I have always, to some extent, always felt I was born in the wrong body. Sure, some things about being female-embodied are fun. Breasts, for example. It’s definitely nice to have these things. Although there are definitely days I would be happy to do without them, and I have always wished mine were smaller (even when they were, pre-baby). I like having them, but sometimes I wish I could keep them as accessories instead of permanently attached body parts.

However, there is one thing that I don’t think I will ever, ever get used to or learn to like. BLEEDING.

I hate it!

I have a friend who refers affectionately to this time of month as her “Moon Time,” and celebrates it by pampering herself with special teas and playing hooky from work. I have another who practices bellydancing (she calls it “Goddess Dance”), and claims that it has helped her feel much more strong and empowered during this transformative time in her cycle. I even know a lesbian couple that finds menstrual blood a turn-on and includes it in their sex play (something I will never, no matter how much you pay me, will do).

But I don’t get any of this romanticism of what to me, essentially just boils down to a homely, convalescent burp in my natural rhythms. I don’t understand it. I don’t want a cycle. I hate cycles. I hate watching my body change and do strange things I have no control of. I hate feeling the tides of lymph swelling up my tissues until my eyes look hung over and my pants don’t button. I hate staying up at night feeling tortured by cramps, upset stomach and nausea. I hate the ebbs and flows of breast sensitivity and weight. I don’t really get mood swings, but I get headaches and pain. I hate pain. And I really, really hate blood. In any form.

While I believe in a higher power, I am mystified by the existence of blood periods. I mean, couldn’t we women have been designed a little better? Why do we have to bleed? It’s so humiliating and degrading, to me. It’s not just some mysteriously enticing body secretion, it’s BLOOD: a bad-smelling substance that reminds us of violence, wounds, war—coming out of our vaginas, a part of our bodies that’s supposed to represent beauty, sensitivity and regenerative power. How undignified! How evocative of all the abuse and enslavement we’ve suffered over the aeons! It almost feels like something a really cruel man would invent as our ultimate humiliation. I mean, how would men feel if their penises bled regularly, and it hurt and made them feel ill? Would that make them feel manly? Is this really some kind of curse that we accepted, and never quite figured out… and learned to develop all kinds of romantic New Agey rationalizations for?

I don’t know. There are times I think that we women have punished ourselves by learning to bleed. What if we could teach our wombs to just chill out and stop producing that damn endometrium unless we actually were trying to conceive a child? I mean, do we need to be baby-ready 24/7? Is being a woman all about childbearing, anyway? To me, it is not. It is about a lot of things, but I think the idea of a woman’s body being eternally receptive to sperm seems instinctively wrong… like maybe we haven’t mastered some secrets of feminine biological power. (I also think it is possible for women to control conception without pills and artificial devices, just through the mind—but that’s a topic for another day.)

I’ve tried to accept the concept of bleeding, but the more I try, the more I just rebel against it. I don’t like calling periods “moon time.” It feels too complacent to me, too politically correct. There is nothing lovely and romantic to me about this time. To me, it’s just a PERIOD… kind of like detention. It’s a week out of each month—one quarter of my entire life—where I feel fat and achy, weak, and dirty. And for all of the old-school feminists of the world who find that last adjective offensive… let’s call a spade a spade. There is NOTHING CLEAN about menstrual flow. It’s blood mixed with mucous and pieces of the inside of your uterus, for crying out loud. Blood is what comes out of a raw steak. Blood is what comes out of someone when you knife them. Blood is what mosquitoes suck from our flesh. For exactly one quarter of our lives as childbearing women, we (biological women at least) have to sit around figuring out ways to clean blood off ourselves, and to avoid showing it to the world. There is no one that can tell me this isn’t gross—and somehow, just really, really wrong.

If it weren’t for my fondness for breasts and my revulsion toward surgery, I might have gone FTM a long time ago. And when I get a chance to pick out my next body, next time around I’ll probably return to a male form. Being a woman is so confusing to me on so many levels. There are some things I like about it—like the ability to cry, love boys freely, wear flowered shirts and be sensitive without being called a faggot—but so many more things I can do without. And bleeding is one of the biggest.

In the end, I just feel confused by femininity. I honor it, I respect it, but I feel so often like I’ve wandered into it as a tourist, and found that I’ve gotten into something that’s way over my head. And occasionally, I want out. Sometimes it’s hard for me to sort out what is true femininity—which to me, is POWERFUL—and the disease, the “curse” of female disempowerment that on affects nearly all double X-ers to some extent. There are days I could completely imagine living without breasts. There are other days I marvel at the fact that I’ve managed to bear and nurse a child. It feels so odd to think about this. I don’t want to do it again—once was enough. Even if I actually wanted a second child, which I don’t, I can’t imagine going through childbirth again. If being a woman is like a daily dose of culture shock to my brain, labor to me felt like being initiated into a secret society where you have to learn to eat worms and get tattooed by herds of fire ants. All I kept thinking during that experience was, “WT…F!!!!” It was strange… to put it mildly.
I don’t know if things will change once I hit menopause—that alone has its share of strange symptoms I am sure I won’t be thrilled about. I feel like what I dislike most about being a woman, is feeling my body is a usable commodity with an expiration date. A man is always a man, he is always the same, he is always manly at any age. A man can even improve with age. He is not stalled or even stopped in his tracks by the humiliations of blood and pain. He is not slowed down and weakened by pregnancies, nursing, hormonal fluctuations. He doesn’t have to focus on such gruesomely elemental concerns all the time. He can have one foot in the ether and one foot on the earth. For a woman, it is very hard to get that second foot out of the earth. Even if she never is able to bear a child, her body always taunts her with the prospect. Even if she never wants a child, she has to put up with this monthly bleeding. And if she does have a child, she cannot be left alone. She is weak and needs help and support.

I know it’s really not the feminist thing to do, criticizing our most sacred bodily function. But when I think about it instinctively, I just still feel like it is wrong, strange. And even if this suspicion of biological foul play ousts me from the inner circle of estrogen-worshipping goddess warriors, I’m going to be honest about it. I hate to bleed. And I question why a God who can create the aurora borealis, puppies and macadamia nuts couldn’t have figured this one out a little better.

