I'm Gonna Size You Up

So today I'm not wearing the right bra size. I like the color, however, especially under the see-through shirt I'm wearing, and I paid, like, $30 for it, so I'm wearing the damn bra anyways! Sometimes this bra likes to ride up (because it's the wrong size) and requires some adjusting every now and then; it starts doing this as I'm journeying to the Promised Land, and I begin adjusting my straps. As I do so, some yokel in the lane next to me starts wheeling his scrawny neck around to look at me in a very conspicuous manner. Grow. Up. It's not like I was popping my tits out of my shirt and fondling them. I mean, I don't mind being looked at, but I do mind being gawked at when I'm not trying to attract freak-show-style attention.
See, the problem I own the wrong size in the first place is because I believed I was a 34C for a while. This was a jump up from the 34B I had been up until I turned 21--when my breasts decided to grow a size up. Apparently, I've been wrong my entire life.
I work at Victoria's Secret, and I really like what I do. And my job entails being able to size breasts accurately--something I can do with moderate accuracy without even a tape measure. So, believe me when I say I now am absolutely positive I am a 32D--big boobies on a skinny girl, which makes for a difficult bra size to find.

How to measure oneself?
While standing up with a normal bra on (no minimizers, binders, corsets, padded bras, add-a-cup types, or sports bras--and don't go au naturale), take a measuring tape (the typical dressmaker's kind, nothing fancy) and wrap it around the back, underneath the armpits, across the top of the breasts. This measurement should give the band size. I know this seems against logic, since the band goes just underneath the breasts, and not across the top, but trust me. If you measure underneath the breasts, you have to add about 3 or 4 inches to get the band size (underneath my breasts I measure 28 inches, but underneath my pits I'm 31 inches). Underneath-the-breasts +3" is only a useful measurement if the armpit measuring is going to be off--e.g.: if you have a lot of fat (as can happen with some 42" band sizes or greater) or muscle (as in swimmers) underneath your armpits.
Anyways, now that you've got your band size, measure across the fullest part of the breasts--laying the tape more or less right over the nipples. The tape measure should be roughly level all the way--it's important it's not slanting up or down as it goes around your back. When measuring across the breasts, the tape measure should not press into the breasts at all. In fact, it's best to draw the tape out at the center of the breasts and give it a little space--you want this measurement to be loose. This measurement must come out either equal or greater than your band size--really it should be greater if you even bother wearing a bra. I'll explain how this measurement turns into a letter in a moment.
*A note: If you measure at a band size of 32, you should inhale and hold a deep breath while measuring across the nipples--small torsos notoriously come out wrong with cup size measurement (I measured a 32A!).
Take the band size and subtract it from the number you just got from across your nipples. The difference between these two numbers will give you your cup size:

• 0 = AA
  
• 1 = A
  
• 2 = B
  
• 3 = C
  
• 4 = D
  
• 5 = DD

And so on.

Now you try on a bra in your new size! I recommend going to Victoria's Secret to try on a bra since you can get your measurement double-checked by any competent associate, but if you're a DIY girl, you can go to a department store where some of the fancy-schmancy brands run a wide range of sizes (DKNY and Vera Wang come to mind).

Now, how to tell if you're wearing the right bra size?
Stand up. Put your arms straight down at your side. Ask yourself these questions, moving your arms as necessary to check:

• Does your underwire come underneath your arm? It should.
  
• Can you put two (and only two) fingers in the space between your bra and the start of your armpit? It does not matter what kind of bra you are wearing.
  
• Does your band go across the center of your back? Wearing it too high up your back is a sign your bandsize is too big--or your straps are too tight.
  
• Does the space between cups (usually triangle-shaped--called the "gore") fall flat against your body? If it doesn't naturally touch your skin at the top, your cup size might be too small.
  
• Is your band snug against your back without digging into your skin? You should not be able to pull it too far from your back if it is the right size and in the right place.

