I have issues. Codependency, abandonment, control, insecurity, self worth, issues. I come by them honestly. I was never taught how to really love, myself or anyone else. I was taught abuse, in so many forms. I was taught that if you loved something, you controlled it. If the thing you love cannot be controlled, you run. You either physically pick up and take the fuck off, or you metaphorically run away with substance abuse or emotional affairs. This has obviously not taught me to be a healthy, functional adult, especially in romantic relationships. I have a filter that tells me that no one will like me if I say what I think and act how I feel, that there will always be someone better and lovelier and more worthy of being wanted, because they're just, more than I am. I don't know how to(or have any desire to be) anyone other than myself though, so that ends up with a lot of me just, not saying anything, and watching the better, lovelier, mores of the world take over my desired spaces, which I secede, because I feel I'm undeserving anyway, and we may as well get it over with. I will not fight for things I want, because I am too afraid to lose. Rejection is basically an affirmation of everything I feel about myself.
How then, to learn to love myself? I know how to be independent in the basic ways, I can support myself financially, I enjoy my own company, etc. I know it's okay to ask people for help, to have a support system of friends, but it just always feels wrong. I'm either too candid and get myself in trouble, or I'm not honest and it doesn't help anyway. Where's the balance? How do I not overwhelm people with all of my bullshit? People have their own lives, and I'm not really worth the time. All I ever do is feel feelings, and I'm good to talk to, but my problems are so fucking stupid.
Thursday 6 November 2014
Saturday 9 August 2014
Five Years in Vancouver(What Now?)
A few days ago was my five year anniversary of being a bonafide Vancouver resident. I gotta tell you, it's been a great and crazy five years. I've met so many people that are just super, and some that really just sucked. I've loved, learned and lost. I've been semi homeless, gotten my father arrested, performed in a burlesque show, done MDMA, mushrooms and even tried cocaine once (yucky). I've been drugged at a bar, swam naked in the ocean, adopted a cat, racked up thousands of dollars in credit card debt and sold my panties to a stranger. I've had to deal with the grief of people dying, I've gotten tattoos. I've been to a crazy amount of concerts and shows, met celebrities and had just, so much sex. I've been a vegetarian, and gone gluten-free. The greatest people I've ever known I've met here. I've dated, become a feminist, had an eating disorder and found my self respect.
And I've decided that maybe the city isn't for me.
It's loud and expensive. People are shallow and selfish. It takes forever to do anything. I work all of the time, but I never have any money. I have to live with strangers, which means I never really feel comfortable in my own home. I'm sick of having to have headphones in to be able to think. I miss being able to go for a walk in the woods, being able to walk everywhere. I'm just unhappy. I guess my heart is just more small town than I thought.
The answer seems clear to me. Move. But it gets harder when I realize that if I go, I'm going alone. Again. I'd lose my partner. He's not interested in just picking up and moving away. And I mean, if I'm just sitting in my new, lovely apartment, in lovely, rural BC downing wine and crying, holding my cat until he squawks and runs away because I'm so fucking alone, that's not really an improvement. Although I'd able to afford more wine. I'll have so much free time I could probably just make the damn wine, since I'll be so fucking alone. It would get better though. I'd make friends, I'm friendly. I've got vibrators, I'd get off- I mean by. I'd get by. Whereas I feel that Vancouver has just, plateaued. I'm too drained and broke to do any of the fun things, I hate my apartment but can't afford to move into something better. I don't know what to do.
And I've decided that maybe the city isn't for me.
It's loud and expensive. People are shallow and selfish. It takes forever to do anything. I work all of the time, but I never have any money. I have to live with strangers, which means I never really feel comfortable in my own home. I'm sick of having to have headphones in to be able to think. I miss being able to go for a walk in the woods, being able to walk everywhere. I'm just unhappy. I guess my heart is just more small town than I thought.
The answer seems clear to me. Move. But it gets harder when I realize that if I go, I'm going alone. Again. I'd lose my partner. He's not interested in just picking up and moving away. And I mean, if I'm just sitting in my new, lovely apartment, in lovely, rural BC downing wine and crying, holding my cat until he squawks and runs away because I'm so fucking alone, that's not really an improvement. Although I'd able to afford more wine. I'll have so much free time I could probably just make the damn wine, since I'll be so fucking alone. It would get better though. I'd make friends, I'm friendly. I've got vibrators, I'd get off- I mean by. I'd get by. Whereas I feel that Vancouver has just, plateaued. I'm too drained and broke to do any of the fun things, I hate my apartment but can't afford to move into something better. I don't know what to do.
Wednesday 28 May 2014
Super Sick of this Patriarchy (Why I'm a Feminist)
I actually dislike having to call myself a feminist because I am SUPER into gender equality, I hate that I have to specify between men and women and not just people. I don't like pronouns and gender normativity. Unfortunately, with this topic, that's unrealistic. When we stop living in a patriarchy, I'll stop calling myself a feminist.
I'm in a pretty rough place right now. All this misogyny, all this hatred and pain, this outspoken ignorance, it's tearing me up, and it's making me angry. Really fucking angry. For every great article I read about feminism, rape culture and furthering our society to a place that we can all live without fear of violence, there's a thousand assholes posting stuff like "You're just saying this because you gave a guy head and he didn't love you" and "Yeah, but if you just didn't wear skirts, you wouldn't get raped as often" and it's making me fucking sick. The Slutwalk Rally Facebook page is just crowded with awful, and the people that want respect and equality, we're told to just shrug it off, be the bigger person. On the fucking page that belongs to us, and our event. So I wrote this, even though it's more of the same thing that everyone has been posting, because I need to. Or I'm going to explode.
I was trying to discuss with my brother that misogyny is why I was in a horrible mood yesterday and my loving, caring, awesome brother says to me, with so much scorn and disdain in his voice"So are you like, a feminist now? You know that women abuse men, too. Not all men are like that." And I just stood up and walked out of the room so I could go and cry in the shower. This man that I've known my whole life, that I have helped teach to respect and love women, is giving me shit for being a feminist. He's a "Not All Men" man. Oh, how my heart did break. I know that it's not all men. It's just, not the point. Automatically going on the defensive is taking away from the issues. Saying that not all men rape doesn't change the fact that most women have been raped and that all women have suffered because of our bullshit patriarchal society. I love men. I love people. WHAT I DON'T LOVE IS VIOLENCE. I don't love that I have to be afraid to walk through the park by my house at night. I don't love that my first experiences with sex were me being abused and used, I hate that I thought that that is all I deserved. I hate the heartbreaking #YesAllWomen posts that have been crowding my news feed, not because I don't want to see them, but because every single woman has experienced this bullshit, and no, it hasn't been at the hands of every single man we've met in our lives, but that ISN'T THE FUCKING POINT. The point is that we're scared and we don't want to have to be scared anymore.