And in my most painful moments, I occasionally wonder whether this was actually Her intention at all.

© Sarah Noack 2007

Keeping the kettles in the red on Black Friday and the rest of 2009.

Bing-a Bing-a Bing-a Bing-a Bing-a Bing-a Bing.

Today, its Thanksgiving. Tomorrow is the all important US Holiday, Black Friday. As you walk into your mega stores and shopping malls, you’ll hear the binga binga of those Salvation Army Bell Ringers. You can hear it all the way back in Row Z level Florida at the mall, really. Its loud and its ring hangs in the air with just a twinge of guilt and an all too familiar sound that Christmas is near. So—I want to talk to you about these little quarters, cents, dimes and dollars that you stuff in there, looking sweetly at the kind “homeless looking” man or young adorable child who is bing bing binging the bell and blessing and thanking you as you enter your shopping destination. (to spend oodles and oodles, like $450 BILLION, on presents… another topic, another post, anyway…)

Do you know what the Salvation Army has to say about homosexuality? Well, you should. Here I’ll give it to you right here.

Homosexuality

The Salvation Army holds a positive view of human sexuality. Where a man and a woman love each other, sexual intimacy is understood as a gift of God to be enjoyed within the context of heterosexual marriage. However, in the Christian view, sexual intimacy is not essential to a healthy, full, and rich life. Apart from marriage, the scriptural standard is celibacy.
Sexual attraction to the same sex is a matter of profound complexity. Whatever the causes may be, attempts to deny its reality or to marginalize those of a same-sex orientation have not been helpful. The Salvation Army does not consider same-sex orientation blameworthy in itself. Homosexual conduct, like heterosexual conduct, requires individual responsibility and must be guided by the light of scriptural teaching.

Scripture forbids sexual intimacy between members of the same sex. The Salvation Army believes, therefore, that Christians whose sexual orientation is primarily or exclusively same-sex are called upon to embrace celibacy as a way of life. There is no scriptural support for same-sex unions as equal to, or as an alternative to, heterosexual marriage.

Likewise, there is no scriptural support for demeaning or mistreating anyone for reason of his or her sexual orientation. The Salvation Army opposes any such abuse.

In keeping with these convictions, the services of The Salvation Army are available to all who qualify, without regard to sexual orientation. The fellowship of Salvation Army worship is open to all sincere seekers of faith in Christ, and membership in The Salvation Army church body is open to all who confess Christ as Savior and who accept and abide by The Salvation Army’s doctrine and discipline.

Scriptures: Genesis 2:23-24; Leviticus 18:22; Mark 2:16-17; Romans 1:26-27; Romans 5:8; I Corinthians 6:9-11; I Corinthians 13; Galatians 6:1-2; I Thessalonians 4:1-8; I Thessalonians 5:14-15; I Timothy 1:15-16; Jude 7

So queer friends and allys—how does that make YOU feel? Me, well those dimes and dollars I know they add up. And the thing is, I’d like to see them add up for organizations who are doing direct care, who DON’T feel this way. And there are plenty of them. So—I am asking you to join me this year in a little science experiment.

1. This year I will carry around with me a letter, and every time I hear the bell ring, I will walk proudly to it, and deposit this letter, instead of my money. This is my letter. Feel free to rip it off.

Dear Salvation Army:

The holidays are upon us and that means there you are ringing your bells outside of almost every place I shop. This year however, I will be placing this note in your kettle instead of my money—no matter how small or large the donation—to remind you that your position on homosexuality does not line up with my understanding of the God of love and inclusion. Because your understanding of scripture forbids me, I cannot in good conscience support your causes with my money.

The money I would have placed in your kettle will go to another organization like yours, who does not hold the same position statement as you do.

Faithfully, in Christ,

[Your Name], [Your City]

2. I’ll take whatever I had to give from my purse or the change in my pocket and I will put it into an envelope. On Monday December 28th I will count the coins, dollars and lint bits, write a check, and send it to a local direct service charity. I am thinking of Open Arms MN, District 202, or ________. (still not sure)

So, if you are so inclined, join me. Tell me how it goes, how does it feel?

Spread the idea if you like, as the saying goes, the more the merrier.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

BLACK FRIDAY HERE I COME!!!!

Por que todos los mortales tenemos que aguantar toda esta fiebre de twilight? a mi nunca me preguntaron si queria ver todos los dias las caras de hippies del Roberto Pattinson y de la Kristen Stweart, ok, esta cosa es todo un fenomeno para las millones de adolescentes obesas pero hay personas que todavia utilizamos el cerebro y que ya estamos hasta el tope de estos vampiros simples, hasta Taylor Lautner cansa con su nariz rara y sus poses “sexys”… ojala que un caza vampiro aparezca y elimine a toda esta bola de engendros, comenzado con la creadora de tan maravillosa “historia” Stephanie “la gorda” Meyer

click en las pics para agrandar

• Happy Thanksgiving
• Holiday time is stressful for teachers
• Teachers start to snap at each other under pressure
• Have you seen New Moon?
• Tom’s take on the book series
• I’ve always avoided things that are trendy
• Turkey day!
• American holidays abroad
• My first Thanksgiving experience in Thailand
• My only thanksgiving dinner in 9 years
• Would you like a little turkey with your salt?
• Thanksgivings past….
• Over the river and through the woods…
• The Macy’s Day parade
• Wishing for cold
• almost still smell and taste the food
• The feast and compulsory naps afterwards
• Things I’m thankful for…
• One of the worst things about living in Thailand
• An upcoming important Thai holiday
• Andrea’s comment on the last episode
• Things we know but don’t talk about
• It’s much to easy to have language based misunderstandings
• One thing Thais take Very seriously
• Facebook and new listeners
• Pattaya Passion website and message board
• SBA and a month of daily podcasts
• Tom on an upcoming Tiggercast?
• Juggling the time difference between Thailand and home
• Stop by the blog and say hello
• Closing remarks and ramblings

Email me at tominthai@gmail.com, please go Comment on my page or call my voice line at 1-206-426-2152 and leave me a voice comment for the show!

