I was born on the Isle of Feminingo, but I have always felt like a visitor. In an attempt to understand my people more, I have ventured out to study and observe the inhabitants, the femmes, in their natural environment.
In the Isle of Feminingo, there are many villas. For a while I was commuting between the Villa of Retailis and the Villa of Food Servica. Two years ago I made the bold move to the Villa of Corporatus, a strange place where inhabitants toil in small rooms inside one large building subsiding on a machine. They usually wear dark solemn colors of black, grey and blue.
It is mating season in Corporatus and many of the femmes are large with child. Some are just discovering the small femme growing in their wombs, which brings about many discussions about the birth process, which I have observed is not much different from what I experienced on the Isle of Food Servica. However, the femmes are steeped in their own traditions of social stature and they generally shun or fear changes within that structure.
Observe a conversation between me and my fertile femme counterparts.
FF1 - (directed to me) Was you mother in the delivery room with you when you had your child?
Me - Yes.
FF1 - But your mother in law was not?
Me - No, I just wanted to have two people in the room, so I picked my mother and my husband.
FF1 - My mother in law wants to be in the room when I have the baby, and I'm afraid it will hurt her feelings if I don't ask her to.
Interesting. Logically I would assume that when a femme is exposed and having a child emerge from her womb, she would be able to choose who she wanted to watch.
Me - But you are the one who is being exposed. You should have who you want in the room.
FF1- She doesn't have any daughters and she said I'm like the daughter she never had.
Me - I always thought that was an intimate private time for you and your husband. If you don't want someone there, you shouldn't have to include them.
FF2 - I would probably let her be in the room to keep from hurting her feelings.
FF1 - That's probably what I am going to do.
Fascinating. Femmes in the Villa of Corporatus apparently put other peoples feelings and concerns over theirs to keep from causing animosity amongst the group. I wonder if this will cause repressed feelings of anger and potentially cause an ulcer for FF1. Maybe I misunderstood. Perhaps the viewing of the daughter-in-law's vagina is a sacred rite of passage. Must remember when son has taken a bride.
Later the discussion advanced to the Isle of Corporatus tradition of videotaping the birth. This is a tradition I have been opposed to when I lived on the Villa of Food Servica and the Villa of Retailia, but many other femmes agreed with me that giving birth was not the time to be captured on film.
FF1 - Have you let your daughter watch the tape of her birth?
FF2 - No, I never thought about that before.
FF1 - My younger brother asked to watch his when he was around three. He really wanted to see his own birth. But when we put in the tape he covered his eyes and said, "Turn it off! Turn it off!"
FF2 - Do you think that he didn't want to see his mother in so much pain?
FF1 - I don't know. I guess so.
Me - (Feeling it necessary to state the obvious) Or maybe he just thought it was scary and gross?
This resulted in a brief shunning from the herd. It is all so fascinating. Maybe something different happens during childbirth on the Villa of Corporatus. Are Corporatus Femmes effected differently during the birthing process where they do not sweat or secrete fluids? Perhaps doubling over in pain is an aphrodisiac and couples watch the tape to stimulate procreation. Perhaps rainbows and Hershey's kisses emerge from the womb instead of afterbirth? Must observe further when allowed back into the fold.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Your first pet + the street you grew up on = your new name
A friend of mine is a great writer, and has been struggling with a pen name for months now. Concerned that her married name sounded a little too much like a name brand flour company, she had kicked around a couple of pen names. Names inspired from everything from dead relatives to characters in the Batman and Robin movie.
This last week while working on her new book, she wrote a scene where a sexually repressed woman purchased her first vibrator. It was hilarious. She commented she would have to use her pen name (which she still has not settled on) because her grandmother reads her books.
This is a problem I don't have. Coming from a family who are to books what acid is to flesh (It Burns!), I don't have to worry about this. My family does not read my blog, nor would they read any books I might publish someday. (Don't believe me? Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. There. No one who's mother carries a pistol to church would ever dare to write that unless they were certain she wasn't reading it.)
What I found the most unbelievable, and I mentioned this to my friend, is she is a woman with two children. It is clear that she has sex. So why is she afraid for her grandmother to be alerted to the fact that she is sexually knowledgeable, especially since anyone in this day and age can be sexually knowledgeable (God Bless You Internet). Well, as my friend pointed out to me, "There is knowing, and there is Knowing. And as far as my parents and grandparents are concerned, my children were made in test tubes."
