The Devil Went down to Florida…

(Damn you Charlie Daniels Band!)

Hell, I even had to drive through Georgia to get there…

So anyway, yep, last week I was down in FL with Mr.E, visiting my family. We do this twice or so a year, go on down there, do tourist things, hang out, and stay at my folks place. We’ve been doing so for awhile now. Mr.E loves my parents, the feeling is mutual. And generally it is a grand old time.

However, to say that interaction for extended periods of time with my parents has not been awkward since they learned what I do for a living would be a lie. The standard policy since they learned has been simple: we don’t mention or talk about it. Which is, generally, fine by me. Easier for everyone all around. But it does make things interesting and often a little stressful. And often, it’s little things that make it difficult.

For instance, everyone else- my parents, my brother, Mr.E, can sit around and talk about their jobs: what they’ve been working on, bosses, co-workers, office politics and policy, bad days, funny things that happened at work- all that work stuff. And I sort of sit there, occasionally offering an opinion on what they say, smiling and nodding when appropriate, frowning and shaking my head when appropriate, but not actually participating in the conversation, and not at all invited to participate in the conversation. It is as if I have no job. There is no discussing my co-workers recent marriage, or what I’ve been doing lately, or any other such thing. It is not mentioned. I can't (or don't) talk about a scene I did which I'm really pleased with, or some funny dudes I danced for, or what is going on with the whole sex worker outreach thing...they don't want to know, and I don't think they even want to pretend to.

Or say, my cell phone rings and it is work related. Doesn’t matter what I’m doing- chillin’ outside in the sun socializing with the family, or if we’re in the middle of a card game or something…I get up and leave the location we’re in completely to take the call. No one else does this when work calls, but I do. It’s not been a formal declaration that I will do this- it’s just expected. So it’s what I do.

If I happen to be actually doing work in FL, it is not mentioned either. I have once, and only once, combined a business trip to the sunshine state with a pleasure trip, and on that occasion, I did not mention to them that we we’re arriving two days prior to when we told them we would be there for work reasons. When I go there for work, I don’t even mention I’m in town, as it were. I slip into the state, do my thing, then leave without so much as a call.

They also know things such as I am going to Atlanta in April, then Chicago and possibly Boston later in the summer, but they don’t know why, and really don’t want to hear about it. They know I blog, but don’t read, or know where, or know what I blog about. They don't get it, and don't seem to want to make the effort.

This is all standard and typical, however, this go around, things were even more awkward and interesting…

As a general rule, my parents and I looove to talk politics, media, current events, and all that stuff. They are big on shows such as “Meet The Press” and all those other political talk shows that are on in the morning hours of the weekend. It can be fun, because Mom is a Republican, Dad is an Independent, and then there is Libertarian me- I mean I know my Mom is voting for McCain, and why, and Dad is leaning towards Obama, and why, so on, so forth. We talked about all the presidential hopefuls; we talked about gas prices and economic issues. We talked about the Iraq war. We talked about GWB. We did all that stuff, and you know, it was cool to do so. It was intellectually stimulating and interesting. But yes, anyway, we’re sitting there watching one of those political talk shows, and imagine this- Spitzer was the subject.

And it was truly interesting there for a few moments, because it was if they had either forgotten I was in the room or they had put so far out of their minds that I happen to be a sex worker that they felt no need to censor themselves whatsoever. My mother is empathizing with Mrs. Spitzer- and says she would be more likely to forgive a man for having an affair with a woman he actually cared about than forgive him for paying money to have sex with a hooker. My dad also is feeling for Mrs. Spitzer- yet says he thinks the emotional intimacy of an actual affair would be more hurtful than a “just sex” thing. She looks at me, expecting me to feel the same way she does, but I surprise her by agreeing with my father. (Hell, Mr.E and I are emotionally monogamous- I don’t care who he sleeps with, an actual emotional affair would be a whole different story). We all agree this has got to suck for Spitzer’s kids. They comment how rough it must be for his family, their business being dragged through the media like this. At which point, perhaps even forgetting our “we don’t discuss your life” policy myself, I say:

“What about Kirsten?”