Download Tom in Thailand: Click Here | The Freak Network | The RainbowPodSquad

Subscribe to Tom in Thailand in Itunes: Click here

Rund 50 Menschen haben gegen das Konzert des homophoben Reggae-Künstlers im U-Club demonstriert. Auch in Berlin wird es Proteste geben.

Asi es fanaticas de twilight Taylor Lautner, el ahora deseo de la mayoria de adolescentes obesas y con acne engalana la portada de la revista Rolling Stone en su edicion de estados unidos, lastima para sus seguidoras que no mostro por lo unico que es famoso, su abdomen, solo en una de todas las pics lo enseña, esto para que lo vean como un actor “serio”, aja, al rato que nadie lo contrate se volvera a quitar la camisa mas rapido que en lo que dicen: “quidditch”

click en las pics para agrandar

Please know you have profoundly helped me grow to who I am today (I hope that’s not a bad thing!). I apologize off the bat for the bad grammar. This is a very stream of consciousness letter. I am thankful for so many people this is going to sound like an acceptance speech. If only I had an award to go with it!For some reason, I feel more thankful than ever. Going through a transformation of sorts puts everything in perspective. When I lost my job this past June, I would have never guessed I would have felt more alive and have met some of the most amazing people. I never dreamed I would be on television/radio and also have a blog, which has had to date over 15,000 hits. I am grateful for EVERYONE who visits day after day!

Thank you for following the journey.

If I could tell you one thing –change the world. Go out and make a difference. Stand up for what you believe in. Change someone’s life. We all have amazing stories to tell. Share them.

My blog wouldn’t have gotten off the ground without a few people. My publicist, George, whose idea it was to really go forward and create the blog. He always has a way of staying positive. A special thanks to ALL the people I have interviewed thus far: the wonderful Marti C., single-licious Melissa B, exceptional Jerry Mitchell, incredible forced to be reckoned with Frenchie Davis, life changing activities Ryan Janek Wolowski and Randy Wicker, and uber talents Richard and Dana. Elisa, Will, Angelo and Renee thank you for one point or another for being my camera bitch! There are many more people, so I apologize if I have forgotten you.

Liz S, you are an amazing woman who constantly gives me the chance to do what I love! You always astound me by the types of events you have me cover. Thank you for taking a chance with me!
Julie H. you have such an amazing heart. I never thought in a million years I would be on the Pat Field website! You have really made my year. You see things in me that I have overlooked. I can’t thank you enough for the dream come true it has been and will keep continuing!
Meagan H. – WE WILL GET KATHY!! You are such a joy to know and you never make my crazy idea is well…crazy! You are a great visionary at what you do!

My family has always been my rock. A special shout out to my relatives in PA, who are not only amazing, but I am so blessed to have reconnected with them on Facebook. Though sometimes we seem miles apart, BENNINGTONS know we are NEVER that far. Thanks guys for all the kick ass support!

My other “family” -my friends who have seen my light and my dark, I feel so fortunate to have had the opportunity to see each of you grow and become individuals who make me proud in the way you contribute and choices you make. Each of you has such a special gift. I truly love you all and you have been a place to look for advice, support and unconditional love. You have no clue how much I value all of you (though sometimes my sarcasm may make it seem otherwise)

My Old Tappan friends, it’s been a while but let me know when you’re around the NYC/NJ area. For me to see us all grown up seems a little freaky! It was only yesterday we were singing to Mr. Boscia’s music, seeing Mr. Rossi throw a desk, cutting class, going to the prom. Now some of you have your own families. Keep me in your heart, as I do with you.

Wagner College gave me amazing inspiration to find myself and meet professors and life-long friends who inspire me daily. There are many ways you can gain an education as I learned in my years at Wager!

Thanks to all the RENT friends I have made. Measure in love. We can always be grateful for Jonathan Larson’s lasting treasure. Thanks for all the RENT road trips!

Thank you, all the new friends I have made. I look forward to knowing you more and more (that DOES sound kind of creepy)

THANK YOU TO ALL OF YOU OUT THERE WHO INSPIRE!

This year, remember those who are not as blessed and keep them in your thoughts and prayers. It’s important for us –as teachers, friends, parents, lovers, brothers, sisters,-you name it, to go out there and make a difference. Anything small can help. We can be the change.

Please have a safe, healthy and happy Thanksgiving this year.

The best is yet to come,

Neal B
www.nealbinnyc.wordpress.com

In my last post, I talked about some issues that stopped me from investigating trans identity in the past. Now I’m going to talk about why I come back to this same idea again and again, still looking for some way to fit it to myself.

Feeling fundamentally uncomfortable with female identity

I have never understood women.  One of the things I loved about feminism was that it laid out, in print, basic concepts of feminine socialization I had never picked up on.

Reading the Feminine Mystique when I was 18 gave me a window into the world of my sisters. For the first time I began to understand all the behaviour that was always so maddening to me. I finally got why girls and women around me consistently undervalued themselves, sold themselves short, didn’t try something that might be hard and pretended they were stupid when I could tell they were not.

Not to say that I picked up none of this socialization, the more I learn about the world and myself, the more I can see it in me too. But I think that I picked it up to a lesser extent than most other females, and to a certain extent much later.

But a lot of this stuff, I learned intentionally from a book. I didn’t pick it up from school and the media and the culture.  Rejecting the tethers of femininity, but also not affiliating myself too strongly to men has done well for me, I have often felt as I am existing between genders, picking from the best of both worlds.

Always feeling like a gay man

I don’t know much what to say about this, but it’s true. For about a decade now I have felt like a gay man in a woman’s body. Not trapped, but existing. I always feel much closer affinity to gay men than to straight women or lesbians. I certainly have never felt straight.  I wonder if it’s cause some part of me thinks that it’s way cooler to be queer, and it’s a kind of cool I strongly desire.

This feeling of affinity is something I’m not quite able to explain very well.  Like when I meet a gay man I feel like I share something with him, more than a basic cock love. I feel like, we are the same. I wonder if this comes off to gays as a misguided sexual interest.

I came across a word recently that I think I will use to define myself from now on: androphile. Love of men. Or maybe even, Love of manliness?  It’s true, while I respect women and like them, I do love men. I like this word because it is not relative to one’s own gender. To be a homosexual or a straight, you have to have two pieces of information: your gender and the gender of your partners. How complicated for me.

