archives

Thursday, September 25, 2008

8 Is Way too Much!

I have to admit that I have not been paying much attention to the upcoming election. The whole thing sickens me a bit, and I am turned off by the political melodrama, especially now that the economy appears to be tanking. Blech.


While I don't yet know if I will throw in my vote for presidential candidate A or B -- I am hard pressed to think it will matter very much either way -- I was recently reminded that my vote has the power to impact state politics more significantly.


In 2000, Proposition 22 was passed by 61% of voters. While California's constitution had been changed in 1977 to define marriage in California as a union between a man and a woman, Prop 22 went further and denied that same-sex marriages, performed legally in other jurisdictions, be held valid in California. Man. Woman. Period.


Maybe my view of the state is clouded by too many years living in San Francisco, but it is hard for me to believe that 61% of California's residents would agree that same-sex partners should be denied the rights of their legal commitment to one another. It seems clear that this proposition's passage was based largely on a certain demographic mobilizing and voting.


Over the last eight years, gay marriage has been embroiled in much political controversy. There have been lawsuits and appeals and legal and illegal marriages in San Francisco and elsewhere. Currently, because of an appeal to the State Supreme Court this year, gay marriage is legal in California. Proposition 8 aims to change the constitution to make it illegal again.


Proposition 8 will get me to the voting booth on November 4th. Here's my attempt at mobilizing a different group of voters than the ones that had their way in 2000. The economy may be scary. Gas prices may be too high, and home prices too low, but I am doubtful that any candidate chosen this November will change that. There is, however, a chance for us to make a difference locally. There's chance for us to minimize manipulation of our state's constitution. There's a chance for us to earn our reputation as "free-thinking," "liberty-minded" Californians. Why the hell should someone's sex organs determine whether he or she should be allowed to enter into a legal contract with another person? Why are some people so concerned with what other people do in their bedrooms and with whom they choose to build a family? Isn't it those same people who are running around crying about sex out of wedlock and unwed mothers? Wouldn't they rather children be raised inside a loving, two parent home? What's the big deal about "slot A or tab B"? I believe in equal rights, and I will vote accordingly.

Labels: human rights, law, rant

tidbit posted by Mosa  @ 11:52 AM

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Pocket Protector

Labels: germs, review, toys, travel

tidbit posted by Mosa  @ 3:24 PM

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Carpe Boob-em!

When I was fourteen, I remember stuffing balloons down my dress to see what it would look like if it wasn't drooping in the boob region. I gazed longingly at the full-busted image of myself in the mirror . Despite the persistent miniature status of my boobage all through high school, I never went so far as to seriously stuff my bra (in public) with socks or Kleenex or something like that -- I was always deathly afraid of an errant tissue making itself known when I least expected it. I figured having a small bust, although mortifying at the time, was still less embarrassing than inadvertently dropping boob-stuffing for all the world to see.


In my early twenties, I continued to bemoan my resemblance to a flea-bitten wall. I am embarrassed to admit that I once went so far as to order stinky cream and "special pills" from the internet. Those women looked so happy... and so full of cleavage. Needless to say, this investment left me with nothing other than boobs that smelled like the vitamin aisle at a health food store. For months after I had given up on the witch doctor's brew, my bras continued to give me an odor of herbal laxatives. (I haven't ever actually smelled an herbal laxative, but I imagine if I did, it would smell like my boob-cream-encrusted bras).


I have been pussy-footing about admitting it, but once, at personal low, I even tried a torturous suction device to amplify my "assets." While I enjoyed the temporary ta-tas, the results were not lasting, and the process was more painful than the emotional trauma caused by a baggy bra.


So here I sit, miles away from being able to hold out hope that puberty might actually set in, and too afraid (and proud?) to go under the Pam Anderson and Jenna Jameson knife. I have finally realized that no matter what I do my boobs will always be bigger or smaller than someone else's. If I am constantly comparing, I will never be happy. With that in mind, I am currently on a quest to embrace my boobs as they are [block out mental chiding about what a small embrace that would be]. In that vein, I have found some things that help me feel at one with my cleavage, or lack there of.


