Lemon Stealing Whores

I blogged about James Deen (the porn star) recently, though he was more an afterthought in that blog. Anywho, part of the reason I blogged about him was because of an article I read about him doing a casting call for ladies, like myself, to do amateur sex scenes with him for his personal Porno web site.

Well, obviously I had to get to know Mr. Deen a bit better, so I've been reading his Twitter and his blog. It was on his blog that I discovered this totally safe for work gem of a video.

Or should I say, re-discovered. This video was featured in a Cracked.com article about such silly pornography premises... For some reason I can't find said article now, but to be fair, Cracked writes a lot about porn... More than I do anyway.

Anyway, here is the video.



That was awesome wasn't it? Now, do you want to get to know a bit of the guy who was in that? I certainly did, which is why I've been kind of stalking his blog and reading his twitter. Well, if you are interested, like I was, here is a very interesting interview with James Deen. I hope you enjoy it as much as Donnie and I did.

We Tell Girls.

We tell Girls...

You have to be sexual.
But not TOO sexual.

You have to be sexually appealing.
But not TOO sexually appealing.

You have to be sexually inviting.
But not TOO sexually inviting.

You have to be sexually enticing.
But not TOO sexually enticing.

Because if you are TOO sexually enticing, TOO sexually appealing, TOO sexually inviting or TOO sexual then you deserve to be raped, called a slut or a whore, harassed and embarrassed.

Because if you ARE NOT sexually enticing, sexually appealing, sexually inviting or sexual then you deserve to be called a prude or ugly, harassed, embarrassed and molested.

We tell them to always tell the truth and then we call them liars.
We accuse them, the wronged party, of being the aggressor.
We blame their clothes, that we tell them to wear or they aren't pretty or they are too uptight.
We blame their behaviour, that we've told them is the way to behave or they are too prudish.
We blame everything and everyone but the ones who deserve the blame because of what we tell little girls.

We snatch the moon from them and tell them they are fit only for pink dresses and white weddings.
We tell them they have to be virgins, but they have to be sluts too.
We tell them they have to be skinny, but they can't be TOO thin.
We tell them they have to be the maid, the cook, the servant, the mother, the wife, the whore. They have to fit in the stereotype allotted to them.

You can't be good at math or driving or science or fighting. You are weak, a vessel to be filled by your husband, your father, your brother, your male protectors. You can't defend yourself.

But if you don't fight back, then you wanted it to happen. You brought it on yourself. You DESERVED it, didn't you?

You don't know what is best for You. Or your body. Or your children. Keep those tits out, unless you are using them to feed your babies, because that's obscene.

You're disgusting.
You're filthy.
You're vain.
You're a bitch.
You're a whore.
You're a slut.
You're lying.
You're stupid.
You're worthless.
You're ugly.
You're fat.
You're useless.

We tell our daughters this. And then we wonder why they cut themselves. Why they are bulimic, anorexic, compulsive eaters. We wonder why they are pregnant at sixteen and married at seventeen. We wonder why they don't strive for anything outside of this.

How can they fly when WE clip their wings at birth?

James Deen and the Panty Palace

If you had the opportunity to film your very own, amateur, porn with a famous porn star, would you?

Let me ask it this way: Let's say that you find said porn star immensely attractive, the scene is done to your specificity, all the necessary precautions are taken (testing, birth control, etc.) AND you could potentially make money off of it (I don't know, for certain, but I mean... You could, I guess)?

I came across this very interesting article on Huffington Post Women (I follow the Huffington Post on Facebook and in general) while I was looking at a completely different article on one woman's brave views in the face of a double mastectomy from breast cancer. And I should probably be blogging about that video instead... However, I have a lot more to say about Porn and Sexual Freedom. I don't feel like Sexual Freedom gets enough positive input either. I think we can all say lots of nice things about a woman fighting breast cancer and talk about how brave she is. But no one ever calls a porn actress brave. Well, not brave in the same sense.

Beside the point, I'm sorry. Let me have a moment to get back on topic... *deep breath*

Originally I wanted to write this blog about James Deen, the porn star. I wanted to write about the decision to make a porno and I was going to post pictures of him looking adorably average and quirky cute. I may still do that, but now I've started really thinking about this.

No one ever calls a Porn Star brave. There are lots of things we call Porn. Scummy, disgusting, exploitative, etc. We have all these negative connotations toward Pornography, simply because it is porn. But let's take a moment to think about this.

Pornography is the explicit portrayal of sexual subject matter for the purpose of sexual arousal.

A lot of us use Pornography to masturbate. Some of us use it as a stimulant to get things moving; like a sexual version of a cup of coffee in the morning. Some of us hate that we watch it, but are helplessly addicted. Some of us don't understand the point of it. Some of us use it as a pulpit to preach on the sins of mankind and still others of us use it to preach the sexual revolution.

So let's talk about the Sexual Revolution.

Your sexuality, no matter what it is, is intrinsic to who YOU are as a person. Your turn-ons, turn-offs, preferences, orgasms, etc. That is all a part of YOU that can't be removed. So we spend the majority of our lives hiding our sexual proclivities and oddities.

Which leads me into thinking about the darker side of sexuality. Rape, incest, bestiality, necrophilia, pedophilia. I believe that sexuality is intrinsic to who you are, so what does that say about these things? What does that say about a person who chooses to do those things? Make no mistake, in the end it is a choice. Sexuality isn't a choice, ACTING on your sexuality is.

I used to think that, being a feminist, I was doing others of my gender a disservice by enjoying a pornography. I used to think that God would smite me where I stood for daring to be aroused by women, by men that weren't my husband. I used to think that something was wrong with me.

That's what today's society does to you. Not porn. Porn exists because there is a market for it. We're all in the market to be sexually aroused. Its in our NATURE. We were created to be sexual beings. Even Christians would have to agree with that because the clitoris has no biological function besides orgasm. It lends nothing to the creation of life. SOCIETY is the one that tells you that it is wrong. That sexuality is wrong. That being a sexual creature is wrong.

What's wrong with me is that I have believed I was sexually worthless because I am fat. That no one could ever possibly find me sexually attractive because of my body. Because I based all of my opinions about myself on whether or not someone found ME sexually appealing. In reality, I should've been looking inwardly and seeing if anyone found me to be more than a body in a bed.

I may not shave my legs. Or wear sexy lingerie. I may read too much. I may be fat. I may be ugly.

And those are all the feelings I felt when I saw the link for doing an amateur porn with James Deen was still active. "James shoots with ALL types of women. Confidence is key!" The thought wasn't that I was married. Or that if I decided to do a porno it would be available on the internet to people who may know me. No. The first thought was "I'm far too fat and ugly to shoot a porno with."

I. Yes, I would do a porno if I weren't married.
II. Why? Because I could say I did. Because I could break a lot of the stereotypes I hold in and about myself. Because I see nothing wrong with pornography as long as everyone is a willing participant.
III. I've rambled enough for one evening. So, here is a picture of James Deen and maybe I'll think of what it was I wanted to say originally later.

Decriminalize the Human Body

Dear Radio station,
Sad to say that I un-liked your page today because of comments made about Breast Feeding in public causing people to "lose" their appetite.

Would you like it if you were forced to eat your dinner in a public restroom or a hot car or under a stuffy blanket?

Breasts were intended for the feeding of children and if some people can't be adult enough to handle that a child is hungry, maybe they shouldn't be eating in public.

sincerely,
Sarai.

Response:
"We do apologize if we offended you in any way. I will have a conversation with the air talent and try to figure out a way to resolve the situation. Until then I do express my gratitude of your listernership and I hope this incident doesn't deteriorate your listening to B-- in the future. -Management" 

"Pam at B-- will be interviewing our very own Georg'ann C. and Ann Marie N. on Monday, October 7th at 11:15am. Tune in for a great conversation on breastfeeding."