Fine. The other thing I found interesting is that we are 30 years old and still concerned about what our families think? When is that going to stop? Will it ever stop? Am I ever going to get to the point where I stop worrying that my mother will see my tattoo?
The only reason I am confident in my work is because I know that my parents will never see it, and I try not to think about other people seeing it. Its like being on live television and pretending there are not millions of people watching. When writers get caught up in the idea that someone is sitting over their shoulder reading their work it makes them nervous and self-censor. That's why we have pen names.
This last week while working on her new book, she wrote a scene where a sexually repressed woman purchased her first vibrator. It was hilarious. She commented she would have to use her pen name (which she still has not settled on) because her grandmother reads her books.
This is a problem I don't have. Coming from a family who are to books what acid is to flesh (It Burns!), I don't have to worry about this. My family does not read my blog, nor would they read any books I might publish someday. (Don't believe me? Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. There. No one who's mother carries a pistol to church would ever dare to write that unless they were certain she wasn't reading it.)
What I found the most unbelievable, and I mentioned this to my friend, is she is a woman with two children. It is clear that she has sex. So why is she afraid for her grandmother to be alerted to the fact that she is sexually knowledgeable, especially since anyone in this day and age can be sexually knowledgeable (God Bless You Internet). Well, as my friend pointed out to me, "There is knowing, and there is Knowing. And as far as my parents and grandparents are concerned, my children were made in test tubes."
Fine. The other thing I found interesting is that we are 30 years old and still concerned about what our families think? When is that going to stop? Will it ever stop? Am I ever going to get to the point where I stop worrying that my mother will see my tattoo?
The only reason I am confident in my work is because I know that my parents will never see it, and I try not to think about other people seeing it. Its like being on live television and pretending there are not millions of people watching. When writers get caught up in the idea that someone is sitting over their shoulder reading their work it makes them nervous and self-censor. That's why we have pen names.
Norah vs. Bella - Face Off
Norah Silverberg
1. Hangs out with a "dark element." Punks, drunks and drag queens.
2. She's no virgin.
3. Stays out all night long
4. Frequent use of the F-word
5. Loves stale Oreos
Bella
1. Hangs with the "dark element" of bloodsuckers, werewolves and an Italian Vampire mafia.
2. Hopelessly accident Prone
3. Brings about chaos wherever she goes
4. Mourns her dumping for six months before jumping off a cliff
5. Sacrifices herself for her unborn child.
1. Hangs with the "dark element" of bloodsuckers, werewolves and an Italian Vampire mafia.
2. Hopelessly accident Prone
3. Brings about chaos wherever she goes
4. Mourns her dumping for six months before jumping off a cliff
5. Sacrifices herself for her unborn child.
I think what bugs me the most, is that this little list of character imperfections still makes Bella look like the on the surface better choice for a young girl to look up to. I have my problems with the Twilight books because I feel like Bella is a horrible role model for young girls. She is supposedly so smart, but all she does is dream and moon over her boyfriend Edward. And the only future she sees for herself is becoming a vampire because he's a vampire.
I wanted to show a literary contrast of a female character I did admire, and immediately I thought about Norah, the punky protagonist of Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist. Unfortunately, to the mainstream public eye, Bella still comes off as a saint.
There are 100 ways that Norah is a better role model than Bella, but here are just a few.
1. She know what she wants to be when she grows up.
2. She's firm in her beliefs, which are strait edge, so she's not the kind of girl who spends the whole book on drugs or drinking.
3. She can take care of herself. This Jersey Girl spends an entire night in New York City and finds a way to keep herself fed, entertained and alive without the help of a boy.
I would much rather have a daughter who told a guy to fuck off because she was busy scouting bands than jumping off a cliff because she was dumped.
Sorry Bella. You might have the cars and the money and the immortality, but Norah's got the soul- and a kick ass soundtrack.
Friday, August 22, 2008
1. Olympics - I've been staying up every night to watch the Olympics. USA! USA! I don't feel bad about being unproductive at work because I haven't been getting any sleep because my co-workers have been doing the same thing. Yesterday afternoon we all napped at our desks.
