More On Hall-ho-ween

I just remembered that I forgot to tell you all this: There were fifteen minutes in which I considered going as a Bolshevik. So, I searched google images for "Bolshevik" to get a picture of the flag, ideas for details, etc. I found this. Yep, Sexy Bolshevik.

Hall-ho-ween

Last night was linguist-rockstar Eric's and his wife Karen's annual Halloween bash. I had been told by several friends that the costume was not really optional...ugh. My first problem with Halloween is that I feel like I'm wearing a costume every day--some days I dress straight out of the 50's, with rolled up jeans and vintage shirts, some days I dress up like a hipster, and wear my big $3.00 sunglasses from the gas station, other days I'm meeting with the advisor so I pull out one of the three "nice" outfits I own--so I find it confusing to have a day set aside especially for costumes.

Second, I don't want to have to spend money on a costume. As I've blogged earlier, I frequently do not eat the last week of every month--or, I have "peanut butter and black beans" days. So I surely don't want to buy a witch's costume rather than half of another 'nice' outfit...or even a few loaves of bread. It just seems extraordinarily wasteful to me.

Third, and here's the money gripe, I'M TIRED OF SEEING 'SEXY NURSES' OR 'SEXY NUNS' OR 'SEXY TURTLES'!!! Seriously, why is everything so slutted up on Halloween? Are people repressing all of that inner sluttiness the other days of the year and just need a release? The Mrs. Clause suit just couldn't satisfy their exhibitionist needs, the turkey costume was too unweildy, and they never got to wear their Valentine's 'costume' in public...so Halloween became the holiday home of 'bringing sexy/slutty back'?

I rebelled last night. I was looking through all of my clothes, my art supplies and my hardware drawer, looking for possible costumes--and I happen to have a lot of librarian clothes. But I would be damned if I would be 'the Sexy Librarian.'

So, I washed my face clean of any makeup, then drew in a unibrow, used eyeshadow to give myself a little mustache, greased down my hair, put it into a straggly pony tail, clipped my bangs to my forehead, put on some black wool kneesocks with a blue shirt and wrapped my glasses frames in a bit of masking tape.

My costume? The UNSEXY LIBRARIAN. I think the people who didn't know me just thought I had poor taste and a nasty facial hair problem... And to my great relief, I don't think there was one 'sexy anything' there last night; sure, there were a few ladies with kitten ears and tails, but I saw nary a nipple and neither a cooch. A good Hall-ho-ween in my book.


Favorite other costume at the party? a boy came in wearing a cardboard, markered mask and a white t-shirt which said, "I too am a Moon Monster."

Oh that Smell.

His scent on my pillow has now faded into that vague male odor
musky, husky, full of testosterone and brimming with promises, lies and quickened heart beats
the face next to mine blurs and melts into the Next
and I laugh
I laugh because it's getting better
I'm getting better
He's getting better
That scent lingers and reminds me of tender caresses and harsh words and tear-stained pillowcases, crumpled sheets and the hope that spilt every time
but I come back for more
can't wait to breathe it in again, fully, deeply

I still believe.

Existence

I know you saw a part of me, but you didn't see the Self I carry around every day.
You robbed me of a piece of my existence, stealing off with it, locking me away in your mind
a half-formed truth, at best
but now that half-formed truth lingers Out There
where I can't touch or affect it.
No longer dynamic, it remains deformed, trapped, static and unwhole.
Tiny deformed fragments of myself, relegated to neurons firing, neurons dying
I wonder if that fragment is part of me now, if it counts toward my Existence
I release it to you, it's yours
I've no use for it anymore.

Astrology--GIVE ME YOUR COMMENTS!

sorry to be so demanding of you all, but this is a subject on which I'd really like to poll my blogosphere pals.

I've always prided myself on being a fairly logical gal. Spock-like, really. You'll all remember my post on being a life-long cynic. I'm not religious, I don't believe in 'soul-mates', I'm a bit unclear on my beliefs on love.

So I am embarrassed to admit it, but I believe in astrology. I certainly do not check my horoscope for 'today's plan', but in terms of personality characterstics, the descriptive accuracy of the signs are really quite intriguing to me. Cheese aside, I can't help but to wonder if the ancient Egyptians might have been onto more than pyramid-building techniques...

