LET’S TALK ABOUT SEX – but we really don’t

We talk a lot; we talk a lot about a lot of things – we pretty much talk about everything. But we don’t really talk a lot about sex, if at all. Don’t you think that’s weird in a strange kind of way? I mean sex is as natural as eating, walking, bowling and breathing – so what’s the problem? Why can’t we talk freely about sex?

Let’s see if you cringe, sweat in strange places or blush during the following: The biological side of sex is referring to sexual reproduction, which consist, among many things, from the mix of genetic traits morphing into male and female varieties by combining specialized cells, that we all know are called gametes, to create an offspring that inherit traits from both biological contributors (aka. parents). The results are based on the quality of the supplied spermatozoa and ova (I looked it up). So are you okay? Was it a rough ride? Didn’t think so – I went through it several times without even clearing my throat or blushing.

The clinical biological explanation of sex, pretty much says that a woman and a man hook up, get it on and do that sex-thing we don’t want to talk about in straight language. Though we know precisely what they are doing down to the most intimate details, we are really shy and uncomfortable talking about sex “that way” (while disturbingly realizing how much we learn about sex from movies and TV programs. Well, not exactly real sex, but at least movie and TV sex).

It’s kind of a weird moral condition as we accept statues and paintings of fully naked men and women in museums, but when I strut around downtown San Francisco in all my nudity, I get arrested (while supported loudly by applauds from onlookers, in appreciation of my physique or stupidity).

But when it’s the daily variety sex-chat that pops up, for the most part we turn hesitant, reluctant, slightly embarrassed, while scraping the ground with our left foot going: “gee shucks…” Sounds familiar? So why is it like that?

As I arrived in the USA back in 1975, my English was fair – I got around. Lying by the pool in Marina Del Rey a guy next to me pointed at this nice looking woman and told me that he really wouldn’t mind sleeping with her. What, was he some kind of pervert? But then I heard that term more often and quickly (duh) figured out that it meant “to have sex with”. So why can’t we just say that. Sure he wouldn’t mind sleeping with her at some point; afterwards - hopefully not during…

Intra-gender we talk about sex, but in terms that are not clinically accepted, but more so in slang-terms. We try to hide the fact that we are tip-toing in areas of discomfort, by seemingly being cool about it – which we are not. Straight talk about sex is iffy, at best.

I know, we substantiate this condition of non-talk by claiming that sex is very personal, as we expose emotions, feelings, open hearts, etc. and we find a gentle vulnerability that we don’t particularly want to share with anybody else. Even long-time couples and sex-partners, no matter their abilities and experiences, have a hard time chatting about the events, dissecting the course of actions, to perhaps improve and/or enhance. So they let their actions speak for themselves - hopefully.

The sad part of non-communication concerning sex is when one person has concerns about what is happening or not happening. In many cases they find it hard to express, difficult to bring up, and not only due to the uncomfortable subject matter, but also because of the emotional reaction it might create in the other participant.

Any “suggestions” might be taken as an attack of performance, so defensive could be the result of confrontation, no matter how gently the issue is presented.

It’s hard to talk about sex because of all the emotions involved and due to the deep personal experience it is for each individual person – so we decide not to talk about it much - if at all.

When our children reach the age when that sex-thing shows its interesting head, when they start to become curious and then sexually attracted to whomever, the famed “talk” must be activated. As I understand it, for the most part it’s the fathers who must clear their collective throats and forge ahead. But the forging ahead is being delayed several times (years?) so when they finally sit down with Melissa or Frank, the sex-talk goes like this:

“Well, my child, we need to talk about sex – are you okay with that?” The child looks at the father and smiles the sweetest smile.

“Yes Dad; what do you want to know?”

And the truth is, that’s pretty much how it goes these days. Neither my father nor my mother ever gave me “the talk”. What I initially learned about sex was from my pals, a totally torn up book about procreation from the school’s library, horridly crude drawings by icky classmates and a tiny bit of sex-education in class. The teacher pretty much did the pull-condom-over-banana bit and that was it. For some of the more naïve kids this was very confusing: “Peter, I nearly made out with Pam last night, but dang it, I forgot the banana…” kind of issue.

I do remember a sex-chat I had with classmates of mine in camp. I even remember who were there. It was Leif, Ellen, Ruth, Pia and I – approximately a million years ago; we must have been around 12 or something. I remember what we talked about and I recall the way we talked about it – very matter of fact and straight forward, and I even remember where and remember that I learned a lot.

