Why I'll Never Be an Adult

I know this webcomic by blogger Allie has been making the rounds, since it's so applicable to just about everyone I know. (At least those who are nearish to my age or in my generation as a whole.)

But I wanted to mention it again, because it's just so awesome. This graph



largely explains the weird, large gaps in posting here. I mean, it's depression-related. But this cycle is something that I definitely feel. I'd love to post every day. I'd love to do my laundry every week or two weeks so I don't get the bajillion-pound pile that's now sitting in my room and staring at me as it waits to be carried to the laundromat. I'd love to remember to check in with all my close friends who are near and far on a frequent-enough basis. I'd like to clean ALL the things.

I wonder if everybody has some set of basic chores or interesting tasks that are beyond them to do. I know that most people I've talked to seem to. And from the response to the full webcomic, it seems the internet is full of folks who do. What about you?

Submission is Not Passive

"Submit" is an action verb.

Well, duh, Paradox, you might say. Of course it's an action verb. That's just basic grammar.

You would be right, but I mean it in a deeper sense than that.

For a long time, I felt a little guilty when I had long sessions with lovers where I was being submissive to them, where they were doing hurty or bondagey or sexy things to me and being in control of what was happening. I felt like the burden of creativity, of action, was on them and that it was somehow unfair. That I was simply taking what they gave me without contributing that much, since I was going along with what they thought up and told me to do.

I've realized it's more complicated than that. And better than that, really.

When I'm playing with a top (or dom or whatever) who likes what he* is doing, he's getting something out of it too. I'm giving him my reactions and my permission and contributing my energy to the scene. Depending on our dynamic, I'm giving him my obedience. I'm using my strength to hold uncomfortable positions or to accept whatever pain he gives me. I'm giving him a release that he probably craves on his own, access to my body and to an activity that he wants. I'm exciting him. It is, as I say on my Fetlife profile, a gift.

To submit is an act of will. It's an active choice, one that I continue to make throughout a scene. There's a saying in improv of all kinds: Say yes to your partner. And it applies in kink (and sex for that matter) because if I'm not saying yes, we can't do anything. If he's trying to feed me and I don't open my mouth, that's the end. If he's trying to hit me and I run away, that's the end. If I use my safeword at any time, that's the end. And when it goes well, when it's hot and exciting and satisfying, it's because we created that together.

Which is so, so much fun.

*I use male pronouns since I tend towards heterosexuality in my kink life. I play with women sometimes, but not nearly as often. But this could all apply to dominant types of any gender.

Quitting (Longish post)

Well, I quit sex work.

It's a little more complicated than that. I took myself off the schedule at the dungeon a few weeks ago. As an (apparently very) submissive woman I was having trouble effectively meeting the needs of my clients, and I didn't like the work that much. It was a fun learning experience and it gave me a lot of time and some experiences through which to mull over BDSM and my feelings towards it, but I was done with it.

My intention was to go back to stripping, and I found a small-ish club in Queens where I felt reasonably comfortable and the house fees weren't too high. I even auditioned there and worked for a night. (They have 8-hour shifts, 8pm-4am. Ouch!) I bought a gown to fit the dress code there, and packed all my g-strings into my rolling stripper bag.

But when I went in for my second shift, I just didn't want to do it anymore. I knew what I had to be doing to make money. I needed to go around the room and find the men who glanced at my ass, look deeply into their eyes, flirt mercilessly, all the usual. I needed to play the game. And I just had no interest in it.

I normally have an overabundance of sexual energy. I think about sex all the time and talk about it and have it and I've got this great store of positive juice in my batteries when it comes to physical love. As a stripper, I was able to use and play with that energy to keep things interesting and engage with men and even have fun.

These days, I'm a little low on that energy. I think a big part of that is having a full time canvassing job that's not in line with what I want to be doing. We're not even canvassing for Planned Parenthood anymore; now I spend all day having conversations with people who don't give a shit about human rights but will cry and throw thousands of dollars at "homeless" (ie feral ie wild) household animals. It's draining, on a soul level.

I also think I've probably learned everything I'm going to learn from stripping. I understand the dynamics of it and I have a feel for the industry. Sure, I could always learn to be a better stripper, but that's not really who I want to be. I was never a lifer.

Most importantly, though, I always promised myself that the second I really didn't want to be a sex worker anymore, the second it started to hurt me, I would stop. I've seen the consequences of staying in it past that point, and they're not pretty. I don't want to damage myself that way. I want to have more respect for myself and my feelings than that. I'm lucky enough to have a day job so I can, kind of, afford to leave.

Things are admittedly going to be financially difficult for me for a while until I figure out what to do instead. I'm going to try to go back to babysitting. Instead of another physically and emotionally draining job on top of my first one, I'll get to be around kids. That's like a battery charger; I love them.

I'm also looking for a different full time job. I came here meaning to canvass for only a little while as I looked for something else, but I was overwhelmed with moving and being on my own so I didn't have the extra initiative that took. Now I'm settled, and I'm going to dedicate myself to that for real.

I'm not really sure where I'll end up with all of this or how it'll go, but I've got some money saved and I've got a new determination to find work that's fulfilling, at least on a basic level. Wish me luck everyone, and I'll keep you posted on how it goes.

Shy?

