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O, No!

Published January 15, 2008 anti-depressants , Diablo Cody , Kansas City , orgasm , porn , sex 14 Comments

So I’m blaming my utter inability to write anything close to my previous standard of blog post (as well as my recent inability to have an orgasm…sorry if that’s too much information for you folks but believe me, it’s relevant to MY life. So there)) to the increase in my antidepressant dosage. Which keeps me from downing all my Xanax and slamming a Vodka/Nyquil/Red Bull cocktail, but does nothing to enhance my usual wry sense of humor.

The, ahem, personal situation I’ve been dealing with is resolving rather nicely but I can’t, for the life of me, get too worked up about much of anything except the upcoming season of Lost (January 31st at 8pm CST – check your local listings Losties!). I have an acquaintance who writes for a rather well-known magazine who’d heard a rumor last month that the show wasn’t going to be aired at all until they had a complete season. If I hadn’t been fucked up on margaritas at the time I probably would have punched her, simply because I don’t have a way to get to the network bozos who make those kinds of decisions. Shoot the messenger – that’s my motto.

Lately, I’ve been digging the shit out of this Diablo Cody chick. While I haven’t exactly rushed out to see Juno yet (she wrote the screenplay), I’ve been hearing that her writing is pretty good. So I checked out her book, Candy Girl: A Year in the Life of an Unlikely Stripper just to see what all the fuss was about and have been completely delighted & entertained by her witty/sarcastic/GenX sassiness. I’m not so much in awe of her story as I am by the way she tells it

Nobody comes to Minnesota to take their clothes off. At least as far as I know. This ain’t no nightclub. Here in the woebegone upper country, Jack Frost is a liberal, rangy sadist with ice crystals in his soul patch…

Yummy prose like this make Observant want more. And take heart fellow bloggers, she was discovered through her blog, The Pussy Ranch, which she wrote during her stripper days. Lucky bitch.

Speaking of strip clubs, Kansas City’s most notorious “juice bar”, Erotic City, has been in the news lately (read all about it here). Ken and I went on a KC Porn Crawl one night a couple of years ago (OK, it wasn’t an officialPorn Crawl, we just made that name up as we were driving around from porn shop to porn shop) and Erotic City was our final stop. A nastier place I have never been to, either. I’m totally down with dildo and other “adult novelty” displays, and having never been to a bonafide peepshow I was pretty stoked to see one for myself, but this place reeked with a scumball funk so rank you could taste it. The front of Erotic City is where their retail shit is: Dildos, various and sundry anal products, bongs, rolling papers – you know, everything you need for a porn shoot. The lighting was really bad and there were about five greasy-looking guys milling around, presumably waiting for their women to finish their pole shifts.

A notice posted on the wall that read “All dancers MUST SHOWER DAILY” quickly clued me to the fact that this was NOT the most sanitary place on earth (thus NOT the place for OCD-Me). Additionally, Ken and I were getting a SERIOUSLY freaked-out vibe from the place (probably channeling all the underage sex that apparently goes on there). Back room peepshow-viewing plans aborted, we hightailed it out of Erotic City and back to the suburbs, where a very clean and sparkling Priscilla’s awaits, just minutes from our own front door. And while Pricscilla’s doesn’t offer a peepshow experience, one can shop for a new vibrator in relative comfort (and very good lighting).

Turns out I like the idea of seedy much better than I like the reality of it.

So Diablo Cody I am not – I’ll never take my clothes off in a scummy strip bar on a whim, or write a book called Porn Crawl: They Only Come Out At Night, be declared The Next Big Thing (!) and immediately have my screenplays made into movies starring hip, name-brand actors and actresses. I will, however, be happy to get my orgasm back. Has anybody seen it?

Music video Thursday: In These Shoes? Kirsty MacColl

Published September 12, 2007 men , music , sex , shoes 14 Comments

Have fun ladies!

