jacks is a hot and sweaty pumpkin fingers

well i’m gonna tell you some things that you know and some things that you don’t. and yes, this is how i start my blog posts these days, with generalized assertions of nothingness. it is hot in vancouver lately and i gotta say, i stupid love it. it makes me miss the hot-thigh-sweatiness of humid summers in ottawa a little less. but it doesn’t make me miss the beer-soaked-afternoons-on-a patio-in-the-market any less, i must say. this means nothing to those of you who haven’t spent a canada day in an ottawa mob painted red. looking for your top.

anyhoo.

i am still in the thick of a summer of teaching and all i know – amidst piles of marking – is i love it. even when its too much. even when there is more to do than can seemingly be done. i also love camping – i know, wtf, eh? – and the new plants decorating my previously barren balcony. summer makes me happy. but it flies like nobody’s business.

i don’t want to get into an esoteric discussion about the brevity of time or life or joy because honestly, blogs aren’t really suppose to be all life-y and preachiness (according to me, the apparently judgey thoughtful spaz). but recent life events – illness in my family, the epiphany about teaching as key for me, and a milestone anniversary make me think about something a family member said to me in recent weeks about how life goes by so fast. i hadn’t seen this family member in roughly 9 nines, so it was an illustrative example of his point. last i’d seen him we were kids, poking the eyes out of fish and wrapping them up as presents for our mothers (sweet, i know). well, maybe not that long ago. but we were certainly awkward teens. and now we’re what are commonly referred to as adults replete with furry kids (cats all around), homes, and “real lives.” he was sharing sage advice from his father who’d said to him simply that it all goes by too fast. and it does. if we let it. we consistently forget as a people i think, that we can make our lives however we chose (that is, if we are privileged enough to make more than constrained choices in the world).

alls i’m saying folks, in an unoriginal sort of way, is that maybe, just maybe, all life is is texting love notes to t-bone with pumpkin scone icing fingers after class on a hot vancouver day.

jacks’ hawaiian thoughts

i just got back from hawaii. jealous? of course you are. but please temper your jealous rage with the fact that it was a hard won vacation. first i had to:

complete a draft of my dissertation (which also explains why i haven’t blogged in about a billion light years)
mark a billion papers
and turn thirty

well the turning thirty thing was actually the impetus for going to the islands. t-bone, in all of his magnificence, surprised me with the trip on my birthday. yes. my 30 birthday. not a spring chicken any more folks. nope. i’m practically a cougar. speaking of cougars – here are some of my hawaiian thoughts. as in, i had these thoughts on my hawaiian vacation. and no. none of them actually have anything to do with cougars. but a segue is a segue folks. deal with it.

thought #1: are japanese people from japan MUCH cooler than white north americans? the answer my friends is yes. so very, very much cooler. AND more stylish. poor us.

thought #2: why is visiting the united states of america the equivalent of a food assault? the restaurant nearest to us (a twenty-four hour diner) served so much food to us that i almost started crying. i saved my tears however for the food pounding i got at red lobster. i am still not sure if it was because of how much my distended stomach hurt or because the pina colada sauce they serve with the coconut shrimp will bring you to f-ing tears.

thought #3: why wasn’t i born on one of the polynesian islands? huh? i was BORN to fast hip shake dance (i actually think i patented that on the dance floors of o-town in my youth), hula dance, and eat coconut. f-ing BORN for it.

thought #4: is buying and wearing 4 spf sunscreen bad?

thought #5: i am AWESOME at surfing. why the f do i live in canada?

thought #6: mai tais are like a meal. booze. cherry. pineapple. booze. i will have one a day from now on. forever.

thought #7: mai tais make me wanna take mai top off.

thought #8: t-bone is really cute. especially with his hawt tan. how do i get him to take his top off? i know! another round of mai tais!

thought #9: my ty is the best kind of mai tai.

thought #10: how long have i been in the sun with top off? why is my glass empty? where the f is t-bone?

and basically it just deteriorated from there.

i f-ing love hawaii and i can’t wait to go back next year. hear that t-bone? i will be turning thirty again. and again. and again…

(p.s. i didn’t see dog. or leland. but not for lack of trying).

hi, my name is jacks and i am a germaphobe

so i survived the plague. barely. what’s with rampant sickness taking over vancouver? seriously people, i need you to take some vitamins and stop passing your goddamn germs around. alrighty. that feels better. but seriously – i was sick for a whole week. like snotty-face, laying-prostrate-on-the-couch-sick. i even had to teach in that state and that was hella painful. i was teaching poststructural theory kids – a mindf*ck on any day of the week – let alone during plague week. so during my almost-death week i stumbled upon some crucial life lessons and i will fill you in asap!

