Underneath my yellow skin

Tag Archives: sex

Dating, sex, and tech, part seven

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Apparently, I have more to say about dating, sex, and tech. Techs in the city? Text in the city? Oh, wait. It’s Sex AND the City. Whatever. I never watched the showl/movie?/whatever, anyway. This is my post from yesterday in which I talk about what I thought was going to happen in my life versus what I really wanted to happen in my life.

Today, I had my Taiji Zoom class. It’s in the basement of a church that is like a concrete bunker. My teacher uses a headset so we online can hear her. Without fail, at some point, the connection goes out. We may be able to see her, but we can’t hear her. Or vice-versa. This is usually when she switches from using her headset to not using it, which she does after ne do meditation. She takes off the headset during meditation, which makes sense. For whatever reason, when plugging the headset back in, it totally disconnects her from the internet.

Sometimes, it’s because she accidentally hits a button on her headset. Other times, who knows? Tech is going to tech.

I will say on my end, I had a few months of frustration with my audio when attending the Zoom classes. It was after a Zoom update, of course. I fucking hate updates because for every positive update, there’s two to three unintended negative consequences. Also, I really don’t need updates every month. Maybe keep it to once a quarter.

Of course I want my computer to run as smoothly as possible, but I hate it when the negatives outweighs the positives. And it’s often the case of , “How the fuck do I return this to the way it was? Fuck if I know!”

By the way, I’m playing a game called, Birdigo, by John August and Corey Martin. They say it’s inspired by Wordle and Balatro; it’s simple and addictive. However, it would not accept the word ‘fuck’, which made me lift an eyebrow. Really? ‘Fuck’ isn’t in the dictionary? I was very disappointed by that.

Anyway, back to my computer issues. Suddenly, after a Zoom update, my audio did not work in Zoom. It worked just fine the week before. I fiddled with my settings, and they said that they could hear me, but I was extremely quiet.

The next week, I realized that I was somehow had two Zooms open. One was the app and one was the in-browser Normally, I used the in-browser, but it didn’t automatically come up like it used to. Now, it was the app that came up, but I didn’t use the app. Therefore, there was no audio through the app. The audio would only come through the browser.

This took two sessions to figure out. I checked it after class, and it was correct. I had no idea why the app was opening since I did not use the app and did not want to use the app. I only used the browser, but Zoom didn’t like that. It wanted me to use the app, probably so it could get my details.


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More about dating…and tech issues, part five

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Day three? Four? Something like that of tech issues. This time, it’s completely self-inflicted, which doesn’t make it any less frustrating. In fact, it’s more frustrating because why the hell did I do that? If only I hadn’t done that! Here’s what happened.

A couple days ago, I accidentally kicked my PC tower. Hard. It was fine, but I had to make sure all the cables were plugged in firmly. They seemed to be, and all was well. Today, suddenly, my PC stopped working. Just out of the blue. I immediately deduced that it had something to do with the accidental kick I had given the PC tower a few days ago.

I checked cables. All seemed fine. I checked the power strip. Also seemed fine. I unplugged it and replugged it in, and then I turned it off and on again. It was all fine. It was late at night (for normies), so I didn’t want to call my brother. I knew that he went to bed by eleven/midnight, and I didn’t know how long it would take me to fix the issue. Though I had a hunch that he would know what it was.

I did some more hunting around to see what I might have missed. I finally realized that I was looking at the wrong cord when I was checking out the  power cord. The actual power cord had come unplugged on the PC tower side, so I plugged it back in. Did that take care of the problem? Yes! My computer booted up, and it was fine. Except.

Why wasn’t my second monitor working? I futzed with the settings, but my computer said that the second monitor was not available. What the hell? I was mad at myself for kicking my PC,  even though it was an accident.

I checked the cable on the back of my second monitor, and the other end was unplugged. I knew it had to go into my PC tower, but I had no idea where. By the shape of the cable, I only seemed to have one option. I plugged it in, but it wasn’t the one. I Googled it, and it said not to plug into the HDMI at the top of the PC tower, but to use the port that was lower. I could not see another HDMI port, but I knew there had to be one.

