The Frisky archives got deleted and I have mixed feelings

At Medium, I wrote about The Frisky archives getting deleted and my mixed feelings over having some of my most memorable essays (sex with a Top Chef contestant, if you recall) deleted. Researching this essay took me back to every time I sold a piece to The Frisky and was so thrilled. If you like it, please share, clap (hold down the hands button 1-50 times) and follow me on Medium, where I'm aiming to post 30 times in June. You can find me posting more frequently on Twitter (my favorite even if social media professionals tell me it's "dead"), Facebook and Instagram (and do follow the Best Women's Erotica Instagram too).



Also, in my early morning haste, I've now made this blog a mess. My apologies to anyone reading it on the blog page. I'm working on getting the layout fixed but also getting ready for my Berlin trip so it may look like this for a bit longer. Sorry!

If this month, and all my years of self-employment, have taught me anything it's that I have to prioritize. I'm still dreadful at that, but I'm trying, so since this blog isn't income-generating, it can't be my top priority, but I haven't given up on it. It's often the seemingly small tasks that I think will take five or ten minutes that spread into a half hour or hour and eat up my writing time, so I do my best to balance it all and focus on being the best businesswoman I can first and foremost, because without income, I...well, I would be in a very dire situation. So it's business first, all secondary things second. It took me so long to think of myself as a businesswoman, but last month I had a call to discuss a large branded content project and it reminded me that no, I didn't graduate law school and I don't wear suits and I constantly feel behind and stressed out (working on that too) and I ruined my blog code at five a.m., but I'm still respected enough in my field that people contact me about professional opportunities. That's a tradeoff I'm happy to make.

Speaking of priorities, one of mine that I developed at Alt Summit is finally getting my website revised. I'll be switching to Squarespace and am getting the copy ready for my web designer this week. I've got several fun writing and teaching projects in the works that I will share soon, but first I'm aiming to sell out my Berlin erotica writing workshop. Everything else happens after that.

My 40th birthday photo shoot on why my boyfriend and I sleep in separate beds is in the New York Post

I've been 40 for 4 days, and they've been a whirlwind! On Tuesday, my 40th birthday, I woke up very early, around 5 a.m. (I was born at 3:59 a.m., and was a preemie; I was supposed to be born in February 1976), then spent the day celebrating the release of my new erotica anthology Dirty Dates, writing two articles for Salon, teaching my LitReactor class, going to dinner with my boyfriend and a coworker, and having my photo taken for this New York Post article on couples with separate beds. I only have a few photos of my boyfriend and I from our almost four years together, so that was fun and special, all the more so because he's pretty camera and press shy (yes, my opposite!), but did it for me. Thank you to Anna Davies for writing the article and contacting me to be interviewed, and to Alex M for the great photos. This is what a 40-year-old writer with a stuffed animal in her bed looks like!

The article got a lot of buzz, including a mention on In The Papers on NY1, a discussion on Live with Kelly and Michael, another interview with me at Yahoo Health, a Jezebel post and a great exploration at The Frisky on your ideal cohabitation situation. The most amusing part to me is that the original New York Post headline changed during the day to the current one. If my life is boring (which, I admit, parts of it are), I say, the more boring, the better!

New by me: That's Not a Vagina, new moms and sex, Khloé Kardashian’s new book

Sometimes, I'm very prolific in a given week, and other times, by happenstance, several of my articles go up in one day. Both of those converged yesterday and, as I was making my way from New Jersey to Savannah, I had 3 new pieces go up. I'm writing a bunch more this week, so stay tuned or follow me on Twitter, Facebook or check out my Contently profile, where I've shared most of my clips. And please always feel free to pitch me article topics at rachelkb at gmail.com if you see something interesting happening.

The first is about the blog That's Not a Vagina for The Daily Dot, which is all about educating readers about the difference between "vagina" and "vulva" and celebrating the vulva.



The next is about new moms and sex, for my DAME sex column. And I highly recommend Emily Flake's book of essays and cartoons, Mama Tried: Dispatches from the Seamy Underbelly of Modern Parenting, which I quote in the column, but you really need to read in its full form to appreciate. I just gave a copy to a friend with a newborn and she laughed out loud.



Lastly, I reviewed Khloé Kardashian’s new book Strong Looks Better Naked, published Tuesday by Regan Arts. Key points: she's great on body image and not counting calories, and the book's ghostwriter, Pablo Fenjves, was also the ghostwriter for O.J. Simpson for his book If I Did It, which I find fascinating (in case you don't know, Kardashian's father Robert Kardashian represented O.J. Simpson, and Kris Jenner was friends with Nicole Brown Simpson, and the case is mentioned in the book). Fenjves has also ghostwritten for Bernie Mac, Janice Dickinson and others.