Being surprised that straight boys want to date me

For a long time I thought of myself as someone who mainly dated bi boys. That made more sense to me. The kind of men who are attracted to me are the kind of men who are attracted to others of their gender. But then after I had enough lovers to make up a reasonable sample size (I’m a big slut if you didn’t guess) I looked at it and found that many of them had been hetro-identified. This was definitely a shocking thought, and tends to leave me with the feeling that I am somehow tricking my boyfriends and lovers.

“I’m not a man in a woman’s body: I’m a feminist.”

That was my resolution to this whole problem in the past. I want to be treated equally to a man, not as a man.  I read and read enough to convince me that my gender issues in the past were based more around gender roles than gender presentation.

While I have certainly encountered external resistance in my quest to be the person I am, regardless of gender, and while that resistance has often had a patriarchal flavour to it, the things I am imagining when I imagine being a man are not the trappings of power I have missed.  The one thing I would really, really love, is to be among men and for them to understand me as a brother, as an insider.  I’m sure that’s a silly idea, perhaps something not experienced by all (most?) men, and probably not as fun in real life as it is in my head.

I hope it’s not a similar experience to being an insider with regards to whiteness (or more occasionally passing as middle class) which can be entirely unpleasant situations where others feel safe to expose the bigotries they are too polite to show in “mixed company”. But it probably is.

My body changing recently

I have heard and read transmen talk about their discomfort with female puberty. Breasts, hips, menses… And no penis.  I do not have any recollection of experiencing these feelings, even to the extent that I was told again and again, that every teenager does. I really do not recall any sense of alienation from my body in any way.

I think a lot of this is due to the fact that my body didn’t really change that much during puberty and adolescence.  I got AA breasts that didn’t need a bra and a bit of body hair that I eventually liked because it make me look more mature. I had always had big thighs so while in retrospect they probably did grow, I didn’t really notice at the time.

But now as I come into my mid-20s I have started to round off a little more: I can fit a B cup bra, my thighs and ass have been getting even bigger, I got a little bit of belly fat.  The overall effect is that I am less boyish and more womanly.

At first I felt strong that I ought to be happy about this becoming more pear-shaped and womanly and beautiful. But I couldn’t shake a creeping sense of unease.  I thought maybe I was worried about getting fat, and ugly, and old, and unattractive, and all those kinds of fears that are drilled into women.  I thought of the social power I gain through being hot (I told you I’m confident about my body, didn’t I?), and I thought of that slipping away and tried to process these feelings.

But eventually I realized there was something more at play here: not that I was getting fatter and softer, but that the fat was collecting in places which emphasized my sex, which marked me much more as female that I had felt before, and that this was deeply troubling to me.

Silly as it sounds, I think this point is the one which got me back on the gender-questioning train.  This was the (small) thing that changed in my life that made me re-look at myself and want to make decisions about myself and my presentation.

So I’m very excited about my new job and my impending move to Hayward and the East Bay.  After my first day on the job yesterday, me and my boyfriend stopped in at the local gay bar called the Turf.  I’ve been here once before while I was visiting friends and I was reminded how quaint local pubs can be.  This storied establishment has a long history serving the GLBT community here and the long, pronounced bar when you first walk in is a great indicator why.  They’ve added a pool table since I last was here and obviously, you won’t find a patio with such a grand garden anywhere in the bay area.  I’m looking forward to having many a night cap with David and enjoying getting to know some of the locals who frequent the world famous Turf Club. 

I never post this often, but this pissed me off.

Advocate.com has run a reader poll asking whether one would support ENDA if gender identity protections were taken out of the bill again. Now, at last check 93% or so said no, but before anyone starts patting themselves on the back consider what is happening – the human rights of trans people are being openly debated by people who are not trans, suggesting our rights are at the whim of a majority. We are being reminded that our position is second-class and never secure. The gay hypocrisy of suggesting trans rights must wait while they complain Obama cannot act incrementally with gay rights is deeply frustrating.

Contact Advocate.com and let them know debating the human rights of a group of people is crass and deplorable.

From TheWashingtonPost.com:

One year ago, I stood with city leaders on a hill in Northeast as we broke ground for affordable housing in the District. When the St. Martin’s Apartments are completed, nearly 200 low-income families and individuals will get a fresh start on life in a wonderful example of the type of effective public-private partnerships the residents of our nation’s capital need.

St. Martin’s is being developed by Catholic Charities, on land owned by the Catholic Church and with funding sources that include the District of Columbia.

Catholic Charities and the Archdiocese of Washington are committed to continuing to serve the people of the District as we have for many decades. That includes partnerships such as St. Martin’s. Unfortunately, the D.C. Council is considering legislation that could end these kinds of partnerships.

It doesn’t need to be that way. While we do not agree with the council on redefining marriage, we recognize that it is firmly committed to opening marriage to homosexual couples. We are asking that new language be developed that more fairly balances different interests — those of the city to redefine marriage and those of faith groups so that they can continue to provide services without compromising their deeply held religious teachings and beliefs. The archdiocese has not been alone in requesting broader language. Other groups, including the American Civil Liberties Union, the InterFaith Conference of Metropolitan Washington and nationally recognized legal scholars all called for stronger protections for religious freedom in their testimony on the original bill.

For the archdiocese and Catholic Charities, two core tenets of our faith are at the heart of our concerns: our understanding of the nature of marriage and our commitment to expressing Christ’s love through service to others. Under the legislative language before the D.C. Council, the archdiocese would be forced to choose between these two principles. The archdiocese has long made clear that all people have equal dignity, regardless of sexual orientation. But marriage is reserved for husband and wife because of its essential connection with the creation of children.

The proposed legislation offers little protection for religious beliefs, including no protections for individuals, as is required under the federal Religious Freedom Restoration Act. Under the bill, religious organizations would be exempt from participating in ceremonies or from teaching about same-sex marriage in religion classes and retreats in accordance with their faith beliefs, but they would be required to recognize and promote same-sex marriage everywhere else, including in employment policies, and adoption and foster-care policies, against their beliefs.

