Happy autumn daze, my precious kittens, fleeting fuckboys, and annoying mosquitoes! I will miss scratching all of your bites when I’m holed inside hibernating in the winter. Last night was a lovely porch night with the neighbours on the eve of the Blood Moon which is very exciting for those of us whose serotonin levels are lunar activated, definite mojo overload for this old prowling wolfmilf. I have de-activated the Tinder app from my phone, so I have no immediate tangible outlet for my howling ways, but that’s okay, I can wait. It turns out I AM too old for the pell-mell, willy-nillyness that is modern day hook up culture. I am a woman of substance so I’m sticking old fashioned courtship techniques like social media cyber stalking and prolonged sexting. And sending photos of fragmented body parts using the classic filters from iOS7.
Last night’s porch life activity included the neighbours making me try some vegan cheese. I’m all cool and even sometimes interested with their lifestyle choice of replacing hunks of juicy deliciousness (meat!) with dried up flakes of ever-so-slight saltiness (nutritional yeast LOL!) but please don’t call coconut bacon “bacon” when it’s just dehydrated coconut dipped in liquid smoke. That is not simply a misnomer, it’s an insult to pork and no, carnivores do not feel “more comfortable” sitting around a picnic table while you call your processed GMO manipulated-man titty inducing soy product patty imposter a “burger.” Call it what it is: Dust.
Anyhoo, I didn’t really want to try the “cheese” because I knew it would be, at best, meh and these days if I want to fill my holes, what I put in better be more than just good, it better be amazing. But Colleen was all like “Try the cheese, Peterson” and had it spread on a bagel and waved it in my face and so I did, I ate it, and I was right, it was “okay,” I declared diplomatically but thinking: What is wrong with their taste palates? “You’ll get used to it!” she said sensing my disdain only because she was masking hers. I think those were the exact words Diana heard when she married Prince Charles. I don’t want to “get used to” anything. I want to be blown away by the beauty and wonder of the world and allow the splendour to flow through me and bestow on me enlightenment beyond my expectations and send me to another stratosphere that gets me closer to that higher place where the fear of death is placated by the divinity of stuffing fondue or buttermilk brined fried chicken into my pie hole, is that too much to ask?
Last week I ate a triple cream brie ACTUAL fucking cheese made by monks in Burgundy, France. Their repressed sexual energy is most probably hard-core pumped into everything they make like all that wine and bread and cheese they’re famous for, which is basically my own personal 3 food groups. Try playing the game of “Fuck, Marry, Kill” with wine, bread, and cheese. I just can’t do it. Every time I try, I get confused and I feel bad that if I married wine, I would cheat with beer sometimes, like every day probably, who’s kidding who. I’d probably be okay with killing bread because carbs but still really want to fuck a baguette on most days in a threesome with the cheese, obviously. What a quagmire. Anyway, eating this triple cream brie was like sucking on the teat of a benevolent deity whose multitude of arms coddled me, stroked my forehead, soothed inner child, made everything okay, and even fiddled with my ears (you know I like that) while whispering “I love you.” It was, indeed, a splendorous experience. Eating that “vegan cheese” was like eating a bagel that was moistened with something to make it go down easier. Do not call it cheese, it is merely “emotionally distant non-committal white spread for bread.” But! The moon was almost full so I could forget what I ate and focus on the other holes.
So when the wine ran out and we all went inside to our respective digs, engulfing ourselves with the blue haze of the tv screens for cold comfort. Peeps, I need a new show to obsess over, fire me some suggestions, winter is coming, but don’t say “Game of Thrones” unless you’re willing to come over and pin me down because I get all antsy watching that shit, I’ve tried.
Lately I like to lay in the quiet dark and “meditate” or whatever euphemism makes you vegans comfortable. Carnivores tho, psssst: I’m tenderizing veal cutlets;). So yes, I was in the dark and I got a text from a friend whose meat and cheese would most probably make a mighty fine sandwich and I’m thinking…long…. and hard about it. Anyway, his message was non-sensical to moi, something random about “meditating” which was weirdly serendipitous because that is what exactly I was doing, and then he wrote back immediately before I could change hands, “oh sorry that wasn’t for you” and then he explained he was talking to some “friend” about tantric sexual practises. Whoa, what? Is it 1998? His misfired text got my attention though. What exactly is this tantric practise anyway? I kind of missed the boat on that trend when I was busy breastfeeding babies and wiping toddler butts. I was way too lazy to google it but he said some kind of thing couples did instead of boning without touching each other. I know right? SOUNDS LIKE SOMETHING VEGANS WOULD DO TO AVOID GETTING GREASY. I fell asleep just thinking about it.