So, while I've gotten better at this over the years, I've always been kind of bad about expressing my desires - be they sexual or for objects or especially emotional. I've gotten to a point where I can talk about them, but only in a detached, logical sort of way. Like I'm reporting on something external to myself.

It's easy enough for me to say "In general, I need regular physical contact and cuddling to be comfortable in my life," but much harder for me to say "Please hold me, I'm feeling sad."

This is something I've been struggling to overcome for years. It's kind of stereotypically feminine of me, and it's one of those ways I fit my gender role that drives me crazy. I'd like to be the first one to lean in for a kiss. I'd like to be able to simultaneously want and admit to wanting for something. As opposed to waiting until I don't feel it as strongly to admit to it.

I think I feel like my desires are so strong that I can't let them out while remaining at all in control of myself. I'm also afraid that if I admit or show the strength of any desire, the person I'm interacting with will be overpowered by it and bow to it regardless of their own needs. This may be irrational, but I also really don't want to impose on anyone else.

There are lots of reasons for this involving my upbringing and probably, yes, my gender role. But that's not as important for this post.

What I've started to think is that maybe I can approach this in a different way. Reframe it, if you will. Instead of thinking "I'm repressed about my desires" or "I'm incapable of expressing myself clearly," I could just think "I'm shy when it comes to desire."

It sort of changes things, doesn't it? Shy is not necessarily a positive or negative thing. It just is. And there are things you can do to deal with it, to live with it. It can even be cute or endearing.

If I can give myself permission to be shy with my desires, then I might even be able to, tentatively, physically express them in a way that doesn't make me uncomfortable. The gentleness of a shy expression of desire takes away, in my head, some of what I fear about it. It makes it manageable. It's a small step.

I haven't really tried this yet (I'm being celibate, remember?), but I'm hoping it will help.

Celibacy

So, I haven't had any kind of sex since Halloween. Now, this is sex as I define it, which is about as broad as it gets, so that means nothing more than kissing. (I just realized I haven't written here about my definition of sex, so I'll get on that. Expect a post on it soon.)

Anyway, I obviously could have had sex if I'd wanted to. I've done the craigslist thing before, I had a couple of people I already knew who I could have called, and it's honestly never that hard to find a casual sex partner. Alls I have to do is turn on my radar for chemistry and go with that flow. It usually happens just fine.

However, I haven't wanted to turn on my radar. I've been somewhat uncomfortable in my new surroundings. New York City is a hard place to adjust to, and what with a demanding job and some drama in my friendship with my roommate, I just wasn't feeling up to it. I've been giving myself permission not to be the super-awesome sex fiend I usually see myself as.

This has actually been kind of super-awesome anyway.

I've had a lot of really useful time to reflect on what it is that I get out of my romantic and sexual relationships. It's been easier to do when it's not so pressing, when there isn't drama or stimulus right outside my door or thirty minutes away. I've still been thinking about sex, and especially about BDSM and poly and my sexual orientation, but I've been able to turn that inward rather than outward.

I've learned a lot. It's done a lot to help me clarify what, exactly, is my interest in BDSM anyway and why it's been so hard for me to act on it. It's helped me to clarify what the deal is anyway with my not-so-obvious orientation percentage levels or whatever with bisexuality and queerness. I've even gotten to examine my gender identity a little more, and parse out what parts I like and dislike and how I want to perform.

Now, this is obviously a teaser post, and I promise I'll write about all of the above soon. My main point, though, is that it's been really nice to let go of my self image as a sex goddess who has more sex than you and is therefore cool. I tried not to be like that anyway, but NOT having sex has allowed me to truly let go of my insecurities around sexual performance and what makes me an interesting person. I seem to be doing okay even without it, and that's pretty cool.

Instability

This is the third year in a row that I've had a sexual dry spell in the fall.

Last fall semester, I had sex only once the whole semester with an old friend who I sort of fell into bed with. The year before that, I also had sex only once between August and December, with an attractive barista who proceeded to treat me disrespectfully afterwards.

Once again, I'm finding myself with the desire for physical touch and affection but without the confidence and comfort I need to go find them. I've got a combo of reasons: the issues with men that I think are obvious from my recent entries, my unrealized feelings for my roommate (which I promise I will write about eventually), and some personal weirdness around my job as a domme.

It's just such a weird trend. I think the consistency of the timing is most related to the fact that I always go through a pretty big move in early fall. This year was particularly big, with the move to New York City, but every other year it's been a transition from San Francisco back to a college whose population has changed (thanks to graduates and dropouts) and where my relationships have altered.

I forget, each time by the time I'm transitioning again, how hard it is for me and how long it takes me to recover from change like that. I want to be someone who can just pick up and do whatever and yes, I survive, but I also don't handle big change well at all. It takes a toll on my comfort level and then on my self esteem. I don't always feel it at first beyond the stress of getting settled physically, but I always see the effects in the end.

I hate being unsettled someplace, having to rebuild my support structure/family of friends. I don't even feel able to meet other people because I'm living in a space of not feeling safe and it's hard to have the charisma or energy to do it. I forget this every time I move, but it's always there and I always have to fight and take a long-ass time to overcome it. I'm ready to be done with it now.

What Makes a Woman a Bitch

I want to clarify something about my goal of being more assertive.

I know that it's not very nice to tell a potential suitor to fuck off.* There are damn good reasons, though, for no more Ms. Nice Girl. I've written about a few of them over the course of this blog. The long and short of it, if you don't want to go back and read four blog posts, is that I'm constantly sexually harassed every time I leave my apartment.

