Tits Out Truth Bombs Tuesday: Navigating Through A World That Hates Sex


I Don’t Know What The Fuck I’m Doing

or

How I Violate Community Guidelines Every Day of My Life

As many of you have probably noticed I’ve taken a bit of a breather from the blog. There were multiple reasons for this such as holiday travel / family gatherings, falling in a deep dark well of depression, and getting in trouble yet again on yet another online social platform.

I was left feeling rather stuck. Rather annoyed. I began questioning everything I’ve been doing the last nine months. Like, why am I continuing to talk about sex when every time I do I find myself getting spanked quite unpleasantly by a bunch of puritanical freedom-of-speech haters?

So far I’ve gotten warnings, strikes, deletions etc. from Instagram (complete deletion), Tinder (flagged and removed photo), Patreon (forced deletion of content), Mailchimp (deletion of account), and YouTube (two strikes). I’ll tell you, it’s getting old.

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I’m talking about this not to necessarily whine about my predicaments (or preDICKaments haha) but to point out that this is not just a violation of my freedom of speech, but of everyone else’s freedom to learn, explore, discover. Sexuality shouldn’t be shamed. We should be able to express it without the fear of being removed from a platform. It’s not my fault or your fault that the creators of these platforms can’t differentiate between pornography and sexual expression / education.

I don’t even know where to begin on the issues I’ve had regarding the promotion of sex toys. I guess adults aren’t allowed to play?

But to be completely honest, yes this has been frustrating but more than that, I’ve gotten bored.

Save 50% in Lovehoney Sale

Who knew that sex could become so boring?

Well, now I know when it becomes a chore to talk about it, take sexy pics on the regular, always be researching it, etc. doing it because I have to test something or try something to discuss it later, that’s when it becomes boring. At times it feels like way too much surface and not enough depth. Yes, I have nice tits, but that’s not necessarily interesting. It’s just how my body grew into itself.   

Thus I’ve been struggling with what I want to do with this blog. Initially it was designed as a way for me to release the truth of what I know (which isn’t much tbh) into the world. Much of what I know is about sexuality because that’s what my background education is in, but that’s not really getting to the truth of much.

So, this next year, I’m going to go back to my original intent. I’ll still talk about sex, dating, relationships etc. but I’ll be throwing in other random topics as well because I want to entertain myself. Yes, I love having readers. I love having your support. But, if I veer away from the root of who I am it will all become vapid and get lost in internet space.


You can play if you want to… Tantus G-Spot or P-Spot Dildos. Click on Image to explore further.

Side note, I’m still working through the issues with Patreon, but I hope to have some new posts up soon, perhaps today and definitely the usually Freaky Fan Friday video and erotica readings.

If you want to show your support without supporting Patreon feel free to email me to discuss the best ways to tip.

Thank you all for your patience as I renew and refresh this blog and all my other social media pages. May your pleasure always come first.

Just saying the same stuff but out loud. . .


Depression and Why I Show My Boobs

woman crying depressed

I feel empty. I feel like I’m suffocating. I don’t know if I’m going to make it through this time. I’ve been depressed for so long it’s like a continual numbness. I’m tired.

I’ve become more distant from my close friends. Sometimes it feels like they don’t understand why I’m doing this. They think I’m doing something wrong by talking about sex and showing my boobs or whatever. Most people don’t like that I’m showing my boobs.

Well ‘most people’, they’re my boobs and I can show them if I want.

I don’t have to justify it, but here are some justifications anyway.

People are too uptight about the naked body and I’m rebelling against that.

It like to do it.

Other people enjoy looking at my boobs so why should I always keep them covered if I can give people who want to see them pleasure? Of course, this is America and we live in a capitalistic society so I’m not just going to give them away for free. I have to pay rent, people.

Speaking of rent. This is where I’m most upset with myself. I’m actually a really hard worker. I spent the past year writing a book and a satirical self-help video series and developing this blog while doing freelance marketing. The freelance has run dry and the other things are still incubating from an income-perspective. I have applied to jobs but my heart isn’t it in. My heart is here in these creative projects.

