On Privilege

Privilege. It's a nasty word for those who have never had it applied to them before. If they even understand what you're talking about, most people told they have privilege of some kind will react as if you had made an attack on their character, as if you had made a judgment on who they are as a person based on, for example, whether they had been born cis and white or not.

In many ways, one of the most insidious expressions of exploitation of privilege comes from some of the people who claim to be fighting against exploitation of themselves. (take for example the way RadFems so often treat Trans women and people of color) They are fighting against discrimination, so how could they possibly be discriminating against someone else? They are on the Side of Right on their pet issue, so how could they possibly be on the wrong side on another front?

Also, the majority of people who get the short end of the privilege stick in one facet of their lives will fight you tooth and nail should you suggest that they are in fact privileged in some way. Privilege doesn't "balance out," it's not a checkbook or a balance sheet. However, it is possible to be privileged in some areas but not in others. (I, for example, have white privilege, but I'm a PWD*; I'm well off financially, but I'm a woman trying to make a career in a "male" field) Having some other privilege doesn't make you a bad activist, or a bad spokesperson for the disadvantages you have. Having one privilege doesn't invalidate your experiences with your other disadvantages.

Before anyone starts getting huffy and trying to start into Oppression Olympics, remember that everyone who has the ability to read this blog has a hell of a lot of privilege - literacy and access to the internet, to name just two. Done derailing? Awesome.

It's hard for people to understand or accept that aspects of life they take for granted are part of some facet of privilege. It's very uncomfortable to acknowledge that some of the nice things in their lives aren't standard, and that things they do may directly or indirectly take those nice things away from other people. It usually isn't intentional - hence why I said that most of privilege is stuff we simply take for granted. People don't think about it, they don't intend to cause harm... but that doesn't in any way prevent harm from being done. It's generally not someone's fault that they have some kind of privilege. Unfortunately, most people see statements of privilege as personal attacks (you have X privilege over me, so you are an evil scumbag who is deliberately repressing me) and react accordingly. Honestly, if you thought someone was trying to say something like that, it's a reasonable reaction.

The thing both sides need to understand is that you "get" the majority of the most powerful privileges the same way people "get" onto the receiving end of repression - birth. A person has no control over being born into a white, middle class family. A person has no control over whether they are born with testosterone or estrogen developmentally marked bodies, or over their sexual orientation. (obviously, this does not apply to privileged groups people can theoretically move in and out of, like thin privilege and socioeconomic status and others)

What people do have control over is what they do about that privilege. Do they pretend it doesn't exist and shout to the world that discrimination is dead? Do they exploit their privilege, consciously or unconsciously? Do they try not to cause harm with their privilege? Do they try to strike down privilege to build a more egalitarian society?

This is what marks the difference between someone who has privilege and doesn't know it, and someone who you can justifiably say is an evil scumbag who is deliberately oppressing you. This is what marks the difference between someone who has no idea they have privilege, and someone who knows but has no fucking clue what to do about it.

Many activists have said that the first step is acknowledging that privilege exists, and that you have it. To that end, I've tried to be as honest as possible with myself about the sources of my privilege. At this point in my lift, with the shit that's going on, I figure it's at least a start, and not one I deserve a damn cookie for. I'm going to keep working on this whole "being a decent human being when it comes to privilege" thing. Because it's the right thing to do.


* Person/People with Disabilities

Just For Grins

It's amazing how the little things can do so much to brighten a day.

The first amaryllis poking its green head out of the icy ground.
Neon pink nail polish on sale at the drug store when you're picking up yet another round of antibiotics.
A random twitter follower checking in to make sure you're ok, and not ignoring a medical issue.
Your favorite candy being back in stock on campus.
A random patch of blue sky on a cloudy, cold, crappy day.
A random text from an old friend long lost touch with, asking how you've been.
Taking terrible-yet-funny pictures of stuffed animals with dildos, just for shits and giggles. (yes, really)

The little things are what remind us that all of life can be wonderful, beautiful, interesting, important. The little things are what remind us that just because we aren't having a peak moment of our lives, doesn't mean life sucks. They remind us to enjoy the day-to-day, the beauty that is all around us in the world, in our experiences, and in the people we rub shoulders with on the subway. They jolt us out of our gray little worlds, knock us off of autopilot for a moment, just long enough to think "Wow! That was awesome!" They give us a little smile in a world were so many of us seem to have forgotten how to smile just for the sake of doing so.

