BLACK MOLD! ORNERY LESBIANS! BREE VAN DE KAMP GETTING IT UP THE BUTT!

My Cuz Deanna is back from Regina already, having discovered that their new house is infested with black mold. Among other things, black mold can cause bleeding lungs, asthma, chronic fatigue, depression, dementia, abnormal pap smears, cancer, choking, lower immunity, and even death. The slumlord who rented them the place refuses to give them their money back, and I doubt he’ll do anything about the mold because it would mean admitting his property isn’t fit for human habitation. Fucking asshole. Hopefully the Rentalsman will deal with him. Jerky jerky jerkface.

Some “petit but ornery” lesbians attacked a sexually harrassing dyke basher and beat the fucking shit out of him and then stabbed him with a steak knife. He’s now in critical condition in a hospital, and the “ornery” lesbians are being charged with gang assault. Personally, I wish I had seen it. It’s like a scene out of Hothead Paisan. Sometimes I think so much has happened to me in my life that anyone trying to fuck with me should pray I won’t really flip out and kill or maim them. I heard about this great self defense technique for women. Keeping your fingers straight without making a fist, and then folding them at your last knuckle (the one nearest your palm), punch the attacker as hard as you can in the throat. It can cause major damage and give you time to run away.

AW FUCK! Youtube had a clip of Bree Van De Kamp having some hot steamy sex from their upcoming season and it was pulled by Disney and I fuckin’ MISSED IT!!!! Was it anal!? Oh my god, I feel so deprived.

Brit Comedies, it may be Colonization but it sure is fuckin’ funny!

Okay, this is the funniest thing I have seen today. Do you remember that totally crap video by Shakespeare’s Sisters called Stay? If you don’t, check it out first. I warn you, it’s total crap, but if you haven’t seen it you won’t get the next video.

Okay, this is French and Saunder’s parody of the same video, and it is so fuckin’ GENIUS!!! I love French and Saunders, they totally kick ass.

I love British Comedies, I think they have influenced my sense of humour so much. Are You Being Served, Mr. Bean, Keeping Up Appearances, Absolutely Fabulous, French and Saunders, and Red Dwarf. Oh man, so many good times.

Okay, veering off the funny angle I found this incredible article linked off of Live Journal For Choice. It’s called The Only Moral Abortion Is My Abortion and it’s about anti-abortion activists who go into the clinics they picket and get an abortion. Here’s a choice quote: “A few behave in a very hostile manner, such as calling clinic staff “murderers.” Years ago, a clinic counselor in British Columbia told me that one of her patients went into the procedure room apparently fine with her decision to have an abortion. During the abortion, at a stage when it was too late to stop the procedure, the woman started screaming “You murderers!” and other invectives at everyone in the room.”

Okay, this is just fucked. The Jewish Memorial in Berlin was going to be covered with a certain kind of chemical that would resist graffiti, things were going along tickety boo until someone pointed out that the company making the graffiti resistant chemical was the same company that manufactured Zyklon B during the Holocaust.

Well, I tried to find some more funny shit, but damn, internet pickin’s are slim. I shall have to do more surfing. BTW, if anyone finds a clip of Jennifer Saunders and Dawn French as performance artists, let me know where it is, as it is my all time favorite French and Saunders skit!

I remember I remember when I lost my mind

Last night was VERY bizarre, filled with racing thoughts, some nice, some sad, some infuriating. I wanted to call up an ex and call her a stupid moonyas for something she said like, two years ago. I started trying to piece the stories of my life together. I was thinking about something seriously fucked up that happened to me eight years ago, and how I only ever told six people about it. I sat up several times to pet Schrodinger and Mister, who were being adorable. Schrodinger has turned into the sweetest kitty cat ever, with a nice deep rumbly purr. They are very good at calming me down. I think I need to adjust my meds, which means another trip to the doc. Oh well.

My favorite cousin, Deanna, is leaving!!! She’s moving to Regina today to start classes at the U of R. I will miss her, but I know it’s a better program than the pitiful excuse for an art department at the U of S. She is a wicked fly lady, I hope she kicks ass out there.

