Being Amber Rhea

If you haven’t read Amanda’s series of posts chronicling her now-completed stint at Bella’s, you are really missing out on some of the best, most insightful writing in a long time. So get on over there and read it. I’ll wait.

Tonight as I was trying to catch up on my almost 300 unread posts in Bloglines (I’ve been on a self-mandated break from reading many blogs other than a select few; this crap really made me feel down in the dumps about blogging for a while), I noticed that someone else, heretofore unknown-to-me blogger Mariko Passion, has now started a journal of her experiences at Bella’s. Cool! Maybe Amanda has started a trend.

Recently I had dinner w/ Lia of Star Light Ministries. And, no surprise, she is awesome. At one point during our extended dinner conversation, we were talking about all the assumptions that are made about women in sex work, and the problem of assuming that the goal of a ministry for sex workers is for the workers to “get out” of sex work. Because as Lia said, that’s judging the work they do and therefore judging them. Plus it’s just the same old stereotypes - obviously no woman would want to be in sex work, obviously they would all do something else if only they had the chance, etc. ad nauseum. I said that even though I feel like it’s not a popular thing to say in activist communities, because I feel like it makes me look like I’m being selfish (ah, that old meme in my head) or shifting the focus, the truth is that beyond just being irritated w/ these assumptions on general principles, I also take them personally. Sex work is something I’ve been drawn to for a long time - at least 10 years - and although as of now I haven’t actually done anything about it, I do take offense to the notion that there must be some pathological explanation for my interest in sex work. I know myself, I know how I feel, and I know that I feel that sex work is something that is interesting/appealing to me. You don’t have to understand it, but hey, I don’t understand why some people want to become lawyers or sales reps or flight attendants, so there you go. I’m smart, responsible, self-aware, capable - and I shouldn’t have to go into this defensive mode of justifying myself, but that’s how it always happens.

Lia asked why I hadn’t tried sex work. With stripping, my answer used to be* that I couldn’t walk in heels, much less dance (with or without heels). That’s obviously no longer a problem, but my issues with it now are:

• I don’t know of any non-smoking strip clubs in Atlanta. Being around cigarette smoke for extended periods of time, especially in poorly-ventilated areas, gives me a pounding headache and makes me feel generally like shit.
• I hate approaching strangers. I really just can’t do it; I get panicky about it. So obviously a job where I have to hustle for lap dances isn’t a good fit for me.
• The bullshit. We’ll come back to this in a minute.

As for escorting or even stuff like FBSM, when Lia asked why I’d never done it, my answer was much shorter: “I’m afraid of getting arrested.” That’s it, plain and simple. And more specifically, I’m afraid of getting arrested and being victimized by the cops. Insert here yet another diatribe about the importance of decriminalization of prostitution.

(To be fair, there are other issues w/ escorting in particular, like the fact that it seems like you have to pretend to give a shit about what the clients are talking about, really really enjoy their company and hang on their every fascinating word… and as Dacia has said about herself, I, too, have no poker face. I have tons of respect for people who can do it, but I just can’t. But that’s not really relevant, because there are many other kinds of sex work that are vaguely escort-like but not as focused on being a companion.)

Lia said she thought I should (only if I wanted to, of course) do what Amanda was doing: try a brief stint at a legal brothel and just see how it goes. I told her there’s no way I would do that. Why? Because of the bullshit.

Just read Amanda’s posts and you’ll see what I’m talking about. The nickel-and-diming with all kinds of fees. The customers trying to lowball you all the time. The cabin fever. Having to do shifts on the damn CB radio.

And the stuff that’s not just annoying, but potentially dangerous: The lack of adequate security. The creepy (yet required by law - ’cause prostitution is legal and therefore the girls are safe, see!) doctor. The drunkenness of customers, and of people to whom you’re entrusting your safety. The lack of easy access to an exit in case of an emergency. The pressure to potentially put one’s health at risk for the sake of not letting “money” walk out the door.

Obviously all jobs have their annoyances. But these are above and beyond what I could put up with. The second set, the ones that are downright dangerous, are obviously conditions that no job should have, ever. The first set, the “annoyances,” all exemplify a huge pet peeve of mine, something that just drives me up a wall: micromanagement by people on little power trips.

