Butterfly Cauldron

Today in Louisiana stupid. . .

2010-04-29T11:55:00.002-05:00

Our Legislature is in session and boy, are they having fun!

First up: Abortion!
Soon, all women seeing an abortion will have to have an "obstetrics ultrasound" before the procedure. It's not spelled out, but that's probably one where they use the probe. And there was a fight to get the bill watered down! As it stands, the woman can elect to not hear any information or view the photograph of the ultrasound that she will recieve. As originally worded, women would not have had a choice! They'd have been forced to watch the ultrasound, while the doctor decribed in detail what it showed AND she would have been forced to look at the picture. Go, La.! Soon, we'll be as bad as Oklahoma.

Next up: Guns! AND Religion!Yes,soon you will be allowed to bring your handgun to church with you. If your pastor says it's OK. It's just like the Bible says, "Jesus wept because the Pharasees wouldn't let him bring his Glock into the Temple. So he passed a law and busted a cap in their asses."

And lastly: Drugs and Welfare Queens Because nothing says Compassion like taking away benefits from children when their mother's on drugs.

Oh yeah. . .

2010-04-22T08:19:00.000-05:00

I haz a blog! Doh!

So....I am now an officially married woman. Yay me!

We got married March 5, at a little chapel in New Orleans, just the two of us. It was lovely. So far, so good. The government wants MORE money from us so Emmy can get her work permit and status adjustment. So, after that....she can get a job and we can have more money coming into the house, which will be spent as it should be -- on DVDs! :)

FINALLY!

2010-01-18T18:00:00.002-06:00

Emmy's VISA has offically been approved!

They are mailing it to her within the next two days.

Then she books ticket.

Then she flies here.

Then we gets married.

Then FINALLY it's all sorted and done! Yay!!!

And I'm back for a rant. . . . .

2009-11-06T09:41:00.003-06:00

This should be a good time for me.

I just had my birthday.

Emmy is in the final stages of getting her Visa approved. She should (could) be here by Christmas.

I have a little money in the bank and nothing major going wrong requiring I spend it all.

All the tests that the doctors did on my last month came back perfectly normal. Aside from a severe Vitamin D deficency, I'm really healthy. My blood sugar and insulin levels were really amazing. My cholesteral and triglycerides were impressive. My doctor was really really pleased -- although it shot her theory that I was insulin resistant down in flames. (A healthy fat girl? Really? Is it possible?? Noooo!!)

I have a new anti-anxiety med that is working wonders for me.

I've reconnected with a couple college friends, so now my weekends are filled with Doing Things with People, instead of staying at home sleeping the days away.

It's really a good life, all told.

So why do I feel like crying?

Why do I feel like all I want to do is hide in my bed, away from people, away from the world and sleep? Just sleep. If I could get enough sleep, this feeling would stop.

I miss Emmy. It's this viceral, heart crushing thing. And she's sad and I can't help her. I can't make things better. I can't tell the people who are stressing her to back the fuck off. Stop thinking everything is about you and your oppression or your privelige or whatever the fuck we're calling it this week. Take your meds or go to church or have a drink or take a walk or play with fucking sock puppets, whatever it is you do that brings you back down to earth with the rest of us who are just fucking people, after all. Fucking people, just trying to get through all the hoops stupid fucking governments put in our way to keep us apart.

I look at this picture on my desk, here at work, that some stranger took of us in the airport at four in the morning just before Emmy had to leave. Again. And it hurts, because I want her here. Now. But if she can't be here, then I want her to be happy where she is and I know she's not and I know it gets worse every day and I can't do a damned thing and I just want to scream at all the people who are making life worse for her. Because dammit, leave her alone.

This powerlessness bleeds into everything. I can't DO anything. I can't write, I can't read, I can't DO anything. I can't even get myself to put a damned dvd on to watch. I can't fold the laundry I've got washed, I can't clean the house. I can barely sleep, even though it's all I want to do. I only feel good and decent when there's no one else around. When I don't have to deal with fucking people and their precious sense of self-importance.

The Nightmare of Christianity

2009-09-13T17:34:00.002-05:00

This post rings very true to me. My family was Southern Baptist, not Pentacostal and I attended public schools, but the treatment of children strikes a cord in me. And, while I wouldn't blame Christianity alone for Murray's actions, having grown up in a similar atmosphere I cannot deny it had a profound effect. As a therapist who attempted to help him said:

During the brief moments in which Sanchez allowed Winell to speak, she attempted to explain the obvious, that Murray's destructive actions were influenced at least in part by what she called "a crazy-making system that has all sorts of circular reasoning. It's got bottom line rules like, 'Don't think, don't respect your own feelings in any way.' Small children are told they're going to burn in Hell. And if it doesn't work for you...[you are told that] it's your fault."

You cannot destroy a child's sense of self, that core of humanity that keeps most of us from lashing out and destroying others in our grief or pain or fury, and expect that child to grow up into a fully functional adult. Most of us who escape this particular hell DO end up functional, but damaged. So very, very damaged and, unless you move far away from those initial communities, we are not allowed to speak of that damage. I tried to address my damage with my mother. She acted as though I were attacking her, personally. Because her experiences were different than mine and she cannot conceive of anyone having any other reaction than she did. That I did threatens her in some way and that cannot be allowed to stand.

Until the fundamentalist Christian movement acknowledges the fact that its teachings can be profoundly damaging, people like Murray are going to continue. Likely, they won't be so explicit about killing because of Christianity. Possibly, they won't even realize it themselves. The indoctrination is so thorough that it works on a subconscience level. They feel angry or worthless or powerless or are filled with rage and they cannot tell you why. But when you're told from the time you are a small child that you are worthless and deserving of going to Hell, what other reaction can you truly expect?

I haz a new crush.

2009-09-13T12:39:00.001-05:00

2009-09-09T08:22:00.001-05:00

Decatur Street

If my grief were a tangible thing,
it would be a throbbing red ball
pulled from the deepest pit of my stomach.
Heavy and aching, but slowly, constantly,
in that way you can grow
accustomed to.
I could hold it like a pet,
stroking it in attempt to soothe it.

I like to deal with pain pre-emptively.
That's what I tell myself.
As if that were possible.
As if you can imagine, in advance,
the pain you will feel when your foundation
disappears.
As if you could imagine the hurt
of watching your sun fly away,
not being certain when or where
it will shine again.

Pieces of paper.
Fragile, stupid,
can-get-lost-in-the-mail
or
stolen-from-the-mailbox
pieces of paper.
Paper with government seals of admission
or rejection
or we-want-more-information-so-you'll-just-have-to-keep-waiting.
I despise them, even as I wait for them,
stake out the black box at the end
of my driveway and wait.
Just wait.

I'm tired of leaving.
Tired of brave faces at airports
and I-can't-cry-yet-wait-until-I'm-in-the-car.
I'm tired of worry.
Tired of no knowing when she'll be back
and if I can finally keep her.

Read this

2009-08-21T15:44:00.000-05:00

The nearest thing we have to a death panel in the United States is an insurance company claims adjuster.

Another one

2009-08-19T08:21:00.001-05:00

Fight with a Friend

What can I say?
Watching you derail
And spin apart
Knowing there isn't anything
I can do
Is taking a part of me
I thought was safe
And turning it into
A place where
Monsters live.

More Poems

2009-08-14T10:24:00.003-05:00

I'm thinking of calling the collection Ordinary Things. Lately, that's how I'm writing. I look at something and think, I could write a poem about that, and then...well. Here are a few more I've written. Wrote three in one day! Less than that really, cause I was just sitting in the doctor's waiting room... My muse is Very Very Strange.

Waiting Room

The key to
getting in to see
the doctor
Is to pull out
a book or attempt to write a poem or
scribble a grocery list.
The Waiting Room
cannot stand
to be ignored.

Garnet

It was smaller than
I expected but
I love it.
Now I paint my
Fingernails to
Draw attention to it.
Sitting on my finger,
Having banished all other
Rings to the
Jewelry box,
It tells me that
Garnets are for
Strength and Protection.
Far better than those
Colorless, Flashy diamonds
That always disappear
On a finger.
Doesn't the world look
Better in Red, it asks.
Isn't it nice to take
Fire whereever you go?
Anyone can have
A diamond, but
I get to wear the
Pulse of the World on
My hand.

Orange Soda (A love letter)

Before you there was
never anything but
Dr. Pepper or Sprite in
my refrigerator.
Since you, I am drinking
orange soda and
eating jellybeans and
listening to music made with synthisizers.
I'm waking up to your
Haven't Had Coffee So I'm Not Human Yet
face and
Finding your t-shirts on the
bathroom floor next to the
towels you never pick up.
Now dinner is no longer
cereal or Pop Tarts or
Bake It Yourself pizza
And you won't let me
Stay mad when a
news update interrupts
my favorite show.
You get up at 6 a.m.
even though you don't have to
so you can kiss me
goodbye before I go
to work and you
always kiss me hello when
I get home.

First drafts

2009-08-07T14:27:00.003-05:00

So. I've been thinking about a new collection of poems. They're really hard for me to write, but I think that's good. Anyway, I have a first draft ready to go.

New Shoes

When I saw them,
I had to have them.
Red plaid flannel, soft and warm.
They don't match anything and
I wear them all the time.

They remind me of the shirts
my father used to wear.
Practical.
Durable.
A wardrobe staple.

Sometimes, I wear my new shoes
and I cry.
He's not so sturdy
Anymore
Not indomitable.

Now, when I see him, he's
tripped by pain.
He talks through tight jaws,
trying to keep the pain from seeping
out to infect me.

He likes to pretend nothing
has changed.
He likes to pretend he'll always be here.
But he hasn't worn red plaid
in years.

Engagement -- The Ring

2009-08-06T11:21:00.007-05:00

So, these are Not Very Good photos of my engagement ring, but they're the best I have at the moment. My camera is apparently a piece of crap that needs to be replaced and so I had to take these with my phone. Oh well.

I like this one. See my bunny in the background?

Ok, so the center stone is a garnet and there are two little diamonds on either side. The band is white gold. Is very nice, even though this picture doesn't really show that. Boo cameras!

Also, Rain has absolutely nothing to do with this ring, but she wanted everyone to know she approves. Or maybe it's that she wants pets. Hrm....

Update: Not dead, but kinda fading

2009-07-16T12:47:00.001-05:00

Emmy has been gone a week and I am not doing well.

Since she's been gone, I have done pretty much nothing except crash on the couch, with all the windows and curtains closed, to watch Joan of Arcadia dvds in the dark. I cry at everything. I cry at nothing. In fact, I'm on the edge of crying right now. I feel really dumb about it too.

This is so much worse than last time. I had to leave work yesterday because I was so upset and sad. My stomach was in knots and I was stuffed up (likely from all the crying) and coughing and everytime I coughed it felt like I was going to throw up. I can't focus on anything. I have work to do but I just can't focus on it. I blew a phone interview for a new job because I've been so down I didn't look up the college so I could talk intelligently about it. I sounded like an idiot and I felt like one too. I don't have an engagement ring yet, but I've been looking around to see what I liked and it's only making me stressed and upset. (So Emmy's just going to pick something for me. Yay!) Since I didn't get the job teaching online, we don't know if we're going to be able to afford to go to Salem for the weeding or if we're going to have to stay somewhere closer to home. We wanted to go to Mass. so that the weeding would be legal regardless of gender. (Once Emmy gets her marker changed, no one would be able to challenge the legality since gender doesn't matter in Mass.) I like the idea of getting married where it's snowing. I wanna make snow bunnies and throw snow balls at my wife. Take pictures of us with a snowman. Wear super warm coats and drink hot chocolate by a fireplace. I don't know. I feel...everything. That's the problem. My mother wants pictures of us in our weeding clothing, which is all ARG. Cause now we have to think about what other people will say about our outfits and my mother is all No Goth! and we're thinking that's the direction we're going. So bah. I just feel....overwhelmed :(

More angry!

2009-06-18T11:06:00.002-05:00

On the heels of the last lovely piece, what did I find in my newspaper this morning? This lovely story about an attempted rape victim being terrorized by the men accused of the crime!

The men discovered the victim of the attempted rape and a witness to the incident were living in the Millerville area in Baton Rouge and went to their home at 3:45 a.m. Saturday, an affidavit says.

With the help of three unidentified men, Ristick and Mitchell kicked down the door of the house, the affidavit says.

Ristick, holding a black handgun, grabbed the woman who witnessed the rape attempt, threw her to the ground and threatened to kill her unless the charges were dropped, the affidavit says.

He then hit the woman on the head with the gun, the affidavit says.

Mitchell chased the victim of the attempted rape into the living room and held a gun to her head as he threatened to kill her and her family if she did not drop the charges against Ristick, an affidavit says.

Mitchell then pushed the woman’s head to the floor and fired the handgun into the wall, the affidavit says.

Mitchell, Ristick and the three other men then left the house, an affidavit says.

Both men have been charged with aggravated burglary, simple criminal damage to property, aggravated assault with a firearm and illegal use of a weapon. One man was also charged with being a felon in possession of a firearm. Bond is set at $500k.

So....anyone think that they're not guily of the attempted rape? Anyone?

WHAT?!?!

2009-06-17T19:12:00.002-05:00

This is so horrible and offensive, I don't have words to describe it. So, I'm just going to cut-and-paste the whole horrible thing. Note: this appeared in an indie paper geared toward college students. It's not affiliated with LSU, but it's freely distributed around town and is heavy on LSU-coverage. Given the rates of rape on college campuses, this is beyond appalling.

Ex-boyfriend teaches woman why it's important to lock doors

A man, who legally cannot be named, currently awaits trial after he entered the home of his ex-girlfriend and raped her with one of her own sex toys.

The assailant entered the woman's home and bound her hands and feet. He then raped her with a "large" sex toy and allegedly poured beer on the victim. After the attack, the assailant then untied the woman and brought her to her place of work.

The assailant has pleaded not guilty to all charges and insists that he committed the offense in order to scare his ex-girlfriend into locking her doors at night.

Yes. That's right. Look at that headline. Look at the lovely detail about the size of the instrument. Look at his rationalization. Which is re-enforced by the fucking headline. And this woman is a quite possible a resident of Baton Rouge, who lives near or even attends LSU. And even if she's not, maybe she's out eating one day (like I was) and sees The Tiger Weekly laying around. And you know, she thinks "Ah, something to read!" And then she reads this. Seriously? I mean, seriously????

Happily, the editors provided us with an email address to give them feedback. How thoughtful! Feel free to comment. E-mail the author at Jenna@tigerweekly.com

The sharks are here every day

2009-05-01T12:26:00.002-05:00

Working full-time with FMS and Lupus is sometimes agony for me. I am often exhausted and in serious pain. That pain causes me to be short with people, or to be slow to volunteer to help out with projects around the office. The pain is sometimes so severe, that it gets noted on my evaluations that I seem unenthusiastic or unwilling to help out. That's not true, of course. The truth is that I simply don't have the strength or energy to do more than come to work and sit at my desk all day. Some days, even sitting for long periods of time is too difficult for me.

In order to control the pain, I take pain killers. They kill the pain, but they usually make me a bit loopy and unfocused. (In fact, I've had to take medication today, so this post may be a bit disjointed. Sorry about that.) Since I work as an editor, loopy and unfocused is not a good thing to be.

In the past, I've had to take extremely strong meds at fairly precise intervals. Even though I work full-time, I have limited sick/vacation days. So the week I was on the drugs that made me, essentially, stoned, I had to go to work. Luckily I had an understanding boss and co-workers who looked out for me -- but I let some serious errors get through because I just couldn't catch them in my drugged state.

To the outside world -- which, let's face it, is pretty much everyone -- I don't look like a person with a disability. I don't look like a person who requires strong medications to successfully get out of bed and make it through the day sometimes. Most people look at me, I don't look sick, so they assume that behaviour -- the occasional snappishness, the apparent unwillingness to be a team player, the failure to catch errors -- is due to either laziness, incompetence or apathy. None of those things are true, but that is often what people think when they see me.

They can't see the thwarted ambition. They can't see the life plan thrown irrevocably off track. I am 34 years old. I finished my Masters program when I was 24. I had planned on getting my Doctorate by 27 -- a completely doable plan and considering how dedicated and in love with my research I was, I would probably have finished early. By my age now, I should be safely settled in a teaching job somewhere. I had always dreamed of teaching at a small, liberal arts college, probably somewhere in New England or the Northwest. I love the coasts, always been drawn that way.

I had hopes of being tenure track by now. I had dreams of owning my own home by now, of being settled and an adult by now. Instead, my disability has trapped me in a sort of perpetual thwarted adolescence -- yes, I work full-time. But the work I am able to do does not pay well and I am barely able to pay my bills. Many able-bodied people are in the same situation. But they have something I don't -- the ability to move upward. If a job requires 60 hours a week? Well, they may not like it, but they know they can do it for awhile. Me? I can't. I absolutely cannot. I have the mental ability to work at a much, much higher level than I am now. I have the education, I have the intelligence, I have the drive -- but I don't have the physical ability anymore.

It drives me crazy sometimes, feeling like a failure. In my head, I know that I'm not. I know that I am not the person other people see. I know that I am not lazy or apathetic or incompetent. I know I'm not a chronic whiner when I say I'm tired.

Other people don't understand how much of my money goes to pay for medication. I take six different medications each day. Even with insurance, that's a couple hundred a month. Now add in the cost for doctor's visits -- a GP, a chiropractor, a rheumatologist, a neurologist and a pulminologist. Tack on the cost for lab work -- regular blood work, the occasional MRI and neurological work up. That's thousands of dollars a year, on a salary of less than 30K.

This disability is a heavy, hard thing to tackle. Until very recently, I've been dealing with it on my own. Do you know how sad it is to go to doctor's visit after visit alone? Do you know how utterly desolate you feel sitting in a waiting room, waiting for an MRI, looking at everyone else in the room and noticing that they all have people with them? Supporting them? And you're sitting there, alone again, praying that the MRI comes out clean, that there isn't any damage on your brain, that you really are just having stupidly complicated migraines and aren't having seizures like the doctors suspect?

It is lonely and isolating. You lose friends, your family can't understand. Everyone just seems to fade away.

And still -- up every morning, off to work with bones that feel like concrete and muscles that are stretch and sore. My mother asked me once what the pain felt like and I told her -- it feels like my spine has turned to broken glass and is grinding against my spinal cord. I'm afraid to move because it always feels like I'm about to be cut in half. She doesn't appreciate my language. She thinks I'm being dramatic. But she asked and it's true.

