Friday, November 13, 2015
The S Project
The S Project is a smart, safe and sexy place for sharing your thoughts about life, love, sex and relationships. This is your BFF online, with people that you’ve never been with but can pretty much relate to everything going on with you. Join us in sharing this community, where people just don’t say you’ll be OK but will actually help you with the if’s, why’s and buts’ of your life’s questions .
Friday, December 9, 2011
#Health : Is Your Wi-Fi Laptop Hurting Your Sperm? / By:Elizabeth Walling
Published in the medical journal Fertility and Sterility, the study looked at how radiation emitted from Wi-Fi laptops impacts sperm health. Researchers in Argentina took semen samples from 29 healthy men, and they measured sperm motility after four hours of exposure to Wi-Fi radiation from a laptop wirelessly connected to the internet. Sperm in the control group was kept at the same temperature for the same amount of time, but was not exposed to Wi-Fi radiation.
Of the sperm exposed to the Wi-Fi radiation, 25 percent stopped swimming. Only 14 percent of unexposed sperm ceased to swim after four hours. Wi-Fi sperm also showed 9 percent DNA fragmentation or irreversible damage in the genetic code, while sperm in the control group only showed 3 percent.
Electromagnetic radiation is a product of wireless communication, and researchers suggest this radiation may be causing sperm damage. "We speculate that keeping a laptop connected wirelessly to the internet on the lap near the testes may result in decreased male fertility," say the researchers in their report. They also recommend more studies be done to examine the long-term impact of Wi-Fi radiation on sperm in a real world setting.
It's important to note researchers compared radiation emissions in Wi-Fi laptops to laptops without Wi-Fi connection. Emissions from laptops without Wi-Fi were negligible, while emissions from Wi-Fi laptops were significantly higher.
Previous studies on laptops and fertility have produced similar results. Another legitimate concern is scrotal hyperthermia (elevated testicle temperature), which can easily occur if you sit with a laptop in your lap for hours at a time. Scrotal hyperthermia negatively impacts sperm quality and can cause decreased fertility.
The solution? Keep the laptop off your lap. Laptops may have been designed for convenient lap placement, but this is obviously not best for your health. Instead, use your laptop on a desk or get a specially designed laptop tray.
Also, use a wired internet connection when possible, as it appears the radiation emitted from Wi-Fi communications may be particularly harmful to sperm.
Of the sperm exposed to the Wi-Fi radiation, 25 percent stopped swimming. Only 14 percent of unexposed sperm ceased to swim after four hours. Wi-Fi sperm also showed 9 percent DNA fragmentation or irreversible damage in the genetic code, while sperm in the control group only showed 3 percent.
Electromagnetic radiation is a product of wireless communication, and researchers suggest this radiation may be causing sperm damage. "We speculate that keeping a laptop connected wirelessly to the internet on the lap near the testes may result in decreased male fertility," say the researchers in their report. They also recommend more studies be done to examine the long-term impact of Wi-Fi radiation on sperm in a real world setting.
It's important to note researchers compared radiation emissions in Wi-Fi laptops to laptops without Wi-Fi connection. Emissions from laptops without Wi-Fi were negligible, while emissions from Wi-Fi laptops were significantly higher.
Previous studies on laptops and fertility have produced similar results. Another legitimate concern is scrotal hyperthermia (elevated testicle temperature), which can easily occur if you sit with a laptop in your lap for hours at a time. Scrotal hyperthermia negatively impacts sperm quality and can cause decreased fertility.
The solution? Keep the laptop off your lap. Laptops may have been designed for convenient lap placement, but this is obviously not best for your health. Instead, use your laptop on a desk or get a specially designed laptop tray.
Also, use a wired internet connection when possible, as it appears the radiation emitted from Wi-Fi communications may be particularly harmful to sperm.
Monday, December 5, 2011
#Health : STD / Pubic Lice (Crabs)
Crabs or pubic lice are small crab-shaped parasites that burrow into the skin to feed on blood. They live on coarse body hair, predominantly pubic hair, but can also be found in armpit hair, facial hair and even on eyelashes. The lice are yellow-grey in color and use their crab-like claws to grip hair strands. They can sometimes be spotted moving on the skin.
Crabs are easily passed on during sex, but can also be passed on through sharing clothes, towels or bedding with someone who has them. Crabs cannot be transmitted via toilet seats or swimming pools.