Slammed

THIS is what I'm talking about!

Will I ever be pretty?

I wanted to write about something meaningful. Something interesting and provocative. The reality is I rarely know what I'm going to write before I do it. So this is a conglomeration of everything running through my brain.

Recently there has been a lot of uproar over comments made by the President of Abercrombie & Fitch about why they don't provide plus sizes. For those out of the loop he said (and I quote):
"In every school there are the cool and popular kids, and then there are the not-so-cool kids. Candidly, we go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely."

One of the articles I read said that they were clinging to a "standard" of beauty.

The truth of the matter is, that it has only been in recent years that skinnier was seen as a "standard." In fact, it used to be that if you were smaller than a size ten something was wrong with you. That isn't to say that the "standard" hasn't fluctuated over time (it has, quite a bit). Because of this fluctuation it can't really be called a "standard." It is a variable.

Beauty is variable.


The persistent desire to be completely inside out and accepted, despite the secrets and sins, is overwhelming sometimes. Everyone wants to be seen as they are, completely exposed with nothing hidden, and be loved anyway. We all want to be beautiful, considered beautiful anyway.

As a little girl I wanted to be a man. I still wish I was, sometimes. I wanted to be a man because God would love me, even if I liked girls. I would be handsome. I could pee standing up. I wanted to be a man because men held all the power. They could be ugly, they could be fat, they could be anything they wanted and they would be catered to.

People like those who work for Abercrombie & Fitch helped with that. Men are dominant. They can be any size and still find things they want.

When I was a teenager I saw it this way:
Skinny girls - loved by fat guys and skinny guys.
Skinny guys - loved by fat girls and skinny girls.
Fat guys - loved by skinny girls and fat girls.
Fat girls - No one loves a fat girl, not even the fat girl.

I am not a standard. I am a variable. As a variable I am worthless, except in mathematics. It doesn't matter how well read I am, or how great conversations with me are. It doesn't matter if I am sweet or cute. I'm not loved because of those things. I am hated because this body is heavy.

That doesn't mean that I won't find sex. My grandmother Eileen once told my mother (and she shared it with me) that men will crawl on broken glass if they think they will get to have sex. Some men will have sex with heavier girls because we have low self-esteem. And how could we not? So we become a plaything. A toy to be used up and thrown away because we will never be the current definition of beautiful.

I walk into a store and all I feel is self-loathing.

I hate shopping. I hate it because fat women aren't supposed to look pretty. Everything you find is to guilt you into losing weight because you are ugly and a waste of space. I get tired of that. I try to lose weight, but it just doesn't come off. It is tiring, being told you aren't good enough and having people insist that you HAVE to be beautiful (skinny, perfect hair, big boobs, etc.) to be perfect. What about being perfectly IMPERFECT?

What about what lies at the core of us?

Beauty is only skin deep. There is truth in that saying.

All my dreams of being skinny, all my dreams of being beautiful. They all come down to a desire to be accepted. To be taken as I am. Inside out, exposed to the world and embraced in spite of the differences.

Even I am prejudiced against people with weight problems. I don't watch porn with heavy women. I am not attracted to women who are heavy. I look at a heavier woman and I feel pity for her. I feel pity for her because I feel pity for myself.

I look at women my size and I feel a modicum of hatred for them. A hatred for them because they mirror me. I hate myself. I hate the way I look. I hate who I am. I am smart. I am a decent conversationalist. I fancy myself to be a decent writer. But I am not beautiful.

I am not pretty. And even though I listen to Katie Makkai's "Pretty" I can't break out of this circle I've twisted myself in. I cry when I listen to her say "You will be PRETTY amazing, you will be PRETTY creative, You will never be merely pretty." I cry because I want to be more than merely pretty. I want to be more than a variable in a river of standards.

I want to be unafraid of being who I am. I want to believe that I could be loved by another man. I want to believe it when my husband tells me I am beautiful. I want to feel it. I want to KNOW it.

You look pretty up on Google and you get pictures of Megan Fox and Hayden Panettiere. You get women who seem impossibly skinny. Women with perfect breasts and they can count their ribs.

I will never be the definition of pretty. I'll always be a variable, even if I lost the weight. Even if I had the surgeries. Even if I made myself fit into the standard.

Something is lost in all that. The "pretty" I was is lost in the shuffle. The "me" I was is gone. And I'll never be pretty because of that.

Hermaphroditus

"Sleeping Borghese Hermaphroditus" at the Louvre Museum in France.

Historical/Mythological Note: Hermaphroditus was the child of Hermes and Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love and the God of War. He/She was a symbol of Bisexuality and Effeminacy. A beautiful woman with the genitals and vigor of a man. He/She was believed to bless marriages.

"But there are some who declare that such creatures of two sexes are monstrosities,"
-Diodorus Siculus; "Bibliotheca historica"

Whilst I was arguing Circumcision and "Rape Culture" with my brother, the topic of hermaphrodites came up. He asked me what I would do in that case (since I was clearly arguing against cutting my son in anyway that was unnecessary to his health and well-being), would I choose a gender for my child?

My answer was no. I would not pick a gender for my child. I would want them to be able to grow up, learn who they are, decide who THEY want to be, not who I want them to be.

He said there would be a stigma against my child. My child would be teased, bullied, harassed, etc. I came back with children make fun of, tease, bully and harass each other, genitals really won't change that. Even so, I still wouldn't change them.

There is too much up to chance in that situation. What if my child was meant to be a man and I opted for a vagina? What if the child was meant to be a woman and I opted for a penis? How is that fair? I've doomed my child to a life of wondering... A life of "who am I really?"

What right do I have to mutilate or change or erase my child's body? Is it my body?
What right do I have to alter what has been given to me? What right do I have to change one beautiful thing about a child born to me?

Who cares if they have one genitalia or another? Who cares if they are white or black or tan? Who cares if their eyes are blue or green? Who cares as long as they are HEALTHY? Who cares as long as they are HAPPY? Who am I to dictate what they do with THEIR body? To dictate WHO and WHAT they become?

When they are grown up, I would want them to say "My mother taught me to embrace who I am, with arms wide open. My mother taught me to embrace the different, the beautiful, the odd, the old and the young. My mother taught me to LOVE myself for WHO I am, not for what BODY I have. I am MORE than a body. I am MORE than a penis or a vagina. I am MORE than the names I was called. My mother let me decide WHO and WHAT I wanted to be. I choose who I am, not my mother."

A ramble with Fawn

Me: I am standing next to a Jillian Michaels display and all I keep thinking about is her face buried in pussy. Is that weird?

Fawn: Well she is a lesbian for one and two she's ugly. Though I wouldn't mind having her body from the neck down. Just not her ugly mug.

Me: I kind of like her face.

Fawn: I think she is ugly.

Me: Too each their own? She does have pretty eyes and lips. And I want her boobs.

Fawn: From the neck down everything is fine.

Me: Yeah. I'd fuck her.

A few moments later

Me: My hands smell like scrotum. I haven't even played with balls today! O.o

Fawn: Yeah because everyone should handle someone elses balls at least once a day, twice if it's with a stranger on a train, plane or in a taxi.

Me: Exactly!

A few more moments later

Me: So I'm thinking of opening a haberdashery.

Fawn: You say that as I'm sitting here drawing some dress designs.

Me: Nice! See, it's meant to be. Plus, ___________ has a severe lack of good old fashioned haberdasheries anyway.

Fawn: Hahaha you sell buttons and zippers and fabric and thread and I'll sell shoes, handbags, jewelry and clothing.

Me: And hats too!

Fawn: Yeah! I'm actually seriously thinking about fashion design.