It doesn't matter what I'm wearing; it doesn't matter what expression is on my face; it doesn't matter how I respond or even who I'm with. I'm tall and noticeable and have red hair, and I'm apparently hot. Or "sexy baby" or "can I taste that lip ring?" or "look at that pretty tummy." That last one was today.

This puts me in an awfully awkward situation. The thing about hot women in the media is that they're always portrayed as bitches: the blonde popular girl who is too haughty to respond even with kindness to the poor nerdy boy who just wants to love and cuddle her. What they don't show on TV are the good reasons for this behavior.

I don't want to be a "bitch," but I'm fully aware that the reason people use that word is usually to bring women into line. The words "bitch" and "slut" more often have to do with a woman exercising her power and the discomfort that causes in everyone else. If I have boundaries around who I allow to talk to me and in particular how they do it, I'll be branded a bitch. I'll become "that one" who is too cool to give the time of day to a defenseless guy. The thing is, y'all are rarely actually defenseless.

There are things that I respond well to. "Hello, how are you?" is usually one of them. Curiosity about me as a human being with emotions, opinions, and things I like to do is another. "I like you" or "You're pretty" on the street or in a club when my looks are the only thing you could know about me are not. Male folk have an option in how they view and approach me.

Nobody likes to be objectified, diminished into just one part of their person. Maybe somebody who approaches me ham-handedly is just socially awkward and because that's the only thing I see, I judge him as such. I recognize that if I reject someone in a club, that could hurt their feelings. The truth, though, is that it hurts mine to be approached lewdly, to be singled out solely for my looks. So what would you have me do? I'd love a better world, where this wouldn't be a problem. Or just a better solution. Any ideas?


*There's a more specific story there: a group of guys came up to me and my roommate and asked if we'd make out. I asked if they would then all make out with each other and they said "Hell, no!" so I responded with "Well, fuck off then."

Stripping and "Hating" and Dating Men

When I first started stripping, I heard from lots of my coworkers and a few of my friends in the industry that the job would make me hate men. They said that when you do sex work, you see the worst in men and so it is inevitable that you start to dislike them at least a little. I didn't write this off entirely, as of course they had experience at that point and I didn't, but I hoped that it would be different for me.

I was, I rationalized, doing sex work for different reasons than most of them. I didn't need the money, I just kind of wanted to see what it was like to dance naked and get paid for it. I figured this privilege would protect me from making some of the compromises they might have had to, would protect me from a changing opinion of men. I knew the industry would definitely alter me, as everything in life does, but I figured my compassion could hold up to it in that regard.

Well, my compassion is certainly still there. I feel sorry for men much more than I hate them. But things have definitely changed in my feelings towards them.

I've been thinking about my recent heterosexual trend, wondering why my attention has been so much more on men than on women. It hasn't been for lack of physical attraction to women; it's just that when I meet a nicer (and attractive) man, my focus zooms in on him immediately. He stands out to me. This hasn't been happening much with women.

It occurred to me that I've got a little reaction formation going on when it comes to men. (Wikipedia: In psychoanalytic theory, reaction formation is a defensive process in which anxiety-producing or unacceptable emotions and impulses are mastered by exaggeration of the directly opposing tendency.) In this case, I'm very uncomfortable with and somewhat dislike men, so I've been dating them.

So I certainly don't hate men, but I do hate a lot of the things a lot of them do. I don't much like being objectified without my permission. (Accepting money for it is giving permission.) I don't like it when they assume I'm sexually available or feelingless based on my orientation or relationship style or job. I feel almost paranoid about being imposed upon by them, pushed into ways of being or thinking of myself that I don't like, and it affects me from day to day.

So I'm very defended against them. In order to protect myself, I have to be paying attention to the men around me at all times. I'm expending an enormous amount of energy and attention on making sure I don't interact with men in ways that will hurt me. I'm super up front about my job, orientation, and relationship style so that I can immediately avoid the men who objectify them. Putting up barriers like that takes a good amount of effort and so I'm always very aware of men.

What this means is that when I do find a guy who's nice to me, who doesn't do those things I hate, I've already been paying oodles of attention to him in order to find that out. It seems notable, remarkable, that he's not going to be sexist towards me. I appreciate him a lot. I date him, if he's available. There you go. I'm not as afraid of women, and so this happens less often.

(As a side note: I don't claim this is a rational reaction to anything. These are feelings and my attempt to understand them.)

Now, back to stripping. Stripping didn't force me somehow to have these feelings towards men. It's not even that men act much differently at a strip club than they do in general. In fact it's just the opposite, and that's the problem. Stripping commodifies the sexist interactions that exist every day, everywhere. It puts a monetary value on them and so it makes them very, very obvious.

As a stripper, I have to trade somewhat in misogyny, to play off it and manipulate it so that I can get lap dances and tips and avoid groping and slurs. It's something I simultaneously like and hate about the job. I've learned oodles about gender roles, particularly about what's dysfunctional in masculinity. I like learning. However, this knowledge makes it hard to move comfortably in a world that's so full of sexism. I'm just so aware all the time. I can't really sit back and accept it, learn to ignore it, bite the harness and move on like women have been doing for centuries. I'm psychologically fighting it out most of the time.

