A breakup is much like a death, and while I have limited experiences to base this idea on, I’m willing to believe that the longer one goes on, the closer the similarity.

When I found myself in Baltimore eight years or so ago, brutally broken up with by a man who would call me from the apartment of the “other woman” to deliver the news, a blessedly kind friend down the hall insisted I stay the night at his place, where at least the painful familiarity of my surroundings could be misplaced for awhile. I cried, I carried on, and he hugged me…even slept on the floor so that I could have the comfort of his bed. I don’t even know until what time in the morning I kept that poor guy up, waking up from jagged nightmares, crying and searching blindly and dumbly for the voice of another human being. If I could find him today, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell him he likely saved my life that night, because I was in a very dangerous state of mind.

In his apartment, I watched the sun come up through windows that were stained opaque from years of polluted rain. It was milky, weak, watery sunlight that brought a conversely harsh day to my eyes, and I had the stupidest, most profound thought I’d ever had:

“The sun came up.”

You hear it all the time – the world keeps turning, the world keeps moving, the sun still rises when you’ve undergone trauma, but I had never bothered to literally consider the words. Here was this sun, confronting my face with light I wasn’t ready for, bringing a day around that I never wanted to see, and being half-assed about it to add to the insult. Rising like it hadn’t cleared the sleep out of its eyes, acting like the afternoon wouldn’t bring my mother driving a car down to pick up me and all my things and haul me back, defeated, to her house several states away. It had risen, and I was here to see it, even though the unthinkable had happened in my then-young life.

I survived Baltimore, even though I thought I would die from a broken heart, as well as losing trust, and belief in myself. Before that, I survived my six month stint upstate, with the predecessor of my Baltimore boyfriend, even though that one came equipped with all sorts of domestic violence (yes, kids, even a ToyChick doesn’t always pick winners), and other assorted heartbreaks along the way, and even though each felt like it was going to end the world, the damn sun kept coming up like clockwork.

Now, as I nervously leave a state that I’ve called home for literally all but that six month stay in Baltimore, packed into a Uhaul with two cats, a rabbit, and a man who went from proposing to me to unable to “deal” with my mere presence in two years, I’m going to see the sun come up in South Carolina for the very first time.

And maybe – just maybe – I’m gonna be okay.

Hello everyone – if you’re just joining us now, it looks like I have to move out of state VERY soon, albiet quite unwillingly, because my fiance’s leaving me. I’m moving in my with dad, and will be losing some of my desk full of dildos freedoms to display smut because of it. Bringing a small horde of sex toys with me isn’t really plausible, so I’m selling them off to you guys for what I bought them for, or super below retail prices. I want em in good homes!

* These toys are ALL NEW. I haven’t used any of em, neither has anyone else. They’ve been in big covered tupperware bins in storage for many months, waiting for a convention to sell em at that never came around. Some of the corners may be smooshed or torn from being hauled around, I’ve tried to note the worst of it. All the pics are of the actual items.

*I DO combine shipping. Bixbe isn’t very conducive to planning this out, so let me know what you like (email ThatToyChick@gmail.com) and I’ll finagle it so it reflects combined shipping.

The weirdness in my WSTOTW has been slightly lacking, but fear not! Got a doozie coming up, courtesy of a soon-to-be published review on the Hannah Harper Titty Fuck-Her that Pipedreams sent me, along with the Alien Love Doll and my ill-fated Boobie Cake Pan.  (In the meantime, if you are jonesin for some sex toy WTF, may I suggest you hit up my gal Scary Sex Toy Friday for more insanity?)

So, Etsy is just this neverending treasure trove of lovely things that I want to buy the shit out of. Doubly so for sexy things, of which there is a surprising amount on this eBay-meets-Craft-Fair website.

