#MeToo

A few days ago, I posted #MeToo as my Facebook status to show my friends and family that I had survived sexual assault.

What was a little unexpected to me was the total deluge of women (and some men) admitting that they too had experienced sexual assault.

The first sexual assault that I can remember happened in 7th grade when I was 12 years old.

I was with my mom shopping in Payless. I was in the toy aisle, looking at toys.

I was wearing my school uniform – a blue and green plaid skirt, a white peter pan collar short sleeve blouse, white knee socks, and comfortable shoes.

My mom was elsewhere in the store when a man moved past me and as he did, I felt something brush my butt.

It almost seemed innocent, at the time.

I thought for sure I was making things up.

But just to be safe, I moved to another aisle, away from the man.

As I was looking at merchandise, the man came down my aisle and THIS TIME HE STOPPED, REACHED UNDER MY SKIRT, AND GRABBED ME BETWEEN MY LEGS.

In the pit of my stomach I knew this was wrong, just like I now knew the earlier touch had been intentional.

I should have screamed. Yelled. Pointed my finger at him and shamed him.

But I was little.

And scared.

I only told my mom what happened when we were safely at home away from the man.

The last time I was sexually assaulted was when I was out to dinner with my kids.

We were eating at Fresh Choice, and I was carrying two trays with food – one for my boys and one for me.

A busboy offered to help me with a tray.

When he reached for the tray, his hand rubbed slowly against my breast.

That sick feeling in the bottom of my stomach started to bubble up again.

I sat down immediately, trying to calm myself.

Feeling tears coming on.

When he set the tray down on the table, he brushed my breast AGAIN WITH HIS FUCKING HAND, and I nearly came undone.

This time, I’m happy to say I reported him to the staff at Fresh Choice AND to the Campbell Police Department.

Since it was a he-said-she-said case, the District Attorney opted to not prosecute, but at least I started (continued?) the paper trail on this predator.

In the 30 some years that transpired between these two incidents, there have been countless others – friends of my sister’s boyfriends who thought I was there for their pleasure, strangers in bars who liked how I looked and wanted to touch me, predators who offered to take my photo but turned it into something else, etc.

I’m proud I fought back as an adult woman but I have to admit, whenever I get sexually assaulted, my initial reaction is ALWAYS the same.

A sick feeling followed swiftly by fear and the urge to get as far away from the predator as I possibly can.

I’m still 12 years old.

A Sheer Disaster

So there I am, browsing through my Instagram when THIS picture pops up:

A beautiful curvy lady in ONE REALLY FUCKED UP DRESS.

WTF is going on here?

I had to take a better look.

She is wearing a see through dress embroidered with red roses. Underneath she’s wearing a matching nude bra and panty set with contrast black striping.

Is this a thing now?

First there were dresses with sheer panels.

Then sheer skirts and jumpsuits you have to wear your best knickers for.

AND NOW. . .

Now the whole frigging dress is sheer and requires you to be comfortable letting the world see you in your unmentionables.

This is why I like Burning Man events.

I can wear sheer clothes and no one blinks an eye.

I went to an Angels and Demons party dressed as a demon and the top of my dress was TOTALLY SHEER!

As much as I was tempted to go topless under it, I finally admitted to myself that my balls of steel were less steely and more squishy when it came to this.

I wore a black bandage bustier underneath it and was quite comfortable letting people peep my lingerie.

I even attended a “lingerie” party in. . . you guessed it. . . my LINGERIE!

But if you ask me if I would go on a date or out with my girlfriends wearing this dress, the answer is HELLO FUCKING NO!

Not unless I get to wear a full length wool coat buttoned up over my outfit.

And here I get confused. There’s a #MeToo movement on Facebook which asks women to post #MeToo in their status if they’ve ever been sexually assaulted.

Shouldn’t women be able to walk around in sheer clothes and underwear and feel safe from sexual predation?

Does wearing sheer clothing encourage the over-sexualization of women?

I don’t know the answer.

I suspect a PhD in Gender Studies could address the topic far better than I.

What I do know is this. . . I wear sheer clothes at Burning Man events BECAUSE it’s a safer environment where CONSENT IS KEY.

Out there in the Default World, I wouldn’t be caught dead in anything so sheer.

Black Burner Bunny

I like the idea of wearing bathing suits, onesies, and jumpsuits at Burning Man.

