Clitoral Management

Photo by CarbonNYC.

"Treat it like the Clitoris!", I admonish my husband as he roughly manhandles a fragile piece of furniture he is assembling.   I realize he is not following the manual...and is using more aggressive tools than seem appropriate.

"Shit!" he exclaims, as he drives a screw in sideways, fracturing the delicate wood.  This will be another "Jerry Rigging" assembly job, patches and fixes employed before the object has ever fully come to life.

"Hmmm", I mumble, my face blanketed by an "I told you so" expression.  "Clitoris", I whisper, softly, making a gentle double mouse-click gesture to emphasize the point.

Treating something like the Clitoris is a way I typically emphasize the need to exercise gentleness when handling situations that require increased sensitivity.  He relates to this instruction due to the "sit on my knee" discussion we once had, early in our relationship, after he had numbed my lady bits with furious stimulation.  He, like many misguided blokes, mistook my apprehensive twitching, for pleasurable reactions.  To be fair, he is not the only man who has seemed at a loss for how to respectfully handle a woman's pleasure hub.  Most men approach it over zealously, much like they might attack a spot in the carpet they are trying to remove.

It is commonly held that we touch each other in a manner we prefer to be touched ourselves.  Based upon this assumption, I have surmised over the years that men must like their penises slapped silly!  I imagine myself, foot wedged upon navel, donning a set of work gloves (to protect against blistering), firmly clasping his male member, as I might a very stubborn and woody weed, grabbing and yanking and pulling until the damn thing comes!  (I get exhausted just thinking about it!)

Early in a sexual relationship, I keenly assess a new lover's general "touch" ability, monitoring for signs of excessive aggression or more desirably, an intuitive silky touch.  If he demonstrates a blind, infuriated groping, I would inwardly cringe when he reached towards my nether regions, fearful for the beating my clitoris was about to be subjected to.  My defenses would immediately trigger, and I would begin to swivel my hips away from his clumsy hands...doing anything to distract him and lead him in a different direction.  "I really get off when you fondle my knee caps!"  I would pant desperately. My mind, reluctantly yanked from sexual revere,  would be thwarted in her pleasurable meanderings, by the need to focus on self preservation.  The odds of me climaxing, despite his most ardor fueled efforts, and persistent manipulation, would move towards zero.

So let's talk frankly about our mutual friend, the Clitoris.  She is an enigma.  At once fleshy and proud, her true self is shy and hidden, preferring her nestled home behind lush, shock absorbing vulvular walls who serve to shelter her from excessive prodding (such as from relentless pounding, super-sonic vibrations, pinching or twisting).  She is twice as sensitive as the penis and inhabited by 8000 nerve endings, more than any other human body part. (See the book, Woman, by Natalie Angier)  (One might imagine that were a blind woman to learn to read Braille with her Clitoris,  it would be comparable to a sighted woman being able to see in the dark!)

Often unappreciated by the unevolved male, the Clitoris can be so sensitive that overly direct stimulation can be uncomfortable.  According to Angier (whose book is a fabulous dissection of the female body), many women tolerate more generalized attention, that is inclusive of the entire pubic mound.  The nervous system tends to modulate sensitivity based upon stimuli, and in instances of over stimulation, it will raise the threshold for feeling, essentially rendering the innocent Clit, numbed and unfeeling.  

Gentle, variety laden play, will yield much more effective results than outright poking.  You must foster trust in touch, which leads to relaxation and sexual openness.  The goal is to touch in such as way as to not distract your partner, as most women require a cerebral connection to orgasm.  If she is distracted, it will be more difficult for her to climax.  Think, trying to fall asleep in a room where every so often someone walks in and screams shrilly.  Not only will you not fall asleep, you will become inpatient and irritated.  If you go too far in your ministrations, you won't be able to pull her back, and she may very well check out of love making.

