Even if You Don't Care for Poetry

A nip, a chill is in the air, a season’s change familiar,

The feel of feelings shifting fair, no warmth and skies not clearer,

A gray glow peeks itself through blinds, a hue I’ve known before,

Outside winds, a whistling kind, I hear it more and more

As the days lose light and sun, the darkness arrives early,

Emptying the usual fun, and shifting us to surly,

Waking to a splash of heat, now barren, slighted bites,

The cold of skin and covers meet, as motivation fights

A warmer time would beg to ask, what shall we do today?

Patience, friendly and so kind, would guide me on my way,

A heavy cloak, these clouds and shade, are not as welcome, so,

As hope of plans begins to fade, a light breaks through this woe

Alas, though here proves brisk and breezy, it may not warrant tears,

Compared to past, this seems too easy, not ideal for reindeer,

Don’t be discouraged, as I had ya’, this place, it just might just change ya’,

After all, this is Nevada… this is no Pennsylvania.

My Bad...

My first mistake was thinking I had the capacity to compose a widely and well-received blog entirely about sex and the adult industry.


Ooops.

I didn't even consider, at first, that this was narrowing my topics down to the point where I couldn't post a topical blog on the infuriating misbehavior of children, a successful or failed recipe, the beautiful discovery of a flavored coffee creamer or the painful re-watchings of the terrible ending of Nip / Tuck.

Why would I do that? Why would I cut out these delicious morsels of entertainment. Whether friends or strangers, my readers deserve a wide range of blog-ips.

So I feel better knowing that my days will be inspired by more than just sex toys and porn stars, positions, lubricant, dry spells and fantasies.

But the sexy silver lining is that this blog can encompass that too, should I choose to do so.

Where are My Congratulations?

As a 27 year old woman who is neither engaged to be married, nor with child, I have become painfully aware that it's difficult to come by circumstances that warrant similar recognition and happy congratulations from those who surround me.

Admittedly, this increases my bitterness toward these situations. Oh, and I am very aware that it's no surprise to anyone out there that I am bitter in this situation, however, I implore you to at least attempt to understand where I'm coming from. After all, this is my blog.

I'm on the verge of a major life-change; a move across the country. This is all on my own accord and not the result of a forced decision, happenstance or anything of the like. This impending move, in addition to witnessing the opposing life-changes those around my age are forced in to, is providing further proof that this is, as childish as it sounds, just so unfair!

I couldn't be happier to make the journey across the country and start a life elsewhere; a change of weather and scenery, job prospects, social networking and activities, etc. I can't help but notice, though, that making such a grown-up change is never going to get the same reaction as, let's say, accidentally getting pregnant or falling into the ever-so-popular trend of, "LET'S GET MARRIED," or, even worse, a potential combination of the two in accidentally getting knocked up and deciding it would be for the best to get married.

With more and more people tripping into these circumstances at younger and younger ages, I am forced to wonder, "What am I going to have to do to get some sort of recognition?" Selfish? Adolescent? Sure. Blame society.

It sure would be nice to be congratulated on being sexually active and NOT becoming pregnant. Afterall, it seems easier to receive praise by accident than it is by avoiding it. "Good job, Kim! You haven't gotten knocked up in all the years you have been doing this." Or how about, "Congratulations on getting out of that HORRIBLE relationship before it became a life-long obligation! Here's some money!" Of course, the latter would imply that most marriages are held in the high esteem of life-long obligations, and nowadays, that is clearly not the case. I'd love to set up a non-baby-bridal-registry. They aren't an option.

 I do understand that making the commitment of marriage or having a child are huge deals, I get it, however for those of us that have decided against one or both of these life-altering-situations, what can we possibly do to make up for it? Is there hope for us? Are there any responsible ways of making up for not wanting to increase the population? Can we do something to warrant gifts and praise for not doing these things? Or are we simply SOL?

Reality is Wasted on the Intelligent

There is something to be said for the imaginative; those who have this fantastical idea of what is within reach and achievable. They are fucking idiots.

Take, for example, those who venture into the world of makeovers expecting a lifetime of damaged hair to be magically whipped into beautifully colored and textured tresses of begging-to-be-stroked locks. Get real, sisters.

When you want something, it can certainly blind you to the realistic realm of what may actually be plausible. Being impulsive has certainly caused me to chop my hair into a mohawk and dye it freakishly glorious hues of blue and green but I always maintained the knowledge that going back was not an option. Go big or go home. If you're going to put yourself through the mill, don't expect to come out on the other side shining and healthy... at least not anytime soon.

