Scene one

FADE IN:

INT. HOTEL ROOM – DAY

NAKED GIRL sprawled on the hotel bed, arches her back and stretches her arms above her head. Sheets and coverlet hang off the bed, condom wrappers litter the floor strewn with clothes and wigs. NAKED BOY casually inspects the ice bucket on top of the television set.

NAKED GIRL

I wonder if all lapsed Catholic girls scream out “Jesus!” during sex like I do.

She rises from the bed to check her phone on the desk.

NAKED BOY

It’s okay.

He turns to face her, blue eyes twinkling.

NAKED BOY

Even if it IS some other guy’s name.

Not a hotel bed and not naked but close enough. ©Selina Renfrow 2011

To tweet or not to tweet

My mouth tastes like cock.

That’s what I wanted to tweet last night. But because I no longer tweet as selina_jezebel nor are my tweets protected, I decided against tweeting that statement. Too many work colleagues, bosses and respected followers to make an announcement like that.

But it was true.

I recently took the Myers-Briggs test to figure out my personality type. Turns out I am Extraverted Sensing Feeling Perceiving (ESFP). I read one personality description that said ESFPs, also known as the Performer, “are open to trying almost anything that promises them a good time, not always giving enough thought to the consequences.”

Ha. Yeah… that’s definitely me. My actions last night support that statement quite well.

Not tweeting was smart. But now I’m writing about it so that cancels that forethought out. However, “performers are incurably optimistic – ‘always look on the bright side,’ is their motto.”

So rather than saying “bad girl Selina”, can we just say “fuck yeah, rockstar”?

© David Bell 2010 I didn't wear lipstick last night.

Farewell

While this likely doesn’t come as a surprise (as I don’t post much any more), I am officially ending the Jaunty Jezebel blog. It feels like an official announcement needs to be made as the Jaunty Jezebel persona has been tied to my own personality quite strongly for the past two years; ending this blog (former column) means I have to leave that persona behind and no longer be identified by it.

It’s been a very educational and entertaining past two years writing this blog. But it hasn’t been easy. The nature of this blog is very personal and because of that I have to draw the line somewhere and keep some part of my life private so that I can grow. Basically, I feel very narcissistic writing this blog and writing about the same mistakes that I continuously make is boring me (and it’s depressing). I will continue to write as surely as I will continue to make mistakes but it’s about time I stop making the same mistakes and laughing about them with others.

I hope you have enjoyed reading about my escapades, I hope you learned something.

Thank you.

I never realized how much this photo sums me up. I can be an exhibitionist, but I'll hide behind the camera. I'm a dreamer (fantasy books). And while I don't look like a mother and I certainly don't act like one, I am (it's too dark to see but the framed picture in the corner is of me and Cianna at 2 days old). She's the love of my life.

No regrets… ha!

Naturally, I have many regrets. And being raised Catholic, I feel guilty often about this. Most of the time I don’t have to worry about running into my regrets. Obviously if I regret it, it wasn’t meant to be and we have gone our separate ways willingly.

Sometimes I do. And because they happen somewhat frequently the awkwardness and embarrassment brings up the regret and sadness, though I try my best to brush it off.

In the last year or so I’ve had three regrets but each are unique as the individual involved. Time has smoothed over two of them. One hasn’t.

Every time I see him, I’m always surprised. I really shouldn’t be, clearly he socializes in similar circles. But every time I do I get flustered like a school girl with a crush. My next move is to plan to avoid him seeing me. If I have to pass him by, I look the other way. If he’s sitting with people I know, I won’t approach. However, on some instances, he’ll spot me first, or we’ll notice each other at the same time. I’m sure I blush as I dart my gaze away. He always looks so crestfallen.

Why is it so awkward? I suppose the whole situation was awkward to begin with. And end with. And the after a day later. But I suppose the biggest thing that stands out with this regret is the look. The look of disappointment every time I see him see me. It was supposed to be a textbook one night stand. I didn’t even want his number. I didn’t care I didn’t know him. I was safe and I went home. But he asked for my number as I scrambled to find my clothes and catch a cab to get home early Thursday morning. I was probably still drunk so blurting out “Really?” was probably unkind. No, I didn’t give him a fake number. A day later I ran into him at the same bar I met him. I was there with someone else. He smiled at me when I saw him, I smiled and turned away quickly. Then, in a mean spirited move, I told my “date” (while I had also recently met this guy, I was very open and honest with him off the bat) about the situation. In a not so nice move, he offered to glare at my regret, pretending to be a jealous boyfriend – up the awkwardness. I gave him the go ahead. It’s so easy to be mean and play silly little games.

So now I’m stuck running into him every once in awhile and reliving the awkwardness and embarrassment each and every time. Maybe if I talk to him like nothing ever happened the awkwardness will go away (one time I did approach a friend without noticing whom she was talking to – I ended up chatting with him, rather awkwardly, but not too bad) and time will smooth it out. But I’ll always regret it.

