CONTRACTS

166/365 Je suis

7 Likes, 1 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "166/365 Je suis"

It was Memorial Day weekend and Michael and I met Terry and the boys at the Union Station Memorial Day celebration. I found myself in a conversation regarding sex which is not surprising considering the company. At some point in the conversation, one young man turned to me and asked "Are you good at blow jobs?" I opened my mouth to respond with something positive about my abilities, but paused. I looked at the guy who asked me the question and said "I used to be really good at it, but now? I don't know." I shrugged and said "The penis is different." The young man tilted his head to an angle, looking at me with total confusion and Terry then went on to explain my tale of two dicks. 

The empty spaces that came from Chris's departure filled up with doubts and a tendency to lean towards hypochondriac. For example, it's bug bite season and I know that the bites on my body are from mosquitoes or maybe a flea from the cat. I've not seen any fleas, but that means nothing because my crazy brain has already decided that the bites are from bed bugs. Michael keeps walking into my bedroom whenever I'm in the middle of searching the mattress for signs of bed bugs and every time he shakes his head as he says "We do not have bed bugs. Stop looking for them." There is a rational spot on my brain that knows this is true. We do not have bed bugs. But what if we do? I'm going to have burn the house down. Sometimes I think about burning the house down just to start over with a clean slate. I should probably not be left alone with matches or a lighter. 

The fortune in my Fortune Cookie Diary on Saturday said something like "talk to the person who is most on your mind." I wrote a semi-autobiographical story about not talking to the person most on my mind. I wrote about all the doubts I have in what I am doing and even doubts in who I am as an individual person. The things I used to be good at, I am no longer sure I'm good at any more. I struggle to answer a question because I don't know if I'm going to answer incorrectly, when there's no right or wrong answer to the question. I just hesitate like a deer in the headlights because I want to answer in a way that will make all parties happy. I am so caught up in thinking of the otherness of the other that I forget to think of myself. My happiness is not as important as the happiness of others. 

"What if this is all the love you ever get."

I have been working really hard this year to stop doubting myself. For one thing, the dead can not reassure me that I am doing things right. And really, what is right? That's my choice. I decide what is right for me. I answer to myself. Most days, it seems to be working.

Most days. 

When I came home from work last week, Michael said "let's go to Bella Napoli's and then get some groceries." He'd dropped the Cabbage off at her Mimi and Nona's earlier, so it was just the two of us. We were seated at a table fairly quickly, which isn't normal on half price pizza day there. It's usually busy but we had managed to get there before the rush. As we waited for our server, Michael mentioned that we had to be close to the date when we met there for the first time. We are both bad at remembering dates. I looked it up and we were a day off. It has been exactly five years. You know, I almost bolted? I was sitting on a bench, waiting for him to show. Chad and I were texting back and forth and I suddenly had the strongest urge to just get up and walk away. Except just as I stood up, Michael walked up to me. So, I went through with the date and then I thought I was ordering a glass of wine, but really ended up ordering a whole bottle. 

Michael has stopped talking about marriage. Instead, he has decided that we'll just renew a verbal contract every five years. This works for me. I've never been big on legal marriages. I've only said that I would do it if it really meant that much to him. I said the same thing to Chris. Chris thought it was important that we get married. It was not my idea, but there are big parts of my life that were not my idea.

And those parts turned out okay. 

THE FEMALE OF THE SPECIES

Instagram post by Cindy Maddera * Jul 31, 2017 at 1:29pm UTC

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Not too long ago, I was listening to Wait Wait Don't Tell Me on the way to the grocery store. The question up for answering had to do with dragonflies and their mating habits. What does a female dragonfly do to avoid an amorous male? It sounds like a joke right? Like you're sitting there waiting for a punchline and the answer does kind of sound like a punchline. The female dragonfly will play dead in order to avoid unwanted attention from a male dragonfly. She will literally drop out of the air and crash into the ground, arms and legs curled in and body stiff with false rigor mortis. All of this effort is to avoid unwanted attention. Now, here is where the language differences between men and women become so blatantly obvious. When the men participating on the show heard the answer to this question, they all said something like "Man! She'd rather die than have sex with you!" and all the women said something about "knowing exactly how it feels to be that desperate to just be left alone."