1. as the title of this post demonstrates – i am a full-fledged batshit crazy germaphobe. like, for reals. i am pretty sure i cont(r)acted this disease from a fellow conference-goer at a fabulous conference i attended a little over a week ago. fabulous except for the fact that it was ripe with human germs. this is the second time i have almost died after attending a conference. this leads to me to believe that i should stop shaking people’s hands. like EVER. i am currently working on a strategy to never touch strangers that will not turn me into a bonafide nutter (any suggestions would be appreciated). i figure it has made howie mandel more endearing so why not me? when someone goes in for the handshake i’ll just say, “you know that thing that howie mandel has? i totally have that too. so keep your fucking hands to yourself mister” or something equally entirely inappropriate.
2. i am pretty good at feeling desperately sorry for myself. when people don’t manage to muster as much sympathy as i have for myself, i kinda hate them.
3. i seriously had a virus and not even the norwalk (which my friend M. managed to get at her workplace) and i still questioned if i had the will to live.
4. fortunately cadbury cream eggs are out because it is spring/easter-time and they restored my will to live. but just barely. i had to eat at least one a day to keep from seriously freaking out.
5. my home became the den of sickness which basically means that due to a lack of cleaning (related to the lack of the will to live) cat fur started to engulf t-bone and me. seriously, if anyone wants cats who constantly shed and yell really loud after they take shits, we have the sweetest pair for you.
6. pizza hut pizza also has the ability to restore the will to live. i think it is because it is basically cheese and pepperoni on top of a doughnut. yummy. doughnut pizza.
7. i get really spastic when i get sick and become convinced that life will never be as it once was. t-bone tells me it is because i take too much over the counter cold medication but i think it is because demons possess me after the virus weakens my immune system. and no, i didn’t get that idea after watching almost the entire first season of true blood when i was sick.  so shut it.
8. hbo really does make the wickest television serieses. and yes, i am aware that serieses is not a word.
9. it was raining while i was sick and lead to the sickness-induced conviction that i was clinically depressed. t-bone opened the blinds and my clinical depression became more of a general malaise.
10. i started to wonder how much a hazmat suit might cost.
11. i made t-bone promise me that i would live. and if i didn’t it was so f*cking his fault. *shakes fist*
12. i got really angry at oprah. because she never has anything good on her show any more. *throws cat at television while screaming “why are you doing this to me oprah?!!? what have i EVER done to you?!!?! no one cares about people’s dirty houses – you know why? because we ALL HAVE DIRTY HOUSES AND WE DON’T F*CKING CARE ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE’S DIRTY HOUSES! either come clean ours or give us a car or shut the fuck up. now.”*
13. t-bone is the bestest sick-person caregiver in the world! he didn’t even mind when i let food fall from my mouth while saying things like: “you call this fucking chicken soup? jesus dude, i’m fucking dying over here!”

these are my current realizations about the nature of my existence. if you too have recently undergone a near-death experience due to a mild illness, please share in the comments section.

whining is jack’s favourite hobby (after reality tv)

as i sit lately between the dual screens of my computer and my beloved television, i try to come up with more reasons to whine. sometimes i think whining is the ultimate procrastination technique. or my genetic disposition. or my destiny. in any case, i am going to regale you with ridiculous stuff i am whining about today in order to um…well procrastinate. instead of my usual list however, i will present my whiny-ness as a series of conversation fragments in order to illustrate the silliness of my supposed ‘troubles.’

here goes.

SCHOOLWORK

me: “yeah. i have to revise my dissertation. it’s like editing but so.much.worse.”

unnamed voice of reason (who is currently writing their dissertation): “yeah but look at the position you are in – actually finished a draft and editing basically. i can’t wait to be there.”

me: “i’m not sure you heard me – i have to revise. and revising is like editing which i hate. you like editing, don’t you? you’re not that busy are you – wanna do it for fifty bucks?”

