Sexuality Happens

I’m on the right :)

Today, April 23, 2008, is the 9th anniversary of the death of my father. He was one of the most amusing, inspiring, intelligent, wonderful people to ever grace the face of this earth, and that’s not just my biased view. You didn’t see the number of people at his funeral, the number of people who came out of the wood work to tell him goodbye and to tell us how much he had meant to them, the kind words written about him online by people all over the world, and so on. He was a great man.

When I was younger, I remember visiting him in the hospital in my Care Bear outfit (yes, I’ve been a nerd since a very young age). He had cancer (non-hodgkin’s lymphoma) and was occasionally hospitalized for pneumonia, or other infections. He went into remission in the early 90’s. Then, summer 1998, when we were in Europe, he started feeling off again. He was re-diagnosed at the end of the summer. My family didn’t tell me until Feb 1999, because they didn’t want to throw off my skating competition (WHAT THE FUCK) or worry my sister and I. But now I know why he cried at that competition when I put my first place medals around his neck and told him it was all his fault that I’d won. It’s a good thing they told us when they did – my dad ended up in the hospital the next week. It was a hard time – by dad was constantly in chemo, and was in and out of the hospital. I stopped doing my math homework; who carea about algebra when your father was sick? I spent every night after school either at rehearsal for my play, or with my dad at St. Joe’s, getting him ice chips, and joking around about the disgusting food.

At the end of March was my last show at Logan. I had a starring role in “The Madwoman of Chillot,” but didn’t think my father in his weak state could go – 3 flights of stairs, and sitting in a folding chair for 3 hours just wasn’t going to happen. My school loved my dad though, and banded together. They were able to help him up the stairs, and put him in the tech directors special high backed rolling arm chair so that he could keep his neck upright (carried up those 3 flights). At the end of the show, they unrolled a banner signed by every single member of the cast and crew that said “We love you Sol!” and dedicated the show to him. By this point, he was bald (I called him Daddy Warbucks), and had lost more than 50 pounds. He was sunken in his chair, but had tears streaming down his face at this show of love. It was an amazing night, and the best performance of my life.

He started getting better, and was put on a list for a stem cell transplant. Every night before he went to bed, I told him how much I loved him…that’s just how we were. Until the morning of Friday, April 23, 1999, when I was woken up by my mother at 10, which was odd, since it was a school day. She took me into my sister’s room, and told us that he had died in the night. She had woken up when he made a noise, and called 911, and tried to give him CPR, but it hadn’t worked. She was terrified that we would wake up with the ambulance’s sirens, and paramedics running through the house. We didn’t.

That day, I missed school, but they held an all school assembly in memory of my dad. I stayed home, cleaning up the house for the after funeral party. It snowed that day, a lot, given that it was April. I answered the door for the people coming by, took the flowers and arranged them. That night, I went to rehearsal for the ice show, because that’s what my father would have wanted, and I didn’t see any reason to not go.

Saturday, I went to the funeral home with my mother (Jews don’t believe in embalming, so funerals happen fast), and she was a wreck. I helped to plan my father’s funeral, to pick out his casket, to figure out how many police on motorcycles we needed.

We asked for the small, 75 person chapel at my temple. When we arrived on Sunday morning, they had already had to move it, because too many people had already shown up (which was unexpected – we didn’t even publish an obituary with a funeral time). By the time the service started, it was standing room only. I wore a black dress with one of my father’s Hawaii shirts over it. He wore a Hawaiian shirt every day – to work, to skating, to school, etc. So I wore one. I read a poem, and after the service, my mother, sister and I opened the casket, alone. He was wrapped in a traditional Jewish Shroud, but underneath, he was in his $6 goodwill tuxedo he had bought for the father daughter skate, a Hawaiian shirt, and his rainbow suspenders. I left a pig in there with him.

We underestimated how many cops we would need to get to the cemetery. It was ridiculous – we figured just a few friends would come along. Everyone did. It snowed a little as he was buried.

A few weeks later, his doctor called, and told us that his last tests had shown the cancer had spread all over his body – nothing could have stopped it, and nothing could have prevented him dying. Funny you know, because non-hodgkin’s lymphoma is considered a generally non-fatal type of cancer. A week or two after that, we got a message from the hospital – my dad was now at the top of the list for a stem cell transplant, and could he come in the following day? That was hard. As were all the calls from solicitors…especially the one when I said “No, I’m sorry, he’s deceased” and he said “when would be a good time to call back?” I asked him if he believed in reincarnation. What can you do.

