What Happens at the Dirty Show...

...sure doesn't stay at the dirty show. I've been thinking a lot about my experience at Detroit's Dirty Show last week. There was no, "I kissed a girl and I liked it;" I didn't get spanked (though more than a few tried). And if I did, I'm sure not going to tell here. I haven't led a particularly sheltered life, but I saw some things that night. Some things I don't think I'll soon forget. The Dirty Show is an international erotic art exhibition now in its tenth year. It was a wonderful mix of freeks, geeks, miscreants, weirdos and suburbanites. There was latex and there was leather. There were hipsters and hippies. And then there was me. It was actually kind of fun to put some thought into my digs for the first time in a long time. I finally settled on what I like to call "spinster chic." And while it was sexier than my normal attire, I was damn near cloistered compared to some of my fellow Dirty Show goers. There were more than a few people on leashes (!) and a few adorned head to toe in black pleather (fetish gear I've since learned it's called). There were moms and dads dressed up for the night. And there was a woman bent over some sort of altar. It was freaky and fabulous. I was most taken with the aerial and burlesque acts on stage. Seeing so many people comfortable in their own imperfect skin was inspiring. The women climbing silk sheets and displaying amazing strength and grace captured most of my attention. As did a piece involving clowns entitled "Fucking Funny," I liked the name more than the piece, but I can't complain. It was fun stepping outside my comfort zone. It was one of those things that years ago I would've never attended on my own and I would've never known any different. And that would've been a shame.

full moon shine

When I was in college, my friend "Lady E" and I always looked forward to full moons. If it was a full moon we were going out because we knew that something would happen to make the night interesting. That was a time in my life when I was wearing a lot of unnatural fibers. Short black skirts and big chunky heels. And lip gloss. A whole lotta lip gloss. One night we decided to do a drive by our favorite club and saw the current objects of our affections waiting in line. We looked at each other and decided instantly that we would head home and change into our "going out" clothes and return so we could casually bump into them in on the dance floor or at the bar (oh to be twenty again). We did and we returned where we bumped into them. My bump started out good enough when we made plans to hook up later in the dorm where we both lived. I was later stood up when his "girlfriend" (an older woman of twenty-six who did his laundry) showed up and drove him home. (As an aside, this is one of those good looking out God moments because I recently learned the two of them have a young child who was likely conceived on or around that night and just as those synthetic fibers looked good on me then, then is where they should and shall remain and so should he.) Without my friend and those incredible full moon nights, I don't know that I'd think of them so fondly. When the sky is clear and I see the moonlight sparkle on the lake it's hard to feel anything but awe; but sometimes on nights like this I'm thankful for what those full moon nights that weren't quite what I wanted them to be.

spring tease

For the first day in at least thirty,the temperature is above freezing (way above) and in just a few hours a few feet of snow have begun to melt revealing a dismal grassland or brown and dog shit. I love spring because it's a time of renewal and growth. I love it because it means I don't need to wear my sleeping bag goat to walk the dog, or my boots the store. I can stop using weather as an excuse for not going anywhere and get out and explore my surroundings. I can wake up to the sounds of the neighbor's kid's big wheel like I did this morning. More over I can put on a bright kicky raincoat and my sunglasses. Even though this spring tease will just be here for the weekend, I'm starting that tonight (oh that's the explore my surroundings part, not the raincoat).

I'm headed to something called The Dirty Show and it is just what it sounds like. Well, sort of. It's an "international erotic" art show in Detroit for the next two weeks. I haven't had to worry about what to wear in months, but it will be fun to dress like I feel and not like I have to for work. Of course it would be much more fun with people I know, but I really haven't reached that level of comfort with the people I know here. Dinner sure, but "dirty show" not yet. Maybe someday. I hope.

Yawn

I don't have cable. With my "ears" I get two channels. I'm not cheap. I just don't need more. I didn't start out with such idealism. My cable was shut off one cold winter day about two years ago. When the guy asked me if I planned to turn it back on I told him that I didn't know. I've never looked back. Well maybe onces. I spend enough time on my ass with the two channels that I do get and find myself watching things I don't like when it's too cold to play outside (NCIS), I don't know what I'd do if I had easy access to Rock of Love Bus or Beauty and the Geek. I'd probably gain back the weight I've lost and then some. I do miss nip/tuck. I'd really like to know what happened to Sean McNamara after he got stabbed by that crazy Colleen, but I'm waiting for dvd and I'll find out soon enough. Even with just two channels, 0ne of the things I've noticed recently is that the tone of commercials has moved from persuasive to pushy and a little rude. Insulting me is not a way to get me to buy your product. It's not going to keep me from the drive-thru when I've worked late and can't stomach (another) chicken breast and some broccoli. It's just going to piss me off. I'm sick of everyone feeling the need to have an "edge." I'm looking forward to nice becoming the new nasty. Nice is the new black; 50 is the new 30; the mastiff is the new purse pup.