The Perils of Perimenopause

Perimenopause is like puberty. But in reverse. And without the myriad information sessions, books, articles and funny videos. I don't think I heard about it until a friend was going through. I was 35 or so at the time. 

I know some women glide through it just fine. Like I glided through puberty with just the occasional zit. I had no idea how lucky I was at the time, because I am definitely not gliding now. 

I'm pretty sure my periods are trying to kill me. Luckily they only  try for 3 days each month.

Top Ten Reasons I Cried During Those 3 Days Last Month

1. An episode of Blackish. Which is a comedy. 

2. The store was out of the chocolate I wanted. But had 4 other kinds I like.

3. That ASPCA commercial with all of the abused animals. Pretty sure that's the point. 

4. The store stopped carrying the kids' favorite kind of rice. Acme has it. 

5. Contemplating finding a new grocery store. I already hit 2 most weeks anyway. 

6. Oprah's speech at the Golden Globes. I think it was meant to be uplifting. 

7. The fact that Woody Allen still has a career. Definitely rage tears. 

8. My sunglasses broke. The sunglasses are from Dollar Tree. I have more.

9. I didn't exercise one day. You don't want me to detail all the things that were wrong with my body on that day, but let's just say I'm pretty sure even Jillian Michaels would have forgiven me. 

10. I dropped a grocery bag on my toe. Nothing broke. It only hurt for like 5 seconds. 

Ignorance Is Not A Virture, Nor Is It An Excuse

You have to read this piece by Lindy West. For real. I'm not just linking for back up here.

She opens her take on the Aziz Ansari story with this:

In 1975, 42 years before the comedian Aziz Ansari reportedly brought a date home to his apartment and repeatedly tried to initiate sex with her after she told him “next time” and “I don’t want to feel forced,” Susan Brownmiller published “Against Our Will: Men, Women, and Rape.”

“All rape is an exercise in power,” Brownmiller wrote in 1975, “but some rapists have an edge that is more than physical.” Sometimes, the 1975 text suggests, rapists “operate within an emotional setting or within a dependent relationship that provides a hierarchical, authoritarian structure of its own that weakens a victim’s resistance, distorts her perspective and confounds her will.” “Against Our Will” has been available in American libraries since its publication, which was in 1975.

Her ultimate point is that feminists have been talking about issues around consent for a long time.

I would like to take this a step further for all those lamenting "political correctness" and wishing to "make America great again".

People have been talking about white privilege and gender issues for a long time too.

Example from 1978. Here's an entire thesis on the historical origins for the term white privilege. Spoiler alert: a graph on page 3 shows its first usage in the 1940s.

Gender identity in 1968. Manliness being separate from loving your penis in 1963. You can also read a nice summary and check out all the citations in Wikipedia, of all places.

Don't like academic works? Read Maya Angelou. Or James Baldwin. Or Ralph Ellison. Or Alex Haley. Or Alice Walker. Or August Wilson. Or Virginia Woolf. Or Langston Hughes. Or Audre Lorde. Or Armistead Maupin. Or Karl Heinrich Ulrichs.

Definitely click on the Karl Heinrich Ulrichs link. He was pretty cool. 

People on the margins have been talking about all this stuff longer than you've been alive.

Of course you didn't hear about it when you were a kid or a teenager. When we were kids and teens, there was no social media, no internet and having cancer was something people whispered about. The MINISTER who lived behind me was forgiven by the community and his church for having an affair while his wife was dying of cancer because, well, "a man needs a wife who can perform her duties."

Yes, this is an actual quote I overheard about the whole issue when I was a kid. Not from either of my own parents, thank God. It was from another neighbor. Also a minister. Of course, beliefs like this still exist. 

But I bet if you reached out to black peers, they'd tell you they were talking about this stuff as kids and teens. And if you have peers who are gay or queer or not cis, I bet they were at least desperately searching for info on this stuff back then.

