Saturday, May 10, 2008
In downtown Portland, there are adult stores galore. Porn stores, for the less conservative. When I first turned 18, I'd go there with my girlfriends and giggle uncontrollably. There's one in particular that always comes to mind. Fantasy Video on Burnside. ...Anyone? Oh the memories. I bought my first toy there. An inexpensive pink vibrator, that would remain my close companion for the next 4 years. My best friend at the time, Cara, had bought the same one. Pedro and Pablo, we named them. I don't remember who was which, or which was who, but I know that like most immature girls, we joked about them at the most inappropriate of times, constantly. Only a week into mine and Christopher's relationship, I had to move out of my apartment. It turned out that my roommate and her boyfriend, were coke dealers. ...Ok. Well, for obvious reasons, I could no longer live in the apartment that she and I shared. Which is a shame, because just a month or two before I found out this illegal and disturbing news, my dad had helped me paint my amazing room, in bright neon's and pastels. I felt guilty for needing to move, to both my roommate, and my dad, but had to do what was best for me. Luckily, the studio apartment directly above my room was for rent, and the landlord so graciously took a chance on renting it to a 20 year old crazy, with no previous rental history. When I got off work, I picked up Christopher from his house, and brought him to my skid row. While I showered, he started moving things from my downstaris room, upstairs to my new studio. As I'm lathering my hair, I silently remember "Crap, Pablo is under my bed!". Well, the chances of Christopher getting to the point of moving my bed, are very unlikely. I have nothing to worry about. After my shower, in the filthiest bathroom you've ever seen, which is basically a giant cat box complete with litter covering every square inch (just another reason I needed to move), I go into my empty room, and think frantically "...shit". The bed is gone. ...Pedro is gone! Or was it Pablo? Dangit, which one was mine?! Well, its gone, and I'm standing there with my towel wrapped hair, not only embarrassed that Christopher is about to see me without my bouffant for the first time, but mortified that hes come across my probably less than clean and worn out vibrator. I stand there embarrassed, cold and wet, freaking out in my head over and over again until he comes back downstairs, and acts as if nothing has happened. "How can he be smiling?", I wonder, as I myself force a nervous smile. "...Must... remain... calm", I convince myself. The rest of the night blends together with other memories, none of them involving my vibrator, but all that you will hear in future blog entries. Pablo went un-talked about for at least another week. Maybe two. I eventually got the nerve to tell Christopher how embarrassed I was about the entire situation. His reaction to my flushed cheeks and lack of eye contact over Pablo, was the opposite of what I had expected. But because sisters read this here blog, both nuns and in-laws, I'll accidentally on purpose leave out the unnecessary details. Your welcome Sisters Mary Steph and Jessie.
When I was 20, my friends and I went to another Fantasy Video, just outside of Portland, where we met Ron Jeremy. He was dirty, felt me up, and tried to stick his tongue in my mouth. Ugh. There really isn't much else I can say about the experience. I had originally gone there because of a commercial I heard on the radio, and left slightly traumatized, with an ink smear on my chest. A lady that I work with down at Lane Bryant, Amanda (40-ish), told me the other day about how she made out with Vanilla Ice circa 1987. Weren't those two boys on the surreal life together? Gross.
Another sort of funny story. I've traded someone on etsy for sex toys. Yep. What a deal right? She contacted me via convo, and asked me if I'd be willing to do a trade. Either from one of her etsy shops, or "for a super fun trade", from her private business. My immediate reaction... "you're willing to trade me greeting cards, for a vibrator?! OKAY". She got some fantastic recycled storybook cards for her neice, and I got a silver bullet. I told you it was sort of funny. Also sort of creepy. It depends on how you look at it.
I don't know how the topic came up, or what stirred around the idea for us to go, but as soon as our shift was over last night, me and 2 other girls from work went to the porn store. I didn't even know Abilene had one. And to my surprise, it wasn't dirty. It wasn't full of cocky tattooed greasy jerks complimenting my jaw structure (Fantasy Video on Burnside again). It wasn't in desperate need for cleaning supplies, and it wasn't full of raunchy posters and life size cardboard cutouts. It was almost church-like, if you can imagine that. At least, thats how I described it to Christopher. There was an older black man sitting at the front desk. Grey hair, very in shape, perhaps retired military? All of the toys and accessories were locked up in glass cases. The videos were off in their own room. My friends and I looked around at the vibrators first. Its been over 2 years since I've been in an adult store, and my-my have they come up with some fancy new gadgets. After circulating through the store, we decided on what we were getting, asked the boss to pull our picks from the cases, and proceeded to check out. As we're doing so, he starts telling us stories. The girls that had checked out right before us, had gotten stories too. And while hes talking, all I can think is, I'm pretty sure we're getting the same story that the chicks before us got. Does he just repeat the same thing to everyone? And here it comes. Wait for it. Wait for it. ...Oh there you are, dirty porn store employee! You have to talk about sex don't you? Being surrounded by buzzing bunnies and leg-sized dildos for hours upon hours isn't good enough. You have to tell us about how men "just love to watch", and how some guy bought his wife a bullet and then ... ew, I can't even finish. This seemingly nice gentlemen, turned out to be a dirty old man, just like the rest of them. In the funniest way though, really. He would start to say something that I really wasn't interested in hearing (maybe because of my worsening heartburn, maybe not), and I would keep quiet, thinking he would stop if nobody responded to him. But Markisha, one of my coworkers, would jump in and get all of the details. My nausea grew worse by the second. By the time everything was bought and payed for, I was so ready to leave. I wanted to go home, take off my too-tight-to-be-wearing bra, and eat dinner. As soon as we stepped outside, I smelt pot. Great. My super sensitive pregnancy snout has me breathing through my shirt every 5 minutes. I bury my face in my sleeve and yell "Pot! I smell pot!". At first the other girls don't smell it. And maybe they never smelt it at all, and just said they did a few seconds later to humor me. Anyways, pot is just another thing I'm allergic to (this I found out after eating some of my dads home made brownies, this we'll talk about another time), so I quickly ran for Kristen's car, and was happy when fresh air returned down the highway. Christopher was a little mad when I came home late, but quickly changed his mind when I presented him with my half-birthday present from Kristen, "the pink ladybug". Unfortunately, all I could think about was that old man telling me how men "just love to watch", so, it was right to sleep for me. Well, it was a combination of that, and my baby-filled uterus remembering the "hot pregnant porn" that I saw on the shelf. *cringe*.
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