What erotica writers thought about the #AskELJames Twitter Q&A

I decided to ask erotica writers what they thought about yesterday's #AskELJames Twitter chat. Their varied takes are up at The Frisky. Thanks to writers Rose Caraway, Abigail Ekue, Tamsin Flowers, Shanna Germain, Tasha L. Harrison, A.M. Hartnett, Oleander Plume and Remittance Girl for sharing their thoughts!



Yes, I do have a copy of Grey, but don't think I'll be formally reviewing it, though I will be writing about BDSM and submission in real life soon. Stay tuned!

How to make money writing about your sex life and 5 times I did

I've been writing about my sex life for over a decade, and probably will for the rest of my life. For me, it's part of how I learn about myself and my relationships and how my sexuality is impacted by the world around me. It's also part of how I make my living. It makes sense that the only place (so far) I've taught my nonfiction Sex Writing 101 workshop is at CatalystCon, because the audience for this wonderful conference is people who work in sexuality or blog about it or are somehow involved in it. Many are sex nerds, and I would bet everyone attending has something to say about sex that differs from the mainstream culture and could be of interest to an editor. Just take a look at the speaker list.

This will be my second time teaching Sex Writing 101, and we cover a lot of ground in 3 hours and I'll be asking people to think about potential pieces with an eye to submitting. No, not everyone wants to write about their sex life, but you can get published, and can use a pseudonym, and so often it's about how you frame what you're writing about. It's not about having an "out there" sex life (though if you do, that can be fodder), but about thinking about what you want to write and how you can craft the best piece possible to catch an editor's eye.

Below are the details of my September 12th erotica and sex writing workshops, and if I can answer any questions about the workshops, email me at rachelkramerbussel at gmail.com with "Catalyst" in the subject line.

But first, here are 5 times (of many, probably hundreds) I got paid to write about my sex life. Take my workshop and I'll teach you how you can too! I'll do a separate post about sex journalism, which I will also teach in the workshop. Can't make Catalyst but want to place a sex essay? My consulting rates are at rachelkramerbussel.com

"Is My Vibrator Ruining My Relationship?," Salon

"Baby Talk," Salon (on age play and fetishes)

"Sexting Advice for Tiger" (Woods), The Daily Beast

"Girl Talk: I Want My Boyfriend to Fantasize About Other Women," The Frisky

"I Don't Want or Need an App to Measure My Sex Life," Boinkology, Medium

September 12, 9:15 am-12:15 pm
Erotica 101 writing workshop, Los Angeles before CatalystCon
In this three hour workshop Rachel Kramer Bussel, professional erotica author and editor of over 50 erotica anthologies, such as The Big Book of Orgasms, Cheeky Spanking Stories and Serving Him: Sexy Stories of Submission, will take you through the ins and outs of modern erotic writing. Learn how to get started, find your voice, and write against type. You’ll discover how to incorporate everyday scenarios as well as outlandish fantasies into your writing, and make them fit for particular magazines and anthologies. The class will also cover branding yourself as a writer, using and selecting a good pseudonym, and using social media to promote your work and do outreach. She’ll also talk about submitting your work and keeping up with the thriving erotica market, including anthologies, ebooks, magazines and websites. Please bring paper and writing implements or a laptop to use for in class writing exercises. A bibliography with erotica resources will be provided. $45 (or $79 with pre-CataystCon Sex Writing 101, see below).
The Westin Los Angeles Airport, 5400 West Century Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90045

September 12, 1:30-4:30 pm
Sex Writing 101 workshop, Los Angeles before CatalystCon
In this three hour workshop, writer and editor Rachel Kramer Bussel will cover all you need to know about writing about sex, including blogging, first-person essays and journalism. You’ll learn how to ethically write about your love life, what editors are looking for, where to find experts on sexuality topics, and how to stay abreast of current sex news. Whether you’re looking to write a sex blog, column, articles or books, you’ll find out how to pitch, how much money you can expect to make, and how to maximize your editorial opportunities. The class will also cover branding yourself as a writer, using and selecting a good pseudonym, using social media to promote your work and do outreach, and how to pitch stories. Rachel has been a sex columnist for The Village Voice, Penthouse and The Frisky, and has written about sexuality for Cosmopolitan, The Daily Beast, Glamour, Inked, Salon, xoJane and many other publications. A resource list covering markets for sex-related pieces will be provided. $45 (or $79 with pre-CatalystCon Erotica 101, see above)

