| Things I don't need in my life -- Part 267 |
[Oct. 10th, 2009|06:59 pm] |
Arranging a dildo party.
A friend of mine just called me. Apparently her new part-time job is selling stuff at the equivalent of the long-since* out-of-fashion** tupperware parties. Only with dildos.
And she wants me to have one. At my place. (This would be half as bad if I wasn't living in a roomshare with paper-thin walls. And with perpetually-dazed hippie boys, who'd probably enjoy an invasion of giggling hipster/metaller/geek/yuppie (yes, I have an eclectic taste in friends) girls about as much as the other way around.)
See, while I can vaguely understand wanting to share your hobbies with like-minded people, even if you happen to be a boring housewife with no hobbies besides the latest kitchen supplies, I think I must draw the line at masturbatory practices. Seriously, I do not want to know what size/colour/shape dildos my friends prefer, and most importantly, I don't want them to know that about me. My friends are largely the people I share hobbies with (fantasy/RPGs, movies, music, horses), or who went to school with me and sort of stuck around out of habit. I'll happily discuss sex with most of them, no problem, it's, in fact, a major topic of conversation.*** But gritty details? NO, THANKS! TMI! DO NOT WANT! It's fine as long as it's hypothetical. For example, I can appreciate venting frustration about being single, sharing the sentiment that we'd all like to fuck Johnny Depp,**** or comfort someone about the fact that her boyfriend is a bore in bed, or debate about which BDSM practices we would be interested in trying, but I do honestly not want to know what anyone rams into their vagina (or elsewhere) on a nightly basis in lucid detail.***** It took me years of my adolescence to train myself out of a sexual interest in my friends. It was hard work. Don't undo it.
And I'm not the only problem. I think they'd feel the same. Knowing them, I have exactly three friends who would enjoy that sort of party. 1) the one who came up with the idea, 2) the absolute and utter pervert who is kind of embarrassing to take somewhere public because she'll never ever shut up about the TMI, even if it's horrid details, and 3) the friend I can talk about absolutely everything with without much shame on either side, even though we are never of the same opinion on anything at all, but who is very tolerant and, while prudish to the extreme herself, tends to view other people's deviance with a sort of endearing, almost scientific curiosity I can't help but find entertaining.
All in all, I'm just not comfortable oversharing with my friends. With the exception of aforementioned three, they are just not that kind of friends. (Which I think is part of the problem: the friend whose idea that was is not part of any of my other groups of friends. She doesn't know I relate to them differently than I do to her.) And anyway, oversharing is what I have the internet for. At least people here largely understand and share my particular brands of perversion.
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* At least as far as I know... the last one in my family happened some time in the 1990s. I don't think anyone in my age group has had the horrid idea to have one yet.
** And good riddance!
*** At least it's that way with about half my circle of friends. The other half are hopeless prudes, which is why the idea of talking to them about sex in even the vaguest allusions is somewhat mortifying. In fact, I'd rather go see the dentist for an hour.
**** I'm not a sociologist, but I strongly suspect celebrity crushes are to a large degree about the female bonding that happens over them.
***** Also, again, I even less want them to know that about me. My friend's think I'm freaky enough as it is. There is absolutely no need to confirm this and/or make it worse.
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See, after that call, I imagined that dildo party actually happening, and was torn between bone-deep horror (Forget Chthulhu! There's the Eldritch Dildo to fear!) and hysteric giggling, but the writing of one LJ entry later, I can finally appreciate the absurd hilarity of it all. (Note for posterity: In the unlikely case anyone ever makes a movie about my life, I want to be played by a genderbent Rowan Atkinson.) Now I'm almost tempted to write a circular mail to my entire address list (yes, the boys too -- I encourage equal opportunity embarrassment squick suffering whenever possible) and invite them, if only to imagine their O_o and D-:> faces and get their sputtering replies. (It would have the added benefit that I could forward those replies to said friend to dissuade her from further attempts.) So, thanks, LJ. And Internet, I love you. For very special definitions of the word, you're keeping me sane. |
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cranky
bemused 
sleepy