She's Taken the First Step...

Looking at sex and what it means to you honestly is excruciatingly hard in a society that takes every opportunity to box it in and jump to cliches and conclusions.

But at the same time, it shouldn't be taken so seriously.

I haven't even begun to wrap my head around it, but I know there's so much more to it than most of us ever let ourselves perceive.

RIP Silver Bullet

She crapped out when I needed her most.

Vibrators should come labeled like tampons:

For light, medium, or heavy frustration.

Coney Island, Baby

Just because I won't be having any, probably, for a while doesn't mean I can't talk about it.

Being without significant other makes you focus, whether you like it or not, on that body of yours.

Me and that body had been having some issues for a few months now. And I'm just now starting to listen. Sorry.

She's changed. She's gotten thinner, more muscular, more athletic, less tan.

The hair's about to change tomorrow thanks to my hairdresser.

Just kind of looking at her wondering what she'll do next. Will the boobs grow, my ass looks like it's finally trying to grow some substance, and I've really been liking what my shoulders are doing.

Sometimes I feel so "in" my body, and sometimes it's so distant, like looking at a weird mannequin. And what does that mean for sex? I guess sex makes you feel more attached to your body, because of the sensory carnival going on. Or do people take a more cinematic stance, sitting back and watching their body in action with someone else's?

I've preferred the carnival. But that only happens when you're cool with the freaks in it.

That's ----------

Hot.

"That word makes my skin crawl," said my girlfriend when I asked her if she thought my panties were such.

It two seconds for my own skin to start crawling and less for me to realize how far I've fallen.

When I think of "sexy" or "hot", two things elbow themselves into my mind:

1) A vague concept of what I think of as sexy, slightly tainted with #2.

2) A pumped-up, glaring, raunchy embodiment of sexy that I wish I could just forget, or kill. Perhaps in the form a Victoria's Secret billboard featuring a thonged, panting model wearing costume wings, or flesh shoved up and out of constricting clothes.

Damn, in college I felt saucy not in a lacy thong, but fake blood and tighty whiteys from the little boys section of Wal Mart.

But then, can't you see that in an Abercrombie ad?

So, well, take away what MTV, Cosmo, Playboy, and Lil Wayne tell you, and then what is hot?

I'm ashamed to say that I can't fully siphon out all the crap I'm supposed to think is hot and then nail what remains down to a neat blog entry, but dammit, I aim to start.

I leave you with some things I, independently, think are um... :

- someone devouring some food I just made.

- wine-stained lips AND teeth

- Not giving a shit about the clothes you're wearing and not giving said shit if anyone else cares.

- saying what nobody else wants to say.

Here's to the death of HOT as we know it!