Anyway, I didn’t get a lick of sleep last night, it was very frustrating. I know I’ll have a short nap at some point today, but I’m still going to feel like crud, with eyes falling out of my head. Now I’m drinking milk, because for some reason it totally rocks when you’re having mental health issues. I think it does something for your brain, and it calms ya down. I remember in the psych ward they were always giving us milk, and I was like “I am not a child!” But it turns out that there is a reason for it.

One day my cuz and I were listening to the radio and Gnarls Barkley’s “Crazy” came on and we both cracked up.

I’m not suicidal or depressed, per se, but I think I may be going hypomanic. Cruddy. It’s good that I’m recognizing it, and I also think I know why. My day time meds were moved to The Med Cupboard without me knowing and I didn’t take them for a week because I couldn’t find them. Also I find I have to put my day time meds in a place where I go every morning and see them, such as beside the computer. I will have to move them back here, or I’ll just keep forgetting and fucking myself over. And my daytime meds are the mood stabilizers, and the night time ones are mostly for depression. So yeah, a week without mood stabilizers will do this. Yesterday I was like, ULTRA mega bitch to my mom, and the worst part was that I knew it too and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t yell or scream at her, I just kept sassing her and not doing what she wanted me to do and being generally unhelpful. Jeez, I wanted to kick my own ass. I haven’t been hypomanic in a long time.

I think I need marijuana. Pot totally kicks ass for bipolar, unless you get something that’s laced. But it’s great, makes you feel happier when you’re depressed, makes you calmer when you’re getting manic. There are some people who are trying to push for medical marijuana to be made available to bipolar people, but there’s a lot of resistance towards giving a mind altering substance to the mentally ill. Never mind that all the prescription drugs we’re on are also highly mind altering, they have the stamp of 20th Century pharmaceutical approval, whereas marijuana has only been used medically for thousands of years.

I did Shrooms the other night. Some might think this is why I’m hypomanic, but I think it’s been starting for a few days. But what was really cool on Shrooms was that whenever I thought I was about to have a bad trip I’d say to myself “wait a minute, I’m on DRUGS! This isn’t real!” and then I would start giggling. I think that kind of mentality is also applicable to bipolar mood swings. I’m not cranky and messed up, it’s a byproduct of chemical malfunctions. The trick to surviving manic and depressive episodes is to try to view it as objectively as possible. That’s kinda hard, but it really does help. A diabetic with high blood sugar wouldn’t feel like a fuck up failure, so why should I?

God, I’m glad I quit that suck ass artist run centre job, I couldn’t stand being told I was a fuck up unreliable failure for having a bipolar episode and missing three and a half days of work. That and listening to some dude tell me racist shit about Native people and assuming because I’m a lesbian all I’m interested in is sex. Dude, I’m not completely about sex, I’m about the Revolution!!! Personally, I think artist run centres are the most dysfunctional work environments. So many of my friends have gotten fucked over and burnt out working in those places. I’m not sure why that is. Even call centres are healthier work environments, and that’s saying something!! Besides that, I was the first woman to ever have that position, AND the only Native employee, AND everyone who gets that job is hated by the Saskatoon video community. I think people also saw me as some kind of outside interloper, even though I grew up in Saskatoon. Either way, it was wreaking havoc on my mental health, and being shamed for my disability by my boss was some fucked up shit yo.

I have some stuff I want to post here in the next while, but not this post, cause it’s totally irrelevant.

I think I need a totally fun, silly, smart, kick ass girlfriend with a good sense of humour who won’t go all wangy when I have episodes. “Aaaaaah! My girlfriend is CRAZY!!! I’m dumping her ass right now, I don’t care if she’s in the hospital, she pisses me off!” Yeah, I definitely don’t need a sweetie like that.

