If you’re thinking about seeing the movie Fifty Shades of Grey this Valentine’s Day, please don’t. Furthermore, if you’re dating someone who suggests it, this is grounds for an immediate break-up.

Fifty Shades of Grey is movie based on a book aimed at women who are a) barely literate and b) are tired of having vanilla sex.  Apparently, there are a lot more women in that category than I thought, because this horrible-excuse-for-killing-trees has become a worldwide “sensation”, spawning a host of parodies (see Sheds of Grey) along with a line of S&M products that are sure to something-up your suburban sex life and possibly lead to some uncomfortable, drunken conversations with your girlfriends at the country club.

The writing is truly, ridiculously terrible. And not in a good way, unless Gilbert Gottfried is reading it; then it’s pure comic genius. I read Harlequin romances that were more intellectually stimulating when I was 15. I eye-rolled and laughed myself through twelve pages, then threw it in the pile for charity and became severely depressed at the state of American literature. Can the movie be worse, you ask?  Maybe not. Still, I’m not taking any chances.

Erotica should stimulate your body AND mind.  And it shouldn’t put you in harm’s way.  In addition to the piss-poor writing, the Shades of Grey franchise is chock full of stereotypes and dangerous choices; sex educator extraordinaire, Laci Green does a great job of explaining why this book (and now movie) fails and how to have fun, consensual kinky sex.

For smarter women (and men) who are interested in BDSM sex practices or the lifestyle, here’s a list of better, sexier options to explore this Valentine’s Day.
 
6 Smart, Kinky Alternatives to Fifty Shades of Grey
 
1. Different Loving
This well-written book gives readers a peek into the dominate/submissive lifestyle and its various permutations. Authored by a husband and wife duo, it’s a fascinating read for anyone interested in sexuality and human behavior.
 
2. Penny Flame’s Expert Guide to Rough Sex
Penny teams up with filmmaker Tristan Taormino for this half how-to video, half erotic porn. And it’s pretty damn good. If you’re interested in BDSM sex, you should know these basics so no one gets hurt.

 3. A Submissive’s Initiative – Website
The goal of this website is to make “BDSM approachable, understandable and fun” in a “warm" atmosphere. Lots of good resources here.

4. Kinky Handmade Products on Etsy.com
Skip the cheesy sex store and shop for cooler kinky accoutrements on Etsy. From custom leather whips to BDSM jewelry, there’s a little something subversive for everyone.

5. Betty Page Stag Film – Irving Klaw (1955)
This short clip from a rare stag film has reemerged, showing gorgeous “Bondage Betty” in her submitting to a dom female. Funny and sexy. Sure to lead to foreplay...at least.

 6. Shades of Grey (Parody Song) - Music/Lyrics by yours truly, Jezebel Jones
I wrote this silly song just this morning and captured it on video tonight for your Valentine's Day pleasure.
 


To my lovely friends and fans—Happy Valentine’s Day!


XOXO,


Jezebel

 

Note to the reader: I wasn't gonna publish this post outside my facebook friend circle, mostly because I've recently made peace with my born-again Christian folks and was worried about them reading it. But I've been challenged to live a more honest life, be who I am and not be ashamed. Called to be more vulnerable and share some of the adventures of my (sometimes) adventurous life. Sure, sometimes I take liberties and perhaps exaggerate here and there, as any Texas-based storyteller might.  But I'm no longer willing to censor myself for others...nor apologize for my "wicked ways", so here it is...

Last night was insane. 

Bussed it to a local rock club. Oh my vengeful god, the band sucked. The drummer was particularly ludicrous; apparently he spends all his practice time tossing his sticks and making up fancy "I’m-such-a-badass-rocker" moves and no time on actually keeping time.
 After a few truly terrible songs, I walked to a nearby convenience store looking to kill time before the next band. On the way back I noticed a bar with rainbow lights called The Annex and thought, "what the hell..." 

You know the scene from those old westerns. Stranger walks into the saloon. Entire room goes quiet as everyone stares at the stranger. Then everybody goes back to what they were doing but that uneasy feeling still lingers in the air. There was literally only one other woman in the place.

Should I even be here? Did I break some kind of unwritten SA gay code? So I flat out asked the adorable, husky man boy to my right. Within minutes I met all his friends and we got to know each other over drinks and lots of laughs. Soon Eddie and his pals had me following them to another bar with rainbow lights: one that featured male strippers. 

OH SNAP these strippers were freakin’ hot. AMAZING bodies and faces, excellent erotic dancing skills. My new gay friend-pack thought it was great fun to call them over and then shove dollar bills in my hand and have me tip the dancers. (People see me as wild--and I can be sometimes--but I’m still a bit of a modest Catholic school girl). I was titillated and embarrassed and being a good sport about it as these smokin' guys pummeled my face with their...errrr...packages.

