Being Amber Rhea

Today I checked the Georgia Podcast Network’s post office box and found these inside:

And, this (on an 8.5″x11″ envelope):

It’s the correct PO Box number, zip code, everything. So what the heck is going on?

Both of the letters to Sonny Perdue came from Waycross. And the one to Neal Boortz has a return address where the person put DVM after their name; I’m guessing that’s “doctor of veterinary medicine.”

I know it’s a felony to open other people’s mail… don’t worry, I’ll do the right thing and mark them “return to sender” and put them back in the mailbox. But I am tempted.

As I mentioned yesterday on Twitter, I was linked by Salon in a piece by Tracy Clark-Flory entitled Sex writing goes limp. My initial reaction was to roll my eyes at the title, but I thought, well, writers often don’t choose their own headlines, so I’d better give the piece itself a chance. So I read it, and unfortunately I was pretty disappointed.

The bulk of the article is devoted to talking about how “sex writers” (not a huge fan of that term, as I feel it’s too reductive; but it’s the term used by Clark-Flory) aren’t talented, don’t work hard, and have nothing substantive to contribute. Take this quote from Susannah Breslin, for instance:

“Sometimes people become sex writers because they screw a lot, not necessarily because they can write well,” she told me in an e-mail. “If your career as a writer is driven by you showing your tits on your blog on a regular basis, maybe you shouldn’t be so surprised when you lose your cred.”

This is asinine but also infuriating, because it implies that the writers who were laid off and/or chose to leave fit this description. But none of them do. So why waste time talking about the mythical sex writers who have jobs only because they show their tits?

I said “mythical,” but I know such writers do exist. However, it’s pointless, misleading, and frankly seems a bit malicious to bring them up in this situation, because they have nothing whatsoever to do with the specific people being discussed!

The conflation is maddening. The loss of Regina Lynn’s Wired.com column and Tristan Taormino’s Village Voice column (and all the rest) is upsetting specifically because they were not fluff writers putting out glossy features about 10 ways to give an awesome blowjob.

The dearth of smart sex content is what we’ve been bemoaning, people. The fluff writers aren’t losing their jobs - who can resist a checklist of 5 daring and dirty new positions? The titillation factor is high and the threat level is low. That kind of material is exactly what a society that can talk about sex only in a “ha-ha tee-hee let’s make puns” manner demands - and it reinforces this arrested development mentality toward sex. The writing of the people who lost their jobs recently was remarkable because it challenged the status quo of how sex is represented, and helped to expose more people to the possibility of a thoughtful, interesting, non-judgmental discourse about sexuality.

I hear and completely agree with what Gracie Passette, Melissa Gira, Regina Lynn and others are saying about the lay-offs being part of the larger issue facing media: plummeting profits and circulation. I have no doubt that that’s what led to these writers being laid off, but I don’t think it’s pointless to note the fact that a particular type of writer is being let go. Coincidence or not, noting the zeitgeist of it is appropriate, and we should use it as a jumping-off point for greater analysis of how our society views sex.

From Apostate, replying to an assy commenter on her blog:

I see. So in face of daily murders, rapes, mutilations, stalkings and brutalization – of women by men – your major concern lies with the (mythical) castrating man-hating feminist.

So this girl was giving me a hard time, ostensibly in a friendly way, about how I wear “baggy clothes” and therefore she didn’t know I had “such a nice body” until she saw my pole dancing videos on YouTube. I should’ve said something to her at the time - and there is a slim but existent chance that she may read this, and I’m okay with that - but I haven’t had the energy for confrontation lately, especially with her, because she’s been such a good friend in so many other ways since my dad’s death. When I look at it objectively it’s a rather minor annoyance in the grand scheme of things. But she just kept going ON and ON about it, telling me things like I need to wear a small not a medium (um, sometimes I do; sizes vary, after all), and you know, at a certain point, it grates. Badly.