The vast majority of women do not know their bra size, and most of the ones I measure are wearing a bra at least 2 cups too small. Measure yourself and someone you love. It will make a difference to wear your right bra size. Don't panic if you're several cup sizes greater or smaller than you thought you were--it's about comfort, not a letter grade. Also, if you're quick with abstract thought, you may have noticed that the equation for achieving your bra size is based on a difference between two measurements--i.e.: a 36A has the same cup as a 34B, which is the same cup as a 32C, and so on. This also means that any cup size letter (B,C,D) is a meaningless generalization without a bandsize; my 32Ds are considerably smaller than a 38D. So you can't just "make-do" by going up a bandsize number and assume the cup will fit just the same.

Well, that's most of my knowledge regarding bra sizing. I'm willing to take questions, or--more happily--customers who would like the full-on Zan-expertise (or "Zanpertise"). This is never an easy thing, but, dammit!, it's important to keep the girls happy!

An armed robbery and sexual assault of my time.

Good lord, I need to get away from my house and actually do some work. Isn't it a bit true it's far easier to work when you're in Starbucks or a library rather than at home with so many far more entertaining things surrounding you? I have an upcoming doozy of a semester, and I'm still facing an existential crisis regarding grad school (English or French PhD? And whatever happened to my Italian?). I think I'm going to eat something and get my ass somewhere it can be productive rather than procrastinatory.

Disabled = sexabled?

I must admit how terrible a person I can be. Perhaps it's my introverted nature, or maybe I'm really just an awful jerk (survey says. . . both). And because of today's college atmosphere, I have to admit to myself and the people who grade me that I'm really lousy in most environments which involve volunteer work. Old people can't hear me (I speak in a frequency which people are likely to go deaf in, and I also alternate the volume and pitch of my voice in a pattern inconsistent with normal speech), I am bad with kids (I once started a fight between two kids while doing afterschool tutoring), and I was raised by Republicans and naturally have an issue with the homeless. But there's one disability that I can somehow work with: disabled people. My only issue is that I'm afraid I'll offend them, but I think everyone feels that way unless they've been around them for a long time.

So I guess this isn't really a great preface, but I've just read an enlightening article I got off the current Savage Love Column about sex surrogates--which are like the über volunteers of disabled people. Essentially, these are trained people who enabled disabled people to love their bodies, and to learn how to love others as well (and I do mean that naughty, fun kinda love). While the writer does express his eventual cynicism--his surrogate was only so helpful when all she eventually gave him was false hopes. But I think he does suggest something better--hospitals which rehabilitate the disabled in sexual matters as well as others. I mean, what would be the first question on my mind if I suddenly became disabled: "Am I still going to be able to have sex?"
"Will anyone want to have sex with me?"
"Will I be left to disabled fetishists and prostitutes for sexual needs?"
"Am I even going to be able to get myself off?"

Why the fuck aren't rehabilitation hospitals doing this? I think disabled people have enough trouble. Sure, teach them to cook for themselves and be independent, but show them how to fuck, how to date, how to love, and how to love themselves. It's a new world in that of disability, and I don't think we should just leave it to their great personality for them to find someone willing to take on all of the responsibilities which come with loving a disabled person. I think if I could get past the disabled nature of someone, I would certainly go on a date, and, if all went well, hop in the sack--or chair--I'm flexible. But it would be difficult to actually go that distance with someone if they were so wound up about hating their body or being afraid to hop in the sack--or chair--I'd be more turned off than a cold piece of fried cod. C'mon, think about how much easier it would be (relatively) for disabled people to hook up if they could summon the confidence to seal the deal/push the envelope/fuck someone on a date. Starting the disabled off on the right foot (excuse the terribly insensitive pun--refer to the first sentence for an explanation) with self confidence and a healthy attitude about their sexuality could just do wonders for them on the dating scene.

How can our medical system acknowledge the importance of sexuality to mental and physical health, and then turn it away in actual practice at the same time? Get a grip, health system. No, lower. Little lower. There you go.

Now deal with it.

Your Right to Free Kink

I'm all for Gay rights. I have gay, queer, bi, trans, etc. friends, and they're absolutely delightful human beings. And I think that no one should deny someone a job based solely on their sexual orientation or their bedroom preferences (or for race, sex, religion, or any of those other ugly discriminations). But with that being said, I don't think the queer community (or any community, for that matter) should use their "minority" status as a crutch or a scapegoat.

