Dita Parker

Friday, September 30, 2011


I just lost today's blog post. The whole post. Wow. A whole morning's worth of writing. I was working on the draft I had saved (in Blogger), I was going to add some links at the end of my post, and managed to delete the whole post, and before I could go back to the draft, Blogger kindly saved the changes for me, i.e. the blank page, which is all I have left of today's blog post on the invention of the vibrator. The title and a blank page. Wow.

I'm going to scream now. And then I'm going to go kill the heavy bag. Cry in the shower. Have some lunch. Take out all my notes and start over. I'm sorry your trip here was wasted. I'm an idiot. Id-i-ot. Come back tomorrow, you hear. This week's Frisky Friday just turned into a Smexy Saturday.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Love it or leave it

What's that smell? Can you smell that? Does anyone else smell megamarketing? Anyone feeling like a marketing tool? Or simply a tool?

At the risk of sounding cynical, I submit to you that most everybody is selling something on Facebook. Their brand, their personality, their view of the world, their passions, something that says something about who they are and what they're all about. That's fine by me. But from the very beginning I've felt that Fb is something someone created in their own image and everybody else has to adjust their image accordingly. Fit the circumstances, make do. It's the Fb way or the highway.

Now the highway is growing in width. It's growing in reach and going places it hasn't gone before. And we're being taken along for the ride. For a ride. At least that's how many users feel like. That if it's been hard to control your privacy from the get-go, it's becoming almost impossible. Will every page you visit somehow connected to Fb soon follow, record and telegraph your every move, automatically, unless you take certain steps to prevent it from doing so? What if you forget? Forget to log out, clear cache, cookies, history? Exit browser? Switch browser? Switch computer? It makes me feel quite paranoid just thinking about it.

Will all be revealed? I don't know of a soul who would want to share every single click with the rest of the world. What's the matter? Got something to hide? Oh everyone has their guilty pleasures and morbid fascinations. And everyone has a right to privacy. And yes, some have connections, secrets and associations to safeguard. They shouldn't be public by default. My toys aren't your property even if you own the playground.

I probably got it all wrong. Misconstrued poor Mark, misunderstood the altruistic intentions, blew the marketing thing way out of proportion. But you know what I'm thinking? If it's not like that, why does it feel like that? Should innocent fun and sincere networking make you uneasy, feel like this much work, like trouble? Wanna know what else I think? I'm gonna say it anyway. That bearded German might have missed the mark every now and then but he was on to something with the reification stuff. We'll not only sell our brand on Fb. That ship has already sailed. We'll each and every one of us be a fleet marketing an armada of stuff without thinking twice about it. (I for one can't stop thinking about it). And we're gonna do it for free.

Monday, September 26, 2011

This is bad

Baaad bad bad, sweetie darlings. According to a multinational study, which released just in time for World Contraception Day, unprotected sex is on the rise and access to and knowledge about contraception is going the way of...of...someone or something that doesn't give a shit about the welfare of others.

Clueless or Clued Up: your right to be informed about contraception reports that the number of youngsters having unprotected sex with a new partner has increased by 19% in Britain, 39% in the US, and a staggering 111% in France (in the last three years). Unplanned pregnancies and myths about surefire methods after the fact abound, as do abortions and STIs. 

The fact that "young people are telling us they are not receiving enough sex education or the wrong type of information about sex and sexuality," (said Jennifer Woodside, spokeswoman for the International Planned Parenthood) isn't helping. "How can young people make decisions that are right for them and protect them from unwanted pregnancy and STIs, if we do not empower them and enable them to acquire the skills they need to make those choices?"

That's a very good question. I know a very poor answer. Let's tell them to stop doing it and then pretend they're not doing it. Come on. It's not what kids know that gets them into trouble, it's everything they don't.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Frisky Friday in the realm of the senses

Sight, sound, smell, touch, taste. Writers know the importance of sensory details, how they make a story come to life. Detailed lovers know it, too, how sensual foreplay can make their partners come to life. (And if it takes time for you or your partner to light up, listen up.) Did you know that a woman's skin is ten times more sensitive to touch and pressure than a man's? Women are one huge erogenous zone, so your chances of hitting the spot are excellent. If it weren't for individual differences and preferences. Therein lies the problem, and a whole lot of fun.