Me: Okay! Let's do it!! :)

Fawn: Haha you say this and you don't even know if you like my designs.

Me: Well I figure I'll have some designs too. :D We'll offset each other.

A few more moments later

Me: I've had 8 Jillian Michaels starring at me all day and it is starting to creep me out. Also, sexual subliminal messaging. "Eat this product and this blonde girl will suck your dick." I'm taking a picture when I get off work.

And here are the pictures!

Does she seem a little overly excited about that protein bar or is it just me?



Too many!! It gets disconcerting after four or five hours...

A Church for Saints.

The other night I went to church with one of my girlfriends. This particular friend is a very devout Christian, which I respect, and I have been with her to her church numerous times. I think she is hoping that one of these times I'll receive the Holy Ghost and be saved from myself. Which I also admire. It means she hasn't given up on me. But she also knows me very well and knows that my distance with God has been because of church, not a lack thereof.

I've known this particular friend for almost ten years. We met when I was fourteen and a freshman in high school. At first we didn't really like each other. I thought she was mean. Now I know that she was just teasing to be silly, not mean.

Because I've known her so long I've obviously been to church with her NUMEROUS times. As in, I've been going to this church off and on for almost ten years now.

So it bothers me whenever I go there and almost no one recognizes me. People ask if it's my first time. Or they assume it's my first time, which is even worse! The other thing is that people assume that I've never been to church ever. Which annoys the shit out of me.

See, I grew up in church. I attended church from a very, very, young age right up until I moved to OK when I was nineteen. Was my attendance stellar? No. But I was still a fairly active member in a church up until that point. I've read the Bible numerous times. I used to have huge sections memorized. I still have verses memorized.

Go ahead, ask me what Matthew 4:4 says. Go ahead. ("Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.")

Ask me about "Patience is a virtue" (which isn't actually in the Bible) or "The Lord helps those that help themselves."(That is actually from a myth. "The Gods help those that help themselves" is something that is told to Hercules during his twelve labors.) I dare you. It'll be fun!

In all seriousness though, it kind of bothers me after a bit that people are so willing to assume that I'm an idiot. I hate being underestimated. I should take it as a compliment, but it annoys me.

It especially annoys me when people who've only been in church for a few weeks talk to me like I've never read a word of the Bible. They start preaching at me and I hate it! I've been in church longer than you, I've read the Bible all the way through several times. I know my way around the Holy Scriptures and I know what I'm talking about. You've only been in church for a short time and you want to preach at ME? Really?

I'm saying all this because I'm proud of what I know. I honestly don't care if people are impressed or not. I no longer care about knowing that stuff. I know what I know, that's it. I just don't want someone coming up to me and acting like they know everything when they clearly don't.

The other thing I don't like about church (particularly my friend's church) is the looks I receive. I have rather large breasts, I can't help that. And almost everything I wear accents them, much to my chagrin. Don't look at me like I'm a whore because you can see some cleavage. I'm not a whore. I don't need saving. Thanks, keep walking.

I don't know. Sometimes it is like you have to already be a venerated Saint to be accepted in a church. Isn't the point of church and coming to God being who you are? A sinner, a wastrel? Aren't you supposed to be imperfect coming before Perfection? Isn't God's love supposed to make you pure?

What about that verse: "Judge not, lest ye be judged."? Since when are we supposed to ignore that?

Of course, we ignore most of what the Bible says anyway. We read in-between the lines looking for a meaning that suits us. We pick and choose verses to live by because they are convenient, not because God actually tells us to.

It bothers me! That's one of the reasons I don't go to church anymore. I got tired of the hypocrisy. The biggest being committed by my ex-step-father.

My sister doesn't know what Sodom and Gomorrah is. She doesn't believe that's in the Bible. Because her father doesn't even pay attention to her. That's sad. The man who forced religion down our throats when he was with us has completely neglected his OWN FLESH AND BLOOD'S religious training. Ridiculous really.

It's people that have ruined Christianity for me. It's God that has ruined God for me. And maybe, as the teacher was saying last night in Bible class, I am treating God like a harlot by running from him and coming back only when I need him. I don't really come back, though. My life has not changed since I stopped believing in Him. I'm just as miserable, just as unlucky, just as downtrodden.

Don't tell me "Rain falls on the just and unjust alike." I've had it up to HERE with that verse. Don't tell me that I am being refined by the Refiner's fire.

I am a human being who suffers, like every other human being. And my belief in God, or disbelief as the case may or may not be, hasn't changed that.

The Ship of Dreams

One hundred years ago, at 2:20AM on April 15th, 1912, RMS Titanic broke in half and sank into the depths of the North Atlantic Ocean. Only approximately 700 people were saved out of the 2,214 on board. It is considered one of the greatest non-conflict tragedies of the past century.

As many of you know "Titanic," the movie by James Cameron, celebrated the one hundredth anniversary of the famed ship's sinking by re-releasing the movie to theatres, this time in 3D.

On a whim, I decided it would be an experience to see "Titanic" at approximately the same time RMS Titanic was sinking a century ago. I had never seen the movie in theatres (as I mentioned in my last blog involving Titanic) so that would be an experience as well. For this whim, I recruited Kid, whom I take on many adventures with me.

The experience is one I will never forget, nor would I wish to change it for anything in the world.

It is hard to explain what an impact this experience had on me, really, but I shall try to explain.

Firstly, having had time to think about it since I decided to do it, I should've had this on my bucket list before now. So, after the fact, I christen that one of my bucket list items, now fulfilled. *Cheers and balloons*

My "Titanic" experiences began with the tickets. I purchased the tickets online and we picked them up when we arrived at the theatre. With our tickets was an "official" boarding pass. Pictorial evidence below.




Being the history buff/nerd that I am, the boarding pass really solidified the experience for me. I am in the movie, a part of the history. That's how it feels for me anyway.

Which brings me to the 3D part. Because the movie wasn't originally 3D it obviously didn't quite translate. It didn't "pop" quite like a 3D movie is supposed to, but it gave the whole thing a little more depth, a little more realism. That is one of the few things I like about 3D, is the feeling of being a part of the movie. I feel like it not quite "popping" out (like any other 3D movie) made it more substantial. Personal opinion of course.

During the movie there were shots of the skylight ceiling in the First Class portion of the ship. I have stood under a smaller reproduction of this skylight in the National Museum of History in Washington DC. In fact, pictorial evidence follows of that as well! It is a small reproduction, but a reproduction nonetheless!



That was a startling feeling, almost surreal. Thinking "Wow, I stood under something almost exactly like that." Not quite as earth shattering as seeing a face eerily similar to my own in the Holocaust Museum, but pretty damn close. Its one of those moments where you are so close to history you can almost reach out and touch it. And I love those moments!

I was in awe throughout the movie. So much so that I was too entranced to cry during parts that have always choked me up before. Granted, there were a few tears shed, but so few that I was surprised.

The "love" that Jack and Rose have for each other is really quite powerful, with a lot more substance than other movies with "love at first sight" type gimmicks. Jack understands Rose, he is attracted to her (of course, who wouldn't be?), but he doesn't try to take advantage of that. At least, not in my personal view. The person trying to take advantage of Rose is Cal. It's even strongly hinted that they are already occupying the marriage bed, even though they haven't been officially married.

Beside the point entirely. I just really like the romance of this movie, even though I don't generally like romantic movies. Exceptions being anything with Cary Grant or Clark Gable (or any other old movie star hotness).

I have come to appreciate this movie more as I've gotten older. When I was younger I always avoided romantic movies because they depressed me. I was alone and I hated everyone for being in love. I hated romance, I hated sex (because I wasn't having any), I hated love, I hated it all. Now that I am settled into my own committed relationship I can watch those movies and be happy for the character. That kind of unselfish happiness that comes when you already have it yourself.

