swamped with work and life... aka the return from boston

this is just a super-quick post to let y'all know i haven't forgotten... i'll be updating SOON SOON SOON on wam! and the super-awesomeness therein.


what a great time! met some cool people and basked in some fantastic discourse.


i'm uber-eager to give you my take on things, as well as recount strange tales from the cambridge marriott, lol. work has me playing mega-catchup, however, and that has to take precedence a ce moment.


anyway, just wanted to give a brief shout out and promise of women, action and the media goodness! cheers!

allow me to retort... and defend myself a bit

personal vs private.


lighthearted vs serious.


political vs social.

why is there so much guilt and pressure with combining these elements on blogs? i've stressed over and over about how much to conceal and reveal about myself when purporting to promote a blog that deals with gender and sexuality issues, rights, freedoms, and injustices. i feel guilty when i express feelings and musings on my personal life here. similarly, i feel sterile and cold when i simply link to articles and world issues. i mean, writing about passions should be relatable, non?


so then why do we feel badly about combining the two? isn't that how are lives work anyway? can you have one without the other? (successfully and honestly, of course.) i think not.


i've gotten feedback from RL friends (whatever that means, anyway, lol) that make statements regarding the hinges i've swayed to my past and present conditions and situations. conversations always progress to effect of:
'wow, i never knew you had __________ or that you've dealt with __________. why didn't you tell me before? are you okay? i'm really sorry, etc. etc. ...'


to which i reply (and please, count this as an official response in the here and now) :



how would you know that? i never told you, and honestly, i probably would never tell you, as it's my life, and not necessarily your business. it's not that i'm attempting to hide anything, it's just that, on a day to day basis it's not quite appropriate, or the situation rarely arises to talk about such personal things. i mean, how often do you walk up to acquaintances and begin spilling your guts about family members passing away, how privileged you were (or weren't) growing up, or times you've spent in the hospital? if i've given you a link to my blog, i'm comfortable enough to share these things with you there. that doesn't necessarily mean i want to have some huge heart-to-heart about it. that's what the blog entry is, and you should treat it as such. if you want to begin discourse, there's a comment section at the end of every entry. use it, please. don't wait until we're hanging out and make a comfortable situation awkward. i love you. i promise. if stories result organically, they will, and that's fine. bringing up bs in person is just that: bs.


so now that i've ranted a bit regarding RL vs OL communication, let me take this entry back full circle:


i'm happy with the amalgamation this little insignificant blog has become. life is a mixture of the personal and political, and i refuse to apologize for toeing that line, and i'm no longer going to feel guilty for double dutching over it. if i want to spend three weeks discussing the type of heels i wanna wear, then sobeit. and by a turn of the screw, if i prefer to simply post links and discuss nothing but NPR discourse for the same amount of time, then i'm gonna do it. mix and match, messied all together in a boulliabaisse of blog. because that's how my life tends to be. i won't have it any other way. amen.

into you like a train

if i had a dollar for every time i thought i could fall in love...

i'd still be poor.

but maybe i'd have enough for bus fare to get me the fuck out of here.

how much for a smile?

i've been giggling more in the past week than in the last year.

i melt for your smile and touch

that irrepressible flush that so often floods your cheeks

belieing your age.

i can't believe it's for me.

on second thought:

fuck the dollars...

i only need one.

apology and a tentative promise...

i've been dealing with that interesting little quirk called life lately.


alas, i've severely neglected my blog.


it seems like every day i sign onto the internet and see my blogger homepage, i sigh and think 'later, later....'


well, now it's MUCH later, and as i straighten out as much of the fiasco that's my world maintenant, i figured this is as good as any other place to start.


so i'm going to make a serious effort to post more frequently in the upcoming days, even as my life spitfires me forward.


toward what? it's anyone's guess...

an appropriate critique of the surge of pregnancy movies out there...

FINALLY, someone took the words out of my mouth!



