So before I knew it we were chatting on the phone like nothing happened, no time had passed... but it had been about 20 years. So when I told her I was coming to Van we started a countdown - how many sleeps until we reunited? The answer was zero come Sunday evening. My dinner on Sunday was incredible. I forget how many courses it was, but by the time it ended it was something like 11:30, and Dayna was waiting in the lobby for me. I ran out from the dining room and we hugged, squealing and "Oh my godding,' and then we started scrutinizing each other.

Me: Oh my god.
Her: I know! Can I tell you that you look like your mom?
Me: Only if I can tell you that.
Her: Oh, fine.
Me: I know it's true, so it's fine. But look at your hair! It's red!
Her: I know!
(silence)
Her: Okay, this is weird.
Me: Yes.
Her: Can we go outside so I can pollute my lungs?
Me: I can't believe that you're grown up enough to smoke.

We sat up talking until about 2am, which sucked for both of us the next day, what with having to work and all. But luckily we will have time at the end of my trip to hang out again. That, and she's coming to L.A. sometime soon. But it's so odd to me that someone I was so close with back in the day is someone I'm still close with now, despite the time. That, and in ways we led parallel lives. Odd, but oddly comforting. This was most definitely a welcome blast from the past.

Monday was my last day on the press trip, which took me from the Fairmont Waterfront to the Vancouver Aquarium to learn about their new partnership with local restaurants to help them serve sustainable seafood options. We then headed to a halibut fishery - where I refrained from singing the fish heads song, but only barely - and then it was off to Granville Market to pick out dinner for that evening's meal. The entire time we were accompanied by Patrick, the executive sous chef from the Airport Fairmont. Naturally my meal restrictions gave him a challenge, but he rose to the occasion and created a multiple-course meal that knocked my socks off. Certainly the halibut and braised vegetables were fabulous, but I had the pleasure of ingesting the most delectably tender scallop I've ever tasted, paired with roasted quinoa and edamame atop a butter and bean sauce... puree... whatever, it was bliss.

After desserts were served and we all said our goodbyes, I met Sharolyn in the lounge. We drove home listening to Madonna, of course, and proceeded to sit up until 1am yapping our mouths off about everything from my brainwaves to her pregnancy. As an aside, hers is the first pregnant belly I've ever touched... and it was fascinating. I've been getting a play-by-play of junior's every move over the last 24 hours. Selfishly, I'm glad she's going through it before I am so I can pick her brain when it's my turn. As her friend Nicole put it, "Thanks for paving the way, I'll let you know when I'm ready to follow."

I spent this morning working, and then Shar and I took a small road trip to pick up some chocolate treats for my reading at The Art of Loving on Thursday night. Out to Abbotsford we went - switching off between Madonna and the Buffy Musical soundtrack - where I was given a tour through Shar's childhood homes and schools. At one point I cracked a joke that when she comes to L.A. we see where Sunnydale High was and scout out Madonna's house, when I see her she takes me through rural Canada... but technically that's the Hellmouth and we listened to Madonna while we drove, so it all evens out in the end.

Tomorrow I get to see my mommy, Thursday is the reading, Friday is more time with Dayna, Saturday I see my dad... and then it's home again. Whirlwind, but so worth it.

But this trip has been much more informative and entertaining.

The trip I'm on is focused on sustainable eating, so we kicked off our day by wandering Pike Market with chef Gavin Stephenson. Gavin is a rock star, but a humble one. He's celeb-chef caliber and then some, but without all the BS attitude that comes along with that. As he walked us through the market and took us into stores, he was greeted warmly - like family. It was cool to see. We also made a pit stop at the world's first Starbucks, where I nabbed myself a decaf soy latte (thanks, Shar, for the suggestion) before becoming mesmerized by the rows and rows and rows of tulips. It was super hard for me not to buy any. If only they'd last a plane, train and automobile ride home...

One of the spots we stopped at - besides the place where they throw fish - is the Daily Dozen Donut Stand. They make mini-donuts kind of like those ones they sell at the Conklin fairs (like Stampede and Klondike Days), except they also have ones with powdered sugar and sprinkles. One of my travel mates eyed the sprinkled ones... which were red and green.

So what do I say? "They look like Christmas!" (Naturally.)

"I was thinking that too!" she said.

"I'm nuts about Christmas," I admitted.

"Me too. December first? The music comes on."

I wrinkled my nose. "You wait that long? I start as soon as Halloween's over."

(This reminds me of a conversation I had with Sharolyn, wherein she was looking at a home that I thought would be fabulous to decorate for the holidays. She said, "Yes, the sacred holiday of Christmas that starts October 31 and finishes December 26th." I'm so impressed. It only took me nine years to get her to understand!)

Anyway.

Our next plan of attack? Take a sea plane out to Penn Cove Shellfish Farm. In the past I've joked with people that I have acute boat narcolepsy, where I'm able to fall asleep the second I set foot on a boat (I had to stop telling this joke because people took me seriously when I said this and became deeply concerned that I had a serious condition.) I can't say that happened on the sea plane, but something about it was deeply relaxing and put me into a meditative state. I have no idea what that was about, but whatever, I went with it. It must be something about the white noise of the engine that made me so relaxed.