2. Burn Notice on USA - at first I didn't care for this show, but the more I watch the show the more I realized the main character, Jeffrey Donovan, was really hot. Not in an obvious Brad Pitt kind of way, but more of a Guy Pierce kind of way, except more bad-ass. The longer you look at this guy, the more attractive he becomes. Also, Bruce Campbell is on this show, and I'll watch anything with the "chin" in it - even Old Spice commercials. Ahoy'
3. Coke Zero - I am currently lobbying my employers to start stocking Coke Zero in the break-rooms. No, I am not ashamed that my major client is Pepsi.
4. Mexican food - I have rekindled my love for the spicy food, becoming desperate enough to stop at Taco Bell on a couple of occasions. I'm a firm believer that everything tastes better with Salsa and Sour Cream. I put Sour Cream on my Corn Flakes the other morning. It was decadent.
5. Blackberry messenger - My girl K. hooked me up with the Blackberry messenger, so now I can IM her whenever I need her. I don't think she realizes the Pandora's Box she has opened.
Acting my age
You would never know I am the age I am, because I am very much like a 16 year old girl.
*I love the Twilight books.
*I'm obsessed with my hair.
*I am constantly texting on my phone.
*I love Hello Kitty.
*I like to play my Nintendo DS and my Wii.
*I think Michael Phelps is super hot, along with Christian Bale and sometimes Simon Pegg (don't judge me).
*I read fashion blogs and never watch the news.
*I carry a messenger bag, and I am obsessed with laptop bags.
*On vacation this year, I am going to Walt Disney World.
*Whenever I get an opportunity, I sneak a cigarette.
*The last argument I had with my mother ended in, "You just don't understand."
*My favorite food is Pop Tarts.
*I drink way too much Caffeine.
*I am obsessed with Coke Zero.
*I "took a personal day" to go see the Dark Knight.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Let's get it on
Anytime one of your friends invites you over to their house to listen to a stranger tell you how much you need to buy their product is not your friend. I have sat through Tupperware, Pampered Chef, Premiere Jewelery, and I turn down every invitation I get because I hate sales parties. However, if you have a friend who invites you over to have a perfect stranger pass around erotic toys which you can purchase in a very private room without having to go to the seedier sections of town, well she is your best friend.
So I was invited to one of these parties the other night. I show up, cash in hand all excited for what we were going to see. No one around here ever has these kinds of parties, so, yeah, I was excited.I was ready for an evening of excitement, giggling and making purchases.
Did it deliver? Like Dominoes!
Anytime a group of women get together for these kind of events, its a little awkward at first. Everybody is afraid people are going to start divulging things about their sex life. There is always this horrible thought that someone will pass around the WonderStick 5,000 and the woman sitting next to you will ask, "Do you have this in a bigger size?" Except me. I would probably just burst into giggles and give the lady a high five.
So at first, everyone was quiet and really nervous. But if you have a good salesperson, she doesn't start the show with the Wonderstick 5,000. A smart salesperson starts off with the lotions and oils and feathers and all the stuff I really don't care about. About 5 minutes into it I was like, "Bring out the electronics!"
But some of the lotions and things were cool. We spritzed and powdered and tried out aphrodisiac scents. We were allowed to test things to rub on the most private of places that tasted like raspberry or chilled you like an ice cube. (We tested on the tamer parts of the body like our lips and wrists. It wasn't that kind of slumber party.)
Then we took a break. I ate five chocolate chocolate chip cookies while I waited for the big guns to be whipped out. And then it was time. There were bullets and C-rings and vibrators, Oh my! Things were waterproof, things with clitoral stimulators, things that went in the nether-regions. I'm embarrassed to say, I had my doubts about the crowd. Maybe it was because one girl sat in the corner with a scowl on her face the whole time. Perhaps she was in need of the Nuby G. But everyone had a lot of fun. When it came time to make purchases, these ladies were fighting each other to get back in the little room where we placed our orders, and then running out the door, black bags in hand singing, "I'm off to buy batteries."
While we waited our turns, we perused a few position books. (And listened to a girl tell the story about how her dog ate her vibrator. No one wants to make a visit to the vet for that one.) Anyway, one of the books was from the early eighties. You remember the eighties, right. When women wore permed mullets and men wore leather vests to threesomes. We learned a lot from this book, particularly that there is certain etiquette when hosting a threesome. Both me and my friend M. (oh yeah, she was there too) made the joke that proper etiquette meant sending thank you notes after. Or serving a cheese ball before.
My favorite part of the 80s position manual was there was a section devoted to furniture. Good positions using a footstool, rocking chair or wing back chair. You know, just in case your getting it on at grandma's house.
