Kid Friendly

It becomes ridiculously easy to forget what is appropriate when you work in a store like mine. It stops being a taboo subject when you're around it all the time. I've been told to shut up when loudly discussing erotica, and I've caught myself mid-spiel at family gatherings educating my Nana on silicone lube. It's pretty pervasive. I'm not the only one to have these problems, and it's not just the mind set, it's the stuff you accumulate. Like giant plush penis pillows, and bottles of lube spread in a cavalier fashion around the house. Molly was spending the day with her four year old brother, and brought him to her apartment. She was surprised to realize her apartment wasn't as PG as she thought. By that I mean she had invested in a naked man calendar which was displayed prominently on the wall. The month it was on was a close-up of the guys dick while he leans back and and gives the viewer smouldery eyes.

Her kid brother looks up at the picture and stares. Molly had that "oh, fuck" feeling when he calmly announced, "That's his penis!" She agreed and distracted him with her cat Luna. He then wanted to watch a movie. She was telling me this story and at this point she said her movie pick was Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. "Molly! That's not really kid appropriate!" She replied indignantly that there wasn't any really overt sex, she thought it would be fine. And it was until the bit where Scott pokes the lesbian behind the knee and she explodes during an orgasm. Her brother watched intently and ten minutes later into the movie asked why she had been moaning. Molly said that's just how she exploded and he seemed to accept this. She was hoping he would forget about it. The next day in the car he said, "Remember that part where he poked her knee?" And then he started to imitate her moans. Molly is in such deep shit when he parrots her in front of their parents.

Kegel Balls

We get a lot of people who are irrationally worried about losing kegel balls. For the less informed readers, kegel balls are inserted vaginally to work out the muscles, or to just feel awesome. There's lot of different kinds like the ben wa balls, glass beads, and ones with rubber coated ball bearings inside plastic domes held together with a girdle. The idea is you insert them and then walk around and do normal stuff and they feel great, and it works your muscles out simultaneously. But a ridiculous amount of people are afraid of losing them. I often want to sit women down with an anatomy book. "Here is your vagina. It's a closed circuit, the balls can't go any further in you, and you can just squeeze them right out!"

Marina came in to visit recently. She left to go work at her clinic full-time, and she related to Crystal and I how she'd gotten kegel balls stuck inside her. At first I scoffed in disbelief, but she said, "No, really!" They were the glass beads, so there's no string to draw them out with. She got so nervous she couldn't relax her muscles enough to make them let go. She ran downstairs naked to her roommate, frantic. "I need your help!"

They contemplated her roommate getting very much closer to her, and they toyed with the idea of going to the hospital to get them removed. "Would you have gone to your clinic?" I asked her, figuring her coworkers would be able to take it in stride. "I would rather die! I was going to drive to the one farther south." Eventually her roommate made her spread her legs and talked her through breathing exercises and forced her to calm down enough that she was able to get them out, but now I feel bad for thinking all those women who were afraid of losing them were silly. Granted if you're not nervous in the first place it wouldn't happen, but that's not much consolation when you're naked doing calming breathing exercises with your roommate.

Random Facts

About Me

Hey!

Wanna hear some random facts about me?
Almost every drawing I’ve done for this blog has been on the same canvas. I only have two layers, and once a drawing is complete I save it in Paint in the same file name, and erase everything from the canvas. It’s sort’ve cathartic, like the monks who make intricate sand drawings just to blow them away- except mine are stupid doodles, and not intricate works of art.

I draw my hair on the wrong side, because of mirrors. When I sat down with a mirror to draw myself, it never occurred to me that the mirror was flipping the perspective, and I was drawing it wrong. That’s why in my selfies, my fringe of hair is on the right, when I draw it on the left. At this point I’m so invested in the left hand hair fringe, that it seems weird to change now.

The Bet

Neil Gaiman is my favorite author, hands down. I have almost everything he's ever written. I've been sharing him a bunch with Taylor, reading short stories over the phone, and lending her my copy of Fragile Things. When I was in Sacramento she gave me a call as I was between activities. I flopped down outside on the curb to talk to her. She said she was off her mountain and down in town, in the local bookstore. I urged her to pick up a copy of American Gods, and she said that the bookstore didn't carry any Neil Gaiman.