KITTY LOVE

me: “there are cats everywhere. they are on me all.the.time. they also have way to much soft fluffy irresistible fur. do you think [unnamed dissertation writing/fan of editing friend] would take them instead of the fifty bucks i offered her?”

t-bone: “um…are you okay?”

me: “do you think we could get more? i mean, they are pretty cute…”

t-bone: “so you want to sell our cats?”

me: “i’m not a terrible person! shut up! why would you want to get rid of the cats?!?!” *sobbing uncontrollably while squeezing hobbes too tightly*

LAUNDRY

me: “why do you even wear underwear? boxers are ridiculous anyway – they don’t do anything with regard to containment, protection, or general control-age of the junkage – maybe we should just throw all your underwear out and then i won’t have to wash them. EVER.”

t-bone: “i’m gonna just pretend you didn’t say that.”

CLEANING

me: “i have cleaned three times in the last week. wtf is with that?”

friend: “you should get rid of your cats – it is all their fur.”

me: “THAT’S WHAT I SAID! i’ll let you have one of them for fifty bucks.”

COOKING

me: “i’m on strike.”

t-bone: “yeah. i pretty much figured that out about five years ago.”

YOGA

me: “i don’t have time to be zen. i am too busy trying to line up someone to edit my dissertation, pawning my cats on unsuspecting friends, not cook and clean, and surreptitiously throw all your underwear out.”

t-bone: “i just asked if you wanted an omelet.”

SNOW

me: “why the f*ckballs is it snowing? yesterday i had allergic reactions to cherry blossom trees blossoming and NOW F-ING SNOW?!?! well, at least i can pretend it is xmas again.”

t-bone: “maybe i’ll get boxers from santa?”

DEADLINES

me: “time is relative. life is relative. just ask tom green. i mean – who ever thought he’d be on t.v. again – now look at him! i should prolly just pace myself. that is what tom would want me to do.”

DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME

me: “i’m so freaking tired. what the hell time is it? no – like the real time – like the time it was yesterday before nothing happened and we switched the clocks ahead an entire hour. yeah. that time.”

SPRING

me: “it’s f*cking snowing in vancouver and we are gonna set a record for snowfall. tonight. don’t talk to me about spring. it is just a teaser. a myth. like hairless cats and personal chefs. all lies.”

friend: “so that means you don’t want to go outside?”

me: “no for sure i do! i’ll go and get my catfur coat. be right with you!”

and there you have it – my muddled, whine-ass state of mind lately.

perhaps it’s paralyzed spring fever.

but here’s to shedding winter like an old catfur coat and un-needed boxers! jacks needs to bust out baby – so watch out!

no seriously – watch out. might try to sell you a cat or get you to edit my dissertation.

so seriously. um…watch out.

jacks thinks failure is the new achievement

hi – it’s me! your favoritest blogger returned from the land of big white and mini skis (pictured left).  so i haven’t blogged in a while, so what? you also don’t do stuff your supposed to so get off my back. okay – i might be a little bitter because i am still getting over fuzzybrain that plagued me at the extact same time as it did last year. creepy? yes. methinks so. (please suggest possible reasons for this recurring cottonbrain conundrum in the comments section. especially if you are a doctor specializing in hypochondria and/or germaphobia. many thanks). anyhoo – a couple of days – in the deepest depths of my fuzzybrainness – i was going to regale you with all the minutiae of my life but then i began to have interesting conversations about a particular topic that kept coming up. and no, it wasn’t because of what t-bone suggests – that i have to tell the same story over and over again in his presence just to test the limits of his capacity for unconditional love and tolerance (okay the latter half of that was my inclusion but the first part – that i endlessly tell the same stories is all his – just ask him about it – he’ll rant for a good hour). i am going to call this topic ‘failure,’ although as we’ll see, this kind of failure is the new fantasticness. stay with me.