You know, the strangest thing about stigma towards the mentally ill is that most people will experience a mental health crisis at some point in their life. It could be Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Depression, Anxiety, Agorophobia, Post Partum Depression, or Dementia. EVERYONE is at risk for that shit, and those are some pretty tricky issues to get through. So sometimes when people treat me like shit because I’m crazy, I just smile to myself, because one day they’ll step through the looking glass and be as fucking looney bird as me.

I want it all!

I’ve decided I want a Vespa. This Vespa. I still don’t have a license, and I know I’d have to get a motorcyclist license too, but damn it looks so fuckin’ SEXY!!! I tried to go win this exact model the other day but you had to have a special C95 letter saying you could have one of the 95 keys for the key off. Sad me. I will have to get Vespa wealthy by honest means.

I’m also cursing being in Saskatoon at the moment because I’m desperately seeking the self-titled album by HK119 ever since I heard “Friend for Dinner” on the One Little Indian podcast. PLUS come on, how can you not want to own a cd by a woman who looks like THIS:

But by far the SEXIEST fuckin’ thing I want is THIS:

It’s not just a PowerMate USB Volume Control, you can also assign it to work as your Jog Shuttle controller for video editing. Coming from an analog background, I have dearly missed Jog – Shuttle controllers. There’s just something so satisfying about being able to move images forward with a turn of the wrist. Mmm, Jog Shuttle. Lovely stuff that is. It’s only $44 bucks, so I can probably afford it.

Youtube and Me, Happy Times

Once I was standing on a snowy street corner giggling with my mom and her professor collegue about something, when this creepy guy walked past and started muttering about women laughing. “Wow,” said Mom’s friend, “We can just stand here and laugh and be subversive!”

I’ve been watching Youtube more and more. I’ve watched a few DIY clips along with things from TV and movies that have cracked me up. Check them out!! Here are my favs.

Peaches “Kick It” video with Iggy Pop, fighting zombies.

Margaret Cho and Bill Daniels talk about improving relations between Koreans and Blacks.

Margaret Cho talks about Gwen and her job.

Margaret Cho is the comedian on Oliva Cruises and her mom demands to know if she’s gay.

A fanvid mixing my fav show, Absolutely Fabulous, to Ultimate Showdown.

Dawn French takes the piss out of Bjork.

French and Saunders try to make a cup of tea admidst existential angst in a Bergman parody.

Sexual Predators in the Queer Community

There has been an online outing of a prominent FTM artist as a rapist, followed up by criminal charges and the “alleged” rapist, Kael T. Block, fleeing the US for France, quite possibly in a white ford Bronco. I only know about this issue based on things I have seen online, tipped off by someone on Friendster, of which Kael is a member. I’m not going to talk about what he did, because the survivors have issued their own statement which you can read here.

What I do want to talk about is the appalling way these women who have come forward have been treated by the queer community. They have been accused of libel. They have been told he is innocent until proven guilty. Lynee Breedlove has said that what should happen is a grassroots mediation process between both parties so that they can discuss boundaries and have a chance for apologies (not unlike the recent case of a rapist whose sentence was to write a letter of apology to the victim). I can’t think of anything more traumatizing to a rape survivor than being forced by her “loving feminist sisters” to spend time talking to her fucking perpetrator so that he can “heal.” To see so many in the online queer community supporting this perpetrator and alienating these women so much that they feel they have to remain anonymous to protect their own reputations is sickening.

What also sickens me is the opinion by some in the BDSM community, and Kael’s own defense, that he’s a top who has trouble negotiating safewords. Dude, SAFEWORDS ARE THE FIRST THING PERVERTS LEARN ABOUT! Otherwise we wouldn’t fucking do BDSM. And having a woman you’ve just met and don’t know yelling no no no no and pushing you off her while you’re sticking your dick in her is pretty fucking clear. As a member of the BDSM community, I know that some people are attracted to it for the wrong reasons. Abuse is possible in a BDSM relationship. For example, if my girlfriend slapped me and I said she could, that would be okay. If my girlfriend slapped me and I didn’t want it, like in a fight, it would be physical abuse, and her telling people “well she’s a masochist” doesn’t make it okay. I have been in a BDSM relationship that got physically and emotionally abusive, and even after I told friends about it, some of them still remained friends with her. That all being said, this survivor isn’t even into BDSM.