The other thing I have come to appreciate is Leonardo DiCaprio. He is so handsome! How did I not think he was hot when I was younger? Of course, it helps that I now know his acting prowess... It took some time (because I am ALWAYS behind the trends), but I am a Leo fan! So seeing this as a Leo fan changed my perspective too.

Seeing the Titanic going down, knowing that One hundred years before it was going down, was the most powerful feeling. It was like being there. As close to reality as I can get. And it was amazing.

All in all, I had so much fun. I wondered if I might have some supernatural experiences, but if I did they were internalized. It was enough to be there. Enough to say I did it. To mark it off my bucket list as I put it there.

To all the people who were lost Rest in Peace, may you be as Rose was in the end of the movie. Happy and re-united with those you love.

An Experiment

In her song, "Xizi She Knows," Imogen Heap says something that resonates with me every time.

You're pretty damn good as you are.
That is something that seems to get lost in the shuffle of things sometimes. Like romantic relationships or friendships. We are never made to believe that we are "damn good" as we are. We are, in fact, made to believe that we aren't good enough. Ever. Because we aren't beautiful. Because we aren't smart enough. Because we aren't what someone wants.

Xizi, she knows, that once its gone, then its gone.
I think that is a metaphor for being damn good as you are. Once you change for someone else and you completely lose yourself, its gone. You may get back some modicum of what you were, but you'll never be fully YOU again. You've lost it. You've let it go.

You may be wondering what this has to do with the title of this blog, but bear with me a moment.

I talked about being hit on, in my last blog. About not being hit on because I'm intelligent or well-read (which, as Donnie pointed out, is never the reason anyone is hit on), but because I have rather large breasts and a so-so face (at least, in my opinion). About how it must be freeing to be completely covered, so that someone has no choice but to get to know you for who you are, instead of how you look.

Can you imagine, for a moment, what it would be like for no one to think your hair is a mess or your make-up is wrong? Or that you aren't wearing the latest styles, your butt is too big or too flat? Can imagine how nice that would be? Not to feel the pressure to please with skin and fashion?

I was talking to Donnie about it and he suggested I try it. Though, he did say he thinks I'll get ignored more than anything.

He suggested I try being covered and then write about the experience. And I think I'm going to do it. It falls into my desire to experiment with different religions as well. I am both excited and trepidatious.

Pros:
1. I'll get to experience a culture other than my own. One that I actually know a fair bit about.

2. I can write about the experiences, because I'll have a rather constant inspiration.

3. My husband supports me in whatever I choose to do.

Cons:
1. The last time I dressed as an Islamic woman (back when I was in high school) I brought the Klan out of hiding.

2. This experiment may have serious ramifications regarding my job, my social life and my family life.

3. I am really shy, so I may very well not gain anything from this experiment except heartache from all the ignorance and stupidity around me.

'Tis better to try and to fail, than to never try at all. How will I know what happens until I try it? Well, I can't. I can't know what will happen or who I will meet unless I try it.

This experiment will take preparation. Partially because I do not currently own a burqa, niqab, hijab or any other such covering. Partially because I need to define the boundaries for myself and a time frame. This experiment is going to take longer than a week or two. And partially, because this is going to take my full concentration and desire. I can't go into this experiment half-heartedly. I have to be fully behind it and fully invested before it will work.

In the meantime, I think I should do some more research into Islam. I need to re-read the Qur'an. I need to slowly wean myself away from Alcohol... Unfortunately. I need to re-read the Bible. If you are wondering about that please refer to my blog "The Christianity/Islam Dichotomy" (which you can find at the following link: http://saraicrazyblog.blogspot.com/2011/12/christianityislam-dichotomy.html). And I need to re-affirm who I am.

I am still searching for who I am, in the midst of all the insanity that is called Life. I am still young, so I have time to figure it out. Maybe this will change me. Maybe this experience will change who and what I am. Maybe it won't. I guess I won't find out until I do it.

I feel like I'm rambling a little so I will stop for now. Expect updates sometime in the near (or far) future.

Something to Say

Someone said to me once that I am beautiful. That I am beautiful and that is why people hit on me all the time. You know who you are and I'm going to tell you something very important.

I partially want to be Muslim because I would have an excuse to be covered. I would have an excuse to ignore my body and my face. I envy women who choose to cover themselves. It must be so freeing to not be constantly judged by your face and your weight, how large your breasts are and how much skin you show.

You know why the few people that hit on me do? Because I have large breasts. Sad, but true. No one tries to go out with me because I am intelligent or well read. No one tries to talk to me because I enjoy the theatre or writing. They come over and "hit on" me because I have large breasts and because I am heavier set. They think because of these things I'll sleep with them. I am overweight so I must have ridiculously low self-esteem (which I do, but that is beside the point). I have large breasts so I must be a slut.

If I was covered, no one would take me at face value. Anyone who talked to me would have to ACTUALLY talk to me. Get to know me, not my body. Get to know what's in my head, not what's on it.

So, darling, the truth isn't that I'm beautiful. The truth is that God/Allah/Buddha/Krishna/whomever gave me a large chest and unfortunately that is all I'll ever be to some people. Its not always a compliment to be hit on.

All of Her: Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

I skip out on work to go and sing "Christmas in July" karaoke at the gay bar. I, along with sixty other queens, dress up to sing "Santa Baby" while twirling around a candy cane striped pole. I've always thought of going, but never would before. Being self-destructive for stupid reasons seems to free a lot of things. Including my inner wild child, "Santa Baby" singing, stripper pole hugging slut.

I have been doing a lot of things that I wouldn't normally do. The break-up with Jahan has hit me a lot harder than I ever thought it would. Should I be surprised? Probably not. I know that I feel this way because of the guilt. The notice of her intended marriage was in the paper last week. The young man she is marrying seemed very nice looking in the picture. Though I could only see her eyes, her whole demeanor gave truth to her misery. I kept the picture and hid it away in my chest of drawers next to the poems she had written and the poem from Jahan Khatun she had borrowed. Cherished small mementos of our time together hidden away from sight.

Going to karaoke is one of the many things I have tried, including moping about the house listening to music. I still have yet to find a song for her. Of course I don't think there is a song to quite fit this situation. It probably doesn't help that I keep thinking about things from her point of view. It hurts to think about how much she hates me now. It hurts even more to acknowledge that it is my own fault that she does. I didn't have to sleep with David. I didn't have to end it the way I did. There are no time machines for me to fix my mistakes. Nothing to gain those moments again, so I will just have to move on.

I patiently wait for my turn on the pole, lounging at the bar. A couple of cute girls wink at me and make kissing expressions, but I mostly ignore them. I am waiting for Noah to show up. At the last minute I called him to come and sing with me. I was pleasantly surprised when he said yes. He has been very reclusive recently, a little down. I'm not entirely sure what is going on, but I think I have an idea. He hasn't mentioned his hunky boyfriend in a week.

When he comes in I'm a little startled by how bad he looks. Normally he is so clean cut and crisp in the way he dresses. Today he looks like he hasn't shaved, his light brown hair is bedraggled and his John Lennon glasses aren't even on straight.

"Honey, what the hell happened to you? You look like you got into a fight with your bed!" I say, attempting to not fall off of my bar stool and trip over my too tall hooker shoes.

"We broke up." He says simply. Then he orders a strong, multicolored, drink.

"What happened? I thought you guys were doing really well."

"He just doesn't want me anymore. I'm not who and what he wants me to be in, so I'm not what he wants." I rub his back as a few tears slip into his drink. He downs his drink in a couple gulps before ordering another.

"Shouldn't you take it slow, honey? Maybe you should go home. Watch a movie, eat some ice cream."