It seems to me that that’s what’s behind a lot of this stuff. It’s the same at strip clubs, with the house fees and drink quotas and tipping every damn person on staff… on and on… to me it reeks of people trying to control things and make themselves feel like Oooh Big Important People in whatever tiny way possible. Insecurity. Bred out of a stigmatized industry, not surprisingly. It seems like a vicious cycle.

Major respect to Amanda for doing this and documenting it. What she’s doing is extremely important, and she is an amazing person to have the patience to deal with it at all. I really can’t convey how much respect I have for her w/ this series.

One thing’s sure, her posts have confirmed what I’d suspected for a long time: if I were to be an escort (or whatever), I’d be independent, no doubt about it. Of course I have plenty of issues w/ freelancing in general, but in this case it is definitely the way to go, no question.

* And just look at the comments on that thread for a perfect example of the “explanations on demand” thing. It’s crazy-making, I tell you.

From Monica at the $pread Blog:

Again, what other profession would we do this with? “I was going to help with the open heart surgery for my article, but…at the last minute I threw up and ran out of the room.” “I was going to sit on the 10th floor’s ceiling beams with the construction workers so I could bond with them over lunch, but my fear of heights was just too great, so I just stayed on the second floor, crying and shaking in my hard hat.”

A-freakin’-men.

I don’t read Belledame’s blog much anymore, for a variety of reasons I won’t go into because I don’t have the mental or emotional energy to deal with people coming over and giving me shit about it. But I happened to hop over there via someone’s link, and saw this comment from Octogalore, which I just had to share. It is so right on.

[T]he idea of a “utopian ideal” of “a private space where men and women could express their sexual selves freely” and get “personal sexual gratification” but which is also a strip club, strikes me as highly narcissistic and highly problematic in other ways.

Would we consider as “ideal” that a lawyer get “personal gratification” handling our cases? That someone waiting tables would have mutual glee at our enjoyment of our lasagna? No, they are professionals doing a job for which they are paid in the usual manner.

Of course it would be great if everyone had a jolly old time while at the job, but why the SPECIAL need for sex workers to have this? There doesn’t seem to be a lot of glorification of the idea of mutual satisfaction for wait staff or sales professionals or other kinds of professionals who are female.

It’s highly coincidental that in sex work, uniquely, the satisfaction a customer derives is proportional to or at least related to the pleasure a sex worker appears to derive, no?

And I’m not really one for coincidences.

So I think the intense need to press for this utopian, mutual pleasure is not really all that mutual.

In addition to that particular issue, there’s also a reality gap there. Sex workers are professionals. That means that they have skills beyond those of the general population in providing a pleasurable experience of a sensual nature combining a carefully maintained appearance, skills in conversation, dance, sex, whatever. The population of customers may include standouts in this area but it’s fair to say that on average, the customer population is as skilled as the general population, which is to say: much less skilled than the dancer population.

That’s not a slam on customers but is true of any job. The customers for doctors are less skilled at medical work. The customers for lawyers are less skilled at legal work. Same for teaching, counseling, building, etc. etc.

So to expect that the customer population would be as able to provide what the dancer population is providing is severely devoid of logic as well as respect for the profession.

That said, I personally benefited substantially from this particular notion, and in solidarity with current and future strippers, I hope they can as well.

I think some of us who endeavor to be allies to sex workers - or even just sexually progressive* - sometimes overcompensate and move into territory of having a special set of standards for sex workers, not unlike our opponents (indeed most of society) do. Our special set of standards just happens to be different, arguably more “positive,” but no less unrealistic and putting sex work into a special, separate category apart from other types of work.

* “Just” sexually progressive? Oh lord…

Repost of two comments I left at Season of the Bitch.

I have longer posts in the works about each of these sentiments, but for now this will have to suffice until I flesh out my thoughts a bit more.

