Warning: This topic may be a bit too racy for my conservative readers, but should you bear with me, you might just experience a necessary awakening.

A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of seeing In The Next Room (or the vibrator play) on Broadway with my girlfriend Alessandra Hirsch.  The best introduction as to the content of this play is to simply re-tell a true story told by one of the fictional characters:

When the English art critic John Ruskin married Miss Effie Gray in 1849, they spent their honeymoon in the Scottish Highlands.  Both were young, healthy, and attractive people, but never, on their honeymoon or in the six subsequent years of their marriage, did they succeed in having sex.  After great bitterness, their marriage was annulled by an ecclesiastical court on the grounds of non-consummation.  In a deposition made to his lawyer, Ruskin testified in his own defense that on their wedding night, when he saw his wife naked, he was horrified.  He had seen many representations of naked women in classical sculpture, and none of them had pubic hair.  He thought this was a deformity of his wife’s part and was thoroughly disgusted by her body.

The Source of Happiness by Phyllis Rose

Sure, we can look back at this story and snobbishly lift our chins, proudly gawking at how far we have progressed as a society of human beings.  The Victorian way of life believed that absolute innocence was the purest, most respectable way of living life.  To them, ignorance was truly bliss.  Their unawareness led to sexless marriages, thus unhappy husbands and wives, and countless divorces on grounds such as the aforementioned.  Could anything positive possibly stem from this torturous life style?  OH WAIT I KNOW: VIBRATORS!  (And Sarah Ruhl’s amazing play, of course!)

Did you know that vibrators were the first in-home electrical appliance?  Even before hairdryers or electric griddles, women were buzzin’ their way to ecstasy.  Doctors would use in-office vibrators on women suffering hysteria.  They began treating women using a nice “genital massage since the fifth century B.C., and, quite frankly, they were tired of it – too time-consuming, fatiguing, and difficult to learn” (Sex & Serendipity by Rachel Maines).  Before Freud, hysteria was an unknown illness caused by “the revolt of the uterus against neglect”, thus the vigorous massage to release the anxiety.  “The idea was to produce a crisis of the disease, like the breaking of a fever, which, in the case of hysteria, was called the hysterical paroxysm.  This condition was characterized by heavy breathing, contractions, and discharge of moisture” (Maines).

In other words, an orgasm.

Yes, we have come far in our quest for sexual liberation, but I believe our discoveries have only begun.  If I should mention the word sex around any adult in New Castle, PA, most (with the exception of a few) will blush and quickly change the subject.  In my experiences, I have learned that many people are afraid of its power and stricken with some form of religious guilt.  Whatever the case may be, there are still women (and men) feeling shameful for desiring something completely natural and totally human.

Take me, for instance.  I lost my virginity in a Chevy S10 in some alley behind a deserted house, or shed, I don’t remember.  What I do remember is having sex because that person wanted me to, not necessarily because it was something I desired.  I felt pressured, and immensely guilty.  Because I was so tense, it was impossible for me to indulge even the slightest bit.  Plus, with all the PG-13/R movies I had seen with sex scenes (namely the Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillippe scene in  Cruel Intentions), I had this false idea of what it was supposed to be like, how I was to perform, how I was to sound, etc, etc.  I felt as if I was watching myself have sex, where my body was just rolling with the punches.  So fornication was never a result of passion that organically spawned from me, but served merely as an act of generous guilt.  Not a guilty pleasure even.  Just simple, straight-forward shame.

Not to mention the LACK of orgasms I was experiencing during my earlier sexual encounters.  Oh, God.  And somehow, I convinced myself that this was okay. Ladies, it’s not okay. Yes, we are more difficult to decipher, but our ability to climax is necessary to our health.  It’s a positive thing.  And let’s face it: it’s awesome!

I am writing today to express my love of the female body and all of its complications, its quirks, and its secrets.  Time warp alert: GIRL POWER!  Abstinence is a nice thing if you choose it for yourself, but if someone else chooses it for you against your will, then you are only fighting against your own nature.  Your body is gorgeous, your heart is beautiful, and you are allowed to express the amazing-ness that is you in any way you desire.  In the play, the two main women played with the vibrator on each other (clothes on, of course) – it was a fun game, and they bonded over the different experiences each one had during her own orgasm.  They listened to their bodies demands, and followed suit, no questions asked.  This is not barbaric, slutty behavior: this is instictual, powerful, and beautiful.