"I don't want to go home. I'll be alone when I get there and it will still smell like him. And you are one to talk about taking things slow. The once wholesome girl slutting it up over a douchebag and a bitch." He chugs his drink and orders another. He is right, but the he says it stings. He's never been so outright cruel about what I'm doing. I shouldn't talk, but it is one thing for me to be self-destructive. If he is self-destructive too, who will be my moral compass when I finally escape this hurricane's eye?

Instead of saying anything else, words are useless in these situations, I order a drink too. If he is going to be trashed, so am I. I match him, drink for drink, until we are both ridiculously drunk. We have the bartender, a sweet girl with a nice rack, call us a cab. When the cab arrives, Noah has to help me out because I can't stand up right in my hooker heels. We stumble in and without warning we are making out.

It seems so natural, as the cab takes us back toward my apartment, that we be completely engrossed in kissing and caressing. We don't stop kissing as we stumble out of the cab or stumble up the stairs. We stop for a moment so I can unlock the door and the whole time he is touching and exploring. I get the door open and we practically fall into the apartment.

He shuts the door behind us, a look of pure lust on his face and he kisses me again. We stumble towards my room. We lose our clothes as we go, lost in sensations that you only feel when you are drunk and utterly lonely.

We collapse on the bed, entangled. Everything smells like sweat and alcohol breath, kisses and the beginning of sex. We are completely naked and almost in a practical position. He has somehow managed to pull on a condom in our drunken revelry. Then he is on top of me, in-between my legs, kissing me and pressed against me. It feels so wonderful, dream-like even.

Suddenly, I feel him softening, no longer pressed to me. He actually looks a little horrified. He has just realized, through the drunken haze, that he is about to have sex with a woman. This was a bad idea. This was an awful idea. I start to cry.

"No, no. Don't cry." he whispers, pulling off the condom. He switches positions and kisses me again. I feel like I have dived headlong into a barrel of needles. All of which are stuck in my chest.

"I knew you weren't attracted to me. I knew and I still thought this would happen." I wipe away a stray tear. I am almost into a full crying jag and sobering faster than I'd like to. I don't know what we were thinking, making out in the cab. Coming up here and acting like we would actually ever have sex. We were too drunk to think.

"Don't you see," he says, wiping away another tear. "that isn't true at all. It almost happened because I am attracted to you. I am attracted to your personality, to your intellect and your pretty face. I'm attracted to your mind, when you choose to use it that is. I am friends with you because of that attraction. I have always been drawn to who you are. I can be attracted to you in a way that isn't sexual. Besides, sex scenes like this only happen in bad Madonna movies."

He kisses me again and holds me closely. I realize, in my tiny moments of reasonable sobriety, that I wouldn't have wanted to have sex with Noah. It could ruin the one friendship I would die without. And it isn't who we are at all. Not who he is, anyway. A one night stand with a gay man is not worth the loss of a friendship. And seducing said gay man isn't part of the plan.

Shyly, we look away so that we can get dressed again. We do sleep in my bed together, snuggled up. Its hard to sleep alone after you've been sleeping with another person for so long. I don't think I've quite gotten used to it yet. I barely remember what it was like to sleep alone. Knowing that tomorrow we are probably going to feel a little awkward around each other for a little bit, I snuggle closer to take advantage of the moment.

I wake up alone. A sweet note from Noah is lying on the counter as I go into the kitchen for some coffee. My head is pounding and my eyes are bleary from drinking. I read the note and smile. He says he loves me and that he is happy we didn't do anything we probably would've regretted later.

I get dressed for another day and even manage to go out for a little while. In the evening, I gather up my glow stick kites and head to the beach. I need some me time. A break from all my self-destruction to just watch the waves lapping at the shore and the kites dancing on the breeze. I drive slowly, taking in the dazzling sunset and the smell of the world around me.

As part of my drive, I pass through downtown with all its bright lights and its gypsy colors. I have always loved the smell of downtown. So many different restaurants and so many people. It is a carnival for the senses, really. And I drink it in until I feel a little woozy.

The crowds are leaving the beach as I arrive. I watch as a young couple kisses and hold hands all the way back to their car. I sigh, wistfully. I wonder what their life will be like. Will they last? Will they break up or divorce? Will they have children? Will they always love each other? I suppose only time and whatever supreme being governs the universe know.

I sit, for a short time, watching the last of the fiery sun slipping below the horizon. With a heavy heart and a few kites, I head down to the beach. Etched in the sand, just out of reach of the water, is heart with two initials. I think of the young couple holding hands as they walked to their car and smile again.

Just a little way from where I usually set up the kites is a young man, about my age, smoking a cigarette. He is seated with his knees pulled up and his arms resting across the top. It isn't cold, but he is wearing a sweatshirt with a hood. Beside him is a portable radio playing Frank Sinatra. I smile at him and tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. He smiles and raises a hand in greeting.

I turn and look at my outfit. Jeans and an old "Batman" t-shirt. Bitterly, I wish I had worn something different, something sexier. However, I have to work with what I have. Plenty of women have gotten men while wearing worse, I'm sure. Besides, he's a guy, if he doesn't like Batman I'm going to have to ask for his man-card. Wait, I'm a girl. Can I even do that? I shake my head and put on a game face of some sort.

I plant my glowing kites and spread out my blanket on the sand. I try to look as sexy as possible while I am doing this, but it is hard when I'm trying not to fling sand in my face. I glance his way and see him staring at the kites. I follow his gaze to the candy colored dancers.

This is the first time I've gone kite flying without Clark. I realize this with a little throb of loneliness. I shouldn't be trying to get a random stranger on the beach. God knows what kinds of diseases I could pick up. Or I could end up raped and dead, my kites uprooting from their places and flying away. I can't help it though. I really need to step it up. If I'm going to slut it up, I need to go all the way with it. No more dancing around it.

Besides that, I'm still a little horny from my almost encounter of the sexy kind with Noah.

Timidly, I go up to him and ask if I can bum a cigarette. He smiles and hands me one. I've never smoked in my life so I'm not sure what the hell I'm doing, but here goes nothing. I try to place it seductively between my lips and lean into him for a light. I suck a little smoke into my mouth, without pulling it into my lungs, and slowly exhale. It tastes pretty awful, actually and I have no clue what to do from here.

"That's a neat idea." He says, pointing toward the kites. "Did you think of it?"

I nod and pull a little more smoke into my mouth. I think I may get the hang of this quicker than I thought. Just have to remember not to actually breathe it or I'll choke.

We are quiet for a little bit. He takes a drag off of his cigarette and I take a pull off of mine. I want to say something, but am unsure of what to say. So I use body language to say it all. I lean into him again, brushing my hand against his leg. I do it so as to seem accidental and, when I catch his eye, I blush to add a grain of truth to it. It is awkward for a few more minutes, until I almost can't stand it.

"You're pretty cute, you know." He says, taking another drag off his cigarette.

"Thank you. You're pretty cute yourself." I smile my best sexy smile and scoot a little closer to him. Out of the blue, he puts his arm around my shoulders and leaves it there for a minute. I think he does this to see if I'll stop him. I obviously don't. In fact I scoot closer into him, with his arm around me.

"You're very forward." He whispers, nipping my earlobe. "I like that in a girl."

I don't say anything, just give him a saucy smile and a wink. I glance toward my blanket and then back at him. I press myself closer to him and use my lips to caress his cheek. I can see that my behaviour is exciting to him, so I try harder. I nibble on his ear and then kiss down his neck.

"I have a blanket, if you have the protection." I whisper, running my fingertips up the inside of his leg, stopping just before I reach anything incredibly important. With another wink I stand up and begin strutting my way back to the blanket and kites. He stands up to follow me, moving a little awkwardly. I giggle to myself and pull off my shirt, revealing my purple bra.

