B is for Bitterness

Have you ever felt the need to be (sorry for the term) “bitchy?” It’s just like you do not want to be one but there are just some instances when you accidentally become one without you even noticing it until it’s kind of over and you have pondered about what had happened. I felt like that happened to me last night. Let me share you the story:

I was at my friend’s house for our little get together. We were drinking and all and I even brought my girlfriend along so that I could introduce her to my friends. I knew she got drunk ‘cos she was kind of irritating to talk with and she had her dunken mood swings AGAIN. When we lied down to finally take a rest, she kissed my lips and then whispered: “Pareho kayo ng lasa ni Angel” (You taste like Angel). Well, what she must have meant was Angel and I kissed the same.

Here’s a brief introduction: Angel was my girlfriend’s (Laine) ex before me. She started courting me and then out of nowhere this Angel girl came and well, they became a couple leaving me hanging and waiting for her. She still loves me at that time and the reason why they became a couple was because it was just pushed by her friends. It came to the point that she loved Angel more than she loved me and dumped me eventually. After a few days they broke up and we got back together again and voila! We’re 6 months now and well, we’re super in love with each other. Mind you, Laine and Angel didn’t even last a month.

Angel and I haven’t even seen each other in person nor talked online or whatever; but I hate her. I hate her so much. Whenever I would see her picture at my girlfriend’s Facebook friends list I can’t help but feel like I wanna grab a knife and stab her to death. I was hurt. Laine knows I hate Angel among all of her ex’s because well, they hurt me plus whenever Laine would need me to be like super sweet and to her and prove her how much I love her or when she’s just plain drunk and having those damn mood swings, she would always use Angel’s name and she knows it pisses me off. Last night I just found myself saying in front of Laine’s face: “Sana mamatay na si Angel. Napaka pokpok niya. Ayoko sa kanya. Sana mamatay na  siya” (I hope Angel dies. She’s such a slut. I hate her. I hope she really dies.) I honestly can’t believe I said those words. I hated myself for being bitter, I hated myself for hating her because Laine told me and I can feel it that she’s nice but I just can’t help my emotions. I can’t but be mean about her. I guess it’s just because I got hurt and maybe I still can’t forgive. I got Laine, I am happy so I should really stop hating her.

To that girl, sorry. I’ll try to not hate you. Trust me, I did try but I can’t; but I still would keep trying.

To all, I know you sometimes feel this kind of shitty and bitchy feeling inside. Admit it or not, we’re bitter, oh wait, Bitter with a capital B. Hating other people won’t make us better it would just make us mean (look who’s talking, haha). Seriously though, we’ve had our fair shares of bitchiness (addressing girls) so just admit that fact and let’s try to stop hating for awhile.

*Share your own bitchiness. Write down a comment and tell me all about it.

This is my 1st WORDPRESS blog post. Spread the CANDYCOATEDTHOUGHTS!

[Via http://dulcelolita.wordpress.com]

A definitive test for transsexualism

The single defining characteristic of transsexual syndrome is the complete and total rejection of the of one’s reproductive sex. Specifically, the physical “markers” caused by male- or female-typical hormone milieus as a person matures cause a feeling of horror and revulsion. The most important “marker” of course being the genitalia. This is why there can be no such thing as a “non op” transsexual. If a person does not experience the symptom of having a problematic physical condition, i.e. rejecting the “markers” on their body, then it is not transsexualism. This is also why phrases like “woman trapped in a man’s body” do not really make sense to the person suffering from transsexualism: It is my body, I am a woman… things are just messed up and need to be fixed. Phrases designed for gay men 100 years ago should be cast aside.

There has been great difficulty in isolating this syndrome in the brain up until recently. There have been some interesting differences found in the hypothalamus, which point to biological causation. There have also been some recent in vivo studies done with the emerging fMRI technology that show the actual operation of the brain as being “cross sexed” with respect to reproductive sex. But the answer remains elusive because we continue to remain mired in the gender paradigm.

The problem is that even though these scientists are approaching the issue from a neurological perspective, they overlay social concepts of “gender” onto the results and indeed even predicate some of the work on it. In certain cases, they look for “gender markers” in the brain and seek out behavioral roots in white and gray matter. While this may be fascinating in a general sense to understand the differences between men and women, it does little to help a diagnosis of transsexualism.

There is so much overlap in many of the aspects of the brain between the (reproductive) sexes and without a more laser-like focus on specifics it is unlikely we will see anything like a “man brain” or “woman brain” model developed for quite some time. Without looking at what makes the brains truly dichotomous, and instead focusing on broad cognitive factors that exhibit themselves as behavior, we are stuck at the level of regarding everything on a sliding scale. This of course feeds into the less-than-helpful gender paradigm.

The fMRI technology can be put to more interesting uses in this area. Recently, a researcher hypothesized that the rejection of the primary “sex marker”, the penis, by “MtF transsexuals” was due to its not having a representation in the brain. Post operatively transsexual women do not experience “phantom limb” after correction. This is a common characteristic of all those who experience “true”, or “classic” transsexualism. The findings indicate quite simply that the penis is not represented in the brain as it is in males. This of course could lead to all sorts of problems such as the perception of deformity, etc. This is transsexualism in a nutshell.