And she isn’t the first to do this. Not at all - she just took it further than most people have. I mean, even Rusty said I have “stealth tits” (not mad at him about that; but just saying). People say they’re surprised, as if my measurements snuck up on them, because I “don’t wear tight clothes” (their words). This girl in particular was the first in a while (if ever; I really don’t know) to actually say “baggy clothes.” It got to the point with her where even though I knew she was trying to be complimentary, it was starting to make me feel like I was in middle school all over again, being critiqued about what’s not good enough about me.

And anyway, give me a break! First of all, I don’t think I wear baggy clothes. No, I don’t wear skin-tight clothes, either; but you know why? Because it’s not comfortable to me, especially when it’s HOT out, like it happens to be right now in mid-summer Georgia.

I think the next time I talk to this girl, if she brings it up, I’m going to say something like, “I appreciate your compliments about my figure, but I dress the way I want to dress and the subject is not open for debate.” If I have the energy, that is. I’ll probably be talking to her after work today, so we’ll see if she mentions it. Hopefully she won’t and that’ll be that.

Seriously. What the hell, people.

On that increasingly headdesk-inducing thread - where the word “strawman” would be applicable, but I loathe that word, so I’m refraining from using it for now - I said (double blockquotes are me quoting someone else):

Feminism is about standing up for women, all women, I agree. I do struggle with standing up for a woman who as First Lady would be part of implementing anti-women policies, but gotta do it anyway. Pretty far down on my list though. Really far down. Somewhere below “check out Laura Bush’s chili recipe” and “what is Phyllis Schlafly up to these days?”

I think you’re still missing the point. I didn’t read this post as a defense of Cindy McCain, or really anything specific to her at all - she was an example, of which there are countless others. The point I got was, it’s not okay to vilify women based on some perceived stereotypical external traits that we really know jack shit about. If we talk shit about a woman for being blonde and thin, we’re no better than the assholes we call out for talking shit about a woman being the opposite.

and:

But even if we DID prove that her policies were not egalitarian, which to me is unclear at this point, it STILL doesn’t give us license to call her a Barbie or “stupid hair” or Stepford.

And this is REALLY Feminism 101. How many of us have lamented the seeming inability of men to argue with us based on our views, and not bring our looks into it? Surely we’ve all noticed that attacks on a woman’s looks are de rigeur when one disagrees with her. We need to lead by example. You can absolutely HATE a woman’s position on certain issues, hell, her entire philosophy on LIFE - but that does not give you license to attack her looks. I cannot stand Ann Coulter - I think she’s a hateful person. But you’ll never hear me making cracks about her looks. Unfortunately the same can’t be said for other self-identified progressives. (”Man Coulter,” anyone?)

and:

But what does that boil down to, dismissing? Is it dismissive to not write laudatory blog posts about CMcC? Is it ok if I simply ignore her?

Seems like you’re arguing against an argument Octo (nor anyone else on this thread) did not actually make. It’s not about whether or not you like Cindy McCain. It’s about using sexist language to refer to her (or any other woman). That’s NOT OKAY no matter who the woman is. You can hate her guts, but if you start taking jabs at her looks or calling her a cunt or what-have-you, you’ve crossed a line into unacceptable territory.

and lastly:

Calling someone a Stepford isn’t so much an insult as naming her oppression.

Nope, what it’s doing is taking away her agency, much in the same way as this bullshit.

I do not see why this is a difficult concept.

You can hate Cindy McCain, but you cannot substitute critiques of her *looks* for critiques of her *political views* and expect the argument that sexist language is unacceptable to hold a whole hell of a lot of water elsewhere.

Yesterday in Athens, Rusty and I found this on a table in the Barnes and Noble Cafe. It was laying face up, like so:

Clearly we took the bait. I said, “Oh boy, it’s our lucky day - a million dollars!” and picked it up to look it over. On the reverse side was this:

Click through to Flickr to view the larger version, but if you can’t read what’s written around the sides, here’s what it says:

The million-dollar question: Will you go to Heaven? Here’s a quick test. Have you ever told a lie, stolen anything, or used God’s name in vain? Jesus said, “Whoever looks at a woman to lust for her has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” Have you looked with lust? Will you be guilty on Judgment Day? If you have done those things, God sees you as a lying, thieving, blasphemous, adulterer-at-heart. The Bible warns that if you are guilty you will end up in Hell. That’s not God’s will. He sent His Son to suffer and die on the cross for you. Jesus took your punishment upon himself: “God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.” Then He rose from the dead and defeated death. Please, repent (turn from sin) today and trust in Jesus, and God will grant you everlasting life. Then read your Bible daily and obey it.   www.livingwaters.com

My favorite part is the definition of “repent” included in parentheses.