I'm always struggling, in some way, with reconciling the image I have/had of myself and the reality of my situation. I fight the urge to blame myself, to give in to the delusion that I'm just imaging things, that they're not as bad as they seem, that I don't really hurt this much, it's all in my mind. Now that I'm getting married, I have to fight my instincts to do everything on my own. I fight the urge to put on my public face, to pretend that I can do all the housework. That I can do all the shopping. That I'm feeling well enough to go out. It's instinct to keep quiet about how bad a day I'm having. It's hard to ask for help. It's harder to accept help.

And I'm afraid to give into the hope that my life will get better. I've been slapped down so long, that I'm almost afraid to dream of the day when I'll be able to stop working full-time. We have the plan -- as soon as Emmy has a full-time job with enough salary and benefits, I stop working. I keep my part-time job teaching online or I start my own freelance editing business. But I don't work full-time anymore. I don't have to go to work stoned on prescription drugs because I don't have sick time or disability to take. I don't have to deal with people thinking I'm lazy because I only take on as many projects as I can reasonably handle. We have that plan. And I can see it is a real possibility. It's something I can actually have, a life I could love, with a partner I love. And I want it and I reach for it, but I'm scared it will disappear like so many other plans I've had even as I believe it will happen.

Disability isn't just about the physical. It isn't just about difficultly walking or difficulty finding reasonable accommodation. It goes deeper and hits harder. And it can happen to anyone, at any time. You could be a first year Master's student, with a clear 5 year plan and perfect health and wake up one morning in pain, unable to move. It happens everyday. And no one wants to think about it, no one wants to talk about it, no one wants to admit it's real. And by denying it, you give it power. By denying it, you make it shameful. By denying it, you create an atmosphere where you have to work full-time, with your shattered glass spine, in order to pay your medical bills and everyone thinks you're lazy or incompetent or apathetic.

(BTW -- I always imagine my FMS/Lupus as a school of sharks swimming around my body. Hence the title.)

I love Stephen Colbert

2009-04-22T07:08:00.001-05:00

The Colbert Report

Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

The Colbert Coalition's Anti-Gay Marriage Ad

colbertnation.com

Colbert Report Full Episodes

Political Humor

Gay Marriage Commercial

Also? I love this video.

Go Iowa!

2009-04-03T09:39:00.004-05:00

Iowa Supreme Court struck down the state's ban on same-sex marriage. Read more here.

Suddenly, I feel happy. Not that we plan on moving to Iowa, but it did just become a state that looks much better in our job search for Emmy.

Why my children will never go to church

2009-04-01T13:09:00.001-05:00

My mother believes I've never allowed myself to be happy.

She says she doesn't know why that is. She says she doesn't know why I don't always seem to believe she loves me. And, I could explain it all to her, but I'm not sure she'd understand.

I was raised in a very conservative Southern Baptist Church, by parents who were and who remain wholly devoted to their faith. It is their very breath, my mother has said, and she is not exaggerating. Our lives revolved around the church when I was a child. We went at least three times a week: Sunday morning, Sunday night and Wednesday night. Our weekends were generally filled with church-related activities: youth rallies, revivals, prayer meetings. My friends were made at church. The first time a boy actively hit on me was at church. The first concert I attended was a church concert. The first play I performed in was a church play. The church and it's teaching were the core of my life.

So, when the teachers tell you that Jesus loves you, you believe it. And when they tell you that Jesus will also send you to Hell, you believe that too. That these things were incompatible never seemed to occur to anyone else, but they certainly occured to me.

My mother would never understand that the very thing that gives her such great peace is the source of my greatest pains. She'd never understand that being told, repeatedly, that I was not worthy of God's love made me feel I wasn't worthy of anyone's love. After all, if God couldn't love me, how could any human being? If I deserved to die and then to burn eternally in Hellfire, regardless of my sincere desire to be good, to do good, then how was anything I could ever possibly do good enough? How could I ever be good enough? How could I ever try hard enough? I threw myself into Bible study, into prayer. I begged God to love me, to accept me, to tell me I was Good Enough.

But that never happened. No matter how much I tried to assure myself that I had done all the right things, I had prayed all the right prayers, I had opened myself completely to God. That fear never went away. That terror that still wakes me in the middle of the night -- that Jesus has come again and I've been left alone, abandoned, forgotten. Because I wasn't Enough. I could never be Enough. God loves me, but I'm going to Hell. My sins, such as they were, were too great. I was too broken. I was too unlovable, too unsalvagable.

What could an 8-year-old child do that was so horrible she could never be forgiven? I didn't know, but I was sure I had done it. I was 8 when my first phobia manifested. I became terribly afraid of water. Why water? I don't know. But I was stricken with a certainty that something, some demon was going to come up the pipes while I took a shower or a bath. I used to grab my cat and my radio, go into the bathroom and lock the door, run a bath, turn the music up really loud and then lay on the floor, sobbing into my cat's fur, too petrified to actually get into the water. But I knew I couldn't tell my parents. I was certain they'd tell me I was being stupid. I was certain they'd tell me no such thing could happen. But, if demons were real -- and the Bible said they were -- then why couldn't it happen? Why couldn't a demon decide to possess me? It had happened in the Bible, to people who were seemingly innocent. And I, well I was worse than that. I was certain of it. I'd been told. I'd been taught. No one is good enough for God. No one deserves to go to Heaven. We all deserve to burn forever. I deserved to burn forever. So why not a demon?

So I didn't tell my parents and I continued to go to church. Three, four, sometimes seven times a week or more. Year after year, drummed into my head: You're bad. You're broken. You're a sinner. Sin is evil, therefore, you are evil. All the tacked on platitudes that God will save me anyway, if I just do what he wants meant nothing. I was doing what God wanted! So where was my peace? Where my rest? My parents had it. My brother had it. Everyone else around me had it. But it was not for me. Was I one of those the Bible spoke about, the ones whose hearts God would harden? The ones God had given all the chances allowed too, so that even if I begged on my knees, even if I ripped out my hair and gashed out my eyes, he would refuse me? It says that, you know. That God has a limit to the number of chances he'll give a person to be saved. And, I was told, you never know how many you're going to get. You? Maybe you get only one chance. That guy over there? Maybe God gives him 100. No one knows and when your chances are up, they're up. It's Hellfire for you, even if you realize you're wrong. Even if you beg, even if you plead, even if you sacrifice yourself on the altar, God won't care. He won't hear you. Because you're evil, you're rotten, you deserve to burn.

All the other stories? The ones about Jesus loving people, the ones about the shephard leaving his flock to search out one single lost lamb and bring it home to safety? Those stories didn't make sense, not in the face of a God who would randomly cut people off. How could God care so much about one single lamb, when he didn't really give a damn about that other lamb over there? And how could you know which lamb you were? It was impossible!

And they said, God is a Father. An eternal, immortal parent. Parents are supposed to love you, to protect you, care for you. They are not supposed to decide some of their children deserve to burn forever, while others get to loll about Heaven. And if your God Parent can't be counted on to love you, to protect you, to keep you from eternal damnation, how can you count on your human parents? Aren't they much more failable? Aren't they much more fickle? If a single lie told by my 8-year-old self was enough to make God cast me into fire -- a fire where I would not actually die, but live, feeling the fire and the pain and the agony, over and over and over for eternity -- then what would it make my human parents do to me? No. No. I had to try harder, I had to be better, I had to find something, some way to be better, to be worthy. But it was impossible, because the Bible said so.

And this haunts me. No matter how much therapy I do, no matter how much processing or talking it out or reasoning through I do, it haunts me. No matter that I've rejected it all, it's still there. And so, no. I don't always believe my mother loves me. On one level, I know that she does, of course. On one level, I don't doubt it. So long as I do what I'm supposed to do. So long as she doesn't find out about the ways my life differs from what she thinks it is. I doubt anyone really, genuinely loves me -- not once they know who I really am. Not once they find out where I diverge from the path. I am constantly, eternally on edge -- even when I'm not consciously aware of it -- that I may wake up and everyone will Know Me and that they'll leave. The trumpet will sound and *poof* they're all gone, scooped up by that vicious God, leaving me abandoned and alone.

So there it is, why I have such a hard time being happy. Every bad thing in my life, some part of me believes I deserve it for being such a rotten, horrible person. And I blame my parents for it, even though I know they didn't realize what they were doing, for sending me to church, over and over and over, despite my pleas not to go. My parents, whose only answer to the obvious suicidal depression I endured as a teenager was to send me to church MORE often. And I don't think I can tell my mother this, because I know it would break her heart.

Babies, death threats and shutting the frak up.

2009-02-13T09:32:00.001-06:00

I haven't said anything here about the woman who gave birth to the octuplets a few weeks ago, because well. . .here's the thing: I would never, ever have 8 babies at once. I just wouldn't. That's basically my idea of hell. However, because I am adamantly pro-choice I have to support a woman's right to do with her body as she wishes. And if that means she wants to give birth to 8 babies at once, despite the risks to her health, to their health, to her family's economic future, well. . .it IS her body. Once those babies were conceived, should she have been forced to selectively abort? Who decides that? And if we let the government make that decision, what's to stop the government from deciding that any woman has to abort any particular pregnancy because, I don't know, we have enough Asian women now, thanks. Or we have too many black males? Or we don't want to increase our Down's Syndrome population? Oh! Tests show this child will be born deaf and well, we can't have that. You must abort. If you give the government a say in which children are born, then what's to stop them from deciding who MUST have children? What if the government decides that we need more white people? (And, given the anti-immigrant vibe from a lot of people, that's not exactly out of the realm of possiblity. All those dirty brown people, mucking up our pure white country! We need more white babies. Get to breeding!) What is to stop the government from forcing any given woman to have a baby? It's not that big a step from saying you must not have these babies to you must have these instead. (And no, I don't believe such a thing would happen overnight. However, setting the precedent and changing the cultural atmosphere so that it become acceptable for the government to have an active involvement in personal reproduction could certainly lead to such changes in the longrun. Once you accept that the government can limit how many children a woman can give birth to at one time, you are primed to accept the government's rights to control reproduction in other ways.)

So, that said: I understand that people are upset over the fact that a single mother used fertility treatments to conceive these children. I don't know why this event surprises them -- single women get fertility treatments all the time, the odds of a single woman conceiving octos is just as good as a married woman, it's not like nature checks for a marriage license. And I understand that people are upset that she's receiving some forms of government help to support her family. (A least one of her children has autism and two others apparently have some form of disability for which the government is providing subsidies. Frankly, I don't know why people have a problem with that. If the children need the help, the children should get the help, regardless of who their parents are and how they were born. They didn't exactly ask for this, ya know.) And she's apparently getting some form of food stamps, which is, again, quite reasonable. Again, this help is for her children. They did not ask to be born into this situation. They need food, they need medical care. It would be preferable if their family could provide that without government help, but if the family cannot, do they deserve to starve? Do they deserve to suffer due to treatable medical conditions because their family has no insurance? If a portion of your tax dollars go to make sure these children have food to eat and can get their ear infections treated, is that a bad use of the money? Is it a better or worse use of the money that funding an unending war? Is it a better or worse use of your money than building a Bridge to Nowhere?

So, I get that people may be upset. What I find fascinating is that most of those people would not be upset if she were married. (And for all we know, she does have an unmarried partner. Maybe she's got a boyfriend. Or maybe she's got a girlfriend. Or maybe she's got both. We don't know that she's doing this alone for certain.) Other families, like the Duggars and those people on John and Kate Plus 8 have really large families and people seem quite accepting of them. But if a woman is single? Well. . .

What I do not understand, however, are certain people's need to make fraking DEATH THREATS against this woman. What's wrong with you people? Because it'll be so much better for those children to grow up without a mother. Because it'll be soo much easier on their grandparents to raise them alone. Because putting all those children into the system will save sooo much tax money. Please people, grow up. This woman didn't do anything illegal, but the people threatening to kill her or her children certainly did. I hope they are caught and punished. You don't threaten to kill a woman because you disagree with her choices. (And, btw, if we were talking about a man who had fathered 14 children would we be having this discussion? No. No, we would not. There are plenty of men out there who have fathered 14 or more children and left those children to be raised by single mothers, often mothers that have to rely on public support for at least part of the time, and they don't get put in the spotlight. They don't get death threats. They don't even get forced to pay frakking child support. So stop with the sexism. It pisses me off.)

Further, please note that this woman is not lazing about the house doing nothing. She's in school, working on a graduate degree. Yes, she is relying on some forms of government assistance at the moment. However, once she graduates and finds work, she will once more be paying into the system and she will be supporting her children. She is not a so-called 'welfare queen'. Sometimes, people need help. My grandmother did, when she left my grandfather while pregnant with her fifth child. (He was pretty much a bastard and she needed to go.) She was on welfare and food stamps and any other government help she could get for a few years while she raised her children and got training to be a nurse's aid. Then she got a job, paid her taxes and raised her children. All of whom grew up to be good, decent people who went to school, got training and decent jobs and paid into the system. Her grandchildren, those of us who are adults, have also gone to college, gotten jobs and paid into the system. That's how the system works. Just because you're born into a large family that happens to be poor doesn't mean you're going to be a drain on society. My grandmother's children grew up to be nurses and teachers and electricians and even one pretty high ranking federal agent. Both her adult grandchildren have gone on to earn MAs and work in state government -- one of us making sure other people find money to go to college and the other making sure abused/neglected children get placed in loving, safe homes. So all you people saying these children are doomed and lost causes? Shut the fuck up. Now.

LGBTI Immigration Equality

2009-02-10T14:10:00.003-06:00

Via Immigration Equality:

Rep. Jerrold Nadler plans to reintroduce the Uniting American Families Act on
Feb. 12.

You can make the bill a success by convincing your Representative to support the bill from Day One. Reintroducing the bill with as many cosponsors as possible will show powerful momentum for the rights of gay and lesbian binational couples!

Please call your Representative and ask them to be an original cosponsor of the "Uniting American Families Act of 2009." It’s easy!

**Find out who your U.S. House Representative is.
Go to http://www.congressmerge.com/, enter your address, and you will be provided the name of your U.S. Representative.

**Call the U.S. Capitol Switchboard at (202)224-3121 and ask to be connected to your U.S. Representative.

**Tell your representative’s staff:

I am calling to ask Representative ________________ to be an original cosponsor of the Uniting American Families Act of 2009. To cosponsor, he/she must contact Rep. Jerrold Nadler who is the lead sponsor.

The U.S. government discriminates against gay and lesbian binational couples by not allowing us to sponsor our foreign-born life partners for immigration. Because of this, we face the terrible choice of separating from the person we love or leaving our country. As Americans, we should not have to choose between family and country. Please ask Rep. _________________ to cosponsor the Uniting American Families Act of 2009 by reaching out to Rep. Nadler before February 11.

Thanks for asking your member of Congress to celebrate love this Valentine’s Day by cosponsoring UAFA!

I'm getting married!

2009-02-06T15:02:00.002-06:00

Emmy and I have decided to get married -- so throw the confetti already!

I'm beginning work on the immigration paperwork this weekend. As soon as we can get it filed -- and pay the $500 it costs to apply! -- it should take about four months to process and, barring no problems, she could be in the country by July. That gives us four months to get married on a fiance visa, so we're planning for the end of September/first of October. Exact date will be posted as soon as it's pinned down.

We've decided on getting married in New Orleans, because we both love it so. I've tracked down a little chapel in the Quarter. For $300, you get the chapel for an hour, a violinist at your disposal and a celebrant to do the ceremony. We're thinking morning weeding, then a nice brunch at a nearby restuarant. We'll rent the courtyard for a few hours, have food, dancing, some presents and just general happiness. Then, the rest of the afternoon can be spent rummaging around the Quarter having fun in New Orleans.

That's the good stuff.

Now, for the bad.

I have to tell my family. I told my brother via IM this morning. He's not terribly happy. He says that this 'makes my heart hurt a little'. Because he didn't expect me to marry someone like Emmy. Well, neither did I. I didn't go looking for an Australian trans woman, but when you meet someone you can build a life with, that loves you and supports you and understands you, that shares your values and makes you feel like all those things you'd given up on are possible again -- what kind of idiot turns their back on that? It's uncommon and when you find it, you hold on to it.

He says that my niece Kadyn will not understand this, and he worries about her because she loves me so much. Well, I love her too. I didn't think I could actually love a child as much as I love her. It's a strange, strange bond. But it's not going to be hard for her. How hard is it for her to know that Aunt Suzan's friend Emily lives with her now? We won't be making out in front of her, you know. Regardless of who I was partnered with, I wouldn't do that. She's not going to care. She's going to go 'Oh. Okay. Can we go play with all your paints now?' Emmy's just one more person to shower her with love and presents. It's not going to be weird for her.

He kept saying 'You're my sister and I love you' -- which is very strange, because my brother hasn't told me he loved me in...ever, probably. I don't know how my parents are going to take the news either.

I'm calling my mother tonight. I've decided I'm just going to tell her. This is the plan. You can be involved if you want to be, that's entirely up to you. They're going to have to take some time to get used to the idea, I know. I'm pretty sure my mother will come around and I'm pretty sure my brother will too. My dad? I have no idea. I mean....if they don't want the rest of the family to realize we're married, fine. Whatever. If they just want people to know that we're living together, fine. We won't be making out in front of people, for gods sake. But I love her and frankly, I'm tired of feeling so exhausted and worn out over something that is GOOD NEWS!

Emmy's entire fracking family wants to come to our weeding! Her mother, father, two brothers, sister and at least one cousin are already coming. They're going to come up with $12k to get the whole family over here. They're all really excited for us. My family? They feel like it's a horribe tragedy.

So, here's the thing. I'm not letting my happiness get stolen. I'm GETTING MARRIED! I have to plan a weeding! I have to file out immigration paperwork! I have to find a caterer in New Orleans who will make me a bunny-shaped cheesecake for the weeding! I have to find a restuarant with a nice courtyard for us to rent! I have to find a dress! And shoes! And pick an attendant! We need announcements! We need to compile registries! I have six, maybe seven months to plan a fun, unconventional weeding! Screw everyone who cannot get on-board with my happiness.

I hate Ken Starr and other assorted bigots

2009-02-06T14:59:00.002-06:00

'What God has joined together, let no man put assunder.' -- Traditional Protestant Marriage Vows

"Fidelity": Don't Divorce... from Courage Campaign on Vimeo.

Oh television, why have you betrayed me?

2009-02-04T18:33:00.002-06:00

You know what's irritating? Television.
More specifically, House is irritating.

This week's episode was the anti-woman trifecta! First, a patient's period is literally killing her. Then, Cuddy has been rendered completely insane by motherhood. And third? Oh, third is my favorite. The damned Foreman/Thirteen romance.

So, one. Yes, the patient's period literally is killing her. A prior uterine surgery send uterine cells through her body, blahblahblah. So she gets her period and starts bleeding from EVERYWHERE. OK, fine. At least the show has the sense to have House acknowledge the ridiculousness of his diagnosis.