That’s the original reason why I started the Patreon account. It turns out that people only really care about seeing my boobs, which in a way is easier but not really because it would be nice if people wanted to see my boobs AND support my creative endeavors but I suppose we can’t always get everything we want huh?

Sidenote.

I’ve had a lot of people reach out to me on Instagram while I was writing this. I realize that we’re all a mess to some degree or another and you all are brave for getting up and getting out there. I really respect your strength and wish I had a bit more of it. Of course, tomorrow is another day and perhaps I’ll be a go-getting show-stopping money magnet then.

And I’ll be able to lift others who are feeling down. We’re like one big team here on planet Earth. Or maybe the suffocation will continue. Who knows?!

Feel free to check out my patreon for the boobs or whatever.

Sometimes The Hardest Thing To Do Is Get Out of Bed

depression anger heat sadness

Yes, I’m Still Stuck In Bed, But I’m Working

or

Help! Send Food. And Beer.

Sure. I like talking about SEX. But that was never the entire intention of Go Eat a Carrot. The purpose was for me to let loose on all the truth I have bottled up in me. And what’s true today is that I’m tired of trying to conform to other people’s desires. Yes, there’s an entire world out there of sexploration to be had, but I’m not in the mood.

There I said it, the horniest woman on the planet is not in the mood.

We must have entered an alternate universe.

I’m hot. I’m overheated. I’m bordering the line of anger and depression. I could cave in and just embrace the gray but why do that when I can fight it off?

I haven’t been to the grocery store in weeks. The last thing I ate yesterday was BBQ leftover from my friend’s 4th of July party. You know, a party that happened more than a week ago. Somehow I’m still alive and mostly getting all of my calories from beer, which I also ran out of last night.

You know in Denver you can get all of the above delivered to you? Groceries, beer, even sex if you know how to use Tinder right.

But I refuse! I have two legs. I can walk to the store. Yet, I don’t. I open the fridge and go,

‘oh look, three rotting limes and one old carrot. Guess I’ll come back and look in here again in 15 minutes and hope things have changed.”

At least I still have hope even though nothing changes unless you actually do the things that make changes, hence why I’m still stuck here, hungry, thinking about making a lime/carrot juice.

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Wet & Wild Wednesday: This Boob’s For You

boobs instagram and body positivity

When You’re Angry and Depressed Just Get Naked

or

Your Body is Just a Body Moving Your Body Around

(Enjoy the video rant. An angry cry may occur in it)

I have, for many years, gone through phases where I fall into these dark holes. They’re dirtier and darker than anal holes let me tell you. Hippie-dippie people like to call it “the shadow self.” Whatever. It’s usually more menacing than a shadow, more like an empty cave that has a terrible heating and cooling system.

I care not about getting out of bed. I contemplate how I do not want to be here. And when I say here I mean Denver. I mean the United States. I mean Planet Earth. I mean here in this body.

I question my worth. I question every choice I’ve ever made. I question the people in my life and what might possibly be wrong with them to choose to spend time with me.

It starts as a simmer. Turns to a boil. Evaporates into nothingness.

The nothingness.

The care not.

The heavy gray blanket that suffocates and keeps me from moving forward.

I return to my body.

It’s funny because I imagine that many people think I’m putting up pics of my tits and ass on Instagram as some sort of desperate plea for attention. Of course, I enjoy attention but that’s not my motivation.

I do it because it’s what I have to give.

We’re all put into these vessels of flesh to learn and grow and connect. I happen to be blessed with a body that other people seem to enjoy looking at. What do I care if they look at it? Sure, I’m in charge with taking care of this thing and I could do a better job about that, but I believe we all should experience more pleasure. So here I am, mostly naked, giving strangers pleasure.

Perhaps deep down I’m just a giver with not much to give.

One day this body will be rotting in the ground and no one will want to look at it then so I might as well take some pics of it now so there’s digital proof of its existence.