My favorite boob-ego salve (that doesn't even smell like vitamins) is the song "The Boob Fairy" by Deirdre Flint. This clever singer/song-writer makes my small bosom swell with pride. By coming out of the closet with her own less-than-ample rack, Deirdre inspires me to do the same, and even encourages me to sing along with her torch song for the boobies that never really were.


Another thing that gets me feeling more boob-positive, is when I see other women, both media divas and my peers, embrace their natural not-quite-Dolly-Parton-ness. I was inspired recently when I learned that the beautiful Keira Knightley refused to let the movie marketing mavens digitally alter her chest to make it appear larger in publicity photos for the upcoming movie, The Duchess. Apparently, she'd been dissatisfied with her electronically inflated bosom in posters for a prior film.


I know hoards of women who, like me, are members of the itty-bitty-titty committee. Heck, my membership is a birthright; thanks to my mom, I was automatically enrolled. It can be entertaining to commiserate with petite peers, but they also inspire me. When I see them looking super hot despite the lack of ample perkiness spewing forth from beneath their collar bones, I feel all warm and tingly inside.


While I admit to being, at times, a small-breasted woman undercover (the cover being push-up, ultra padded, chicken fillet-ness), it has recently come to my attention that there are other ways to go about accessorizing my small chest that might be more enjoyable. Designers are finally getting hip to the fact that not everyone is equally endowed, and new designs reflect this. Lula Lu offers a wide variety of bras and undergarments that aren't so... wide. This cute shop, which happens to have its brick and mortar home practically right in my backyard, sells delightful and, dare I say, sexy lingerie geared specifically toward the multitude of women who have a handful or less [ignore that little voice in my head chanting: "Two! Two! Two boobs for the size of one!].
I checked out Lula Lu's website, and I was thrilled to see all sorts of fabulous stuff that looked really sexy on their petite models. I even learned what a bralette is.


Wow. I have to say that I am feeling better already. I am all boobed up and ready to go! Let's see, first load the car with a gaggle of my fair, flat-chested friends, then sing-along proudly to Deirdre Flint whilst on our way to a shopping spree at Lula Lu, followed by a screening of The Duchess! Go, boobs! it's your boobday! Now if only I could figure out what to do about my ass...

Labels: body image, boobs, clothing, hero, rant

tidbit posted by Mosa  @ 11:22 AM

If I Could Do it Myself, I would

A guy friend of mine just started a blog all about cunnilingus. His goal is to help other guys not suck so much... or maybe "suck" more? Bad. I know. I am sorry. It's late. Anyway, he asked me to share whatever insight I might have on the subject. I agreed because, second only to being able to preform oral sex on one's self, is having an educated partner to do the performing. I don't know that what I have to say on the matter is that earth-shattering or mind-blowing (heh...), but I figured I would share it here, in the name of education.


I have not always been a fan of receiving oral sex, believe it or not. I am pretty sure it was my own mental shit, but it took me a long time to feel comfortable with it, let alone let loose and climax.


Here are some things I have learned from experience over the years:


1. Listen. When going down on a woman listen both to her voice and her body. She's giving you a ton of clues.


2. Don't force it. This goes along with the listening thing, but some of the most uncomfortable sexual situations I have been in are when I am giving strong signals with my body and even explicit ones with my voice that are not being heeded. If a woman is pulling you up by your hair or telling you to stop, STOP!! If I don't feel like you are listening to me while I am exposing the most vulnerable part of my body to your face and teeth, there is no way I can trust you. If I can't trust you, there is no way I can enjoy myself. It is also not likely I will let you go down there again in the future. I need to trust the person whose face is between my thighs.


3. Suck. I think some guys are afraid to suck. Literally. They want to treat the vagina like a delicate flower, and I can appreciate taking it slow and being gentle, but having my clit sucked can be great fun and highly stimulating.


4. Avoid the "pussy dive." It is my experience that guys can get into a blow job or other penile stimulation instantaneously. This does not apply to most women I know. It takes time. If a man dives straight for my crotch, I am left wanting to defend myself, not wanting to spread my legs and let him lick me. Take your time. Teasing is highly underrated.


