Yes Means Yes

Someone found my blog by searching for “female rape pics” yesterday.  And today, it was “mind rape” and “Jessica Alba gagged.”  Wonderful.  Although I imagine I should be pleased that they ended up clicking on my blog and not something else.  Hopefully a message or two got through.

I tried searching for these terms on Google and Yahoo! to see where my blog ended up, and I can tell you that it was nowhere near the first page.  In fact, I had to stop looking because the results were so disturbing.  I recommend that you don’t try it.

I went to the Cambridge reading of Yes Means Yes: Visions of Female Sexual Power and World Without Rape last night.  It was amazing.  There was such energy in that room, both from the readers and the audience, and Seth and I got into a great debate last night after the reading.  I love these chats, and I love that we went into Boston(ish) on a weeknight and it got us out of the house and it was something we were both interested in.  The only thing that would have made it better is if I had remembered I had cash in my purse, bought the book, and had the readers autograph their essays.  As it was, we left once the reading ended and skipped the after party.

Do you ever get into that zone when you go to a poetry reading or a concert or a theatre show where you get swept up into the moment?  And then later, when you read the words to yourself or see the performance again it doesn’t have the same powerful quality?  I took down a quote from Jaclyn Friedman last night that said in response to something during the Q & A session:

Unless you have equal freedom to say yes and no, you do not, in fact, have sexual freedom.  Pleasure is a human-given right.

That spoke to me last night, but today I read the words and don’t feel anything.  Maybe it had to be taken in context with everything else that went on at the reading.

Harry Potter Mania

I’m not in love with Harry Potter the person, just Harry Potter, the series.  Isn’t that enough?  If I could quilt, I would quilt these blocks.

Oh Hogwarts, Hogwarts!  Hoggy warty Hogwarts.

Almost Wordless Wednesday

What do you get when your coworker’s orchid plant has 11 blooms?

New Blog!

Remember when I posted a poll about starting a new blog?  I’ve gone ahead and done it.  My new blog is called Simple Savvy.  I write on it specifically so I can have samples of writing available for when I get more into freelancing — if I get more into freelancing.

I took your advice from that poll and based the blog on the books I read.  It’s gotten to the point where I read a book per week, and if I don’t review the books, I at least mention them in the posts somewhere.  So that’s my new blog, and you’re welcome to follow it.

I’ll still write here about the personal things that don’t belong on that blog over there.  This blog gets me writing.  That blog gets me jobs.  Well, maybe.

What Really Happened to Mary Magdalene?

I called my mother on Thursday night.  She just lost her mother, and I wanted to make sure she was okay.  She was more than okay, it turns out; she was drunk.  She was having a grand old time with my father, her sister, and her sister’s husband.  Now, that’s fine.  I was just checking in, and as I had a migraine, I wasn’t looking for a long conversation.  We hung up fairly quickly, and I took some sleeping pills and went to bed.

I never heard my mother’s other phone call.

Mom called Seth at 11:00 p.m. that same night.  “What’s a Holy See?” she asked, as though they were in the middle of a conversation already.  You can do that when you’re drunk.

“Um… a ho-lee-see?  One word?”  Seth was confused, and rightly so.

“A Holy See!  S-E-E,” my mom said, “We’re on the other line with the Pope and he’s not picking up and we don’t know what a Holy See is.”

Ah, yes.  My mother had drunk dialed the Pope.  The official Pope.  You know, the guy with the big hat who doesn’t believe in birth control.

“You’re… on hold with the Pope?  The real Pope?” Seth asked.

“Yes, we have some questions for him,” Mom answered.  Of course.  It’s the most natural thing in the world to call the Pope with questions when you’re drunk.  Don’t you do that?

“Oh,” Seth said, “Um… let me look this up online.  The Holy See is the jurisdiction of the Pope, kind of like Vatican City.  You know, I don’t think the Pope speaks English.”

“Are you sure?” My mom said, “The Italian operator spoke English, and she put us right through, and now we’re just waiting for him to pick up.”

“Well, the Pope is German, so he probably speaks Italian and German.  I don’t know about English, though,” Seth said, “And he probably doesn’t field his own phone calls.  Especially since it’s 5:00 or 6:00 in the morning over there.”

“Oh.  Well his phone number was online,” my mom said, “Why wouldn’t he answer the phone?  It was online!”  Then she shouted to the others in the room, “Hey guys!  It’s 5 a.m. over there!”  In the background, the others jeered.  Then Mom came back.  “Okay, well I better go.  Thanks for your help!”

“No problem,” Seth said, and they hung up.

I don’t know what’s more funny: the fact that my mom drunk dialed the Pope, or that her second choice for getting questions answered was Seth.  At least she’s comfortable talking to him about anything — Seth, I mean, not the Pope.