I am a Scorpio, and am described thusly:

Passionate, vibrant, magnetic, perceptive, emotional, sensual, alert, willful, determined, resourceful, purposeful, directed, dominant, ambitious, fearless, committed, intense, but can be obsessive, extreme, vengeful, jealous, spiteful, unforgiving, bully, menacing, possessive, arrogant

Famous Scorpios:

Ted Turner, Bill Gates, Theodore Roosevelt, Charles Manson, Billy Graham, Pablo Picasso, Jonas Salk, Martin Luther, Marie Curie, Roseanne, Richard Burton, Price Charles, Hillary Rodham Clinton, Calista Flockhart, George Eliot, Pablo Picasso, kd lang, Leonardo DiCaprio, Jodie Foster, Larry Flynt, Jane Pauley, Dan Rather, Bonnie Raitt, Demi Moore

(If you would like to see your full astrological personality profile, check this site)

Every time I read through the list of Scoprio traits, I am just taken aback at the accuracy--one of the problems Scorpios face (apparently) is procrastination: "At the other extreme is the procrastinator, the man or woman who is capable of so much that they do nothing and become indolent and self-indulgent, requiring extravagant praise and flattery from those whom they make their cronies."

Yep. The vices and 'negative traits' of Scorpios? check. Good stuff? check. Habits in relationships? check.

I also routinely check out the signs of sig-o's, potential or realized, and their signs have always made sense, too--to an eerie degree. It's gotten to the point that I may start actively searching out those individuals with signs deemed compatible with mine. (and y'know, it seems just as helpful a search tool as my educational standards might have formerly been...)

And, just to do a completely unscientific study, I researched my friends whom are happily married or coupled up--their signs match and they have a good shot, astrologically speaking. The few relationships I know about that are in trouble (real trouble, not "I can't believe you said that yesterday, but "I can't believe these two ever got together in the first place"), their signs just ain't compatible.

Now, I always stop at the personality summaries. The day-to-day predictions seem like a steaming pile of dogshit, and it also seems highly implausible (even more so than the personality prediction) that the location of sun, moon and stars when I was born can tell me whether or not I'll lose my keys today.


I know the arguments that "anyone could read any sign and find a bit of themselves in that sign's description", but I have to counter that they will not find nearly as much in another's sign as they will their own. Really, I can't find much at all in an Aquarius that describes me, Scorpio though, has always been right on. Further, one might argue that the descriptions are so vague that people simply project themselves onto the signs--i.e., if you want to believe, astrologers make it pretty easy. I have to disagree again. The more detailed the description, the more I'm creeped out about how accurate my sign is.

So, what are your thoughts on astrology? Do you fit your sign? Do you think there's anything to this? All chicanery? Think I just like it because my sign is more likely to be a genius?

Dear Fiona

That was my chosen alias. Though it might end up being Liza...

I got to be Dear Abby--but for sex questions--for www.nerve.com. Check it out at the bottom of the page! My sage answers to the scintillating questions should show up this morning some time.

Question: Can I put this on my CV as a publication? Sadly, this would double my published articles...

UPDATE: here's the actual link: http://www.nerve.com/regulars/sexadvicefrom/phdstudents/

Also, they have edited out what I think is funny. Maybe it's because I'm not actually funny. But here are my complete responses:

> Which department's students would you most like to have sex with and why?

Oh, this is a tie between math department boys and art school boys. The
artists are certainly more likely to be hipster hot, but they're also less
likely to be showered clean. On the other hand, the math boys have all of
those hot hot hot math brains, but are less likely to be into sex.

> I'm having trouble focusing on school with all the hot girls
in my class. I've heard taking anti-depressants can help curb your libido.
Should I look into this?

First, that trick only works for the first few weeks or months; the side effect
WILL wear off, leaving you hotter than a dirty old man at a junior high swim camp.
And that will come right around exam time. Second, I’m sure that lopping your fun stick off would also help curb your libido, but you wouldn’t consider something so drastic, no? Antidepressants change your brain chemistry—learning to concentrate despite your surroundings might be a better strategy.

> My boyfriend has this little girl fantasy, which is disturbing me. He
likes me to wear catholic school uniforms or little pink socks when we
make love. Is it weird that he's into that? Should I worry that as I
get older he's going to lose interest in me because he's
youth-obsessed?

Are you disturbed because you don't enjoy this fantasy? Or because you're
afraid he'll stop enjoying you once you can no longer affect the visage of
a 12 year old? If it's the former, ask him to play a different game, mix it up, have him wear a tweed jacket with elbow patches and dark-rimmed glasses… If
it's the latter, I'd be more disturbed that he_actually_wants_to_do_a_12-year-old, and you're the closest thing to legal pedophelia he can get.


My girlfriend is terrible at oral sex. I've been trying to prevent her
from even attempting it but she seems to think I'm just being shy.
Should I try to teach her a few lessons? Or is that insulting?

