Monday, September 17, 2012

The Sexiest Virgins Alive

Twitterverse is obsessed with Mean Girls. The world stops whenever it's on television, and I'm pretty sure all women aged 18 to 25 spontaneously orgasmed when Mean Girls finally became available on Netflix.

Sorry, that was a gender generalization, which I normally try really hard not to make.
But as much as I see anons tweeting quotations from Mean Girls, I rarely see much discussion about what we can learn from the movie.

The definition of sex has become rather broad and often confusing in today's American culture. Even this asshole our former president doesn't seem to get it.

So what is sex? What is virginity? Does a definition even matter?

Well, no.

But our society is obsessed with it, and as a self-proclaimed virgin who blogs about sex, virginity, and everything in-between, I'm not exactly helping de-emphasize the "importance" of the distinction.

But I AM provoking discussion and sparking debate and challenging preconceived notions of virgins.

Saturday, September 15, 2012

Losing My (Sex Shop) Virginity

I look hot tonight.

I’m wearing my new Rock Revival jeans, a nice little bonus I received from my boss this week. Topped with a simple black button-down (with gathered elastic over the bust!) and accessorized with red wedges & a red necklace. Plus I’m actually wearing a touch of make-up: my roommate and our friend Sue* worked magic on my eyes, which I complimented with a hint of lip gloss.

The purpose of looking hot?

Feeling old enough to go to a sex shop.

Legally, I’ve been old enough for… awhile, to say the least. But I didn’t fully embrace myself as a sexual being until I finished undergrad (and moved to France), and I didn’t embrace my attraction to women until about a year ago (after two years of kissing women in France). So the idea of going to a sex shop has honestly only crossed my mind once or twice before tonight.

Seriously, the thought of it used to make me blush and stammer and try to joke like I wasn’t shocked, but my friends always saw through me.

Tonight, though, tonight, I became a woman.

Tonight, I lost my (sex shop) virginity.

*happy dance*

SteampunkTink and Sue had plans to go after work today. I had nothing going on, so my roommate invited me to join them. They were almost as excited for my first time as I was!

Confession: My sex shop virginity mirrored my real life virginity. As in, I had technically never been in a sex shop before tonight, but I had browsed a Good Vibrations catalog, researched different options at amazon, and, uh, enjoyed a toy or two or three.

Book Club Friday: Chick Lit

While my parents, twin brother,* and his girlfriend are at the beach in the warm, sunny South, I'm in the Midwest, experiencing my first midwestern September. The calendar says it's still summer, but the air feels like autumn. For my reading life, that means I'm in the mood to transition from chick lit to more complex historical or fantasy fiction.

But before I do that, I'm linking up with Heather & Katie for my favorite blog link-up, Book Club Friday! Tonight I plan on reviewing some of the chick lit I devoured during the dog days of summer.

Any woman who has ever lusted over Mr. Darcy will squee with pure delight and swoon from excitement when she gets her hands on Austenland. I don't even care for Jane Austen's writings (don't kill me), and I got totally caught up in this novel. The protagonist is so loveable, while flawed, and I love her character arc. 

I'm in my 20s, as are many of my readers. In other words, everyone is getting married. Everyone. Now, I certainly plan on eventually marrying the boyfriend, but we've been official for less than a year. Whether you love all the weddings or dread them, you'll enjoy the first 95% of Wedding Season by Darcy Cosper. The ending sucks. Rewrite it.

I read all the time. I always have. I'm a fast reader, so I rarely spend more than two or three days on a work of fiction. In fact, it's more likely that I devour the entire novel within a few hours. But during undergrad, I simply didn't have three hours a day to devote to leisure reading. Once I get engrossed in a story, though, it's hard for me to put down. My solution? Short stories! I can read just one in 20 minutes and feel satisfied. This summer I read a fun collection of short stories called Deadly Housewives. Who knew suburbia contained so much mystery and murder?

My apologies on the brevity of this post and the lack of photos. But I currently can't justify spending 1-2 hours writing only book reviews. If you follow the links, though, you can also read plot summaries.

*I can't be too jealous of H. He has his first post-surgery follow-up appointment on September 19. Most likely, he'll then have to start daily radiation treatment. Please continue to pray for him!

Saturday, September 8, 2012

Why I'm a Feminist (Part Three): Gender Inequality Makes Me Angry

Assholes like to belittle women’s rights activists, dismissing us as “angry feminists.” Normally I bristle against stereotypes of any kind, but especially ones that try to limit who I am as a person. Just like being a virgin doesn't make me frigid or judgmental, being a feminist doesn't make me a bitch or a man-hater.

But the assholes have one thing right. 

I am angry.

I’m angry that the War on Women isn't just a political catchphrase. Republican legislators across the country, at the federal and state level, have introduced, and often passed, legislation 

I’m angry that Bill Clinton is still the Democrat’s Golden Boy. I don’t care that he cheated on his wife—that is his personal business. But how many women have accused him of sexual harassment, like Paula Jones? Of sexual assault, like Kathleen Willey? Of rape, like Juanita Broaddrick? Accusations date back to BEFORE he was even governor. So all you rape apologists who want to doubt his victims’ credibility can just stop. I thought the Democratic Party supported women’s rights…

I'm angry that my twin brother called me a slut and a whore for years, in front of all our mutual friends, and not a single one of  them stood up for me. I had committed the unforgivable crime of developing breasts, and I had to be shamed for it.