"That's crazy," I told her, "He's currently on the New York Times bestseller list, he's had three of his books made into major motion pictures, as well as having won several awards on a bunch of his novels. If they sell books, they sell Neil Gaiman." She insisted no, they had none of his books in stock and we went back and forth until I finally said, "I bet you." I could hear her eyebrow raise over the phone. "A for real bet?" "A for real bet. If I win, and they have at least one of his books, you have to send me one of your shirts to wear." I waited for her stakes, and she hummed and thought and finally burst out laughing. "If I win, I want you to use the word 'cum-dumpster' in a sentence." I turned bright red. "What?" "You have to say it, and not like, 'I have to say this word', you have to casually slip it in- to a family member, not some stranger. And you have to say it before you leave Sacramento."

I know I work where I do, and I know that it shouldn't be a big deal, but there's a lot of words that I don't like in my vernacular, and "cum-dumpster" is definitely a no-go for me. Not to mention I was with the more conservative side of my family- relatively speaking. Hesitantly I said, "You're on. But I want to be on the phone while you ask the clerk, no cheating." She went inside and asked if they carried any Neil Gaiman. To my horror the clerk said she'd never heard of him, and that she'd look him up.

To her credit, Taylor was thorough. "Try fantasy, or he writes some books for kids and young adults." The clerk went through each section and I started getting redder and redder, contemplating a near future in which I'd agreed to alienate a family member. There was a long pause in the conversation, and I could feel Taylor getting excited as victory beckoned. "Oh," the clerk said, "We do have one copy of Coraline." Taylor huffed out an annoyed breath and I whooped on my end of the call, laughing with relief.

That was some time ago, but I just got my package in the mail. Taylor always has the best shirts, with little pockets on the chest. But she also sent a copy of Coraline, wrapped and signed.

Addiction

Our dryer has been broken for a few weeks now. I've been putting off major laundry waiting for them to fix it. We could still use it, but it took upwards of five full cycles to dry anything, and since the weather has been muggy air drying wasn't so much an option. Also laundromats are things that happen to other people. So I stalled on washing my bedding or anything but necessities, but they finally came in to fix it.

I just finished a load of clothes and started on my bedding. I've been having a severe case of bachelor bed. (Bachelor Bed: A condition where you surround yourself in stuff that seemed like a good idea at the time and it never leaves the bed. In my case: headphones, stuffed toys, bits of string, and so many books. Oh, and you also never actually make the bed). As I was bringing down my comforter I was about to shove it in the washer when I thought I heard the riffle of pages. Horrified I started shaking it out, wondering if I had accidentally washed a book with my first load and my sheets.
I calmed down when I remembered shaking the sheets out, and I had moved all the spare books that had been littering my bed when I took the sheets off, so there wasn't one in my comforter either. But I had a moment after that when I was still holding my comforter and I just thought, "I think this is when you know you have a problem."

The Triforce

It always surprises me a little when people are so taken aback at my nerdiness. I don't know what vibe I give off but apparently gamer and nerd aren't part of it.

There was a couple up at my counter. They wanted to sign up for our membership, which requires an email. I hate it when people spell it, I have a touch of dyslexia, and the letters jumble impossibly in my head. So he begins to spell his email and I ask him politely to say each letter slowly. He repeats himself. Normally when someone goes to the trouble of spelling it, it's because it's a random series of letters or a particular way of spelling a name. But when I looked at what he'd spelled it was "Optimus." I looked at him almost offended, "Didn't you think I'd know who Optimus Prime is?" He looked surprised then embarrassed and said he supposed not.

Another guy was blown away that I recognized the Triforce tattoo on his hand. When I saw it I grinned, "Is that the Triforce?" He looked startled and admitted it was. I wondered aloud that he had them all filled in rather than picking either courage, wisdom, or power.

 He stared at me, and then asked if I'd played Ocarina of Time. "Of course I have. Who hasn't played that?" Evidentially every female he knew. He said there was a line about getting to keep the whole Triforce if the world was in balance. He stayed and chatted with me for a while. I asked if he'd played Skyward Sword yet, since I enjoyed it a lot. He said he couldn't and showed me that he only had one arm. Like a stellar human being, I said that sucked because he couldn't play any of the Wii games. He gave me an odd look and said, "For other reasons too."