During intercourse, some amount of clitoral stimulation is often necessary for a woman to climax.  Woman who are most successful in achieving climax, including the coveted multiple orgasm, according to Angier, are fully aware of the best ways to position themselves in relation to a partner for maximal, and appropriate stimulation (girl-on-top is a favorite of these lusty mavens).  Those less likely to climax, she writes, often rely silently on their partners to practice mind reading and demonstrate masterful sexual skill.  

Sadly, many women are as ignorant about the preferences of their Clitoris as their clumsy lovers (also the name of a fun, Canadian, bluegrass band), having never explored possibilities or scenarios to seek out orgasm.  Often guilted into believing that self pleasure is shameful, these women may pass through life never experiencing the mighty "O".  If you are such a woman, please, do yourself a favor and start touching yourself right now! (unless, of course, you are at work).  To be successful, you must guide your mind into desiring the touch...not rejecting it.   Follow the sensation like an itch being delightfully scratched, and let it take over. It will gradually build to a point that you cannot, nor would you want to, back away from it, and soon you will find yourself tumbling and fully absorbed in the warm, pulsing pleasure of your body.  (What an awesome gift!)  If you become overly analytical, you will end up frustrated, and climax will remain elusive.  Let me state emphatically, THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH TOUCHING YOURSELF!   I would even suggest you bring self-touch to the sex act, most especially if your lover proves incompetent or you can't figure out how to get enough stimulation.

So you Clitoral thugs, BACK OFF!  Ask for directions for once in your life, and rely on the expert lying in bed next to you.  Mastering the mystery of this precious gem is time well invested, as it will pay dividends towards your own pleasure, motivating your partner to seek you out more often to help guide her to the summit.  Fail to, and she will turn to a trusty vibrator, and her back towards you!

Blog in Brief: Is it Safe to Go to the Movies, Mom?

Photo by whiteafrican.

"Murderers don't go to children's movies!" I blurted out, shocked that my seven year old son had just asked me if there might be a murderer at the movie theater we were headed to.  We were off to see "ParaNorman-3D" ($3Bucks) and out of the blue, he started to ask if we would be safe.  

Recovering somewhat, I added in a "don't-be-silly-tone", "There won't be a murderer at the movie theater, Honey."  I  can't believe I just said that sentence! 

"But how do you know for sure, Mom?" I watched him nervously in the rear view mirror, wondering how much this was effecting him.  I realized he was not going to let this rest.  He was genuinely worried about our safety.  How was I supposed to answer this question?  How different is the world that he is growing up in, that he has to worry whether or not some maniac might open fire on him...at the movies, at the mall, at school??

"Bad people like that are very rare, and those things don't happen very often,"  I began.  Hoping not to create more fear I added, "Sometimes airplanes crash, but we still go on them.  These accidents don't happen very often and we know that almost all of the time, we will be safe."  This placated him a little, but I could still see the possibility of being attacked at the movie theater was worrying him.   My mind was racing.  How far was the right distance to travel with this subject?

I began to wonder whether it was my duty to give him the knowledge and tools to handle a shooting situation.  It worried me to discuss this in detail, lest I turn him into a fearful and paranoid individual.  I still believe these episodes are unlikely to ever happen to us... Could the frequency of these episodes continue to increase and actually become part of his future reality and something he would have to be on the lookout for?  Was teaching my child how to protect himself in this kind of situation now a necessary part of parenting?

I had recently watched a video that was chain-mailed to me, called "Run Hide Fight: Surviving an Active Shooter Event" available on YouTube on the following link: 

https://www.google.com/search?q=run+hide+fight+you+tube&sugexp=chrome,mod=13&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8

At first I was skeptical about watching it...worrying it was just a gun rights promo video.  Afterwards however, I was glad that I had, and yet saddened that such a video needed ever have been made.  This viral video presents a graphic dramatization of a public shooting incident that provides guidance about what to do if you should ever, God forbid, find yourself in a situation such as this. Armed with this information, I decided to take the discussion with my son one step further, and actually review what he should do in the event of a shooting.