We landed at a dock and deplaned, then hopped aboard a boat that took us out to the mussel farms. It reminded me of the pearl farms I saw in Tahiti, except without the little houses. Oh, and it was cold. Very cold. Mainly because it was misting rain and a bit windy, so the combination of the two chilled us all to the bone. I think the only thing that kept us going was how fascinating the explanation behind the farming was. We saw baby mussels on the line, then scooted over to the oyster farm, where we ate freshly-shucked oysters.

This is when one of my travel mates asked that time-honored question: "Are oysters really an aphrodisiac?"

I snickered... because I was debating asking the same thing.

Our host went through an explanation of how it is for men more so than women, that high zinc content helps, and then he said, "I probably shouldn't go here, but I'm gonna..." And he shucked an oyster, separated it from the shell and drew his shucking knife down the side, then gently started to pull it apart and peel it back until it started to look like... the folds of...

"Can you zap that in the microwave for about a minute?" he asked one of his co-horts, who did exactly that and returned exactly a minute later.

And wouldn't you know, it looked like a--

"See, right there is the little man in the canoe," explained our host. "Which I've only ever heard about, I've never found it."

So many pictures were taken that you'd think Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears and Paris Hilton had been caught together in flagrante delecto.

"The way I see it," he continued, "If it can do that, you never know what it can enhance. It's good for both of you, you know?"

So there you go. The more you know.

Early tomorrow morning I'm off to Vancouver via train, where I will be partaking in a reunion 20 years in the making. You will likely hear the squealing from wherever you are.

What an amazing month.

But what was more fascinating to me, and telling, was how people took to the event. I'll be honest: I didn't have a lot of hope that people would want to become involved with this, which is why I went and solicited nearly $5,000 in prizing. It didn't dawn on me until Kevin wrote about it that it might be deemed as distasteful to some. All I was thinking was, "Nobody's going to want to do this without something being in it for them, so I've got to find a way to talk them into it." For me, this event was all about making a difference. I just didn't know whether or not that would be enough to encourage people to do the same (other than Kevin, that is, who worked tirelessly to make this all happen. Seriously, he deserves a standing ovation at the very least.)

A small handful of people signed up in the very beginning. Some took to blogging every day, others blogged sporadically at first, but the longer it went on the more people opened up. Kevin and I had around three people signing up every day until we had over 60 bloggers involved, and people were still signing up all the way until the last day. And some of the revelations were staggering. I can't tell you how many times reading someone's entry brought me to tears, and how amazing I found it when one person's admission became inspiration for another to step forward. It was really incredible to see.

We live in a society that is more comfortable discussing the finer points of war than we are addressing victims of sexual abuse and assault. We live in a society that shames survivors more so than their attackers. Quite frankly, that's fucked up. The more we talk about this, the more that shame goes away. I'd like to think the blogathon has helped in that respect by opening lines of communication in a lot of different ways. I hope the participating bloggers will continue to do so. And I hope, if we do this again next year, that we'll encourage even more people to do the same.

I want to say a huge thank you to Kevin for making this all possible, Chelsea at RAINN for working with us to make this happen, and - of course - all of the participating bloggers. You're all incredibly courageous for taking this on, and many of you will be added to my links list. I feel honored to have read such an incredible outpouring from virtual strangers. I can't thank you enough. And, of course, those of you who donated. Every penny counts.

I'm hopping a plane again tomorrow, but I'll be updating from the road. (Oh, and a side note to the guys driving next to me on PCH yesterday.... I know you busted me grooving to Madonna as if the inside of my car was my own personal disco. Please don't post that picture you took of me on a blog. I have to maintain some kind of decorum.)

I didn't get herpes from being careless or acting like a "slut." I got herpes from being date raped when I was passed out drunk. I spent a lot of years beating myself up about it, much like Miss Britt did, but eventually I let it go. Yes, I was drunk, yes, it was wrong, but it happened and I dealt with it. The part I didn't let go of for a long time was that little matter of a permanent reminder of that night's events.

I'll admit it - I haven't been honest with everyone I've slept with about it. I know that I should've been, but I comforted myself with the knowledge that I never went within 10 feet of anyone when I had the inkling of an outbreak. To the best of my knowledge I've never given it to anyone else (knock wood. Oh god, I just typed that and realize I should say that pun was so not intended, but I'm keeping it.) Small consolation, I know, but when you feel like you're going to be left untouched and alone for the rest of your life because you're tainted, telling someone about your STD can be an incredibly daunting obstacle.

But after my last relationship split up I decided it was wrong of me to tell men after I'd slept with them. The only time I'd told someone before hand was because I was avoiding sleeping with them, and I knew spilling those beans would put the kibosh on his plans (that story is in the book and greatly amuses me to this day.) So when I was going through my self-destructive phase in the wake of my last break-up, I hooked up with a guy I had dated a couple times around the time when my ex and I met. We went on a couple dates and he spent the night a few times with no shenanigans, so I found myself completely unprepared the night he started making The Official Move. So I stopped him.