What's new is that we're talking about it openly. What's new is that your grandma is not only talking about her breast cancer, she's sporting a "Save the Boobies" t-shirt. What's new is that people who are different aren't hiding anymore. What's new is that we know racism is not only wrong, it's harmful. What's new is that you can go on Twitter or Medium or Instagram and hear directly from people who aren't white, or cis, or middle class, or American, or straight, or on your side of the political divide.

Every day, you choose whose stories you listen to, whose feeds you follow, whose experiences you learn about. You can absolutely curate your information in such a way as to never hear about struggles you don't relate to or ideas that make you uncomfortable, but if you choose to do that?

You don't get to complain about everything changing or being a new idea. New to you doesn't mean it's new, just like the fact that you just ate lunch doesn't mean that people aren't starving to death in the world.

You don't get to plead ignorance of the nuances of consent, alleged feminist Aziz Ansari.

Not anymore.

It Doesn't Matter What You Think

I have a lot of thoughts about Aziz Ansari. I have a lot of thoughts about Grace, too.

But mostly I have thoughts about what consent means, or should mean.

(If you're not sure what I'm talking about, allegedly feminist comedian Aziz Ansari and 22 year old Grace - not her real name- went on a date a while back. Grace feels he assaulted her {Her account, painful to read, is here} and he has apologized for misreading her signals.)

My first thought, when I saw the article linked on Twitter, was, "Not Aziz, dammit!"

But I read the article anyway, because of course I did.

It made me sad.

When I was Grace's age (and younger), it was sort of a given that a guy would always be trying to push past whatever boundaries you had in place. And it was the girl's job to repeatedly say no, or move the hand away, or whatnot. And if it got really annoying, you left. (And if he didn't let you leave, or ignored your no, then maybe it was assault but also what were you doing in his room in the first place?)

By those standards, this story is not one of assault.

I keep reading comments about how she didn't leave, how she didn't repeatedly say no, so of course it wasn't assault.

And I'm inclined to agree, given my own experiences and my realization that while it sounds like Aziz is both clumsy and gross, he is not Harvey Weinstein.

And yet.

If we define consent as not actively saying no, Brock Turner is not a rapist. And Brock Turner is definitely a bigger rapist than Aziz Ansari.

If we define consent as not leaving immediately, we blame every person afraid to run out of their boss' or potential employer's office.

Grace seems baffled that Aziz Ansari misunderstood her non-verbal cues and lack of affirmative consent. I find this heartening in one way - it makes me think that when Grace has hooked up with her male peers, they have respected non-verbal cues and looked for affirmative consent.

Aziz is something like 15 years older than Grace so it's entirely possible he missed the affirmative consent movement during his college years. It's also entirely possible that as an Emmy winning TV star in his late 30s, he presumes the consent of every young woman who agrees to go out with him. If #MeToo has taught us anything, it's taught us that powerful men often assume consent from all the less powerful women in their orbit. 

Grace's shock and inability to advocate for herself in the moment will feel familiar to anyone who has been assaulted. And yet those of us who grew up in places and times where no had to be explicit, repeated and occasionally accompanied by running out the door, it's hard to understand why Grace felt so violated by Aziz's creepiness. 

Consent should never be implied, nor should it rely on anyone to yell no. In an ideal world, partners would be attuned to and invested in their lovers' non-verbal cues every single time. But we don't live in an ideal world, so when we talk to our kids about consent, we need to talk about what happens when they find themselves with a creep. 

Because of this story and my own experiences as a heterosexual woman, I know I'm looking at consent through a certain lense. But affirmative consent and strong self-advocacy are important for kids of all genders and sexualities. 

In the end, it doesn't really matter what you or I think of Grace, Aziz and their horrible date. What does matter is working to prevent dates like that and worse. 

"Playboy I Don't Get It"

This is a top search on my blog these days.

Even ignoring the weird Google statistical gymnastics that cause people searching for this to wind up here, what the hell, people?

I don't know whether people want me to explain Playboy's attractions or to commiserate about that weird attraction some people have for Playboy.