My dad was a wonderful man. He was born in Sweden, moved to the US at age 1, and learned to speak Yiddish. English was his second language. He was kicked out of several schools for making mischief after he finished his school work before everyone else. He was in the air force for 3 years, stationed in Germany. He came back and got his bachelor’s in 2 .5 years by working the hell out of the system. Then he got a Master’s in geology. After years with the government (BLM) as a geologist, he went back and got another degree as a computer scientist and stayed with the BLM. And did a lot of fancy computer programming stuff that I really don’t get, but he’s been called a pioneer in the field of meta-data analysis, and there is an award out there in his name.

He was a field trip parent for my classes – he had a giant suburban with a CB radio, and would show up for almost every trip. He came in to read stories to my class. Every year, we made latkes for everyone. At our roller skating parties, he’d be out there teaching every kid how to skate. Around Channukah, he’d dress up completely like an Eastern European Jew, and re-enact (with my help of course) “Herschel and the Channukah Goblins.” Everyone knew and loved my dad.

When I took up figure skating, he did too, so that he could stay a little ahead of me, and help me learn things. After a while, I by-passed him in skills, but he kept skating. He even got a few jumps (he took this up at 44 or 45!), and quite a few bruises to prove it (never skate with a pocket knife in your pocket). One year, Risa and I skated to “the Sorcerer’s Apprentice” in an ice show – she was Mickey, and I was the Sorceress. Well, my dad put all on brown, tied some grass skirts around his knees, grabbed some buckets, and he became the brooms. I’m so not kidding. It was hilarious. In the father daughter skates in the ice shows, he had found a $6 tuxedo at goodwill, and wore it with a giant sequin bow tied and matching cummerbund, every year. And every year he’d try to throw some of his cool moves in (a little bunny hop here, some backwards skating there), and every year he’d get yelled at by the ice show director.

We used to see the circus every year, and one time, it was like our personal family at the circus day. My sister and I got picked from the audience to fly in a toy plane from the top of the coliseum, and then my father was picked for a clown skit. It involved “lay-people” tossing plates at each other, that broke when caught, and the audience people were supposed to just look confused and upset. Well, my dad started juggling them, throwing them under his leg, clapping them together, etc. He even followed the main clown around, mocking him (to the amusement of the crowd)…he told us later the clown told him in a heavy Russian accent to “cut it out! This is my show!” Later on, everyone was asking him if he was a plant, because he was that funny.

In 4th grade, I was farther ahead than everyone in my Hebrew class except for one girl. He volunteered to teach, and came in every weekend to teach special lessons to the two of us. Didn’t get paid, and got a lot of crap from me, but he did it, Sunday after Sunday.

When my girl scout troop was without a leader, he stepped up, becoming the only male leader in the Denver area. We learned knot tying, macramé, fire starting, archery, etc. I used to go to the “parent-daughter” girl scout camp weekends, and he’d go with me – usually one of only 4 or 5 days (so we’d get the nice cabins with plumbing!).

On our own, he taught me to use a bow and arrow, how to play catch, how to carve words into sticks and trees. He made his own fireworks with steel wool. He took me with him to work all the time, not just on the official day. We had matching beanie propeller hats, except his had a little pig, and mine had a frog. He drove me religiously to dance and horseback riding lessons, and we’d listen to NPR on the way. We used to go thrift store and garage sale-ing every weekend spring-fall, and in the winter, we’d go to the lumber store sometimes. He built a two story play house for my sister and I in our back yard…that never got finished because of his death. It’s still there.

When I wanted my hair French braided, he went to a hair styling for kids class with me at Kazoo and Co. He was the only male there, but volunteered to practice for the demos, etc. We used to build hyped up remote control cars together for the critter crunch – trying to demolish our opponent’s cars. When I ever wanted a “new” computer, we’d build it together from spare parts, just the way I wanted it, even if that meant 3 floppy drives (totally pointless by the way). He got me games for DOS from all over the world. In NM, he used to take me shooting with my uncle, and was so proud of me when I turned out to be good at it. Once, we made our own wine…from a jury-rigged distillery we made in our kitchen. He taught me how car engines run, how to use a power drill, and how to waltz and summersault. Even our cats liked him best – always following him around, sleeping with him in his arm chair, leaving mice under his chair.