My latest challenge was going from salon-colored dark hair to as blond as I can be, for the time being. Working in a salon and being surrounded by experts afforded me the good fortune of honest opinions and safe-handling during such an arduous process; a process that has taken 15 hours and is not over yet. This same process caused more pain than my longest tattoo session and forced me to admit to my co-workers that I do, in fact, have feelings. Tears welling up in my eyes as the toner touched my freshly bleached scalp are not easy to hide in the harsh lights of a daytime salon appointment. I'd like to think these gals think no less of me. *sniff sniff*

But I digress, as I sit here and wonder why this particular client has a look on her face that tells the story of a girl who is not entirely thrilled with her outcome. It is a process, my dear, and you waltzed in here with store-bought box color on your head and unwilling to part with more than two-inches of your length. These ladies and gentleman are not magicians and they are not willing to make you look awful and stamp their names on it. These people are professionals and whether or not you have the head capable or mimicking the look of a lead singer of some emo-screamo-chick band or you have to take baby steps toward a funky new 'do, they will not steer you wrong.

Trust me, patience is key. We all want to look like someone else, but short of a miracle and a few hundred-thousand dollars, all we have to offer you is professional opinion, top of the line product and time.

So dream a little dream, baby. Your day will come.

Oh you kids.

The misconception is that I hate children. Allow me to clear the air. I hate most children. This probably includes yours. You see, if you have the time to read a completely unpopular blog, you should probably be spending that time watching your kid(s). They get themselves into all sorts of trouble when you're pretending to care about their happenings.

This problem arises when people who probably shouldn't breed, at least at this point in their lives, do. They haven't given themselves enough time to enjoy life without the responsibility of another human being. I can't pretend I know what it is that makes them think bringing another life into this world is appropriate because I am bias, and not in their favor. In case you couldn't tell.


It's not even within my realm to pretend to enjoy children that I absolutely don't. It's a rare event that causes me to, "lose my cool," and act out, however, misbehaving or just painfully uncool kids do just that. I escape my calm, cool, collected self and resort to sneaking into another room to dish my distaste to those whom might agree. In extreme cases, I've even been known to shoot the parents a dirty look that suggests, "Your kid sucks."

And you will never see a parent apologize for their child in these situations, no. Uncool kids are direct results of two completely uncool people figuring out that their private parts fit together.

Why can children get away with such terrible social skills while their actions performed by another age group would be frowned upon, reprimanded and even held legally accountable in some situations.

If I pulled my pants down and started peeing on the floor of a public place, I do believe it wouldn't be considered cute and followed up with, "Aw, oh no, look at Kimmie. She just found her hoo hoo."

I'd be writing this blog on the wall of a cell.

Are we doomed?

Mama said there'd be...

Two shots down and I feel like I have just enough inspiration to drive me into starting a blog.
With that being said, this first blog is dedicated to my mother; a woman who is still very much alive. I must note that her being a living person shouldn't diminish the magnitude of said dedication.

It has recently occurred to me that she has a thing or two to say that make complete sense. As a rebellious teenager, it was never my place to get along with her or even respect her. However, with age comes wisdom, right? Well, not with everyone, but certainly with me. Hell, I'm wise enough to be aware of the fact that my bloggage may not warrant a single follower.

She told me, "eventually you stop looking for what you want in a person and, instead, start looking for what you don't want."

My best example for this is knowing that a man I dated, and the term, "man," is about as loosely used as political correctness at a KKK meeting, couldn't contain the slightest composure during the opening scenes of the movie, "Shortbus." If you are unfamiliar with this movie, that's fine. Just know that anyone who has ever seen pornography should be comfortable watching the opening scenes of this movie and we all know there isn't a, "man," alive that hasn't seen pornography.

I remember feeling hurt and particularly offended at his dismissal of the movie. I felt as if I was showing a piece of my own artwork that he couldn't care less about. Not only was he distracted but he made it a very strong point to let me know just how uninterested he was. Like he was too much of a man to watch another man try to suck his own dick. Ladies and gentlemen, we are all familiar with the term, "masturbation," are we not?


I have since had my experience with men and women and the criteria I once held so crucially important has dwindled down to merely looking for those things in a person that should not be there in a partner. I do not discriminate by gender; I gauge attraction on more than what may or may not be between a person's legs. However, I maintain that being able to sit through the beginning of the movie, "Shortbus," without giggling, commenting on the wackiness, pretending to vomit or complete dismissal is something I haven't removed from my once-so-long-list of, "what I want in a person."