I recently had to ban another commenter. He left two bizarre, assholish comments. And I had no idea who he was, even though he claimed to have met me. (It wasn’t until after I’d banned him that I recollected who he was, thanks to a Twitter reminder from a mutual acquaintance… but I won’t go into that, out of respect for said mutual acquaintance [whom I consider a friend, actually]).

His work can be seen here and here.

After noticing he’d been banned, he sent me the following email, with the subject line “pardon me”:

Apologies for, apparently, shitting on your blog. Whatever it was that pissed you off was unintentional.

have a nice life

This, dear readers and generally sane people of the world, is what we call a NON-APOLOGY.

Not to mention the nearly unfathomable obtuseness of it all. Whatever it was that pissed me off? As if it’s just so difficult to imagine just what that might have been. No clue, really! I must be off my gourd, because seriously, what could it have been!

And then, the clincher… the trademark of non-apologies…

“It was unintentional.”

Well whoopdy-freakin’-do! That makes everything okay, then!

You know, I really do not understand why so many people use the “I didn’t mean to!” thing as some kind of shield. Why do they think that matters?? You didn’t mean to. Okay, great - so you’re not a complete sociopath. And? The act is done. The impact is made. You’ve gotta deal with the fallout caused by YOUR action - intentional or not.

I keep coming back to this post.

All kinds of people do this. Hell, I’ve done it myself, on occasion. And I do think there are rare (I repeat, rare) occasions where clarification of intent does matter. But those are the exception, not the rule, and the ones I can think of would all involve people who know each other really well.

The non-apology. It’s a perennial non-favorite.

This is just too bizarre not to share.

This morning on the way to work, I stopped to get gas. So I’m standing there pumping gas, and a Honda Element rolls up, stops, and a guy sticks his head out the window. I’m wondering, “Oh, geez, what stupid sexist thing is he going to yell?” and thinking how apt Jenny’s post was.

But then the guy yells, “Hey! You know what happens if we elect Barack Obama?” I’m so stunned that I can’t resist yelling back, “What?”

“It’s an Obama-nation!” he says triumphantly, and drives off.

I rolled my eyes dramatically but then realized I was wearing sunglasses, and anyway he hadn’t bothered to stick around for my reaction.

But, WTF? I don’t have an Obama sticker on my car. I forgot to wear my “I Love Obama” 10-gallon hat today. So what made this dude stop and yell this joke (I use the word loosely) at me? And who yells jokes out of car windows, anyway? Was he just driving along, and suddenly thought of this great joke that blends timely political commentary with linguistic amusement, and just couldn’t keep it to himself?

What a weird way to start the day.

Today Rusty and I went to Frolicon… for about an hour.

Last year I was really annoyed that Frolicon was the same weekend as PodCamp NYC, which meant we’d miss it because we already had plans to go to New York. I interviewed Beth, one of the organizers, and she was a total sweetheart. I vowed that we wouldn’t miss Frolicon 2008! (And yet I wrote about it on Radlanta as if I knew what I was talking about.)

But as the day got closer, I was less and less excited about it. I guess after going to more events along similar themes, I had more of an expectation that this wouldn’t be my cup of tea. Really I only went in order to put a stack of Sex 2.0 postcards and condoms on the swag* table. Then I got mad at myself because I didn’t think ahead enough to include that stuff in the swag bags everyone gets at registration; there were postcards in there for Whippersnappers, Swinging Atlanta, SELF, and other groups/events like that. Why didn’t I think of that? I was so pissed.