The proposed legislation offers little protection for religious beliefs, including no protections for individuals, as is required under the federal Religious Freedom Restoration Act. Under the bill, religious organizations would be exempt from participating in ceremonies or from teaching about same-sex marriage in religion classes and retreats in accordance with their faith beliefs, but they would be required to recognize and promote same-sex marriage everywhere else, including in employment policies, and adoption and foster-care policies, against their beliefs.

So what does this mean?

The archdiocese and Catholic Charities are committed to continuing to provide services in the District. Despite the headlines, there has been no threat or ultimatum to end services, just a simple recognition that the new requirements by the city for religious organizations to recognize same-sex marriages in their policies could restrict our ability to provide the same level of services as we do now. This is so because the District requires Catholic Charities to certify its compliance with city laws when applying for contracts and grants. This includes contracts for homeless services, mental health services, foster care and more. Since Catholic Charities cannot comply with city mandates to recognize and promote same-sex marriages, the city would withhold contracts and licenses.

Each year, 68,000 people in the District rely on Catholic Charities for shelter, nutrition, medical and legal care, job training, immigration assistance and more. This assistance is offered to whoever needs it, regardless of race, religion, gender, nationality or sexual orientation. Many of the programs are offered in partnership with the city, which turns to Catholic Charities and other ministries when it cannot provide social services on its own. Catholic Charities has a proven track record of high-quality service, supported through caring, qualified staff, thousands of dedicated volunteers and millions of dollars in financial support from parishioners all over the region. This legislation won’t end Catholic Charities’ services, but it would reduce unnecessarily the resources available for outreach.

We recognize that the council is likely to legalize same-sex marriage. It is the hope of the archdiocese and Catholic Charities that council members will work with us to find a way to better balance interests so religious organizations that have served this city well for many decades may continue to provide services without compromising the tenets of their faith.

The writer is archbishop of Washington.

“The fuck we gonna get those two for their wedding, Helen?  They’ve got everything man.”  Helen said, “Well, you could make them something or we can look around, maybe find something local?”  “Good call.”  They were planning a major party, with a Fifth Element theme – an old sci-fi movie, costumes by Jean-Paul Gaultier.  Scar thought it wouldn’t stretch queer imaginations too far.

Here’s the writing routine.  Boot up the iMac, lay out two nice, flat, matte black gadgets alongside (cellphone and iPod), hook up the music, light a cigarette, open the file.  Unless I’ve had some kind of epiphany beforehand, I then spend ages just scrolling up and down the pages, wondering whether to pause and flesh stuff out – and sometimes that is exactly what I do.  Slave to the word count.  Some days, like today, the whole process feels like shitting bricks.  Stressing about the deadline badly now too – got a full day’s work tomorrow then I have to go set up a new computer for someone, then a friend’s coming over with a bottle of wine.  I’ll have all day the following day, but then I’m out of here until the day of the deadline.  Gods.  Just under 12 000 words left to do and fuck all clue what any of those words are going to be.

Scar fired up the forge and started work on the wedding gift – figures of Sam and Veto, back to back; dressed, accessorised and posing like Tank Girl.  Rough edged, bronzed, industrial-core art for the most famous hackers (security consultants!) on the planet.

The Sister Retrieval System

There was a cough behind her – Jesus, could she never just get on with her own work in her own workshop without interruption?  She hauled off her goggles, turned round and almost fell over.  “Nina?!”  The woman nodded and Scar could only stare.  She could see herself in the younger, more feminine face, she saw her parents too.  “Hi,” said Nina.

Scar made coffee, “I never thought you’d talk to me again,” she said.  Nina took a deep breath, “I owe you an apology, Siri.  I’ve been through a lot of this with my therapist.  I was angry with you for leaving me alone after Mom and Dad died – then I heard you went off to be queer and …”  “OK yeah,” said Scar, “I get the picture and although I wish I didn’t have to understand, actually I really do understand.  Just promise me this isn’t going out live on some skanky talk show feed and we’re good.”  Nina grinned.

Seemed like everybody Scar knew had a shrink.  Scar got a gut full of them in clinics and rehabs and tended to avoid them like the plague.  She had a theory they were all more batshit than she was anyway.

They went back to the loft so Nina could meet Helen and the two clicked immediately.  It was surprisingly comfortable, felt like something had healed somehow.  Looking at photographs of Nina’s two sons, Scar felt something like wonder.  “You didn’t want me near them before,” she said, painfully and Nina looked stricken, apologetic, wounded.  Scar didn’t feel like blaming her for a global fuck up, so she just said, “Can I meet them?” and Nina half nodded and half wept, smiling all the while.  It was good, it was good, it was good!

The Return of Michael Malgas

Impossible as it seemed, Michael Malgas went even more supernova on the art scene.

News of the data-genocide had filtered through to artists too – there was a benefit concert, which raised funds that probably went to Oxfam as usual; arty and solemn ads were inserted into screenfeeds.  Michael went straight (ha not very ha) for the jugular.

Interfeed transcript:

