Vibrator = Hysterically, No Hysteria…

 

I’ve had an awful week. It did get better and yes, I am going to talk about sex toys, but first I’m going to have a little whinge. So, nerr.

It was so very awful at the beginning of the week that the pose I adopted for the whole of Monday was somewhat reminiscent of Cameron in “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off”, after he crashes the Ferarri; lying prone on the couch under a blanket with my eyes closed.

What was wrong? Oh, nothing I’d want to bore you with. Things were either going wrong, had gone wrong or were (in my mind) about to go wrong. You know how it is.

Interpersonal strife does my head in.

I also thought my cat had cancer. On Sunday night I discovered a huge lump that appeared to be growing out of his ribcage. I was (internally) quite beside myself. I love my cat. On Monday I took him to the vet:

“Who do we have here?”

“This is Bilbo”

“Hello Bilbo. My, aren’t you a big boy? What seems to be wrong with Bilbo?”

“He has a big lump on his chest. It’s really big. It’s internal, not on his skin”

“Ok, let’s have a look, shall we? Where is it exactly?”

[points]

“Here.”

“That’s his sternum.”

“Oh.”

[barely concealed smirk from the vet type person]

“I can still take an x-ray if you like.”

“Um, no thanks. I’ll be going now…”

So, there we have the latest addition to Vanessa’s Omnibus of Embarrassing Moments. I mean, I might as well have gone to the doctor and said “I’ve got a lump growing out of my foot”, to be told, “That’s your toe.”

Well, on the bright side, my cat doesn’t have cancer. Big huggles to Firm, who has not been so fortunate this week… :(

Today, I feel pretty good. Everything is sorted and working well. Nobody is pissed off with anybody anymore and all is well in the world. Amazing how things can turn around.

So, as is my wont, I celebrated with a bit of retail therapy.

And what did I buy?

Vibrators.

Plural.

I thought it was time I updated my collection. One of my old favourites (a bullet for those playing at home – mine was the blue one) died recently and it was definitely time to find a replacement. I didn’t want to buy another bullet, because I had, at times, found it a little difficult to keep hold of, as many women who have owned one may understand. Something with a bit more of a handle was in order.

I usually buy such implements in person at a chain of adult stores here in the city. They are staffed by women and everytime I shop there, I end up having a blast with the girl behind the counter. Vibrators, boxes and batteries strewn everywhere, because they don’t at all mind removing items from their packaging and handing them to you for a test run. Hah! I’m not kidding, although the testing tends to be more on the fingers and tip of the nose than anywhere else. I also think it’s quite fun to observe the men skulking around the dvd section, obviously quite intimidated by two women talking quite openly about their preferences in regards to the inclusion of pearls in a vibrator, or which stimulator provides more bang for your buck…

This time, for something different, I decided to surf the range of Australian adult stores online. It took me an entire evening and I almost gave up at one point because the range was so enormous I just about ran out of steam, until I noticed at one particular site that there were…. free gifts! Woohoo! I ended up buying not one, but three vibrators… and the free gift makes four. Go me!

I guess the free gift kind of makes up for the fact that my package didn’t arrive today. Which means that I have to wait until after the weekend. Which kinda sucks because I was going to take an abstract photo of my purchases to show you. So much for Overnight Express. Oh, well. Use your imagination. ;)

So, whilst we’re on the subject, I thought I’d give a quick dissertation on the history of the vibrator. I’m sure most of you know that they’ve been around for a very, very long time and were orignally used to treat what was known as “Hysteria” in women. That is, sexual arousal and PMS (often go hand in hand – at least they do for me).

I saw a great little Australian doco on SBS a couple of weeks ago called Turn Me On: The History Of The Vibrator. You can watch it for yourself by clicking on the link – it’s only 17 minutes long, (I’m really taken with the music they used for the soundtrack, heh), but if you can’t be bothered watching it, I’ll relay a few interesting facts I gleaned from this short, yet very informative documentary.

