Day 61: Dear Penthouse Letters . . .

Let’s talk about sex baby, let’s talk about doing it on TV . . . Okay, I probably should have prefaced that first line to let you know it should be read with the melody of that old Salt N’ Pepa song. If you didn’t get the connection then we’ll just move it along. Today I’m talking about one of my favorite things, sex certainly, but more specifically, porn! I love porn. I love literary porn, online porn, movie porn, magazine porn, I love it all and I don’t feel guilty about it. Or maybe I do, since I might describe my aficion for porn as a “guilty pleasure.”

I do not have a conflict with morality and pornography. I think sexuality is part of human nature and there isn’t a religion in the world that preaches celibacy to its devotees. Sex is healthy and necessary to leading healthy and balanced lives. True, pornography is not integral to sex, but it doesn’t necessarily make it wrong either. If all parties involved are consenting adults and no one is being forced or coerced into actions against their will, I’m all good. At this point, I already know the argument you’re going to lob at me. Women are being persecuted by the very nature of pornography, exotic dancing, prostitution, etc. So here’s my answer: bite me.

No one is forcing the women or men in porn to be in porn. True, many of the stars of adult films may not have many options on the job front, but how is that different than millions of other people trying to break into other jobs? The military recruiter prays on those without many other options, luring teenagers with promises of decent pay, benefits and possible tuition assistance for the low, low price of possibly your life. I don’t know about you, but if I have to choose between banging a hot guy on camera or getting my head blown off for college money, my nobility is taking a back seat to a hard day of laying on my back.

True, I’m not a religious person, but I don’t think liking porn makes me a bad person either. Those . . . let’s just call them performers, are making decent money and when you consider that most of us have been doing the same thing for free in our personal lives, they don’t really seem all that stupid or downtrodden to me. It is entertainment and while I do agree that the women tend to get the short end of the stick (or not) in terms of job description this really is not all that different than any other profession. Women still make less than men in the work place for the same job. Women still have to work harder and go above and beyond to prove themselves. Women still make up more of the lower ranking jobs than leadership roles. It’s not like we’ve got it so great everywhere else except the porn industry.

In fact, in porn the women are the stars. Most people know the names Traci Lords, and Jenna Jameson even if they’ve never seen a porn movie. Let’s not also forget “The Girls Next Door.” Just because it’s playboy doesn’t mean it’s not pornography. So while the women are famous or even legendary within the industry itself, the guys are somewhat underrated. If anything, this is an industry that finally pays tribute to the merits of women over that of men. The women make good money, get fame, are the dominant feature and probably are not expected to get anyone coffee. Should women have to rely on sex or their bodies to finally be celebrated? Of course not, but there are a lot of high paying jobs out there that are not our first choice. No one grows up wanting to be in waste management, despite the big salary.

Porn, like any other job, is about your perception and your outlook. If you feel demeaned because you’re an Assistant instead of a CEO that’s mostly about your insecurity. Nurses feel the same thing all the time in dealing with untrusting patients and dismissive doctors. The job isn’t bad just because some people think it is not as valuable as another. Hell, if I were single and not convinced that my Brother, Dad, or Grams or would find out, I’d be first in line to do an amateur flick with Derrick Pierce. There is one benefit to porn that no one talks about. When you’re single and dating, you cannot predict how great the big moment will be, but when you’re with a pro, chances are pretty good that everyone is going to go home happy or at least sated.

I have pissed off a lot of my feminist and religious friends with my porn adoration, but I’m willing to live with that. It’s sex. Lighten up, it’s supposed to be fun and entertaining. After five, ten, twenty or more years with the same person everyone could use a little outside stimulus to put the bang back in the cannon. Porn is like a sexual aperitif if used properly or for those of us practicing forced celibacy while our loved ones are away for impossibly long and cruel periods of time, it can be a lifeline we desperately cling to in order to maintain sanity, exercise frustration, and level out hormonal urges . . . or so I hear.

The best invention of the 20^th century was by far internet porn. Renting in that skanky section of the Indian-run movie mart felt smarmy, though it did foster my other love, Bollywood pics. For the most part, however, I like to get dirty in the comfort of my own computer chair. So pray for my soul if you must, but if God created man and give him free will and man created porn, then didn’t God just produce a shitload of adult material? Hmmm . . . maybe there is something to this God business.