Susie Bright at (appropriately enough, lol) Susie Bright's Journal did an amazing piece on the influx of 'unwanted yet at the last minute i just have to experience the miracle of life' movies here.



i've been super irritated for a while at the idea that all of these women would just 'see the light' and everything would miraculously work out in the end. not to mention the fathers just fall into place and have their own little epiphanies as well. abortion is never a truly viable option, because these heroines could NEVER GO THROUGH WITH IT. (gasp!) and i thought i was the only one who felt this way... go read it!

dream interpretations, anyone? bueller... bueller?

i had this horrendous dream the other night, and i thought i'd share:




i'm in a car with a group of friends, all of whom happen to be lesbians. a straight white male cop pulls us over, and proceeds to make some homophobic and sexist remarks. (i can't recall what exactly he said.) so i'm apparently feeling brave, because i lean forward from the back seat and snarkily ask "could you repeat that? 'cause all i heard was lawsuit, lawsuit, lawsuit." guffaws and smirks abound... until he asks me to step out of the car. i climb out of the back seat. the cop grabs me, puts me in handcuffs and forces me to my knees in the snow. at this point, i'm somewhat out of view of my friends. the officer begins to fondle me and take off my clothes, telling me i shouldn't be hanging out with these dykes. i respond that i'm 'one of these dykes,' and he says he's gonna fuck the gay out of me. (side note: i've heard this phrase so many times, in real life, and it never ceases to scare the shit out of me.) he removes his clothes and begins to rape me. i scream, and in a strange dream perspective shift, i see all of the girls trying to get out of the car. somehow, another cop is there, holding them back at gunpoint. then i'm back in my own body, yet still watching myself. i'm crying, staring straight ahead and trying to think of what to do. the only thought that comes to me is to vomit, so i do, all over the man and myself. i hope it will make him stop, but it doesn't. the idea that now this man will have a roman shower fetish enters my head. i know that the officer is a serial rapist and his thirst for violence will only increase. it ends. i'm suddenly alone on my knees in the snow, covered in vomit. my friends run up to me, and i'm screaming and crying and won't let them touch me. i'm completely embarrassed, and begin throwing snow all over myself, to wash off the vomit, cum and blood that has been seeping from my nose and mouth. (at some point the officer had hit me in the face, i think after i threw up.) i become even more embarrassed as i'm rubbing the snow over me, because i realize i look completely insane, and i know they don't understand that the snow will make me clean, and that's why i'm covering myself with it. eventually, one of the girls picks me up and carries me to the car, totally vulnerable and exposed.





any takers on what this means? it was such a graphic and disturbing dream. i should also mention that the friends in the dream are all new. i met a whole crew through someone new that i'm dating. i think that's from where the apprehension and embarrassment stems. has anyone else had rape dreams?

saying goodbye, or death is only a heartbeat away

i was just told that my grandmother passed away. she was 80, i believe. a very strong and determined woman, she raised 5 children, only to outlive three of them. she eloped at the age of 16, marrying my grandfather who was about to enter the navy during world war II. both parents disapproved of their relationship, so he came to her window and she ran away. they remained married for more than 50 years before he passed away a couple of years ago.



i'll never forget her telling me the story of their first meeting. she was playing softball, and my grandfather saw her playing, and ran up, spun her around, and kissed her, right in front of everyone. she punched him in the face. it was love.



most of my earliest and fondest memories involve them. they did the typical grandparent-y things, such as feed me lots of treats and take me shopping. but they were much more than just the typical holidays and special visit relatives.




to say i had a tough childhood would be an understatement, but i'm going to leave it at that. when i was 13, the summer before i was to enter high school, i was kicked out of my house. my grandparents generously took me in, caring for me and supporting me, eventually obtaining guardianship over me. i lived with them through high school, and seasonally during college. i felt so fortunate. my grandmother had diabetes and osteoporosis, which caused her to continually break her hips and legs until finally she was moved to a hospice/nursing home to receive better care. she fought bouts of depression and the eventual onset of alzheimer's before passing away.



