Sexuality Happens

Now that Valentine’s Day has come and gone, and that I’m back in the scheme of things (which includes planning for our wedding/celebration of love this October), I have to say that I’m sick and tired of the Love Industry.

What, pray tell, is the Love Industry? It is the capitalism in our society has found that by making people (particularly women, but people in general) feel back about not being in a relationship, not being in a “serious enough” relationship, not having the “perfect wedding” etc, that they will then rush out to spend tons and tons of money on ridiculous things. The worse you make people feel about their relationships (or lack thereof) with others, the more money they will spend.

Look at Valentine’s Day — people spend so much time and energy trying to make sure they have a partner on Valentine’s Day, and then once/if they do, they spend all this money trying to impress their partner and “show their love” by buying outrageous gifts that may or may not even suit their partners tastes. Clearly, every woman in existence wants a diamond necklace, right? I sure as heck don’t.  And then, when people say things like “I don’t think Valentine’s Day is important — I think love should happen year round,” they’re then told that they are just being jealous, petty, wishing they had a partner (or a partner that did better things for them, bought more expensive things, etc) and so on.  And of course, I work in the industry that hops onto this bandwagon — Valentine’s Day is one of our biggest seasons (but at least a vibrator lasts a lot longer than a bouquet of flowers, and can be used together).

This year, I picked up some pre-made food from Whole Foods and we ate it, cause I wasn’t in the mood to cook. Then we watched TV we’d missed, and worked on our duo-presentation for the National Collegiate Leadership Conference. Oh, and drove to the post office to drop off our application for a residence in Denver. Why? Because it was a Monday, and that is what needed to happen that Monday. My best friend and her husband went to Qudoba for dinner, and he wound up buying her a 6-pack of blueberry beer. It had nothing to do with money — they just decided that THAT was what they wanted to do. And that is how it should be.

Don’t even get me started on the wedding industry. Other than the fact that they are totally not queer inclusive (which they need to work on, given all the states passing same-sex marriage and civil unions), but honestly, this industry is vile at times. I keep getting sent wedding magazines, bride magazines, nesting magazines, where the “budget” dresses are one thousand to three thousand bucks. A “budget wedding” apparently comes in between twenty and thirty thousand. a BUDGET WEDDING means keeping it under a grand in my mind. We’re capping ours at $5000, and that includes outfits, locations, food, flowers, DJ, cupcakes, pumpkins for decorating, etc. We’re doing a cheap wedding of sorts, the way we like it (whether or not a burgundy ball dress is traditional, whether or not a DJ with a Rainbow Mohawk is appropriate, etc). But clearly, so many people buy into this fantasy that they are selling, this concept that with out an expensive white dress and prince to sweep you away, that we are nothing. Why? What is it that says this is “right” thing, other than the companies trying to sell it to us in the first place?

As I am one of my own primary partners (I mean, I contribute a lot of time, energy and resources to myself, right?), I’ve bought myself a bouquet of flowers, and a red vase that I love.

I hate the concept that only a lover can give you flowers, chocolates, etc. I spent this weekend on my own with the kitties, delicious food, lovely flowers, and chocolate covered ginger. I miss Q, yes, but I am also responsible for treating myself well and seeing to my own happiness, which occasionally means fresh flowers in the house.

-Essin’ Em

This is day 19 in my “30 Days of Letters” endeavor. It is supposed to be written to someone who “pesters my mind,” either in a good way or a bad way. I assume they don’t mean music that gets stuck in it.

Dear Conservative Right Wing of America (and the Tea Party) -

I don’t understand how you can be filled with so much vile hatred. For as much as you rant against individuals like me (queer folk, Jewish people, agonostic people, people with disabilities, sex educators, pornographers), as well as other minorities (immigrants, people of color, those in lower socio economic classes, those with different religious beliefs, etc), I don’t hate you. You spend your days trying to convince the world that people like me and those I care about are less than, are unworthy, are below you, and yet I don’t hate you. I think about you often, how you try to control me, to ruin my life and the lives of others, and yet, I don’t hate you.

So how can you, those people that cause so much pain and anger, those that are on top of this political dog pile, on top of the economy here when my partner and I are living paycheck to paycheck (with two Master’s degrees), be filled with so much hate, when I am not? I fight every day of my life to be validate and recognized, and yet that hatred doesn’t come naturally to me, and yet it seems to come so easily to you.

It boggles my mind.

-Essin’ Em

I love my job. A lot.

There are some days I like it less. It is often entirely stressful, it can be frustrating, and working in the field of sex education often leads to me being questioned as an educator, told I’m not enough not a real educator, etc.

However, some days are just wonderful – I realize I’ve changed people’s lives, I’ve helped to save people’s relationships, I’ve helped people to discover things about themselves.

And somedays? Wow.

At my last Let’s Talk Sex workshop in Phoenix, after the class, a young woman came up to me. She looked familiar — I realized that she was a Fascinations Facebook Fan, and commented often, as well as attended classes. She told me that her sister had died in November, and that was why neither of them had been at my November class. She told me how much my updates on social media had meant to her sister, how much she loved attending my classes, reading my facts of the day, etc. She told me, through tears, that she was just hanging in there, but that her sister would have wanted her to tell me how much I had meant to her during her life.

I went home, driving 45 minutes thinking about this. Q was out of town, so I made a cup of tea, tucked myself under the covers with the kitties, and cried.

What I do, what people in my field do, changes lives. Period. We often present to people that we never seen again, never talk to again. Unlinke a college professor, or a therapist, we don’t have a lot of continuity with the people whose lives we touch. But this? Hearing from someone’s family member how much what I did had meant to them? It’s both very heavy and very lightening at the same time.

Sex education remains a difficult field…but things like this? THIS is what keeps me going, every single day, despite the frustration and the tiredness and the being broke and the getting called out and the long days and longer nights. What I do matters.

-Essin’ Em