so i am turning 30 this year (and this will be one of my repetitive stories so brace yourselves and don’t bring it up to t-bone or he might have an aneurysm. oh – if your the doctor that is diagnosing my hypochondria could you tell me what an aneurysm is because i use it all the time and have no idea. many thanks.) and it has made me realize that if 40 is the new 30, then 30 is the new 20. by this i mean that myself and many of my friends are currently experiencing the thirties as a renewed moment of indecision, not unlike that moment you had just out of high school (pre-20s) when you begged your parents to let you live free and die young. or any other approximation of not-going-to-university. or was that just me? anyway, the thirties seem like this moment – when we have enough education, maybe have made enough money, and are perhaps pre- or post-marriage but definitely pre-children – were we step back and say wtf? what do we want out of life and how are we going to get it. it is like realizing anything is possible which we didn’t when we were begging our parents for travel funds to europe or a year off to ‘find ourselves’ (i.e., working at denny’s and then running for the nearest educational institution). see, we were dumb in our twenties. we figured everything would work out and that life wasn’t something to be worked at. instead it would just happen to us just like everything else had happened to us since birth. and it was gonna be good times.

so some of my friends have been working in interesting and challenging careers since before i started grad school. and while i kinda hate them for making the wise decision to start making money light years before me, i empathize with their concerns about if what they are doing is what they always want to be doing. their questioning about if this is ‘it’. since i am the cusp of finishing something that has kept me busy since 2001 when i started my m.a., i am asking the same questions – what do i want out of life, what is possible, what isn’t, what do i deserve out of life, what do i never, ever want? an interesting aspect of this questioning and decision-making is the diversity of what constitutes both achievements and failures for those of us making these decisions. over some sausage and eggs recently, my friend N. and i discussed our visions of the ‘failures’ of so-called social achievement. we questioned the social pressure to marry and procreate as ‘whose’ values – our own or more appropriately classified under the rubric of ’social expectation?’ we wondered where social expectation ends and our own desires begin while trying to acknowledge the impossibility of somehow ‘living outside’ such expectation (and its inevitable impact on the shaping of our desires).

after too much coffee and a walk to air out the nauseating diner smell, i continued to think about how one person’s achievement is another person’s personal failure and how different valuations of values can result in both feelings of inadequacy and superiority. and i wondered if it wasn’t the people who engage in the flouting and touting of their so-called social achievements who really suffer. the ones who measure their worth against the perceived ’successes’ and ‘failures’ of others that perpetuate the expected outcomes of social expectation. this is not meant to be self-righteous, but rather a consideration of the multitudes of valuation that exist but are ignored. that persist but are disrespected. deciding that marriage and children as ’success’ is not only the privileged domain of a heteronormative value system (by and large) but it is necessarily exclusionary and intolerant. however, even those who live in difference need to heed the value systems of others as equal as long as they are not oppressive. my point – if i have one – is to suggest that we must acknowledge that our lives are a culmination of the values we privilege. and what is most interesting about those values is that, despite the notion or appearance that they are universal and uniform, are easily in/subverted by desires that move outside the realm of the expected. suburban dreams as failures. and achievement measured by how comfortably you can live in your skin and accept others regardless of how closely they fit what we were all once told to want.

mrs. jacks chapman – or mrs. dog jr. to you b*tch

today my little exposition is going to be about my two new and favouritest obsessions: dog the bounty hunter and survivorman. no – they are not in any way related (aside from being reality television shows) but that is not going to stop me from including both in this posting. and no – i don’t care if you don’t care.

so what i am going to do here (if only i could be this clear in the writing of my dissertation) is compare/contrast the shows and generally tell you what i love about them. and in the spirit of valentine’s day, add another random (and let’s face it) not-that-attractive guy to my list of “celebrity crushes.” you guessed it – leland chapman – or dawg jr to you b*tch.

here goes.

1. i love leland. not cause he is a hawt dawg or because he seems especially smart or engaging. i love him because he says “how’s it” the cutest out of all the members of his much-too-large family. also, he looks nothing like the rest of his family (save possibly his uncle. i’m not making any accusations…i’m just sayin’)

2. i love when survivorman (let’s affectionately call him les, yes?) becomes kind of a whiny b*tch on his show. the premise – for those who don’t know -  is that basically he gets dropped somewhere remote and has to survive for 7 days – without food, water, and (sometimes) shelter. he survives by his wits and sometimes looses his shit. those episodes are my favourite. like the man hasn’t eaten in days, bathed, been warm (or dry, or cool – depending on the climate), had water in some cases, or talked to anyone and the minute he starts complaining about his situation i’m all like – “what a baby!” then i try – but don’t always succeed – in telling myself i seriously wouldn’t last an hour. and i would definitely be dead in two.

