Sexuality Happens

This is day 18 in my “30 Days of Letters” endeavor. It is supposed to be written to “The Person I Wish I Could Be.” This is a hard one, because I am who I am, and am pretty ok with that for the most part, and think it is futile to wish you were someone else. I’ll therefore write it to the person I hope to be in the future as I continue to grow.

Dear Self-

You’ve come so far, learning to deal with your depression, to function around your OCD and planner-y-ness. You’ve gone through your list of friends, finally realizing which ones are true friends, and have dedicated more time and energy to staying connected and being a part of their lives.

You’ve finally gotten back to the weight you are happy with (and had been happy with for so many years before the Neurontin had you gain 30+ pounds), and have no illusions about ever wanting to be a a size 6, because you’re happy with who you are physically, and realize that wanting to be something else isn’t worth it.

You’ve become successful, what ever that means. In the field of sex positivity and sex education, people know who you are, respect you, and enjoy having interesting discussions for you. Shockingly, you’re able to make your paycheck(s) based 100% on doing sex positive education and sharing with people, changing people’s lives and improving how people look at sex. You’ve paid off your loans, and your car, and your medical bills, and you and Q are living in a small house that you’ve worked together on fixing up.

You’ve found some good method for coping with stress; congrats. Goddess knows you’ve been looking for that one for a while. Thank the mooses you’ve found it, because stress should never be as big of a part of anyone’s life as it had been for you for so many years. Stress isn’t needed in order to accomplish things; I’m glad you’ve learned that.

Self, I can’t wait to be you in a year, in five years, in ten years. I’m proud of you now, and know I will continue to be.

-Essin’ Em

I just got back from Las Vegas on Sunday night, very late. I’d been gone for five very long days.

When I got home, Q had left that morning. Because she’s awesome, she’s facilitating this amazing social justice leadership retreat up in Prescott all week, and won’t be back until Saturday night. The apartment felt so empty without her, the cats all crowding around me for attention that they hadn’t gotten all day, demanding pets and love. All I wanted was to curl up in bed with her arms around me, having been apart almost a week already.

I travel a fair amount, but with my disability and relationship, I try to keep it down to less than a week a month. When it’s longer, I try to come home in the middle for at least a night so that we can regroup and reconnect. This almost two week period is the longest amount of time that we haven’t slept together in almost a year and a half, and shockingly to me, it’s harder than I thought. I was such an independent person for so long, rarely spending the night or letting others spend the night, that it seems odd to me that just a few days apart from my partner makes me feel weird and lonely. But if I’m honest with myself, which I try to be, it does. It bothers me. I feel lonely in bed without her pressed up against me, or her heavy breathing in my ear.

I never expected to be in a mostly monogamous, long term relationship. When I pictured my future, it was never a part of it. Now, I’m incredibly happy to be in one now, with such an amazing person, but it certainly goes to show how much you never know, and how different the future may be than what you expect it to be.

7 Days down and 4.5 more to go until I have someone to hug and cuddle with, someone else to cook for, someone to laugh at my jokes and swat my butt while I’m cooking. I never thought I would miss that, because I never had it to begin with…but now that Q is such a huge part of my life, the space that is there when she is gone is so much more noticable than I ever would have thought.

-Essin’ Em

I’m not particularly big on New Year’s Resolutions, given the likelihood that they’ll be broken some way, some how, in the very near future. I mean, really, how many people ‘fulfill’ their resolutions?

Q has decided to eat predominantly vegetarian/pescitarian. Which is awesome. Our house is pretty much vegetarian anyways (aside from the occasionaly sliced turkey for Q’s sandwiches), but this means it will be 100% veggie, and that we’re going to both be vegetarian, at least for a bit while Q tries this out. As someone who has been vegetarian for 19 years, it’ll be nice having a mostly veg partner. I’ve never ever been the preachy type — I’ve only ever dated one other vegetarian. I don’t judge, and I don’t tell people what they shouldn’t eat (especially as long as they don’t tell me what I SHOULD eat), but it’s nice having someone on the same page as me.

I’m thinking that next week, when I get back from the AEE/ANE/AVNs in Vegas, I’m going to try a raw diet for a week while Q is off teaching at a social justice leadership program. My old migraine meds (which I’ve finally titrated off of) helped me to gain 30+ pounds over the past year. Now that I’m off of them, I’m hoping a week of raw food might jumpstart my body into starting to lose some of those…and if not, at least it’s a very healthyl, vitamin filled week. Plus, we just bought a living social deal for 20 sessions of Hot Yoga each. I’m a little nervous, as I’ve dislocated my knees doing yoga before, but there are so few types of exercise I can do without massive pain that I’m figuring anything is worth a try right now.

