The Beautiful Kind

I was down on Cherokee and saw a shop called Panorama. The chalkboard sign by the front door advertised “ANTIQUES & WHIMSIES.” I KNEW any place that sold whimsies would have sock monkeys. And sure enough, I found an old fellow the owner found at an estate sale. Oddly though, Lumpy is my least whimsical sock monkey. The truth is, he’s kindof worn out, run down, and an alcoholic. But he’s a very sweet guy, and check out that pom pom! I really don’t mind supplying him whiskey, as he is willing to share.

I told my parents about how I’m going to cash in on this site by promoting all kinds of interesting ideas. My mom immediately volunteered one of her great ideas: “I raised a lot of kids and could never find matching pairs of socks. So I just started sending them to school in cowboy boots! That way I never had to worry about matching socks.”

Then my dad said, “New cars are coming out without ashtrays. So I’m going to REINVENT bean bag ashtrays for people who still smoke.”

My mom said to him, “Raymond, I’m not saying this to be mean, but some of your ideas are stupid.”

“Well you collect camels!” he sputtered. “That’s stupid.”

“Go hump yourself,” she shot back.

The other day I was sitting in my wretched cubicle, minding my own business, when a fellow co-worker I had never met dropped off some forms. He was a cute Latino guy, we made eye contact, whatever.

But then when he got back to his own desk, he started instant messaging me, and it wasn’t long before he went from discussing forms to asking if I was “blonde all over.” !!! What the hell? I was wearing my corporate whore costume, and it’s not like he knows about this blog and that I’m a total freak! Apparently, I’m not the only freak…

He urgently asked me to meet him in a conference room. “To talk, right?” I said warily. I figured why not, sure beat filling out the stupid forms.

Minutes later, we sat across from each other in the conference room, nervous energy buzzing between us.

“So, you like Latin men?” he asked coyly.

Oh my god I laughed my ass off.  I disabused him with a quickness. “Honey, I like allll men.”

Turns out he’s from Argentina, married, and was just going crazy wondering what I was wearing under my skirt. We spent the next hour talking, opening up to each other. I found out he loves his mother more than anything, collects ticket stubs, and hides them in a book with a hole cut out in the middle. He spent hours carefully carving out that hole. He’s a tennis ace, and wants to instruct professionally someday. I also found out he’s religious, and felt guilty for lusting after another woman when he’s married. Over the next couple days he settled down and we became friends.

It’s so strange to peek into the soul of one of the worker robots surrounding me - to find out they have dreams, desires and passions. Even though they like their corporate whore job.

Saw this pic on myspace. This is Rusty. Isn’t that a funny name for him? I mean, I have a sock monkey named Rusty for gosh sake. He should be called Adonis or something. I wish he’d grow some fur and call me.

Then again, his tagline was “muff diver,” which, as endearing of a quality it is to have, is a little tacky to put right up there front and center. (Ha! Like I’m one to judge!) Maybe he wanted to be clear with allll the lllladies that he’s straight (oh, sorry, str8), cuz usually a guy cut like this is a “cock bomber.”

I heart Netflix. They carry films like Anatomy of Hell, which, incidentally, got lower ratings on Rotten Tomatoes than Vanilla Sky (26% vs. 39%!). I ordered it to watch with my ex when he came in town, but he politely passed as soon as he found out that the fact that it was French with subtitles competed with the fact that it starred porn star Rocco Sifreddi of Rocco’s Best Butt Fucks fame (I totally dated a well-hung guy who looked like Rocco when I lived in Columbia MO…) and that scenes included things like garden tools and suspicious red cocktails.

Well geez it had me hooked with the line on the description that stated bluntly, “Not for children.” I’m a very mature audience!

And the opening scene of a guy giving another guy a blow job in the alley next to a gay dance club, yay! And the suicidal blood stains on the lead female’s pink satin outfit really added a realistic touch. And when she gave the gay guy a blowjob and they used a dairy product for a semen prop! And how she said, “I’ll pay you,” after swallowing the load! Also, I found the main message of the film endearing: “Women are gross. ” Oh and, “Men are idiots.” AKA, “Women give life. Men TAKE life.”

And that, my dears, is just the first 10 minutes of the film. Sighhh, I looove romantic comedies…

So here’s the thing: despite what you think, you don’t want to get married. Marriage is for idiots brainwashed by society. (Note: I am guilty of being an idiot on this matter and many other accounts.)