Spandex packs down so compact!

I got inspired when I spotted THIS picture on Instagram:

Sort of a den of little black bunnies, only not EXACTLY playa ready.

Remove the OTK black boots, add some shit stompers covered in playa dust and a pair of black fishnet tights.

Ditch the pleather mini dresses and add one plunging black bathing suit and you’ve got something more like what I’d imagine a black bunny would look like on the playa.

Then I came across THIS photo and I thought, “YAS! This is exactly what I need to add to the outfit. My harness!”

I brought it with me to Burning Man last year but never wore it.

And maybe, just maybe, I will wear my freaky spiked black leather collar.

I love it but when I wear it I can’t hug people because it pokes them.

Sad face!

Red Flags

I ignore red flags MOST of the time.

Some guy calls his ex-wife a narcissist and I look the other way.

Another guy tells me I have a lazy eye over drinks and I laugh and make excuses.

So when the newest guy made a joke about my sister and I in a porno together, I ALMOST let it slide.

ALMOST.

But I didn’t.

I called him out on it.

I’m not sure why I didn’t let it slide.

Actually I do.

I made excuses for one guy’s behavior not too long ago and he lived up to my (ignored) first impression of him.

So this time I didn’t want to ignore it.

Yeah, I GET THAT IT’S A FUCKING JOKE.

BUT IT’S A DISGUSTING ONE!

Who, when trying to put their best foot forward upon meeting a new woman, makes a porn joke about her and her sister?

Who makes porn jokes BEFORE the first date?

A man with his mind in the gutter?

A man with no manners?

A man who clearly is suffering from a lack of social skills?

Regardless of WHY he did it, the end result is the same.

The fucking hammer has fallen and YOU HAVE BEEN VOTED OFF THE ISLAND!

Barbara would be so proud. . .

My not so empty nest

On August 12, 2017 I drove down to Paso Robles and got my oldest son situated in a beautiful Mediterranean-style villa.

He was signed up to take three classes – two Criminal Justice classes and one Biology class.

Not too hard, if I do say so myself.

On October 5, 2017 this same son showed up on my doorstep.

He had quit college and wanted to move back home.

In case you didn’t calculate yourself that is 53 days.

My son lasted 53 days at college in luxury accommodations.

Now, you might think I’m disappointed in him.

But you’d be wrong.

My oldest is very young for his age and I’ve always thought that he needed more time to mature before tackling the challenges of being an adult.

I welcomed him home and fed him without reprimanding him or grilling him.

I did however advise him of my expectation that he will find full time employment.

This I do feel strongly about.

As soon as I finished school, I was given three months to find a job in my degree field.

Same thing goes for him.

He has a high school diploma, it’s time for him to find out what jobs are open to people with high school diplomas.

I’m at a little bit of a loss for what he should do.

On the one hand, I want it to encourage him to go back to school and get a degree.

On the other hand, I want it to have potential to become a career for him should he not go back to school.

Suggestions?

I heart SPANDEX!

I have a sophisticated and highly scientific approach to packing for Burning Man next year:

Bring as much spandex as possible.

Spandex, it turns out, takes up VERY LITTLE SPACE in your supplies and therefore is very compact.

It also helps that spandex fabric is used to make bodysuits, jumpsuits, and bathing suits.

Things that are PERFECT for Burning Man, in other words.

Now.

The thing about investing in a heavily spandexified wardrobe for Burning Man is that I will be FORCED to wear what I bring.

Which means people will see me running around in those bodysuits, jumpsuits and bathing suits.

But for a woman who at least CLAIMS to be comfortable with her body, this should be NO BIG BEAL.

Or is it?

Remember last year?

I got all excited about high waisted bikini bottoms?

I bought three pairs, invested in coordinating tops and accessories then DIDN’T WEAR THEM AT ALL?

Yeah, THAT!

And I can’t use the excuse that it was TOO DAMN HOT, because bikinis and tank tops are pretty much the accepted uniform for hot days on the playa.

So here are three new pieces I’m using to create my new COMPACT Burning Man wardrobe:

Can I tell you just how much I LOVE them?!

Lets hope I actually WEAR them!

Poly or no?

I have a friend.

We’ll call him ‘Sam.’

Sam wants me to set him up with all the single women I know.

The thing is, Sam is poly.

At least Sam claims he’s poly.