As he walks toward me, I have time to observe his build and other things about him. His hair is a lovely shade of blonde and he is fairly muscular. He pulls off his sweatshirt to reveal six-pack abs with a soft blonde patch leading toward bigger and better things. Emphasis on the bigger. He comes up to me, both of us shirtless, and he kisses me. We taste like cigarettes, but I don't care.

He unhooks my bra, expertly, and I let it drop to the blanket. He takes a moment to explore, before tugging at my jeans. We both step out of our bottoms and lie down on the blanket. He pulls a condom out of his shorts pocket and gives me a quirky smile. I notice his light blue eyes light up when he smiles and I smile too. He kisses me again and for a moment I feel a blind panic. I am about to have sex with a complete stranger. Someone whose name I don't even know. Can I really go through with this?

I feel him move into me and realize its too late. I am going through with it now. I have to. He is gentle and sweet, I find that I am actually enjoying myself. Just over his shoulder I can see the moon and my kites dipping and soaring. I dip and soar with them. His radio is still playing. Everything seems so strange from where I am lying. I look into his face and he smiles again. He kisses me and then nibbles at my neck, my ears and further down. He doesn't ask what I like and I don't ask what he likes. We work instinctively and are rather satisfied with the results.

We end up spending several hours on the beach. Hardly any of that time is spent watching the kites dance. After we finish, again, we have another cigarette. It is late and soon the sun will rise, we've spent almost the whole night here. We kiss goodbye, the only parting we give and I begin to pack up my blanket and kites. He grabs his radio, his clothes and our trash. Before anyone else arrives, he is gone. A one night stand faded into darkness before morning comes.

Once my kites are all packed into the car, I decide that I want to stay and watch the sunrise. I grab my blanket and make my way back down to the beach. I find a decent spot just down from where I spent my night and I set up there. I watch as the sun is born and a notice that there is tear slipping down my cheek. I pull my knees up, wrap my arms around them and rest my cheek on my knee. Its so lonely, where I am right now. I've ruined one person's life in my quest to ruin my own. I almost ruined a beautiful friendship too.

To prove to myself that I am a whore I have slept with a random stranger I ran into at the beach. I don't have to look at the blanket I am sitting on for the evidence of it. I can still feel the experience. Its really stupid, this downward spiral. From the outside I can see that. But now I can't stop. I feel so completely worthless right now.

I don't cry, though. I refuse to. I pull myself together and grab my blanket. I drive home and go straight to bed. I am too tired to do anything but undress and then I am far away from here. Snuggles comes to sleep with me and we curl up under the covers.

I don't wake up until noon when my phone rings. I answer, even though I am half asleep.

"Hello?" I murmur.

"Are you still asleep? Its noon!" says a voice I don't recognize off hand.

"Who is this?" I ask, trying to wipe the sleeping dust out of my eyes.

"Noah. Who else would be calling you right now?" He sounds like he is in a better mood than the other night.

"I don't know. I'm still asleep."

"Well, stop being asleep and come out to lunch with me. There is a new restaurant that just opened right down the street from your apartment. You won't even have to drive. They serve breakfast all day, so you can have waffles or something if you want. My treat."

"I'm sorry, I can't wake up right now. You've reached Abra's voicemail leave a message." I hang up and fall right back to sleep. However, my friend is quite persistent. My phone rings again. I can almost hear Noah yelling at me to answer.

"Fine," I say. "I'll get up."

I answer the phone and sit up.

"You can't stay in bed all day, you know. The world is waiting outside your door." he says.

"Thank you, Mr. Guru. Anything else you want to chant at me?" Grumpily, I slip into my Kermit slippers and drunkenly careen my way to the bathroom. I don't even bother to hang up before plopping down on the toilet.

"Come on, Grumpy Gus. Its a beautiful day. I have a beautiful friend I'd like to spend it with. That friend being you."

"Okay, okay. Let me shower and I'll meet you at the restaurant." I flush the toilet and hang up.

I look in the mirror to see if I look any different after last night. Nothing seems to have changed, physically. I look like myself. I wonder if the girl in the mirror feels the cracks widening. I wonder if she realizes just how far we are falling. She looks at me blankly. I think she doesn't know. I bitterly wish I could be her. Be anyone but myself right now.

He was cute, but was he worth my soul?

Quote Me

Donnie: You know what's nice?
Me: What?
Donnie: Lesbians. Lesbians are nice.
Me: Thanks for that.

Me: You're not allowed to die. Because if you do, who will I have sex with?
Pomme: Oh my god!
Donnie: Fawn.
Pomme: AHHH!!!
Donnie: Problem Solved.

Pomme: Ya know I would question Sarai more, but then I look at who she is married to and all my questions disappear.

Derrick J: To paraphrase Scotty, "I'm givin' it all I've got, world, not to punch ye in the face! If ye push my engines any further they'll tell ye to blow me!"

Me: You know it is Halloween when you turn on your car and the radio is playing "Ghostbusters".

Me: Don't be a cunt muffin!!

Donnie: Waffle cones are superior to cake cones. Discuss.

Me: I swear to god, I will flick you in the tit.
Pomme: Umma! Not only is that child abuse, its awkward!
Donnie: That's the point. If its awkward enough they won't report the child abuse to the police.
Pomme: That's fucked up.

Me: My Swedish Meatballs box says to stir the macaroni and cheese. Except, its Swedish Meatballs... Where did the mac and cheese come from?

Me: You know what really makes the "White and Nerdy" music video by Weird Al? Donny Osmond dancing like an idiot in the background. That part just never gets old.

Me: Of all the gin joints in all the world, she had to karaoke in mine.

Joe T: Oh, c'mon! You can't fool me! You gay park your car all of the time! (Are your pants on fire, yet?) :-)
Jaime N: Did u at least lezbo park it? lol

Pomme: So Sarai and Donnie had their troll flakes this morning!! DID YOU?

Donnie: My name is Pajamy and I LOVE nightwear!
Adam C.: Pajamy, meet Teddy :-)

Uncle Jerry: Hay, you forgot to tell me it was your birthday. Great Uncles don't know about these things 'caus we don't have birthdays anymore. HAVE A HAPPY ONE!!!!!!

Kid: HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU CRAZY ASS LEPRECHAUN.

Me: Also, Donnie needs to stop breathing leaves... just sayin'.

Mom: They are liquidating their cattle.
Me: Ew! No one wants liquid cattle!

All of Her: Chapter Two

The next day Noah comes to check up on me. He shows up at the same time David and Alice do. It is awfully awkward and awkwardly awful. David seems completely unphased, but Alice stands in the doorway, frozen like an icy sculpture. I bitterly wish she was ice so I could melt her away.

Noah is the most distressed by this situation. He looks like he wants to beat the shit out of David. That or make him leave. Though the beating looks like it is going to win out.

"I should go," says Alice. And I'm surprised to see her move, she's been so still. Its like watching a statue come to life in a dream.

"No," I say, shocking everyone. "Stay. He'll need help carrying everything out, after all. Let me start by giving you back your shirt, Davey."

With a move that looks practiced, I pull off the shirt I have been wearing all night. I am not wearing anything underneath. I really don't care at this point.

Noah covers his eyes, as does Alice. David just stares. He is shocked, I can tell. I am so brazen, I don't even try to cover myself.

Proud, and a little nipply, I give David his shirt and glide out of the room. Okay, I don't glide. I run. I run and slam my door.

Then, right on cue, I burst into tears.

A thought occurs to me, amidst the tears and snot. A perfectly awful and wicked thought. Of course, I am beyond caring so it strikes me as not so evil. Stupid, obviously, but not so evil.

I've lost my mind. I know I have. But I am Alanis Morrisette in "You Oughta Know" right now. I want vengeance. Hell hath no fury and all that jazz. Except I am not thinking how this will punish me more than them. I should know better. I should think. But I don't care. I am a fool.