I found a sentence in an old journal of mine that read,

“We’re all afraid of going after our dreams because if we fail, we will have nothing left.”

Well, I quit my job nearly a year ago to write a book. I wrote the first draft of that book.

And here I am left.
Nothing.

Yet, everything.

The opportunity to edit and write Draft 2.

The opportunity to keep showing off my boobs.

The opportunity to connect to you and you and you.

So sure, I like the attention, but it’s merely a side note to a much bigger picture. The concept that we get to move around in this package of bones and muscle and blood and skin and shit; that it’s all we really have right here where we are until we are not here anymore.

So fuck it. I embrace the dark. The light. The unknown. The complete and total hot mess that I am. And of course, I embrace the boobs.

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Hope, Fear, Depression, Pleasure: Thoughts on Anthony Bourdain and Suicide

bourdain, depression, suicide

On Depression and Pleasure

or

Fuck This Shit

I, like everyone else, woke up this Friday morning to the news that Anthony Bourdain has committed suicide.

And course, there was Kate Spade just a couple of days ago who did the same.

I’m not sure if anyone else is feeling not only heartbreak but fear. Fear that no matter what you do, what you have, what you’ve gained, what you’ve lost. No matter how good it seems for a moment–the demons will always come back. The demons will always win.

All of these beautiful creatures who walk the earth broken, fragile, scraping by every day just trying to connect to something other than pain. Other than the heavy blanket of suffocating grayness that covers so many of us and keeps us alive, but barely. Every once in awhile lifting up, lungs filling with love and light–and then abruptly reappearing right when we think we’ve made it through, right when we forget that we ever had felt that way before. The cruelest joke in the world. Played over and over on so many souls.

This is so hard I think because we saw someone we could truly relate to in Bourdain. Flawed. Yet, able to rise above those flaws and do something.

Something.

Which is often the hardest thing to do at all when you’re being smothered by the thoughts that none of it matters. That it’s all a waste.

Is it?

I’ve often thought so.

Yet, there has always been that slight glimmer; often very very far away, yet, because I’m lucky or tortured I’ve held onto that hope. Hope that the demons will leave me the fuck alone for a day. Hope that at some point I can be strong enough that if they do come back I can drop kick their asses and they will go away only to never return.

There’s that hope.

But there’s also that fear. The knowing that they will return no matter what. And that maybe one day there will be no fight left.

The thing that I relate to so strongly with Bourdain– is that when all else fails, the road to pleasures opens.

Here’s what I mean.

When I gave up entirely. When I wanted to die and felt like I had nothing left. I let it all go.

During a three-day sativa-ridden mania I came to this basic conclusion:

“Fuck this shit. If I already want to die. If I feel like death. If none of it matters, then I’m going to go out in the world and squeeze every last drop of pleasure that I can possibly get. I’m going to be raw and open and so honest it hurts. Because there’s nothing left for me. Except for those things. And if I connect with people along the way, good. If doing this changes me and the demons no long come around, great. But I’m going to ride it until the last drop of wine, the bite of steak, the last loud and long and ecstatic-driven orgasm.”

This is how I relate to Bourdain because when I see him, flawed, yet out there traveling the world, enjoying the simple pleasures, it seems like he had finally figured it out. That he had figured out how to say, “fuck this shit,” and win.

That’s why there is both hope and fear.

The hope that I can carry on a bit longer without the gray suffocating me again and the fear of knowing that one day it will be too heavy to get out from under, no matter what.

This is why I tell people to, “Go Eat A Carrot.”

It’s basically a triple entendre (which is one of my favorite things to write in the world):

1. Go literally eat an orange phallic-shaped vegetable (aka take care of yourself).
2. You suck as a person, go eat a dick (aka STFU).
3. You suck real good, keep on sucking that dick and eating that pussy (aka we all deserve more pleasure from this devastatingly beautiful and hard as fuck world).

