Before I get back to the past, a life update

I'm sensitive to the fact that this blog is called "Don't Be a Slut," and that the implied promise is that I will talk about love, sex, heartbreak and relationships. But before I can get back to writing about Number Two, I have to write a little bit about today.

The last 90 days have been a roller-coaster ride of emotions:

• I started a new job at the end of July, full of hope, full of promise. I hoped it would get me out of the house, out of sweatpants, out of the refrigerator. But most of all, I hoped this would be my dream job.
  
  It did get me out of the house and out of sweatpants, but go figure, they had a fully stocked kitchen filled with free food. And while it wasn't a horrible job, it just felt drab and claustrophobic, disappointing and depressing. Not my dream.
  
  
• I broke up with a girlfriend who I deeply, dearly love. Or she broke up with me. Or we mutually broke up with each other. That happened in August, and it's 1,000 times worse than breaking up with a boyfriend. It's as inconceivable as cutting ties with your own sister.
  
  The jury's still out on whether we'll be able to patch things up and be friends again, but it's been ROUGH. I think about her every day, especially on the weekends.
  
  
• I quit my new job. In the midst of despairing over my career and mourning my damaged friendship, I got an email. A friend and former freelance client wanted to get me into the environmental startup he now works for. A couple weeks and one lunch later, I got the job.
  
  So yesterday was my last day at the new/old job and Monday, a new adventure begins. I'll be the only marketing person in a sea of environmental experts, and it's going to be a challenge! A lot of responsibility, a lot of work, a lot to learn and a lot of hope. I really believe this is the start of my new life.

So that's where I am, and that's why it's been so hard for me to put butt in seat long enough to blog. I'll get back to Number Two soon!

First Blogiversary

It's my first blogiversary.

One year ago today, early in the morning, I sat down and wrote my first post.

And I'm so glad I did.

When I started my blog, I had no idea that I would reveal as much as I did, that I would feel as much as I did or that I would heal as much as I did.

I had no idea that I would make "blog friends" all over the world, or that my blog would become a lifeline of creativity in a sea of personal uncertainty.

It's been a huge step forward for me creatively.

You see, seven years ago, I blasted through a decade of writer's block and wrote my first full-length play. Up until that time, I was convinced that I was a blocked artist, a procrastinator, a corporate hack who could crank out boring copy for a paycheck but not a true artist who could craft creative copy for myself.

Writing my play slashed a hole in that self-perception, and blogging has been like the bulldozer that knocked the last vestiges of that wall down and like the construction crew that hauled all the debris away. Because I've been writing, for myself (and for you) consistently for a year, with very little thought about "what's next" in terms of material success or public recognition.

So I just wanted to say thank you for reading and for helping me reach this milestone.

P.S. I'll be back to writing about Number Two this week. I've been going through some (mostly good) personal stuff that has kept me away from the computer.

Number Two

I got over Latin Muslim quickly. A week and a half after our jailhouse breakup, I had a new instant boyfriend, just add water.

Let's just call him Number Two. He was a security guard at Wawa, the convenience store where I stocked up on junk food and cough syrup. He was tall, slim and good-looking, in a soft, pouty-mouthed kind of way. He was 27, but looked 21.

Our affair started on a day when I was looking and feeling especially cute.

I'd somehow managed to scrape up enough money to get my hair done, something I hadn't done in months, thanks to my hoopty Ford Escort breaking down twice in less than two months. On top of the cash I had funnelled to Abusive Psychic in a vain effort to turn my bad luck around.

So there I was with a short, sophisticated "European" cut that made me feel sexy, when I bumped into him on the street. I told him I was about to go eat, and he invited me to dinner. Take-out Chinese at his place, a squished, dark, roach-infested basement studio apartment near the Yale campus.

He had landed there, he claimed, courtesy of his gold-digger ex-girlfriend "who didn't even have a fork when I met her." He set her up in a deluxe apartment, and she repaid his kindness by inviting other lovers there. Then, she lied to the police and claimed he "scratched" her and took out a restraining order that barred him from his own apartment. So in a haste to find a place to lay his head at night, he'd landed in this little shoebox.

Part of our date consisted of me driving him to his old apartment to pick up some of his things, only to have his ex refuse to open the door.

No matter.

We bought ice cream and candles and watched The Simpsons and laughed.

And as the night wore on, the platonic turned into the predictable. I asked if he had "protection," and he did, so we did it. Then in the morning, we did it without protection, because of course protection is only required the first time you do it with someone. After the first time, you are magically protected from pregnancy and AIDS, because anyone who wears protection the first time would never, ever be capable of giving you an incurable condition.

Or at least that's what you hope when you're 19 years old, you've only done it once and you're not very good at standing up for yourself.