My father was my everything. He taught me so much, even when I didn’t want to learn (like the one summer he made me fill in a blank multiplication table every day, or the next, when I had a daily long division problem). His crazy shirts, bolo ties, and tucan hats (as well as the rest of his antics) made me realize how important it is to live life to the fullest every day, because you never know what might happen. I even wrote my college essay on him.

He never got to see me do my bat mitzvah, even though I wore his toucan hat during it (which miraculously survived the house fire we had a month after his death). He didn’t get to see me go to high school, to see me win any awards, to see me graduate high school, college or grad school. He never got to see me direct my first play, or sing in a musical. He would have been astonished that I was the President of the Jewish group at CC. He never got to threaten my partners with his .22 like he always promised. He would have LOVED Kinsey and Athena, and would have played with them more than I do.

That day, not only did I lose a wonderful father, a great friend, a teacher, but the world lost a great man. It’s only now that I realize not only how much he influenced me, and how much he brightened my life, but that he did the same for hundreds of other people. It’s hard now – none of my current close friends ever met my dad, so they don’t know what exactly I’m missing, what piece of me is gone…I reacted differently to his death than most people react when they lose a loved one. We had never left anything unsaid, and I had nothing to feel guilty about. But the farther away I get from him, the more sad I am. I don’t remember anymore exactly what his voice sounds like. I don’t always remember his wry smile. I don’t believe in heaven or hell – I believe that when you die, your body is done, and your spirit goes into those whom you loved. I feel that as life trucks on and on, there is less and less of him in me, and that’s so hard.

If you feel so inclined, wear a Hawaiian or brightly colored shirt today, in honor of him and his vibrant life.

Thanks…

Essin’ Em

I am blogging this month for the GBBMC2008.Donate here to help fight against sexual assault. Tell them I linked you (Essin’ Em or my blog name) and it’s for GBBMC2008
GBBMC2008 info

Woohoo! I voted!!!

I was a little disturbed at the fact that I was the ONLY person at the voting center…ummm…wtf? Especially since PA doesn’t have Early Voting like Colorado does. I was also a little concerned that a lot of signs violated the 50 year rule, that there were Hilary supporters blocking the door to the polling place, and that you could see the signs posted because they were on these glass windows, so you could see the inside of the signs from the voting booths. Hmmm. If I remember correctly from when I worked Election Protection, that is totally not kosher.

On a really weird side note, for anyone that watches WORK OUT on Bravo, I met Jackie’s new girlfriend Brianna last year at Dinah Shore, which she was working. So I don’t think they actually met on a date; they met at Dinah, I’m fairly certain.

Ok, back to watching election coverage.

Please vote this fall. It’s probably one of the top three most important rights we have (I know international people read this, but voting is important for you too!). Get your voice heard, and rock the vote!

So I decided to go out and go shopping to get some “grown up” clothes for the job hunt…my current and last job has been ok with jeans, tank top, flip flops, etc. But sadly, I’mma need to get a “real job” that will probably require more nice shirts, skirts, dress pants, etc. I found a lovely lavender stripped button down, and some cute houndstooth flats, so I’m on my way. Apparently, I also need to get a blazer, and get it fitted, so I can look all spiffy and get a job (I’m still looking for leads in the Denver/Boulder area, ps!).

I’ve also dyed my hair; it is no longer fire engine red, because I can’t get a job with that. At least not one in Colorado with insurance and benefits. So it’s burgundy in the front, fading into black. It’s still pretty, but I’ll miss the fun colors.

While I was shopping, and trying on clothing in various stores, I was thinking about public sex, and getting off. I was considering trying to masturbate in a dressing room, but decided I was too hungry, and would rather go get dinner. But it got me wondering; where is the most fun/crazy/ridiculous/public place that you have gotten yourself off?

Think deeply….

Essin’ Em

It’s been a frustrating night. So here is a rant. Because really, this is becoming the story of my mother fucking life.

Philadelphia’s lesbian scene. Seriously? Is this all the city has got?

This is not to say that Philly isn’t seething with dykes and queer women. It is. There are lesbian networking parties, once a month lesbian dance parties, a lesbian night club, lesbian book groups, etc.

However, it so incredibly homogeneous that anyone outside of the “proper Philly dyke” scene is left out in the cold.

At lesbian networking parties, everyone wears jeans and either a polo or a button down shirt. No blouses, no nice tops, no halter, nada. Everyone already seems to know everyone, and so it isn’t even really networking, but more of a gossip session about who has hooked up with who, who has moved in with who, and who broke up. I’ve attended three now, business cards in hand, smile on my face, but people don’t want to meet new people; they want to catch up with old friends.