  • The Hysterical Paroxysm – better known now as the orgasm, was the temporary cure, or preferred outcome of the disease called Hysteria, which was caused by sexual deprivation in passionate women. Nun’s seemed to suffer from it a lot… And they talk about blue balls! In 200AD, it was recommended by the ancient Greek physcian Galen that massaging the genitals be used as a treatment for Hysteria. This was a strictly medical condition.
  • Doctors only, were qualified to “treat” Hysteria until the early 20th century. Women were not to treat themselves, as masturbation was considered evil. Sex was solely considered to be penile penetration of a woman, by a man.
  • Vibration was considered very useful to create the “Paroxysm” by the medical profession. Before electricity, doctors used enormous steam powered vibrators, pedal driven models (terribly tiring for the poor fellow), then came the handle powered models, which looked disturbingly like a manual drill.

This is one version that is not so much like a drill…, but still what a chore!
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Those poor doctors…

Here is an air compressed model from the late 19th century:
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Interesting attachments, no? Already looking vaguely familiar, yet still horribly speculum-like…

  • The invent of the electric vibrator was a boon for doctors. They were overjoyed. If a doctor had an electronic vibrator, they could have women in and out of the surgery within about 10 minutes, thereby quadrupling their profit margin. It was a revolving door situation with women you see, because they were never able to be cured, due to the nature of the “disease”…

Here is a 1906 version of an electric vibrator. It’s not the famous Veedee vibrator, which bore a frightening resemblance to a circular sander, but it still has that drill appeal:
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A bit bloody scary looking if you ask me…. Anyone up for a good drilling? Or a Paroxysm, perhaps?

  • Advertisements for all these apparatus appeared in women’s magazines all over the world. Needlework magazines, journals, you name it. Doctors were treating women for Hysteria up until the 1920’s. It wasn’t until the 1950’s that Hysteria was written out of medical journals as being an official “disease”.

Here is an early battery operated vibrator, circa 1950’s (minus the various attachments). Of course it was marketed to smooth out those pesky facial wrinkles…
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  • During the documentary, an interesting modern-day observation was added by a middle-aged male gynaecologist: “A woman who has never climaxed is extremely unlikely to climax with anything but a proper vibrator.” Personally, I wouldn’t know, but it seems likely in many cases. I found my way to it in my mid-teens…

Are you vibrated beyond all recognition now? I would be if I were you. If it took you .001% of the time to read it as it took me to put this together, I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to lay eyes on another vibrator….. Bloody fiddly blogs.

‘Ave a bonza weekend, my sweet things… and indulge yourself, if you will…

Thanks to Vibrator Museum for the photos…

Oh, and happy first day of winter to my fellow southern hemisphere dwellers…:)

 

Song Of The Day – Frank Zappa – Dynamo Hum

Extreme Splerkiness!

I’m back!  Yay!

The Monster From Green Hell has left my body for the forseeable future.

It’s been an expensive week:

  1. 7 days of lost productivity in the workplace, between the co-habiter and I.
  2. $270 to replace a door tarnished by a fist sized hole.

It wasn’t my fist that made the hole, and only two days off work for me. The hole and the other five days were caused by the co-habiter losing his voice from sheer force of YELLING.   Not so helpful when he reads the news on the radio for a living.

I take part responsibility, but men will never learn to not answer back when faced with a very pissed off woman on a hormonal spin….Especially when she has a valid point.

For what it’s worth, I’ve taken myself off the progesterone-only contraceptive pill I’ve been on for some time.  It makes no difference as far as contraception goes (make of that what you will), I was just taking it to bring my abherrant hormones into line.  Mind you, I was never tested to make sure that was what I needed….

I’m thinking it wasnt.

I stopped taking them two days ago and I’m back to my normal, calm, relatively cheery self.

It has been hell.

I humbly apologise to anyone I’ve pissed off or made even slightly uncomfortable in the past week.   Although it’s a backhanded apology, because I really couldn’t help it.

I have to tell you, I’m a bit more than over having adverse reactions to drugs.  So far this year it’s been the antidepressants, a nasty reaction to some antibiotics and now this.  I think I have no tolerance to pharmaceutical concoctions after 5 years of poisoning…

We shall see.

