Patterns and Paris

What does a therapist do? I mean I know what a therapist does, but what does a therapist do for you? I ask because I’m thinking of going to one for the first time. My mother has thought I needed one my whole life, but I have a specific reason for thinking I need to go to one. I think it’s better to have a specific reason than a general I don’t like my life or why do I feel blah sort of thing. I think I just need someone to talk to, to help me sort out my feelings. I think this is what a therapist does.

I might need a therapist because I can actually see my patterns. It’s amazing when you take the time and look at yourself, how much shit is often revealed. I am 30 and I’m still trying to figure out my basic functioning. My basic beliefs. Who I am vs. who I was supposed to grow up to become. Expectations. Things like that.

And…I pick fights. Often and easily. I don’t mean to, it’s just one of those inherrent patterns.

Then of course there’s the travel pattern. The one where I’m constantly getting on a plane and going somewhere. But I am excited for tomorrow, as it’s back to New Mexico for my friends’ wedding.

Speaking of weddings…

Paris Hilton is getting married. Why is this news? And why, when I’ve never mentioned her before, did I all of a sudden get that itchy urge to mention her now. We are a society obsessed with celebrity. Why?

Watching Yourself

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Have you ever watched yourself, and I’m not talking about in the mirror?

I don’t think I like me all the time, not after watching myself on TV and rereading parts of my blog this past weekend. And no, I wasn’t being narcissistic, I was just working on some things. I am cute at times but often annoying. Yes I said annoying because after watching a lot of tapes and transferring a lot of “stories” I realize that this is what I am. At least to me, and fairly often I might add.

I don’t think my inside and my outside persona always match, actually, I’m not sure how often they do. Well, okay sometimes they do, but still, it’s strange actually seeing yourself the way others see you, and getting a different idea of who you might be.

It’s real strange.

Server Query

I’ve been told that my site is being taken off my friends server in the next few days. This means I need a new server. I’ve heard different things from different people, so, if you’re out there and know a truly good server (if there is such a thing) at a decent price, please email me.

I’m bummed and contemplative..about this and other things. I think I may lose the blog. At least until I find a new server. I’m not going to use moveable type anymore cause of the spam issues so the blog will look different no matter what.

So, about that server - any advice is greatly appreciated.

Five Rules for Heavy Drinking

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I’m done being bored with my own blog. So today’s a new day and it’s all about (5) things you should or shouldn’t do on a night of getting majorly fucked up on booze. Not that I was majorly fucked up last night, even though I was a little silly, but if I had been really screwed….

Five rules for Heavy Drinking

1. Don’t call anybody drunk. And especially don’t call your boyfriend drunk. He doesn’t want a sloppy, annoying, slurring every other word call at 11PM professing your love for him. It’s not cool and it’s not going to make him love you any more.

2. Don’t incessantly talk nonsense, or try to engage in deep conversation when you’re head may be spinning. Nothing of any value will ever come from these conversations, and more likely, if you have a big mouth, you will say something inevitably stupid and controversial and you may lose a friend.

3. Drink water. More water than you think you need to drink.

4. Don’t hang on people. They need their personal space and your stinky alcohol breath isn’t all that keep a distance of a least a few feet.

5. Make sure you know where you personal shit is. Whatever that means to you.

Brief Interlude

I interviewed Alan Cumming yesterday for Playgirl and although he was a little tired from the night before, he was absolutely delicious (how LA does that sound). I was so nervous, as in sweating and rapid heart beat nervous, and he was mellow, calm, down to earth and hysterical. I am totally in deep like with him, and I hope that our paths continue to cross somewhere in the East Village.

I’m not sure when the interview will come out but we talked about things like him being the last boy in his class to get pubes and that in high school his “girlfriend” thought she was pregnant because Alan fingered her in a closet. He is totally one of the coolest, most down to earth celebrities I have ever met. And yesterday he made my day.

