Check out my review below!

I’m taking a crack at video blogging (or vlogging as the kids call it). I’m still fumbling my way around the YouTubes, but once I get the hang of things this could work out well. Making videos may be a good fit in the new flow of my impending academic life.  And you guys get to see me in all of my early-morning, un-makeuped glory.

Keepin’ it real, folks…keepin’ it, real.

If you want to keep up with all the video fun, boogie on over to YouTube where you can subscribe to my channel and watch this rad video about how hard candy is made!

I also apologize, because I’m about to go on a rant. I know it’s kind of shitty when you haven’t seen someone in awhile and then the first thing they do is start complaining. But I’ve got some thoughts that are making my brain itch, so please indulge me while I purge them. I promise to hit you with some fun stuff (and new developments!) super soon, ‘kay?

Let’s get down to brass tacks…

This morning I read an article by Yummy Mummy Club contributor Kat Armstrong. She writes about Jessica Alba’s recent admission that she wore a corset for three months in order to regain her pre-pregnancy figure after her second child was born. In the wake of this revelation, apparel companies are now developing post-partum corsets so that women everywhere can pretend they never gave birth.

Kat’s take is that this is some straight up bullshit. And Yummy Mummy Club founder/editor/all around cool person Erica Ehm agrees.

I get it. It pissed me off when I read about it too.  The idea that women’s bodies should quickly – or in many cases – ever return to a pre-pregnancy state is awful, body-shaming nonsense. Companies are taking advantage of Alba’s statement to hawk their postpartum corset thingies,  makes me seethe! But it also makes me sad. I tweeted that to Erica Ehm, which led to a brief but interesting discussion:

I gotta pause for sec here ’cause my inner 12-year-old is having a moment.

OMG ERICA EHM TOTALLY TALKED TO ME ON TWITTER!!!

As I was saying…

I couldn’t adequately express my thoughts in 140 characters, so I’ll expand on them here. I understand and largely agree with Erica and Kat. As a Hollywood celebrity Jessica Alba is a high-profile woman with a great deal of influence and ultimately she does bear responsibility for her message and her choices. I also wish that Jessica Alba and her privileged Hollywood cohorts would use their power to promote kinder, gentler image standards for their fellow women. But also feel like that’s a lot to expect because despite their wealth and sky-high profiles I suspect that   body-positivity is especially difficult for celebrity women.

I worked as an actor for a good part of my life, including a wee bit of film and television work when I was growing up in Toronto. Even with limited exposure, it became very obvious very quickly that what I looked like mattered as much as – if not more so – than my ability. I was told that in order to work I’d have to “fix” things. My hair was too wild and frizzy. My skin had spots. I once had a casting director tell me that I should lost ten pounds because I was a bit too chunky. “Not for real life. Just for television,” was how she qualified it.

That was my experience as a super, small-time actor and it did a little damage. So I can only imagine the messages someone like Jessica Alba has been receiving about her body as a high-stakes player in billion-dollar image industry.  According to Wikipedia Jessica Alba began working in film and television at thirteen. Imagine that.

Like really imagine it.

Imagine being a thirteen-year-old girl going to auditions and being told by casting people, agents, directors and other influential adults that being thin and pretty is part of your job.

Imagine being a teenage girl observing the fucked up reality that in Hollywood getting fat is grounds for being fired.

Imagine being twenty years old and working your ass off as the lead of a television series, but instead of talking about your acting everyone is focused on how hot you look in your costume.

Imagine being a very young woman who’s suddenly very successful, with an agent, a manger and probably a host of other people who are personally invested in keeping you looking a certain way, because their livelihood depends on your ability to get work.

Imagine that every acting job you get come with a big side of mandatory promotional work that is largely about being “hot” and skinny on the cover of various magazines.

Imagine living with the knowledge that if your body changes in any significant way, it will be broadcast worldwide in magazines and on entertainment news shows. Especially if you gain weight.

