Oh here we go. A blog entry that's for once not about my mundane life. We're leaving reality and stepping into tangent territory. I mean, I could talk about my mundane life. Like how I secretly love hipster clothes (not so secret anymore, woops). Like seriously. The fun old lady patterns, my new orange pants, droopy hats, Buddy Holly glasses, big shirts to hide muffin tops and fluff. I love it. And it's a relatively cheap style to adhere to. Thrift stores, Goodwill; my orange pants were $10 at LoveCulture (which is kind of a terrifying store to go into alone).
Ugh. Talking about fashion wore me out. How can people do that for a living?
I want to talk about the over-romantization (word?) of sex. They say there's three levels of having sex: Making Love, Sex, and Fucking. I always imagined making love to be like....surrounded by rose petals. Maybe in a bathtub. Some electric candles to set the mood (I've seen too many rom-coms to know what happens when you use actual candles) and light some incense or something for the smell. Then everything is sensual and romantic and there's massage oil and the guy likes to cuddle after and the girl's hair doesn't get in his face when she's the little spoon.
Maybe some of you have experienced that. Good for you. Did it live up to your expectations?
Because to me, sex is awkward. Terribly awkward. Fun, sure. Exhausting, exhilarating, sometimes sensual, mostly exciting. Maybe it's just because I'm an awkward person. I still laugh at fart jokes. My favorite word is booger. If I'm not drunk enough and someone hits on me, 95% of the time I'll be a snarky bitch and get kicked out of the bar/party.
But I mean think about that shit. If you break it down to what it really is, it's a guy sauntering up to a girl (or girl to girl, or guy to guy, or girl to guy, covering all bases here) and being like "I want to ram my dirty bits into your dirty bits and (if this is a male) blow my love stuff into you." Mmmm, so romantic. I mean come on.
Take it for what it is: Two people, after doing the flirtatious tango, are getting naked, and rolling around. There's sweat. There's bumping heads into walls/each other/the cat. There's weird smells. There's funny noises. There's a mysterious wetness that could be a number of things. And above all else, there's never nearly enough oxygen to go around, if you're doing it right.
It's primal. Male giraffes taste the urine of the female to see if they are fertile before mating. Holy shit. Can you imagine if that's what human's did? I'm sure it's not consensual either. It's not like 'Hey Giraffe Lady, can I watch you pee? Also maybetakealittletaste?'
Oh my god. No wonder giraffes are my favorite animals. That's so metal.
Anyways I guess what I'm saying is sex is romanticized by shit like movies, commercials, etc. And that's bullshit. Because romantic sex is maybe dinner and a movie first. Kissing a lot during foreplay. Locking the dog out of the bedroom before you get dirty so he doesn't like your toes in the middle. Having paper towels handy at the bed side. And maybe a candle or two.
Seriously. Giraffes. Hardcore.
-Peener
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