I'm back, I think. I'm going to admit to something: I think I kind of hate these social network sites. No, no I do definitely hate them. There's something so soul-suckingly horrid about them. I'm not going to qualify this judgment. Moving right along...

The updates are this:
1. I'm in grad school now (human sexuality, of course!) and
2. Sam's here.
3. We just bought tickets to Costa Rica (and I'm most excited about seeing howler monkeys in their natural habitat!).
4. I'm planning to do my thesis on breasts and the female identity.
5. I gained at least 25 pounds in New Zealand. Their superior milk and cheese products were droolingly seductive and I can't resist breast-related products.
6. I was on the east coast for 2 months after coming back from the NZ in June. My creepy stalker love of New York is officially over after 8 years. I no longer sigh longingly while thinking about NY nor do I send it dead rabbits.
7. I think that Obama should definitely be busting heads for a public option.. how does no one notice that we're the most barbaric country in the industrialized world?
8. I'm becoming more orgasmic
9. I joined Facebook yesterday just to get in touch with someone from high school (who, coincidentally, does research on bats), and I'm now regretting the joinage.
10. I decided I was going to work "pomosexual" into a sentence this week and I totally did!
11. I still hate twitter (but less than Myspace, but more than Facebook.. it's like stupid poop + twitter all on one site)
12. I made pancakes from scratch this morning. They were awesome! And you know, I've always noticed that there was something weird in the mix from the store that made you all full after only, like, 2 cakes. It turns out that when you make them from scratch you can eat 3 huge ones and stilll have room for bacon.
13. My nipples get huge every time they're sucked on. They used to be super picky about method and personality of sucker, but now they're just big fat slutty nipples that will take whatever they can get and be grateful.
14. My left nipple is itchy right now.

Ok, that's it. If I don't hear from anyone I will take that as a humble mandate that I should fade away from the internet forever. Otherwise, I will... not.

It really irks me the way that my ma has begun bringing up the baby thing. I'm officially living in sin, so I'm not sure whether our baby would find itself on the end of Satan's marshmallow stick anyway, but I don't like that just because I have a uterus means I have to use it.

And I know I'm not alone on this one. The industralized world is facing a declining birth rate (the US - whose OK-ish birth rate is due almost entirely to the immigrant population - is an exception). Denial isn't just a river in Africa for countries like Japan and Germany, whose incredible xenophobia + low birthrates have made their future look pretty bleak unless they start letting more immigrants in or they pay women to stop giving head and start putting that sperm in its rightful place!

A couple must make 2.5 babies in order to sustain its biological weight in the circle of life. And though I don't mind the idea of Mexican and African babies overrunning the gene pool, some people do.

What I'm getting at is the why. Why aren't women willingly putting their pussies on the chopping block for little bundles of therapy-inspiring, sex-life-killing, marriage-ending joy? I can't quite put my finger on it. Some say it's the internet (and all the masturbating that goes along with the internet! Again, put that sperm somewhere useful, not your keyboard). Some say its feminism, careerism, the fact that GW ruined the world, lack of healthcare, smaller apartments in bigger cities. I would add the fact that hamsters die sooner and definitely won't spend half their life blaming you for that time you didn't hug them after they didn't get a date to the prom.

Ok, so maybe I sort of hate kids. So what? I've seen what kids turn into... and I want to be able to tell my house full of cats one day that they're damn lucky that mommy was smart enough to swallow.

When I saw XXY on the shelf at the video place down the street, my political clit got a little buzz of delight: intersexuality doesn't get nearly enough coverage, and is still largely misunderstood even though it's estimated that as many in 1 in 500 babies has some kind of chromosomal variation that would deem them intersex.

I was sure that the title XXY (which refers to a genetic variation: a biological male (XY) with an extra X chromosome. This is also called Klinefelter syndrome) was an indicator that this would be a fabulously enlightening, political story finally made into film. And XXY was a total prize cow at a buncha film festivals.

But it was just another hermaphrodite movie with a macabre soundtrack! Boo, I say. Boo.

My biggest problem: this film didn't even attempt to elucidate the issue for the average person, who, from my experience, knows shit-all about intersexuality. And if you're going to make a political film, yes, I do think it's your responsibility to spell some things out. At least have some damn prologue titles!

Second, the film seems to be moved along by the idea that the main character has both an enormo schlong and a vag. I'm supposed to believe that despite years and years of feminizing hormone treatments, that Alex is packing enough to have butt sex with her house guest's son. Not likely. Most variations of intersexuality involve no actual visible signs and those that do, manifest in ambiguous genitalia NOT something out of Hentai.