Which brings me to another issue, back from my queer youth days. My sweet gay friend was raped by a prominent member of the Saskatoon queer community, who had won Gay Man Of The Year the year previously. At the court hearing, most of the queer youth members were there to give support. NONE of the adults in the queer community came out. In many ways what is happening currently is similar here. No support to the rape victims, wanting to turn a blind eye, and being complicit in sexual assault through calling the survivors liars and trying to orchestrate a cover up.

Most sexual assaults are never reported, and this is a clear and very sad example of why. We wonder how we can stop rape, how we can encourage women to file charges, and then something like this happens and we tell the victim to shut up, to stop causing trouble. The mere fact that these women felt they had to describe his assaults in vivid detail to the general queer public in order to be believed is very sad.

It makes me wonder about another prominent FTM artist here in Canada who has sexually assaulted men and women. People still support him, and the people who are his victims don’t feel safe or supported enough to name what has happened. I personally won’t name him here because it’s not my experience to tell, but if anyone does come forward I will support them. As a community we have historically not supported rape survivors, we have supported rapists.

When I first went to Vancouver, I met a woman in a gay bar with a black and blue face, she told a sad story about how she had finally left her lover and was trying to find a safe place again. Her lover was someone at the Centre, a gay and lesbian drop in. Where could she go? Who would believe her?

Needles, metal, cute girl, oh my!

I’d been planning for the last month and a half to get my lobes pierced when my artist fees came in. Mom started calling my late artist fees “Magic beans.” “You’re magic beans still aren’t here,” for about two weeks. Then after we came back from holidays, my Magic Beans arrived!!! And I . . . what did I do with them? I bought expensive cigarettes. I bought moderately priced cigarettes. I bought beer. I bought drugs. But I wanted something that would actually, you know, hang around for a while. So today I finally screwed up my courage and got my ears pierced, for the third time.

It might seem funny to all those who know my masochistic history to find out that getting pierced makes me nervous, especially since I’m bipolar and blood tests are a regular part of my life, and since I’ve done play piercing, and since I’ve taken a shot of testosterone right into my ass muscle (those needles are fuckin’ LONG!), and since I’ve had arm bands tattooed on both arms, one of the most PAINFUL tattoos to get. But yes, I still get nervous. In fact when I was paying for it my hand shook.

But the lady was really nice, and calming, and fast! She didn’t mess around with ylang ylang or counting down, she just had me take a deep breath and let it out when the needles went through. And even though I was nervous about having needles go through what is essentially scar tissue, it wasn’t too painful. It definitely didn’t hurt more than when I got my labia done. In fact, I think my body appreciated it a lot more than when I got my lobes gunned, it kind of felt good.

I also got to find out the price for Industrial piercings, which I want to get next. After that I’m going to get my hood redone, and then I think I am going to do a nipple.

I don’t have my labia piercing anymore. I don’t remember why I took it out, I just didn’t feel like having it anymore. Have you ever seen a photo of a woman with TONS of labia piercings? It starts looking like a shoe. Besides, it doesn’t add as much sensation as a hood piercing, although I hear for straight/bi dudes, a girl with labia piercings is hot hot hot in bed.

I hear tongue piercings are great for sex too, but I don’t like the idea of getting noodles stuck around it. And I dunno, at this point in my life I eat more noodles than have sex.

I too am Gwenyth Paltrow!

Props go to the steadfast activists against the exclusion of transwomen at the Michigan Women’s Music Festival. Transwomen are now allowed to attend, although the organizer will still be a bitch to them. Check it out at www.camp-trans.org

Interesting news, when Condoleeza Rice was at Stanford, she was a champion to some transpeople there.