5. Clit-o-vision. Because of what they've read and heard, some guys go straight for the clitoris and don't let up. There are at least two problems with this. First, the clitoris is an extremely sensitive part of a woman's body. Prolonged manipulation (especially before full arousal) can be annoying if not downright painful. The second problem is that sometimes penetration is mighty nice, too. Don't lose the forest for the clit tree. A finger or two inserted in the vagina whilst licking/sucking/nuzzling still counts as oral sex. Oral sex isn't about saying, "Look, Ma! No hands!" Give her a hand, or at least a few digits.


6. Communicate. I know, this sounds lame-ass and like a no brainer, but so many people forget to do it. Most folks I've had sex with aren't psychic. It should not be seen as a failure to ask questions. Because it is a vulnerable position, it is better to ask specific questions rather than general ones. For example, avoid questions like, "What do you like?" Instead try something like, "Would you like more pressure?" or "Would you like me to move more slowly?" Keep the questions simple and yes or no.


7. Enjoy it. I still remember a guy who dipped down from our kissing for one second to plant a weak lick on my pubic bone. It was clear he wasn't into the whole cunnilingus thing, and doing a half-assed courtesy lick didn't benefit either of us. If you are not into it, be with that. Don't fake it. I would like to think that females can tell.


8. You don't know it all. No matter how much we may look or sound or feel alike, women are different. Each woman has her own likes/dislikes. There is no one formula. The best "formula" is to be responsive in the moment. Just because it worked on some chick last week, doesn't mean this week's chick will dig it. You may know a lot. You may have a lot of experience, but you should never presume that you know more about a woman's body than she does. Even if you do ("clito-what?"), never force her into something because you "know what's best." Ask permission. Explain things. Work together; you're on the same team.

As I look over these thoughts, I am sure I am leaving out lots of stuff. I guess I will have to go read The Oral Oh! to fill in the blanks. Keep 'em coming, Mr. Oh!

Labels: body image, oral sex

tidbit posted by Mosa  @ 12:28 AM

Sunday, September 14, 2008

Cut and Pasties

Wow! That's crafty! Thanks to Audacia Ray, I have a new project in the works, and just in time for Halloween. In addition to schooling me about a wide variety of pre-made pasties readily available for purchase, Audacia introduced me to a site with complete instructions for do-it-yourself pasties! Now that sounds like a craft project the whole family can enjoy together! Thanks, Audacia. Now can you tell me where to get the boobs? Is there a DYI option?

Labels: body image, boobs, clothing

tidbit posted by Mosa  @ 6:03 PM

Lingering Limerence

I wish I couldn't relate to this song. Oh, but alas, alack, how it sings to my heart. Amanda Palmer and Neil Gaiman should get their own brains and stay out of mine. Err, well, maybe not all the way out. I kinda enjoy the company. I am lonely without them. And when I get lonely, I start googling. And that's not good for anybody.


I recently learned the word "limerence" which, according to Wikipedia, means, "an involuntary cognitive and emotional state in which a person feels an intense romantic desire for another person. The concept is an attempt at a scientific study into the nature of romantic love." I relate to it as that fleeting crush feeling that struts through the beginning of most romantic and/or sexual relationships. It's those weeks or months when you eat, sleep and breath this one person. It was surely a case of limerence in junior high school that caused me to sit on a ant hill, full of butt-biting ants all through lunch recess just to talk to Ryan C. It was also quite clearly limerence that sparked my 3:00am phone call to my (then) future-husband's office after I had spent hours "Yahoo-ing" (yes, I am that old) him to find the coveted number and a picture of him.


While I have enjoyed this "crazy-in-love" feeling on multiple occasions over the years, I have to admit that, at times, it does feel a little too crazy. I was intrigued, but not surprised, to learn that, when studied, the brains of those in limerence resembled the brains of people who suffer from Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD). According to Italian scientists, both have abnormally low levels of serotonin. Serotonin levels play a huge role in establishing mood. It is easy for me to imagine a correlation between my need to google an old high school flame, and my need to hold my breath while driving through a tunnel or my need to ride the bus all the way back to work when I was almost home just to check one more time that the lights are really off. Really.