—
First comment:

I have a big problem w/ people who dismissively cast concern about sexual equality as “bourgeois.” To me, this says, yet again: “Oh, it’s sex, it’s not REALLY important, silly little girl.” And it doesn’t acknowledge the truth of MY experience, growing up in a working-class family and being VERY interested and concerned with sexuality.

I think Queer Dewd a.k.a. Bitch | Lab said it best here.

Major quotage:

Because, lord knows “my” issues aren’t also anyone’s who doesn’t share them. Because lord knows “my” issues are white mainstream middle class feminist fluff. So, heaven help me if I dare speak to something that has profoundly fucking shaped my life and the lives of men and women I love: being sexually marginalized, being erased, having to hide who I am or watch others do so, having to listen to all manner of bullshit.

So, when I dare talk about anything that matters to me, why, I’m a fucking pro-pornstitution feminist and/or white mainstream feminist - if I’m lucky to be called a feminist at all. If I’m even lucky to not be called a man. Because, after all, what it is really all about as I learned a year ago is that I’m all about my moist pussy and my vast, vast, vast, vast porn collection. (oops sorry. Channeling Heart)

Erased. Deleted. Evaporated. My identity, my past, who I am, who my friends are - it doesn’t matter - because I am immediately assumed to be engaged in the issues of concern only to white middle class women or, conversely, a male-identified, patriarchy-fucking, freelancer provacateuring for the right wing. (Damn. Wish I knew who the rest were. I need to do some benchmarking on my competition.)

Because lord knows there are no poor, white, queer women. And it often seems that the only way to have anyone take us seriously on this issue is to focus on extreme marginalization or the fact of poverty, rather than examining the everyday acts of silencing and erasing. If it involves bodily harm or extreme psychic harm, that’s important. But if it’s the harm done to women like RenEv by the way they are treated in this society, then it is *piffle*. If it’s the harm from having your sexual identity erased and you are bisexual: big fucking whoopee. And for christ’s sake don’t you even dare talk about taking pole dancing classes and how that’s personally empowering for you given your working class, Southern, conservative, Christian upbringing. There are more important things in the world and obviously poverty supercedes that.

Except. It. Doesn’t.

Because I (or Amber, or any other woman) can’t be pulled apart into those baby block beads that are discrete from one another, that can be snapped back together after examining each one: one bead poor, one bead queer, one bead woman, one bead white.

I am sex positive because I don’t know what else to call a feminist who fights against the instantiation of elitism and classism in mainstream society and among feminismS, an elitism and a classism that is so subtle virtually no one sees it, and who rails against the way this normalization of class warfare revolves around, among other things, sexuality and sexual representation. I don’t know what to call a feminist who cares about the way these same issues are racialized, who cares about the way sex and sexuality are subject to the same normalizing hegemonic institutions as any other oppressive system we are all supposed to struggle against and dismantle.

—
Second comment:

And also?

My feminism is critical of power relations based on a linear hierarchy. (This translates into me feeling guilty being ‘the boss’ at work).

Fuck guilt. First of all, sometimes hierarchy is necessary - and as long as you’re not being an asshole, there’s no problem. Secondly, we get enough guilt heaped onto us as women, without burdening ourselves with MORE guilt for achieving a modicum of success.

So, my mom is looking for a second job. It needs to be something with flexible enough hours that she still has time to do real estate stuff when needed, and also where she doesn’t have to be out of the house for 8 straight hours a day, since my dad can’t be left alone for that length of time. She’s concerned about finding something that pays a decent wage, as someone her age and with no college education. Of course, age discrimination is illegal, but it’s one of those things just like other insidious forms of discrimination… you have to prove it. Which can take away time and energy people need to devote to other things (like finding a job).

She is looking into a part-time property management position opening up at the real estate office where she has her license; if that worked out and paid decently, it would probably be ideal. I just worry that the broker might try to low-ball her and/or that she’d end up too busy with this added to everything else on her plate.

I suggested Starbucks, because: 1) they pay a competitive wage for that type of job (supposedly, anyway); 2) they are big on diversity; I have seen plenty of people my mom’s age and older working there; 3) employees have access to health insurance if they work 26 hours a week (BIG PLUS); 4) the hours would be flexible; 5) she was a bartender for years, so making lattes would be a cinch.