Funny little fact: most women experience their first orgasm by themselves.

Another funny little fact: women who masturbate are more likely to be open and comfortable in a first-time sexual encounter than women who are clueless as to how their own bodies function.

Just like DNA, every woman is unique.  You should name your flower, and know every detail down to the tip of the stem.

Happy Hump-Day!  Let’s make every day hump day!

Stay Blessed,

Bry

I’m getting too old for these late nights.

• Caliper – From Devver.net, a simple way to run metric_fu on any project with an accessible git repo.
• cap-recipes – A collection of capistrano recipes for managing things like delayed job and whenever and passenger.
• Gem Building is Defunct – At GitHub, anyhow. They’re throwing their weight behind Gemcutter.
• The Invoice Machine – New online time-tracking and invoicing service for freelancers.
• ruhl – Yet another new scheme for rendering HTML markup from Ruby in an elegant fashion.
• What I’ve Earned (And Learned) From Writing “Beginning Ruby” – Basically, “writing books sucks.”

Sällskapet såg misstroget på när Lurme körde fast båten i dyn några kilometer söder om Skuger. Han hade anlänt med hissade segel och försökt att sladda in vid strandkanten. Båten såg fortfarande hel ut, och Lurme själv var oskadd.

- Det var mörkt. Jag såg inte ordentligt, ursäktade han sig.

- Men… du kan väl inte segla? sade Saara.

- Är det någon av oss som kan det? undrade Possum.

Det var just det som var problemet: trots att alla i sällskapet hade olika bakgrund och vitt skiljda kompetenser, så var det knappast någon av dem som kunde kallas för sjöbjörn. De hade i och för sig inte haft några problem med att ta sig över Malossisjöns lugna vatten, men det här var en helt annan sak. Deras plan var att segla ned längs Paratornas vindpinade östkust, och efter Lurmes fadäs hade det gått upp för dem hur svårt det skulle bli.

Det var en fin och välskött fiskebåt med två master och alldeles för många segel att hålla reda på för landkrabbor. De diskuterade igenom situationen noga under natten och strax innan gryningen bestämde de sig för att plocka fram årorna och börja ro.

Färden gick oändligt långsamt. Dag efter dag rodde de, och när de inte orkade ro lät de sig drivas fram på måfå av havsströmmarna. De hade alltid kusten inom synhåll, för säkerhets skull. De fiskade och samlade regnvatten i träspänner som de hittat i kölsvinet.

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På den tredje dagen började det blå barnet att krympa. Innocentia kunde inte förklara varför, och Belinda oroade sig mycket. Kunde det bero på brist på mat och vatten? De omfördelade ransoner för att försäkra sig om att barnet fick vad han behövde, men inget tycktes hjälpa. Efter ytterligare två dygn hade han krympt till en handflatas storlek och såg ut som ett litet blått foster.

Äventyrarna var förtvivlade. Hade deras orakel gått förlorat på grund av oaktsamhet? Skulle deras kamp nu vara förgäves?

Men så vände det. Det blå fostret började växa igen, men det var förändrat. På bara några timmar växte det upp till en kraftig med kortvuxen liten blå dvärg, komplett med blått skägg och allt.

Dvärgen var dock ingen behaglig bekantskap. Han var djupt melankolisk och när han talade spred han en miserabel stämning omkring sig. Innocentia försökte trösta honom, som hon gjort så många gånger förut däruppe på den svävande klippan, men han välkomnade inte längre hennes omvårdnad.

Efter två veckors rodd och drivande var fältransonerna helt slut. De levde nu enbart på den fisk som de kunde dra upp ur havet. Den magra kosthållningen hade satt sina spår och de funderade flera gånger på att försöka gå i land och jaga, men Ilibauriens klippiga kustlinje såg inte inbjudande ut.

De var nästan på väg att ge upp när landskapet började förändras. Rakt föröver svängde kustlinjen åt öst och de kunde se åkerbruk och böljande gräsfält istället för branta klippväggar. Så nådde de då äntligen fram till fristaten Ruhl och sent på eftermiddagen fick de hjälp att lägga till vid en brygga av några vänliga ankor.