**Attendees who would like the opportunity to get feedback from Rachel on one piece of their own writing (3,000 words or less), to be submitted prior to the workshop can purchase this as an add on to either of the above workshops. Fee: $20
The Westin Los Angeles Airport, 5400 West Century Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90045

Why writing about feminism for The Frisky gave my week a big boost

I was thrilled to be asked to write a response piece for The Frisky, and what I wrote was: "Feminism Deserves Better Than 'Sex-Negative Vs. Sex-Positive.'" If you like it, I'd love it if you'd pass it on on Facebook and/or Twitter, etc. Thank you! A snippet:

Horowitz makes it sound like there is, and should be, yet another giant division within feminism—sex-negative vs. sex-positive, and that those lines are evenly divided. When she writes, “One of the truisms of sex-critical and sex-negative feminism is, ‘We can’t fuck our way to freedom,’” the default assumption is that sex-positive feminists are saying that we can, indeed, fuck our way to freedom. It’s not that simple—nor should it be. I won’t argue that many of her views probably are counter to those of many sex-positive feminists, but after reading her piece twice, I was left with the notion that in fact there are more commonalities than differences. I can only speak for myself, but I’m in favor of more sexual options for everyone, more sex education, and abolishing the idea that anything related to sex is “compulsory.”
Read the whole thing

A few reasons why this made me happy: I've been pitching and researching a lot, and it's slow going, so to be asked to write something, to be recognized as a person who'd have a strong opinion about sex-positive feminism and be able to articulate it, was a boost to my ego. Writing the piece made me realize just how many pieces of information I have floating in my head about the topic--though I'm sure given more time I could've come up with more. I had a brainstorm about a way to tie in beloved blog post (the Momastery one, read the essay to know what I'm talking about). That felt big to me, and I'm grateful. It's a little unusual of an analogy, but it felt fitting. Lastly, I'm proudest of having written it, fast. I've been plagued by writer's block and overthinking, which are tough habits to break. I'm still working on those. In this case, I thought about the piece as I traveled home from my mini-working vacation on Martha's Vineyard, then started furiously writing Thursday morning, took a meeting with the Literary Vixens, and came home and finished it.

Is it perfect? No, but nothing I write will ever be perfect because perfection is a myth. Is it work I'm proud of? Yes. Did I try my best? Yes. Do I think I contributed something valuable to the conversation? Yes. Will it help me pay my rent? Yes. Did writing it buoy me as I pitch, pitch, pitch? Yes. So it's all good. I am working hard to focus on the positive rather than the negative, the achievements rather than the times I got way too ahead of myself. I'm still trying to make a trip to Edinburgh happen. I feel like I'm on a precipice, and it's up to me which direction I head: down or up. I know well what down feels like, so I'm curious to feel the triumph of up again.

Happiness is writing about Hello Kitty travel

This Hello Kitty travel article for The Frisky is one of my favorite things I've ever written. Hopefully someone will want my report on the Hello Kitty Cafe in South Korea I plan to check out this summer. A little bright spot amidst moving mania.

I Slut-Shamed Myself and Lied to My Gynecologist

Read all about it at The Frisky:

I didn’t think I was ashamed of the number of sexual partners I’ve had in the 20 years I’ve been getting it on until I found myself filling in a number half the true total at a recent gynecologist appointment. Although I know doctors are trained not to judge, and this doctor in particular had been particularly kind, helpful and professional when I’d seen her previously, in my head, all of a sudden the number (at best an approximation as I haven’t kept an exact count in year) seemed like cause for alarm.

Keep reading

Spoiler alert: I'm not pregnant

But I did recently take a pregnancy test and wrote about it at The Frisky.

Binge eating essay at The Frisky

I wrote "I'm a Binge Eater (Sometimes)" for The Frisky. Check it out.

One aspect of my disordered eating habits has remained, an occasional crutch that feels all the more sinful because it’s so rare: bingeing. Usually it involves some type of “bad” carb, be it cereal or cookies or, in this case, potato chips. Once I know a food is a potential trigger, I tend not to buy it, or if I do, I buy a small package of it so that if I want the giddy, joyful, getting-away-with-something feeling of literally shoving food in my mouth, I can do so without guilt. (Thank you, single-serving cereal packs, which I know are bad for the environment, but they let me shovel Lucky Charms into my mouth and not feel gross about it.) Sometimes it’s Cheerios or Raisin Bran; I’ve even managed to binge on Grape Nuts, and that’s a challenge. It’s not that Cheerios are unhealthy in and of themselves, but when I eat anything simply because I want to feel and hear it crunch in my mouth until I zone out, it’s not a good thing. For me, binge eating isn’t only about eating “forbidden” foods. It’s that I’m eating them alone, in secret, with a purpose that I know, even if subconsciously, has nothing to do with hunger.