She said everything she’s been seeing in the newspaper pays like $8-$10 an hour . (She made a comment about that being more than minimum wage but still not enough to live off of, and I wondered for a fleeting second, could my mom actually turn Democrat? But I digress…) She’s probably going to go to an employment agency and see what all is available. I’m worried that she won’t be able to find something that pays much more than that, especially in Augusta where cost of living is low (but of course, “cost of living” estimates don’t include piles of medical bills), and because damn near every job now, even if it’s just working at a cash register, lists a college education as a requirement even if it makes no sense.

So this is a very long-winded way of saying, does anyone out there have any bright ideas? Here is stuff she has done: Realtor in Augusta for ~21 years; before that, bartender and waitress for many years; before that, worked at a bookstore and at one point did a ~6-month stint at Ingram Book Company in Nashville, in the accounts receivable department.

I’ve put my thinking cap on and will be brainstorming like crazy. What say you, blog readers? Help my mom find a job!

Yet another excellent Naked City column from Ren, wherein she answers the oh-so-frequently asked question, “What’s the hardest part of your job?” An excerpt:

Well, I can say this truthfully and with authority. It’s not the weird hours. It’s not the seven-inch heels. It’s not the fasting and enemas before an anal scene. It’s not the rough fucking, or the getting groped by drunk guys, or body upkeep, or getting throat-fucked. It’s not the hustle, it’s not the strangers, it’s not the getting naked, it’s not the physical work. It’s not the waxing, it’s not the tit job, it’s not the scrubbing cum out of my hair. It’s not the names, it’s not STD testing, it’s not the crawling on all fours to pick up tip money off the floor.

It’s the objectification. From normal people. With their normal lives and abnormal questions. That is the hardest part, and it’s not even a hard part that feels good. I like my job, I have bad days, but mostly I love what I do, and I take pride in my work. The hardest part is normal people not getting that, then asking me how old was I when I first took it in the ass, how many guys have I fucked, and do I know where they could score some blow? It’s being made someone’s argument against my industry. It’s being not quite human to a whole lot of people. Normal people. Who I find myself liking less and less each day.

Words of wisdom, from another twenty-something feminist with a degree in linguistics and an eye for bullshit (whose blog I discovered yesterday):

The language we use to talk about sex work (and the metaphorical extensions of sex-work related words) emphasizes this point - by charging a fee to have sex with someone, a woman has sold her body and herself. Linguistically speaking, there’s a metonymy there - the “part” (sexuality) has come to substitute for the whole woman.

That’s objectification, and it’s objectification in the narrow, limited, sex-specific sense of the word - the definition of a woman’s self has been reduced to her sexuality, her value has become inextricably attached to her sex. On the other hand, it’s perfectly acceptable - laudable, even - for me to charge for the use of my brain, or for me to be “valued” for my intelligence. That wouldn’t be considered being “used”, it wouldn’t be thought of as “selling myself”. Paradoxically, that’s like saying that my brain is less valuable, less connected to what I am as a person - it can be partitioned off, the use of it essentially “rented” by my employers, and I can joyfully and proudly accept payment for it while I continue to use my brain outside of the workplace to also attract potentially desirable mates. “Selling” my brain doesn’t take anything from me, doesn’t make me less whole, doesn’t make me damaged goods, and yet somehow, selling my body in a sexual manner (because, of course, if I were selling the use of my body for work in a factory, we again would not be having this conversation) would. If my sexuality is not the sum total of my humanity, if it is not even the primary source of my “value”, then this attitude towards sex work is nonsensical.

Read the whole post.

Today I had a rather lengthy email exchange with Christopher Penn about sex work, economics, financial aid, and stereotypes. (Yes, all of those things together!) I was frantically typing away in multi-tasking mode while at work, and somehow my replies ended up being longer and smarter-sounding than I’d expected, so I figured I had blog material on my hands. (I did some minor editing to fix typos and such in the parts I wrote.) Hence:
Read the full post »

Question: “Why did you decide to work in the web industry?”

Answer: “It’s fun, challenging, and there’s always something new to learn.”