In the past I was excited about scenes in movies where they went for it. My favorite was when they can’t wait (like normal people do) to get it on, so they tear their clothes off in a kind of sexy manner, push all the utensils off the butcher-block in the kitchen and off they go. I always thought that was so cool – even felt an exciting urge to buy a butcher-block to get that kind of action – duh… Of course I could have started out small, by using a simple cutting board…

But then it turned stupid and embarrassing, and though I still appreciate looking at naked bodies (to a certain extent), I move in my chair and can’t wait for it to be over. I get clinical about it, questioning the lack of foreplay in those scenes, the distinct absence of romance, respect and true concern of each partner’s experience.

But they are still doing the butcher-block thing like it’s something new. To me it’s not, only embarrassing and uncomfortable to watch – so I do what any mature adult does: cover my ears, close my eyes and do that weird sound thing.

I do understand why we are not freely letting our mouths run off about sex this and sex that – I’m okay with status quo. If we actually started to narrate sexual experiences, wouldn’t that blow the romance and a lot of the excitement out the window (or off the butcher-block)? I knew you would agree.

This said, I do strongly believe that if there are issues that are in the way of a better sexual experience as well as sexual relationship, then we MUST talk about it – (not me, of course, because I’ll be too busy blushing and going: “gee shucks”, while covering my ears)…

Till next Monday.

This is a 232 page gathering of my posts from that first year of blogging and easy to read. If you have been following these weekly posts on-line, you’ll have them all together in this handy book; how convenient is that? I have made a few adjustments, but it’s not like it’s totally different from what you can read on the blog.

So how about using this book as a present for someone, family, friends, unsuspected colleagues or even total strangers, just to make them happy, make it possible for them to improve their lives and stuff like that? Just imagine how thankful they’ll be for your consideration, your thoughts and concern; I get goose bumps just thinking about it.

I have made it a goal of selling a lot of these books. It’s not really for the money (though my lovely Mother thinks so), but it’s because I think this book has some decent suggestions, cheap laughs and giggles, and I see nothing wrong with that – do you? I knew you wouldn’t.

If you and all these family, friends and colleagues of yours want a signed copy, all you/they have to do is send me an E-Mail with their name and (postal) mailing address.

steiness@sbcglobal.net

and I’ll do the rest – what a guy.

Otherwise the book is available through amazon.com here in the USA as well as in Europe. The Kindle edition is $5.95

Paperback $12.95 (USA) + $3.95 S&H

For signed copies, contact me through my E-Mail above

Thanks for your support, interest and time – really

Peter B. Steiness

 

GIVING THANKS – but just once a year?

After hundreds of years, President Roosevelt finally signed into law, that we shall officially stuff a turkey and then our faces, every fourth Thursday in November – like forever, I think he said. Being linked to a romantic part of history and the tradition we fully embrace, this grand celebration of appreciation is rightfully called Thanksgiving. In importance, it is right up there with my birthday.

We get together with family and friends, people we love or at least like. We enjoy the extended meal; perhaps even the extended weeks of left-overs. And in between eagerly stuffing our faces, we express thanks and appreciation, not just for the food and Aunt Angela’s many hours in the kitchen – but universal thanks for everything, pretty much. But that’s where I get a bit miffed; why are we dedicating just one day a year to give thanks?

What I’m concerned, we are spoiled. Now, don’t get all huffy puffy with steam coming out your ears. In this case I use “spoiled” to describe something a tad ignorantly cute, though it is seriously an issue we should pay more attention to.

I can swing with calendar days dedicated to remembrance and acknowledgement; most of us respect those days. Veteran’s Day, Memorial Day, D-Day and so forth, with my all-time favorite: Valentine’s Day (it’s the high-calorie chocolate, of course). But do I really need this once-a-year reminder of how much I adore my wife? I acknowledge my love for her every single day, including deep respect and appreciation - thank you.

So an annual reminder of giving thanks? We are spoiled to the extent that we have so much stuff and many people to be thankful for; and we pretty much take it all for granted. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like we don’t appreciate all these things, family and friends, but shouldn’t we at least acknowledge all this joy more than just once a year? I know, you and I do it all the time – but it’s the rest out there I’m worried about…

No, I am not asking anybody to run around and verbally express gratitude and thanks every time we leave the seat down or water of your choice is running or not, as you turn the faucet thing left or right. I don’t find it necessary to send Bill Gates a thank-you note every time Windows 7 performs as it is supposed to.