My boyfriend had two large bags of potato chips in his kitchen; the jalapeño chips were almost decimated, so I decided to open the Kettle sea salt chips. As almost always happens when I binge, I didn’t set out to eat all of them. I just wanted something salty and crunchy, something to take my mind off myself and my problems, and figured I could eat a few, close the bag, and I would look like a normal snacker, not a glutton. And it worked, for a little while; those first few bites were blissful. Then, after the initial handful of chips, I zoned out and kept shoving them in my mouth, long after the saltiness had made my tongue rough and even the crunch seemed dulled. Every time I paused, I realized how much I didn’t want to face my own sluggishness, and the chips seemed easier to deal with … until I got to the very bottom of the bag. I didn’t let myself look at the calorie count, because I knew if I did I’d be tempted to revert to my old ways and stick my fingers down my throat (when I did finally look, I saw that the entire bag contained 750 calories, and was relieved it wasn’t twice that amount). I was like a living version of Heather Whaley’s hilarious and a little-too-close-to-home cookbook Eat Your Feelings: Recipes for Self-Loathing.

The worst part wasn’t my regret or stomachache, but that I couldn’t keep it a secret. Like secret eater Shoshana Davis, I’m used to hiding the eating I don’t want anyone to know about.

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"My Date Told Me to Wear More Makeup" - my latest essay at The Frisky

I'm back in writing mode and am hoping to keep having more work to share soon. Here's my latest, from The Frisky, one of my favorite websites: "My Date Told me to Wear More Makeup." With a visual, and both are actually self-portraits. I've been using the one on the left on Facebook and my new Moo business cards:



A snippet:

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What happens when I crack under pressure, birthday and live TV edition

Here's an essay, "Thoughts About Panic Attaking" at The Frisky, about my pre-birthday, pre-live TV panic attack week in November. There's a related essay in the works, because I'm still working on figuring out how not to collapse under pressure. This week, it's getting through until Friday and getting on a plane and going far away. Sometimes that's the only answer. And at least I now know how to get to Cherry Lane Theatre! Hopefully the Erin Courtney reading I missed will happen again.

Two days before my birthday last November, I got a facial at my favorite spa. I lay down on the bed, with the paper gown tucked around me, and the technician went about working her magic on my pores. She put a mask on my face and left me to relax for 10 minutes, with cucumbers resting gently over my eyes, the lights dimmed, and soothing music playing. The setting should’ve been everything I needed to stay calm, and it was … for about two minutes. Then my phone beeped, and I saw a text from a friend telling me to check her Twitter stream ASAP. Of course, I was curious, but I couldn’t get a signal, and spent the rest of the “rest period” feeling antsy, continually picking up my phone to see if suddenly service had been restored. The serenity that I look for when I go to the spa, the chance to shut off my mind while getting my skin rejuvenated, wasn’t there, because all I could think about was when I could get out of the room to check my phone.

Later that afternoon, I decided to see a free play reading at a theater in the West Village. The playwright and I have mutual friends and I loved the idea of getting to do something for free that I couldn’t have done at my day job. I was running late, as usual, and chose the subway stop nearest where I thought the theater was. Then I found myself walking this way and that way, cursing to myself and then to anyone in the street as I realized I wasn’t going to be able to find the theater. I felt so stupid, because I’ve lived in New York since 1996; I should know where I’m going. Even though the West Village is notorious for its winding, hard to navigate streets, I was sure it was my fault. I took my iPhone and slapped it hard against my inner arm, the sting a reminder of my error, a physical manifestation of my anger at myself.

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"Why I'll Never Date Another Guy Named 'Tom'"

My latest essay at The Frisky is entitled "Why I'll Never Date Another Guy Named 'Tom'" and looks at exes and names and how they affect our perceptions of future people we encounter with the same name. Name as dealbreaker? Yes...probably.

Relatively recently, I dated two men in a row with the same first name—I’ll call them both Tom for the sake of this essay. One I fell in love with, and while I’m mostly over him, I’m not there all the way. Both are guys I was friends with before dating them, and I considered the possibility that the name thing would get weird with Tom 2.0, but I’d had a crush on him, so I overlooked it. They’re fairly different in personality, but the fact that in addition to sharing a name, both Toms have similar body types and professions adds to my sense that men with this name are not my type. Not to mention the fact that after I dated Tom 1.0, I had to keep calling Tom 2.0 by his full name when telling my friends about him, lest anyone get confused.