I got onto the ground with my phone (as my flashlight), and I found the right HDMI port. Finally! Everything was back to the way it should be. Except. About five minutes later, several YouTube videos started playing at the same time. I had about a hundred tabs open in roughly thirty different bunches. I had to quickly go through them to find the ones that were playing. Of course, it was nearly the last bunch that was the culprit, so I got rid of almost all my YouTube tabs. It doesn’t bother me because I’m sure I’ll have a hundred open again in no time flat.


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Sexy times (or not), part four

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I’m back to talk more about sex, baby. Let’s talk about you and me. Let’s talk about all the good things and the bad things that may be. Is that the lyrics? It’s close enough. I don’t feel like Googling it. I like the song, though, and I may include it as the video below. I loved that Salt-N-Pepa were so frank and open about sex in 1991. And from a female point of view in rap. I have to give them props for being pioneers, and I’m so happy that they made the Hall of Fame.

You know what? They have a song I like even better than Let’s Talk About Sex. It’s not Shoop, though that’s a great song, too. Nor Whatta Man ft. En Vogue (also a terrific song). It’s None of Your Business, and I found a video of them doing it live on the Jon Stewart (!) show. I love that they’re telling off everyone who scolds women (and, yes, specifically women) for having casual sex and those who are harsh on sex workers.

I love that they are sex-positive and very unapologetic about it (at least in their music). There were very few female rappers and DJs at that time (and still, sadly). Their songs are catchy, and their hit with En Vogue is truly something special. I loved seeing that many badass (and hot) women strutting their stuff.

Here is my post from yesterday in which I wandered all over the place talking about whatever came to mind as it pertained to sex or technology.

Here is something about sex that I don’t get–why I’m supposed to feel guilty about enjoying it. I grew up in a very restrictive, shaming, fundamental Evangelical household that made it seem like having sex outside marriage was a Mortal Sin tthat would cast my soul into Hell for all eternity. Especially for women. That’s a very important part of the shaming process. Making sure the woman feels like she’s total trash if she has sex.

Only before marriage, mind. Once he puts a ring on it, then the heavens part, angels come down to sing Hallelujah, and then you get immediately pregnant. That’s the only reason to have sex in the eyes of the devout.

I was fed that bullshit all my childhood. When I was dating in my late teens/early twenties, I had what I bagan to call everything-but–meaning anything that fell technically short of actual penis in vagina. This was a known thing In fact, I didn’t do this, but it became a well-known Christian thing for girls to have anal sex as a way to avoid giving up their vaginal virginity. Which, I mean….

Side note: virginity is not a real thing, anyway. It’s just a thin piece of skin that not every AFAB person even has, and there are so many ways for it to break. In addition, it’s such an antiquated way of looking at sex–and so sexist. So many young women thinking they were ruined or broken just because that little piece of skin was no longer there.


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Looking for lust in all the wrong–well, no–places

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In the last post, I was talking about the possibility of me dating again. I summed it up in the last post, kind of, but I’m going to break it down in this post, kind of.

Here’s the thing. I’ve mostly fallen into my romantic relationships in the past. Meaning, a romantic relationship sprang up out of a friendship. While I have a type (quick recap: short dark hair, nerdy glasses, warm smile, deep voice, square body (thick), a nerd in general, funny, and, weirdly enough, optimistic), it’s not something that I stick to in real life, mostly because as I said, friendship leads to romance, and I don’t restrict my friendships by appearance.

I didn’t really date, either. I started dating my first boyfriend when I was sixteen. That was probably the closest to dating I did. We lived forty minutes apart, so we only saw each other on the weekends. He was a sweet guy and extremely smart, and we dated for two years. That was the closest to a typical relationship I’ve had.

My first boyfriend in college, we were good friends who spent a lot of time together. He asked me out, and I said why not? That ended up being a really complicated relationship that turned me off dating, unfortunately. It also wasn’t typical in that we didn’t go out on dates, really. We just hung out like friends–except with romance included.

