One D at a Time

There's No Such Thing as a "Bad Feminist"

I do not believe in a utopian sisterhood. I think that by saying you don't want to take other women on, you are essentially saying that you don't find them to be worthy competitors. So I don't particularly mind when other women dispute my beliefs or the things that I say—so long as they don't hurl rude, unnecessary, or irrelevant insults, like about my STDs, the way I wear my hair, etc.—because I recognize that I throw a lot of shit out there that's not exactly crowd pleasing. What bothers the fuck out of me, though, is when women accuse other women of being bad feminists. That simply does not exist. Because it doesn't matter what you think about women's issues, just as long as you're thinking about them.

Taken Out of Context I Must Seem So Strange

Tracie: If you bring out a vibrator and a guy's ego is hurt by that, then he's retarded.
Moe: Or an toothbrush (laughs). An electric toothbrush.
Tracie: They make attachments for that, actually.
Lizz: There's a toothbrush?
Tracie: They make make attachments for the Oral B electric toothbrush, the Sonicare...
Moe: I have that one!
Tracie: I know!
Lizz: So you mean your toothbrush becomes your vibrator?
Tracie: Yeah, it actually... you know, the thing that bothers me about modern vibrators or whatever...
Lizz: Is that they become toothbrushes!
Tracie: No, 'cause like, I am strictly the Hitachi Magic Wand, there's no other thing that's better than that.
Lizz: So you're still a plug-in girl
Tracie: Yes. Well, because, you can't get any real power from, like... I need a chunkier ride.
Moe: You always say that.
Lizz: And do you have the attachments?
Moe: But I've got, just, like, the standard vibrator and it's fine.
Tracie: See, no, I can't, I can't.
Moe: It also doesn't make as much noise as my frickin' toothbrush.
Tracie: Oh, I live alone, so...
Lizz: Maybe you just have to, like oil it up a little. But in an age where, you know, where you're focusing on sexual freedom, it's just, it's not always safe. It's not always safe to be with strange men, it's not always safe to just have a free, 100% total sexual life. How do you address that? Do you address it?
Moe: I don't really get out that much, enough to really even care about that problem.
Tracie: I mean, people are always saying that it's not safe to go home with strange men, blah blah blah...
Moe: Like, what's going to happen?
Tracie: .... Mr. Goodbar or whatever.
Lizz: You could get raped.
Tracie: But I wouldn't.
Moe: That's happened, too, but you live through that, you know.
Lizz: Sometimes you don't.
Moe: I mean, that's true if they have weapons.
Tracie: But when I bring someone home, I want to fuck them, I'm not going to bring someone home and be like, "No, not tonight."

On Responsibility, Role Models

Everyone has their drunk days. Some of us just don't exploit others' for professional gain.

Source

Rape Can Be Boring

Ugh, this Monday sucked So. Much. First, Time Warner in Brooklyn got completely shut down for a while, making it impossible to do my job, which meant that I'd actually have to get out of my muumuu, take a shower, and drag my ass into the city to work at my company's new office, which I've never even been to. I walked into my bedroom to get dressed and saw that there was liquid all over the floor. My first reaction was to blame the dog for pissing, but I noticed that there was just way too much fluid, and I looked up to see that water was pouring out of my ceiling, and the ceiling was actually like falling apart and shit.

So then I had to get on the horn with a plumber, who wanted to charge me $125 an hour just to look at the fucking mess, then I had my editor on the other line, who wanted me to dictate the text of my post to her, so she could throw something up on the site during the internet outage. Everything was so hectic for about an hour. Then by the time I got on a pair of ratty jeans and a T-shirt, the internet was back. Then I went to take a piss and saw that I was spotting, which is totally weird, because I just finished my period a week ago. I'm thinking it was from the stress. Oh, and I didn't even mention that I'm in the middle of quitting smoking and was on my third day of Zyban/Welbutrin.

LIVE AND IN PERSON!