[I personally think he’s flexible, for the right woman.]

All the women I know are monogamous.

Definitely NOT poly.

Anyway, Sam is upset that I offered to set up my friend Rob with two of my single girlfriends.

Beyond the fact that Sam is 10+ years older than Rob and simply less appropriate for the 30 – 40 year old women I know, Sam is POLY.

He likes to point out that I don’t believe he’s poly.

I like to point out that it doesn’t matter what I BELIEVE, it matters what HE BELIEVES.

So no, I’m not going to set up a monogamous woman with a poly man.

And, just so you know, I think it’s a wee bit deceptive that Sam’s online dating profiles don’t specify that he’s poly.

Now.

I COULD BE COMPLETELY WRONG ABOUT THIS, but I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that his lack of success in the dating pool could have something to do with the fact that he’s fishing in the wrong fucking pool with the wrong fucking bait.

Just saying.

FIRE!

My birth family lives in the North Bay.

Specifically the Santa Rosa, Rohnert Park, Windsor areas of the North Bay.

And unless you’ve been living under a rock, you know that the North Bay is ON FIRE right now.

It has officially become the WORST FIRE in the history of California fires, surpassing the 1991 Oakland Hills fire.

I knew there was a fire when I left to go to work, some 90 miles away from the devastation.

I could smell it in the air.

I assumed there had been a fire locally until my friend Barbara texted me, “I hope your family is safe.”

What?!

I called her immediately for an explanation.

“Santa Rosa is on fire,” she told me.

I immediately hung up and began texting and calling my relatives.

It took a while but everyone was safe. . . except my birth mom, who I couldn’t reach.

Finally my sister got in touch with me.

It didn’t look promising that our mother’s house was still standing.

She texted me a photo later.

Charred remains of a building.

I immediately started crying.

Mom’s house!

Oh no! All the memories! All the gatherings! The golden nuggets of life that intersected at that home!

10 minutes later my sister told me it was a picture of her school and MOM’S HOUSE IS STIL STANDING.

I went from the depths of despair to the wings of angels in a moment, only tempered by the fact that so many people in the North Bay have lost their home and belongings.

I texted my mom that I loved her and she texted me back.

Coverage is spotty but for the time being, EVERYONE IN MY FAMILY IS DOING FINE.

Hug your loved ones extra close today.

They are our biggest blessings.

What happens in the hot tub stays in the hot tub

I was at a party when I noticed that some friends were hopping into the hot tub in various states of undress.

Some wore bathing suits.

Others wore half a bathing suit.

And still others wore their birthday suit.

Well, there is nothing I like better than socializing au naturel, so I stripped and climbed (almost fell) inside.

I’m so dignified (cough).

I know you’d like to think that there was action.

And perhaps there was.

A little.

But it was all PG-13 rated.

I swear!

No one got past first base!

Sadly, I had to get out of the hot tub prematurely because my dear friend Tejas needed encouragement to consume water (not booze).

[How he managed to find CINNAMON SCHNAPPS when I told him to drink water for a while I WILL NEVER KNOW.]

That man is nothing if not resourceful.

So I have saved the memory of the hot tub activities firmly in my mind and will enjoy watching it play on repeat to my utter delight.

Lousy F*ck

This post is for all the guys out there.

There’s something you need to hear and I’m gonna be the one to say it:

Aftercare.

It’s a thing.

And it’s an important thing.

You don’t just slip your clothes back on and beat a hasty retreat out of the bedroom.

No.

Part of the commitment to sex involves a minimal commitment to AFTERCARE.

Meaning you and your partner make pillow talk for at least 10 or 15 minutes post coitus.

When you leap up and wash, get dressed, and leave, it feels like an abrupt and rude ending to what might have otherwise been a fun evening.

So, I’m curious. . . what will it take to make you give a shit about being respectful and connected post coitus?

I’ll give you a tip.

It doesn’t matter how good a lover you are, IF YOU DO THIS THEN THE LOVEMAKING SUCKS.

A smooth transition from the bed to the kiss goodbye ensures that the entire event will be viewed in a positive light.

If you tell us we have a lazy eye. . .

If you put on your clothes IMMEDIATELY. . .

If you fail to provide ADEQUATE AFTERCARE you will be remembered as a LOUSY FUCK and we will PURGE YOU FROM OUR PHONE AND OUR MEMORIES.

That is all.