her strict and devout baptist faith often caused the two of us to have heated discussions regarding religion and lifestyles. when i was six weeks old, she started taking me to church, and i regularly attended through a good portion of middle school, until puberty hit, and i became questioning and resentful toward a very close-minded faith. my grandmother loved jerry falwell and anita bryant, and i distinctly remember her sitting me down and asking me if i knew what homosexuality was and how it was evil. i never told her i'm gay. she once told me she wanted to live long enough to see me graduate from college and marry a nice boy. i told her that she shouldn't hold her breath, lol.




regardless of our political and personal differences, i admired her greatly. she was a strong woman, and basically raised her children on her own, as my grandfather owned a trucking company and was rarely home. she got a job at a time when women were supposed to stay at home, as a secretary and bookkeeper, and later worked part time at a grocery store, just because she loved to work. she watched one child die of crohn's disease, and buried another in the horrors of vietnam. a third died of alcoholism-induced diabetes, followed shortly by her husband, the single love of her life besides god. she's seen more tragedy and hardship than seems possible.



yet the woman was unshakable, and when angered, angels feared to tread. she was 5'2", and though my grandfather was 6'4" and a tough tattooed naval officer, he stayed out of her way. she was also charitable, loving, generous, and forgiving. i love her very much, and she'll be sorely missed. RIP

national trans* day of remembrance

today is the day.

all this past weekend, i've been holding and comforting him. he's so young, and still, everyone looks to him for guidance. he doesn't want it, but obligation weighs too heavily. he hoists the worries, agitation and fears of the entire group onto his tiny shoulders, facilitating discussions he doesn't want to have, offering advice to those years further along in their journeys. i see the strength and wisdom within his large, dark eyes and understand why they turn to him. the man is barely two decades old, and yet so firm in who he is! he's a bridge for those younger and older, face of a child and voice of an adult ~ universally relatable. for all his efforts he's still lost, confined in a form that's not his own.





he comes to me worn and exhausted, silent except to say that he's tired. there's a world of meaning behind those few words. he gently places his cheek on my lap. i stroke his head and down his back, feel the binding that constricts his skin, and cannot wait 'til he is able to live in a skin that is truly his. it's true that the ones most deserving of justice often receive the least. so i do my best to help, and hope that he knows i'm here. i can't pretend to understand what he's going through, but there's a part of me that wants him to just let me share a bit of that burden. when he smiles, it melts me.




for all those mourning, today and everyday, please know that you're not alone. someone wants to care for you, people will listen. or, if you're too defeated to speak, can offer a hand, a shoulder, or maybe a good joke or two.




youth that need someone to just listen for a while, and help, can call:


Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgender (GLBT) Youth Support Line
800-850-8078


if you witness or experience a trans* hate crime :
Gay & Transgender Hate Crime Hotline
1-800-616-HATE



both of these numbers are toll-free in the us. and for all those we have lost, RIP. transgendered day of remembrance is a day we celebrate the lives of our friends, lovers, peers, both known and unknown to us. but it of course shouldn't be simply confined to one day. every day we keep those souls in our thoughts and hearts. a single day is hardly enough to hold all those victim to hate and bigotry. but it's a start.

shout out quick question friday...

hey all. just had a big long discussion with a friend on this subject, and i figured that i'd open it to the blogging world. okay, so here's the question at hand...

which is worse: the reality of an actual dramatic situation, or the worrying/anxiety surrounding the dramatic situation?

for me, it seems lately to be the getting worked up about a potential drama, rather than the actual situation itself. for instance: yesterday, a friend told me a very interesting story. she goes to see this non-traditional therapist that deals with auras and helps her manage her anxiety. most of the focus is on taking control of your environment and managing your senses so that you can recognize your fear and remove yourself from it, rather than dwelling in it. her therapist told her of an instance where she was able to successfully achieve this:



the therapist, we'll call her jen, is hearing impaired. jen is in a parking garage talking to a friend. a driver in a car behind them begins to back out of her spot, not noticing the chatting duo. unable to hear the car approaching, the therapist continues to talk. several people walking by begin to shout at her and wave their hands in the air to warn about the car. jen finally sees hands waving, looks up, and sidesteps right into the path of the car. the driver at last sees her and stops ~ right on her foot. now jen could've freaked out, but instead she closes her eyes, breathes deeply, and calms herself before telling the woman to pull forward. she does, and jen's foot is freed. she is rushed to the hospital, where, after an examination and x-rays and such, the doctors tell her her foot is fine, because it was relaxed. if jen had tensed her foot at all, she'd've broken virtually every bone in her foot! and all because she was able to remove herself from the situation and calmly deal with it. it's all very buddhistic, isn't it?



anyway, with all my anxiety and irritations with the world lately, that story just really helped me, and being able to deal with things as they come, rather than worry about the potential negativity in what could come. how do you guys feel about that? do you find actual situations to be worse than your perception of them? or do you have any cool stories of being able to remove yourself from your fear or worry?


i can't help but picture john cameron mitchell as the immortal hedwig saying "i feel so optimistic."

anxiety rears its ugly head again...

i don't know why i cycle this way, but it seems that every time i start to pay more attention to my blog, and keep up with everything i inevitably freak out and can't post for about a week or so. and i know i missed a lot last week.


i didn't get to participate in the protest against judge deni for her horrid 'theft of services' ruling and her reelection (which she freaking WON), four of the jena six went into court for pre-trial, complete with nationwide protests, my company got bought by some large corporate giant which means i could lose my job, ENDA's transphobic version passed in the house, my roommate tried to fight some guy for groping me in the bar, and i went on a pretty cool date.



i also have had multiple panic attacks lately due to my doctor changing my meds yet again, and it's taken me about 4 days just to type this tiny bit of info. and now i'm stopping, because i can't handle typing any more. i'm so mad at myself, and i'm sorry for being so negative about life. keeping up with a blog shouldn't feel like work, but for some reason lately it does. hopefully my meds will even out and this will become a passion again.

so NOW who's joining dumbledore's army?

this story has me so excited today i can barely concentrate on my work (geekdom, thou hast won!) jk dropped this knowledge on a stunned audience at carnegie hall on sunday: albus dumbledore is gay.

...

can you believe it? dumbledore's gay?!? no wonder his grindelwald disdain was so tainted with hurt and emotion. he threw his genius heart to the only person with the potential to match him, only to realize that the object of his affection had such an evil side. how bittersweet and tortuous to have to fight and defeat his love. could there have ever been a more suitable match for albus? suddenly, his self-ostracism, sacrifice, and the way in which he threw himself into his work makes so much more sense. holing himself up in hogwart's, turning down the ministry of magic position, delving exclusively into his work: confusion and eventually acceptance of his sexuality would've been preying on his mind throughout everything he did.


so i can't WAIT for the evangelical christian backlash on this one. they already condemn potter and the entire series for the wicked, wicked use of witchcraft, potions, spells and the like. i mean, i wasn't allowed to watch the smurfs as a child because the church said the spell casting was evil! so can you imagine adding the evils of HOMOSEXUALITY to their profuse hatred of all things rowling? i can't wait... and i tip my pink hat to albus dumbledore.

panic, mania, depression, etc.

depression and anxiety have had me locked away from here for the past few weeks. blogging should not induce panic attacks, but then again, panic attacks aren't about reality and rational fears. most of the time, i'm basically regurgitating news clips anyway, nothing too personal or putting my reputation at stake, and yet...

i've tried to post about 50 times since my last quick blurb, only to either run from my keyboard, avoiding my computer altogether, or begin entries that would freeze me mid-sentence and cause a heart-pounding, head-lightening freakout. ideas would be bursting out of me and then suddenly crash. i'm sure if i looked at my drafts right now, i'd cry.
anyone out there had panic attacks or manic seizes? anxiety attacks tend to begin without warning (known 'triggers' excluded.)