A huge thankyou and massive HUGS to the glorious Ranna for her words of wisdom and love during this time.  It was very lonely on my end, and I owe you a message and a whole lot more.  You were there for me in a very, very bad time.  You’re a special woman and I’m so happy to call you my friend…

NEXT!

My best friend lives on the other side of Australia.  Doesn’t that suck?  Her name is Jules.   

Jules also had a bad week.  

I was supposed to find her a box of Bex today (as a joke) whilst I was out shopping, but due to the sheer volume of stuff I had to buy for other people (I should have written it down), it slipped my mind.   Sorry babe.   I’ll try and remember next time, if you don’t get to Woolies first…

Jules and I are both trying to drop a few kilos and due to the week’s state of affairs, she confessed to me she had some choc chip muffins in her cupboard.   My response, (after offering her icecream) was to not eat said muffins because they are EVIL IN SPONGY CAKE FORM.

Next thing I know, I get this in my inbox:

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I love that girl…

And if I could afford it, I’d buy her one of these:

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Courtesy: Sexoteric 

Instructions: After turning dial to required setting, turn on and sit with legs out front. 

Humm…. I do have a couple of outstanding loads of washing pending…..

Psst, girls:   You can tell it was designed by a man, can’t you?

****************

Yah, this is a long one (long what?), but I did promise a couple of people a demonstration of my seemingly infamous “splerky dance”.

Some have an innate understanding, some are a little puzzled.

The “splerky dance” is what happens when someone calls to tell you there is no point coming into school/work today because it’s too bloody hot/cold outside, or when you find a package on your doorstep.

I’m sure you’ll understand: (and if you scroll down really quickly, it’s like a flick book..)

splerky-1.jpg

Step One:  Orrhhmigod!!

splerky-2.jpg

Step Two:  YAY!!!!!

splerky-3.jpg

Step Three:  It’s tricky to balance on one heel…(careful if you’re on tiles)

splerky-4.jpg

Step Four: Fling yourself about like you just don’t care….

splerky-5.jpg

Step Five:  Repeat step two and end with a big “YAHHH!!!”

 

To Firm:  Insert toiletries at appropriate um… moments.

Was there something else? 

I suspect so, but I’m too splerkied out to care….

Song Of The Day:  Bloc Party – Positive Tension

How does this still happen??

A good day was to be had….

And it was. 

Until.

Until I was spoken to like a slightly retarded person, simply for the fact I am female.

This is how it went down:

[Vanessa draws in the interesting people to talk to at the pub.  Not so much by flirting, but by sheer intelligence and personality.  There is much frivolity and good, drunken conversation taking in all subjects, especially sport.  The bartender calls last drinks and people start to say their goodbyes]

I don’t care how nonsensical this format is, I’ll try and express it the best way I can.  

It pissed me the fuck off.

Although I didn’t bitch about it until I got in the car on the way home.

To Andrew:

“We’ll be listening tomorrow.  You’re gonna talk about Squid, right? (punter’s nickname).    Oh,  sorry love, what was your name again?” [to me]

[I smile winningly with a warm handshake]

Vanessa.

They forgot my name? 

Well, that’s ok….. until…..

“Hey you’re a crack!  I like you!  For a girl!”

Excuse me, moron says what??

Apparently I was popular because I can provide intelligent discourse about sport and any number of other topics..   Well, that’s all right.  I’m a cracking bird.  No worries. 

The part that bothers me is “for a girl”.

I was happily taking part in all conversation, not thinking for a second that anyone was judging me…..

I am easily bored by feminist rhetoric, unless it affects ME.

I took it on the chin and didn’t make a scene…..

I was too shocked.  I was having such a good time…  I love male conversation, and giving my own unique, female perspective.  I love that…..

I know I’m not the same as most other girls.  I am very feminine, but I like talking about more than fucking pedicures.

Maybe I don’t get out enough.

I was offended.

“I like you.  You’re good to talk to, for a girl”

Is it wrong that I feel slighted by this? 

Which members of the suffra-sisterhood are letting me down?

I don’t think I should be a novelty.

I was treated like a second class citizen, in the nicest possible way…..

Aren’t we…

Aren’t we all PEOPLE?

For crying out loud,

Haven’t we got past this yet?