Pick up any pop magazine and without fail you’l find at least one article on relationships and how to spice, slice, dice, blend, whirl and juice ’em. Not very creative, the headlines draw eager readers in with some variant of “Turn him on tonight!” “What women/men REALLY want!” Really? Apparenty we’re like assembly line widgets programmed from birth to have the same desires, fantasies and needs no matter our experiences, culture, or personal tastes. We can all prefer different flavors of ice cream and cupcakes, but pleasure is as simple as a box of cornflakes: just open, pour, add milk and sugar and you’re good to go! Hmmm…. I think most of us missed that memo. When you actually read the article there’s usually very little of use. They always miss the most important points anyway.
Juice is an inside job. Always. The best way to juice your sex life and everything else is to find your inner juice fountain & set the pump to working. Hard. Crank that kitty up to full blast! Let ‘er rip! Start the earth to shaking, make the mountains rumble and watch your juice gush forth and spew all over your life! Yes, it’s messy, sticky and wonderfully delicious. Sashay forth Ms. or Mr. Juicy and drown the world in your fabulousness! The pump’s rusted you say? No problem. Do a little insider plumbing, put a jazzy new spigot on and all will be well again. If the handle breaks in the on position, no problem. You’re not going to stop the flow anyway.
The juice pump won’t work if you’ve neglected to turn on the power in your house. Yes, this means go inside your House & turn the lights on before you can even FIND the juice bar. It won’t matter a fig how bright it is outside or in someone else’s house if your power’s shut off and the lights aren’t on. You’ll be stumbling about in the dark, crashing into things and bruising yourself. You’ll smash the fine china you inherited before you’ve had a chance to use it or decide if you like it or not. With the lights on you can at least decide if the china looks better smashed and have fun flinging each hideous piece against the walls and floors. You might even pick up a hammer and have at it that way, but wandering ’round willy-nilly in the dark? That’s no fun. Get thee inside and turn thyself on! Then get that juice flowing.
Need more reasons to turn yourself on and juicify yourself? It takes the pressure off everybody else and they’ll like being around you more. Dry and dusty is no fun. Being a recepticle for everybody else’s ideas is no fun, either especially if it’s not what YOU like. You become a rubbish bin. The stuff that flows out of a rubbish bin ain’t juice, kewpie and NOBODY wants that on them! Friends and friendly acquaintances are meant to be accessories to your already juicy, turned on life. They ADD to your happiness. They can’t create it for you. They wouldn’t know how, though many people, the Lady bless ’em, put up a valiant try every single day.
Here’s where I find absolute silliness helpful. Find things to make YOU laugh, things that make YOU feel bouncy like when you were a kid. Go ask your inner six year old what delights her/him and include that in your day regularly. I happen to love silly children’s books and music. When the juice just ain’t flowing with my usual music I bring out the big guns: The Gummibar Song, Nukki Nukki, Silly Time Magic, Raffi, the Muppets.
At moments when just listening isn’t enough I will actually get up and dance. When I’m really grooving I’ll throw in goofy faces just because they’re fun. I’m a huge fan of random ridiculousness if it makes me laugh. And you know what? Not only do I have a blast but I find myself in such a great mood I’m buzzing for many hours afterwards. If this happens late in the day I may end up bouncing around way into the teeny weenie hours. If you use this suggestion, do it with caution and unless you’re desperate don’t do it on a night when you’ve got to get up early the next day, though I do find myself super charged enough that I don’t need much sleep and manage to awaken with ease and sproing the next morning.
“Um, Stas, ridiculous silliness is embarassing. I can’t do that!” Sigh. Here come the Icouldnevers again. You know? They really are a bunch of stuffy, self righteous, stuck up prigs who think they know what’s best for everybody at all times. Why people insist on inviting the Icouldnevers to visit I’ll never understand. Once you let them in they’re poor house guests and have a tendency to not only invite themselves for an extended stay but they move in, never pay rent and have the audacity to go about running – and ruining – your life and your fun (same thing). They add nothing but misery anywhere they turn up yet people insist treating them like honored guests. They’re guests alright. The kind of guests who from the second you open the door start treating you like last week’s stale, chewed gum stuck on their shoes. They rearrange your furniture, throw garbage all over the floors, leave the food out to spoil on the counters, bust up the windows and invite their equally lovely mannered friends over for extended sad-ins. All on your tab of course. Some of the more frequent companions of the Icouldnevers are the OhIdon’tneeds, the Ican’thaves and the Whatwillpeoplethinks. These louts set up shop all over your house, breed faster than rats and are equally as desirable. Pretty soon you’re overrun with heaps of rubbish to clean out and the barest minimum of fun doled out in micro-crumbs for doing the Tasks of Hercules about twenty times in succession. You only get to enjoy your fun crumb super dry with dust on it while sitting in the dark. No juice, no glow, no lights. And then you wonder why fun isn’t as much fun as it used to be and you seem to be working harder and harder for less and less pleasure. Do yourself a favor and kick these creeps to the curb and let them hold their sad-ins somewhere else. Katy, bar the door against these juiceless creatures or there’ll be a huge wreck on the main line. Now get inside, turn the power on and clean so you can get the juice flowing!