Anti-Feminists like to post stuff about how women rape men, too. Do you know why women rape men now, too? Because we're all growing up in this same bullshit rape culture, we're taught that we can take what we want from others without their consent, through coercion or if they're vulnerable or not following "the rules". And that is what is NOT okay. Do you imagine that female rapists identify as feminists? That they're into gender equality and consent? I'm gonna go out on a limb and say no. Every group has crazy extremists, obviously, but for the most part, all of the feminists I know are just into safety, consent, respect and equality.
I don't want to overthrow the patriarchy to replace it with a matriarchy, I just don't want a gender-based hierarchy at all.
I'm in a pretty rough place right now. All this misogyny, all this hatred and pain, this outspoken ignorance, it's tearing me up, and it's making me angry. Really fucking angry. For every great article I read about feminism, rape culture and furthering our society to a place that we can all live without fear of violence, there's a thousand assholes posting stuff like "You're just saying this because you gave a guy head and he didn't love you" and "Yeah, but if you just didn't wear skirts, you wouldn't get raped as often" and it's making me fucking sick. The Slutwalk Rally Facebook page is just crowded with awful, and the people that want respect and equality, we're told to just shrug it off, be the bigger person. On the fucking page that belongs to us, and our event. So I wrote this, even though it's more of the same thing that everyone has been posting, because I need to. Or I'm going to explode.
I was trying to discuss with my brother that misogyny is why I was in a horrible mood yesterday and my loving, caring, awesome brother says to me, with so much scorn and disdain in his voice"So are you like, a feminist now? You know that women abuse men, too. Not all men are like that." And I just stood up and walked out of the room so I could go and cry in the shower. This man that I've known my whole life, that I have helped teach to respect and love women, is giving me shit for being a feminist. He's a "Not All Men" man. Oh, how my heart did break. I know that it's not all men. It's just, not the point. Automatically going on the defensive is taking away from the issues. Saying that not all men rape doesn't change the fact that most women have been raped and that all women have suffered because of our bullshit patriarchal society. I love men. I love people. WHAT I DON'T LOVE IS VIOLENCE. I don't love that I have to be afraid to walk through the park by my house at night. I don't love that my first experiences with sex were me being abused and used, I hate that I thought that that is all I deserved. I hate the heartbreaking #YesAllWomen posts that have been crowding my news feed, not because I don't want to see them, but because every single woman has experienced this bullshit, and no, it hasn't been at the hands of every single man we've met in our lives, but that ISN'T THE FUCKING POINT. The point is that we're scared and we don't want to have to be scared anymore.
Anti-Feminists like to post stuff about how women rape men, too. Do you know why women rape men now, too? Because we're all growing up in this same bullshit rape culture, we're taught that we can take what we want from others without their consent, through coercion or if they're vulnerable or not following "the rules". And that is what is NOT okay. Do you imagine that female rapists identify as feminists? That they're into gender equality and consent? I'm gonna go out on a limb and say no. Every group has crazy extremists, obviously, but for the most part, all of the feminists I know are just into safety, consent, respect and equality.
I don't want to overthrow the patriarchy to replace it with a matriarchy, I just don't want a gender-based hierarchy at all.
Friday 25 April 2014
The Problem With Pronouns (I Just Want To Be A Drag Queen)
Quick caveat: I use the word "stereotypically" a lot in this post. Stereotypical is not synonymous with normal, nor is it meant to be all inclusive. Just because you're in the specified group, doesn't mean I think you do the specified thing. I don't think anyone is better/worse/more normal whether or not they fit into their stereotypical groups. We're all special fucking snowflakes. I think that applying stereotypes to individuals based on anything is wrong, but if the average majority of any specific group happens to do something more than the average majority of a different group, they are more stereotypically into that thing. That's all. Just averages. Don't get your panties in a twist, and don't think that just because I say "panties" that I mean they're on a woman.
I decided (today) to start identifying as "Gender-fluid". I have chosen this orientation after extensive research and soul searching and to correspond with my pansexuality. I have oft wished that my gender was as fluid as my sexuality, which, as many of you know, is pretty fucking fluid(in more ways than one. Hey-o. Female ejaculation joke. You're welcome). I am attracted to basically everyone. I was attracted to boys and girls as a child and when I grew up and realized there were more options, I lost my mind. Anyone at my first birthday in Vancouver can testify how I completely lost my shit when a drag queen winked at me. So. Much. Arousal. I like androgyny, masculinity and femininity, in all people. People be sexy, yo. I've identified as pansexual for a couple of years now, but I never thought to question my gender. I'm usually pretty comfortable in my female body, and I identify as a feminist (because I'm into equality and I'm painfully aware that our western society is very much a capitalist patriarchy and that to ever be able to reach the stage where we can all be egalitarians, we need a whole lot of feminism first, from everyone), but if I feel the need to strap down my tits and strap on a dick(which sometimes I am wont to do), I shall, and if I don't want to be confined by gender, I shan't. I want to taste every colour of the rainbow. Hence, gender-fluid.
A recent discussion with a friend concerning the need for a "ladies night" brought to light that it would not do for ours to be exclusive to penis-free individuals, because we're an inclusive bunch and anyone that wants to get away from their spouses(or their loneliness), drink wine, watch romantic comedies, paint their nails, talk incessantly, sing, dance and flirt in a safe, consensual, complimentary and gentle manner(which I wish guys weren't stereotypically incapable of) is totally welcome, whether or not they're socially or self identified as females. It's about what we do, not the specific gender of those present, and since we're doing stereotypically "girly" things, I'm okay with keeping the term "Ladies Night". I love having stereotypical "Boy's Nights", too. Drink beer, eat pizza, objectify some strangers and yell at stuff. I'm not into strip clubs for the same reason that I'm not into commercial hetero porn, though. The girls just don't look like they're having that much fun. But I like the other things.
Do you know what I really like? Stereotypically, flamboyantly gay stuff. Glitter, theatre, sexy, sweaty dancing, public bathhouses, anal sex with men, sexy naked camping trips, gay porn. Love it. Unfortunately, I'm not welcome in Gay Land. Not really. This post was actually inspired by a friend of mine joining a Facebook event for a big, sexy, nudist camping trip, exclusively for "gay brothers". I'm not a gay brother. I'll never be a gay brother, which means that I don't get to go, even though that literally sounds like my paradise. It makes me sad every day of my life that I won't ever get to have gay sex with a man. I could (and have) had sex with a gay man, but that's not what I mean. I can have sex with girls, and I can have sex with boys and I can have sex with girls that used to be boys and boys that used to be girls and I can strap on a dick and pretend that I'm a boy having sex with any of the above but I will never, ever be able to actually have man on man sex -sigh-. I realize that I'm lacking the basic anatomy, but to me, it's what's in your heart and mind that counts.