Men saw it as the ultimate insult. Women nodded their heads in complete understanding. This particular female male dynamic transverses species. 

Don't get me wrong. I enjoy sex. Regular readers here know that I enjoy sex. I don't see any point in being coy about enjoying sex or pretending that I would rather be eating chocolate cake. The feminists before me paved the way for women to own their sexuality, be proud of it even. I also like to feel desired. Genuine compliments from that special someone just makes a person feel good about themselves. Those are moments of wanted attention, a behavior that also transverses species. There's a species of South African frogs that when the female has eggs ready for fertilization, she doesn't wait for a throaty call from a male. She starts making her own noises to call the boy to her. She lets it be known that she wants attention. As it should be.

It is amazing to me that we have made so many advances in equality and yet a woman still can not go out alone without the worry of being accosted in some way. If you are sitting by yourself in a cafe, you are probably just waiting for someone, got stood up for a date, or you are a sad lonely lady who probably has a bunch of cats living with you in a one bedroom apartment. There is something wrong with a woman sitting alone. It is for some reason, wired into the male brain that this woman doesn't want to be sitting alone. She is most likely just pretending to be working on that laptop. The fact that she is completely ignoring your idea of a smoldering stare and your random attempts at small talk doesn't clue you in that you are providing unwanted attention. Every time a woman steps outside to walk down the street, she is taking the chance that someone is going to yell something at her regarding the way she walks, what she is wearing or something about how she needs to smile more.

This type of guy is the male dragonfly you don't want anything to do with. He's constantly buzzing up, getting in your way, when all you want to do is get to that lili pad on the other side of the pond and maybe catch something to eat. It's really that simple. You are not interested and you are just tired of finding some way of conveying that you are not interested without encouraging more attention. It would be easier to drop to the ground and play dead. The female dragonfly just might be onto something here. I used to think that the praying mantis had it right with sexual cannibalism. Then I read that the female mantis only bites the male's head off while mating if she's malnourished. Also, if it is mildly unacceptable for a guy to cat call a woman, it has got to be highly unacceptable to rip is head off and eat it. 

Sure, I have reached that age where this stuff doesn't really happen to me all that often. Occasionally when I'm stuck at a stop light while riding the scooter, I have to pretend not to notice the guy yelling at me from the bus stop or that dude with his arm laying on his rolled down window who is looking me up and down while picking at his tooth with a toothpick. That's the guy who usually asks me something about gas mileage and 'how much my tank holds'. For the most part, I've joined the invisible women club which is sad in it's own way, but this doesn't exclude me from having the same experience where you find yourself rolling your eyes at that guy who thinks his ridiculous cat calling is going to make you want to kiss him on the mouth. 

No it doesn't. It just makes me want to play dead. 

'CAUSE SOMETIMES WE'RE TEENAGERS

Fireworks

14 Likes, 1 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "Fireworks"

Michael and I are incompatible sleepers. I think I've mentioned this before. Chris and I were the same way, though I was less afraid of sleeping next to Chris. Michael has long arms that flail. Any way, one of the many secrets to a successful relationship is separate bedrooms. People are rude and cranky when they don't get a good night's sleep. They also tend to direct that rudeness and crankiness towards the person who caused them to not get a good night's sleep. Michael and I have our own bedrooms. Michael's room has a window a/c unit. Mine does not. During the Fall and Winter, we have sex in my room. During the summer we have sex in his room. This system works well for us. 

The thing that throws a wrench in all of this is the size of our house. We are a two bedroom house in desperate need of a third bedroom. The Cabbage and Michael have been sharing his room, which is fine for now, but the Cabbage is quickly approaching seven. She needs her own space. Yet, despite this, we hem and ha between moving and just making this house work for us. That's because normally the Cabbage is only with us every other weekend. During the summers we have her Monday through Friday every week. This, of course, is usually the time when we start talking about adding on to the house or moving to something bigger. Talaura said to me once that midwesterners are spoiled on space. I couldn't agree more. It is one of the reasons for the hemming and hawing.