Maybes

Sometimes I wonder if my relationship with my boyfriend started too quickly - or at least the sexual aspects of it. I went from completely untouched, never-been-kissed virgin to fuck-like-bunnies nympho in under a year. I had never even dated before he came into my life. He was... quite experienced for his age, all of 16 at the time. He's admitted that he pushed me, because he thought loosening up and bringing some sexuality into our relationship would make me happy. And for a long time, it did make me happy, wonderfully happy.

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.

Jaded Adventures

Recently, I've noticed that I may be becoming a bit jaded when it comes to sex toys. It's happening across the board, but I'm seeing it mostly with vibrators. I've tried a whole bunch of vibrators by now, and I've got a very good idea of what works for me, and what doesn't. It takes a lot to get me excited about a vibrator anymore. It does happen, but I don't start jumping up and down and squealing every time someone offers to send me a premium vibe now. (Yes, that did happen once upon a time. The first time I was sent a Lelo toy, I went a little bit nuts.)

Crazy as it may sound, this has been good in some ways. I have a few vibrators (in a wide range of price points) that really get me there; no matter what my mood, that small group has what I need. Because I'm no longer hunting for a vibe to fit an all-important niche, so to speak, I've broadened my horizons. Originally, I had no interest whatsoever in dildos - now, I want to try every non-porous material I can get my hands on. I'm trying toys for anal play, and pegging. I'm wandering around the world of lubes a bit more. And I'm branching into some BDSM and fetish interests.

I haven't reviewed many BDSM toys here, I know. The toys I truly love are almost all handmade beauties I've picked up at vendor fairs, or the occasional toy I've made myself. However, I drool over all sorts of toys I haven't tried or don't own. Wartenberg wheels and other prickly toys. E-stim, both TENS and Violet Wand. Pumps. Clamps. Interesting restraints. Paddles. Floggers and whips. Dragon Tongues and gags. Lovely, lovely rope.

Things I would never have considered a few years ago are now on my radar. A year or two ago, I was curious, but they were never priorities - there were always other things I wanted to review and try more. Now? I'm definitely a lot more curious, though still a little newbie.

Maybe being jaded isn't so bad after all.

Another odd little tangent into religious beliefs...

Unlike many people, I rarely experience the divine in a church. I experience the divine in a beautiful piece of classical music, in a perfect sunset, in an insight into quantum physics, in the study of neurulation, the development of the embryo's nervous system. Crazy and geeky as it may sound, I see god/goddess/creator/spirit/whatever you want to call it when I understand a truly elegant biological system like the retina or the neuron. I see these things, and I am struck by awe and wonder. I don't see the divine as "intelligently designing" these things, I see the divine as immanent in them.

And yes, sometimes I see the divine in orgasm, both during masturbation and during intercourse. So I guess you could say that I sometimes pray with my vibrators, hahah.

Why We Gift

"Why do you still give each other anniversary gifts?" My friends as me. "I mean, seriously. You've passed the stage where you need to impress each other, and it's not like you're married!"

It may seem a little strange to some of you. Why force yourself to buy each other gifts? Wouldn't it be more financially responsible to just enjoy each others company? What is this commercialized world coming to?!

Back up a bit. My boyfriend and I are both the kind of people that love giving gifts. We love seeing a person's face light up with joy when they open a gift that really makes them happy. We love how even little gifts can make someone so happy. It's no surprise then that we love to give each other gifts. Heck, we'd be randomly springing little gifts on each other all the time if we could.

And therein lies the rub. Endless random gifts, much as we would love to give them, equal an endless hemorrhage of money from the bank account. Simply put, neither of us can afford the constant gift-giving we want to engage in. We came to a bit of an unspoken agreement that we would try to keep the majority of our gifting tendencies tethered to "excuse days" like Giftmas, birthdays, Valentine's Day, and anniversaries. It lets us save up for one or two really nice gifts each year (the Kindle he got me; the PSP I got him), without also blowing a hole in our wallets with all sorts of "just because" presents.

That doesn't mean they don't happen - they do. The "just because" presents are usually fewer and farther between now; they're usually less expensive. (say, a box of silly Pac Man candies instead of a hardback book or a pretty shirt; doesn't seem like much, but trust me, they add up...) Neither of us feels guilty now when the other brings a little gift. There's no more worrying about "matching" or "topping" the other's gift, either. It takes a lot of the stress back out of gifting, and lets us just enjoy it.

And isn't that what gifting is supposed to be about?

I am an Outlier

I am an outlier.

I do not fit the all of the statistical norms for a 22-year-old white American middle class female.

I have had exactly one sexual partner, and exactly one romantic relationship.

Though a college student, I do not "party," nor do I enjoy being drunk.

I enjoy reading technical material.

I am differently-abled due to medical issues.

I'm a woman getting a college degree in a hard science.

