Feb 152015

packingupEverybody told me, “Buying a house is really stressful” but like the other awful club I’m part of, there’s the First-Time-Buying-a-House Club and you can’t be in it til you’re in it and other people can sympathize but they won’t understand. I DID NOT UNDERSTAND. NOW I DO. I’ve employed a few options for stress relief in the last month, and will continue to use those options liberally over the next 30 days. I’ve had more chest-pain-inducing panic attacks in the last couple weeks than my entire life. While things are not going horribly (our credit is shockingly good), there are the normal bumps; but I’m prone to expecting the worst lately. I’ve had two or so straight years of being disappointed in various life things, planning and expecting only to have hopes crushed at the last minute. From simple things like a day trip sightseeing to missing out on a concert (and the money spent on tickets) due to a root canal the same day. I keep expecting this to all blow up spectacularly in our faces.

But yet, I’m packing as best as I can1, because even though I’m glass-half-empty, the hope can’t be crushed.

For the first time in our lives, we’ll have a place that’s really our own. If want to add on, if we want to knock down a wall, or build something or paint something? Totally can do it. It’s both extremely exciting and very overwhelming. There’s a lot we’re going to need; curtains and kitchen cabinet organizers and bathroom storage and a shed and and and….etc.  I’m getting lost in Pinterest, falling in love with design and DIY ideas that are probably beyond our limited capabilities.

The brand new stove and dishwasher are still covered in their blue sticky protective stuff, which was a let down because I could really have gotten behind blue metallic appliances. To compensate, I’ll use blue elsewhere in the kitchen – I’m torn between the color of Le Creuset Marseille and Caribbean. Not that I can afford Le Creuset, beyond a salt or butter crock. No matter, I guess, we’ll be living damn frugal for at least the next year or three I suspect. I’m going to have to learn how to repurpose and reimagine cheap things I can find in yard sales to create an office for myself. I’ll have a good-sized closet in my tiny office room and I’ll be able to use at least half of it for sex toys. I’ve been contemplating this rotating dildo organizer, and this over-the-top chest of drawers. I’ll finally be able to construct a storage and organization option to suit my needs. A desk that is more functional yet resistant to clutter (that one may be a miracle) is my first task.

I wanted to give an update, because that last post was made on January 22nd and I really didn’t want to see that post up there front and center anymore. I have some sex toys to review, but I’m mired in packing and stress. I’m hoping to get a few out in the next couple weeks. I REALLY want to tell you about the new Jimmyjane Hello Touch X and show you the Rockbox Finger vibe.

Responses to emails and chats may be delayed; presence on social media might be slim. So please have patience. And buy through my affiliate links2! Because we’re going to be really, really broke for quite awhile….

  1. which isn’t really very well at all, I suck at this
  2. conveniently all located at the top of my sidebar
 Posted by at 2:37 pm
Jan 222015

Note that says: "You're never alone, okay? Someone somewhere cares about you and wants you to be alright. Even if it's just a random person you met on the internet. You are loved. Don't forget that."I need to preface this post. You won’t learn anything from this. I have no answers, no treatment plan, no quest. I have uncertainties and questions.  It isn’t an eloquent post. If you need a visual, I am huddled under a hoodie unable to make eye contact, I’m fidgety and exhausted. I’m skimming in some parts because I don’t have enough introspection to be able to elaborate. This is raw and uncomfortable and it’s not a pretty post. Like I told Reenie when I got her opinion on this post, this is a glimpse of me in therapy (and a clue as to why I don’t DO therapy). I’m all over the place, I skip details, yet I repeat. I’m saying all of this the best I can. This isn’t for fame or notoriety, because let’s face it, I’d like to think I normally write better than this. But if I take the time to polish it, it will never get published. Take it or leave it. 

