I'm dreaming of a white birthday

"No, the important thing is that I kept my birthday tradition of gut wrenching horror and torture."-Buffy on her birthday-Buffy the Vampire Slayer

I love snow. When it snows, I turn into a five year old. I go outside and make snowballs to throw at trees and lie down and make snowangels. I run around until I am absolutely frozen and then come back inside just long to avoid hypothermia before I return to the exhilerating chill.

So every year that I can remember I've always wanted snow on my birthday.

Last night I was supposed to go on a date with the Jolly Green Giant, but events conspired against me and I ended staying in upstate new york. Actually I had a great time. I ended up at a dinner party with all kinds of fabulous people including an old personal favorite of mine a french lanscape architect ( there is something amazingly cute about a man who speaks french to cats). I went home properly liquored up and I wake up this morning to snow. Ah, I love it when the universe gives me such nice gifts.

So despite the fact I didn't pull off the boyfriend trick, I did get snow and from what I hear tell Billy has been sending people my way for the birthday comments ( thank you Billy) so my birthday goal of twenty comments seems to be well on its way to being actualized.

And later tonight, dancing with the hot argentine guitarists...sigh....
Everything You Never Wanted to Know About Oral Sex and Were Afraid to Ask

"Will you give me oral pleasure?"-Butch's French girlfriend in Pulp Fiction

I left out part of the conversation that I had with Flibberdigibbet the other day. After she disclosed about Claudio's teeney peeney, I said "Well the good news is that tps tend to be very good at oral."

Flibber: Uh, well, he tried, but I'm not into that.

Bunni: What do you mean he tried?

Flibber: Well, he started to, but I stopped him.

Bunni: Why?

Flibber: Well, I didn't feel comfortable doing that with him.

Bunni: Ok let me get this straight you were comfortable having sex with him, but you weren't comfortable letting him go down on you?

Flibber: Yeah.

Bunni: And this makes sense to you?

Flibber: Yeah.

Bunni: You're nuts. If anything I would let a guy go down BEFORE I slept with him.

Flibber: Well, the thing is I'm not very comfortable with my body.

Bunni: You are a 20 year old dancer, and you're not comfortable with your body.

Flibber: No. I don't think I look good naked.

Bunni: Well, I don't see logic solving this problem anytime soon.

But later when I considered Flibber's problem I realized that I had been the same way when I was her age. When I was in college, all the guys who said they were into oral, which was all of them, were either lying or their idea of "being into oral" was to give it to me for all five seconds before trying to have sex. Basically they figured out it's a good way to get a girl's panties off if she is at all resistant to sex. The few who were genuinely into it, well, they weren't very good at it. They had the technique of a dog drinking from the toilet. So I developed an aversion to oral, but even before the aversion, I could never really enjoy it.

Part of my lack of enjoyment came from the fact that I couldn't imagine that HE was enjoying it. And my inability to imagine that he enjoyed it mainly came from the fact that I wouldn't enjoy going down on a woman. ( are you confused yet?) Generally, when a guy did go down, all I could think about was that he was thinking how awful it was and would I cum already so he could stop and you can't really enjoy yourself when you're convinced the other person is totally disgusted.

But then I met a guy who not only enjoyed oral, he absolutely insisted upon it, and he indoctrinated me into allowing myself to enjoy it. The first time Kevin tried to go down, I stopped him .

Kevin:Why did you do that?

Bunni:I can't imagine you enjoy it.

Kevin:Listen, bunni, if I didn't enjoy it, I wouldn't offer to do it.

Bunni: I think you must be bored or disgusted or something.

Kevin: When a girl is lying on her back saying 'Oh G-d, oh g-d', disgusted and bored are the farthest things from my mind.

Kevin explained that he derived pleasure from giving me pleasure and beyond that it gratified his ego to be able to satisfy a woman in that way. And then Kevin absolutely insisted on giving me lots of oral pleasure until he was completely sure that I was over my little hang up. Another little gold star on his sexual resume. ( in case you are wondering Kevin is part of the male harem-you don't just throw talent like that away)

But it struck me that quite a few women have the same hang up as Flibber, and there just aren't enough Kevin's go around. But why is that? Kevin is right, if a man offers, clearly he isn't disgusted, yet so many of us worry about what he will think, is he is disgusted, are we taking too long-when we should just lie back and enjoy it. What's creating this hang up? All the men who aren't into it? Woman's magazines? Tv commercials for feminine hygiene products? Where does this paranoia about our nether regions come from?

Of course I have a hard time even blogging about it as I am worried about you all thinking I'm shallow and ridiculous, but it struck me that there are a lot of women out there like Flibber, absolutely gorgeous and unable to allow a man, even one who offers, to pleasure her and that's just plain crazy. So I just lay back and blogged about it. And if I have helped just one woman to enjoy herself more in bed, I'll feel I'll have done my job as a blogger.