When I talk about my obsessive-compulsive behaviors, I think I sound rather nutty. When Amanda Palmer sings Neil Gaimen's lyrics to "I Google You." She's so flippin' cool! I know! Maybe I should google her. I bet there is some fascinating information on Al Gore's Fantastical Interweb just waiting for me. Maybe I could find pictures of her when she was a little girl or lyrics to songs that haven't yet been sung publicly. How tall is she anyway? Could we share clothes? What does she use to draw in her eyebrows, and how does it stay on so well? What is "Coin-Operated Boy" really about anyway?


Oh, Amanda Palmer! Call me crazy, but I google YOU!!!

Labels: love, music, rant

tidbit posted by Mosa  @ 3:28 PM

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Joy to the World

This morning, whilst climbing the stairs to nowhere at the gym, I was reading. I was reading The Six Pillars of Self-Esteem by Nathaniel Branden. Most of my reading happens aboard some exercise contraption surrounded by sweaty strangers and bad morning TV. Sometimes these distractions steal my focus. Not this morning. This morning, Branden said something, and I felt he was talking just to me. I delighted in the "ah-ha!" moment I had when I read Branden's description of "An intelligence that takes joy in its own function":


"The natural inclination of a child is to take pleasure in the use of mind no less than of body. The child's primary business is learning. It is also the primary entertainment. To retain that orientation into adulthood, so that consciousness is not a burden but a joy, is the mark of a successfully developed human being" (73).


I could almost see Nathaniel Branden's clear blue eyes peering out of the pages, looking directly at me as he said this. For the last few months, I have been noticing that when I want to access my feelings of joy, I turn to my childhood. I still relish an opportunity to play dress-up, and I delight in make-believe. These "childish" activities bring me great pleasure, and a weight is lifted from my soul.

As I explore who I am and what I want to be doing (yet again), I keep coming up with two answers. First, I love to play. I love to fall on the floor laughing, tears streaming down my flushed cheeks. I love games and pretending and funny voices and puns. I love dress-up and whispering and singing silly songs and wrestling. I laugh at fart jokes. Recently, I was complimented when an seven year-old friend of mine chided me for being a big kid. Damn straight.


The other thing I love is sex. I love connecting deeply with other people. I love learning new things about my body and how it works. I love anticipation and flirtation. I am mesmerised by the human form, and I admire those who embrace their sexuality fully.


For a while now I have been trying, and failing, to integrate these things. I imagined they were connected, but I couldn't really see how. I had hit a wall. This morning, Branden's words sent bricks flying everywhere. He made me want to take a closer look at what he was saying.


"The natural inclination of a child is to take pleasure in the use of mind no less than of body."


Call me childish, but just like it is my natural inclination to sing songs and play dress-up, it is my natural inclination to find pleasure through my body, including sexual pleasure. The joy that I find through my body is one more manifestation of my love of play. While I derive immense pleasure from the use of my mind and learning new things with it, it is matched (at the very least) by the pleasure I glean from the use of my body. We all are born without knowledge of the taboo associated with deriving pleasure from our bodies. Religion and society tell us sex is bad and masturbation is worse. Imagine if we could take into adulthood, without a lick of fear or shame or guilt, the unbridled joy that our bodies are capable of giving us.


"The child's primary business is learning."


When I think about it, it is really rather extraordinary how much children learn and absorb as they age. I never cease to be amazed by how much children pick up, both consciously and not, from the environment around them. What amazes me more though is the ridiculous notion that so many of us have that learning stops when school is over and/or adulthood is reached. The most youthful adults I know are the ones that are constantly learning new things, uncovering new ideas, trying some new activity. Being in a constant state of inquiry keeps us young.


"[Learning] is also the primary entertainment."


The other day we went to visit some friends and their three year-old son. The living room floor was covered with the packaging from an electronic keyboard (the piano kind, not the typing kind) that had been opened and set up only moments before our arrival. It was a pleasure to watch this child fully engross himself in the wonders of his new treasure. He was completely entertained by learning how it worked and exploring all of its features (most noticeably, the volume control -- ouch!). He was utterly enthralled.