My goals (NOT resolutions) for 2011:

*Book more lectures/workshops/classes at Colleges/Universities and Kink specific events (if you’re interested in having me, check out ShannaKatz.com for more info!)

*Finish at least one of the 4 books I’m currently working on and get it ready for publication

*Get more sex coaching/relationship counseling clients, both face to face and via skype.

*Move back to Colorado with Q and our kitties

*Help my mother get her house packed and ready for sale in 2012

*Have a fabulous queer celebration of love/wedding to the love of my life in October without going into any debt

*Make enough money to finally pay off medical 2008 and 2009 medical bills, so I can finally work towards paying my student loans

*Get an Njoy Eleven. No, seriously. It’s a goal. And heck, I really want a Spareparts La Palma harness too.

*Once back in CO, join a gym with both recumbant bikes and a pool so I can work on getting more cardio in. If I lose a little weight to where I was, I know my knees will feel better.

They are goals of sorts, but much more year-long and less number specific. I find that when I set goals like “lose 10 lbs by _____” or “make _____ money” or “get in touch with ________ friends,” I am less likely to follow through than when they are life changes.

Best of luck to everyone in the new year!

Essin’ Em

I’ve never wanted children. Never. I never thought about how I’d dress them, how many I wanted, who I wanted to have them with, whether I’d give birth or adopt, where they should go to college. Never. Now, I did pick up names I really liked, and said “oh, I’d totally name my child this one day” and then quickly went on to name a cat Ava, a beta fish Trisana, a Russian Dwarf Hamster Niamara, a hedgehog Ambrose, etc. Pets and stuffed animals fulfilled my need to name things unique and creative names with easy nicknames.

However, as much as I’ve always know I didn’t want kids, I’ve known I wanted cats. There was 9 months in my life with no cats, between our house burning down in May of 1999 (killing our two kitties), and moving in to the rebuilt house and adopting Phoenix and then Anastasia in spring of 2000. Even when I lived in Germany, my host family had two cats. As soon as I got my own apartment my senior year of undergrad, I adopted Kinsey. Cats to me are my children. I treat my kitties as members of the family, and when they depart, like Athena dying December 2008, my heart breaks for them (and I sat Shiva).

My cats are a part of my family, and when I was freely dating, they were a good measuring tool. If someone didn’t like cats, they were out. Now, if they were ambivelent, all they had to do was meet Kinsey, and usually their mind changed. If they met my cat or cats (depending on when), and the cats didn’t like them? Done. My cats like most people, and so I took them not liking someone as a sign of things to come. It only happened twice, but I found out later on that it was a very good sign to stay away.

And then I met Q. Q had a cat already (Jasper), and was more co-dependent with him than I was with Kinsey. Moreover, when I adopted Kali and had the whole traumatic experience of her in the ER for 3 days, Q let me call, text and rant, even though we were all of just a few months (if that) into dating. Q didn’t mind that the cats were allowed everywhere except the counter and the kitchen table, and embraced both cat hair and Kaili claiming Q as her own. When Q would go back to New York to visit, I’d come take care of Jasper, staying over to watch a movie with him, or reading out loud. When I was gone, Q would text me pictures of Kinsey and Kali missing me.

This sounds silly, yes, but I realized that the perfect kitty parent was a non-negotiable for me. And the other night, as I watched Q carefully scoop a certain amount of dry food into a dish, and then add the right amount of wet food, with a little extra water, and mash it all around to make it as appetizing to them as possible (they’re on a new UTI prevention diet), and then soak a cranberry pill, and gently give it to Jasper and stroke his throat until he swallowed…I realized that Q fit the mold. Q was the perfect kitty daddy (we like to play with gender, obviously) to me, the kitty mommy. Between the two of us, the cats always have someone to lie on, someone to pet them, someone to dangle a toy in front of them. We sit together, making up stories about what each cat is saying when they meow, about how they feel about leopard print, about Kali’s royal throne, about Jasper’s queen-y walk, about Kinsey’s rubber and latex fetish. We curl up in our bed, two of us and three very spoiled cats, and it just feels right.

Q is my kitty daddy, and is a better fit for me and our family of fur kids than I ever could have imagined.

-Essin’ Em

Last week, I went with Q to visit her family in New York.

