GOING TO GET TO SEE SOME TITTIES?" No, he was not twelve. He was 27. I think even my baby brother knows better than to say things like that. He also accused me of having other boyfriends.

So as you might imagine, that little adventure turned me off of my dating spree. I think I've finally mostly adjusted to living at home for the first time in three years, but it is still occasionally hard. I miss having my own front door that nobody else uses unless I let them. I miss the meaning that my twin size dorm bed had, even if the full/queen at home is much more comfy. In short, I'm used to being around my mom and brother every day. I'm used to only driving my car every couple days. I love living near miles and miles of sidewalk to aid and abet my highly addictive running habit. Nevertheless, my anxiety issues are out of control. I can hardly open text messages that I receive, placing phone calls necessary or otherwise feels impossible My logic behind this? Surely all of my friends hate me, and as much as I like being social and getting out of the house, that's is scary shit.

And my final rambling section, I am working for Weight Watchers now and I only have two training sessions left for the receptionist position. I go to a Basic Leader Skills retreat the second weekend of August. My members love me and I know I am making a difference while I have fun at work. If only the old lady employees weren't such damn Bible thumpers, it would be the perfect job.

Goodbye for now, children.

So what's a girl to do?

As a recently single and relatively recently hot lady, I face a variety of issues in my day to day life. It's just not easy being hot and available, I suppose.

Last night I went on a first date. I can't count how many first dates I've had since M. left me the first week of March. Really, please do not ask me to count. I have met so many duds, guys that weren't even good for a fun afternoon or evening. Difference is, last night went well. The first half hour or so at the coffee shop was a bit awkward, figuring out conversation and all. After that it seemed like something clicked. We talked almost two hours before getting hungry and thus grabbing a bite to eat. We were having such a good time that we walked to a bar in the shopping center for a couple beers. I don't know about anyone else, but a five hour first date that is so incredibly fun doesn't happen to me often.

I wore a purple rouched sleeve shirt and jeans from the Limited, black wedge heels. I looked a cute and wholesome version of sexy; he called me gorgeous. I felt something shiver in me when he put his arm around me. The way he tucked my hair behind my ear and the somewhat sudden and public first kiss made me giddy for hours. I couldn't sleep after; I stayed up all night watching Golden Girls and Good Times.

But how soon is too soon? When does a girl recently out of a nearly two year relationship say "Okay Self, you're good. You're ready. Like this dude if you want to, it's alright." I don't know when I say that, but I think a big part of me wants to say that now. I could write a laundry list of reasons that this guy is worth breaking the stoicism down for, but I don't need to. It's about that chemistry, that click. I have some "shallow" but oh-so-necessary requirements now that I didn't before M.and they matter too. I think this guy has those down pat.

I've grown up so much in the past two and a half months. I am a different girl that M. knew, a better girl. I am a hundred times better than the girl M. loved. I am powerful and submissive; I am demanding and giving, no longer to a fault.

That's just how I roll.

So it's May

But I plan to continue blogging about sex. I have things that are still unsaid about my personal experiences and things I just want to get on a miniature soap box about because they upset me and so on.

I'm off to live part of my wholesome life and I feel like I'm a walking contradiction. Lately I have felt that there are two distinct parts of my life: the wholesome and mostly mundane and then the completely kinky sexual. I will elaborate more later after going to see my kindergarten students for a while. ;)

Love by the numbers

I have problems with the societal expectations of my gender, and of the male gender too for that matter.

I think a lot of people would consider the number of men I've had sex with high, higher even relative to my age. You know what, screw them. As of Saturday night, the number of men I have slept with is exactly equal to my number of fingers.

Ten. Okay, now you also know I'm not missing any fingers. When I counted it out Saturday night while less than sober, it seemed like a huge number. But let's look at its advantages. I can easily calculate percentages with it. I have had some great sex, some mediocre sex, and some bad sex. I have had sex enough to know the difference between each immediately. That's an important life skill to have, sex quality discrimination. I teach my students visual discrimination, and I'm pretty sure both of these skills are essential to a quality life.

I like math so I am going to make some calculations now:
Percentage of men I absolutely regret sleeping with: 10%
Percentage of men I enjoyed having sex with: 70%
Percentage of men that I had incredible, mind-blowing, fantastic, I-can't-stop-shaking-sex with: 50%
Percentage of these men who gave me an orgasm (or more!): 30%
Percentage of men that I'd fuck again: 40%

Conclusions we can draw from these statistics:
Men are bad at giving women orgasms. (That or they don't care enough to try, or I'm not demanding enough to get them.)
Sometimes sex comes with regret, and that's okay if you process it and make a purposeful decision not to blame yourself in an unhealthy manner.
Not all sex is good. Not all sex is great. And sometimes even great sex isn't worth repeating.
For easy percentage calculations, my number should either hold steady or increase by multiples of 10, or 5 because I'm dorky and more complicated math isn't a bad thing.

Don't be bashful,

It's Asheville.

That's one of the mottoes you hear tossed all about this dirty, smelly, lovely, beautiful hippie town. And it rings true for me. A huge part of my sexuality is tied up in this city, in this campus specifically. As I walked from Founders Hall back to my room in the Village tonight beneath the pale and golden light from the old street lamps, I felt a very surreal self-awareness. I can run away from this place every weekend for the rest of time, but Asheville holds pieces of me that nowhere, no one else does.

In September of 2004 on a Friday evening, I left this campus with J. for that party at the mountain house. I lost my virginity to a rapist in Spruce Pine, not too far down the road. I drove his car back here the next morning, and continued falling in love with M.F.

I fell in love for the first time in Asheville, and if I have to name the place, I fell in love at Jerusalem Garden downtown. I chose to have sex for the first time in Asheville, in South Ridge 313. I had my first heart wrenching break up in Asheville, in South Ridge 318.

In October of 2005, I was raped in a UP apartment. I couldn't walk past that apartment complex for months, for over a year really after it happened. And that took the incredible support of the best counselor UNCA has ever known.

I may have spent the last two years driving home every weekend for sex with M., so maybe I associate Charlotte with getting lucky. But Asheville? I associate Asheville with discovery of all sorts. Who I am as a woman, a sexual being, a student, a future educator. Asheville is a wonderful place, and I could never insult its place in my heart by being bashful about it.

Dating: M.'s unintentional godsend

M., I'd like to dedicate this entry to you. In February, I had no plans of dating for a very long time, perhaps not ever again. Luckily, you changed that forever and my life is better for it!

As previously stated, after the breakup with M. I rediscovered dating quickly. And let me tell you, it's fun. I'm really not into continuing my dating streak indefinitely; that doesn't suit me. But I must say it is opening my eyes on a daily basis, as I have discovered that there are decent and available men on this planet. Maybe more than a handful of them even, which is good because I'm a handful myself! :<)

What I want to say reminds me very much of O Brother Where Art Thou and Everett's wife who left him. She is dating a man who her and her children speak very highly of.

"He's a suitor!"
"He's bonafide!"
"He's got prospects!"

Well you know what, I've got prospects. In a variety of ways. My life is, as someone put it, "on the upswing." And I've met great people recently (read: great men). My sexual confidence is through the roof, which is an amazing sex success story when one considers my history with rape and abuse. I consider myself so blessed at this juncture in my life. Maybe I'm in my sexual prime, but if I am truly a Blanche Devereaux in training, then surely I'm nowhere near my supposed prime. Perhaps even my whole life will be sexually prime. I'll drink to it tonight when I go out after work!