The View From My Knees

Do you remember the Cool Kids in high school? They were the ones that everyone wanted to be friends with. They threw all the best parties. They were smart, good looking, and, despite what teen movies would have you believe, usually pretty nice. Maybe you were one of the Cool Kids, but most likely you weren’t. I wasn’t. I was always friends with the Cool Kids, but I was never one of them.

Most of us believe that this concept of the Cool Kids ends after high school or college, but I don’t think it does. Perhaps our measurements of what makes someone cool change, but there are still people in our lives that we put on a mental pedestal, even if we don’t realize we’re doing it. The Cool Kids may be a group of coworkers, regulars at your favorite bar, or just some friends of friends. You may be friends with one or more of the Cool Kids, but you never quite feel like a part of the group. You wish that you were closer with them, but you also feel a little bit intimidated by them.

My new Crush, unfortunately, is one of the Cool Kids. Part of the reason I haven’t made a move on him is that I can’t help feeling like he is out of my league. Silly, isn’t it? Intellectually, I know how ridiculous that is, but I can’t seem to get over it. For now, I’ll just have to go on admiring him and his Cool Kid friends from afar.

But the situation could change, couldn’t it? Maybe one of these days, one of his Cool Kid friends will dare him to make me prom queen, and I’ll dazzle him with my quirky personality and well-hidden good looks so that he ends up falling for me. And I’ll bet the whole thing will be accompanied by a cool alt rock soundtrack.

Those of you that have been following me on Twitter are probably aware of the recent tragedy in my life. The following post is my way of venting some of the emotions I’ve been dealing with lately. It’s not sexy, but it’s a part of my life and I’m sharing it here for those of you that care to read it. Some of you, however, may just want to skip this one and await the next post when things get back to normal. Don’t worry, I’ll understand.

The radio is on and the dishwasher is running, but still my apartment is deafeningly quiet. There are things piled everywhere, and yet the living room seems unusually empty. I’ve got a million things I need to do, but what I want more than anything is to just take my dog for a walk. But I can’t. I don’t hear the panting and sighing I’d grown so used to anymore. And there is a big space in the corner where a bed used to be. There are no food bowls next to the laundry basket in the bedroom. There’s no leash hanging inside the closet door. There’s something missing from this apartment…and from my life.

Saturday, at approximately 3pm, Lucky and I said goodbye forever to our beloved dog. We’d only had 12 hours to get used to the idea, but we couldn’t have been more sure that it was time. Late Friday night she began to show symptoms of a problem. She wobbled around the house in a daze. She couldn’t keep her balance. She was unresponsive to visual and audio commands, and her eyes had a glazed look as if she didn’t know where she was or who I was. We rushed her to an emergency clinic in Kirkland, where they found a mass attached to her spleen that they suspected was causing bleeding into her abdomen. They took measures to stop the bleeding and make her comfortable until a radiologist could do a proper ultrasound in the morning. The overnight veterinarian prepared us for the worst. Although the mass could probably be removed with surgery, it was unlikely that it was a harmless and isolated problem in a dog of her age. It was 4am when we made the long drive home without our little girl. We took comfort with friends until the next afternoon when we finally received word from the specialist. A cancer had attacked her liver and spread to her spleen. It was the liver that was bleeding out into the abdomen. Not even surgery could save her at this stage. We made the long drive back to the clinic and were led to a quiet, warmly lit room to say goodbye.

Although my dog had been in stable condition all morning, she had taken a turn for the worse shortly before we arrived that afternoon. The internal bleeding had started again. They left us alone with her and told us to let them know when we were ready. She was so miserable, in so much pain, that she barely acknowledged our presence. She stumbled around, not wanting to lie down and put pressure on her belly. I couldn’t stand to see her this way. After only a few minutes, we called the vet in and told her we were ready. With a considerable amount of pain, she finally laid down. She wouldn’t look at us, just stared at the ground. We kissed her and stroked her side as the vet administered the injection, tears streaming down our faces. She slowly began to lower her head and roll onto her side. Her body went limp, and then she was gone.

I was in complete despair, and yet incredibly relieved. Her pain was finally gone. No more devastating pain in her belly. No more crippling arthritis. My baby was finally at peace.