If someone asked me the above question, I would reply with the above answer. That would be a satisfactory answer, and the conversation would move on. Maybe we’d talk about web development, technology, etc., or maybe we’d move to other topics. Either way, I know my answer wouldn’t be followed by prying questions like:

“But why? What do you find so fun and challenging about it?”

“Are you sure there isn’t something else you’d rather be doing? You have so much potential!”

“Why do you need to prove yourself by writing code? You’re more than just a nameless, faceless code-writing machine, you know!”

“What could you possibly learn? It’s simple HTML.”

“Come on, let’s be honest. It’s not really work. Any idiot who knows how to use Google can figure out everything you need to know for your job.”

“Wouldn’t you rather be doing something that contributes to humanity?”

“How can you be so selfish?”

“You know, a lot of people don’t have the luxury to be able to pursue a career they enjoy. So who do you think you are? And what are you going to do about that?”

“Do you have problems meeting people? I heard web nerds are socially awkward and don’t know how to interact in real life.”

“What does your boyfriend think of what you do for a living?”

If I were unwilling to answer any and all of these follow-up questions? Oh, the poor dear. I’m clearly in denial about something. Why am I so defensive?

And what if I had simply answered, to the original question: “I have to pay the bills, and web development pays better than retail.” That would be an acceptable answer, too. There might be laughter, nods of agreement, conspiratorial smiles. There most certainly would not be frowns of pity and a soliloquy about how awful that is.

But replace “web” with “sex” in the original question above, and it’s an entirely different ballgame.

If I were to end this post right here, I guarantee you someone would come along and leave a comment along the lines of, “But but but… Some sex workers do have low self-esteem! Some of them are addicted to drugs! Some of them would rather be doing something else!”

To that I say, well, some web developers are socially awkward and don’t know how to interact in real life. Some Asians are bad drivers. Some black dudes carry concealed weapons. Some feminists hate men.

There will always be some people who fit a particular stereotype. But - and I shouldn’t even have to say this, right? - that doesn’t mean stereotypes are A-okay.

Because the fact is, some white people are bad drivers and/or carry concealed weapons. It’s worth examining why the stereotype is there for one particular group and not another. We know this.

And yet it all goes out the window when the topic is sex work. Somehow, otherwise intelligent, thoughtful, open-minded people lose their shit.

I know the stereotypes about sex work are deeply embedded in society - really, really deeply embedded. But that doesn’t make it okay to simply accept them without question. In fact, it makes questioning the dominant paradigm (that’s right, I said “dominant paradigm!”) even more imperative.

This is an example of the concerns and critiques I have with the porn industry.

A porn actress Tuesday settled her wrongful termination lawsuit against an adult film production company, which she accused of firing her for complaining about unsanitary work conditions.

This is why it’s so crazy-making to me when anti-porn folks completely dismiss my position as “YAY PORN; IT’S ALL ABOUT THE MEN; I HATE WOMEN.”

Because, this is the kind of thing I am very concerned about, and this is where I think a truly sex-positive, worker-centered approach to change is needed. It’s not about OMG TEH SEKS, which is what many people seem to get hung up on; it’s about safe working conditions, and employment policies that are fair to both employer and employee.

This is the kind of thing that concerns me about the porn industry. It’s a workplace issue, not a “sex is so degrading” issue.

As Anthony said:

[This case] is one more example of how a progressive, sex-positive analysis of both the sex media and the talent responsible for creating it is so badly needed… neither the more libertarian Right “let ‘em do it and damn the consequences as long as they get paid” meme nor the radfem “Poor oppressed women, let us liberate them from their plight, even if against their will” doctrine can do much good to help those like Kira Kener who deserve the right to perform her craft on her terms.

For those who were (snidely) asking a week or so ago on a few other blogs, this is what pro-porn activism is about.

