Meow

I got an actual, real question to answer in my blog, which is really exciting. I have answered questions before, but of course, they were made up. I feel like a real blogger, now that someone has asked for my knowledge on something, something that only I can clarify for all of you. HG, thank you for recognizing that this particular subject falls into the realm of my expertise, and, ultimately, within my sphere of influence. So let us settle this once and for all, shall we?

I am referring, of course, to the difference between a Cougar and a MILF.

There may be some Urban Dictionary definition of these two terms, but because this is my blog, we are going to abide by the Sugar Snow Dictionary definitions. Thus, they are immutable. So follow along, kids. This could get interesting.

A COUGAR is commonly used to identify A Woman Of A Certain Age (AWOACA), generally a putrifying Over-40, who can only get a younger man by stalking him, using him, and then, presumably, killing him. This is because an AWOACA has nothing to recommend her other than a (possible) high income that can keep the youngster in tattoos and Axe body spray, and, possibly, sexual tricks that youngster can then describe to his friends over $2 PBR's at the Tool Tribute Band show. Susan Sarandon is currently the Poster Cougar. She is rumored to be dating a man 30 years her junior who is her partner in a Ping Pong club in New York. Ping Pong! The things hipsters will do for pussy.

The concept of the Cougar is repugnant to me, because I do not believe that I, or any woman I know, needs to buy a man for something that a Pocket Rocket can do with less drama. Or Clearsil. I will not deny that there might be tricks older women have that a younger man might want. They should. And no matter what we look like, we do have a confidence that comes with being AWOACA, which is more attractive than anything else. But I don't think the vast majority of women want a man she has to ambush and drag back to her lair. Thus, Sugar Snow REJECTS the entire concept of the COUGAR. The gavel has fallen. Moving on.

A MILF, or Mother I'd Like to Fuck, is a term of endearment in the Sugar Snow Dictionary. This is a controversial stance, because women have fought long and hard to be admired for something other than their parts. HOWEVER, in a society in which women are considered overcooked by 35 and burnt by 50,knowing that you can still work it is a very nice thing indeed. And the term MILF does not imply any threat of action; you may WANT to do her, but that's as far as it goes. It has become a common description, like "redhead" or "petite". And it has spawned a whole range of spin-offs of the ILF variety, the DILF (dad), the TILF (teacher) and the somewhat icky GILF, which applies to a grandparent of either sex. I say ick now. We can revisit when I'm 60. Thus, Sugar Snow ACCEPTS the term MILF. Thus, it is so.

And thus a new musical genre is born: MILFrock.

Elf Sex

Ok, Im gonna starf with a few simple ELF-facts.
Elf sex is possibly the safest sex on earth. They dont carry sexually transmitted diseases and you cant get pregnant or make an Elverine pregnant unless you both want to, which is not unheard of.
And YES there are female elves, elverines. And theyre HOT HOT HOT, even to girls. That reminds me: All elves are bisexual, but guys and girls not ready for some same sex action dont worry, no elf will do anything you dont want to. They can sense your longings and not-longings.

How I wish I had written this. But unfortunately, my frothy imagination does not extend to a porn version of Lord of the Rings. But I digress. Do let me explain.

Wandering about the internets and blogosphere, I found this fantastical blog called Sex With Humans is Boring. That title had the potential to go so many different and horrible ways, but I figured that, because it said "humans" rather than "people", it was more likely martian sex. But it is so much better, because it is REAL. And it happens in Iceland. And I KNOW it's true because Hallgerdur Hallgrimsdottir did it. And wrote a pamphlet detailing it. With pictures. Stick figure drawings really, complete with erect penises. An Elf Fucking for Dummies, if you will.

So reading the above Elf Facts leads to me to believe that a) elf sex is far more satisfying than, say, sex with a revirginating blow up doll and b) Elverines are a lot like college girls after too much Jagermeister. But here is why it's better--no roofies or walk of shame involved. This is ethereal, perfect sex, with semen that is shimmery and beautiful. An elf is extremely flexible and strong, easily accomplishing pages 75-114 in The Kama Sutra. All one needs to do is wander where the elves live, which is in the Icelandic craters for Hallgerdur. Will it to happen, and it will. Like a dream. Except it's not. Because it's true.

But don't feel bad, human men, they are said to have superduper skills, not superduper equipment.

This is pretty unfair to those of us who don't live in Iceland. They KNOW where to go to find their elf-lovin'. I only know about the Back Bay Fens, and I sure as hell am not going there. I shouldn't mock Iceland, though, because they seriously do believe in elves. And this adorable girl looks like an elf herself. In fact, in one of her blog entries, she wonders if maybe she is the product of her mom's elfin action.