simultaneously trapped within and disconnected from your corporal body, it's surreal and extremely frightening to have to fight for breaths and control of your limbs. hyperventilating is common, but so is that heavy 'i'm gonna pass out or fall asleep right here' feeling. the need to hold on to something arises. you're a helium balloon tentatively tied to a toddler's wrist. beating the air, pulling away, torn back down. at the mercy of the environment, you sway and bounce. the ebb and flow isn't the calm, rhythmic motion of the sea, but an errant toss and jerk, sans direction or purpose. you can't forget to breathe, but it becomes harder to remember as your head grows heavier and the ground seems to tilt. why is one side of your body suddenly a paperweight, while the other half is lighter than air? being vertical seems an impossible feat! how do people do it? as these thoughts burn the edges of your brain, other thoughts are battling for the forefront of your mind, racing at dragstrip speed through your head. everything that could go wrong is currently occurring and you have no way to stop anything. you get over the strangely euphoric, terrible and seductive sensations and are abruptly torn back to reality... a reality in which you're shaking, sweating, tight-chested and nauseated. the tympani of your heart's pound is orchestral in your ears, and that memory of breath suddenly becomes all you want, but cannot have. you'd do anything just to get some air into your lungs, but it suddenly can't go. you try to focus, but all you can manage are shallow gasps for air ~ the rest of you is just too preoccupied with the plethora of problems it's having. you've shattered, and sweeping up the remains is a seemingly endless and daunting task. you don't seem to have a center. there's nothing there to hold you in; you're a million autonomous units that have no operator. you're screaming inside to grab that broom, to reach out, to rally the troops and focus as a whole again. you reach and reach and after an eternity of stretching: you manage. a mantra begins to repeat in your mind: you're gonna be okay, just breathe, just breathe, breathe, breathe.... tentatively, your body responds. your head straightens slowly where it had been tilting more and more to the side. (it no longer seems to weigh SO much.) you're sweating less, your eyes switch into focus. you're still shaking, but you can actually see your hands enough to realize what they've been doing. control of your legs and the sensation of them touching the ground reinstates. blinking a couple of times, you take that one slow deep breath that actually seems to somewhat fill your body. and it's over.

manic moments are different. ideas flow like lava, the world is suddenly within your grasp, ridiculously easy to wield and weld to your command. how do people not get it? you want to share your secret with everyone everywhere ~ they all must know! you rush to tell the universe, or maybe just the person next to you. you're warm, your face is flush, eyes bright and wide with intensity. you begin to speak, but speech is too slow for the fire in your brain. or perhaps you're typing. fingers can't work fast enough for all that's pouring forth. you skip entire words, sentences, paragraphs and ideas, convinced that you're waxing poetic and doing the world a great service. people tell you to slow down as you excitedly meander through ideas on every conceivable subject, topic or issue. vaguely, you notice their raised eyebrow and condescending smile. you stumble on the outpour and are jerked back down from your excitement. why can't people understand you? why doesn't what you just typed make sense? only moments ago you held the skeleton key to life's secrets and it was all too simple! paranoia strikes. you delete sentences, paragraphs, eventually the whole of what you've created out of the knowledge that it's worthless. and not only that, but YOU'RE worthless! how could you possibly have believed you know anything at all? that your creative outpour is anything but garbage? you have no ability or capacity to finish anything, achieve anything. you're a loser. why try. turn off the computer and shut the fuck up. retreat.

this has been my MO for the past couple of weeks. sorry to toss it all out like some tacky salad, but i think it's made me feel a little better. erin, you yelled at me to just 'do it,' and so i did. hurray to a doctor's visit next week.

i'm captivated...

by this new blog. i stumbled upon it this morning, in that weird lurker-way that blog addicts tend to do, via someone else's post and link (thank you susie bright!). the hobo stripper is my new voyeuristic obsession. she writes with an honest and descriptive bend that glosses the sex industry with a frank yet surreal glow. i realize that's an odd way to describe it, but i just work with the tools i've got, kids. i love it when a writer can twist a lens in an unexpected way, and she certainly has the ability to warp a keyhole. you can bet i'll keep reading... amazing.