Bathing Beauty, Roman Decadence

My mother's upstairs bathroom is as close to the Roman baths you can get in the US. It was originally a bedroom. In fact the bathroom is larger than my mother's current bedroom. It has a large tub, and thr oom gets a great deal of natural sunlight. It is also filled with a variety of bubble baths, creams, gels, oils, bath cubes and beads, candles, and large fluffy white towels.

As a child I loved bubble baths, probably because I couldn't have them. Like many female children, bubble baths actually increased my likelihood of developing bladder infections so I had to assuage myself by sitting on the edge of my mother's tub while she soaked. The front of the bubble bath bottle had a lovely woman in blues and greens with flowers in her hair bathing among lily pads. I always wanted to be like that, if only the swamps of CT could be so idyllic and clean and instead of being a haven for skunk cabbage and duck weed. I would sit on the edge of my mother's tub, and I would scoop and blow the bubbles off of my hand, give myself fake beards and horns or attempt to write my name.

Finally when I was old enough to take a bubble bath I enjoyed the priviledge for a while, but soon, with school, there wasn't enough time for a leisurely soak. Later when my parents divorced, the bathtub would have been large enough to give a decadent bath to a large cat, but not even a small girl like myself could really enjoy it.

Since then I haven't been much of a bath person. Partially because, as Eurotrash recently pointed out quite accurately, the baths in New York city are Lilliputian in scale. Even I don't feel that relaxed. And even if the bath tub is a decent size the bathroom isn't. From time to time I have tried to have a soak. Brought in candles, scrubs, bath salts, books, glasses of wine, but I always ended up feeling cramped and showering. Kind of like the Collier brothers trying to bath, if you catch my drift. I kept worrying about things toppling over into the tub, or running out of room the place things. I would try and talk myself into staying the tub longer, but that at point it ceases to be relaxing. After I emerged I find I had only managed to stay in the tub twenty minutes.

But in my mother's bathroom there is the luxury of taking a leisurely bath with a glass of wine and just soaking for hours. No cramping, no interruptions, no answering the phone, no work I should be doing, no book I have to read, no email I have to send back to a student, just pure decadent don't mind me while I shrivel into oblivion soaking. In addition, as she has a variety of different bath salts, gels, oils, I get to regress to being a child and playing with her Verbena salt scrub from L'Occitane or testing her Bliss foot scrub. Or I can just lie back imagining myself to be the Lady of Shallot as I watch the bubbles swirl revealing the water tinted green.

After I soak in hot water for a while, I love to twist the cold water tap with my foot and send a shock of cool water over my legs. I wait for the feeling of coolness to undulate around my ankles and slowly dissipate up by thighs. Slowly the water turns cooler and cooler, soothing my red skin.

When I'm done drying myself off, I get to have more play time with my mother's beauty products. Moisturizer from Clea de Peu And La Mer. Under eye firming gel from Lancome. Rosemary scented energizing after bath oil. I investigate, picking which of the moisturizers I want to try, which has the sweetest scent, the lightest feel. Which of the perfumes has lily of the valley or rose.

When I open the door to the bathroom all that scented steam rushes out in a cloud. I like to think I emerge like Aphrodite in that Botticelli painting. My shoulders are no longer ties in knots, my chicks are pink, my hair lies in wet curls around my face as I reluctantly get dressed.


Place Holder

I know I have posted in a bit and I didn't want you all to be worried about me. I am currently wrapping christmas presents in upstate new york. You all should be warming up for my big birthday commentathon.

I promise a post of some length tomorrow-but I have to say after I got my grades in on monday I just needed to be mindless and not look at printed word for a couple of days or at least until the bleeding from eyes slowed down.

What are my birthday plans? Well, I'll tell you I have been invited to go out dancing with the hot argentine guitarists.

Somehow that makes turning 29 just a little less painful.


Had It

"Listen, you need to open the drawer, find the biggest baddest one you got, strap it on and fuck 'em with no fuckin' mercy."-the Bad Buddhist-fellow prof.

Ok so I threatened to quit today AGAIN. I was already upset dealing with research papers, so disappointing I can't even believe it, I've never had to fail so many students, so I called the Bad Buddhist who gave me that advice. So I came in with the whole I am the teacher and you are the student and you need to respect my authority swagger, and sure enough even more horseshit gets flung my way. And I'm sure, I am absolutely sure, given the hostile yet lazy nature of this particular group of students that the horse shit has just begun. On top of all that suddenly the jolly green giant isn't calling me. So now I am all twisting in knots going what the fuck have I done now? And if the guy is ditching me before my birthday can't he at least have the decency to call so I can make alternative plans. I mean, I'm not demanding emily post treatment here but a little consideration is too much to ask?