I have a transgendered parent.

I am kinky, as far as the statistical average is concerned.

I am a sex toy reviewer. I receive more sex toys in a month than most women in my statistical set get in their whole lives.

I always orgasm when I have sex.

I have natural G-cup boobs on an otherwise slightly built body.

I am very smart, and dedicated to learning as much as I possibly can.

I enjoy classical music. And broccoli. And brussel sprouts.

I don't mind the feeling of sex with condoms, as long as said condom is not textured and is well lubricated.

I go to great lengths to avoid getting a tan, even though I love lying in the sun. (glory be to SPF 60!)

Someday, I will probably be the major breadwinner in my marriage.

I feel no desire to have children of my own. I do not find children or babies inherently cute. Actually, most babies are pretty strange looking, if you ask me.

Though a Christian, I do not follow traditional, accepted "Christian beliefs."

I am not a devoted member of any political party, and I rarely vote along party lines.

I have a blog; while standard in this community, in my "set" at large it is uncommon.

I am an outlier. This does not make me better or worse than any other person. It does not mean I am defective, or maladjusted, or broken. It does not make me a strange, inhuman creature. Being different makes me human. Being different makes me normal, because no one is statistically average in every aspect of their lives and selves. It takes many values to make an average, and an average is representative of the group, not the individual. We all contribute to the average in some way, and like the quantum states of electrons around a nucleus, no two of us contribute the same set of values.

I am different. I am an outlier. I am proud. I am myself, and that is all.

Sluthood

There's been a heck of a lot bouncing around certain corners of the blog-o-sphere recently about sluthood. Some are talking about how wonderful it's been for them, while others are spouting fire and brimstone about how terrible it is, and how it's damaging a girl and ruining her for life. It's made me take a closer look at the way I look at the matter.

My views and feelings on sluthood are actually quite similar to my views and feelings about transgender. I understand them both at an intellectual level; I empathize with the struggles, and cheer on the successes and joys; I support those for whom this is their path (in the case of sluthood) or their identity (in the case of transgender); however, I know that I will never truly "get it" for either one on a deep level, because they are not experiences I have had. I may never know what it is like to be a person for whom sluthood is a joyful, healing, liberating state of mind, and I will never know what it is like to not be cis-gendered, just as "healthy" people don't really know what it is like to live with pain, every moment of every day.

I may not "get" on a visceral level what is appealing about sluthood, because it doesn't appeal to me outside of the realm of fantasy. But you know what? That doesn't matter. What matters is that I respect these people for knowing themselves and finding the path that's right for them right now. What matters is the acceptance, the support that we give each other.

A Dream

Have you ever had a dream so wonderful that it made your soul ache when you woke up? So real you would have sworn you were awake? Of a believable life with just as many flaws as the current life, but you didn't care because all the right things were wonderful? A dream that made you truly want to say "fuck the world, I really never want to wake up"? A dream that you can never have, but would seriously consider abandoning all other dreams for? A dream that flays your soul with longing every time you stir the memory?

This dream is going to haunt me for a long, long time.

Family Wedding and such

You'd think that now that the semester's over, I'd have a little free time. You'd think that in the summer I decided to take time off for my health, I'd have a little time to rest. Seriously! I'm starting to wonder if I just don't know how to not be busy. Frankly, having absolutely nothing I had to do would probably drive me completely insane within a few weeks.

Two and a half weeks ago, I shlepped out to a gorgeous piece of the middle of nowhere to help prepare for my cousin's wedding. I designed and organized the decorating of the church and reception hall, and helped them get stuff finished. (by this point, the bride and her mother were going nuts, as is the usual state of affairs right before a wedding) My wonderful boyfriend had volunteered to come along and help, so I had an extra strong back to carry things and set things up and move things around. Aren't guys wonderful to have around?

The wedding was wonderful. Everything went off perfectly, the weather was great, and the groom and father of the bride were crying as my cousin came down the aisle. I'll admit, I was crying, too. She and I had always been close. She was born only a few months before me, and until my sister was born almost a decade later, we were each other's only girl cousin. The wedding also drove home that we really were growing up, and that my wedding would probably be the next one in our part of the family.

You can learn a lot about a boyfriend by bringing him to a family wedding. Mine never looked uncomfortable, never tried to escape to run off and get drunk, never changed the subject when people nudged the wedding conversations our way, or did any of the things you'd expect a commitment-shy guy to do. He even sometimes started talking about specifics for our wedding someday, without any prompting. (We'll probably be having the no ice cream cakes argument right up until the moment I order our non-frozen wedding cake!) This is a long, long way from the guy who was so terribly commitment-shy in the beginning that he was afraid to even say "I love you."