My dog has been my companion – my little girl – for 14 years. As I’ve moved from city to city, job to job, and lover to lover, she’s always been by my side. She’s lived a long, happy life – longer than most dogs her size. I couldn’t have asked for a better dog. She was beautiful, smart, and so loving. She couldn’t have been more devoted to me, and she loved “Daddy” Lucky immensely. I can’t imagine what life will be like without her.

My only regret is that she spent her last day, her last moments, in so much pain. This is what breaks my heart the most and, unfortunately, this is my most vivid memory of her right now. This is what causes the tears to come. I’m sure that, as time goes on, I’ll be able to focus more on the good times. I’ll be able to smile about the way she used to pounce on that little toy spider. I’ll be able to laugh about the time she tried to fight a skunk with a fish bowl stuck on her head. I’ll be able to well up with pride when I think about how often strangers would stop me on the street to tell me how beautiful she was. And I’ll be comforted by all those nights that I buried my head in her fur and cried.

I don’t know if I’ll ever get another dog. It certainly won’t be any time soon. But there will never be another dog – another friend – like my Little Girl.

The other night Lucky and I watched a movie called The Girl Next Door. No, it wasn’t a cute little comedy about a geeky kid whose neighbor turns out to be a former porn actress with a remarkable resemblance to that hot chick from 24. This titular Girl Next Door was real life former porn star Stacy Valentine. The low-budget but surprisingly well-done documentary followed Valentine through two years of her career, giving us an inside look at her personal and professional life. We followed her on-again off-again relationship with boyfriend Julian, listened to her parents say how proud they were of her, and felt her disappointment when she lost at the AVN awards after being nominated in 5 categories. We witnessed her strengths when she left her abusive husband, and her insecurities as she repeatedly attempted to “fix” her body with plastic surgery. Claiming she got into the business because she loved sex, we watched her become disheartened with her career choice until, four years after her first film, she retired.

This kind of behind-the-scenes look at the “jizz bizz” (as Sam Sugar likes to call it) is always fascinating to me. I’ve often toyed with the idea of dipping my toes into the waters of adult films, but something has always held me back. Like Valentine, my interest in the industry stems from a love of sex. I’m not afraid to be watched, and I certainly enjoy the products of the industry. And, while I’m sure the financial benefits are largely exaggerated for all but the most successful participants, it seems like I could make a decent living at it. Still, I’m just not sure I want to cross over from insatiable sex fiend to industry pro. I love sharing myself through this site, but I feel like a career in sex work would change me into a different person. My biggest fear is that I wouldn’t enjoy sex as much if it were my job. There’s also the risk of alienating many of the people in my life with a career choice they can’t understand or be comfortable with. I have a hard enough time reeling in my sexuality around conservative friends and my husband’s coworkers as it is. If sex becomes a part of my career, I may find it even harder to keep my interactions PG. And even if if I can behave myself, just knowing what I do for a living will inevitably change the way people see me. As much as I’d like to be one of those people that claims not to care what others think, I’m not. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty skeptical of the people that make those claims, as well. The truth is that it is important how people see you. Our interactions with other people in our personal and professional lives are, unfortunately, often largely based on how those people see us as opposed to who we really are inside. That’s a big reason that I only share this blog with a select few of my trusted friends.

Speaking of how people see me, there’s the issue of body image. There is tremendous pressure on adult film actresses to look great. You could argue that the pressure is even greater than that placed on Hollywood starlets, because in porn you don’t have the benefit of a carefully chosen wardrobe to hide your flaws, and there are 80 girls waiting to take your place if the director thinks your thighs jiggle just a little too much. A porn actress must look great from head to toe to all parts in between, right down to her pussy lips and asshole. Stacy Valentine dealt with this pressure by developing an unhealthy obsession with plastic surgery, something that is prevalent among her peers in the industry. I’d like to believe that I could withstand the pressure, but I’m sure that women stronger than me have fallen prey to the industry’s body obsession.

Does all of this mean that I’ll never do porn? Not at all. I’d love to try it out at least once. I could see myself releasing a handful of amateur videos with several of my close friends. But I don’t want to make a career out of it.

If you have an interest in the porn industry or have ever considered a career in porn, I recommend you check out Stacy’s documentary, as well as some of the other adult film documentaries available. I’m not saying it will change your mind – or that it should – but it’s good to get a good look behind the curtain before you try out for the part.

Check out The Girl Next Door at Amazon.com