It was more fun than I can explain. I encourage anyone and everyone to host or attend one of these parties themselves. It is so very worth it. Contact www.passionware.com to book a party of your own.
So I was invited to one of these parties the other night. I show up, cash in hand all excited for what we were going to see. No one around here ever has these kinds of parties, so, yeah, I was excited.I was ready for an evening of excitement, giggling and making purchases.
Did it deliver? Like Dominoes!
Anytime a group of women get together for these kind of events, its a little awkward at first. Everybody is afraid people are going to start divulging things about their sex life. There is always this horrible thought that someone will pass around the WonderStick 5,000 and the woman sitting next to you will ask, "Do you have this in a bigger size?" Except me. I would probably just burst into giggles and give the lady a high five.
So at first, everyone was quiet and really nervous. But if you have a good salesperson, she doesn't start the show with the Wonderstick 5,000. A smart salesperson starts off with the lotions and oils and feathers and all the stuff I really don't care about. About 5 minutes into it I was like, "Bring out the electronics!"
But some of the lotions and things were cool. We spritzed and powdered and tried out aphrodisiac scents. We were allowed to test things to rub on the most private of places that tasted like raspberry or chilled you like an ice cube. (We tested on the tamer parts of the body like our lips and wrists. It wasn't that kind of slumber party.)
Then we took a break. I ate five chocolate chocolate chip cookies while I waited for the big guns to be whipped out. And then it was time. There were bullets and C-rings and vibrators, Oh my! Things were waterproof, things with clitoral stimulators, things that went in the nether-regions. I'm embarrassed to say, I had my doubts about the crowd. Maybe it was because one girl sat in the corner with a scowl on her face the whole time. Perhaps she was in need of the Nuby G. But everyone had a lot of fun. When it came time to make purchases, these ladies were fighting each other to get back in the little room where we placed our orders, and then running out the door, black bags in hand singing, "I'm off to buy batteries."
While we waited our turns, we perused a few position books. (And listened to a girl tell the story about how her dog ate her vibrator. No one wants to make a visit to the vet for that one.) Anyway, one of the books was from the early eighties. You remember the eighties, right. When women wore permed mullets and men wore leather vests to threesomes. We learned a lot from this book, particularly that there is certain etiquette when hosting a threesome. Both me and my friend M. (oh yeah, she was there too) made the joke that proper etiquette meant sending thank you notes after. Or serving a cheese ball before.
My favorite part of the 80s position manual was there was a section devoted to furniture. Good positions using a footstool, rocking chair or wing back chair. You know, just in case your getting it on at grandma's house.
It was more fun than I can explain. I encourage anyone and everyone to host or attend one of these parties themselves. It is so very worth it. Contact www.passionware.com to book a party of your own.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Twi-harder
So, lets talk about Twilight for a minute. (Spoilers ahead- so be warned)
I would not go as far as to call myself a Twilighter or a TwiHard, but I have just finished the third book of the very popular series. There has been so much good press about the series, and little ole Stephanie Myer that I finally gave in. And over all, I like the books. Have been obsessed with them to an extent.
The problem is I am irritating everyone who suggested it to me because I keep bitching about the misogynistic undertones to the book. I can't avoid it. Bella is a typical damsel in distress who relies on Edward for her happiness. I find that just a touch gag-worthy. But that's just me. I don't think Wuthering Heights is very romantic either, I refuse to step foot in a Hooters and I think Crocs are the ugliest shoes over created.
I know it is a personal flaw of mine to not be able to smile and say I love something. I have to pick things apart. It's just my nature. So all the people who suggested this book to me are waiting for me to go on and on about how much I love it, but all I can do is go on and on about how pathetic I think the main character is.
But I do like the series. I mean I wouldn't have made it though three very long books if I didn't. I would have written it off the first moment that Bella whispers to Edward that she wants to be with him forever. It is a good story. And I am only human. I still get ooey gooey during the romantic parts. I'm almost as frustrated as Bella is because Edward just will not ravage her in fear that he's going to snap her in two. Only Stephanie Myer could create a virgin vampire boy who wants to stay a virgin until they are married. (Little golf clap for you right there, but come on, he's 17 for eternity. I would imagine he would be humping statues at this point.)