 I blushed and launched into talking about how fun the Wii U was, since he said he could use the controls. After gushing about the Nintendo Land mechanics for the Luigi's Mansion mini game I stopped and said, "Oh, I'm sorry, I must be boring you." He had been listening intently, but I didn't want to monopolize the conversation. After a beat he stuttered, "No, you're not boring me! I guess I should go though." He told me his name and we shook hands.

For some reason, I knew immediately after the interaction that he'd be posting a Missed Connection on Craigslist. He expressed interest by saying I was the only genetically female person who had correctly identified his tattoo. I got back to him saying that I was stoked with having met him, and wanted to get a coffee, but was sadly attracted to women. He never got back to me. This Halloween I really want to be Sheik if I can throw together a passable cosplay, and I keep imagining that he's going to choose the day I wear it to work to come back in, and it's going to be all sorts of hilariously awkward.

Mystery Cow

There is a mystery cow by my house, and it is driving me crazy. Most nights during the summer I’ve had my window open to enjoy the fresh air. And most mornings- not all, I have heard a cow lowing. I live in a residential area, still in the city. There’s tiny yards but no one even keeps chickens, let alone livestock! I’m like a block away from a car dealer for crying out loud!
It doesn’t happen every morning, but when I hear it, it’s always the exact same- probably not a real cow. But it sounds just like one, and I know. Every night I spend at my parents house or when I house sit for them I have to listen to their cows bawling and bellowing to be fed. This sound is just like that.
I’ve become slightly obsessed. I’ve started to believe there’s a pick up truck with a trained cow in a trailer. On randomized mornings, the truck will drive by our street and cue the cow. The cow will low in the exact same way every time as its been trained and their final goal is to drive me out of my mind. And every morning I wake up just a little less certain about my grip on reality.

Delicate Flower

When I was a kid my best friend was the little boy across the street. We loved fighting with each other almost as much as we liked playing with each other, and we spent most days together. We'd run around barefoot and set fireworks off into the swamp behind his house, and he'd let me watch him play video games. (The few times we played together and I won he'd turn the console off in a huff and sent me home.)

About every other weekend we'd have a sleepover. His room had two beds, and I had a bunk bed. We'd take turns, but I remember going to his house more because they had structured dinners, video games, and his parents didn't care if we watched South Park. And that went along for years. But about when I turned 11 things changed a bit.

Nick and I discovered hickeys. And I don't mean we gave them to each other. We discovered that we could give ourselves bruises just by sucking on our arms and legs, and we thought they looked bad ass. I'd given myself one on my upper arm, above my arm pit. But I sensed without being told that my parents wouldn't be happy to see this. So I'd covered it with a band aid. It was a day or two later when I forgot about it. My mom came into the bathroom when I was getting out of the shower and saw my arm.

There was a big fuss. I remember even my Nana being told, and expressing loud doubt as to whether I could even reach my arm there with my mouth. I turned my head and showed her. But it was clear because I'd tried to hide it that all the adults thought hanky panky was going on. I don't even know why they thought I'd let Nick suck on my arm, but adults, y'know?

So it was a few weeks later that I asked if I could spend the night at Nick's. My parents were reluctant, which confused me. They said yes, but then when I was about to leave, my dad stopped me and sat me down. I remember he didn't want to look at me. "So... You're a delicate flower." I turned green. My older siblings had already riddled my psyche with the horrors of sex, and I very much didn't want to be listening to this. "And Nick is a bee," he continued, oblivious to my mounting nausea, "and if you're not careful, he'll sting you. And if he does, just make sure you use protection. And there's no need to tell Nick we had this talk." Yeah right. And I mean, real quick, props to my parents for saying to use protection rather than forbidding me and being sex positive but also, goddamn, 11 was too young for that shit.