I'd like to try to shift my focus a little. It's probably unnecessary and certainly draining to be so defended all the time. I'd like to learn, in my day to day activities if not my scholarship and activism, to brush off sexist men. I don't want to let them inside my head, let them affect me, which is something I do have control over even when I can't change their behavior. It'd be nice, even, to spend more time with women and live more in a sisterhood community where I can feel safe. Focus on safety, on whom I am comfortable with rather than on whom I'm not.

I suppose it's a lesson for me as an activist. I want to keep working to change the things in the world that strike me as unfair and wrong, the things that make me angry and hurt me. I need also, though, to focus on healing from that anger and hurt. It's just as important.

Bisexuality and Dating Men

For the last couple of years, I've dated only men. I've slept with plenty of women, but all the people I've seen consistently or seriously were men. I wouldn't say that I've done this on purpose, but it's been a pretty obvious trend.

I think a lot of the reason for this is simple convenience. There are a lot more straight men scattered around in obvious places than there are queer women. They tend to approach me more often and I end up with them just as a matter of odds. In the past six months or so, I have been on more of a hetero kick, but that's not unusual. I've always gone through cycles of leaning one way or the other every once in a while. I had a lady cycle three years ago, and now I'm going the other way. Woo, fluid sexuality.

This trend of male-dating, however, puts me in a strange and slightly uncomfortable position. I'm a bisexual person who has been very involved in the queer community. In college, most of my female friends were queer. I was part of the leadership of the Gay Straight Alliance. I went to gay bars. Most of my jobs were in specifically queer-friendly or queer-oriented places. I tied a lot of my identity in with queerness.

And yet, most of my relationships were heterosexual. Straight, if you will.

Of course, the fact that my relationships are always open does allow me to sleep with women. That doesn't change the fact, though, that people assume I'm straight when I go out in public with a male sweetheart. It's sort of like the queer part of me is hidden inside myself.

I don't like feeling hidden. I end up questioning myself a lot because there is pressure from both sides to define and present myself as either queer or straight. It's not always an open or spoken pressure, although I've heard my share of "choose already" jokes and not-so-jokes. It's more often a pressure based on the fact that the queer community is so close and clearly-defined. There's a norm there, and there are great rewards of community and support for following it.

I do have a strong desire to be recognized for who I am and to fit in with a group. I'd like to be more independent, but part of my identity is based on how others see me. I suppose that's my own cross to bear, but it makes the bisexuality particularly hard when it keeps me separate from what seems to be such a fun and close-knit group. I'd like to be a part of it.

I'm not letting identity issues stop me from dating whomever I like (or love) or dressing how I want or making friends with whomever I want. It does cause me some angst, though, when I feel excluded not only from the straight world which kind of turns me off anyway, but the queer community that appeals to me.

Freaking Out

So I had a series of banking fuck ups which led to my bank charging me around 100 dollars that I can't afford in fees because I was absent-minded and kept forgetting to deposit a couple of checks I'd gotten in the mail and also forgot about an automatic charge that was coming up.

This, and my reaction to it, has made it finally apparent to me that I'm completely freaked - over the moon - at the concept of being a real adult and having to be financially responsible for myself. Yes, I have a degree, and I know how to work and how to study and how to learn and some stuff about how to have relationships and I know how to make money. I just have no fucking clue how to manage money or save it or otherwise ensure that I'm not always broke and screwing up with overdraft charges and fucking up my credit. This is something I have not yet learned at all.

And that's really scary. I have a stay of execution of sorts in staying with my parents for the summer - no rent. After that, though, I'm on my own and with almost no idea of how to pull that off.

I realize now that I desperately need help, a teacher of some sort in how to do this. Soon. Now. And I need to save a lot this summer and get it under control. If I screw up my credit (I don't have cards, thankfully, so it hasn't happened yet), that's very hard to undo. I do not want that.

Also, I'm completely broke now and don't get paid until next week. It's so ironic and stupid to be this privileged, living in a nice house, typing on a nice computer, with a pretty degree I'm lucky enough not to have paid for myself, and yet to be so clueless with money that I can't even handle small life expenses. It's such a product of being spoiled, and I'm frankly ashamed of it.

What good can I do with my privilege if I just destroy it by being spoiled and ignorant? I need to get this shit figured out so I can devote my time (and time is money) and money and life to doing good things and helping people.

On Being Desired

I try to be confident in my body regardless of what other people think. You know, the old thing where you're supposed to love yourself before you can connect with others. Or whatever.

I wear what I want. I take or leave grooming habits (like shaving) as I feel like it. I have days where I don't try to be sexy. Realizing I didn't have to look good all the time, especially if I didn't want to be attracting anyone or interacting that way, was a huge thing. It's a relief to be able to say, "I'm not feeling sexy today, so I'm not going to dress to impress," and feel fine about it.

It does, however, feel really good to be desired. Especially by a lot of people.

It's pretty great to sleep with somebody and see in their eyes that they're impressed by you, and so happy to be getting to touch you. It's really nice to hear that I'm sexy or hot and to have people appreciate how I look. It's a total ego boost to get however many messages a day on OkCupid. These days, people are telling me they want me all the time.

I don't want to be dependent on these things, though. I feel sexy on my own and that should probably be enough, but I'm basking in the attention. I'm worried I might be enjoying it too much, that I'll get used to it. I know it's a part of the confidence boost I've been having lately.