"What do you think you should do if there ever was someone with a gun at the movies?" I asked, monitoring his reaction in the mirror. 

"RUN!"  he stated confidently.

"That's right!" I replied.  "Would you stand up and run?"  I tested.

"No, I would get down low!"  he said defiantly.  

"If it wasn't safe to run, would you hide?" I asked, feeling more at ease with the conversation.  He seemed to feel better knowing we were making a plan.

"Yes," he agreed.

We further discussed that it was most important to make himself safe first and to be Super-Spy quiet.  We discussed calling for help and warning other people, much like it is reviewed in the video.   

As we arrived at the theater, his questions had ceased.  Perhaps he believed that there would be no gunman after all or perhaps he felt safer knowing that we knew how to handle it if there was.  I hoped I had handled this properly.  I hoped I'd risen to this unexpected motherly challenge.  I hoped we would be safe...

Cultural Enlightenment

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A Vagina by Any Other Name

Black Orchid, Georgia O'Keefe Photo by ahisgett.

Vagina.  That word.  It is evoked rarely in conversation and when it is, it is spoken hesitantly, uncomfortably, most often reserved for the privacy of the doctor's office...you know, (said in a hushed whisper) the one with the stirrups.  Vagina as a name doesn't feel right, like the word is completely wrong for what it is meant to describe. Like when you meet someone whose name does not seem to match their personality.  Say a Frank who looks more like a Sam or a Jane who should have been a Kate.  Names can personify the very people or things they are attached to.  They can evoke a clear image of the essence of a "thing"...in the case of the "V" word, the name choosers missed the mark.

When I hear the word "Vagina" I think of secret things, dark and unspeakable things.  The word is rugged, mountainous, full of jagged consonants that create the image of harsh and inhospitable terrain.   "Gentlemen, I must warn you, keep your wits about you whence you enter the territory of the Vagina.  None but the bravest among you shall return!"  Only Borat's pronunciation, in the movie of the same name, "Vagine" (said with a soft, reverential french accent) can repair the brutishness of the word.

So turned off are we by this word, we as a culture manipulate it, change it, to cuter, more palatable words that are less populated with unfriendly "v's" and "g's".   Perhaps this word has tolerated too many negative stereotypes over time...perhaps as a woman, when I hear that word I am reminded of them and the insecurities that go along with them...the doctor's probing.  It makes sense that the name for this incredible and sought after body part was provided by men from a long lost time...the same men who believed the uterus floated about the female body (settling in the location of a given women's malady) and that the same uterus were it starved of sustenance (semen) (how clever these men were!), would cause female hysteria to set in.   Their distaste and primness haunts the word to this day!

In Latin, Vagina, which originated somewhere in the late 1600's, means "sheath" or "scabbard" (something one would slide a knife or sword into when they were done killing people)...a wrap around storage device if you will.  It is thought to have been considered slang in those days, eventually moving to formal adoption in later years.  If we prefer the botanical origination, it perhaps evokes greater grace and beauty, as the point at the base of a leave where it joins the stem of the plant.

Like a park whose namesake is long dead, this body part is overdue for renaming!  I propose therefore, that we rename the vagina using a much more palatable word.  A softer more equivocal word...resonate of the best virtues this blessed body part possesses.  One less likely to be avoided in polite conversation.  One we would speak openly, happily, so loving the word, we might even overuse it.   It must evoke pleasurable feelings like the word "Chocolate" or comfort like we feel uttering, "Fuzzy Slippers".  The mere mention of the word should relax us and remind us of all the good things the vagina does, not all the icky things historically associated with it.

Here is a sampling of the new names I pondered:

1.  Shenis:  Like the male counterpart, but more obviously female.
2.  Lovey:  Like the security blanket of small children, what greater comfort could a word connote?
3.  Missliscious:  Takes away the "ick" factor.
4.  Cozylala:  Warm and whimsical at the same time, like a feminine protection commercial.
5.  Delores:  A cousin for Clitoris.
6.  Excipite:  Welcome! in Latin.
7.  Pulchra:  Beautiful in Latin. (There were so many other positive Latin names available!)