Wednesday 16 April 2014
Nude Nerds Are Neat! (Why You Should Go To Star Wars: The Empire Strips Back)
Last night I got invited to attend the media preview for the Geekender's production of Star Wars: The Empire Strips Back. Omg. A-Mah-Zing. There is literally everything you could ever want in a Star Wars nerdlesque show. Sexy Stormtroopers, a Darth Vader that just cannot wait to take her clothes off, an anatomically correct R2-D2 on rollerskates, awkward incestuous makeouts, 80s movie tributes, obscure quotes, penis jokes, sexual tension, partial nudity and glitter. I laughed until I cried at one point, and during a very sensual, slightly homo-erotic dance number, I confess, I got a bit aroused. AND WE DIDN'T EVEN GET TO SEE THE WHOLE SHOW. The super sexy cast is a veritable melting pot of diversity with many different shapes, sizes and genders all coming together and being simply nerdtastic.
If you're one of the hundreds of people who were blown away by Star Wars: A Nude Hope(and if you didn't see it, big mistake) you will be absolutely amazed at this show. It has all of the sexiness and hilarity, but the tighter, more intricate dance numbers really take it one step further and make it something truly out of this world.
Get your tickets soon. You don't want to be one of the sad people showing up at the theatre and being turned away because it is SO sold out. And it will be. There are three dates for this performance at the Rio Theatre. May 1st, 3rd and 4th. I'm going on May 4th, International Star Wars Day. When are you going?
If you're one of the hundreds of people who were blown away by Star Wars: A Nude Hope(and if you didn't see it, big mistake) you will be absolutely amazed at this show. It has all of the sexiness and hilarity, but the tighter, more intricate dance numbers really take it one step further and make it something truly out of this world.
Get your tickets soon. You don't want to be one of the sad people showing up at the theatre and being turned away because it is SO sold out. And it will be. There are three dates for this performance at the Rio Theatre. May 1st, 3rd and 4th. I'm going on May 4th, International Star Wars Day. When are you going?
Saturday 5 April 2014
Misadventures in Seattle (People Are Strange)
People are strange, when you're a stranger.
As you know, I'm in Seattle right now. All by myself, staying at a hostel. Trying to meet people, find stuff to do. I like to drink and dance. I'm friendly, and I like friendly people. The first night, I go on a pub crawl with the hostel. Do some dancing, excessive drinking, make out with a nice Southern boy on the dance floor(perfect gentleman, lousy kisser) and there's this guy from the hostel like, shadowing me the whole time. At first I think he's just being kind, me being drunk and alone and such. But he's just STANDING there on the dance floor next to us. Eventually I take off to walk back to the hostel and the guy(from the hostel, not the Southern boy) accompanies me which I'm grateful for because I'm drunk and it's late. On the way we're talking, I mention something about my boyfriend and he gets all indignant like "What, you have a boyfriend? I just saw you making out with some dude" So I explain the fact that I'm in a poly relationship and that it's fully okay under our agreement and he invites me to a "poly meetup" the next night and then says, "We should make out" I say no, no excuses, just "No, thank you, I'm not sexually attracted to you" and he whiiiiines and whiiines and eventually says "Can't you just make out with me as like, a favour?" Ew. Obviously not. I ask for more information on the poly meetup and he kind of balks and seems like he's withholding so I say, let me know where, when, and what it's about and I'll decide tomorrow, and I go to bed.
Next day I am just grossly hungover, so I wander around, eat food, go to the bathhouse(which was lovely and relaxing), eat some more food, have some drinks and I'm starting to feel better so I head back to the hostel, and the guy from the night before has provided me with exactly this information on the meetup he invited me to: "The place is about a 25 minute bus ride from the hostel, we should leave around 10" so I do a bit of selective googling, and find what he's talking about. It is a CSPC (Center for Sex Positive Culture) meetup from 7-10:30, and then it's a sex party. I'm down for sex parties, but I'm not down for surprise sex parties (although with the right people...). He didn't even want to go for the meetup portion and THEN the sex party, he was arranging our arrival to coincide only with the sex party. So I'm totally squicked out and pissed off and obviously not going.
At the hostel I meet some people from home, down for the weekend, same as me, but with actual friends and plans and stuff. They invite me along. The plan is to meet up at a friend's place, have some drinks and then head to a dancey dance bar where they're on the guest list. I accept, because I want to dance and I don't know where to go. We get to the friend's place. There's three people there, a girl from Van(the connection), her boyfriend who owns the place, and his friend. The girl is super chill, very nice, so's the friend. But, the guy that owns the place? Kind of a dick. I realize that I'm a total stranger, and I'm in his apartment. I get it, I'm particular about whom I allow in my space, too. But, It's me. I'm like, the least threatening person you could ever have in your apartment. Five minutes of conversation could establish that. But this guy didn't even bother. Just told me not to touch his stuff because he didn't know me, that he didn't understand why I was even there. Hostile, yo. Even the nice girlfriend is like, "Hey, don't let him be mean to you". Red flag, much?
Anyway, we go to the club. We were supposed to be there by 11:00 for the guest list, but we show up around 11:15 so I'm thinking we've missed it. I'm in the regular line up, showing ID, getting ready to pay cover, whatevs, I just want to dance, I literally give zero fucks past that, but Buddy's all "No, no, I'm getting bottle service, we get to go in this door, no cover, no worries" So I'm thinking, alright, Buddy here's a fucking baller, he wants to include me in this extravagant night? Awesome. We go in. Dancey dance, hip hop bar. Super into it. We have a fancy ass table, pretty waitresses pouring drinks for us, good times. Guy from the apartment earlier still being kind of a dick, and like, I'm pretty drunk by this point, and I say to his girlfriend, "Hey, your boyfriend's kind of a dick" (In retrospect, and honestly, even as I was saying it I knew it wasn't going to go over well) and I can tell that she knows it's true but she says "Since you're just hanging out for free, maybe you shouldn't say shit like that". Did you know that if people offer you things and you accept, you are immediately thereafter denied an opinion? I didn't. And I'm not down with that, so as soon as this girl says this to me, I search out Mr. Buddy Baller and ask him how much money I can give him to abscond this weird debt I feel I've got now. Because that's not okay, I'm not about to give up my opinion for some free booze.