For the last year or 18 months, I’ve mentally been on a downward, slow spiral. Stress and unknown other factors have made me subtly feel less awesome. It’s been so subtle that I’ve only recently thought “hmmm, maybe this is depression?”.  I want to write about this because it’s high time. My friend JoEllen has been writing about it for awhile now; plus there’s Crista’s world-famous OrgasmQuest. My angle is a bit different though. 

 The Vibrators

Despite the fact that it’s my job to use sex toys, I feel some internal guilt about having an orgasm by myself when it’s not “for work”, since I’m getting off by myself and not bringing my husband into it for something that could benefit us both. Even though intellectually I know that masturbation is healthy and there are tons of reasons that partners in very healthy relationships with great sex lives would masturbate. I know this. I still feel guilty sometimes though. Yet my orgasms, the ones from masturbation, aren’t really for pleasure. I don’t take my time and luxuriate in sensual self-play; there are no candles, no erotica, etc. Everything’s usually done in 10 minutes or less and often my pants don’t even come off. Most of the time I’m using my Tango (lately the L’amourose Rosa Rouge is helpful if a climax is being particularly stubborn) and I flip over to Tumblr for some audio and visual stimulation, enough to help with an orgasm. And then I’m done. Close out Tumblr, no more porn, no residual sexy feelings or thoughts; it’s like flipping a switch on and off. When I start masturbating through to finish, I’m not aroused. I’m not horny. So why the fuck am I masturbating, you might ask?

 For something to do. To maybe help myself sleep. To relieve some anxiety. To maybe not feel melancholy for a little while. Maybe it’ll wake me up. The reasons are varied but 99% of the time my libido is not in the deck of cards that contains my reasons. Sometimes an orgasm is not much different than brushing my teeth, as an activity.  It feels good but it’s not really registering, there’s a brain-body disconnect. 

The Sex

I’ll be honest, most of the time lately I have no sex drive. Luckily (an ironic sort of luck) my husband was going through his own lack of sex drive and issues, so while we both still love each other deeply the lack of sex bothered us only on a more cerebral level. A “shouldn’t we be bothered by this?” kind of bothered. A “it’s been HOW long??? Wow…that’s bad…we really should have sex this weekend” (and then we wouldn’t) kind of bothered. I think this past year we’ve both felt a bit of a strain due to the physical disconnect, but we both know that it’ll come back and we’re happy together regardless. But for two people who love each other dearly and still find each other attractive….the frequency of the sexing is frighteningly low. I don’t know yet how to fix it. 

The Depression

So I may, or may not, be clinically depressed 1 and I’m not being treated for it, nor am I seeing anyone. I’m not on any medication that is hampering my ability to orgasm, like Crista is dealing with on her #orgasmquest. I’ve had such awful experiences in the past 16 years with mental health drugs that I’m reluctant to go down this path again. The hazing period of newer drugs is intolerable sometimes. So I’m not actively seeking help. But I’m not happy, like overall – I mean, duh, right? And I have these weird “quirks” that I never had when I was younger – primarily, the ability to cry at the drop of a hat. Reading a book/watching a TV show where someone else cries? I cry. Happy cry, sad cry, the tears are just always there right under the surface. I also have a really hard time sticking with something I like – you know the whole typical depression question of “do you find yourself no longer getting pleasure from hobbies you previously enjoyed” thing. It’s, quite frankly, amazing that I’ve kept up with this blog for so long. I have definitely had feelings of “why the fuck am I still doing this” over the last 2 years. I tend to let my insecurities and the need to feel accepted and liked by my peers rule too much over me. When I start feeling like my peers don’t give a flying fuck about me/my writing/reviews, I consider throwing in the towel. But then I get thank you notes from my readers, the people I actually write the reviews for, and my brain returns to normal and I stop being such a pain in the ass. Needing validation is a sign of weakness for me because of past, unhealthy  experiences. 