Imagine feeling that all your money and power is conditional on your ability to look a certain way. And that if you don’t look like that, it would probably get taken away.

Imagine you’ve just had a baby and knowing that the media will be monitoring your “post-baby body”. If you get thin again, you’ll be congratulated. If you don’t, you’ll be crucified. But either way your body is matter of public record and discussion.

So yes, I am angry about Alba’s admission. But the mere fact that she felt this was necessary also makes me feel sad for her. She’s spent more than half of her young life working in an industry that has some pretty fucked up attitudes people’s bodies. It’s not entirely surprising that she places such a high value on regaining a thin figure so soon after having a baby.

Many of us have felt the negative influence of Hollywood and mainstream media standards of beauty. But the people we see in those images have are also being subjected to the same standards, often from a young impressionable age and on a very intense level. It’s no wonder women like Alba resort to extremes in these matter. So while I do share  the rage, I can’t help but feel some bit of compassion as well.

Today is meant to be the question of the week. I’m sorry but I can’t. Like many of you, I’ve been reading about Rehtaeh Parsons, a young girl who died at only 17 years old. I’m sure a lot of you have read the statement her father posted yeseterday. It’s beautiful and devastating. I know I’m not the only who read it, cried and wondered why this happened.

I’m looking for answers. I’m hearing stories, reading articles that point the finger squarely at bullying. Rehtaeh was harassed at school and her classmates called her a slut. Someone took a picture of the assault and students posted it all over Facebook. There are some really cruel kids out there today and easy access to social media and technology makes them ruthless. Rethaeh took her own life because she was mocked and humiliated. Bullying caused this.

Or so the story goes. And I’m seriously disturbed by the glaring omission in that story. Rehtaeh Parsons wasn’t just bullied by her peers. She was sexually assaulted by her peers. When she sought the support from community, she was essentially told “Sorry. Nothing we can do.” The bullying was undoubtedly rough salt being rubbed in, but that’s not what caused the wound. We’re telling the story wrong. And in doing so, I feel like Rehtaeh Parsons’ experiences are being dismissed all over again.

(Aside: I’m going to use the words “we” and “us” lot in this post. I mean it in the general “we as a society” sense and not the “you and I as specific individuals” way).

When we turn this into a story about a girl who committed suicide because she was bullied, we’re spinning a convenient truth that absolves us – the adults who are largely in charge of things around here – of our responsibility. We agree that Rehteah Parsons’ death is tragic. We offer her pothumus sympathy. We empathize with her loved ones. And we tell ourselves that we didn’t do anything. It’s the kids who were wrong. They bullied her. We reassert our determination to vanquish the scourge of bullies from our school and restrict online access (because the Internet is kind of wrong too).

Yes bullying is a thing. It’s a real problem that can absolutely break people’s spirits and drive them to desperate acts like suicide.  It’s not okay that people harassed this girl or called her names. And finding ways to end bullying is important, necessary work. But the taunts and social media slander are only symptoms of what for me is a much bigger problem. Retheah Parsons was raped and we – the adults who are largely in charge around here – don’t take sexual violence seriously enough.

We don’t like people who are raped. And we really, really don’t like people who are raped and then tell us they were raped. If we know about it, we’re supposed to do something about it. We have to think about it and that’s really unpleasant. I’m not certain of the reasons for our reticence. I do have some theories but I’ll leave for those for another post.

When people like Rethaeh Parsons tell us – the adults who are largely in charge around here – that they’ve been sexually assaulted, what do we do? We turn them into defendants. We ask them why they got raped? Haven’t we told you over and over again not to let yourself get raped? We concede that sexual violence is terrible, we’re not saying that anyone deserves it. We just want to know, what did you think would happen when you put on that oufit, went to that place, drank all of those drinks?

Yet we don’t understand why Rathaeh Parsons classmates called her a slut.

