Readers: Please Come To My Ego-Party?

The Blogs that I read say that it's "De-lurking Week." That means that if you read stuff on this blog, it would be cute to tell me. It would actually completely stoke my ego. Women often don't ask for presents, but I will be bold. Couldja? Wouldja please?

Since I use a pseudonym, I thought it would only be right for Readers to do the same. I know! If you lurk here, use a pseudonym to confess. Think of how truly worthy you are of a title. You know, Queen Sally, or maybe Ms. Goddess? Try making something up that is just stupid enough and/or silly enough for the Say Anything sorta theme here at Say Something, Sister. (Why do bloggers say "here"? I feel silly writing here here. Because it's not really a place, like Lucy's Femmy Cafe, or The Complaint Store. And it's not a piece o paper, either.)

You can post as Anonymous but make up a name in your comment! Puhleez? If ya can't think of one, try robbing from the annals - harhar - of potty talk. Oh how rich with expression that phase was: Madame Toilet? I Don't-Wanna-Wipe? Mama Help? Or maybe flatter yourself, since no one will know it's you? Diva Jane? Beauty? I.M. Greatfuck?

Oh okay. Did I mention that teaching middle-schoolers has brought me back to uncontrollable giggling over really stupid shit? Obviously, I made the point anyway. And I really am laughing at my own dorky self now.

Oh My, Sex

I'm telling this story for Vaginella, my Sex Story Siren and Consultant Extraordinaire. This is a true story, but kinda like Lucy's Canya Believe This? It is utterly shallow but intriguing in the way that supermarket rags catch your eye. I like sex, but in my middle age, or almost-middle age, it just doesn't compel me so utterly as it seems to do for other people. It is quite lovely, but not the center of my universe.

Vaginella's ex from a while back had an erection problem. He - and his brother - were both able to have about 8 orgasms per day (we hope not in the same room, of course). Not just able, but it was something of a necessity. Before I go any further, I must reveal my own bias, upon hearing that news. Gross, Man! That is just too much hard dick for me to fathom. And what did he do in between masturbation sessions? Vaginella had a grand old time with him, but even She of Large Erotic Appetite became a mite fatigued.

After the inevitable break-up, Ella looked back at his profile on the dating site through which they had met. He wrote some less-than-flattering things about women being needy (yawn), and then revealed that he was thinking he might be bisexual. For some reason, this really bothered Ella. She was convinced that he had not been too interested in her at all, and that all of that sex they had was really his poor substitute for sucking a guy's dick. That sounds harsh, I know, but Ella kept repeating this dick-sucking thing. So I was like, get over it. And why should it matter anyway? Gay men do that, and they like it, and geez, we do it too. Every once in a while, when referring back to the Ex/Busy-Penis Guy, she would gripe about the idea that he wanted to suck dick.

Finally, last week end, Ella told me the real story behind her suck-dick issue. Justa few weeks after the break-up, Ella's close pal at work, Labiaretta, questioned Ella fiercely about her sexual habits, and finally told Ella that she was privy to some very personal information about Mr. Suck Dick (aka Busy-Penis Guy). Are ya still with me? Because there really will be a point, or two points if you count the dick - oh, you know what I mean. Or maybe the point is that I will never mature? That sex is actually funny? Back to the totally-convoluted plot: Lab had met a guy on a dating site, and did I mention they all work together? And this guy told her that he had discovered that it was his fondest wish to suck a guy's dick. He also revealed that he had had sex with innumerable groups of people, following his break-up with his last female friend. His favorite experience was to lie beneath a woman while she was having intercourse with someone else. He wanted to explore his submissive side. (I'll ignore the premise that women are submissive because it's so fucking stupid (ha), and irrelevant here.)

More confessing: I am so naive and I am such an adolescent about this stuff. His submissive side? Is that like what sex sophisticates talk about? I must be the female lefty version of the '50s housewife. It's all okay and good when consenting adults express their love, but omigod do people truly tie each other up or eat an ice cream sundae offa someone else's crotch? Yikes! Help! I'm not ready for that. It's so, so, out there. I am not out there. I am in here, with the other nature gals and uptight folks who fuck sans acoutrements. (I hope sans does mean without because that sounded so good.)

