Sex & the City quotes [part 2]

Miranda: “Whatever happened to aging gracefully?”

Carrie: “It got old.”

sexin’ it up

Carrie: New York City is all about sex. People getting it, people trying to get it, people who can’t get it. No wonder the city never sleeps. It’s too busy trying to get laid.

(Got this one from an archive of sex & the city quotes)

painful truth

While surfing channels last night, I came across Oprah at a local television station. Though I had a penchant for switching channels during commercial breaks, the issues discussed glued me to the show. At the risk of sounding cheesy, when women are confronted with women’s issues in society, I always get the urge to listen.

After writing several stories about women for my thesis, I always have been fascinated (for lack of a better term) about women’s stories, specially the most common ones. Although there has admittedly been several powerful and successful women nowadays, it is undeniable how fear dominates most part of our everyday living. So, to cut a long story short, Gavin de Becker’s book The Gift of Fear enlightened women on how to dispute their living fear.

On wrapping up discussion, one statement pointed out by the book’s author Gavin de Becker drew responses and several nods among the predominantly female audience:

“When men says no, it means the end of a discussion. When women says no, it means the start of a negotiation.“

He is so right!

i miss the “vagina”

This is an excerpt from Chapter 1 of The Vagina Monologues: The V-Day Edition:

Let’s just start with the word “vagina.” It sounds like an infection at best, maybe a medical instrument: “Hurry, Nurse, bring me the vagina.” “Vagina.” “Vagina.” Doesn’t matter how many times you say it, it never sounds like a word you want to say. It’s a totally ridiculous, completely unsexy word. If you use it during sex, trying to be politically correct-“Darling, could you stroke my vagina?”-you kill the act right there.

I’m worried about vaginas, what we call them and don’t call them.

In Great Neck, they call it a pussycat. A woman there told me that her mother used to tell her, “Don’t wear panties underneath your pajamas, dear; you need to air out your pussycat.” In Westchester they called it a pooki, in New Jersey a twat. There’s “powderbox,” “derrière,” a “poochi,” a “poopi,” a “peepe,” a “poopelu,” a “poonani,” a “pal” and a “piche,” “toadie,” “dee dee,” “nishi,” “dignity,” “monkey box,” “coochi snorcher,” “cooter,” “labbe,” “Gladys Siegelman,” “VA,” “wee wee,” “horsespot,” “nappy dugout,” “mongo,” a “pajama,” “fannyboo,” “mushmellow,” a “ghoulie,” “possible,” “tamale,” “tottita,” “Connie,” a “Mimi” in Miami, “split knish” in Philadelphia, and “schmende” in the Bronx. I am worried about vaginas.