Symptoms of crabs are usually noticed around 5 days to 7 weeks after infection and include:
- Itchy skin
- Inflammation of the affected area
- Sometimes visible lice and eggs
- Spots of blood as lice feed from blood vessels in the skin
Although there is no effective way to prevent becoming infected during sex, a person who has crabs can reduce the risk to others by washing bedding, towels and clothes on a hot wash to kill off the parasites.
Treatment for public lice is easy, consisting of special shampoos, lotions and creams that kill the lice and their eggs. It is not necessary to shave pubic hair as this is unlikely to remove all lice.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Chlamydia (STD)
Chlamydia is one of the most commonly reported bacterial sexually transmitted diseases. It is caused by the chlamydia trachomatis bacterium. It infects the urethra, rectum and eyes in both sexes, and the cervix in women. If left untreated, long-term infection can lead to fertility problems in women. Chlamydia is transmitted through genital contact and/or sexual intercourse with someone already infected. Symptoms of chlamydia usually show between 1 and 3 weeks after exposure but may not emerge until much later.Chlamydia is known as the ‘silent’ disease as in many people it produces no symptoms. It is estimated that 70-75% of women infected with chlamydia are asymptomatic (have no symptoms) and a significant proportion of men also have no symptoms. Those who do have symptoms of chlamydia may experience:
Women:
- An increase in vaginal discharge caused by an inflamed cervix;
- The need to urinate more frequently, or pain while passing urine;
- Pain during sexual intercourse or bleeding after sex;
- Lower abdominal pains;
- Irregular menstrual bleeding.
Men:
- A white/cloudy and watery discharge from the penis that may stain underwear;
- A burning sensation and/or pain when passing urine;
- Pain and swelling in the testicles.
How is Chlamydia passed on?
- By having unprotected vaginal, anal or oral sex with someone who is infected;
- From a mother to her baby during vaginal childbirth;
- By transferring the infection on fingers from the genitals to the eyes, although it is rare for this to happen.
Monday, November 28, 2011
How To Get Your Girlfriend to Stop Nagging You / By: Sarah Carter
Nagging is one of the most irritating clichés of relationships. If you have a nagging girlfriend you need to get it under control before she drives you out the door. Be honest, sometimes her nagging is justified but now that it has become a barrier in your relationship, you need to do something. Follow these steps to get your girlfriend to stop nagging you.
1. Listen when she talks. For many relationships, nagging occurs because your girlfriend feels you ignore her. Start by listening when she talks. Be aware that if she is nagging in the middle of the ball game, you cannot stop her. Instead when the game is over it is time to sit down together and talk out your issues. Once she sees you are willing to do so, she should stop interrupting future games.
2. Ask what she wants. Your girlfriend might be nagging about the dishes in the sink when she is really upset about something else. She might want you to take her out to dinner and the dishes are just how that complaint is manifesting itself. Ask her and then listen to her answer.
3. Share the chores. If your girlfriend is nagging about housework, she probably has a point. Does she do all the cooking, cleaning and laundry? What do you offer to the relationship? Your girlfriend wants to be your partner, not your maid. She works too so complaining that you worked all day is not sufficient and devalues the fact that she did the same. Get up and do your part.
4. Stop over-promising. You might think that agreeing when she nags is the best thing to get her off your back. The problem is that when you agree and then don't do what you agreed to, you have just upset her more. Instead, listen to what she is asking you to do then either say no or find a compromise. If you agree, if you promise to do something, then do it. Then she will stop nagging you about it.
5. Keep her updated. Your girl might just be suffering from the space between you. If you don't talk to her or tell you what's going on, she has to ask which you might take as nagging. If you promised to clean the garage, then tell her when you will do it. If something happens to change that, tell her and arrange for another time. Keep your girlfriend updated and she will see that you value the promises you make to her.
6. Provide constructive responses. Avoid telling her to stop nagging. Most women hate nagging you as much as you hate them doing it. Instead when you are talking together, setting goals and making promises, provide her with some constructive criticism. Say to her, "When you ask me to do something, I will do it but in my own time and when you repeat yourself I feel that you don't trust me to do what I agreed to do." Make the statement about you and your feelings not about what she is doing wrong.
7. Spend time with her. If the nagging in your relationship is motivated by your girlfriend feeling ignored then the only way to fix it is to spend time with her. Take her out or watch TV together in the evening. Find what she enjoys and try to do it together. Time may be all you need.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Bacterial Vaginosis
Bacterial Vaginosis (BV) is caused by an imbalance in the normal healthy bacteria found in the vagina. Although it is relatively harmless and may pass unnoticed, it can sometimes produce an abundance of unpleasant fishy smelling discharge.