This summer Michael cleaned up the basement and basically recreated our living room in the basement with our old couch. He's arranged all of our not-sure-what-do-with left over furniture into a sort of comfortable den. He's got the old TV hooked up to our old Roku and he's placed the a rug down on the floor. There's a side table and a lamp and he's stuffed pillows into a ductless vent that just happens to be right next to my bed to reduce noise. Before, I could hear everything in the basement. (One time I woke up because I could hear a rabbit being tortured by the cat and I swore it was happening in the living room because the sounds were so loud. It was all happening in the cat's dungeon.The cat is a jerk.) Michael's made it really quite comfortable down there and because it is a basement, the temperatures are relatively ambient year round. This is kind of important because a.) Michael is always hot and b.) that part up there about our seasonal sex habits and how there is currently a six year old residing in the bedroom with an a/c unit. 

So the other day, I asked Michael if he thought the basement was cool enough. He looked at me and asked "Cool enough for what?" He can a be bit slow on the uptake sometimes and when he saw the look I'd given he said "Oh!...OOOhhh! I don't know, but we should find out." We told the Cabbage that we were looking for 'important documents' in the basement and then hurried down the stairs while tugging off clothing and giggling like teenagers. Then we soon found out that though we were acting like teenagers, our bodies are not as nimble as a teenager's. There was a lot of "how about.." "yeah, what about..." "wait...no that's not going to.." "maybe if you move..." "CRAMP!" Also, the basement is still kind of a dirty basement. At one point, I touched the wall with my fingertips and then immediately regretted it. So then all I was thinking about was my contaminated fingers. When we were not trying to figure out the logistics of what we were doing, we would have sudden pauses where we would whisper "wait! did you hear that?" and "is that the dog or the kid?" Then we would be very still while we listened for pounding foot steps indicating a child headed in our direction. Turns out the thrill of getting caught does not just apply to being caught by your parents in the basement.

We emerged some time later after finding those 'important documents', Michael with a twinge in his back and me with a sore shoulder. Michael is more determined then ever now to really make that basement work for us and has started talking about futons and some sort of curtain/wall system. Just as long as his vision doesn't include velvet paintings and lava lamps, I'm game. 

SEX AND FEMINISM

Urchin

See this Instagram photo by @elephant_soap * 1 like

Last night, Michael and I were catching up on episodes of Bill Maher while we ate dinner, because nothings better for digestion than yelling at the TV over politics (please note the thick coating of sarcasm). The episode we were on was one of the thirty minute specials he did during the week of the DNC. They were discussing speeches and Bill Maher said something about how Bill Clinton probably got a really great blow job when they got home after his speech. Now, normally I'm OK with Bill Maher's blunt crassness. We mostly have similar beliefs and views, though there are times when he steps over into territory that just doesn't sit well with me. His comment about the blow job was one of those moments. I winced at the words and let me tell you why. I've got a number of reasons.

Since the beginning of written history and probably even before that, a woman's value has been based on their sexuality, their ability to have sex, their ability to bare children, their ability to be used for sex. I love how the book of Genesis, puts the whole blame for "carnal knowledge" on Eve, setting us up right from the very beginning to need to be controlled. As if a man would never have come up with the concept of sex all on his own. Women didn't have property rights, voting rights, or rights regarding her own body. It would be simplest to say that women didn't have rights, period. If you wanted something, you found a way to use your body as the bargaining chip. In some cases, the only leverage a woman had over a man was sex. The best example of this was Queen Elizabeth I who used her virginity to form and break alliances as the country needed. It is unfortunate that this has been our bargaining chip for so long because there are still women out there who feel the need to use the tactic to get their way. Sex is not a bargaining chip and continuing to use it as such perpetuates the view of women as sexual objects. We are well passed the age where a woman has to 'sleep her way to the top'. Women become CEOs of major corporations now based on their merit, education and work ethics. 