Using this as the fundamental diagnostic criterion a series of studies could be done to model the rest of the “transsexual brain” to look for other commonalities and finally unlock the truth behind transsexual syndrome. A more comprehensive model of the brain would follow, exposing areas that are closer to absolute in their dimorphism and leaving aside those with too much overlap to be of use. This could be carried out in conjunction with post-mortem studies cross referencing to relate the function being observed to physical structures being cataloged in a laboratory setting.

In the meantime, knowledge of this test could be used to aid diagnosis and fast track those who need surgery. Having a physiological test for a (now) physiological problem would have a greatly beneficial effect on efforts to have transsexualism removed from the mental disorder category. We completely remove the identity paradigm from our situation. No more hack sexologists trying to rule us. Medical practitioners could use this one-to-one relationship of test-to-surgical-need to change the nature of how transsexualism is treated by insurance companies, reinforcing the stance that the AMA recently took. In doing this, they open the pathway for broad reimbursement of treatment as we now have a physical test for a physical malady. This is a strong case for insurance coverage.

In the process of placing it squarely in the medical realm, we also remove transsexualism completely from the gay world. Everyone will finally be able to see that this is not a “gender” or sexual orientation issue, because being gay does not require any treatment. The association of the natural sexual orientation of people with physiological pathology has been entirely harmful to the equal rights movement for lesbian women and gay men. As a further result, it would stop the co-option of Intersex by the remains of the discredited gay lobby, as the wall of separation comes crashing down and it becomes politically impossible to reach through TS to get to IS. This should help spur the creation of a new rights movement to replace the GLBT with something that works. Achieving this separate state stands to benefit everybody involved in the politics here.

Those who do show this “representation of the penis” in the brain when tested could still access “gender change” through existing GID protocols, up to and including surgery if indicated by psychiatrists and psychologists. Or as more and more “classic transsexual” people have been forced to do, via “elective” surgery overseas.

It is time that those of us who were born to difference once again become the focus of the treatment designed to help us. Catering to the needs of non-transsexual people has wreaked havoc on our already-poor public image and has decimated the system put in place to help us. We have done enough tearing down over the years. Now it’s time to start building again.

[Via http://ariablue.wordpress.com]

Lesbian Survival Tips 101

     With two full decades under my belt as an “out” lesbian, I have learned how to survive in the topsy-turvy lesbian lifestyle. Here are a few tips from my soapbox, to help you rise above the drama. You may already be aware of many of these guidelines, or you may want to try some of these strategies to see for yourself. Whatever. It’s your life.

Lesbian Survival Tips to Live By:

1. Nurture your friendships as much as your primary romantic relationship. Good friends are constants in your life, while partners often come and go, until you figure out what you’re doing.

2. Buy some nice clothes and stop wearing those Dockers and Oxford, button-down shirts every single day. Enough already. You CAN get too much of a good thing. I understand the appeal of khakis as much as the next lesbo. You’ll find when you take some pride in your appearance and buy something fashionable and new, women will notice your added confidence as you strut your stuff, and find you more attractive.

3. Invest in a nice hairstyle. It’s money well spent. Just say no to mullets. (See reason listed above.)

4. Exercise and keep in shape. It will improve your sex life, which will enhance your marriage/dating life, which will spill over into all parts of your world, and ultimately make you a happier person.

5. When in doubt, give her another chance. Then, when you need for her to be understanding about your screw ups, she’ll give you the benefit of the doubt too.

6. As tempting as it is when you’re lonely and single, try not to go overboard on the number of pets you adopt or rescue, keeping in mind that some day you will wind up blending your menagerie with another lesbian’s. In most of metro Atlanta, there are limits on the number of pets you can legally own. I know what you’re thinking….they have to catch me first.

7. Be fearless when dating and get out there and try it all. You never know where your next girlfriend will be hanging out. But, you can be sure that you will better your odds, if you mix and mingle as much as possible. Sign up for the LesbianWinkMatchmaker .com dating site. Go to the dancing lessons on the calendar. Attend the  Fourth Tuesday events.  Take a yoga class to calm your nerves. Join a sports team. Sign up for a book club.

8. Always strive to learn something new. By committing to a life of ongoing learning, you will always have something to talk about, and keep those brain cells stimulated and youthful.

9. Never drive drunk. It’s tempting, but don’t do it! It can ruin your life and someone else’s.

10. Stay away from the “Woe is Me” lesbian crowd. You can always recognize them. They are the ones frowning and complaining about how they’ve been wronged, looking backward instead of forward. BORING!

11. As an adult, you get to make your own family out of friends. If your biological family is not supportive of your lifestyle choices, detach with compassion. Keep the door open out of love, allowing them to play a bigger role in your life, only after they evolve and become more supportive of who you are. Lead by example, with your compassion for them. Show them, don’t tell them, that they have to earn the right to your precious time.

12. Never give up your dreams or your friends, even after you find your soul mate and settle into wedded bliss.

[Via http://lesbianwink.wordpress.com]

PHOEBE'S VAGINA

Its true, I confess. I am haunted by graffiti on a toilet stall wall.

