Whore d'oeuvres, anyone?

Since my first post, I have had some folks question the name of my blog. It seems that the word whore, let alone moans, causes uneasiness in some people.  Not to mention if you put the two together. Shameful.  Now surely, there are those out there that get the play on words... right?  Hormones vs. Whore Moans.  This blog is a place for me, AND others to express their feeling about life, love, relationships, and dare I say... sex.  All of which, evolves and takes on new layers as we grow in to who we really are.  Take me for instance, I recently had a complete hysterectomy and have been thrust in to the throws of menopause.  Experiencing symptoms all at once, causing me to be as Eddie Murphy in Shrek put it, " a donkey on the edge"!  During a string of sleepless nights, I decided that writing and humor, as twisted as it may seem, could help me heal and allow me to be creative during this time of transition.  So in the weeks to come there is no telling what might be bubbling up that I might blog about.


Now back to the moaning whore!  Lets talk about this, and I welcome and want responses to this blog.  Why are we, as a society uncomfortable with the word whore?  Is it because it's the first word we read on the back of a bathroom stall door, and when we asked our mothers what it meant they gasp and told us to never say that again?  If we did, we had our mouths washed out with soap and received a lecture that if we had sex before marriage, that is what we would become??

That's a lot of power for a five letter word, and we have allowed those early memories and webster's definition to mold how we feel about the word, whore.  Which I'd like to say, really isn't fair.  Since the root definition of the word whore is from the prehistoric Common Germanic word *hraz with the underlying meaning "one who desires".  One who desires, now that seems harmless enough, right?

So, I challenge you to try on this new definition. How?  Well, for starters, try saying the word without cringing or acting like you smell something rotten.  All together now, w-h-o-r-e.  One who desires. Whore. 

Your assignment this week is to get comfortable saying the word. Practice. Say it while standing at the sink washing dishes, folding clothes, after you drop the kids off in carline, during your lunch break at a red light.  Just say it and if that is too much... then just think it!

Next blog, we'll talk about the whore in all of us!




*The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2009. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company.

Nocturnal Admissions...

As it has so many nights before, the long hand inches past 1:00 am and the small  voice inside my head wakens me and propels me to the kitchen to find something that will satisfy the emptiness that rouses me from my sleep, night after night!

This particular night, I find a jar of vegetable juice, freshly pressed just hours before bed.  The earthy goodness is released as I break the seal on the mason jar and the color of the juice entrances me. Ahhhh, this looks like something I need. Somewhere in my body I hear, YES! yes, drink it. Without hesitation, I screw the lid back on, place the jar back on the shelf and look for something else, something salty, something sweet, something that doesn't even reside in my fridge or my kitchen.

Now don't judge me, you know you've been there. You too, have made this journey to the fridge in the wee hours of the morning, hoping that no one will catch you. Creating concoctions that only a teenage boy would dare to eat.  But for us, foodies of the night, we search for something that deeply satisfies a craving that started in our early thirties, and  has haunted us ever since.

Journey with me as I explore these nocturnal behaviors and the other mysteries of menopause, and dare I say... life. Blog about your late night cravings and what you think they mean.

And for the record, I went on to eat a handful of chips with salsa, a spoon of almond butter, one piece of Cinnamon toast and finally.. the damn vegetable juice. Then and only then, did sleep find me!

M. Crary