As I pondered all of these possibilities, trying hard to stay away from common slang or terms with negative connotation, (I admit it was difficult to find a word that embodied the plethora of characteristics I was trying to capture), I considered linguistic origin, consonant structure and the myriad of other traits a word might present when mouthed.  The more I thought, the more one name kept returning to my mind.  I dismissed it at first, but the thought grew persistent, and thus it gradually began to grow on me.  This name is currently possessed by an embodiment of the feminine.  At once strong and independent with a balance of softness and invitation.

"Scarlett Johansson"

What do you think?? Isn't it perfect! Try it on for size...say it a few times and feel how easily it rolls off your tongue.  Scarlett...synonymous with color, vibrant and lively red.  Johansson, sister of Johnson, Hairy if you will.  There is strength of will and infinite delicacy bundled into perfect harmony with this simple name.  Imagine if your gynecologist were to say, "I shall now insert the speculum into your Scarlett Johansson.".  I can imagine myself more able to relax, my knees falling open.  Or if your lover were to utter, "Darling...may I touch your Scarlett Johansson?"  I would be unable to resist so imbued with sexuality and femininity is the name.

I am not sure how we would go about an official name change...a vote might be required.  If we were to, en masse, start using the word more commonly, it might kick start the wheels of change, and our blessed nether regions would finally have a name worthy of all of her ethereal charms.

Rumor Has It....

Photo by ohai_spackwood.

I am still reeling from the news today.  I just found out that I am getting divorced.  I admit, we've had our fair share of ups and downs and Lord knows our marriage is far from perfect (who's is?)...but this, this literally has knocked the wind out of me!  How had this happened...where had we gone wrong?   And why God, why is it that the wife...and the husband too in this case...are the last ones to know?  

Here we were, blissfully enjoying our Cape Cod vacation, when my husband received an email from a mutual friend.  She had been at a party whereupon someone asked her if the news was true, were my husband and I getting divorced?  She had shared that to her knowledge all was well, but warned us, we might have some damage control to do when we got home.

"Why would someone think that?", I asked my husband, growing suspicious that there might be an inkling of truth to what she had heard.  "What have you been up to?" I knew he had been spending a lot of time with attorneys lately.

"I bitch about you from time to time," he said, whilst assuring me that the word "divorce" had not been uttered.  He sat contemplating his bitch sessions, trying to pin point which one of the apparent multitude could have triggered such a rumor.  It appeared that the information about our divorce had originated on the golf course among guys that my husband plays men's club with.

Silently I reviewed all of the bad things about our relationship I had shared with friends.  Maybe it came from some of those conversations.  I made a mental note to cool down the husband bashing.  I was pretty sure I could count on my confidantes not to spread my rants publicly, so I started to eye my husband curiously.  Could he be secretly contemplating divorce?  "Are you sure there isn't something I should know?" I pressed.

At that moment, his phone rang.  It was a fellow my husband golfs with, and this gentleman had felt compelled to call, as he stood on the first tee box on men's day to verify whether or not we were divorced.  He had heard about it too! According to the caller, we were already divorced (shock) and my husband had run away with another woman to a neighboring golf  course community (disbelief).  What?  In a matter of hours the story of our collapsing marriage had us fully unhitched and my husband happily upgrading to a wealthy broad at a private golf course!  It was appearing more and more likely that the story of our divorce had originated from someone in my husband's circle.  I was immensely curious as to what he may have said to foster such a tale?

My husband assured the caller that we were not divorced at this time and that we were still somewhat happily married.  He informed him that, no, unfortunately, he did not have a new girl friend.  The fellow thanked my husband for his straight forward answers about our non-divorce and suggested he tell me, to enhance the quality of the rumor, that his new, richer girlfriend was also extremely HOT.  

