Feminism, Lolita, and Valentine's Day

Yesterday's orgasm count: two, self-inflicted. I guess you can sort of tell that I'm sick of my hands, considering my average wank per day count has dropped considerably.

I was going to write a great big rant about men's unfair advantage in the workplace vs the female prerogative, but I don't think I have the drive right now, nor the adequately collected thoughts. That being said though, at the risk of betraying the sisterhood here, I spent a lot of today feeling like a vast proportion of my fellow women is full of shit. Then again, that's a fairly normal state of affairs for me.

More frivolously, I got mistaken for a teenager again today. It's always an ego-boost when that happens. Though frankly, I don't think people look that closely at your face or anything when they guess. Rather, they tend to look at your clothes and your surroundings. A girl in pigtails and tie dye at the candy shop is going to appear younger than a girl with slicked-back hair in a suit at the reception desk of some company. Two totally different personas, even if they are both the same person.

In any case, it is now time for be to take dirty pictures for my beloved. While I find myself profoundly indifferent for the commercialised monster that is Valentine's day, it's as good a time as any to do something nice for your beloved. Especially when you can give all those commercial cunts the finger by doing something that's completely free.