Vibrations of a Vixen

…stories from under the sheets…

Misunderstandings: Yoga and John Mayer February 10, 2010

Filed under: hypersex,ramblings — vixations @ 12:50 pm

Whenever I say, “I’m going to go to yoga,” everyone (well, mostly guys) makes weird movements with their bodies or says something like, “Yoga, eh?” and then they nudge-nudge-wink-wink me. What do men actually think we do in yoga class? Get naked and have a sweaty contortionist lovefest? First of all, you don’t have to be slutty OR flexible to do yoga. Doing yoga regularly MAKES you more flexible, and it’s EASIER to do some of the poses if you’re flexible, but not all yoga requires you to twist your body into ridiculous shapes. I mean, except for the most recent class I went to. But apparently that class was for crazy Cirque du Soleil bitches who have stomachs made out of rocks. Yea, that class wasn’t for me.

Also, not all yogis are SKINNY and HOT and GOOD IN BED. Although I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t hoping to get all three of those things out of my yoga practice. And wanna know something that’s NOT sexy about doing yoga? Queefs. Vaginal flatulence. Yes. All girls have done it. During yoga. And it’s SO FUNNY EVERY TIME. It’s the best when you’re all breathing deep and feeling the stretch and disconnecting your mind from your body and shit and then someone lets out a big fat vagina fart. And all the mature people start breathing deeper and focusing harder and all the immature people do the closed-mouth laugh that is really more like a snort and look in the direction of the queef to see if we can pinpoint which girl was a culprit this time. Besides the calming-of-my-crazy effect that yoga has, this is my favorite part of class. Except when I’m the culprit. Which I never am anymore because I’ve learned how to control my vag. In more ways that one. Yea, you wish you knew.

Then there’s John Mayer, the guitar God with the weird faces and the hot celebrity obsessions.  He’s goofy and cute. And I’ve always liked his music, especially his more funky work with the John Mayer Trio. I also heard that he might be a sex addict. Which was cool. But that’s all I ever really cared to know about the guy. Why ruin an amazing musical reputation with personal nonsense? To which John Mayer’s response apparently was, ‘Why NOT ruin it?’ with his interview for Playboy (complete with a super gay take on a hipster yearbook photo). He managed to use the words ‘n*gger,’ ‘fag,’ ‘crack cocaine,’ and ‘white-supremacist’ all in the same interview. Really, John Mayer? I thought you were an okay guy, seeing as we’re both from Connecticut and we both love sex and all. I thought you knew when enough was enough. This interview is not only NSFW, it’s NSFLife bitches.

Here are just a few of the high (I mean low) lights. My favorite part is when Playboy asked, “What if you were to google the phrase John Mayer is a douche bag?” The stories ARE true! Case in point:

  • Re: Jessica Simpson – “That girl, for me, is a drug. And drugs aren’t good for you if you do lots of them. Yeah, that girl is like crack cocaine to me…” – Oh really? Drugs aren’t good for you if you do a lot of them? Have you ever even SEEN crack cocaine? I’m pretty sure they don’t have that in Fairfield, CT. You’ll need to go to Hartford for that stuff.
  • “Have you ever been with a girl who made you want to quit the rest of your life? Did you ever say, “I want to quit my life and just fuckin’ snort you? If you charged me $10,000 to fuck you, I would start selling all my shit just to keep fucking you.” – No, John, I’ve never wanted to pay someone $10,000 just so I could snort, I mean fuck them. That’s what hookers are for. Are you saying Jessica Simpson is a hooker?? At least now we know why Nick Lachey stayed with her for so long.
  • “I’ll always be sorry that it didn’t last. In some ways I wish I could be with her. But I can’t change the fact that I need to be 32.” – Um, when did 32 become the new 21?
  • “For me, it has never been about fucking lots of girls. I could have fucked a lot more girls in my life if I hadn’t been trying so hard to get them to like me. If I have a conversation with a really hot girl that lasts all night and she says, “Wow, I had no idea I was going to like you this much,” that is the equivalent, for me, of getting laid.” Hahahahaha you’re an idiot AND a liar.
  • “I am a very…I’m just very. V-E-R-Y. And if you can’t handle very, then I’m a douche bag. But I think the world needs a little very. That’s why black people love me.” – Glad you can spell very. But can you spell douche bag? Spell with me: I-A-M-V-E-R-Y-M-U-C-H-O-F-A-D-O-U-C-H-E-B-A-G.
  • “So now I’m going to experiment with “fuck you.” In 2010 my goal is to get more mentions in Us Weekly than ever.” – AWESOME I CAN’T WAIT!
  • “My dick is sort of like a white supremacist.” – No context necessary. HE JUST SAID THAT.

