Monthly Archives: February 2007

Mrazturbation, My Personal Portmanteau

It’s been a slow week, so let’s get back to the sex talk, yes? 

To be honest, I don’t know where I first heard the word “mrazturbation”. I don’t think I came up with it, but I don’t want to deny it entirely, just in case somebody wants to give me credit.

My friends threw it around a lot in the early Jason Mraz? Who’s Jason Mraz? days, and my friend, Steve, started to share the love, and his Mraz-inspired cover art. From there it just morphed into the word, with many variations, we used for anything sexyhappy, or crazyartsy, or funnysmart.

For anyone who likes to play with language it’s a hot little word. Because it’s all about the wordplay, right? Nabokov was a genius at it, Dr. Seuss too. And if Jason decided to stop singing for whatever reason, I would be almost as happy if he just kept writing. I love his Karouac-meets-Calvin and Hobbes-translated-by-Gibran blogs.

But back to the word of the day. I love the way it sounds, all full and sizzling in my mouth. It doesn’t roll off the tongue by any means, but creates friction with it, forcing you to use every little muscle in your mouth to get it up and out: Mr-azzz-tur-ba-tion.

The idea of a portmanteau is that two words bring their definitions together. They don’t lose their individual meanings, but rather combine them for even greater impact. So what do you get when you combine a smart and sensual curbside prophet with the practice of self-pleasure?

To me, Mrazturbation is the idea of bringing myself pleasure by entering a Mraz-like state of hopefulness, happiness, kindness, sensuality and intellect. It’s completing an act of selflessness, self-endulgence, or anything in between, depending on my mood. It’s finding one action a day that makes me happy to be me, that makes me think, “Life is really damn good. Bring on the cabana boys.”

Mrazturbation is a little bit of work to get both your mouth and your mind around, but the meaning is so spectacular, the two things melting so smooth and creamy in your soul, it’s like a spiritual fondue that you can dip into and come out just that much zestier.

Snuggle me delicious,


The Signs Are All Around Us

Did you hear about how they changed my traffic signs to a brighter yellow?

For the Love of Truffles

If I hadn’t decided to write a blog in the Jason Mraz genre, it would have been a chocolate blog. How much do I love chocolate? I wrote a 15-page multi-genre piece about it as part of my master’s degree. I can tell you about the Mayans and Aztecs, about using cocoa beans as currency, about the first chocolate shops in Europe. A few years ago I spent Easter in Hershey, PA with friends and it was an even happier place than Disneyland. Over the last few years I’ve become a chocolate snob, graduating from Nestle to Cadbury to Scharffen Berger to Guittard and Valrhona, although Reese’s peanut butter cups will probably always be my favorite. 

Getting to the point: Last Tuesday was my birthday. I wasn’t too excited about it (turning 30, starting a new job that day, sitting in a cube reading org charts and project timelines for eight hours), but it couldn’t be helped. Plus, I knew I should be thankful to have gotten a fancy new job, even if it meant waking up early on my fun day and putting on sensible shoes.

But after a long, boring, professional day, my friends came through for me, all week long in fact, big time. I came home Tuesday to find this gorgeous, sexy little deep purple box of nine perfectly formed exotic truffles. They weren’t that generic Godiva stuff (they do good dipped strawberries but I’ll pass on the rest), but from a small company in Chicago, Vosges Haut-Chocolat. My friend, Laura, found them and apparently thought they were shouting my name. After I ate a couple, I was ready to start shouting hers.

The next night I got a night out from Justin, the more-than-just-a-bike-guy bike guy. We had dessert-like drinks and a little dinner and then more dessert. I was starting to feel a bit stuffed, and tipsy, but much like a goldfish, if there’s yummy food, I have a hard time saying no.

And then then next day came more packages, from Jill and Kerry, both in Boston. There were novelty chocolates and Geoff & Drew’s Mrazturbationatory toffee brownies and the most incredible hot chocolate mix ever from L.A. Burdick in Harvard Square.

All of these things came from little independent chocolate makers, shops where each item is made fresh, by hand, with love and care. Each is delightfully imperfect, shaped a little funny, or cut not quite square. I love that they weren’t massed produced and that my friends were kind enough to support little local artisans (although I stand by my statement about Hershey – at least they still support a school for needy kids).

And aside from the millions of calories and hours of delight these goodies all gave me, they also taught me a lesson. No, it’s not that life is like the small purple box they came in. It’s that you should make your own chocolates. You can save a lot of money that way. Wait… I think there’s more.

Ah yes, whatever you do, do it well. Put your heart in it. It will make you happier, and the results will taste way better. If that means putting your entire bank account into starting your own business, or changing careers altogether, or packing up and leaving the country to find a new life, then do it. Find your own curbside and start a movement all your own.

I don’t think these sensible shoes are going to last very long.

It’s easy if you only try try try,

I’m Going to Disneyland!

