Farrah

It's been a while since I first started this post.

Farrah Fawcett is dead. Fawcett never meant that much to me. I am too young to remember her from the red bathing suit days. I only remember the woman desperately clinging onto a life and self image based completely on her looks, even as those looks were being morphed through time and surgery. To me Farrah Fawcett will always be a cautionary tale of how sad and empty appearance based self worth is, even for someone who reached the very heights of success for her smile and hair.

It was pretty glossed over in the gauzy obits, but most people know she died of anal cancer. What wasn't reported, was that anal cancer is mostly linked to HPV which is a sexually transmitted disease. It surprised me in today's TMZ world that this wasn't even mentioned, much less harped on endlessly by the tabloids. If she had been a gay man, you can bet they'd never shut up about it. Actually, I'm totally surprised, even in her case. It's interesting. You can imagine how cruel and crass people could be about it. I'm certainly glad Extra didn't spend the whole time implying she deserved it or did it to her self. People's sexual habits should not be used against them, especially not at times like that. But is it still weird and stigmatizing to hide it?

If she's had ovarian cancer, also linked to HPV, I very much doubt they'd feel the need to be hush hush about it. In fact, in recent years, there's been a big push to get young girls vaccinated for HPV because of it's link to ovarian cancer. Which seems like a good thing. Wouldn't Farrah's story have been an opportunity to educate women and girls, like Rock Hudson did for AIDS? I get it that it should have been her choice and I'm glad they respected that, but it does feel like weird slut shaming somehow, that even whilst she did documentaries from her sickbed there was no discussion of her actual disease, because someone somewhere might think she did anal.

I've had my share of one night stands, but I've seldom had truly attachment free sex. I came very close once, in Berlin, with a Dutch boy, but he got all weird the day after --going on about how great my body was, all while acting as if I was suffocating him. It was strange. I think he wanted to be suffocated. Very nearly forgot about him. I'm glad I decided to write about this. We did it on a hammock, and then in the grass. He spread out his t-shirt for me to lay on. People were passing, out of sight, but nearby. He begged me to be quiet. I was not. Anyway, his weirdness played with my head a bit, and while he didn't matter enough to have ruined Germany, he did create some weirdo strings.

But it wasn't all him. I wasn't quite old enough to be so unselfconscious as to use a man for my pleasure, which is what we're really talking about here. A few years after Dutch Boy I had what was, up to this point, my one instance of totally strings free sex. He was a high school friend. I was horny, he still had the same number. It was glorious. I cared only that he make me cum. I couldn't give a shit what he thought of my body. I didn't want him to call. I felt no embarrassment or hesitation in calling him again. I was openly bored when he played me music or talked about movies. I only wanted one thing from him. It was perfect. If he hadn't kept trying to make me spend the night, I would have kept on with it. Now I sometimes wonder if it was as unencumbered for him as it was for me, but honestly, I don't care. That sounds mean, but I don't. He wasn't the nicest guy.

But I was in love with someone else, who loved me back. If I hadn't been, if my heart was single, could I have achieved this? I have to wonder.

Trench coats are the new pea coat.

Think we here have got the flu. Otherwise we are just feeling lazy. Have stayed home from work. Felt unnecessarily guilty about it. Am annoyed to be too poor for landownership in nyc. What the eff.

I wish I had more to say, because it's 5am and I sleep, and I feel like writing something, but it's all just whine whine whine.

Ever notice how it's never enough? No matter who you are or what you do, someone is always doing something better or more interesting. The thing is: they most likely are not. The internet just makes us think they are. 99% percent of the time they're just schlepping along cutting their toe nails or eating a mediocre sandwich, but we don't hear about that, we get the facebook status about photoshoots with pop stars. Ugh. I should be quiet.

Wishlist

Lately I've been thinking about money. I don't consider myself to be terribly materialistic. Maybe nowadays money is just on everyone's mind. Things I wish I had at the moment:

- A house. Preferably a divided townhouse, or duplex so we could rent one side out for a little income. Or at least a nice two bedroom apartment with washer dryer and dishwasher.

- Someone to clean the house. Like everyone I like cleanliness, but hate cleaning. It'd be pretty sweet to have someone come every two weeks and really scrub the place down. Then I could just put away the papers and like in the meantime.

- A smaller wardrobe consisting of quality pieces which all look fantastic on me, rather than the enormous collection of fast fashion I've currently amassed from Forever21 and Chinatown.

- Better working hours. Like normal ones. Or even better, part time. Ahhhhh...

- That might really be it. I mean apart from the usual neuroses about weight, haircuts, and the like.