At the Green Mill Bar. Home turf to Patricia Barber. That elusive chanteuse. I’m in love with her.

I make pilgrimages to hear her play. Amsterdam. Malibu. Manhattan. Now Chicago.

She sits behind the piano. Clears her throat at the microphone. Tests the levels.

Gets up, satisfied, walks behind the bar. Pours herself a drink.

Courvosier. In a snifter. Warms it in her hands. Cups it like a breast between her hands.

She’s out. Doesn’t change the lyrics to fit her gender. That, my dear, takes stones.

Maybe she’s the author of the graffiti on the wall of the stall in the ladies’ room at the Green Mill. She writes. Her songs are poetry. Maybe it was she who wrote:

PHOEBE HAS THE MOST

PLEASURABLE VAGINA THIS SIDE OF SATURN

EXCEPT 4 YOUR MOM.

Sometimes late at night I lay in bed, sleepless, wondering about Phoebe and her spectacular vagina. I dissect the poem line after line. “This side of Saturn?” Why Saturn? Why not Venus or Neptune? Or Mars?

And then there’s that last part. “Except 4 your mom”? Why YOUR mom? Why not MINE?

And how does she (assuming the author is a she), how does she know? The MOST pleasurable? That’s an awful lot of territory, my dear, my love, my motherfucker.

PHOEBE, huh? Fuck her. What does she know? I’m a connoisseur of toilet poetry. The good stuff makes me hot.

Touch me and then spread me open, check out my perfect vagina. It is my perfect vagina the best one and I should know, right? Goddamit? Right? Except 4 your mom? YOUR mom?

I sat there, awhile and thought about Phoebe. The smell of freshly swabbed floors wafted out of the vent below the bathroom window. Sweet. Maybe Pine-sol. The one that mimicked a forest. You’d be hard-pressed to distinguish the difference. Yeah, right.

And me? I’m dreaming…cutting through the alley, running back down to the Green Mill. Wear a coat. Its cold. Weary cold. The kind that makes you move to the West Coast and its June for chrissakes.

I’ll drink a double Courvosier tonight with Patricia Barber at the Green Mill. She’ll tell me all her friends call her Patty. We could do one of those go to the ladies’ room together thingies…pee side by side. Flush ensemble. Wash our hands with the watered down soap in the pump on the wall, dry them on rough, recycled paper towels. I want to touch her, blot the water from her magic fingers. Kiss her calloused palms. My muse. My heroine, perhaps a Phoebe of my very own.

I scat a fast rationalization. We peed together. I touched her hand. We could have a moment of conversation, some little gleam of recognition – artiste to artiste. I could come out. Make my love known. Caution be damned, goddamit.

“I celebrated when you won the Guggenheim,” I whisper. “Me, too,” my Patty says. She looks lovely up close, sans the spotlight. Softer. More androgynous. I imagine her in drag. Fedora, wing tips, three piece suit, standing up in the stall, pencil in hand, waiting for genius to strike.

-Alexis Rhone Fancher

© Copyright 2010

All Rights Reserved

[Via http://anniew3000.wordpress.com]

Cock

[Via http://virgin1991.wordpress.com]

The Goldilocks method

BRG emailed.  So I’m not over it/her/wtfuckery.  Meeting up (date?) on Tuesday.  MEH!/YAY!  Next week is going to be awesome.  Haircut on Wednesday!  I love haircuts.  And my stylist is adorable.

Quick review of Phase I in Eastern Market DC: smaller than expected.  Good vibe, more diverse than I expected (both age and race wise).  All the cute girls there with their girlfriends.  Good for them.  One of the easiest places to go alone.  Very toned down meet market vibe.  Had a lot of fun, could have had more fun, but for fuck’s sake I’ve been out for like 3 weeks.  Was accused of posing, which I found kinda cute/amusing.   I’m not posing drunk heavy girl, I’m trying to figure out if SHE’s here with her girl of just out with the girls.

Drink prices very reasonable.  Bar tenders are chill and efficient. The L Word plays on the scattered flat screen TVs.

Fat girls ;-/ and black girls <3 me.  I do love dancing with black girls.  Not as much as I love dancing with: slim, brunette pixie cut girls with the heart rending cute nose/haircut/shoes/style combo.  But those girls are bruuutal.  and they travel in packs, which =s hard to decode and results in some variant of the following 1) saying fuck it, 2) “So I’ve spent like half my night trying to figure out if I’m going to piss anyone off if I ask you to dance.”  -3) “Oh her, your girlfriend.  She might mind, yes.”  It hurts so good.

Problem/solution: If I was into getting routinely SHITFACED and waking up in new bed after new bed until I found the perfect bed (Goldilocks) this would be a different kind of blog.  But I actually want to meet, know, be with someone.  What a dyke   Also, I have to drive back and forth from the burbs…it’s like self control but it’s actually DUI fear.