Interviewer: Your latest exhibition has been, to put it mildly, controversial – what’s the message?
MM: For centuries now, centuries, anybody who doesn’t conform has been rejected by that great amorphous thing we keep referring to as “society” as if it was a gentleman’s club.  We – and I put myself very firmly in the non-conformist camp – have been treated like *censored* for far too long and let’s face it, there just aren’t enough of us to *censored* the rest of you lot right up …
Interviewer: Um, can I just …
MM: … don’t interrupt me, you techno-floppy, you’re there to nod, look pretty and listen.
Interviewer: I …
MM: So we live with you, while you either try to hide us, segregate us, stop us or just steal whatever good stuff we have.  None of you have any *censored* *censored* notion of what it’s like to grow up different, disliked, disapproved of … and so on and on and on and it never *censored* well stops no matter how many religions preach tolerance.  So ja, my little gulping friend, I am here to complain as loud as I can about it.  Now, you probably have another question on that little screen?
Interviewer: Uh, yes … Mr Malgas … sir … your work, “Freaks Have Feelings Too” has caused an outcry from generally opposing groups …
MM: Of course the word “freak” offends many people on many levels, but I think I have a right to name it and claim it for myself.  When I grew up, they called me a “fokken hotnot”.  Then I was a “disgusting lesbian” and then a “he-she pervert.”  Stuck in the middle of race and gender my whole *censored* life I tell you!  Not black enough, not white enough, not male enough, not female enough.  Society, young man, has labelled me a freak and I am too *censored* old and angry to fight it off any more.  I have spent my life trying to fit into a world that doesn’t want me – can you imagine how tragically disappointing it is to be thwarted that way?  We live in a world that only accepts you as a freak if you wave a qualification or a credit card at it.
Interviewer: So you’re reclaiming the term, the way lesbians reclaimed the word “dyke” during the previous century?
MM: Something like that ja – scream the word, paint it, just say it till it loses its sting.
Interviewer: Your latest work, your self-portrait – it’s caused extreme reactions too; the gentlest thing anyone’s said about it, is that it is explicit …
MM: Well it needed to be explicit.  Since I began my transition from female to male, daily I have been interrogated by people, often perfect strangers, who want to know what is going on with my groin.  And I gave the same answer all the transgenders give; usually *censored* *censored* *censored* off, it’s really none of your business!  Because honestly, since when is “Hello, what’s between your legs?” a normal part of any conversation?
Interviewer: It’s been called porn …
MM: That’s a joke hey, at my age.  It’s more of a medical record.  Everyone’s so keen to check out a transgender groin, you don’t have to go to porn sites any more, you can just check mine out.  There it is, not trying to be beautiful, not trying to be anything except me.
Interviewer: And what are you?
MM: Oh I don’t give a *censored* what label you put on it, on me.  Freak is fine, if that’s your thing.  Man.  Transgender.  I am not ashamed of any of these things.  I wonder if anybody would consider “human being” as a label for me, because that is the one that matters more than any of the others the world can dream up.
Interviewer: Your decision, as an eminent artist, to not only reveal yourself so entirely, but not to charge admission on any of the exhibitions, has also startled the art world – what made you decide not to make money out of this massive event?
MM: If I was younger, I’d take “massive” as more of a compliment (laughs) but ja, if I was taking home a fat profit, people would say I was being mercenary.  I thought about donating the proceeds to charity, but then I would still be accused of having an agenda.  Also, I would be drawing yet another line between the “freaks” and the heteronormative, neuro-typical, whatever the *censored* you want to call it sector of the public and I didn’t think that was fair either.
Interviewer: Getting any hate mail?
MM: Like you wouldn’t believe.  Again, I am old now, not so protective of my own existence.  What can you do, but literally read it and weep.  My whole life I have believed in justice, now I tend to think justice exists, sure, but perhaps not in a nice, elegant, karmically balanced kind of way.  Not the way I want it, necessarily.
Interviewer: Is there any hope of a tolerant society?
MM: How long has man roamed the earth?  There hasn’t been one so far and we’re wearing out the planet fast.  Hell, never mind the freaks, this planet hasn’t even got it right enough to feed everyone.  Maybe we’ll get it right in time for the next big bang hey.
Interviewer: Not an encouraging perspective …
MM: I’m old, I’m tired.

[roll credits]

“Actually,” said Helen, staring at “Freaks Have Feelings Too” on her screenfeed, that image is just beautiful.  Why does anyone find it disturbing in the first place?”  “Because they wanna,” muttered Scar.  “Blue would be so damn proud!” said Helen.  It was true.  It was a courageously amazing thing to do; sure it was a sensationalist nine day wonder, but after those nine days, Michael’s photograph would still be there in the public domain, unashamed.  He’d given his audience the freedom to be freaked out by it, to get used to it, to get bored with it.  Maybe one day people would look back and wonder what the fuss was all about.  Maybe.

“Freaks Have Feelings Too” became that year’s hit t-shirt, street tag, sticker, one hit wonder pop song.  It became a meme, a free franchise – Michael had refused to maintain any form of copyright on his photograph or its title, he just created it and then gave it to the world.  Naked Michael became as inoffensively beautiful as a Michaelangelo statue, as ubiquitous as that Ché stencil.  He became a mascot, a hero to so many minority groups, that many people forgot why he was ever branded a freak in the first place.  People just dreamed him into their own myth and history.  It didn’t change the world any more than Ché did, but it changed some minds and some attitudes.

Ginger was over the moon – all that publicity was a guarantee her film would be a hit, she felt sure of it.

The Lean, Mean Dyke Wedding

Mrs and Mrs Banks-Davies arrived at the dock with pale skin and big grins.  Alright, neither of them had started calling themselves or each other “Mrs” but “Ms and Ms” still doesn’t sound all that married, does it?  Long story short, they were married in Japan and in South Africa for the jol.  That old warship got scrubbed out, but not decorated at all – Veto had this plan that all the guests’ costumes would kind of form the decorations instead and, against that peeling paint and metal, the idea worked like a charm.

The sun set over the sea, livid against the pollution and gorgeously dramatic.  Lit only by storm lanterns, everything suddenly looked softer, warmer.  People made speeches, people cried.

The party was kind of like a scene from ‘Fifth Element’ and kind of like that party scene from ‘Romeo and Juliet’ back in the nineties.  And the music fitted in too.  Parts of it was just like the old days – young people dancing mostly, with the older folk sitting around smiling benignly just tapping their feet – until the whole crowd loosened up enough to lose their inhibitions and hit the dance floor whether they could dance or not.

The whole thing went out as a webcast, of course and you can bet it got a shedload of views, both live and archived.  Ginger did an edit of the whole thing later, with Sam and Veto grinning and yelling, “Freaks have feelings too!” at the end of it, with a soundtrack that made it a nightclub-feed hit within days of its release.

And the honeymoon?  Of course there was a honeymoon.  The world’s most sophisticated hackers surprised their friends by piling into some kind of reconditioned Mad Max machine and hauling off across the Namib desert.  “Control Alt Delete won’t work out there!” yelled Scar nervously as they left.

Finding a New Perimeter

What kind of future do you dream, when you let go of logic and allow yourself to dream anything at all?

