this morning, i spanked a plate of phallic-looking breadsticks and screamed, "OOOHH YEAH, BABY!!" all the while being egged on by sanaz, bruce, and helen.

oh, i forgot to mention - my parents are so cute. they sent me this tiny stuffed animal for valentine's day. and then my mother called me today and while we were talking, sanaz was like, "say hi to your mom for me!" so i did. and then my mother said, "oh!! tell her hi! and tell her i love her!" uh...okay. my mother has met sanaz like, once.

anyway, i just thought that was funny and kind of cute (if not weird and totally bizarre).

ahhh....i had a nice valentine's day. well, other than my dying shower head and ants all over my bathroom, it was nice.

got all gussied up and went out with my life partner, sanaz, to dinner and a movie. mmm....pat & oscar's breadsticks. god, those are good. i think i may have even made some sort of orgasmic noise while eating one. and i ate a whole half rack of ribs by myself, along with some salad, and like, three or four breadsticks. of course, i went to the bathroom like, five times throughout the entire night. after a sexy meal of meat, bread, and lettuce, we headed over to the theater to see daredevil. it was pretty good, i thought. not bad. a little darker than your normal comic-book-turned-movie. not to say that x-men and spiderman were light and fluffy, but you know, i got a bit of a darker vibe off of daredevil which was sorta cool. and jennifer garner - oh...SO hot. i wish i was her.

and now, i'm home. and between you and me, i think i may get lucky tonight. *smarmy wink*

so...it's valentine's day, yet again. i'm not going to go on some crazy, psycho rant about valentine's day even though i really want to. just because i think it would get boring and repetitive and i don't really feel like trying to make myself seem coherent. so i'm just going to let the following excerpts speak my mind for me since they are, undoubtedly, smarter and funnier than anything i could say.

the following are from one of my favorite books of all time, kiss my tiara: how to rule the world as a smartmouth goddess, by susan jane gilman.

fairy tale number 3: all single women are miserable.

an article appeared in the washington post once around valentine's day with the headline, "one is the loveliest number: two single washington women, singularly happy." apparently, the fact that women can actually be happy by ourselves is news! i mean, stop the presses! had the reporter really done his homework, however, i suspect that he could've found more than two women. why, there may even be five or six.

my friend karen, who's solo by choice, says, "every time i'm in a relationship, i feel like i'm a car with the air conditioning on all the time. sure, i can go, but my engine just can't run as well." studies show that there are more single women in america than ever before - and that more of us are single by choice - and that we're thriving. so if we're flying solo, we have plenty of company. not having a mate doesn't mean we have "nothing." it may mean we have standards, though. and, oh yeah, a life.

fairy tale number 8: if we don't have a date for valentine's day, we're unworthy and pathetic.

the truth is, ninety-nine percent of the population is miserable on valentine's day. hell, the holiday commemorates a massacre. shouldn't that tell us something? come february 14, the singles feel wretched and excluded, and the couples feel under enormous pressure to live up to some fatuous romantic fantasy cooked up by hallmark: show me the flowers. cough up the jewelry. load me up on prozac and take me out to dinner. every relationship is thrown into a kiln for twenty-four hours, where it's forced to withstand pressure and heat.

personally, i think we should revert the holiday back to its pagan roots. long before the catholic church turned it into a tribute to a beheaded christian, valentine's day was apparently a pagan fertility rite, sort of like a racy version of spin-the-bottle. in the fourth century b.c., young men drew the names of eligible young women randomly from a box. whomever they picked became their companion for "mutual entertainment and pleasure" until the next year's lottery.

while i'm not suggesting that we raffle of single women to adolescent boys - or anybody to anybody - surely some sort of inclusive chocolate bacchanalia has got to be better than the current incarnation of the holiday. because, first of all, who besides sixteen-year-old prom queens really has fun on valentine's day? and, second of all, do lovers really need a holiday? when you're in love, every day is potentially february 14. i say we let valentine's day be a day when the lovelorn get their share of the goodies and attention, when we celebrate with the celibate, dine with the divorced, and send sweets to the soloists and the starry-eyed alike. make it a day when everyone gets to feel loved! but until this happens, i say we should all just eat a couple of heart-shaped chocolates and go to bed early.