Tonight, my Jezebel co-editor, Moe Tkacik, and I will be appearing before a live audience for Shoot the Messenger, a weekly show created by Lizz Winstead (the chick that created the Daily Show), and Lizz will be interviewing us, I'm guessing about feminism and sex and politics and this "over-sharing" business. Anyways, here's the info if you want to come and heckle us. (There will be a Q&A session afterward.)
Monday, June 30
Doors @ 7:30 PM, show starts @ 8
The Green Room Theater (map)
45 Bleecker St at LaFayette
Tix: $12.50

Rape Can Be Funny

Sometimes, people freak the fuck out over no big deal whatsoever. I take a lot of shit from commenters at my day job who think they have the right or something to censor me. It's like, bitch, you ain't got no inalienable rights as a commenter. And I despise censorship in any form whatsoever. I can say retard, faggot, kike, nigger, and dyke all I want, because at the end of the day, the intent and context defines the meaning of any word. Anyway, RIP George Carlin, who found humor in everything, even rape.

And he was my kind of feminist.

Missed Opportunity

Ryan Gosling. Sigh. Oh well. For some reason I was plagued with dignity and pride for the first time in my "wasted" life.

Story Time

A few months back, Rachel Kramer Bussell asked me to take part in her monthly reading series "In the Flesh." I was like pooping my pants about it up until the actual event, which was on May 15. I get crazy stage fright. But the crowd was really great and accepting and made me a feel a little more comfortable. (It also helped that Rachel bought just about every flavor of Doritos to make me feel at home.) The theme of the night was "True Sex Confessions," so I read a story I wrote for Vice last summer about when I hired a male hooker off Craigslist to date rape me. I got so nervous and lost my place while reading a couple times…and because the reading was taped, all my fumbles are available for your viewing pleasure. Here's Part 1:

Part 2, which is actually way better, after the jump.

The Fear of Being Alone

I think I'm so into anatomical abnormalities like conjoined twins because the nature of their physicality automatically brings up questions about subjects I'm particularly interested in like sex, honesty, bowel movements, and the meanings of privacy and loneliness. That said, I'm way into the Schappell twins (pictured above) for reasons beyond those I listed—which I'll get to in a minute—but let's just start with their country music video:

A Present from the Past

I have a vast collection of drunken photo booth strips, but the one to the left is by far the drunkest. It was taken in 2003 at Opaline. I was with Rich (obvs) and we were with a bunch of other friends from college that I don't really talk to anymore because they moved away and had babies and stuff. Back then, I was working at BUST for very (very, very, very) little money, so I was forced to economize and cut corners on things, and I would BYOB a lot. I used to buy cheap-ass Georgi vodka, fill up a water bottle, and then just buy soft drinks at bars and spike them with my vodka water.

Well, I'd been doing that all night, but at some point during the evening, there were like two hours of open bar vodka for some reason, so loving anything free, I had little restraint. I was also intermittently stepping outside to smoke weed. Before long, I was like, Anna Nicole Smith-wasted. I was partially on autopilot, with instances of awareness of myself or my surroundings being few and far between. Like in this photo. I walked into the photo booth and plopped myself down on the stool, thinking it was a stall in the ladies room.

420!

Happy 4/20! I've actually never really been the type to like go all out of 4/20, or even remember to celebrate it at all. I don't take getting stoned that seriously—although now it's kind of part of my job, so I guess I sorta do. So, as part of that, we made a special 420 episode of Pot Psychology, featuring Gavin McInnes as Jambi the genie.

Why I Never Write Here, And Other Things That Are Wrong With Me

I go through phases where I just completely avoid this site. I get caught up in my day job and other freelance stuff, but honestly, I could totally make more time to write here than I have been. The truth is, I've been dealing with something lately that I never really had to before. When I stopped being anonymous, and the people in my life knew that my interactions with them were potential fodder for something I might write, things changed. I began getting requests like, "Please, please don't write about this."

The thing is, no matter what I write, it's never truly about anyone else—it's always about me. (And even when people are shitheads, I still don't name names.) However, when I think it might affect the relationships in my life, or I think the request is super important to a person, I won't write about something they ask me not to, no matter how juicy the subject matter, as with my trip to Peru. I'm not a completely heartless bitch, after all.

Mostly, I respect their wishes because for a long time, I thought (and was told) that this blog is a large part of why my ex-boyfriend and I couldn't make things work, and I wanted to be careful not to similarly destroy other relationships. After we broke up, I was really down on myself, thinking, Christ, if a pornographer can't deal with my crap, who the hell can? Now that I am no longer anonymous, I feared I had screwed myself out of getting fucked ever again, or out of anyone willingly falling in love with me. I had resigned myself to thinking that I'd made my bed, and now I would be sleeping alone in it, for the rest of my whore-y life.