Denna del av Paratorna var administrativt självstyrande från imperiet. Majoriteten av befolkningen var vita ankor, och handel den dominerande sysselsättningen, vid sidan av jordbruk och fiske.

Det visade sig att bryggan de lagt till vid ägdes av en gren av familjen Mogger – ett namn som Belinda, Lurme och Saara mindes från Arhem på Marjura där ankorna förestådde en av handelsstationerna. Ankorna visade sig vara mycket trevliga, och erbjöd sällskapet att vila ut på deras gård. Kajplats och husrum skulle inte kosta mer än 30 silvermynt per person och natt, förklarade fadern i familjen. Belinda grymtade över priset, men insåg att de verkligen behövde vila och accepterade å gruppens vägnar… trots Lurmes protester.

På kvällen badade de sig rena i tunnor med hett vatten, samtidigt som husets tjänare tvättade deras smutsiga reskläder. Till middag bjöds lokala delikatesser som i normala fall knappast skulle fallit resenärerna i smaken. Men de var uthungrade och knusslade inte. Grillade grodlår och kokt snok hade aldrig smakat så gott.

Över middagsbordet diskuterades händelseutvecklingen i riket och världen, och Belinda blev förvånade över hur mycket som hade hänt sedan de lämnade Skuger. På Trinsmyra hade runglernas uppror vuxit i styrka, och nattliga räder mot byarna på landsbygden i Kark blivit ett gissel för de trakoriska styrkorna. Det ryktades också att det heliga Kishatet på Palamux höll på att radikaliseras. Många förväntade sig att de snart skulle utropa sin självständighet och slå sig fria från centralmakten. Samtidigt mobiliserade Trakoriens ärkefiende, Ransard, sina trupper för ett kommande anfall. Den trakoriska horisonten tycktes full av åskmoln.

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I två dagar vilade de på familjen Moggers gård. De kände sig väl mottagna, och lärde snabbt känna de sociala ankorna. En av de yngre sönerna i familjen var mycket intresserad av sällskapets båt. Han hette Andiman och påstod sig vara en erfaren sjökapten, som tyvärr var i tillfällig avsaknad av ett skepp att föra befäl över.

Även om ingen i gruppen trodde så mycket på Andimans tidigare erfarenhet såg de ändå en möjlighet att underlätta resandet. Det var lång väg att färdas över berg och slätter för att komma till Manghalde i Skuggornas träsk, och de hade redan spillt alltför mycket tid. Kapten Andiman döpte raskt om fiskebåten till Vindpilen och började sortera om tampar, segel och slag efter eget huvud.

Med Andiman vid rodret gav de sig av igen. De gjorde ett kort stopp för att proviantera i huvudorten Fanzimle, och satte därefter kurs vidare söderut.

Steffen, der Hüter der Daten. Ja, der Steffen ist kühl, ich meine Rühl. Er gibt sich gerne unschuldig, nur Daten sammle man, die sowieso schon verfügbar sind. Helfen will er, damit ein potentieller Arbeitgeber bei Yasni auch direkt das findet was er sucht. Nicht, dass der eigene Name noch beschmutzt wird.

Also kommt ihr Leut, und sortiert wozu wir Euch zwingen wollen. Bei Yasni soll man seine Ergebnisse sortieren, das zuordnen was zu einem gehört und den Schmutz beiseite schieben. Ja, der Steffen ist ein Gutmensch, könnte man denken. Doch Steffen Rühl von Yasni ist beileibe kein Gutmensch, eher Herr eines perfiden Geschäftsmodells. Denn wie verdient Steffen denn Geld? Oha, ein kompliziertes Thema. Denn Steffen ist das, was man in der Tierwelt als Parasit bezeichnen könnte, vielleicht auch als blutsaugende Mücke, die sich gerne von anderen ernährt ohne selbst etwas leisten zu müssen.

Denn Yasni generiert, nach jeder Suchanfrage auch wenn keine Ergebnisse geliefert wurden, eine schöne SEO optimierte Seite, die dann umgehend in google zu finden ist. Ja, wer wollte das nicht schon immer, sein Name in Verbindung mit Yasni. Nicht erfreulich, natürlich nicht.