Day 60: Everything I Needed to Learn, Captain Kirk Taught Me

Regrets. We all have them, we all do things that bring them on. Or so you may think. I do not believe in regrets. My motto in life, which will soon be my first tattoo, is: One Life, No Regrets. Do I, or have I done things that caused consequences that I did not like? Sure. I have made mistakes in my life and I continue to keep making them, but I think regret, much like jealousy and envy, is a useless emotion and I refuse to fall victim to its destructive influence.

I find that people are continually doubtful of my no regrets stance. It’s not that they don’t think I believe it, but more that they think it is impossible that I could possibly not have any. Trust me when I tell you that I’ve had this conversation many times over and this is one of those things that for me has not changed in many, many years. I don’t think it makes me a monster, I think it makes me have to accept accountability and to be more self-aware even when I hurt people I love.

So let me first define what I’m talking about. I think it actually all started with a Star Trek movie years ago. It was Capt. James T. Kirk that said he wasn’t going to second guess the choices he’d made in life or to wish he’d gone left when he’d turned right. Besides my natural propensity for all things Star Trek (yes, take a moment to laugh at being a Trekkie, thank you), this sentiment resonated with me in a deep and lasting way. I could argue that all things Shatner resonate, but I’ll save that for another blog. The main idea here is a pretty basic one, whereas hindsight is 20/20, you can’t unring a bell and I’m not about to cause myself anxiety trying.

Besides the what’s done is done outlook is the basic fact that I am trying to like myself and I’m not going to look back on my decisions and think about how differently things could have been if only. There will always be an “if only” and it’s hard enough to live with life as it is without falling victim to wishing for things that cannot be. This is who I am. This girl, this woman, this wife, daughter, friend, stranger, bumbling idiot – this is the person I am and I’m just trying to live the best, most fulfilled life I can. I don’t want to hurt people, but sometimes I do. I’d love to always make the smart choice, but sometimes I either don’t know what that is or I cannot resist the instantly gratifying stupid one.

True, I have done some things in my life and said some things that were not kind. If I could take that pain I caused away from the people I hurt, I would do so in a heartbeat, but I stop short at saying I would retrace my steps and make a different choice. I am who I am because of the all choices, even the hurtful or self-destructive ones. There is no doubt we all have the ability to be incredibly cruel and unbelievably giving. I embrace them both and know that with each turn, be it the right or wrong way, it’s my way and that is the only way I know how to go.

That’s not to say that the next time I decide to drink two-thirds of a bottle of a deliciously vicious liquor called American Honey I won’t be hanging my head and saying I was stupid to drink so much or that I’ll never do it again. Sure I will. The next time I hurt my husband or a friend I will wish I hadn’t. Just as every time I fail to stop at one slice of pizza and blow through four I will chastise myself as a glutton and fear the scale. These things are part of life, but acknowledging mistakes made is not the same thing as wishing to undo them.

I try to learn from my mistakes and sometimes the lesson sticks the first time out and sometimes I need to bash my head against the same wall a few times to get the message. Either way, the struggle is worth it, the untraveled road isn’t better it’s just unseen. I want to live, I want to experience and break things and put them back together again and buy ones. I’m sorry for the pain I might cause, but I will never be sorry for taking a chance or making a choice. It’s those choices, both good and bad that make me who I am. And quite honestly, love or hate me, I think I’m pretty fucking awesome just for making the trip.

Day 59: The "Fellatio" oh wait, that's not a drink name . . . yet

So say you’re at a bar. What to drink, you wonder. Well, you could have the usual or you could try one of the drink specials. How about a “Red Headed Slut” or a “Purple Hooter,” then again, there’s always the old standby “Sex on the beach” or “blowjob.” Are you starting to see the trend here? What is it that makes bars or beermakers decide that inappropriately sexual names will sell far more than good taste alone? Do they really expect me to order a Red Headed Slut simply because of the name? If so, I’ve got to tell you, that I totally will. That’s it, they’ve got me. I don’t know who names these things or why, but I do know that curiosity wins out for me every time. What does it taste like you wonder? Well, the Red Headed thing is just a beer, so I’m guessing it tastes somewhat like a beer. To be sure, however, I would clearly need some empirical data and that is going to take us to a whole different level.

