When art collides with sex ed

My friend came over yesterday to put the final touches on The Cloud Cave. Namely, to hang all 15 of my art pieces and a 7,000 pound mirror which I had only wanted to anchor, but turns out that hanging was a better option.

Honestly dear Reader, though it’s not clear in the photo, it turned out BEAUTIFUL, and exactly as I had imagined. In fact, it’s so beautiful that I pulled my pillows and bed coverings and slept on the rug on the floor (I am specifying the “on the floor” part just to make sure you don’t get confused and think I was maybe hanging upside down and napping. That’s how much I like you, Reader) so that when I woke up this morning, the first thing I would see was my new salon wall. That’s sort of a secret, so please don’t tell anyone I did that.

We made sure to leave some space for new art work since as of a couple of years ago, I decided that when I travel, I would always bring home one piece of local art, and a magnet.

Funny story. My friend must have played a lot of Pong Atari when they were young, because at one point they nailed me in the ear with one of the lighter pieces. Pretty sure they were aiming for my mouth because I wouldn’t stop talking. Thanks God they were clearly not good at Pong. Now I have a swollen right ear.

I might be lying about the swelling.

Funnier story. We were discussing sex education for very young children, and this morning I recalled that when I was 10-years-old, we had sex ed in school. Obviously, I went to public school. The teacher was trying to explain the details of penetration. Like you, I still don’t know why he was forced to do this to a class of 10-year-old lunatic children.

While the boys were completely agog at the subject matter, none of the girls understood a thing except for the one girl who had seen porn (and now headlines at Barefax). It was absolutely impossible for us to understand the logistics of how or why something could get hard when it got excited because when we got excited, we just ran outside and skipped rope, laughed, pulled at our hair, and had a peanut butter sandwich. Which…I mean…I guess this is how some people would today describe their sexing situations. Pauvre eux.

Ultimately, what the teacher was miserably trying to explain was that the boy fun-part gets hard and then pokes at random girl fun-part(s). To 10-year-old girls this was f/cking crushing because WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE POKES AT US WITH SOMETHING THAT’S HARD?! At one point, I was sitting paralyzed, ramrod styles in my seat and crying because I was so scared of getting poked by something hard. What if he put out my eye? Or gave me an ear infection? Or broke my nose with his hard boy-thing?

Pretty much the same reaction I still have today.

By the time the lessons were over, the teacher was likely impotent. Pauvre lui.

Anyway. Back to yesterday; I fed my friend as thanks, and when they left, I ran for my pjs, pillows and cover, and sprawled out onto the floor to enjoy every story associated with each piece of art work. If you let it, then it’s the little things that make life so very golden.