Let’s just say they weren’t shy about earning those dollar bills. Let’s just say at least one of the hot dancers was definitely NOT gay. Let’s just say some of events that happened shortly afterwards are not safe for work, or my parents or impressionable children but will provide fabulous fodder for my unauthorized biography.

Let’s just say what happens in San Antonio stays in San Antonio.

Today I saw my favorite pro-choice sign so far: it was created by a 14-year old Austin, Texas gal named Tuesday Cain:

The sign read: “Jesus isn’t a Dick, So Keep Him Out of My Vagina”.

It's caused a bit of hub-bub and naturally it went viral. Some cowardly members of the religious right have attacked this young girl, calling her a slut and worse. You can read the whole story here.

Cain’s sign made me laugh this morning—you know how I love irreverent humor—but has a very serious side to it, one that inspired me to share this post. It’s true. Jesus ISN’T a dick. But for awhile I thought he was.

I was baptized Catholic and raised Pentecostal. I spent a considerable amount of time in church or engaged in religious activities: studying the Bible, memorizing scripture, singing about Jesus, practicing the “gifts of the spirit”—prophesying and speaking in tongues. I felt a deep connection with the story of Christ, how much he loved others and his ultimate sacrifice. It’s a story that’s very easy to connect to. In our heart of hearts, we are all looking for unconditional love.

Starting at age 17, I went through three periods of rebellion; a trio of rumspringa, so to speak. At the end of these backsliding stints, I realized many of the “facts” I had learned as a child didn’t add up. I started seeing the Pentecostal church as a glorified pyramid scheme, filled with tons of rules and judgment; taught through musical theatre, enforced through fear. Financed by people like me.

When I went to college, I met people from all cultures, backgrounds and religions and started seeing life as expansive, not restrictive. As full color, not black and white. I broadened my ideas about life and about God. As my newborn eyes began to open, I suddenly resented being told how to interpret the Bible, who to date, how much money to give, who I should vote for. Not being able to make my own moral decisions. Eventually I became resentful about my intensive religious upbringing (i.e. brainwashing) and I abandoned my faith in Jesus and my religion.

But the pendulum has started its reverse swing. Although I often identify with atheists and firmly believe in the separation of church and state, I’ve become comfortable saying I DON’T KNOW whether or not god exists. Historically, we’re quite ignorant, so how could we say one way or the other? And the concept of god is ever-changing.

I also feel comfortable saying I DON’T KNOW if Jesus was a real person or not; there is historical evidence, but then again we know how corrupt the Catholic church was, and continues to be. To me, it no longer matters if he was the exact person of the scriptures; any way you slice it, the teachings of Christ are mind-numbingly beautiful. My attitude towards Jesus has softened. He wasn’t a dick. It’s not his fault many of his followers are dicks.

It’s ironic that the extreme right uses Jesus as their icon, their official spokesman, because if he were alive today, he wouldn’t have anything to do with them. The only people he seemed to hate were religious hypocrites. When he said crazy stuff like it’s impossible for rich people to get into heaven and threw businessmen out on their asses for making money off religion, Jesus really pissed off the religious conservatives. Jesus was the antithesis of religion and its laws. He claimed a higher law, one of radical love.

Many people intuitively understood the gospel of love and flocked to him; by making Jesus a messiah, they made him a threat. So religious and political forces conspired to murder him in the name of God and State. They crucified the Outlaw of Love. Nicely played, religious folk. Nicely played.

And that’s the angle of the story that gets missed: if you piss off well-to-do religious folks who have strong political connections (inevitably they do), you can end up in a world of pain. Or dead. It doesn’t matter their race, creed or religion. It’s about control. Jesus was in the way, at least he was when he was alive.

Jesus wasn’t a dick. He gave WITHOUT trying to control, which is the very definition of love. He didn’t go around preaching fire and brimstone, picketing soliders’ funerals, telling gay people they were going to hell or condemning women for having sex or an abortion. Abortion has been practiced since the very beginning; he never even mentioned it, just like he didn’t mention homosexuality. No, he wasn’t a dick. He emanated love at all times. People were changed in the presence of that love. He fed the hungry. Clothed the poor. Extended mercy to lawbreakers. Healed the sick. Willingly gave his life for others.

His life was a supreme example of love and peace; exactly the opposite of today’s so-called Church. And they wonder why “the world” makes fun of Jesus…it’s because his so-called followers have made a mockery of him, by loudly hating in Jesus’ name.

Seriously, we could all use a REAL Come-to-Jesus Meeting. And that meeting should dissolve religion in favor of love. If the collusion between religious powers-that-be and political powers-that-be killed Jesus—one of the most loving people ever written about—aren’t they likely to destroy us all?