I have always been good at sex. VERY good at sex. My motto was that I’d try (almost) anything once. Unless it was truly something I could not stomach, I was good to go. And I liked most of what I experienced. Sex is amazing! Sex is awesome! Sex is life-affirming!

Romance and dating, on the other hand, were hard. The examples I had in my childhood were terrible, and I was deeply and negatively affected by them. I was brought up in a cult-like church that was heavily sexist, conservative, evangelical, and fear/shame-based. Plus, Asian culture is deeply sexist in a different way to American sexism. So I got so much sexism shoved at me on a daily basis.

It’s hard to unlearn that stuff. And I noticed in my last relationship (about fifteen years ago) that I still immediately fell into my traininng as a subservient woman whose only purpose was to please the man* within my vicinity.

I hated who I became, and I realized that dating wasn’t worth it to me. In adidtion, I like being on my own. A lot. If I’m going to be around someone for a significant amount of time, it had better be a very positive experience. I like to say that I’m the cake and the other person would be the frosting. Meaning that the would be additive and not part of the substance.


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Typcasting my love

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Just for a change of pace, let’s talk about something more frivolous than the shitty state of the world. Which, quite honestly, could be anything. Literally anything. In this case, it’s romance sex,  and it’s still related to everything that’s going on.

I have a type. I noticed it decades ago. Alan Rickman.

I could leave it there, but I won’t.

Let’s add to him, Rachel Maddow.

Those were the gold standard for so long. I added to my list Erika Ishii because they are just my everything. That voice. That personality. That bod. That face. That hair! Just, they are the whole package.

Ever since the hell started in Minnesota, I’ve been watching way more news than I used to (and than is probably good for me). I glommed onto a local news anchor, Jana Shortal, who has short, curly hair, is acerbic, yet warm, has a lovely deep voice, and is a lesbian.

I mention the last because that’s been a theme, starting with Rachel Maddow. Dark short hair, wonky glasses (wonky as in wonk, not as in broken/weird), deep, warm voice (of course, these days, a reporter has to have a great voice), nerdy, and a sarcastic yet rousing sense of humor.

Next up was Kara Swisher. Pretty much rinse, lather, repeat. Yes, I know that it should be lather, rinse, repeat, but I’ve always said rinse, leather, repeat–and I won’t ever stop. It’s gotten to the point where I’ll send K a name and a bio with a wry, “So my type!”, and she’ll quip something back in return.

Side note: K and I are both pretty passionate about politics. We agree on most everything just to different degrees. I can count the number of times we’ve flat-out disagreed on something on one hand. We can tell each other things we would not share to the world at large. We’ve been friends for thirty years, and I still learn things about her that I didn’t know before.

We’ve discussed our love lives, sure. She’s been married the entire time we’ve been friends and had her child about ten years into our friendship. I told her that she got the first year free to talk about the baby as much as she wanted. This is the thing I say to all my friends when they have something momentous happen to them. After that, I expect them to return to a more balanced conversation.

K never needed that time. She and I kept on as we always were with her talk of her kid being an additive. I commented on it from time to time, and she said that she was glad to be talking about other things with me. What I inferred was that she wanted to retain her identity as K and not just as L’s mom. I could dig that, and I was happpy to be that person for her. Everyone needs the friend who will just let you be you. And, I love her (now young adult) child as if they were one of my niblings.

K has been my rock throughout my, well, rocky dating history. She’s been there for my heartbreaks and thrills, and she’s not judged me along the way. She’s not coddled me either, though. She’s a straight-shooter, which I appreciate. She’s also been my wingwoman when we went out dancing, back when she lived here. A best gal pal who will hype you up is to be treasured.