Then there is the club and the monthly party.

HAHAHHAHAH. I’m am ridiculously on the fringe. In fact, I feel more of an outcast there than I would at a suit-filled corporate outing.

This is what a Philly dyke looks like:
*Short, trendy, asymmetrical (or super close cropped) hair cut. Faux and mohawks allowed.
*Bandana around the neck like some sort of bandit.
*Tights jeans or jean skirt, with studded “punk” style belt (the pyramid studs)
*Flat shoes or work boots or cowgirl boots
*Tattoos on the arms, especially the upper arms. All other tattoos don’t count.
*Button down shirt or t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, or a polo shirt.
*Dancing by barely moving, close to your friends, not really getting into it.

There are also the “lipstick lesbians” (I say this because the ones I have met self-identify as this), who are skinny, wear jeans and “clubbing shirts”, and have jeans or short skirts, and heels. They can have long hair, but it has to be pretty and glossy and properly styled. They go for other lipsticks.

And then there is me. It doesn’t matter if I wear a skirt and a halter top, or jeans and a nice shirt. I stick out like a sore thumb. My tattoos are on my back, so even if they show, they’re not the arm tattoos. My hair is longer than 99% of the people there (but not styled enough to be lipstick). I don’t have a bandana, I wear some make up (but not enough to be lipstick). I dance too much, too big, too into it.

I don’t look like a Philly dyke, and everyone reads me as straight, whether at a club, or networking, or new queers I meet.

I am so sick of this, so tired of not fitting in, so done with spending half the night sitting outside watching the smokers because I’m sick of sitting or dancing by myself and being rebuffed when I approach anyone, so over coming home with tears welled up in my eyes because I’ve wasted another fucking night and more money trying to somehow prove to this fucking city that one can be queer, and love women, and not look like everyone else, and have fun dancing, and dress up, and not fit some god damn mold.

I LIKE FEMALE-BODIED PEOPLE. If I never saw another penis up close and personal, I’d be more than fine with that. I like to lick cunt, and fuck and be fucked by women (and other female-bodied people. I like breasts. I don’t get turned on by straight porn or erotica, and But I’m a Cheerleader and Kissing Jessica Stein are both on my bookshelf. I can quote Les Feinberg, Kate Bornstein, Team Gina, Judith Butler and more by heart. I’m a vegetarian and own two cats, and more vibrators than you can shake one of my many dildos at. I AM A DYKE DAMN IT, and I am sick of people making assumptions about me simply because my hair fits in a pony tail, I wear skirts, and yet don’t wear heels or full on make-up.

It’s hard enough to come out to the world as queer, period. But to try and do it when no one fucking believes you, and people doubt you, and you don’t fit in within any group within a whole fucking city? It’s heart breaking, really.

I’ll I can do is cross my fingers and hope Denver is better. Don’t worry; I’m not going to hold my breath.

-Essin’ Em

Donate here to help fight against sexual assault. Tell them I linked you (Essin’ Em or my blog name) and it’s for GBBMC2008
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Ken Norcross 2008

Hey everyone!

I’ve decided to make a line of safer sex shirts for my site. There will be three; one pushing dams, one pushing gloves, and one pushing condoms. Each will have a slogan (below), a cute picture (ideas by slogan), and of course, “Sexuality Happens.:

Here is the deal:

I’m asking you to do the 3 designs for me, as basic or as in-depth as your time, energy, and concept will allow. I don’t know anything about design, so you can use any program, but it needs to be in a format that I can put on t-shirts. Once you’ve made the design, email them to essinem AT gmail DOT com. The contest will run through May 10th, and then I will choose the designs I will use on my shirts (if I can’t decide, I’ll put them up for a vote).

And what do you win (other than the satisfaction of knowing you had the best designs)???

*A prominent link on my site to your site/blog/etc
*Being talked up on my site with all posts regarding the shirts, the contest win, etc
*A free shirt with your design on it (signed by me if you so care) once they are made
*Having your design (with credit to you, of course) being marketed to AASECT members
*A copy of an erotica book (will commiserate with the winner’s gender and orientation)
*Several gift cards to HotMoviesForHer.com (can also be used at HotMovies.com, FetishMovies.com, and any affiliates of HotMovies/HotMoviesForHer)
*A SportSheets faux fur and leather spanker/paddle
*More prizes TBA (if you’d like to sponsor a prize, please let me know!)