Take this kinky, pagan fellow. Kudos to him for being counter-culture and open about his sexuality. And while his civil suit is really bordering on TMI, I wonder why it's relevant. Did he walk into the chauffeur-permit-granting institution in a black leather mask with a whip in hand? Because I could understand why someone would not want to grant even a fishing permit to someone dressed like that in public. I'm all for BDSM, but y'all have to admit it's a bit creepy when you start wearing the full costume in broad daylight. And if he wasn't dressed to fuck, then why would the discriminating officer even know to deny him a permit based on his BDSM status? I can really only draw two conclusions: either this guy wears his kinks on his sleeve (which is really not a good quality to have for a chauffeur), or he's just bringing up the issue because he wants to make a lot of legal noise about something that didn't even factor into the decision.

No, I don't think we should discriminate over someone's kinks, but I also don't think your personal sexual preferences should be brought up over a chauffeur-permit application. So, I'm going to suppose that this whole denial has some other reason other than his BDSM-loving ass, and the true source of his permit denial probably resonates with the legitimacy of some other reason: like having a felony on his record (like kidnapping?), or having too many traffic tickets, or just not having all the proper information.

This kind of attitude is just reprehensible to me: to not just ignore one's own shortcomings in life, but also to demand that the rest of society ignore them for fear of upsetting one's minority status. Your minority status is not your crutch. And if you want to stop being considered a minority, maybe you should stop insisting on special treatment over it. I mean, when you start getting down into minority status over sexual kinks, almost everyone is a minority. Also, to compare something like one's own bedroom preference to the light of the oppression that other minorities have suffered (consider the slavery of race, the genocides of religion, the lynchings of sexuality, the silencing of gender) is utterly ridiculous. No dominatrix has suffered the way that blacks did in early colonial America (or the Native Americans, for that matter). No foot fetishist was forced into concentration camps. No latex-lover was dragged from the back of a truck for miles and then hung dead on a makeshift cross for his family and friends to find.

This BDSM-loving pagan man's false cry of prejudice is an insult to the real minorities that have suffered. It seems unlikely that any discrimination could have occurred, since one's Pagan or BDSM status are unlikely to come up on a chauffeur-permit application. I smell the foul scent of special rights for stupid reasons, and I'm sickened by it.

A Sex Letter

Dear Sexists,
This isn't a letter about sex--well, yes it is, but not like you're thinking. This is about my sex, not the one I give, but the one I was born with. The female sex. I'm tits and cunt and a whole lotta smarts, too. Does that scare you? Or do you just think it's unfair for me to have tits, cunt, and brains all in one package? If you want to talk about what's unfair, we can go on at length about dehumanizing attitudes, because you're giving me a great example.
I don't pretend to understand your kind; I must always forget to multiply fear into the equation of boobs + brain = sexist prick. (Us girls and our math, what can I say?) But whatever tiny complex is making your tighties knot whenever I open my mouth to argue, you seem to respond in ten-fold anger, condescension, or both.
Thanks to pricks like you I understood the root word of patronize. Thanks to pricks like you I learned that sexism is still alive and well. And it is because of you that feminism cannot die--nay, will not die--as long as you decide that you need to restrict my mouth and my confidence until I am beaten down into willful submission so you can carry on your conversation with the boys.
You need to recognize you're sexist. You need to recognize that you don't respect women when you can only argue condescendingly with us. And you need to recognize that women will avoid you and you will wake up one day next to a wife who cannot really love you because you cannot really respect her. And one day you will look back and think on all the women you have burned and raged at because they dared to argue, dared to object, dared to question, and realize that your attempts to drag them back down to the kitchen were done in vain. For you cannot make us submit. The times you thought you had beaten us down were merely times we laid low to strike back. We never submitted. And we're not going to now. Because we're smarter and swifter and stronger than you, and no wimpy sexist is going to make us stop believing that.
Tomorrow night is Take Back the Night. And we're taking it back, you pricks.