I highly recommend watching the video at the link below for all the information you will ever need about elf sex. So I say, Fuck Vegas. What happens in Reykjavik, stays in Reykjavik.

http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-if-elf-sex-is-real-then-we-should-all-move-to-iceland-asap/

Shiny and New

WARNING: This blog is tres VULGAR today. If you have any problem with words dealing with female anatomy, do not read this. But know it is not me repeating the word PUSSY over and over again for fun.

You know how sometimes you wake up from an afternoon nap feeling rested and so gosh-darn happy? I woke up just now and feel like wringing someone's neck. Not for any particular reason, though-I just woke up feeling crabby. So scrolling about the Interwebs in the hope of cheering myself up and protecting those around me, I found this:

A Japanese blow up doll with a reloadable hymen and simulated bleeding. Her simulated weeping, disappointment and thinking "Is that IT?" not included.

It is entirely possible that on another day, when I wasn't feeling so crabby, I would find this hilariously funny. But considering I had also just read about the vagina facial, or the vagacial, I was not feeling all that amused. Yes, this sounds entirely fake, but sadly, it is true. Technically, it is a facial for the vulva, if you can call that a facial, but that is quibbling really. This is along with the vaginal rejuvenation surgery one can have (in which the doctor returns the vagina to it's pre-child glory), the anal bleaching, the full Brazilian wax and the makeup that enpinkens the labia.

You know what bothers me about all this? What is really icky? There seems to be a theme of a preference for a pre-adolescent vagina. Squeaky clean, hairless, childishly pink and untouched. In other words, a grown woman's ladyflower is yucky and unappealing. And as much as I would love to blame men entirely for this, it is women who are undergoing these procedures and ablutions. Men, to my knowledge, are not undergoing any testicular buffing or penile improvement projects to return themselves to the penis of their pimply, masturbatory purgatory. And certainly, men have their own issues around youth which is why plastic surgery for removal of man-boobs is one of the fastest growing demands in the industry. By and large, this appears to be a female thing, this obsession with youthfulness that now extends to our nether regions. And while I am trying to prolong my youthfulness with creams and serums, I recognize that my face, as well as the rest of me, is just going to follow the course of nature, which is whatever my genetics and lifestyle dictates. I am just as guilty of lusting after a youthful glow, but it ends with Pilates and Strivectin for turkey neck.

I could go on and on about the sociology and societal repercussions of all this, but instead I will just say this:

Eeeeeeeeewwwww. Enough. Stop. Leave it alone. It's super as it is.

And men who order the Japanese Virgin Sex Doll? I think this is a wise use of your $95. Because you clearly should not be dating real women. At all. Ever.

Truthiness

When I started writing this blog, over on the Sugar Snow myspace page, it was a way of keeping track of the band's development, this new stage in my life. And then I realized that I liked it, that the reason I was a writing major in college (yes, ouch--as useful as sociology!) was because I liked to write. And in approaching it with the same attitude that I have for the band, which is, Give Your All, Expect Nothing Back, it became an exercise in discipline, editing, figuring out what works and what doesn't. But what it did more than anything else was reinforce my understanding of privacy and restraint

"A blog like this is narcissism in its most obscene flowering...But it's necessary. As a parent your days are consumed by other people's needs. This is payback for driving back and forth to gymnastics all week long."

This quote is from an interview about parents who blog about their children. The above was said by Ayelet Waldman, a blogger and writer, who is one of the most confused. embittered parents I have ever come across. She has literally exposed her family in her blog in ways that are unfathomable to me. I would never deny that blogging is narcissistic. Of course it is. Assuming that one has something to say that is of interest and/or importance to the world at large can be characterized no other way. There is an inherent narcissism to being a musician, a writer, an artist of any kind, because art is meant to be shared. And, of course, the hope is that it will be received positively.

But my children, my husband, my friends....that is another story. Everyone has their comfort zone, and writing about them is well outside of mine. I try to keep them on the periphery, and never even use their names. What I write is specifically targeted at me--MY behavior, MY opinions, MY experiences. It is extreme narcissism but it is also protection for them. They did not ask or agree to be put in my blog; my husband has a right to his personal and professional life without judgement based on my interest in marrying Jon Stewart or my diatribe on smelly microphones. My extremely private best friend wants to remain that way, and I owe her that. My bandmates have a right to their privacy, and while some of the things we experience as a band would be highly entertaining, a band is a marriage of it's own, and thus has it's own expectations of privacy. What I tell my friends over dinner is one thing. What I tell everyone out in the ether is something else entirely.

But an important aspect of blogging is the aspect of truth. And truth is elastic. If I were to write about a show we did at a club we had no business playing in, which, to me, was a fairly embarrassing, disastrous but fun evening, the opinion might be taken as the Truth of ALL of Sugar Snow, when in actuality it is my take on the evening. The other people in attendance would no doubt have a different view of the evening, some overlap, to be sure, but not necessarily in line with what I saw. So what is the Truth? It all is. One is mine. And that's the only one I am entitled to write about.