When people like Rethaeh Parsons tell us that they’ve been raped, we don’t want them to be “victims”. We don’t want to know how deeply sexual violence can hurt or see the raw, messy parts of their pain. We like people who endure rape and sexual abuse in a quiet, dignified way We’re supportive of counselling, therapy and other coping methods that involve going away and dealing with it discreetly. We just can’t get too involved – not the school, not the police. Adults in positions of power and authority but we can’t help.

Yet we wonder why Rethaeh Parsons peers didn’t say anything?

We talk about people who have been raped as though they aren’t human. After Stubenville, CNN lamented the fate of two young men by describing, their scholastic acheivements, their extra curricular activities and their histories. They were portrayed as people. People who’s futures had been tragically thwarted when some girl thoughtlessly left herself vulnerable to raping. In Rethaeh Parsons’ case her father, a man gutted by grief, who tells us that she was a person. She was a living, breathing, thinking, feeling, valuable person with a past and future that was tragically altered into something she couldn’t live through. His letter was stands in heartbreaking contrast to our habit of describing people as dehumanized cautionary tales.

We ask ourselves- how students could circulate a picture of a peer being raped?

Prime Minister Harper has said we need to “call out bullying”. As usual, he’s missed the point. Yes, Rethaeh Parsons was bullied. And that is absolutely not okay. But it’s not fair for us – the adults who are largely in charge around here – to say “Hey, kids, what you did was wrong,” when we created the environment that supports this type of bullying.  This story we’re telling – the one where Rethaeh Parsons died because of bullying – obscures the issue of sexual violence. That act of pushing it into the background is what promotes the type of bullying we say we need to stop.

The youth who slut-shamed and dehumanized Rethaeh Parsons need to understand that what they did was wrong. It was destructive and almost certainly caused harm to someone who couldn’t endure more pain. But bullying isn’t just cruel actions disconnected from thoughts or emotions. The belief that Rethaeh Parsons deserved to be treated so poorly came from somewhere.

I’m pretty sure, it’s coming from us.

A brief anatomy lesson

There are two anal sphincters. The outer one – that puckery sweet spot between the bum cheeks – is pretty much under our control and can be contracted or relaxed at will. The second, internal sphincter lies just inside the body. That buddy is more of an independent thinker. You can coax it into opening up for you during anal penetration, but generally speaking it’s a strong little sucker that likes to grab hold of objects and can close up tight.

Also? The anus and rectum are one end of the digestive tract – a long, open system. If an object goes too far up the ass, there isn’t a natural barrier to stop it. So shape matters. If you want to avoid Grawly’s fate, make sure the anal object of your choice shaped in such a way that it won’t get pulled up into your body because once it’s in there, you’re only option is to go the @Grawly route and head to the hospital.

Red Light!

Generally speaking, putting anything up your bum that has uniform width is risky business. Long, tube-y shaped things are great for sex play but not in the back yard.

chotda via Compfight cc

via Wikimedia Commons

Once these are in the rectum, it’s very difficult to stop them from sliding in further. If sphincter number two gets grabby or lube (which you should absolutely have back there) makes things extra slippery, these type of toys can very easily get stuck in your body.

Green Light!

Fortunately there are many anal-friendly options that provide great stimulation without needing a search party on standby. Toys with a retrival device such as a ring or an external battery pack give you a literal lifeline, should things go a bit too far up there.

from Wikimedia Commons

Dual stem vibes (think of the famous Rabbit Pearl) are a pretty good option as long as one the shafts stay outside the body. Also, toys with a pronounced curve are unlikely to stray to far too far a field.

via Wikimedia Commons

By BMS Factory, via Wikimedia Commons

Dildos and vibes with a flared base are classic, go-to anal toys. If your plaything of choice has a big, pancake-style circle on the bottom it’s specially designed to go safely inside your bottom.

via Wikimedia Commons

And course when it comes to bum sex, our bodies or those of our partners are stellar combination of form and function. No matter how intense you’re unlikely unlike to lose an entire person in your ass…unless it’s metaphorically!

So props to Grawly for sharing his pain and remind the rest of us that when it comes to anal sex, it pays to play safe!

