It’s not fair, said the sheep

Some mornings the only thing that gets me up is the concept of a routine. I lay in bed covered in warm sheets wrapped around my boyfriend and wonder why I would ever want to leave. What could possibly coax me from the warmth and the comfort and the absolute bliss.

It’s not fair, I’ll tell myself.

Just this once, just this once I’ll lay.

I deserve to lay like this, I’ll tell myself.

So I curl back up and take a big breath of satisfaction. I’ve made an adult decision to stay in bed today. And while I lay there in the warmth and feel all the muscles in my body relax back into the mattress I know somewhere inside of me that I shouldn’t be so comfortable.

I’ve got to get up, I’ve got to get moving.

Everything around me is telling me it’s morning. The sun is breaking through the blinds and the ceiling fan is kicking light off the walls. My alarm has been on snooze twice already and I’m confounded as to how I manage to close my eyes and dream in those ten minutes between buzzes.

I feel rested but I want more, like a drug, like an addiction. I curl myself back into it like I’m wounded.

Some mornings the only thing that gets me up is the concept of a routine. Another drug. Another twisted perception of whats real. I get up because I know I can make coffee. I try to convince myself that I want the coffee more than I want to be curled up in bed.

The coffee is warm Lorelei, and deep roasted, rich and smooth. The whole place will smell like coffee. The grounds will seep into your skin. You’ll be so awake, you’ll be so ready, you’ll have never been so alert.

And then I close my eyes.

I get up because I know I can check my email. I’ll sip my coffee in the big round mug and read my email. I’ll have so much email and I’ll feel so important. That big red number over my mail icon. You have twenty three new messages. You have forty two new messages. People need your attention.

Get out of bed.

Sometimes despite this routine I can’t help but lay just a few moments longer. I find myself twisted. Entangled in the sheets. Halfway down the bed and upside down. I think it’s with this contemplation that I end up this way.

I have a dream about a friend of mine. He’s naked and he’s chasing me around my house. Eventually I end up cornered in the bathroom and he’s on top of me and I keep screaming no but he doesn’t stop. Nothing happens and we’re all laughing. I sit on the couch between my naked friend and a bunch of my other friends, all wearing clothes. That’s all I remember and then I wake up.

I don’t know why I don’t get out of bed now, afraid to close my eyes again, to slide into some sort of twisted lucid dreaming. It’s far too easy these days, I’ve conditioned myself.

So many mornings, I just can’t get up. My bones have melded into the frame. I think I’ve become apart of the pillow top. Sometimes I forget I’m in bed, and I say I’m tired. Then I close my eyes and I sleep. And then I wake up. And I want to sleep some more.

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common ground

One of my more well known stances is that I do believe there is common ground in the abortion debate. I believe that common ground (between people who label themselves pro-life or pro-choice) is sex education. If you give kids proper comprehensive sexual education from the beginning they will be more prepared to face their sexuality. They will know how to protect themselves properly, leading to -I imagine- a great reduction in unexpected pregnancies.

According to a news article I just read, China has more than 13 million known abortions each year. That, is a lot of abortions.

According to the article, nearly half the women having sex are not using any type of birth control. Is this because they aren’t able to get their hands on it, or because they aren’t educated in the proper usage? Either way, these are both things we can put a dent in by educating and supplying.

Hopefully China will now start educating at a younger age (those who are being educated about contraceptives and birth control are typically young married couples) and hopefully this will reduce some of those abortions.

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aversion therapy does not work

The American Psychological Association declared Wednesday that mental health professionals should not tell gay clients they can become straight through therapy or other treatments.


You know, because some people thought just living a straight life and marrying someone of the opposite sex could make you heterosexual.

Fucking idiots.

This is a great step away from ignorance.

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I think I love you (more)

“I have love in my life, a soul mate–absolutely. When someone asked me why Angie and I don’t get married, I replied, ‘Maybe we’ll get married when it’s legal for everyone else.’

“Would it bother me if a child of mine turns out to be gay? No, not one bit. Listen, I want my kids to live the lives they want to live. I want them to be fulfilled. I hope I teach my kids to be who they really are.”

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Discreet sex toys

I’ve been wanting to buy a vibrator for a while now. I’m 18 and I have the money and I know where to buy one so that’s not a problem. The thing is, I live with my parents and I don’t want them to know that I have a sex toy. I’m having second thoughts though. In the back of my mind, I think it might be a little disrespectful to bring a vibrator into my parents house but, then again, I still want one. I mean, I’m 18. I have to right to own one.
What’s your opinion on buying sex toys while still living at home? Do you have any recommendations for discreet vibrators?

I don’t think it’s disrespectful at all to have a sex toy when you are living with your parents. It’s something completely personal, it’s something you’ll be doing in your own time, and it’s something that I’m sure you’ll keep very private. Absolutely no harm done. As for my own personal opinion, let’s just say I have an entire box of sex toys and I still live at home.

As far as discreet vibrators you have a lot of options. Since you’ll only be doing this when you’re alone with the door closed, size really isn’t an issue as long as it’s still easy to store away somewhere. In my opinion, the biggest hurdle to jump is the sound the vibrator makes. In my case, I’m about five feet away from my parents door so if I’ve got something really noisy it’s not going to be as discreet. If you’re further away from your parents/family then that might not be an issue.