• The Dirty Darling, by Transaction – Freakin gorgeous, is it not? It brings to mind the delightful foil touches of the now (very sadly) defunct Radiance Bound line. I am so happy to see someone still using this style of leather decoration, as I think it is incredibly unique. It’s nice to see a boutique-y harness that’s not just: “Here’s your latigo black leather harness. Next!” This gem will run you $120 over on Etsy.

• Glass Cross Dildo by NokturnelEclipse – I will admit to being apprehensive about the durability and potential for unexpected stress points in this piece, but it is an attractive idea nonetheless. The closest I’ve seen to this sort of shape is Phallix’s “Ray Gun” styles, and only then because they are exotic and double-pronged, albiet more of a shotgun-with-scope form than a cross like this. This will run you $89.99 on Etsy.

• Joystick Dildo by Hankeren on Etsy: One of four offerings from this surprisingly refreshing female duo out of Canada; it shares a unique concave head with some of the other models, intended to be gentler on those with sensitive cervixes (thank you!). All their stuff is made of Platinum-cure silicone, sourced in the US and handmade into the final product in their workshop. The Joystick can be yours for $68.50 on Etsy.

Erika Moen’s Amazing Sex Toy Art: Talk about give me your yearning, huddled masses. Lookit – she’s holding a shiny freakin hitachi. Finally, a patron saint I can relate to! This instantly made me think of fellow wand lovin’ bloggers like AAG.  For $200 on Etsy, this saint can watch over your bedroom activities with a smile.

Also worth mentioning:

• Toychick buddies Whipspider Rubberworks have tossed a few delectable special editions in their Etsy store, including a more realistically-colored tentacle dildo and a version of the Mantoy that makes like Halloween in a new orange-and-black dyejob.
• If you need a knitted dildo cozy, apparently Etsy is THE place to be.
• If you need a 3-dimensional masturbating velociraptor plaque, Etsy is also, strangely enough, the place to be.

So, here’s the deal.

I have a LOT of sex toys. I don’t mean in my personal collection, but ones that I physically have in my keeping which have never seen a Georgia O’Keefe or wang. They are keefe-and-wangless (excellent name for a band or apothecary shop, by the by) , and they are sad, like those misfit toys in that Rudolph claymation special. Sad sex toys are despondent things indeed, let me assure you.

What should I DO with them? Some have smooshed box corners, many are of a jelly-ish variety (these did not come to me from asking, they were part of a pallet I received whilst bartering for writing services) and they’re all pretty decent things. There’s some condoms in here, some lube, bunch of things – I’m actually looking at a couple of fun factory discontinued dolphin vibes in the top of a box. There are several rows of boxes literally as tall as I am, currently looming in our bedroom, watching us sleep like total creepers. (I know what you’re doing sex toys. I know.)

Ideally, I would like to convert some of these toys into money for this rabbit rescue charity – from which we got our beautiful bunny, shown here in her snazzy new bajillion dollar leg cast cause she’s a spazbunny and tried to leap from somewhere she oughtn’t of.  This woman is amazingly tireless, and has literally given up her whole house and life to rabbits – her (amazingly clean, considering) house is filled with beautiful bunny pens that have everything a rabbit could desire, and she’s eked out a tiny little spot or two for her own living space, but it’s like, 90% bunnies. She’s the rabbit equivalent of the Caboodle Ranch, only all indoors and with a more orderly setup.

Ideas? To those that may bring up eBay, they take about 20% after fees and paypal, and then their “charity” option takes out another chunk for “processing” – and I can’t even use the charity option because they won’t let you do so in the adult categories.  I’d rather go an alternate route and ensure that 25% is with the bunnies and not lining some CEO’s pocket.

-TC

P.S. – Here is a tiny vibrating clitoral monkey, for your amusement:

Sometimes you read something that just makes you stop, sit back, and say “Oh.”