"Before you go down there, we need to talk," I said to him.

"Okay."

"Okay." I took a deep breath. "So, I want to make you aware of the fact that I have an STD."

"Which one?" he asked.

"Herpes," I said, and forged ahead before he could say anything. "At the moment I'm clean, and it's been a long, long time since I've had an outbreak. And I would never go near you if I were having an issue, but I wanted to let you know before we moved further so you could make an educated decision for yourself."

He processed what I'd said for a moment, then said, "I appreciate that. And I admit that I don't know a lot about it, so I'd like to do some research for myself so I understand what I'm getting into, and then we can take it from there."

And he laid down next to me again, curled his arms around me, and we cuddled. And I thought, Wow, that went better than I thought it would! Such a grown-up, adult reaction! How cool!

Famous last words.

About a solid five minutes of silence went by - during which I was reveling in being held and the miraculously mature reaction he'd had. He, apparently, had been stewing, because the first words out of his mouth to break the silence were, "You couldn't have told me this earlier?"

"I'm sorry?" I said.

"You had to wait until we were in bed to tell me?" he demanded. "When we were..."

"When did you want me to tell you, over sushi?" I asked.

He quieted down again. Another few minutes went by. Then:

"You know when you leant me your Caramex earlier this evening?" he asked. "Have you ever used that on an open sore?"

I laughed. Heartily. "Do you really think I'd bother to tell you about it before we had sex if I were going to let you use infected Caramex without a word?"

More silence.

"I'm not being judgmental," he continued. "It's just that I've always been in monogamous relationships, you know?"

I was seriously dying from internal laughter. No, monogamous people never get herpes! It doesn't take being Annabel Chong to get herpes - much like pregnancy, it only takes once. And I'd never been in an open relationship myself, or particularly slutty, but at this point I certainly didn't see any reason to share with him how I'd actually gotten it (which was a tactic I'd used in the past to lessen the blow... to them or to me, I'm not sure.) Anyway. I wasn't just bemused by his ignorant comments, I was highly entertained and wondering how bad it was really going to get.

The next round went like this:
Him: Do you have saran wrap?
Me: No, but I have condoms.
Him: Condoms won't work for what I want to do to you.
Me: Would you like a hazmat suit?
Him: You could give me head?

Oh yeah. It went there.

It probably goes without saying that I haven't talked with him since, and that was the moment that ushered in my quest to really figure out my shit and stop trying to fill the hole in my heart with male attention. But more than anything, that exchange showed me that what I've always looked at as a burden is actually a blessing. I don't want to share my body, heart, soul or bed with a man who's going to be immature about my admission of having an STD. It's like having a relationship version of Spam Arrest!

(Good lord, that was geeky. Oh, and please remember to donate to RAINN. There's only one day left of the blogathon fundraiser!)

But through all that madness I was starting to feel particularly guilty about neglecting all the bloggers in the GBBMC. I'd gotten into the habit of making at least twice-weekly rounds to catch up on what everyone was writing (and making a comment if I had anything to add to the conversation.) And for two weeks I wasn't able to do any. So I sat down tonight for a few hours and caught up on everything I'd missed. Below, a smattering of the links that resonated with me over the last little while...

There are also a couple posts from people not directly signed up for GBBMC - or signed up, but the post that touched me isn't really from the blogathon - but you should read them anyway. Like this post from Hilly. And definitely this post from Miss Britt.

I really need to update my links list. What an incredible group of writers. Seriously.

More tomorrow, where I'll be sharing a story I've been sitting on during the entire fundraiser out of fear of sharing it, but seeing as it's all said and done by the end of Wednesday, it's probably time to spit it out. It's not even in the book!

But I was very fortunate to have some wonderful people share the evening and join in on the celebration with me. There were friends I'd met from the online world, friends that I'd met through smutland, friends that are new and wonderful, friends who left award shows to make the tail end of the party because they wanted to be there, friends who have been with me through seven years of Los Angeles mayhem. It was so comforting to look out into the audience and see familiar and smiling faces on the book's maiden voyage.

Ian and Alicia, the proprietors of Freddy and Eddy, did such a fantastic job with everything from calming me down to setting everything up. We had wine, we had finger foody stuff, we had a platter of incredible baked good from Schmerty's. The back patio was transformed with chairs for the audience to sit in front of the stage, which held a comfy, cushy brown chair that I decided needed to be leaned against while I read.

Ahh, the reading itself. The reading itself was fun. My friend Doug insisted on introducing me, which was awesome in its own right. Doug has an imagination that is seriously from another planet - he's such a character, and honestly, I was flattered that he was so insistent on introing me. I've not always been the best public speaker, and in the past I've had issues with being genuine out of fear that the genuine me wouldn't be well received. Earlier in the day a friend reminded me that being genuine on stage is a choice, and I know when I'm choosing wrong. He was right. And so when Doug stepped away from the microphone, I said the first thing that came to mind: "I'm nervous. I spend most of my time at a desk in front of a computer, so I think I'd be more comfortable if you were all on IM."