I know sex sells. You’d have to be a moron to not understand this simple fact of today’s marketing strategies. Even so, there is a part of me that thinks that somewhere along the line, we may have gotten a bit carried away. Names are more and more shocking, ads are ever more gratuitous, so why do we keep falling for them. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that even if you aren’t into chicks or haven’t had the pleasure of a “ginger” that you at least realize a beer and a girl are probably going to possess vastly different . . . um, flavors.

So why do we do it? What makes us so susceptible to the juvenile novelty of a sexy name, that we’ll abandon what we know we like to try the unknown? Drinks cost money and as an unemployed wanna be alcoholic, I don’t have the cash to throw away on every slut, hooter and blow job that comes my way. That’s not to say that if you’re buying I am unwilling to try the “long duck dong,” but I may not be so willing to go out on that . . . limb, if I’m buying. My biggest problem with this oversexed trend is just that it speaks to the stupidity of the masses. We’re drunk, we’re horny, we’re at a bar, oh wouldn’t it be funny to drink an inappropriately named cocktail. My response, is that if you get a life, get some game, and sober up, you might be lucky enough to get the real thing rather than just the drink form. People kill me and no I’m not doing a body shot off that hot blonde over there.

Are we all so weak-minded that this works? Do we actually enjoy it? Or do we go along with it, because drinking is a social sport (and yes, I called it a “sport”) Women still drink these things and I’m pretty positive that only happens in mixed company. When was the last time you saw a chick order a “buttery nipple” or “bend me over” when she wasn’t in a bar or around guys. I’ve always wanted to open a bar. Maybe when that happens I’ll have an entire drink menu with innovatively named cocktails such as the: “I have a strap-on and I know how to use it,” the “your dick is the size of a peanut,” or possibly the “go blow yourself.” I wonder if they will have as much success as the “screaming orgasm” and the “strawberry stripper”? Then again, I don’t much care. It’s all about the curiosity factor apparently. I should make a killing and then I’ll create a drink named the “you’re stupid and I’m a rich bitch.” Mark your calendars, it’s coming to a local bar near you.

Day 58: Just Because I'm a Tough Cookie Doesn't Mean They Are

I am a baker. This is not a euphemism for something dirty, I actually just love to bake. My Mother taught me from the time I was a little girl and I grew up helping her whip up cookies, pies, cakes, candy and brownies from scratch. Mom didn’t use mixes, she was old-fashioned and made her desserts with love and time. People often see me as a bit harder and less domestic than one might expect a baker to be. Sure I hate to clean, I’m not a Mom, and I still don’t really know how to use my $350 vacuum. So what does it say about me, that this wild, loud-mouthed, balls to the wall woman, likes to put on some country and bake all day? For that matter, does it say anything at all, except that my slight belly and jiggly thighs are hard-earned and homemade?

We seem so comfortable in our labels of people. Grandmas read to their grandkids, and knit. Single men are only interested in one thing, and people who bake are sweet, turtleneck wearing Mom types. This is such a joke. Hell, my Grandmother was blowing Gramps well into their 70’s and that woman still dresses up and scopes the eligible seniors at Bible study and she’s 88. If she’s reading to the great grandkids, I’m guessing it’s more R rated than G rated. So why should it be such a surprise that I prefer spending my time baking than almost anything else next to reading. Sure, my girls haven’t seen a turtleneck since before puberty and I’ve been considering serving the husband in a see-through apron I found, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a kick ass pastry chef!

As a society we tend to prefer the safety net of categorizing people. Maybe we don’t like surprises or maybe we are all just so brainwashed from stereotypical TV and movie characters that we forget we actually have a choice to be real and not some cookie-cutter version of the truth – pun totally intended. Just because I swear like a truck driver, blanche at the idea of having children, and am addicted to internet porn does not mean I can’t whip up a mean cheesecake. I’m never going to be June Cleaver from “Leave it to Beaver,” but if the husband plays his cards right and compliments my cookies he might be staring in his own “Beaver” spin-off. Wait, did I take that last one too far? Oh well, see my blog from pretty much every day.

