The List

I’m not one to talk about sex or sexuality.  There are too many people with opinions, all too willing to tell other people with their own opinions that they bang in the wrong way.  Seems a bit too pot-kettle-black to me.  So, like assholes, I keep mine to myself. 

Figure out the metaphor there.

But last month was one for the books for me.  All Bucket List-like.  I want to talk about it, so forgive me if I jump right in without more of a preamble.

I’m assuming that, like the aforementioned Bucket List, Your Five is a well-known concept.  Everyone I know has a list.  Except for my parents.  And if they do have a list, I don’t want to know anything about it.  But for those of you who aren’t familiar with the concept, perhaps you know it by some other name.  The idea is this:

You have a list of five people.  These are the top five people that, given the nigh impossible opportunity, you’d have a relationship with—most of the time of a physical nature.  There are no penalties, no drawbacks.  Your spouse can’t complain.  He’s/She’s on your list. 

Now you know what I’m talking about.

It’s an escape from your day-to-day doldrums.  Throughout your life, those five names might change; they may not.  Others are close to the top five, but can never quite make it on the list.  It’s a fantasy that we all can relate to, though I can’t seem to appreciate my wife’s obsession with Hugh Jackman. 

Maybe it’s because I look more like this.

I, just like every other person—wait, I’ve covered that—have my own list.  And over the past few weeks, I’ve actually seen two of those fine women.

The first was just over two weeks ago.  On September 13^th, my wife and I attended a burlesque show at the House of Blues in Chicago featuring the wonderful Dita von Teese.  On the list?  Yes.  Oh God, yes!  There was this one dance with an oversized martini glass and . . .  

Anyway, it was a wonderful show.  We stood right next to the stage—at times actively leaning on it—and watched everything in its beauty.  That was the glorious thing about the show—beyond seeing Ms. Teese.  It was a celebration of sexuality, free of judgment.  The whole thing was classy, beautiful, raunchy, and something I’d do again in an instant.  I came home deaf and hoarse.  That’s my most resounding endorsement. 

I want you to notice that I carefully chose one with her clothes on.

While Dita von Teese was important to me, she wasn’t the best, sad to say.  I met number one.  Numero Uno.  The lady at the top.   Last weekend, K and I traveled down to Cincinnati to visit my sister and attend the Cincinnati Comic Expo.  It was a fun little convention, but my draw happened to be one Jewel Staite.  She’s been on several well-known science fiction shows, including Stargate Atlantis and Firefly.  I started watching her at the tender age of “younger-than-I-can-remember-my-actual-age” on a show called Space Cases that aired on Nickelodeon in 1996.  If you’re so inclined, you can watch at least some of the hilariously bad episodes on YouTube.  Jewel Staite was the one with the rainbow hair.  In all honesty, I’ve been following her career long enough that both my sister and my wife refer to her as my girlfriend. 

I’ve accepted this.

It was a big moment for me.  I was all nerves.  She was kind and beautiful.  Afterward was a different story.  I fanboyed out with much hand flapping and hyperventilating.  That caused more than a few laughs, but it was worth it.  And a picture. She took a picture with me.  It’s the wallpaper on my phone.  Tee-hee.

I MET JEWEL FUCKING STAITE!!!!

What’s this have to do with anything?  Probably a whole lot of nothing.  I know that these events may seem small to you, but to me they were the highlight of the year thus far.  Sure, I could give more details, but those I’d like to keep to myself.  It was a couple personal moments for me.  I was so excited.  It’s like meeting an idol.  Or something like that.  I’d do it again in a heartbeat.  And each of you, given the opportunity, should take the chance.  It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.