But what I would like us to do more is acknowledge the thousands of daily wonders we are surrounded by, what makes it all work and who makes it all function; pay more attention to the people we love, by letting them know; and appreciate the ones who love and appreciate us; a bit more of that will improve the quality of our daily lives - don’t you agree?

We function better when encouraged – we really do. We put in a bit more energy when somebody tells us how much they appreciate our effort. Acknowledgement, being thankful and appreciation go both ways; it is as gratifying to give as it is to receive - and not just once a year.

Instead of telling our children we love them, let’s tell them why we love them. Tell your husband he still looks hot in those underwear he bought 14 years ago; he will giggle with appreciation, and still not get rid of them. Leave a bottle of wine and a card that says: “Great job” and your co-worker will feel like a million; and the list is long. And always remember, the biggest sign of appreciation, thankfulness and acknowledgment is that great smile of yours.

The list of what I appreciate cannot to any extent be crammed into just one day of thanks, no matter how much great gravy goes with it. So I try to spread it out and that helps making my life even fuller; I can highly recommend it and it doesn’t cost a dime.

The fourth Thursday every November, we celebrate Thanksgiving. But remember, giving thanks is the exciting 364 day feast that can be just as warm, rich and rewarding – and without the turkey leftovers.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

Here in the USA we celebrate a day of thanks. If interested to know a bit more about this day and its history, I published a post November 2011 that you might be interested in reading – so here’s the link:  

THANKSGIVING - and do you know why?

FROM CUTE BABIES TO CLEVER KIDS

Let’s all admit that babies are cute - and no matter the irrational side to the following, that is pretty much how we decide to make our own adorable babies. What I’m concerned, if that cute baby part doesn’t smell of conspiracy regarding the attempt to move the human race forward, I don’t know what it smells like (besides that horrific diaper odor).

ELVIRA – PART OF THE CONSPIRACY

After they pop out, grow up a bit, begin to walk and especially start talking, we belatedly acknowledge that a more rational pre-reproduction thinking should have been considered. The work involved having a child is tremendous - and the cost? OMG. Nobody told me about all this stuff; not even my Mother – but of course I never asked her, because babies are soooo bloody cute.

Role-Model is soon tattooed on our foreheads and the huge responsibility it brings along, nobody can teach us about or even make any sense of; we wouldn’t understand. We simply have to learn on the job - and what a job it is, especially when you want to do it well.

It would be easier if kids were just like “duh” for a really long time (okay, some are like that, even deep into their golden years and beyond). But we soon find that kids are so far from stupid – they are actually very smart and clever; a thing we self-proclaimed adults at times forget or might not willingly admit to; but to me from cute babies to clever kids is extremely real (and exciting).

Thinking back to the childhood of our two sons, so many fond moments pop up, they really do. When I look at pictures from back then, I often find tears rolling down my suntanned cheeks – tears of joyous remembrance (sigh). Images bring back conversations we had, the (role-model) parent constantly explaining to the child, about things and stuff, this and that, why and why-not, how and how-not – and I never used: “just because”.

I decided pre-birth to communicate with our sons, from the time they were born, the way I did and do with adults. In my evaluation, I felt that a lot of the gagga-googgoo stuff was derogatory (as in: degrading) towards the babies and kids. Now you can huff & puff and disagree, but that’s how I did it. Not as a reason why, but I was an older kind of parent at about 40 with my wife about 30.

When we got pregnant with the first one, I decided to quit my day-job and become an at-home parent (while starting a new business, also from home, at the same time, with my wife going back to work). Of the three greatest decisions I have ever made in my life, marrying my wife was the first; staying home with our first born was the second and staying home with our second son, was the third – no contest what-so-ever.

So it was the start of that on-the-job hands-on learning curve of becoming a role-model and the best parent that I could be. I quickly acknowledged the raw reality that every single situation that was new to me as a parent was new to the kid as well. So as that quickly sank in, I was much more respectful in my parenting. I wasn’t always the one being right – when I listened to the child’s opinion. But that was also okay and something I think we all respected.