She's probably not down there to please herself, so the next time you exchange presents, ask her what SHE would like beforehand…then, give her one pointer (no pun intended) when she’s under the tree.

>
> I know I'm not gay but looking at pictures of male underwear models
> kind of turns me on. Is this normal?

Everyone appreciates aesthetically pleasing images, so I wouldn’t worry too much. If giving a guy a blow job kind of turns you on, then it might be time to start questioning some things.

> I'm getting married in 4 weeks and I'm panicked thinking that this is
my only remaining time to sleep with someone else. Shouldn't I get it
out of my system before it's too late?

Would it be okay with you if your sig-o ‘got it out of his/her system’ now? If you are both on board with a last hurrah with a gang of hookers, then go, sow your oats, plow a few fields. But if you’re hoping to sneak a last roll in the hay under the Law of Pre-marital Amnesty, you should be picking up a set of divorce papers along with that marriage license.

> How can I let my boyfriend know that even if he has an orgasm and
can't continue having intercourse that he can still get me off? He
seems to think that once sex is over, it's all over.

Do you both speak English? I suggest words.

My guys friends talk about sex all the time but I feel like it's a
betrayal of my girlfriend (whom I've been with over 5 years) to spill
the details, but then I wind up feeling like the prude at the table.
Should I just make stuff up?

Yeah, I’m sure she’d much rather have you telling your friends about all the sexcapades you’re not having together…Ask her if she minds (she may not, and is perhaps telling details to all of her pals); if she would feel betrayed, then you’re limited to talking about pornos or other guys’ stories.

> My girlfriend hates my ex, whom I'm still friends with and whom I
dated a thousand years ago (in high school). We're just friends now
and we're really good friends but my current girlfriend gets mad when
I talk to her or see her at all. What should I do?

She has to realize that you existed before you met her. You have a past, filled with people who have accompanied you into the present. If this ex were an inconsequential friend, I assume you would have dropped her a while ago to ease tensions with the current girlfriend. Hang out with Exelina in a larger group, and tell Nowawana whenever you see Exelina. You don’t expect her to drop everyone you don’t like, do you? Neither should she.

Win Some, Lose Some

The dissertation is increasingly plump, full of literature reviews and data and delightful graphs and greek letters dancing around in a swirl of theory. This makes me happy.

I failed at my attempt to quit smoking. This made me sad.

But not as sad as I started to feel when I no longer had my little paper crutch. After biking home the other day in a mere t-shirt and jeans, I was soaked in sweat and the stale salty grime of walking the campus earlier that day. It clearly says October on my calendar, and yet, San Diego refuses to conform to my conception of fall. Palm tree fronds don't change colors and fall to the ground. The sun beats down on my pink and freckled skin just as cheerfully and obstinately as it did in July. The air is still warm, and that smell---that smell of fall that I have so longed for and once loved--is nowhere to be found. I still remember it well--that cloying, disgustingly sweet smell as the fallen leaves begin to decay mixed with the crispness of the cooling air, perhaps smoke from a nearby leaf fire. God, I miss that smell.

So, coming home as I did the other day, I began to sob (and as those of you who have fallen into the nicotine trap and have tried--successfull or unsuccessfully--to extricate yourselves know, when one quits smoking, one goes a bit nutty). But deprivation-induced insanity aside, I feel like I'm trapped on vacation. Imagine going to the Bahamas and, instead of flying home two weeks later, you are forced to stay for five, six years. The beach isn't fun after the first month, you begin to recoil in disgust at the sight of yet another bikini or midriff-baring top, another backwards-turned baseball cap, another sunny day in your beautifully bright prison cell.

So I smoked. And although I wish it weren't true, I feel much much better now.

Perhaps I will just have to suck it up--it being nicotine--until I can go home. Back to four seasons and decaying leaves and blessedly cloudy days and smells on which I'd happily become high once again.

Academic Update

It looks like I'm being nominated for the Brookings Fellowship--which would mean that I get to live in DC next year!!! (Four whole, distinct seasons here I come!!!)

I'm gladly accepting wishes of luck (and of course, surliness and such, T).

Great Expectations

are not warranted right now--well, not concerning the bloggity blog...I'm actually making progress on, gasp, what I get (meagerly) paid to do! Yes, I am writing a dissertation. I am riding this swell tide, as this tide rarely swells...

And I have quit smoking again...so I am antsy and increasingly taken to strolls around my fair neighborhood to relieve the overwhelming urge to spark flame to that pernicious cylinder of noxious myth.

So. I promise to continue the Whiskey Bin later, and I might perhaps share the novel I am (type) writing on my loverly remington in between dissertational bursts of productivity.

Fare us well.