Still, hopefully some new registrants will come out of the stack on the table. As we were leaving I saw a few people stopping by and looking at stuff. One guy started talking to me about Camille Paglia as I was putting the postcards on the table. That was kind of weird.

So yeah, we only stayed for about an hour, and most of that time was spent paying way too much money for a mediocre buffet lunch. What can I say, fetish/kink/BDSM stuff just doesn’t do it for me. In fact, it kind of irritates me. More power to people who are into it - some of my best friends, etc. This isn’t a slam or judgment on folks who like that stuff. I’m just not one of ‘em. I like fucking. I can’t be bothered with all the costumes and role-playing and master/slave this and foot-worship that and yadda yadda yadda.

Speaking of fucking, we briefly considered going to Trapeze tonight, because a couple who’d commented on our Trapeze review podcast said they were going, and we’re interested in meeting them at some point. But I’m still on the tail-end of the haze while my body chemistry adjusts to Lexapro, plus I’m on my period, so we figured it’s not the best night to go. I wouldn’t be feeling up to it because of the meds, but also that period thing… it’s like one of the last taboos. In Best Sex Writing 2008, Trixie Fontaine writes about her problems with getting credit card billing companies for her period porn site… it’s considered “extreme,” and even though they’ll deal with pretty much anything else you can imagine (and plenty of stuff you can’t), somehow a woman’s period is THE GROSSEST THING EVER. What the hell! Why is it such a big fucking deal?? (That’s a rhetorical question, so don’t bother trying to come up with an answer. THERE ISN’T ONE.) Seriously. If you can’t handle the fact that yes, most women get their period every month, and no, your dick won’t shrivel up and fall off if you fuck her during that time… then just turn in your Sex Card right now, because you don’t deserve it.

Well, I was going to write about how I got a manicure the other day, but I can’t think of a clever transition and this is long enough already. So I’ll write about the manicure thing tomorrow, because it’s likely to spiral off into a tangent about class and expectations and social stratification. Betcha can’t wait!

* I’ve recently learned that the spelling “schwag” refers to marijuana. “Swag” is actually an acronym… “stuff we all get!”

Ugh, what a piece of work this guy is!

But Ren’s righteous fisking had me laughing… which was good, because just when I’d start to feel gross from reading that creep’s comments, she’d interject some choice words.

My favorite part: “And perhaps one day the north and south poles will invert themselves and I shall be crowned god emperor of Rome.”

In many ways today has been a good day. First and foremost, I bought a new car!

Also, it snowed - and the snow actually stuck. This is a Very Big Deal in Georgia.

(I’ll have more photos of the car once the snow melts.)

But then there’s also this email that came in just now…

As some of you are well aware, the city has decided we can not change the use of the building without strict criteria for parking.

The business demands over $10,000.00 per month to keep open.

As much as we want to honor our dates, it looks as if we can not afford more losses.
Therefore, it is with great regret that due to the meddling of the neighbor’s association, along with the ridiculous stubbornness of the City to work with us, we can not honor your date in 2008 for your event.

I know I made verbal promises to you in the past, but without some drastic concessions from our landlord, I’m afraid there is nothing that we can do to accommodate any event past February.

Translation: Sex 2.0 has lost its venue.

*sigh*

I can’t deal with this right now. Someone else needs to deal with it. I already emailed the Sex 2.0 Google group about this, so hopefully someone(s) will step up soon.

Oh and by the way… the people responsible for Spring4th’s untimely closure? It’s the same assholes mentioned here.

Good job, Midtown. You’ve successfully driven another locally-owned small business out of your neighborhood.

I can’t believe there are self-identified liberals, progressives, and Democrats basically taking the tack of, “Well, it’s illegal; so it must be bad!”

HELLO.

The fact that something is illegal does not mean it’s somehow inherently, morally wrong - and vice versa. Anyone who considers themselves to have any liberal/progressive/what-the-hell-ever leanings AT ALL should understand this.

I won’t go the route of talking about how it’s what this country was founded on but you can go there yourself if you’d like.

Examples:

Interracial marriage was illegal into the 1960s.

