November 27, 2010

"Say Something Nice" She Said...

First in a series of stories that sound like lies...

I got married to a mechanic at the tender age of 26.  Not that I have anything against the institution, but in hind sight, for me, it was a bad move.  I had come from a pretty rough place emotionally in my early 20s.  I probably should have seen a therapist to untangle myself from the aftermath of what felt like emotional abuse, but I didn't.  I soldiered on.  I met my now-ex husband in 2002, and we were married two years later in 2004.  On Memorial day, of all days.

At the wedding reception, a long time family friend corners me and says "You should stand up and say something nice to your parents.  They really love you, and want to see you happy."

Say something nice.  Ok, I can do this.  I work off the cuff all the time anyway. 

The Virtues of Being Fan Dance

Skank is the new black, apparently. Don't tell me I'm the only one that's noticed it seems like the idea of sexy went from tease to tah-dow!

Knowing that Fan Dance and Burlesque are a lost art, let's start with some show and tell.

This is Sexy.

This is just about a tour of this woman's internal organs, and is not all that sexy.

In the interest of full disclosure, No. I can't move like the pole dancer. You can't see my ribs, and my tits are both real, smaller than your average plus sized woman, and shaped like you'd expect a 30-something's to look. However, I don't say these things out of jealousy. I say them because I appreciate and require a little bit of mystery with my sex.

I'm a bigger fan of peekaboo panties than "Did that cervix just wink at me?".

Fan dance is about duality. You see everything, and you see nothing at the same time. It's lighting, it's timing, and it's quick peeks of "the goods" instead of getting to know them so well you feel obligated to send them a Christmas card next year. You can look, but you can't possibly think you can touch is so much sexier than "please exit through the gift shop"

Burlesque allows woman to stay soft, feminine, and powerful at the same time. Take, for example, Roxy Rouge. She's no stick. She's voluptuous, curvaceous, classy, and very pin-up. She wouldn't fit in on a pole dancing stage, and that's a damn shame. I'd rather watch her take off her clothes and shake around some ostrich feathers than see the woman with thighs strong enough to open a pickle jar any day.

Pole Dance is specific. It requires this kind of waistline, these kinds of breasts, this brand of shoe. Fan Dance is more suggestion, wiggle, and eyelashes. It's more attitude than goods. Anybody can be Fan Dance because it's more confidence than measurements.

I call being Fan Dance a virtue because, as I've said many times before, there's a difference between being easy and enthusiastic. Fan Dance is about being both Predator and Prey. It allows a woman to be feminine, accepting of her body, and to encourage a man to come get her.

The flirt allows a woman to be alluring, and to tease a man without giving away all her secrets. It brings out the love of the chase in both sexes. It's more about foreplay, thinking, and the idea of nudity than "Boom! I'm naked! Stick it in me already!" That doesn't work for me.

So, pass me the ostrich feathers, dim the lights, and cue the saxophone. I'm gettin' in your head one wiggle at a time.

November 22, 2010

Charm School Reject

Being a debutante or going to cotillion conjure up dated mental images,  For most people, they include blonds with southern drawls decked out in white tulle after spending hours in the stylist chair. Think Gone with the Wind and that's usually pretty close to your average notion of that social caste. However, not everyone who's been through the indoctrination into society goes on to be gentile or even docile. Case in point, me.

Growing up, I was the definition of Tomboy. I had skinned up elbows, the knees of my jeans were almost always torn, and I was in more trees than Tarzan. My mother ran the gamut of curse words and the shampoo isle trying to get the tree sap out of my pigtails. Eventually, after trying to corral me into the tub after a night out riding horses, she proclaimed an exasperated "Enough!"  I thought that meant no bath for me.  Oh, it meant much more than that.

November 18, 2010

Wardrobe Malfunction

In the last year, I've dropped some weight, picked some back up, and dropped it again.  Somewhere in the mix, I've learned to love me for who I am. I've found that I am in that blurry place of being able to shop in both the mainstream girl and the curvy girl stores. I've taken full advantage of that and made some lacy purchases at both Lane Bryant AND Victoria's Secret. One of the Vicky's purchases was some sleek, seamless black panties. They made me feel sleek and sexy.  I loved how they felt when the cloth of my clothes slid over them, and they fact that they were black showed off my alabaster skin.

I tell you that to tell you this: