sexy girl

None of us is ever going to be beautiful enough. And yes, the first few comments here will be from people who feel it even deeper than you or I can ever imagine, and they'll be directed at me in the most hurtful way the ugly-inside person at the keyboard can imagine. And even other commenters get attacked; told they're unsexy, not fit to even comment on a sex column. Let's face it; we're all too not-hot to set foot on the Internet, let alone the world. I'm sick of it; I want to mass-produce Jenna Jameson masks like it's Guy Fawkes Day and find everyone who could never imagine themselves as a sizzling sexpot thanks to some anonymous douchebag, and make a bonfire out of trolls.
The world conspires to make us feel unsexy. Not just the Pam Andersons and the endless parade of 99-pound Hollywood starlets, or the ghouls that populate Internet comment minefields, or the Palins, or the baggage we carry around from growing up. I realized it when I was at A Food Affaire, ogling the contortionist babes and the hoop-twirling hotties and feeling like there was no way anyone could feel sexy when there was always something to chisel it off waiting around the next corner. I was in the sexiest environment I could imagine right out of last week's column, and I was still feeling unsexy. The outside world was still in me.
And then I remembered something I was told in a class I'd just taken at local sexy-dance and movement studio Sedusa: "Imagine a ribbon tied in a little bow at the base of your spine, pulling up from the base of your neck. Now walk." And suddenly in that room where I was feeling like the girl in glasses who writes and slouches all day and just wanted to hide in the corner and take pictures with my camera -- I made my date watch me walk. And it worked.
When I wrote about pole dancing a month back, I noted that we have the nation's largest pole dancing studios in the nation in our backyard: Sedusa's SF studio boasts over a dozen poles, shadow dancing area and a room for chair dancing. And though I wrote a column about how a girl can face down unsexy hate online with advice from burlesque queen Bombshell Betty, actually getting up and taking a real step toward not letting other people's issues f-- with my self-esteem just didn't seem like something I could do. Take a burlesque or stripping class? Yeah, right. I'm clumsy, the instructors will be intimidating (as will my classmates), the compulsion to compare would be just too intimidating. Plus, with the cheese factor and trendiness, the SF-denizen, sex columnist stereotypes were just too much. I'll stay behind the laptop, thanks.