I hope it's the former. So here's my explanation:

Playboy has pictures and videos of pretty, naked girls. They are naughty without being smutty. They do not get mad, go on the rag or make guys hold their purses while they try on clothes. They are FANTASY women. And men like fantasies.

(Probably some lesbians do too. But I've never met a lesbian who's told me that she liked Playboy. But I would really, really, love to and I would totally go out drinking with her even though I don't really drink anymore. . .wait, my drinking fantasies aren't the point here. . .)

Oh yeah, men are also visually stimulated. So, you know, Playboy. That's the point. And let me tell you, Playboy is the cleanest, sweetest porn there is. So if your guy is all about Playboy? Be happy.

Anyone looking for commiseration has obviously gotten lost. My feelings on porn should make it clear.

Faux Pas Friday: The Tampon

I don't know whether to blame my very, very, very late '30's or my children, but something around here has turned what used to be pretty normal periods into weeks from HELL. Add in the fact that said weeks are unpredictable (in fact, this week started LATE and I was imagining myself as one of the few women whose bodies overcome tubal ligation. As in, pregnant again. As in, mother of 4. As in, no semblance of sanity left.) and you have a recipe for various disasters.

Like having to ask your 5 year old to go up and get you a tampon.

Because I have kept my daughter ignorant of such things, I had to describe what they looked like.

(Generally, we're pretty open around here - correct names for body parts, explaining that touching yourself is fine in private, daddies plant seeds in mommies to make babies - but periods are a lot of detail. My own mother was very, very open about hers and it freaked me out so much that I dreaded it for years. I even ignored my first one for a day or two. So I see no reason to depress Ironflower ahead of time with details of blood, bloating and bitching.)

So my description was clear enough, apparently, because she found me one easily. She brought it to the downstairs bathroom, where I had discovered my desperate need a few minutes earlier. But naturally she wanted to hang out, not hand over the tampon and get away.

"What's it for, anyway?" she asked. This is the problem with encouraging your children to ask questions and to always providing them with an over-abundance of information.

Naturally, ChunkMonkey came toddling in at that moment. And because I was busy trying to think of an explanation that would not freak her out while, um - let's say "covering my shame", shall we? - I was not prepared. And because I was not prepared, ChunkyMonkey proceeded to grab the tampon and throw it into the sink.

"Nice job, ChunkyMonkey, " I said sarcastically. Ironflower asked if the tampon was supposed to go in the sink. Ironflower still misses a lot of my sarcasm. For which I am grateful.

"Does it help with clogs?" she asked hopefully. We have a sink clogging issue at our house, possibly because everyone except ChunkyMonkey had SO MUCH FREAKING HAIR. Anyway, I pondered the clog question with a slight smirk.

In the end, I said that mommies' bodies had to get rid of stuff each month and that tampons helped. I waited for follow up questions (nervously), but there were none. "Will you make lunch when you're done?" she asked cheerfully.

I nodded and asked her to shut the door. The whole situation could have been avoided, of course, if I just kept a stash in the downstairs bathroom.

How do you handle those kinds of situations? Uh, you do have those kinds of situations, right? I'm not the only person whose had her 5 year old grab a tampon for her, am I?

Sex Toys, TV and Preschool

So today another preschool mom mentioned that I should blog about the red character on Yo Gabba Gabba because, (whispered) "He looks like a giant dildo."

He totally does, doesn't he?

I really love that when people think of children's TV characters looking like sex toys, they think of me. It shows that they get the real me, because I've hardly ever seen a children's show without having dirty thoughts.

Hell, I had questions about Bert and Ernie when I was a child myself. *

Anyway, I hadn't really made the Yo Gabba Gabba/dildo connection because I hate Yo Gabba Gabba and hardly ever let my kids watch it. But it reminded that I'm pretty sure everyone who creates children's television is drunk, high, hates their parents and/or has weird sexual fetishes. **

There's a dildo shaped character on Oswald too. And there are background dildo shapes all over Wow Wow Wubbzy. I wonder if Nick Jr. has an interest in a sex toy company?