The old saying "A fool and his money are easily parted" is also true for virtue.

There is no point anymore. I am being super whiny and I don't care. I have no heart to speak of. I am heartless.

Was he sleeping with her this whole time? How long have I been blind to this romance blossoming? It couldn't have destroyed this much of my life that quickly could it?

No, things like this take time. A rose doesn't flower over night. Rome wasn't built in a day. And other such cliches.

Just like that I have a plan. I am going to sleep around. I've always secretly wondered about sex with other people. Now is the perfect time to find out. I am a brazen hussy after all.

Now I'm thinking about that raucous display and I'm blushing. However, I maintain that I don't care. Except now I feel how Eve must've felt when she realized her nudity. Ashamed.

I shouldn't have done that, but I've lost any will to control myself. I now have to face three people who saw me half naked. One of whom I hope remembers all of me naked. How embarrassing. Note to self, don't do that again.

Meekly, I peer out of the door. I don't see anyone. I do hear some muttered curses. The voice sounds like Noah's. Quietly, I creep down the hallway and peek into the kitchen.

Noah is in a tizzy trying to fix some coffee. My old fashioned pot confuses him. He's used to those one button brewers. Mine takes a little more time.

I don't see David or Alice. I look around, but still don't see them. Pretending I'm brave I walk into the kitchen. This time, fully dressed.

"Having trouble?" I say.

"Jesus," he says. He jumps and fumbles to catch his cup. "You scared the piss out of me! Don't do that."

I take his cup and set it on the counter. I remember when David and I decided on the dark granite when we remodeled this apartment. I also remember a few sexual episodes with me balancing on said counter. I hold back the tears and assist in the brewing of coffee.

After staring at me for a few moments, like I have suddenly transformed into Medusa, Noah shakes his head and sighs theatrically.

"I can't believe that you exposed yourself to all of us!" He finally exclaims.

"I've lost my mind, what can I say?" I go to the refrigerator and search for something, though I'm not entirely sure what.

"You mean you had one before?"

"No. Thanks for noticing." I retort sarcastically.

After the coffee is finished, I grab a cup and plop down on my purple plaid couch. I pull my legs up to my chest as Noah plops down beside me and sighs, again.

"So, where did the lovebirds go?" I ask.

"Well, after your little booby dance they promptly excused themselves saying they'd come back later. Which I'm sure they will come back. When you aren't here. In which case make sure you have everything marked."

"Ah. A ten year relationship reduced to a few boxes of crap. It really strengthens one's faith in love." I am restless. Part of me wants to tell Noah about my decision. But my mother didn't raise a fool. I become a fool all on my own. However, I have the feeling he would weaken my resolve. And that's the last thing I want.

Or maybe I want him to tell me I'm wrong and I need a hug and cookies to soften the blow of massive rejection.

I don't know what I want.

Actually, I want David. But that isn't going to happen now.

Searching through...

Whilst searching through blogs here on Blogger, I discovered this one particular blog (through yet another blog) called "White and Delightsome." This blog is dedicated to "Awkward and peculiar Mormon erotica." I'm so not joking! There is literally this woman who posts blogs revolving around Mormon Erotica. Holy snickerdoodles, Batman!

I read the first few blogs and realized that my life hadn't been complete up until now. I never knew something this hilarious could ever exist!! Not only is it over the top writing (everything I read was filled with "heaving bosoms"), but it is hilarious with all kinds of references to the Mormon church and its leadership.

Also, there is definitely a reference to a rather racist view the Mormons have, though she doesn't say it overtly. It doesn't take much to realize the connection there.

"White and Delightsome."
"The Way a Woman should Be." Apparently women are only supposed to be White and "Delightsome", whatever the hell that means. I think she meant Delightful.

So here you are, the link to this gloriously hilarious and awkward blog involving sex and Mormons.
http://whiteanddelightsome.com/

This really makes me think of "Orgazmo", a 1997 movie that Fawn forced me to watch when I lived with her a couple years ago. Rather than try and explain it to you, here is the trailer for this wonderful movie about Mormons and Porn.



STUNT COCK!!

The Randomness

My Questions are as follows (along with my answers):
1. Where do you stand on the proverbial political fence?
Somewhere to the East?

2. What kinds of drinks do you like when you are hot and sweaty?
Anything soda-y.

3. If purple were a number what would it be?
2,382.

4. Your karma ran over my dogma, response?
There goes my good karma...

5. If a yellow train is traveling at twenty-five miles per hour on a blue track what color is the engineer's underwear?
He isn't wearing any.

6. Who invented Swiss Cheese?
The emperor of Japan.

7. If you could do anything in the world, without the limits of time, money, etc. what would it be?
Read every book on my list, lose weight, become that famous movie star I wanted to be and kiss the hell out of Gackt and Wentworth Miller!

8. Roses are white, violets are?
Burgundy.

9. What is your favorite book?
Exquisite Corpse by Poppy Z. Brite

10. If you could live to be 101 1/2 what would you like to say on your death bed?
Damn, I am old!

It seems to me that the most common answer for #5 was green. I'm not quite sure how people came up with Green, but they did. *shrug*

Donnie's Answers
1. I can't stand on a proverb.

2. Semen in a can.

3. Purple.

4. Bitch had it comin'?

5. Yes.

6. Sir Swiss.

7. Um, fondle every pair of breasts on earth.

8. Probably violet.

9. No H's Picture Book of Wood.

10. I told you I was sick.

Fawn's Answers
1. On top of Trent on top of the pole. (Trent: We call it the pole position!)

2. Donnie's Semen in a can. (Fawn: Chai, dammit, Chai!)

3. Sexy. (Sarai: You know, you people don't understand the concept of numbers. Just sayin'.)

4. (Trent barks) Yeah, what he said.

5. Its the color Kurosawa. (Trent: Brown. From SHIT!)

6. Jesus invented it. (Sarai: Jesus invented Swiss Cheese?)

7. I'd grow three new arms and three new legs to go with the two I've got. (Trent: Because if you had three more of each you might have two that worked?)

8. Sex deprived? (No comment)

9. That book by Christian Humber... (Donnie: Oh yeah, I should've said "Christian Humber Reloaded"!)

10. Damn, my diaper is full. (Sarai: Oh my...)

Trent's answers
1) On a post, because the fence is too narrow.

2) The kind of drink that quenches thirst. (Sarai: Smart ass...)

3) Orange

4) It was in the road and needed killin'.

5) Vodka

6) The Pope

7) Give every woman huge boobs. Think Aegis.

8) Still Blue.

9) The Twilight Saga with a twist of lemony goodness.

10) Huge boobies were a great idea.

Envy's answers
1. Can I break down the fence instead? That sounds more fun.
2. Sodas. Or just something sweet and tastes marvelous.
3. Uhm... 5?
4. The dogma deserved it. Get outta my street.
5. Red, of course. Rail Tracer, anyone?
6. I don't know, but they rock.
7. Jack a plane, go to Germany, and attend a rave under the stars with my best friend.
8. Overrated. Get other flowers instead.
9. Brave Story, by Miyuki Miyabe. Best Japanese-to-English novel ever.
10. "Famous last words? No, thank you. Let me die in silence."

Phil's answers
1. Definetely lean left
2. A coke is nice, maybe some water, Iced Tea?
3. 140
4. I got you my pretty and your damned dogma too!! (Thank you Wizard of Oz!)
5. Chartreuse
6. The Swiss (duh)
7. Head Meterologist at the National Hurricane Center
8. Cerulean
9. The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin
10. Why did you little bastards let me live this long!!!

LED's answers
1. I am solidly so far left I am almost right. Woo circular fence!