One of the reasons I am enthralled by the topic of sex is that I find that there are, seemingly, limitless things to learn about it. Given the fact that our culture persists in being so secretive and quiet about it, I imagine there are many things yet uncovered. For example, it wasn't until 1981 that the term G-Spot was even coined. I am excited just by the prospect of all the secrets that still lay hidden. Learning about sex, both with my mind and my body, gives me great joy.


"To retain that orientation into adulthood, so that consciousness is not a burden but a joy, is the mark of a successfully developed human being."


As an adult, I have tried all kinds of things to block out my consciousness. I have kept having "just one more glass of wine" until I couldn't see straight. I have slept. I have watched with intrigue to see which one of the fabulous celebrity dancers would make it to the next level of the lavish, over-dramatized televised competition. I have successfully avoided looking at, or being conscious of, things that cause me pain. Self-anesthetization is frighteningly easy.


The more I embrace my childishness, the easier it becomes to remain conscious. In fact, when I am learning about things that fascinate me and doing things that I love, just like a child at nap time, I fight to maintain consciousness for as long as I possibly can. Thanks, Nathaniel Branden, for the much needed wake-up call.



References:
Branden, Nathaniel. The Six Pillars of Self-Esteem. New York: Bantam Books, 1995.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/G-spot

Labels: book review, hero, rant, review

tidbit posted by Mosa  @ 10:43 AM

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

Whet and Wetter

I am kind of obsessed. I can't focus. I want to go back to bed. All morning my hand has been wandering off and landing in my lap. My mind has been wandering off and landing in rich fantasies of njoy's Pure Wand. I used the Pure Wand for the first time yesterday, and I can't stop thinking about it.


I will admit that the beautiful toy lived under my bed in its lush pink satin nest encased in its sturdy black box for much too long. I think I was a little intimidated by it. Every woman I have ever spoken to about the Pure Wand has gushed over it -- literally and figuratively. They say it is one of their favorite toys ever and that it makes them squirt like nobody's business. Wow. That's a lot to live up to. I am not a squirter -- at least not yet, and, thus far, my experiences with G-Spot stimulation have left me unable to get past that "holy crap, I'm gonna wet the bed" sensation. I left the toy untouched for months because I was afraid I would be successful stimulating my G-Spot, and I was afraid I wouldn't be.


Yesterday I threw caution to the wind and decided to unearth my treasure. Just the thought of pulling out a new toy always gets me a bit excited. Lying on my belly, reaching under the bed, I felt yummy warm tingles emanating from the center of my being. Even preparing the Pure Wand was a sensual experience. The weight of it in my hands (a full one-and-a-half pounds) felt so substantial. The sound it made when I rested it on my porcelain sink rang throughout my body. I washed it, as I do with all new toys, and then I decided it might be fun to leave it under the stream of warm water for a while. Just as I'd imagined, its smooth stainless steel body retained the heat, and as I carried it to the bedroom, I enjoyed its warmth on my forearm and palm.


The gentle warmth I felt on my limbs became spicy hot when it reached my sensitive groin. The heat was almost too much, but so exciting at the same time. While getting the Pure wand out of its box, I had told myself that I could go easy and start with the smaller end. The ball there is only one inch in diameter as opposed to the full inch-and-a-half on the larger side. Fuck that. Um, yes. Fuck that. On my back, I couldn't resist the temptation to "take the plunge" with the bigger end, and I eased it into myself. Once inside, the Pure Wand seemed to have an almost magnetic attraction to my cervix. The shape and weight of the toy allowed it to fall comfortably inside of me in a way that seemed surprisingly natural.


I have never been one for dildos. Most of my experience with sex toys has been battery-powered. I wondered how I would react to an object whose only movement would be generated by me. I am not wondering anymore. In fact, I am exerting a good deal of will power to stay in my seat right now and not go generate some movement.