Been playing the shit out of the guitar these last few months.  Kinda want to start up/join some kind of queer core/riot grrrl band.  Pretty sure that post on Craigslist would generate a lot of bullshyte replies.  I play a lot of Hunter Valentine (who will be in DC next month!) type of licks (read blues/rock/moderned up for punkery), although I can’t get into her/their vocals.  Currently madly in love with the chick from The Gossip’s voxs.  In other music project news I’m playing around with the technologies to do a multimedia music project, maybe at the Fridge.  Have a great concept…I just have to do the work.

[Via http://untilthewheelsfalloff.wordpress.com]

Femme To You

Many have tried and failed to define ‘femme.’ For you heteros, a femme is generally a lesbian who identifies as feminine, as opposed to masculine, butch or androgynous. It is easier to define a femme by what she isn’t than by what she is. Femme is like pornography; you know it when you see it.

Femme is indefinable, ineffable and irresistible — a waft of perfume, and not the cheap kind. Femme is also tough, willing to sacrifice her own safety to protect her butch lover. Mostly, femme is invisible. A friend who ought to know better says that femmes are indistinguishable from straight women.

Femme is to straight as sushi is to fish sticks. Femme is femininity condensed, distilled into an essence. Society at large is immune to the femme essence because they have no training to detect it. Nor is anyone encouraged to recognize the power of femininity. At most, Joe Schmo points to Marilyn Monroe as having femme qualities.

Straight femmes do exist, Monroe being among the most famous. Audrey Hepburn springs to mind as being femme. To me, Madonna is femme but that may open a can of worms. Femme implies not just femininity, but strength, even power. The femme understands that her femininity is a source of power and strength, and is willing to use it on behalf of herself and those she cares for.

Femmes enjoy greater femininity as a gift of the Gods. It is not for lack of effort that most women are not highly feminine. The reality is that most dykes and straight women do not care about femininity, unless like celebrities, their livelihood depends on it. Most women are not particularly feminine; femmes are, and they know it.

Femme can be intoxicating, or obnoxious in the hands of a power-hungry diva. Many butch women seek out femmes for the gentle fierceness that a femme exudes. Femmes are prized by those who value or even worship femininity. High femininity is a treasure that cannot be faked.

If you are femme, you know it. Friends comment to you, and men give you looks when you couldn’t care less about attracting them. It’s not about dressing girly or wearing a tiara. I know femmes who wear jeans and boots, and transgendered femmes. You don’t have to look like a Hollywood star; most of them are not femme.

Femme is a gift, an extra dose of hormones or that special something that makes a femme turn heads whenever she enters a room. Femme is real, and femmes are among us. See if you can spot a femme in the crowd, on the train, inside Nordstrom Rack. That’s her in the lingerie department, buying a lace teddy for her butch. Or for her hot, independent femme self.

Content is Copyright to the Author; All Rights Reserved.

[Via http://loosefemme.wordpress.com]

Civil Unions Ahoy!

Time for a little history lesson. Massachusetts  get a lot of press for being the first state to have same-sex marriage but actually that’s not entirely true. Hawai’i legalized it first… way back in 1993. Unfortunately, there was a constitutional amendment passed 6 years later that banned it. However, now it seems that that Hawai’i is getting back on the marriage equality train as their state senate has overwhelmingly passed a civil unions bill, 18 to 7:

The state Senate today passed a civil-unions bill, sending a strong message to the state House and Gov. Linda Lingle with a veto-proof majority vote.

The vote was 18 to 7. The Senate rejected an amendment to change the effective date of the bill, which is Jan. 1, 2010.

The bill would allow same-sex and heterosexual couples to enter into civil unions and receive the same rights, benefits and responsibilities as marriage under state law.

The state House passed a civil-unions bill last session that would only apply to same-sex couples. House leaders have said they would wait and see what the Senate vote was before deciding whether to move forward on the Senate version of the bill.

An overflow crowd filled the Senate gallery for the debate, with many supporters of the bill wearing rainbow colored lei and many opponents dressed in white T-shirts.

White T-shirts…. Really? That’s the best you guys can come up with? I know we queers can be awfully bright and flamboyant sometimes but I really don’t think that the right counter to that is to be drab and boring. Or maybe they just can’t help themselves… Ah well.

[Via http://queerbakersfield.com]

The Man Who Won't Be Governor.

There’s an interview with Gavin Newsom in the New York Times today. The Mayor of San Francisco, and now defunct Gubernatorial candidate, seems a little bummed that things didn’t work out in his favor. However, the upside of being a lame duck politician is you get to say pretty much whatever you want, like this snippet about Obama’s record on LGBT issues:

I asked whether President Obama, who said at a Martin Luther King Jr. commemoration that the civil rights movement was partly about “changing people’s hearts and minds and breaking out of old customs and old habits,” had disappointed him given that the president is a triumph of civil rights himself.

“Oh, I can’t get in trouble here,” Newsom said with a playful wince. “I want him to succeed. But I am very upset by what he’s not done in terms of rights of gays and lesbians. I understand it tactically in a campaign, but at this point I don’t know. There is some belief that he actually doesn’t believe in same-sex marriage. But it’s fundamentally inexcusable for a member of the Democratic Party to stand on the principle that separate is now equal, but only on the basis of sexual orientation. We’ve always fought for the rights of minorities and against the whims of majorities.”