And the real kicker: “I consider myself a good guy, with the best of intentions.”

Hmm, what I would give to have a guest post from John Mayer re: his extremely white cock and his addiction to ‘crack’…

Listening to: The Whitest Boy Alive – Burning


Jason Segel. Sexytime. January 26, 2010

Filed under: ramblings,there are naked pictures of me on the internet — vixations @ 2:43 pm

You may or may not remember Jason Segel’s naked ass shot in Forgetting Sarah Marshall a couple years back. If you don’t remember, you should definitely watch it. I am impressed with Jason’s large, naked, less-than-toned bod, and the fact that he’s willing to exploit it in a feature film. A lot of people made a big deal about this. Was it because he writes songs about vampires? Because he’s awkward? Or because he’s NOT Hugh Jackman or The David? I don’t need to see tight, tan, toned asses all the time. I have Google images and porn for that. What I do need once in a while, is a loose, white, kind of mushy ass. Particularly one that’s on a tall goofy man. Who is totally my type. Now I’ll know what my future soulmate’s ass is going to look like. So thank you, Jason Segel, for that vital information. Also, thank you for the head nod I got at your birthday party the other night. I love you. I want to make out with you. You should date me. I want to make out with you. I love you. Let’s make out. <- All things I actually said drunkenly at the party. Luckily, not to his actual face. Just yelled across the room. I’m not sure if the head nod was a ‘I think you’re hot, but I’m with this girl right now so you should probably shut up,’ or if it was more of a ‘You’re fucking crazy and I’m nodding at you so that you know that I think you’re funny, but that I’ll never ever date you or make out with you ever. Ever.’


The important thing is that I DIDN’T get to make out with Jason, not this time at least, but I also didn’t get beat up by the girl he was with OR any of his friends for being super obnoxious, AND I realized that Jason Segel is even more awesome than I thought.

Jason’s modesty, the Kim Kardashian sex tape, and my recent furniture debacle has really made me think about asses. And boobs. And genitalia. I understand why people don’t show their penises and vaginas all the time. They all look REALLY different, and you use them for making orgasms and babies, so they are not for everyone to see. Boobs, though? They’re funbags. Everyone has them. And they’re worthless (unless you have a child). I mean, some of ours are hairy and muscular (not mine, obviously). Some are big and perky. And some of our nipples are smaller and pointer than others. They’re still all boobs in one form or another. And asses? Come on. They all look the same. Except some are jiggly and cottage cheesy and huge and some are flat and small and others are perfectly plump and tight and tan. Whatever though. We all know what asses and boobs look like because WE ALL HAVE THEM.

So why can’t I show everyone this amazingly awesome bruise I got last night when I was rearranging the furniture in my room? Just because it’s on my ass? Bruises are sweet. And cool to look at. So here’s my ass cheek. With a huge bruise on it. You’re welcome.

This picture does not even do justice to the actually brilliant color scheme. Don’t ask how it happened. Suffice it to say, I am blonde. And I don’t care if you think it’s ugly because your ass is probably ugly too. Or perfect. But whatever I don’t care about your perfect ass. I like my white gushy cottage cheesy one. And Jason Segel would like it too.


The Pinot Experiment: Update 1 January 21, 2010

Filed under: hypersex,ramblings — vixations @ 5:22 pm

I love how ALL of my conversations with women (and most of my conversations with men) end up being about sex. I’m not a nympho or anything. Actually, now I’m not sure. I just Googled ‘nymphomaniac’ to make sure I was spelling it right, only to find that the ‘older concept of nymphomania’ has been replaced with the term ‘hypersexuality.’ Did you KNOW that?? Who decides if a concept is ‘old’ or ‘outdated’ anyway? And who said that nymphomania only applied to women? Is this right???? Apparently in males it’s called ‘satyriasis.’ Gross. I’ve never heard a single person ever say that word. Probably because it’s NOT REAL and ALL MEN are hypersexual.