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Taking the romantic plunge

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Love stinks. At least, that was my motto until roughly a year ago. On and off. When I was a teenager before I got my first date, I desperately wanted it. It was the only thing on my mind and I cringed at how desperate I was. Unrequited crushes that never hid and other assorted embarrassments–I was just the worst. I had a crush on the same boy from first grade until sixth grade and only stopped because we went from elementary school to middle school, which had many more kids. I couldn’t keep tabs on him like I could in elementary school.

I was a freak from the start. A second-generation immigrant kid from a weird Asian country well before being Asian was exotic and cool. I was fat, awkward, and way too smart for my own good. I got picked on by the American kids for being too foreign. I got scolded by the Taiwanese moms for being too boyish. My home life was shitty and I lost myself in books because I hated the real world so much.

I got my first boyfriend when I was sixteen. Seventeen? Summer before 11th grade so sixteen. He was smart and cute and very kind-hearted. We went to different schools so only saw each other on the weekends. We dated for two years and while we both wanted to wait to have sex, we did almost everything but PIV in those two years. I enjoyed it at first, but it got to the point where it was all we did every time we went out (in his SUV, which, you know, romantic), which started to make me uncomfortable. I couldn’t find the words to tell him, however, and went along with his plans to go to California for college. He was going to Stanford and I had applied to UC…want to say Santa Cruz? Whichever is closest to Stanford. He said that if I didn’t go with him, we had to break up.

I had my eye on someone at work (mall. Different stores), anyway, so I broke up with him. I called St. Olaf to see if they still had a spot, they said I had half an hour to decide, so I did. That’s how I ended up going to St. Olaf, which was–an interesting place to go to college. That is not the point of this post, however, so I’m just going to walk on by that.

I had a serious relationship while I was at St. Olaf that seriously messed with my brain. Let’s face it, I had issues beforehand, but it didn’t help to have someone who didn’t know what he wanted himself. Or rather, it would have been more honest of him to say that he wanted sex and a companion, but not a monogamous romantic relationship. In fact, he asked me out after omitting the fact that he was in a romantic relationship that he demanded open up when his girlfriend went abroad for a semester. He wanted his cake and to eat it, too, and he seriously messed me up in the meantime.

I want to stress that I was in no shape to be in a relationship in the first place. I was looking for all the wrong things and for all the wrong reasons. I wanted someone to complete me and fill the hole that was inside me (innuendo semi-intended).Don’t get me wrong. I loved him with all my heart, but it was not a good kind of love. I was too clingy and too needy, and I didn’t know how NOT to be that.


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Spicing up my life

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I want sex. It’s been more than a hot second since I’ve had it, and now is exactly not the time to seek  it out. There is no way to copulate with six feet between me and another person, and the idea of wearing masks…well, that’s not my kink. I know there’s Skypesex and sexting, but neither are what I want right now. I had no point with that, but I just wanted to throw it out there.

Let’s talk sleep. My schedule has taken a drastic turn for the worse. I’ve been going to bed as late as 5:30 in the morning, which, how the hell did I used to do this on the regs? Part of the problem is Spiritfarer, I’ll be frank. If I start playing it any time after midnight, all bets are off when I’ll actually end up sleeping.

There are deeper reasons, however, and they’re the same as they ever were plus exciting new Covid-19-related reasons. One, the longer I stay awake, the longer I put off having to get up for the next day. No, it doesn’t make sense, but my brain doesn’t care about that. Two, I just don’t sleep well. At all. The weighted blanket has helped as had taiji, but it’s still fraught with all kinds of bullshit.

With all that being said, what I actually want to talk about is cooking. I don’t cook. Or rather, I didn’t cook. I didn’t see the point in it because it’s a lot of work for someone who lives alone. Yes, I know about batch cooking and freezing and whatnot, but I simply didn’t want to do it. I don’t like to cook–yes, yes, I know that’s heresy in this day and age–and I resisted any urge to do so. There’s a whole lot of gendered expectations wrapped up in all that, but mostly, it was just too much trouble.