BV is not strictly an STD as it is not transmitted via sexual intercourse. However, it can be exacerbated by sex and is more frequently found in sexually active women than those who have never had intercourse.
Whilst there is no clear explanation as to why BV occurs, there have been suggestions that the alkaline nature of semen could be one cause, as it may upset the acidic nature of the vaginal bacteria. Another cause can be the use of an intrauterine contraceptive device (coil).
A woman cannot pass BV to a man, but it is important she receives treatment as BV can occasionally travel up into the uterus and fallopian tubes and cause a more serious infection. Treatment for BV consists of applying a cream to the vagina or taking antibiotics.
The Truth About Dating a Younger Man ( By: Amanda Chatel )
I've always had a thing for boys who are younger than I am. My friends and family connect this to my maturity level, or lack thereof, to be more specific. Perhaps I have read "Lolita" too many times, or immersed myself in too many of Oscar Wilde's quotes on youth and the importance he placed on the matter.
My father and I once argued about the topic when he defended a family friend who was dating a much younger woman. My father, on his old man soapbox, of course, declared that no young man in the world could overcome the experience and charm of an older man. I wholeheartedly disagreed. While an older man could be established in his career, life and -- if we would get into the existential side of things -- soul, he still lacked the loveliest quality of all: youth.
I'm not an ageist or a creep, nor am I lingering outside junior high schools trying to lure 12-year-olds into my lair of sex and PlayStation. And while I do see beauty in an exaggerated wrinkle -- the way it has secrets to tell, the confidence of life witnessed and time consumed -- I still catch myself swooning at the flawless skin of younger men and the way they sort of glide through life without the heavy burden of responsibility or obligation. It's a freedom I crave, a freedom I've lost.
When I met David* I was 27 years old; he was 19. At first, our age difference was not fully apparent. I could tell he was younger, but I was unsure to what extent until he came clean over brunch one morning. It took some teeth-pulling to get the number from him. He danced around the issue, throwing other ages my way that I grasped at hoping it was finally the truth. But as the numbers got lower and lower, I began to get nervous. It was only after he handed me his license that I was presented with the verity -- and the realization of the decent-size age gap between us. He was still a college student, and I had been out of school for more than half a decade; his mom was still sending him care packages of Ramen and toilet paper, while I had actually moved onto buying my own Ramen and toilet paper, sparingly so, on my very tiny budget. It may not make sense, but that was my first thought: the difference in who was buying Ramen in the equation.
I had my reservations, and those reservations only increased the first time I brought David home. It was somewhere between my lips touching his parted mouth and his hip bones that reality, and then some, set in: He was not only a 19-year-old college student -- he was also a virgin. He ran down all the reasons why it just hadn't happened yet and how he was ready for it to happen now. Had I been a stronger person, I would have asked him to leave. However, the anticipation of it all and the way he looked in the white sheets of my bed, as if being partially swallowed by a cloud, won, and I took his virginity from him. But that's a whole other story.
At first it was easy to disregard the age difference. New York City allows for such things the way it blinds you with its lights, the bubble it is compared to the rest of the world. Age guidelines are not adhered to as they might be in Middle America or even a suburb just 20 minutes away, so we could go pretty much everywhere together and no one was the wiser. Sure, he wasn't technically legal for all those beers he consumed at this bar or that, and he was two years shy of the 21-plus age minimum at all those seedy Lower East Side music venues. But while some college students still live under the hawk-eye watch of their parents, David was states away from his folks and left to his own devices in a brand new city that embraced and tempted him, as city life does.
I got caught up in the breathlessness of his excitement about everything, his wide-eyed innocence at the sighting of a movie star or a homeless person "dropping trou" in Tompkins Square Park. There were all the writers he had not read, the bands he had yet to discover, the places he had never been, the women he would someday love but still had not met -- it was intoxicating. And as I tend to do, I caught myself staring too long at him, enraptured in the fleeting aspect of it all. I finally felt the freedom I had envied in those too young to realize just how lucky they were. I lived quite happily in this dizzying effect of his for just under two months. Then I came to my senses.
