Saturday, October 30
I wasn’t the first person to enjoy my very first vibrator. No, that honour went to the creepy gentleman behind the counter whose penis seemed to live vicariously through my new florid-pink jelly vibe – he eagerly showed me how to grip the shaft, insert batteries and twist the speed knob this way and that, this way and that, until I had a little lump of bile in my throat.
it's saturday morning. the column's up. i want to say something witty and har-di har har, but i'm not in the mood. the day's too lovely to think very hard and i'm on my way to the diemersfontein pino on tap fest. well, soon, at least. after some breakfast. and a steam. maybe a wee coffee somewhere...
can't say i'm looking terribly forward to it a whole day of missioning. what with the having the cooties the whole week.
but still. wine. yummo.
Thursday, October 28
1. my laptop
2. um... a blanket
3. um... fuck. i don't have anything else i'd want to save. no pets. my plants would, well, die of the shock anyway... my gamillions of books, well...wtf, save one, save em all? jewellery... hmm
does that make me lame or incredibly, incredibly cool?
Wednesday, October 27
When i recently got the small brain function of colloborating with ms minky from whet sensuality emporium on sex toy reviews i actually had no idea just how awesome the whole process was going to be.
or how eye-opening.
of all the eye-openers i'll share with you in the future, the first is really simply about store placing.
i first found out about whet when i walked past it on long street one boiler of a day. it really was a bit of fluke. the sidewalks were crowed and i had to cut my pace to a shuffle slow enough to take a look at what was around me. this just happened to be a little store with almost no signage, no window dressing and only a stack of fliers on the door gate to explain what it was about.
this was whet - the ONLY mainstream adult store (the not-so-mainstream being kinx) worth going into in cape town - and it was practically hidden from view in full daylight.
really a metaphor for the average saffa's take on sex.
see. whet and other stores like it cannot open shop in malls. not because it's illegal, but because it's frowned upon. landlords and fellow shop owners don't want the signage or the window dressing because it might reflect badly on the integrity of the neighbourhood.
so while huge sex chain stores like ann summers can open shop in malls in only slightly less verkrompt countries like the UK, our sex stores - no matter how genteel and lovely - are relegated to the outside over there so as not to offend delicate saffa sensibilities (an oxymoron if ever there was one).
listening to ms minky talk about this reminded me again of how repressed south africa remains. our country's sexual revolution may have started but we're still petitioning for supporters.
which is why i'm doing this review thing. for the good of all mankind really. to spread the word, light the fires, start the conversation for the sexual well-being of all south africa.
me. dorothy black. sexual liberator. opinionista. woman. lover. wanker.
and i get cool shit.
in return for this almost-selfless act of socially responsibility i'd like you to go check out ms minky's (her name's marina) lovely store if you're in cape town and/or click through to her online store to buy your goodies (i'm going to include a little logo thingy on my page).
marina bills her boutique as a 'women-orientated, sexually positive space' that explores 'sensuality and sexuality in a wholistic and empowering way'...
and it's true. jokes aside, i'd never collaborate with anyone i didn't like or whose ethos or character disturbed me in any way. and i like marina, and i like whet. i like the store. i like the goodies. i like the fact that you can walk in and talk to marina about anything. and i like the fact that she makes lube. seriously. more about that later.
do give it a bash. women need more chick-friendly sex and sensuality spaces.
here are some pics:
anyway. i need some more sleep. all this keeping my eyes open has taken it out of me totally.
i feel it's just necessary to prequel the 'sense and sensuality (part 2)' post with this because i hate making promises i can't keep and last thursday i was all like 'tomorrow i'll do this and this and that' and now it's wednesday and i haven't done anything.
this not doing anything includes lots of things, like not finishing two articles i was supposed to have done, oh, about 3 weeks ago, my column and various other niggly bits of living essentials -- details of which i will not expound on here.
needless to say, regardless of the fact that i still feel like shit it's time to forward on...march 'ho...adopt my parents attitude to being sick. you know: if you're not bleeding from every orifice or nothing's fallen off you're clearly ok to be going to school/work/church...