The Elephant (Banner) in the Room

I’ve been angry, dear readers. I’ve been at odds because I have this anger that I can’t seem to snuff out entirely, but very much wish to. It is the cause-and-response emotion at seeing someone do something that can only be called, resoundingly, “wrong”, and seeing them strut about pridefully with no checks to balance it out. However, I also don’t like confrontation – that is why I allowed so many people – exes, friends, and most recently/notably employers, push me around and consistently place me in situations that I am uncomfortable with. When people are angry at me, when people are disappointed with me, when people threaten me, I take it to heart and stare at the ceiling instead of sleeping at night. The smallest things impact me more than you can imagine.

That’s why I try to avoid controversy. I will support friends – especially ones going through the same trials I have – but in general do my best not to immediately put pen to blog paper when I am incensed, frustrated, or upset…I tend to be very verbose, with great doses of vitriol I don’t really intend in my ramblings. I will, however, privately point out things like stolen designs, grammatical error in copy, and impending PR issues, but once a polarizing event (like those running currently through our community) occurs, I like to leave it to far more capable pens than my ill-formed and scattered thought patterns.

I want you to know that I truly and humbly appreciate your visits to my blog, your readership, your commentary, feedback, and opinions. If you choose to ally yourself with “that” company that has caused me the trouble and heartache in the past, I won’t stop being your friend or reading your blog. As I’ve explained to some of your privately, I understand there is a wealth of information on the site and if it helps you make the best choice in products for you, I’d rather you get a toy you love from a company I do not than vice versa. You’ve hopefully read the accounts given by myself and others about the prevailing attitude of the company, but you are an adult and make your own choices as much as I do.

If you work for that company and I have unfollowed you, unfriended you, etc – it is because I do not wish to hear a constant ramble of “that” company’s sales, deals, specials, how super-fantastic-great it is to work for them, and so on…any more than someone’s who’s been emotionally bullied and ended a relationship likes to hear their exes’ current partner chatter optomistically about how amazing it is to date them. I had a bad experience with the company, and while I can’t control their affiliate banners on a handful of the blogs I read, I sure as hell can control how much of my attention I volunteer to hearing and seeing a steady stream of manufactured marketing. If and when you ever leave the company, you are welcome to open a line of communication again with me, if you have any inclination to do so.

Bad Sex Advice

As far as the infamous quickly-pulled-down blog of a certain sex position pillow company, all I can say is this: a company is often not so much a spider web as it is a relay race.  Manufacturing seldom knows what Sales are doing, Marketing doesn’t even know who exactly works in Manufacturing, Corporate office may hire people that have never even seen the factory, etc etc. Blogs, twitter accounts, facebook accounts, even myspace accounts are often community property, “crowd sourced” from the brains of an entire office.

Do I think it was in poor taste? Yes.

Do I think the writer should be excused from the roster of writers for that particular blog for that particular company? Yes.

Do I think the company acted quickly with the most direct solution possible? Yes.

While I would have liked to see *some* sort of followup touching on why exactly the post was pulled, the marketer in me also argues back that bringing it up again would invite another wave of dissention and negative connotations with the company. Strictly marketing-wise, this was not on the level of a CEO found spewing racist remarks on live tv – this was one person of several on a blog format making a very poor attempt at humor that included “directions” that could have ended in yeast infections and VB for the female partners of those who followed them.  Cause was the article, solution was it was pulled, effect was article (the offending object) was stricken from record.  They have other PR issues that they still need to work on – such as the unprofessional tone of this representative. However, it unfortunately doesn’t seem like this sort of thing is an isolated incident in the social media culture business is knee-deep in these days.

Okay, so, I only have one for you at the time of writing (hopefully I’ll dig up more, or perhaps my sexy, sexy readers might have suggestions), but it’s a fun one. Copy is basically the words that show up on boxes, in descriptions, etc. For the most part, they tend to be at least coherent, but sometimes you get a gem like the Triple Stimulator:

“One for the clitoris, One for the penis, One for the anus, and anywhere else you go.”