Let’s at least separate these two troublemakers.

Let's practice love, not religion.

XOXO, Jezebel
 

Just came across some photos of me on Facebook from a photo shoot I did with Courtney Conk in Minneapolis. I modeled for her “Experiments in Madness” series…these were filmed in the attic of a (haunted?) Victorian home in South Minneapolis.

Funny, looking at it again yesterday reminded me of a date I went on in Austin a few years ago…it was the photo prop (I’m sitting on) that jogged my memory.
“Jason” seemed like a nice guy—we had a fine dinner and conversation. Talked music and social justice and he seemed like he could be fun, despite his nervousness. Afterwards he invited me to his apartment for a toke and a beer. Why not (I thought)? He didn’t seem dangerous. In retrospect, perhaps that was the problem all along.

We walked in to his one-room studio off South Congress.

I glanced around quickly…and that’s when I noticed it.

It was in the corner. It was small in stature, but it gave me the evil eye.
It gave me the willies, staring me down like that. I thought maybe I had had too much to drink. I blinked. Once. Twice. It was still there, lurking like a tragic omen, telling me to run, run, RUN!

But his bed—that sorry little TWIN BED in the corner—sat there like a stern nun at midnight mass. I’m not clairvoyant but it spoke to me just the same.
I tried to retain focus as we shared a joint. Jason kissed me—poorly—but maybe it was me. Making out was the last thing on my mind, replaced by an army of rapid-fire questions…

Did his ex take his real bed? Did she take his dog, too? How does a man over age 30 sleep in one of those things? How does a woman sleep with a man who sleeps in one of those things? Are there plastic sheets? Is this indicative of…um…size? Why I am here again? Can I start laughing now? No? How ‘bout now?

After a little more sloppy kissing (fail!), I extracted myself kinda-sorta graciously.

I've long forgotten Captain Twinbed's name, but his legend lives on…and now that I made the connection, I’ll always have the photos to remind me.

-Jezebel

P.S. Courtney owns Twin Cities-based CC Photo Arts was also the photographer for my album & 7inch cover art. She’s awesome to work with and gives musicians a discounted rate. CC, you rock!!

It was opening night at Hamlin Christian Academy’s* First Annual Spring Musical. 

Trepidation hung in the air, like the b.o. of 30 sweaty adolescents and teens too embarrassed to ask their parents for a stick of deodorant. It was just a week before Easter Sunday and the auditorium was buzzing with excitement, gossip and hellos as hundreds of parents, community members and church goers greeted one another and started to take their seats. The performance was about to begin.

Although the name of the musical is long lost in the pock-filled labyrinth of my adult mind, I do remember bits of the story and songs. The musical was an interpretation of Jesus’ life as seen through the eyes of a young orphan boy, Nathaniel.

The story went a bit like this…

Nathaniel lived in an orphanage and he, along with all the other orphans had this crazy pipe dream of being adopted one day. Specifically, he really wanted a Dad. Stop me if you’ve heard this one before, right? Yeah, I know.

The role of Nathaniel was the lead and during tryouts a few months before, competition was fierce. It almost went to my crush, Bobby Nyberg*, who at 13 was an “older” boy. All the girls had a crush on Bobby. He was the most popular boy in the 7th grade. Athletic and smart, he had recently started sporting a whisper of a blond moustache.
The auditions were fierce.

And it was close. The role of Nathaniel almost went to Bobby, but in the end they choose someone else. In an unprecedented and gender-bending decision, they chose ME. And I became Nathaniel, the singing Jewish orphan boy (Bobby got a supporting role as a fellow orphan).

I don’t remember what the in’s and out’s of the plot—I think my character meets Jesus, is shocked at his death, overjoyed at the resurrection, gets adopted by a nice family and finally has the father he’s always wanted. It had a warm fuzzy ending and was followed up by an altar call or offering. Probably both.

But hell, the crowd didn’t know any of this yet. It was the first show, and from behind the curtain we could hear them whispering and stirring in their seats with anticipation. The auditorium lights dimmed and one of the drama teachers walked on stage to introduce the play.

Someone gave the two-minute warning from backstage. The curtain was about to go up and I was terrified with excitement. Something magical was gonna happen; we all felt it, waiting in silence.

And then…

Suddenly in the dark, a warm hand squeezed mine and as I turned to look. Bobby Nyberg. I turned and he pressed his lips to mine. I kissed him back. Softly. Behind the curtain. Magic.

I faintly remember the praises we got afterwards; the crowd really loved it and we added more performances. I’ve forgotten a lot of the details. The mementos of my childhood are all gone now.

But I’ll never forget the wonder of that well-timed first kiss. Tender lips, the jolt of adrenaline to my heart. And a hand—squeezing mine—in the dark.

*You didn’t think I’d use real names now, did you?