I also learned a bit about myself. The week before the wedding, we were staying at my grandparents' house. There weren't enough rooms for my parents, my sister, my boyfriend, and me, so my boyfriend slept on the couch. He got to keep his suitcase in the room my sister and I shared, and he shared my closet. While I always have gotten a strong OCD twitch when I see his stuff strewn across my floor, making a mess and making it impossible for me to find my stuff easily, the closet was different. It was orderly, for one thing, but that wasn't what really got me. Clothes scattered around a suitcase taking up half my floor has a vibe of "I'm just here visiting." Seeing his clothes and mine lined up together in the same closet? I got this big, warm fuzzy feeling of permanence. I liked it. A lot.

There is one thing I need to figure out, though. Every time my boyfriend come with us to visit my family in the lovely mountains in the middle of nowhere, he acts differently. A good kind of differently. He's sweeter, gentler, more forgiving, less touchy, more understanding, more romantic... he's different. I'm not sure if it's because he's less stressed out because we're away from his family/friends/work stress, or if he's less stressed because we're out in the country or something. I'm not sure if he's just on his best behavior because so many of my family are around. I'm not sure if he's trying to butter me up into one of our rare, late-night sneak-some-nookie-without-the-grandparents-hearing escapades.

So that's what's been percolating in the back of my head for the past two weeks while I ran around shadowing doctors at a hospital here in the mountains of the middle of nowhere. That, and the MCATs I'm preparing for. Jeepers, those study books are huge.

Let's Talk Religion

No, really. Let's talk religion.

Run away if you want, I promise not to be offended. I also promise that this isn't about me trying to convert or un-convert people, or about getting up on my high horse, or preaching at you all. This is about me talking about how I fit into the jigsaw of our world. This is about me exploring, in words, how I feel about something that means a lot to me. It has little or nothing to do with sex, sexuality, or sex toys, so if that's what you're here for, try one of my other posts. The few who are still interested, follow me down the rabbit hole - I mean, follow me past the jump.

A sheltered potential

I was seriously intellectually sheltered as a kid. I was... gifted, so my parents made sure I never really knew that there could be limits on what a person was good at, could excel at. Academically, mentally, I never hit a brick wall as a child. Ever. No matter what task they set me, I just did it, because it never occurred to me that I might not be able to work my way through. It was never a question of can't. It was a question of do I have the time, and the motivation, to fight my way through on this problem, or is there another one I want to spend that time on?

Yeah, I was sheltered. I thought everyone was like me. I really, honestly believed that ANYONE could get themselves anywhere, academically speaking, if they just worked hard enough, tried hard and long enough. I thought that, as it was with me, that it was just a matter of effort. The concept of actually failing an exam, much less a course, boggled my mind.

I was such an idealist. And like all idealist, when I had to face how different the world was from the way I saw it, it hurt. It really, really hurt.

I had to face that not everyone is as smart or dedicated as the kids I grew up with, that not everyone can get to grad school or med school or law school if they just try hard enough. I had to face the fact that some people really are smarter (book-wise) than others, that it's not a matter of effort.

Maybe I care about people too much, but I've never gotten over how much it hurt to have that view of the human race shattered. Especially when breaking it involved watching best friends, respected colleagues, and the man I love beat their heads against classes that they just couldn't pass, no matter how hard they tried.

It reminds me of how different I am. And sometimes, I don't want to be different. Sometimes, I don't want to be better. I want everyone to have what I have. I want everyone to be able to do the things I take for granted. I want everyone to be able to see the beauty I see in an elegant equation, a precise experiment, a brilliant theory, a tantalizing hypothesis. I wish everyone could experience this beauty, instead of the frustration and fear of math and science that so many people have.

Is it so wrong to wish more beauty upon the world?

 

Boy Body Hair

I'm a bit funny about hair. Personally, I adore a good head of hair. Seriously, it's one of the big things that really stick about a person, to me. I'll be able to describe their hair to you, a few approximates about their general body type... and that's about it. But I'll be able to go on and on about their hair. I adore my own hair (or what's left of it now that I've donated again); I love playing with my boyfriend's thick, soft ringlets. Think hispanic Shirley Temple hair in a rich brownish black, and you've got his hair. It's wonderful and perfect to play with, while still being masculine. Playing with it when it's freshly washed and brushed and dried, when it glows and shines and runs through my fingers like silk, is such a sensuous experience for me.

I'm fine with arm hair on a guy. Leg hair? Fact of life, doesn't bug me. Facial hair isn't my thing, but I understand that some people (read: my boyfriend) look better with a goatee than cleanshaven, so regardless of the fact that it feels like a nest of black wires, I put up with it. (And pull it and pet it and play with it and threaten to braid it...)