I don't want to be one of those women who despairs at getting old, who tries too hard to hang onto her youthful life and body. I really look forward to getting older, to getting to know more things and do more and have a different outlook. I want to have more experiences in my memory that I've learned from. I want to see how I change. I'm going to do my best to enjoy all of it.

Being "young and hot," though, is addictive. I get all kinds of good feelings from people noticing and appreciating my looks. I can imagine myself being disappointed as I age, when my body changes, when it's different after I have children, when I don't fit the silly ideal and people might not pay to see me naked anymore.

I know the best I can do is try to understand that sexiness is about a lot more than fitting into a physical ideal. There are so many ways to be sexy. I've got to remember that, and try to appreciate this vessel I walk around in for what it can do, not just what it looks like. I'm sure I'll manage it and be fine. It's just a question of reminding myself and not getting too caught up in the young, thin, and hot hype.

Domination vs. Humiliation

I was thinking yesterday about my kinky proclivities, and the reasons why until fairly recently I've hesitated to act on my submissive desires. I've known that I'm into restraint and submission for a very long time, but I never did much about it. I didn't feel ready, somehow, or comfortable with the idea.

I realized yesterday that a lot of what turned me off of the available images of dominance and submission was the way humiliation is often connected to any kind of sexy power play. Very often along with the spankings and bindings and hittings and tossing arounds, there are words and narratives thrown in about how humiliating it all is. About how the sub is naughty and should be ashamed and needs to be punished.

For me, the desire to be dominated is not at all connected to these narratives of shame. I don't feel ashamed of having sexual desires. It's true that I have been shamed by other people for them and sometimes even felt abnormal and freakish. My response to that, however, was more to say "fuck you" and learn to be proud than anything else.

I grew up in a household where, despite some of the usual discomfort about sex, my parents and especially mother always said "whatever you do is fine by us and we love all of you, including your sexuality." This stood up to my coming out as bisexual, my disclosing that I'm a stripper, and some overnight visits from special friends where we made a wee bit more noise than intended.

This is not to say that I begrudge anyone their enjoyment of humiliation, just that it's not for me. I just can't eroticize words that turn sex into shame. I understand the value of reclaiming these narratives and getting off on them, I just don't do it. It makes me too uncomfortable.

What I like about being dominated is simply the loss of control. I'm incredibly, sometimes destructively self possessed in "real" life. I am able to let go of some of that during any kind of sex (which is one reason I like it so much) but being dominated lets me do so even more. I can hand the restraining of me over to someone else. I don't have to do it, at least for a little while. It actually feels freeing.

I also just love to please and it makes me wet to be ordered around and thrown over someone's knee. I can't necessarily explain the physical response, but as it is, I'm just going to enjoy it. Minus the whole "You've been a naughty slut and need a spanking" part.

My Work: Identity and Control

As you may have been able to tell from the fact that I published one of my articles here, I've been conflicting with the editors of my college sex column. The column itself predates me; it existed before I started writing and I took it over in January of last year. I've been writing an article for it every week that school was in session since then.

About two months ago (maybe a month and a half) the paper had elections and I got a new set of two features editors. Right off the bat, they started editing my articles more heavily, and particularly turned the first one into a piece of sentimental drivel. This was annoying, but they did a little better the next few weeks.

I admittedly am not very good with deadlines, so it's not really fair to expect stellar editing in the time crunch I force them to. I recognize this, and take responsibility for that. My previous editors took the tack of just not changing what I wrote much, but one must account for style differences.

In any case, about a month ago, they started looking for a writer for next year and put out a call to basically the whole staff of the paper asking for submissions for my column. They didn't tell me they were doing this. They informed me the day I would have submitted an article that they had someone else interested in writing the column and they were giving them a shot. They told me after it ran that they were looking for someone for next year.

They told me they had another article for the next week, and because I had a large work load that week, I didn't submit one of my own. Both the articles they ran in these two weeks were very sex negative. The next week, I wrote my editors a letter asking them to consider sex positivity in selecting a new writer. I sent them the article I published here last week.

They responded (somewhat dismissively) to my about concerns surrounding the content of the column, but did not publish my article that week. I did not hear from them about said article at all for the next month, even though I emailed them asking if they might like a different one or whether they wanted me to keep writing at all. I simply picked up the paper every week and instead of my article there was another piece of painfully sex negative writing.

I finally wrote an email asking them to communicate with me more clearly about the column and let me know what was going on, saying that my feeling were hurt by being ignored. Just days shy of a full month had passed since they'd last responded to me.

My editor answered finally and made it clear that she had not even read my article (which I'd sent in a month before) until I sent my blunt feelings-hurt email. She said she didn't want to run it because it seemed like too much of a response to the articles they'd been running. She thought it seemed more appropriate as a letter to the editor.

She chastised me for being late with articles, which admittedly I deserved. She asked me to submit them no later than Mondays at 5. She said she would run a new article of mine the next week if I got it in on time.

I decided to pick my battles and just submitted a new article this week. I turned it in on Monday at 7pm, which I think is fairly reasonable. I didn't get a response and again I opened the paper to see someone else's article. This one was thankfully not as judgmental, but still relied on some negative language to make jokes.