Wait a minute!  I thought, If anyone was going to run away with a rich, hot, somebody, it was going to be me!!  

Since we heard about our divorce, we have been moving from looking sideways at each other to joking about the fun we could have playing it up.  I vacillate between wondering if my husband is unhappy with our marriage and inadvertently spilled his guts to some guys at the golf course bar after a few beers to imagining the effect it would have were I to throw his golf clubs and some random clothes onto our front lawn.  Wouldn't it be fun to stir the rumor mill into a frenzy?

Despite his assurances that he has no intention of divorcing me I can't help but wonder if it is possible that he has a girl friend I don't know about?  Was he setting me up for a fall?  Weren't rumors often twisted versions of the truth?  Who could have spoken so confidently that our marriage was over if they didn't have some information that was strong enough to compel them to throw it into the gossip mill?

Part of me is flattered that my little life seemed interesting enough to distort and hash around at a dinner party.  I am curious who else might come forward with questions about the health of our marriage.  How deeply has this thread been woven into the fabric of our social circle?

Part of my mind explores this story as if it were reality.  What if my husband did want to leave me?  Would he be justified?  Have I been my best for him...he for me?  Is my life better by being with him and vice verse?  I started to review my wifely performance and in reality, it hasn't been that hot lately...he could be justified to want out...to find what is lacking between us with somebody else.  How easy it would be to move away from each other and the complicated lives that accompany our marriage into something new and simple.  

I look back to when we were first together and what made me love him...what now I try to change.  Do we still love each other after all of these years?  Are our lives what we hoped they would be?  Do I complete him...(ack!)  I ask myself these questions...and I am surprised to realize he might be asking himself these questions too.

Sometimes in relationships one partner might think they have the upper hand...the least risk, the most security.  Often those who assume that confident role are the ones who have the rug pulled out from under them, when the one they took for granted, chooses to go.  Could that be what is happening?  Have I been busy assuring myself that any problems we might have are his and not mine?  Perhaps that attitude itself has contributed to this story...the initiate.  Will we choose to rewrite the story and better our characters so that we can undo the thread? 

I guess we'll keep listening...keep questioning.  Thank you rumor mill for this food for thought.  I know at least that I can breathe easy for now...my marriage intact, my husband still with me and not with some new and better woman.  I'll hold on tightly to that for now and listen closely tomorrow for the latest word on the street.

New Rules for Mastering the Art of Small Talk

Photo by Alaskan Dude.

I despise small talk...that conversation you construct  with someone you don't know very well (if at all)?  I mean, I H-A-T-E it.   You are forced to talk in generalities and there is no "meat" to the conversation. "Where are you from?"  "What do you do?"  "Boy hasn't this weather been awesome!" (Incidentally, if your conversations often move towards the weather, people are really bored by you.) Blah!  Blah!  Blah!  In these situations I glue a perpetual smile upon my face and try to act like I imagine a really skilled sociable person would act.  My cheek muscles burn as I force a pleased and engaged look upon my face.  I act thrilled to be finding out where everyone in the room grew up and where they work.  So enthralled am I, that within five seconds of being introduced, I often forget their names.

In truth, I probably hate small talk because I'm not very good at it...I really don't think anything I have to say is that interesting to strangers and I am also terrified of offending people.  In a new group of people there lies hidden beneath the surface of these interactions, an unknown set of social rules, "do's and don't's", that vary from group to group.  In a first meeting there is no possible way to fully realize what these rules are and the risk of breaking them is extremely high.  For example, what if they are uber religious and/or hate swearing?  It would be so easy to drop a "God Damn It!" or "Mother Fucker!"(by mistake of course) and then what?  They would get this uncomfortable, judgmental look on their faces, and slowly close me off from their conversation circle, the evil blasphemer that I obviously am!  And there I would stand, forlorn and awkwardly alone, shunned by the group. (Mother fuckers!)

