New essay on bingo, debt, finances, freelancing and anxiety

I'm very happy that my essay on why spending $2,000 playing bingo was totally worth it is up now at The Goods in their Best Money I Ever Spent series. It covers my pretty much nonstop anxiety, debt, personal finance, freelance and how bingo plays a role in all of those.



Firstly, I love The Goods and read it every day. Their reporting is super smart and interesting. Secondly, this series has been wonderful, whether it's about a US work visa, the TSA or a rose gold trash can or a vibrator. It's a delight because we all spend money, but we do so differently. I also wrote for The Goods earlier this year about bookstore crawls and Independent Bookstore Day.

I'm also honored that my essay got a custom illustration! Click here to see it. I think that's a career first. Yes, I know: Anyone who plays bingo will easily see that the numbers allocated under B-I-N-G-O are not all accurate to the game. But that's okay. If it gets people to read it, I'm all for it (I didn't see the illustration until the article when live this morning).

Sex and depression interview for Elle - Mental Health Awareness Month

For my weekly Elle.com sex interview, I focused on sex and depression. While it's not the place for it in the interview, I can say that I've dealt with depression and it's certainly affected my relationships, all the more so my current one because I live with my partner, and it's something I know many other women struggle with. I'm looking to interview more women (anonymously, unless you want to use your name) about their sex and dating lives, about anything and everything related to sex, whether you're partnered or single. So far I've talked to women about everything from polyamory to BDSM to sex after childbirth to sexual fantasies and affairs. You can email me at ellesexstories at gmail.com and tell me a little more about yourself and what you'd want to discuss in the interview.

Can orgasm cure depression? Mental health, masturbation and an Orgasm Quest in this week's Philadelphia City Paper sex column

Mental health is a topic that's very important to me, so I knew I wanted to write about the ways it intersects with sexuality and in this week's Philadelphia City Paper sex column, "Cheering for a mom who's on an orgasm quest", I did. It's also about the vital importance of masturbation to sanity and what masturbation can offer that partner sex can't and what the link is between sex and mental health.



If you like the column, please pass it on, and if you have suggestions for future columns, please let me know at rachelkb at gmail.com with "City Paper" in the subject line.

So far I've covered slut shaming, campus sex ed, the best time to get it on, an erotic salon, couples' sex toys, pegging, blowjobs, sex gratitude, talking dirty, porn censorship, Catholic virginity, lube, spanking, swinging and now, mental health. The beauty/struggle of a weekly column is there's a new topic every week so I have to stay on my toes and plan ahead. I also have been forced to reign in my instinct to talk to everyone who's ever so much as thought about a given subject because my word count is short short short, so I have to focus more on personal stories, and that's been a gift to my working process as well.

This week I got a happy surprise that free paper Metro picked up my spanking column. It was ironic because that is the one out of all of them I struggled the most over. Like, couldn't sleep, would wake up in a panic, put it off and off, almost scrapped it to write about a different topic. Isn't that always the way? I'm trying to keep that in mind these days when writing is a challenge, which is far more often than I'd like.

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.

Read the whole thing

Why I'm loving Storm Large's memoir Crazy Enough

I'm only 27 pages in and am smitten with performer Storm Large's memoir Crazy Enough Two excerpts below are part of the reason why. You can also read some excerpts at Willamette Week. Plus the cover rocks!



First, her awesome disclaimer - I read a lot of memoirs and sometimes they offer up a straightforward one, and sometimes the writers get a bit more creative (Sara Benincasa also has a great one in her mental health memoir Agorafabulous!: Dispatches from My Bedroom). I added a silent "Fuck yeah" at the end of this one as I read.

All of these stories are true and as accurate as I could get them, with the help of friends and family who were party or privy to the events described. Several names and identifying characteristics of people and places have been blurred or outright changed to protect the innocent and the dead. Some have been changed to protect myself from the drug addled and psychotic, along with the general douche baggery that is so prevalent in these litigious times. Many of these memories are from more than thirty years ago, so keep in mind there have been a few tankers of alcohol and trash bags full of drugs, not to mention acres of weenie, that have been tossed through my body and brain since then, so I could have gotten a few things twisted around. But I do know for sure that I live at the end.

And then this passage, one which I, um, identify heavily.

Everything with me as a child--and later on--was either the mostexcitingwonderfulamazingyougottacomeseethisnow thing ever or else the sun would be going black, it was raining frogs, and the hooves of plague were thundering around me. Sometimes, I wondered if I was too sensitive to even be alive. I still feel that way now and then, like a turtle yanked raw and naked from its shell and tossed, torn open, and shrieking, into a sandstorm.