See, there’s this unwritten list that gets plugged into everyone’s conscience that needs to be checked off in order to be considered a successful adult. It goes something like this:

- Go to college (good idea)
- Find your soulmate (barf, if I hear one more person go on about soulmates I will forcibly remove their soul by way of their spleen)
- Get a real job (ooh make it a good one!)
- Get married (just say no! Use that “I won’t get married until gay people can get married” excuse if you have to)
- Buy a house (as opposed to renting - why is renting drilled in our head as being evil? I know an intelligent and capable economist who is perfectly happy to rent indefinitely)
- Buy a washer and dryer (this is probably the best and most acceptable indication that you are an adult. It is the opposite of living in your parent’s basement)
- Breed. (See my dueling lists of pros and cons regarding this matter on the Kiddo page)

Then, all of a sudden, the list goes quiet.

Do you suppose society would be OK with crossing out the soulmate drivel and replacing it with “single and independent” or maybe moving that down the list after buying the washer and dryer, and changing it to read, “find an equal partner” Hm.

If you must, don’t settle down with that one person until you’ve thoroughly played the field. In this society there’s this annoying and unrealistic rule in place (especially for women) stating that we should be monogamous. I would say monogamy works for 20% of the population, at most. That means 20% are fine with pairing off with one person and having all their sexual and emotional needs met within that relationship. The rest cheat, sneak, deceive, and feel guilty, or feel dissatisfied and resentful. Fuck that shit.

Can you find the Hitler figurines among my mom’s crap?

Check out this ad for men’s suits in last Sunday’s NYTimes:

Now this one:

Yeah, the concept of naked men as accessories is definitely more appealing than a woman striking that popular “road kill” pose.

I avoid that whole pop country music scene - I can’t stand that twang thing that goes on in those songs. But I admit I did like the song Wide Open Spaces by the Dixie Chicks when my friend made me a mixed tape years ago. It’s progressive, feminist and romantic, but the kind of romantic that deals with endless possibilities, not the kind that deals with coming home to a guy wearing a cowboy hat.

Anyway, so the Chicks hooked me early on, before they created such a brouhaha among the conservative American people. They uttered an anti-Bush statement, and suddenly they were getting death threats and folks were saying things like, “Yeah freedom of speech is OK, as long as you don’t do it in public like they did.” ?! I swain, people!

Since they are creative strong women that make good music, I bring to your attention the film that came out about them regarding the whole born-in-the-USA fiasco. I’ll also mention that they’re up for a CMT (Country Music Television) award that you can vote for (Not Ready to Make Nice is nominated for both Video of the Year and also Group Video of the Year for the 2007 CMT Music Awards on April 16th.) It sure would kick ass if they won after all that they’ve been through, standing up for their beliefs and being brave and all that.

Phew, I made it all the way through this post without a single white trash, redneck, beefeater comment!

Here is my mom’s medical instrument collection:

One time she tried to talk my brother into taking the speculum along on his date in case he ran out of things to talk about. You know, a good conversation piece. Or a clever thing to do instead of the usual dinner and movie - “Do you want me to check out your female reproductive parts? I’d be happy to be at your cervix.”

PS: I’m so glad speculums aren’t made of cold steel anymore. And “cold steel” reminds me of Claude Steele, a psychology professor at Stanford I have a crush on, even though he has a moustache. But gosh he’s dashing and brilliant.

A while back on the sex site I was on, a guy contacted me. He wrote in broken English. I’m totally fine with people writing that way if English is not their first language. Turns out this fellow was a Kosovo refugee.

Well, get this: He had been in America for seven years, and hadn’t had sex in ALL THAT TIME. He lives an isolated life, filling all his time with working in a restaurant and going to school. Of course my heart went out to him. It helped that he was exotic and hairy.

So I went on a couple dates with him, and he was really sweet and earnest and respectful, but he wore a cross necklace (dear lord!) and all we seemed to talk about were mainstream movies starring Tom Cruise, and I’m sorry, but I’ve never seen Vanilla Sky. Nor have I had a desire to. Of course I did it with him (the refugee, not Tom Cruise), but warned him, “Now don’t think all American women are this good!” HAHAHA

And actually, he wasn’t bad himself. You can get with someone who has had very little sexual experience or partners and have a better time of it than you would with some creepy little playa who don’t eat pussy and lasts two minutes. So ya just never know.

Due to my busy schedule, I was only able to squeeze him in a couple times. But a year later, he still writes me, telling me I’m one of his best friends.

I have zero interest in playing pool, but of course I’ve heard plenty of stories of sex on the pool table, and there was a swank pool table in the basement of the house I’m renting, so…it was a prime chance to fuck on one, since I don’t hang out in pool halls or biker bars.

I invited a sexy friend over and we went to town. We were ALL over that gaming table. Of course we left the cover on, since it didn’t belong to me, and well, you know. What I remember most is how hard the table was. And how hard he was. And how sweaty we got.

