Aug
18
The other day I read that Paul Reubens—you know, Pee-Wee Herman—still protests his innocence over that unsavory arrest in 1991 when he was allegedly caught jerking off in a porn theater. His proof? Here’s what he says:
“Had we gone to trial, we had ready an expert from the Masters and Johnson Institute who was going to testify that in 30 years of research on masturbation the institute had never found one person who masturbated with his or her nondominant hand. “
Now, I didn’t go on to read the entire article so maybe it eventually becomes clear that he was making that up. I mean, 30 years of research? Not one person chokes the chicken/slaps the mackerel with a nondominant hand? I call bullshit. Surely most of us could get creative if the other hand was busy, like, holding a bucket of popcorn in a movie theater or whatever.
Then I thought about it, and realized that I only use my left hand. My dominant hand, if we’re categorizing hands into the one that addresses holiday cards and the one that rides bitch. I don’t think I could use my right hand if my life depended on it, assuming there was a really bizarre terrorist-demands-orgasm situation going on.
Frankly, I’m less of a fingers-do-the-walking and more of an Energizer-bunny gal when it comes you, you know, taking a solo trip to the happy place. What can I say, I value efficiency. But I can’t imagine using my right hand, even to hold the battery-powered device in question. It’d be like the difference between signing my name in cursive flourishes with my left hand, then switching to my right in order to stroke-victimly scrawl out LNDO.
According to my extensive Masturbate My Johnson Institute study of one, I could sort of see where Mr. Reuben’s coming from. (Back row, aisle seat, guy with the handkerchief.) I got curious about what dudes had to say about this, though, so naturally I went to Twitter. My question was if guys ever used their nondominant hand for personal solitary activities, and here are some of the responses:
My husband uses his non-dominant hand when he’s…handling things himself.
Learned how when I broke my hand. Now I’m sort of ambidextrous. TMI?
I write, box and throw right-handed; ‘Personal Solitary Activities’, left-handed 99% of the time.
Of course, if we didn’t the calluses would start to rub us the wrong way.
I then asked JB, who said he couldn’t be sure unless he was doing it, so maybe we should retire to the bedroom and, like, see for ourselves? Then he admitted that he prefers the left hand. The non-dominant hand.
So, maybe Pee-Wee was engaged in hand-to-gland combat in that theater all these years ago, and maybe he wasn’t, but I still say shenanigans on his so-called proof of innocence. Unless self-pleasure ambidextrousness has greatly improved since 1991, perhaps as a result of texting? Someone should do a study on this. In fact, I will. Give me a research grant and a day of Twitter access and we’ll, you know, bang this thing out.
Aug
17
8:15 PM, bedtime
Me: “Okay pookie, night night. Now remember, no—”
Dylan: “CWYING!”
Me: “Right. Just—”
Dylan: (delighted) “SWEEPING!”
Me: “Exactly! No crying tonight, just sleeping. Okay? Okay. I love you, sweetie.”
8:49 PM
Dylan: “LA LA LA LA WE ALL LIVE IN A WELLOW SUBMAWINE . . . . LAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
Me: “Dylan. Shhhh. Riley’s sleeping. It’s night night time, remember?”
Dylan: “Just SWEEPING!”
Me: “GoodNIGHT.”
9:12 PM
Dylan: (incoherent yelling)
Me: “Hey, hey hey hey! What’s going on in here?”
Dylan: “Uhhh. I don’ know!”
Me: “Okay, come here. Listen, you. It’s bedtime. You need to close your eyes, okay? Think of something nice.”
Dylan: “Like CHICKENS!”
Me: “Oookay. Sure, like chickens.”
Dylan: “An’ a horse. An’ a COW. An’ a BUFFALO. An’ . . . an’ a coyote.”
Me: “Right. Sure. You think about coyotes.”
Dylan: “Where COYOTE go? Dat coyote RAN OFF! He’s inna WOODS!”
Me: “Yep. Probably sleeping.”
Dylan: (indignant) “No! He’s eating GWASS!”
Me: “GOODNIGHT.”
9:38 PM
Dylan: (standing up in crib, peering around room)
Me: “Dylan, did you poop?”
Dylan: (slyly, waggling eyebrows) “Yeaaaaah!
Me: (sniffing) “You did not. Now go. To. Sleep.”
9:45 – 2 AM
Blissful silence
2:12 AM
Dylan: (incoherent shrieking)
Me: “Mmmfff. Dylnn. Wassa. Plz gobackto. Sleep.”
Dylan: (chirpy) “Okay!”
3:45 AM, 5:12 AM
Repeat of above
6:00 AM
Dylan: “EHHHHHHHHHH. EHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. EHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”
Me: “?!?!?!”
Dylan: “I got a LEAFBLOWER!”
Me: “WHAT? IT’S NOT TIME TO GET UP YET. GO BACK TO SLEEP. OH MY ACHING GOD, KID.”
7:15 AM
Dylan: “Hi Mommy! Wake up now? Wake up?
Me: “Dylan. We can’t keep on like this. You have to start sleeping better. DYLAN. SERIOUSLY. ARE YOU LISTENING TO—”
Dylan: (bouncing happily) “Just SWEEPING! Iss okay Mommy. Shhhh! I’m lookin for COYOTES. An’ horses, an’ buffalo, an’ . . . an’ CHICKENS.”
-
My product review site:
[