I guess everyone ends up getting kicked out (not me, because as I mentioned, I'm lovely)but all I know is that all of the sudden, they're gone. I think I've been ditched. Like, I'm not that worried, I'm drunk and dancing and the hostel's only a few blocks away. I dance a bit longer and head back to blog, I've had red bull, alcohol and experiences and I am ready to get into the zone. I get on the computer, start typing shit out and the same fucking guy shows up and asks if he can sit with me. I say "I'm writing right now. You can sit there, but I don't want to talk and I can't write when people read over my shoulder." He sits down anyway, of course. I keep writing, he's talking a bit, but I'm in the zone and liking him less and less with every minute he forces his company on me. These two girls that are staying at the hostel(early twenties, attractive, straight, from Georgia I think) come over to talk to me, we're sort of tentative dancey friends and they want to talk about their night so they come sit, and a group of guys joins us. Everyone's getting along great, drunk, chatting. But this fucking guy is just pissing me off, and he says something about me not going with him to the thing and I give him shit for not telling me it was a sex party, and it's clear in his response that he knew and was very intentionally keeping it from me. Sleazy fuck. I've drifted over to the girls and I'm standing behind one, just stroking her hair and being friendly, flirty and touchy-feely (y'all know how I do). She's curious as to what goes on at a sex party, exactly, and instead of taking the opportunity to to help her learn some stuff this fucking guy starts being a condescending prick. Says "Oh you're so pure, you'll probably end up marrying an accountant or something" and I'm like, "Wtf? Why would that mean anything? Accountant's have sex lives too, our society's just sexually repressed." and he was like "Yeah, and she'd probably just repress her accountant husband even further." I am getting rage face at this point and I say "Just because she's not super sexually enlightened does NOT mean that you get to be a fucking asshole to her, stop it." SO NATURALLY IT'S BECAUSE I'M TRYING TO FUCK HER. That's the only possible reason for sticking up for her that this guy can fathom, and what he accuses me of. No, actually, I don't have to pretend to be a decent human being in order to lure unsuspecting women into bed. I am not a fucking predator and women are not prey. Every woman that comes to bed with me is informed, in decent control of their faculties and enthusiastically dtf. Not to mention that the girl is clearly straight. And like, I know better than most(Sup, ladies?) that just because you're straight, doesn't mean you aren't into hooking up with me(fluid female sexuality ftw) but in no way am I trying to or even considering trying to get this girl into bed. Like, I'd be down, she's super cool and sexy and smells good, but I'm just being friendly and reveling in some non threatening physical contact.
But this fucking guy says that the only reason I'm sticking up for her is because I'm trying to trick her into bed. So I'm like fuck this guy, I'm going to bed. Everyone, good night, be safe. See you tomorrow. I make it up to my room and realize I need to drink at least six glasses of water before I can sleep so I come back down. On my way back up, there's the girl I was "trying to sleep with" in the middle of a very flirty conversation with one of the guys from earlier so I offer them some condoms because, well, that's just how I roll.
As you know, I'm in Seattle right now. All by myself, staying at a hostel. Trying to meet people, find stuff to do. I like to drink and dance. I'm friendly, and I like friendly people. The first night, I go on a pub crawl with the hostel. Do some dancing, excessive drinking, make out with a nice Southern boy on the dance floor(perfect gentleman, lousy kisser) and there's this guy from the hostel like, shadowing me the whole time. At first I think he's just being kind, me being drunk and alone and such. But he's just STANDING there on the dance floor next to us. Eventually I take off to walk back to the hostel and the guy(from the hostel, not the Southern boy) accompanies me which I'm grateful for because I'm drunk and it's late. On the way we're talking, I mention something about my boyfriend and he gets all indignant like "What, you have a boyfriend? I just saw you making out with some dude" So I explain the fact that I'm in a poly relationship and that it's fully okay under our agreement and he invites me to a "poly meetup" the next night and then says, "We should make out" I say no, no excuses, just "No, thank you, I'm not sexually attracted to you" and he whiiiiines and whiiines and eventually says "Can't you just make out with me as like, a favour?" Ew. Obviously not. I ask for more information on the poly meetup and he kind of balks and seems like he's withholding so I say, let me know where, when, and what it's about and I'll decide tomorrow, and I go to bed.
Next day I am just grossly hungover, so I wander around, eat food, go to the bathhouse(which was lovely and relaxing), eat some more food, have some drinks and I'm starting to feel better so I head back to the hostel, and the guy from the night before has provided me with exactly this information on the meetup he invited me to: "The place is about a 25 minute bus ride from the hostel, we should leave around 10" so I do a bit of selective googling, and find what he's talking about. It is a CSPC (Center for Sex Positive Culture) meetup from 7-10:30, and then it's a sex party. I'm down for sex parties, but I'm not down for surprise sex parties (although with the right people...). He didn't even want to go for the meetup portion and THEN the sex party, he was arranging our arrival to coincide only with the sex party. So I'm totally squicked out and pissed off and obviously not going.
At the hostel I meet some people from home, down for the weekend, same as me, but with actual friends and plans and stuff. They invite me along. The plan is to meet up at a friend's place, have some drinks and then head to a dancey dance bar where they're on the guest list. I accept, because I want to dance and I don't know where to go. We get to the friend's place. There's three people there, a girl from Van(the connection), her boyfriend who owns the place, and his friend. The girl is super chill, very nice, so's the friend. But, the guy that owns the place? Kind of a dick. I realize that I'm a total stranger, and I'm in his apartment. I get it, I'm particular about whom I allow in my space, too. But, It's me. I'm like, the least threatening person you could ever have in your apartment. Five minutes of conversation could establish that. But this guy didn't even bother. Just told me not to touch his stuff because he didn't know me, that he didn't understand why I was even there. Hostile, yo. Even the nice girlfriend is like, "Hey, don't let him be mean to you". Red flag, much?
Anyway, we go to the club. We were supposed to be there by 11:00 for the guest list, but we show up around 11:15 so I'm thinking we've missed it. I'm in the regular line up, showing ID, getting ready to pay cover, whatevs, I just want to dance, I literally give zero fucks past that, but Buddy's all "No, no, I'm getting bottle service, we get to go in this door, no cover, no worries" So I'm thinking, alright, Buddy here's a fucking baller, he wants to include me in this extravagant night? Awesome. We go in. Dancey dance, hip hop bar. Super into it. We have a fancy ass table, pretty waitresses pouring drinks for us, good times. Guy from the apartment earlier still being kind of a dick, and like, I'm pretty drunk by this point, and I say to his girlfriend, "Hey, your boyfriend's kind of a dick" (In retrospect, and honestly, even as I was saying it I knew it wasn't going to go over well) and I can tell that she knows it's true but she says "Since you're just hanging out for free, maybe you shouldn't say shit like that". Did you know that if people offer you things and you accept, you are immediately thereafter denied an opinion? I didn't. And I'm not down with that, so as soon as this girl says this to me, I search out Mr. Buddy Baller and ask him how much money I can give him to abscond this weird debt I feel I've got now. Because that's not okay, I'm not about to give up my opinion for some free booze.