I once met a man with a sense of adventure
He was dressed to thrill wherever he went
He said “Let’s make love on a mountain top
Under the stars on a big hard rock”
I said “In these shoes?
I don’t think so”
I said “Honey, let’s do it here.”

So I’m sitting at a bar in Guadalajara
In walks a guy with a faraway look in his eyes
He said “I’ve got as powerful horse outside
Climb on the back, I’ll take you for a ride
I know a little place, we can get there for the break of day.”
I said “In these shoes?
No way, Jose”
I said “Honey, let’s stay right here.”

No le gusta caminar. No puede montar a caballo
(She doesn’t like to walk, she can’t ride a horse)
Como se puede bailar? Es un escandolo
(But the way she dances, it’s a scandal)

Then I met an Englishman
“Oh” he said
“Won’t you walk up and down my spine,
It makes me feel strangely alive.”
I said “In these shoes?
I doubt you’d survive.”
I said “Honey, let’s do it.
Let’s stay right here.”

No le gusta caminar. No puede montar a caballo
(She doesn’t like to walk, she can’t ride a horse)
Como se puede bailar? Es un escandolo
(But the way she dances, it’s a scandal)

(Sadly, Kirsty MacColl was killed in a scuba diving accident the year she filmed this live performance in 2000. The details surrounding her death continue to be a source of controversy)

The Blog of Knowledge is now open

Published September 7, 2007 blogging , children , female wisdom , knowledge , life , love , men , relationships , sex , shopping 6 Comments

What started out as a little joke by Anonymum on my post about my search for perfect hair stylist has now come to fruition. The Blog of Knowledge is now open for business! Anonymum, Red, and me, ObservantBystander are your host bloggers/wise women, and we are eagerly waiting to fill your heads with our vast knowledge of men, life, love, fashion, or just about anything you could possibly want to know. If you have a specific question just burning a hole in your brain, leave it in our handy Questions folder on the site. Answers are guaranteed to be cheeky, smugly written (with no spelling errors!), and possibly even correct! So hop on over and let us dazzle you with the combined wisdom of our 130 years of glorious femaleness. From living to loving and from shopping to sex, the Blog of Knowledge has it all!

Another nail for my heart

Published July 20, 2007 life , men , reflecting , relationships , sex 10 Comments

Muse’s post yesterday about favorite summer songs stirred up a lot of old memories for me, and I promised her a story about The Boys of Summer, but I’m not ready to write abou that yet as I’m still sorting some things out there. But today I heard Another Nail for my Heart by Squeeze and it got me to thinking about the summer of 1980 and a certain young man I had a mostly physical relationship with off and on for several years, starting in 1980. He was my college anatomy & physiology lab instructor (how’s that for kismet?) and the attraction was both immediate and intense. We were both in other relationships at the time – he with the woman would he would eventually marry and father 3 children with many, many years later, and I with my 2nd husband. We were both in “open” relationships (all the rage at the time) – which I do not recommend for a number of reasons that are not pertinent to this post, so I’ll not dwell on them here. Suffice to say, we dated each other with the full knowledge and consent of our respective mates, but couldn’t very well go to each other’s home and say “oh by the way, we’re going to be having sex in the spare bedroom,” so we had a lot of sex in our cars. This is something all of us have probably done at least a time or two, and it’s not usually the best situation, but I can attest that a lot of very good, toe-curling sex happened in backseats that summer.

The soundtrack was Squeeze and The Cars and Elvis Costello and Blondie. It felt like the color crimson and tasted like a hot flame. He was, at once, gentle and difficult, brilliant and obtuse, attentive and indifferent. A maddening person – the type of man I found myself attracted to with a vengence, over and over throughout my life. I loved him and hated him, but mostly I loved the elusiveness of him and the push/pull of emotions he ruled me with. I attempted to stop my obsession with him in the fall, but it actually took many years for it to be completely over for us. A chance encounter would lead to another several-week festival of physicality, then our paths would verge off again and we would lose contact again, sometimes for months or years. Each time, it got easier to walk away and not look back.