I love to be surrounded by incessant talkers during these situations...you know, someone who could carry an entire conversation even if they were alone in a room.  You can smile and nod knowingly without ever having to say anything about yourself!   They totally  unburden you from having to contribute anything meaningful to these conversations. They are so confident in what they have to say about themselves that they share it in a fully, unrestrained way.  It is truly amazing, a gift really.  And what's more, they accomplish this without cussing.  In some ways, I admit, I envy these people and their fearless way of conversing, their effortless, zealous flow of content.  While in other ways, I am annoyed by them.

There are many resources by smart and knowledgeable people about how you can improve your small talk ability.  (I am not one of those people.)  There are endless books, seminars, and websites with helpful small talk hints!  As a novice smaller talker, I would like to propose a couple of new, back alley, small talk rules, that could serve to create your own personal pathway to more success and substance in these brief social encounters.  


Rule 1:  Get drunk before you engage strangers.

The benefits (and risks) to this approach are obvious.  You will never think of yourself as being nearly as interesting or as witty as you do when delightfully plastered.  This feeling of invincibility will lead you confidently into the small talk fray, and make following the next few rules much easier.  (You may even end up in the role of "Incessant Talker" which only helps others in the conversation circle who are even less interested in talking about themselves than you are).

Rule 2:  The "F Bomb" must be launched immediately upon introduction.  

Thus, you will know forthwith if you may swear freely with an individual without risk of offense or judgement.  I can absolutely only hang with people who say the "F" word.  Stopping myself from cursing for the benefit of the vernacularly sensitive is far too exhausting to keep up for very long!  A blurted-out "Cocksucker" seems always to be lurking at the tip of my tongue.

Rule 3:  You must only talk about controversial subject matter.

Enough of the bull shit questions nobody cares about!  Get right to the stuff we all really want to talk about!  I could care less about what you do for work!   What makes you tick, what pisses you off?  Tell me something cool about you or your views about life.  Lie to me if you must!

Rule 4:  You may only speak in questions.

This prevents you from having to share anything about yourself, but also gives your fellow conversationalists the impression that you are interested in learning more about them. 

Rule 5:  There must be a universal code word that excuses you from small talk if you wish not to participate.

Rather than pretending you don't see an acquaintance across the room, or ignoring that mother of your son's classmate to whom you never seem to have anything to say, it should be socially acceptable for you to opt out of any conversation attempt, without offending the other party.  As a small talk society, we should adopt a well known word or phrase, that when evoked, guiltlessly releases one from their small talk obligation.  For example, if someone approached you with the intent to small talk, you could simply say the accepted key word, like maybe "Butter Tart!" and they would have to leave you alone.

Let's review how a sample conversation might play out employing these simple and effective rules.

The Scene:

(Me, entering a crowded room of professional people I have never met and on any ordinary day would never choose to meet, let alone hang out with.  I am dressed uncomfortably, in a dress that poorly hides my muffin top (where are my Spanx??)  Let's imagine it is red...I feel sexy in red.  Perhaps I am also wearing obscenely high heels, which I walk in like a nine year old girl would, were she wearing the same shoes.  My make-up is striking, even if poorly applied.  I have worn a thong for the occasion and am unable to ignore it's upward trend in my nether regions.  

I am trying to act sober, and control the slight lean my body has adopted.  My heels are making remaining upright challenging as they squeeze the last ounces of life from my feet.  I mutter to myself, and take a prolonged gulp of my fancy, schmancy, martini.  I am standing excessively straight because in my inebriated mind I believe that sober people have good posture.  As I stiffly cross the room, I run head on into an attractive well dressed man, who sadly, is not my husband.

Him: "Whoa!  Are you alright?" he asks whilst attempting to prop me up.  

Me:  As most tipsy people can, I manage to avoid spilling a single drop of my drink, and clutch the handsome stranger's arm more firmly than I probably should as I right myself.  It does not escape my notice that his arms are quite firm and well muscled!  My interest is piqued and I can't help but look at his hands. (see Man Hands blog for clarification).

