…Perhaps we were only mildly entertained. Regardless, please enjoy! If you are looking for Kaylia's official Website please visit KayliaMetcalfeWriter

Of MILFs and DILFs

Like many of you I have photos of my family up on Facebook. I even, against the urgings of my very shy inner child, posted a few photos of when I was little. One such photo of little second grade me on the first day of school also featured my dad who would have been around 30. (Don't do the math, my folks are young. 'Nuff said.)

Let me pause here for a second and tell you that my dad is a very handsome guy. And because Facebook is what Facebook is, someone was bound to comment on his hotness.

I guess I should have known.  There was that one time… My dad, being the awesome guy that he is, was helping move across own. In the rain. It was miserable. As we lugged boxes and furniture up the stairs in my new (creepy) building, a neighbor lady came out and introduced herself.

“I’m Jenny. Nice to meet you!”

I was excited to meet a neighbor having passed many an evening watching Friends and wishing fervently that I too could have that sort of mad cap lifestyle with wacky adventures and friends in the building. “Hi! I’m Kay!”

She looked down the hall at my dad who was stacking boxes of books at the top of the stairs.

“Is that your boyfriend? Is he moving in here too?”

“Oh no,” I laughed, “That’s my dad.”

“Mmmhmm.” She, I kid you not, changed stances to allow for an almost stereotypical pout/hip thrust combo, “That’s a fine lookin’ daddy you got there.”

“Uhhh, thanks,” I managed, my dreams of neighbor friendship dying the death of the wigged out, “My mom thinks so too.”

She sniffed and disappeared back behind her door. We never hung out and if memory serves that was our one and only conversation.

So, yeah. I know my dad is a good looking guy. In fact, I think he looks like actor Victor Garber (the dad from Alias). But knowing that, I was still surprised when he was labeled a DILF by a friend via Facebook.


Just saying it makes me want to laugh. Yeah, I get it, I know it is the counterweight to MILF (another term I actually find more crude and amusing in that whole “how very low brow and common” sort of way than offensive). But seriously, DILF. It just sounds funny.

It didn’t bug me. It should have… I mean, technically someone just made my dad a sexual object. If anyone had called my mom a MILF I think I might have gone on the warpath. But DILF didn’t really even phase me.

Double standard much? I caught myself. Why is it okay for a man to be sexualized but when a woman is objectified it makes me want to start kicking ass and taking names? If we want sexual objectification to cease, if we really want that even playing field, then it can’t be okay no matter the gender of the individual being objectified.

Now I know the friend who wrote in DILF would never in all seriousness cruelly objectify anyone. I know that because I know them. Sadly, that isn’t the point.

That isn’t the point because I also know that language is vital, that slang and dirty talk directly correspond to society’s acceptance of people and things.

When fourteen year old boys yell things like “That Horde Shaman just totally raped me!” in the general chat of World of Warcraft, that is not okay.

When the word “fag” is used as an insult, that is not okay.

When anyone is sexually objectified, be it mom, dad, sister, brother, friend… even in jest, that is not okay.

Am i being oversensitive. Probably. But I can live with that. It's better than being complacent. 

I took the photo down. Again I don’t think there was any intentional aim to disrespect, but on the off chance that my dad would have felt uncomfortable…  (Or for that matter, my mom)

And honestly, having the “So, your friend thinks I’m hot.” conversation with my dad is just something I think I can really do without.

Speaking of my dad though, in a few weeks my parents get to celebrate their 26th wedding anniversary. Again, don’t do the math… just nod and smile and think “Awww, how cute.”

Hiatus Up Date

Hello! First off I would like to thank those of ou who have been faithfully checking out this blog. Next… have no fear! My hiatus is almost done! Coming in April, bi weekly reviews! So… be sure to check back then!

A Panel of My Peers

Last night I sat on a panel. The audience was psychology students. The topic was Sexuality and Gender Identity. I was the token bi.*

There was also a gay male intersexual, a gay male, a lesbian, a trans male to female (also bi) and a trans female to male.

I must be honest. I spent a long long time trying to decide what to wear. I didn’t want to be too butch, I didn’t want to be too fem… I also figured that with such a diverse group of people up there, I wasn’t going to be doing much in the way of talking.

Well, I did get to talk. I got to share and wax poetic. I got to say profound things. I saw people taking notes while I spoke. My story wasn’t a tear jerker, but I know I made ‘em laugh a few times… and most importantly I know I contributed. I talked… but I also listened. I learned.

And I wanted to share a few highlights from the discussion.

