Pop shot: (pawp shawt); noun: When the guy blows his load in a porn movie.
This blog is a pop-shot like those in most mainstream porn: in your face. ;)
I'm a sex-positive porn enthusiast and free speech activist. In my spare time, I'm a student and a cunning linguist. In my mind, I'm a writer and teacher. And in reality, I'm a totally shy couch potato. Whip it all together, throw in a heavy dosage of wackiness mixed with a love of raunch and way too many opinions, and you get moi.
Well, I did it. Last weekend, I told my parents that I, Little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, have indeed smoked the ganja. It wasn't planned at all; this wasn't a "Let's sit down and discuss what chemicals I have been putting in my body.". Somehow we were talking about something related to it in the car driving back from the movies. My younger brother then made a claim along the lines of "Yeah, people who smoke it do other stuff, too." and I was so agitated I had to spontaneously (surprised myself, in fact) retort: "Oh come on, marijuana is not a gateway drug.". I think the vehemence of my response got everyone's attention, and then came the sly, joking "How would you know?" from my parents. And there was a long, drawn-out moment where I debated the simple get-out-of-jail-free card of denying it and going along with the unchallenged belief that marijuana is the devil's weed firmly in place in my family, or . . . not. And so I said it, plainly and simply: "Yeah, I've tried it."
Cue: the chaos.
Well, not really. I mean, I wasn't lashed to the stern and whipped or anything, but there were some shrieks from my mother and a good-natured "You could have gotten your passport revoked." from my dad (who, for the record, smoked some himself in his youth). It was all greatly mitigated by my repeated "I didn't care for it." . . . God help me if I had actually enjoyed the stuff.
For it's the truth. I don't know if I'd been expecting a more dreamy and psychadelic state, but I at least wanted it to be a more giggly experience than it was: I felt disassociated from my body and too fuzzy, like I couldn't focus on what was going on, where instead I wanted it to be vibrant and intense. I simply wasn't impressed by marijuana. It stinks and quite frankly, the inhaling the hot smoke into my lungs was a horrid feeling that I'd rather never repeat. Nothing about the experience made me say "Yes, give it to me again!". And so when I had the opportunity recently to do it here in the U.S., I politely declined. Simple as that- I was introduced to it, did it, decided it wasn't my thang.
Candye Kane- a bisexual renowned blues/jazz/rockabilly singer, former stripper and BBW pornstar, standing up for fat girls, GLBT folks, sex workers, and anybody else! She's sexy, she can belt out an amazing tune, and she stands for everything I believe in . . . now can I go cuddle her bosom and have her croon lullabyes to me, please?
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Well, I did it. Last weekend, I told my parents that I, Little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, have indeed smoked the ganja. It wasn't planned at all; this wasn't a "Let's sit down and discuss what chemicals I have been putting in my body.". Somehow we were talking about something related to it in the car driving back from the movies. My younger brother then made a claim along the lines of "Yeah, people who smoke it do other stuff, too." and I was so agitated I had to spontaneously (surprised myself, in fact) retort: "Oh come on, marijuana is not a gateway drug.". I think the vehemence of my response got everyone's attention, and then came the sly, joking "How would you know?" from my parents. And there was a long, drawn-out moment where I debated the simple get-out-of-jail-free card of denying it and going along with the unchallenged belief that marijuana is the devil's weed firmly in place in my family, or . . . not. And so I said it, plainly and simply: "Yeah, I've tried it."
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