Spousal rape was legal - excuse me, there wasn’t even the concept of spousal rape! - in many jurisdictions well into the 1970s.

And some particular lightning rods for liberals etc.: Abortion. Same-sex marriage. ENDA.

I think that’s all I need to say about that, right?

I just saw this in a MySpace bulletin, and for some reason it made me giggle a lot - probably moreso than it really warrants, since it appears to be one of those things teenagers pass around for each other’s amusement (I deleted the “15 years of bad luck if you don’t repost” part).

SCORPIO-THE WHORE(10/23-11/21)
Loves being in long relationships. Likes to give a good fight for what they want. Extremely outgoing. Loves to help people in times of need. Best kisser. Good personality. Stubborn. A caring person. ONE OF A KIND. Gorgeous Smile. Not one to mess with. The best sexual partners in the zodiac. Are the most attractive people on earth!

I think what did it for me was “THE WHORE” in all caps. “Best kisser” was a winner, too.

I never know who to tip and who not to tip. Like this morning, when I called AAA and someone came and towed my car to the dealership (the repairs are going to cost me close to $800, btw… fun) - should I have tipped the tow truck driver? I don’t think I should, so I didn’t. But I don’t know. What’s the standard on that? And when Chem-Dry came out several months ago, should I have tipped that guy? I don’t remember if we did or not. I think maybe Rusty gave him $20. But is that the standard? The Boston Market catering guy seemed really happy to get a tip when he delivered the food for my birthday party. I assume tipping food people is always the standard, but maybe not for catering? Or maybe other people just stiff him a lot? I don’t know.

Before we hired our cleaning lady, I assumed I should tip her every time, just like how I tip the woman who cuts my hair every time. Then a bunch of people said no, don’t do that, instead give her a bunch of extra cash near the holidays. But then recently, someone else who uses a different cleaning service said he tips a few bucks every time, and the service’s web site made it sound like this was expected. And, since Christmas is near, should I leave extra money for our cleaning lady tomorrow, or wait until next time (two more weeks)? And how much should I leave?

This stuff is so confusing! I didn’t grow up rich, so we never hired people to do stuff (except yard work, but I don’t have any clue what the tipping is like on that, either), so I don’t know what the procedure is on any of it! Input, please!

Why the hell has no one commented here in several days? Oh, maybe because I haven’t been posting much? Well, just for that, I’m putting this up as a blog post instead of a Twitter tweet. (And just so you know, that “blogger outreach” post took me hours to write! Hours, I tell you!)

I received the following asinine message via Flickr:

Hello,

Gotta ask, What is a sex positive feminist. I could
google it, but as I was looking thru your profile I was
just a wonderin.

Thanks.

I won’t bother commenting on the weird punctuation, capitalization, and spelling, because really, what is there to say? Instead, I’ll just voice my mystification at the fact that this person took the time to email me, but couldn’t be bothered to take the (comparatively less) time to Google “sex positive feminism.” And, part of the email contained an acknowledgment that he could Google it! Plus, by Googling it, he would have gotten an instant answer, whereas this way, he’s waiting for a personalized response from me. I’m not sure why he assumes I’ll be chomping at the bit to be his personal Sex Positive Feminism 101 instructor.

Translation of the email: “I could actually put forth the very minimal effort myself, OR, I could sit here on my duff and wait for you to bring information to me! Which you will surely do, since I’m a random person you’ve never met who uses weird punctuation, capitalization, and spelling!”

I just don’t understand people, sometimes.

Sad:

Sad:

Happy: (also my current desktop wallpaper at work)

We still don’t have AC. For those of you playing along at home, we’re going into day 6 of not being able to spend more than a few minutes inside our apartment.

I am now really worried because on top of everything else, the AC has been running this entire time in the hopes that it’ll actually get fixed and then cool down the place before we get home one afternoon. Who am I kidding? So today when we pop in to get clothes (including a laundry basket and detergent, because I must do some fucking laundry, I’m nearly out of everything) I’m going to turn off the AC, because I don’t know how stupidly high our electric bill is already going to be, but I’m not going to let it get even worse.