And with that, because I never know when the cruelest joke in the world will make its return into my own life, I just want to thank everyone who has ever supported me, loved me, hated me, cheered me on, wished for my failures, eaten my pink taco (and vice versa), let me lick their carrot, brought me flowers, brought be sandwiches, talked to me, talked me out of it, talked me into something that I didn’t want to do but it made all the difference; really each and every one of you out there who makes this place so fucking amazing and awful at the same time. I seriously thank you, because yeah I know, it’s super cheesy and pseudo -sciencey but we’re all here right now, we’re all connected whether we want to be or not; we each do our best and I’m grateful to be a part of that, even if sometimes my best is just breathing through the day.

P.S.
If you’re feeling like shit, if you’re feeling like you’re trapped on the top floor of a burning building and the only way out is to jump, please fucking reach out to someone first. And if they don’t help, reach out to someone else. It sucks and it’s hard but keep reaching because I swear to the fucking goddesses in all of the universe that someone somewhere will take your fucking hand and lift you up (or like bring a long-ass ladder over so you can climb out the building). It’s okay. Nothing really matters. Everything is beautiful. Enjoy the pleasures.

P.P.S.
Burning building/ hi-rise thing was written by David Foster Wallace another beautiful soul gone too soon. Here’s some of that quote just because it’s stuck with me since I read Infinite Jest and it might be the most poignant moment in that long fucking confusing powerful gorgeous horrible lovely book:

“The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling.”

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Do You Feel Worthy Enough To Handle The Rejections From Dating?

worthy of rejection

Tits Out & Truth Bombs Tuesday

Or

Some People Can’t Handle Your Worthiness

I couldn’t sleep last night. I felt sad and disappointed about my current state in love, dating, life.

I know it’s difficult for some of you to believe, but I’ve been rejected quite a bit lately.

(The most recent by a guy who claimed he really liked me, was totally into me; told me to text him then didn’t respond for nine days. Only to tell me when he did finally respond that he had hooked back up with his ex and has now decided to get back together with her. But… he still “wants to be friends.” #coolcarrot)

Dating can be a struggle for everyone, even people who are expert daters. One reason why I’m an expert dater is because of all the rejection, both to and from me.

It’s hard out there. And I’m not talking just about boners.

In the book I’ve been reading (More Than Two), the authors write:

“Even the healthiest person, when persistently rejected, will hurt.”

And it’s okay to hurt. It’s okay to feel sad or angry or disappointed when something doesn’t work out with someone, particularly when so many possibilities had felt so possible. Yet, I know that I am worthy of great, loving, thoughtful, intimate relationships. I know what I am capable of giving back to other people. I know how much love is already in my life, which helps me from spiraling all the way down into a bottomless pit of despair.

I also know that I have to feel the sadness. Because if I don’t feel it, it will bottle up and turn into something really ugly that no one, including myself, wants to see.

Here are some questions that I have been asking myself, perhaps they will also help you if you’ve recently been rejected.

  • What do I bring to others’ lives? (In friendships, family, and romance)
  • What love is already in my life?
  • What have I learned from these recent dating experiences?
  • How can I apply these learnings to create better relationships in the future?
  • What do I really want and what can I truly give?

I am so grateful to all of you who have been reading/watching/enjoying/following this blog. To tell you the WHOLE truth, starting this blog kept me from killing myself. I understand that that sounds dramatic, but I was in a pretty dark place a couple of months ago; my creativity was stifled, I didn’t know what I wanted, I was drinking and doing too many drugs.

Now at least my creativity isn’t stifled and I know what I want 🙂

Rejection is one of the costs of dating. It can be painful, but perhaps we can all look rejection more as a type of growing pain than something specifically directed at you as a person. Everyone is out there looking for different things and we can’t also be the one to give those things to another.

As they say:

“The people in a relationship are more important than the relationship.”

I’m not expert at any of this, but I have had many and plenty of experiences. I’m going to continue onward, knowing the difference between needing and wanting someone… knowing what I can give and knowing what I’m willing to take. Knowing that sometimes people aren’t meant to be in a relationship with you, but they are still beautiful wonderful people who deserve love and fulfillment.

Rejection is alright.