Via QD/BL…

What is it with corporate America? I’ve realized that it’s no wonder a lot of people think I’m a freak. Most people spend their lives in a corporate America where it’s de riguer to act as if humans don’t actually have sex or know what it is. Which is a laff a minute given what drives corporate America otherwise: sex. Selling sex, sex, and more sex. I mean christ, among other things, we’re selling cars, boats, yachts, aircraft and lord knows what else. All of those things are sold, each and everyday, on the basis of advertisements and a cultural tapestry of various symbolism which associate cars, boats, yachts, and aircraft with sex, sex, sex.

And yet, the guiding principle at this place seems to be to pretend we don’t actually have sex. I’m sure corporate life is a lot more varied than what I’m experiencing. You can certainly tell from reading blogs, Fucked Company, and other means of getting to the underbelly of other workplaces. But this one: man o man, am I a fish out of water who has to keep my bawdy sense of humor in check at all times.

Heh. I can relate. (Read the full post.) And that’s part of why my previous two jobs started to drive me fucking crazy and I had to come back to this job! Here, people don’t pretend like sex doesn’t exist. And, they can accomplish this without everyone being a walking HR incident. Thank god.

What else is going on? Well, we’re still moving. After this weekend, I don’t know what kind of internet access I’ll have, because I don’t know when it’ll be turned on at the new place.

Moving kind of makes me feel like a jerk because I was so physically exhausted last night that I had to lie down instead of finishing packing. Oh and I also didn’t edit the podcast I was supposed to edit. But I suppose that’s lower priority.

I just want to get moved in and start cleaning and decorating and shit. And we already christened the vault last week, so now we just need to christen the rest of the place.

Note to self: Don’t forget to pay full rent Monday.

This has been your disjointed blog post of the day.

Not much to say today; I’ve got a lot on my mind but I don’t feel like writing about it yet. Earlier today I had a good meeting with Sherry, and another one with Jason Salzman, and they both gave me a lot of things to think about. So I’ve been mulling all of it over in my head all day.

Soon I might write about my worries about money. In the more theoretical sense, I mean. And if certain people (you know who you are) come around here running off at the mouth about my “poor financial decisions,” well, I’ll either laugh my head off or verbally carve them a new asshole. Or both.

Also, I talked with Rusty about an idea I have that’s slowly taking form, for a podcast about sexuality and the intersection of one’s sex life with, well, the rest of their life, and how the internet and “Web 2.0″ (bleh) is contributing to the break-down of arbitrary barriers that have been in place for a long time… and how, in the face of it, a lot of people are clinging fiercely to the old ways and, really, their own repression. Whew! Sorry for the run-on there. Anyway, it’s a nascent idea I’ve got, and I think I also know how to make money from it… we’ll see. Stay tuned.

I feel like a lot of cool things are about to happen, I just have to overcome some personal fears in order to help things along.

(This post written to Sarah McLachlan’s “Into the Fire” - completely coincidental, but seems appropriate.)

I started a new/old job yesterday (if you know me IRL you probably know what I’m talking about), so now I’m busy with that. I’m still maintaining my computer break, but the point is, I don’t think I’d have much time for blogging this week even if I wanted to.

Anyway. Some quick updates. Sunday night’s party was a rousing success, complete with pumpkin carving, silly costumes, free flat beer, and podcasting. Here’s Rusty and me, looking holy:

Here’s what Publix did to my cake (Alyssa fixed it later):

This apparently made some people uncomfortable:

Alyssa carved a Loss Cat jack-o-lantern:

The rest of my photos from the party are on Flickr. Check out Dorie’s, too.

Moving on to Monday night… my Level 1 Pole Dancing graduation went really well! The video turned out less than stellar (that was partially my fault for not putting the camera in a good position), but I might post a short clip later. Photos will be on Flickr once Darcey gets them off her camera. I received a certificate, which I will frame, and a ceremonial white garter. The 6-week refresher course starts Monday, thus preparing me for Level 2 in January (featuring side spins!)

I’m sure there’s something I forgot to mention, but that’s all I have time for now. More coming… eventually!

So, there are some sexist asshats at my job. Conversation: getting pulled over, getting speeding tickets, etc. I say something about how I know my time is coming, because I’ve never gotten a ticket, even though I’ve been pulled over and even gotten in a wreck. Guy #1 asks, “Was it your fault?” I say yes. Guy #2 says, “It’s always the woman driver’s fault” then chuckles at how clever he is to think of something so original. I say, “Hey, fuck you.” He acts all pissy as if he can’t imagine why I wouldn’t be rolling at his supreme wit.