Two - Cuddy adopts a baby and is suddenly unable to do her job? What? Because that's just what the world needs. Successful, intelligent, upper class woman has baby and becomes a shrew! Whoohoo! Now that she's decided she just loves her daughter, I'm counting the episodes until the birth father decides he's changed his mind and she has to give the baby back, leading to weeping and leaning on House and well....you know what happens next. Gah.

But by far, the thing that is making me want to throw things at the telly is the so called romance between Fuckhead Foreman and Thirteen. Oh! Did you know, 13 has a name? I wouldn't blame you if you didn't, since it's only been mentioned maybe twice. Her name is Remy. Nice, no? But alas, everyone calls her 13. Not Hadley, as all the OTHER doctors on the show get referred to by their last names. Nope. She's just 13. Hell, even Amber got called by her name. But not Remy!

Anyway, moving on. She and Fuckhead are sleeping together. Ok, whatever. It doesn't make any sense, since she's been actively hooking up with women for well, her entire run on the show. But whatever. She said she was bi, so ok. I just don't buy the relationship at all. I mean, it's icky. She's in a medical trial that he's running. Medical ethic breach much? He's a patronizing prick. Example, you say? No problem! Last week, he found out she was on the placebo, so this week -- he throws the entire trial to switch her to the drug. Doesn't talk to her about it, nothing. Just does it. Because he looooves her or some such shit.

Anyway, after ONE damned treatment with the real drug, she gets a fucking brain tumor! No, really. Once she finds out what he did (which he only tells her because she's started to get headaches and losing her vision -- what a man! Playing with a woman's health without her consent! How is he still single after all these years? I can't figure it out.) she's all 'are you insane? We've been together for TWO WEEKS!'

And I applauded. Seriously. Finally. Remy's all, you're freaking me out you hulking fucking fucktard. We don't even know of the drug will work, you're not my husband, you didn't ask me, who ARE you??

But....then they find the tumor. And she goes blind. And Strong Get-Away-From-Me Remy turns into Weepy I'm-Just-A-Silly-Girl-Protect-Me! Remy. She's all leaning on Fuckhead, living in his house, begging him to do whatever he had to to help her. I was disgusted. I think I started swearing. Seriously.

So, they give her radiation, the tumor goes away and the fucking show ends with her in the Fucktard's Bed. Gods dammit! He's a manipulative little shit. He endangered her life, he fucked up the damned drug trial, he completely stole her bodily autonomy and wanted fucking cookies for it! What the.....

OK. So Foreman has always been a fuckhead. He pretends to be all righteous and good, but he's really a condescending jackass who thinks he's better than anyone else. Fine. Ok. But, this was just so beyond the pale. And they put her back in his bed! No. Just, no.....

Some things go too far

2008-12-31T08:18:00.004-06:00

This story about Mychal Bell, one of the Jena Six, just makes me sad.

Regardless of how you feel about Bell's involvement in the original incident, the man tried to kill himself. According to the news report, he'd been getting his life back on track. He'd been studying, working out even though he could not play high school ball because he still hoped to be able to play college ball next year. Moving him to Monroe and placing him in foster care seems to have been good for him. And yet, he developed a depression deep enough to make him feel like his life was not worth living.

Now, maybe he was trying to shoplift. So what? Yes, it's wrong. Yes, it's a crime. And yes, if he's guilty, there needs to be punishment. But the fact is, if he had not been involved in the Jena case, his name would never have been more than a single line in the local paper's police blotter. He'd probably end up having to pay a fine, do some probation. It wouldn't be the end of the world and it certainly wouldn't be the end of his football career.

How long will he be punished for the Jena incident? He pleaded to a lesser charge in that case, he did his time and was working to get his life back on track. So how long will it be before we let him move on? Bell was 16 when Jena happened. Everyone is stupid at 16. Some of us are more stupid than others, but we all do things that we shouldn't, things we look back on later and wonder how the hell we ever did. The fact is, no one died in the Jena case. No one was even seriously injured. (And if you're going to say that Barker was, just stop. If you're well enough to attend a party later the same day, you're not seriously injured. Bruised and hurting? Sure. I'll give ya that. But bruises and aches are not serious. I've gotten worse injuries fighting with my brother and he probably WAS trying to kill me.)

How long is this man going to have to pay for being a stupid 16-year-old? How long is he going to be followed by the media? (And believe me, he's being followed. No one is stalking him or anything, but you can be damned sure that ever few months some Editor goes to a reporter and says "Check on Mychal Bell. See what he's up to." Why? Because he made a stupid, dumb mistake that will haunt him for the rest of his life. And if all the reporter finds is that he's now attending college somewhere, the Editor will make them write a story starting with: "Mychal Bell, the only member of the Jena Six to stand trial and be convincted of attempted murder, enrolled at the University of Blahblahblah. . .")

When this man dies, hopefully many many years from now after a well-lived life, his involvement in the Jena Six will be mentioned in his obit. Despite the fact that he may end up being a world-class surgeon that saves lives, despite the fact that he may become a great civil rights leader, despite the fact that he may just become a decent mechanic, whatever the hell he does with his life, the Jena Six thing will haunt him forever.

Listen. The man did his time. He paid for his crime. He's clearly still dealing with the fallout from that. Let it go. Let him be. For gods sake, stop hounding the man until he feels his only option is death.

SNOW!

2008-12-11T08:43:00.001-06:00

It's snowing in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. And it's piling up on the ground! I do not think this has ever happened before. It's just....beautiful. Suddenly, my lingering depression is gone! Poof!

This is my backyard this morning:

This was my car:

The view from my front door:

Trees in my backyard:

On the road to work:

The parking lot of my office:

I feel like I can breath again. I haven't felt this good in...ages. I woke up and I was like, hey, something's changed. I felt good and rested and just...energized. Then, I opened my curtains and saw SNOW!!

The gods listened when I said I needed something to break this horrible depression I've been having. Boy, did they listen.

The Depowered Woman, or Why I Hate Heroes

2008-12-03T11:06:00.001-06:00

They killed Elle.

Not only did they kill her, but they made her a victim of domestic violence. Her boyfriend killed her. Granted, said boyfriend was a murdering bastard anyway, but Elle was one of the few people he'd ever shown any fondness for. And why did he kill her? Not to take her power -- that at least would be understandable and in character. No, he killed her (or so it seems) because he could.

So, let's review: Elle, the only female character on Heroes who seemed to relish her ability and use it without fear, is killed by her boyfriend. Not only is she killed, she doesn't even fight back. She could certainly fight Sylar off -- she'd done it before. And I'm not buying any argument that she was weakened by being shot. Screw that. Your boyfriend is trying to kill you and you have the ability to fight him off? You use it. (Understand -- I'm not judging RL victims of domestic abuse. They don't have the ability to electrocute people. If they did, we'd have a hell of a lot fewer causes of domestic violence.)

This tendancy to kill off or write off women with genuine power on Heroes is killing the show for me. (Note: I'm writing this under the assumption Elle is genuinely dead. They left that bit somewhat hazy last week, but previews for next week show Sylar burning her body. So, if she's not dead now, she likely will be soon. And what the hell? Burning your girlfriend's body? Because killing her father, taking her ability, making her think you cared about her and then slicing open her head isn't enough? Really?)

First, we had Nikki. She was wicked strong. She was also suffering from a serious mental disorder. (I'm sorry, but Dissociative Identity Disorder is NOT a superpower. It's an illness, generally caused by some sort of childhood trauma. It would have been an interesting story to explore how Nikki's ability was tweaked by the murder of her sister. It always seemed obvious to me that Nikki's inability to protect her sister when she was young channeled her physical abilities into her alter as she got older. Nikki was 'weak', the ability was strong. Nikki's mind, damaged by the trauma of her sister's murder, couldn't integrate the strength, so it created Jessica to handle the ability. Fairly classic DID, with superpowers on top. But they never explored that. They just said that having an alter was a special ability. *sigh*)

Anyway, Nikki -- for all her strength -- was always somehow a victim. First, she didn't realize she had the ability. Then, she used it to kill people and steal money, which got her husband sent to jail. And got her indebted to Linderman. She had some good moments at the end of Season One, but then she ended up getting her husband killed, leaving herself and her son to rely on the kindness of his family. Then, she finally seems to be getting some control of her life and her ability -- and she ends up dead.

We also had Monica -- a character I really liked and want to see more about. While a bit freaked over her ability at first, she took to it pretty quickly, trying to use it to help those around her. She was a genuinely good person, with a really useful ability that she was learning to relish. And what happens to her? She gets in over her head (which, granted, I don't object to. You gotta have some conflict or there's not story) gets rescued (but hey, at least she wasn't rescued by a man!) and then...gets written out of the show.

Next, we have Claire. Admittedly, she's a bit whiny. But I give her a pass for most of that, because she's only 18 or so. (I'm assuming 17/18, because she's clearly not going to school this season. They seriously messed up her age.) Anyway, she's fricking indestructable. She can heal anything, is likely never going to die and what are they doing with her? Nothing. No one is teaching her how to fight or sleuth or any of the things she wants to do. (Yes, I realize there have finally been what, two? attempts to teach her things. But come on, how long as the girl been demonstrating her desire to learn? Yeah.) She's gotten the hang of her ability, she's made her peace with it and -- she's being treated like a fragile, breakable thing. I understand that coming from her parents -- they're her parents. But everyone else? Please. She's doing stupid things because she's young and inexperienced -- and can't find a fricking teacher to help her out. (I totally want Claude to come back and take her under his wing. She'd be the craftiest, sneakiest, morally gray character around.)

So, let's see...who else do we have? Oh! Daphne. At the moment, she's the only one I'm holding out hope for. Yes, she's got a bit of 'victim' in her background. I can deal with that. At least no one is trying to put her in a little box. (Matt? I'm looking at you -- do NOT try to control your girlfriend or I have a brick with your name on it, got it? You almost got one when you read her mind without permission. Grr.) The revelation that she had cerebal palsy is. . .a post for another day, actually. But it's at least different. It seems she had a decent childhood. Her father clearly loves her and they seem to have a good relationship. And her thing with Matt, while the 'I Love You's came too fast, at least feels like it's becoming genuine. His total acceptance of her is really good for her and she's good at bringing him down to earth.

Which means that the rumors of her being killed off next season are likely true. Screw you, Heroes. I'm tired of all the strong women being killed off.

Which brings us back to Elle. *sigh* I loved Elle, because she was so totally herself. Yes, I know, she was a bad person. I'm ok with that -- women can be bad people. We're not paragons of virtue. Despite all that was done to her to warp her into a sociopath, she never seemed to be a victim. When she found out what had been done to her as a child, she didn't collapse into a pile and beg for someone to save her. The knowledge colored her actions, yes, but she got on with her life. She fucking 'saved' herself.

And so, they have her boyfriend kill her. Just when she seemed to be truely freeing herself from her past, just when she seemed to be ready to become herself.

Seriously, Heroes, fuck you. Just fuck you. Call me when you start randomly killing off your male cast. How about when Saundra sticks a knife in Bennet's heart for being such a giant asshole? Or when Claire bricks Peter over the head for being such an overbearing, patronizing, whiny little emo bitch? Maybe when Sylar gets his head cut off by an Eileen Wurnoes wanna-be he picked up at a truck stop because she reminded him of Elle? Oh, not going to do that to your big manly cast? Yeah. Fuck you.

What the HELL??

2008-11-28T14:08:00.003-06:00

Seriously people, there is nothing at fricking Wal-Mart worth killing someone for!!

Wal-Mart worker dies after shoppers knock him down

They broke down the damned doors. What the HELL??? It's damned Wal-Mart. The same plastic crap will be there tomorrow, I promise. And if it's not, wait until next Tuesday when they restock!

"He was bum-rushed by 200 people," co-worker Jimmy Overby, 43, told the Daily News. "They took the doors off the hinges. He was trampled and killed in front of me. They took me down too. ... I literally had to fight people off my back."

Gods know, they aren't going to be able to prosecute anyone for this. Sure, there will be store video, but how are you going to track down all the people who just WALKED OVER a man in their rush to get some cheap t-shirts or Hannah Montana videos or whatever the hell else they were looking for. How the hell do you walk over a man? How do you not stop and help? How do you just go on, tossing stuff in your basket, while police and EMTs are showing up to try to get this man some help? What is wrong with your head? ARG!

I love New Orleans

2008-11-23T18:06:00.003-06:00

Everytime I go to New Orleans, I never want to leave.

Yesterday, I went down with some friends for my friend Annette's birthday party. We left around noon and didn't get home until midnight. Ha.

So, we went to this place that you MUST go if you're in New Orleans. Cafe au Clay (they do not appear to have a Web site or I'd link you up). It's just awesome. For $6 plus the price of whatever object you pick, you can paint and have glazed and fired your own pottery. Most of the pieces average around $6 to $10. The most expensive thing I saw was $30, but it was an honest-to-goddess statue that most people aren't gonna want to paint anyway.

So, we got there around 2 p.m. and didn't leave for four hours. It was so. much. fun. I painted a present for Emmy (and no! I will not tell you what it is, Emmy, so no asking), a Christmas ornament for my grandmother and a really cute butterfly dish for ME. Yes. Me. I'm selfish that way.

Seriously, I haven't had so much fun in ages. They bring you all the paint you can want, you just do whatever you want with the colors and the finishes and it's just amazing. The people are really friendly. The proprietor is from Melbourne and at least one of their workers is from Brazil, so you get all kinds of stories and they're very willing to help you with design ideas. There were five of us and we got to play like little kids. We brought a cake and drinks and the staff was really great about all that. So, if you're in New Orleans with an afternoon to kill, you must go. Our pieces will be all fired and glazed by next week, so we'll be going down again to pick them up. If I can, I'll be going down to get them with Annette and we can play again! Yay!

Also, we went to this restaurant -- Jamila's. Oh. My. God. The food was soooo good. It's a Tunisian place, so I wasn't sure about the food. But that was stupid. Because it was SO good. I had baked salmon, in this delicious cheese/wine/cream/mustard sauce that was divine. It came with steamed veggies that were delicious too. We have these philo-dough things stuffed with potato, tuna, shrimp and garlic. Oh. So good. And they give you lots of bread with this garlic and parsley butter. Nommy!

My meal only came to about $20, so really, you can't beat it. Plus, the people who run the place were just so friendly and nice. There was also a bellydancer. I highly recommend it.

Suzan's Nommy Veggie Pasta Sauce

2008-11-23T17:54:00.003-06:00

I was playing in the kitchen tonight and came up with a delicious pasta sauce that I shall share with all my nice readers. All you not nice readers? Skip this post.

Ahem.

You need:
1 squash
1 zucchini
1 onion
Garlic
1 can o'diced tomatoes
Olive oil
Butter
Flour
Whipping Cream
Mustard -- I used stone ground, but use whatever ya like.
Salt, pepper, other seasonings

Cook down the onion, garlic, squash and zucchini in a little olive oil. Cook 'em as long as you like. I like my veggies a touch on the soft side, but if you like 'em firmer, is all good. I drop a touch of butter -- REAL butter -- in the whole mix for flavor. Not too much butter, just a good pat or so.

When you've got the onion, etc. all cooked down as much as you want, toss in the can of tomatoes. I pour in about half the liquid. Not all of it, because too much will make it too thin. So...get all the veggies together, cook 'em a bit and then add the cream and mustard. (OK, actually I mixed the cream and mustard together beforehand, but whatever ya like. Just make sure you get the mustard and cream in there, k?)

So, everything is all mixed together and cooking up a nomminess. Add flour if you need to thicken it up. Pour over your favorite pasta and be amazed!

Because I'm a poet before all else. . .

2008-11-19T14:59:00.007-06:00

Departure

We are flickers of light at the edge of vision,
A pause for breath between notes, easily missed,
Scribbled down in discordant key, with pagenotes
reminding the author to correct us later.

If the sound makes you pause, cry, reconsider --
if it makes you question the reasons behind your assumptions --

Do we remember that we are all dust?
Can we see, for a moment, the lifeblood
of long dead stars
Internal novas burning and fueling,
Spilling out of hands and feet and lips and eyes,
Tracing lines of DNA and heritage
from me to you to me to you to. . .
The space between the heartbeat we share.

If the sound makes you cry -- if it makes you question --

A truth is -- nothing passes from existence
A truth is -- we all dissolve into nothing
We cycle, cycle, remembered, forgotten
Smoldering, blazing, saved only by our tethers Here
To this blood that cannot forget
To this blood that is our witness:
We were and now are gone.

If the sound makes you reconsider -- if it makes you question --

At an end of it all, we find a beginning.
We follow lines of DNA and heritage backward,
back into bits of me in you and you in me
and transcendence and ressurection and
connection and comprehension.
There's no need for correction
-- the discordant is correct.
The pause is the point.

Remember

2008-11-19T14:52:00.002-06:00

International Transgender Day of Remembrance

I'm posting this a day early, in case anyone is looking for an event to go to. There's a list of events around the world at that site.

This is not an easy post for me to write. It should be, because I believe deeply in the power of saying things outloud. I believe in the power of naming -- speak your fear and it can no longer control you. Give voice to your grief and it can no longer destroy you. But the truth is, I'm crying as I write this. Not only because so many good, decent people have died. I'm crying because I know that my sweet, amazing, gentle Emmy could be on that list one day and I cannot imagine being able to survive that.

I will never understand what motivates someone to kill another human being when their life is not in danger. I will never understand what it is inside someone that makes them pick up a weapon instead of simply walking away. I will never understand how human life can have so little value to some people. But I know that there are people in this world, far too many people, who can kill. Who can pick up a gun or a knife or a rock and strike out. For what? Because someone doesn't meet your expectations? Because they live their life in a way you don't approve of? Which god tells you that you can do that? Which god gives you permission? And how can the world, how can so many otherwise decent people, simply nod and say 'well, what did you expect? Not guilty!'?

I think of the families of those who have been killed. I think of them and I cry, because how do you cope with the knowledge that the world thinks it's OK to kill someone you love? How do you live with the knowledge that your neighbors and co-workers and the people who sit beside you every day on the way to work think that your daughter deserved to die? How do you ever have faith in anything, anyone again? How does the world ever make sense again?

It's far too easy for those who are not intimately involved to forget. Because it's too horrible to remember. It's too horrible to let yourself realize that yes, human life is so very very cheap to so many people. It's too horrible to let yourself realize that maybe YOU contribute to that attitude. But we cannot forget. We let these killings go unchallenged, unpunished -- a slap on the wrist is not a punishment. Finding a killer not-guilty because they freaked out over finding out their girlfriend had a penis is not justice. It's not acceptable. Full stop.

River says. . .