When Jeff and I lived in Leavenworth, KS for 10 fun-filled months of suicidal thoughts because we were living in LEAVENWORTH, KS I used to bake a lot. Jeff was taking an officer program all Majors are forced to endure and since I had a lot of time on my hands seeing as I was newly unemployed and living in Godforsaken Kansas, I baked several times a week. Very often I would send the fat and calories of my labors with Jeff to share, but then I began to worry. I fretted that these people who had never seen me would picture me as some frumpy, sweatpants encased woman with no interests outside of the butter and eggs. I know how people think and I know I didn’t want them to think it of me.

I bake, so what? I’ve also been learning to knit and one day I might even learn to garden. Does this change who I am? Perhaps in a way or maybe it just supports what I’ve been saying all along, that we each are a dozen different people rolled into one. I am ”every woman”. I am “32 flavors” and then some. I am an “independent woman.” Lucky for my husband, co-workers, and neighbor’s sweet tooth’s I am also Betty Effin’ Crocker. So the next time you feel like judging my cupcakes based on my cookies, you might just find yourself pleasantly surprised and possibly punched in the mouth. What can I say, I’m a feisty Betty.

Day 57: How is Your Glass Half-Full When I Don't Even Have an Effing Glass?

I got lectured about being more of a “glass is half full” person recently, well, I didn’t get lectured to so much as strongly encouraged to be more optimistic. After hearing this, I replied without a second’s hesitation: “I can’t even find the glass.” Am I negative person? Well sure, a bit, but it’s a lifetime habit and not an easy one to break. Add to that my natural cynicism the fact that people just seem to be so damn disappointing a lot of the time. I have days when I want to be cheerful, but then I talk to an idiot or realize someone I respect has never voted, or that the city I live in that has over 12 post offices cannot manage to keep one open past 5pm. I see the positive, people, I just also see the negative and think rather than ignoring it, maybe pointing it out will help try to change it. Is that so bad?

I do admit that simply pointing out all the bad stuff isn’t going to make a positive difference in the world, but either will wearing rose colored glasses. We all go about our lives trying to do the best for ourselves and our families, but sometimes that means we ignore things that really need to change. Then again, I suppose instead of pointing out all the homeless people and giving them spare change, I could actually do more volunteer work or join a cause actively involved in transitioning these people. Truth be told, this is the whole reason I started this blog and now I’m shying away from it. I want to better myself, to find myself, and to hold myself accountable for my choices and attitudes.

I hate being criticized for being too negative, but rather than actually changing I just keep hoping people will stop pointing it out. That’s not really the same thing as improving oneself I guess. I think I’m just afraid that if I start noticing all the pretty and positive that it will appear that I’m ignoring the heartbreaking and tragic. I don’t want to be one of those chipper people who cannot see past there own flower lined driveway. My new mission, after taking into consideration the thoughts expressed to me about my outlook, is to find a way to balance. I need to learn to appreciate the wonderful things in life without allowing them to blind me to the truly devastating circumstances still in existence around the globe.

So I pledge to actively work to change my outlook one day at a time. Each and every day I will focus on a single positive and try to carry that thought with me throughout the entire course of my day. That’s not to say I will not still acknowledge the health care crisis, protesters fates in Iran, militant clashes in Africa or any of the other countless negative conditions in the world, but I will not let it override me. Since I cannot simply end genocide by pointing it out, maybe all I can do is work to be a better, more positive person, changing things for the greater good in my own immediate realm and hope that it will cause a ripple effect. In the words of another, “If we all take care of our little piece of the world, knowing it is contagious and my actions will spread to others, pretty soon everything around me gets better and better and those people spread it to others and on and on it goes.”

For those of you that know me or spend time with me and for those of you that simply read me, don’t expect a dramatic change. I mean, we are talking about 36 years of practiced cynicism here. It’s going to be a long, uphill battle, but they say the first step is the most important and the hardest and I am willing to take it. Life may be full of ugliness, greed, and evil, but it also contains an enormous amount of beauty and good. My life has been touched by people who have left a positive impact on who I am as a person. I may still make some pretty lousy and selfish choices, but in the end I understand that the journey we are all on is one of betterment and community. So tomorrow I am not only going to find my glass, but I’m going to try to focus on the wonderful things it holds and not what it’s missing.