Aber der Steffen beteuert hoch und heilig, dass man keine Daten speichere. Alles ein Caching von google, dass just in dem Moment stattfand, als man die Abfrage gestartet habe. Sischa digga!

Übrigens verdient Yasni einen Grossteil des Umsatzes mit Affiliates, zu denen man weiterleitet, da dort dann kostenpflichtige Informationen abgerufen werden können. Herrlich…

Ich warte ja noch auf die erste Klage, obwohl ich glaube, dass der Steffen sich eher darauf freut.

Machet Euch die Welt wie Ihr sie sehen wollt…

Yesterday morning was a rare treat. I spent the morning in the genealogy department at the library surrounded by family history books and my trusty Pinky.

I’m working on gathering my documentation for my DAR application, and did find some more specific place names and times yesterday that should help with that process. Of course, I kept heading off on rabbit trails. It’s almost impossible for me not to! I love history, and my favorite part about family history is the way that you can see the larger historical events play out in a family or community.

As I worked on my Harrod history yesterday–my great-grandmother was Alta Jane Harrod Ruhl (in the picture with my great-grandfather)–I kept getting pulled into peripheral lines reading about soldiers and pioneers. It’s so cool when disparate family lines criss-cross and I find that my fifth great-grandfather on my father’s side, Levi Harrod, who fought in the revolution, and his brothers knew my first cousin nine times removed on my mom’s side, Daniel Boone.

I found my husband’s grandmothers maiden name, Garriott, intermingled with some Harrods in southern Indiana and several other names that are significant in my research, giving me more rabbit trails to follow.

Bethany and I are going to Salt Lake City at the end of the month for a convention, but I am hoping to be able to squeeze out a little bit of time to visit the Family History Library, although I don’t have any illusions that I’ll actually have time to get any research done.

This post is from my main blog, but I thought that it would be good to post it over here, too.

I knew when I posted my last post that I might get a response like I got from one friend. I just didn’t think it would be so fast. “What difference does it what their great-great-grandparents were doing? I don’t even know who mine were.”

Maybe you have to be into family history to understand why the reality that someone owned my friends gg grandfather was so significant to me. Maybe not.

I know who my gg grandparents were. I know details about their lives. I’ve spent time searching for facts, details, stories, pictures, and places related to their lives. The decisions they made about where to live, how to live, and how to raise their children made an impact on their families that still goes on.

Louis and Wilhelmina (Pracht) Bracht were both born in Germany, married in Ohio, and moved to Indiana. Louis was a farmer. His last farm sat at what is now the corner of Coliseum & Lima in Fort Wayne. The house where he spent his last days is still standing in a Fort Wayne neighborhood. They had 11 children and were active in the German Reformed Church.

Heinrich and Wilhelmina (Kruetzman) Hildebrand were both second generation Americans, born in Allen & Adams counties. Their parents were among the founding members of the German Evangelical & Reformed Church in Magley, Indiana. Heinrich fathered seven children and also raised an orphan girl. The family still farms the same farm and my grandparents lived on land passed down from Henry. Henry died young-ish and Wilhelmine lived out her life in the home of her newly wed son Otto and his wife Flora, my great-grandparents.

Reuben and Margaret (Steele) Beery both came from families that have been here since before America was a country. On his mother’s side, Reuben was descended from Kings George’s Virginia land agent. Daniel Boone was his sixth cousin. They were active in the Brethren church and Reuben was a prosperous farmer. Reuben was born in Ohio, while Margaret was born in Adams County, Indiana. They had 11 children.

Joshua and Nancy (Mowery) Bright also came from Ohio. Joshua’s family had been in America sine the early 1700’s and he was also a farmer. His will was a beautiful confession of faith and hope that his family would continue in that faith. They had 14 children, with only three dying in childhood.

This is just one side of my family. I “know” my other four great-great grandparents, too. They were all farmers. My gg grandparents, Colonel Ellsworth and Samantha (Hubler) Ruhl were Lutheran and I’m grateful that I have ended up with that heritage.

These aren’t some people from the past who are of no further importance. Their lives impacted mine. When my friend mentioned, so matter of fact-ly, that she had found some information about her gg grandfather’s owner it made the whole reality of slavery seem even more awful than it always has.