It was true. But this is something that's important to me, and I realize I can't properly convey the message of what I want to say and prove - that surviving can be a wonderful journey - without physically being out in the open to show it. I know public speaking will get easier with time the more that I do it, and I'm greatly looking forward to the next readings in Vancouver and New York. Thanks to some knowledgeable friends I now have some new tips and tricks for my next outing that should make it go a bit more smoothly. Not that last night wasn't smooth, mind you, but we're always our own worst critics, right?

As for what I read, I told the audience that I wanted to emphasize that the book is just as funny as it is tragic, so I chose to read humorous things. Namely, the story of my first trip to a sex store that led into my first official masturbation session, which later segued into the tale of how I became a sex toy tester and attempted to cast a dildo. I was happy that it seemed everyone connected with it, and afterward one friend told me, "I think those were the perfect sections to read, because I was able to hear that and say to myself, 'oh, well that part sounds like fun! I could read that!'" Which is awesome. That's exactly what I was going for.

The reading and party was slated to go from 8 to 10, but the last people didn't wind up leaving until 11:30. The stragglers in question were two gal pals, one of which was my first L.A. friend who has seen me go through several incarnations and has been through a lot with me. As we sat there chatting away about what's been going on, I had this moment of feeling so incredibly happy.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you to those of you who came out to support the book. I feel so grateful that you were able to share that with me, and for those of you who bought it, I hope you enjoy reading. There is more to come.

Now then. Last night I had the supreme pleasure of having dinner with my friend Nick, who is in from Toronto doing some work for City TV, interviewing fun and interesting people and engaging in entertaining drama. He took me out for dinner last night and we caught up for a few hours. And it got us talking about how we met. And really, it's all because of gay porn.

It was when I'd started working at AVN that Cory and I wound up chatting more frequently, as he was reading what I was writing on a monthly basis. Then one day I wrote an editorial about how women find their way to porn, sharing a story about how some women I knew loved watching gay porn because the dudes were hot. Cory read it and - working with Sex TV - contacted Nick, told him about it, and next thing I know Nick is in my cubicle with his cameraman Jim asking me questions about why women love to watch gay porn.

Naturally, Nick and I stayed in touch after that. And then in late 2004, he contacted me with an idea for a new short series they were doing for Sex TV. Would I let him and Jim follow me around while I prepped and left for the Adult Entertainment Expo in January 2005? It would wind up being an hour or half hour show, and it would be great PR for the company I worked for. The answer was yes, yes I would. And before I knew it, Nick and Jim were in my office taping me having conversations with my clients, running around like a madwoman, and swearing like a longshoreman.

My favorite moment from that shoot comes the day that I left for the show. Sharolyn was in town, as my boss had agreed to hire her as my assistant for the five-day expo. Jayme was in town as well, and both of them were going to drive out to Vegas with me. Nick was tagging along in the front seat with a little mini-cam to get some in-between footage. As was often my wont in those days, I drove like a bat out of hell. So when we all got in the car I warned the three of them that they had to be on cop watch, because I was going to speed.

And speed I did. I left Burbank and took the 134. By the time I hit Glendale I was going 110. I didn't even see the cop until it was way, way too late, in Pasadena. Knowing I was so busted, I pulled over and turned to my passengers, saying, "All of you, look really scared and freaked out." (I don't think that was a stretch, considering how fast I was going.)

The cop approached my window and asked if I knew how fast I was going. And I said, "Oh my god, officer, I'm so sorry, there was this guy as I was getting on the freeway and I guess he thought I cut him off, and he was honking and flashing his lights at me, and he was getting really aggressive and shaking his fists and rushing up at me, and I knew I was faster than him, so I just went."

And the cop said, "Okay, because I didn't see anyone..."

And I said, "I think I outran him, but I wanted to be sure."

(Trust me when I say I feel nauseous when I recall this. Horrible behavior on my part, seriously!)

So rather than impound my car, he wrote me up a ticket (worth $350!) and sent me on my way with a suggestion that if it ever happens again, I call the cops and let them deal with the vehicular maniac. I smiled, said thanks, and ran a red light getting back onto the freeway. And then I said, "God, this must be an omen. What else can go wrong this week?!?"

We all know how that turned out!

Meanwhile, I'd told Nick to turn off the camera when all this was going on. When Nick returned home to cut the piece, he called me up to let me know that while he turned the camera off, he didn't turn off the sound... and it recorded the whole thing. So naturally he added it to the final piece.

Classic.

The moral of the story? You never know who you're gonna meet if you watch gay porn!

Anyway, just a quick note for now because I had a big day of getting caught up and whatnot, but I'll resume more fleshy updates as of tomorrow. And just a reminder... this Thursday is the official launch of the book at Freddy and Eddy's. Details below. I'm really looking forward to it!