Peru Perv

I just got back from vacation in Peru. I went with a group of people, one of whom—Joven—broke off from the rest of the pack at the beach for a few days to go to Cuzco and Machu Picchu. When he returned, he brought everyone back presents that were really thoughtful and tailored to their personalities. This is what he brought back for me:

He's such a good gift buyer,right? It's appropriately inappropriate. It's some kind of incense burner, although I'm not exactly sure how it works. There's an empty space on the bottom, a hole through the tube at the top and a hole on each of the peeps' butts.

I picked up a bunch of other cool sexually explicit items while I was down there.

Got My Swerve On With A Curved One

That's a chocolate dick pop. I made it from a mold I cast of a real boner. (I also did one of my vulva, but it came out looking like shit—literally.) You can read all about the whole process on Jezebel.

Needless to say, I ended up having sex with that dick (not the chocolate one, but the original that's attached to a 22-year-old who was able to reboot after only 10 or 15 minutes!), and I saved that story for here.

High Again

I posted a new installment of Pot Psychology that Rich and I shot over on Jezebel last week, and in typical stoner fashion, I forgot to post it here. Oops. I answered questions about tight vaginas, security deposits, and hooking up with coworkers. Anyways, enjoy!

More Penis on tha Website

The best email I've received in months:

Hey I'm ashley and I just found ur website and although I think its a
good website there are some stuff I don't understand. Like are u a porn
star, askin cuz u got to go to those porn parties. Also I think u should
put more pics of penis on tha website...lol

It came from a Tmail account. I'm glad that I'm resonating with the Sidekick generation. And she's right about penis on tha website. Here ya go, kids:

P.S. That's not my hand.

My Bloody Valentine

I got my fucking period. It's not like I have solid plans for Valentine's Day, or that I need to have sex to make myself feel better or anything. It's just that if I do hook up with someone I meet while out (that's always the plan, no matter what day of the year), it will be someone new, and it's always a production, or at the very least, a conversation—that frankly, I'm sick of having—in order to assuage any awkwardness or anxiety a boy may have about having sex with me while my body is merely providing some extra, albeit unfortunately colored, lube.

Whatever the case, I'll be at the Duke Spirit show at Mercury Lounge tonight, looking for a boy in the crowd who wouldn't mind dipping his stick in ick, and then I'll certainly be out on the 14th, if only because single people seem to be extra fun and drunk and slutty on Valentine's Day. And since I'd been couped up with the flu since last week and am finally feeling like a human again, my fun and drunk and slutty levels are ready to shoot through the roof.

[Image via Nathan Sawaya.]

Wet 'N Wild

Today, I wrote about female ejaculation for Jezebel. It includes the first time I squirted, as well as an explanation of what the fluid is that comes out, and where the hell it's coming from. Check it out here!

A Breakdown in Communication, Part 2

OK, so the dude that I wrote about who sent me that series of bizarre and inappropriate MySpace messages is totally freaking out right now. And you know what that means—more messages and emails! He's pissed because I posted a screen shot of one of the messages he sent me. I blurred out his name and picture, but he's like completely bugging because he seems to think that people can see what it says or make out his face. The thing is, the only people who would figure it out are people who know his MySpace page really well. People like his girlfriend I guess? I mean, it's not like future employers or whatever are reading the archives of this blog, looking for blurred out thumbnails that resemble him. Anyway, here is the first of the new batch of messages he sent me:

8:45 AM
Subject: Picture
Can you just take my picture off of your blog?   It could really fuck my life up.

I ignored it. And he didn't like that one bit.

Stoner Advice

So, I have this column on Jezebel called Pot Psychology, in which people send in questions and I answer them while stoned. It had always been a written column before, but this time around Alex Goldberg and I made it into a video, which co-stars Rich. Anyway, go check it out.

Kokie Monster

Everyone heard about Kokie’s the same way: “Hey, have you been to Kokie’s? It’s a COKE bar called KOKIE’S!”