I’m nervous around her family. Why? Because I want them to like me so much. I want to fit in. I want to be the perfect daughter in law. I want everything to be so perfect, so right…

Because my family is so dysfunctional. My mother and sister apparently had a conversation about how my mother didn’t want to call me or email me to wish me happy birthday on my birthday. And then my aunt called this week, trying to convince me to convince my mother to sell her house and get baratric surgery, and yada yada…although she neglected to tell me that her partner was having another round of surgery for her breast cancer. Yeah. That’s how my family works. There are only a few of us (5? 6?) left in the US, but we’re all crazy. And so I wanted so bad to fit in with Q’s family.

They were so warm and welcoming. They had holiday gifts for me and even threw a little birthday/holiday dinner. Her mother made these AMAZING stuffed mushrooms and artichokes (I’d never had stuffed mushrooms before — they are so freaking tasty), and her Nana took us to lunch one day, and her aunts were so sweet. It was like having the holiday experiences that I’d always wanted to have, and that my family never had.

Family is what you make of it. You are born into a family, and while they are always your family in some ways, your family is chosen. My friends are my chosen family and Q and my kitties are my family, and now, hopefully, I’ll be gaining another type of family.

-Essin’ Em

Today marks the 2nd full year that Q and I have been together (it also is the International Day to End Violence Against Sex Workers — I can’t think of anything more appropriate for two sex-positive and social justice oriented people).

For a long time, I thought I was going to be alone forever. I viewed myself as unloveable, as broken, as not worthy of love. I didn’t think anyone would find me “worth” dealing with, putting up with my insecurities, my disabilities, my career, my snarkiness, my messiness, my anthropormorphisizing of my cats.

And then, I met Q. At a strap on class that I was teaching even. Well, this way I knew that for the most part, sex ed wasn’t going to be an issue. Q is incredibly caring about social justice, about equality (or the lack there of), actually cares about politics and truly works towards creating change in this world. On top of that, Q is witty, hilarious, fun to be around, incredibly smart, and laughs at my ridiculous jokes…and Q is more co-dependent with Jasper (the Maine Coon) than I have ever been with my cats. Although I don’t believe in the concepts of perfect matches (because you have to work on making them work), I can’t imagine finding anyone more perfect for me than Q. I wonder sometimes if I even deserve such happiness. Q says I do.

There are few things more wonderful than waking up in the middle of the night from a bad dream, and having loving arms around you, or getting a “hello beautiful” text message in the morning, or an “I love you” sign on the holiday shrubbery, and knowing that the love is actually meant, and isn’t just some trite or cliche message. Few things more reassuring than your partner bringing you ice packs and pain killers when you can’t walk, or calling to see how your neurologist appointment went.

I am not perfect. I am a hard pill to swallow at times. It is hard to love me, and sometimes harder to be with me. I know all of this. And yet, I am lucky enough to have found someone as wonderful and driven and loving as Q, who takes me how I am.

Next October, we’re having our “Queer Celebration of Love” — AKA, the wedding. I’ll have to write about my views on marriage at some point, but the wedding is our celebration for our friends and family, a showing off of our love, a rejoycing in our connection.

Sadly, Q is still in New York for today’s anniversary, but Q’s family is important, and I understand that. Instead, this Saturday I’m making a special dinner for us, and for Christmas, we’re driving to a relaxing resort outside of Vegas to take advantage of their special pricing, and cooked food, and will celebrate there. I love being together, experiencing things together, trying new things together.

So happy anniversary stud muffin. I can’t imagine being happier with anyone else ever, anywhere, any time. Thank you for letting me love you and trust you,

Babycakes.

We never really celebrated Thanksgiving as a big deal when I was young. We had three relatives living in NM, one in NY, two in FL and five in Israel. When that’s what your entire family looks like, clearly, there is not so much with the get togethers around holidays.  I mean, we went to visit New Mexico every summer, my aunt (NY) and grandfather (FL) came to visit occasionally, and we all went to Florida about every other year to meet up with my grandfather, step-grandmother and aunt. For my father’s death, my uncle flew out from Israel for the funeral, and four of the five Israelis visited for my bat mitzvah and my sister’s bat mitzvah.  And that’s my family.

So for thanksgiving, I think my mother made a turkey one or two years (stuffing baked separtely, given that my sister and I are vegetarians), but for the most part, we partook in the amazingness of hotel buffets.

Oh my god. Hotel buffets do an AMAZING job for Thanksgiving. Huge salad bar, blintzes, make your own pasta options, and the dessert? TO DIE FOR. Even us vegetarians could get stuffed. So to me, Thanksgiving = buffets.