Men are said to fall for what they see and women for what they hear. As any man who enjoys a dirty talking dame and any woman who craves visual stimulation will tell you, that's not always the case. Individual differences and preferences, remember? So let's not settle for generalizations, let's broaden the horizons, shall we? Let's explore.

Grab your partner (preferably relaxed) and some time (preferably unlimited/uninterrupted), and make an expedition of it. You don't need a navigator. You have everything you need right in front of you (that would be each other) but you have to pay attention. Your reactions are all the guidance either one of you needs, so keep those minds and senses open and go. Explore. 

Where are we headed again? Intimacy. Arousal. Fun, a teasing good time. Mutual pleasure. A deeper understanding. The sensual world. Watching, tasting, touching, listening to and, yeah, even scenting out your partner. The favorite destinations: where skin is the most sensitive, most responsive to stimulation, i.e. in, on and around the genitalia, the navel, hips and pubic hairline, inner thighs, behind the knees, fingers and toes and the skin in between, the feet, the elbow crook and inner surface of forearms, shoulders, neck and underarms, breasts/chest and nipples, ears and mouth.  Did I forget something? The butt and backbone region?
Of course there's no need to limit yourself to these, to what you always do, what someone told you women/men like, or what you think your partner likes because that's what you like. Get off the beaten path. Explore. Get to know the most sensitive zones and their sensitivity and you'll learn the degree of intensity to use. Some areas may require an easy touch, others respond to rougher caresses. Kiss, lick, nibble, bite. Stroke, slap, scratch, tickle, massage.

Use your tongue as you would your fingers and vice versa. Don't just use your lips, use your teeth too, but start off gently, okay? Gauge those reactions. See what your hair does to them when brushed against those sensitive zones, or a hard sharp blow of cool air, or an open-mouthed long and warm breath. Nothing much? Move on. Explore.

Accessorize. Try using a blindfold. Taking out sight is a sure way to sharpen all the other senses. Verbalize. Tell them what you're going to do. Ask them what they want you to do. Then follow through. Watch and learn. A great way to find out what your partner likes and how they like it is to watch them masturbate. Try out sex toys but don't go overboard. (As a rule, intense, rough stimulation desensitizes and you don't want to end up in a vicious cycle where you need an ever-increasing amount of stimulation to get aroused.)

Don't just wonder what this or that or the other would feel like, find out. Boldly stick that tongue or finger where those taste buds or digits haven't gone before, with your partner's consent, naturally, and ask them to return the favor, to touch you where and how you'd like to be touched. Some of your wishes may sound silly or surprising to them. Some of yours may even make them a little squeamish. But if it's not intentionally hurtful or degrading (above all else, respectfulness, okay? you're both supposed to enjoy it, right?), give it a try. Don't be a 5-year-old. Don't say you don't like something if you've never had it. Give it a try and then decide if you want more. What borderline scared you may end up thrilling you. Your former put-off may turn out to be your new turn-on.

You'll never know if you don't go. So go. Watch, listen, smell, feel, taste. Explore. Enjoy.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Heavy rotation

Temperature: a rainy 15/59

Eating: Kerala chicken curry

Drinking: would kill for some guaraná. Not really, no. Maim?

Watching: a hedgehog on a snail hunt

Listening: to the new Coldplay singles; like really raping the replay button. Help.

Reading: Ildefonso Falcones' The Hand of Fatima 

Writing: a birthday message to one of my oldest friends. She's not old; the friendship is.

Feeling: really envious of everyone attending RomantiCon

Friday, September 16, 2011

Frisky Friday, or, in the mood for love

Hello hello, dearest denizens, and welcome to another episode of Frisky Friday! First a recap. So far, we've worked on a loving attitude toward both yourself and your partner. Why? Because what goes around has a tendency of coming around. Positivity is a self-fulfilling prophecy. So is negativity. Which one do you think is more constructive? How about seductive? If you're tense, if s/he's tense, if the whole atmosphere is tense, I doubt you'll be feeling very amorous at the end of the day. 

And that's a shame. I believe a good relationship equals good sex and a satisfactory sex life contributes to a satisfactory relationship. Good. Satisfactory. Not perfect or outstanding or some other silly shit. Every relationship eventually hits a rough patch. But even if you feel you've lost that loving feeling, not all is lost.