3. this season dog has gotten much more violent. dog himself routinely yells “motherf*cker” at his ‘prey’ upon catching them and then he tries to save their souls. this is a somewhat welcomed change from the highly anti climatic run-up to someone turning themselves in and then getting asked if they have jesus in their lives. just my opinion.

4. les – on survivorman, stay with me here – kills at least one wild animal a show. every time he does he gives the same spiel – “i hate the thought of killing any animal. but when survival is at stake, any life is fair game” or something to that effect. every time he kills the animal though i judge (against the cuteness of the animal of course) which one of them i would rather see survive. les buddy, you are like losing three to ten. sorry dude.

5. beth’s breasts are seriously distracting. so are her nails. but i love her insofar as she subscribes to my motto: go big or go home b*tch.

6. okay both shows are highly gendered – just give me this moment’s ranty pants. oh yeah – and classed. oh yeah – and racialized. firstly, beth and baby lisa (can you believe they call their 27-year-old daughter this? but then again, my mother does still introduce me as her baby. so horrifyingly embarrassing. *shudder*) are always sent in to homes to talk to women in order to extract information by the very nature of their womanliness. dog himself is what i like to call a neo-sexist – you know, the older guy who likes to couch sexist (and sometimes misogynist – but always essentializing) comments in ‘joking’ terms – like “women can’t drive” and “men are the boss.” also, beth uses slang with racialized people but talks ‘normally’ with white hawaiians. also, i think the very notion of putting yourself – voluntarily – into survival situations is very gendered – read: ‘masculine.’ the notion that you can survive in the wild reminds me of the rugged (and misogynist) individualism expounded by certain men’s rights groups. also, it is *such* a classed activity. it is like how we go camping to ‘rough it.’ only a culture of plenty seeks to deny ourselves for leisure. k. rant over.

7. 90% of dog is about driving around in suvs and talking shit. it is like the perfect road trip.

8. 90% of survivorman is talking about fire. or making fire. or carrying fire from one place to another. or crying over fires gone out. producers: give the guy a lighter so i can hear him bitch and moan more. cause that is what that show is missing. drama.

9. i might have had a dream where leland and les get it on. first in the bc backwoods, then in a suv filled with people.

10. naw. i’m just messing with you. i’m just hoping to have a dream like that. i’ll keep you posted.

please share your own insights and/or fantasies about the shows. and don’t say that you don’t watch them.

cause i know you’re lyin’ b*tch.

jacks buckles under facebook pressure and creates her very own 25 things…

k. so there. i’m doing it too. i actually started a list of 25 things a few weeks ago after creampuff put out a blanket tag to all her bloggy friends (which was obviously only directed at me and my rack – you’re shameless roro!) but i hated them all so i am starting fresh. here goes!

1. when i was 6 i wanted to be a stripper. mostly for the costumes.

2. when people dress overly ironically (e.g., cat-eye glasses with little diamonds in them, horseshoe-patterned old man sweaters, etc.) i want to hurt them a little. you know, like shove-hurt not kick-in-the-junk-hurt.

3. i can smell everything. always.

4. i always want to help tourists. i don’t know if this has to do with my background in tourist industry or my uncontrollable desire to tell everyone what to do.

5. i am disproportionately afraid of farting in yoga class.

6. i love french fries and would eat them every meal of everyday if i could. i secretly wish i was one of those people who was all like “deep-fried stuff – disgusting!” but instead i want to kick-in-the-junk-hurt them.

7. i should always be doing one of two things: i) writing my dissertation, and/or 2) marking/prepping/reading. what i am always doing: watching some kind of former child star have a breakdown on much more music. congrats to those who got that reality show reference.

8. as t-bone always tells me, i have weird celebrity crushes. case in point: vincent d’onofrio (see post pic above). and not when he was thin. (and yes, criminal intent is on in the background. but rest assured. i am using both hands for this post).

9. i was born without a filter (see above). or else it’s broke.

10. i imagine that i have an incredible palate (maybe because of the smelling-everything thing – see above) and that i would make an excellent food critic. so, if anyone’s hiring, me and my beaknose are available.

11. my first kiss – when i was 11 – was ritz-flavoured. and with a boy nicknamed sasquatch.

12. i can touch my tongue to my nose (see beaknose above).