2. Water. PERIOD.

3. Purple would be the number 5.

4. Then that means I will be reincarnated as a rich politically awesome man in my next life.

5. Green.

6. Not the Swiss. T'was the French.

7. Travel around the world in twenty times in forty years. Oh and fly to the Moon and Io.

8. Purple. And yellow. Duh.

9. Wicked was pretty good. But when it comes to adolescent-geared violence and necromancy, it's got to be Sabriel by Garth Nix. Oh and my favorite mindless fighting/D&D/fantasy book series is the Legacy of Drizzt.

10. I wish I had not lived to this age. I am alone and now I die alone. May those after me die with less regrets and may they live in an age when they did not have to watch the world die.

Callibre's Answers
1. Who stands on a fence?
2. Hmmm ice water
3. it would equal the sum of red and blue
4. The stigma was driving (I like that answer best!)
5. lime green
6. weight concious mice
7. Travel to every single country and meet the amazing people I know :P
8. not right
9. The Sea of Silverlight
10. I knew I should have had better answers when answering 10 questions on DA.

Pomegranate's answers
1. I don't think I can stand on fence very well. Hello, I loose balance just by walking!! So why would I stand on fence regardless if you say it is proverbial!! ♥♥ (Love you momma)
2. I like water.
3. Most likely a negative number I mean come on, purple has a sad life, their is no purple Power Ranger but their was a purple teletubie!! Seriously!! The color has a sad life!!
4. Tough shit~ ♥♥
5. Pink. No reason, I just love Pink!!
6. Most likely someone Holy.
7. See what I could do~ Cause I has no idea, I use to think I knew what I would do but now the more I think about it the less I know what I would do with all the limits of time and money.
8. PURPLE yet again the color has a sad life.
9. To Kill A Mockingbird!! ♥♥ Best book ever!!
10. Most likely something to the fact that I still outlived some bitches~ ♥♥

Amber's answers
1. I will be honest, I have no clue what proverbial political fence means.... but I am a conservative if that is what you are asking. lol
2. water
3. purple would be number 3
4. sorry
5. green
6. some guy in Italy?
7. I would live the rest of my life in the mountains surrounded by trees and wildlife
8. black
9.Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry
10. thank you and goodnite

Hellas' answers
1. My balance isn’t that good, I prefer to move around.
2. Coffee does it for me every time.
3. 1
4. My karma is a bitch and thinks you should keep your dogma on a leash
5. Green…of course
6. The same people hat invented the Swiss?
7. Pleasure every small breasted redhead and brunette I saw :P…hey you asked for it.
8. Not always blue
9. The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio
10. I’m not quite dead yet, honestly I feel fine…no I don’t want to go on the dead wagon

Judes' answers
1. Where do you stand on the proverbial political fence?
-I don't stand ANYWHERE near it!!!

2. What kinds of drinks do you like when you are hot and sweaty?
-Ice cold water with a squeeze of lemon or lime.

3. If purple were a number what would it be?
-It's number would be 7, for the order it appears in the rainbow.

4. Your karma ran over my dogma, response?
-Sorry darling, lemme make it up to you.

5. If a yellow train is traveling at twenty-five miles per hour on a blue track what color is the engineer's underwear?
-Well, if the Engineer is as close to his train as he should be, then his man panties should be GREEN, because yellow and blue make green, and trains and and speed make time.

6. Who invented Swiss Cheese?
-Some really awesome Swiss guy. I'm gonna go with Leif Holestag.

7. If you could do anything in the world, without the limits of time, money, etc. what would it be?
-Make sweet love endlessly until I ceased to breathe.

8. Roses are white, violets are?
-Blue. They're always blue, in fact, I don't have any idea as to why they call them 'VIOLETS' when clearly, they're NOT violet in shade!

9. What is your favorite book?
-Okay, if you couldn't think about this a second, and had to ask me this, then you clearly do NOT know me! ;) (Sarai: It's Gone with the Wind, ladies and gents)

10. If you could live to be 101 1/2 what would you like to say on your death bed?
-"What the hell am I doing on my death-bed?! I've got another 101½ years to live!!!"

Eric's answers
1. No comment.

2. Gatorade.

3. 29

4. Why was it in my karma's way in the first place?

5. Depends- green seems to be obvious, but I'd say red to keep a primary colors trend going here.

6. The Swiss.

7. Go to L.A. and win an Oscar.

8. Technically, they're blue.

9. The Catcher in the Rye.

10. It's been fun.

Terri's answers
1. A democrat who knows how to think for herself and questions stupid things that politiians say, like anything Michelle Bachman and Fairly Failin' says (note: had to put it that way due to copyright she has on her stupid name!). (Sarai: How can she have a copyright on her name?! How do you do that?)

2. Sweet tea with Lemon, or a cold coke..

3. 2

4. I would be devastated...crying and so sorry...

5. He's wearing underwear?

6. The Swiss Guard

7. Peace and Quiet and time with my husband

8. Purple, don't know why they say blue...they are NOT blue, they are purple, it is so confusing, I can't stand it.

9.The one I am reading right now, at any given time...

10. it was a good run...sorry it had to end so soon...

Jennifer's answers
‎1. I jump off of it. And generally ignore the silly thing all together.
2. Ice cold water. Maybe one of those mountain flavored Powerades.
3. 8
4. ॐ
5. Infinity.
6. God.
7. Everything. The answer would be too broad I think.
8. Fuzzy.
9. The Book Thief by Markus Zusak.
10. I. Am. A. Badass.

Willie's answers
1. neither, 'cause the poltitcal game is shit
2. Mt dew
3. #1 cause it is that
4. I'm better cause I'm awesome
5. green
6. its not the swiss
7. just be me
8. black
9. The calling of Cthulu
10. respawn in 10....9....8...7...

Porn Star Dancin'

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The Lady Sings the Blues

Billie Holiday



Billie Holiday was a Jazz and Blues singer from the 1930's to the 1950's. Born 1915 in Pennsylvania as Eleanora Fagan, Billie Holiday was known for her unique singing voice and her, often, melancholy subject matter.



Some interesting Facts
* Holiday was the first female African-American vocalist to work with an all white Orchestra. She worked with Artie Shaw for a short time, before quitting due to stress over her race and unique vocal style.

* She sang "Strange Fruit" independently from her usual record label because they refused to produce it. It was such a powerful song (a story of lynchings in the South) that some radio stations banned it.

* Another song that was banned was "Gloomy Sunday". Supposedly the Billie Holiday version of the song caused a number of suicides. It was banned by the BBC until the turn of the century.

* She always wore a white gardenia in her hair during performances.

* Holiday was arrested and convicted of narcotics possession in 1947.

* She was in a movie with Louis Armstrong, one of her idols, called "New Orleans".

Some Quotes from Billie Holiday
- "Don't threaten me with love, baby. Let's just go walking in the rain."

- "Love is like a faucet, it turns off and on."

- "I'm always making a comeback but nobody ever tells me where I've been."

- "You can be up to your boobies in white satin, with gardenias in your hair and no sugar cane for miles, but you can still be working on a plantation."

- "People don't understand the kind of fight it takes to record what you want to record the way you want to record it."

- "If I'm going to sing like someone else, then I don't need to sing at all."

My Favorite Billie Holiday Song

Naked Nun for the Win.

Fawny says:
**giggle snort*

Sarai says:
*You sent me a naked girl with titties clamps. O.O
*Who are you and what have you done with Fawn?

Fawny says:
*A NUN, with titties and pierced nipples hanging from a cross.

Sarai says:
*I know this
*I am in shock

Fawny says:
*Papacy porn at it's finest. ^__^

Sarai says:
*She does have some nice tits. lol

Fawny says:
*Indeed.

Sarai says:
*This is an awkward conversation

Fawny says:
*No Sarai, this is a BLOG conversation.