Day 56: Instincts, History, and Facebook: These Are the Days of Our Lives

Last night I hung out with two friends I've known since high school. One I have been friends with continuously over the last 18 years and the other, I have not seen even once in all that time. So it was an interesting experiment to spend time with these two women who are both from my past, but represent very different phases in my life. On one hand, I have someone who has seen me transition and grow through the years, and on the other, I have a friend who sees me more like a snapshot from 18 years ago before the life experience. So did I learn anything from this unexpected social experiment? I think I did. I try to live my life as a continuous attempt to learn and to grow and while I don't always succeed, I am at least aware of my failures.

In this surreal evening. I got to know someone from my past, who I realized I never really knew in the first place. This woman and I have a great many similarities as adults and it was enlightening to discover that while we were not close in our youth, there must have been a reason that we were friendly at all. Perhaps it is possible to sense a kindred spirit regardless of the actual facts of one's life. There were plenty of people in high school I never talked to or became friends with, despite having classes together. So why this girl? If we were so different, then why would we have been friends at all, let alone reconnect after so many years to discover a similar soul in each other?

My other friend was one of my closest my senior year of school and despite a few years of more casual friendship, we have grown closer and built a stronger bond through the years. She and I are more similar in many ways and yet have come out as very different people. I guess I will never know if we would be friends today if we just met, perhaps not, but again I think there is a certain connection that you make with people and that exists on a level outside of how much time you spend, or how you vote, or the type of life you lead. Our differences have gotten in the way a bit, but our love and mutual respect bring us back together.

Facebook, through criticized and ridiculed by many, has actually given me many new friends as well as brought some old ones back into my life. I don't know if it is simply safer to connect in a virtual environment rather than spending real time together or if it is just easier, but it's working for me. I am getting to know people again and for the first time. I am remembering people from my past and re-examining people in my present. For too many years my own insecurities led me to cut off friendships or shy away from new ones, but these days I am starting to learn to invest both time and effort to peel away the layers and see who someone really is. Many of my Facebook friends I have come to find out are devout Christians. In school, this really didn't matter and no one talked about it. As adults closely held beliefs are shared with others and while I may not share those philosophies I get to appreciate them for their other gifts.

I'm not sure if I want to start regurgitating all the old relationships in my past. Some of them are clearly in the past for a reason, but at the same time, they represent a part of who I am today. Stories and memories, laughs and fights, youth and age -- my life is not simple, because I am not simple, but friendships might just be more simple than I thought. I don't need you to believe in my causes or to spend every day of the last 18 with you, what I need is a mutual spark that generates a real and caring interest in another human being. Each of us leads a life full of individual experiences and even when life events are similar, our reactions to them may not be. So what's more important, being friends with those who are just like us or keeping friends who don't mind sharing opinions and differences. When I was younger, it might have been the former, but a little life experience and wisdom have taught me to look deeper and to trust my instincts more than someone's bio.

Day 55: Fun Times Come in Stupid Packages

I was hanging out with some friends tonight, female friends as a matter of fact, when one of them took a call that was apparently an old fashioned prank. I didn't realize people still made prank phone calls, let alone to cell phones. The guys on the other end of the line seemed to very much enjoy their funny little joke, while we were more confused than anything. In reality, I never understood things like prank calls. I just wasn't a fun, happy-go-lucky type even as a kid. So at 36 am I finally coming around to what it means to have fun?

I spent this afternoon and evening laughing and sharing stories with friends, I talked to a prank caller twice on two different phones, and I drank wine and ate pizza without counting calories. I had a really good day and I didn't once refresh my lipgloss or look in the mirror. I didn't suck in my stomach or monitor what I said, I just had fun and gave myself permission to relax. Most people lose a little of their inner child as they age, but mine seems to get stronger. In fact, at this point I'm not sure I could shake my inner toddler if I wanted to.

I have a sense of humor akin to a ten year-old, but it is tempered by my exterior shell of cynicism and curmudgeon. Now that I am older, I am finally starting to care less about what people think and worry more about getting what I want. Turns out that what I want is not a successful career, good health, or long personal friendships. Nope, what I want is to talk to prank callers and try to beat them at their own game. Hopefully I'm just living out what I've missed over the years. From what I can tell, having fun is . . . well, fun.