Thursday, October 21
i have my moments of crying into my pillow, gnashing my teeth and writhing in professional jealousy as my peers get actual books published, regular opinion columns placed in actual magazines and blog awards
i'm not bitter at all.
i mean. writing a sex column on south africa's biggest online platform is not to be sniffed at. so to speak. and my five minutes of weekly rah rah on national radio is pretty cool. there's no denying that.
but every now and then, between the glamour of the 'you're a whore' comments and the delicate strains of the porny #thedotspot background muzak, i have to ask myself: where's the freaking respect man.
where. is. the. freaking. respect.
and then i reckon that if i actually wrote a fucking book it might help. or pitched more publications. or toned it down or something. write about politics and use words like polarisation.
you know? get proactive about shit. life and stuff. stop hanging out with friends and getting drunk. or lying in bed and wanking. and then falling asleep. cos you just KNOW nothing gets done that way.
i mean. i was thinking just the other day that i have dreams. dreams and aspirations, like all almost-somebodies out there.
dreams of fame, cookies, happiness, the ultimate orgasm etc etc
and then i realised just HOW i could make what i do relevant. and real. and helpful and useful and hopefully get me a pulitzer goody and a regular column in a clever broadsheet with clouts of respect.
i'll do freaking SEX TOY REVIEWS!
these will be both helpful and useful and meaningful and people will respect what i say cos i'll be fucking AWESOME at it.
and for serious, HOW many south african bloggers are doing sex toy reviews that aren't actually trying to sell you the product?
not many. that's how many.
besides. my goodie box is looking a little sad and needs some stuffing...
SO. i went to the first person - and really, the ONLY person in cape town - who could help me: Ms Minky at the whet sensuality emporium on long street.
i'll blog more about it tomorrow and let you plums in on the game plan. cos we got one. and it's pretty groovy. (part 2 tomorrow)
Thursday, October 14
Ex sex is like getting drunk. It all seems to be a grand idea while you’re knocking back the shots of good times but the emotional hangover the next day makes one wonder if it wouldn’t have been better to curl up in bed alone with a cup of rooibos tea.
That's why there's a rule against ex sex.
Of the few pages that remain in my personal Rulebook of Love – among them ‘Thou Shalt Not Date Someone Who Wears Crocs’ and ‘Thou Shalt Not Date A Person Who Abuses You’ – there is the ‘Don’t ever, ever, ever, EVER give in to ex sex. Ever.’ Golden Rule rule.
It is a good rule and quite safe and is a rule I stand by and support 100%. I also tend to break it every so often. Read more...
apparently, the vodacom man tells me, they've corrected their sim swap fuckup at last and it should be working.
it better i said at him down the phone in my most very authoritive voice. or i'll...i'll...be very very angry and CALL YOU TOMORROW AGAIN.
you could almost hear the thunder clouds rumble in the distance.
anyhoo. gotta go again. deadlines. they just keep fuckin coming.
Thursday, October 7
Tuesday, October 5
Monday, October 4
saw jean, my therapist, this morning. it was really difficult. 15 minutes before the end of the session i was doing the whole 'need to pee, we really should end this now' uncomfortable shuffle in the couch. she just sat like a tanned, wrinkled morla, waiting waiting waiting for me to get the itchy words stuck in my throat out.
they've really been there since thursday. i'm still a little shell-shocked. after i found my door kicked in i called mr hardman and he came over. the rest the rest the rest is as it is i guess.
lamented optimism versus reality and love versus sex and loss and longing and expectation with lady lou over brandies and cokes (yuz my china i'm not shittin') at van hunks. it's the new 20-something cool afrikaans hangout in cape town she said. hence the b&c's i asked?
i'm drinking whiskey darling she said.
i don't care. the sugar and alcohol made me feel better. warm and fuzzy. but not enough to negate the next day.
i taste blood in my mouth.