By turns serious and playful, Sexography maps the coming of age, tragedy and rebirth of one woman's sexual self. From "making out" with imaginary Hollywood stars in her closet (and getting busted) to coming to terms with abuse, assault and rape, from embracing her curiosity enough to become a sex toy tester to accepting and dealing with her tumultuous past, Milne paints both an honest and amusing picture of what it's like to learn about and experience sex in every sense of the word.

From the earliest experiences in her childhood homes in Edmonton and Calgary, Alberta, to present-day Los Angeles, Milne guides readers through the troubled waters of female sexuality with a mixture of candor and humor. Whether you've been through similar experiences or just know someone who has, Sexography will change your mind about why and how survivors survive.

Come join Carly and help her celebrate the launch of her book by eating some treats, raising your glass in a toast, and maybe even hear her read a story or two!

And a big thanks to Galleycat, who wrote about the fundraiser this morning. That was awesome.

Last but certainly not least, here's the third and final chapter of the Finland story (here's part one and two!)

The next morning I knew that Joe had taken Karen to bed. Certainly she'd told me - not having known the flirtation he and I had shared - but her actions said more than her words did. Suddenly, she wasn't sitting with us anymore, she would always sit with him - for breakfast, on the bus, on the plane ride back to Helsinki... and she wasn't being as loud and boisterous as she'd been in the past. It was like watching what had happened to me a few years prior, except with Karen playing the part of me and Joe playing the part of Martin.

Old Me was jealous. Old Me wanted to scream and cry about being passed over for someone else, even though it was me who decided I didn't want any part of that. But Old Me didn't care. Old Me was so used to playing that game that letting go of it was harder than New Me wanted to admit. It took a nap and a few more bouts in the sauna back at Hotel Glo to not only admit those feelings to myself, but to address them and let them go. I knew I wasn't ever going to be ready for the next chapter if I didn't finish this one off first.

Our last dinner was at an Italian restaurant. Thoroughly over Finnish fare, Kelly had decided that one more night of potatoes and reindeer would cause a revolt and made reservations at a nearby spot that let us take over an entire room in the basement so we wouldn't annoy other diners. There was one long table punctuated with a smaller round one to the side, which was quickly dubbed The Kid's Table. Naturally this is where I sat with Colleen, Karen and Elisa, Peter, and one of their co-workers.

We started with our idle chit chat, but as the wine flowed, our conversations got deeper and more personal. Elisa and Colleen connected over family issues, and Karen and I connected over our issues surrounding relationships, love and sex. We were so in tune, in fact, that she reached the point where she couldn't talk anymore, but I could... and she related so much to what I was saying that she left the table several times to compose herself. It was then that I realized that while Old Me was jealous of her because she got to sleep with Joe, New Me recognized the reason why she did was because she was exactly where I was when I'd had my dalliance with Martin. There was something in those moments of talking where she and I realized we were one in the same, just a few years apart.

It was then that we looked up and noticed the five of us were the last ones left in the restaurant - the co-worker had left us long ago as we were deep in the inner workings of each other's brains. Peter didn't want to contribute, feeling it best to keep his private life private.

"I respect your right to privacy, but do you know that by depriving other people of your stories, you're also depriving them of the opportunity to learn how to be happy from your examples?" I said to him.

"I never thought of it that way," he said, and percolated on it as the five of us walked back to the hotel, then promptly took over several tables on the street patio as we ordered a couple more bottles of wine. But I wasn't done asking questions - I wanted to know more. So I gave Peter my caveat - to which he said, "If I feel you're getting too probing, I'll just leave." - and told him a story about my ex-boyfriend, Campbell. I told him how Campbell rarely, if ever, told me he loved me, and how I felt unloved as a result. But by the same token, when I was in love I wanted to shout it from the rooftops and share it with everyone I knew, because something that beautiful and wonderful shouldn't be kept to myself. And I didn't understand why some people wanted to keep love secret. But I wanted to know.

And Peter said, "I've had enough." And he left.

It appeared I'd hit a nerve.

He returned a while later, and finally assimilated back into our group. I decided not to push things further. Besides, I was having fun chatting with Colleen, Karen and Elisa about how we were going to plan an all girl's trip someday soon. But when we got kicked off the patio after last call and hiked up to Elisa's room to continue the festivities, I took the opportunity to pull Peter aside and apologize for making him feel uncomfortable.

"It's just that I suspect that you've had more experience in this than I've had, and I want to learn," I explained.

"I know that - it's just that I'm a very private person," he said.

I nodded.

"But if there's some advice I can give you, it's that you should marry your best friend. I married my best friend, and I'm so very happy that I did that. And another thing - sex isn't everything. You can marry your best friend and not have sex be the center of your universe."