Bodybuilding ist eine Sportart, bei der die Modellierung des Körpers durch gezielte Muskelübungen in der Regel unter Verwendung von Fitnessgeräten im Mittelpunkt steht. Ziel ist der Muskelaufbau bei geringem Körperfettanteil und die genaue Definition (Herausarbeitung) einzelner Muskeln. Bodybuilding wird überwiegend von Männern betrieben.

Der Kraftdreikampf (oder auch das „Powerlifting“) ist eine Wettkampfsportart der Schwerathletik. Sie setzt sich zusammen aus den drei Disziplinen Kniebeugen, Bankdrücken und Kreuzheben. Die drei Übungen werden bei Wettkämpfen in der genannten Reihenfolge absolviert.

Kraftdreikampf ist am ehesten mit dem olympischen Gewichtheben (Zweikampf: Reißen, Stoßen) vergleichbar. Ziel ist es auch hier, größtmögliche Lasten zu bewältigen.

Die FIBO ist eine internationale Messe für Fitness und Wellness. Sie findet jährlich im April auf dem Messegelände in Essen statt.

Inside my head there is a battle going on. A battle between evil and good. Let me explain. Ever since I was born I always idolized the big guy. I never wanted to be a king I always wanted to be knight. A warrior. It must have something to do with my father being a typical blue collar, he didn’t make much money. He still doesn’t but he was always strong. I have always choosen brawns over brains. I’ll explain more about my past later though. What this will be about is my journey. You see I am addicted to IRON and no not the chemical. Since I was 14 I wanted to be MR. O. I have dedicated my life to bodybuilding. I have choosen it over friends, jobs, , school and yes even girl. No I am not gay. It’s something I was born to do. Here is the catch though. Right now I am a 100% natural. I have always been big for my age but a puberty wore off so did my gains. Now I used to think the guys in the O like Cutler ,Ruhl, Coleman and Yates where natrual. All through high school I wanted to be like them . I wanted to be big .  Well obuvisly i have found out that these guys didn’t win on gentics. I want to be big . I want to be big so bad that I would give up anything to become it. Now before you think its easy don’t juice. That’s not the case. Imagine what you wanted most in the world was in your reach in your grasp and slowly it pulled away. It could be a child if your infertile , money if your poor and love if you alone. If living up on a mountain with no human contact would help me grow I would do it in heart beat.

Back before prohoromones where illegal I bought some. I have not used them . Since the ban the have remained hidden waiting and calling to be used. Everytime life kicks my ass. Everytime I see someone who is putting a half ass effort and getting better results then me. I get the primal crave to go for it. I have found comfort by making a promise to myself I would stay natural…. natural untill 21. Since then things have changed. I want to stay natrual but I also want to be a freak.   Now My 21st birthday is a week away….. time is running up . The sand is almost completely on the bottom of the hour glass. If I am going to become the monster I want to be I need to start soon. On this page I will share my story with you. Both the good and the bad but only the truth. I shall not go by real name and I will not use others. You will how ever hear everything.

Does being dedicated meaning sacrificing everything , including your health  or does it mean doing what has never been done ?

So it begins.

Okay, I may not love all cemeteries, but I love the country cemeteries where earlier generations of my family are buried.

For a history buff like me, who is also part of a close family, family history is a natural interest. I have been researching for over 10 years now, but moving to northern Indiana five years ago really reinvigorated my searches. Both of my parents are from the county to the south of Fort Wayne, and the last immigrant ancestors of mine arrived there in the late 1840’s. Our families were among the early settlers of three northern Indiana counties: Adams, Allen, and Wells.

This gives me an enormous feeling of connection to this part of the country. I love finding the homes that family members lived in, seeing the churches the attended–and often helped build–and walking through the cemeteries where they were buried. I love finding newspaper snippets about their comings and goings, reading their letters, and seeing their names on old plat maps.

I love the cemeteries for their serene country settings. I love the signs of the faith that was an important part of their lives. Their are eight of them that I know pretty well, now, but each time I go I seem to make a new connection. There are a few I have yet to find. A beautiful fall day is the perfect time to go search.

My great-great-great grandparents, Joseph and Anna Harrod moved here from WiIlliams County, Ohio.

Their son Enos and his wife Hester have one of my favorite headstones. Enos and Hester’s daughter, Alta Jane Harrod Ruhl was my great-grandmother and I was named after her.