I guess everyone ends up getting kicked out (not me, because as I mentioned, I'm lovely)but all I know is that all of the sudden, they're gone. I think I've been ditched. Like, I'm not that worried, I'm drunk and dancing and the hostel's only a few blocks away. I dance a bit longer and head back to blog, I've had red bull, alcohol and experiences and I am ready to get into the zone. I get on the computer, start typing shit out and the same fucking guy shows up and asks if he can sit with me. I say "I'm writing right now. You can sit there, but I don't want to talk and I can't write when people read over my shoulder." He sits down anyway, of course. I keep writing, he's talking a bit, but I'm in the zone and liking him less and less with every minute he forces his company on me. These two girls that are staying at the hostel(early twenties, attractive, straight, from Georgia I think) come over to talk to me, we're sort of tentative dancey friends and they want to talk about their night so they come sit, and a group of guys joins us. Everyone's getting along great, drunk, chatting. But this fucking guy is just pissing me off, and he says something about me not going with him to the thing and I give him shit for not telling me it was a sex party, and it's clear in his response that he knew and was very intentionally keeping it from me. Sleazy fuck. I've drifted over to the girls and I'm standing behind one, just stroking her hair and being friendly, flirty and touchy-feely (y'all know how I do). She's curious as to what goes on at a sex party, exactly, and instead of taking the opportunity to to help her learn some stuff this fucking guy starts being a condescending prick. Says "Oh you're so pure, you'll probably end up marrying an accountant or something" and I'm like, "Wtf? Why would that mean anything? Accountant's have sex lives too, our society's just sexually repressed." and he was like "Yeah, and she'd probably just repress her accountant husband even further." I am getting rage face at this point and I say "Just because she's not super sexually enlightened does NOT mean that you get to be a fucking asshole to her, stop it." SO NATURALLY IT'S BECAUSE I'M TRYING TO FUCK HER. That's the only possible reason for sticking up for her that this guy can fathom, and what he accuses me of. No, actually, I don't have to pretend to be a decent human being in order to lure unsuspecting women into bed. I am not a fucking predator and women are not prey. Every woman that comes to bed with me is informed, in decent control of their faculties and enthusiastically dtf. Not to mention that the girl is clearly straight. And like, I know better than most(Sup, ladies?) that just because you're straight, doesn't mean you aren't into hooking up with me(fluid female sexuality ftw) but in no way am I trying to or even considering trying to get this girl into bed. Like, I'd be down, she's super cool and sexy and smells good, but I'm just being friendly and reveling in some non threatening physical contact.
But this fucking guy says that the only reason I'm sticking up for her is because I'm trying to trick her into bed. So I'm like fuck this guy, I'm going to bed. Everyone, good night, be safe. See you tomorrow. I make it up to my room and realize I need to drink at least six glasses of water before I can sleep so I come back down. On my way back up, there's the girl I was "trying to sleep with" in the middle of a very flirty conversation with one of the guys from earlier so I offer them some condoms because, well, that's just how I roll.
Thursday 27 March 2014
Remembering Rainbows
So I've been on the verge of a bit of a nervous breakdown lately. Just stressy stress stress. I hated my job a lot so I quit. But then I was super stressed because I didn't have a job, so I said I'd stay on two days a week, and then THAT stressed me out because I fucking hate it there, and THAT created some weird tension in my neck and shoulders which gave me sharp blinding pains in my head, which brought me to the doctor who gave me some anti-inflammatory meds which make me all woozy and hurt my tummy. Literally making myself sick with anxiety. And everyone wants to be a good friend and be supportive and it's just overwhelming because I can't fucking handle so many people caring about me at the same time. Everyone's got advice and love and I know it's supposed to help but it just, doesn't. It's just more expectations, and demands on my time. Pressure. It's not that I don't appreciate it, it's just that I can't fucking handle it. Everyone wants to be there for me and if I don't let them do that, I end up feeling like a bad friend for not letting them comfort me. So THAT ends up stressing me out. So, basically, I'm pretty fucking stressed out.
So next week, I'm running away. I've decided to be slightly irresponsible(since as aforementioned, I do not have much of a job or savings) and take a little three day trip to Seattle. Just me and some books. Chill out. CALM THE FUCK DOWN. Take some Sara time. Away from everything. Immerse myself in strangers, cheap booze and an abundance of Mexican food. God I love Mexican food. And I'm doing it for super cheap. 29 dollars for a round trip on the Bolt Bus and 105 for three nights at The Green Tortoise Hostel, which is apparently a super sweet place to stay and that 105 includes 3 breakfasts and a dinner. 135 dollars for travel, lodgings and 4 meals? Fuck yeah. And Seattle has a fucking bathhouse that I can actually go in! Stupid not being a gay man keeping me out of all the damn bathhouses in Vancouver. All I want is to be naked and warm, preferably in a semi public setting (cause I'm an exhibitionist like that) surrounded by other naked people (cause I'm voyeuristic like that). Anyway, stoked. From Thursday to Sunday, I will be out of the fucking country.
Hopefully I'll come back with some faith in myself.
Because I know that's the real problem. This deep seated belief in my own unworthiness is why I can't handle all the amazing love and support, why I'm nervous and anxious about the unknown. Because what if everything doesn't work out? What if everyone really doesn't like me, and no one will hire me?
I know that it's not true, that I'm amazing and awesome and genuine and when I'm happy everything is rainbows.
I know that. I just need to hang out with myself for awhile, so I can believe it. I need some time to remember rainbows.
So next week, I'm running away. I've decided to be slightly irresponsible(since as aforementioned, I do not have much of a job or savings) and take a little three day trip to Seattle. Just me and some books. Chill out. CALM THE FUCK DOWN. Take some Sara time. Away from everything. Immerse myself in strangers, cheap booze and an abundance of Mexican food. God I love Mexican food. And I'm doing it for super cheap. 29 dollars for a round trip on the Bolt Bus and 105 for three nights at The Green Tortoise Hostel, which is apparently a super sweet place to stay and that 105 includes 3 breakfasts and a dinner. 135 dollars for travel, lodgings and 4 meals? Fuck yeah. And Seattle has a fucking bathhouse that I can actually go in! Stupid not being a gay man keeping me out of all the damn bathhouses in Vancouver. All I want is to be naked and warm, preferably in a semi public setting (cause I'm an exhibitionist like that) surrounded by other naked people (cause I'm voyeuristic like that). Anyway, stoked. From Thursday to Sunday, I will be out of the fucking country.