[Via http://queermerced.com]

Breakthrough Hangovah

It’s Tuesday so we must be talking about therapy. Hah. Yesterday was one of those rare Breakthrough Sessions. We tend to do this, we fight ghosts inside ourself for months then everything clicks in a raptor-like blaze of glory.

We got mad. We got furious. We got so enraged that we have temporarily lost our voice. Poor T could not believe it.

You see, we shut down and rip ourself apart, that is what we do with the rage. The Four Furies create voices and havoc and disgusting remembered smells. But it’s all shadow-boxing. We see the blood and the gore inside us but from the world we hide it all. T knows of this bien sur because she wrangles with them on a regular basis.

Yesterday however we got MAD. A huge volcanic eruption. Black and blue from hitting ourself on the things as we screamed from inside a tight little ball.

And for the first time since the nightmare of our life began happening to us in 1962, we got mad at him. At the man who did it to us. Who passed us around who….well, best leave the specifics alone.

We got mad at uncle Norman. We got mad at her mother who said “nobody in my family would do such a thing” and kept dropping her off at his place, knowing what he was up to. Bitch. We got mad at all the aunts and uncles who refused to take us in.

We go mad. Not at her. Mad at the perps and their allies.

Our poor T. She just sat there, saying well that’s right he did unspeakable things to you. Your mother said what (furious writing)? No, there is no justice in the world for you because the motherfucker’s dead. Yes, it sucks that in the end you were just born to the wrong family. Yes the randomness of that is appalling. Yes it was somebody else and not you. No, nobody had the right to do any of this shite to you. No you parents should not have left you alone for weeks at a time when you were ten years old. Yes it was your uncle Norman. Yes it sucks that you needed and you trusted and you loved those people and they treated you the way they did. Yes, yes, yes. No you are not bad. No there isn’t anything inherently in you and yes it was other people. Yes he was a motherfucker to you. No he did not have the right to do to you the things that he did….

Once we tired ourself out T said something very interesting. She said you should try to tear a phone book in two. She said this is the hard part, sitting with these feelings. The Furies went off of course but somebody in here made a sudden connection. That IS what it’s all about. It’s about walking thru overwhelming pain and doing whatcha gotta do to be safe while the pieces get put back together. Oh, that is what she means. Don’t rip yourself apart. Do safer things, be decent to yourself because you have been thru Hell and you all have to heal.

Oh.

We feel like shit today. We are frustrated and depressed and suicidal ideation is running amok. We’re pissed atthe wifey pissed at our life and pissed at the big black cat for shedding all over our lap. We’re pissed at the car whose ball joints just went out. Pissed, pissed, pissed. Sad sad sad. And about as drained as we can remember.

We asked T what now? She said well you will all come here and we will continue to work on getting you healed. She gets how much we hurt which is unbelievable. But she has faith that we can get thru it. Which is more than we have in ourselves.

We don’t know how long this hangovah is going to last but it best not be for long. It is feeling dangerous. Of course, everything’s dangerous anyway, right? Right?

Sweet baby Jesus this sucks.

[Via http://splinteredones.wordpress.com]

Trip to the Outhouse's Top Gay People of the Biennium: Matthew, Adam, and Annise

A lot of readers who hit my blog never even take a chance at videos that I’ve got in the Radical Vid Box.  Hey, most of the videos I’ve got in there are music vids; it just happens that the most-viewed are short gay films.  If you happen by my blog, get to know my music too.  You might be surprised.

I know it’s not much of a segue, but I have been wanting to put up a Trip To The Outhouse Top Three Gay People of . . . 2009? 2010? . . . hmm?  No, I guess since I started this blog, which will soon to be about two years ago.  That’s it . . . of the Biennium!

The three people that I put in this category are Matthew Mitcham, the Australian Olympic diver who who a gold medal in the 2008 in Beijing, Adam Lambert, the runner-up in last season’s American Idol, and Annise Parker, Houston’s own new mayor.

I admire all three of them for being successes in their own endeavors and not being afraid to live their lives openly as gay people (in the same way that straight people live their straight lives openly).  Mitcham’s boyfriend, Lachlan Fletcher, was poolside during the Australian’s now famous dive and their story has been covered far and wide.  (Here’s a good one I haven’t linked to before.)   How far Adam Lambert goes is still to be seen, but he’s a good performer, and he doesn’t back down from being who he is.  The video I’ve posted is the best thing I’ve heard from him so far.  As for Annise Parker, the effects of her election to mayor go much further than just our city.

What I really like about all these people is their success counters all the what is said by all the deniers and haters out there who want to put gay people down and somehow give the idea that because of our sexuality, gay people are losers.  But people like Matthew, Adam, and Annise show just how hollow that thinking is and give positive role models to all those young gay kids who desperately need them.

(There are previous posts about all three of these great people on the blog.  Sorry, it’s late and time for bed; let your fingers do the walking.)

[Via http://triptotheouthouse.wordpress.com]

The door shakes under his angered fist, “Let me in”.

Scrambling I slam my laptop closed and scan the room to hide anything incriminating and then rush to the door. It creaks open as I attempt to open it only enough so that we can talk.

“Get out here, right now.”