don't feel like celebrating valentine's day because it's a crass, corporate hallmark holiday that has nothing to do with love and means absolutely nothing? then celebrate v-day and envision a world without violence against women and girls.

so here is a special excerpt from the vagina monologues, by eve ensler...

my angry vagina

my vagina's angry. it is. it's pissed off. my vagina's furious and it needs to talk. it needs to talk about all this shit. it needs to talk to you. i mean, what's the deal? an army of people out there thinking up ways to torture my poor-ass, gentle, loving vagina.... spending their days constructing psycho products and nasty ideas to undermine my pussy. vagina motherfuckers.

all this shit they're constantly trying to shove up us, clean us up - stuff us up, make it go away. well, my vagina's not going away. it's pissed off and it's staying right here. like tampons - what the hell is that? a wad of dry fucking cotton stuffed up there. why can't they find a way to subtly lubricate the tampon? as soon as my vagina sees it, it goes into shock. it says, forget it. it closes up. you need to work with the vagina, introduce it to things, prepare the way. that's what foreplay's all about. you got to convince my vagina, seduce my vagina, engage my vagina's trust. you can't do that with a dry wad of fucking cotton.

stop shoving things up me. stop shoving and stop cleaning it up. my vagina doesn't need to be cleaned up. it smells good already. not like rose petals. don't try to decorate. don't believe him when he tells you it smells like rose petals when it's supposed to smell like pussy. that's what they're doing - trying to clean it up, make it smell like bathroom spray or a garden. all those douche sprays - floral, berry, rain. i don't want my pussy to smell like rain. all cleaned up like washing a fish after you cook it. want to taste the fish. that's why i ordered it.

then there's those exams. who thought them up? there's got to be a better way to do those exams. why the scary paper dress that scratches your tits and crunches when you lie down so you feel like a wad of paper someone threw away? why the rubber gloves? why the flashlight all up there like nancy drew working against gravity, why the nazi steel stirrups, the mean cold duck lips they shove inside you? what's that? my vagina's angry about those visits. it gets defended weeks in advance. it shuts down, won't "relax." don't you hate that? "relax your vagina, relax your vagina." why? my vagina's not stupid. relax so you can shove those cold duck lips inside it? i don't think so.

why can't they find some nice, delicious purple velvet and wrap it around me, lay me down on some feathery cotton spread, put on some nice, friendlyp ink or blue gloves, and rest my feet in some fur-covered stirrups? warm up the duck lips. work with my vagina.

but no, more tortures: dry wad of fucking cotton, cold duck lips, and thong underwear. that's the worst. thong underwear. who thought that up? moves around all the time, gets stuck in the back of your vagina, real crusty butt.

vagina's supposed to be loose and wide, not held together. that's why girdles are so bad. we need to move and spread and talk and talk. vaginas need comfort. make something like that, something to give them pleasure. no, of course they won't do that. hate to see a woman having pleasure, particularly sexual pleasure. i mean, make a nice pair of soft cotton underwear with a french tickler built in. women would be coming all day long, coming in the supermarket, coming on the subway, coming, happy vaginas. they wouldn't be able to stand it. seeing all those energized, not-taking-shit, hot, happy vaginas.

if my vagina could talk, ilt would talk about itself like me; it would talk about other vaginas; it would do vagina impressions.

it would wear harry winston diamonds, no clothing - just there, all draped in diamonds.

my vagina helped release a giant baby. it thought it would be doing more of that. it's not. now it wants to travel, doesn't want a lot of company. it wants to read and know things and get out more. it wants sex. it loves sex. it wants to go deeper. it's hungry for depth. it wants kindness. it wants change. it wants silence and freedom and gentle kisses and warm liquids and deep touch. it wants chocolate. it wants to scream. it wants to stop being angry. it wants to come. it wants to want. it wants. my vagina, my vagina. well...it wants everything.

argh. i am so bored. twenty more minutes before i start my experiments. so so bored...