Today, I received a letter from the editor in chief of the paper. She basically said she thought my article was too blunt about sex without "adding anything to the space." I'll run it as a separate post so you can judge for yourselves. I don't think this article was especially explicit, and it was much in the same vein as the ones I've written for a year with overwhelmingly positive response.

She explained that on Wednesday night, which is the night the paper has to be finished, the features editors had showed her my article and the one that they ran instead. She said she regretted "that we didn't have the time prior to publication to give you feedback and discuss your piece so that we could have run it. I would love for you to finish off a strong run by writing in our final three issues for this semester, but I think that also requires an equal commitment from you to make sure your articles are in early so that this situation doesn't present itself again."

She clearly thinks it's my fault that she only saw the articles on Wednesday, which means my editors are passing the blame onto me. This week, I got the damn article in on time.

So now I don't know what the hell to do. I'm feeling incredibly discouraged by this. Sure, I can try and write a new article super early for next week (in addition to writing a rough draft of my honors thesis by Monday) and hope that makes it better. Even if I do get it in early, I just don't have faith that my editors would give enough shits to do what needs to be done to publish it, especially if that means feedback. They've never given me feedback. Ever.

It also just really, really, really sucks to see the column I've worked so hard on, the column I started writing to try and counter the sex negativity it and the rest of the paper were filled with, revert back to the bullshit that's everywhere else in this freakin' society.

It hurts. it makes me feel like all the work I've done is being erased. I've had people, strangers, come up to me and thank me for writing what I do because it made them feel better about who they are and what they wanted to try sexually. I've gotten emails from random adults from clear across the country asking for sex advice because they didn't know where else to go.

I feel like they're taking that away from me, and almost spitting on the work that I've done. They don't value it, and they don't realize how much everyone else around here seems to value it.

I sound like such a diva, but I really think this is important. There is so much shitty sex writing everywhere. If you're an editor, why not seize the opportunity to do better? Why perpetuate negative stereotypes that actively hurt people, that make them feel guilty or unsexy or bad about themselves? Fuck that. Fuck that so much.

I also know that I've let a lot of my public identity get wrapped up in this column. Really, everybody on my campus reads it. I meet people and they recognize my name. These days, I meet people and they ask me why I'm not writing the column anymore. (And complain about the new writers.) I like being "the girl who writes that sex column," it makes me feel happy. I'm proud of what I've done.

I feel like that's being ripped away and it's part of my identity. Which is why I'm so (possibly unreasonably) angry about all of this. I'd been trying not to take it seriously, to just take the attitude of "I'm leaving and have no control over what happens when I'm gone anyway and this is just the way of the world so I should let it go" but the letter from the editor in chief today just sent me over the edge into full blown fury.

I'm hoping writing this has let me clarify and solidify my thoughts. I'm going to have to respond to this in some way, and it'd probably help if I can talk about it without getting choked up and angry. I apologize if it's ranting and rambling. If you've gotten all the way through it, any thoughts? Am I being totally unreasonable? Ugh, I hate this feeling.

Rough Week

There's been so much going on this week that I can't even begin to talk about it coherently. My social interactions have turned awkward once more, and I've got so much work to do that I feel panicky and nauseous whenever I think about it too much. I've got a knot in my left shoulder the size and texture of a baseball. You can actually see it when you look at me straight on; my left shoulder at my neck is slightly higher than my right one.

For the last few weeks I've been letting things pile up and not working efficiently. I didn't want to deal with the stress of it all, and I couldn't even think of it except as a giant cloud looming darkly over me. I finally wrote a to do list and I've been taking my ADD meds, which both have helped. It's still a lot of work, and there legitimately isn't enough time in the week to finish it.

I'm also just feeling really shitty about letting it get backed up like this. I haven't been attending to some of the responsibilities that are actually important to me, like leading the sexual health club or working hard enough on my thesis. I feel really disappointed in myself. I feel like I'm incapable of living up to my own ideas of what I want to accomplish. It's an awful sensation.

I'm also feeling lonely again. That's the part that just makes me feel stupid. Even confessing the details properly makes me feel like an idiot.

I've been having this friendship with a boy, S, who I met in person for the second time and spent week with over winter break in San Francisco. He's the one I was talking about going on a road trip with. I really like him, and we connected powerfully very quickly. That's extremely unusual for me; I'm slow to trust and open up. It helped that he'd been really great when I'd talked to him online about a crisis I had in the fall.

Anyway, after I came back to New York, I let myself rely on him a lot as a person to talk to. Sure, it was online, but it helped a lot. I didn't feel as much at loose ends, like I had all these emotional needs that weren't being met. I was able to go out and have sex with other people without worrying about my baggage coming along. I felt a lot happier.

Recently, though, he's started having sex with a lot of different women, which takes up about eight tons of his time. It's also really emotionally consuming, which I totally get. I'm happy for him, and I'm really glad that he's poly. It's another thing we relate on.

He also, though, has stopped really talking to me. These days, he doesn't even usually ask how I am in conversation, and he's so happy and busy that I don't know how to bring up the fact that I'm as stressed as a horse at a glue factory. I don't feel like I can demand his attention when we only spent a week together and I'm so far away.

The result of all of the above is that I feel really stressed out and pretty disgusted with myself. I also feel terribly alone, like not only can't I deal with my life right now, there's no one to help me. I really just want to be cuddled and soothed, but I have no idea how to make that happen. I can't just turn on the trust and comfort with the next random person that comes along.