My legs weaken beneath me at the sound of his voice and I attempt to move as fast as possible.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!?” His eyes sparkle in anger. “Get down. I said get down” The wall behind me slides against my back but my legs do not allow me to sit down. I stay there, cowered up against the wall. More yelling. More accusing. “If you don’t get down on the floor right now i’ll make you do it myself” his hand rushes out towards my face and the bottle in his hand sends a cold shiver down my spine as it makes contact with my face. My knees finally listen to my mind and I fall to the floor.

“Follow me, bitch” He saunters back into my room as I crawl timidly behind him. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he bellows out “you think you can just pick and choose what you tell me? You’ve always thought you were one step ahead of me, didn’t you? You’re not and you never will be.”

My stomach churns as defiance builds up. Past arguments flash through my mind.

No more.

NO MORE.

I grab the invitation and slam it in front of him. His eyes slowly lift back up to my face, now bloodshot in anger.

“start packing” he yells out.

“No.” An attempt at being confident but filled with fear. I stand up wondering how long it will take him to beat me back down to the floor. I rush down the stairs and clasp my phone, knowing it is my only hope of making it out.

Get help. Quick, he’s coming. I scramble to unlock the front door *click*. The fresh air hits me and the houses in front of blur in my mind as I try to figure out who is my safest option. The cold and damp cement hits my feet as I dart to the *****’s house. *ding dong* I ring the bell.

Oh no, he’s going to find me. Quick. Please, just open the door quickly I silently beg while ducking behind a plant the size of a toddler. The door opens in unison with our home’s door. I glance up and know he has made the connection. Rushing inside I scream at her to lock the door while hearing him “yell out my name and tell me that I will never get away”

“my dad, my dad…Mrs. *****, he’s going to hurt me. help me”

*beep beep beep*

The tears stream down my face as I groggily roll over.

She looks at me, slowly taking in what I have told her.

*beep beep beep*

I roll over again, this time reaching my hand up to my face to be moistened  by the tears.

*beep beep beep*

“honey, are you getting up?” My mums voice startles me awake.

My head struggles to grasp onto reality as the dream whizzes through my mind.

where is he? what just happened?

My head begins to pound as I attempt to sort through what just happened because sometimes, dreams feel a little too close to reality.

[Via http://silencednolonger.wordpress.com]

උඩු සුළගට හමු වෙන්නට පෙර අපි

බොහේ අදහස් සිතේ එලියට එන්නට වෙර අදින විට මම මගේ සිතටම කුහල වෙලා .කොහේ දි හෝ අසා ඇති නැතහෙත් කියවා ඇති සිතුවිල්ල මගේ හදවතට එනවා ඒ අපි සියලු දෙනම තුල විටෙක මනුෂ්‍යයෙක්,  රස්තියදුකාරයෙක් ,පෙමිවතියක් ,පියෙක්, දුවක් ,මිතුරෙක්, පිස්සෙක්  අදි මෙ කි සහ නොකි හැම චරිතයක්ම අඩු වැඩ් වශයෙන් ජිවත් වෙනවා ඇත ඒ අපි මෙ චරිත අතුරින් ලෝකයට පෙන්වන් කැමති චරිත කියද? ඒ චරිත අපි තොරගන්නේ අපි ගැන ම අධිතක්සේරැවකින් යුතුව විග්‍රහකර බලලා එය අසාධරණ නැහැ මම කියන අකුරැ දෙක මුල් කරගෙන අපි ගන්න තිරණ අදිපක්ෂග්‍රාහි අධි ඇස්තමෙන්තුවක් මොකද අපේ ජිවිත වලට වටිනාකම කියන්න බැහැ

බොල් බිජ වගේ උඩු සුළගට ගසාගෙන යන්න අපිටබැහැ අපි මුල් අදින්න ඔනි එ මුල් මේ මිහිතලය මත පය ගසාගෙන ඉන්න පොලවෙ ශක්තිය රැදෙන්න ඔනි කොහේ හරි අපිට ලොවක් තිබෙන්නට පුළුවන් .ඒ යථාර්තය එය නොමෙයි

අපි ජිවත්වන ලෝකය අපට සුවපහසු අපට තියෙන්න වඔනි බොල් බිජයකට බැහැ ගසක් වෙන්න .ඔත් පුංචි නුග ඵලය මුල් විහිදලා පොලොවෙ පදිංචි වෙන්න දරපු උත්සහය දන්නේ ඒ වෙහෙස වු සිත් විතරමයි. මහ වැස්සට නැමිලා හැඩ හිරැ කිරණට පිචිචිලා ඔය විශාල වෘක්ෂයක් වෙනවා .එය සැමගේ වෙහෙස නිවන නවාතැනක් එය පුදුමයක් නමි නොවෙ මහ විශාල අරගලයක ප්‍රථිපලයක්

මිතුර අපි බොල් බිජ නොවි අප සතුව තිබෙනවා මහ වනස්පතිදකු විමෙ හැකියාව මලක් වුවත් තවත් මල් පුබුදුවන්නට .ඉතින් අපිට මට ඔබට ඇයි සරැ බිජයක් වන්නට උඩු සුලගට ගසාගෙන ගිහින් අරමුණක් මාවතක් නැති ඉමක රැදෙන්නට මත්තේන් අපි මුල් අදිමු අපිට උරැම සරැ කෙතක්

[Via http://wadugebmv.wordpress.com]

How to Recognize a High-Maintenance Lesbian and What do Do with One

     I bet you read the title of this blog and probably asked yourself, why you would bother trying to love a high-maintenance woman. I know I have had reservations in the past about getting involved with certain women, once I realized how difficult they could be at times. In every case, I got involved, and oddly enough, it was almost always worth it. Most high-maintenance women are sensitive creatures, keenly aware of what they bring to the table and who is looking for what they offer. They are the quintessential marketeer.