Okay, so I’m going to give them the benefit of the doubt that what they mean by “one” is “stimulator”. If the flexible cock is facing down, I’m assuming the toy is mounted on a phallus (real or strapon) and the penis will penetrate the anus on a male or female partner. Got it. If the flexible cock is facing up, I would assume that means it would be penetrating the vagina on a female partner.

Okay, people. There are only SO MANY ORIFICES. Even if you were to factor in the mouth (sucking on jelly, especially post-anal, would not be well advised), or exotic locales like the bellybutton or ear, there’s no way you could simultaneously put this thing in the anus/vagina, and the vague “else”. Do they mean “else” as a body part? A tropical island? What?

I am so confused.

I am the first to admit, I am still very heavily on the side of “still learning” when it comes to genderqueer and fluidity. Like a person learning a new language through unexpected immersion, I am learning the “feel” and “idea” of the words with more grace than I am “book learning” them enough to comfortably work them into conversation. From what I gather, I present/identify as a cisgendered woman – that is, one that is comfortable with one’s biological/birth gender assignation. The queer part of things? Well, that’s what I’m still working through to examine what it means and how it relates to me. I pick it up and turn it in the light, hoping that a facet will lead to an “aha!” moment.

I hate skirts, I love jeans and sneakers – but I cherish my long hair and large chest and happily let them identify me, at least in part. There is also a part of me that grins lopsidedly at the thought of packing, at sliding on a tie and tux, at taking the lead on the dance floor. It comes from my early years at high school, and it’s made me consider gender in new ways, ever since.

I dressed in “drag” – that is, tweed jackets, button up shirts, creased slacks and fedoras – in my freshman and sophomore years of my brand new high school, getting away with it under the guise of the “weird new kid”. I slid on secondhand store clothes without even washing them (in hindsight…blegh!) and as the buttons strained over my even-then gigantic chest, I happily slid on a tie (pre-tied, natch. I wasn’t coordinated enough, so I just kept loosening and tightening it) and roamed around the typical haunts with my friends, who miraculously just accepted my…unusual..taste in attire as simply me being me.

This in itself wasn’t unusual, maybe…new kid is uprooted and starts dressing in a nonconformist manner…but I realized that the smell of the clothes, the aftershave and 1970’s and 80’s inexplicable scent, was one of my main reasons for wearing them in the first place. Wearing cologne was too far over some imaginary gender line, but the clothes I could work. They didn’t smell dirty, or sweaty…they just had that faint, lingering smell of colognes from an era that smelled like men before Calvin Klein was even around to conceive of unisex fragrances. So I went to school in rumpled shirtsleeves, fresh from the rack at the thrift store and rolled up at the sleeves so I could lean over my math work. This was the toychick at 15 – wearing clothes that better suited my father, stationed with the military halfway across the world. It started with his jacket, and eventually I built up this wardrobe, like some sort of cast-off Brooks Brothers snowman of my absent dad. I missed him, I suppose, and in some weird way it made me feel closer to him.

The semi-suits and fedoras were nudged aside a year later for what I lovingly call my “angry goth phase”, and eventually spawned the t-shirt and blouse look I unfailingly wear today. Like a ghost, though, the love of colognes never left me, and privately I crinkle my nose and wince away from women’s perfume. The deep, heady scent of a resin-rich male body product makes me swoon…and wearing it makes me feel strong, sexy, and capable. I feel agressive, positive, and motivated when I elbow my dove soap out of the way and slather my guilty secret, axe, on my bath loofah. Hell, I want one of those stupid “shower detailer” things instead of my loofah….I know it’s a gimmick, but it’s SO COOL. I sneak Toyboy’s aftershave balm and trace a line under my jaw now and then – sometimes I’ll even pick up his razor and glide it along the skin above my smile, picking up the translucent down in the blades.

Men smell good, I like their grooming rituals, and sometimes I just want to dip a foot in the pool of being-a-boy.