So that's been my week. I'm hoping it gets better soon.

Slut

I very rarely use the word "slut" to describe myself.

There are a lot of people who have decided to reclaim it and try to recast it in a positive light. I'm all for that, and I don't think a word that describes someone who has a lot of casual sex should be so negative. I support the efforts to reclaim the word slut.

I just can't do it myself.

It makes me really uncomfortable. I think it's mostly because it's still so overwhelmingly a negative word. It connotes someone who's diseased and irresponsible, as if anyone who has lots of sex is either of these things. (As if people who don't have a lot of sex can't get diseases. Great, double stigma, on sex and disease.)

Slut conveys a complete sexual availability. This is of course not a problem in and of itself. I'm very sexually available, and I think it's great. I like being open to do whatever I want with whomever catches my fancy. "Slut," though, suggests availability to the point of passivity, of loss of choice. A "slut" is someone who "will sleep with anyone." They just go along with whoever wants them. It suggests someone who is often and can easily be taken advantage of.

I think it's a disempowering word. I don't like all the negative and sexist ideas about sex it carries along with it like eight tons of baggage. I can't divorce it from those things in my mind.

It's also just because it's been used against me and hurt me in the past. Its use can completely change someone's life. Women who are labeled sluts get abused and generally treated poorly all the time, just because they're somehow considered subhuman. I don't want that for myself or anyone else.

I recognize that this could be like the word "queer." People in my generation don't have the same negative connotations for it and so we like to use it as an umbrella term. I find it empowering. Older folks don't like it because it was a very negative slur in their youths. Maybe (hopefully!) the same thing will happen for "slut," but I'm okay with not embracing the word for now.

First Troll

I got my first troll the other day!

I got to be called a whore and hear about how all women are whores (because getting paid for sex is like totally the worst thing ever, right?) and feminism is bullshit. Woot.

Seriously, though, I knew it would happen eventually. It's ironically in the same week as the first time I've been called a (fuckin') whore at my university. I'm more perturbed by name-calling by someone I actually know, but it feels all of a piece.

In writing and talking about and having sex a lot, I've always known I practically invite these kinds of backlashes. I got slut-bashed in high school by people I'd considered close friends. That was very hard and hurtful, but I know it's a nearly universal experience for women. I'll bet that all women have been called a slut (in seriousness not in jest or reclamation) at some point.

I've actually been pretty perplexed that I hadn't gotten more of it since I came to college. I write a sex column, I founded a sex discussion group, I'm open about being very sexually active, I'm an out stripper, I'm queer. I've gotten very little negative feedback, even though I am known as "the sex girl" around here.

The person who called me a whore is someone I slept with once two years ago and haven't spoken with since. It was a generally baffling 4am Facebook message, but I'm not particularly worried about it. A close friend basically told me he's got a serious drinking problem and I shouldn't take it too personally, and I'm not.

Getting trolled, though, online and in person, makes me feel like I've arrived. Like hey, someone thought I was being sexually transgressive and felt the need to punish me. Hey, enough people are reading this blog now that some asshole was able to find it and felt the need to comment negatively. I'm a REAL blogger, now! (Like Pinocchio, but without the growing and shrinking phallus on my face.)

So yeah, I am kind of celebrating it. My attitude is kind of like, bring it on! I don't need to be hurt by these things and maybe it can even be a part of having a larger discussion. Let's go! Have at! Dukes up! Here I am, ready.

Tired

Renegade Evolution wrote a post about how tired she is of the feminist sex wars and all their resulting baggage. It's a long post and she goes into a lot more depth about how this affects her personally, but I share the overall sentiment.

I read a lot of blogs and I see so much hostility that seems so unnecessary. We all ultimately want the same sex equality and sexual health. Why should we be so vicious in arguing over our tactics for making it happen?

I think a lot of it is based on the anonymity of the internet. It's easy to keep a closed mind and direct anger and shame at people you disagree with when your name and face aren't behind your words. It's too easy to dehumanize the other side when all you see of them is the written word and sometimes a picture. Not like when a person is standing there in front of your face, breathing and emoting.

I think the personal anger on each side is in fact justified because everyone has been personally attacked. That's not fair, it hurts, and in turn it angers. But of course then the cycle starts all over again.

I think Jane at good girls don't put it best in her very excellent post on Operation Cross Country and sex work.

I don’t think sex work is a “free” choice, nor do I think it’s a reconstitution of the patriarchy. I think it’s something in between.

I recommend reading the whole post, as she eloquently covers a lot of the nuances missing in this discussion. There's so much grey area here and when we get caught up in these black and white verbal fist fights we miss all of it. I hope that we can find a better way of discussing this that involves a lot more mutual respect.

Feminism vs. Real Life

Courtney at Feministing wrote about the ways her feminist ideals differ from her actual life, and invited others to do the same. I think this is a really good exercise in self-awareness, so I'm going to try to answer her.

1. I'm incredibly self conscious about how I dress and what I look like at all times. I know that there's no need for me to always be sexy or attractive, but I can't help the running commentary in my head that compares my own appearance to other women's in a very competitive, distinctly un-feminist way. I try, but it sneaks in. (I do dress however the hell I want, but I'm very aware of when I look different from how I'm "supposed to.")