First Off: The Alphabet Soup.

No more simply the GLBT community… it is now the GLBT(+). The (+) is sometimes used to represent all the other (newish) letters added to the community designation. So, last night it was the GLBTIPPQQAAS,

Holy crap right? Don’t be ashamed if you don’t know what some of those letters mean…. I had to ask about a few of them.

Now, I understand that people want representation and to see their letter up there, but I think that the practice of continuing to par down and to divide is actually detrimental to the whole point of Community Inclusion. One panel member said that Gay used to be Inclusive. It used to be an all encompassing thing, one rainbow umbrella for everyone. Plus, most of the letters past the T are subsets of things found in the first four letters. There was a bit of debate on whether or not we need all of them. This is a discussion that I know will continue. (My two cents is that we should be working to bring our somewhat scattered community closer together and that the extra letters might be more harmful than good.)

Next… but related. The Hierarchy of the Letters.

The acronym goes: G (Gay), L (Lesbian) B (Bisexual) and T (Transgendered).
The inter-community hierarchy goes pretty much the same way although there was discussion about the issue of respect and that many times Transgendered individuals get more respect than the Bi people. (Bis are all flakey slutty spies who can’t be trusted, don’t you know.)

Okay, moving on past the labels. (Although we talked about the fact that most people work on discovering who they are before they actually have a label by which to define themselves. I knew I liked kissing girls before I knew that there was anything “abnormal” about that or that I would have to label myself accordingly, etc)

The panel talked about bullying, about social pressures, about family alienation, about violence, hate crimes, marriage inequality, and depression.

We warned the future psychologists of the world that society wants to figure out WHAT people are rather than WHO people are… and it should be the other way around.

We discussed the cycle of self loathing and how almost every persecuted group will persecute another group to keep from being on the bottom. (This was discussed in terms of the inter-community hierarchy as well as in-group out-group behavior.)

We talked about Passing and about the Backlash of Passing… the idea that if you pass you are turning your back on your community.

We talked about coming out… how you never stop coming out. How if you are “lucky” enough to be able to fall into society’s default position, do you have a responsibility to come out, to not pass simply by default? (The panel was sort of split on this, but the discussion was very informative.)

We talked about Preferred Gender Pronouns. I learned about Ze (a gender neutral pronoun).

We talked about how gender is fluid. How sexuality is fluid. How if a person is experimenting, no one should be quick to label him her, ze.

We talked about stereotypes and the spectrum of “too gay” to “not gay enough.”

We talked about not wanting our sexual identity to be determined by who’s bed we happen to be in.

We talked about how “I” and “You” don’t have gender…. It is only when an other, an outsider points and references that gender even enters into our language.

We talked about how when a person comes out, they have already processed the anger, the fear, the depression, the acceptance, but whoever the audience is for the coming out speech might be totally clueless and thus needs time and patience so that they too can process through the anger, the fear, the depression, the acceptance.

We talked about community activism.

We talked… we talked… but perhaps most important, we listened.

It was a great panel, thank you so much Scotti and Stephanie for allowing me to be part of it! I learned, I bonded, I networked, I got inspired!

 And ultimately I wore jeans and a layered top. Ultimately, as is usual, I have a feeling I will be remembered for my words and my passion and not my clothes.

Which is exactly right.

*Did I just out myself on my blog? Why yes, Yes I did. It might have come up before... honestly I can't remember. But... if this is the first time you are hearing/reading about my sexual orientation, well... umm... Hi!

Drunk But Not Stupid

Last Tuesday, I joined several new acquaintances and we had a rip roaring awesome time drinking wine, listening to poetry, talking about social change and being silly.

And then, I called a cab to come take me home.

Yes, I was drunk. But.

In the cab the driver asked me the nearest cross streets to where I wanted to go. Then he asked me what route he should take.

Yes, I was drunk. But.

But anyone besides me think that asking the drunk girl to give directions might not make the most sense?
He told me that he didn’t want to be accused to taking the long way, thus he wanted me to tell him which way to go.

Yes, I was drunk. But

But I had a GPS and so I told him the way that google recommended. Off we went.
He asked me about the party. 
He asked me about who I met while there. 
He asked me just how drunk I was feeling.

Yes, I was drunk. But.

But I didn’t feel like giving this guy a play by play of my night. I was sober enough to be aware of my situation. I reminded him to change lanes in order to get where we were going.

As we were getting closer to my street he told me that he often gave special discounts to drunk girls. 

Apparently, dunk girls are usually pretty happy to accept his offer of a discount and to work with him in order to work out a better alternative to paying full fare.