13. i am almost 30 years old and i hate getting in trouble. especially if it is for something trivial like peeing in public places or stealing. (k – for the record the only thing i ever stole was a rubber band from an office when i was young. and i actually think i only had the intent. that’s right. the criminal intent. see above).

14. both hands are still in use.

15. on the keyboard.

16. i believe in true wuv. like princess bride kind.

17. i love standing in front of a classroom. truly.

18. i learned my best dance moves from the dutch.

19. when i was 11, i plagiarized a line from the book – not the movie – arachnophobia and it was the only part the teacher made special mention of.

20. i once poked the eye out of a fish, wrapped it nicely and gave it to my mom as a gift. and then encouraged my cousin to do the same.

21. there is nothing funnier in the world to me than poop jokes. the word poop in fact might be the funniest in the english language.

22. there can never been enough: beer, food, asian-inspired decorations, cats, or potpourri. ever.

23. i turned two months on nude beach into a master’s thesis.

24. i have eaten alpaca. yeah, that’s right. i’m the devil.

25. i think i am a much better cook than i am. and also, i watch the food network endlessly only to have t-bone repeatedly point out that i never, ever write down a recipe or cook anything i learn how to make from watching the channel. he doesn’t understand food porn. poor t-bone.

and i shall tag: dr.beth because she often throws a little tag love my way (and she has a shiny new blog – go look!), chaos because she must blog again!, and lucas because i think he’ll think it’s fun.

k. tagging over. jacks out.

jacks the revolutionary

so i recently dragged t-bone and my lovely friend L. to revolutionary road (*spoiler alert*) which stars my amazing and wonderific girlfriend kate winslet. hubba hubba. my life, it appears, seems to be at the crossroads of some kind of feminist revolution. i know. heavy dude.

it is a little like teaching my students about feminism. it is a pretty eye-opening experience. the stuff about feminism is familiar – it is theory i have been immersed in since i began my post-secondary schooling. rather, the eye-opening bit is about young women’s (and men’s) reactions to feminism. i have been grappling with why feminism is such a difficult topic since i began teaching and feel as though i might have gotten a smidge of insight after watching revolutionary road.

you have to understand that i was completely and utterly vibratingly excited about revolutionary road. after seeing kate winslet win for best actress on the golden globes, i vowed to see it as.soon.as.possible. and i did. but i didn’t have the reaction to it that i expected. it left me a little cold. even though it was a beautifully written and acted film, i was untouched. perhaps because it was  familiar tale. suburban couple. hate lives. disaffected from social roles. gendered complications. the end. i simplify, but this is ultimately the jist. kate was powerful as april. leo was beautifully weak in his role as frank. but their lives and their constraints seemed so far away. another lifetime when divorce was unthinkable and choice had yet to be fully fought for. don’t get me wrong. t-bone and L. thought there were resonances to he present day – questions like: what is truth and what is the truth of your life? are you living your truth? is your (gendered) role your truth? and it fundamentally asks you to question beliefs about the past. who was strong and who was weak. what weakness can turn people into. what the social constraints on lives can lead people to do. to be.

but resonate? not for me. at first i was angry. i really wanted the film to speak to me. to bring a larger truth to bear on the realities of the everyday. and then i wondered, isn’t this the problem that students have with feminism? aren’t they waiting for the punchline, the relate-ability, the way in to what once was? i mean yes, it is hard to understand our lives in terms of the past, but it isn’t impossible. nor should we think it is self-evident. we need to dig into the past to find answers to our present. and if we think those answers – or questions – will be easy to formulate then we’ll be left a little cold. a little distanced. perhaps it is the nature of our society. our individualism. that makes us want without giving. take without asking. and maybe, just maybe, revolutions don’t start with having all the answers. or having readily available all the ways something relates exactly to our individual experiences. sometimes we need to dig a little deeper. and not demand that the surface deliver our truths.

an open letter to boob fans

because of the recent spike in activity on my blog, mainly because of my inclusion of the word “boob” in a recent post (well, only because of that really), i have decided to write an open letter to all the people out there who come to my blog, hoping for boobs, only to be disappointed by a discussion of women’s agency. boo-urns, eh? i bet it is a little disappointing for them. and i want them to know that they are welcomed and cared for by the thoughtful spaz, despite the fact that she ain’t got what they are googlin’. so here goes kids.