Here are the three slogans I would like, and some concept ideas (I want them to be cute, funny and fairly simple):

“Wear a mitten to pet her kitten!” (picture of a latex glove, maybe petting a kitty?)

“Dam if you do, Damned if you don’t!” (picture of a latex dam, maybe also like a river dam? Or hellfires/the devil?)

“Don’t fuck with me, don’t fuck without me!” (boxing condom? thug condom?)

Underneath (or above? or in?) the picture/slogan should be Sexuality Happens.

I’m hoping to have them printed in white or red ON black, or white or black ON red (although I may have to go black on white for cost purposes), so make it one color (gradients are ok).

Ok, I think I’ve covered everything. Questions? Comment or email me.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE feel free to repost!

Essin’ Em

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #128? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks

My life as a Female

“His reply was instant: “You are a man”.”

Crisp

“I found my eyes unable to leave the curves of her ass, everything else out of focus.”

Ripping yourself a new one

“What’s the most ludicrous porn scene you ever saw?”

Mr. Sugasm Himself (one from the vaults)

How to Choose an Affiliate Program

Editor’s Choice

Cream and Sugar

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

(Sugasm participants should re-post all the links above within a week. The following links may be excluded as long as you include all the above links.)

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships

Feeling safe

How Butch is Butch and how Femme is Femme?

Of Art Nouveau & Sublime Curves

Say Hello to Nanna, Nonno.

The Secret of Polyamory

Why Flirting Doesn’t Work

Sex Work

New At Nuts4chic – The Story Of Justin, A Male Escort

No Tact

Erotic Writing and Experiences

Blow by blow (1)

Door Number Two

Fellatrices: Phantom Blowjob

Flight of Fantasy

Fun at glory hole

Gay Threesome

Good Friday

Is there a polite way to ask a girl…

Reawakening the Temptress…It Must Be Spring

So long

Sometimes it pays to love the one your with

Teasing…

Therapy

To Avoid Waste, One Must Be Profligate

An Unnecessary Journey

Sex Advice

Impertinent Question: Do You Role-Play in the Bedroom?

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio

Half-Nekkid with New Pumps

Hardcore double penetration in gangbang

Hot Blonde from Petter Hegre

MC Nudes: Luciana, Nina, Susana Spears & Zoe

Peaches in lingerie

Spanked Naked in Semi-Public

Sum Myself Up in Six Words?

Sex Humor

Discovery of Coital “Safe House” Debunks Sex Research Findings

BDSM & Fetish

Catalina loves Kinky Tea Parties

Hypnosis, spanking and sex

My first master

Object of His Attention

Sex News, Reviews & Interviews

Of Ilsa and her ilk

Sabrina Fox Bound And Forced To Cum On Sex And Submission

The Whole Chicken’s Blatantly Self-Promoting Anniversary Contest

I posted this blog back on December 13th, 2007. However, given that it is Sexual Assault and Awareness Month, I am re-posting it, because I think it is very poignant to what is going on in our society. We always think of sexual assault as male on female, and MAYBE male on male. However, men can be sexually assaulted, both by other men AND BY WOMEN. Contrary to some legal definitions, erection DOES NOT equal consent. So as you think about preventing assault, and supporting survivors, please please please do not forget men who have been coerced, harassed and/or assaulted, for there is just as much, if not much more shame associated with being a male survivor than there is with being female. RAINN helps ALL survivors, so if you’d like to donate, please see the link at the bottom of this post.
-Essin’ Em

You know, after a conversation with friends the other night, and a talk with AAG, I’ve been thinking a lot about sexually assault, and unwanted sexual experiences from a different perspective.

I’m a survivor of sexual assault. It happened my first year of college, and while it’s not something you ever get over, I’ve done a lot of processing and work, and I’ve worked for sexual assault prevention groups, and on hotlines, and it’s not a touchy “I can’t talk about it subject.” It’s a big activist thing for me. However, it really gets me when anyone makes it a women’s issue, because it’s not, not from ANY perspective. It’s not only women that need to watch themselves, certainly the people who are doing the assaulting need to take the responsibility, but it is ALSO not only women that are the survivors (I like that term a lot better than victim) of sexual assault/violence/pressures/abuse.

I’m not minimizing AT ALL, in any way shape or form what happens to women. AT ALL. Let me state that first. It happened to me. It happens to millions of women everyday.

It needs to stop. That goes without saying, and I will work to stop sexual violence against women until my last breath.