Helen dreamed a house and a small garden, where she’d plant things and have the time to watch them grow.  She dreamed a big, grey, female cat, which Scar immediately named “Dave.”  There’d be enough space for her to be sociable and for Scar to be antisocial when she got that way.  There’d be walls full of books and art and just enough tech to make life easier.  There’d be enough money so that she could write and Scar could make art without worrying about how to pay the bills.  Unspecified people and/or machines would take care of the housework, but they’d cook together when they felt like it.

Scar thought it was a most excellent dream and quietly added a film library to it.

They both dreamed that they had met young enough and in a safe enough world to have children.  They dreamed of a world where nobody raised an eyebrow at queers at all.

(It really was a good dream).

Scar started work on ‘The Last Polar Bear – 2029’ and kept dreaming.

Adam Lambert…oh what an interesting case it is for me to discuss, yet I feel the need to the more I read about recent happenings.

Briefly, to sum up what I’m about to post about:

-I dislike Adam Lambert. Obviously not because he’s gay, but because I dislike American Idol and those involved in it usually. Also, the fact that his voice sounds like grating metal when he hits high notes irks me a bit. Just not my cup of tea. You understand?

*Image from Photobucket.

-Adam here was at the AMA’s (American Music Awards) a few nights ago. He decided to willingly and knowingly to [attempt to] break the sex/gender norm and present in a very high sexually driven way (see Lady Gaga’s skin colored outfit with a strap on etc, and Rihanna’s band outfit that left little work for the imagination…also featured in the AMA’s).

-Adam did perform. He sexy danced with a keyboardist, pushed some other guy’s face into his crotch momentarily, and then proceeded to also make out with the guitarist.

-Such blatant homosexuality! On national television?! The people wouldn’t have it. Over 1500 complaints to the station, and he was even canceled on Good Morning America. He plans to appear on another talk show to explain the performance, but for now it seems that no one wants to touch him with a ten foot pole.

Let me now quote someone from another site who stated:

If Lambert hadn’t kissed that boy, no one would care about that performance.

Honestly, I couldn’t agree more. You watch the video and it’s truly almost difficult to catch these moments unless you are looking for them specifically. I have to drop my normal feminist tendencies to say, “WTF!?” If Lady Gaga and Rihanna can do what they did at the AMA’s without complaint, and the damn BritneyxMadonna kiss was so hyped to the point of insanity…what is wrong with this? Why is it that the MSM (mainstream media) can allow two women to be together so all the straight men can get off, but a gay guy appears and he’s automatically crucified? For a performance…at an award show known for crazy performances?

Really people. What did you expect? And how were you shocked by this? I smell sexism…as always.

I say: Adam, keep doing what you’re doing. Tear down society’s stupid sexist expectations and throw a knife into their comfort zone. Get it, legit.

~Peace.

[embed]http://www.flickr.com/photos/gfest/[/embed]

GFest 09 pics  on: http://www.flickr.com/photos/gfest/ copyright: Wise Thoughts Image credits: Robert Piwko

I’m not a closet lez. This is something I should explain early on cause I don’t want you assuming I hide my Bad Girls box sets away everytime my Mom comes to visit. I’m just not an obvious hair gel and camo shorts kinda dyke, so these things take explaining.

My first ever crush was Macaulay Culkin. I saw him in Home Alone on a pirate video when I was about 9 and I was a gal posessed. I hid a little drawstring bag with teddy bears on under my bed, full of magazine clippings I collected like a freak. It would be the kind of stash that, if belonging to an adult, would tip off an entire paedophile ring. Seriously, anything Mac related I could get my mitts on I silently cut out with crimped scissors and folded into tiny squares. The teddy bear bag was a tombola of 10 year old baby-faced prizes. I never even looked at them, I was too scared my Dad would walk in and see what a freak I was. I just carried on stashing, not even telling my friends about my crush.

I believed that I would genuinely become his girlfriend if I tried hard enough. I went to acting lessons every week, wrote romantic raps we could duet on and wrote sequels to Home Alone where I became Kevin Mcallister’s devious and loveable British cousin, and we threw paint pots at those jewish robbers.

It was all a bit fucked up. I didn’t really know what sex was, but my first hot dream consisted of me and Macaulay in a doctors examination room, he was helping me trying to insert a tampon and we had matching mittens. That was the taboo extent my pre-teen brain could manage.  Pretty risqué yeah?

In the end I told these two chinese twins in my class that I was obsessed with him. They laughed and bought me in a poster from Smash Hits of Macaulay standing next to Michael Jackson at Disney Land. I had a massive sense of relief, my terrible obsessive secret was out there with Ling and Sue, and nobody thought it was bizarre.

I got a bit sick of Macualay after Home Alone 2 was made – not the version I wrote which was WAY superior - he started brushing his hair back and I discovered Shane from Boyzone was more of a hunk. I threw the teddy bear bag away and stopped watching My Girl every evening, I stopped trying to recreate his exact facial expression in the famous ‘Home Along scream’ and even put my copy of The Pagemaster into the lost property bin at school.

Then a million years later I saw this

and nearly ejaculated on the spot. What the fuck? I wish I’d NEVER thrown the teddy bear bag away. How dare my first ever obsessive crush make a reappearance years into my full blown queer life? FUCK HIM.

Thank god Party Monster was such a pile of cliche  shit, otherwise I might be taking up those acting lessons again and writing letters to Mac’s agent demanding we re-think my ‘Home Alone and Horny’ adult movie pitch.



My name isn’t Zorah. My parents are way too northern for that.

This blog is about being a lesbian, and about announcing my queer status to the people in my life that don’t know:  family,  friends, colleagues and any other fuckers that somehow get intertwined with my life  (like the kebab man that shouts “you want my cock yet blondie?” every time I walk by).

I’ve been attempting and succeeding in being a lezza for almost 10 years now, I just haven’t gotten around to telling a vast number of people about it; my Christian nan, my  insanely reserved boss, my Neanderthal step dad, my numerous ex- boyfriends and the high school friends that now have children and council houses.

This blog is like yanking a dry tampon of emotions from my dark insides, leaking mess across the internet. Think of these posts as the period stained knickers I stash away in the wardrobe cause I’m too embarassed to wash them in the communal washing machine.