After a moment, I regain my military posture and reply more shrilly than I intend to, "Fuck Me!  Do I appear drunk to you?"  I watch him closely for an inkling of offense and subtly, suck in my stomach.

Him:  Without changing expression he replies, "Only when you move...and um...perhaps when you speak."

Me:  I am encouraged by his lack of contempt.  Drinking makes me feel young again, in a way that let's me pretend I can still capture the interest of men.  I toss my hair out of my face where it has rested since my stumble.  I sway slightly before I ask, "Do you have a problem with drunk women?" 

I tilt my head cleverly as I bite my lip.  Not because I want to make out with him, at least not consciously, but because I am waiting for him to turn stiffly on his heels and leave.  I hold my breath as I await his reply.  Hot men don't talk to me very often.

Him:  "It doesn't necessarily bring out the best in people."  He shifts his body weight away from me, his dazzling suit picking up the hint of grey in his eyes.  I immediately think of Christian.

Me:  Normally such an attractive man would intimidate me, and words would fail me.  The fact that he is still here, talking to me along with the fact that I can no longer feel my body, emboldens me to continue.

Encouraged and moderately dizzy I continue with, "What does bring out the best in people?"  I bob and weave to block his gaze  as he tries to look past me.  Something about his attractiveness makes me want to keep talking, even if he doesn't.  Briefly I wonder if I am invading his personal space.

Him: He sips his own drink slowly, and I think if I were sober, I would be more quick to pick up his embarrassed amusement at my crass banter. "You sound a little defensive, and you are standing on my toes."

Me:  As I step back, I suddenly catch the reflection of a woman in a nearby window, I am momentarily distracted by her obvious drunkenness.  I laugh haughtily to myself, as I realize she is hammered, and I wonder who that pathetic chick is!  

"Where do you stand on gay marriage?" I ask, having dismissed the drunk woman in the window.  I attempt to raise on eyebrow in a clever, sleuth-like manner.  My face registers a twisted look of self assessed cleverness and muted intelligence at my super intriguing question.

Him: He has been looking over my shoulder, and does not hear the question.  "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

(Suddenly, a petite yet surprisingly loud women approaches us and begins speaking in high pitched, excited squeals.  She obviously knows this dashing stranger and is incredibly happy to see him.  Her perfume is overwhelming and I am offended when she presses herself between us. He seems relieved to see her.  I roll my eyes at him knowingly.)

Her: "Oh Ted!  I am SOO happy to see you! " she gushes, touching him as she speaks.  I am standing behind her, holding my drink, uncertain whether or not I should spill it on her.  They begin talking familiarly, as I stand unsteadily nearby.  No attempt is made to include me in their conversation.  I notice smugly, that this interloper has a smudge of lipstick on her teeth, and I giggle loudly to myself.

Him:  "Oh!" the dashing stranger says, suddenly aware that, even though he would rather not be speaking to me, he has exhibited rudeness by so easily forgetting I exist.  I raise my chin slightly, in a proudish way, and also because I can barely see over his acquaintance's volumous hair.  

He begins, "Umm, Lily, uh, this is, um... sorry, I didn't catch your name."  Perfume lady turns slightly to take me in.  She is obviously assessing me to see whether or not I am a rival.  I assume a model's pout, rocking my hotness, as I waiver slightly and spill some of my cocktail on my dress front.  I act like I meant to do it, and stand even straighter, so straight I am almost leaning backwards.

Her:  "Oh, dear, I am soo sorry! Have I interrupted something?" she says without conviction, looking from me to Ted.  She turns, moving closer to hot stuff, and as she looks inquiringly at me, perhaps waiting for me to state my name, where I am from and what I do, she bats her false eyelashes, and I have to resist the urge to punch her.  

Me:  Having had enough of this rancid women, I exclaim, "Butter Tart!" as I press past them, suddenly desperate for the bar.

Check Out this Bullying Link

http://www.education.com/special-edition/bullying/web-seminar-archive/