Pleasure Notes

I started this blog just two and a half months ago. I was am a complete neophyte in the blogosphere. Truth be told, I didn’t even read blogs before I started my own. I had never heard of Twitter. HTML was just one more acronym for something I didn’t understand. The internet intimidated me. In many ways, it still does. Once I entered this world, however, I quickly immediately fell in love with it. I entered it because I am a writer.

By Guy Ottewell

Yep. I am a writer. I even claim it on my tax forms. But I don’t always claim it in my real life. Why, you ask? Because. Because I’m not on the best-sellers list. Because no one optioned that feature that circulated last year. Because I haven’t been in a writers’ room since before the writers’ strike. Because I currently pay my bills with a “day job.” Because, right now, all I do is blog.

Each one of these arguments is a ridiculous reason to denigrate what I do, but it’s the last one that truly gives me pause. All I do is blog. Now, that’s a doozy.

By Ando Tokutaro

You see, if I devalue my role as a blogger, I am devaluing the role of every other blogger out there. That’s wrong. There are some great ones. While the level of integrity, and quality, of mainstream media seems to be in free fall, the trajectory of bloggers appears to be in the opposite direction. Change is uncomfortable, however, and many people outside the blogosphere would disagree with me. They don’t understand, value, or respect bloggers. I know. I was one of those people. Yet, I have seen the proverbial light.

Don’t worry. I’m not deluding myself into thinking that this blog will change the entire world. But it has changed mine. I rediscovered the pleasure of writing. Out in the “real world,” I spent so much time trying to play the game please my agent catch the latest trend sell my shit, I lost my voice. I forgot that I write… because. Because I love it. Because it keeps me sane. Because I have something to say.

By Johannes Vermeer

Every other blogger has something to say as well. You or I may not like all the voices we stumble across, but the blogosphere deserves as much respect and protection as any other written word arena. Two witty bloggers writers, califmom and Mr. Lady, present this case very well. They were inspired to do so by Don Mills Diva. So was I. She is actually doing something to ensure that bloggers have a seat at the grownups’ table.

Wanna join the crusade?

Valentine’s Day is just one week away and, I’ve got to admit, I’m bored by flowers and chocolate and candle-lit dinners. Give me those things when they’re an actual surprise. I don’t think I’m alone in this sentiment, either. Ladies? Just think how much more pleasurable it would be to receive this precious little wand of vibrating decadence – a platinum vibrator, ringed in .66 carats worth of VS1 diamonds, and controlled by one AA battery.

Made by Jimmyjane

Let’s pause a moment to reflect on that description. Nope, you did not misread. It’s PLATINUM, the same shit marketers say every girl wants around her finger to hold up a – you guessed it – DIAMOND. And some upstart, California-based company, founded in 2003, has the balls to design a joy stick for the va-jay-jay – and wherever else your inventiveness and proclivities may take it – made out of those two precious design elements?

Bling

Well, Hell’s Bells, people! Any man who cares enough about my pleasure to grant me this kind of extravagant joy is worth brushing my teeth for. But maybe I’m alone in this. What do you think, my rapacious readers? What do you think of Jimmyjane’s Little Platinum Eternity Vibe? Is this Pleasure Find something you could get excited about, or is it just another example of our debauched society and moral decline?

My friend Sarah just wrote a post about the ten things she irrationally fears. I thought that was a brilliant idea, so I’m doing the same thing. I warn you, much of this list constitutes a gigantic over-share, but I believe it is truly liberating to look FEAR in the face, define it, reveal it, and then ANNIHILATE it. So here we go…

1. Ants. I was about five, decked out in age-appropriate short-shorts and a Snuffleupagus t-shirt, and on a family road trip through East Texas. My grandmother sat me in the bough of a tree so she could take my picture – a bough covered in FIRE ANTS. For those lucky enough to have never heard of these diabolical critters, let me just say they come by their name honestly. As the little buggers went smorgasbord on my ass, literally, I began to scream. My grandmother thought I simply didn’t want my picture taken. How little she knew me. Needless to say, the entire experience scarred me (though, thankfully, only emotionally) for life. And of course I forgave my grandmother – about 15 years after she died.
   

   Alice and Mrs. Snuffleupagus

2. Breast Cancer. I come from a line of well-endowed women. I watched Terms of Endearment as a kid. And pink ribbons get my attention. I’m super paranoid that I’m going to miss that telltale lump and I’ll DIE. After all, there’s a lot of real estate to examine. I’m a huge proponent of self-exams; please check your ta-tas regularly, ladies! And guys, this affords you a great excuse to pay rapt attention to your lover’s lamps as your fingers do their meandering.
3. Heart Break. So, I have commitment issues. And I like drama – I used to be an actress, for gods sake. I adore the giddiness of falling in love. But the chest-cracking, gut-wrenching pain of falling out of that love? Whoa, Nelly. I’d rather ignore you, cut you, betray you, deny you or kill you than feel any of that. It’s something I’m working on. And, no, I do not have a police record. Yet.
   