There is so much that I love about the Pure Wand that I am having trouble deciding where to begin. This simple toy is a smorgasbord for my senses. The juxtaposition of the hard polished stainless steel resting in its delicate hot pink satin nest is seared on my eyeballs. My body can still feel the weight of of it, and my hands remember the coolness it radiated as I removed it from the box. I am singing on the inside with the recalled sound of it falling further into me. I am even excited by its smell, or lack there of. Many plastic sex toys radiate a fierce odor of what I imagine is phthalates. Because the Pure Wand (like all of njoy's toys) is 100% medical grade stainless steel, it is not only stainless, but odorless. This attribute also makes it one of the only sex toys I am comfortable using without a condom; it is completely nonporous. While I admit that I haven't yet tasted the Pure Wand, I am savoring the delicious orgasms it brought me yesterday, and I am looking forward to going back for additional helpings.


The fact that the Pure Wand is a delicacy for the senses stems from it's stunning and deliberate design. Before taking it for a test drive, I could appreciate the curved shape of the toy esthetically, but I was unsure how it would impact my sensations. Holy crap! As I mentioned earlier, the shape allowed the warm metal to fall into me in a most pleasing fashion. Further, the curve provided some additional stimulation just below my pubic bone. The small end, peaking out from inside me, served as a perfect handle. The weight of it and the substantial feel of it in my hands reminded me of the gearshift on an expensive luxury car. It allowed me to drive myself crazy. Vvvvroom!


While I relished the contractions of my muscles brought on by the the Pure Wand, I felt much more relaxed using it than I do with most vibrators. They sometimes work me into a frenzy that feels out of my control. The Pure Wand allowed me to cede control and trust that I was safe in my own hands. The angle of it also enabled me to grip it in a much more comfortable way than other sex toys... "Uh, no, Doctor, I can't imagine how I developed carpal tunnel syndrome. Huh. What a mystery." Dare I say that the Pure Wand is ergonomic?


Because of its comfortable shape and my growing curiosity about my ability to join the ranks of female ejaculators, I played with the Pure Wand for quite a while. No, I didn't manage to wet the bed, but I did manage to have a thoroughly juicy experience and severely whet my appetite. I don't view my lack of waterworks as a failure. I view it as an opportunity to try and try again. I can hardly wait for my next encounter with the Pure Wand. In fact, I am salivating as I type, and...

Labels: g-spot, germs, review, toy

tidbit posted by Mosa  @ 11:06 AM

Monday, September 8, 2008

Mud Slinger

Once again my friend May has got me dressed in style. Thanks to her tireless research, and discerning taste, I am now a fan of Mudflap Boy. This cool company dug up the long lost brother of the shiny, silver chick who has been adorning the mudflaps of truckers for years, and guess what? He's a hottie, and they've plastered his nude silhouette all over teeshirts, and belt buckles and even trucker hats.

Most men are fairly unabashed about brandishing their appreciation of the female form. Why not share the love? If a man can make an altar to a curvy goddess on the strips of black rubber that live behind his rear tires, why shouldn't I wear my love of the male form across my bosom? What better way to pay tribute to the penis-bearers? I mean, I don't know many women who get their jollies hanging out on the back of a mudflap, but what guy wouldn't be happy to be pressed firmly against a woman's breast or sit just below her bellybutton?

I am now ready to face the world in my new man-loving regalia. Thanks, May. I'd be naked without you.

Labels: clothing, review

tidbit posted by Mosa  @ 10:24 AM

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Dolly's Home

Alaska. I think bears, snowy mountain peaks, glaciers, whale-watching. I don’t think prostitution (let alone legalized prostitution). When my mother invited me to go on a week long cruise to Alaska to celebrate her sixtieth birthday with the rest of my family, I didn’t imagine that learning about a notorious prostitute would be on the itinerary. What’s more, I didn’t think I’d come away from the experience with such a profound sense admiration and appreciation for the prostitute in question or “sporting woman” as she preferred to be called.