Sex is a contact sport and like any athlete will tell you, warming up can make or break a performance. So. How much time do you reserve for foreplay? Thirty minutes? Fifteen? Five? What foreplay; you barely have time for sex?! Buildup, sweetie darlings, what great erotic romances and really nice sex are made of. Enjoying the ride, not just the finish line. Let's forget about the finish line for now and focus on those all-important preparations instead.

As anyone who's ever orgasmed in their sleep will tell you, sex truly is in the brain. Everyone else knows it, too. How hot and bothered you can get just thinking about it. You don't necessarily need physical stimuli, you can run on mental stimulus just fine. My point? You have time for foreplay. You have all the time you need. Don't wait until the last minute, don't wait until the main event, start warming up now! Get a week, five days, even one day of mental foreplay in there and I promise you'll be ready for sex when there's time to have some.

And we're back to attitude, how it makes all the difference. You have to decide, every day, which one you'll be: a dynamo or a torpedo? How you'll talk to your partner, look at them, touch them. I've had time to practice. I've been married for ten years. Yes, consecutively. Yes, to the same man. I've found there's a lot you can do to keep the spark alive. 

It's as simple as a simple, sincere compliment. Not just asking how their day went but listening, too. A passing touch. An unexpected, well-placed kiss. An unexpected, out of place "I love you." The Look, that long, hot, heavy look. A sweet text message out of the blue. Sexting. A whispered promise in the middle of a crowd. Choosing sex over housework. The housework will still be there when you're done but your partner may be long gone on to something completely different when you're done with the lawn or laundry.

Sounds like a holistic approach? It is. It's all foreplay if you want it to be. And I'm happy to report not only does it work, it's a lot of fun. It's a continuous win-win game of two players competing not against each other but together. You can be as crazy busy as they come and still pull it off, I promise. But you have to make a conscious decision. Dynamo or torpedo? For road team or home team?

Your next week's mission, should you choose to accept it, is to work on those powers of seduction, or should I say suggestion. Reach out and touch your partner without laying a finger on them. Surprise them. Surprise yourself. Buildup, babies, buildup. Warming up until you sizzle. And then what? Let's talk about that next week. Same time, same bat-crazy channel. Until then...think sexy thoughts.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Go mess with Texas

Dearest Texans, do you sometimes wonder where the money goes? An extremely topical issue in these cost-cutting, downsizing times of ours, is it not? Let me enlighten you. To make a long story short...

The Texas Department of Transportation recently tried to stop distribution of romance author Christie Craig's novel Don't Mess With Texas. A U.S. District Judge denied the request stating the trademarked slogan did not apply to book slogans. Dear Texan taxpayer, thus ruled the federal court in Austin. The TxDOT is pursuing a trademark infringement suit all the same. So. If you want to file a complaint with TxDOT, if this is not where you want the money to go, I mean, deficit and all, you can do so here.

Dearest Texas, in the immortal words of one Georgios Panayiotou, "If you're gonna do it, do it right." If this is the avenue you want to pursue, if you want to be hailed as a hero of democracy instead of hypocrisy, if you want to do right by your citizens and the almighty buck, you need to go after the countless male artists misusing your motto, immediately, retroactively, and just as relentlessly. Until you have, the work isn't done. If you can't or won't, let it go or be pegged as the most sexist state that ever made it obvious in front of a worldwide audience. 

Up and at 'em! Leave no stone or pocket unturned.

Friday, September 9, 2011

Frisky Friday! We need to talk.

So. You got yourself a partner in life. For life, for now, married, engaged...doesn't matter. You thought the getting part was tricky? Try holding on to one. The chase may be over but the work isn't done. Far from it.

There's a good reason fairy tales fade out at "And they lived happily ever after." The epilogue would read something like this: "And they would have humped happily ever after as well had not his bf had a meltdown, her computer crashed and the car died, their bosses gone on vacation leaving them to do all the work and the baby cried for three years straight." Let's face it, who wants overtime and dirty laundry or diapers in their picture-perfect storybook? Sexy? I think not. Reality? I'm afraid so. End of story? Hardly.

Hubby comes home from work. Without further ado: "You'd tell me if you were unhappy, right?" Well hello to you too. "I'm not unhappy." Level stares all-around. "But if you were. You'd tell me, right?" Well, yeah. "I am not unhappy." As if he's not hearing me, "But if you were, you would tell me, right?"