In unison: “Who?”

Grrr. “The escort? The woman he was paying? You know, who the media has outed and had a field day with?”

Insert long moment of grave silence here…as if, suddenly, they happen to remember what I do for a living! Looks of mild panic and disdain follow. “Well yes,” my mother finally manages, “it’s a shame she’s had to go through this too.”

Awkward silence. I excuse myself and go outside for a smoke. I’m chillin’ out there, feeling rather pissy and annoyed, for about fifteen minutes before my dad comes out to also have a smoke and he asks if I’m okay, to which I nod. My mom joins us a few minutes later, and asks the same question, and gets the same response. She then manages “You’re not doing anything illegal, are you?” She gets a glare. A few more minutes of hugely awkward silence. Then the inevitable:

“We just don’t get it, you’re so smart.”

Now, a couple of choice and really honestly hurtful responses to that flew through my head at light speed but I responded with “And doing my job is not making me any dumber.”

No comeback for that one out of either of them. They know that I do what I do by choice. They know how I feel on making all forms of sex work legal. They know that in every way except for my job I am pretty much average citizen Americanus. They also know I am pissed. I manage “For all of my life you two have praised the fact that I was a little out there, did my own thing, was creative and not always so conventional or normal. You took a lot of pride in that when it suited you- how independent I was, how I didn’t do what everyone else was doing-it was great for you so long as I wasn’t doing something you opposed, but now when it doesn’t suit you or is something you don’t approve of, you wish I would just be like everyone else. It doesn’t work that way.”

My mom gets that beset upon mom look. “It just seems like such a waste, you don’t have to do this.”

Wooo, rage factor. Several more scathing and brutal responses run through my head. I settle for “Do you even care that I like my job?”

“I don’t understand that either.”

“Well, you don’t have to.” Frustration level has reached critical. So I say, “Can we just go back to pretending that I don’t have a job other than being a housewife or whatever?”

I take the lack of a response as a yes, go inside, and retreat to the basement to play guitar hero. The subject is not mentioned again. Fine by me. In fact, if the subject is never mentioned again, I’ll be thrilled.

It didn’t help either that on the drive home Mr.E mentioned, in passing, me going back to school because while he thinks my ass is great, I’m so smart and my mind is a better asset. That comment earned a glare that would have melted ice caps instantly I’m pretty sure. And I know he didn’t mean it the way I took it, he was talking future like, for when I left the business and all, it was just the wrong time to make the statement.

I really am sick of all this shit. Sick of people and their judgments and the thought that since whomever sees sex as an intimate act that should only be done in some way or with some people or whatever it must be a universal thing or that sex workers cannot be intelligent…I mean, its bad enough that I get to take that crap from the masses, but when it’s family, it’s even worse. I get to a point where I feel like at some point I’m going to snap and end up bashing someone’s head against a wall while screaming, “Just…shut…up and leave me the fuck alone!” Over and over again. (Oops, there’s the violent fantasy for the day). I mean I don’t actually expect my parents to love or accept or approve of what I do for a living. The chances of that are less than slim to none, but Christ! I mean, I make concessions with regards to behavior around them: I don’t swear (which is fuckin’ hard, y’all), I don’t wear anything deemed “slutty” (no thong straps showin’, ect), Mr.E and I are on our best behavior-sex wise- when in their home. I don’t take cheap shots at their politics or religious beliefs or inability to program their own DVR. I don’t ever mention any “wrongs” done unto me by them, or blame them for anything. But the guilt shit over my job that they give, or the comments on my “wasted intellect” and all get real damn old and tedious. It would be nice if they actually think I’m an intelligent adult capable of making my own decisions and living my own life as I choose to do, they would fucking act like it for a change.

So yeah, that was Florida. There were theme parks and beaches too.