And then there's torso hair.

I absolutely loathe hair on a guy's torso. Chest hair, back hair, crotch or butt hair. Anything more than a fine coating of down is a turn-off for me. To give you an idea, there was one actor I loved drooling over for years. Then I saw him topless. After one disappointed glimpse at that chest hair, I lost all attraction. There was literally nothing there. No more feverish fantasizing sessions about his hot bod. Nothing but regret, and a bit of revulsion. Heavy chest hair bugs me that much.

Herein lies the problem. I love my boyfriend. I find him hot, and sexy, and wonderful. But genetically, I know I'm in for a nightmare as he ages. You see, his dad and older brother look like they're wearing bear rugs on their chests. Seriously. It terrifies me. Until about a year ago, it looked like my boyfriend took after the other side of the family, with just a dusting of thicker chest hair under the clavicle. Then, it started to spread. More of his chest got hairy. Recently, it's started to meander over onto his back as well.

I don't want to be turned off by my boyfriend's body hair, really I don't. Regardless of how I tease him, I'm never going to force him into a waxing salon, either. (If he chooses to, fine, but only if HE really wants rid of the hair, not just for me) I have, however, banned him from ever shaving. I am NOT cuddling up to a prickly mass of full-body stubble. I just need to learn how to... if not appreciate, at least not be bugged so much by his body hair. Somehow. Before he gets a bear rug chest of his own.

(Maybe I could give it a name? Call it Fred, and make a pet of it?)

(Ok, maybe that's going a little too far.)

...

Ramblings about Headspace

(Note - This post is a rather rambling, meandering babble about my headspaces and relationship and the inner workings of my head, written mostly to talk things out for myself. I make no guarantees as to the coherence or usefulness of anything you may read. I can't even guarantee it will be interesting.)

We like to dabble in our play. A little bit of this today, a little of that tomorrow, a dash of this in both... it keeps things interesting, and no two romps between the sheets are quite alike. That's the way we usually approach bondage and impact play. It's generally just another tool in the arsenal, another toy, another fun thing to do when the mood strikes us. We're both switches, so role is another thing that changes on a whim. He'll cuff me for sex one day, and sex will otherwise be business as usual... I just can't, you know, move much. A few days later, I'll give him a good paddling with his blowjob, but the cuffs will stay in their drawer. The same goes for any toy we love.

Stressed Sexy Time

My pre-sex habits endlessly frustrate my boyfriend. We jump into bed together, horny… and then don’t start foreplay. I want to cuddle for a while, which he’s ok with. But then I want to talk, and crack jokes, and be incredibly silly, and muse about deep topics. And cuddle some more. And be silly, and cuddle. And then finally jump him.

Lots of Toys

For those who were curious, this is the majority of my collection.

None of my restraints are here, but I couldn't resist tossing in my favorite flogger.

In setting up for this shot, I realized just how many sex toys I have.

And this is after throwing out and giving away a bunch.

I am kind of proud of myself: I managed to avoid a lot of the worst offenders in materials. My few jelly toys have all been retired by now; of what you see here, the least hygenic is probably the rubber. But you shall have to pry that lavender rabbit from my dead hands, because it rocks too much to toss.

I also realized how many dreams come true there are up there. A whole passle of dildos from Tantus. Not one, but THREE toys from Lelo. A silicone ball gag. A gorgeous flogger. Glass toys, ceramic, aluminum. I am truely blessed, and I'd like to take a moment and thank the companies whose toys I have been given to review. You guys give me awesome sex toys, and all you ask in return is an honest review. You rock.

Excited, in More Ways than One

This has been a very busy, exciting week! Costumes made for Gypsy. Wrapping up my first summer in a new lab. And finally, the most exciting bit: two companies approaching me through twitter to offer me some drool-worthy toys to review. I know this isn't all that earth-shaking or exciting to those who have been reviewing extensively for many programs for a while. But this is a first for me, so I'm beside myself with excitement.

Worthy of my toys

I've noticed that I do most of my purchasing of more expensive sex toys, or more expensive batches of sex toys, when it's either very late at night, or when I'm under the influence of a small amount of alcohol or my pain medication. My guard goes down, and I shell out the money for those playthings I've been lusting after.

I have never regretted a single one of those purchases. They were always within my budget. They were all things I wanted to buy. Most of them were purchases I'd thought about long and hard. But without that little extra push, I'd never have bought most of them. After my most recent such purchase, I think I may have finally realized why.

I don't think I deserve them.