Spring has sprung!

The season of rebirth is always has a slow start ’round these parts. But there are more sunny days than cloudy, the snow is melting and the air carries hints of the warmer weather to come.

Olde tyme cartoons often portray spring as the lovey-doviest of seasons. Flowers, songbirds and frolicking lambs  create a heady, bucolic back-drop for moony couples who’s pupils morph into hearts as they gaze into each other’s eyes. In reality, this early part of spring still leaves me a bit cold (and wet and muddy), but my sexual and romantic inclinations often perk up in May. The blossoms and bird songs really are a bit of an aphrodisiac for me. The lambs are few and far between, but there are many sexy people frolicking in their shorts and sundresses.

Which brings us to this week’s question:

Is there a season/time of year when you feel especially libidinous/romantic?

The comments are open!

Photo Credit: James Glover via Compfight cc

Confession:  I haven’t been having much sex lately.

I know that many people experience ebbs and flows of libido. Mine has been in a prolonged period of ebb…long enough that I know there’s some underlying cause. What is it? I’ve been thinking about it. A lot. The Man of Mans and I have talked about it at length. I began writing about it a few times, then back out.  Truth is…I was embaraased. I was afraid to admit that despite all of my professional experience, when it comes to my own sexual issues, I don’t have the answers.

I don’t know anything. I don’t know for certain why I’m less inclined to sex these days. But I’ve cobbled together a working theory that it’s related to some changes go beyond what happens in my bedroom.

Two summers ago, I was hit by the sudden onset of depression. I didn’t understand it. My life with brimming with great things. My marriage and my child. I was playwriting, blogging and working a dream job in sex ed.  I was training for a half-marathon, keeping a full social calendar and enjoying the company of dear friends. There was so much awesome, I barely had time for more than four hours of sleep a night!  It was tiring, but it was worth it!  I was doing it all and I pulling off…until, I wasn’t.  Suddenly, I was breaking down. Neither my body, nor my mind could keep up with the pace I’d set for myself.  I became strangely sad and withdrawn. I was overcome by  fatigue. I didn’t understand what was wrong, but I knew I needed help.

Fast forward to the present. I’m lucky. I’ve been able to access great support through doctors, a therapists and loving community of friends and family. I’ve done a bunch of self-exploration and made few subtle but profound discoveries. I realized the jammed-packed life I was leading was the manifestation of a life-long habit of multitasking and flitting from one activity to another.  I’ve always felt the need to keep my mind super-busy.  Not in the lofty sense of being an avid learner or great thinker, but as protection. I don’t cope well with quiet or stillness. As I kid, I was always buried in books, pretend-play, projects and anything else that would keep my mind occupied. I never wanted to stop, because when I did,  feelings would come.  Feelings I didn’t understand, didn’t like and didn’t know how to deal with. So I learned to avoid them by creating endless distractions.

I still have the same struggle today. When I’m not immersed in an activity, I’m forced to stop, to think and to feel things I don’t like. Stillness is pretty intimidating prospect for me.

When I look at my sexual history, I see those same behaviour patterns at play.  Sex was always best for me when there was a lot going on. Constantly stimulation. Deep, involved fantasy.  A lot of noise. Anything too slow, too quiet or too tender created a prime opportunity for those uncomfortable emotions to break through.  Getting into the deep feels during naked time always left me feeling way too vulnerable to do anything other than cry. And crying was definitely not on my list sexy things.

But thing thing is those uncomfortable emotions are there.  Like every one else on earth, I’ve been hurt and battle-scarred from life. For a long time, distraction was easier than dealing with the pain. It’s still easier. But I’m beginning to realize that just because it’s easy and familiar, that doesn’t mean it’s good for me. I’m older . My frenetic habits are taking a bigger toll both physically and psychologically. This all started when I was a child. Back then I didn’t know what else to do. Now I’m a grown woman and I can deal with my shit.  I can take care of myself.