Dating men who share a name is not the same as, say, dating one guy who’s the spitting image of another, but it’s close.

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My latest essay: "Are New Friends More Exciting Than Old Friends?"

My latest essay The Frisky on new friends vs. old friends. Didn't quote it but will always remember Girl Scouts and "Make new friends but keep the old/one is silver and the other gold." What do you think? Is there a friendship equivalent of "new relationship energy?"

At the same time, my friend K. was just in town from England. We met in 1998, via a Sleater Kinney mailing list, and have since visited each other a handful of times. I have a comfort with her that goes very deep, and we’ve seen each other through all kinds of relationships. There’s definitely something wonderful about friends who’ve seen you at your best and worst, who know how your past informs your present. I don’t want to sound like I’m throwing my old friends under the bus for younger, cooler versions. It’s not about age or “cool” per se, but perspective. Sometimes I get stuck in a rut of how I see myself, and that comes across with old friends.

Lately I’ve been so busy working that I’ve barely had time to see my closest friends, and sometimes I feel guilty about that, and like I shouldn’t be hanging out with new friends when I haven’t even hung out with my old ones. But I don’t think it’s a competition; true, there’s limited time and we may not get to see everyone we want to, but different friendships provide different sources of support. There are friends I mostly see movies with, friends I gossip with, friends I can tell my deepest, darkest secrets to without worrying about them judging me. One isn’t necessarily better than the other, but together they form a network that, collectively, props me up.

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"Do you like dick or vag?" and other negging pickup lines I heard in Vegas

Haven't had a chance to catch up on everything here, but my latest pieces (other places I post my links at Google+ and my Facebook fan page), for whatever reason posting everywhere else but Lusty Lady has been easiest for me) but here's a piece I wrote for The Frisky, "Let's Talk About Negging", about a guy I met in Vegas (of course it was in Vegas!) who told me my dress was ugly, my name was fake, and asked "Do you like dick or vag?" Really.

Instead, he asked me my name three times, each time demanding to know if it was my real name. I’m no expert on fake name etiquette but I’ll go out on a limb and say that if a girl’s going to make up a name, it’s not gonna be as generic as “Rachel.” The more he asked if my name is real, the more accusatory he sounded, and if he thought I was making up my name, surely anything else I said would probably sound just as ridiculous.

I didn’t need to worry, though, since he wasn’t big on small talk, and every question I asked him he managed to evade. “What do you do?” I asked, not in the New York one-upmanship kind of way, but out of genuine curiosity, considering I knew absolutely nothing about him. “You don’t need to know,” he told me, like I’d just asked him for a trade secret. True, but it seemed like a pretty basic question a guy trying to pick up girls might expect.

Instead, he pounced on the idea that he’d somehow managed to interrupt an incipient lesbian tryst with my friend simply with the power of possessing a cock. He asked me over and over, any time there was a lull in the meager conversation, whether I was “with” her, as in, on a date. I told him repeatedly that she was just a friend (if she was my date, why would I suddenly ditch her?), but he didn’t believe me. Then he busted out with “Do you like dick or vag?” At first, I wasn’t sure what he said, since no one has ever asked me whether I’m bi in quite that gross a way before. When it sunk in, I told him, truthfully, “Both.” He acted like this was a more offensive answer than either of the others I’d come up with, including my “fake” name. Up unil then he had his arm around me, but he moved as far apart from me as he could while still be seated in the chair next to me.

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My latest article: "The Bold Single Bride Who Married Herself"

I don't think I posted this here - my latest piece for The Frisky is "The Bold Single Bride Who Married Herself" about my friend Desiree. Totally inspiring! Be sure to read it and click through to read her entire vows to herself. I'm taking a cue from her.

What would you do if you wound up single on what was to be one of the most special days of your life—your wedding day? My friend Desiree did something remarkable and revolutionary: instead of hiding away, she marched boldly into a proud new future, and in the process became an inspiration to me and, hopefully, some of you as well.

On a recent Sunday, when I would have been attending her wedding to a man, I stood on Bow Bridge in Central Park and witnessed Desiree get married—to herself. A circle of her friends surrounded her while her cousin officiated, reciting vows she had written for herself, which included the lines, “I will make my happiness a priority and forgive myself when I’m not perfect. I will trust myself and stand within the power of my own strength. I will love myself forever more, through good and bad, thick and thin, and for exactly who I am today. I promise I will never, ever, ever, settle for less than what my heart and soul desire.”