Love,
Smart Women Everywhere

True Love Waits

So, grâce à Charlottesville's Festival of the Book and Planned Parenthood, I caught wind of a lecture by writer Hanne Blank on her newest book, Virgin: The Untouched History. And while Hanne was absolutely fabulous (and downright hysterically funny at times), she touched on something that's been touching me for a bit. Anyone who's been reading this knows that I'm not a friend of abstinence, and I think it should be stated that I'm also not a fan of the Bush administration. And for those of you who don't know, Bush has recently begun implementing programs that stress complete abstinence until marriage, even far into adulthood. I could not think of anything more egregious to do to your fellow countrymen/women. If you don't have sex before age 30, it's quite likely you won't be doing it at all, or at least not very long. Your sex organs will literally atrophy; women will be unable to be penetrated without pain, or may not be able to achieve orgasm, and men may suffer from premature ejaculation or become impotent far sooner than their promiscuous counterparts. Now, if you're post-thirty and still not doing the humpty-hump, I'm not saying you must go have sex now... just be warned that you're risking your ability to have sex at all.

Even my recently non-virgin friend was cutting it close: he got married at age 25. What's frightening is that he found somebody without knowing what he was looking for. I mean, look at it this way: would you buy a car without knowing how to drive one? Are you going to just hop in the seat, fiddle with the radio, roll the windows up and down, watch the wipers move back and forth, and say, "Yep! I think I'll like how this car drives! I'm sure whatever kind of odd quirks this car has, I'll be ready for, and I'm sure they'll be perfectly suited to my own driving preferences! I cannot imagine any reason why this car would not drive the way I'd want it to the rest of my life!"
Now, I did this whenever looking at cars with my mom before I ever drove one. It was easy to imagine that there was no real difference between cars except superficial ones, and I could pick them out easily. But once you get behind the wheel and start driving, you become aware that not all cars are the same, and the more cars you drive, the more aware you become. I don't drive stick, and I wouldn't even know how to handle one. I also don't like the steering wheel size of the Ford Focus. In fact, I didn't like much at all about driving a Ford Focus. However, I have a friend who likes his quite a bit. And I love my Honda, even though I know it is not as quiet nor does it handle as nicely as my Mom's Infiniti. How cars drive is a complex and ambiguous matter of preference, and is an infinitesimally insignificant matter compared to choosing a partner for the rest of your life. So, if you wouldn't be that ridiculous to assume any old car will be good for the rest of your life, why would you assume that any old sex partner would be?

The fact is, you are taking marriage too lightly if you think sex will not be important--or that you will be magically compatible in bed. There are a lot of body types and even more sexual fetishes, and any "virgin-until-married" type is being ridiculous in thinking that fate will match them up with the right one. Why do some of these pre-abstinent marriages work? I don't know. Maybe they got lucky and both had compatible kinks (ha!), or maybe they managed to work through their incompatibilities with compromise and understanding because they had a strong foundation for the marriage to work off of. Or, maybe they just give up on sex once they discover their incompatible desires. Or, even worse, they repress themselves or their partner into compatibility by stifling desires through a marriage of rigidity and resentment.

Also, am I the only one who sees that the abstinent types are also in a big hurry to get married? I mean, when every relationship is begun with the prospect of marriage twinkling in your eye, aren't you just asking for a superficial love based on your mutual desire to finally have sex without the guilt? I mean, sexual desire can make you do some crazy shit in the name of "love;" how can you be sure your lovey feelings for each other aren't just horniness in disguise? And once that horniness is quenched, will there still be love left in your starry eyes?

Certainly, marriage isn't all about sex, but sex does consume a good amount of it. There are a lot of things that you can knock out of a marriage (sleeping in the same bed, having children, eating dinner together, sharing hobbies) and still call it a perfectly fine marriage (if not even remarkably good for its quirks). But if you knock out sex, second only to communication and trust in a marriage, you have nothing. Fact: if your partner is incurably unable to have sex for more than five years, you are allowed to legally annul your marriage. That's "annul," not "divorce." As in, it wasn't really a marriage in the eyes of the State. Which is not to say all there is to a marriage, nor to say that a chaste marriage isn't a real one, but it really does drive home the point that the government at least views your marriage as nothing more than state-sanctioned sex. (Perhaps why the government is so squeamish on gay marriage: all the politicians won't be able to get their illicit airport bathroom kicks if the government starts sanctioning it.)

