Have you ever wondered what racial representation looks like in porn versus the United States population? Well, I have.
I get tired of conventional porn sometimes, and I want to see porn with women especially, but people in general, who aren’t going “ooohnnnn ooohhhhhnnn ohhhhhnnn” like seals throughout the movie, or who aren’t skinny, or who aren’t young, or who aren’t white, or who aren’t conventional-looking, or who are engaging in sex acts that they really, really, really love of their own accord rather than being just sort of down to do because it’s their job. That’s why I love Beautiful Agony (just assume that none of the links in this post are safe for work) — it’s all orgasms, it’s all very understated, it’s a pure celebration of pleasure, and lots of different kinds of people are represented. It’s also why I love the Art-Porn Tumblr: there’s at least some diversity, there’s a lot of kink — real kink — and many of the photographers and directors portray sex in a way that doesn’t feel so … I don’t know. Gratuitous. There’s nothing wrong with gratuitous, conventional porn, of course, I just get tired of it. It’s made for a male audience, and I’m not male. I want to see something different. Keep reading »
The Twitter is abuzz about this Time article that simultaneously paints men’s attitudes about not dating women in their 30s as “caveman-era,” then goes on to uncritically give voice to a whole other set of stereotypes about women in their 30s by asking men why they do date tricenarians, as if the entire body of women aged 30 to 39 have had the same life experiences, look the same way, act the same way, are at the same level of emotional maturity, espouse the same attitudes, want the same things. As if women go from 29 one day to 30 the next and are magically POOF!ed into a whole new being, and these artificial lines we draw between one set of women and another are actually real. As if we aren’t all very different individuals who are given, in the very grand scheme of things, an arbitrary number to attach to ourselves that has to do with our planet’s relative position to the sun. Keep reading »
I am the oldest of four girls, a pack of sisters who descend in age like uneven stair steps, from 31 to 29 to 26 to 23. As the eldest of this pack, I am a consummate older sister — bossy, with a tendency towards lecturing, and a fondness for teaching “lessons.” In the context of my family, this dynamic has its place. The traditional roles of birth order are said to be fluid, but mine never is. I am eternally a big sister, and this dynamic has bled into my love life. Keep reading »
What I didn’t tell you last week was that I was dating someone.
He was a 25-year-old who recently returned from Europe where he lived as an expat for almost a year, met a girl, fell in love, then got his heart broken before he returned. I asked him multiple times if he was ready to date again. Each time I asked, he assured me he was totally ready to move on. We only went out a few times, but those instances were enough to feel a connection. Conversation was easy, the attraction was certainly there and I felt like I could be myself with him.
His only obvious pitfall was that he wore skinny jeans — a style he adopted during his stint in Europe. While I love to admire the male physique, I feel there are some fashions that are better suited for female humans. Besides, I felt like the tight pants distracted from his gorgeous hazel eyes and rugby player good looks.
Crotch-hugging pants aside, I was really excited about Skinny Jeans and the possibility that there might be something there. At least until he called me up and told me he was having money problems and wasn’t sure he could “give me what I deserved.” Then two days later he changed his tune telling me he wasn’t over his ex and couldn’t continue to pursue something with me because he “didn’t realize he wasn’t emotionally over his last relationship.” Typical. I have no idea if he was being honest about his feelings or just politely brushing me off, but I’m not about to date someone who’s clearly not over his ex.
My mom listened sympathetically as I recounted the sordid tale of Skinny Jeans and then gave me the same piece of advice she always does: “You need to date someone older.” Keep reading »
This past week, while on vacation, I had the pleasure of hanging out with my boyfriend’s great aunt. I didn’t ask her age because that would just be rude, but I’m going to guess that she’s in her 80′s. A wisp of a thing, no taller than 5’1″, she has grey bob, ruddy cheeks and just about the best attitude a human being can possibly have without being the Dalai Lama. (My grandparents, who are also a joy to be around, are like this too. My theory is that their sunny dispositions are directly related to surviving The Depression, but I could be wrong.)
After a fall last year, which resulted in months of rehab, my boyfriend’s great aunt gets around with the help of a walker she calls her “Cadillac.” She also has a “Chevrolet,” but she often leaves it at home because “it’s not as fast.” Her great joys in life include taking her Keds off to tan her legs on the beach, collecting large and small bottles which she uses to “help her remember fun times” (she has 146 of them), being read aloud to (she loved the new David Sedaris book — “Those are such great stories!” she exclaimed after each chapter) and eating lobster (which she pronounces lobstah, because she’s from the Northeast). When you say something — anything at all — (“I just got a mosquito bite” or “We’re having lobstah for dinner”) she responds by throwing her hands in the air and shouting “Oh my gawd! Oh boy! Can you believe that?” Keep reading »
In the movie “Singles,” -—and this sticks with Ami because she first saw it at the age of 14, so it made a big impression — Janet Livermore (played by Bridget Fonda) gives a monologue about where she thought she’d be by the age of 23. She laments:
“I’m 23. Remember how old 23 seemed when you were little? I mean, I thought people would be traveling in airlocks and I would have 5 kids. Here I am – 23 – things are, um, basically the same. I think time is running out to do something bizarre. Somewhere around 25 bizarre becomes immature.”
And where was Janet at the tender age of 23? Working in a coffee shop, having an unrequited crush on her musician neighbor without any clue as to what she wanted to do with her life. Exactly what a 23-year-old should be doing, in our opinion. Pretty much exactly what both of us were doing! Ami made note of this monologue, telling herself, Learn from Janet Livermore and don’t expect to be married with kids by the age of 23, expect to start reproducing around the age of 28 because that’s when your mom had you. Also, you’ll be a famous actress by 25, so you’ll have plenty of money to raise your kids either alone or with your husband who can be a stay-at-home-dad. Keep reading »