In addition to grabbing an overflowing laundry basket this afternoon, I’ll try to snag some other stuff like nail scissors… all the mail that’s piled up… a book or two… the cable that connects my iPod to my computer…

I hate money, I hate jackassess, and I hate this apartment at this point.

Oh, and on another note, here’s a preliminary list of stuff we’re going to sell soon. I would love to take photos and post them online, and write complete descriptions with the item in question actually in front of me, but again, that would require being able to spend more than a few minutes in the apartment. So anyway, we’ll be selling:

• A fancy dark wood dining room table. If you ever went to Rusty’s old apartment in Decatur, you saw it.
• A 27-inch TV. I bought it in 2003 when I moved to Dallas - almost exactly 4 years ago!
• A fairly low-end but perfectly functional DVD player. Mitsubishi I think.
• A blue denim love seat that folds out into a bed. I bought it at Pier 1 in 2004.
• Maybe the blue denim chair that matches the love seat. I haven’t decided about that yet, though.
• A coffee table and two end tables that kind of make a “set.”
• A Mac Mini and monitor.
• A garden-variety microwave.

Email if interested, but I don’t know prices or anything else yet.

And, preemptively: nobody post any comments about I should do this or did I try that or why don’t I do that other thing. No, no, no. We’re doing what we’re doing, and that’s what we’re doing. And that’s the end of it!

Thermostat

Originally uploaded by rustytanton

Sorry for the lack of blogging. At least my daily Twitter updates provide some semblance of a record of what’s going on. Anyway, the short version is, we’ve been staying in hotels and with friends since Sunday, because our AC is busted again and as you can see from the thermostat, it’s ridiculously hot in there. I took a photo of the thermostat yesterday afternoon when we were there to pick up a change of clothes, and it was even higher - closer to 100.

So, net access has been spotty, work’s been busy, and there’s other stuff happening that I don’t think I’ll blog about just yet. And in the midst of all this, I haven’t yet posted about the crappy situation with the stripper pole! Eventually I will… but, you know, I would like to post something positive, too!

What the hell? Why did my July 8th Twitter updates get posted about 30 times??

I deleted all the excess, but good god, was that disconcerting. Sorry about that, y’all. If it happens again I’m just going to have to disable Twitter Tools.

Ren has the best troll over at her blog. And as much as I hate to draw attention to trolls, I have to post this, because it’s pretty much the best comment ever. It’s got it all! References to 9/11, freedom, Hitler, Nazis, Muslims, Marxists(?), sluts, whores, bitches, other assorted pornspeak, and oh yeah, the terrorists hate our freedom!!*

What’s so great to the weak about these women is that they’re easy meals>…that’s all. Use ‘em and loose ‘em. It is truly maddening that guys can have this attitude about sex, but it’s just the way it is, especially nowadays in our pornified popular culture. I can’t speak for every man, but I have heard guys say, “I’m not sure I would feel comfortable getting a blowjob from a chick that has so many dicks sticking in her, if they were coming out she’d look like a porcupine.” There are a good number of men who are disgusted by women like her and wouldn’t touch her with a ten foot pole for fear of STDs, and probably because fucking her is like throwing a pencil down a hallway. Guys don’t like a sloppy pussy with a floppy asshole to match.

There is only one thing you can do! And that is to have children! Have lots of babies, and they will have a father unlike a growing percentage of the population. And you teach those babies, girl, you teach them what you know to be right. Teach them the traditional family values that our grandfathers died for on the beaches of Normandy! Teach them about freedom!

Hitler and Marx envisioned a world where there are no families and no God, just like what “Ren” and all of her followers want.

These people (and I use the term “people” loosely in the case of these…animals) will have you believe that they are seeking freedom, but it’s all lies. It’s bullshit. They, and “Ren” don’t give a FUCK about anyone else. They just want the stigma removed from their atrocious behavior so they can feel better about themselves. They don’t care about anyone else. They are their own Gods.

Don’t let the sacrifices of thousands of American soldiers go to waste! They didn’t die so this piece of human garbage could have the freedom to dance naked on a table. They didn’t give their lives so she could sit on her ass all day and live like a king because she sucks dick for a living, i guarantee you that.