I’m gonna be writing about wanking over Alicia Silverstone, shoplifting sex toys and maybe offering fingering guides for girls with long nails. If you don’t wanna read about that kinda stuff then go somewhere else and enjoy being eternally frigid.

And if you’re wondering about the image, Angela and Rayanne are two of the early girls that tugged at my gay chords, making me realise I didn’t just wanna hang out and swap shoes. I didn’t fancy Jordan Catalano like everyone else, I wanted to lock him into spastic remidial English and go find Ang in the boiler room.

Fuck you Jordan Catalano.

Snakes. Snakes are damn sexy. Smooth, muscular, not human, fully prehensile. Heat-seeking creatures with heavy cultural symbolism and taboo built into every scale. The way they scent you with their forked tongues, slither and wrap themselves around you in a slow, dry, deliberate caress. The way they rear up when surprised, ready to strike but watching, watching, waiting before action, because they can take action any time they want, in a split second. Mm.

Leather. Not the kind that’s the victim of misguided design (quilting and pleats, anyone?), or dripping with studs and fringe, or ill-fitting. Rather, the kind that smoothly encases the body like a literal second skin, that gleams darkly in light, that’s soft and hard all at once, that smells rich and slides against the body when you move. It doesn’t have to be black to be beautiful, but that sure does help.

Boots. Classic design and quality material, natch. Boots with a heavy enough sole that they add noticeable weight to your step, that cause you to walk with just a hint of a swagger, that plant firmly and hold the foot with care. Boots that are dirty, because they beg to be cleaned. Boots that are gleaming, because they beg to be licked. Boots that are new, because they hold untold promise. Boots that are old, because they exude history.

Conversation. The kind that starts smoothly and surprises you with a bit of a flirt, and that turns into a mutual weaving of ideas and lasts well past the time you thought it would end when you first introduced yourself. Conversation that renders you breathless, that makes you laugh but not giggle, that challenges and affirms all at once, that connects and excites and leaves you with more questions than answers, one being, when can we do this again?

Dance music. I know many will disagree with me on this one, but hear me out. Dance music that’s exquisitely constructed to compel the body to move. Rich, deep bass that cradles the pelvic floor muscles and pushes the hips into motion, but not so loud as to reverberate or drown out the tune. A treble line that fills your lungs and tickles your shoulders, beckoning you to follow as it takes you spiraling up and around, a melody that makes you a little bit sad in the midst of the sheer joy of motion. A DJ who knows how to work with these things – a bit of suspense every once in a while, but only long enough to make you really want it, none of those long empty pauses where the body has time to lose its momentum and the mind has time to refocus. I don’t want focus when I’m dancing. I want to lose myself in the bodily experience of the beat.

Burlesque. But it has to be done right. I want to be teased, titillated, surprised, denied. Start with a gorgeous costume. I appreciate the humour and camp of burlesque, don’t get me wrong, but what I really want is a sweetly curved feminine body in clothes that push the curves out, pinch the waist in, flatter and slink and drip and veil. Don’t take them off too fast and spoil the surprise. Make me wait for it. Show me a little bit, and then take it away again. I want you to take your body from the realm of cheap and glittery spectacle into the world of luxurious, decadent art. I’m not actually here to see your breasts or your butt. I’m here for the enjoyment of being made to want to see those things, so make me want them.

Books. More specifically, books about sex. Lots of them. The words on their covers, the ideas inside, the crisp feel of pages, the scent of ink and paper and musty old glue, the knowledge that if I am surrounded by books about sex it means I am not the only one in the course of history who has spent this much time thinking about sex and all its many meanings and permutations. Proof positive that sex has inspired deep thought, intense creativity, broad theorizing, endless debate. All of this documented and catalogued and explicated and questioned and created. Bliss.

Blood. But not just any blood. It has to be done right. You have to do it voluntarily – accidents are just messy, and often tainted with the wrong smell. I want a dark-red jewel welling up from a single tiny hole, or perhaps several, or maybe a razor-sharp line that stings and gives me more. Salty, thick, delicious. Powerful. A bit of fear mixed in to heighten the scent, flavoured all the more sweetly with the intensity of your totally irrational, but utterly compelling, desire to feed me.

Clothes. Your clothes. The ones that you chose because they made you feel dressed up, groomed, beautiful, confident. A nicely ironed shirt that nestles just under the freshly shaved line at the nape of your neck. A casually knotted tie that just happens to match your socks. Pants that break on your instep and hug your hips just so. The look on your face that’s cocky and proud and a bit shy all at once, knowing you look good but not sure I’ve noticed yet.

And you? What are a few of your favourite things?

MEXICO CITY —  A lawmaker in Mexico’s capital has proposed changing the city’s civil code to allow gay marriages.

Mexico’s Roman Catholic Church opposes the proposal. The church defines marriage as a union between a man and a woman, as does current law.

Lawmaker David Razu says the changes he is proposing would give same-sex couples the same rights heterosexual couples have regarding social security and other benefits.

The local legislature sent the measure to committees for consideration Tuesday. No date was set for a vote.

Mexico City’s legislature is dominated by the leftist Democratic Revolutionary Party and has legalized abortion and civil unions for same-sex couples. The church and conservative groups also opposes those changes.

From www.viewonfashion.com:

11/24/09 - While filming the long-awaited film Sex and the City 2, actress Kim Cattrall and SATC designer/stylist Patricia Field found the time to collaborate on the new edition of Bailey´s Red Bow…

SEX AND THE…
Red Bow

While filming the long-awaited film Sex and the City 2, actress Kim Cattrall and SATC designer/stylist Patricia Field found the time to collaborate on the new edition of Bailey´s Red Bow…

Por si alguien no sabe o no se acuerda quien es este hottie no los culpo, ya que ultimamente no ha tenido ni una sola pelicula exitosa y esta a punto de caer de la lista C a la D lo que significa series de television XD, por eso el buen Ryan (tal vez lo recuerden en peliculas como “juegos sexuales” o “se lo que hicieron el verano pasado”) y como el ex de Reese Whiterspoon decido llamar un poco la atencion y mostrarle a todo el mundo que todavia esta muy hot!! looking good babe, por cierto DILF = Dads(s) I(‘d) like to fuck XD

click en las pics para agrandar