Anyway, it’s clearly all relative. My sexually activities might seem super tame to some people. Probably not most people, but whatever. I don’t need to be labeled as a hypersexual. Although I kind of love this term. The way I visualize it in my head is like a severely ADHD puppy running around and sticking its red rocket in anything and everything it can find. Or a wind up toy that spins in uncontrollable circles and falls off the table and bounces off walls. Or those sex chairs that push a mechanical fake cock in and out of your vagina at ridiculous speeds. Or one of the Jersey Shore characters having sweaty fist-pumping tongue-jabbing make-out sessions with every girl in the club. Ew. Sorry about that disgusting mental image.

Aaaaanyway, I love having conversations with girls about sex. A lot of girls are really uncomfortable talking about explicit sexual things, and are even less comfortable talking about personal sexual issues, like the one I confronted in The Pinot Experiment. Apparently no one wants to talk about their vaginas. Why? Got me.

This is my favorite though: when I talk about my chronic yeast infections and someone says, “OMG I get those too!” and I get super excited because I think MAYBE, just maybe, this girl will have the cure to my itchy discomfort.

It hasn’t happened yet, but, well, this happened:

Me: I just don’t know what to do. I’m not going to be able to just use condoms for the rest of my life. I’m not even convinced that condoms are the answer.

Friend: Yea, I don’t know, that really sucks.

Me: I know. I mean am I the only one that has this problem?

Friend: No, I get them all the time!

Me: REALLY? Isn’t it so annoying? It makes no sense! I mean why do we get them so much?

Friend: Um, well…

Me: It’s like they never go away! And no one will give me anything that actually WORKS! And now I never know if I even have one or it’s just in my head! And I have no idea if boys can even TELL if I have one or not. That would be nice if they could, actually. Is there a how-to on that? But even if they knew I had one, they still can’t solve the mystery of WHY!

Friend: I mean, I don’t know why you get them. But I think I know why I get them.

Me: Really?? Well that’s probably why I get them too!

Friend: Well, I don’t know, I mean yea maybe!

Me: So why do you get them?

Friend: Well, because sometimes my boyfriend fingers my ass and then my vagina.

Me: <jaw drop> Um… <dry heave> Ahem.

That is DEFINITELY why you get them, you idiot. Didn’t ANYONE ever teach this girl to wipe from front to back? Didn’t she make the connection that the SAME RULE applies for EVERYTHING??? I mean, really. If you’re going to go in the stink (which I’m not opposed to, I just personally don’t like it), you DO NOT GO back into the pink. You just don’t. That’s called POOP going into your VAGINA. That’s called such nasty bacteria going BACK INTO YOUR BODY.

Nicole, you clearly need to teach this in your new class on How to Not Suck.

It really amazes me, even after all the stupid things I’ve done, things like this still boggle my mind. I don’t mess with actual shit. Period. It might be my only rule, but it’s an important one.

In other news, I have been diligent in getting some actual results to this experiment. I’ve only slept with one guy without a condom, so I’ll know that he’s the culprit if I do in fact get another infection. I’ll know for sure in a few days.

In other other news, I have no idea why I created a ‘Sex’ category. Clearly all these posts are about sex. Maybe I just need to change the category to ‘Hypersex’ and only tag the most ridiculously fast Energizer bunny things in there. Good idea? Yes?


Addiction: Round 2 January 12, 2010

Filed under: ramblings,relationships — vixations @ 1:01 pm

(Disclaimer: This is about as personal as it gets.)

I am concerned with my addiction. Yes, I know that addictions are always something to be concerned about. But I’m really good at blocking things out, especially when I’m worried about them. Like the gang bang. And the hot-tub-partner-swap. And the summer of 2005.

I am more concerned now, though, than ever. I assumed it was a crush. Okay, a crush with great sex. Okay, okay, a crush with great sex and great conversation. But after reading Jamie’s post on crushes, and actually thinking about this delicate anatomy, I am concerned that my crush is much more than that, and it totally freaks me out. Of course I hold my breath after texting him, counting the minutes before he texts me back. Of course I fantasize about what I would do to him if we were left alone locked away in a dark room. Of course I worry about any other girls crushing on him and figure out ways to make myself the best option he could possibly have. These are normal crushing behaviors that every girl has. These are the things that make crushing fun, and also obnoxious.