Because in the end, even when we lose, we win.

happy sad crying
Look! I cried a tear. Not because of rejection but because I thought of all the love I already have in my life and it made me so happy I cried.

Pre-coffee / Pre-process of emotions / early morning wake-up video / honestly have no idea what I even say on this but didn’t want you all to think I’m hiding shit from you. . .

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Addiction and Personal Growth, Bullshit?

addiction

Maybe It’s Okay to Not Be Better?

or

Words of Wisdom From a Professional Drinker

Yes. I am addicted to shit. Not literal shit, but a bunch of stuff people become addicted to, alcohol mostly. Though, not in an alcoholic way quite yet, more in a binge-drinking sort of way.

I’ve been drinking since a young age. First to numb the pain of growing up in a culture that thought I was too weird, too stupid, too woman to do anything with myself. Second to numb the pain of trauma. Third to numb the pain of being around other people while maintaining a sense of self (aka being able to talk to other people). Fourth to feed my depression because it gets really hungry and loves booze. 5th because beer tastes good.

Blah blah. I could keep going with a ton of reasons, but who cares.

I have drank  (drunk?) A LOT.

And I don’t even feel bad about it.

I only want to admit that I do it. Perhaps because I haven’t hit rock bottom. Or maybe that time I drank and got raped was rock-bottom and I just can’t get myself to admit that the drinking was the problem not the rapist… wait. That sentence is wrong. It was for sure the rapist’s fault that he raped.

But anyhoo, back to me, enough about that loser.

I love to drink. Drinking loves me. But perhaps we’re not in the healthiest of relationships? Perhaps we’re a little too dependent upon one another?

I’ve been in Florida for just a few days and my desire to drink has shockingly subsided. Sure, I had 4 beers over like 7 hours earlier today while at the beach, but I could have lived with or without and been fine. I didn’t continue to drink after I woke up from a nap, which I would normally do. So, progress not perfection right?

That’s the other thing though. I’m really getting tired of personal growth bullshit. Can we all just admit that we’re not good at certain things? That we are in fact BAD at certain things? Why do we have to feel this constant need to IMPROVE? I’m not advocating stagnation. I believe we should move more like water in a river than water in a puddle. Yet, if you’ve ever watched a river it does have times where it just chills. It’s okay to fucking chill.

“Transformation”…”Personal Growth”… “Mindfulness”… In the U.S. these concepts are part of an industry… this industry is rooted in capitalism. Trying to improve your spirit is just as much about making money as trying to make yourself prettier. You are already pretty. You already have spirit.

Feeling guilt or shame because you’re not namaste enough will not make you more namaste it will just make you feel guilt and shame.

Do we need any more of that?

I think not.

How does addiction and personal growth interconnect?

Well. How many people feel guilt and shame about whatever the fuck is wrong with them?

Everyone.

Why not just embrace that there is shit wrong with you? Be a fucking chill ass river for a day or month or year or whatever. Maybe stop worrying about BEING BETTER and just be whatever the fuck you are?

It’s at least more liberating for me so far. And my addictions have stopped being so addicting, so perhaps there’s something to “not growing” after all?

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Let’s Talk About Sex and Liberalism, Baby

Did A Blow Job Open My Throat Chakra?

or

How I Can No Longer Stay Silent About Any Of This Shit Anymore

Because I promised to tell the whole truth or the (hole truth depending on how pervy you are) here are the videos of me trying to explain what I’m doing. Yes, I repeat myself. I was only going to use one of these clips, then I thought, fuck it. I’m not perfect. You can see how I’m not perfect in this series in multiple ways. Also, I talk about this one specific blow-job and how I’m no longer a liberal– a lot below. So. Watch one or all or none of them, whatever.

Just Trying to Figure Out What I’m Doing Here aka Breathing onto Camera

First Take On Why I’m Even Doing This

I Have No Idea What I’m Doing

Second Take On Why You Should Go Get Your Carrot Wet

Not a Liberal or a Republican, Just a Slut

The Beginning of Go Eat a Carrot

Or

Krystal Says Goodbye to Her Liberal Identity and Hello to Pleasure

Here enjoy my manic breakdown episodes from a few days ago. I explain how I got to this point below in a long-winded story. I’ll be posting videos for the next 30 days, starting today.