     As unromantic as the last sentence sounds, high-maintenance women are some of the most romantic women I’ve met. I like strong women, even when, at times, I temporarily despise them for all they expect and demand. Then I simply realize that I have two choices always, and I make my peace with her demands. I can give in to her constant need for attention, or I can leave. Now that’s pretty simple. I almost always give in, willing to do what it takes to make her happy. The good news is that I understand and embrace the fact  that when she’s happy, I’m happy.

     I know how this makes me sound. No, I am not, nor have I ever been a lapdog. I have a lapdog named Buttercup, and we’re different in many ways. For one, I weigh out the pros and cons of my life with said high-maintenence woman before deciding to engage her. I have wlaked away from a few women like this and never looked back. If I were a true lapdog, any lap would do. It is my choice, or at the very least, I tell myself it is.

     In my opinion, high-maintenance women are superb lovers. Let’s face facts, they have to be. If you’re going to expect me to constantly jump through hoops for you, then you better be worth it. Even the most sentimental romantic on the planet is looking for a payoff for all the effort. The word lottery comes to mind. If you’ve been lucky enough, or crazy enough to follow your heart into her bed, then you’ve probably experienced the BIG PAYDAY I’m referring to. These demanding women know how to keep you coming back for more, experts at making you feel special and loved, as long as you cater to their every need. As nuts as it sounds, I keep signing up for more.

     If you’re over thirty, you have no doubt encountered such a woman. You may be that type yourself. I’ve had my moments. There are exes who would say I’m high-maintenance. But there are more who would say I’m not. I guess it depends on your point of view about what seems reasonable. That’s where the debate begins.

She’s High-Maintenance If:

1. She expects you to go get her favorite ice cream in the middle of the night in the freezing cold, to satisfy a craving she has for Butter Pecan ice cream.

2. She expects you to move to wherever she decides she wants to live, giving up your house, your job and your friends.

3. She expects you to let her win all the arguments.

4. She expects you to be the one to always apologize for being wrong and insensitive to HER needs.

5. She expects your complete attention at all times.

6. She expects you to read her mind and anticipate her every desire, then satisfy it without her having to ask you.

7. She expects you to be the one to protect her from all things tedious, to include assembling things, boring people and dogs prone to jumping on her.

8. She expects you to buy her everything she wants and needs, remembering every item she expresses an interest in, even in passing.

9. She expects you to keep her world running smoothly; paying all the bills, keeping her car in good repair, and filing all pesky tax returns.

10. She expects you to compliment her often and with great enthusiasm.

[Via http://lesbianwink.wordpress.com]

රතු රෝස මලට

මගේ ජිවිතය ගිතයක් වනු

ඇත

ඔබ මගේ හදවතේ වටිනාම වස්තුව වුණෙත්……… පිපෙන්න රතු රෝස මල තවත් කල් නොහැර ඉදින් මට හැකි වේවි ඔබ බලා සැනසෙන්න සත්තකින්……..

[Via http://wadugebmv.wordpress.com]

Happy birthday to Zora Neale Hurston!

Zora Neale Hurston, a black writer, ethnographer, presumed lesbian and all-around badass, was born on this day in 1891. Hurston’s most famous work, Their Eyes Were Watching God, is required reading in classrooms across the nation.

Hurston is said to have lived and wrote out of the context of white people, meaning that she did not study black people in relation to white people, but black people as their own, independent culture. She also opposed the Supreme Court decision on Brown v. the Topeka Board of Education, which integrated schools and declared “separate is not equal,” because she believed it told black teachers that they were not good enough to teach black students.

She also heavily studied the voodoo and hoodoo culture in New Orleans and was an up-and-comer during the Harlem Renaissance. Her works, which fell into oblivion following her death, were revived by Alice Walker, author of The Color Purple.

To learn more about Hurston, watch this short video on 365gay.com or read a brief bio here.

[Via http://stuffqueerpeopleneedtoknow.wordpress.com]

Matt Barber on Barack Obama's Hiring of a Transgendered Bureaucrat

According to the New Republic today, Matt Barber, an associate dean at the Orwellian named Liberty University, had the following response on hearing that a transgendered person had been hired to work in the federal bureaucracy:

[It] boggles the mind.

What boggles my mind is that anyone’s mind would be boggled at the thought of a transgendered person with a job. If, for example, sexually, you’re a male, but you live in the gender aura of the feminine, wearing women’s clothing, are you hereby unemployable?

Why?