It turned out a colleague of his was getting a divorce. Or his wife was divorcing him because she was, and I quote, unhappy. According to the man, he had no idea. According to Hubby, the man seemed genuinely shocked, saddened and confused. I don't know them. Without knowing more and assuming the rest, it's hard to say what really happened and when. I'm going to make a bold assumption all the same. It came down to one of three things: a) he was hard of hearing, b) she never said a word, or c) a little bit of both. My second bold assumption: a little bit of both.

Miscommunication or a total lack of communication has to be the number one reason relationships fall apart. You'd think that when two people get together, the hardest part is behind you. You found each other. Now you just enjoy the ride. It can work out that way, but not indefinitely. You have to find each other, find your way to each other, time and time again, or find each other on different planets. It is a conscious, constant effort to grow together, not apart. It can be done. I promise you. You can course-correct. Always.

Everything in writing, relationships, life, boils down to words, speech, expression, delivery, communication. Everything. It's such a cliché, you say? Talk is so overrated? If it were that easy, if opening your mouth and ears was all it took, everybody would be doing it and no relationship would ever fall apart? Turns out not everybody is doing it. Because they are all talked out. Bad listeners. In denial. Busy. Afraid of what they might hear or what could come out of their mouth. My third outrageous assumption: It is just that easy. You speak, and you listen when your partner does. And you pay attention to how you put those words out there. Do I know of a better way? Let me break it to you gently. No.

Don't shoot the messenger, but people can't actually read your mind. Some are more sensitive and perceptive than others, but for the most part, we still have to resort to opening our mouths if we want to get our message out there. It's not fair to your partner, or anyone else for that matter, if they have to pry every thought and feeling out of you. No fair. Keeping them guessing is even worse. You have to volunteer your thoughts or forfeit the right to be hurt by your partner's actions and reactions or lack thereof. Because they can't hear what you're thinking. Because they can only guess at what you're feeling. And when people have to start guessing, that's when not-so-funny things start happening.

Unless you're a total misanthrope, you're courteous to, mindful of and interested in the people you interact with all day long; your boss, colleagues, friends, total strangers. Then you get home and disregard your partner. Because you're all talked out. Because you're tired. Because they're safe, they can take it. You work hard for the money, you need your me time, your hobbies and your friends. Or the end of the day is the only moment in the day when you don't have to talk about anything to anyone after a long day of talking to everyone and their brother mother sister lover. Can't you please have one area, one relationship, in your life that's not too demanding of you? Let me break it to you gently. If it's The Relationship, no.

You have to bring your head and heart home as well, not just a dog-tired body. Yes, I know, it's sometimes too much to ask, and if it's just on occasion that you can't do more than kiss each other goodnight then so be it. But if it's becoming the norm, I'd worry. If you're home and still talking to everyone on the planet except the person next to you, I'd really worry. Believe me, I know, you only want to make everyone happy, and it makes you happy too keeping in touch and saying hello and taking a break from both the job and the family scene, but take care. If you fall asleep with your laptop in your arms instead of your partner, if you fumble for your phone in the middle of having sex because you think it bleeped, you may one day be told to go fuck your gadgets and served with divorce papers the next. (True story, btw.)

You may well wake up next to a stranger one morning, look at them thinking you should probably know them, but they're just not the person they used to be. In all likelihood, they're not. But where were you when they morphed? Not paying attention to everyone except your loved one, I hope? I know. Sometimes nothing you say or do gets through. Not every relationship is salvageable but every serious relationship is worth a serious shot at saving.

You can't outsource happiness. It's not your partner's mission in life to make you happy, it's to be happy alongside you, and until you take responsibility for your actions and words, HEA is not a realistic goal. So. Your next week's mission, should you choose to accept it, is to do an inventory. Pay close attention not only to who you talk to during the week but how, especially at home. If there's not much talking going on, are the silences in your relationship comfortable or awkward? If something has been bothering you for a while, take it up with your partner. Don't start with "You (always...)," start with "I," how you're feeling, what you're thinking. Catch yourself being nippy. What's that all about? So what if you miss the latest episode of whatever one night. You'll miss your partner more when they're gone. Agree that on certain nights the only gadgets allowed in the bed are the ones you purchased and intend to use together/on each other. Okay, stopping now, that's more than one task, that's a blueprint. And the only way I know to keep the boat afloat.

