Choices. Choices. Choices. Thinkstock
Oh hey dear Ravishers!
Happy weekend indeed. Spring has finally sprung (well, it's perma-pseudo spring here in San Francisco, if you want to know the truth) but still . . . there is a shift in the air, a newfound bounce and hustle in our step-aside stride. We hope wherever you are, the goddamn snow is melting and daffodils are rearing their garish yellow petals like woah. We hope you're plantin' posies, snapping up new frocks to sashay in the sunshine, and girding your loins for a new season of lavishing l-o-v-e.
In short? This week was nothing short of spectacular. Our writers tackled all kinds of tales, from the trials and tribulations of dating yourself and pondering where the hell all the female philosophers are, to meditation as a living hell and banishing weight-loss from wedding planning.
Check out some of our favorite stories below to catch up on all the things turning our gears.
Contributing writer Joni Edelman tells it like it is. This is everything we should have been taught in sex-ed and then some. Humiliating? Maybe. Helpful? Damn right.
Choice Quote: "Use birth control. Period. Don't even put your penis/vagina in the vicinity of another penis/vagina without a condom. Yes. CONDOM. I don't care if rubber feels gross. I don't care if you're on the pill/your girlfriend says she's on the pill/it's the apocalypse. Double up. If not for the sake of me not becoming a grandparent at 40, then at least because there are STIs everywhere.
You don't have to see the herpes to get the herpes and it is the gift that keeps on giving and giving (mostly giving other people herpes). Also genital warts. They are hideous. And they have to be burned off. Literally burned off. Survey says, 100% of people do not want any cautery device on and/or around their genitals."
Ravishly has launched a brand-new fashion column—Off The Cuff—with resident style maven Winona Rose. We're bringing you inclusive, honest advice for every kind of women (i.e. not your average size 2, cis, skinny white blonde gal who'd look good in an old sack a la Little Mermaid post-tail).
Send us your fashion questions at email@example.com!
Choice Quote: "Dear Winona,
I really like shirt dresses. I have Modcloth's soda fountain and hepcat dresses in every available color. My every day look involves a shirt dress, a sweater, thigh-highs, and boots. I'd describe my style as 'Professorial Punk Femme.' With the warmer months coming, I want to embolden my vintage style, veering toward 'pinup wannabe.'
With that in mind:
1) How would you 'dress up' and accessorize a shirt dress for the warmer months?
2) What's a sensible heel to wear with the dresses in these pictures?
3) Can you help show me a different dress style that's similar enough to 'collared shirt dress' but will let me transcend into other styles and get me out of this rut?
Disrespectfully Yours, Because I'm Not A Part Of Your System,
Contributing writer Jody Allard tells her harrowing tale of growing up abused and what it's taken to finally overcome a childhood that belongs in a Grimm's Fairy Tale.
Choice Quote: "When I was a little girl, my relationship with my body was tenuous. Rather than being tightly anchored by skin and bones, I often floated above my body; I watched myself move and interact with others from my vantage point on the ceiling like an actor on a stage.
I told my cousin about my floating once. She laughed and told me how crazy that was. People don't float above their bodies, she said. Chagrined, I kept my floating to myself after that, but it was many years before I began to experience life inside my body."
A little bird told us that she once worked on a porn set and used her derriere as inspiration for the male actor. And that ain't all. Got a burning confession of your own? Send it hither to firstname.lastname@example.org.
Choice Quote: "The first time I realized I was a fluffer by default was during a gig at Adventure Studios in Corona, Queens, a stone's throw from (then) Shea Stadium. It's a big, convoluted warehousy space where the lion's share of New York City fleshflicks were shot. I was standing offset, watching well-endowed Damien Cashmere struggle with a bouncy, blonde starlet. It was the middle of the summer, and Hades hot. Cashmere was dripping sweat onto his ladylove, which she was none too happy about.
Next thing I knew, there was a gentle hand on my shoulder and a soft voice in my ear. It was my buddy Rick Savage, the director. 'Cat,' he cooed. 'I don't know how to ask you this, but would you mind turning just a little bit so Damien can look at your ass during his scene? He thinks you're kind of cute.'"
Choice quote: "One day, a SWAT team shows up at your front door and kicks it in, screaming at you to put your hands up and get on the floor, weapons trained and fingers on the trigger because someone online, with your address and name and personal details, called in a bomb threat or a hostage situation, and the police take those seriously because those take place in the 'real world.'
You lie there, face down in your carpet, heart racing, hoping that no one's finger slips and you walk away alive. A gunshot sounds, you flinch; but it's not aimed at you, it's the family dog—wary of these intruders and barking up a storm—silenced forever by an adrenaline-infused officer who's been trained to take no chances. You'll tear out the bloodstained carpet later, but you'll never tear out the memories from your mind."