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Must read: John DeVore, "How to Deal With Bitterness"

Do feel free to just read John's column, my original point of this post, or skip to the end where I quoted him. My blatherings just popped out. It's 7:35 a.m. and I haven't had my coffee yet, so forgive me.

I always think John DeVore does a great job with his latest Mind of Man column, "How to Get Over Bitterness," and when people ask me, "Why aren't more men writing about sex?" He is someone to look at as an example and inspiration (I published one of his columns in Best Sex Writing 2010 and hope I get that chance again). This one was especially relevant to me, not so much because I'm bitter; I feel lighter and lighter every day, in my feelings toward others but, most especially, myself. I'm the kind of person who needs the very lowest of low moments to recognize what I have to be grateful for and, well, there have been a lot of extremely low moments in the last two years where I couldn't see a way out, a future, I thought I should just give up and I'm not sure what because despite my self-sabotaging efforts I love what I do, but I kept going and amazingly, there were kind people waiting on the other side who believed in me no matter what.

When it comes to relationships I know I'm nowhere near ready for one, and maybe I won't ever be, and I'm okay with that. I have so much growing up to do, remedial adulthood that I never learned, and whereas before I used to just yell at myself about it, in my head, and feel stupid and guilty that I was so "behind" in the game of life, now I'm finally ready to just accept myself where I am, supremely flawed but open, ready, not waiting for the next steps to be given to me or someone else to save me from myself (as if, right?) but ready to take them, with plenty of trail and error. But in the professional realm, I can't go it alone, I do need other people or I'd be, uh, blogging for free (not that there's anything wrong with that!) and not advancing or being able to afford all the things I need to afford. Speaking of which, and I know I've utterly gone off course, for those who want to read about money from a very different perspective, check out the work of Tara Gentile (is it any wonder I'm about to look into ADD medication? I can't seem to stay on one topic. Ha!).

It's a slow process and much of it for me is about recognizing where I've veered off course and trying to correct that, slowly but surely. And, soon, drugs, but that is another post (which is in the works, about mental health care and money and value). I do believe in trying everything that might work until you find something that does. The impatient side of me, which is pretty much 100% of me, hates that so many of the things that help me move forward are simply slow and daily practices. They are meeting, again, remedial adulthood goals, ones that I actually had to type into a list of "2011 goals" like "turn off the light before you go to sleep." And "don't bounce any checks." But again, I'm trying to be lighter on myself, to recognize that while I'm a remedial adult in so many regards, there are other things that come easier to me and I need to value and nurture those. That's why I fell for Priscilla Long's The Writer's Portable Mentor, because she is not just giving writing "tips" but lifelong writing practices, like building your lexicon. I'm not just taken with the idea, I need it for a project I'm working on whose language I'm not immersed in yet. She is not saying, "You're a bad writer," but "you need to grow as a writer and here are some ways you can." I almost always hear the former when I get a rejection, and am trying to be the kind of person who hears the latter, and seizes those opportunities.

So two passages I especially liked from John's column:

The story of your life is not the story of what your heart got, but what your heart didn’t get and how it kept on beating.

and

Recently, I have been afraid and exhausted and wondered if I will ever be in love again. I have laughed at that ridiculous thought, because it doesn’t matter if I’ll ever find love again. Love has tackled me before, many times, and I am thankful for first kisses in the middle of snowy roads and promises that were whispered at midnight, even if they were never kept. What will happen next for me? I have no idea, but I’ll probably blog about it. Life is a minefield: you take a step and there’s an explosion full of fire and smoke. You take another step and there’s another explosion, but this time candy rains down.

I also like that he takes what I guess could be called criticism and answers back, not with bitterness, but with our greatest tool, honesty.

Read the whole thing

Sex With a "Top Chef" essay at The Frisky

I wrote this essay for The Frisky, “Sex With a ‘Top Chef.’”

I’m not going to apologize for my actions, because it was a learning experience. A huge one. A game-changer. I came home and though it took me a little while of fumbling and missteps and separation anxiety, I weaned myself off of the people who didn't want me the way I wanted...well, if not them, the way I want a relationship. I was in a few flirtations, shall we say, but none were ones that would lead to what I'm looking for down the road. Not now, because I'm not in a place where I can be anyone's girlfriend, haven't been for a while. I'm in an in between, messy, working-on-myself place. I joked to myself I won't have sex til I'm a size six, but it's not a weight issue so much as a closure issue. I need closure with my body, with my apartment, with my book. I need closure on being this girl I called a "wannabe housewife" in an essay Brevity just rejected. I need closure on a lot of fronts and until then, I am really happy to focus on me. It sounds so selfish even to write that, but it's true. I miss certain things about being in a relationship, certainly, but I think because of that I kept compromising my principles, allowing myself to be the booty call or the second in line or whatever it was. I let myself fall so low that there was nowhere to go but up.