Hey lady, what the heck does this have to do with sex? Have you been listening with your mouths and not your ears open, sweetie darlings? Everything! If you and your partner are not on speaking terms, chances are you're not on fucking terms, either. If all is said and done in your household, good job, enjoy! If the fairy tale has become stale, if sex is the furthest thing from your mind, let's see if we can't do something about it next Friday. Let's see if we can't get in the mood for love. I know one thing that helps. Think sexy thoughts.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

If words be the food of peace

Happy International Literacy Day! This year UNESCO focuses on the link between literacy and peace.

793 million adults - most of them women and girls - can neither read nor write. Part of this year's program is a conference on Women's Literacy for Inclusive and Sustainable Development organized by the E-9 Initiative, a forum for the nine countries that represent more than two-thirds of the world's illiterate adults and half of the world's out-of-school children.

Those fortunate enough to be reading this without difficulty, please read on and take a minute to acquaint yourself with another awesome initiative, Writers for Literacy. Margaret Atwood, Nadine Gordimer, and Amy Tan are only some of the authors who have contributed to The Alphabet of Hope anthology. To read their writings, click here.

Monday, September 5, 2011

Labor of love

Happy Monday, sweetie darlings, and Happy Labor Day, if applicable! How's that homework coming along, hmm? Excellent. Stickers all-around, dearest denizens, keep up the good work!

See you again on Friday, if not before. Until then, here's someone whose voice I really miss, and who would have turned sixty-five today. With love, from one robust rump to another, ladies and gentlemen, rock and roll:

Friday, September 2, 2011

Frisky Friday!

Reader beware: This post contains graphic language, tough questions, tentative answers, clichés reinforced (because they are true), myths busted (because they are untrue), and, for those who make it to the end, homework.

Ladies. If you had to identify your crotch from a photo-lineup, would you be able to? Yes? Maybe, but you're not sure? No, because you've had a look, thank you very much? If you answered Yes, good for you! If you said Maybe, it's time to grab a mirror. If your answer is No, it's definitely time to grab a mirror. 

Oh, you've seen plenty of pussies, you say? They just didn't look anything like yours. They were all so...so photogenic, and...smooth and...glossy. Okay. May I inquire as to the whereabouts of these pussies you've inspected? They weren't tagged XXX or hardcore or something to that effect by any chance? I thought so. But what if they're the norm and you're the anomaly, you ask? That is but a subspecies, I assure you. (And you don't have to take my word for it. Ask Betty Dodson and Carlin Ross or Anna Richardson. Ask a friend. Ask around. The truth is out there.)

The common pussy (vulva vulgaris) found inside most panties should not be compared to its second cousin several times removed. The pornographic pussy is to the vulva as haute couture is to fashion. It's not a standard, it's a concept, a highly idealized concept, and not in a good way. Line them up in an identity parade and it becomes a charade. You can't tell one from the other. Where am I going with this?

Your partner is gearing up for the Sex Olympics and you're thinking The Championships Wobbledon. You're thinking vulva vulgaris and wrinkles and wobbly bits and how best to hide them and draw attention away from them, and when it's time to get busy, that's where your head's at, where you focus your energy. My point being?

Do you expect your partner to be perfect? Physically perfect? Chances are that's not what they expect, either. They're thinking how lovely you look, how much they want you, how lucky they are, not wishing you'd shed a few pounds or visit a beauty surgeon or salon because then, oh, then you'd be perfect. What do I know about it? Let me tell you all about it.

I know plenty. Like close-to-nine-pound-babies-damn-Viking-genes plenty. I didn't lose my figure. I didn't compete with Dolly Parton for the buxomest bosom. Looking at me from behind you never would have guessed I was in the family way. But when I turned, whoa, what are you having, the whole maternity ward? I had this huge pointed belly, like  r e a l l y  out there. And I have the stretch marks to prove it.

The scars have gradually faded but they were an angry red at first and nothing could be done to hide them in a bikini. So I stopped trying and decided to forget about them. I knew, I just knew, that if I didn't keep on keeping on, I would switch the bikinis for a burquini for good. Because I was ashamed. Self-loathing. Scarred. Scared. I didn't want that. I didn't want to be that person. I didn't want to feel that way. I wanted to wear that two-piece. And you know what happened the first time I hit the beach? Nothing. No one stared, barfed or offered their condolences. How liberating was that? It was all in my head, where the inner critic carouses with the Merchants of Discontent.