Should it still get points for the schnazzy title or the fact that they kinda, sorta addressed this deeply political issue. NO. But I will throw them a bone for showing parents who did not allow their child to be operated on at birth and parents who advocated for their child.

For more on intersexuality: www.ISNA.org

I just uploaded my first audio short on Dublit. You can listen to the recording of Milking Cow from my book, Destination DD: Adventures of a Breast Fetishist with 40DDs (just click on that thing down there). I recorded on Audacity, and the audio is kinda crappy. If you have a suggestion on how to navigate Aud or something, let me know :) Bon Appe*tit*
<[[[[iframe]]]] src="http://dublit.com/widget/dubplayer.php?q=2401" width="92" height="92" frameborder="0" scrolling="no">..

Periods. Can't live with 'em. Can't live without 'em.

So, I was on Yasmin for about a year and some change. Everything seemed well enough, until I moved to New Zealand to be with my stalker (he hates that word, but he did fall in love with me after having heard me doing my radio show. You decide whether "stalker" is the right word.). Now penis is actually in the picture, and what do I find out? That I suspect that the pill was sabotaging my lurve life (dun dun duuuun). Now, you might be thinking: Virgie, you can't just randomly assert that it's the pill's fault. To which I would reply: 1. I'm a sex educator. I believe every woman should be on the pill! and 2. While in college, I took the pill (another pill, altogether), and found that it killed every last ounce of sexuality I had. All of a sudden hours and hours opened up in the day (hey, looking for cock is a fulltime job and then you add in masturbation, and I'm more employed than a migrant worker).

I have a kinda weird relationship with menstruation. Thanks to UC Berkeley, I actually like it.. I mean, I want to make art out of it and make people stare at it (and then criticize them for not being as open-minded as they should be; this is the big payoff for all activism, right?). When I first got on Yasmin, it reduced my raging red river to a trickle. Literally. I called the doctor to make sure that this thing hadn't built a dam in me.

Then, I got used to it.

So, when I start looking at one of the sexiest men I've had the pleasure of fucking - i.e., stalker - and start feeling sisterly toward him, I knew something was wrong. Long story short: we went camping. I forgot my pill. Day later, my pussy is roaring like a Harley. End of story.

So, my period is back. In full force. And, yeah, it makes me feel kind of like mother earth is closer to me or at least that I could help somebody with a transfusion.

p.s. We use durex extra safe every time now :)
p.p.s. The pharmaceutical companies have a duty to maintain/improve our standard of living while also providing us with birth control. Put some viagra in my damned Pill or something!

I was born into a world where fat women are outlaws, living on the outskirts of womanhood, chastised for their role in eroding the standards of beauty.

As a man once told me: “Never met a guy who didn’t love fat girls. Never met a guy who would tell his friends.”

Fat is synonymous with ugly. Ugly is a funny word because it’s quite prescriptive. You are either beautiful or you are ugly. The other funny thing about the U-word is that every woman has been, is currently or will be UGLY. Because ugly encompasses those who are disabled, old, sick, sad, needy, disproportionately-featured and, yes, fat. We live in pursuit of un-ugliness, and we fight a losing battle. Why not opt out?

My early experience with my fatness is not too terribly unique in the fat girl narrative: made fun of every day for approximately twelve years, utterly de-sexualized, chronic dieting, wishing I was dead, hating seeing myself, fantasizing about taking a big knife to every inch of fat on my body, wishing for invisibility (not even bothering with acceptance or celebration), starving, crying, hurting. By the time I was through with high school, I was quite thoroughly convinced that I was so ugly that I didn’t deserve to be loved or really even looked at.

The victimization of fat people is inhuman, and far more acceptable (and in vogue, with books like Skinny Bitch hitting best seller status) than other forms of oppression. How many fat women have never been in a relationship where they were actually recognized as a girlfriend? Innumerable. How many fat women don’t wear what they want, eat what they want, go where they want because they want to avoid looks, judgment, appraisal? I think this is called segregation is some places. Self-imposed segregation is not always different from compulsory apartheid.

I wasn’t always fat. No, let me rephrase that. At a couple points in my life I have been in that delicate place where your boobs:hips ratio is “acceptable,” that you’re considered “voluptuous.” I discovered that when I was voluptuous, men came up to me on the street just to tell me I was beautiful. They were unashamed to hit on me with their friends. They wanted to take me out to dinner. Oh, the world was pretty fucking great.

But I couldn’t keep it up. Eating nothing and exercising three hours every, single day was not sustainable for a natural born fatty like myself. I had undiagnosed anxiety. I wasn’t eating enough protein. The truth is I was weak and had no energy. My only function was to be pretty enough for men to like me for more than fucking (but as it turns out, you’re rarely good enough for more than fucking regardless).