I have resolved to give myself a little time before I start reading the last book, Breaking Dawn. Maybe I can gain a little perspective about the series and not ruin all my friends days by pointing out that Bella finds becoming immortal an easy decision to make but marriage too big of a commitment. In the meantime, I'm going to take a moment to read something about living people for a little while. And maybe something about people who actually have sex.
Wild Nights
My lovely friend M. is having a baby. A little boy. We are all very excited. Except for the fact that I had to attend a baby shower. I usually hate forced social gathers where you have to make up chit chat with strangers, but baby showers have good food and the little outfits are adorable, so I really didn't mind.
M. had an "in-law" she really didn't want to deal with, so she developed a plan where her sister could fake choking and her college roommate could heimlich her, hence diverting everyone's attention from the death glares M. would be shooting said "in-law."
Jokingly I suggested I could just get really drunk, "That way everyone would be looking at me."
She said, "Well, you are my Wild Friend."
What?
Then, this week my dear friend L. started making plans to host a bachelorette party as a Brown Bag party. An event where women can get together to pick out erotic toys, lotions and lingerie in someone's home instead of having to traipse to the seedier parts of town. Purchases are made in a private room, and no one really has to know how big of a freak you are unless you tell them. I love this idea, and immediately told her, "I am in."
L. has decided not to drink alcohol anymore, and more power to her, but since it was a bachelorette party, I suggested having cocktails at the party. She said, "It's not going to be like that, I mean I guess people can bring stuff if they want, but I doubt they will, I mean I don't drink anymore."
Shocked, I asked, "Surely you have some tequila slamming friends you've invited to this shin dig, right?"
"No, your my Wild Friend."
Again, what?
When on earth did this happen? I am not a wild person. I go to bed at 9:30 p.m. every night. I'm married with a kid. I only have one tattoo and it is in the most discreet of places. I'm not in a band. I work a 9 to 5.
Maybe when they are saying I am their Wild Friend, they really mean, "You're an alcoholic." But seriously, I haven't had a cocktail since my birthday in June. Last night my night cap was a pudding cup with Cool Whip. I'm not quite lush material.
I have had Wild Friends, and I dare say I am anywhere close to their legendary acts which range anywhere from performing at amateur hour at Regina's House of Dolls, having sex in public places, or traveling several hours to sleep with members of a well known rock band.
Maybe my translation for Wild Friend is "slutty"?
Although it is kind of nice being the "bad ass" of the group. People don't expect too much from you. They get that attending bridal showers makes you want to yak and that if they need to know the difference between a vibrator and a dildo, you are the one to call.
M. had an "in-law" she really didn't want to deal with, so she developed a plan where her sister could fake choking and her college roommate could heimlich her, hence diverting everyone's attention from the death glares M. would be shooting said "in-law."
Jokingly I suggested I could just get really drunk, "That way everyone would be looking at me."
She said, "Well, you are my Wild Friend."
What?
Then, this week my dear friend L. started making plans to host a bachelorette party as a Brown Bag party. An event where women can get together to pick out erotic toys, lotions and lingerie in someone's home instead of having to traipse to the seedier parts of town. Purchases are made in a private room, and no one really has to know how big of a freak you are unless you tell them. I love this idea, and immediately told her, "I am in."
L. has decided not to drink alcohol anymore, and more power to her, but since it was a bachelorette party, I suggested having cocktails at the party. She said, "It's not going to be like that, I mean I guess people can bring stuff if they want, but I doubt they will, I mean I don't drink anymore."
Shocked, I asked, "Surely you have some tequila slamming friends you've invited to this shin dig, right?"
"No, your my Wild Friend."
Again, what?
When on earth did this happen? I am not a wild person. I go to bed at 9:30 p.m. every night. I'm married with a kid. I only have one tattoo and it is in the most discreet of places. I'm not in a band. I work a 9 to 5.
Maybe when they are saying I am their Wild Friend, they really mean, "You're an alcoholic." But seriously, I haven't had a cocktail since my birthday in June. Last night my night cap was a pudding cup with Cool Whip. I'm not quite lush material.
I have had Wild Friends, and I dare say I am anywhere close to their legendary acts which range anywhere from performing at amateur hour at Regina's House of Dolls, having sex in public places, or traveling several hours to sleep with members of a well known rock band.
Maybe my translation for Wild Friend is "slutty"?
Although it is kind of nice being the "bad ass" of the group. People don't expect too much from you. They get that attending bridal showers makes you want to yak and that if they need to know the difference between a vibrator and a dildo, you are the one to call.
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