First up, Dayna. So a bit of background for those who haven't followed from the beginning... back when I first got on Facebook I did a hunt for people I know, as we all do when we get sucked into social networking nonsense, and I decided to hunt out my best friend from elementary school. We were pretty much inseparable in our early years, so much so that I think we shared a brain. A perfect example of this is when our respective moms took us back-to-school shopping (separately, though. We may have wanted to do everything together, but that doesn't mean that we could.) Anyway, first day of school rolls around and we both show up to school wearing the same green striped mini-skirts. Like, exactly the same. We also had the same Strawberry Shortcake bikes. It was the stuff that counted, you know?

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.

I got in late Friday afternoon, just in time for a tour of my hotel (the Fairmont Olympic, which is freakin' fabulous, I have to say) and dinner. I retired to my room and did a little work, then fell into a deep, Sleeping Beauty-like sleep in a bed that was so comfortable it felt like I was snoozing on a cloud. I remembered the feel from this bed, and I couldn't place why until the next morning: I'd stayed at a Fairmont when I was in Barbados. Gotta love consistency.

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.

I don't know how much we raised for RAINN yet - I'm still waiting on the details and will definitely report them when I know. But in a way it feels like the money is a bit of a secondary thing to what happened. Which isn't to say that I don't care if we raised any money. Truth be told, I really wanted to figure out a way to raise the full million they needed. Why not aim big, right? Regardless, any amount we raised was a success as far as I'm concerned.

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 have herpes. That's not the story, though. I have to admit that it looks strange out there in the open on my blog, as I've only previously told a select few lovers and friends... but by the same token, I've had it for 16 years now and talked about it in the book and been interviewed about it in Glamour Magazine back in the mid-90s, so I guess it's not all that secret. It's also not such a big deal to me anymore.

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!)

• Cherokee Love Bat wrote about being in therapy over her assault.
• Essinem shared an interesting story on piercing for pleasure.
• Sinclair also wrote on piercing. And sadistic impulses. She's really just a great writer. (I think I'm developing a blog crush.)
• Crickett talked about sluts.
• Wet Dove shared her tale of a pervert drive by.
• Sascha worked on reconciling the divide between filth and feminism.
• Stacey left an ominous cliffhanger when writing about her awkward phases in school.
• Mistress Crow shared tales from the dungeon.
• Rosey Glasses recounted her love by the numbers.
• Delmer welcomed guest blogger Greeneyezz, who works in outpatient for a mental health clinic, and wrote an incredible piece about things survivors should know.
• Daeshii has been sharing tons and tons of sex tips and insights.
• Low Minded Lover shares her femme angst.
• A Blog of Her Own talks self loving.
• I don't know how to classify this piece on Feminine Symmetry, but it rocks.
• KT Spiffy recounts a day of silence.
• Cheeky Sweetie retells her experience, and how it affects raising her daughter.
• Mel writes about sexual dreamland.
• Gadfly asks his lover if he can kill her rapist.
• Karl breaks his silence.
• Boy Disappearing tries to find a comfortable blend between his religion and his sexuality.
• This one from SJ was our weekly winner for week three.

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!

I'd love to say I wasn't nervous. Or rather, I was but I wasn't. I wasn't because I knew I was going to be among friends and people I love like family. I was because as my friend Dana put it, "I think among the top stressors in the world like moving and finding a new job, reading your sex memoirs in front of an audience is right up there." Yeah. I mean, it's deeply personal work - even the fun stuff! Writing it is one thing, reading it is another.

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.

It's kind of funny how you meet people who introduce you to other people, and then you look back and go, "Man, how did that happen!?" So our trajectory went something like this: when I lived in Toronto, I both frequented and applied to work at Come As You Are. It's there that I met Cory Silverberg, who launched CAYA. Shortly after Cory denied my work application, I left and moved to San Francisco, then to L.A., and throughout the whole thing he and I stayed in touch. (And no, I'm no longer bitter that he didn't hire me! Not hiring me is probably the best thing he could've done.)

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!