Even now that I am more successful, more skilled in the bedroom, more communicative, more articulate, more open, better traveled, better educated, more bubbly, and larger breasted than most I still (*I still*) don’t get treated the same as thin women. And, no, it’s not about thinking I’m beautiful. It’s not about being open. It’s not any of that shit you read in self-love books. The world hasn’t caught up. Men still want to fuck me (oh, do they want to fuck me!! and squeeze me and watch me model lingerie and have me blindfold them and have me smother them with my fat ass and my fat tits), and not date me. I still have to convince myself that I’m OK. Men still tell me I’m one of the sexiest women they’ve ever met, and I still have only ever had 1 real relationship.

Just the other day I spoke with a man who told me that it wasn’t easy loving fat girls. It’s not easy getting shit from your friends. It’s not easy taking her out and knowing that people are thinking you’re weird. It’s not easy only finding women who look like her in the fetish/freak section of the porn store. I know. What a pity.

I wonder how much harder my life would be if I didn’t have enormous boobs. They’re within the realm of normal. They’re fantasy material. They have power. They make it easy for people to look to the man I’m dating and say “Oh, yeah. He’s with her because of her tits.” And he’s got a free fat girl pass.

I’m one of those progressive, fat-loving, fat activist fat girls. I often try to forget that I live in a cruelly anti-fat culture. We are political through t-shirts and not actions. We spend more than we make. We buy fair-trade coffee instead of not. We buy purses that cost more than our rent because it matters that some jealous bitch is going to covet that purse. We date men we don’t like because at least they’re 6 feet of “masculine height” makes you look diminutive. We eat salad instead of crème brulee. We deny rather than affirm. We hate rather than love. We criticize instead of celebrate.

Women are complicit in the fat hate. Just about a year ago, I was wearing one of my many utterly fabulous outfits, and a woman on the train (whose partner was a fellow fatty) audibly “whispered” that I was too fat to be wearing that. I let her know that my body was mine and that her beliefs were really unacceptable.

It’s odd to me how much fat people are hated, especially fat women. I’ve tried to analyze what this is about. The only sophisticated critique I’ve managed to come up with is that it’s enraging to people when women don’t look the way they’re “supposed” to look. Women are eye candy, and it’s a violation of the social beauty contract when women don’t fit into the narrow category of “hot.” The description of this word vacillates between stick thin and perfectly voluptuous, between short hair and long hair, bangs and no bangs, glasses or no glasses, dark and exotic or pale and milky.

My fat is political. My fat is political because I’m keeping it. Acceptance does not lure me into starving and self-hatred anymore. That word – FAT – is used to scare women, but it doesn’t scare me any more. My fat is political because when I show it off, it makes people mad. I can’t make generalities of those who hate fat, but it seems to really piss off both men and women. My fat is political because it’s fucking hot

And to conclude – let your fat ass light up the night ‘cause dessert is better than dick and fat is totally edgy!

Part of being a pervert - in my opinion - involves some dedication, celebration and support of other perverts. This is why, among other perv duties, I attend the Folsom Street Faire every year even though I know there's no way I'm going to get laid. Yesterday, on Folsom Street, between 7th and 12th Streets, there were more bare balls and pierced penises than even I normally see. There are a few things I love about Folsom: First, I love that one guy who attends as religiously as I do who has a small cardboard sign with the words 'Human Urinal' scrawled on it that he hangs over his head. He always has the same hat on. What I find fascinating is that lots of women are willing to pee on him, but he's not into that. He's strictly dickly. Second, I love that when you're sandwiched between 6000 happily queer men, I feel no concern about being groped regardless of how much boob is showing. And third, I love that there are only two types of straight people in the crowd: 1) fag hags *my category* and 2) old Asian guys with cameras creating this evening's masturbation reel. And then, of course, there's the techno and the man kissing and the drag and the free dildo ring toss. I actually performed at the Center for Sex and Culture stage. I decided to enact a dirty story I'd written and ask for a volunteer's help. Let's just say there was a lot of lipstick on my boobs afterward and that I made my lovely volunteer suck on a banana I'd brought along (yum). Then, I got to sign a very special boob and I even got to kiss it! :DAnyway, two boobs up for Folsom!x( . )( . )x,VirgieVirgie Tovar is a sex educator and the author of Destination DD: Adventures of a Breast Fetishist with 40DDs. She was recently voted Best Sex Writer by the San Francisco Bay Guardian (www.sfbg.com).

Hello Whore Pies!
I'll be reading at the Folsom Street Faire this Sunday around 1pm on the Center for Sex and Culture stage @ 1286Folsom. Come see me and my boobs. Yay!
x( . )( . )x,
v