I thanked Peter for his insight and digested what he said. I agreed with his missive about being best friends with your significant other - I'd certainly done that in the past. But his feelings about sex concerned me. I'd been in relationships where sex had been the central theme, and I'd been in relationships where it had been nonexistent. Hell, I'd even been in relationships where it started out being the end all, be all and then completely vanished. And the one thing I'd learned from all of those experiences was that there had to be a middle ground somewhere in there - where sex was plentiful, but not the center of everything. Where I could maintain a loving, spiritual and physical connection with the man I chose to love, but also maintain an independence and an ability to say no on the nights I needed to, or that he needed to, without pain and consequence. I had to believe not only that it was possible, but that it was out there for me. There was no reason why it couldn't be.

The next morning, the half of us that hadn't left on the earlier flight hopped on the bus to go to the airport. Colleen and I flew business class again, Karen and Elisa disappeared to the back of the plane... we hoped to see again sometime soon. I'd come to adore them, and from what I could tell, they felt the same about Colleen and I as well. Something told me our story - and the opportunity to learn from them - wasn't over.

On the plane ride home I'd gotten enveloped in finishing The Red Book by Sera Beak. Earlier in the book she'd mentioned a ritual she'd performed while vacationing with a friend, where she decided to marry herself and recited vows that solidified a commitment to herself. I thought it sounded perfect for me considering my past, my present, my future. But in the madness of everything that had gone on in Finland, I couldn't quite find the time I needed to properly dedicate myself to the event. I'd debated doing it when I got home, but something about that didn't feel very special.

I decided that maybe, in keeping with my journey, it would be best to save it for my next trip: Porta Del Sol, Puerto Rico. I wanted to commit to myself on white sand beaches with crystal clear blue water, with incredible sightseeing opportunities like kayaking through the illuminated waters of a bioluminescent bay.

But most of all, I wanted to commit to myself alone.

I don't normally call out press attention, but the fundraiser landed some great hits this week.

First, Audacia Ray wrote about it on the Village Voice's new blog, Naked City.

Then, Jenny Block discussed it on The Huffington Post.

And last but certainly not least, it got written up on Fishbowl L.A.

If you have the time, it'd be awesome if you could "buzz" the HuffPo article and help it get attention so we can get more people involved in the fundraiser. All you have to do is click the little "B" in the list of cartoonish icons under the title of the story (this will open a new window), then click on the "buzz it" button under Jenny's picture.

Thanks, everyone. More soon!

Contrary to popular belief, I'm not spending all my time on Facebook... but I did have the shock of my life when I actually tracked down my best friend from elementary school. Of course, I had to tell her that she was in the book. And when I told her in what context, she - thankfully - laughed.

So in celebration of us connecting again for the first time in 20 years, I'm going to print an excerpt from the book that I don't think either of us will live down. Lucky for her she's pseudonymmed. (And once again, please remember to donate to RAINN!)

In the meantime, I was turning six and adjusting to life with my mom and no dad in a condo complex right down the street from what was about to be my elementary school. I called them the blue condos, even though they were kind of grey. They were next to the yellow condos, which were next to the brown condos, which were directly across the street from where my new best friend Diana lived with her mom. Conveniently, her dad lived in a house on the other side of school. We rode our bikes - pink banana seats, flowered baskets, streamers and all - around the neighborhood and played in the park, and when winter hit we would go sledding. Of course, we played Barbies too. And naturally, we undressed them and contemplated their hard, plastic bodies in comparison to our own. Not that we'd get naked in front of each other - rather, we'd lament the fact that we didn't have chest bumps like Barbie did and wondered if there was something wrong with her, or us.

Diana had an older brother, Taylor. He was surly in the way only a teenage boy could be. He tin foiled his bedroom windows so no sun would come in. On the weekends he slept until noon, and if Diana and I made any noise in the house before then, he'd scream bloody murder and threaten to kill us. He acted like he hated Diana and I - he probably did. Despite that, I often found myself wondering if Taylor had a cluster of stuff down there like Chris did, or if he was smooth like a Ken doll. I never had a crush on Taylor - he was too mean, and not in that way that boys who liked girls were mean. So I was never inclined to ask him what he was hiding behind his jeans. It didn't matter, because Diana solved the mystery for both of us.

Like most children of divorced parents, Diana split her time between her mom's condo and her dad's house. She was lucky enough to have the two within spitting distance of one another, so she wasn't horribly displaced from week to week. It was also convenient for the two of us when we'd play together, as the blue condos were right in between both of her homes. We'd take turns hanging out at her place and my place, but one afternoon when she was supposed to come to my place, she called me to switch up our plans.

"You have to come over here," she said.

"Why?" I demanded, feeling put out. I didn't think it was fair. Diana and I were always at loggerheads over what was fair, and in my desire to keep her as a friend, I usually gave in to her.

"Just come over and I'll show you," she said.

There was an urgency in her voice that I never heard before, so I told my mom I was going to Diana's dad's place and took off through the field behind the condos.

When I got to the front door, she was waiting for me.

"C'mon," she said, and took my hand as she led me downstairs.

Though I had a basement phobia that had lasted as long as I could remember thanks to an incident where my mom's cat had jumped on my head (followed by an impromptu viewing of the Amityville Horror when I was being babysat one night), I didn't find Diana's basement discomforting. For one, it was easier to deal with demons and things that were going to jump out at me with my best friend at my side. And for two, Diana had kind of made it a play area, with board games like Risk and a blackboard where we'd play school games, despite the fact that the area was unfinished and packed full with boxes. And it was in one of those boxes that Diana had struck gold.