Yes, I was drunk. But.

But I wasn’t that drunk. Or that desperate to save myself some money.

I told him (loudly) to pull the damn cab over right that damn minute and I got out.
He told me it was going to cost me about thirty bucks.

Yes, I was drunk. But.

But I could still read the meter.

I called a girlfriend to keep me company on the phone while I walked the last three or so blocks in the dark.

Yes, I was drunk. But

But I wasn’t stupid.


Fear…. Do you know your body’s response? I know mine. my hands get hot, my heart beats fast, it gets hard to breath. I can't decide what to do.

Let me start at the beginning.
Last night while getting ready for bed, I made the decision to wear what can only be described as “cute overload” jammies. White tank top sporting the image of a perky little chick and matching pink boy shorts adorned with more little chicks. Yes, it is lame. No it is not my normal bedtime attire (I am more of a tank top and undies, big tee shirt or even silky and naughty sort of girl) And really, not just in bedtime clothes, but it is safe to say that I avoid “the cute” in all areas of my life just on general principles.

Except last night when for some reason I decided to pull out this little number that has hardly seen the light of a nightlight in years. Why? Well, partly because I am going through some mental stuff of “Why do I own so much crap? If I am not using it, I should get rid of it.” And also because I wanted the very real reminder that my body isn’t quite as cute and compact as it was when this little bed time ensemble was purchased… sort of a kick in the rear so that I would get up this morning , be reminded of my weight loss goals, and then do something proactive, like yoga, or crunches.


This morning I didn’t get up and work out… at least not right away. Instead I cuddled with the cat and finished reading Q&A (a book on loan from a friend, to whom I want to be able to return it quickly).

Having finished the book I got up, stretched, and was just about to enter the bathroom for some much needed relief, when the door bell rang.

Ok.. so. First off, I am not expecting anyone. Secondly, I am wearing the little chick outfit.
Thirdly, I really need to pee.

I consider. I could go look out the peep hole, but that would mean having to walk past a window... a window next to the door alerting whoever is out there that a)I am home –something I am not sure I want to admit to yet- and b)I am the kind of woman who is wearing chick PJ’s at 1030 in the morning.

 I continue to consider. Had I been happily emptying my bladder, I might not have heard the door bel. (Unlikely, but this is what my mind thought at the time). Also, just because someone rings your doorbell, you do have the right not to answer the door. Right?
I mean.. I could have my head phones in. I could be in the backyard watering the plants. I could be sick. I could be too busy writing a great fantasy novel. I don’t have to answer the door just because someone is out there…. Right? Guard cat yawns at me.


I decide to brush my teeh.

The door bell rings again, twice in quick succession.

Okay, so this level of persistence must mean it is important. I tell myself, I should just pull on jeans, throw on a sweatshirt and go answer the door.


The boy shorts are too thick for the skinny jeans within easy reach. This plan would involve me having to take them off first, then putting on jeans (over a bare butt) and then going to answer the door.

The idea of being undie-less while answering the door doesn’t sit well with me.
Another ring of the door bell… and then loud knocking.

Now I am afraid.

My hands are hot, they tremble… I am frozen. I can’t decide if I should dig in my drawer for some clothes, grab the nearby robe, hide in the bathroom….

Because…. Because… because years ago I answered the door to a stranger on a normal Monday afternoon and the guy bullied his way in and beat me with a beer bottle.

Yes. Things are different now. Yes, there are no beer bottles in sight. Yes, I have taken self defense. Yes, this is a gated community and this could just be a neighbor.


Are things ever different? My mind flashes to the series of unknown phone numbers that have recently appeared on my phone, numbers that don’t leave voice mails. 
There might not be handy beer bottles, but men use all sorts of things to cause pain. I know. 
I also know the best kind of self defense is avoiding unsafe situations. 
And I know that the gate for this gated community isn’t always locked. 
And I don’t actually know my neighbors.

The door bell rings again.

I decide that this person wants my attention just a little too much. Shaking I grab my phone, the surprised cat, and into the bathroom we go.

I shut the door and sit on the floor. I wait.


Twenty minutes later I finally decide it is safe. I empty my bladder, set the cat free, got dressed, and go peek out the peep hole. Nothing. I crack the door open. Nothing.

As I start to shut the door I notice it…. Yellow and white, self adhesive… the UPS notice next to the door handle.

A rush of adrenaline flees my body. I feel the need to sit down, so relieved. I bring it inside and set it on the table.

It says they will be back tomorrow.

I’ll be ready.