So this morning I woke up all refreshed and ready to start a new day of same old repressed sexual energy coursing through all my chakras and busting at the seams as per usual, I decided to google this tantric tomfoolery. I got to the wiki page which defines tantra as “an Asian tradition of beliefs and meditation and ritual practices that seeks to channel the divine energy of the macrocosm or godhead into the human microcosm in order to attain siddhis and moksha.” Yeah, okay, so where does Sting and his 7-hour boner come into it?
Well, scrolling further down the pages of Google I found out that apparently channelling all your sexual energy and letting it simmer and steep rather than explode in the normal 3 minutes or less, let’s not kid ourselves, actually heightens intimacy! Longer is better, yo! Of course, this is only useful if you have a partner but between you and me, show me a couple practising the tantra and I will show you an exercise in full blown mind numbing boredom. All that staring and breathing and intertwining without penetration is unsustainable. Dollars for donuts one of you is thinking about renovating the kitchen and the other is contemplating murder. You know I’m right.
Anyway, you actually don’t really need a partner to practice tantric energy. It turns out I’ve been doing this all along in every day situations, I just did not know what it was. I liked this 4 easy steps guide and modified it for every day people who are single or enjoy vegan cheese:
1. Design and “Intimacy Space.” I think this is super important. In my opinion, your whole home should be a place that is a haven from the rest of the world, whether you bone in it or not. Once in a while I will go to a friend’s house with whom drinking shots out of each other’s belly buttons turned into an invitation for wine and cheese and bread and I walk into their crib and I think: “Who the fuck lives here, your grandma?” And yes, once this guy actually did live with his grandma but what I mean is don’t decorate your house like you think it should be like, all pristine and with a couch that looks like it’s wearing a back brace accessorized with cushions that have decorative beadwork and feathers that you can’t drool on. You should be able to fuck recklessly on every piece of furniture in your space or at least practice twerking on every piece of furniture in your space. Otherwise what is the point of “home?” Or intimacy, especially, if you have a piece of furniture called a hutch or curiosity cabinet filled with Royal Doulton figurines. Boner killer. Tantric panic button.
2. Breathe Each Other’s Breath. What? I don’t want to do this with anybody either. One person breathes out, the other breathes it in? Ugh. No. I breathe really fast and shallow cuz my heart is like hummingbird and I don’t want to know what someone else had for lunch, breakfast, or how many creams in their coffee, this is a mess. I modified this tantric energy exercise though for normal people with boundaries. I like to spin with my one of my best buddies, JHo. We park ourselves on bikes side by side and she’ll all dressed to go, full of piss and Balsamic vinaigrette and ready hit the 20 mark, and I’m like, slow mo, no, Ho, I don’t go 20 but she is YES, BITCH! Put it on 20! So I put it on 21 just to be the top in our symbiotic energy flow system. I also match my pedal stroke to hers and we to ride stupid songs like “Shut Up and Dance,” we both feel the hatred together which binds us as one sweaty unit. I breathe, and I’m pretty sure she is breathing. We’re 2 feet apart,with the fan blowing, sucking on each other’s oxygen waste, but not on purpose. Good enough, tantric task master! Xoxoxoxoxox, JHo!
3. Keep Your Eyes Open. This means you need to gaze into each other’s eyes and let the energy flow through one another. Again, no. Last time I locked eyes with a dude in an intimate moment, he took it as a signal to put his hands around my throat and throttle away just enough for me to stop that shit and knuckle punch him in his Lumberjerkoff beard. Who knew this was a commonplace hipster sex move? I did not! And! as a consequence I’m still apprehensive about venturing west of the Don Valley. If ever I had a proper dude for staring all soulfully and tantra-like eyes to eyes, I would probably make sure we were both wearing those Bioré pores strips across the bridge of our noses so we wouldn’t get distracted counting each other’s blackheads. Until this happens, I sometimes lay on my back with Betty the dog on my chest and she and I gaze into each other’s souls while I pet her soft furry head. Her big black eyes are so attentive and she looks at me like she thinks I’m pretty, it’s as though we are connected with tantric energy in the purest form. This is what we are thinking:
Me: “Oh, Betty, you are such and exquisite little animal. I love you so much, I want to squeeze you until all the cute comes out, you are so scrumptious, I want to eat you up!”(I am such a carnivore)
Betty: “Cheese, bitch.”
4. Take It Slow. Tinder fuckboys, take note, this makes sense. Tantric is all about foreplay even if it means grossing each other out and boring each other senseless with the breathing and staring but! there is definitely something to be said about taking your time and letting it all build up when there is mutual attraction. Like going on an actual date for dinner and drinks, then another date some other time where you do something “fun” like indoor rock climbing or mini golf, all devised to check out how the ass moves so you can decide whether or not book a third date, which is the crucial one. Unless of course, on that first date, you’re both so hot for each other, you lock eyes, growl or snort, and you can barely make it to the bathroom where you mash it out in there. Fuck that tantric bullshit, that’s the stuff that’s makes for real cheese. Just wait for it.
Enjoy the full moon, y’all!
art of modern living 