Hopefully I'll come back with some faith in myself.
Because I know that's the real problem. This deep seated belief in my own unworthiness is why I can't handle all the amazing love and support, why I'm nervous and anxious about the unknown. Because what if everything doesn't work out? What if everyone really doesn't like me, and no one will hire me?
I know that it's not true, that I'm amazing and awesome and genuine and when I'm happy everything is rainbows.
I know that. I just need to hang out with myself for awhile, so I can believe it. I need some time to remember rainbows.
Tuesday 18 March 2014
Unemployed In Vancouver (In This Economy? Are You Fucking Joking?)
I quit my job. I feel stupid. I feel awesome. I feel scared.
In this economy, living in one of the most expensive cities in the entire world, and I am 10 days from being unemployed. I'm so freaked out right now. I'm just not one of those people that has, you know, savings. I have no debt and I've got good credit but I still live paycheck to paycheck. Which is a big problem when there's no paycheck.
But that job was bringing me down, man. Four and a half years of cutting up animals all day, wearing a uniform, having any aesthetic self expression weeded out with arbitrary dress code and "hygiene" rules, the joys of customer service in the food industry (Yes, I'm serving you, that does not make me your servant. You don't get to talk to me like that.). Having my personality traits cordoned off into what is workplace acceptable and what isn't? Bitch, please. You don't own me. As long as I'm friendly, helpful, and doing my job, why the fuck do you think you get to tell me how to live my life? Because you pay me? Nope. Fuck this. I'm done. All I want in life is autonomy and a damn nose ring. There were a lot of things keeping me there, though. I've worked with a lot of great people, it's so routine that it's easy, and the pay isn't awful. But I hated going to work.
So, I quit. I knew that if I didn't just go for it, if I waited until I found another job, I would chicken out, stop looking, stop trying. Continue settling for less. Because I can't just quit. What if I can't find anything? I can't go through that again. And why do I think I deserve better anyway? I'm not good at anything, I don't have anything to offer, I don't even have a high school diploma, and on and on with the self-debasing personal assessments. I see the same thing in relationships all the time. People staying with someone that overall makes them miserable because if they left, there's the potential that they'd be more miserable. Fear of unknown misery makes it easy to trap yourself into being miserable, because at least you know what you're up against.
But no longer! I will find something better. I will find something that makes me happy. Something that serves me, too. No more of this one sided My Life For a Paycheck bullshit.
In this economy, living in one of the most expensive cities in the entire world, and I am 10 days from being unemployed. I'm so freaked out right now. I'm just not one of those people that has, you know, savings. I have no debt and I've got good credit but I still live paycheck to paycheck. Which is a big problem when there's no paycheck.
But that job was bringing me down, man. Four and a half years of cutting up animals all day, wearing a uniform, having any aesthetic self expression weeded out with arbitrary dress code and "hygiene" rules, the joys of customer service in the food industry (Yes, I'm serving you, that does not make me your servant. You don't get to talk to me like that.). Having my personality traits cordoned off into what is workplace acceptable and what isn't? Bitch, please. You don't own me. As long as I'm friendly, helpful, and doing my job, why the fuck do you think you get to tell me how to live my life? Because you pay me? Nope. Fuck this. I'm done. All I want in life is autonomy and a damn nose ring. There were a lot of things keeping me there, though. I've worked with a lot of great people, it's so routine that it's easy, and the pay isn't awful. But I hated going to work.
So, I quit. I knew that if I didn't just go for it, if I waited until I found another job, I would chicken out, stop looking, stop trying. Continue settling for less. Because I can't just quit. What if I can't find anything? I can't go through that again. And why do I think I deserve better anyway? I'm not good at anything, I don't have anything to offer, I don't even have a high school diploma, and on and on with the self-debasing personal assessments. I see the same thing in relationships all the time. People staying with someone that overall makes them miserable because if they left, there's the potential that they'd be more miserable. Fear of unknown misery makes it easy to trap yourself into being miserable, because at least you know what you're up against.
But no longer! I will find something better. I will find something that makes me happy. Something that serves me, too. No more of this one sided My Life For a Paycheck bullshit.
Tuesday 11 March 2014
Adventures in Veganism!
I'm not vegan. Not yet anyway. Probably someday. I switched out dairy milk for almond milk years ago, use coconut oil for cooking and as a butter substitute on popcorn, and I eat meat and cheese sparingly(mostly only when it's free). So I'm not far off. And then last Sunday, I set out to make some mushroom soup. When I noticed that all of the ingredients I had were totally vegan, and the soup turned out super well, I thought, "Neat!" and endeavored to see what else I could make, because I'd been under the impression that being vegan was kind of hard. It's not. It's particularly easy if you like soup. I've made tomato soup, spicy mushroom soup and quinoa and black bean chili(Yum). I made nachos with Daiya cheese(reminded me of the nacho cheese you get from 7-11) and Tofutti's sour cream substitute. I bought some Gardein crispy tenders and made wraps with salsa and veggies, and I just finished a delicious breakfast consisting of smoked tofu and veggie scramble with hashbrowns. This is just in the last week. All totally vegan, super easy, and SO fucking tasty. And I feel great. Anyone close to me knows what a little bitch my stomach usually is, but cutting back on or cutting out all of those animal products has my little tum tum feeling so happy. (☋) <----This is my tummy.
Not to mention the offloading of guilt and shame. I spent a bit of time on a commercial dairy farm last year and the experience haunts me every time I eat cheese. Those cows are treated like crops. They get impregnated, and then have their calves sold, and then they're forced into a machine every day to get milked by robots that attach to their udders. They stand around all day in their little stalls, and never get to go outside. Remember in Firefly when River says "They weren't cows inside. They were waiting to be, but they forgot. Now they see sky, and they remember what they are"? These cows NEVER get to be cows. They spend their whole lives waiting. They're pumped full of antibiotics(yum, yum, that's in your milk now), but they still inevitably get sick from the conditions, and when they do, or when they stop producing enough milk, they're slaughtered. They don't even get to retire to some nice grassy pasture to live out their days. At no point are they treated with any kind of respect. And that's just dairy cows. These aren't even the animals used for the grotesquely exorbitant meat consumption in our society. It's sad, cruel and unnecessary.The only essential nutrient you cannot get from sun exposure and a varied vegan diet with tons of whole grains, legumes, fruits and vegetables is vitamin B12, which is easily supplemented. Just one vitamin.