Breakdown 1: Fuck

(It’s not easy being honest with the world)

Breakdown 2: How a Blow Job Opened My Throat Chakra.

Breakdown 3: Goodbye Hats, Goodbye Guilt

(aka let’s all get slutty)

Breakdown 4: This is what Mania Looks Like

(aka go take a nap)

Here’s how this all unfolded. I was in bed, depressed for like the 10,000th day of my life and I was thinking about how there was this conspiracy theory post that said, “If the government wants to take your guns then you probably need a gun.” It was weird because it was clearly a Republican-leaning person posting that meme but I still resonated with it and sort of wanted to go buy a gun.

I thought back to all of my beliefs I’ve had throughout my life. What had gotten me to that point where I was actually listening to the other side? Through a series of thoughts, I decided that maybe I was no longer a liberal after all. It didn’t necessarily have to do with guns either. Admittedly Roseanne was the last straw. I was on Instagram and I saw a post where Republicans were complaining about liberals complaining about Roseanne. I watched the show and realized that both sides were right and wrong at the same time and that I could agree and disagree with both sides equally.

Roseanne is a situational comedy. That means in 20 minutes they have to solve a situation (and do so in a funny way). And can you believe that a show was able to resolve one of the biggest situations we’ve faced in the last year? That of people no longer speaking to each other because of their political beliefs?

Yet, both sides were pissed about how the show did it.

It was at that point when I knew I could no longer label myself one way or the other. That I had to either go to the middle ground or become an outlier altogether. Instead of being liberal or conservative I instead want to align myself with the open-minded.

The real, truly open-minded. People who willing listen to all sides of an issue and can understand where all sides are coming from while still maintaining their own voice and opinions on the issue.

As this revelation came to me, so too did my guilt from the last 30+ years disappear and most importantly, my depression. I no longer feel dead inside.

Besides the obvious divisive political issues that the two parties constantly argue over, what came up for me once I released the label was an ability to better own my sexuality.

I believe that pleasure is an important element for a healthy existence. How one explores pleasure is up to the individual, but for me, with my background in feminism and liberalism, it has always been difficult to admit that I LIKE COCK. I enjoy spending time with men and with women and the beautiful people in between. I enjoy sex. And though so many liberals claim to be sex-positive, many define sex-positive in a very specific way.

A friend made a comment to me about how all the dudes on tinder just want to “get their carrots wet.” I had never heard anyone refer to a dick as a carrot. The next day I was at the Denver Central Market when I saw a basket full of the biggest carrots I had ever seen in my life. I told my date how excited I was to see such large carrots. He said he’d buy me one and I said if he did I would, “fuck that carrot.”

Suddenly there was the largest girthiest dildo-looking carrot in my hand. We continued on our date. It was evening by this point, we had both eaten an edible and were in bed together doing sexy things. The carrot was looking at us. I picked it up. I realized we hadn’t eaten in hours. I looked at the carrot. I looked at my date. I bit the tip of the carrot off.

Because sometimes you’re hungry for carrot and sometimes you’re hungry for dick and sometimes it’s funny to call a dick a carrot and then put it in your mouth.

If that carrot-dick opens up your throat chakra and then the edible keeps you up all night with thoughts on how you have to TELL THE WORLD YOU LOVE CARROTS then you might end up doing what I’m about to do for the next 30 days, which is tell you everything I know/think about politics and sex. It’s not a lot, hence why I’m doing it for 30 days (and also I have commitment issues). While I’m doing this I want to hear from you too. Comment, troll me if it gets you off. Let’s have a conversation about all of this. I can be wrong. I can be right. In the end, it doesn’t matter as long as we all are happy eating our carrots or peaches or whatever we like to stick in our mouths, which can be nothing at all too.