But, but, butt(?) - I am getting punchy here - back to the story: neither Labiaretta nor Mr. Dick knew who the other was. That is, until Dick sent along his photo. Behold, it was not a dashing stranger, but instead, her dull co-worker. Lab realized that the dork across the hall was the Dick that doesn't stop and that he is Mr. Suck Dick, all rolled up into one. Lo, he was/is the ex-boyfriend of her pal, our very own Vaginella. Labiaretta naturally told Vaginella everything, and that's when Ella began hounding me with her concern that her ex actually had things in mind when they had sex, but they were not the things one woman could give him.

The tale is instructive because you never know when your most personal sex wish and your anonymity may be torn from you so that an ex's repressed friend can wonder and poke fun at the coincidence of it all on her blog. I am happy for Mr. Suck Dick that he has figured out what he wants to do, but he might fare better if he does more fucking and less emailing. And if you are on the web meeting fantasy-folks, don't send the picture. Ouch.

The Positive Re-frame, Re-framed

Back to work. I was absolutely brilliant (notice me embracing the new resolution), except when I wasn't. No comment on the ratio there. The students were like "Oh God" every time we talked about actually doing something. They seemed to expect us to hand out cigars and flick on the tube. I am very thankful that I don't take shit from people. I told them to shut the hell up or I'd go back to the banging-knuckles routine from the old days. Really, it is amazing how a small group of people can monopolize a situation, if you allow them. Kinda like those right-wing religious people who talk as if they are a mammoth group of righteous churches, all banded together in their zeal to be saved while the rest of us drown. Oh, but I do exaggerate. I'm quite sure the students were simply a mite perkier than usual after their wholesome family time. And many religious zealots are my best friends. Or maybe I just met one once, and I almost sorta thought about liking him?

Another tidbit of strange phenomena: my stats page, which I check to see who's perusing around here, says that no one is reading. Yet I have 4 comments. Obviously there is a glitch. That little gal in the computer may be on holiday. My brain is so busy creating ideas and expressing innovative thoughts that it cannot take on a techno-question. Plus, I'm not quite as adept at figuring out cyber-crap than I might be. What am I doing wrong? Perhaps a reader, or maybe the dog, will let me know what's happened?

Oh my. All of that positive re-framing was an incredible drain on my naturally bitchy ego. Must stick with thinking positive thoughts about my self for a portion of the day, and determine the portion on random whim. Off to "chillax," as one of my students says. I'd call it meditation, or quiet time, but my portion's up, and I gotta go lie on the bed and rest my weary ass.

The Good Stuff In Me

Ta-da! It's a new year. I haven't cared in the past - it seemed a small stretch from the thirty-first to the first - but now it seems significant. This year I am going to consider seriously my many strengths and spend more time thinking about the good stuff in me. Today, for example, I had a jungle party and I decorated the house with bananas, green leftover Christmas crap on discount from the store (vines), and some tropic-esque stuffed animals. We made pina-coladas and put in some actual pineapple. Becca and her kids came over, and my sister stopped by.

But back to the positive parts of me. I am a good teacher and, on occasion, I have had a positive connection with a student. I am a loyal friend, and a great dog-owner. My dog loves me! It's because I know exactly how to take care of him and be his alpha gal. I have no interest in cats, and I believe that that is also a positive attribute.

My silly songs are rather enjoyable. And I can whip one up for any occasion, be it an awkward moment, or a statement of affection for my family. Also, I sing in the car. Not just anything. I sing along to the music I have been obsessing over at that particular time, and I sound really good. To me, anyway. This cheers me on my way to work, and when I get there, I am all "good morning," and "how are you."

Finally, I don't bullshit. I hate bullshit. I say things directly, and I speak with clarity. I am rarely at a loss for words, even when I need to say "I don't know what to say." This is preferable to saying something disingenuous or untrue. I am a good listener, even though I interrupt a lot when I am excited.

The best thing about me is that I am a very emotional person. My life is filled with millions of small and large pieces of sentiment, and I am fortunate to know overwhelming joy, as we all inevitably encounter devastating loss. The very idea of being a bit less emotional, or a bit less perceptive - somehow they go together for me - is unimaginable. I know at times I wear Ball & Chain out - my talk, my ideas, my laughing on the phone, and crying at night. But I don't do boredom, and life with me - and as me - has few dull moments.