Crazy Sex Toys Found On Etsy

Those of you familiar with Regretsy know that some of the craziest, strangest handcrafted oddities end up listed on Etsy. One day, in a fit of whimsy, I discovered that a strange, wonderful, and sometimes terrifying array of hand-made sex toys are also hidden in the depths of Etsy. I decided that I needed to immortalize a few of these gems...

Click each image to jump straight to the listing!

Frighteningly reminiscent of a propane torch. You light the fires of my passion, baby?

Declared a "Marital Aide." Because of course the only reason to use a dildo is to help save your marriage. (Otherwise kind of cool looking. How many bright yellow dildos are there, anyway?)

Brings a whole new meaning to "blue balls"...

Dildolls. Really. I... I don't even know where to begin.

Weapons-Grade Awful

My evening on twitter started here:

Ugh. This flavored Motion Lotion from Doc Johnson is gawdawful. Seriously, weapons-grade awful. AVOID.

A perfectly honest statement of opinion. Somehow, over the next hour, it devolved from there. To be quite honest, I'm not sure how it happened.

@Epiphora My tongue threatened to sue, or at least get a restraining order.

I blame my friends for goading me on.

I wonder if there are any lawyers who would take my case? "Um, you see, my tongue is trying to sue me, and I need your help..."

I really don't know how to explain this stuff.

I swore to my tongue that it would never happen again, that I would never subject her to such crappy flavors again. She doesn't believe me.

I wonder why?!

It's kinda hard to argue with one's tongue, though. They always get the last word. 

 I... um... hell, how does one apologize for puns? By asking that the punishment fit the crime?

Thankful

Yes, this blog post is late. It's a few days past that bizarre holiday we Americans celebrate called Thanksgiving. But you know what? The post was late in part because of some of the things I have to be thankful for.

I'm thankful that I have such a wonderfully loving family who actually want to spend so much time with me. I'm thankful that they demand I put aside the books for a day to spend time with family, cook, and enjoy epic food. (Recreating all of our recipes to fit three completely different sets of dietary restrictions, yet still be delicious, is surprisingly fun. I loved it!)

I'm thankful for my health. No, really! As shitty as my health is, I can still function. I can still go to school full time, pull in an amazing GPA, and spend endless hours in the lab. As far as my pain issues go, I'm worlds better than I was this time last year. I don't have to take prescription pain meds and muscle relaxants every night just so I can get up the next morning. I am vertical and mobile without half an hour of agonizing stretching. My lungs may be going to hell in a hand-basket, but I'm grateful for the health I do have.

I'm thankful for my best friend. This guy has stuck by me through thick and through thin. When a medication turned me into an apathetic, depressed, non-social hermit last year, he wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd show up in his crazy little pick-up and whisk me off somewhere for shenanigans - ice cream, Indian food, taking pictures of our pretty campus, watching a movie... just getting me out again. Now that most of my other friends have either graduated or moved away, he's pulling me through again. He voluntarily uses his break time to pick me up from therapy to save me the cab fare. He hangs out and the most random times. He helps me with the shit therapy is putting me through. He has been my lifeline in more ways than he will ever know.

I'm thankful for my mind. Being an intellectual has been a wonderful thing these past few years. My activity levels are often restricted, so it's a good thing I enjoy just getting lost inside my own head.

I'm thankful for my boyfriend. No matter how rough things have gotten, he refuses to give up on me, on us, and he keeps trying to make it work between us. I don't know what I'd do without him.

I'm thankful for my dog. He's a bit of a nut, but he's a sweetheart. Whenever I come home, and I'm sick, he spends the whole night sleeping at my feet. Every time I so much as twitch a finger, he pads over to make sure I'm ok. The pooch may not understand bronchitis, but he's such a comforting presence.

I'm thankful for all of you, my readers, my friends. You've been with me through one of the craziest periods of my life. You've listened to my crazy rants and rambles, you've been a sounding board for my strange ideas, you've comforted me when the shit hit the fan, you've gone along with my crazy twitter hijinks. You all rawk hardcore.

Unassuming Feminism

I never thought I'd one day call myself a feminist. When I was a kid, "feminist" was a dirty word, but not the way you may think.

When I was growing up, as far as I knew the world seemed to be split into two kinds of people: the normal people who believed that women were equal to men in every way and should be treated as such, and the scary uber-militant-man-hating-"feminazis". (I apologize if the term offends anyone; I'm trying to illustrate a childhood view, and that is the term I heard used for these women when I was young.) Feminists were the women who went around trying to convince us that "All intercourse is rape!" and "All men are potential rapists!" and "Marriage is nothing but slavery!" and "Down with men! Women shall rule the world!" You know the type.