In 2006, it was the first year I couldn’t make it home for Thanksgiving due to living in Philly, so I shared it with J.D. Bauchey of Hot Movies for Her. It was interesting…very family centric, and very Jewish, so it felt comforting to me. The next year, I went home with Buttscotch Cripple of the Philly Roller Girls. Again, very family centric, very Jewish. Do we see a theme?

Fall 2008, I was back in Colorado, mostly single (relationship with F was tanking) and unemployed, drowning in medical debt. All I wanted for thanksgiving was to be less broke. Instead, we took a family weekend to a local resort, once against celebrating with a buffet. There is a picture of the three of us, my mother, my sister, and me. All in black on Thanksgiving. Not planned, but we look like the Addams Family…well, I might look more like Elvira.  THIS is what I think of when I think of Family on Thanksgiving…that, and how everytime we dine together as a family, they ask me if I’d like a separate check…as though it is so obvious I don’t belong.

Last year, we had just moved to AZ, and Q and I started the tradition of remembering ThanksTaken — how we invaded a land not our own, and proceeded to kill off the indigenous people’s while we (we being white people — obviously not we we being the Jews from Eastern Europe) “celebrated” having found a new home.  Because honestly, that’s what Thanksgiving is.

This year, it’ll be the two of us, our three cats, and one of Q’s friends, once again remember the massacres that took place to celebrate such a holiday. I’ll make green bean casserole (trying this for the first time ever) and mushroom stew, Q is making garlic mashed potatoes and shitake stuffing, and will buy a pre-cooked mini-bird from the grocery, so we don’t have to cook it in our place.

Now, if it had been important to me and my family growing up, or if perhaps I wasn’t a vegetarian….then maybe this would be different. But it wasn’t, and I am, and so, I get ready to remember what we have taken from others in our quest to celebrate the new life we were “given.”

Wishing you warmth, love and deep thoughts on this holiday,

-Essin’ Em

This is day 11 in my “30 Days of Letters” endeavor. Today, I’m supposed to write to someone dead, that I wish I could talk to more/again. Choosing the person is easy — I choose my father. Writing the letter? That’s a bit more difficult.

Dear Daddy,

I miss you.

This whole letter could say nothing but that, and still be complete, but for the sake of writing things out, I will continue.

Sometimes, when I’m lonely, or tired, or driving on a long trip, I wonder what you’d think of who I’ve become. I like to think you’d be proud of me, but doesn’t everyone think that of their deceased family/lovers/friends?

I know you’d be proud of me for working the system, and graduating high school at 16 and college at 20 – you did your whole undergrad degree in 2.5 years. I know you’d be proud of me for living in Germany for 6 months, and I wish I could thank you for introducing me to that language and culture, and reminding me that just because I’m a Jew, it doesn’t mean I have to hate/distain modern day Germany.

I like to think you’d be proud of me for forging my own way. Mother is always reminding me that I chose this field, that when I’m broke or jobless, it’s my fault. I can hear you in my head telling me that it’s 100% worth doing what you’re passionate about, regardless of how important other people think it is, regardless of how much stress and controversy this is.

I still don’t ride roller coasters. I still am scared of heights. Spiders still make me scream. I tried to cure myself of these fears, because I knew you were virtually fearless, and didn’t understand where these fears came from. I’m sorry I failed…but I did kill a sewer roach last month when Q was away and it ran across the floor. I hope that counts for something.

I wish you were here to meet Q. She reminds me a lot of you, especially her silliness, and how she calms me down. I think you two would get along swimmingly. Don’t worry – we’ll break a glass at the wedding and do the hora for you.

I wish you could have seen me play hockey or roller derby. I know you were surprised when I chose dance, figure skating and horseback riding over archery and softball. I know you wanted me to be sportier, but I appreciate that you took up figure skating just so you could be with me, and learn along side me. Q and I played catch the other day, and I dedicated that silly little session of throwing a ball around to you.

I wish you would have known me when I grew up, as I continue to grow. I wonder how much I’ve changed in the 11 years since you died. How would you have reacted to me coming out? To being a sex educator? To my disablity? I don’t know. I like to think I do, but honestly, I don’t.

I’m almost to the point where you’ve been dead longer than you were in my life. That terrifies me. I hardly remember what you sounded like, although I will never ever be able to forget your smile, your face. Even your laugh still haunts my memory.

I love you Daddy, still and always. I miss you terribly, and I can only hope that what I am doing, that who I am would have made you proud.