2008-11-09T12:27:00.004-06:00

It has come to my attention that there are OTHER cats on the interwebs! Rain told me it was true and my sister would never ever lie to me. Unless food were involved. Rain saided Mommy was fond of looking at some cat called Zuzu. This makes me sad. Look at me. Am I not the cutest boy cat ever? Am I not cuter than some silly smush faced Zuzu? I thought so too.

I loves my Mommy sooo much. And I know she loves me too, because I am her onlyest boy cat. I has to live with lots and lots of girl cats, but is ok because I am the king. See my face? I even has a ruff like a lion! But I'm much, much prettier. I snuggle with my Mommy when she is sad cause Mommy Emmy had to go back to some place Mommy calls 'stupid, stupid Austrailia'. I not like this Awstrayla. I think I'll get Rain to hunt it down and bit it's neck. I loves my Mommy sooo much that I suck on her shirt and kneed little biscuits in her neck and she just snuggles me and says "Oh, River. You silly silly boy." I loves Mommy soooo much that me and Rain put on the Cat Show every day to make her smile, running all over the house and jumping on stuff and attacking poor poor Molly.

Aren't I a good, sweet pretty boy?

This is Love

2008-10-30T19:35:00.011-05:00

That's me and Emmy when she was here in April, at the most amazing fondue place, The Melting Pot. (See Emmy, I DID finally pull it off the camera. And really, it's not so bad.)

And this is me and Emmy a mere two days ago, at 4 in the morning just before she had to get on a plane back to Barbaria.

My pretty, pretty Emmy

These are our children:

Molly

Rain and River, the twins. (Rain is looking at the camera, River continues to snooze.)

China

This is love. This is a family. This isn't a threat to anyone. So why can't we be legal?

Two days gone

2008-10-30T17:38:00.002-05:00

Emmy left Tuesday morning. I feel like my heart has been torn out. Little things are making me cry. Her coffee cup in the sink. A headband she left behind. The t-shirts that didn't fit in her suitcase. It all makes me break down and when I cry, it's a torrent. Even the cats are mourning. Rain clings to me as though she's afraid I'll disappear too.

And this didn't have to happen. If our immigration laws were decent, if they let citizens sponsor same-sex partners, if we had a visa for people who were looking for work and had willing sponsors, if if if. But we don't. There's no way for people in same-sex relationships to bring their partners into the country legally. And, when Emmy finds work here and gets a work visa, she'll only be able to stay in the country legally as long as her job lasts.

There is a chance, because she is trans and still legally male, that we can get her here on a fiance visa. A chance. But when it comes out that she is trans, it's likely that the visa would be denied. We could just get married and hope for the best, but it's the same situation. The visa would likely be denied, because it is the policy of the US Government to deny transgendered people the right to immigrate on a spousal visa. So, even if we got married legally (which we could in Louisiana, because Louisiana does not legally recognize transgendered people as their true gender until SSR has been preformed), we would still not be allowed to live together full-time in this country.

How is this fair? How is this even the slightest bit right? And it's so very easy to remedy. Legalize same-sex marriage at the federal level. Extend to all couples, regardless of gender, the legal right to marry. Immigration rights, insurance rights, visitation rights, adoption rights, full and complete equality under the law. If the genders of the people marry did not marry, Emmy and I could apply for a fiance visa and be certain it would be granted. We could know that our separation was not only temporary, it had a definate end date. It wouldn't keep me from crying, but it would help me to know when I could hold her again.

Wanna know what I'm doing in November?

2008-09-30T07:16:00.003-05:00

Provided the world doesn't end on Election Day:

And this is what I shall be writing:

Hell Raiser

Annika Dante's mother always said she came from the angels. Nik just never realized she meant that literally.

Born with an uncanny knack for finding things, Nik's building quite a reputation for herself as professional supernatural scavenger hunter. So when Sinjin Charles knocks on her door, asking her to find something called the Ashes of Nirgali, it seems like just another job. Until he triples her asking price. Without being asked.

One run-in with a pack of demon dogs and two seriously injured sidekicks later, Nik is ready to give the money back and call the whole thing off. Until there's another knock on her door and all Hell breaks loose.

At least, that's what the woman claiming to be the angel Ramiel says will happen if Nik doesn't find the Ashes before the other scavengers Sinjin has hired do. And there's no backing out, she says, since Nik is Heaven's best chance of averting an apocolypse.

So, armed with uncanny intuition, inhuman luck and a wisecracking angel sidekick, Nik Dante sets out to save the world.

After all, it is the only planet with chocolate.

Your Daily Dose of Outrage

2008-09-18T08:21:00.003-05:00

Wanna be pissed off? Of course you do! Try this:

A group of disability activists head out to the Hill, to discuss housing issues with senators. Instead of being heard, they were arrested! Here's your money quote: "I don’t help people who can’t help themselves.” -- Sen. Richard Shelby (R, AL)

Follow the links for more info:
ADAPT
DUH City

Letter to my disability

2008-09-11T20:50:00.000-05:00

Dear Fibro,

I hate you. You suck. You are a bad, bad disease and will get no love and no cookie from me. You drain all my energy and then give me insomnia so that I can't sleep. You make me toss and turn and chase my girlfriend out of bed. You make me cranky. You make me so cranky and exhausted that I want to throtle my cats for unplugging the computer. For the millionth time. You make me so tired that I can't stand up long enough to take a shower and that makes me cranky because I really, really, really want to wash my damned hair, dammit.

You freak out my Emmy, which pisses me off. Seriously, give us a break, dammit. Or I'll do...something.

Leave my ankles alone, for fucks sake. I need them to walk. Also, my wrists? Leave them alone too. I need them to do stuff like drive or brush my hair or eat or, I don't know, take drugs to make you go away. So, stop it already.

I've tried to be reasonable with you. I've tried to let bygones be bygones. But seriously? Fuck off already. The best I've felt in years was in the immediate aftermath of a fucking hurricane? What??? You are one sick, sick bastard, you know that? Trees are fallen, powerlines are gone, people are trying to seal up holes in their roofs and THAT is when you decide to take a vacation? What the hell? You couldn't skip town when I wanted to have a night out? You couldn't leave long enough for me to go see a movie, but you'll run off for a week when every fucking thing is closed and the city's under a curfew? Seriously, I hate you.

And of course you come back just as everything is getting back to normal. When the movies are actually open for me to go see. When the restaurants and parks and book stores and all the other fun stuff have come back online, you come back from wherever the hell it was you went. (Admit it: you did go to hell, didn't you? To pick up some tips from other demons on how to torture me, right? I hate you. So much.)

So, here's the thing: leave me alone or I'll do something drastic. You remember the physical therapy? Ha. You didn't like that, did you? And those cortesone injections? Those pissed you off too. I'm not above all out war here, so leave me alone. Dammit.

Braaaaaaains!!!

2008-07-24T18:48:00.004-05:00

(Also, I'm not dead. I'm just really fucking tired when I get home at night and can't get my act together to sit at my computer long enough to post. But I'm still here!!)

(Also, EMMY is going to arrive here on August 11!! For THREE months! I get my girl for THREE WHOLE MONTHS! Yay!)

And now, to the meme:

You are in a mall when zombies attack. You have:
1. One weapon
2. One song blasting on the speakers
3. One famous person to fight along side you

My weapon of choice: A wand of Zombie Turning, of course! Take that, you walking corpse! Go eat a Republican!

Our themesong: This Much Fun by Cowboy Mouth, because I have a twisted sense of humor. Also, I really like that song. You can hear it here. Don't even try not to dance.

Famous side-kick: Oh please. Like there was any doubt? When we're done with the zombies, we'll pop into the Tardis, head over to Torchwood to pick up Jack and Ianto then head back in time to bask in some Roman Baths. Mrow.

Also? Tag! You're It!

One step forward, two steps back. . .

2008-05-28T19:53:00.002-05:00

And, as is generally the case when I have a good day and overdue it, my body is in revolt. I currently have a nasty headache and the exhaustion is just about to reach my bones. Sweet Baby Cheeses, I hate Fibro!!

*Ahem*

So, in order to keep you all entertained while I am regaining my energy, I present you with a list o' fun things I've seen around the Interwebs.

For the fat girls: Fat Dinosty

New blog to read! Season of the Bitch (Awesome name!) Check out her 101 Things to Do in 1001 Days I'm a sucker for those things and intend to complete my own list shortly.

Read a poem.

Or maybe pick up a new craft?

I have, in fact, about a dozen posts I went to write. I just can't summon the energy right now. But I am still alive! Promise.

Busy girl is busy!

2008-05-26T16:26:00.003-05:00

I've had a productive weekend. After two lovely days of sleeping late (until 11 on Saturday!), I have managed to do massive amounts of laundry, lots of dishes, vacuumed the floors (nothing makes a room feel clean like a vacuumed floor, seriously), went shopping, bought new curtains for the kitchen and put 'em up, washed the living room curtains and put them back up, bought some new clothes (and shoes!) and got myself a new computer chair -- which still needs to be assembled, but a girl can only do so much at one time.

The curtain are not only decorative -- they are to keep my electric bill down. I had blinds, but no curtains and the window is on a window box, which is made to soak up the sun. I'm considering buying some sunblocking curtains for the living room. I saw some really nice ones at WalMart. Only $15 each and I'd only need two. Should cut down some more $$$.

I really think the splitting my Cymbalta dose up between morning and night is helping. Taking 120 mgs at one time? Well. It makes me wanna throw up AND exhausted. Splitting it up, is making me a bit more responsive. Which is good, yes.

Also, I love new shoes. I can't help it. I just....love new shoes. So, I got these one sale. Ha. $8 for shoes that fit me. Got a funky rose pattern on the toes.

One of the shirts is a babydoll tanktop, red and khacki paselie (Yeah, I can't spell.) Yes, I intend to wear it even with my fat fat fat arm. Screw people if they don't like it. It's cute, I look good ad it's fucking HOT already. Seriously, it's not even June and it's 90 degrees already. *sigh*

I'm making a concerted effort to eat at home more. Saves me money, plus I eat better that way. I need to make sure my diet is better -- need to get all the nutrients and stuff I need. Tonight I am having a nummy chicken cordon bleu with a parmasen crust, plus...oh some side. Something with potatos, I think.

I play with code!

2008-05-14T21:11:00.002-05:00

So, here's my new template. You like? Is very different than the last one. I wanted color.

So....took me a few hours of swearing and taking a watergun to the cat who wanted to "HELP".....but is here now.

Read this now or the terrorist will win!

2008-05-08T07:06:00.002-05:00

The latest Disability Carnival is up over at Ms. Crip Chick. Go read. Also, why aren't you reading her regularly? Huh? Huh?

Permission to grieve

2008-04-25T10:20:00.000-05:00

When I was first diagnosed, almost eight years ago now, I was elated. Finally, finally, someone took me seriously. Someone took the time to listen to me, perform the tests necessary and give a name to what was causing me so much pain. When my doctor told me I definately had Fibromylgia and mostly likely had early-stage Lupus or Mixed Connective Tissue Disorder, a feeling of justification and pure joy surged through me. I wasn't crazy. I was right. Ha! I coasted on that energy for a good few months, taking all the medications my doctor prescribed and making changes in my life as she suggested.

But gradually, the feeling of vindication wore off and I was left with the reality that I'd been diagnosed with a disease. A chronic, incurable, life-altering, painful disease that general left no outward symptoms that other people could see or understand. And people around me started to get to the point where they thought I should just be over it all by now. I was 26, wasn't I? I was young, I had my whole life ahead of me, what was I waiting for? I wanted to get my Ph.D? Well, why didn't I? I wanted to go back to Italy? Well, why didn't I? I wanted to find a new job? So what was stopping me?

And the reality was -- this damned disease was stopping me. I was the same person I'd always been, in my mind, but my body had been diverted to a different path. All those things I wanted to do, all those things a woman my age should be able to do, required energy. Energy I no longer had. Desire? I had that. Ambition? I had that too. But I had a body that was fighting me every step of the way.

I had thought that, by the time I was 27, I would have my Ph.D. I had planned everything so well. And I was on schedule, until about a semester into my MA program. I'd been sick, off and on, before then but I'd always put it down to the stress of teaching full-time, carrying on a long-term, long-distance relationship and doing a graduate degree at the same time. And really, the sicknesses would go away after a few days or a week or so. That was normal, right? But one day, the sickness stayed. It seeped into my bones, my mind, my muscles, my sleep. There wasn't a single part of my that didn't hurt, that didn't ache, that didn't beg to be put out of its misery.

But I carried on anyway. I'm stubborn like that. I carried on, going to doctor after doctor, getting diagnosis after diagnosis (including one idiot doctor who told me the only thing he could think of that fit all my symptoms was liver cancer!), taking pill after pill. And I kept teaching, I kept my relationship alive (barely) and I managed to write and defend my thesis -- and I was told I had the most professional defense the department had ever seen. But the whole time, I thought I was dying. Literally, dying.

So. . .I decided to put off the Ph.D. I'd been in school since I was 4. Maybe I just needed a break. So, I got a job as a journalist and went to work. And stayed sick. Got sicker. Saw more doctors and doctors and doctors -- until finally, years later, I found two who listened and BANG. Diagnosis.

And yet, nearly a decade later, I still do not have my Ph.D. I still haven't written those books I wanted to. I still havn't built that life I dreamed I would. And that's a real, genuine lose. No matter what my life looks like now -- and really, it's not a bad life at all -- it's not the one I had planned. It's not the one that I had dreamed about. It's not the one I had nurtured and prepared myself for.

In a very real way, the person I was supposed to be has died. She's been replaced by someone who is much older than she looks, who has learned the hard way how to let go of things, who (I hope) is more forgiving of others and herself, who has more compassion than she would have otherwise. But that doesn't mean that the loss is any less painful, or any less worthy of grief.

The thing is -- people don't want you to grieve. It's hard for them. It means they have to face the reality of what has happened. And it means they have to face the reality that it may well happen to THEM. If you carry on, as I did in those initial years of my illness, as though nothing has changed, they can have that illusion too. To this day, my mother rarely admits that I am ill. She cannot handle that reality. We have conversations where she wonders why I haven't done the things I always wanted to do. And I have to restrain myself to keep from lashing out. Because she knows I'm sick, she just can't accept it.

The only way I've been able to come to terms with this new life, this new me, is to allow myself to grieve who I used to be. It's not selfish. It's not denying your new reality. It's not turning your back on the disabled community. If you don't make peace with yourself as you are now, if you deny that anything has changed for you, you're doing yourself and the community a disservice. You cannot build a good life on bitterness and lies. And yes, it is awful that this sickness has come. It is awful and unfair and if you have to cry for hours, then you have to cry for hours. If you have to rail against the unfairness of it all, then you have to. Because once it is out of you, you can see that there are still good possiblities. There is still a good, full, happy life for you. It's just going to look different and feel different and be different than what you expected.

Even my 4-year-old neice has mastered this one

2008-04-09T18:15:00.002-05:00

Stealing is bad.
Pretending something is yours when it's not? Bad.
Not giving people credit for their work? Also bad.
Using the excuse 'well, this topic has been out there for awhile' when trying to justify not citing your sources? Lame. Cowardly.
Getting huffy when called on your shit? Embarassing. Evidence of immaturity. And being stunningly blind to privelge.

Citing sources is very easy. Unconvinced? Here, I'll show you:

Sylvia says: Beautiful Word
Natalia says: So Much Word
Daisy says: Deadhead Word
Sudy says: Kick Ass Word
Belle says: Super Smart Word
Lisa says: Word! With links!

See? It's easy! (Ooooh. Maybe you don't know the code? In that case. . .I can email it to you. No problem.)

35 seconds of oy baby

2008-04-06T08:22:00.003-05:00

I'm afraid I would have been weak and took Jack up on his offer to join. Ah well :)

Yeah, baby!

2008-04-05T18:57:00.002-05:00

Created by OnePlusYou

That's right: I'm a fat, foul-mouthed bitch and I loves it. Bwhahahaha.

Sweet Jesus, I hate fibromylgia

2008-04-03T19:44:00.003-05:00

I have an invisible disability. I look like anyone else, healthy enough. I look younger than my age. I look like I should be the picture of health. But I'm not. I'm not even close.

People comment to me, "You're always so tired." Yes, I am. I'm always very tired. When I say I'm tired, I'm not saying it for attention. I'm not saying it for sympathy. I'm saying it because it's the truth. When you look at me and say, "Are you feeling ok?" I usually lie to you. Because you don't want to hear the truth. Because when I tell you the truth, you don't know what to do or say. Because there isn't anything you can do or say that will make it any better.

So, please. If I tell you I'm tired, just accept it. Don't think it means I'm lazy or I'm looking for attention or any of those other stupid things that healthy people think when they're confronted with someone invisibly disabled. Because I wasn't always sick. I used to be as healthy as I looked. Which means I used to be just like you. Which means you could be just like me next week or next month or next year. And that's scary, I know. It's also the truth.

It's scary to realize that the life you had planned, you can't have. It's scary to realize you're going to have to depend on other people who aren't sick, because those people are likely to start thinking you're just lazy or faking or not really in as much pain as you say you are. Because well, you look fine! When people who look fine die every day, when they end up in the hospital every day, when their lives change dramatically every day. Because how a person looks is not indicative of their health.

Those people you see who look healthy but who have handicapped plates/tags? Leave them alone. Something is wrong with them that you cannot see. Those people who look healthy but who use motorized baskets in stores? Leave them alone. Something is wrong with them that you cannot see. That co-worker who looks healthy but whose always taking off to go to the doctor? Leave them alone. Something is wrong with them that you cannot see.

Those diseases you don't understand? They're real. They hurt. They wreck lives. Those illnesses that are chronic but non-fatal? They're real. They hurt. The wreck lives. Taking medication every day for the rest of your life? Real. Emotionally painful. Wrecking lives. Treating those of us suffering from them as though we were faking? Painful, shitty, jackassy thing to do.

It's hard enough living with the limitations these diseases impose. It's hard enough mourning the life we had planned. It's hard enough coming to terms with the strictures on our independence. Do you know how wounding it is to know that the only reason you've not been fired is because it's illegal to do so? That, despite a medical explaination from your doctor, your supervisors still believe you're just not trying hard enough? Or that you just don't want to work? Because you look fine. You look healthy.

We don't need the looks, the whispers, the "Well, if it was me, I would do. . ." Because the truth is, you wouldn't. Because you wouldn't be able to. You'd be too sick. Even though you looked perfectly healthy. How a person looks has nothing to do with their health.

And even if you don't believe me, even if you believe everyone who looks healthy must be healthy, have the decency to keep your uninformed, shitty ass opinion to yourself, okay?

Hello, my freaky darlings....