Anyway, I'm not saying everyone should go vegan RIGHT FUCKING NOW, I'm just saying, hey, maybe think about it, maybe cut back on your animal product intake, see how you feel(betcha it's a whole lot better). I know I was raised to think that if there wasn't meat with every meal, it wasn't a real meal. You probably were too. The propaganda the dairy industry has been cramming down our throats our entire fucking lives doesn't help. Do your own research. Experiment(I always recommend experimentation. Bow-chicka-wow-wow). Try out some alternatives. It's not as hard as it seems.
Not to mention the offloading of guilt and shame. I spent a bit of time on a commercial dairy farm last year and the experience haunts me every time I eat cheese. Those cows are treated like crops. They get impregnated, and then have their calves sold, and then they're forced into a machine every day to get milked by robots that attach to their udders. They stand around all day in their little stalls, and never get to go outside. Remember in Firefly when River says "They weren't cows inside. They were waiting to be, but they forgot. Now they see sky, and they remember what they are"? These cows NEVER get to be cows. They spend their whole lives waiting. They're pumped full of antibiotics(yum, yum, that's in your milk now), but they still inevitably get sick from the conditions, and when they do, or when they stop producing enough milk, they're slaughtered. They don't even get to retire to some nice grassy pasture to live out their days. At no point are they treated with any kind of respect. And that's just dairy cows. These aren't even the animals used for the grotesquely exorbitant meat consumption in our society. It's sad, cruel and unnecessary.The only essential nutrient you cannot get from sun exposure and a varied vegan diet with tons of whole grains, legumes, fruits and vegetables is vitamin B12, which is easily supplemented. Just one vitamin.
Anyway, I'm not saying everyone should go vegan RIGHT FUCKING NOW, I'm just saying, hey, maybe think about it, maybe cut back on your animal product intake, see how you feel(betcha it's a whole lot better). I know I was raised to think that if there wasn't meat with every meal, it wasn't a real meal. You probably were too. The propaganda the dairy industry has been cramming down our throats our entire fucking lives doesn't help. Do your own research. Experiment(I always recommend experimentation. Bow-chicka-wow-wow). Try out some alternatives. It's not as hard as it seems.
Tuesday 4 March 2014
Thanks, Guys
A few weeks ago, I had a party. This blog came up in conversation, and a friend mentioned that he used to blog, that he would write to process his feelings and thought that maybe people would like to read the process. That is not how I felt about it. I NEVER thought that anyone besides maybe my very close friends would care for anything I had to say, or the overly honest way in which I say it. The only reason I posted that first blog was because I had drank an entire bottle and a half of wine and I was feeling emotional and I didn't care who knew about it.
I was never really encouraged as a kid. I was told what to do a lot. But no one ever told me I could be anything I wanted. I was told not to sing and that my dancing was silly. Told that I was smart but not THAT smart, and there wasn't enough money for me to get a real education anyway. I was belittled, abused and made to feel worthless. People always tell me they're impressed with how I've "overcome adversity" to become the person I am now. Since I started writing, you have all been so fucking nice. I wasn't expecting the outpouring of support and compliments, and to be honest I still don't know how to deal with them. I'm intensely grateful to everyone that even reads it, and for the kind and gracious feedback. I'm pretty pathetic so the outside validation does wonders for my confidence, and being help accountable to write every week is great. I tend to lose faith in myself in any and all of my pursuits, and accordingly have poor long term follow through.
Thank you. You guys rock. See you next week.
I was never really encouraged as a kid. I was told what to do a lot. But no one ever told me I could be anything I wanted. I was told not to sing and that my dancing was silly. Told that I was smart but not THAT smart, and there wasn't enough money for me to get a real education anyway. I was belittled, abused and made to feel worthless. People always tell me they're impressed with how I've "overcome adversity" to become the person I am now. Since I started writing, you have all been so fucking nice. I wasn't expecting the outpouring of support and compliments, and to be honest I still don't know how to deal with them. I'm intensely grateful to everyone that even reads it, and for the kind and gracious feedback. I'm pretty pathetic so the outside validation does wonders for my confidence, and being help accountable to write every week is great. I tend to lose faith in myself in any and all of my pursuits, and accordingly have poor long term follow through.
Thank you. You guys rock. See you next week.
Tuesday 25 February 2014
My Eternal Struggle With Vancouver Living
Five years ago I moved to Vancouver for a boy I met on Plenty of Fish. Well, to be precise, I moved to a couch in Surrey because it was all I could afford. My plan was to come over, find a job and find a place I could have my two little dogs, whom I left on the island for the time being. How hard could it be? So I packed a duffel bag, and hopped on the ferry. No cell phone, and maybe 400 dollars to my name. Fast forward a few weeks, I still have no job, the boy that I moved for (he said he loved me) wants to take things slow now, one of my little dogs has died, and my laptop has been stolen from the shitty hovel I'm staying at in Surrey. My 2700 dollar laptop. My last resort cash reserve.
Fuck Vancouver. Fuck it's indecisive, flaky boys. Fuck it's crack-head thieves. Fuck it's job market where everywhere is understaffed but nowhere's hiring. Fuck it's ridiculously expensive no pet tolerance housing. Fuck this place. So I used the rest of my money, hopped on another ferry and went home to bury my dog.
But Vancouver stuck with me. The anonymity. The different cultures. The bright rainbow of sexual diversity. Somewhere I could belong. Somewhere I could just be me. Like I never could in my little backwater island town(or the backwater mountain town in which I grew up). As soon as I was back there for a few weeks, I couldn't wait to be gone again. So, I moved back to Vancouver.
I couch surfed, I lived with friends, and I found a job. I dated, and I had tons of sex. I wanted sexual diversity, and I got it. This was my first experience with what I like to call "pre-epiphany" trans people. I dated a girl, who eventually turned out to be trans and all of the confusion surrounding our sex life made sense. And then I dated a boy, who also turned out to be trans, and again, it all made sense. Now, I'm intensely grateful for those experiences, and everything they taught me about the struggle that trans people have to go through, but back then it was just confusing. It's hard to love someone that isn't who they're meant to be. Impossible to connect sexually with someone whose genitalia doesn't match their brain and even they haven't figured out what's wrong yet.
A few months into my job, the boss makes a rather racist comment to my Mexican co-worker and very good friend. She quit, so I quit. Solidarity, bro. But now I'm in Vancouver and jobless, again. So, after a rather confusing and sexually frustrating stay with a sexually adventurous/extremely repressed young Mormon couple, I'm forced to move back to the island again. So the plan is, move back, find a job, save some money, and do the move back properly.