I don’t need no rejuvenation

I’ve finally started watching the first season of Californication – the Showtime series where Hank Moody (David Duchovny) fucks any pretty woman that crosses his path from the 16-year-old in the book store (he didn’t know she was 16) to the anal porn star in the car next to his at a red light.

Only three episodes in and I’m a little disturbed by the few women who have disrobed in front of Hank and asked him his honest opinion of their naked body. While I understand their insecurities – every woman has them (as do men as well), I was completely repulsed by the porn star mother.

First, asking a random guy’s opinion of your body before you have sex with him is a turn off. He’s there, he’s not about to leave as soon as he sees you naked. While everyone wants to fuck a perfect body, everyone knows full well we all have flaws. She first asks him his opinion of her breasts. They’re real, they sag a bit – but we learn she’s the mother of a baby girl, so it’s expected. Still, by all accounts, they are fine. And Hank says so. Then she asks about her lips. Not the ones on her face. She mentions she’s considering vaginal rejuvenation. Having barely seen them yet, Hank insists they look fine. And then he doesn’t get to see them because as soon as he hears the baby crying in the next room, he makes a hasty exit.

I was completely disgusted by this scene. The blond was pretty enough but as she asked this total stranger for his opinion she became repulsive. Nasty.

Then today, I was scrolling through the Globe and Mail site and found this: Designer vaginas by Jill Mahoney. The article is five years old and was re-posted last year but recently in the top 10 most viewed Life stories. I suppose with the advancement of medical technology there is little plastic surgery can’t do to enhance our appearance cosmetically. But the question around plastic surgery is always: just because we can, should we?

Never having had a perfect body, but always been considered pretty/beautiful/hot/thin/too skinny (plus modeling for seven years), I’m all too aware of the insecurities surrounding body image. Not too mention, I gave birth four years ago – the biggest change to my body ever. Before and after birth I’ve considered implants. However, it’s not a priority. It’s more of a “one day I will” thing. Anyway, I want to get laser eye surgery first – far more practical and important than perfect breasts. Vaginal rejuvenation? I can’t say I’d ever drop the cash for that.

While there seems to be minimal risks – the reason for rejuvenation is purely for better sex for both men and women. A recent Journal of Sexual Medicine study reported that the surgeries weren’t performed to correct abnormalities but to modify vaginas and vulvas to enhance sexual experience. While better sex is always, well, better, I’m reluctant to mess with what I was born with. Plus, I have no complaints when it comes to sex. Sure, I know I’m not the best, but surgery as a way to improve? I’d rather go with more experience. I’d rather improve my overall health through exercise and healthy eating as a way to have better sex. No amount of exercise is going to change my eye sight or the shape of my breasts. Experience, stamina and a healthy body type can never hurt your sex life. Plus it’s good for you overall.

Now, if I just wasn’t so lazy…

A first

When it comes to writing a sex blog I face two major challenges every day. Number one is common to any blog/column: coming up with column ideas.

The second challenge is unique to my blog. How much information do I share? The blog isn’t anonymous, people that read it/follow it are generally people I know, people who are in my life and know the people in my life, so when I write about what’s going on in my life, it’s far more personal and intimate than your average blog.

This second challenge has stunted many of the ideas that got past the first challenge – not that I’m using that as an excuse for the lack of posts. I’m busy and lazy. Plus my life is complicated.

Anyway, this is all to let you know that the following information I am about to share is very personal to me. Obviously anything about sex is, but this more so because it’s a first.

As some of you may know my virginity story is not so storybook/movie-like. Nor is it a common tale of teenage experimentation. I was 18. He was 25. Met him at Cherry Lounge (remember that place!?) when he was filming a performance/show for MTV Canada. Delta hotel. His DJ was banging a chick in the bed next to us. The best part of it was Conan O’Brien was on and Sylvester Stallone was the guest. I’ve always wanted to go on Conan’s show and tell him about that (not sure what I would be on the show for…). I lost my virginity to a Canadian one hit wonder while watching Conan O’Brien. Yay me.

My romanticized version of my first time involves being with someone who if I wasn’t in a long term relationship with or in love, it would be at least someone who I trusted and was comfortable with. Someone who I knew well enough that it wouldn’t be weird and awkward later.