2008-03-30T10:56:00.002-05:00

Call For Papers

"Feminism For Freaks"

At its best, feminism offers an emancipatory potential from gendered
oppression, inequality, and violence. At its worst, however, feminism
can work to simply affirm the rights of middle-class, heterosexual,
white women, and exclude the voices of already-marginalised groups
such as women of colour, trans* women, sex workers and so on. Like
Derrida's democracy, a truly liberatory feminism is mostly a feminism
to come.

Not un-coincidentally, those marginalised groups of women are often
demonised by the dominant culture, rendered as monstrous,
simultaneously invisible and hyper-visible, compelling and
threatening, desirable and disgusting--and forever denied a voice of
our own. The question of if and how monstrosity can be reclaimed or
re-worked is a vexed one for feminists.

We therefore invite proposals that affirm the voices of socially
excluded people, that seek to create new and exciting knowledge and
address themselves to feminist theory and activism or the wider
culture, on such topics including, but not limited to:

* Monstrous bodies and identities
* Social marginalisation and exclusions (for instance, borders, walls,
and immigration laws, and the silencing of voices such as those of
women of colour and transgendered people)
* Liberation/transformation/organisation
* sex work
* queer sexualities and genders
* BDSM
* Visible signs of difference (Muslim women wearing the veil, disabled
bodies etc)
* religion and spirituality
* freaks in popular culture, body modification etc
* fat positivity

Academic, non-fiction and creative work will be considered--the call is
broad, and we're willing to accommodate new and interesting work by
freaks of all kinds.

Please submit abstracts of up to 250 words by May 31st to
estrangedcognition@hotmail.com and suzanmanuel@gmail.com

*Note - Given that some contributors may not feel safe or comfortable
telling their stories in the public sphere, submissions under
pseudonyms will be accepted.

(Come on, people. Totally send me your abstracts. I'm looking at you Mermi. Yeah. That's right. Pretty sure you'll be accepted.)

Attention K-Mart Shoppers!

2008-03-29T09:10:00.001-05:00

My girlfriend is coming to visit!

Yes, that's right. My Embunny will be landing in my town on Wednesday, April 16 for a nice, long visit.

I get 10 days of Emmyness!

*swoons and passes out*

That is all. You may now return to your regular blogging.

This is why the condoms stay in a drawer . . .

2008-03-11T19:54:00.003-05:00

It's an Embunny!

2008-03-06T19:21:00.003-06:00

I write novels

2008-03-01T14:05:00.002-06:00

So, today I ventured out into The World on a weekend. Shocking.

I left my house because I was going to kill kittens if I didn't. They're nuts. They were running around like crazy things, knocking shit over. Well...they broke a vase that I had made all by myself! It was painted and pretty and I loved it and they destroyed it. So, I picked up the pieces, whipped some children and packed up the computer and left before I killed them.

So, I'm currently at one of many CC's Coffee Houses taking advantage of the Not My House location and the free internet to work on my novel.

At the moment, I'm calling it All The Damned Vampires. It's a working title, since I have NO idea what to really name it and well...there are lots of Vampires in it, so. Plus, Lost Boys reference. Go 80's childhood!

I have nine chapters done (first drafts only, of course) but I only have 20,353 words! That's not even half a NaNo Novel! I've been working on this thing off and one for YEARS and that's all I've got?? I'm stunned. I could have sworn I had much, much more done :( My chapters are only averaging about 2,261 words each which comes out to about 7 or 8 pages. Not so bad, really, but....I have to keep reminding myself THIS IS A FIRST DRAFT. The important thing on this go through to do is get the story down on paper. Once the story is down, I can recruit myself some readers to give it a look-see and tell me where they think things need to be stregthened. (I, of course, reserve the right to ignore them completely. But it does help.)

And, OK. I write strangely. Like, right now, I've got the ending done. I'm taken down my Big Bad, reclaimed my Blonde Vampire's soul and done a little wrap-up chapter suggesting what's gonna happen in the next book. Go me. I've also got the introduction done. Introduced my heroine, outlined a bit of her powers, given some of her backstory, had her get in her first fight. Go Me. Got a very moving scene with her at her best friend's grave. Got the piece's major sex scene done (and ya know, THAT chapter is almost 5,000 words. I do good smut.) Which leaves me with. . .the entire middle of the novel to write. So, ya know. It's not like I don't have room or ideas for more :) I'm just....I thought I'd gotten much much more done. *pout* Oh well.

I mean, I've already written the Bad Guy Take Down...and haven't even introduced her yet! See? Weird. So.

What I need to do now is make a list of all the big scenes that need to get written. I need to have some roadmap of what needs to be done to get this thing to where it needs to be. And getting out of the house really helps me. I can focus better. No kittens to distract me. No phone to ring. No television to distract me. Good good.

I'm thinking of putting out a request on the Baton Rouge LJ community for any other writers who want to form a Meet Weekly to Write Club. Hrm.....

Also, I need to do a personal essay thing for this Call for Papers I found. Busy busy busy.

My mother is trying to find me a boyfriend

2008-02-28T19:01:00.003-06:00

*sigh* I talked to her tonight, to tell her the good news about my upcoming raise (7 percent!), and she said she thought she'd found me a boyfriend. I was all -- but I don't want a boyfriend. *sigh* She means well, but....I've got an Emmy. Don't need a boyfriend. Of course, she doesn't know I've got an Emmy. She wouldn't like that I've got an Emmy. *sigh*

I love my mother and I know she means well. She doesn't want me to be lonely. But, how is she going to deal with an Emmy instead of an Emmett? I don't know. And she's not so pleased about me wanting to move to Atlanta either. But then, I pointed out that I could be moving to another country, and suddenly Atlanta seemed pretty good.

In other news, this post by Thoughtracer has me thinking. Actually, most of her posts get me thinking. She may be my long lost twin. But anyway. . .I share her feeling of not quite fitting in the queer community. In fact, I pretty much have no association with the queer community at the moment, but when I did, I still felt...not quite right.

Despite the fact that I joke that I'm the stereotypical bisexual woman -- fat, non-shaven, burks and a buncha cats -- no one looks at me and thinks "Ayep, she's queer." I'm just a girl, not particularly butch nor femme. Sometimes I wear makeup, usually I don't. Sometimes I wear dresses, mostly I don't. Sometimes I'm more 'queer' than other times, but there's no rainbow stickers on my car, ya know? So, I'd like to be part of the community, but I don't know how.

Thoughtracer says: Not being able to be identified as a member of the group, being “stealth,” being, basically, invisible, really demarcates you from that group, in a certain way. Aside from allowing the “stealth” to claim the privilege that the oppressing, opposing, or other group claims, it also allows the group to which you really belong, the group you’d like to identify with, separate you from its ranks. Can you really be a part of a group without appearing or taking the image of one of its members?

I don't know the answer to that question. I'd like to belong. Goddess knows, my politics and sympathies are firmly in the queer camp. I've been out as bi to my friends for a few years. I haven't ever had a serious girlfriend before, but there have been flirtations and whatnot. And well, the biphobia in certain queer corners is legendary, so it's pretty easy for me to be excluded. And honestly, I feel too uncertain in many situations to be comfortable. So, what am I supposed to do?

I know, of course, that I'm under no obligation to be part of any community. Because sexuality isn't a club you join. And whether or not I get involved has no bearing at all on my orientation. But....my family is not going to react well when everything is out in the open. Having somewhere I can go, people who understand. Well. That'd be nice.

Body ramblings...

2008-02-19T17:28:00.002-06:00

I have a love/hate relationship with my body. And this week, I'm coming down solidly on the side of hate.

I'm starting my third week of physical therapy tomorrow. I'll be back in the pool, exercising away, relearning how to walk and balance myself. And I enjoy it, honestly. But I'm so exhausted and in such pain, I'm wondering if this is working or not. I know, at least I believe, that it is working. I know it's got to get rough for a bit. But I didn't count on it being this rough. Last night, I was so exhausted, I came home and stretched out on the couch to watch tv. I thought I'd do that for half an hour or so, then get up, do a little cleaning, fix dinner, take a shower, whatever. Ha. I didn't move off that couch for hours and I lost track of time, didn't even realize how long I'd been there, watching tv and petting the cats.

I'm so stiff that my joints are popping and I'm groaning when I move. I'm so tired I'm in danger of falling asleep at work. My co-workers are worried about me. *sigh* And I'm not really sleeping at night.

So, this weekend I go home to visit my family and find out my dad had diabetes. It's really mild at this point and the doctors are pretty sure that he can control it with diet and exercise. He also just had to have some more splints put in his heart -- two of the arteries were 90 percent blocked, again. So the doctor has told him he has to exercise for half an hour every day and lose -- get this -- 100 pounds. I have no idea how he's going to lose 100 pounds. It's not like he's sedintary as it is. He hardly ever slows down. He's gogogogogogogo. He's always in pain too, which is undoubtably part of the reason he's gaining weight. He doesn't sleep much either. And well, it's comfort-eating, self-medicating. But Dad has never been very small, at least not as far as I can remember. He's on lots of medication for his blood pressure and cholesteral and now he's got the diabetes. Frankly, I think if they could control his pain, a lot of his problems would clear up. (Okay, not the heart blockages, but the blood pressure and even blood sugar are elevated by pain.)

And my mother...*sigh* She says to me that my excess weight will make me a diabetic by the time I'm 50. And she says this like it's a given. And then she goes on with about 'our family history'. Well, I couldn't let that go -- since we have exactly TWO diabetics in the family, and that's counting my newly diagnosed dad. So, I asked her "What do you mean? The only diabetics we have is Dad and Grandma." Which shut her up, because really? We do NOT have a history of diabetes in the family. She's just so bought into the propoganda about obesity that she's just accepting it as gospel.

She's obsessed with weight loss. She's got high blood pressure that medication can barely control and she's always, always trying to lose weight. And the thing is, she's maybe a size 18. So, yes, she's not small, but she's hardly huge. And frankly, she's a total Type A personality -- she doesn't know HOW to not worry or stress out about things. She's always reacting strongly to things. That doesn't help her blood pressure. I don't know if she reallly knows how to relax.

And I'm feeling a bit out of sorts about my body lately. When I put on my bathing suit, I don't know. I don't like my huge belly. I mean, I'm okay with having a belly. I'm okay with being a big girl. I just...I don't know. I'm looking at myself lately and going....really?

And I don't know why. I mean...it's not like my body's gotten any bigger lately. I think I just want things to be a bit firmer. I think I just want to be stronger. (Today, I'm all trembly and shaky. It's very annoying.) I think I just want to be certain of going into a store and being able to find anything I want in my size. *sigh* I think I'm having a very very very bad body image weak.

Your weekly dose of Torchwood

2008-02-03T08:35:00.000-06:00

Enjoy, if you will, a collection of clips featuring (mostly) our favorite office boy, Ianto Jones. The phone bit is particularly amusing. Plus, you gotta love a man whose not afraid to wear pink.

These fears are too familiar

2008-01-31T17:38:00.000-06:00

I saw a new doctor today.

I hate seeing new doctors. There's always the hesitation, the worry -- is this doctor going to take me seriously? Is she going to believe me when I describe my symptoms? Or is she going to dismiss it all because I'm a fat girl? Is she going to try to sell me on weight loss as the cure-all for my ailments -- which she doesn't even believe exist anyway.

I went to doctors for four years before I was initially diagnosed with Fibromylgia, then with Lupus. They all told me, to the man (and funnily enough, they were all men), that I was just stressed and overweight. If I learned how to relax and lost some weight, why all my pain would just disappear!

And so, I have a great fear of being dismissed and reduced to my weight when I see a new doctor. Hence, poor Emmy got to hear my shake and sniffle and cry because I was worried about what was going to happen today.

Well. . .I have to admit, I rather like my new doctor. I went in completely cold -- having no referral, no recommendation, nothing. I just knew I needed to see a rheumatologist, because I hadn't seen one in almost two years and I was starting to notice. No blood work in two years, no monitering of the Lupus, etc. It was a dumb thing to do, but....fear of doctors plus lack of money, well. You can see.

Anyway, my new doctor did not mention weight but once, and then only to ask if there had been any unexplained changes in my weight in the last six months. That's it. Now, as I've posted a picture here already, you're all aware I'm not just a "little" fat. So when I wasn't weight, and my weight was not even mentioned? You cannot imagine the relief I felt. She listened to me, took a good history and we've developed a plan to deal with the pain and sheer exhaustion my fibro causes me. She was very adamant about tackling my pain first and foremost and she was understanding when I told her that my exercise was limited. Because, as she said, when you're in that kind of pain, of course you're not capable of exercising. And while exercise can help with pain and sleep issues, you can't expect someone who can barely move to jump right into full on aerobics. So, exercise is actually the /last/ step on my ladder of treatment.

So, she's given me prescriptions for an anti-inflammatory, a muscle relaxer and a pain killer. And, since I've used all of these pills before, I know they will all work well for me and not give me side effects, I am pleased. So, the new meds are the first step. Next....we've found a way to get my insurance to pay 'aquatic therapy' -- AKA, one-on-one water aerobics. We're getting the insurance to pick up the tab because it's labeled physical therapy. Now, I love water aerobics. I always feel so much better when I do them, it's just that I don't have the money for a Y membership, so I cannot take them. But now, now...my insurance will pay for it and the facility? Completely state-of-the-art amazing. So, this is good.

Then, once I get some more mobility back and the pain is under control, we're going to move on to either yoga or tai chi. Nothing too intense, just something to keep my range of motion and build strength.

Not once did Dr. Bourg mention me losing weight. That is not the goal here at all, although it may be a side effect. (And if it is, it will probably be a reasonably small amount. I can lose 15 to 20 pound fairly easily, but then my body does not want to get any smaller. Which is just fine with me, frankly.) The whole goal here is to control my pain and help me be 33, not 120. Which is how old I usually feel, frankly. It is impossible to overstate how important that is to me. A doctor who wants to treat me, not my fat? Amazing.

Torchwood!

2008-01-27T11:03:00.001-06:00

For all the James Marsten kissage, this scene remains my favorite of the first episode:

Poor Jack, he looks all kinda vulnerable, like he's afraid he's going to get turned down. Aw. Poor baby. And, can I say, I love Ianto? Seriously. Maybe my favorite character. He's so....human.

Funny!

2008-01-12T16:27:00.000-06:00

Talkin' 'bout a resolution. . .

2008-01-01T01:38:00.000-06:00

I have no resolutions. I have only goals.

Actually, I have ONE goal and only one goal for this year: have more fun.

That's it. None of that stupid crap people come up with at the beginning of each year. I don't resolve to lose weight or be nicer or exercise more or look for a new job or save money or any of that. No, I only want to have more fun this year.

Things that strike me as fun and which I shall add to my list of possible activites for 2008:

1. Playing guitar. Playing guitar sounds like fun to me.
2. Funky art projects. Those sound fun too.
3. Riding roller coasters!
4. Swimming. Definately fun.
5. Pottery. That sounds like fun to me too. I wanna get my hands dirty.
6. Monster movie marathons! Fun fun fun. Whose bringing the popcorn?
7. Zoos are fun
8. So are aquariums
9. And the French Quarter is fun too
10. Contemplating the look on my parents' faces when they hear this: "Mom, Dad, I'm moving to Atlanta with my girlfriend. Also, I'm bisexual and pagan. Oh, and she used to be a man and was raised in an apocolyptic cult. Love ya, bye!"

Object of desire

2007-12-30T19:29:00.000-06:00

This is what my body looks like. Oh, that isn't me. But it's the nearest to it that I've ever seen. (I got it from The Adipositivity Project. Awesome pictures.)

I'm not used to having my body be an object of desire. In fact, I can't think of a single time my body has been desired explicitly for itself. Which is not to say I've never been loved. Being loved and being desired are two completely different things. I have been loved, and by extention, I have been desired. Because I was loved. From the love, the desire followed. But no one has ever looked at me and thought, Yes. I want her. Or if they have, they haven't been bold enough to say so.

My head knows there are people out there who genuinely prefer women my size. I know this. I see their websites, I see their magazines, I hear there are parties for them. But I have never meet them.

When I hooked up with the Boy this year, we had sex. It was nice enough, but it wasn't earth moving. He didn't seem all that interested in touching me, or paying attention to my body too much. He wanted to fuck. Which was fine, because so did I. But at a point it seemed to me that he should have really wanted to touch me some more. Tease me some more. We were just fucking, it wasn't a relationship, but it seemed like someone I was sleeping with should be a bit more enthralled with all the parts of my body. He didn't seem too interested when I kissed about his body or touched him either, so it could have simply been a personal preference. But still.

I have always thought that I could certainly find someone who would love me, because I am a rather lovable person. I'm a good partner. I'm smart, funny, caring, loving, protective, etc. But I always thought I'd be loved in spite of my body, not because of it. That there would always be some small part of my partner that was slightly ashamed of being seen with me. That there would be judgement from their family, that I'd have to prove that I was a good match for their loved one, despite my body.

The thought that someone could want my body, could literally be attracted and aroused by it, is new to me. It feels strange. Good, but strange. The thought that I don't have to explain why I'm eating a bowl of ice cream, or a sandwich, or whatever. Even if I've not eaten anything else all day, you know, shouldn't I be working on that body? It's....odd. I like it, but I just....I don't know. I feel strange about it.

You know how sometimes you ask the Universe for things and then it delivers and you don't know what to do with it? Yeah.

Separation anxiety

2007-12-28T17:26:00.000-06:00

I'm mulling over things, figuring out what I want to do with my life and some of the decisions I'm contemplating are going to seriously upset my family. Not that I'm contemplating doing anything really awful, but my family has a certain....notion of what life is supposed to be like. So far, I haven't gone so far afield that there have been serious problems. (Partially because while they know I no longer attend church, they don't know about the whole pagan thing. Or the bisexual thing.) I'm not married, but that's not so strange. They can content themselves with thinking that my life is going pretty much according to (their) script.

I have a regretable, paralysing fear of rejection. Not by most people, but by people I care about. Frankly, I'm ashamed of it. I'm far too old to care too much about what my parents think of me and yet, there it is. On the whole, I have an amazing family. Very loving, very supportive. But there are places where, if you step out of line, well. And I think that often they don't realize how the things they do hurt me. Particularly my mother. Gods, my mother.

An example: Someone mentioned (Lilo? Geo? I don't remember, sorry!) she had dyscalculia . It sounded suspiciously like the problems I've had with math all my life, so I looked it up. And gods help me, but reading that site was like reading a checklist for me. And, while I'm no expert, I'm pretty comfortable in my self-diagnosis. So, over Christmas, I mention this to my Mom. Now, understand, that I was an /excellent/ student in any subject you put in front of me -- except math. I could not, not matter how hard I studied, no matter how much help I had, no matter what I did, I could NOT do math. As it stands, I can barely add. (And no, that's not an exaggeration. Though I wish I it was.) I'm feeling pretty damned relived to find out that ya know, it's entirely possible that I had a learning disablity this entire time.