One night we went to drinks with a few of his friends who were also 19, and I found myself annoyed. What I once saw as endearing was now crude and desperate. I watched the way he and his friends did shots at the bar, with a lack of dignity or eloquence that one might find in a pamphlet geared toward frat boys on how to behave at the year's first kegger, and the inevitable seduction routine that followed. I wasn't there to baby-sit, to be impressed, or to be on display as the girl who had taken his virginity and who was routinely supplying him with sex. I felt disgusted with myself.
My friends had been divided on the affair. Some thought it was entertaining enough to accept it for the temporary thing it was, while others felt I was scarring him and that his devotion to me was indicative of severe mommy issues. It was the latter camp that I found most offensive -- I was 27, not 37, and by no means treated him like my son. I treated him like the buddy he was. I did not try to tie him down, or make him into something he wasn't or even the man he'd eventually become when time had its way with him as it does with us all. I adored him for every inch of 19 he was. But 19 is a long way from 27, and the space in between can't be easily closed.
It didn't take long after that evening in the bar for me to end things. The differences kept lining up in my head as if each one was waiting to be addressed so it could take its bow and move on so as to present the next one. His childish candor, once refreshing, was now like acid on every moment he brutalized with it. He had begun to make my skin crawl. I couldn't put my finger on it; it was just over. Granted, it had never really begun on the scale of "relationships," but there was no point in keeping up my end of things when the very mention of his name would make me cringe.
When I finally sat him down to tell him it was time to say adieu, he couldn't understand what he had done wrong. He couldn't wrap his brain around the facts, or why I didn't want something serious with him. And being always at a loss for words (verbally), I couldn't formulate all the reasons; all I could do was reiterate the age issue like a record that skips at the end of a side and doesn't know enough to stop making noise and just retreat to the tonearm rest. All he did was look at me in disbelief over the decision I had made, the one in which there was no room for discussion. As he tried to change my mind, I was again reminded of his youthfulness -- and not the pretty end of it, but the cloying bits. He was making bargains with me like a child who promises to do his homework after he gets what he wants. He assured me he'd be "better" if I gave him another chance, which just strengthened my already-solid stance on the issue. I shook my head and told him no, and when I said it, I felt like I was scolding him for thinking I could be persuaded by his infantile bribes. So that's where I left David: at 19 years old on a bench in Tompkins Square Park.
I was never going to love him, I was never going to need him, but I wanted him; fair or not, that's what it was. I don't regret it and I don't take it back, but I think if I had to do it over, I'd be less careless. The carelessness of it all is the part that resonates too harshly sometimes. We've discussed it slightly since then when he pops up on Facebook chat, but it just ends in me apologizing profusely and he, still younger now than I was even then, not understanding why I'm apologizing. And I'm brought back to that afternoon I ended it. Maybe he'll get it in a few years; maybe not. Until then, I'll just keep our chats superficial and regarding the weather. Even strangers can talk about the weather.
My father and I once argued about the topic when he defended a family friend who was dating a much younger woman. My father, on his old man soapbox, of course, declared that no young man in the world could overcome the experience and charm of an older man. I wholeheartedly disagreed. While an older man could be established in his career, life and -- if we would get into the existential side of things -- soul, he still lacked the loveliest quality of all: youth.
I'm not an ageist or a creep, nor am I lingering outside junior high schools trying to lure 12-year-olds into my lair of sex and PlayStation. And while I do see beauty in an exaggerated wrinkle -- the way it has secrets to tell, the confidence of life witnessed and time consumed -- I still catch myself swooning at the flawless skin of younger men and the way they sort of glide through life without the heavy burden of responsibility or obligation. It's a freedom I crave, a freedom I've lost.
When I met David* I was 27 years old; he was 19. At first, our age difference was not fully apparent. I could tell he was younger, but I was unsure to what extent until he came clean over brunch one morning. It took some teeth-pulling to get the number from him. He danced around the issue, throwing other ages my way that I grasped at hoping it was finally the truth. But as the numbers got lower and lower, I began to get nervous. It was only after he handed me his license that I was presented with the verity -- and the realization of the decent-size age gap between us. He was still a college student, and I had been out of school for more than half a decade; his mom was still sending him care packages of Ramen and toilet paper, while I had actually moved onto buying my own Ramen and toilet paper, sparingly so, on my very tiny budget. It may not make sense, but that was my first thought: the difference in who was buying Ramen in the equation.