These modern-day Nazis that defend this “woman,” this MONSTER, are EVIL. Not “Satan” evil, but Marxist, Hitler evil. They want a secularist world, where no one is accountable for anything they do, they want to destroy the nuclear family. (I call myself Mommy/Daddy because I am sick of the destruction of the nuclear family, not because I’m some sort of pervert, like all of these deviants have insinuated)They want your children, my children to learn how to roll a condom on a banana when they’re 8 years old. They want children to be indoctrinated to believe what they believe.

Just look at the blogs of these Hitlers…I took the time to speed-read through most of them. They all share a common denominator, they’re all some sort of sex worker, feminist or leftist garbage. You’re not “militant,” they are. They’re evil. They hate freedom. They hate the nuclear family.

They’re the reason that 5,000 New Yorkers died on September 11th. The Muslim world hates this country because they see our decadence, our lack of morals. They see this Monster in high heels with a fist up her ass and they think “not my daughters. Not my wife. I’d rather give my life and take the lives of thousands of others so my family doesn’t end up like this piece of shit.” So, you can all thank yourselves for contributing to thousands of deaths, just so you can be “free.”

And… scene.

* I just keep flashing on David Cross’s bit about George W. Bush and “they hate our freedom” from his CD, “It’s Not Funny.”

The two major events of last night involved me scraping up my leg while pole dancing at a sex club, and the police coming out to our apartment building at 2:00 a.m. These two things are not related.

We decided to go to a sex club to (here comes the big surprise) watch people fuck. I didn’t exactly have high expectations, as I had been to a sex club about 6 years ago and was underwhelmed to say the least. But, I thought, that was one night at one place; why not give it another shot? It might be fun and hot; and if not, well, at least we went, and we could laugh about it.

I did get my hopes up a little after talking to a friend who had been to a club called Trapeze about 3 years ago, and reported that it didn’t suck. And, according to their 1999-esque web site, they had a pole. (Side note: I do not recall the name or location of the club I went to ~6 years ago. It was somewhere in/around Atlanta, but that’s all I remember. It might not even exist anymore.)

So we went out there, and plopped down the $115 to get in ($50 membership + $65 door fee - they don’t waive the door fee on the night you buy your membership). They had a full buffet, and I’d heard that the food was really good, so the first thing we did was go get some food. And indeed, the food was awesome. Honestly, it was the highlight of the night. (Close second was a furtive blowjob we witnessed near the dance floor, but really, the mashed potatoes and broccoli still win in my mind.)

We sat at a table near the dance floor. There was really bad porn on two TVs, but fortunately the sound was muted. After we finished eating, I sat there waiting for the DJ to play a song that didn’t suck, and for annoying people to get their asses away from the pole so I could go up there and show them what’s up. Finally, I just decided to go up anyway even though I didn’t really like the song and this one couple would not move. So we went up there, Rusty stood on the “sidelines” so to speak, and I wiped the pole down with a napkin. This obviously wasn’t good enough, but I thought it might be better than nothing. Well, I ended up not being able to do a whole hell of a lot, because the pole was really slippery and dangerous. I tried a few spins and such, but for the most part I couldn’t get enough grip to do anything 100%. When I tried the fireball spin (Darcey will know what I’m talking about) I damn near fell off. Discouraged, out of breath, and bruised, I sat back down. Rusty said I did a great job but he could tell the pole was holding me back. Later, I noticed that I’d not only bruised the crap out of my legs, but they’re peppered with scrapes and cuts, too.

After I caught my breath, we decided we might as well go to the back area and try to see if we could watch people fucking. So far the clientele hadn’t exactly blown our skirts up, but we thought we should at least see what’s up.

The club was pretty clearly segregated into a “naked” and “non-naked” area, which annoyed me. And to go back to the part with the beds and stuff, you had to get naked or mostly naked. They had lockers, but they didn’t actually lock. That annoyed me too. Look, I don’t have a problem getting naked, but I don’t know these people; I’m not going to trust a bunch of strangers just because we all happen to be naked. But, still, we put our clothes in a nasty little locker, in a cramped locker room with a leaky shower (and some woman spilled her drink all over the floor right next to us), and wrapped threadbare towels around our waists. I kept my purse with me.