I don’t know what I’m going to do. The thought of finding a psychiatrist/psychologist that doesn’t annoy the crap out of me feels too daunting. But I think I owe it to my husband to try and get my sex drive back. I’d say I owe it to myself, too, but my brain is like “pffft don’t care” so that thought doesn’t even occur to me. And yes, a tiny part of me feels like a fraud of a “sex blogger” for having no libido and reviewing sex toys. Thank goodness I dropped the whole “sexy” sex blogger thing years ago or I’d be feeling double the pressure. 

I guess all this rambling is to say that there is no normal, we need to talk more about sex & depression and masturbation & depression and depression in general, and I’m just as nutty as the next squirrel. I expected that writing this would be like therapy, but you know what? I feel twitchy. I feel like I’m in a therapy session with the therapist staring me down and after 10 minutes asking a “how do you feeeeeeel about that” question and my only response is “I dunno”. Oh hey….it IS just like therapy. Ha.

So uh……yeah. I think I need that orgasm right about now.


Links to help:  ADAA page on Depression  –  1-800-273-TALK  – NAMI

  1. But I absolutely do have ADD-Inattentive type and fibromyalgia, and I’m not really on anything for either and both of those, left untreated, can cause depression
 Posted by at 10:59 am
Mar 022013

I wouldn’t quite say that I have Obsessive-Compulsive Planning Disorder but it’s close. I got it from my mother, who also passed on her compulsive over-packing syndrome. Toss in a case of Chronic List Making, and you would think that I have a complete inability to be spontaneous. That’s not exactly true; if I know that *something* is going to be happening, then yes I need to have an exact plan for it. If you text me and say “OMG let’s go to ____ right now!!” if it’s within my doing, I shall be doing.

Let’s take last year’s MomentumCon. I took the train down, then had to catch a subway, then locate the hotel. But I’d never been to the train station here, and of course I was worried about locating the subway and navigating it. So I did research. I drove to the train station two days before my trip as a dry run, to ensure that I didn’t miss the turn and end up getting lost and missing my train. I used Google Maps street view and satellite to figure out how to get from the train station to the subway. I printed out subway time tables. Yet still I was a nervous wreck at all junctures. It’s just how I am.  This year I’ve decided to drive down, since it will (hopefully) mean 3 less hours of travel time, but now I’m all anxious over being able to find the turn-in for hotel parking on the first try, and anxious about the whole parking situation. If I leave for dinner, does that negate the daily parking rate?

Packing? Oy with the lists already. But in my defense…when I don’t make these lists days/weeks in advance? I forget lots of shit. Just this past week I visited my mom and I didn’t make a list. I forgot my back-up sleep medication, miscalculated what to wear by an entire day’s outfit, and forgot at least 4 other things. My brain just doesn’t work very well on these things. So I make my lists days and, for more important trips where forgetting something could be monumental, even weeks in advance. I leave them up on my computer and every so often I will think of something else.

Last year’s trip was made a little bit easier because I was rooming with Crista and knew that I likely wouldn’t have to worry about say, being alone for dinner. Yes, that bothers me. But this year things are still up in the air for things to do and the whole gluten thing makes it even more complicated. Last year we spent a lot of time eating in the hotel restaurant. I will speak to the manager when I get there, but I just don’t have much confidence in their ability to prepare me a safe-from-cross-contaminations meal. I’ve scoped out other places to go eat, but I sure as hell don’t want to go alone. And I don’t want to go off-site for lunch and risk having to miss an after-lunch session, or go hungry. Despite trying very hard to work out the whole “what to wear” issue, here we are 2 weeks away and I’m up in the air on at least 2 of 3 outfits. To say that it’s upping my anxiety overall is an understatement. And now topping things off is the worry that I will need to seriously conserve my spending from here on out and while I’m at Catalyst. Blah. Let’s top things off with the fact that I just trimmed my overgrown bangs, realizing only after that I don’t like how I look with bangs, plus they’re a pain in the fuckin ass to “do”. Can’t just wash and go with my hair.

