we can't be saved from what we love.

I spend most of my time on this blog talking about things that have happened to my vagina and things that irritate the crap out of me. For a change of pace, I'd like to talk about things that move me.

I have always felt an incredibly deep connection to the GLBT community. I self-identify as queer, but I think it goes deeper than just belonging. Through the course of my feminist awakening, my sexual enlightenment, and my growth into an adult, I sought to find an aural or visual experience that depicted the world as I feel it. It's hard to say whether the view or the world itself is broken, but it lies broken nonetheless. It's sharply hued and violent, but silent and subdued. It's where we play with fire and still drown.

And I found Nan Goldin, a photographer who grew up in Massachusetts and made a name for herself photographing herself and her friends, many of them gay, in front of the drug-addled backdrop of New York in the 1970s and 80s.

I feel disconnected from much of the art I experience on a regular basis, and some of the literature. But Nan's work touches me so much. I feel we are cut from the same cloth. I feel we live in the same world together. She has been one with the freaks. She captures the despondency that has so often permeated my life. Her photographs recognize the complexity of the juncture between gender, sex, and mortality.

And yet there is no desperation in what she shows us, sad as it all may seem. It is a reality created in the desire to love things, even if society tells us we are wrong. It is a reality where we all realize that we are going to die and as a result, all we can do is live.

Many of the subjects of Nan's original photographs died by the time she gained recognition for her work. They never knew their raw beauty was seen by thousands of people. They just lived their imperfect lives in a world that wasn't ready for them. They are pure. Their images are haunting.

These photographs always make me wonder: how do we ever really interact with one another? And how can we forgive ourselves for the mistakes we've made?

All of these works, of course, belong to Nan Goldin.

I'm nobody's strumpet.

I have a dream.

I have a dream that I will find a generous benefactor who will give me insane amounts of money to use at my leisure simply for being the fantastic creature that is Chelsea.

Apparently, my dream is not so unique.

I have been pretty intrigued lately at the fuss about SeekingArrangement.com. If you live under or a rock or don't read any of the Gawker blogs, SeekingArrangement helps people, well, seek arrangement. By arrangement, I mean pathetic gold-digging "sugar babies" latching onto rich, lonely, seemingly-sex-starved self-righteous rich jerks. Men attach a net worth to themselves, and a monthly "budget" of what they will spend on the right whore lady. in their words:

"An Arrangement is short for 'Mutually Beneficial Relationship' between two people. Such a relationship is usually between an older and wealthy individual who gives a young person expensive gifts or financial assistance in return for friendship, or intimacy."

It's tempting. I am an American. I like clothes. I want a car. I have bills to pay. Denying my consumer-driven mentality is about as pretentious and phony as asking somebody rich to finance my lifestyle in exchange for my companionship.

I've always found, though, that being a gold-digger is a question of dignity. Either people will take handouts, or they won't. I come from the stock who is too proud to take money, let alone ask for it. Unfortunately, I am a big selfish brat. However, this, like all things, has limits. I obviously have never cared about money when it comes to dating. Anyone who knows my track record is baffled at how I have only been sexually attracted to poor dudes. I'm even marrying one.

Which is why the SeekingArrangement thing just won't settle right with me. it assumes that the greatest currencies in a relationship are money and beauty. That's a sound model, I guess, if you recognize that it's directly related to every advertising ploy in modern society. but it's bullshit if you actually consider that 95% of the population is 1.) not rich and 2.) not beautiful. Furthermore, it perpetuates the idea that the best way to get what you want is to fuck someone who has it - money, power, even a discount at the dry cleaners. And anyone with half a brain will tell you - a truly classy lady would never screw for money.

What I always wanted was a charming, fascinating older woman with no children of her own (and, obviously, a small fortune) to take me under her wing. I would visit with her twice a week and drink extra-dry vodka martinis while she warbled about how much I reminded her of herself at my age. Then she'd give me $2000 to go buy a nice coat and do something about that god-awful hair, a woman should never let her roots show.

If anybody's got any hookups to lonely old ladies with eccentric accents and no heirs, let me know.