Sunny Days in DC

Jack of All Trades, Master of 3-ish.

Let’s talk about your Hard Limits; my safety word is “Mercy.”

The husband and I got a sitter and went to the Dublin Burlesque festival. It was AMAZEBALLS! I promised you all a photo of me in my outfit, and as soon as I pry them from my husband’s cell phone, that’s what you’ll have! I was REALLY proud of my outfit!! But anyway, we went, and while I applaud ANYONE with the courage to get up and essentially strip in front of a crowd (that includes actual, self-identified “strippers”), I must say that there were only a handful (b-cup at best. HA!!….sorry) of acts that I thought were actually good.

Ok, I should redefine that. There were several acts that were “good,” but not necessarily to my taste or style. Fair play to them, it takes all kinds. But there was ONE dude who, I think maybe he thought they were casting for Magic Mike? I’m not sure. It was bad. It was like, “$30 bachelorette party male stripper” bad. I mean, he was a good looking dude, and I don’t even mind if that’s your kink, buddy. Run with it. If you get off by being on stage and stripping: a big ol mazal tov from (probably) the only Jewish chick in that crowd. But damn… at least be GOOD at it.

HE STRIPPED DOWN TO BLACK TIGHTY-WHITIES! REALLY?! I mean… at least be creative with your undies. Or at least have a good act!! Whatever. The only boylesque act I saw, and mama was disappoint.

So… what did *I* do with the bulk of my night (other than watch many lovely ladies strip down to their pasties)? Oh, I was on the HUNT! I was supposed to meet up with one woman who was coordinating the show. I met her when I first walked in and introduced myself, but of course we could only exchange brief hellos before she had to run off and help set things up. She told me to come back and find her after the show, and we would talk about getting me into performing. So, like the crazed bloodhound I can be when there’s something I want, I looked for her periodically throughout the evening. Finally, I stood against the wall watching the show. A really nice woman in a kick-ass outfit stood next to me.

“Hey, are you enjoying the show?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I am. I just really wanted to meet with D before the end, and I have to leave soon… and I can’t seem to find her.”

“Oh? What did you want to talk to her about?”

“Well, I really want to try to perform.”

“Oh, then you don’t want to talk to D…. you want to talk to me. I run all shows in Dublin.”

…………..I’m not even making this up. She literally said those words to me, and I kinda lost it. My head may or may not have exploded at this point. I AM fairly certain that I grabbed her hand, shook it furiously (I was SLIGHTLY intoxicated), and introduced myself as, “that American chick who SUPER wants to perform!”

So, I was told to email both of my contacts today or tomorrow, at which point I will be added to the women who “kitten” for a show. That means I’ll assist the performers in getting ready, and clearing the stage of *ahem* garments when the performers are through. That will, hopefully, give me more insight into how a show is done and what is expected from performers. Then, I get to audition.

But first, I have to let the club owners know what I am, and am not, willing to wear.

That’s a loaded question to a woman who openly admits to being part of the fetish scene. No gimp suits? No ball-gags? No 4″ heels, and I absolutely will NOT dress like a pony. Those are my hard limits. Otherwise, why would I be getting into burlesque if I’m overly concerned about what I’m wearing? The whole goal is to take it off by the end of the night, anyway. Hmmm…. should probably wax though, huh?

I guess we’ll see how it goes! Wish me luck, kids!!

3 Comments »

Poly Dismorphic Disorder

Our evening went like this:

Hubs: “So, you’re heading out with Tim tonight?”

Me: “Yeah. His group is doing a class on the Poly lifestyle, and one of the things I want to find out is how they make that work. I mean, your communication skills have to be off the chart, right?! I can barely manage ONE relationship, and some of these people have FIVE!”

Hubs: “Maybe I’ll go with you.”

Me: “Oh jeez.”

Hubs: “Well! You don’t know! Maybe I’ll find another girlfriend there! How would you like that?! Then you can nap while someone else helps with the laundry!”

At this point, my husband thought he was UNBELIEVABLY clever. As thought all your problems could be solved by adding one more person to the mix. I tried to explain that I REALLY doubted that adding more people to a crazy situation actually helped stabilize it, but to no avail. My husband was pretty sure he was gonna start his own suburban harem. So I was all, “Right. We have a sitter, so let’s just go,” because when you have a child, you mostly just want to be out of the house. With or without said child. (Holy crap, I hope he never reads this!)

Let me say this: after having taken the class, I am now pretty darn sure that I could never be polyamorous (in multiple relationships), or even polyfidelous (in multiple COMMITTED relationships). Why? If you have to ask, you have no idea how much energy it takes with the ONE INSANE relationship I already have. Not my hubs, he was off in some crazy world where he had women falling over themselves to accomplish his every whim.