"Look," she said. And she opened the box to reveal a pile of Playboys.

We immediately poured over them and mused about all the naked women on nearly every page. We were mostly silent as we took in the soft lighting, the feathered hair, the juicy, glossy pink and red lips parted just so, the shapes and the colors and the expressions on their faces. We scrutinized the poses they were in, deduced that it looked like we would one day have chest bumps like they - and Barbie - did, but our most important discovery came when we flipped through a Penthouse.

Namely, that boys had a bumstick.

I don't remember how the term was coined, but I didn't have a hoo ha or a noo noo, or whatever else parents liked to term a vagina - I had a front bum. And it made sense to me that I had a front bum and a back bum, so I never thought anything of it. Though I'd never discussed with Diana how confused I was about what I'd seen playing doctor with Chris versus what we saw when we played with Ken and Barbie, we were both curious about what boys had down below. So when Diana opened up the Penthouse to a picture of a naked man, it was like a timeless mystery had been solved. It was Ken that was abnormal! Somehow, I felt like I'd been given superior knowledge. And so I shared my knowledge that boys had a bumstick - but not how we'd discovered it - with my mother. And she laughed.

Have you heard about the "I Was Raped" t-shirt?

What do you think about it?

So today's post is a continuation of the Finland story, which started here (and then got derailed as we launched the fundraiser... which reminds me, don't forget to donate to RAINN. But instead of putting GBBMC2008: and the name of my blog, please choose one of the names from the participants list and give them some love instead.)

Martin was a man that I fell for hook, line and sinker. Martin knew all the right things to say. Martin found me after I'd had my heart ripped out of my chest, and the wound it had left was still fresh and bleeding all over the floor, leaving a trail behind me wherever I went. He followed that trail and sucked me in, but what's more, I wanted him to. I wanted to believe the things he told me when he said that he was leaving his wife for me, and he would talk me into doing things I didn't want to do. Martin controlled me. And I'd let him.

Of course once he'd had me, it was over. And though I'd convinced myself otherwise for a time, I admitted to myself that what I had shared with him wasn't love, it was a conquest. It took me a little digging to discover the game he had played with me was not only a game he had played with countless women before me, but also one that he was playing with two other women in addition to me. He had sniffed out my low self esteem, my desperate need to be and feel loved, and he exploited it wholeheartedly in a destructive hope to leave me devastated. It was his way of hunting and killing, then hanging a severed animal head over the mantle of his fireplace. Breaking women's hearts was his sport.

But while I momentarily felt destroyed by the Martin situation, it also woke me up in a way that previous experiences with men had not. Namely, that I had to stop jumping into things with both arms and both feet in an effort to get to the "I love you" at warp speed. I had to start getting to know who I was getting into relationships with. I had to start listening to my gut, which I'd ignored when it came to him. And when Joe said the line about seeing the hurt in my eyes, my gut screamed, "RED FLAG!"

While in the past I would've heard that line and thought, "Oh my god, he understands! He will love and cherish me because he knows I've been hurt!", I now thought, that is the biggest bunch of bullshit I have ever heard - absolutely everyone on the planet has experienced hurt! - and he's telling it to me because he thinks it's something I want to hear. But I also knew that what was mildly attracting me to him, and him to me, was the old programming I'd been working through - the stuff that told me I wasn't whole without someone to love me, that I had to give all of myself away to make that happen, that I had to make a man the center of my universe in order to feel worthwhile. And I knew that how I behaved tonight would tell me if that programming was really ripped up for good.

The cat and mouse game continued throughout the night. He'd continually ask me questions in an effort to get inside my head and understand my past relationship blunders so he could use them against me, and I'd answer, but wouldn't fall completely into the trap. He'd ask me to go for a walk with him so we could talk, and I'd tell him we could talk right there, in the throng of people dancing under a sun that hadn't set at 1:30am. He begged Colleen to take several pictures of the two of us together, which she did. As we looked at them on the screen of her digital camera I realized the looks on our faces belied an attraction, but there was something else. As much as I was enjoying the somewhat flirtatious exchange, I was enjoying the fact that I wasn't falling for his ruse even more.

Finally, he cornered me by the ice bar when I was going for a refresher on my drink - a concoction of fresh muddled berries, mint, soda water and Finlandia berry vodka, mixed for me by the top mixologist in Hungary.

"Answer me one question," Joe asked, inches away from my face.

I laughed. "I've answered several of your 'one questions,' Joe."

"You're telling me there's nobody here that you're interested in?"

I smiled. And as I did, that low down, deep dark part of me said, yes. I'm interested in you. I'm interested in you because you're charming and say things that are lovely, and flirting with you is a lot of fun. I'm interested in you because you're sexy, and the fact that you're older makes me want to believe that you're over your nonsense and ready to be a man about things. I'm interested in you because you make me feel attractive, too. And because I believe these things, I want you to take me to bed and kiss me for hours, peel off my clothes, touch and taste me everywhere until I can't take it anymore. Because it has been so long... so, so long. And I want to feel good again.