Here’s the thing about depression as I experience it. I live with a triage mentality every day. What absolutely has to get done and what can be punted down the line. For example, I’m doing laundry today. I should have done it at least a month ago. It’s a bit more acceptable because I don’t go anywhere, but I’m down to skirts and ripped t-shirts. Even in the Before Times, I pushed laundry until the very last moment, but this is beyond ridiculous.

If I make something a routine such as my wake-up taiji regime, then my brain just takes it as an immutable. Again, don’t ask me how it works because I don’t know, but it’s my way of tricking my brain. I get up, take my thyroid pill, feed Shadow, clean the litter, brush/floss my teeth, and then taiji routine. This is sacrosanct, and I don’t question it. Something like laundry, however, which is not done every day, it’s much harder to force my brain to do it. I’ve been meaning to do it for the past two or three weeks, but my brain has overridden all my intentions.

How did I make myself do it this time? Not entirely sure. I just started throwing things down once I woke up, but I had done that a few weeks ago as well. I simply wouldn’t allow my brain to detour from it, which is something else I can do from time to time. Yes, it’s like my brain is a computer that I have to override, which is annoying as fuck.

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Relationships, motherhood, and weapons, oh my!

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I’ve been thinking about relationships lately because, well, I’m not sure exactly why. Probably because it’s the end of the year and I get introspect as the year comes to a close. Thinking about it reminds me of how I realized I didn’t want to have children. Well, not really, but the aftermath was similar. The decision itself was easy. It was as if the heavens parted and the sun shone directly  upon me. If I liked sunshine, that was. I didn’t have to have kids! I was filled with relief and went about my merry way.

Or I would have except I naively shared this decision with people who asked me about children and when I was having them. I was a young woman in my early twenties, so this came up more than I wanted it to. To me, I made a decision that only affected me, and that should have been that. Instead, I had people question my decision making several gross claims that were firmly rooted in sexism even if I didn’t recognize it as such at the time. This was in the early nineties when it was still preached that a woman’s #1 job was to be a mother.* It was the main tenet of both of my cultures, and I got so much pressure from my mother, but that’s another post for another day.

I was so young and naive to think that I could dare state that I didn’t want to have children without any blowback. Mind you, it wasn’t something I brought up out of the blue, but I was honest about it if someone brought it up. The reactions I received ranged from condescending–you’re too young to know/you’ll change your mind–to anger. Yes, I actually had people think I was judging them for their decision to have children because I said I didn’t want them. Honestly? I didn’t give a shit about their reproductive choices–just mine. But, I was pushing back on the status quo which made some people very unhappy. More to the point, I acted as if it simply did not exist, which really shook some people. In reflection, I realized that people who followed the status quo without thinking REALLY did not like those who didn’t.

I gave dozens of reasons why I wasn’t going to have children depending on my mood. I was too selfish (true), I was too hot-tempered (true), and I didn’t have the energy (true). My go-to snark answer was that I would be screaming, “Get the fuck away from me! Mommy doesn’t want to see you for three days”, and I couldn’t afford paying for a lifetime of therapy–but it was basically true. I don’t like being around other people all the time or having anyone depend on me (except my cat, and even he pushes it when he meows incessantly in my face in the morning for breakfast), and something I didn’t admit to many people was that I could see myself abusing a child. Not purposely, but because I snapped.

It was all faff, however, because while it was true, the simple answer is that I didn’t have children because I didn’t want them. I never have, and I only thought I’d have them because that was what I was supposed to do. I cannot tell you how free I felt when I realized I could choose not to have children, and it’s a feeling that has only intensified over time. Over a quarter of a century later, I am happier than ever that I don’t have children. There was only one time I briefly considered it, and it was because my mother engaged a 15-year campaign to get me pregnant from the time I was 25 until I was 40. During the heyday when she was nattering at me yet again about how motherhood was whatever she said it was because I blanked out every time she mentioned it, I had a flash thought of, “Maybe I should get pregnant to shut her the fuck up.” Fortunately, I immediately realized that was a fucking stupid reason to get pregnant, but it was a rough fifteen years.