Ladies Man

*That’s right, ladies. These are original Dungeons and Dragons cards! OMG, PUSSY AVALANCHE!! – My husband’s brain*

The class started, and an average looking woman walked up to the front and started talking about what it takes to be in many poly relationships. AND THEN, she started talking about the difference between being Poly, and just being slutty. Surprise surprise, my hubs is a slut. As she was describing the difference I looking over at him and said (not too quietly either), “HEY!! THAT’S YOUUUUUUUUUU!!!” That went over REALLY well with everybody but him. Still, he is kinda slutty, so, you know: the spade is a spade.

The “instructor” talked about how vital communication is, and how many people think they want to be poly so that they can substitute whatever they’re not getting in their current relationship, by adding someone new. Doesn’t work, she says, because if you never confront and deal with problems in any relationship, you can keep meeting people but nothing will last. I thought that was just generally good advice.

“Are you coming next week?” Tim whispers in my ear as my husband sits flabbergasted at all the work he would have to do if he took on a new girlfriend… not to mention the bits of his pieces that he would have to hunt down in the middle of the night once I had cut them off.

“What’s next week?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the speaker who has somehow wandered into a conversation about talking monkeys and while I don’t know how that happened, I am enjoying it. Because TALKING MONKEYS.

“The board meeting. Politics. We’re going to outline the curriculum for the year, and discuss speakers and lesson plans.”

*Sigh.*

“Tim. When does your pervy group ever do anything, you know… PERVY?!”

“This is mostly an educational group.”

Figures I would fall in with the book-reading pervs.

The class ends and little chunks of people get up; 3 here, 4 there, and everyone starts saying goodnight. I look at the hubby, and he looks back at me.

“Not what you thought it would be, huh?”

“Not even close, babe.”

“No girlfriend for you?”

“The CLASS was exhausting enough!”

Poly Dismorphic Disorder: Thinking you can go poly until you find out what it is and realize, no, you’re just slutty.

2 Comments »

These are my Whore-Pants

You know what’s nice about being a part of a sub-culture? You can kinda walk between the dominant culture, and still make fun of your own culture.

That’s the experience I had this past weekend when my husband and I took Max to visit my dad and step-mom. They’re orthodox Jews. From Brooklyn. That’s like, Heart of Darkness shit right there.

Now, as many know, moms actually use our kids as ice breakers (whatever! Don’t judge me! I’m socially awkward!), by basically taking our mute children up to each other and having pretend conversations.

“Awww, and what’s YOUR name? I’m Max, and I’m five months oooooold….”

“Hi! I’m Bobby-Jim, and I’m three months ooooooooold…”

Then someone throws up. D’awww.

But when we met my dad and step-mom for lunch in a kosher restaurant, I was treated to a reminder that I may be Jewish, but not as Jewish as…

There sat a woman, her (shot in the dark, here) husband, and three boys. The youngest looked to be about Max’s age, so I went over to do the customary “allow me to waggle my child in your child’s face.”

“D’awww! How old is your boy?” I asked, pretending to be interested, but let’s be fair, most kids kinda piss me off except for my own and a select few others.

“Eight months,” she said, without making eye contact.

“Oh. Uhhh. Cute! And what’s his name?”

“Yitzchak.”

“Um….. ok. Well, HI Yitz! This is Max!”

“…”

“Uhhh…. right.” And I walked away.

“What did you expect?” my husband asked. “She’s religious! She could be chastised for even associating with you.”

“But we’re both BREEDERS! We both have bebes! We should bond over that. FEEL THE LOVE!!!! I’M EVERY WOMAN!! DRINK COKE!!!”

“She didn’t like you because of your whore-pants,” my friend added, later.

“My….?”

“You were wearing pants, right? That’s enough for them!”

So there you have it. My whore-y pants came between me, and a possible friendship that will never get the chance to blossom. Max and Yitz will never play together because… I don’t know. Something about G-D and long skirts.

Image

*Not pictured: all the whoring this woman does on her off-time*

Shit like that makes me want to ask her what her favorite brand of nipple clamps is. You know, just to break the ice.

5 Comments »

Humans Are Weird

colourful observations

rarasaur

frightfully wondrous things happen here.

1pointperspective

NOT just another WordPress.com site

AmyReeseWrites

Stories, poems, photos and bumbles for the soul

Cinema Parrot Disco

Musings on Mainly Movies from a Table 9 Mutant

Skinny Jeans & Cupcakes

Fashionably Fit While Ballin' on a Budget

The Dirty Dame

Penny for your dirty thoughts?

Fiction Favorites

with John W. Howell

006.7 EKGO

a blogful of stories

mlewisredford

may the Supreme and Precious Jewel Bodhichitta take birth where it has not yet done so ...

Bain Waves

The world is hurting; laugh more.

Sweet Mother

Where my Old writing lives!

Free Range Cow

The adventures and roamings of a silly cow

bakingnotwriting

A site by a writer who is baking...or a baker who isn't writing

Pucker Up Buttercup

Wisdom and Nonsense. Mostly Nonsense ...

I Won't Take It

Life After an Emotionally Abusive Relationship

slimegreen

By Punky Coletta

Genext13

Bits and pieces of me. (not as gross as it sounds)