Dolly Arthur, born Thelma Dolly Copeland in Idaho in 1888, was the most popular sporting woman in the small town of Ketchikan, Alaska. Leaving her troubled home at the age of thirteen, she migrated north. It didn’t take long for Dolly to realize that prostitution was the most lucrative and fulfilling career option available to her. In 1919, at the age of 31, Dolly purchased a home on Creek Street in Ketchikan, where she worked until prostitution was outlawed in the early 1950’s (and even after that, by some accounts). She lived in the house until shortly before her death in 1975. Dolly Arthur remains the most famous person to have lived in Ketchikan, and she seems to be respected and appreciated by locals and tourists alike.


Alaska is a cold harsh place. Ketchikan in particular gets an average of 152 inches of rain per year and 37 inches of snow. In fact, the average high temperature in July is just 57 degrees Fahrenheit. When I was there in August, wearing my scarf and a disposable poncho, it was easy to see that such a place could make one feel not only cold but desolate. I can almost imagine that Ketchikan is an underwater village; it is located on an island and rain blankets the town in a sea of wetness most days of the year.


On the cold rainy day of my visit, it was very easy to see how Dolly’s house might have served as a respite for the loggers and fishermen of yesteryear. Her home is a beckon right in the middle of town. It is a quaint little mint green house with red and white trim. It looks much like the houses that I drew in my childhood – two windows with window boxes evenly spaced below an A-frame roof with a chimney on one side. I half expected to see a bright yellow quarter of a sun wearing sunglasses drawn hastily in the corner of the page. Maybe if the rain had let up.


In this cold dreary place Dolly sold sex, but more significantly, she sold comfort. In fact, if her customers paid for their liquor, she would just sit and visit with them, if that is what they wanted. (Interestingly, for much of her career, it was the liquor, not the sex, that was illegal.) As is the case with many sex workers, even today, companionship is a prized commodity. Dolly made a pretty penny supplying it. It is said that she would not close her doors until she’d made at least one hundred dollars in a day. That’s all the more impressive when you realize that her clients paid as little as two bucks a pop, so to speak.


While prostitutes are often portrayed as lifeless leeches, Dolly appears to have been quite the opposite. Evidence of Dolly as a symbol of nurturing comfort is all over her house-turned-museum. In her well-stocked kitchen I could almost imagine her 5’10” frame stooped over the recipes she’d carefully collected in a large scrapbook. Dolly was also a seamstress (coincidently, “seamstress” was a common front used by prostitutes of the time). Her upstairs bathroom shower curtain is adorned with delicate flowers that she fashioned from French silk condoms (I would like to talk to the fellow who invented those; Dolly clearly put them to better use). Downstairs, she made a urinal for her guests by cutting a hole in an old water tank. Dolly even had a secret back door entrance for those who wished to do their business more discreetly.


Looking at the many photographs of Dolly that adorn the walls of her former home, it is easy to feel her presence there still. The staff of the museum have brought it all to life with their animated storytelling and flamboyant costumes. The personal touches of the museum seem to be just as Dolly herself would have wanted them: post-it notes indicating what ought not be touched; grainy sound recordings placed throughout the building explaining various displays; gold foil star stickers lovingly adhered to picture frames to indicate all the actual photos of Dolly. Even as a museum Dolly’s house feels like a home.


Dolly’s creativity and ingenuity are inspiring. In a time when many women did not dare hope for more than marriage and motherhood, Dolly thrived doing what she loved. She was an entrepreneur – she took stock of her skills, saw where there was a market and went there. She is a fantastic counterexample to the crack-addicted dependent whores we see in the media. Dolly made her life what she wanted it to be, despite the circumstances.


While I certainly can appreciate whales and glaciers, the most inspiring part of my trip to Alaska was learning about a self-made woman whose pioneering spirit allowed her to live, and thrive, by her own standards. I came away with a newfound appreciation for the freedom the West of yesteryear had to offer and the culture it spawned.

Labels: hero, law, prostitution

tidbit posted by Mosa  @ 10:02 PM

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Bucking the Trend

Wow. I find myself totally and unavoidably mesmerized by this human being. I am at a loss for pronouns, but I am certainly not lacking in the fascination department. Right on, Buck Angel!

Labels: body image, pornography

tidbit posted by Mosa  @ 11:43 PM

 

 

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