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New Year’s thoughts

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hopefully better than the last!
New year, same shit?

I don’t do New Year’s resolutions, but I do take time in the weeks leading up to it to reflect on my life. This is a grim time as I think my life is crap in general. If i had a hard reset button, I would slam it without thinking about it. Except. I wouldn’t want to give up my friends, taiji, Dark Souls, Shadow, my brother and his family, and, ok, maybe not a total reset.

But. There are always things I wish I were doing differently. Some are ongoing such as my desire to publish a book (though my writing is not going great at the moment), but others are pretty specific. Let’s start with the one I think I will achieve the easiest.

1. Learn the taiji Sabre From. I just learned the third row of six, and this one I will accomplish barring some unforeseen obstacle in my way. So, let’s add to it learn the Cane Form. I am through the first row of four, but it gets batshitcrazy in the third or fourth row. I’ve seen my teacher perform it, and it’s jumping all over the place. I cannot wait.

I also have to teach myself the left side of each form because that’s how it works. The teacher teaches the right side, and we have to teach ourselves the left side. It’s a good way to discover where I’ve been fudging it on the right side, and it reinforces the teaching. I have to brush up on the Sword Form left side.

A funny side note: I still haven’t taught myself the whole Solo Form because the Solo Form got drastically changed when I was teaching myself the third section. That’s the section with most of the changes, and I decided to let it settle down before trying to teach myself the left side. And, to be honest, I am still not a big fan of the Solo Form, though knowing the applications has helped as has learning the Fast Form. The Fast shorter form. Which is the new Solo Form. I would like to learn the whole Fast Form this year as well, but that is a little outside my control.

Side note to the side note: I have been struggling to make it to class for a few reasons, most of them health related. That in turn makes it difficult to learn new things because we’re all at different places. I would like to make at least one class a week in addition to my Sabre Form private lessons every other week. That entwines with another of my thoughts so you’ll have to wait for it.

Prediction: I will get this one. And I will be stoked to learn the next form, which I’m hoping will be the Fan Form. Or maybe Dual Sabres. With a side helping of the karambit. Which is not a taiji thing, but so fucking cool, anyway.

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But is it, though?

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One of my daily stories is Doctor Nerdlove. I read his website, and then recently discovered (remembered) he also writes for Kotaku. I’ve been bingeing past articles, and there are a few themes that have stuck with me that I’d like to explore. Before I do that, I would like to say if you’re a dude who is struggling with dating issues, please read Doctor Nerdlove. He is on point 98% of the time, and his writing is clear and easy to digest. It’s refreshing to see a dude just lay it on the line and be quite frank when the letter writer is acting like an entitled prick. Do I agree with him all the time? Of course not, but I think his general principles are sound.

The first principle I want to explore is his belief that love is hard, but it’s worth it. That’s a gross generalization, of course, but it’s pretty much the bottom line of his advice to people struggling with dating for a variety of reasons. It’s mostly dudes wanting to date women, but there have been other permutations as well. His bottom line is that, yes, the dating pool may be harder for some (say if you’re a fat woman of color who dates men, for example), but that love in any shape or form (as long as it’s healthy) is worth it.

To which I’ve been asking myself, “But is it, though?” To be clear, I’m not saying that lifelong love can’t happen. It can. My BFF met her husband when she was fifteen and has been with him for nearly thirty-five years. They’ve had many hard times, but nearly thirty-five years, one daughter, and one move out of state later (still miss ya, K!), they still love and support each other. My other bestie recently met the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with, and I’ve never seen him happier or more comfortable with himself.

So, I’m not saying it’s not possible or that people shouldn’t strive for it if it’s what they want. The last part is key, though, because it’s too easy for people in this society to think that a long-term monogamous relationship is the be-all/end-all. To be clear, the good not-doctor is not advocating either of these things, necessarily. But it’s still baked into a lot of the questions, and I would love to see people really dig into this expectation.  I’ve done it myself over the years, and who I am now as far as romance goes is so different than who I was when I first started dating (I was 16).


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