And there are plenty of other little things. It just keeps building. I don’t know who I can talk to here, because this place is mostly white males. And the last thing I need to put up with is some privileged ass, unaware of his privilege, taking the side of other assholes and writing me off as an “over-sensitive woman.” Fuck that noise.

And yes I know there is dooce potential with me posting this. But I don’t give a good goddamn. I dare them.

Anyway. That’s about all I can muster for right now. Also, read Sara’s latest post, it’s a good one.

It just happened again.

I was talking about this at trivia last week. In my office building, there is apparently a whole subset of women employees who don’t close the door when they use the last stall in the restroom.

I do not understand this!!

There are three stalls in the restroom. Even though I’ve heard that some unknown studies have shown that the first stall is always the cleanest, I prefer the last; I don’t like a lot of foot traffic going by while I’m having my personal quiet time.

Unfortunately, by now, I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve walked into the restroom, seen that the door of the last stall is ajar, and headed back there - only to find someone in there. The person in there always acts all indignant, and I apologize out of embarrassment; but then I immediately think, “Why am I apologizing? You’re the one who didn’t close the goddamn door!”

I can’t for the life of me figure out why they do this. Yes, the latch on the door of the last stall takes a little extra push to get it to shut. But just a little - we’re not talking about bend-your-knees, put-your-back-into-it effort. And if you really can’t muster up enough strength? At least try to hold the door shut so it doesn’t appear to be standing open as if the stall is vacant.

Now that I’m gone from my job for good, I don’t feel any trepidation about mentioning this.

Today I had an encounter with someone being “that guy”… you know, mimicking the behavior of Our Dear Leader.

I gave a presentation at noon; one of those brown-bag/lunch-and-learn whatever you want to call it things. (Yes, on my last day! I know, am I dedicated or what?) So, it was about 11:45 and I was finishing up my lunch at my desk. Training director dude peeks his head around the side of my cube with a dumbass grin on his face. (This was the second time he had done this; the first time was about 10 minutes earlier when I was on the phone with my doctor’s office, getting the news about the HPV test.) His presence there irritated the shit out of me - especially considering that I was not in the best mood, having just received the news from the doc. I just looked at him and said in a terse tone, “Yes, I know. I’m coming. I’m just trying to finish my lunch here.” He laughs and comes over and starts rubbing my shoulders and saying some dumb shit like, “Oh, hahaha, I know, I was just checking, hahaha…”

I made a big show of squirming away from his unwelcome hands and giving him a look which I hope conveyed, “You are one step away from an HR incident.” Don’t know if he got the message or if it went right over his stupid, boundary-disrespecting head, but at least I got that fucker off my back. (Literally!!)

I know I haven’t mentioned this directly on the blog before now, but yes, it’s true: I’m leaving my job. And starting a new job. On Monday. Working with Ryan. In freakin’ Gwinnett County (but we’re going to carpool!).

I’m very happy about this.

I wasn’t expecting to leave Major News Organization this soon, but you know, sometimes things happen, and you re-evaluate what’s right for you. In this case, accepting the position at Small Company In The Burbs is the right thing for me.

I wish I could come off as more giddy and excited about this, because I really am giddy and excited; but unfortunately this good news has been momentarily overshadowed by some not-so-good news. A few weeks ago, I had an abnormal pap smear; then I went back for the HPV test (because for whatever reason there weren’t enough cells from the pap to do the test from that); today I got a call from my doctor’s office that the test came back positive; so on Aug. 8th I have to go for a colposcopy (basically a biopsy) and then wait another week or so for lab results on THAT.

Argh.

Now, I know it’s not necessarily a big deal. Most likely, it’s nothing at all to worry about; whatever “it” is, it was detected early, after all. And, I already knew I had one strain of HPV. But still. This was a surprise.