I’m trying. I try to quiet down and let the pain do its thing. I’m not very good at it. My busy-making impulses are part of who I am. More often than not, I fill my head and my life with stuff that block out the pain. But I do manage the occasional moment of stillness, where I sit and breathe and let those deep-down feelings float up through all my mental floatsam to the surface. It’s unpleasant. I get anxious. Sometimes I cry.  Still, I find I don’t hate it as much as I once did. These past couple of months, I’ve started wanting that quiet confrontation with my pain. It’s yucky but when it’s over, there a peaceful moments and I feel a little happier.

I think these experiences might be affecting my sex drive.  I suspect my desires  around sex are changing. These days I’m less inclined towards the busy, somewhat frantic glut of sensation I used to want. I’m interested something that’s a little calmer, less rooted in fantasy and more connected to the present reality. But at the same time I’m intimidated by that prospect. It’s new, beyond my present comfort zone and my body is holding back a bit. I suspect this is one of those situations, where I need to tread slowly into new sexual territory. “Be gentle” with myself, as my shrink likes to say. I’m trying, but it’s hard not feel like there’s something wrong with me or that I’m failing on some level.

I definitely don’t feel like a sex expert in my own life. This stuff is HARD, yo!

Yesterday evening, I took some time to meditate. It was a rough-shot attempt, but it did sometthing. Feelings were triggered. Tears were shed.  When the crying stopped, I was pleasantly surprised when I realized that I was wanting sex with both my partner and myself. My libido hasn’t left me. It’s just changing. It’s a shit ton of stuff to figure out.  But it’s my job to take care of myself, so I’m willing to patient and give myself the time I need to figure it all out.

‘Tis the season of Passover, Easter and a personal “to-do” list that needs some extra attention this week. So I’m taking a little spring break from blogging today through Easter Monday. No drunken parties or topless beach rampages, but I do have big plans that include organizing my office, spending quality time with my neglected laundry pile and learning to make gluten-free creme eggs.

Girl. Gone. WILD!

See you next week,

Nadine

Originally my question for this week was going to be the 90′s rom-com standard: Can men and women be friends? But I’m not a fan of the heteronormative, exclusive wording of that question. Also, it’s kind of broad. I know men and women can be friends. I’ve seen it happen.

So going along the same lines, but tweaking the intention a little, my questions for you this week are:

Do you have friendships with people of your preferred sexual gender(s)? Have you ever experienced sexual attraction towards a friend and if so, how have you dealt with it?

I have a strong sexual orientation towards men. I’ve also enjoyed close friendships with guys for pretty much all of my adult life. As for sexual attraction? Yeah, that’s a thing that happens and I’ve dealt with it differently in different friendships. It’s not my favourite approach but sometimes I ignore it entirely. Other times I have confessed my attraction, but only in the way past tense like, “Three years ago, I was TOTALLY into you but now I just think of you as a cousin.”

Ideally, I prefer to just say when I’m feeling crush-y.  Admitting to sexy feelings in a non-sexual relationship is super-awkward however; once it’s all out there, we can do helpful things like putting boundaries in place that will help protect both the friendship and our relationships with our respective sexual/romantic partners.*

Occasionally I find myself sexually attracted to people who are not men. But (with a couple exceptions) friendship often diminishes my sexual feelings, instead of triggering them. The intimacy of friendship translates to an attraction that is often very physical, but in way that has nothing to do with my nether parts.

*Except The Man of Mans. I told him I was attracted to him so we could put boundaries in place that helped us date, have sex and get married.

On Sunday Trent Mays and Mal’ik Richmond were convicted of sexually assaulting a 16-year-old girl in Steubenville, Ohio. In the wake of the verdict, CNN anchor Candy Crowley and correspondent Poppy Harlow had the following exchange:

Crowley and Harlow’s outpouring of sympathy for the convicted youth prompted a barrage of criticsm from all corners of the Internet. I count myself as a member of that angry online crowd but now a few days have passed and so has the worst of my vitriol.