Today, not so much fun. The subways are fucked up due to a police investigation, which always sounds safe and happy, and I arrived at work a bit later than I should have. And work I must, cause I have tons of shit to do. And yet, I’m sitting here blogging about nothing.

So, here’s something more than nothing.

On June 11, Planned Parenthood of New York City and a broad coalition of organizations who support Real Sex Education will join together for a Day of Action that will demonstrate the power of pro-choice New York!

The Day of Action is an all-day, hands-on grassroots training that will give staff, interns and volunteers the skills they need to be effective grassroots activists. We will get trained and then hit the streets (and the phones) to raise awareness about the importance of Real Sex Education! This is a great opportunity for people to meet other activists and gain or polish their grassroots skills.

Who’s gonna sign up?

Luxury Problem(s)

portland_day02 001.jpg More Oregon. It was just so damn pretty.

I know I’m such a hypochodriac that I won’t even bother apologizing for these next few sentences. I’m having pains. A pain that’s in my left chest, but not in my heart, sort of right under my boob. It comes and goes, and it’s just like a focused sting when it’s there. Then, on the bottom of my left foot, where I have a fairly big callous thanks to flat feet and a lack of orthoditics, I’m having a more intense stinging pain. I think that’s from standing on them too long yesterday. Just wanted to put it out there.

Heavy Petting (the class) rocked last night. Not because the class itself necessarily rocked, although it wasn’t bad, but because this was the first time that I actually taught a more formal class without much use for my notes. Before 8PM I was so sure that I’d be heavily relying on the pieces of paper that I had anxiously typed up the morning before. But instead, thanks to a day of heavy obsessing on the class, it went much smoother than I thought. There was one couple that knew too much and I don’t think they got a lot out of the class, but, it was, after all, a basic class. At least that’s how I taught it.

Anyway. Not all that important as it is now the past. The present. Getting back into routine is hard, especially when I have to break said routine next week, one more time. Not complaining, luxury problem.

And then there was this horoscope today:

If you sit there and wait for your luck to change, it may take weeks, months or even years - and then you’ll be too old to enjoy it. It is not your circumstances that are the problem but your state of mind.

And I realize I am so disillusional at times. For no reason other than “because” -I think too hard or too much, or too many stupid thoughts. And in my head luxury problems are complicated. Because while you know that there’s ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to complain about, when it’s your life it’s easy to find things gone amiss. Even if they really haven’t. I’m really trying to be aware of this and change my attitude, but when you grow up a insecure hypochondriac, it takes time. That’s all.

Emotional everything

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I’ve been in Buffalo all weekend watching my sister officially become a doctor. Well, that’s not what we did all weekend, but that’s why we were there. Now I’m back in NYC and, in less than 8 hours, I have to teach a class called heavy petting. As a result, I think I’m coming down with something. Do you think my stiff neck, heart palpitations and overexcessive sweating are due to stress, lack of sleep and the fact that I’ve been on more planes in one week than most people are on in a year? Or maybe it’s just that I can’t stop jam packing my life. Next week I’m off to Santa Fe. NOTE TO SELF: I am not complaining - just explaining to myself why I don’t feel well.

Since that’s about all the time I have to blog today, I’ll put up last week’s Steppin’ Out piece. You probably wouldn’t read it otherwise. It’s about emotional monogamy. I know, I’ve got to stop talking about this relationship already. I will soon. I promise. Maybe.

Oh, if you’re looking for a quick, surprisingly better than I expected read, might I recommend Alan Cumming‘s (yes, that Alan Cumming) novel “Tommy’s Tale”? Lots of (bi)sex and drugs. I finished it in two days.

Okay..back to me…and my piece…the one you wouldn’t read otherwise…here it is…
He’s sitting on my couch, telling me, for the first time, that we need to talk. “It’s a good thing,” he promises, anticipating the worried expression overcoming my face. I sit there, staring into his olive green eyes, attempting to listen without fidgeting. We’ve been dating for five months, and we’ve finally agreed on using labels, even though I’m not proud to admit this. He’s my boyfriend, I’m his girlfriend and while he’s telling me that everything will be alright, until I know what “everything” is, my heart races inside my chest. What could he possibly have to say to me now?