So, just trying to process all this, because it’s still very new (just heard from the doc’s office a few hours ago). Intellectually I know there’s no reason to worry; but that means jack shit for how I feel. Once I process everything and have time to cool down a bit, I’m sure everything won’t feel so overshadowed by this news. I mean, I was freaking out at first when I found out about my other HPV exposure, even though I knew it was totally Not A Big Deal. Once I got over my freaking-out stage, I was fine. It just takes time.

In a post about Linda Hirshman’s new book (Get to Work: A Manifesto for Women of the World), Jill at Feministe brings up a good point:

This sounds extreme, but of course it’s the lesson every man is taught when he’s a boy: Your responsibility to society-the way to become an adult-is to work.

Emphasis mine. It is funny how, if this book was directed at men, no one would bat an eye. Because men working is an assumption.

It’s interesting, because my experience growing up was that I always assumed I would work. I never thought anything of it. I would grow up, and I would get a job. And I could have any kind of job I wanted.

Once I was old enough to start noticing the differences in people’s families, their opinions, belief systems, etc., I noticed that apparently this wasn’t a universally-held assumption - at least not when it came to girls. That might’ve been my first head-on collision with sexism, as a kindergartener (or ’round about that time). I remember the incredulity I felt as a child when someone would tell me, “Girls can’t [X]!” Even thought I didn’t yet know words like “hypocrisy” and “double standard,” my outrage in the face of those experiences was real, and deep.

My parents did a lot of things wrong, but one thing they did right was to instill in me the importance of independence and self-sufficiency. My mom, in particular, stressed to me the importance of being able to support myself and not being financially dependent on a man. History - and the present - is filled with women who, with no job skills and no income of their own, are stuck in abusive or unfulfilling relationships. That wouldn’t be me.

Assumptions aren’t always right (we all know the old joke), but in this case I’m glad I started out with equal assumptions for men and women. It may have helped me in not taking the sexist bullshit lying down.

Ed. note: If anyone is flexing their typing fingers, ready to jump all over my shit for invalidating other women’s choices or some such BS - save it. I am stating my experience, nothing more and nothing less. You can uncork your piss and vinegar next time, when I decide I’m fucking tired of putting “disclaimers” on all the posts that might get somesone’s panties in a wad.

Yesterday my purse fell on the floor of the restroom at work. Horrified, I snatched it up as quickly as possible in an attempt to limit contamination by poo molecules as much as possible. However, I know that some poo molecules found their way onboard anyway.

I detest having to touch it today; I didn’t get a chance to wash it last night, because I went to bed at 8:30 (yes, you read that right.) I remember reading a report somewhere saying that most women’s purses are coated will poo molecules, as a result of placing them (the purses, not the women) on restroom floors. My question is, who willingly puts their purse on a restroom floor? If there’s no hook on which to hang it, I’ll hold it on my lap rather than putting it on the floor.

So, I’ve been washing my hands more often than usual today. It’s not OCD, just contempt for poo.

Working at a desk/computer non-stop (except for a short lunch break, maybe) from 8:00-5:00, or 9:00-6:00, or whatever, might be just peachy for some people, but I have an inkling that a lot of people would prefer to mix it up a little. I always have a bit of a slump in the early/mid afternoon; I do my best work early in the morning and later in the afternoon, or well into the night. I get less productive the longer I sit in one spot, staring at a monitor while my neck gets stiff and my eyes go all gluey, so taking breaks is important - but not always possible at my job.

A few days ago, Rusty and I were talking about what our ideal work day would look like. Mine would involve getting up reasonably early (’cause even though I like to sleep ’til damn near noon on the weekends, I couldn’t do it every day), getting the requisite caffeine levels into my body, and working for a few hours, say 8:00-11:00. Then have lunch, and spend some time afterward sitting on my ass (preferrably outisde, if it’s warm), napping, and generally re-energizing. Resume working at around 2:00-2:30 and keep it up (with intermittent 5-minute breaks) until like 6:30 or 7:00. Or, stop earlier and then do a little more work later, like around 9:00, for an hour or so.

I would be much more productive by compartmentalizing my work time and not feeling forced to work when I know I’m not in prime get-shit-done form.