So, I tell my mom about it. And what does she do? She laughs. Just smirks and shakes her head.

Do you have any idea how awful that made me feel? My entire life I have felt profoundly stupid because of this. I've felt beyond stupid. Like the dumbest person to ever grace the face of the planet. Like one-celled sea slugs was smarter and better and more worthy than me. I literally had fucking panic attacks in college because I was forced to take pre-cal. I didn't get into a gifted boarding school because of my mathematical inability.

And my mother, who has seen all this and should know better, laughed when I said it could have all been caused by a learning disability. Oh, I called her on it and my Dad, bless him, he understood. But my mother has done things like that to me all my life. I don't think she means to. I honestly think she just doesn't think about what she's doing. I mean, she's still in denial about my illness!

And I know, there's the responsiblity to live my own life, for myself, no matter what my decisions mean to my family. I get that. But I just.....I just wish I could be accepted the way I really am, with no judgements or pressure to change. *sigh*

I write poems

2007-12-05T07:19:00.000-06:00

An Answer
There is always meaning behind it, Emilie.
These nosegays I give you each morning,
Black and purple pansies with
Yellow stripes for your hands,
Ivy for your hair.
They carry the same meaning as
Your silk nightgown
Crumpled next to the bed
Or the cat that you named that
Sleeps on the couch that
We bought last summer.

All Love is Unrequited
Emily fills me with the light of the universe,
An internal super-nova in her slightest movement.
She is unaware of this,
She only knows that I like her smile
and her new red sundress.
When we talk, sometimes she laughs and
there are rivers in the sound.
White-capped crashings through me,
the waters of rebirth.
But I cannot tell her this.
I can only comment upon the weather
or ask if she's seen the new roses I've planted.
(She does not know I planted them for her).
When Emily walks in my garden,
She brings with her the bees,
The necessities of life.
And I live, in the light of her universe.

Trace Fragments
My Emilea is a momentary fire goddess,
Able to plunge me to ashes with a glance.
On her lips, daggers are roses
Her kisses are saltwater blessings
From my personal Pele
You write in fragments, she says.
Do you imagine yourself a modern Sappho?
Do you think yourself the eleventh Muse?
I think you lack the grace for the part,
Though you certainly have the passion.
It is true that I am graceless.
In Emili's shadow, swans become albatross,
Wine becomes water and
I am but an artless girl
Whose heart quakes with longing

There is no life on Mars

2007-11-29T16:06:00.001-06:00

I doubt anyone actually reads this thing anymore, but anyway....the following post will be rantish, whiny and totally self-centered. You've been warned.

First, I have PMS and (maybe) the flu. I do not feel good in any way. I'm tired, I have a fever, I have a headache and I just want to cry. My mother and SiL will be arriving tomorrow evening to spend the night and go shopping Saturday. I have zero money for this and I'm going to ask them for gas money. I don't usually do that, but if I don't, we'll be shopping from the busy isle of my couch. So. I also am going to insist we go to one of the four resturants I have a gift certificate from, otherwise I can't eat. I really wish they would come next weekend, but alas, it is not to be.

I'm really, really cranky. This has to pass, because I have a job interview next week and I need to be sharp. If I get this job, I won't have to move and will be making at least $500 extra a month. That's the base pay and I intend to ask for more than that. I've got a masters degree and eight years of relevant experience. Dammit, I wanna get paid.

I'm feeling very down on my romantic prospects again. Brought on by general blahness and a thread on a mailing list I'm on. I am not a conventionally attractive woman. That's fine, really, but now I'm starting to think I may very well end up spending all my time alone. Now, normally that doesn't disturb me too much, so may this is just the hormones and flu talking, but it all makes me want to curl up in my bed and hide forever.

(FYI -- when you have a fever and you cry, your tears feel like they've been boiled. Did you know that?)

I feel tragically boring. Like there isn't a single thing about me that's interesting or unique. I'm just kinda....blah. I don't have any stores of knowledge I can break out to impress people. I don't have any outstanding talent. I'm not musical or dramatic or....I don't know. I'm not even particularly domestic. I'm just....boring.

I'm 33 years old, I have four cats, no real relationships and a chronic illness. Please god, don't let this be the flu. I don't have a rheumatologist in town and it takes about two months to get an appointment with one as a new patient.

Once more: women are not the enemy

2007-11-26T18:57:00.001-06:00

(This may ramble, sorry 'bout that. It's not my most thought-out post and I'm kinda flu-ish at the moment.)

I cannot imagine being anything other than female. I have always known that I am a woman, even though there have been times in my life when I wasn't very 'girly'. Actually, lack of 'girliness' has pretty much been my constant state. But I have always known that I am a woman. No one had to tell me that, I always knew. Luckily, I got corresponding woman parts, but even if I hadn't, it wouldn't change the fact that I, me, whatever it is that makes me Zan, would be female.

If I have always known I was a woman, why would I doubt anyone else if they told me they were too? Don't they know themselves the same way I know myself? If they were born with a body that does not match what they know about themselves to be true, should they deny that self-knowledge? Should they force themselves to conform to socially expected ideals? Who benefits from that? And do we want to support those that do benefit?

The fact is, trans people do me no harm. They don't take anything away from me. Their existence does not endanger me in any way. The world is big enough and wide enough and wonderful enough for us all to share and have what we need. If I care about the abuse transpeople suffer, that doesn't mean I care less about the abuse cisgendered women suffer. It doesn't mean I care less about the abuse PoC suffer. It doesn't mean I care less about genocide in other countries, about the effect our pre-emptive war in Iraq is having on that country and our own, about global warming, about widespread drought, about medical research. My heart is big enough to care passionately about all of those things -- with room left over for more.

In the end, I don't see how it matters that a woman was born in a male body or a man was born in a female body. That person is as deserving of respect and rights and a decent, safe life as I am. To distill their entire existence down to one aspect, while neglecting all the other things that make them who they are, is an insult to their humanity. And it is an insult to my humanity and to your own humanity. None of us can be understood or truely known by any one single aspect of ourselves. If I tell you I have green eyes -- what do you know about me know? That I have green eyes. And nothing else. If I tell you that I didn't have my first kiss until I was 18, what does that tell you about me? Or that my parents are still married after 35 years? Or that I'm allergic to grass? That I majored in rhetoric and composition? Put enough of those little details together and yes, you'll get a picture of who I am. But each of them on their own? Doesn't tell you who I am. I tell you I'm a woman, that I'm tall, that I have a chronic illness. All true, but not the whole picture. So, if I don't want myself reduced to any one aspect, why would I support doing that to anyone else?

I left the Southern Baptist Church and organized Christianity in general a very long time ago, but some things made sense, so I kept them. That bit about treating other people the way you want to be treated? That I kept. So don't try to tell me I should be threatened by transwomen. I'm just not, okay?

I'm more than a little tired

2007-11-17T14:34:00.000-06:00

I waste entirely too much time doing, literally, nothing.

This bothers me, because there are sooo many things I could be doing. It makes me a boring person, I think. How interesting is it that what I can talk the most about are my cats? *sigh*

I have to remind myself that I have to be easy on myself. It's not my fault that I'm so tired. It's not my fault that when I get home from work all I can do, literally, is curl on the couch and watch tv. Or lay in bed and watch tv. This is what happens when you're dealing with a chronic illness. It steals all your energy. It's not my fault, but I just feel horrible about it.

I don't feel bad, physically. I've got some pain, but not so much it's unbearable. I'm just....so fucking tired. I just got out of bed, after trying to nap, and I feel....I went to WalMart today. Got my oil changed. Picked up some groceries. And I came home, ate lunch and collapsed. I've got all day to do any damn thing I want and what do I do? I lay down. I watch tv. I flip channels. I cuddle kittens. I do nothing. At all.

I'd like to go finish my dishes or my laundry or I don't know, write some fabulous paper about compariative religions, but I can't. Because I"m so very tired. I hate this. I hate it so much I just want to scream, but I'm too tired to scream. I'm too tired to do anything. I need to wash my dishes and clean out my fridge. It won't take even an hour and yet....I'm not. I can't.

I feel the aching tiredness down into my bones. My fingers hurt, my toes hurt, everything hurts in an aching, persistant way. I don't want to go take any more medication, even though I know I should.

I'm not depressed, I'm just fucking tired. *sigh*

Smilies

2007-11-14T21:49:00.000-06:00

Links, Links, Links...

2007-11-11T09:18:00.000-06:00

I've been updating my blogroll as best I can. If you read here and you're not linked, let me know. I want to add you. I do, I do, I do! Or if you've got suggestions about good blogs? Let me have 'em. I like links, what can I say. Although, I drool in envy of Belle's amazing linkage. *sigh*

Now, I go back to NaNoing...and trying to make Rain stop chewing my toothbrush!!

Sorry...

2007-11-07T07:09:00.000-06:00

Posting has been rather slow here, but it's not because I don't love you all! I do, I really, really do, it's just.....I've been NaNoing and it's taking up my time.

It's not my fault! I've been swallowed whole by my story......helphelp, I'm being creative! Or something.

Kitty funny....

2007-10-24T07:12:00.000-05:00

I particularly like the part at the end where he points to his mouth. Doh.

I do so much better with the young ones. . .

2007-10-11T18:04:00.000-05:00

OK, here's the thing -- while I'm pretty damned happy with my body
myself and think I'm kinda cute, I always assume other people only see
me as this fat girl. Funny, sure. Smart, sure. Best friend even, sure.
But more? Girlfriend? Lover? Nah. Just not their type, is all. Because
of, ya know, the fatness.

Now, my brain knows this is not true. My brain knows I've had lovers
(and hey! lately my body remembers it too). It knows I've been deeply
in love and been loved in return. It knows that the size of my body is
not an impediment to these things. And I genuinely believe that, but
still.....there's that crazy fear that rears its stupid, crazy,
fear-head. I want a hammer to bash it in, but it hides like those
crazy moles in Wack-A-Mole. Grr.

So, I've been talking to this guy online for a bit (I'm a geek. I meet
all my guys online, it seems) and we've been getting along, it seems
nice, etc. etc. He sends me a picture, he's kinda cute. And then he
wants my picture too. Panic. It's going so well! When he sees the
picture, he'll run away, blahblahblah. Panicpanicpanic. So, I put him
off for a day or two, steeling myself up for it. Knowing, just
knowing, he'll flee. So, I sent him the picture this morning. And got
a response back from him pretty damned quick.

The specific contents of said email I will keep to myself. Ahem. But
he thinks I'm quite sexy and included a nice list of things he'd like
me to do to him. Ahem.

So....why was I so freaked out? Why was I so incredibly certain I'd be
rejected? I mean, I have never in my life been a small girl. Never.
And that's not stopped me from having relationships. But it just gnaws
at me, that sense of insecurity. That once s/he knows what I look
like....it'll be over.

So, anyway, because I've decided I've had enough of this shit, I
posted a picture of myself on my blog for anyone to see. (Which can be found one post down!) Kinda scary,
but what's the worst that can happen? Trolls tell me I'm fat? (No?
Really???) I'm working on just being more out-there with things. I
mean, if I can own up to bisexuality and goddess worship, what's a
little "here's what I look like"? If we're going to smash society's
expectations of what women can and should look like, we can't exactly
be hiding in the closet, can we?

(BTW, this Boy is all of 22. Seriously, I've been dating in the wrong age-range!)

Anonymous, smnonymous....

2007-10-11T17:30:00.000-05:00

In honor of National Coming Out Day (what? You didn't know that was today? Shame on you!), I've decided to come out of the closet. The Anonymous blogger closet, that is. (Like anyone whose read a fraction of this blog is unaware of my bisexuality. Please. So that coming out has been and gone.)

Why? Well, the reason I was anonymous to begin with was because I was working out some stuff and wanted to do it on a blog where no one knew me. So, instead of my Livejournal, I started this little spot. I was wanting to talk about religion and sex and other stuff, without the people who knew me in RL knowing what I was doing. And I was also working for a company that would have fired my ass for blogging something that would make the company look bad. (Gannett is the DEVIL. Gannett is Satan's Handmaiden and is destroying journalism. Corporate media is BAD!!!!!)

Ahem.

Well, I no longer work for the Devil and I've worked through the crap I wanted to work through. Plus, now I have a Civil Service job that affords me lots of protection, so my job is pretty damned safe. I can't go around endorsing or harpooning any political candidates/parties, but other than that? I'm pretty much covered. (But I can still take positions on issues, so we're all good.)

And frankly, I'm going to be 33 next year. If someone has a problem with my faith or my sexuality, they can go fuck themselves. I'm an adult, this is America and you can just deal.

So, why should I stay anonymous? If people give me too much shit, I'll just blow this place up and start a new blog. *shrug* And so, I give you....Moi:

Admittedly, not the best photo I've ever taken and my hair is currently longer, darker and I have new glasses, but....that would be me, in all my glory. Gaze upon me and drool, for I know you want to.

Damn right!

2007-10-11T17:29:00.000-05:00

width="300" height="180" alt="What Kind of Blogger Are You?" border="0" />

The Universe Sucks

2007-10-03T18:19:00.000-05:00

So, today was worse than yesterday. Of course.

I get into work and find an email from my boss, yelling at me in bold and caps! about a newsletter I've been working on. There are spacing problems. Well, duh. He insists that it all be justifed, which means that there are weird spaces between the words sometimes. If he'd just let me do it normally, there wouldn't be this problem. But noooooo. I have to get yelled at via email over a problem I tried to fix, but he wouldn't allow.

He's also mad because one of the stories in the newsletter is out of date. Well, duh. That's what happens when he can't get back to me on his edits in a reasonable time. I started this edition in JULY. He gave me a list of stories he wanted, and a deadline. So, I sat down, made out a schedule and had them done on time. He, however, did not have the two stories HE wanted to write done by the deadline. Or for another month after that. And when he did, he only did one of them and decided to just spike the second one. Fine. I get it into the format, give it to him and wait. And wait. For him to edit it and give it back to me for changes. Finally, he does. Gives me another deadline for the revisions. Which I meet. And now this. What.The.Hell.

And that was just the last damned straw for me. Just is. I don't get paid enough for this job, not with my experience and fricking Masters degree. I'm broke, my phone is now turned off because I couldn't pay the bill, my tv will be disconned next weekend and well...gah. I have a whopping $1.40 to last me two weeks.

Worst part? I haven't got the money for my medication. So, my Lupus is starting to come out of remission. I'm already getting the pain in my hands and arms again and the exhaustion is seriously causing problems. i'm on edge all the time, I'm just.....*sigh* I need a vacation. And a job with more money.

So, I'm going to spend the night working on my resume and cover letters. I found three new jobs to apply for today, I'm sure I'll find more tomorrow.

And I need to remember -- it's wrong, wrong, wrong to pray for people to errupt in a butt full of festering boils. It just is. Even though it's tempting.

When Mommy's away. . .

2007-09-29T07:58:00.000-05:00

Hello peoples. Mommy is gooooone today and we're loooooonely. She plays with this boxy thing all da time, so we play with it too.

Mommy forget to show peoples pretty pictures of us. (She not bad Mommy, but have cheesy-hole memory.) So, we post our pretty pictures for you peoples.

I yam Rain. See how pretty? See why I want Mommy to show every people my picture? Some ting is wrong with her picture-taker, makes me all red-like, but can see how pretty I yam. I saved Mommy from the evil potato-monster-thingy. It rolled out of da bag and tried to get Mommy!!! But I pounced and saved her. Mommy gave me pets and kisses, so I know I good kitten.

Dis is my big, dumb brother River. He lazy!!

He be twice my size, but he be sleeeeep sleeeep sleeeeep all da time. So, I pounce and swat and make him chase. Is good to have big, dumb brother. I make China bite him, not me! (I smart kitten, I yam.) River like trashcans. (I tink he not so good in head. But he cute, so. . .) He jump in trashcan, pull out trash and shakeshakeshake head and get trash over Mommy house. But, Mommy laugh so cant be too bad.

But Mommy not here now. So now China play with us. China not play with us when Mommy here. Have reputation or something. I tink China silly, so I crawl over her and pounce. But ONLY when Mommy here to protect me! (I smart kitten, I yam.) China not know what to do, so look funny and merp-noise at me. (I loves China, but she silly. Will pounce when Mommy come home.)

Now I go eat tuna in kitchen. Mommy love me so much, she give tuna before she go see Kady-baby-niece-thing. (But I have to share with big dumb brother and China. Merp.) I make Mommy post more pretty pictures of Rainkitty when she come back. Promisepromise.

I don't want to believe it's hopeless, but. . .

2007-09-20T18:41:00.000-05:00

Hopefully, everyone who reads this blog knows about the Jena Six (link goes to a timeline of the events. There are about a billion other places online to find info, but I pimp the Town Talk cause I used to work for 'em.). There was a giant rally held in Jena today, nearly 60,000 people attended for across the country. (Myrid photos and videos of the rally can be found at The Town Talk, just look around the main page.) On the one hand, it's inspiring. On the other, I fear it won't do much good.

Why do I feel this way? Because of the comments you can find on the forums at the Town Talk. Comments made by people living in the middle of all of this, of people who live in Jena or surrounding areas. And what sort of things do you find there?

f I were in Jena and I wasn't racist before, this would certainly make me so.

This is a criminal case, yet the media made it about race. Someone made up the whole "white tree" claim. Wonder who would gain from that bogus claim. The Jena Six mentions the racial slurs that some had pummeled at them but doesn't mention the racial slurs they pummeled themselves. Have you noticed how the family and friends of the Jena Six do NOT want to talk about the Jena Six's criminal history? Why is that? The Jena Six's family never mentions that the black community didn't show up for jury duty. They should be outraged that the black community done this to Mychal Bell, yet not a word. Why is that? They are thicker than thieves, no pun intended.

If there was a point to the rally, I don't know what it was.

Well it looks like the crime rate for the rest of us that don't live in Jena will go down! Jena better lock up everything they have.

What is really sad, is when white people wont get together and stand up for what they believe. We should be down thier protesting them but we would rather stay home because in general, white people are passive. When are we going to get our hands dirty and fight for our beliefs? i told my fiance last night that i was going down there to protest against against the protestors, and you know what she said? she said for me not to because i would probably be the only white person thier and that i would get hurt. thats really pitiful when your own people wont stand up with you and fight. one day, we will have to defend ourselves, or else get runover by bigotry. im really dissapointed in my race right now, what we need to do is get together and fight this hypocracy.sad,sad,sad

need not worry. the white race handles things differently. let them have their little march and see where that gets them. and then wait and see how the "white" race puts them back in their place. a march has never solved anything before and it will surely not affect the outcome of this trial. i am sure the blackies have other marches to attend down the road. we just have to passify them and let them march:-)

Here is some humor for you native son:

Q: A black guy and his black girlfriend are in a car. Who's driving?
A: The cop!

maybe we will see this exact scenario is jean thursday

do you think you could get the rest of the marchers to accompany you back to the motherland...that would be one hell of a fundraiser!!!