I am so upset right now, I am back to where I was with Israel, crying at my desk. What bad Buddhist wants to know is, "Ok I know for a fact that you do everything to help your students. You give them chances I would never even bother with. So you put in all this extra effort and then they fuck you. And here's what I don't get, when they fuck up and fuck you over, YOU feel bad. What the hell is that? Fuck them. They worked hard for the D-so give them the D and if they give you shit in the words of Richard Pryor 'Tell them to have a coke and a smile and shut the fuck up'." ( And now you see why he isn't a particularly good Buddhist)

I don't know myself what is that makes me blame myself when students are so bad and fail on such a level. I don't know where this guilt comes from. But I do know where it's going-to find a jacuzzi sized martini.

I have discovered that I can actually guage my level of emotional upset but the drink I fantasize about


relief after an extremely stressful period-margarita
general ennui or boredom-hard cider or corona
generally stressed about work-gin or vodka and tonic
serious upset-martinis
catastrophe-shots from the emergency tequila under the sink



Now if I continue on my current mood tragectory I am going to have to add two new levels-moonshine and bottom out with rubbing alcohol.

Send me love people, and olives, lots of olives.

Size Queen
apologies for all the spelling errors but I have been correcting student papers all weekend and their poor spelling is apparently contagious-my spelling should improve after tomorrow when I turn in final grades
Virgo:It's not the size of the boat, it's the motion of the ocean.

Scorpio: Listen dude, if she doesn't even know there is a boat involved it doesn't matter how good the motion is.

(two members of a now defunct glam band discussing sex and penis size in my presence)

"No matter what a person looks like, there is something about their body they absolutely hate. We all have something we live in fear of people seeing and being horrified by."

My mother

I was talking to Flibberdigibbet on friday about her love life. "Why is it that there always something wrong with every guy I meet? I mean, this guy Claudio. He's sexy, he's smart, he's funny, he's got a gorgeous body, he's a great conversationalist, he's got a good job, he's a great place."

"Ok what's wrong with him?"

And I was expected her to say "He's named Claudio" or "He professionally pleasures sexually frustrated rich women."

But no, the response was "He has a tiny penis. I mean, the sex was good, but still there is something about a big dick."

I had to correct her. "Uh, well, there are dicks that are too big, and there are big dicks that are, let's just say, are not nicely shaped. There is something nice about a well porportioned dick." Ladies, agree with me here, there are, for lack of a better word, pretty dicks. ( Just like, as most straight men will tell you, there are pretty breasts-being big is not the only requirement)

Now I don't care to let you in on more than you need to know, but I've experienced the spectrum. And let me say, Flibber has a point. There is something that one can only get from a goodly shaped cock.

When I was in college, a drag qqueen I worked with in a show once tried to teach me how to gauge size based on outlines in pants and so forth. I never could get the hang of it, mainly because I thought there were more important things I should be doing than trying to figure out the relative penis size of every man in the room.

Later this inability would be compounded by the "grower/shower" conundrum. Sometime what you see is what you get, and sometimes you are dealing with a Nationa Geographic special where the thing puffs up unexpectedly to like ten times its normal size.

And for the men with tiny penises, well, it's a serious problem because how the hell do you get around that? I can work with emotionally unavailable. At least there there is the potential for change. A tiny penis, well, unless the five tons of spam I get a day are actually accurate ( what are the odds?) there isn't much that can be done except to accept well that's what's there and learn to work with it.

Now of course the irony here is that I am little tiny thing ( four foot six) arguing about how size does matter albeit it in a limited capacity.

Flibberdigibbet continued to insist that Claudio was good in bed. Which I actually can believe. This point is key, men with TPs can still be very satisfying.

But Flibber continued. There is, as I mentioned, a hot Israeli dancer at my studio. Flibber pulled me in "You know, who else has a tiny, I mean, TINY penis, I mean a pardon me while I get out my magnifying glass tiny penis? Hot Israeli." I asked her how she knew and I got the following story. "Well a girlfriend of mine hooked up with him. The next day I called her up to you know see how things went. Apparently it was so small that when he took off his pants she actually laughed and told him not to bother as she wasn't interested anymore."

Now that has to be a god awful situation. To be laughed at naked. I live in fear of it everyday. ( not that I am often naked in public) But here is guy who is good looking, decent body, charming, well educated, has an accent. But he has this, uh, short coming And I have to admit that it made me feel better to know that about him, it made him more human. It made him more like me. Because I live in fear of what a man will see what he's sees me naked for the first time. All those scars. Can't be pretty. And here is this gorgeous man who has the same damn problem.