dude, there are people in this lab already starting their stat homework. it's due in two weeks and we JUST got the assignment this morning! what freaks. geez.

and i keep scratching the area below my armpit, just to the left of my left breast. i must look like a perverted savage. oh well.

help. what to do what to do... fifteen more minutes. la dee freaking da...

oh, i just remembered, chris tried to sell me a haircut/hair dyeing package (not a literal package, but you know, a discount/combo thing) and i was looking through it and i was like, "woww!! they serve a complimentary beverage too!!" [imagine a very sarcastic voice]. and chris said that they served wine sometimes. doesn't that just sound so funny to you? they try to get you drunk so that you don't think your hair looks so hideous once they're through with you. "oh, wooow...i've always wanted butchered, green hair!! it looks fantastic!!"

okay. just ten more minutes. i can deal. i'll just look at nudey pictures on this school computer.

hello again. just killing time in the psych lab on campus. was done with class at 11 am but i have two experiments starting at 3 pm. so...yeah. saw chris on campus after lunch and just chatted with him for a while. reminisced about how great first year was. sigh. and, of course, he had to bring up the memory that i had completely banished to my dark, dark subconscious - the time i fell up the stairs and spilled my lunch all over the stairs in between the third and fourth floor, losing a shoe and some books in the process. see, anyone can fall DOWN the stairs, but it takes real talent and skill to fall UP the stairs.

blah...it's been raining all day so far. raining so much that the rain is starting to seep through my umbrella (what a crap-ass umbrella) and the underside of my umbrella is all dirty, so...i'm perpetually afraid of dirty water dripping on my head. gross. and, of course, the bottom of my jeans are soaked through from the six feet puddles all over campus. eew. but...depite that, there's still something kind of nice about walking through the rain under an umbrella, listening to the sound of the rain dripping against your umbrella, and laughing at all the people who don't have umbrellas.

midterm this morning was...okay. i fear that my powers of bullshit are diminishing. but yay, i'm done with midterms! but then again, crap, papers are coming up. whatever. i'm relaxing for the rest of this week. going to bake, clean my room, do my laundry, and plan a stellar lesbian valentine's day with sanaz. i feel so domestic. if only i knew how to cook...

hmm....what else to blog about. nothing. so now i will go do something else. bye!

the symbolism of male sexuality...

one of the striking characteristics about penis symbols is the discrepancy between the symbols and what penises are actually like. male genitals are fragile, squashy, delcate things; even when erect, the penis is spongy, seldom straight, and rounded at the tip, while the testicles are imperfect spheres, always vulnerable, never still.... far more commonly, the soft, vulnerable charm of male genitals is rendered as hard, tough, and dangerous. it is not flowers that most commonly symbolize male genitals but swords, knives, fists, guns.

yet even erect the penis and testicles are not hard, tough, weapon-like. the penis cannot stab and do all the other violent things it is evoked as being capable of, for fear of being hurt itself by doing so.... moreover, the penis is also the symbol of male potency, the magic and mystery of the phallus, the endowment that appears to legitimate male power. yet penises are only little things (even big ones) without much staying power, pretty if you can learn to see them like that, but not magical or mysterious or powerful in themselves, that is, not objectively full of real power.

...from male sexuality in the media by richard dyer. [from my critical gender studies reader]

debra!! i'm right here! *waves arms* over here!!

blogger sucks.

haven't blogged much lately, i know. not much happening.

advanced stat midterm last thursday. sucked. critical gender studies midterm tomorrow. ehh...must study. but too tired. tired from damn pms. making me feel weak, lethargic, and exhausted. gotta think about classes for next quarter too. not too worried. hope it won't be like this quarter when there was a mad rush for psych classes. *knocks on wood*

jo left yesterday. :( going to be very weird and different without her here. but i'm so happy and excited for her. and i'm going to be so jealous when she comes back with all these cool stories and pictures of hot guys. unless, of course, she brings back one of those hot guys for me.

and...it's been two years already. going to the cliffs later today to pay our respects. want to hear something horrible? we almost forgot.

sorry this blog is so boring and semi-depressing. told you nothing much has been happening.