It's not an easy process, because while it's simple enough to say, "That's not what I want," it's harder when there are real feelings for the various people involved. If I could take the best parts of all of them and turn them into one person who magically thought I'd be a kickass girlfriend and baby mama, that would be awesome, but that is not real life. I'm finishing up the memoir The Pioneer Woman by Ree Drummond, which is basically about this totally larger than life romance, the kind that, well, sounds utterly fictional even though I know it's true. The second I decided to stop looking, stop obsessing, stop caring, really, about all the judgments, all the ways I don't measure up, something changed, in me and outside of me. Maybe "the second" is overstating it, but I'm in such a better place than I ever was in that downward spiral known as 2010, where I almost watched any slim chance I have of being a writer disappear, where I made the same mistake too many times to count when it comes to dating. I have a few things I'm proud of myself for in 2010, like getting my tattoo, but this year is the year, I think, I'm really gonna be someone I can look in the mirror and smile at. And that will be worth all the loneliness and wistfulness and nostalgia. That will be worth everything, and the more I focus on what it will take to make that happen, the more I know that everyone else's opinions are pretty much useless to me. That doesn't mean they don't exist, but I absorb them so easily into my skin. I start horrible comparisons to people I'll never hold a candle to. I do it so instantly, instinctively, that I have to fight that urge all the time. Now that my energy is focused on, well, me, I know that I could walk around LA in my sexiest dress, even amidst the catcalls of downtown, and just be happy in my own skin.

I learned not only not to judge someone by their online resume (and not to be in the dark about a Wild Flag show I was missing), but also that I am perfectly happy on my own. I don’t need to be flattered by random attention, whether I’m in New York or elsewhere. I learned it’s not selfish to stay in and enjoy the luxury of a big bed and cable TV. I learned that I would rather fall hard for the wrong people sometimes than be totally stoic. I learned that the right person, should they come along, will not be someone who insists on being right, who wants to tell me what I should be feeling. I learned so much from it and none of it has to do with his identity per se. I am looking forward to being back in LA, where maybe I’ll ice skate and eat grilled cheese and sleep in and write and have some quality time to myself. I don’t plan on going on any dates and I just feel so much better about myself than I did back then, when I was trying to convince myself I was worthy, of Mr. Top Chef, of my ex, of all sorts of people who aren’t me. So that’s my takeaway. You are perfectly entitled to your own. I'm glad I wrote it down, but I don't want to be the girl with stories any more. I don't want to be the drama queen. That's so 2010 and all of a sudden, armed with a plane ticket for 7:30 a.m., I feel ready to let every bit of that drama disappear.

"My Love/Hate Relationship With Thinspiration Blogs" at The Frisky

I wrote about "My Love/Hate Relationship With Thinspiration Blogs" for The Frisky. Funnily enough, I thought earlier this week, bingeing on Pretzel Crisps and potato chips was the worst of my eating habits this week, but it wasn't. Let's just say, yesterday was a bad day, but today I sought refuge from the storm at the gym and gave my legs and arms a pretty solid workout. I need to work on eating for health and hunger, not emotional eating, and on carving out time for the gym like I did today. One day at a time, eh?

And yeah, lately I'm realizing that it's in the middle of or immediately after my rock bottom moments that I get to that state of writing the most truthfully, because you have nothing left to lose at that point. For me, it kindof releases something in me that maybe I need to access in the worst possible ways, to figure out what sets me off. I don't want to create a pattern of low, low moments, followed by writing that somehow puts a salve on them, but that is often how it works for me. I'm tapping into a lot of my jealousy and hatred around a certain past relationship and unpacking it, and realizing that it's okay to have those emotions; they are mine, I own them, right or wrong, and that not looking at them, not exploring them, just accepting the way I've treated people or the way people have treated me, is the path to disaster. It's a very slippery slope for me from feeling like "This shitty thing happened" to "If someone treats me in a shitty way, I deserve it." That is what I'm unpacking in some of my writing, and it feels like some Muriel Rukeyser awakening.