Given that this was the image that was called a feminist in my childhood, it's no wonder I grew up never realizing that I was surrounded by a wonderful class of feminists: the ones who just never question that men and women are equals, that women should be treated the same as men, paid as much as men, taught the same classes and skills and encouraged to go into the same fields as men. I grew up surrounded by unassuming feminists of all genders, and I have reaped the benefits of this wonderful formative environment.

I never questioned that I could love science and math (and trounce all the boys in my school at those subjects).
I never questioned that I could prefer to build and launch model rockets instead of playing with dolls.
I never questioned that I preferred sci-fi novels to "the babysitter's club" and other "little girl" books.
I never questioned that I would be able to get a PhD in any science I chose, or an MD, or any degree I decided to go for.
I never questioned that I would keep my career when and if I got married.
I never questioned that someday, I might be the breadwinner of my family.

Some time in the past few years, I discovered that the whole world isn't like that. (Naive, I know.) I discovered that not everyone just knows, deep down, that we're equal. I discovered the horrible truth that there are people in my own community who believe I should set aside my career plans so that I can have children. (Because everyone knows that women must have babies, and you can't be a good mother if you're a busy doctor) Somehow I discovered that what I call "normal," the rest of the world calls...

Feminist.

And you know what? I kind of like the sound of that.

Inside my head

I'd like to apologize to all of you, my readers, for falling apart and dropping off the radar. Due to precarious health, I've been staggering from one school deadline to the next. I've been trying very, very hard not to work myself back into either another bout of bronchitis or bad burnout. I've been trying to remember to force myself to make time for a social life, and to fan the flames of a floundering relationship with my boyfriend.

And, shock to end all shocks, I've been getting help. I've been in therapy for... gosh, almost two months now. I'm not sure whether it's helping with my GAD (generalized anxiety disorder) yet, but it's nice to have someone to talk to who can help me figure out what the hell is going on inside my head. If nothing else, my self-awareness is improving. I can now look at some of my panicky thoughts and say "hey, that's not right..." I haven't figured out how to fix said thoughts (because thoughts are slippery fellas, easy to change superficially but hard to truly alter), but knowing where the problem is must be a step in the right direction.

I've only had three full-fledged anxiety attacks this semester, and they were all very short, for me - each was under twenty minutes long. Unfortunately, my old defense mechanism against anxiety is back. I call it apathy, but I'm still highly motivated. I'm not sure what it's called, but I lose most of my desire and drive for social interaction, it becomes too much work. It makes me feel like there's a sheet of glass between me and the world, me and the future and the past. I'm still incredibly driven and high-functioning, but I'm not quite here.

Part of me wonders if that should scare me. The rest just shrugs.

I'm sorry for the lack of real posting recently. I'll try to get back to writing soon, I promise.

Untitled

Some weeks the apathy is harder to fight than others.

Levaquin is a hell of a drug

I absolutely love Levaquin (the antibiotic, for those of you who have never been sick enough to use it). Why, do you ask? Masturbation, of course!

Let me break this down for you. First of all, being on Levaquin means that I'm way too sick to, you know, actually be able to do real work. I can't study, can't work in my lab, and can barely tpye straight. (you know, I think I'll just leave that typo in place, because it looks funny. I wonder how you would pronounce that, anyway...) That means lots of time to jack off and catch up on porn!

Secondly, being on Levaquin generally means that I have bronchitis, so I'm coughing all the time. Generally this is a bad thing, but I discovered that the cough reflex includes tensing the PC muscles. Slip in my favorite Xhale kegel egg, and suddenly my g-spot is loving this whole sick shindig.

Third, and best, this crazy antibiotic sets of a crazy sympathetic system response (for the non-bio-geeks in the crowd, that's the one that turns on your fight-or-flight reaction). Again, sounds awful, but think about it: my heart is racing... like I'm aroused. I'm breathing fast... like I'm aroused. I'm already halfway to convincing my body that it's sexy time! Plus, and this is the bestest of them all, Levaquin makes my hands shake. All I have to do to jack off is hold my hand in the general vacinity of my clit, and the shaking does the rest! Talk about the epic pinnacle of lazy masturbation!

Damn, I need to get horrendously sick more often. I have a lot of porn to catch up on!


"Miss, we're going to have to ask you to step away from the internet, very slowly... keep your hands away from the keyboard where we can see them..."