Moving Day!

But you don't have to do any heavy lifting. Read this instead....

New House
The thick, soft new carpet is (finally) all in place, and it looks and feels great. The walls are freshly painted. Two more days of packing, and then Friday- the big day.
I'm very excited! (And very tired, too. But mainly excited.)

Fair warning: blogging will be light this week. The movers come Friday morning and I'm in the final push to get everything packed and ready. But I can't wait to be in my new place!

So talk amongst yourselves. Here's a topic: this month's Rolling Stone features an article about famed film-maker Larry (or perhaps I should say Laurenca*) Wachowski and his/her relationship with former pro domme Ilsa Strix. Roman called it to my attention, and his opinion is that it's unflattering to the BDSM community, pro dommes, and transexuals. Me? Well, I can't speak for the trans-folks, but frankly, in the current social climate, I think any mainstream media coverage that doesn't directly connect the BDSM community with dead bodies in oil drums is a win. Yes, it's gossipy and rather leering, but, hey, it's Rolling Stone. You want serious, weighty articles, read The Economist.
Discuss.


*For the record, I'd be happy to refer to L. Wachowski by whatever name and pronoun he/she wishes. Until a preference is publicly stated, however, I am left to flounder with clumsy parenthesis and cumbersome slashes. Not that I think any of the principles in this story are losing sleep over my writerly distress.

A sample of my complex and amusing social calendar... Recently my friend Rossi, who enjoys watching beautiful naked women, decided to organize a “girl’s night out at the strip club” for all the usual suspects. She got a dozen eager takers right away, which, in my crowd of friends, surprises me not at all. They were all set to go for last Friday.

Now, many strip clubs won’t allow women to come in unless they're with a man. I used to think this was a anti-lesbian bias, but then I realized: they’re trying to keep out prostitutes. Think about it - if you were a prostitute on the prowl, what better place to pass out cards than a strip club full of horny guys? Talk about fish in a barrel.

So Rossi needed a male escort for her party. Who did she turn to? Max, of course. “So, Max, there’s a dozen girls who want to go to Rick’s, will you go with us?”

Can’t you just see his face? “Oh, gee, that’s a tough one. Escort a bunch of cute girl pals of mine to a strip club full of pretty, barely-dressed women and watch them all writhe around on each other? Well, shucks, I guess I could suffer through an evening of that.”

They invited me, but frankly, I spent enough time working at Rick’s that going back there recreationally would not be a pleasure for me. I really don’t like Seattle strip clubs. Clubs in other cities are much more fun, but it’s way too tense here for my liking. Thus, I declined.

Mrs. Roman, on the other hand, was one of the ladies who accepted. So Roman said, “Well, since Max is taking my wife to the strip club, how about you and I have a date? I have a great idea, we could…” He leaned forward and whispered in my ear.

“Ohhh, wow, could we? I'd love that.” I said. “Let me just check with Max.”

I went to Max and asked him. “Sure,” he said, “that’s fine. What were you two thinking about doing? Dinner? A movie?”

“Well, we were talking about something different…” Then I told him what Roman and I had discussed. “I just want to make sure you feel okay about us doing that.”

Max looked at me. “Let me get this straight. I’m going out with the girls to Rick’s, and you and Roman are going...to Ikea?”

“Yes, if that’s okay with you. I know you and I had talked about going sometime, so if you’d rather I didn’t…”

“Oh, no – that’s fine, really. Really. I can honestly say I have no issues whatsoever about Roman taking you to Ikea.” He kissed me affectionately and then as he turned slightly away, made a tiny fist-pull gesture in the air and whispered, “Yes!” under his breath.

“Honey! Did you not want to go furniture-shopping with me?” I said, half-laughing and half-exasperated.

He kissed me again. “Sweetie, I’d be happy to go anywhere with you. But if you’re asking me if I really enjoy traipsing through Ikea, well…”

So there you have it. Max and Roman’s wife and a dozen other girls went to Rick’s and had strippers climb all over them. Roman and I went to Ikea and climbed on all the couches and beds. (We liked the round one especially.) I decided I will probably buy this couch, and Roman admitted a fondness for those little net canopies that you put over beds. I got totally lost in all the twists and turns, and had to let Roman lead me around - he claims playing video games have given him super navigational powers in maze-like environments. We talked about all manner of interior decorating and had a lovely time. Then we went to Stellars and had yummy pizza.

Just after we got back to my place, Max and six women arrived. (The other ladies had gone home.) Max had offered to make late-night breakfast for them all, something he’s good at. They were full of stripper stories – apparently a good time was had by all. Then Roman went home to hear his wife’s stories first hand and get some sleep. A very satisfying night for everyone, I think…