Let’s add in the fact that, since I’m driving myself, I feel the freedom now to essentially over-pack. The thought of packing my Ninja cooker actually did come into my head, as a way to avoid the restaurants and have safe food…but I like the social aspect and want to spend time with people as much as possible. I’m bringing items for people (note: if you’re on Toyswap and are interested in anything I have, and you’re going to Catalyst, let me know and I can bring the item with me) and for my own comfort. I have an overabundance of makeup samples and trials from Sephora, and am bringing those for my friends to paw through. I’m bringing my Devine Playchest for Crista to have. I may pack my Fucking Sculptures dildos for people to fondle. I’ll definitely be bringing gluten-free foods so that I’m not in danger of going without (or worse: having my bacon cheeseburger on a piece of lettuce).

It occurred to me too late about business cards. I still have some mini-moo cards from last year, although they’re a bit outdated now. But I don’t have it in me to design new ones, nor do I have the funds. It’ll have to do I suppose for the 3.5 people who may ask for one.

I think I’ll go pack a few things tonight. Nail down an outfit. Wonder what I’m forgetting.

 Posted by at 9:37 pm
Jan 302013

Last month, I realized something. There was officially at least one sex toy in every room of the house downstairs. And no, it’s not because an urge struck me to just throw down and masturbate in the foyer (or, now that I have it walled off with a curtain, the junk room). A few sex toys migrated to the bathroom and never left once I was done washing them. A few more migrated to the living room and kitchen for photo-taking and then I just forgot about them, sort of. A few were in the bedroom for actual use, and a few were in the dining room and foyer because we were trying to clean up the living room and only got so far. My office, though, it’s truly helter skelter. Sex toys in drawers, in cubbies, in boxes, in bags, under piles. In all of this disorganization I’ve managed to misplace some sex toys, sometimes for months on end. So in preparation for my bestie coming to help me organize and purge I went room to room, drawer to drawer, rounding up each and every sex toy I could find and piled them all on the dining room table, thusly:


There are bowls at the back of the table filled with kegel balls and clit toys; a stack of storage bags; a basket of tangled chargers sits on a chair in the front. You see, I don’t use all of these. Not even close. In fact the toys that I use consistently aren’t on the table because there’s no point in putting them away (My trio of Salsa/Tango vibes and my Pure Wand). You may ask then why I keep all of these. The answer is simple: I think it’s very important to be able to compare newer toys to older toys, cheaper toys, things others might have. So I hang on to everything, almost. There have been likely over 40 things I’ve given away on ToySwap that I hated and figured I’d never need to compare (and then find out I could/should).

Anyways, so I gathered everything up and figured I’d start on it. And then my back went out for a few days without me, and so it waited all there on the table, mocking me, until the weekend. And of course our landlord was supposed to arrive with a repair guy at any given day and he’s prone to absent-mindedly giving me very little notice. Thursday morning I heard the doorbell and knocking and while I painfully went as fast as I could locating a bedsheet and covering up the mess, by the time I got to the door I found that it wasn’t my landlord it was FedEx with a package I needed to sign for. I missed them, so I would have to wait another day for my sex toy delivery. But in the meantime, this didn’t look suspicious at ALL, right??



I know.

The day of reckoning finally came but not until after my landlord and a repair guy were here whilst the dining room table was suspiciously covered with a wrinkly brown bedsheet. As I stared down my pile, the ever-present inability to organize struck me and I didn’t know where to start. So we started by the old standby for going through anything: Keep, Pitch, Give Away. Things I tossed: A few SinFive dildos that nobody will ever want, same for a bullet or two and a pocket rocket that made more noise than vibration. The ugly as sin glass dildo that nearly scared me off of them forever. The Picobong Honi was on my swap list but I finally decided to just toss it after turning it on again and being reminded as to how pathetically weak it was and stupidly designed and I tossed that, too. The painful glass vibrator that EF briefly offered also got tossed after spending months on my swap list and I realized that nobody else wants that piece of crap either. I realized that while the Hitachi and Fairy Wand do indeed eclipse the Lelo Smart Wand Large by quite a wide margin in terms of sheer obscene power, I have no desire for either of those. The bullet-train buzzy wonders are like a belt sander where the Smart Wand Large is like a jackhammer. Sorta. Yes the Hitachi and Fairy Wands would indeed make for a numb vulva for a little bit after use and the high-speed machines feel itchy to me sometimes, especially with nubbly attachments. Both Fairy Wands that I have, and both Acuvibes, are going on the swap list. I figure that nobody really buys the Acuvibe anymore for a sex toy what with the Lelo Wands, the Fairy Wands, the Hitachi knock-offs, the Mystic Wands, and so on, all of them made and intended to be a sex vibrator.

So while some worthless items are being tossed (and the question got asked: Should this glass dildo go into the recycle bin???), many more of them are listed on my ToySwap page. And if any CatalystCon attendees are also on ToySwap, do let me know if you’d like anything and I’ll bring it to Catalyst to save shipping.

But of course this all made me realize that I have a lot of work to do. I have items that I never reviewed, and I really should. I also need to charge up every single toy and get batteries out and really concentrate on arranging everything on a 1-10 scale of vibration intensity. I also need to use my Lelo Smart Wand Large plus Gee Whiz more often. That’s a long name. I’ll rename it “White Gonzo”. Yes. Because yeah, it’s that awesome and I had a clitoral orgasm just from the vibrations that were inside of me. Nothing touched my external clitoris, it just rumbled the hell out of my internal clitoris. Yes, that’s really a thing. 

Shit. Now I’m overrun with pending reviews. 

Oct 282012

In recent months I’ve been able to tell a few outside-the-bubble people that I am a sex blogger. It’s always a weird thing, filled with uncertainty and trepidation. A few weekends ago it was a fact about me that came out pretty early on into being introduced to new friends, friends of a friend. And sure enough they seemed to take it pretty well. I’m not used to spitting that out. But OH IT’S NICE to talk about my sex toys, the silicone, the jelly, the chemicals to non-bloggers. I was told I lit up when I spoke of it all.

I’ve lamented sometimes that I feel worthless because I don’t have a job. A few friends remind me that I *do*….this website. So the question is, do I return from leave, or do I hang up the gloves? Revenue from advertisers/sponsors is maybe 1/6th of what it was a few years ago. My affiliate commissions, though, have increased quite a bit so there is a bit of evening out, but not quite enough to balance the scales. It’s not that I do this for the money, I never have. But it’s been very nice and I’ve come to rely on it. Of course, one should never rely on something so fickle.

I’ve been away from the blogosphere for quite awhile. I’ve kept up reading some of them, I check into Twitter for brief moments here and there but that is it. If I really missed it all, don’t you think I’d be checking up on the social media sites more than I am…..? So that’s the question. Do I hang it up. I’ve had some wonderful support in my hiatus. People telling me how much they’ve learned from me, how I’m needed in this “fight”, this “War on Sex Toys (or more accurately, Jelly)”. I think about posts I could write and I come up dry. I have back-logged reviews to write and the motivation is lacking. Perhaps I need to force myself into it, which is why I’m writing this. Squeeze some words out, see if more follow on their own.

I finally will be changing over my site very soon to the New Me. Maybe that will provide the kick in the ass I need.

 Posted by at 9:09 am
Sep 102012

Inspired by Stoya’s story over at Jezebel, I’m speaking up along with all the other women. This paragraph, after talking about how men treat her on the street, “They say I have a sweet ass, nice tits, a real pretty dress. They say I’m their future wife, or I’d look good with their dick in my mouth.” really spoke to me.