But then there are the other things. The things that may not be normal. The middle-of-the-nights when I wake up before the sun, roll over seeking his arm to hold or cheek to kiss, and am surprised when he’s not there next to me. The days when I’m at the grocery store and I buy things that aren’t on my list because I know he likes them. The times when I find myself thinking for two, not just about where I want to go or what I want to do or who I want to be in ten years, but about what he might want too.

And then I bang my head against the wall for being so completely unselfish in the time of my life where I am actually allowed to and should be the most selfish ever. And I think about the real reason for these unselfish tendencies. Am I simply being unselfish because I am an unselfish person? Hell no. I am one of the most selfish people I know. Am I being unselfish because I am in love? Because I know exactly how he takes his coffee? Because even after an entire night of sitting at the same bar talking not to each other, but to other members of the opposite sex, we still end up entangled in each other’s arms at the end of the night? Because he’s the one person that knows how hold me and how to keep me asleep for an entire night and how to handle my crazy? Because I can’t live without him?

Holy effing balls. I hope not.

As much as my heart tells me I want all that, my head tells me over and over that I’m not ready for that. Usually, my solution is to just not think about it. Block it all out and let whatever happens happen. Days and weeks and months go by. We spend hours on top of hours together. Things are great. I stop worrying. But then it happens. He stops answering my texts and calls. I convince myself that I’ve failed. I cry. I send him an email asking what happened and what did I do and why are you treating me like this?? And he says because he can’t do it anymore. Because he’s becoming too attached. Because it’s too good and why did we have to meet so young?

And so my only logical solution to this is to keep busy. Think for only one, not two. Make time for other people. Don’t fall into the whirlwind of lips and hips and fingertips. Pray that I’ll find someone else to fill my thoughts and fantasies. Hope that person isn’t as crazy as I am and knows how to handle temptation and make decisions with the head, not with the heart (or genitals…). Don’t question whether or not that person exists. He does. And he’s praying for me (and you), too.


The Anti-Resolution January 5, 2010

Filed under: ramblings — vixations @ 12:35 pm

While everyone else was posting their fabulous lists for 2010, I was busy writing about anal sex.

Maybe not the best way to start the new year?

Who cares. This is the new year. And I don’t feel any different.

I’ve noticed a lot of people resolving to do things that involve the negative, like ‘stop smoking,’ ‘have less promiscuous sex,’ and ‘don’t be so annoying all the time.’

Okay, no one actually resolved to be less annoying. Or if they did, they didn’t actually write it down. But some people really should. Like the guy that I met as I was leaving the bar 3 weeks ago who KEEPS texting AND Facebook chatting me. We met for one second. You don’t know me at all. Stop being annoying.

Making resolutions that involves the negative words like ‘don’t’ or ‘stop’ don’t work. The universe is built on the law of attraction. It doesn’t recognize positive or negative. So if you say, ‘Stop raining!’ the universe only sees the ‘raining’ part, and so it will keep raining. If you say instead, ‘Be sunny!’ it will see the ‘sunny’ part, and then be sunny.

Obviously you can’t control the weather with your mind. Or can you? Let me know. If you can, I’ll gladly move back to New York City.

In the meantime, let’s not forget about the SMART method for goal-setting. Effective goals are:

S = Specific
M = Measurable
A = Attainable
R = Realistic
T = Timely

With that in mind, here are my Seven Resolutions for 2010… because I can only handle 7 things at once… wait that sounds wrong… whatever it’s true…

1. Use condoms. Every time. (you can mail me some of these. god damnit.)

2. Take a probiotic every day.

3. Go to yoga at least once a week.

4. Eat at least 4 servings of fruits and vegetables a day.

5. Play piano at least twice a week.

6. Put that nasty-tasting clear stuff on my nails every week so they grow.

7. Make a list of no more than seven things to do each day.

I know it doesn’t seem like a lot, but I can’t change my entire life just because it’s January 1st (or in this case, January 5th). I’m starting small. And I’m endorsing this website. And I’m counting on your support. Because I obviously can’t do it alone.