   By Valery Milovic

4. Getting Fired. I am an excellent employee. In fact, I am an over-achiever. That being said, I hate work. I would much rather be gallivanting about Bhutan or lounging on the beach in Santorini or simply sipping iced tea on the patio of my favorite café. My fear is that this truth, and the amount of time I spend on TweetDeck, is somehow telegraphed to my boss like pheromones. I have never received a pink slip, but there’s a first time for everything.
5. Playing the Wrong Music at a Party. I have very eclectic taste in music, but I am not educated about it. I can’t tell you why I do or do not like a song. I can tune it out with ease. I often play the same CD for weeks on end. As a result, I don’t feel particularly prepared to defend my choice of a specific lyric, melody, or artist. So what happens when, in the middle of an otherwise successful party, someone shoots me a horrified look and asks, “What the hell are you playing this for?” or, worse yet, “You call that music?” and the now-shuddering crowd runs for the hills, leaving me alone with trays of uneaten Trader Joe’s finger food and a bottle of Charles Shaw?
6. Going Blind. I had Lasik a few years ago. It was a resounding success. Yet every time my eyes get blurry from exhausting, I start to think my corneas are about to fall out of my head, and that will be that. I think this irrational fear is partly due to my brain’s unwillingness to accept that I can now actually see the alarm clock and recognize people from further than 3 feet away. But, I must admit, I also fear karmic retribution for wishing I had Mary Ingall’s blue eyes when I was little. And I was just ordered by my ophthalmologist to purchase some glasses for night driving – I wanted night-vision goggles, but went with hot-professor frames instead.
   

   Little House on the Prairie (NBC)

7. Peeing While Having Sex. I did warn you about the over-share… I have that blessed damned G-Spot to blame. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled when a lover, or a smartly designed toy, hits it. But the sensation hitting that spot initially creates – for those ladies not fortunate enough to have experienced it yet – feels very similar to that caused by being stuck in the toilet line at half-time after drinking far too many beers. Bad analogy, I know, but you get the point. Of course, the resulting release is far better than any bladder emptying I’ve ever had and, depending on your physiology, it can be almost as… copious. My fear has always been that I would get the two confused in the heat of the moment. I have testimony from others that I’ve yet to make such a mistake, thank god, but the fear is still there.
8. Being Thin. This is counter-intuitive, I know, but let me explain. As I mentioned above, I come from a line of well-endowed women. When I am thin, that endowment seems to be the ONLY thing men notice and, believe me, their notice is often very vocal as well as noticeably physical. Since I’ve decided against pursuing a career as a porn star, this kind of notice can be decidedly uncomfortable. Granted, my penchant for attracting men who think Miss Manners is an underwear line is epic. But still, having a few extra pounds on the frame provides padding of the emotional as well as the physical kind. This way of thinking is neither healthy nor productive, which is why the fear of being thin is an irrational one.
9. Changing Diapers. I like little children. I do not, however, like poo – mine, yours, or the Gerber baby’s. If you have a child with a dirty diaper, please do not ask me to hold that child, much less expect me to clean its butt. After all, the child might not be done dumping, or the color I discover when ripping off the Pampers might create hysterical blindness – and you already know how I feel about going blind, or I may get caught up in the diaper sticky-tabs to such a degree that my self-esteem plummets. But, hey, if you have a properly washed, powdery-smelling, fully-dressed infant… May I please hold him/her/it?
10. Ripping a Loud Stinky Fart in the Middle of a Meeting. I already mentioned that I do not like poo. Farts remind me of poo. And of my father. He is a very skilled farter. And he really has no compunction about where he does it. Super embarrassing when you are a kid. Who cares that it’s partly due to a bad digestive system with which he made peace at a young age. My mother has a wonky tract as well. While Acidophilus and I are close friends, my genetic inheritance and childhood memories still leave me in fear, and hyper-aware of floor plans.

By David Snow

I am no longer a child, to be embarrassed or scarred. I have overcome many of my irrational fears. The above list highlights some of those still lurking. I’m working on completely discarding every last one of them. After all, irrational fears serve no purpose but to hold us back from embracing all the pleasures life has to offer.

So what are your irrational fears, and are you ready to let them go?