Okay, I have my ideas, but I’m not about to think them out loud.

He sits there staring at me for a long moment, and then, with his next exhale he puts it out there. “I can finally give you what you want,” he says, and as the words what… you…want… leave his lips, I watch him smile with anticipation. I don’t immediately react and he begins to look both concerned and caring, an expression I’ve grown to know and love. Even if I think I know what he’s talking about, I’m not ready to be certain.

“What do I want?” I ask him, pretending he hasn’t a clue. I’m half expecting him to tell me that he’s fallen “in love” with me, after all I’m still confused about the differences between loving your girlfriend and being in love with her, and half expecting him to tell me that he’s having my baby.

“Haven’t you always wanted emotional monogamy?” he asks, and for the first time ever, that thing I’ve preached, those two words, emotional monogamy – they’re being thrown back in my face. Emotional monogamy, yes, this is what I’ve always wanted, and all of a sudden I’m not so sure.

“Yes,” I say, waiting for what he’ll say next.

“Well, I can give that to you Jamye,” he says, “in fact, I want to.”

And I want him to. I really do. This is the first time in six years that I’ve been offered exactly what I want with whom I want it. But all of a sudden it’s as if I’m not sure that this is what I mean. Can I really be with someone who is emotionally right there with me, but physically gets to be there with everybody else? It’s as if as soon as he tells me I can have what I want, I don’t want it anymore.

Love’s a funny thing and it makes you question everything you once thought you believed in, at least that’s how it works for me. Still, he’s everything I’ve ever wanted, well, okay, almost, and now, now that I have it all, emotional monogamy may not be all I need. But I don’t need to go there now.

So, after a few minutes of heavy thinking I sit back and take a deep breathe. Here’s this man I love, this man I adore, and he’s making me think, making me question the values I’ve held for so long. If I need more I’ll find this out over time, but for now - he’s sitting on my couch giving me everything I’ve ever wanted.

What else could I ask for?

Ganging it Up

exitart4mary 022.jpg How hot is this group?! (Part of) The FFE Gang and Friends of FFE

There’s something about wearing glittery fishnets that brings out all the stocking fetishists in New York City. The only one who sort of freaked me out was the one who insisted I get on the subway ahead of him. Then, once I was on, he proceeded to find a seat that stared directly at me and my legs and even though I refused to look his way, I could hear him rustling around anxiously thinking of a way to say something to me.

Finally he just blurted it out “Those stockings look great on you!”

While I graciously accepted the compliment, I was also content in the knowledge that I would get off at the next stop. I guess I should rephrase..not “get off” but get off the subway..

Anyway…Mary D. is a fantabulous speaker and the acceptance of her laughing buddha award was inspiring and beautiful. I am so stoked that she is in my life..

After the awards ceremony, I met my ‘boyfriend’ (still a funny word to use, but maybe that’s why I’m practicing using it a lot) at the after party at Exit Art. We were a bit late in arriving, and my ‘boyfriend’ was already there…okay, I’m just going to start calling him JA and now I’m sort of revealing who he is…cause those are his initials and I don’t want to use the other term anymore right now..

So, JA was there and he apparently had tried to call me a few times to get down to the after party, cause while he looked all cute and he’s got this sweet face, he was getting hit on an awful lot.

When I finally arrived he was really happy to see me. And then when he told me he was getting hit on A LOT, I sort of got jealous…

“Only men were hitting on me,” he says.

So, does that mean I should be less jealous?

I don’t know..

Friends of friends of friends

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Tonight’s a big night. The kind that some people pay $500 a seat for. Tonight Exit Art is honoring an amazing lawyer and friend - Mary Dorman and I get to go.

