And so the stamping was. Not with potato stamps. I lied about that, because I thought it sounded more romantic than Trader Joe's pop-up sponges. But lo: 30 Valentines, 2 glasses of wine, no tears. Plus, I flirted with a gallery owner named Fred today... at least I think that's what I was doing. It may have been more of a long, interesting conversation about collage creativity, the history of modern art and Nazi's, good resin vs. bad resin and surfers. My flirting muscles are sort of deconditioned, I hope I didn't sprain something. On that note, at my PT's office, I mentioned Fifty Shades to the sexy butch receptionist. It was NPR's fault, I'd just been listening to an interview with director Sam Taylor-Johnson who married a much younger man- 19 to her 42 at the time. (I am only focusing on her relationship instead of her vast talent and experience as a filmmaker because this is a Valentine's themed post, for fuck's sake. Why does Gloria Steinem keep wearing stilettos in my dreams?) The actor was playing John Lennon in a film she directed. She said that he is her muse and that he is "so talented." That's how I want to feel about my next sweetheart, and vice versa. Valentine's Gods, are you listening? The receptionist (we're back at my PT's office) said she wanted to see it, but all her friends were opposed to it on feminist/ portraying violence against women/ inaccurate portrayal of the S&M community grounds. Yup.
That's how it seems sometimes. On the one hand, I have a class moms kind of community, on the other, my pagan, sex-positive, poly friends. The feminism crosses boundaries, thank goddess. (Mom, if you are reading this, I thank you for the feminism) But I don't like the wide separation between these two groups. I'm going for cross-pollination. So this morning, I asked another class mom if she was interested in going to 50 shades with me. She said she'd get back to me, but I swear I saw a sparkle. More real is more good.