[Via http://santitafarella.wordpress.com]

Housewives of Northwest Arkansas and Bravo Television

We reported last year that rumors were swirling that casting staff and producers were in town from Bravo-TV looking for frustrated housewives to star in a new twist of that Bravo show, “Housewives”.

We’re sorry to report that last week’s rumors were false that the show got the greenlight from Bravo.

There will be no Housewives of Northwest Arkansas television show on Bravo this season. I guess I’ll just cancel my cable subscription.

[Via http://rogersarkansas.wordpress.com]

ඔබගේ හොද යහළුවා විය යුත්තේ

යළුවන් විවිධයි නේද කාවදාවත් හැරනේයන දේ අපේ දැණුම නේද පොත් පත් වලට ආදරය කරන්න.පොත් ඔබගේ ජිවිතය පහසු කරනවා ඇත. අදහස් හැගිමි හා සිදුවිමි නමැති විවිධාකර කලබල සහිත අවුල් තත්වයක් තුලින් මග සොයයැමටඉ මිත්‍රයෙකු මෙන් ඔබට පොත්පත් සහය වන් ඇත තමාට අනුන්ට ගරැකරන හැටි කියා දෙනවා ඇත .ඔබගේ හදවත මානව භක්තියෙන් සහ දායවෙන් පුරවනවා ඇත .දැනුමෙන් උලිපතවන පොතට පතට ආදරයෙන් සලකන්න වැඩදායක වන්න දැන්ම පමණි ඔබ තුලින් ආධයත්මික ශක්තිය වර්ධනය කල හැක්කේ දැන්ම පමණි මිනිසාට අවංකවආදරය කල හැකි ඔහුගේ ශ්‍රම ශක්තියට ගරැ කල හැකි ඔහුගේ නොනවතින උත්සාහයෙහි අධිෂ්ඪනයෙහි අනරිඝ ප්‍රථිපල උණුසුමි හදවතකින් අගේ කලහැකි බුදිධිමත් අවංක මිනිස්සුන් ඇති කක්කේ පොත පකට පමණි

[Via http://wadugebmv.wordpress.com]

The Aborable Diner

                                                                                                      One evening after work my mother asked me if I wanted to have dinner with her at this adorable little diner she found in Fullerton. I am a sucker for hole-in-the-wall eateries and she was willing to pay which was great, because with the rent she was charging me, my car, and college tuition – I was broke.

The diner was in fact, adorable and the food was great to boot. We proceeded with our usual small talk which consisted of weather, work, and her new boyfriend. I was happy to discuss her happiness, because she wasn’t focusing on me and what see liked to refer to as my “shortcomings.” She would always tell me where she was at age 20 – which apparently was not living with her mom and working in a record store to pay for school.

“How is your friend Alex doing?” She asked.

“Oh, umm, she’s fine.” I said rather curiously. My mother usually never asks about my friends.

“Are you guys doing anything this weekend?” She asked.

“I don’t know, London has a pal visiting from out-of-town.” I said, “We probably all will take in a movie or something.”

“Well, that sounds nice.” She said then put her hands in her lap. She took a deep breathe, “I wanted to ask you something.”

I knew it, “What’s that?” I started to take a drink of my soda.

“Are you and Alex a couple?” She asked as if she was asking if I had cancer.

My soda came out of my nose. “Alexandra?”

“Yes, are you a lesbian?” She said seriously this time. I was too busy laughing. “Valentine, this is not a laughing matter.”

“Yes it is. No, I am not a lesbian. Yes, Alex is, but I’m not.” I said, finally claiming down from laughing.

“I was only asking because you spend so much time with her, and you haven’t had a boyfriend in a long time.”I couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yeah, thanks for reminding me.” I replied.  I hadn’t had a boyfriend since I was 18. Not for a lack of trying, I just the one I was interested at the time was somewhat geographically undesirable living six hours away and I was rather busy with other things like work, college, and did I mention work.

 “I’m sorry, but, I was talking to Marline. And she said that girls who hang out with other lesbians become lesbians.”  She said a matter of factly.  Marline, my mother’s friend was a nice enough lady, but where she got her information from is anyone’s guess.

“Ah, well, you can tell Marline that I am not a lesbian.”  I said with a slight giggle. “Although, will my luck with guys maybe I should consider girls.”

My mother looked mortified.

“Too soon?”

[Via http://crazymomblog.wordpress.com]

PFLAG Dinning Out For Equality

OVERVIEW To increase our exposure and visibility in the larger comunity, we are going to try a series of monthly lunches on the town. We will gather in a different community each month. The more PFLAG t-shirts we can have, the better. Any diversity or civil-rights oriented clothing is okay.

WHEN Sunday, January, 24 2010 12:30 pm

WHERE Mandarin House in Exeter at 163 E. Pine Street

ACTION REQUIRED We hope to be a fairly significant “presence”. We will need an accurate approximate number of diners, so we can make arrangements with the restaurant. If you can attend, please RSVP to Dr. Kathryn Hall (Kathryn.Hall@PFLAG-Tulare-Kings.org) by January 17, with the number of guests in your party, including yourself.

www.pflag-tulare-kings.org

[Via http://queervisalia.com]