Love,

Me

This is part of my 30 Days of Letters endevor. This is supposed to be a letter to your dreams.  I didn’t know if they meant like dreams you have at night (which I have been having some freaking crazy ones as of late), or dreams like your hopes and goals. I decided to go with the latter.

Dear Dreams…

It’s so interesting how you’ve changed over time. When I was five, I wanted nothing more in the world to be an archaeologist, like Indiana Jones. Then, it was a vet. When I got to high school, I decided I wanted to be a counselor for gifted children, and went into college expecting to do so. Somewhere in there, I discovered sex ed, and dreamed of working for Planned Parenthood, which brought me to grad school. From there, I fell into the world Feminist Porn and Porn for Women, and then into the world of sex toys. I wanted to be a feminist pornographer/sex toy shop owner with a studio/dungeon in the basement.

And now? I’m not sure. I am a sex educator, I am a feminist pornographer, I am a blogger, I am a writer, I am a reviewer, I am a marketer. I’m not sure what direction the tide will take me next; things are always changing in life, and it seems even more so in the sexuality field.

I had dreams of living in Europe…not likely with my three cats and partner now (although a long term visit may be in order). I had dreams of owning a house, which I almost did back in Philly. Now $15,000 of medical debt is going to push that one to the back burner for a while.

I have dreams of being able to easily walk up stairs, and maybe go for a jog. A realistic dream in the long run perhaps, but very expensive and time consuming and difficult to find a doctor who will do knee replacements on someone this young. This dream seems like a more long term one.

So for now, as I look at it, my dreams are:

*Getting out of the epic amount of debt Q and I share

*Moving back to Colorado by May 2011

*Celebrating our love with a wedding in October 2011

*Speaking at more colleges and universities (long term – be as cool as Tristan and Ducky and Nina Hartley and Midori and Megan Andelloux and the rest of the heavy hitters of sex ed)

*Traveling with Q to Europe – she’s never been, and I miss it badly

*Eventually owning our own home (10 years?)

*In the next 10 years, owning a Hybrid

*Add more states to my “I’ve been there!” list

*Try more cupcakeries and vegetarian restuarants across the US

*Figure out what to do about further education. I always thought that I’d want a PhD, need a PhD, have no other plan than to finally get my doctorate. Now I’m not sure.

*Meet many more amazing people, both online and in real life

*Live an outstanding, crazy and fulfilling life with Q and our kitties

*Enact change and fight for social justice and equality.

Dreams, I will try my best to reach for you, and honor you, but I don’t want to be so specific anymore. I want more of a concept and less of the exact science. I want to dream big, and aim in many directions. Thank you dreams, for being there, for changing with me, for helping me grown.

-Essin’ Em

This is part of my 30 Days of Letters endevor. This is supposed to be a letter to your sibling, or nearest relative. Ergo, I write it to my 20 year old sister.

Dear Sister -

We have not always had the best relationship. In fact, even right now, we don’t have what I would call “the best” relationship. However, we have been working on that, and I’m excited to see how things change.

It’s been hard. You were nine when dad died, and ever since then, I’ve felt it was you and mom against me. I never seemed to have the right answers, I never seemed to do the right activities, wear the right clothes, like the right stuff. You two were peas in a pod, and I felt alone. By choosing to be a lawyer (or at least go that direction), you’ve made the family very happy and gotten them off my back a little. Still, it’s hard being constantly compared to you, your choices, and your successes.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but as of the last couple of months, our phone converations have ended with “I love you.” That hasn’t happened before. I don’t end my talks with mom that way, even though I do with Q, and all my friends. While it has been a very deliberate effort on my part, and perhaps yours as well, it means a lot to me that we are changing our interaction.

We are so different. In looks, in likes, in wants, in needs. It’s hard to connect with you sometimes, because I feel so far away, so out of the loop. I’ve never dated an Air Force Cadet. I wasn’t in a sorority. I never wanted to go to law school. For a while, it seemed like the only thing we could talk about saw sex, and then you’d flip about when I said something you didn’t understand. I myself was nervous talking to you about your first time…shocking, yes, but it’s hard to talk about your sister having sex to your sister…it just is.

So thank you for trying. Please know I’m trying to. It’s hard, being far away, and it’s hard, given all the hurtful feelings that I’ve felt from you and mother in the past, but we will make it work. We’ve already made some very positive changes.

I look forward to more changes, to getting to say I love you more, to having you help plan the wedding, to eventually living in the same state again, and to growing, hopefully, closer. I don’t think we’ll ever be to peas in a pod, but two different veggies sharing the same salad bowl is good enough for me.

-Essin’ Em