The last time I saw him, we met for lunch to say goodbye for the last time. I was moving away and we both knew I wouldn’t contact him when I came back for visits. I sat across the table from him, and while he talked nonstop about himself, I had a chance to really see him clearly for the first time in my life. It was over for me. It was finally over.

in which I take on a second (and third life) part 2

Published April 18, 2007 second life , sex 3 Comments

I took a minute to mourn the passing of Kali Taurog, the freaky dancing avatar, as I deleted the account for her, then eagerly moved on to creating a more exciting character in Second Life – not unlike a fickle high school girl who dumps the president of the chess club for someone less socially embarrassing. My new name was now Jezebel Boucher. Jezebel Boucher. A great, slutty southern name, which I hoped would inspire thoughts of flowing dresses, mint juleps and Bette Davis feistiness. Now, if only my avatar could smoke…

This time I vow that Jezebel Boucher will distinguish herself from Kali Taurog by following 3 simple rules.

Rule #1: Be more fun!
Rule #2: Be more outgoing!
Rule #3: Be chattier!

I had no idea what a difference a name could make. Right off the bat, on Orientation Island, two female avatars approached me, crowding into what I would consider my personal space, which kind of pissed me off, forcing me to break both rules #1 and #2 right away.

“Hey Jez. What’s shakin’?”
“Yeah Jez. What cha doin? Huh, Huh?”
“What are you, stuck up or something?”

Wanting for all the world to yell “Nappy Headed Hos!” as I ran away, I decided the political climate was too explosive for that. “Bugger off.” I replied, totally abandoning my Southern charm for British snobbery. These girls seemed just a tad too cheeky to me.

“Hey Jezzie, we’re sorry. We just wanted to know how to go somewhere different.”
Ah, an apology. That was much better.
“Well sugah, you’ll eventually get a pop-up window giving you options for different places to go.” I replied as I teleported off, feeling smug in my vast knowledge of Second Life protocol, and proud to have finally gotten the courage to chat.

My next stop was Freebie Island where I hoped to pick up something interesting for my avatar. And there it was, a place to get a free car. A free Indy Car! Score! As I’m looking over the car, kicking the tires and whatnot, a dragon avatar approached me. What is it about my personal space that people just can’t seem to stay out of it? This dragon-thing kept sneaking up on me and following me, kind of like when my ex-husband turned stalker after we separated. Creepy.

“Uh, what are you anyway?” I asked
“A Dragon!” it replied, seemingly proud of the fact.
“Hmmm.” It was the only thing I could think of saying to a dragon stalker at the time.

At that point, the Dragon guy gets into a car and starts stalking me on wheels. What the fuck? Abandoning the free cars, I fly away to another part of the island, hoping to give the dragon the slip. But before I know it, here comes he comes again, driving his car right towards me, smack into my avatar. If this had been real life, he would have smashed poor Jezebel like a cartoon character run over by a steam roller. What nerve! It appears that EVERYONE in Second Life has the finesse of George Bush about to liberate a soverign nation. I’m getting the hell out of here.

The next day is Sunday. Ken is at church, probably praying for my atheist, Second Life, southern gothic soul. Me? I’m signing on to 2nd Life to visit the one of the XXX rated rooms. For research purposes only. Swear.

I’ve always had a real-life hankerin’ to do something this perverse, but having no guts to do it live, I figure Second Life will have to do. Besides, it fits in with Rule #2, to be More Outgoing! I pop into Rocco’s Room! for some XXX Action!

As I shake off the fog of recent teleportation through space and time, the first thing I notice in Rocco’s Room is that there are a lot of naked avatars. Hmmm, apparently I’m not the only one doing some blog research on a Sunday morning. The next thing I notice is that some of the male avatars are sporting giant, erect penises. I know these things aren’t part of the free, standard equipment in Second Life, which leads me to the conclusion that these penises were purchased. Imagine. Someone actually spent money to deck their naked avatar out with a large, erect, cartoon penis. Me? I’m satisfied with my new syiphlike body. Who needs bigger tits when you’ve got great legs?