I imagined it would be a build up. You know, we’ll talk about it first sort of thing, get used to the idea. When the time came, I would be okay with it because I’ve known this time was coming for awhile. There’d be alcohol involved to get past some nerves. Maybe a few jokes, you know. Fingers would be used to explore the way. And then slowly it would begin. There’d be sharp intakes of breath, the occasional “are you okay?”, “are you sure?” and the breathless reply “yes” even if there is some doubt, pain and hesitation. The time has finally come, you’re not going to back out now. And just like the build up to it actually happening the pace would increase, the sharp breaths would become moans, the questions would cease as it became apparent that yes it was okay and yes I was sure. At one point it would become a little too much and I’d say stop. We’d take a break, smoke, talk. But not content to leave it at that, we’d try again, this time with a bottle of Astroglide nearby. The second attempt would be better, pleasure would be discovered, new positions would be explored.

In the aftermath of such intimacy and alcohol the conversation would be open and honest, thoughts would be shared. Finally content, tired, we’d fall asleep next to each other.

And that is what my first time taking it in the ass was like.

JJ’s back.

When your personal life sucks, your art flourishes.

That’s me paraphrasing something I’ve heard before and talked about recently. The conversation arose while on a platonic date with a past partner as we were discussing balancing relationships with what we do. Unfortunately, my “full-time research assistant” recently quit his position. And while this saddens and upsets me, it’s probably the best thing for the blog (not necessarily for me).

Who am I kidding, it is the best thing for the blog – I’m blogging now when I haven’t in months, all because as soon as it was confirmed he indeed left the position (there was some uncertainty there – hampered by copious amounts of alcohol) it began to rain. And just to throw another cliché in here – when it rains, it pours. And I’m soaked in the best way possible.

It’s good to be back.

Not quite sex related…

I finally blog and it has nothing to do with what this column is about…

A little bit of vanity here, excuse me. I love this picture so much, I just want to share it with everyone.

MUA: Jordan Reimer

Last year I volunteered to model for Artists Within Make Up School. At the end of every semester the students have to come up with a look/concept and do the make up of a model. They have hairstylists to do the hair and a photographer to shoot. They are also to style the model with their own stuff or borrow the school’s. When I went I first sat down with one student and then ran into my friend Jordan. My short hair and slightly darker skin tone throw most people off so my first student gladly switched with Jordan.

Thankfully Jordan wanted to do an Edie Sedgwick inspired shoot. He had the tights, white shirt and two sets of fake eyelashes. It was a great day and I’m very happy with how the shots turned out. My favorite.

To make it somewhat sex related… doesn’t it look like I just rolled out of bed, put on the guy’s shirt and went for a smoke and a walk?

Awesome safe sex ad.

I was going through my Twitter followers and found @casualencounters. This blog is awesome. You should check it. http://casualencounters.com/blog/

And watch this video they posted. So great.

http://casualencounters.com/blog/2010/01/20/no-condom-social-leprosy/

Jewelry for my vagina? Pass.

I was riding the bus the other day and as usual I was bored.  So I used my Blackberry to browse the Globe and Mail’s mobile site and I found this little gem that bemused, amused and creeped me out a bit.

Vaginas enjoy their 15 minutes of commercial fame

Zosia Bielski writes of all the new products out on shelves or online regarding lovely lady bits. I have to say I’m not interested in any [most] of it.

I can’t imagine that jewelry down there is sanitary and really what is the point? Bielski writes of Jennifer Love Hewitt vajazzling her vagina after a breakup and describing it as a disco ball but who saw the disco ball? While JLH tells George Lopez and his audience about the jewelry I doubt she brought it up in casual conversation. It was post-breakup so unless she was getting rebound sex her partner wasn’t seeing it. Maybe it’s comfortable. Maybe it doesn’t catch on your underwear. Maybe you don’t even notice it – but then what’s the point?

I wax for a few reasons. One is modeling. Not that I’m modeling Brazilian waxes, but in case I’m wearing anything skimpy it’s a good idea to be hairless. Even if I’m not, I’m undressing in front of others off stage/behind-the-scenes so you just want to look presentable. Another is swimming. And frankly, I like it. It’s practical. There’s a point to it. Just like there is a point to wearing a thong some days (under tight fitting clothes) and booty shorts other days (with skirts or dresses).

As for Vulvalovelovely.com - it’s actually not that bad. I can’t see myself wearing a vulva shaped pendant around town but I wouldn’t mind having it as a little ornament in my room. The site and shop (on Etsy.com) is respectful and dedicated to loving your lady bits and recognizing that those parts are as beautiful as the rest of you. I can see myself buying a pendant when my daughter is a young teen going through puberty to help explain everything and appreciate becoming a woman.

But Vulva ORIGINAL? Ewwwww!

I do not care if men love the scent and any who say no are lying as the founder is quoted as saying. Get an effin’ girlfriend and go down on her if you want to smell it. Some women like the taste of their partner’s semen, but you don’t see them bottling it up as snack now do you? (Oh I am so grossing myself out right now.)

I’m not sure what to think of My New Pink Button. Do I care about the colour down there? Ummm…. nope.

What’s the point of beautifying your vagina when it’s fine the way it is?