now browsing by category
Hailing from the rough-and-tumble deserts of southern Arizona, where one doesn’t have to bother with such trivialities as “coats” or “daylight savings time,” Anna is a freelance writer living in San Francisco. She tends to put quotes around things unnecessarily and spends altogether too much time justifying the artistic merit of limericks. She has written reviews of everything from bars to restaurants to films to theater to sex toys, in addition to writing a sex and dating blog for Chicago Now.
Read an interview about me from the WriterBabe Series
Check out my other blog: That’s Punny!
and i thought this was bad enough.
i was wrong.
wouldn’t the american people rather wipe their tushes with dubya? “wipe your memories of bush away with ‘wipe your bush’ commemorative toilet paper!”
i mean this seems kind of insulting, right? or is this yet another reminder that hope floats?
“There is something immoral and sick about using all of that power to not end brutality and poverty, but to break into people’s bedrooms and claim that God sent you,” Sharpton told a full house on Sunday.
“It amazes me,” he said, “when I looked at California and saw churches that had nothing to say about police brutality, nothing to say when a young black boy was shot while he was wearing police handcuffs, nothing to say when they overturned affirmative action, nothing to say when people were being [relegated] into poverty, yet they were organizing and mobilizing to stop consenting adults from choosing their life partners.”
You know you’re doing too much yoga when you are watching porn and are not turned on, but marveling at how open her hips are.
then i got to thinking that perhaps making resolutions ensures their utter failure. so this year i resolve to make no resolutions. suck on that, oprah magazine!
in lieu of resolving or relfecting, here’s an interesting piece of trivia i picked up while writing this week’s carnal consultant.
during the anti-masturbation movement, when doctors thought wanking off could cause anything from nerve damage to insanity, there were two ardent supporters named Will Keith Kellogg and Sylvester Graham. They believed that a bland diet would help promote sexual restraint. Thus, Kellogg’s Cornflakes and Graham Crackers were born.
isn’t that shit crazy? reflect on that…
how could i stop myself
when every part of me said yes and squealed and shimmied in a loop.
i broke before i buckled –
every ounce of you undid my disbeliefs.
you bent down, kissed the corner of my lips on our
second date. and again and again and again,
the juices hot and alive, we swayed.
i watched my face after,
expecting you to pull the shards from it
but you didn’t. you kept your lips pressed to the fire.
all year i had been shrugging
- this’ll do and that – my useless mouth like
bomb shelter foodstuffs, stacked pretty in a row.
to say i fell for you would be a disservice. i was all
elbows pushing skyward and you were
a love obeying itself. If you were a fall then I was born on my knees
waiting (ambling) for you to offer me a lift.
if fall was all we did, then what would come come winter?
dear love, i spied your heart from the mantel of my lips
its blush-red sounds drowned out the chanting and i thought if i died somewhat
in your love, that would be flattery.
your touch, my entirely.
clocks may cut us up like paper dolls. snow may fall and warmth may leave without announcement. but i will love you, i will love you
again and again and again.
december 1, 2008
Another film review posted, this one called When Kiran Met Karen.
When we first meet Kiran, she is pleasantly giving a press conference about her latest movie. Then one reporter asks her about a supposed affair between one of her male co-stars and she flies into a blistering rage, a la Bjork circa 1996. She meets up with her fiancé Dave soon after, does some blow on the foosball table, flies into another rage, which turns into sex and then more puttering. After we watch her wander around the house, put some champagne in the fridge, text Dave to get her more coke, watch TV in two different rooms, and squirm around on a pool table, she finally gets around to calling Karen for an interview, which may in fact be the climax of the film…
Above: Karen and Kiran, praying that no one finds out they made this film.
This is perhaps the first awesome thing that’s come out of Melissa Etheridge’s mouth in about a decade. Come to my window, Mel!
Okay. So Prop 8 passed. Alright, I get it. 51% of you think that I am a second class citizen. Alright then. So my wife, uh I mean, roommate? Girlfriend? Special lady friend? You are gonna have to help me here because I am not sure what to call her now. Anyways, she and I are not allowed the same right under the state constitution as any other citizen. Okay, so I am taking that to mean I do not have to pay my state taxes because I am not a full citizen. I mean that would just be wrong, to make someone pay taxes and not give them the same rights, sounds sort of like that taxation without representation thing from the history books.
Okay, cool I don’t mean to get too personal here but there is a lot I can do with the extra half a million dollars that I will be keeping instead of handing it over to the state of California. Oh, and I am sure Ellen will be a little excited to keep her bazillion bucks that she pays in taxes too. Wow, come to think of it, there are quite a few of us fortunate gay folks that will be having some extra cash this year. What recession? We’re gay! I am sure there will be a little box on the tax forms now single, married, divorced, gay, check here if you are gay, yeah, that’s not so bad. Of course all of the waiters and hairdressers and UPS workers and gym teachers and such, they won’t have to pay their taxes either.