I just finished reading S/He by Minnie Bruce Pratt, which was so lovely in it’s description of life as a butch femme couple, gender, homo/transphobia, etc. I found out the most intriguing, saddening thing in it about the Montreal Massacre. When Lepine seperated the men and the women, there was one butch woman who was assumed by him to be a man and sent over to stand with the men while she watched all the women get gunned down. Obviously it’s left her with a LOT of survivor issues. And it also made me wonder, why wasn’t this mentioned in the press? The entire thing was about gender, about men and women, but evidently there was no room to talk about someone who had survived because they were genderqueer. Not only that, but the fear she must have gone through, if he’d figured out she was female, she might have been singled out for even worse treatment (I shudder to think how it could GET worse) simply because he would assume she was trying to be a man, yet another feminist trying to make men powerless by usurping them.

I think I would like to make some work about Femme-Butch couples. I find the whole idea of butch and femme so erotic, and I think if there were no men, there would still be masculine women. Plus I think there are strange pockets of butchphobia in the community, even femmephobia. And then I think about how intense and powerful all my butch-femme relationships have been. There is something very complimentary about those roles working together.

Okay, this made me crack up and will keep me going for the rest of the day. I highly recommend blackademic.com for good blog reading.

Thank God For the Library

Ever since my Harry Potter marathon reading week, I’ve been sticking my nose in books more and more lately, especially since every couple of saturdays I go with my Mum and Gramma to the library.

This time Gramma got left behind. I forgot that I left the phone downstairs until three this afternoon, and by then I think she had pottered off to the library without us. Mum is currently returning all her messages and slagging me to everyone she talks to.

On my holiday I read a book about the evolution of serial killers throughout history; Colonize This, a collection of essays by feminist women of colour; Sex Changes : The Politics of Transgenderism (dude, was that the title?) by Patrick Califia; My Dangerous Desires by Amber Hollibaugh; Romanitas, a book about if the Roman Empire was still a huge superpower; The Hours by Michael Cunningham, and After Dachau, which was really scary because it’s about if the Nazi’s won and destroyed everyone who wasn’t Aryan.

Now I’m about to read S/He by Minnie Bruce Pratt, Fast Food Nation, My Parents Were Holocaust Survivors, Why Bad Things Happen To Good People, Mental Health for Urban Indians, Things My Girlfriend And I Have Argued About, and Ishmael. I’m also re-reading Stones From The River because it’s one of my all time favorite books, but it’s giving me some vaguely Nazi-esque dreams. Just the other night I dreamt I was a blonde blue eyed woman running from the SS thinking “But I’m a German Aryan citizen!” and I had to go into hiding.

I got addicted to Djarum Black clove ciggys on my trip, part of the appeal was that I had contracted what we thought was a cold but evidently was the flu, so I was coughing with regular cigs but not cloves.

Here is me at Arches with a clove (I hope Megan doesn’t mind me linking this).

Note the rotund tummy and apparent disinterest in anything beyond The Clove.

I found them here in town, but they are THREE times the price in the States.

I also found out that since I got the flu, it fuct up my eustacean tube and made my middle ear fill up with fluid, which meant I was terribly deaf in one ear and made meeting the mumbly husband of a high school friend all the more difficult to interpret. So now I have to hold my breath, plug my nose, and bear down like I’m going to poop. The indignity.

Which brings me to an old silly story about me, a cute lab technician, and the embarrassing medical issue.

I hadn’t found a decent doctor in Vancouver for a couple of years, when something went awry with my nether regions. I had pinworms for the first time in my life. So I went to a Medi Clinic and they sent me away telling me to take Combatrin and it would clear up. So I did, and I still had a dreadfully uncomfortable feeling. So I went to a real clinic and they wanted a fecal sample. It’s a really gross process to collect because you basically saran wrap your toilet and take a dump on it and then spoon it up.

But at the lab, there was the cutest girl. And all I had to offer her was my crap.

The clinic called me after the tests came through to tell me I had Salmonella, and judging by the tests I had had it for a fairly long time. This began a medication regime and weekly poo trips to the lab, same cute girl, same old poop in a cup. I did once go on a date with a cashier I picked up at Safeway, but somehow it seemed unseemly to flirt with someone I kept giving shit to.