I also have questions about Mr. Noodle from Sesame Street. I'm not sure what they are, but I know I have them. I would also like to talk to whoever  created Oobi, which is the one with the creepy talking hands (Hands. Not puppets, but decorated hands.) Then there's LazyTown. I think the relationship between Stephanie and Sportacus is weird. Plus, you know, almost all the other characters are puppets with plastic-faced masks that make me think of bank robbers and that creepy movie V is for Vendetta.

And what about all the shows that have virtually no parents? They don't even talk about Max and Ruby's parents. . .maybe "Grandma" is really their foster mom and Ruby mothers Max so much because she is actually his mom and that's why they're in foster care? And how many episodes of Dora and Diego show their parents? And what about Blue's Clues? If Steve and Joe are brothers, where are their parents?

I'd like to rest my case with this: listen to a kid's show when the characters are excited about something. Don't look, just listen and let your mind wander. If hearing those, "Oh oh ohs" without kid context doesn't make you think about sex, you need to get laid.

I totally should have gone into children's television programming, don't you think?

*Like that never occurred to you.
**Except for whoever made Olivia. I love that show. And I've never had a perverse thought while watching it.

This Post Is About Vibrators. Sort of.

Disclaimer: If reading about my sex life makes you uncomfortable (hi Mom and Dad!) you should probably stop reading now.

I am not a fan of the unexpected guest. Even before children, when my house was generally clean (except for the spare room, but that's what is was for,right?) I didn't enjoy people just dropping by unannounced. Now that my house is pretty much always a mess (and we do not have such a thing as a "spare" room) I kind of dread people stopping by.

Sometimes I do a quick declutter of the hallway before the pizza guy comes.

Sometimes I swear to my children's preschool teacher, who came by to drop off their Christmas stuff, that the pile of boxes is an anomaly (they were) and am relieved when she doesn't venture as far as the kitchen.

Sometimes I step out onto the front porch, even if it's 15 degrees out and I'm not wearing shoes.

And sometimes, like today, the unexpected visitor has to come all the way in. Today's visitor was the not unattractive guy changing the water meter, and (as the woman patiently explained on the phone when I called because I'm all paranoid cautious like that) he was stopping by because he'd finished another appointment early. I vaguely remembered that they are, in fact, changing all the water meters in the entire town. Since our water meter is in the basement, I had to let the dude in.

Now, our house is fairly clean at the moment. And even better, the fabulous Hot Guy just spent yesterday cleaning out the basement. The boys were dressed and not trying to kill each other and my shirt didn't even have too many stains on it.

There was absolutely no reason to be embarrassed.

Except that this morning I received my brand new vibrator. (other people read before bed, I take care of business. More relaxing.) My children believe that vibrators are actually back massagers (what? You can use them for that too), so I had casually placed it on the stairs. So I could remember to bring it to my bedroom.

Did I mention that you have to walk past the stairs to get to the basement?

Did I mention that my new toy is bright blue?

Did I mention that water meter guy smirked as we stood by the stairs while he gave me the receipt?

Yeah. A whole bunch of people are going to be laughing at this during happy hour tonight, I bet.

Anyone else have any embarrassing sex toy stories? I really want to read them in the comments or on your blogs. Because there are very few things funnier than an embarrassing sex toy story.

I Don't Blame You Angelina, But I Still Don't Like You

The other day I was watching an episode of Mercy (because I am addicted to watching TV on Hulu and I ran out of shows I normally watch and it's kind of like Grey's Anatomy but with nurses) and I had a flashback to my single years.

In the episode, one of the nurses thinks she's found this wonderful guy. But it turns out that he's married, which she discovers when his wife and her two friends humiliate her at a restaurant (worth noting: one of the trashy, loudmouthed friends was played by one of the Real Housewives of New Jersey. . .typecasting, yes?).

You see, once upon a time, I too met this great guy. He was gorgeous, rich, smart, funny, charming and kind. And he thought I was awesome.

Would you like to know why?