But we also need to think about men. Men are “victims” as well. I don’t just mean men that are survivors of incest and child abuse. I don’t just mean men that are survivors of domestic violence or stranger rape (5-10%). Let’s look at our social construction of masculinity and male (esp heterosexual male) sexuality in our society.

Imagine going off to college and wanting to not be sexually active, and still wanting to be “cool” and fit in. You go to a big party, you meet some “cool” new guy “friends” and suddenly, everything about being cool and fitting in is about sex. They introduce you to an older woman, maybe a sophomore or a junior, and she is all over you. She tells you she loves to deflower freshman boys (I’ve met women in college like this; they do exist), and to fit in with that crowd, you have to “prove” your sexual prowess. By this point, you’re drunk, and you’re scared, and you just want to make friends They show you to a room upstairs, shove you inside with the hot sophomore, maybe hand you a condom if you’re lucky, and lock you in, telling you to bang on the door when you’ve “done your duty and proven yourself.” You just want to go home, to get out of there, but don’t know how to do it without physically pushing this girl off of you. You tell her no, you’re not interested, and she asks you if you’re gay. You tell her no, you’re just not ready for sex yet. She pushes you onto the bed, takes your clothes off, gives you oral, and has intercourse with you. After you come, she opens the door, tells all the guys that you’re a real man now, and you’re finally accepted.

Things like this happen allllllllll the time. If the sexes were reversed, that might VERY easily been seen as date rape, or at least sexual coercion, but here, it’s generally seen as a guy finally manning up and losing his virginity in such an AWESOME way. I see it as a form of sex assault, to be honest.

Look at the movie 40 Days and 40 Nights. At the end of it, Josh Harnett ties himself to the bed so that he won’t touch himself (to fulfill the end of his Lent deal). His ex comes in and RAPES HIM. She has sex with him completely unconsentually as he is saying no and struggling. Then, his current girlfriend comes in and rather than comfort him, or help him deal with the situation, she tells him how “disappointed in him” she is. The movie completely makes light of the fact that a male was just sexually assaulted, because clearly a guy is “always” wanting it, and therefore cannot be assaulted.

Social and peer pressures make it hard for men to ever say no, especially in settings like high school, college, offices (rumor mills, the water coolers), construction sites, etc, where groups of guys “prove themselves” as men based on sex. If they aren’t having sex, they are seen as weaker, possibly as gay, not as “real men.” If they tell a woman they are with that they don’t want to have sex, sometimes she will feel unwanted, that she has done something wrong, that he isn’t “man enough”, that he is gay, that he “can’t get it up” etc.

Again, peer pressure and social conceptions pressure many guys into having unwanted sexual experiences that they aren’t ready for and don’t want to have. Some of these sexual experience a woman has can be placed at sexual assault, but I think it is very important that we won’t completely discount men when we talk about this subject; men are struggling too from this whole Tough Guise (thank you Jackson Katz) issue, and may need support in the same way that women do, but we are so quick to categorize ALL men as villians in the area of sexual assault and violence.

Just something to think about.

Essin’ Em

Donate here to help fight against sexual assault. Tell them I linked you (Essin’ Em or my blog name) and it’s for GBBMC2008
GBBMC2008 info

Here is the last of the double-trouble V-blogs, as Shazam has moved on to greener pastures and has left EdenFantasys.

Get our real-time reactions as we feel, taste and smell a variety of lubes, including 100% natural, water-based, silicone, jack-off (oil-based) and flavored (ROOT BEER!!!).

Enjoy. Lube is love folks…use it and lube it!

Essin’ Em

Click To Play

If you were to emulate someone famous, who would it be?

Granted, I’m only going for Marylin Monroe (with very sunburnt breasts, may I add…) because it was a bloody white party, and there are few curvy girls who ever wore white.

If I *could* look like anyone, here are my top choices:

*Bettie Page

*Amy Lee (Evanescence)

I’m sure I’ll think of more, and update as I go…

As far as people I *do* look like…hmmm. I don’t really think I look like anyone famous…but maybe…

What do you think (both for your answers, and for who I look like!)

Essin’ Em

WOAH! Update:

She went back to him. Yes, they have appointments to see people. But she went back to him.

She’s left him twice. It takes the average domestic violence victim 8-12 times to leave for good. She’s got 6 more I guess.

I know I can’t do anything. I know it’s not my fault (even though I wonder if I hadn’t been in at the office today, if I could have discussed it with her more). I know I have to let it run its course, and always be there for her should she need it.

But it is still hard.