Yom Kippur Festivities.

It's Yom Kippur, a day on which I should not have eaten, drunk, worn leather, bathed, or had sex. Oops?

Alan and I did it four times. The third we finished with a blowjob and the fourth he couldn't finish, but we certainly got to it four times at least. Two on the sofa, one in the bed, one on the floor. Extremely fun (if soul-crushingly vanilla), and I didn't feel guilty because I'm an atheist at the moment.

I'm a little worried that in the future when my atheism has gone the way of my relativism, socialism, nihilism, and every other goofy ism trapping of liberal-arts-kid thinking, I'll feel bad about it. But what the hell, if that ever happens I'll have to start with bacon and the fact that Alan is not technically my husband and the Yom Kippur thing will just be icing on that guilt cake.


While I was having my bad-Jew sex, I had a spasm in my right hip so bad I almost had to stop. (A message from the Almighty?) This has happened to me masturbating the last couple days too. I'm not quite sure what's going on. My right hip does have a history of sucking; I dislocated it as a teenager and it's been prone to transient limps and pains ever since. But the sex thing is new. And scary! I'm way too young to be going "oh, sorry, honey, not tonight, my hip is acting up again with the rheumaty."