It wasn't really my own looks, smarts or charm (not that I was a loser or anything, but this guy. . .WOW). It was because I already knew he was married.

So I wouldn't date him. We'd run into each other, we'd flirt, he'd buy me drinks and then I would go home. And he thought that made me the greatest thing since sliced bread. I thought it made me . . . .not an idiot. So I'm not saying I was in the position of the girl on the show - I was not dating the guy and I knew he was married - but if his wife had been bothered by the unknowing women he WAS dating (yeah, that's a euphemism) or by his friendship with me. . .who do you think she would have gotten pissed at?

That just seems so wrong to me. HE was the one betraying the marriage (or not, to hear him tell it she was off doing her own thing as well but I never ran into her) like the guy on Mercy. . . . and Brad Pitt. (C'mon, we all know he cheated with Angelina. We may have gotten over it, but I will always be on Team Aniston.)

What do you think? When a guy cheats, is it really because of some seductive woman? Or is it because he's a cheater?

My Secret Shame

Levi Johnston.

Deflowerer of a former governor's daughter. Teenage father. Hunter.

That's about all I know about Levi, despite having read several lengthy interviews with him. Oh, and he's going to be appearing in Playgirl soon (did you know that magazine was still being published online? I didn't). I really want to see that Playgirl. Because I think he's hot.

Sure, he pretty much stands for everything I hate - fame for nothing, ignorance, Palin Republicans - and sure, he seems pretty dumb (I've  read the interviews, remember). And yes, I think he's somewhere around half my age (which I find icky, even if most men don't). But it doesn't matter. I still want to see the Playgirl.

He's not on my list because, well, it's embarrassing. Plus, the list is not just about hot. It's about like. And I do NOT like Levi Johnston. I just want to see him in his underwear.

Is that really weird? Do you have anyone you're ashamed to find attractive?

Self-Satisfaction

(This post is intended for somewhat mature audiences and people who are not related to me. Mom and Dad, please delete this post NOW, thank you.)

Sometimes when I am falling asleep (or rather, NOT falling asleep) I envision future situations with my children and how I'll handle them. Apparently in the future I will remain calm and loving in the face of all kinds of transgressions. The only trouble "Idealized Me" is having with her teenagers is discussing masturbation with them.

I believe in masturbation the way some people believe in religious doctrines.

I believe that girls and women who can make themselves come (with their fingers, shower heads and battery-operated boyfriends) are happier in their sexual relationships and are more likely to be emotionally secure. I believe relationships where both partners masturbate (and are comfortable discussing it or even sharing it) are healthier. I believe you can't be truly comfortable with someone else's body until you are comfortable with your own.

Plus, masturbating always helps me fall asleep. (I can't believe I just threw that out there, internets. You all had better share some good stuff in the comments.)

But I can't imagine sharing how I learned any of this while I encourage a teenaged Ironflower to masturbate. At the same time, I don't want her to be like a woman I knew who finally learned how to masturbate (and still could only do it with a vibrator, as she was still afraid to touch herself "down there) at the age of 38.

Thirty-eight is way too long to wait for an orgasm, people.

I would prefer that Ironflower know how to give herself an orgasm long before she has to explain it to anyone else. Because it'll a lot easier to explain it (not to mention have it) if she knows all about it. I also think it will help not rush into physical stuff too fast - I can remember more than one time in high school that I stopped my horny little self from going too far by knowing that I could go home and take care of things perfectly (sadly, this same skill abandoned me a few times in adulthood) well by myself.

Notice I haven't mentioned Lovebug much. Boys seem to figure the whole thing out a lot better, don't they? I just don't want him to be ashamed. Or to whine to some girl about blue balls when all he has to do is wait until he gets home.

So, any suggestions for how to talk to my kids about masturbation? Any experiences and/or opinions you want to share? Do you think I'm over-emphasizing the importance of female masturbatory skills?

Plastic Wrap or Dental Dam?

(Today's post contains adult topics. If you are prude or related to me, you may want to skip this post.)