Which brings me to that famous quote of hers: "What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open." Trust me, I read about a lot of women's lives, and I do believe in the transformative power of truthtelling. But I think one giant lesson for me this year is that there is something a little suspicious, often, about those who set out to "change the world." I've dated and hooked up with people like that, ones who travel to farflung countries, who are "out there" in the world, far, far from home, and I'm not saying they are not doing good, positive work out there, and being amply rewarded for it. They are. But for me, I never want to be that person who thinks they are "saving" the world but treating the people in their personal worlds like shit. To me, that hypocrisy is sad, and so far from who I want to be that I'm glad I've distanced myself from the people who practice it. I don't admire it and don't want to add to the fawning around it.

I'm not claiming that I act perfectly towards the people in my life; I don't. I fuck up, I hurt people, I am selfish and self-centered. But I try hard to look at those actions, to learn from them, to find ways to satisfy myself first and to still be as good a friend I can be. It took me a long time to learn how to separate those things, to realize that that "good work" might be meaningful, but it doesn't make someone a good person. Ultimately, I think that is something everyone has to judge for themselves, and I used to think it was my job to be judged by everyone around me, to care about what other people thought, and yet there came a point where I realized I'm not in anyone else's head, and I can't live up to their standard or version of who I should be. I can only live up to my version, and that is what I'm trying to do. 2010, in particular the part from 35 on, have been, in a word, bad, so I am eagerly counting the days til 2011.

There is a lot inside myself, and outside, that I don't like, and often my solution to that has been to lie in bed and mope, but I'm trying to fight that part of me, to make concrete changes in how I live and how I take care of myself; obviously, there are blips along the way. I was a wreck yesterday, and realized that there are some toxic people in my life who I need to reconsider spending time with. That is not to blame anyone else for my actions, but again, to go back to self-care, which I think makes me a better person to be around, hopefully, anyway. I know when I am not taking care of myself in the ways I haven't been lately, when I go along with things just for the sake of the experience or to please someone else or because it's the "right" thing to do, I am doing myself a disservice. So, yeah, that was my longwinded way of saying that maybe as I get older my world becomes a bit more myopic, and "the world," in the Rukeyser sense, sounds all too much like hubris. I'm looking forward to going more inward, and there's no way to write that or think that without sounding, to my own ears, utterly selfish, and so be it. I'm ready to relinquish any claims to being not-selfish, and embrace that for what it is--not a path to anything other than learning about myself and going deeper with my writing and whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing with my life.

The other night, I was wading through all the junk scattered around my apartment, starting to panic because I couldn’t find a book I needed to review. I threw out bag after bag of garbage and finally decided to get some dinner, my version of which was a prepackaged frozen entree of organic tofu, vegetables and brown rice, plus a bottle of soy sauce.

No sooner had I popped it in the microwave than I discovered a brown paper bag from Trader Joe’s filled with one giant bag of tortilla chips and one bag of potato chips. I was still lamenting the previous night’s binge on everything Pretzel Crisps (yes, the same ones that pulled their “You can never be too thin” ads earlier this year), but that didn’t stop me from opening the potato chips. I thought I could just eat a few, savor that greasy, so-salty-it-hurts-the-corners-of-my-mouth taste, then throw the rest away. I wouldn’t have gone out and bought them, but there they were, right in front of me. But in the four minutes it took to heat my healthy meal, almost the entire bag was gone, and instead of that pleasant salty taste on my tongue, I felt like a bomb had gone off in my stomach.

Read the whole essay (and, as always, I'd love your comments, there not here) at The Frisky, one of my favorite sites.

I get jealous over at The Frisky

I wrote a piece for The Frisky called "Girl Talk: Should I Be Jealous of His Female Friends?" about my new guy and his many female friends. So far (in 2 days), it's spawned 80 comments (and a few conversations between me and said guy) and certainly hit a nerve:

The other night, after having sex with the new guy I’m seeing, he said casually, “I’m going out for a drink with my friend. I’ll be back in half an hour.” Fair or not, it bothered me that he was going out with a female friend (I’d still have been a little miffed it had been a male friend, but not in the same way). The fact was, I was exhausted after having flown home on a red eye that morning, so perhaps I was overly sensitive, but still, I was jealous … especially when three hours later I woke up and he wasn’t there.

I almost left, but he apologized, telling me his friend had some major issues to discuss and they’d lost track of time. He rushed back and we fell asleep together. The next night, I got to meet the woman I’ll call Alice when we all went to dinner. She was fun and sweet—and has a boyfriend. In just a few minutes, I could tell she wasn’t a threat to my relationship, but still, the fact that the majority of his friends are women, and there are lots of them, has given me pause.

Read the whole piece at The Frisky.