Red Means What?

The over-analytical follower that is V along with my friend Eddy and a bunch of other random people have prompted the birthing of this post and if it sucks you're welcome to throw stones at them. The inevitable question, "What's your blog about?" seems to come up lately more than "What is wrong with you?" and trust me, that's a shitload of times. The following conversation was had at Cassie's birthday party and I was struck speechless (which you know never happens).

Eddy: So, Annah...I really like the name of your blog. Very um, suggestive.

Me: What do you mean?

Eddy: You know...

Me: (takes sip from her vodka) Actually, I have no idea what you're talking about my friend.

Eddy: You know, about doing it in the red.

Me: (Seriously confused). Dude, what are you talking about?

Eddy: It's about having sex while you're um, menstruating, right?

Me: No! What the hell?

Eddy: It's not?

Me: No, Eddy. What kind of a sick fuck do you think I am?

Eddy: Well...

Me: Nevermind. The answer is no. It most certainly is NOT about that.

Bearing said conversation in mind, I think it's high time I explain the meaning of Red Means Go and ultimately what my blog is "about." First, let me say what it's not about. It's not about running red lights or having sex during that time of the month. It's not a porn site regardless of what my Google analytics tell me about the search keywords leading people here. It's not about transvestites (even if I do love the gays very much). And it's not about drinking and driving <---- so not cool.

I'm feeling borderline corny today so just bear with me, hmmkay?

Red Means Go, is about...

...Christmas in the summer.

...breakfast of champions!

...the importance of all things vodka.

...my undying love of Spain.

...sex (but not while you're menstruating. Unless you're into that sort of stuff then by all means, go ahead.)

...being forced to pose make-up-less when you're naked and hungover under your bed sheets.

... stopping to smell the flowers.

...encountering love in unexpected places.

...having to live with your fashion mistakes (or all mistakes for that matter).

...asking this man for a bite of his pizza only to have his boyfriend offer to buy you a slice.

... momentarily discarding your dignity for the sweet release of public urination.

...wearing a tie because you feel like it. Also, wearing the pants in some relationships.

...really crappy cartoons.

...finding beauty in imperfections.

...the little things.

...my passion for animal rescue.

...deciding which brother to choose.

...Miami.

...departures...

...arrivals.

...the art of broke traveling.

...finding old pictures and thinking Good God almighty I need to go to the gym, NOW while a tear slowly rolls down your cheek.

...murdering a bottle of vodka with your friend and forgetting the keys inside your car. Having to pay a hundred dollars for a locksmith to come and open it while you shamefully explain the situation.

...high doses of red meat and creme brulee.

...salsa dancing.

...my best friend and her grills.

...duck face heroes.

...leaving some things to the imagination.

Fundamentally, it's about living a life laced with joie de vivre and irreverence. Sending a big fuck you to those who hate for no discernible reason. Being honest and real, without sacrificing class or self-respect. Making the best out of the scraps you're given. Ruling your own existence with dignity and never allowing anyone except mommy dearest and the father unit to tell you how to live. Refusing to settle for anything less than what you deserve, in and out of the bedroom. Speaking up when you feel the need to be heard, knowing when to shut the fuck up. Showing kindness to others, even when they don't reciprocate. Making an honest effort to seek happiness despite all the bullshit life hands you every day. Realizing life is short and so are certain body parts, but you can still make the best out of both if you choose to.

It's about the inherent need to connect.

It's about me.

And of course, it's about you.