Now that I’ve cooled off, I can sort of understand Crowley and Harlow’s emotional reaction. These are very young men. I don’t doubt that the verdict brought the reality of a terrifying future into focus for [Trent] and [Mal'ik]. I imagine their grief and terror were sincere. And I actually agree with those who worry about out the significant likelyhood that these boys will come out on the other side of this sentence angrier and more violent than they are now.

So I don’t fault Crowley or Harlow for their feelings. I generally regard compassion as a virtue. Even I wouldn’t say I’m happy about the verdict. The guilty verdict was the only outcome that wouldn’t have been a total fucking travesty. But still, I can’t feel glad. From my perspective nothing good has happened here. A young woman’s body and privacy were brutally violated by two boys, operating under the warped belief that they had a right invade another person’s body. It’s humanity fail on a spectacular level. There need to be consequences, serious ones at that but I find this whole suitation tremendously sad.

Crowley’s assertion that this situation is tragic? Yes, it is. I just don’t think it’s tragic for the same reasons she does. She and Harlow continually characterized the verdict as though it was something that just happened to two nice boys who could have never seen this coming. That isn’t true. But more than that it isn’t helpful. We can watch these boys and feel pity for wasted youth and opportunity. But ignoring Mays and Richmond’s responsibility doesn’t help them now, nor will it help the young people who are watching, listening and learning about their own obligations as reponsible human beings.

This rape didn’t just happen. Mays and Richmond chose to do it. We can feel compassionate; but when lawyers, CNN correspondents and the rest of us ignore the fact that these young men are responsible for what’s happened, we’re letting our sympathy trump our responsibility.

We need to stop talking about sexual assault as though it’s an act of nature, like snow in winter. Because it is exactly that attitude that contributes to youth like Hays and Richmond thinking that molesting an unconscious woman is no big deal, because hey, that’s just what happens when someone is drunk and vulnerable in a room. Furthermore, when anchors like Crowley and Harlow all but ignore the survivor in their post-mortem of these events, it reinforces the idea that this sixteen-year-old woman was a non-person. Instead of saying, “Mays and Richmond did something terrible to this girl,” she becomes the mere catalyst for two football players’ tragic fall from grace.

Crowley says, “Regardless of what big football players they are, they still sound like sixteen-year-olds.”  That’s true. I am also saddened by how young these men are. They are barely more than children. Children learn from adults, especially adults who hold positions of authority and credibility. Which is why I believe it’s so important that parents, coaches, teachers and people who speak on behalf of major media outlets consider the messages that we give to young people when we talk about rape as though it happens indenpendently of the rapist’s free will. We need to watch our words. We need to be aware of the way we speak about survivors. We need to think about the message we’re sending to youth when we say, “He was a good student,” “She was drinking,” “He played football.”

This young woman’s decision to drink did NOT cause Mays and Richmond to assault her. Their academic and athletic abilities are NOT absolution from responsibility. Doing well in school DOES NOT put one on a higher plane of humanity that entitles them to treat drunk, unconscious woman as objects of amusement.

I hate that two 16-year-olds are going to prison. I hate the thought that they may grow into hardened, damaged men. I have a son. When I imagine what those boys’ parents must be feeling today I want lie down and cry all the tears. So no, I don’t think Crowley’s compassion was misplaced. But she had a job to do and in this case, I feel she failed. What she needed to say, what Harlow needed to say , what we all need to say is that these boys made a choice. This isn’t random happenstance. Their tragic circumstance came as a direct consequence of their decision to assault another human being. Don’t imply to the world this sentence is sad because Mays was a gifted footballer or Richmond got good grades. It’s sad because those two boys deliberately harmed another person.

I don’t want to see dismayed boys sobbing in court and carted off to prison, wondering how this could have possibly happened to them. If those young men don’t understand, if other young men don’t understand then we need to help them. Not by making excuses for them, but by explaining in no uncertain terms that sexual assault is a choice that -regardless of the circumstances – is wrong.