What do you call a black person in a three piece suit?

Will the defendent please rise

his is just what they wanted, they will have all the law tied up at the rally so they can rob loot and steal from the surrounding area. They need to declare marshal law so the people around here can protect what belongs to them.

There are more. Too many more to be believed. And yes, of course, there are a few voices of reason trying to point out this is not acceptable. But frankly? There's more of this than the other. Want to read it? Go here and click on anything with the name Jena in it. But don't eat first, k? You'll be sick, sick, sick.

And so, I'm feeling terribly melancholy and hopeless. What does anything accomplish if we are still mired in these sorts of attitudes? When it's okay with us that teenage boys stand to lose the majority of their adult lives because they got involved in a stupid fight?

Besides that -- most of these boys haven't gone to trial yet. What happened to them being innocent until proven guilty? Everyone is assuming they're guilty. And maybe they are, but maybe they aren't. What they deserve is a fair trail, but a fair jury on charges that fit their actions. And second degree battery dosen't fit these actions. Because if they did, why did the white boy that assaulted a black boy, with a fucking beer bottle, charged with a misdemeanor and given probation?

Charge them with misdeamenor battery, disturbing the peace, whatever. Make it something reasonable. Don't take away their lives because they did something stupid -- if they are, in fact, guilty.

But I don't think it will happen. I think, once the cameras are gone and the media is gone and we're all talking about the Next Big Story, that the situation for blacks in Jena will be worse than it was before this. I think racial relations will be pushed even further back. Because we have so many people who believe things like those quotes above. Because if people can think this, even in the light of so many other people from so many other places seeing clearly how /wrong/ this whole thing is...what hope do we have?

Let us now praise the power of The Pill

2007-09-08T09:15:00.000-05:00

I love my Pill.

I do. Of all my medications, it may be my favorite. It's benefits are multitude.

No more PMDD. Now, instead I get about two days of moodiness and cravings for ice cream. Used to, I would get two weeks of being possessed by a monster.

No more cramps! Before, I was living on ibuprofen for a week each month. Three pills every four hours. Now? Now, I may need a dose on the first day, but that's it.

Crazy light periods. They've never been very heavy, but now? So light, I can't remember the last time I had to buy tampons or pads. Some days, I can literally go without anything because it's so light it's barely noticable. Whoohoo.

My breasts don't hurt! I have bad, bad, BAD fibrocystic breasts. Basically, that means I've got lots of fluidy lumps in my boobs. And they hurt. All the time. At least, they were getting to that point. My boobs are huge, frankly and the larger they are, the more likely they are to get all cysty. They were getting to the point were they hurt all the time, not just during my period. I was contemplating wearing a bra to sleep in, in order to keep them from keeping me awake at night. So, since I've been on the pill? No more pain! A little tenderness, but no pain! You have no idea, unless you've been through it, how incredibly painful they were. So now? Long live the pill!

No more ovarian cysts. I used to get them fairly frequently and you know what? They hurt too! I'm particularly sensitive, apparently, so even the ittybitty less than a centimeter ones would hurt me. Hmp. But they're gone now! Whoohoo.

Plus, my skin is clearer. Took it a few months for that bennie to kick in, but now my skin is much much better.

Oh yeah, there's also the No Baby effect. Can't beat that :)

So, long live the Pill! Whoohoo!!

Raise your hand if you're even slightly surprised by this. . .

2007-09-07T19:03:00.000-05:00

I took Sage Vivant's Erotic Personality Quiz and discovered I'm a Top!

What is your Erotic Personality? Find out now.

Poverty stole your golden shoes. . .

2007-08-24T17:46:00.000-05:00

I'm in a quandry. I like my current job, sans one particular co-worker, and the work is easy. The boss is nice and relaxed. But...I'm vastly underpaid. True, I've gotten two raises so far this year and I'm due another one in November, but I'm also living paycheck to paycheck, barely making ends meet. Right now, I need to go grocery shopping, but I can't. Why? Because I have a check out and have my electric bill to pay, which leaves me with...maybe 50 cents in the bank until next Friday. Now,if nothing else comes out unexpectedly, I'll be okay. Then next Friday when I get paid again, I have to pay my rent, my insurance and my phone bill. Which will leave me with maybe 60 bucks -- but I also have to pay my water bill, which is 40 bucks, unless I can get an extenstion on that. So, again, no money for food. And god help me, but I had to cancel a doctor's appointment today because I didn't have the money for my co-pay or for any prescriptions I might get.

I'm not whining here. I don't want pity or anything. I'm just stating facts. I'm contemplating applying for new jobs in the area, which I hate to do because I haven't even been at my new job a year yet. But I need more money. And there seem to be a few jobs around that I could qualify for which would pay me more. There's an advisor's job at LSU that looks promising, plus another PR job at a state agency that's a step up. So, I suppose I'll be reworking my resume this weekend, much as I hate to do it.

On the one hand, even if I change jobs I'll still have friends from this agency. On the other....I really, really like the vibe of the office. It's very laid back and relaxed and just...fun. But....it's always about the money, isn't it?

Green Eyed Monster

2007-08-23T18:00:00.000-05:00

I'm trying to remember if I've ever been jealous of another woman. I'm sure I have, but the way I remember it, it wasn't so much the women themselves I've been jealous of, but of the reactions people had to them.

I'm not jealous of women who are conventionally attractive. I am, however, jealous and really pissed off at how many doors that looks can get opened for them. It's patentedly unfair, and yet there it is. I know that, all things being equal, a conventionally pretty girl is more likely to get a job than I am. Or to get asked out on a date. Or get waited on faster in a restaurant. Or get more help on a sales floor. And I'm not an ugly person. I'm rather cute and certainly not a shy wilting flower. And yet, I'm still likely to be overlooked for a traditionally pretty person.

It's not their fault, and that's why I don't hold it against them personally. I mean, if they were born with good genes, they can't help that, can they? They can't help that society responds to them as it does, anymore than I can. And if they spend hours a day in a gym to get their body and tone? Well, more power to them. I'm just not willing to spend that kind of time in a gym. So, it's not the people themselves that can provoke feelings of jealousy.

And I don't really consider other women competition. That doesn't make sense to me. What are we competing for? Mates? I thought there were enough people in the world to go around, frankly. If I don't hook up with that particular person, well there's gonna be someone else for me later on, so why get crazy over it?

I sometimes want to shake those girls I know who have it easier, looks-wise. I have a friend who is just beautiful. She's got really flawless skin, crazy beautiful naturally red hair, very outgoing and bubbly. And she's got dates all the freaking time. Usually, she's dating two or three guys at a time, always looking for the right one. And she doesn't understand why I'm not doing the same thing. On one hand, I love her for that because as far as she's concerned, there's no reason someone wouldn't want to be with me. On the other, I just want to shake her because she doesn't realize how incredibly lucky she is. Seriously, one time she went into a gay bar to go dancing and hooked up with the only straight man in the place. She's a magnet. And that's cool. I'm not jealous of her for that ability. I'm annoyed she doesn't realize she's not the norm. (Or at least, not the norm for most of the people I know anyway.)

And if I were inclined to be jealous of her, I'd just remind myself that she dates a lot, but she's also completely wrapped up in finding a Boyfriend. You know, The One. She's 32 and she's so very impatient. She wants to be in love and loved back Right. Now. That committment demand has messed up lots of relationships for her -- in that she expects committment a lot earlier than most guys are willing to give it and so, she assumes things she should not. Which ends up getting her hurt, over and over. And I have to remind her that she's still young, she's got a great job, a great place to live, she loves her pets and her friends and hey, it's gonna be okay.

So, no. I don't think I get jealous of other women. Of the reactions they can provoke? Yeah. That I'll cope to being jealous of, but that's about it.

Parentism

2007-08-22T17:35:00.000-05:00

Today was just....I wanted to throw someone out a window at work and I had TWO migraines. Well, I got my meds in time so they weren't full blown, but I still got the damned aura where I lose vision in my eyes. *sigh*

Okay. So, I'm had this migraine for ages it seems and last Friday I left work FIVE MINUTES early because I had my work done, I felt like hell and well, it was five fucking minutes. I forgot to sign out, so when I went to sign in this morning I was going to just fix that. . .only to find out that my office mate had signed me out. She's not supposed to do that, plus instead of signing me out at 4:30, she'd made sure to put down 4:25.

Now, this doesn't seem like a big deal -- until you find out that she was bitching to other people in the office last Friday that she's tired of me leaving work early and she was going to tell our boss. Here's the thing -- I DON'T leave work early. I shut down my computer and go into the other office (we have two big offices that are connected, ours is the back one so we leave through the main one) maybe two or three minutes before 4:30. I don't actually leave until 4:30, so if someone had some emergency between 4:28 and 4:30? They can still find me. I also come in about 15 minutes before 8, time I'm not allowed to claim due to state regs. She, however, routinely stays late.

Why does she stay late? Oh, maybe because she can't get her ass to work before 8:30 or 9 a.m.? Ever? She has three children, one of whom has had to have surgery on her club feet and well, she just /can't/ make it in on time. And our boss has let her slide because he has sympathy for her having so many kids and she's been with the agency for six or seven years. And you know? I'm fine with that. It does not bother me in the slightest, because hey, her being late does not affect my ability to do my work at all. So why would I be pissed about it? But, dear gods, let me leave five minutes early ONE time in the year I've been in this job and she's all angry and threatening to go to the boss and complain.

And you know, I really wish she would. I so very much wish she would. Because I'd just calmly go get the timesheet, hand it to him and ask him to explain why it was she was allowed to come in up to an hour late on a regular basis and I was being reprimanded for leaving early once when I had a splitting migraine and had finished my work. Because if I were to be in trouble, she'd better damned will be in MORE trouble or I'd be filing a complaint. (And, since I work for Civil Service, that actually means something.)

See, here's the thing. I know why she's mad. She's not mad at ME, she's mad at her life. She's 34 and she's got three children. The youngest was born in January, barely a year after the one before her. (Apparently, someone told her she couldn't get pregnant since she was breast feeding. Riiiight.) She's been at her job for six or seven years and will not be promoted again, because that position is a supervisor's position -- and she does NOT have the skills to be a supervisor. She just doesn't have the personality for it and she's pissed because I was brought in on the same level as she is, and have basically been suggested as the next supervisor for the department. They just have to wait to get the position re-approved. So, here I am, basically her age, no children, no husband that drives me insane and spends money on stupid shit while we're so deep in debt we're borrowing money from everyone we know, and I'm equal to her and, maybe, going to jump over her head in the promotion department.

The thing is -- it's not my fucking fault. I didn't make the decision to get married when I had planned on going to grad school like she did. I didn't decide to have three children in less than five years. I didn't decide to marry a man who has a seriously bad case of Keeping Up With The Jones when we don't make the Jones' salaries. I didn't decide to be so unpleasant and incapable of dealing with people that I will never be promoted to supervisor. It's not my fault. Those decisions were hers and she needs to own them and deal with the fallout.

She's trying to pull the parentism card on me and I'm not having it. What is parentism? That's what we call all those little things that parents get that those of us who have chosen not to have children don't. It's also the sense of resentment those parents seem to have against us. Parentism -- right up there with sexism and racism as a form of discrimination.

My co-worker is now the only parent in our office. Well, the only one with small children. The rest of us are all single and childfree -- or our children are adults and no longer at home. So, sometimes we get together after work for Mexican and margaritas. Or we hang out at each other's pools. Or we go to the movies. Or you know, whatever we can come up with. And yes, often we decide to do so on the spur of the moment, with no advanced planning. You know what? We can do that -- because we don't have children or husbands waiting at home for us. And it's not our fault she does and it's not our fault she feels jealous that we do and it's not our obligation to change our plans or not talk about our lives because it makes her uncomfortable.

You know, I have a certain amount of sympathy for people who have children who miss the lives they could have if they didn't. I really do. It's hard when you see something you want and you know you can't have it. So, I get that. But don't take out that jealousy on me. Because it's not my fucking fault you have kids and can't do all the things you want to do. It's not my fault your husband can't be bothered to help you get the kids ready and off to daycare so you can get to work on time. It's not my fault you buy into the Southern Baptist line that you're the one whose supposed to be doing all the giving and compromising in the relationship. It's not my fault you spend half of the day on the phone to your husband or your family or some bill collector yelling and bitching and can't get your work done by 4:30. If you're jealous because I have the ability to focus and to multitask, giving me more downtime than you have? Deal with it. You might notice that I'm not on the phone to my family or my SO or bill collectors every day for three hours or so. You might notice that when I get a project, I begin on it immediately. You might notice that I work fast, that I ask questions when I'm not sure what's expect of me, that I don't have the control freak nature that you do that compels you to refuse to ask for help until the very last possible minute. You want more downtime? Cultivate those qualities. Or at the very least, shut up and leave me alone.

Do you know what's evil?

2007-08-21T17:45:00.000-05:00

Migraines. That's what's evil. Migraines brought on by insane heat waves that make it feel like it's 114 degrees and keep your poor overworked AC from hitting over 85 and drive your electric bill up, up, up. That's whats evil. And you know what else? It makes me forget all the stuff I was going to blog about. I had lists! I had stories and pictures and musings. And I can't remember a damned thing, because the pain and nausea made it all go away. Gah.

I did, however, get TWO NEW KITTENS! Oh, they are the cutest things. Both white with gray spots. River is definately a boy and he's kinda mellow, in that "I'm the Tom Cat, why should I worry?" kind of way. Rain? Well....I'm not sure if Rain is a boy or a girl just yet. But Rain is very very curious and fearless, always running around and jumping into trouble. I call her (I'm pretty sure she's a girl, see) my little Rainiac, because she's kinda a maniac. She's currently chasing China around the house, despite the fact that China has rolled her over and growled at her within the last two minutes.

See, they were abandoned by their mother when they were two weeks old. Her milk dried up and so....my mom and brother rescued them and feed them by eyedropper until they were big enough to eat solid food. Well, they eat canned food anyway. So they're only about four weeks old. Adorable but tiny! River is funny. When he eats, he still eats like he's nursing...so he stretches his whole body over the food, nibbles and kneads little paws into the food. Which means his face and neck get really sticky, but he's so cute....I have to wash his face when he's finished and he just puuuuurrrrrrrrs while I do it. So very cute. They're catching up quickly though, figuring out how to give themselves baths without a Moma to teach 'em.

I just want to hug them! They're sooooo cute...

This article, it does not say what you think it does

2007-08-07T18:28:00.000-05:00

SHOCKING NEWS!!

Study links women's obesity, birth defects risk! Blame it on the fat! Shame, shame, shame on you fat women. Daring to be mothers. The nerve. Don't you know you're not worth fucking, much less knocking up? Ha.

Ahem.

Okay, basically this article says that obese women (Which, again, they don't define. What does that mean, anyway?) have a higher risk of giving birth to babies with birth defects. About a whole whopping one percent greater chance. Now, I'm not really a statistician, but isn't that, oh, not a significant difference? Couldn't a variation that small be a quirk of the study? Isn't that basically the same risk as non-obese women?

"Obese women should not be overly alarmed by these findings because their absolute risk of having a child with a birth defect is low, and the cause of the majority of birth defects is unknown," said University of Texas researcher Kim Waller, the study's lead author.

Still, the results underline yet another reason for women to maintain a healthy weight, Waller said.

Gah! We don't know why most birth defects happen, and really, you're not that likely to have a baby with a defect anyway, but you know, you really shouldn't be fat anyway even though we have absolutely no evidence that being fat, by itself, is in anyway dangerous to your developing fetus. But really, don't be fat, okay?

Reasons for the potential link between obesity and birth defects are unclear, Waller said. It's possible that some women had undiagnosed diabetes, which also is linked to birth defects, she said.

While the study didn't examine weight during pregnancy, it's also possible that some women tried potentially dangerous weight-loss techniques right before conception or during early pregnancy, when most birth defects occur, the researcher said.

She urged obese pregnant women, however, not to try diet pills, fasting or other aggressive methods which also might contribute to risks for birth defects.

Let's parse that out, shall we? It's not the fat that seems to be responsible for the very tiny, non-significant increase in defective babies. It's undiagnosed diabetes -- which is bad for the woman, too. Again, it's not the fat, it's the disease. (Which should be caught, if there's pre-natal care. Testing for gestational diabetes is standard. If you don't have healthcare, however. . .) What else is bad? Oh! Trying to lose weight! That's right, those crazy Grapefruit Juice and Exlax diets could do the baby in. It could also fuck up the mother, but let's not mention that.

I recommend no one try diet pills or fasts or aggressive weight loss methods, pregnant or not. Those pills seriously raise your blood pressure, fasting messes up your metabolism and agression is only useful in the boardroom and the bedroom.

So, to recap: One study suggests that a very small, in-any-other-study-not-worth-mentioning percentage of obese women are more likely to give birth to babies with birth defects. But, the study doesn't suggest it's being fat that caused it. It's more likely to be an undiagnosed illness or crazy diet plans. But don't be fat. I mean, it's even in the headline, for gods sake!

Aaaaaaarggggggggg!!!!

2007-08-01T07:08:00.000-05:00

That's about all I can say, after reading this story.

If you're fat, we're going to charge you more for your insurance! Take that bitches! That's right, just because you don't have a BMI under 29, you've got to pay more for your health care! Whoohooo!

Seriously, this article has raised my blood pressure by about oh, 10 points. (Oh no! That means I'll have to pay more for that too! That's right. If you're fat, have high blood pressure or your cholesterol doesn't meet the damn company's standard, you have to pay MORE for your heath insurance.)

And why are they doing this? Because the cost of health care in general keeps going up.

Employers are getting serious about penalizing workers "because they've run out of other options" said Joe Marlowe, senior vice president at Aon Consulting, a national benefits consulting firm.

Really? No other options? How about going after the goddamn insurance companies who value profit over service? Hmm? How about that? How about pushing for (wait for it. . .) National Health Care???? What a concept!

So, they're upping premiums and deductables. And not by a little. Nooooo...those deductibles are fucking DOUBLING! (Or worse) You know why their claims have gone down? Because people now have a fucking $5000 deductible, that's why! I'm at my doctor's office all the fucking time and even I can't meet a $5000 deductible. Geez.

And I just love how the employees react to these increases:

"At first, I was mad when I thought I would be charged $30 for being overweight," said Courtney Jackson, 28, a customer service representative at Clarian. "But when I found out it was going to be broken into segments — like just $10 for being overweight — it sounded better."