2. I have and often give into the urge to take care of people much more than I let them do so for me.

3. I make all kinds of assumptions about people based on their gender (and race and apparent sexuality) which may have nothing to do with reality. Things like men are going to be less progressive or women will be more sexually shy or black people won't want anything to do with me because I'm white or queer people won't be misogynistic. I try to be aware that I'm doing this and at least not act on my assumptions, but I know I have them.

4. I enjoy blatantly misogynistic pop culture: movies, tv shows, music, etc. Sometimes it's as a cultural critic and sometimes it's just because it's got a catchy beat or a satisfying good vs. evil plot line. I like James Bond.

5. I buy lots of products whose production I know nothing about, including beauty products, clothing, and random toys. I do try to be conscientious most of the time, but other times I just go with convenience. I'm more of a thoughtless consumer than I feel I should be.

6. On a very basic level, I take advantage of gender roles by getting guys to pay to see me naked. Most of them wouldn't do it (or at least wouldn't spend as much as they do) if the male sexual role didn't prevent them from having intimacy outside sexual situations or from finding real sexual satisfaction in their unpaid interactions. (This is a complicated issue which I'd like to talk about more in depth but haven't gathered together the time and thoughts yet.)

Working on Valentine's Day

I went to work last night at the club, not sure at all what to expect. It was either going to be tons of lonely guys (and lots of lap dances) or a bunch of couples doing something "exciting" for Valentine's day instead of the usual candy hearts and hallmark special dinners.

It turned out to be a combination of both, of course, which made for a really strange night.

I'd say that most of the customers there last night were not people who regularly frequent strip joints. Probably around half of them had never been to a strip club before. Instead of lining up at the tip rails as usual, staying with a stack of ones for a few songs, people would walk up, give a dollar, and then go back to their tables.

There is nothing more awkward, or that I hate more, than dancing for a room chock full of aptly watching customers who don't come up and tip. Generally when I'm dancing, I do so to get a reaction: the reaction of giving me money.

Sure, there's some satisfaction in getting people to smile or having their attention, but in the club the way to show appreciation is through money. It's one dollar increments. It's not a whole lot to ask for or give, but what it really signifies is enjoyment, applause.

If no one's tipping, it feels like you're doing something wrong. When there's no customer sitting close by waiting for attention, you're just standing there on a large empty stage. There's no real interaction to use as a show, to get people's attention. You can't speak or sing a song. It's just the movement, just the dance, just your body.

I'm never more aware of my lonely self, exposed on that stage, than when fifty people are watching and not a one comes up to show me I'm doing a good job. A tip is such a small thing, but it does mean a lot when you're under that spotlight.

Last night, I did a good job of keeping my energy up and continuing to work despite the discouragement. By the end of the night, I even got people to come to the stage during my sets. It took a lot out of me, though, because I was working twice as hard for less than half the money. I don't think I'll be working a Valentine's Day again.

Juicy Campus: A Cultural Gross-fest of Slut-Bashing

One of my friends just sent me a link to a new "social networking" site called Juicy Campus. According to the home page, "this is the place to spill the juice about all the crazy stuff going on at your campus. It's totally anonymous - no registration, login, or email verification required."

What this means is that students have free reign to post whatever, anything at all, about anyone or anything. So of course it's a huge racist, sexist, classist, sizeist, ableist, just-prejudiced-in-general party.

If I had any extra time this semester, I'd want to write a research paper about this site. It takes all the bigoted tensions under the surface of our culture and brings them right out into the light. I mean, it's pretty awful stuff on there and it kind of sucks to read it, but it's fascinating nonetheless.

I've never seen more obvious examples of slut-bashing than on the site. I'd say a majority of the posts on the site (or at least on the pages for my college) are about specific girls and their sluttiness. (They cut off search results at 150 posts so I couldn't compare the number of "slut" posts to anything.) It's just a reminder of how hurtful that stuff can be.

There were a couple of girls from my school who were specifically targeted over and over again. One of them bravely stood up for herself on the site and said that she knew the posts were mostly made by a guy she rejected. Shocking, right, a girl labeled "slut" because she wouldn't have sex?

If you read Slut! Growing Up Female with a Bad Reputation by Leora Tanenbaum, which I highly recommend, you'll find out that the slut label is often completely disconnected from sex. Not always, of course, but a lot of the time it's just a way to punish girls who aren't "normal," who dare to be "deviant" in some way. It's a punishing word, a weapon.

It is also, of course, a word that reinforces sexual stereotypes and the female gender role. By forcing girls and women to toe a line between being called a slut and being called a prude, patriarchal culture keeps our sexuality strictly controlled. We have to fight hard in order to have a respectful, healthy relationship with our own sexual desires. It's yet another way the patriarchy strips our personal power, leaving us so caught up in living up to its standards that we don't notice how ridiculous they are and throw them over.

In the last year or so, I've been on a personal crusade to stop slut-bashing when I find it. It doesn't always work, of course, because some people are stubbornly mean. There are lots of people, though, who don't think about what they're saying when they call a girl a slut. "Do you mean she has a lot of sex? Sex is fun. Why is that bad?" actually gets a pretty thoughtful response, especially if someone's using the word in a way unconnected to sex. "Do you mean you think she's mean and you don't like her?"

So I encourage all of you to combat "slut" when you hear it. It's such a "small" thing, but it makes a big difference in individual people's lives, and it's the combination of a million small things that leads to big patriarchy.

Cross posted at Fourth Wave Feminism.