Before you try to tell me that it’s because I take my clothes off for a living, let me tell you that this started way before I was 18. Let me tell you that every single woman I know has at least one truly terrifying story of street harassment and a whole bunch of other stories that are merely insulting or annoying. Let me remind you that in a room of pornography fans, who have actually seen me with a dick in my mouth and who can buy a replica of my vagina in a can or box, I am treated with far more respect than I am walking down the street.

A few years ago my work experience took me to a place that I’d never been before. No, I don’t mean a new city or a new type of job….I mean fearing my walk home from work.
I grew up in an area that predominantly white, middle-class. My town, regardless of the financial status, was predominantly white. It didn’t matter where I worked, the most distance I had to walk from my car to the door of the building was during Christmas when the parking lot of the retail store was full. I didn’t have much urban experience; the closest large city was an hour away and we only went there for special occasions. But a few years back the job I had moved us to a different city and I worked downtown.
The city was poorly laid out, and only the upper tier of government workers had access to the parking garages – either by way of their income or they were given the parking spot for free because of their high position. So us lowly workers had to park in lots anywhere from 1/3 to a full mile away from our building. The downtown office area was literally surrounded on all sides by the lowest income residents of the entire area. Next to one lot that I parked at for awhile was a small “camp” of homeless people. The poorest people in the city….they’re not the ones who gave me trouble. It was, every single time, the “hood” guys. Black, latino, white, mixed. All loud, thuggy, blowhards. And every single one of them scared the crap out of me thanks to the handful of men who harassed me on the streets as I would walk from my office building to my parking lot.

Somehow the public’s thought is that only pretty women get harassed on the street. Women who expose skin. Who just naturally attract attention. I never would have expected that I would get harassed and hit on, but it happened over and over. I was a fat, moderately attractive white girl dressed in what was usually bland office wear. During the time period that I worked there I was in 2 different buildings and 6 different parking lots. I couldn’t afford to pay for the garage – it cost 3 times as much as the lot. But after one harrowing, scary experience combined with bad winter weather and the darkness that hit just in time for my walk, I called enough and we somehow scraped together the money for a few months of garage parking. When we were starting to not be able to afford it, luck intervened and we were prepping to move away.

I’ve never been good at handling myself when put on the spot. Ever. I don’t have snappy comebacks; when confronted by an angry person I shake and become meek. Fear silences me. So when I was first hit on / harassed during my walk to the car, I didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t yet rude, but I was walking down an alley by myself. He did make me uncomfortable and I didn’t know how to respond. He scared me so I didn’t want to ignore him. I was afraid to walk to my car, I didn’t want him to know which one was mine. I ended up seeing a store that I could duck in to. Other encounters were more or less harmless, but no less uncomfortable. Sometimes I would walk with headphones on and music playing. I thought that this would give me the excuse of music, that I wasn’t ignoring them on purpose and therefore wouldn’t anger them. Apparently unless I donned a gigantic pair of true headphones, this tactic was useless. One day after nearly being hit by a pissy driver, I was passing a trio of white tough guys dressed all gangster-like who said a few obscene things to me but I didn’t make eye contact; I pretended that I didn’t hear them and felt it would be enough as I obviously had a pair of hot pink earbuds in. I guess they didn’t see that because their words then turned nasty and frightening and they started to follow me a little. I kept on going towards my parking lot and continued to pretend as though I didn’t hear. But I was terrified. Unlike the guys that people think are typical of busy NYC streets doing their catcalls, the men I encountered actually expected me to interact with them. When I did not, they turned on me. We’ve all seen on reality-type shows like Dateline or even just the news how people will ignore a crime happening right next to them. Despite being surrounded by cars and people, I did not feel safe.

No one else in my department had to work as late as I did, or if they did they didn’t park anywhere near me so I always walked to my car alone. I was always scared when I would see non-professionally-dressed men walking towards me.

That kind of fear, day to day, is fucking unacceptable. Yet it exists. Everywhere. Every day. To all kinds of people.


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 Posted by at 8:47 pm