Is it just me, or does it seem more responsible to have sex in a safe and healthy manner, with people you trust, with people whose sexual histories you have a knowledge of, with people who strip naked to reveal a recent STD test taped to their stomachs, with people who will be willing to explore yours and their sexuality within the boundaries of safety, so that you can find the right person you'll want to bonk everyday, even when you both have morning breath and haven't shaved or showered in three days, even when you both have previously annoyed the piss out of each other just by breathing wrong, just so that you can be sure that your marriage will stand on such firm ground that it won't fail even if it was juggling Mack trucks in a Richter-scale shattering earthquake? Why is being a virgin so important? Is that all your sexuality is worth to your future partner?

She cometh alone

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For Argument's Sake!

You know what, mankind? I'm from New York (although this attitude can be found throughout New England), and when I say something offensive, you'll know it. It'll be accompanied by a prominent middle figure, and ending in such delightful phrases as, "Fuck face," "shit hole," or (my mother's favorite) "cocksucking motherfucker asswhore." So, if you are offended by something I've said, and it does not follow the above guidelines, I have not meant to offend you, and am really hoping that any offense you might take will be mediated through the ancient art of argument. So, I say something like, "I think your religion is ridiculous because of blah-blah-blah." If you don't agree, I would love (and I do mean love) for you to tell me so. You can be all like, "Look, fuckface, it seems pretty sensible to me because blah-blah-blah is taken out of context, or [insert logical, contradictory statement to my previous assumption here]." I don't like offending people, but what I like even less is the distinct impression that I've offended someone who is too chicken to call me out when I'm practically asking them to prove me wrong. Where I'm from, opinions can get served up faster than a civil suit to McDonald's, and we foster nice healthy debates. I can get into quite heated debates with my own husband, and immediately afterwards (if not during) have hot, kinky sex for an hour. Debate is normal! I want someone to argue with me. Otherwise how will I ever know that my opinions (or your opinions) are wrong?

So please: argue with me. I can't hold this self esteem up on my own, peoplez.

Slap that puss!

I don't know if you're aware--maybe you are not the porn-watching kind (Why? It's delightful!)--but in porn, there's something that I think looks very odd. Okay, so the girl's rubbing her clit like mad, and then she occasionally just gives it a quick slap or two. Now, being a possessor of the almighty vagina, I understand that this might look a little weird, but the occasional tap on the clit feels really good. But since when has reality gotten in the way of a pornographer's vision? It looks ridiculous! I'd show you a clip, but I think I would violate a large number of laws regarding copyright and pornography (disseminating it to minors at the very least), but I imagine anyone with a sans-safety Google or an XTube bookmark could find what I'm talking about.
All I can think while goggling this kind of porn is that this girl is getting very frustrated at her vagina not working, and like any fickle mechanism, has decided to give it a quick few whacks in hopes that it will spring whirring into a frenzy of orgasmic convulsions--much like how I imagine my MacBook would work in a perfect world.

A Close Encounter of the Celibate Kind.

A friend of mine recently got married. And normally I would merely clap him on the back and welcome him into the world of post-nuptial blissful boredom. However, a funny thought occurred to me not long after his wedding day: he's just had sex! Yes, my friend and his fiancée were holding it in until their wedding night, which really hit home at how awkward a situation that must be. I cannot fathom waiting until my wedding night to see my beloved in the all-together, only to lay down and go about the business of determining what part goes in exactly which of many holes.
Now, if my memories are any indication, I believe losing your virginity is an awkward and needlessly complicated process. Honestly, if it didn't improve significantly after the first few attempts, I think humans would have long since been extinct. But to save it for your wedding night? Talk about pressure! So many new things are happening all at once, do you really need orgasms and sex and nakedness to top it all off? And there's this thought prevailing that if you don't succeed, your marriage isn't officially consummated! Eek! and if you really can't get around to it, it's grounds for annulment! Double Eek! ...All my boyfriend and I had to worry about was getting the damn thing done and over with before his parents knocked on the door.
What possessed my friend to wait until now is beyond me. He claims religious fervor, I say he was just too scared and put it off until the last minute. And I thought I was a bad procrastinator.