There is such a refreshing honesty beaming from most kids. It can be cruel at times and as kids grow up, that cruelty can be crushing – but we must understand that at that point in their lives, they don’t know any better. We try to explain, but then we at times also forget the maturity level these kids are on, so we don’t understand why we don’t connect, when we really should know better.

They tell us the truth as they see it, and due to our beliefs, our experiences and morals, we might find that truth irrational, rude and inconsiderate; but they don’t know any better - yet. Sure there is a lot of experience missing as they are young, but I truly believe that if we as parents (role-models) acknowledge that more so than we do, standing stubbornly on how WE feel about it, not trying to understand more so how the kids feel (and would know) about it, a lot of these conflicts would be non-existing. As adults we must acknowledge this much more than we do, as we cannot (yet) expect this understanding from the kids – we really can’t.

“Elvira, you must remember that you cannot beat up on your older brother the way you did.” The father (aka: role-model) communicates to his daughter. “Now he has a bloody nose, scratches on his face and a bruised ego – why did you do that?”

“He kept calling me names and he messed up my room and was being utterly stupid and immature…” She spoke in a clear and controlled voice.

“But sweetheart, you know how we have told you so many times that we do NOT solve problems with violence; don’t you remember?”

“But Daddy, I sat him down and explained the situation so clearly to him. I told him, just what you said about “problem solving, not using violence”, and that’s when he tore off Beach Barbie’s bikini and told me she was ugly…”

“And then what?”

“I beat the crap out of him…” Elvira had a smirk plastered on her face.

“But sweetheart, you are seven years old and you should know better by now…” She interrupted her father.

“Daddy, now you are using my age in relation to knowledge and experience. As you know “age” is just a measure of time – and nothing else…” The father became slightly puzzled – and cleared his throat…

“Well, but let’s refrain from violence when solving problems, okay?” And he got up to flee the room… But Elvira had not even started.

“Daddy, you talk about not using violence when needing to solve a problem; I understand that, but can you explain to me why we have wars? Why did 625,000 die in the Civil War; all of them Americans, brothers killing brothers, fathers? The First World War with 11 million killed; Second World War with about 60 million. And why are about 13,000 here in America murdered annually? Isn’t it for the most part to solve problems? And how about suicides? About 26,000 men and 7,000 women find that to be a way to “solve” things? So where’s your logic? Why are you telling your child to refrain from problem-solving violence when that is all we see around us? I mean, turn on the TV and there you go – guns in hands, solving stuff…” Father cleared his throat.

“Do you think we can fix Beach Barbie’s bikini?”

The point is that we do want to teach our children about a better world, and we do our best – at least we try (A for effort). But at times logic clashes with reality, a reality our children let us know about – and as the kids see the bigger pictures much clearer than we give them credit for, we should all meet halfway?

No, kids shouldn’t rule the world. They will eventually, but they are not ready yet. And that’s the job we are doing, preparing them to take charge. When we acknowledge and respect wherever they are, perhaps listen to them with bigger ears, I look at a great future and not a lot of worries. Sure those babies are cute, and then they turn into clever kids – which I also find is as cute as can be; with a lot of respect, of course.

Till next Monday – listen to a kid, really; they’ll tell you the truth…

GOOD DAYS – BAD DAYS

“I’m having a really crappy day” is probably what we say more than: “I’m having a superbly wonderful day”. What I’m concerned, that’s not fair, as we no doubt have more good days than bad days; so why give bad days the extra credit? Of course we also have those days in between that are titled “average”, nothing to write home about – just, well “average”. Sounds familiar?

I was about 9, home alone and bored stiff. My father was at work and my mother out shopping or something. My brother… well, he wasn’t there to pester me; but bored I was. I sat on the lawn in the garden and violently struck some huge garden scissors into the grass and then pulled the handles apart to break up the soil. Not for any other reason than I was bored. I did it again and again and only stopped when the very sharp and pointed scissor blades were about ¼ inch into the back of my lower leg. After moments of extreme screaming relating to the horrific horror and, oh yeah, that sincere and agonizing pain, I carefully pulled the garden scissors out of my leg, which opened up a fast flow of blood, with some white tendon or muscle tissue now sticking out; but the blood was the worst. So you say: exaggerated big time in retrospect? No, it was actually worse.