Last week Hubby helped film a documentary. One of the places he filmed was at an AIDS day party (at a church filled with drag queens. How come nothing like that ever happens to me?). Naturally, he grabbed the swag they were handing out.

After he got home, he left me alone with the swag. I eagerly went through it, nodding at the colorful condoms and AIDS ribbon. The tiny tubes of lube reminded me of samples from the make-up counter. They were so cute. Then I pulled out something I didn't recognize. It looked like plastic wrapping and I looked for what must have fallen out of it. But there was nothing else in the bag. Confused, I called to Hubby and showed him the wrapping. "What's this?" I asked.

"You don't know?" he asked incredulously. So incredulously, in fact, that I thought he was messing with me. I shook my head, waiting for the punch line. "It's a dental dam," he explained. "You do know what a dental dam is, right?"

And it occurred to me, for all my purported sophistication and knowledge, that I had never actually seen a dental dam. They don't show them on HBO's Real Sex or G-String Divas. "I know what one is," I replied, "but I've never actually seen one." Hubby put it over his mouth to indicate how it's used. "Oh," I said while thinking, "Ick."

I know that's a terrible thing to say. I really AM a firm believer is safe sex and all that. But when Hubby showed me how a dental dam is used, I suddenly understood why some men have such an aversion to condoms. Not that I don't think everyone having sex, of whatever persuasion, should be safe. But the idea of the using the dental dam over my vajayjay (as Oprah would say) . . . .not the least bit appealing. No wonder my old friend Beth had been in no hurry to lose her virginity to her girlfriend.

But, um, what I'd really like to know is - am I the only straight woman in her thirties who had no idea what a dental dam looked like?

Good Vibrations

(Eva, Rabbits and Why I Hate Posh Spice)

I am a fan of sex toys. I think every girl should be handed a vibrator on her fourteenth birthday and told, "Hold out for this, honey." I really believe it would cut down on more interactive forms of teen sex. But this post is not actually about teen sex. It's about sex toys for adults.

Last night I watched "The Fabulous Life of. . . . " on VH1. It was all about stars and their sex toys. It was late and there was nothing else for me to watch while folding laundry. Okay, I was also curious. I learned about the high end sex toy line they sell at Fred Segal (Jimmy Jane). I learned that Eva Longoria is a big fan of the Rabbit vibrator and gives them as gifts (for some reason this makes me like her a lot, this idea that she has the same vibe that my friends do). I learned that Britney bought a lot of costumes when she was married to K-Fed (not surprising, really). And I learned about Posh Spice's favorite vibrator.

Posh Spice, for those of you able to avoid People magazine and E! Television, married David Beckham, the soccer star. She looks like a plucked chicken, but apparently David likes that. For her birthday one year, he bought her a platinum, diamond encrusted vibrator. It has an attachable diamond necklace so that you can actually wear the vibe. And it cost two million dollars. I'm not sure which horrifies me more - sex toy as jewelery or spending two mil on a sex toy (that isn't a trophy husband or wife).

For the record, the Rabbit costs less than 100 bucks. Having seen Posh's vibe, I can guarantee that the Rabbit does way more. .. .um. . .tricks. So what's the point of the platinum vibe? I guess that you can get off with your jewelery. Talk about class.

You Wound Me

When I saw the True Colors tour the other night, something Rosie O'Donnell said made me think. She mentioned that one of Trump's insults for her was that he wasn't attracted to her and would never sleep with her. Apparently, this was supposed to hurt her feelings.

Because we all know how much lesbians are into having men find them sexually attractive.

I started to wonder, as a straight woman, would this "insult" work on me? As a teenager, it definitely would have. I wanted everyone to think I was pretty and back then I equated sexual attraction with prettiness. So at 15, hearing someone say that he didn't want me or find me attractive would have been devastating.

But I'm thirty-five now (well, for a couple more weeks) and while I find it flattering when someone finds me attractive, it doesn't make or break my self-esteem. I think Donald Trump is ugly, so therefore I care a lot less about what he thinks. But I've heard many men use their lack of sexual interest in a woman as an insult.