(Number Two Diaries Part 1 of 8: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 | Lessons Learned Parts 1-3: 1 2 3)

Interview, Awards and Blog Love

Over the last couple of months, I've been silently bathing in the glow of blog love. I didn't want to interrupt my Virginity Diaries, so I saved it all up to share with you once I wrapped up that chapter. So, drumroll please, let the thank-yous and paying it forward begin.

My first in-depth interview, courtesy of Paula's Pleasure Blog
Paula is a mother of two grown children, and she hosts lingerie parties. Her blog features a variety of sex-education articles and interviews, and I was honored when she asked to explore why I started Don’t Be A Slut.
>> Read the complete interview

The Lemonade Stand Award, courtesy of Black.girl.Thoughts
Cheron, author of Black.girl.Thoughts, stands out in my mind for two reasons: 1) she's got a kick-ass blog and 2) she was the first person to read Don't Be a Slut start-to-finish in one afternoon ... and to comment on almost every single post while I marveled at her tenacity.

Like me, she's an autobiographical blogger, and her story of how she lost her virginity is tragic, sad and painfully real.

I'm passing the illustrious Lemonade Stand Award on to:

• Passion Fruit: paintings and things by Brianna McCarthy: Bri is a wonderful artist. Her portraits of beautiful, big-eyed black girls always make me smile.



• His First 100 Days: Russell's half of this his-and-hers blog chronicles the first 100 days of a new marriage. But the kissing, cuddling, bickering and honeymooning take an unexpectedly dramatic turn when his wife gets arrested and does time in the big house.

Bri & Russell, congrats! Here's how to pass the Lemonade Award on:

1. Put the logo on your blog or post.
2. Nominate at least 10 blogs that show great attitude and/or gratitude.
3. Link to your nominees within your post.
4. Let them know that they have received this award by commenting on their blog.
5. Nominate your favorites, and link to this post.

The Superior Scribbler Award, courtesy of It's Gonna Take More Than a Hamburger to Make Me Happy
Nothing makes me guffaw louder than J.B.'s blog. J.B. works in the restaurant industry, and these days every weird person in the universe, from Cross-Dressing Santa to Strawberry Shortcake, is causing her strife.

I'm passing the award on to:

• Black.girl.Thoughts. As I mentioned above, she's a great writer.


• The Dirty Girl Diaries: I just discovered this blog today. It's the story of a 1970s NYC wild child who was bartending in a strip bar by age 17. Jodi's a great writer. You can taste the cheap champagne, smell the musk and hear the cacophony.

Jodi & Cheron, here are the Superior Scribbler blog rules:

1. Pass the award on to 5 deserving bloggy friends.
2. Name the person who passed the award on to you & link back to his or her blog.
3. Display the award on your blog.
4. Link to this post which explains how the award came to be & add your name to the Mr. Linky List at the end of that post.

Is it the Right Time for the First Time?

I was thinking I had waxed as philosophically as I could about my Virginity Diaries ... when duh, I realized I left out the most obvious lesson learned:

There is no rush, and it should feel good.

My first time fell far short of amazing, in part because I thought I was behind schedule. I was acutely aware that at age 19 I was "supposed" to have boyfriends, and it didn't help that Foster Mama and my foster sisters teased me about the fact that I'd never "had any Peter."

But was "getting some Peter" really all that urgent? In retrospect, not really.

Especially now that I know my first Peter was really just low-grade beef, a little rancid and stale.

So knowing what I know now, this is how I would have coached 19-year-old me if she asked me whether Latin Muslim was the right guy to give it up to:

• Does he make your toes curl, your nose run and your crotch heat up like an electric stove? "Uh, no. It sort of feels good when we kiss and touch, but nothing like that." OK, sweetie, he's just a mild intoxication and probably not that great in bed. Hold out for someone who knows what he's doing and actually turns you on. Because great sex is unmistakably great, and so-so sex is unmistakably blech.
  
  
• Has he done anything to earn the title of boyfriend or first? "Uh, well ... we went out a few times, and he gave me a gold chain, and he says he loves me." That's cool. But does he back up his rhetoric with action? Do you enjoy talking to him? Do you feel safe in his presence? No? Then maybe you'd better wait for a boy who's also a friend.
  
  
• Are you really into him, or are you into the event of losing your virginity? "Uh, well. I like him. He's the first guy who's ever asked me to go with him. And I kind of want to see what the fuss is about." Darling, you're all in your head about the event of having a boyfriend and a first time, because nothing that you just said was actually about him. He's not a prop, he's a person. And probably not the right person for your doing-the-do debut.

And I would have closed with an empassioned plea about giving yourself a fighting chance at having an amazing first time, because you only get one first time.

(Virginity Diaries: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 Lessons Learned Part 3 of 3: 1 2 3)