Some may argue that the person giving a blow job is performing an act of submission and therefor this would be a way in which Hilary would be submissive to your husband. Because we still live in a society that thinks women should be submissive or at least give the illusion of submission. Again, I disagree. The person that allows the most sensitive parts of their body to be in such close proximity to someone else's teeth is the one being submissive. It also implies that sex is a reward. It makes sex nothing more than a gold star sticker placed on an A+ paper. So Hilary should reward her husband for doing his fucking job which is to support her because they are PARTNERS. But I suppose what really bothers me about Maher's comment is that it is the type of comment that would never have been said if Hilary Clinton wasn't a woman. Can you imagine even thinking such a thing about Michelle Obama after her 2008 DNC speech or Laura Bush's speech at the 2004 RNC? What kind of "reward" did those women get for supporting their husbands? You think they got new fancy vibrators?

One way ( of many) to achieve gender equality is for women to stop using sex as bargaining tools or a reward for some good deed and men need to stop expecting sex as reward. Taking out the trash and doing chores are not things that need to be rewarded. Supporting your spouse, the person you chose to be a partner with until death do you part, is not something you need to be rewarded for. Sure, it's great, but it's what you signed on to do when you took those vows. It doesn't matter if your spouse turns out to be a presidential candidate one day or just has a regular old job. Just stop doing it or using the language that implies it. 

Thank you.

GRATITUDE AND FUNDRAISING AND SEX, OH MY

The other night I had two different dreams. One was about teaching yoga, which is a whole other story. The other one was weird. There was a group of us hanging out around a table. Whitney, you were there and so was Talaura and some people I didn't know. One of those people I didn't know had this hand cream and held it up and said "OK, now we play a game. We pass the hand cream around. When it gets to you, you have to put a little on the back of your hand, smell it and then tell us all about the most meaningful sex you've ever had." I'm really glad I woke up before it was my turn. Except when I woke up, the whole question of the most meaningful sex was still swimming around in my head. 

Our society has placed such an emphasis on the sanctity of a girls virginity, that we are expected to believe that our first time is our most meaningful sexual experience. I guess, in a way, this is kind of true. The first time anything happens in life is generally celebrated. The first birthday. The first step. The first baby tooth to fall out. The first time you ride a bike all on your own. These are big moments. It stands to reason that the first time you have sex is a big life event. Except for girls, it's supposed to be THE event. I've heard enough stories to know that many women have had very disappointing first time experiences. There were no rose petals or fireworks like they were made to believe would happen. We place more value on virginity than we do on self worth. To all those young girls out there, it's not your vagina that deserves better than Joey Martin's basement couch. It's YOU that deserves better. Also...don't ever expect the Joey Martins of the world to have a condom. (Side note: I do not know a Joey Martin, nor have I had sex with him on a basement couch. Houses in Oklahoma don't even have basements.)

I was pretty lucky. I did not see fireworks my first time around, but it was an enjoyable experience. That's because I had a kind and considerate partner. I had a partner who I trusted and who I could communicate with. We knew each other's sexual history. I knew with out a doubt that I was with someone who valued me. Yet even with all of that, I'm not so sure that I can say that my first time was the most meaningful sex I have ever had. Honestly, if I had to answer that question right now, I'd say that my most meaningful sexual experience was the first time I had sex after Chris died. That first time after Chris proved to me that I wasn't broken and that I could trust someone other than Chris. It was proof that I could continue. 

I raise money for the AIDS Walk Foundation of Kansas City every year because that money goes to fund programs that teach people the importance of communicating with your sexual partner, not to mention free STD testing. Because if you think you're immune to STDs because you take a birth control pill every day, you are delusional. Know your body. Know your partner's body. But most important, know yourself. These are the lessons that AIDS Walk charities teach. I am so thankful to each and everyone of you who donate to my fundraising page every year. Marsha has officially started my fundraising by making the first donation to my AIDS Walk page. Thank you so much Marsha!

The AIDS Walk Open is this weekend. This is a big event that raises a lot of money for the foundations, but is super fun. Twelve bars! Twelve putt-putt courses! I'm on a team that's decided to dress up and try to win the costume contest (we are going to win!). I promise to take and post some pictures. I'm thankful for a whole bunch of stuff this week, but mostly I'm thankful for you guys. 

