She's De-Nasty

i thought i was the normal one.

if you’re related to me or e, or even if you just know us, you might just want to skip this entry.

Okay, so I gathered my receipts, looked up the number, and called the garage that screwed me over. I talked to the manager on duty and he was outraged at my story. He told me that he wants me to get all of my money back, but he can’t authorize it. He gave me the address of the owners, and asked me to write them a letter telling them what I told him. That way he can ask if they will reimburse me. He then told me that he’ll stay at the garage all afternoon and wait for me, and if I come in this afternoon he’ll take a look at my car himself.

Outraged, the man was.

So, there you go. My car is getting looked at today, and in a few minutes I’m going to write a letter to the owners. I’ll get that money back, darnit, even if it’s just cash I end up wasting at the MBTV convention. My Young Americans recap should be going up this evening, by the way. There is no greater torture than that show, I swear.

Yesterday was Rose’s birthday. She came over so I could make her dinner and she could get her birthday present. Mostly, I think, she just wanted to watch Young Americans again, because yelling at the television is good therapy. Since the show was so awful, we ended up chatting when it was over instead of me getting right to work. And because we are two chatty women, we ended up talking about sex.

Maybe it’s because of this journal that I don’t really have a hard time talking about myself, or my personal life. I get spoiled by the e-mail and forum listings of people saying, “Oh, my God! I’m just like that!” and I think that most of my thoughts and wants or whatever are pretty universal.

So when Rose cocked her head and raised an eyebrow to say, “Pam. You’re naughty,” I was a bit thrown.

Rose. Rose who parties and has the cool clothes and the cool style and the cool-as-ice-fuck-em-if-they-try-and-fuck-you-first attitude… Rose thinks that I’m a naughty girl. Dirty.

It’s not like I was even confessing something all that bizarre.

No, that’s the thing. I just think it’s normal. Since I don’t really get to hear about other people’s personal lives, when I do share something from mine, I just assume it’s what everyone likes. Or at least is interested in. I’m not a moron, I know there are some things that turn people off as much as they turn someone else on, but to see someone shocked about my sex life is something I didn’t expect.

I really thought I was just your average girl. And I would think that this was just a case of Rose not being as adventurous as I thought she was, but she’s not the first person to lean forward and go, “Really?” I’ve had several people do it. At this point, I’m a bit more hesitant to discuss what I like and don’t like.

On one hand, I think that maybe I’m opening these people up to new experiences, or make them willing or interested to try new things. I do know that sometimes they go home and try them, but I also assume that at one point they have that icky feeling of imagining me doing the same thing that they’re doing and then they get all uncomfy and just want to go back to what they normally do.

I’m not even talking about weird, twisted stuff here. I’m not. People freak out over light S&M. Seriously. I never thought it was that big of a deal. Shit, there was an entire season of Ally McBeal over it this year. I guess I can understand, but sex doesn’t have to be so serious all of the time. I find that many people take it so seriously. They just want one position, or one lighting element, or one location. Maybe it’s a self-esteem issue. You know how you look in that position, and you know how you feel and you know the moves and it’s comfortable and safe. But playing around is important, I think, in keeping everything exciting and new.

“Exciting. You said he was exciting,” a friend said the other night. “I never thought of that before. I want someone exciting. I’m putting that on my list of what I want in a man.”


I shocked another friend last night by telling him that it’s illegal to sell sex toys in the state of Texas. It is. They have to go by other names, and say that they are for other purposes (not unlike buying pipes or bongs at a smoke shop). In Texas, sodomy is illegal, and in that law oral sex and any other kind of sex but missionary style is against the law.

I’m assuming this is because they want the power to throw any homosexual out of a job or office because he or she is a criminal by choice.

When I lived in the dorm, my job was always to explain to the sheltered girls what sex was, and how to do it, and what the names for our body parts were and how things happened. I would always be a bit surprised, and a little depressed when a girl would get wide-eyed and ask what a “clitoris” was. I mean, eighteen and not know? You’re going out in the world on your own and you don’t even have enough information to name all of your body parts? That’s not right.

What am I saying here? I think that part of me feels like I should talk less about sex or my sex life because some people get so shocked. Part of me wonders how much should stay behind closed doors. But that’s only because other people seem to be so uncomfortable about it. I’m not uncomfortable talking about sex, or what I like, or how I learned about it, or advice, or whatever. But seeing some people get shocked and then judge me makes it a taxing job. The other part of me thinks that the more it’s talked about, the more comfortable people are going to be around their own bodies and their partners’ bodies, and explore themselves and each other. And that’s healthy.

And it’s not like I just sit back and shout to the heavens about orgasms and whipped cream. When someone asks, I’ll tell them. I’m trying to be a bit discreet even here, because I know that some people are going to read this and then walk up to me next week and say, “So, you said you’d tell me about you and sex if I asked. I’m asking.”

Because I have friends like that.

There is also the small rush of having someone be shocked by your personal life. You walk around feeling like a pretty average person, with an average libido, and average quirks and desires. To have someone be actually shocked about what you’ve done… well, that’s a bit of a rush. I wouldn’t have a journal if I wasn’t a bit of an exhibitionist. I wouldn’t be an actor or a comic. I wouldn’t share all of these personal stories with thousands of people if I didn’t get a little rush out of sharing the little moments in my life. And to have someone call me “dirty” or “naughty,” … well, it feels kinda good. In a blushing, “Yeah, baby, who’s your daddy” sort of way.

Because I’m ridiculous.

See? Some days you come here and I just babble about the cats, or discuss pop music or the latest fad, and some days you get here and I’m telling you about how I like to be bitten and spanked.

Go on, tell me I’m a dirty girl.

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