Vice just published a great oral history on one of my old haunts—Kokie's, a bar on Berry and N. 3rd that served low-grade cocaine out of a "DJ booth," and sometimes, alternately, a utility closet. (The location is now a bar called The Levee.) I mostly went there circa 1999 - 2001. It was about a tenth as classy as the picture above would indicate. I seem to remember dirty walls and folding tables and chairs in the back room. There would usually be Hispanic people dancing to like salsa music or something along those lines. In the front, on the bar, there was a water cooler and little plastic cups for all the people who were there to blow the last of their evening's cash on blow. I actually would never really hang out there. I was always quickly in and out, because I was often by myself, and well aware that I attracted the wrong kind of attention. That was back when I was really into dressing like a party extra from Bachelor Party, so I was usually in fishnets, fake lashes, a ratty rabbit fur coat and a pleather skirt. I looked like a hooker straight outta 1984.

A Breakdown in Communication

I get some strange emails from people who contact me through this site. None of them really affect me.  (Well, except in the case of this one lesbian/tranny crazy druggie weirdo who was harassing me online for a bit before she/he/it was apparently committed to some kind of institution.) For the most part, I tend to be contacted by dudes looking to get laid because they assume that I'm a sure thing since I write about how I like sex. Actually, here's some kind of SMS with a phone number attached that I just got today.

"A tell me wat u think of my dick i need a girls oppinion im 18 i would like it if u could send me a pic of ur pussy im into phone sex if u want to exchange pics"

I mean, this could be spam. It's always kind of difficult to discern between real emails and sex spam, because a lot of the content is totally relevant to me and what I write about. But something about this tells me it's real. Seriously though, for the record, just because I like fucking, doesn't mean that I like fucking everyone.

Anyway, I recently received a thread of messages on MySpace from a guy that I slept with a handful of times seven years ago. He was always socially awkward, to the point where it was kinda painful to experience. And it looks like some things never change!

Porn Again: My Adult Entertainment Expo Recap

So I got back from Vegas a few days ago, and I've been trying to readjust. I'm still not getting enough sleep, and my perineum is fucked from, well, too much fucking, while my asshole is all torn up from my unwise, drunken decision to attempt anal with no lube. I'm in pain and I've been walking around my apartment like a cowboy, with my legs kinda bent and wide apart.

To be honest, I had sex the weekend before I left for Vegas with this guy I was seeing briefly like three years ago. He has the fattest dick in the world—to the point where it's uncomfortable—and that sorta messed me up. Then the next day I boned this other guy, which only made the situation worse. So I went to the gyno to get checked out, and he prescribed me this cortisone-type cream to allow it to heal faster. He told me I shouldn't "make love" for a week. In my head I was like, "Uh, I never do."

But really, for a slut, finding out she can't fuck when she's going to Vegas for the porno convention is like a virgin finding out she got her period on her wedding day. It's devastating! So I just threw caution to the wind and did what I normally would. I am paying the price right now.

It was sorta worth it, though. I had so much fun, and made a lot of friends, and learned a thing or two.

I chronicled my adventures over on Jezebel, and also posted my interview with Tristan Taormino, as well as a photo gallery of some of the fashions from the convention. Tomorrow I'll be putting up a sex toy review. Spoiler alert: It sucked! Didn't hold a candle to my Magic Wand. Anyway, check 'em out:

Diary Entry #1:
You Never Forget Your First Time: My Day At The Adult Entertainment Expo

Diary Entry #2:
Last Night I Boned An AVN Award Nominee

Diary Entry #3:
The AVN Convention & Awards: I Came, I Saw, & I Came Again

Convention Fashion:
Fear And Clothing In Las Vegas

Interview:
Tristan Taormino: "Porn Is As Cerebral As It Is Visceral"

Live Blog:
2008 AVN Awards: Dispatches From The Front

What Happens in Vegas Gets Posted on the Internet

Right now I'm in Las Vegas attending the Adult Entertainment Expo and the AVN Awards (the Oscars of porno), covering it for Jezebel. Things have been really tiring—oddly more work than play—but I've been chronicling the whole thing, so check out my first and second Vegas diary entries. The picture above is me and Tommy Pistol at the Village Voice/Babeland party in a suite at the Venetian on Thursday night. That drink later ended up all over me. But I ended up party hopping and eventually boning.

I'm about to leave for the awards show. I'm walking the red carpet. I bought a sorta kinda titty dress, but something tell me I'm still gonna look like a nun in comparison to the rest of the attendees.

I'll be posting more on this later, and I'll provide links to an interview I did with Tristan Taormino, as well as sex toy reviews.

I Met Dr. Ruth!

She was eating in Cosi on 13th and Broadway all by herself. I went up to her and asked her about period sex. Read all about it here.