Thursday, February 19, 2009
Book Review Thursday - Female Ejaculation and the G Spot
Female Ejaculation and the G Spot, by Deborah Sundahl. Save yourself some heartache and add rubber sheets to your Amazon order when you buy this book. Part fantasy fodder and part what you really hoped to learn in Sex Ed, this book deserves a place in every woman's collection. Leave it out so your partner can find it "accidentally." ISBN-13: 9781904132387 amazon.com
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Long Weekends Create Long Tuesdays
The smell of books is what keeps me going on long days like today. Not exactly musty and not exactly crisp, the paper of a book takes on some of the character from the place where it is stored. For instance, our periodicals reading room has changed over the years. At one point it smelled of cheap pulp and rubber bands. Now it houses computers for online exploration, so it smells like sweat and hot dust.
My favorite area of the library, as far as smells go, is the pseudo-corridor between the children's section and the sports section. The children smell sweet, of course, and the sports section smells rancid. The only people who frequent the 790s on most days are adolescent boys with overactive sweat glands and the local newspaper's sports writer. He wants so badly to be punished that he leers at me between the shelves. But the sweet and the rancid combine ( in a manner not unlike Chanel No.22) in that corridor. The space is truly just the empty shelves between sections where the breath of the building somehow ebbs and flows.
If you catch that certain square meter of space at just the right moment it smells fantastic. Like innocence in the process of becoming. Not being the patient sort, I find reasons to visit there much too often. Sometimes I catch that fleeting scent, but I usually just reminisce.
My favorite area of the library, as far as smells go, is the pseudo-corridor between the children's section and the sports section. The children smell sweet, of course, and the sports section smells rancid. The only people who frequent the 790s on most days are adolescent boys with overactive sweat glands and the local newspaper's sports writer. He wants so badly to be punished that he leers at me between the shelves. But the sweet and the rancid combine ( in a manner not unlike Chanel No.22) in that corridor. The space is truly just the empty shelves between sections where the breath of the building somehow ebbs and flows.
If you catch that certain square meter of space at just the right moment it smells fantastic. Like innocence in the process of becoming. Not being the patient sort, I find reasons to visit there much too often. Sometimes I catch that fleeting scent, but I usually just reminisce.
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