Jackson said she was going to try to slim down before the plan took effect. "If I still have weight to lose when it starts," she said, "I'll deserve to pay the $10."

Yes. That's right. If you can't force your body into an unnatural, permenant, semi-starvation state, you deserve to pay more for your insurance. (And yes, $10 isn't much. But when you put it all together -- $10 twice a month, for 12 months, that's $240 more a year for being overweight. And then if you also have high blood pressure, that's another $240 a year. And if you're cholesteral is a bit high, another $240. . .hell, if some random study comes out saying that fucking green eyes are linked to a .01 percent increase in the chance you'll develop Scurvy, they'll charge for that too!)

Not everyone is on board with this, of course. Thank the gods.

Lewis Maltby, president of the National Workrights Institute, a Princeton, N.J.-based employee rights group, called the trend "a very dangerous road that could lead to employers controlling everything we do in our private lives."

"To penalize for things that are beyond some people's control is just wrong," Maltby said. "Some people are fat because that's how God made them."

Can you say lawsuit? I thought you could.

Still, some lawyers say weight-based compensation plans may run afoul of other employment laws.

"A key protection in the Americans with Disabilities Act is that employers can't discriminate against employees based on their health status," said J.D. Piro, a principal at Hewitt Associates' healthcare law group. "This is a fight that's likely going to be dealt with in the courts."

Exactly. Because I'd file a lawsuit in a heart beat. Why? Because this is illegal, that's why. It's illegal and it's giving the companies way too much fucking power. It was bad enough when people started refusing to hire (or fired!) people who smoke, now we've come to this? How long before people who have more than one sex partner a year are penalized? Or how about people who don't use birth control? Or maybe people who like to hang-glide on vacation? People who paint? Some of those chemicals can be dangerous, you know. And raising a child puts you at increased risk of contracting the diseases they bring home from playgroup. And if you're a woman, living with or dating a man puts you at increased risk of domestic violence, so we should charge more for that. Oh! Pets, they have ticks and fleas and those carry dieseases. Do you get your home regularly fumigated? Rats carry the Plague! But of course, the chemicals they use can damage you too, so we'll charge for that too....where will it end? It won't, that's where. Not until our lives are regulated and controlled by the fucking insurance companies. Gah.

Brittney Manning, 29, a patient advocate at Clarian Health's Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis, said many employees were taken aback when the plan was announced last month. But she approves.

"I think it's fair for people to pay according to what their healthcare costs are," she said. She doesn't expect to have to pay the higher fee because she says her weight is normal.

In Arkansas, Deeann Gutekunst, 42, a Benton County deputy treasurer, said she understood the rationale for the county's policy.

"If you have employees who don't care about their health," she said, "what else are you supposed to do?"

Weight does NOT equal health. When the hell will people get this through their head?? And, excuse me, but when more than half of Americans are 'overweight or obese', when are we going to stop calling people who weight less normal? Huh? I mean, I'm not a math genius, but when at least half of your population weights more than 'normal' maybe it's time to recalculate normal, mmm?

Hail to the Chief, Bitchez!

2007-07-24T19:34:00.000-05:00

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

My first act? Dissolve the government, appoint myself Grand Empress Supreme and establish a heritary monarchy. (With my lovely Kady taking over after me, of course.) Thin will be OUT. Boys will be HOT and MAKE SENSE. There will be no more Mr. Fuck and Run. No! It's time for Mr. Fuck and STAY!

Oh, and all neocons will be conscripted and forced to fight in their own damned wars.

This is all

2007-07-23T18:01:00.000-05:00

And so I'm left wanting. . .

2007-07-22T12:06:00.001-05:00

I saw the new Harry Potter yesterday. It's not a bad movie, but I left the theatre feeling that there were huge gaps in the story. Granted, trying to condense that huge book into a two hour movie means lots of things get left out. But still. . .

While there was clearly a story, it didn't seem to be quite that big a deal. The sense of isolation that Harry feels in the books doesn't quite come across on the film. His relationship with Cho is truncated and rather, well, pointless in the film, except to set Cho up to be the one to betray the Army. (Wait. You didn't know that? Sorry. Spoilers and all that. The books been out for ages!)

Normally in the films, the passage of time is clear. Not so much in this one. I mean, there was the mention of Christmas, then they were taking their OWLs and I guess we were supposed to just assume that an entire year was going by, but it didn't feel that way at all. For all I knew, this all could have taken place in a week. The history of the Order is lacking, the whole plot about the House Elves is gone, no one explains who Creature (I know, I know, I spelled that wrong but I don't have the book at hand to find out the right spelling. Deal.) is and who his Mistress is and why he's so important. And they redid the death scene.

Harry's relationship with his godfather isn't as pronounced as it should have been. This is his last link to his parents, in a way. This is the last of his family. This is his chance at having what other children take for granted -- a parent who loves him. If you haven't seen the other films, you miss how imporant this relationship is. Also, no mention of the horcruxes or Aurors. (Yeah, I realize I'm not spelling things right. I've had a migraine for a week, and it's threatening to come back. Sue me.) Who do you make this movie and skip that?

There were some things I liked, however. Delores Umbridge? So evil. So wonderfully, sweetly, beautifully evil. I adored her. Imelda Stanton knocks her role outta the park. (And well, she always does, doesn't she?) Jenny totally kicks ass with that spell of hers. Not even Harry can manage that one. Fred and George's goodbye to Hogwarts? Awesome. Gotta love the twins. And the acting all around was good as ever. But this felt like the first half of a much longer film. I'm hoping, that since so much was left out of this movie and there's not a whole lot going on in Half-Blood Prince, that they're going to combine them into one better movie. Hopefully. It's not a bad flick, for what it is, and if you've never read the books, it'll be fine. But if you've read the books, you're going to find soooooo much missing.

Also, Natalia Tena, the girl in the pic who plays Tonks? Soooo fucking gorgeous. Best part of the movie ;)

That's right. I rule.

2007-07-19T18:38:00.001-05:00

CONGRATULATIONS!! You are a true, 100% Fat Girl. You
may be fat but your confidence, positive attitude and
beauty are what people notice about you. Celebrate by
getting your nails done - your hands will be that much
more attractive as you're taking the last chicken wing.

Take the How Much Of A Fat Girl Are You? Quiz!

Racism in rural Louisiana

2007-07-14T10:51:00.000-05:00

I've been following this story probably longer than most people have been -- it started while I was still working at The Town Talk which was waaaay before it made the international news. The basics of the case can be read here as well as in the Town Talk archives. (If you have time, go read the forums there. Most of the comment threads are under the News listing and you'll see what I mean when I say racism is so totally alive in rural Louisiana. Particularly, I was pissed by the thread What nooses?. Check out this one and this one too.)

I'm not going to talk too much about the specifics of this case, except to say that I believe racism is playing a great huge part in the conviction of (so far at least one) of these boys. I believe it's the reason they were arrested, it was the reason they were charged with such a ridiculous charge and it's why the DA is being so insistant on prosecuting them so quickly. That's not to say that the boys, if they are in fact guilty of assaulting another boy, do not deserve to be punished. But they deserve to be punished no more severely than a white person would be. (In fact, a white person assaulted a black person in the week or so before this incident took place. He was charged with simple assault, which is a misdemeanor. If these boys were charged with the same thing (instead of attempted murder!), this would not be receiving nearly as much attention as it is now.)

This case spiraled out of control, as so many other incidents do in rural Louisiana. (And I'm confining my remarks to La., but that's where I've lived all my life. It's a place I know rather well, although I wouldn't be in the slightest bit surprised to find the same thing happening in other places. I just don't live there, so I can't say for certain.) The second those nooses were hung in that tree, it should have been, and could have been, squashed immediately. Long term suspension of the boys involved, perhaps removal to the local alternative school, could have sent a clear message that this would not be tolerated. Assemblies to address the issue could have been held. A genuine attitude of seriousness from the faculty could have helped. An acknowledgement that, yes, racism does happen and that no, it will not be tolerated at this school wasn't too much to ask.

Or, it shouldn't have been. But this is rural Louisiana. And we've heard it a hundred thousand times. And dammit, no one else can tell us how to behave.

After the fire at the high school (which, to be fair, has not been proved to be linked in any way to these incidents although the possiblity remains), there was still time to step up. After the first student was assaulted at an off-campus party, there was time. There was time up until the moment it exploded. But no one stepped in, or those who did step in were not powerful enough, their voice wasn't loud enough, to stop things. And now we have this mess. Again. I don't hold much hope that the remaining boys will be given reduced sentences, nor do I have much hope they'll get an impartial trial. Their trials need to be moved out of Jena. Their juries need to be racially mixed. And for gods sake, no one on the juries should be related to the witnesses or good friends of the DA!

As for the defense Bell received -- I've covered trials in which his lawyer was on the defense. Yes, Blaine Williams is a black man. Yes, he works as a public defender. And the other trial I saw him cover (a serial rape trial) he also did not call any witnesses or put on a defense. (Although, in that case, the police had a confession, DNA evidence, multiple victims on the stand and items taken from the victims in his home, so their case was decidedly stronger than this one.) To be clear, no defendent is required to call any witnesses or put on any defense. The burden of proof falls squarely on the prosecution. The jury is not allowed to hold the fact that no witnesses were called against the defendent. However, in practice, not calling any witnesses or offering any alternate theories makes people wonder what you're hiding. And while you may not be hiding a damned thing, it doesn't look good. Williams is also, like all public defenders down here, doubtlessly overwhelmed by cases and truely does not have time, nor the funding, to fully investigate each case like it should be. (Which is a failing of the system. We've had problems with the PD system all over the place, most notably in New Orleans.)

Which points out another problem -- these boys are, for the most part, from middle and/or lower class families. (Which isn't saying a whole lot -- most people in rural Louisiana are.) They cannot afford to pay for their own lawyers nor even for bail. And so, the cards are stacked against them. I'd like to believe that Bell's case will be overturned on appeal, but this is Louisiana. Jesus himself could come down and say the guy was innocent and it wouldn't help.

The thing is, most people aren't willing to admit to any form of racism. They don't treat black people any differently than anyone else, they'll say. And mostly, they're right. It's not the actions, so much as the attitude. If a black person is arrested, well of course they're guilty. If a white person is arrested? Well, there may have been a mistake. There could be an explaination. And if they are both guilty of doing the same thing? Well, it makes sense somehow for the black person to get a longer sentence/harsher charge. Why? Because we don't want those other black people to get any ideas, see? But no, no. They're not racist. God, no. They just want order, you see. And everyone knows how Those People are. . .

There are still people here, mostly older, who still refer to black people as Darkies or Colored. (Hell, some of them just stick straight to N-r. Unfortunately, some of them are in my family. Makes me wanna hit 'em with a brick.) And it is worse, from what I've seen, in northern Louisiana. Once you get past eh, Mamou? It's scary. I wouldn't want to be a black person there, that's for damned sure. Even the black people I've worked with, who are clearly educated and /not/ in anyway thugs or whatever you wanna call it, have been harassed in my pressence. Once, at a stoplight, someone pulled up to the care my co-worker was in (he being a black man), knocked on his window and asked him "Where the weed at?". Because, clearly, a black man would know that. Not, ya know, the little skinny white boy dealers that are all over the place. *sigh* And while we laughed about it, and no one was hurt in any way, that attitude is clearly a problem. Black men know where to get drugs. Why? Because they're black! And they know this stuff!

Anyway, I don't think it's possible for these boys to get a fair trial here. Not in Jena, anyway. Not in any rural Louisiana parish. Hell, maybe not anywhere in Northern Louisiana, not now. And I think most people would agree that, if they are guilty, then they should be charged with an appropriate change and pay an appropriate penalty. But kicking a boy with a tennis shoe does not deserve going to jail for 20+ years. (And really...when was the last time a frigging Tennis Shoe was considered a deadly weapon? I mean....steel-toed boots, I'd buy. But a tennis shoe? Come on.)

Random question

2007-07-14T10:46:00.000-05:00

What is it that makes men want to keep their damned watches on during sex? Seriously. All the men I've been with, they all kept the bloody thing on. What are they doing? Are they timing their performance? Are they trying to break some sorta speed record? What's up with that anyway? Don't they get that the damn things can hurt when you get smacked in the (fill in body part here) with it? Bah.

Randomly. . .

2007-07-09T17:21:00.001-05:00

Sorry. I'm not dead. I feel much like it, but no. In the last few days, the Lupus has decided to flare it's ugly, ugly head and bite me. I've been having serious problems focusing and moving the last two days, so. . .that's why there are not updates. And oh, I've got things I want to talk about...I just can't remember them at the moment :(

Also, I want a kitten. Seriously. In a bad, visceral, I'm going to cry way.

Deconstructing Mr. Fuck and Run

2007-07-05T17:13:00.001-05:00

Well, I'm well and truely done with the Boy, from here on out to be known as Mr. Fuck and Run. Why? Because that's what he does.

After his first stint of sex, then silence he came back to me, all apologetic and sweet. I punished him for a bit, making him apologize and grovel a bit. It was fun. Then, since he was being sweet and I was decidedly horny, I let him back in. He came over, oh almost two weeks ago. We had some nice kinky sex and he left. (BTW, medical tape is great if you don't have rope or leather straps. And yes, Mermi, you can indeed get it at Target. I checked.) I told him, as he was leaving, that he'd better not go another month without talking to me or I wouldn't be letting him back in again. He said, "Oh, don't worry. It'll never happen." I said, I've got a five day vacation coming up. Find some time and come over and we can do this again.

Have I heard from him? Only one simple word. When I told him my ankle was still marked from the tape, he said: sorry. That's it. No other communication at all. My vaca came and went and did I? Well, yes. But not with any help from Mr. Fuck and Run. And so, it's been almost two weeks and no word from him again, although I know he's around, because he's on Yahoo Messenger. And so, I am done with him. I don't know what I'll do about sex, because I'm horny like crazy now, but oh well. He's worked himself outta lots of sex and he's got only himself to blame. I'm not merely some hole for him to avail himself of when he chooses.

And the thing is, if that's what we had agreed upon I wouldn't have a problem with it. But see, we had agreed to a friends with benefits deal. Which was great, except he seemed to think, once we'd had sex, he could skip the friends part. In fact, he seemed to think he could forget to 'acknowledge her when she speaks to me, unless I happen to want to have sex that day'. Which still, would have been workable, except ya know, when /I/ wanted to have sex, he was unreceptive. When I was all 'throw me on the floor and take me NOW!' he was....not responsive. Not talking to me. Not acknowledging me.

And so...no sex for him.

Here's the thing, he thought he was a lot better than he was. He is under the impression, dear sweet boy, that he's really well hung. Now, the fact is, he's not bad, but he's not exactly anything to write home about. Just about average, really. Nice and straight, but a little on the thin side. And well, despite being young, he's not got a ton of staying power. He had potentional, but seemed adverse to any direction. Trying to keep his fingers on my clit was a chore. I mean, when a woman takes your hand, puts it on her naked body and shows you how to touch her -- LISTEN.

And he was so damned quiet. Who is completely silent when they're having sex? Particularly kinky, rough sex? Well, Mr. Fuck and Run, that's who. I'm getting into it, and he's just....quiet. I mean, how can you work with that? I ask him what he wanted and he was...well, not exactly verbal. And he didn't seem to want to show me either. So, I don't know. I got the distinct feeling he didn't like being offered advice, like he bought into that whole 'men just KNOW how to make a woman orgasm.'

And, frankly, he wasn't nearly as rough as he thought he was. Maybe it's just me, but if you're tying me up and trying to be the Bad Guy, it helps if you, oh I don't know, use your hands or talk or....I don't know, do something more than fuck. *sigh*

But still, I liked having sex, but it was more about having sex, not so much sex with him. And I want to have more sex. But I'm looking for someone a bit more...into me and my personal pleasure. This Boy has no idea how much I was willing to do with him and, frankly, he never will. Because the next time he comes asking? Eh. I don't think I'll be in the mood.

So, what brings you to my little corner of the Internets?

2007-07-01T17:50:00.000-05:00

Just a few search terms that have sent people my way:

pictures of slightly overweight women in clothes

she says i swear too much she says a lot of things (Is there such thing as too much swearing? I think not.)

sometimes i make myself cum at work (How pleasant for you! Just make sure to wash your hands before returning to work.)

penis of 16 years boyfucking (Well. Rest assured, any penis pictures posted here will not be of 16-year-old boys. I make like my men young, but they must be legal.)

im in such a bad fucking mood (Then you've come to the right place. Vent away!)

drink turpentine (Rather not, thanks. And I don't think you should either. If life is that bad, think instead of the years of revenge you can reak on those that have pissed you off by continuing to live!)

jessica odell, new orleans (While I love New Orleans, I am not Jessica O'Dell. Sorry.)

Zantastic DNA

2007-06-30T16:59:00.001-05:00

Even when you've been dead a thousand years. . .

2007-06-27T16:59:00.000-05:00

Archeologist have found the mummy of Hatshepsut, cross-dressing, ass-kicking, monument building female ruler of Egypt. And how do they describe the mummy?

The mummy of an obese woman, who likely suffered from diabetes and liver cancer, has been identified as that of Queen Hatshepsut, Egypt's most powerful female pharoah, Egyptian archaeologists said Wednesday.

ARG!!! Mummy's cannot be obese! They are bone, wrapping and some pretty sparklies! They don't even contain all of the original organs!

And why do they think she had diabetes? I hope to Isis they have some actual evidence to back that up, even though the story doesn't say that. Or do they think, because she was a fat woman that she HAD to have had diabetes? Seriously?

But, you know what? I hope she WAS fat. I hope she was huge. Make her 400 lbs or more! Why? Because that fat woman ruled the fucking-known-world, that's why. She built monuments, she had lovers, she was worshiped as a fricking god. Hmp.

(And frankly, I think they put in the fact that the mummy was obese because, what? A fat woman doing all that? Huh? What? But but...that's impossible! Fuckers.)

Ode to the Significant Other I have yet to meet. . .

2007-06-26T20:48:00.000-05:00

Dear SO:

Where the fuck are you already?

Get your ass over here. I'm bored and getting tired of all this waiting around.

Don't make me come after you.

Love,
Me.

Do I really talk about death that much?

2007-06-25T19:30:00.000-05:00

Mingle² - Online Dating

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

dead (8x)
ass (6x)
pissed (4x)
fucking (3x)
bitch (2x)
piss (1x)

Because it's not always about America

2007-06-23T12:46:00.000-05:00

Is it possible for me to love this band more? I don't think so. This is a very powerful video. (And Calli, all their songs do not sound the same. Don't believe me? I'll make you a cd. You'll see :) I'm trying to find a version that isn't bleeped, that will play well. If I find it, I'll update.