I ran over and spilled the whole bizarre conversation within moments. We sat in awkward silence and then laughed for a long time. We tried to forget about it, but that was definitely our last sleepover. Sometimes we still see each other, and when we do, occasionally one of us will say, "Do you remember our last sleep over...?" And we'll start laughing incoherently, with phrases like, "delicate flower" and "be careful, he'll sting you" thrown in.

Invertabrate

I'm cold blooded. My body temperature always seems several degrees lower than that of other people. My friends and I are in a constant temperature battle, especially at work. I hate air conditioning, it's possibly the biggest bane on my existence. Everyone but me likes to keep the store at 66, and a cold 66 at that. 66 outside doesn't seem that cold because there isn't a fake refrigerator chill to the air. So every night on my lunch I leave the freezing cold store front to sit in front of the space heater we have in the back. Christian caught me so close to it that I was turning bright red but I still felt cold.

One night I was closing with Dorothy and she came back to grab the vacuum. She saw me counting the money with the space heater on full blast next to me. "Are you seriously cold?!" She asked. "I'm always cold." I told her with a sad look.  "Reggie, you're such an invertebrate!" I looked up from counting and blinked a few times. "I don't have a spine?" She frowned, "What? I mean you're like a lizard."

 "That's what an invertebrate is- something without a spine. Do you mean I'm cold blooded?" She looked confused "Oh, is that what that is? Yeah, cold blooded." I started laughing at her and she glared and left the back room.

  Now every time I say I'm cold everyone says, "You're such an invertebrate."

It's Probably Dairy

This was my favorite part of my trip to Sacramento, and I hesitated to write it because I do try not to write anything that will offend the audience (ie: my friends and family) but this was just too funny.

I was having really bad stomach cramps the whole trip. I'm highly inclined to believe this was due to stress, but everyone had a theory. At dinner, my aunt Lianne told me it was probably dairy. As soon as she said it my cousin Jon and his girlfriend Alia either looked away or snickered quietly. I asked them about it later. "She thinks everything is because of dairy." Jon told me. Alia agreed, adding, "I had a rash on my leg once and she thought it was dairy. I cut out dairy for two weeks only to find it was a bacterial rash. Or when Jon had hay fever-" "She said that was dairy too."

It became a running joke through the trip. Low sex drive? Probably dairy. Cancer if you've smoked all your life? Probably dairy.

The best one though was on our last night. My sisters baby kept fussing through dinner. I looked over to Jon and Alia and with a straight face said, "It's probably all the dairy in his diet." We all three burst out laughing to my sisters indignation. "He doesn't have any dairy! I'm not a cow!" We stared at her and I said, "Any milk product is dairy... It's still dairy if it's goat milk, and it's still dairy if it's human milk." The table got thoughtful and finally she agreed that it was likely all the dairy in his diet, that she'd have to cut it out if she wanted him to stop fussing.

Feed Me

I feel there may be some biological reason related to how fucking happy I get when people feed me. My brains is saying, “This person is promoting your survival, love them unabashedly.” But it might just be me.

Today two girls were checking out at my register. I was bantering with them a little, and one suddenly says, “Hey, would you like an Olive Garden breadstick?” I stared at her, and nodded slowly, feeling like she might be trying to trick me. She pulled out a napkin bundle from her purse and handed it to me. It was five Olive Garden breadsticks, still warm. “They didn’t give me a box, and my purse is already going to smell forever- plus I like making people smile.” As soon as she’d pulled out the bundle I had a giant grin on my face. She handed me the whole thing, and I was so flustered and happy I was practically incoherent. I thanked her profusely. She asked if that was the creepiest thing to ever happen in my store and I said no, it was the best thing to ever happen in my store.

Me and Christian feasted on the breadsticks and he couldn’t get over how ecstatic I was. Every time I looked at the breadstick I was eating I would just start giggling and grinning and making little happy sounds. Looking back on it only a few hours later I can see that it’s unbalanced how happy I got simply from someone sharing food with me. Christian asked if that’s all it takes to get into my pants, and without a second of hesitation I told him yes. He stared at me, “You didn’t even think about it.” “Nope.” I told him. “That’s all it takes. Once I took an apple slice from a stranger in Pike Place Market, and he was my best friend forever after that.” He laughed and said, “I’ve given you food before.” I spread my arms, “Take me, I’m yours.”