I had my reservations, and those reservations only increased the first time I brought David home. It was somewhere between my lips touching his parted mouth and his hip bones that reality, and then some, set in: He was not only a 19-year-old college student -- he was also a virgin. He ran down all the reasons why it just hadn't happened yet and how he was ready for it to happen now. Had I been a stronger person, I would have asked him to leave. However, the anticipation of it all and the way he looked in the white sheets of my bed, as if being partially swallowed by a cloud, won, and I took his virginity from him. But that's a whole other story.
At first it was easy to disregard the age difference. New York City allows for such things the way it blinds you with its lights, the bubble it is compared to the rest of the world. Age guidelines are not adhered to as they might be in Middle America or even a suburb just 20 minutes away, so we could go pretty much everywhere together and no one was the wiser. Sure, he wasn't technically legal for all those beers he consumed at this bar or that, and he was two years shy of the 21-plus age minimum at all those seedy Lower East Side music venues. But while some college students still live under the hawk-eye watch of their parents, David was states away from his folks and left to his own devices in a brand new city that embraced and tempted him, as city life does.
I got caught up in the breathlessness of his excitement about everything, his wide-eyed innocence at the sighting of a movie star or a homeless person "dropping trou" in Tompkins Square Park. There were all the writers he had not read, the bands he had yet to discover, the places he had never been, the women he would someday love but still had not met -- it was intoxicating. And as I tend to do, I caught myself staring too long at him, enraptured in the fleeting aspect of it all. I finally felt the freedom I had envied in those too young to realize just how lucky they were. I lived quite happily in this dizzying effect of his for just under two months. Then I came to my senses.
One night we went to drinks with a few of his friends who were also 19, and I found myself annoyed. What I once saw as endearing was now crude and desperate. I watched the way he and his friends did shots at the bar, with a lack of dignity or eloquence that one might find in a pamphlet geared toward frat boys on how to behave at the year's first kegger, and the inevitable seduction routine that followed. I wasn't there to baby-sit, to be impressed, or to be on display as the girl who had taken his virginity and who was routinely supplying him with sex. I felt disgusted with myself.
My friends had been divided on the affair. Some thought it was entertaining enough to accept it for the temporary thing it was, while others felt I was scarring him and that his devotion to me was indicative of severe mommy issues. It was the latter camp that I found most offensive -- I was 27, not 37, and by no means treated him like my son. I treated him like the buddy he was. I did not try to tie him down, or make him into something he wasn't or even the man he'd eventually become when time had its way with him as it does with us all. I adored him for every inch of 19 he was. But 19 is a long way from 27, and the space in between can't be easily closed.
It didn't take long after that evening in the bar for me to end things. The differences kept lining up in my head as if each one was waiting to be addressed so it could take its bow and move on so as to present the next one. His childish candor, once refreshing, was now like acid on every moment he brutalized with it. He had begun to make my skin crawl. I couldn't put my finger on it; it was just over. Granted, it had never really begun on the scale of "relationships," but there was no point in keeping up my end of things when the very mention of his name would make me cringe.
When I finally sat him down to tell him it was time to say adieu, he couldn't understand what he had done wrong. He couldn't wrap his brain around the facts, or why I didn't want something serious with him. And being always at a loss for words (verbally), I couldn't formulate all the reasons; all I could do was reiterate the age issue like a record that skips at the end of a side and doesn't know enough to stop making noise and just retreat to the tonearm rest. All he did was look at me in disbelief over the decision I had made, the one in which there was no room for discussion. As he tried to change my mind, I was again reminded of his youthfulness -- and not the pretty end of it, but the cloying bits. He was making bargains with me like a child who promises to do his homework after he gets what he wants. He assured me he'd be "better" if I gave him another chance, which just strengthened my already-solid stance on the issue. I shook my head and told him no, and when I said it, I felt like I was scolding him for thinking I could be persuaded by his infantile bribes. So that's where I left David: at 19 years old on a bench in Tompkins Square Park.
I was never going to love him, I was never going to need him, but I wanted him; fair or not, that's what it was. I don't regret it and I don't take it back, but I think if I had to do it over, I'd be less careless. The carelessness of it all is the part that resonates too harshly sometimes. We've discussed it slightly since then when he pops up on Facebook chat, but it just ends in me apologizing profusely and he, still younger now than I was even then, not understanding why I'm apologizing. And I'm brought back to that afternoon I ended it. Maybe he'll get it in a few years; maybe not. Until then, I'll just keep our chats superficial and regarding the weather. Even strangers can talk about the weather.
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