Sunny Days in DC

Jack of All Trades, Master of 3-ish.

Is It Still Prostitution If We Don’t Screw?

When my guy and I moved to Ireland, one of the terms and conditions was that if he was going to restart his life, so would I. That meant writing and giving a shot at burlesque. Not like a, “sure, lemme take a class here and there,” but legit performance.

Have I written about this before? I can’t tell. It’s late and I’m trying to do a brain purge so I can finally go to sleep.

But it occurred to me: burlesque is dancing, a strip tease, for an audience. What’s really the difference between that and pornography? Or art, for that matter. I’m not slut shaming, I’m asking a legitimate question. When people go to see Dita von Teese, many go for the performance, for her costumes, for the excitement of seeing someone famous… but she GOT famous because of lust… how is performing on a stage by riding a giant pink mechanical bull any different than filming a porno? You’re not having sex with the audience in either case, and in either case you have no control what your audience takes from the show. Either way, the come back for the sexual high.

Part of me is asking this because if I DO really want to get serious about this, then eventually photos will be taken and they’ll find their way to the internet. So I have this dilemma: what do I say to my son when he gets old enough to see photos of mommy stripping? How do I tell him that sex isn’t a game, when there I am, playing by my own rules? How would I feel if he told me he wanted to be in porno, and what could I say to him as someone who would have done burlesque?

The flip side of this is, of course, you can’t live your life trying not to offend anyone, trying to be what you think others MIGHT want. Well, you can. Just ask me; I’ve done it for years. But eventually, you make a choice, even if you do so by NOT choosing one path. In school, I chose NOT to study writing because I was worried I wouldn’t make any money and be poor. Well kids, over the past three years, I’ve been about as close to that as I ever want to get… so what have I gained by following what I thought would be the easier path? Maybe the lesson *is* to leap, and hope that a net will appear. Maybe there is no net, and the illusion is that there ever was to begin with.

Eventually, I will have to justify my decisions to my son, whether that’s to say, “I chose security, stability, and to swim with the rest of the fish,” or, “I chose me. And it wasn’t a popular decision, and maybe I chose it later in life than some others, but I did it. So your lesson is that you can make a choice, realize it’s not what you want, and decide a new path.” Maybe that’s what I tell him, and hope that he understands. Who knows? Maybe one day, when he’s older, he’ll read this blog post and realize that one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make, was figuring out whether to take a shot at living my passion, or crush myself in hopes of stability.

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Your Ten Month Old Daughter is a Whore, and No I’m Not Overreacting (and other tales of mommyhood).

Ahh Ireland. Everyone kept telling me we were having abnormally beautiful weather, what with my being able to see the sky and all. Now it seems we have returned to “the new norm” for me, and the plain ol’ regular shite weather for everyone else around here. Interestingly enough, too, there is NOTHING to do in my neighborhood with a toddler on a rainy day. It’s like they’ve never experienced the combination of children + rain. It’s Ireland, y’all…. that’s pretty much the only two things people think when they think of this country! RAIN, AND BREEDING. Well, and Guinness… ok. Three things.

So, that leaves me with a bored toddler.

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*Where’s the government funding to end bored toddlers, you guys??*

So naturally, I accosted every mom, mum, nanny, and child-minder I could find until someone begged me to leave them alone came up with an idea. IKEA has several play centers in their Dublin shop, so why not try that?

You know why not? BECAUSE OTHER PARENTS BRING THEIR KIDS, TOO. Parents with little blond girls that come up to my son and kiss him and try to throw him down on the wee little “KRITTER” beds or whatever they are. Listen other parents, yeah, your toddlers are cute, but I’m too young to be a grandmother yet. Handle your women-folk.

 

Also, our downstairs neighbor hates us, because Max gets up at 6:30am and decides it’s time to throw things on the ground as HARD as he can. HA HA HA… YOU MAY NOT HAVE CHILDREN, DOWNSTAIRS NEIGHBOR WHO THOUGHT SHE WOULD BE ABLE TO SLEEP THROUGH THEY NIGHT, BUT YOU GET TO EXPERIENCE MOMMYHOOD, TOO!!

To be fair, I do almost everything I can (short of duct tape, because those abuse charges are a BITCH to get expunged) to keep him quiet in the mornings. I am a fairly respectful person. But she screamed seven different kinds of f* bombs at Max the other day from inside her apartment, so now the living room is filled with all the fucks that I don’t give. FILLED, I SAY!!

Also, for those wondering, the Guinness IS pretty good here. Come visit!

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