My body had changed for good, but for a good reason. I saw no reason why my self-image had to change. It's not as if those were the first scars ever. Oh no no, I have plenty to show off and take me back. My body has given me some of the most meaningful, beautiful, fantastic memories and sensations of my entire life. I can only hope so has yours. So why not pay it in kind and be kind to it. Your body is your friend. You only get one. Treat it accordingly, like a fine instrument, not like an object or machine. Certainly not like an enemy. Listen to it. Get to know it. How it works, how it reacts, what it can and can't do. Be merciful. Grateful. Forgiving.

You can decide never to go out in public half-clad, but you can't hide from your partner. And you can't hide from the MoD Squad. The Merchants of Discontent never tire, and the inner critic is loath to shut up. They will do everything in their power to hijack your brain and inject it with a sense of inadequacy. The media, popular culture, fashion...their minions are everywhere. It's up to you to fight back and put them out of commission and you can't do that just by sitting around waiting for it to happen, you have to go after those self-defeating counterproductive thoughts with a hammer and a chisel. If I knew any other way, I would dispense that wisdom now. I, personally, don't. If you're looking for a solution, salvation, you only need to look in the mirror.

And that's exactly what I want you to do. I want you to make peace with at least one insecurity you've convinced yourself you'll carry for life. Maybe you will. But why does it bother you so much? That's what I want you to look at rather than the fictional or factual blemish itself. Kick the bastard to the curb already, grinning ear to ear. Confidence is the ultimate aphrodisiac and beauty weapon. It is sexy and it's inspiring. Bottom line: You won't be comfortable with your partner looking at you, all of you, until you're comfortable looking at yourself.

Next week's mission, should you choose to accept it, is to grab a mirror, or settle in front of one, and have a look, then another, and another, until you're intimately familiar with and comfortable looking at your body. It may take more than a week. Some spend a lifetime worrying about these things. You forfeit the right to feel insecure if you don't even know what your body looks like, all of it. That's not you being insecure, that's you being silly, okay? You should, presented with say that vulva lineup, be able to say with pride and confidence: "That's me." The one and only you. And that is more than those cinematic cunts can say.

Until next week then, when we'll be talking about waking up next to a stranger. Same time, same bat-crazy channel. Think sexy thoughts.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Ready, steady...

Good evening, dearest denizens, or good afternoon; or good morning, if you happen to hail from some futuristic longitude. 

Just wanted to remind you to come back tomorrow for our First Ever In The History of This Blog and The Known Universe And Going For As Long As We Feel Like It Or Find Something Else To Talk About At The End Of The Week Frisky Friday!

Sketching my post, I gave myself a thousand-word maximum. I'm afraid I still managed to fit a new topic into each paragraph, as I am wont to do when there's no one to keep me in check. But seriously, I could have gone on ad nauseam, and I'd really prefer no one blew chunks on Parker premises, not when we're trying to have a conversation.

"Why don't you just write a book while you're at it," I said. "Thanks for the support," I answered. "Come to think of it, I just might." And before you start wondering, that exchange is not symptomatic of my mental health, merely a reflection of The Process, or, moments when there's nothing or no one to keep me in check.

"It could be a collaboration. Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Sex (But Never Thought Asking An Erotic Romance Author). Or I could do it on my own." 
"So now you're the high priests and priestesses of sex?" 
"No! I'm just saying." 
"That we think about these things. At least I do."
"Let's file this under 'Things to be written some other lifetime because this one ain't getting any longer,' shall we, and stick to the task at hand, which we have a chance of completing. While we're still young."
"You don't believe I could do it."
"Of course I do. It would be awesome. Sell like hotcakes. Get you Gerry Butler's private number. You'd reenact the sad and the saucy of Phantom of the Opera. 'Poor unhappy Eric'-"
"The movie makes no mention of his name."
"It doesn't? Are you sure? Anyway, your agent would be thrilled. Now you have to ask yourself, 'Do I have an agent? Have I written this book? Wasn't I in the middle of something else?'"

Ah, The Process. Good times always had by all until reality crashes the party. So. I did manage to write a fairly coherent, around-a-thousand-words post about sex and self-image. Or tried very hard to. I'll let you be the judge of how it turned out. Now, if you'll excuse me, myself and I, I'm off to sleep. Until tomorrow, sweetie darlings! Think sexy thoughts.