I’m angry at the number of times I had to ask to choose a famous person not on the proposed list for essays, papers, and projects. Why? I wanted to write about famous women.

I’m angry that I earned a reputation in my non-WGS history classes as the feminist. Why? I was the only one who consistently questioned gender bias, who asked about the women. In today’s day and age, what kind of history students ignore the history of half the world’s population?

I’m angry that my home church won’t allow women to serve in ordained positions. Women are allowed to be deacons, but not elders or ministers. My father is an elder, and I know he does his best to represent my mother and me, along with my brothers. I remember how proud I was when I found out he had been nominated. I cried when he told me he almost didn't accept it. He had to pray about it and talk to my mother because he wondered if it was wrong to accept a leadership role denied to my mother.

I’m angry that women are held up to an impossible standard of beauty. Be skinny, but not too skinny. Be curvy, but not too curvy. Be really pale or really tan, but not in-between. Always wear make-up in public, but never look like you’re wearing make-up. Wear the latest styles, but only wear styles that flatter your figure. Wear the latest colors, but only wear colors that flatter your skin tone. 

I'm angry that a sexual double standard still exists. My blood boiled when I first heard the comparison of men and women to keys and locks. 

I'm angry that most movies and TV shows fail the Bechdel Test.

I'm angry that so many of the twitter accounts I follow do stupid trending topics like #MyPerfectHusbandIs and #HowToMakeAWomanHappy, both of which just reek with outdated gender stereotypes.

I'm angry that I can't tell anyone from home that I'm bisexual. I'm angry that my sexuality is dismissed as greedy, or experimental, or denial. I'm angry that I have to lie to my family, to all my friends from high school, to most of my friends from college, to everyone at church. I'm angry that I can't marry a woman in my home state.

So go ahead.

Call me an angry feminist.

You are 100 fucking percent correct.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Pop the Cherry: A Guest Post

Y'all! My first anonymous submission. I'm totally not the only nerdy goddess out there with strong opinions on sex, virginity, and everything else.

SteampunkTink is a Scholar and a Lady living in the heart of it all.  Nerd among men, she spends her time obsessing over Doctor Who, Marvel’s The Avengers, Star Wars (woman after my own heart!), Stargate, Star Trek, and pretty much all things Sci-Fi.  Before blogging, she attended a rather large University, where she learned that not all archeology professors look like Dr. Indiana Jones (say it ain’t so!), and not all business teachers act like Gordon Gekko.  Ms. SteampunkTink spends her free time crafting, knitting, quilting and practicing the domestic arts.  She proudly sports the Gryffindor scarlett and gold.

She can be reached for comment at or tweet her at @SteampunkTink

Pop the cherry –

Yes, I typed it.  Pop the cherry.  I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count the number of “first times” that have used this silly phrase.  Let me recount for you some of my popped cherries:
  • I popped my theatre cherry when I saw a stage show live for the first time 
  • I popped my laser tag cherry when I shot someone with a laser for the first time
  • I popped “the cherry”…no, seriously
  • I popped my Doctor Who cherry when it popped up as a suggestion in my Netflix queue
  • I popped my Star Wars cherry at the age of 4 when I watched Episode 4 for the first time, and I haven’t looked back

The point I’m trying to make here is that the first time we do something is a pretty big deal.  Well, it’s a pretty big deal to everyone else.  Or at least that is what we’re told. 

Case in point--My first time watching Star Wars was very special.  It has lightsabers and stuff.  I was 4, so that was what I took away from the epic Sci-Fi masterpiece: lightsabers. My parents recount the looks of horror they received when telling friends of our cinematic experiences.  “She’s too young,” said many. “She’ll have nightmares,” said others.  I was too young at the time to understand things like

the death of Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru.  I saw what I could understand at the time. 

However it wasn’t until I was older that I truly understood the quality of the characters and the depth of the story.  I needed time, experience and maturity to process what I witnessed on the screen.   I was 8 when I really understood what happened. 

Our culture put so much emphasis on the “first time” of anything that we forget that every occurrence should be special, and every time we can learn something new.  For example, I learned that in Episode 4, Luke points the lightsaber straight at his face.  I mean, he looked into it like it was a flashlight.  It took me 5 times watching that movie to catch that little quirk. 

Silly as it may sound, there is something special about a first experience.  Each new adventure brings knowledge and growth, but that first time is just the beginning.  It doesn’t define who you are unless you let it. 

Cherries I have yet to pop:
  • Rocky Horror Picture Show  - live
  • Woodstock
  • Homeownership
  • Meeting George Lucas

I think I can live with that. 

*Belle's spoiler note: Normally I would hide the text or something, so you could legitimately avoid the spoilers, but honestly, if you haven't seen Star Wars yet, you're a failure at life.


Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...

Copyright © 2013 Finding My Virginity | Design By 2317studio | Powered By Blogger