There’s an article about another friend Ellen in this week’s Village Voice - it was written by another friend Rachel, but they’ve been friends long before I was friends with either of them. I can’t link from this damn computer…so check it out for yourself..

Speaking of friends..I got this email the other day…
Dear Jamye:
the funniest thing happened today.
i was walking across the street from my apt, and a girl on a cell phone was talking about you, saying something like, “Jamye Waxman is a friend of mine”
so i interrupted her and said that you were a friend of mine too.
I told her my name, and perhaps she’ll verify the story.
Anyway, what’s up with you?
Love, S******

All of a sudden I feel like, once again, I’m on that damn Small World ride, the one with the annoying puppets singing and dancing in a variety of worldly costumes. I have no idea who S******* is talking about…still, it’s funny…and strange..and making me paranoid..who’s talking about me behind my back?

Onto another of my favorite subjects (me being favorite subject number one, this being number two or three)

Have you read the NY Times article yesterday about the female orgasm? Well, I can’t link to it here if you didn’t..but interesting nonetheless. It’s all about the purpose of female orgasm, since, unlike men, an orgasm isn’t required for conception.

Is there an evolutionary purpose? Or is it because, until the 8th or 9th week of conception all fetuses are built alike, and then, after a “showering” of hormones, some feti (new word that I made up if it doesn’t exist already) become bathed with androgens and are therefore genderized male. But until then all are parts are built alike, which apparently explains the lack of purpose of male nipples as well.

Does it really matter what the purpose of orgasm in the female is? Or if there is a purpose outside of pleaure? And…does that the fact that a whole book on female orgasm (“The Case of The Female Orgasm: Bias in the Science of Evolution by Dr. Elisabeth A. Lloyd) strengthen the importance of having to have one?

I don’t know. I haven’t read the book. Just the article.

Even if I enjoy having them, I wish we weren’t such an orgasm-centric society.

The Longest Time

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If you could actually see it..this was (sort of) the view from the hotel room “balcony”

I needed a vacation, even if this wasn’t all vacation. A time to go out west and redirect my self and my focus. These past few weeks have been a lot of work and in doing a lot of work you sometimes lose focus.

I didn’t even want to type.

I’ve decided that I need to be more politically aware of sexual issues, so, I plan to do just that. And in doing so, going on that sexual/political awareness theme -a really fucked up story was brought to my attention.

A pregnant 13-year-old has been blocked from having an abortion after state authorities in Florida won an emergency injunction, arguing that she was too immature to make such a decision.

How can a 13 year old girl be too immature to make a decision about abortion, but adult enough to carry a fetus to term and then have to deal with decisions about parenting? What the fuck is wrong with some people?!!!
It’s things like this that truly upset me.

In other news, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s been a week since I’ve blogged, a week since I’ve shared any or all of my - not so important to everyone, but rather important to me - life. That might be the longest I’ve ever gone without writing. Tonight’s my first meeting as President of Feminists for Free Expression. Aaahhhh!!!!

Nature is alive and well out west. There are big skies and plush flora and you could see the top of Mount St. Helen from the plane.

The trip itself was business first, even if I preferred the pleasure parts. Of course with business came pleasure, and I got to schmooze with some big names in the sex industry, experts and educators I’ve admired from a distance for a number of years. I feel like I’m finally arriving and that’s a good thing.

If I had to sum up the trip in one sentence here’s what I’d say - the conference was mediocre and semi-productive, Portland’s an interesting city with (maybe more but) at least as many freaks per capita as New York and the relationship with the boy is super, thanks for asking. Have I mentioned that he’s amazing?

Today it’s back to the city, back to the bump and grind. Back to loud sirens blasting down the street and unfriendly people giving indirect glances. I think I’m ready to move to some art kibbutz in the middle of New Mexico. Really, the idea sounds uber-appealing.

Until then it’s back to my other reality…and even if I’m known to complain about it once in a while, that reality - it ain’t so bad either.

© Copyright Jamye Waxman M.Ed.