On the one hand it is a kind of insult: a horny, drunk man will sleep with a log if the holes are in the right places. But on the other hand it's kind of ridiculous. Attraction is only partially based on looks and it is quite possible to find someone attractive but not think s/he's good looking (and vice versa). For example, I appreciate that Brad Pitt is good looking. But I would rather sleep with Axl Rose - I have this weird attraction to him. So whether a particular man wants to sleep with you has little bearing on your overall attractiveness level.

But Trump and his ilk continue to see us all as insecure tenth graders, more worried about men's opinions than about our own thoughts and feelings. And what really hurts me is that there are a LOT of adult women just like that. How sad.

Oh My Goddess, I'm A Prude!

The last time I was accused of being a prude was 1986. And it was entirely accurate, as I held on to much of my innocence well into adolescence. As I blossomed into an enlightened feminist, however, I stopped blushing when people talked about sex. I saw some porn movies. I read some erotica. I wore shirts that (sometimes, anyway) showed cleavage. I bought a vibrator. I would bring up things I had seen on Real Sex with acquaintances.

And while I can freely admit that I am no longer cool, I still thought I was a long way from being a prude. But apparently, I was wrong.

I watched Women Seeking . . . on VH1 the other night. It started at 10pm - that doesn't qualify as "late night" on the east coast, does it? And yet there it was - a show devoted to women looking to have lesbian experiences while their husbands looked on (or participated, that part wasn't clear) on Regular Cable.

I have no problem with people being bisexual. I have no problem with couples that want to try threesomes. As far as I'm concerned, sex between consenting adults is none of my business. And consenting adults should be free to talk about their preferences - on their adult blogs, in Cosmo and Penthouse and on premium cable.

If I go near Skinemax after 9pm, I know what I'm going to see. If I watch Real Sex on HBO, I know what to expect. But I do not want to hear about the joys of threesomes when I'm looking for Behind the Music, darn it. I'm all for publicity hungry people sharing their lifestyle choices with anyone who has a camera and a business card that says "documentary producer", but does it have to be on every channel?

Is the Food Channel going to start showing those freaky food fetish people now? Will Behind the Music start living up to its dirty connotations? Will E! start showing fading stars' sex tapes? I shudder to think of what this means for the Golf Channel.

And if that makes me a prude, well, bring on the sensible shoes!








television
sexuality

The Hoo-ha

My daughter uses anatomically correct language. She calls eyes "eyes", toes "toes" and her vulva, "vulva". According to some people, this makes me a bad parent. My two year old should not know the proper names for all of her parts, goes the thinking. "Hoo-ha" is a much more appropriate term for female genitalia. Or "down there" (a term I have heard shame-faced grown women use, I'm sorry to say). But my daughter definitely shouldn't know the names of THOSE body parts. I've been told it will make her sexually active.

Yes, it's 2007 and female genitalia (come to think of it, Ironflower doesn't know the word genitalia, I'll have to work on that) is still dirty and scary. Especially when a two year old acknowledges it calmly and shamelessly. How depressing.

My mother was way more open about sexuality than her mother was, but I still didn't understand my own anatomy until somewhere in college. And it took having children to be truly comfortable saying "vulva","vagina" and even "penis". And while I admit that Ironflower's (brief) fascination with her brother's penis (which led to demands of watching me change his diaper and announcements that "Lovebug doesn't have a vulva, he has a penis") freaked me out, I hid it.

I don't think any of us need to be ashamed of our body parts. I'm sorry, but calling something by a stupid nickname indicates a certain level of shame. But that shame doesn't prevent people from having sex, does it? All it does is make them too embarassed to go buy condoms. Or to describe exactly what they want it bed.

The people who are uncomfortable with my daughter's terminology tell me that teachers will be appalled by her language. If that's what appalls them about her behavior, then she needs new teachers. These same people claim that it will make her think about sex earlier. Frankly, I think TV, music and hormones will set her down that path - regardless of what she calls her genitalia.