dear boob fetishist,

firstly, thank you for the enlightening and eye-opening introduction into the world of breast-obsession. while i have a set of my own, and seriously admire a nice rack, i have always felt somewhat outside your world. however, i underestimated your kindness and generousity in letting me in and your willingness to openly google (cause i can see what terms you’ve entered that brought you to my site, in case you didn’t know) phrases such as: “getting milk from boobs,” “milk boobs,” and, my personal favourite, “feeding milk and sex.” now while it is possible that santa googled the last phrase (that kinky bastard), i think i am recognizing a trend that doesn’t have much to do with the rights of breastfeeding mothers, women’s agentic acts of nudity, women’s choice, or even naturism. but i have to hand it to you, you have certainly opened my eyes to a new fetish. one that i would now like to inquire about.

basically i just have one question.

what the f*ck is that all about?

now, please don’t take this as a judgment. i consider myself an open-minded person who appreciates the “queering” of everyday lives and sexual desires. and i get that it’s nasty and taboo and all oedipal and such. but i wonder what actual images you are searching for. and if you ever find yourself in uncomfortable or compromising conversations with lactating mothers. perhaps, using my blog as a launching post, you could begin a handbook on your particular fetish and inform the world. and also find yourselves a name. lactoerotics? milkers? i’ll leave the ultimate decision up to you.

in conclusion, thank you for expanding my world and making me think more about what breast milk tastes like. or at least what you think it tastes like. and thank you as well for expanding the notion of what it means to be a mother. you have even managed to sexualize breast milk. i am gonna give you a big bravo on that one.

yours breastfully,

jacks

p.s. – please consider the pillow above something you could take with you to work to get through those long days. or hump like my friend J.’s dog does to his doggie bed. totally up to you.

jacks is going to catblog. you’ve been warned.

k – i should be prepping my lecture for tomorrow’s class (on the history of feminist theory and the “waves” of feminism no less!) but t-bone and i (sorry to implicate you in this honey) had this hilarious conversation about what if our cats filled out something akin to say, online dating profiles. i know, random. and this will only be funny to me (and possibly t-bone but prolly not cause i implicated him in having this ridiculous conversation and he might be borderline considering a ban on the use of him, or anyone resembling him, in future ancedotes).

anyhoo. you’ve been warned. now, onto the kitty dating profiles.

username: hobbesie (to cute it up for the ladies. or boys. whatever. i’m open)

likes:

• anyone (takes after his mother, otherwise known as the attention whore)
• junk scratches (obviously)
• salmon-flavoured anything
• scavenging – more specifically – licking the butter
• mice that make a noise when you toss them into the air
• licking sachets of catnip till they drip with my spit
• running into the uncharted territory that is the hallway and screaming at  the top of my lungs
• screaming at anyone who is standing
• screaming
• keeping parents awake by 1) screaming and 2) terrorizing sister

dislikes:

• bianca (above mentioned sister)
• whenever anyone doesn’t pay attention to me (learned behaviour from mother)
• when people are too shy to go as low as i like with the junk scratches
• cat food – i generally prefer butter

username: biancs (more chic than plain ole bianca)

likes:

• aggressive (some might say heavy) petting
• throwing up hairballs – but only on the carpet
• drinking out of glasses
• scratching the litter box and surrounding area for 10 to 15 minutes at a time – longer if parental units are sleeping
• making bird noises at birds that are just out of my grasp (that is to say, outside the window on trees and telephone wires that i would never, on any planet, be able to reach)
• hiding under the bed when anyone comes to visit
• immobile people whose laps look inviting – possibly mannequins (which my parents should look into)
• rapid-fire smacking kittens, and especially hobbes, unexpectedly in the head
• death-breathing – which i do when anyone does anything to me that i don’t like (makes them worry i might be dying so they immediately cease and desist. works like a charm)

dislikes:

• hobbes. and his constant brown-nosing and attention-whoring. makes me sick to my – BLETCH! (*chokes up sausage-sized hairball*) – stomach
• people. when they: come in the door, move, stand, walk, and especially when they walk in a way that could be construed as “in my direction”
• hobbes
• loud noises
• when hobbes licks me – i pretend to like it so i don’t have to bathe myself but i.hate.him and everything he stands for
• tall people
• people that like me

alright. i’m satisfied. teehee. please feel free to include in the comments any of your pet’s likes and dislikes.

maybe we can matchmake.

meow.