Happy birthday to me. Not today, but soon enough, and to celebrate getting older I’m going to spend the weekend acting younger. I haven’t been to Disneyland in about ten years and it’s done a lot of growing up of its own. We’ll see if the two of us are still a good fit.

I’m taking the Mraz love with me. It’s been a strange year for me, some ups and some downs, but now I’m going to celebrate what I have, look forward to good things to come, and not worry a single day away.

It takes a day (or a long weekend) to make you young,

This Isn’t Just a Sex Article. Promise.

Jason Mraz is phenomenal in bed.

Ok, right, well, it’s not like I have any hard evidence of this. Hee. Hard. I’ve never even met Mr. Mraz in person. But it’s the day after Valentine’s and I was thinking about next year and what kind of man I would build for myself if I wanted to pull a Spike/Robo-Buffy sort of thing, and I decided that really, I would want a man whose best daylight attributes carried over into more quietly lit activities.

So I just saw Jason perform in Lake Tahoe a few weeks ago, and every time I see him live I think that if the way he moves and grooves on stage is any indication, then this guy could knock off anyone’s socks, and pants, and even those bras with the difficult front clasps that you have to sort of twist, then lift apart. Just try to follow along with the way my mind has tied this all together.

The last two times I saw Jason, the show started with him casually walking onto the stage, picking up a guitar, and then easing into the music. It wasn’t an ego-fueled rock star show, it was just an evening with our super talented friend, Jason Mraz. I love that. I feel like Jason’s saying, ‘I don’t have to make a big deal about it. I’m good at what I do, you’re going to be thankful for what you’re about to experience, so just sit back, relax and let me soothe your body and soul with my vocal caresses.’ That’s exactly how foreplay should feel, but with more rubbing. And a little scratching. Just… you know… little bit.

Even without the full band behind him, Jason and Toca build up a big sound that makes everyone want to shimmy and wiggle and celebrate being alive. I couldn’t get enough of the way he moves his hips and feet and shoulders in a fluid, round-and-round we go, hop on my tasty merry-go-round pelvis sort of way.

Girls, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: musicians make the best lovers because it’s all about rhythm. If a guy can keep a beat and feel a groove, he’ll know just when to move, to where and for how long. This doesn’t mean all band geeks are Casanovas-in-waiting, but a man who can feel the music pulsing through his own body will be able to find the music in yours. Mmmmm.

Alright, so Jason may not be your typical rock god. He’s a goofball. He’s la la la lovely, but not in the same Teen Beat way as a Justin Timberlake or dark, mysterious way of my Dave Navarro. But he does have lasting power. He opened the show with “Plane”, a huge, emotional way to start the night. I would have done it for a huge climax at the end, but that’s why I’m not in charge. I mean, after a beginning like that I almost didn’t have enough left to last for another two hours. But that just goes to show how much stamina Jason has, which is key.

I’m sure Jason himself would say he has many flaws, but that’s just him being humble. Still, just to make sure I’ve explored his many nooks and crannies, I’m going to keep up my research. Because when you write about your obsession you’re a “journalist” and not a “stalker.”

Remember where the love is found,

How to Find Your Loving Mrazentine

Tomorrow is a day of love. Aww. For those enjoying coupledom there’s the gifts and the kisses and the predictable arguments and hurt feelings if the expected gifts and kisses don’t live up to expectations. At least being a singleton I don’t have to deal with the expectations. Ms. Bridget Jones and I can settle into a quiet evening alone with a box of See’s truffles, painting our nails and enjoying a mud mask.

But I’m totally willing to admit that I miss a good cuddle. And a good neck nibble. And a snog and a friendly massage and playing footsies under the covers. Hmm, yeah, those were the days. And those days can happen again, but the point is, how do we like-minded individuals, savvy to the Mraztafarian lifestyle, find each other? How can we connect out in public, among those who appear normal on the outside, but are actually dull or mean or Canadian on the inside? (Kidding! Love those Canuks!)

Mrazophiles, being a low-key bunch, don’t accessorize with red bracelets, yarmulkes, crosses or other required clothing or faith-based bling. And since we can’t identify each other by sight, we’re going to have to resort to actual human interaction. From now on, if you want to find out if someone is a member of the Order of Mraz you’ll have to get close and whisper, “Snuggle me delicious?”

If they’re cool like us, they’ll give you a simple smile and then a lingering embrace. If not, they’ll think you’re a bit touched in the head. That’s ok, because we then revert back to the teaching that it’s ok to be uncool. You can throw out a, ”Zim be doo we doo zah smoo rah,” and they’ll assume you’re in a religious delirium, speaking in tongues, which you will be, and it’s all good.

Laying awake in lust,

Life Through Mraz-Colored Glasses

What would Jason Mraz do? It’s a good question, one that can be asked in any situation. Let’s have a look at what the Curbside Prophet has to say and how we can learn from him. These aren’t rules for living. They’re more like guidelines.