Rocco’s Place is thick with places where an avatar can strike a sexual pose for simulated sex action. Females sit here. Males sit here. Instant fucking. It’s totally weird, especially with the sound effects:

“Oh, oh, give it to me baby. Oh, yes, yes.” I’m half expecting Rick James to show up any minute with some coke and an entourage.

Amazingly, everyone is too busy having virtual sex to chat. After admiring the spanking bench and the various cages and restraining devices, and watching two guys get it on, I’ve had enough. In fact, I feel like taking a shower and going to church.

My foray into Second Life is over, at least for now. I haven’t actually deleted my account yet, so if you happen to run into Jezebel Boucher, be nice. And don’t expect her to follow you to a XXX rated orgy room. She’s really not that kind of girl. Really.

piety and purity

Published March 7, 2007 religion , sex 1 Comment

Purity: Freedom from sin: chastity.

Tonight’s national news broadcast had a story about the growing phenomenon of Purity Balls – formal father-daughter dances where fathers sign pledges to their daughters “to protect them in their choices for purity. ” It is based on the premise that teenage girls will make better life decisions if they have a solid, healthy relationship with their father.

OK, I’ll bite.

I can’t exactly say that I had a great male role model – my dad was the type to sail in from his workday, down a few cocktails, yell at us kids at dinner, then retreat to his basement office for the rest of the evening. This is what a lot of daddies did in the 60’s.

My brothers and I were treated differently by our parents. Mom taught me to cook and sew, and dad taught the boys to throw balls and not to cry. I always wished dad would pay more attention to me; I felt more of kinship with him than I did with my mom. Dad and I look alike and our temperments are similar, and I felt that mom and I didn’t have much to say to one another.

I do not blame my parents for any “problems” I may have had later in relating appropriately to men. They parented me the best way they knew how, and I now have a wonderful relationship with my father. The closeness we have now is something I could have desperately used in my teens, but going to a Purity Ball together would have been way too over the top for both of us.

Here’s the deal – how exactly do these daddies think they are going to protect the purity of their daughters? By standing at the door with a whip and a chair, warding off inappropriate suiters? By making their daughters submit to virginity checks after every date?

Here is the Purity Pledge according to the Generations of Light website:

I, (DAUGHTER’S NAME)’S FATHER, CHOOSE BEFORE GOD TO COVER MY DAUGHTER AS HER AUTHORITY AND PROTECTION IN THE AREA OF PURITY. I WILL BE PURE IN MY OWN LIFE AS A MAN, HUSBAND AND FATHER. I WILL BE A MAN OF INTEGRITY AND ACCOUNTABLITY AS I LEAD, GUIDE AND PRAY OVER MY DAUGHTER AND MY FAMILY AS THE HIGH PRIEST IN MY HOME. THIS COVERING WILL BE USED BY GOD TO INFLUENCE GENERATIONS TO COME.

Note the use of the term “high priest” in the last sentence. Since high priest means “highest ranking person”, where does this leave his partner – the female he is supposed to be married to? What does this say to his daughter? That she should accept the male rule of her childhood home until she submits to the male rule of her spouse? And where are the male children in all this purity business? Do we just leave the boys to be boys – in all their male splendor?

I wonder how these young girls feel about their own sexual feelings when they reach that tender age of 15 or 16 and their hormones are whispering to them “go ahead, you know you want to.” Will they feel ashamed of themselves for feeling sexual feelings, or, horror of horrors, actually acting on them? I think our young women would be better served with honest, practical sexual knowledge, in addition to a loving adult male presence. To attempt to stifle the sexual urges of females, while saying nothing to teen boys regarding appropriate behavior towards females, does a disservice to both. Let’s not put the full responsibility for “purity” on girls. Better yet, substitute the word “responsility” for purity – it makes a lot more sense.