But instead, I told him, "Joe, if you're asking me if I find you attractive, I do. But I don't want to get hurt."

"I'm not going to hurt you," he insisted.

"I also don't go for other women's men," I added.

"I'm nobody else's," he said.

I rolled my eyes. "The bottom line is I'm not interested in leaping into strange men's beds anymore. I really need to spend my time with me, sorting out what it means to me to be with someone else. And in the times that I have had my heart broken, I have come to learn a very valuable lesson."

"What's that," Joe asked, slipping his arm around me.

"Latin men are full of shit."

As he began to laugh, I walked away. And as I did, I felt just a little bit triumphant.

After hours of dancing, eating reindeer burgers, doing shots right out of the bottles we'd stolen from the ice-carved bars and watched the lake set aflame in celebration, we finally boarded the bus back to the hotel at 3:30am, with the sun still blazing bright. Joe stood by the driver's seat as everyone walked past, muttering his "one question" line again as I walked past. I took my seat at the back of the bus and ignored him. When we got to the hotel, he sidled up to me as I was walking back to my room.

"What room are you in?" he asked.

I looked around and noticed Karen and Colleen were busy helping one of our crew, who had had more than too much to drink. "911," I told him.

He laughed. "Emergency, huh? Who are you rooming with?"

"Myself," I said, and as soon as I had, I regretted it. Because I knew this was Old Me answering, and New Me didn't want Joe to knock on my door. So before he could say another word, I told him goodnight and took off to my room, where I stripped down to my underwear and prepared to hop into bed.

That's when the knock at my door came.

New Me thought it was Colleen.

Old Me prayed it was Joe.

With no peephole to check through, the only way I'd know was opening the door.

"What can I help you with, Joe," I sighed after I'd opened the door just a crack. I was in nothing but white lace. I gave idle thought to covering up. I couldn't decide if New Me just didn't give a shit, or if Old Me wanted to send a very available message.

"Why don't we talk a little," he said, pressing forward ever so slightly.

I planted my hand in his chest and gently pushed him back. "There's nothing to talk about, Joe. Goodnight."

"What do you mean, there's nothing to talk about?" he asked.

"Go bug Karen."

I shut the door, locked it and went to bed.

Alone.

And for the first time in a long time, happy about it.

The third and final part coming soon...

Anyway. It's the kind of music that you listen to that makes you feel sexy, just because you're listening to it. And if you happen to be listening to it with someone who turns your crank, you leave the phone off the hook, close the curtains, and then 36 hours later...

Wait, where was I? Oh yeah, music.

Okay, so here are some of the tunes that have made it onto the playlist:

• Somewhere Down The Crazy River by Robbie Robertson (Goddamn, his voice is sexy. Especially when he says, "You'll like it now, but you'll learn to love it later." Oh yes indeed.)
• Sugar Water by Cibo Matto (What up, my Buffy sisters? Season Two, "When She Was Bad," dancing with Xander... "Don't you wish I would?" Dizamn.)

• Talisman by Air (Sometimes sexy songs have no lyrics.)

• 6 Underground by Sneaker Pimps (I've loved and listened to this song endlessly since it came out in... what, the 90s?)

• Song For Holly by Esthero (Pretty much any song by Esthero, really.)

• Criminal by Fiona Apple (The opening line? So dirty.)

• In The Air Tonight by Holly McNarland (Phenominal remake.)

• Futuresex/Lovesound by Justin Timberlake (I try to fight it, but I can't...)

• Digging in the Dirt by Peter Gabriel (I so love this song.)

• And of course, the Madonna collection: I Want You, Erotica, Justify My Love, The Beast Within.
  

The thing is, I only have 45 songs on the list. I feel like there should be more. So I wanna know what your favorite Booty Music is so that I can further populate my list. (Bonus points for any good accompanying stories.)

Also, because this entry is kind of a non entry, I want to encourage you to read some of the things others are writing for the fundraiser...

Jen at Low Minded Lover wrote an incredible piece about learning about her sexuality (and the Queer as Folk clip is so hot that Shar said it's worth a watch... or nine.)

Cynical Nymph shares her story of HPV, meeting her future husband, and managaing the both of them through an incredible roller coaster ride.

Simply Jane writes about her first make out session in a graveyard. (Once again, what up, my Buffy sisters!)

Sinclair at SugarButch shares an essay about the demise of a relationship, and how the ensuing fallout still affects her. (Seriously - great writer.)

Bec from Out of my Tree remembers her first time and perfectly encapsulates 16 year-old dramatics in the process.

Sizzle wrote an incredible piece about how no means no.

And last but not least, Alice of Naked Before You writes about making her love list... not the one about the kind of person she wants to share her life with, but the one about what she loves about herself.

That's it for tonight... but as always, please don't forget to donate to RAINN.