Have a great weekend and a truly Thankful Friday!

BOO-HUMBUG

And carved

elephant_soap's photo on Instagram

We have always been a dress up kind of family. My mom has spent hours meticulously constructing costumes. She makes the best witch noses ever and don't even get me started on her brilliant rendering of Lucy Little. I was Lucy Little. Button and all. Our costumes were creatively handmade. It's probably spoiled me. I still rummage through the racks at thrift stores for costume ideas, but I will also admit to browsing through the costumes online. Every year I "window" shop online looking at women's Halloween costumes and my heart grows a little heavy.Or maybe it's my butt that actually grows heavy. 

While scrolling through costumes recently, I noticed the usual Sexy Nurse, Sexy French Maid, and even (finally) the Sexy Doctor (because you know, women can be doctors now too). Then I discovered there's a whole sexy animal list of costumes. And then there's the costumes that really have no rhyme or reason to them except to wear these crazy muppet fur boots with some fishnet stockings. Hell! Even Amelia Earhart has a new sexy look. Needless to say that it all not only discourages me, but I find myself conflicted. I want to be sexy. I want to wear a frilly short can-can skirt or skin tight ninja costume. I look through those costumes and think "I want to look sexy just like that". Then the reality sets in and I know that no matter what shape my body is in, I will not look anything like that sexy model in her sexy kitten costume. I lack the confidence. Put me in any one of those costumes and I will spend my evening tugging the skirt down while pulling the bodice up before finally giving up and borrowing someone's jacket. Not to mention that it's cold in October and I'd freeze. 

This is not to say that I am not a sexy woman. Michael tells me I'm a sexy woman all the time. I have my moments. It's just that these costumes are not for me. So I start to wonder who these costumes are really for. I posted a link to a sexy skunk costume on facebook saying "What woman ever says 'Hey! I want to be a sexy skunk for Halloween!'?" and there was a comment left on that post that kind of stuck out. It was something about "one letter difference between 'skunk' and 'skank'". OK...now I find the idea of a sexy skunk to be ridiculous. I don't understand why all animals have to be sexy for Halloween. I think it's also ludicrous that Amelia Earhart has been turned into a sexified version of herself or that we can all be sexy My Little Ponies by wearing a maned hoodie with a mini skirt and platform shoes. But what about the woman who actually buys and wears this kind of costume? If she chooses to be any of those sexy whatever costumes, does that make her a skank or a slut or a whore?

I want to believe that a woman is wearing that sexy costume because she feels confident and good about herself. She has no ulterior motive in wearing it other than to say "Hey! I look good and I know it". In other words, she's wearing that costume for her and more power to her. Except I also know that it's human nature to seek out praise and validation and that even if she knows she looks good, she wants others to tell her she looks good. Most likely, women who buy these sexy costumes are buying into the idea that this is what her boyfriend/husband/potential sex partner wants to see. Let's face it. These costumes exist because men find scantily clad women attractive and Halloween is all about fantasy. If you scroll through the costumes available for men, you'll scroll through images of men fully covered in costumes ranging from Batman to cowboy. Eventually you'll pass by a sexy male cop, but for the most part the men costumes are just costumes, as opposed to sexy costumes. 

Halloween is the new excuse for objectifying women through the over-sexualiztion of costumes. It's not fair to label girls "skanks" and "hoes" when our society teaches them that this is what is desirable or this is how they are supposed to dress. Because that's the same thing as saying that a girl is asking for rape when she wears a short skirt. What we should be demanding is that these costume companies stop putting ears and tails on underwear and trying to sell it as a "costume". We should be redefining the vision of "sexy" with realistic librarian, nurse, firefighter, Amelia Earhart (dangit!) costumes. Come on. You can't tell me that guys do not find female firefighters in full gear attractive. Jim James's vision of a sexy librarian is not the one wearing the short can-can skirt with glasses. Because real men, the kind worth having around, are the ones who know that smart and strong are sexy.

And that's what we need to be teaching our girls AND boys.