Anyway, later I casually walked by the pool table and was surprised to see all these hand prints, ass prints, BODY prints on the dusty cover. I hastily wiped it off, hee hee.

More hee hee: A couple weeks ago the owners of the house I’m renting put the pool table up for sale, and I once again walked by the table as a couple looked it over. I smirked and thought, “Ha ha, I’ve fucked on that thing.” They ended up buying it. Hopefully they’ll break it in proper as soon as they get it set up in their house. And then play pool. Priorities!

The other day my mom said, “You can learn a lot in true crime books. For instance, today I learned that Mister Rogers was born in the same town that makes Rolling Rock beer. We should drink some to celebrate!”

Needless to say, now she’s obsessed with Rolling Rock beer.

The other day I was talking to my sweet ex-boyfriend who is now my friend (it’s still not easy for him to read this blog, just as it’s not easy for me to hear he’s swinging with someone else now) and I was telling him about my latest dating efforts. “Yeah,” I said, “There’s this one guy who has lots of great qualities, but he only has like a third of what I’m looking for in a partner.”

“I have half!” he blurted excitedly.

“What?”

“Remember that one time when we broke up, and you wrote me that mean email telling me I only had half the qualities you were looking for in a partner?”

Oh. Right. Sheesh.

My friend A did the honors. Fisting is when a hand is inserted in the vagina. You work the hand in gradually, adding fingers one by one, until in goes the thumb and all you see is wrist. Final result is more like a Queen of England hand wave than a balled up fist. And having an orgasm that way is INTENSE. I’d love to try it again sometime, and of course I’d be willing to be the giver, too - I have small hands. But dunno if I can try doing it to a guy, as I’ve only gotten a finger up a guy’s ass, so far. I’m such a novice!

The best part: one time I sent my friend A a new sexy pic of myself, and her reaction? A gloating, “I had my fist in that.”

When I first heard Ariel Levy, author of Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture, on NPR, I thought oh geez she wouldn’t like me much (Panty Parade, anyone?) She takes issue with women who run around wearing Playboy necklaces and going to strip clubs and posing nude as a way of “empowering” themselves. She sees it more as “exploiting” themselves, and here’s why: she thinks they’re doing it for the wrong reasons. They should be doing it for their own sexual pleasure and satisfaction, but Levy believes it’s more about keeping up with the boys, more of a power thing, a pleasing men thing, more of a defeated, “if you can’t lick ‘em, join ‘em” mentality. An excerpt from her book as an example:

In Jenna Jameson’s bestselling book How to Make Love Like a Porn Star, Jameson writes, “Though watching porn may seem degrading to some women, the fact is it’s one of the few jobs for women where you can get to a certain level, look around, and feel so powerful, not just in the work environment but as a sexual being. So, fuck Gloria Steinem.”

One has to wonder how she puts it together this way. If she feels so powerful as a sexual being, why can’t she watch her own sex scenes? If her work environment is so satisfying, why does she say that if she had a daughter she would lock her in the house before she’d let her get involved in the sex industry? Why does she refer to her vagina as a “ding-ding”? I’m not sure any of this is Gloria Steinem’s fault.

I couldn’t agree more. My main mission of this website is to educate the masses, to let them know there are women like me out there, and to let other women know it’s OK to take ownership of their sexuality. So many women cheat themselves out of pleasure due to insecurity or guilt-inducing societal expectations. And if they do act on their sexuality, it’s more of a front or for other people and not themselves. Don’t forget one of the most important (and to me, the most obvious) reasons to partake in sex: your own pleasure.

My dear friend J gave me these stripey socks. Now what did I do to deserve such cuteness? They’re soo soft too. I just love foot covers.

When I was 20 years old, a jealous ex spray painted “SLUT” on my silver Geo Metro (Hint from Heloise: If your stalker spray paints your car with a word meant to shame you, a dab of gasoline takes it right off.)

I just get a kick out of how some things change over time, and some things don’t. For instance, 14 years later, I still have men obsessing over me. But now they’re hacking my website instead of spray painting my car. So much more sophisticated!

Well this was a fun night…

The other day I was sitting around with my parents shooting the shit. I said to them, “Look here. I work as a contractor 40 hours a week for a recruiting agency who pimps me out and makes money off me. Plus, I hate my job. I might as well work for myself and whore myself out to 5 rich old men, work only a few hours a week, and make twice the money.”

My dad agreed. He said, “You could get some regulars and do it right…”

“RAYMOND!” my mom exclaimed. “You’re talking to your DAUGHTER.”

“Well she wouldn’t be a hooker,” he said huffily. “She’d be high class, like a…call girl.”

“Escort,” I corrected.