I had another bad dream a few nights ago that was not only horrible but also embarrassing. I’m not sure whether one can be held responsible for dream content. I would never choose such an idiotic and reprehensible dream.  I couldn’ t even tell my husband for days.

In the dream, I was in a bedroom with a fat woman who I was pretending to like for some reason. We were cuddling, and I didn’t mind it until it got sexual. I was very anxious and told her to stop. She asked why and I blurted out, “Because you’re a woman!”  The next thing I knew, she was on the other side of the room and she had turned into an angry clown, the kind we all fear and loathe. The clown took out it’s dick which was around three feet long and more like a baseball bat. He snarled, “Now you’ll be sorry.” I started to cry and woke up.

Well! I don’t have to tell you that I have no interest in being raped by a clown, or even a fat woman. A friend of mine gave me a far-fetched analysis involving rejection and guilt. Now I’m worried that the woman was my mother, and the clown was my father. But it might all be the consequence of looking at old circus photos for hours on end.

Maybe I’m at the point where I’m creeped out by sex. I love Tumblr and can’t seem to give it up, but the sheer quantity of tits and asses is overwhelming. Not to mention the unexpected animated GIF’s of men blowing each other and Japanese women bound up in rope. What’s the deal with this? Doesn’t anyone else feel kind of exhuasted by these images? There are only so many asses I need to see bent over a chair. Am I just too old to appreciate random asses?

And the tits, god, after a while it seems so tragic. Some poor woman in the 1950’s, displaying her gigantic tits like pies at a county fair, it’s just not a happy sight. Obviously, I can’t sympathize with the male point of view. Men seem to need tits to look at, 24/7,  irrespective of context.

As a married person, I think of sex as inseparable from intimacy. Without intimacy, it’s all clowns with baseball bats.

I wish I could end on that note but that would be dishonest.  I would be leaving out the more recent dream where a friend asked me to babysit his pony, who was a delightful cartoon character of some kind. Everything was great until the pony offered me its services. Of course I declined in horror, and wondered what the hell my friend had been up to.

Forgive me. It’s not my fault.

Why would a bloody nose help to sell Givenchy menswear, one might ask oneself upon seeing the above photo from a fashion editorial. The answer is the same one that explains the popularity of nosebleeds on tumblr.   Just don’t expect me to know it.

I can’t tell you the number of bloody noses I’ve seen on tumblr, along with the bloody lips and bruised knees. Obviously, part of the appeal is simply the transgressive nature of these  images. They’re  icky and/or disturbing, therefore popular with the hipsterati.

But is something else going on? Is it a Vampire thing?   I personally associate nosebleeds with children. Is it a pedophile thing?

To find a bloody nose attractive is to  never  have been a parent. Both of my kids were afflicted with routine nosebleeds, usually accompanied by shouts of “By doze is bleeding! Help!” I never had enough tissue if we were away from home.

Once, my youngest got a nosebleed in a jewelry shop and the blood gushed out over everything. The owner tried to help. Other  people  entered the shop and quickly left,  horrified  by the blood spattered scene. I’ll never forget the immensity of that nose bleed.

Another time, my mom was with me and the concern on her face triggered my own fear that my kid would bleed to death. I think we referred to that one later as The Great Nosebleed of April Something.

When Max was around ten, I asked him what subject he would choose if he could make a short film. He thought for a couple of seconds and said firmly: “A bloody nose.” I remember asking, You mean, the whole thing would be just a nosebleed? He said Yep, with an early hint of the perversity to come.

There is nothing good about a bloody nose. They used to tell you to tilt the head back but now we know this is wrong. You can use ice, you can pack the nose with tissue, you can pinch the bridge of the nose, but it will just keep on bleeding until it’s ready to stop.

But maybe I’m behind the times. Maybe nothing says Givenchy like a bloody nose.

I am hopelessly addicted to tumblr.

I tell myself it’s a “better” addiction than others I’ve acquired since I learned to use a computer. It’s better than online shopping and it’s better than twitter. The only problem is that like all addictions, it just creates an insatiable appetite.   I tell myself that I’ll stop looking as soon as I find one beautiful image. But then I need to find just one more.

In the course of this endless hunger for images, I have seen more tits than I’ve seen in the last 57 years. There are tits everywhere! Vintage tits, fashion-spread tits, young tits, big tits, sagging tits, naughty tits, innocent tits, no one seems to tire of tits. I’m not offended; I’m just not as interested in tits as most of tumblr is.

Searching google for a photo by Tina Mondotti, I came across the beautiful image above. To my eyes, it is an exquisite expression of tenderness. I posted it on my tumblr but not ONE SINGLE PERSON has reblogged it or even “liked” it!

I’m so disappointed that no one else was moved by this picture.  Are tits only good without proximity to babies?

I don’t know where I’d be without it.   I found this here.

And you can still find me here.