There are many sex toys out there that are simply made for discretion. (You can go to, click on vibrators on the left hand side, and then click on the discreet link for just discreet toys) Most popular, the lipstick vibrator.

If that weirds you out a bit, there are also bullets that don’t look like inanimate objects.

If you’re really paranoid, one of these smaller (easy to hide) and (fairly quiet) options would be your best bet.

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How to tell when you are ovulating

male 17

How can a woman know if she is ovulating?

Really, there is no tell-tale sign that a girl has when she is ovulating. There is no red light that goes off, we don’t feel a pop, and it doesn’t smell like scrambled eggs. Typically women ovulate between days 11-21 of their cycle, if they have a 28-31 day cycle (which most do)… There are many ovulation calenders out there to predict when you will be ovulating, but, it’s just that. A prediction.

As a side note, some women notice a change in vaginal discharge or cramping feelings. I rarely take these sorts of signs as anything set in stone though because when you’re looking for symptoms like that you’ll typically see them regardless.

If you want to ask me a sex question, please CLICK HERE

aim: suggestivetongue

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How do you define virginity?

While I plan on throwing this in the paper I’m writing, I thought some of you might be interested in seeing the breakdown of my virginity poll.

57% of the responders believe that your virginity means you haven’t had sexual intercourse of any kind
31% of the responders believe that your virginity means you haven’t had vaginal sex
9% of the responders believer that virginity does not actually exist
2% of the responders believe that your virginity means you don’t masturbate, have sex, or watch porn

I’m a firm believer that giving meaning to the word virginity is damaging for women. When you think of virginity typically you think of purity and typically you think of women. Things like hymens and vaginas and not being penetrated. What about the men? What about their stereotypes? Regardless of how you define virginity I hope that it doesn’t make you feel like less of a person or more of a person depending if you are/aren’t one. Because something like that (your sex life or lack there of) should never define you.

And, for the record, there is no official definition for the word “virginity”… we are the ones that give it meaning depending on our own perception of the word and our own perception of what purity is. And that, I suppose, is why I find the word so damaging. Because we all perceive things differently, and to give a word with no definition some meaning gives us all the more reason to judge others.

At least no one voted “you’re a virgin if you have your hymen still”… thank god for that.

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male breast cancer

How common is breast cancer in men?

The American Cancer Society estimates that in 2009 about 1,910 new cases of invasive breast cancer will be diagnosed among men in the United States. Breast cancer is about 100 times less common among men than among women. (

While we mainly think of women having breasts, men do indeed have them as well. Breast cancer is less common in men because their breast duct cells are (obviously) less developed than women’s breast duct cells.

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I’m a stranger to myself

My room is littered with cotton balls, sex toys, and makeup I’ve never worn before. My hair is wet and my shirt has a hole right where my right nipple is. I’m wearing shorts made for people who don’t like wearing shorts. They’re the same length as my underwear except I could wear these out of the house because they’re called something different.

Are you a grown-up today?

My friends text me and I slide my phone casually open, glance at the letters and symbols, and slide it back shut. My pinky finger hurts. I’m not sure if I would ever know if it were broken or not because it’s just so small. Two in the pink, one in the stink. Shocker. I like to rock her. I need a pinky cast. Too much foolin’ around.

The notebook on my bed has scribbles from where I’ve tested my large collection of pens. Under that are important details about the next six months of my life.

Rent. Paid for. Utilities. Electricity. Heat. Waiting. Studio. Bedroom. Vacancies. No Vacancies.

When I was little I used to pretend I was a spy. Today they call that “writing in shorthand”… everything is ruined for me, even refrigerator boxes.

I was thinking last night of things that are clever. Typically these thoughts come to me in that state where you are technically asleep but technically not asleep. I suppose I was lucid dreaming. Lucid dreaming of things from the past that meant so much to me then and so little to me now.

Like how the moss grows in between the cracks in the sidewalks. Carpet walkways for the bugs. How I would grind up chalk dust, add water to it, and make chalk all over again. I never snorted anything. I’ve never even had milk come out my nose.

When I was little sex was something that existed in an alternate universe. My friend held two barbies together and tried to explain where babies came from. She rubbed them together and I grimaced. Not because I thought it was disgusting but because I had no idea what the fuck she was doing to my dolls and that seemed like the appropriate face to make.

Nail polish remover. Facts about how to fix cars I’ll never know. Books I’ve never read. On my safety file cabinet is a street map. Bike lanes. How to get around. How to get here, how to get there, places I’ll never go.

You’ve never done enough, you’ve got to do more! What do you do all day- Lorelei?

I tell people my name and they hold their hand out and say, glad to meet you, lora-lee.

No, Lora-lie.


My friends call me Lo.


I shake their hand.

The next day I go back and their face doesn’t light up in recognition. I try to explain. I was here yesterday. Remember? We talked. We shook hands. They smile and say they remember but I know they don’t. I call myself Claude at starbucks. They call my name. I sip an americano thoughtfully, tasting the burnt beans and the acidic flavor run down my throat into my stomach. It grumbles. I grumble back.

I’m a stranger to myself, drinking a strangers drink.

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