I placed my dirty hand over the flow of blood and tried that way to get up the stairs and into the apartment. Every time I moved my hand to walk faster, the blood stepped up pouring out; so back the hand went to stop it.

I finally made it through the living room, the hallway and into the bathroom, still screaming in shock. My mother had told me, “always clean wounds”, which I did with additional pain. I even tried to stuff the tendon tissue bit back in with my thumb; but I did not succeed.

After some time and loss of about 7 liters of blood, it felt like, it all finally slowed down and gave me a short moment to place a huge band aid over the cut; it wouldn’t stay plastered. I tried again and again, but it didn’t help. I wiped more blood up and when fairly clean and dry, I quickly wrapped a fat roll of gauze around my leg and the wound, and though it was still bleeding through in the process, it did finally stop. I was positive it was because there was no more blood left, substantiated by my eerily white face.

As my mother was supposed to be home by bus within the hour, I limped into my room where I had a view of the bus stop from a big window. To get a better look, I pulled up the very heavy wooden blinds and secured the pull-line on the hook.

With my nose pressed flat against the window, one hand covering the gauze, blood and protruding tendon, tears in my eyes and wishing for mom to show up so bad, the 66 kilo wooden blinds suddenly came tumbling down and smashed my face into the windowsill, causing my nose to bleed, my scalp opening up and my world to fully collapse.

Now that was a really, really bad day… no matter how much my mother kissed my boo-boo; and I still have the scars to prove it. Ever had one of those days?   

In retrospect it’s good to have a day like that, because all other days shine in comparison. Luckily, that’s about as bad as any bad day I ever had, so I feel I’m lucky in that department. My crappy days, even combined do not measure up to some unfortunate people’s one single day of misfortune. I do think about that often and then I knock on wood.

When we have the option of making it a bad day or a good day, I’m sure good days win. Of course the more dramatic “bad” days are something to write home about, but, nah, I’ll stick to making my days as good as I can make them.

Good or bad days rely a lot on attitude, like what do we really want them to be. Sure bad days can suddenly pop up on a good day and screw everything up; most of the time not at our own doing.

Good days take a bit of work, but are a lot more rewarding. I know from the second I swing them legs out of bed if it’s going to be a good day or not. It will be good when I feel rested, have a schedule in line of stuff I really like to do and other factors that will make it all add up. And for the most I’m right – and that’s normally how the day progresses; mainly because I want it to – remember that “effort” thing?

Sure, crap pops up, but on a good day I do solve whatever the crap is in a more positive manner – I try not to let a good day be knocked down to a bad day. And when I think about it, making it good days is not that hard. Bad days are easy in comparison, as we just blame everything and everybody around us and then let it roll. But the reward is – well, crappy.

Average days are just that – average. We don’t put out a lot of effort to make them special; we just hang in there, do the minimum to function – and another day down the drain, compared to what we could have made of it. Just thinking about it makes me a bit sad – but more so disappointed, because it doesn’t take much to make it a bit more positive and exciting and good – really.

So, let’s look at the bigger picture: I’ve lived 23,408 days so far (that’s 66-1/2 years). Let’s just guesstimate 15,000 good days, meaning days I was happy with; and how about 6,000 average days (Yuk), which gives me 2,408 really crappy days. Okay, so these are just guesstimates, but let’s go with it, shall we?

When we normally count an off day here and there, it’s not that big of a deal – and we have plenty to take from - we think. But when we add it all up, I must accept that I have been in a really crappy mood for 6.8 years. And what a total waste of time that was and it sucks high heaven; don’t you think?

The good part is that according to the above guesstimates, I have had about 42 years of good days. Let’s not negate the fact, that “some” individuals might dispute that it could not possibly have been that many. Among those in line, but not limited to: my wife, kids, immediate family, some friends, faithful pets (I thought they were), my Mother – oh, and a few co-workers and colleagues, several employees, some teachers, a few professors here and there, past girlfriends, that jerk boss back then – well, you get the idea… But what I’m concerned, most of those years were good.

But keep looking at the numbers and think what you can actually do about it – starting today; it does make me want to tighten the happy-belt a bit, move more average and bad days into good days– are you coming with me? It takes a bit more effort, but our daily lives would be so much better – and that I’m very sure of and I think you might be as well. Want to try it out?

We already have Good Friday, so let's go for Good (just about) Every Day?

Until next Monday (which is now good…)