We walked through the double doors to the designated fucking area to find… not much fucking. Really, not any fucking. We walked around the whole place, and there was no fucking to be seen. A few old people had gone into one of the semi-private rooms and were groping each other, but I didn’t want to watch them fuck anyway. Mostly, people were just sitting around naked. WTF. Why do you go all that way and pay all that money just to sit around naked? You can do that at home. (Yes, you can have orgies at home too, but that’s a digression for later.) And most of the people were significantly older than us. I have nothing against people having awesome sex at any age, and indeed I intend to be having awesome sex until I’m seriously geriatric; it’s just that at this point in my life, if I had my druthers, those aren’t the type of people I’d like to watch fuck.

So, we stood in the corner for a minute or two, nonplussed. Some older men leered creepily. Finally we decided to just leave. So we got our clothes back from the nasty little locker and left.

I guess I’m a little disappointed, but not exactly surprised. However, we’ve decided to do a little more “research” and do a podcast about it, hopefully within the next few weeks. Since we have the three-month Trapeze membership (we didn’t have a choice), we decided we’ll go back on a Saturday night, and see if it’s any different. For one thing, single men aren’t allowed on Saturday nights. That might help create a less lecherous dynamic.

We also want to check out Club Venus (why do these places always have web sites that look like a bad mid-90s Geocities home page?) and see what it’s like. That might be the club I went to before, but I can’t remember. I don’t know of any other clubs that are still open (Velvet Heaven and 2Risqué closed; shame about the latter, they had an under-40 rule) and aren’t BDSM-themed or something. If you know of any others, let us know; but our podcast research may remain fairly limited in scope anyway, ’cause this shit costs money.

Later I want to write about why the whole “swinger” concept annoys me; but I’ll do that in a separate post, because this is already really long, and I have to talk about the person on the roof.

So, after coming home, we were lying in bed at around 2:00 a.m. or so. The lamp on the bedside table was on. Naturally, we were lying there naked. I was lying on my side, facing Rusty… we were relaxing and talking, and then all of a sudden he says, “Holy shit, there’s a person outside the window.” (When he was at the “there’s a…” part, I thought he was going to say something like “a ginormous insect on the bed.”)

I dove under the covers; I didn’t even look up to see the person. Rusty yelled, “What the fuck??” and apparently the guy ran off. I was scared and stayed under the covers. Rusty got up and called 911. He told the operator that there had been someone on the roof peeking into the window, and it looked like the guy was fiddling with the window as if he was trying to get in. (He wouldn’t have gotten very far… it’s like a 20-foot drop inside those windows.) So about 10 minutes later, a cop came out, and looked around the building and the roof, but didn’t see anyone. So that was that. We didn’t file a police report or anything. Oh and apparently the cop said something to Rusty about, “Most people have drapes.” (This was over the phone.) Excuse me?? For the most part, I was happy Rusty was dealing with cop and such, but I wish I had been on the phone at that moment. I would have pointedly asked exactly how us having drapes on those 20-foot high windows would have made it okay for someone to be creeping around on the roof at 2:00 a.m. A million other questions about this stupid non-sequitur spring to mind as well. I mean, also, I shouldn’t have been wearing that short skirt. And what was I thinking, walking through that part of town alone?

So anyway. That was our night. My leg is still sore from the shitty pole dancing. I’m pretty much over the “dude on the roof” incident now, and am just pissed more than anything. (Yes, we told our landlord; but you know how things have generally been with her. Strained, to say the least.) We’re thinking it would be nice to have drapes up on those windows, but we’ll definitely have to hire a professional to install them, because there’s no way in hell either of us is getting up there.

Stay tuned for, eventually, a podcast about our experiences with Atlanta sex clubs. And I’ll also write a post about the whole “swinger” thing, and the concept of sex clubs in general.