Lo and behold, the job market on the island sucks too. So after an awful Summer of fighting with my mom and moving in with my ex boyfriend, and then fighting with my ex boyfriend and moving in with my mom and back and forth, back and forth, I just said fuck it, and I would rather struggle in Vancouver than deal with this shit anymore. So I showed up on my dad's doorstep, and I got to live in a downtown alley in my brother's van. Where he was also living. With his girlfriend, and her three year old. Eventually I got bumped up to an air mattress on the floor of my dad`s bachelor apartment. Upgraaade.
After a few months of that, we moved to a two bedroom apartment where I shared a room with my 4 year old sister. I finally got another job(the same one I have now because I've been too terrified to be jobless in Vancouver again) and life was okay for awhile. I was really into the "scene" and I went to tons of shows and groupied around for awhile, met a lot of what turned out to be mostly terrible people. And then the aforementioned episode with my father and the police happened, and I was homeless again. I was given two days at my friend's house to find a new place. So I did. I found the first place that would let me have my kitty cat, and I moved in. Back to an air mattress, and thrift store blankets. I made a little home for myself there, though. It was the first time I'd lived any kind of alone, and even though I had four roommates, I had space of my very own. And I did as I pleased, for awhile. But then I guess one of my roommates developed feelings for me, so I moved in with one of the boys I was seeing at the time. The safest one. I'd dealt with a lot of heartbreak that year and I needed someone warm and safe.
After a year, and an unsuccessful attempt at polyamory, our just okay relationship ended, and I was free again. I moved into a cute little place on Oak street and it was ALL mine. No roommates, no family, just me and my kitty cats. It was amazing and awesome and totally lonely and expensive. So I found someone I knew I would like living with(I was banging his soon to be moving out roommate at the time and I stayed over a lot) and I moved in. A year and a half later, I'm still here. Longest housing stint in Vancouver thus far. My roommate became my partner and I'm still very much in love with him. What I'm not in love with, is this fucking basement suite. I miss having a bathtub, proper heat and living somewhere not infested with mould.
So I'm back to the issue of housing. We have three cats now. I don't understand why three cats is so different than two. But apparently it is. All I want is a house with a bathtub, where I can have my boyfriend and my kitties and not have to pay half my monthly salary for. I've contacted literally every acceptable place, only to get sparse replies, and be told that three cats is too many. I'm so frustrated, and I'm getting sick of this stupid city again.
Monday 3 February 2014
Racing For The Ring(A Spectator's Tale)
There are always people looking for the fabled happily ever after. They can't wait to meet the love of their lives and get married and have adorable little babies, or whatever. But I don't know anyone that openly says "I don't really care who it's WITH, though" and that's what it seems like people who get engaged super early in their relationships are essentially saying. It takes a long time to actually get to know someone. Not who they portray themselves as to the public, to people they want to like them, not who they WISH they were, not even the person they're striving to become. Who they actually ARE. How they deal with tragedy, disappointment, conflict, how they celebrate, how they crush on people outside the relationship, what they deem acceptable to hide from you.Who they actually are. Not just what their superficial likes and dislikes are, what they're allergic to, and whether or not they get along with your mother. It's scientifically proven that you don't even know if you'll be long term sexually compatible with someone before the 8 month mark. I definitely don't want to marry someone after 6 months that I'm not going to want to fuck after a year.
I have nothing against marriage. I might get married some day. I don't know. I've never been with someone for much longer than a year, and it's always been a personal rule that I would never marry someone I'd dated less than two years, and lived with for less than one. In my several year-ish relationships, I've had more than one person tell me they wanted to marry me, and without my two year rule(and my common sense), I would probably be, at 23, a divorced or at least very unhappy mother (Just what I always dreamed of!). None of those guys were right for me. But six months in? I thought they were. Because I didn't really know them, and they didn't really know me. So I ask you, what is the fucking rush? If you've met this person and everything is so amazing that you want to spend THE REST OF YOUR LIVES TOGETHER, what is two years? I just don't understand. Unless you're going to die in a year, or you're doing it to scam the government or you're actually an alien and you need to prove that you've found love to your space overlords so they won't destroy Earth and they'll only take marriage as acceptable proof, What. Is. The. Rush? People say they want to "lock that shit down", which seems weird. Is that all marriage is? A passive OMGNEVERLEAVEME? Do they think they have to trap the person they're with? Trap them in a tiny golden circle? Like by slipping on this tiny cage, they can force the person to be exactly who they want them to be, a person they want to spend their rest of their lives with?
If someone's going to leave you because you won't commit yourself to marrying them within a year, bitches be crazy, and you don't want to be marrying crazy bitches anyway. There is a crazy huge divorce rate. In Canada, 4/10 marriages end in divorce(and according to Statistics Canada, that number would be larger if it weren't for all of the common law couples, because when they split it doesn't count as a divorce). Relationships end. All the damn time. People are constantly breaking up and divorcing. As an adult, if I meet someone new and they tell me their parents are still together, it is a shock. It's less of a shock when I meet someone in their thirties and they mention they're divorced, and they tell me that it was stupid to get married so young, to someone they didn't know that well.
So just, wait. If they're perfect for you, they'll still be perfect for you in two years. And if they're not, well, wouldn't you rather know that before you get married?
I have nothing against marriage. I might get married some day. I don't know. I've never been with someone for much longer than a year, and it's always been a personal rule that I would never marry someone I'd dated less than two years, and lived with for less than one. In my several year-ish relationships, I've had more than one person tell me they wanted to marry me, and without my two year rule(and my common sense), I would probably be, at 23, a divorced or at least very unhappy mother (Just what I always dreamed of!). None of those guys were right for me. But six months in? I thought they were. Because I didn't really know them, and they didn't really know me. So I ask you, what is the fucking rush? If you've met this person and everything is so amazing that you want to spend THE REST OF YOUR LIVES TOGETHER, what is two years? I just don't understand. Unless you're going to die in a year, or you're doing it to scam the government or you're actually an alien and you need to prove that you've found love to your space overlords so they won't destroy Earth and they'll only take marriage as acceptable proof, What. Is. The. Rush? People say they want to "lock that shit down", which seems weird. Is that all marriage is? A passive OMGNEVERLEAVEME? Do they think they have to trap the person they're with? Trap them in a tiny golden circle? Like by slipping on this tiny cage, they can force the person to be exactly who they want them to be, a person they want to spend their rest of their lives with?
If someone's going to leave you because you won't commit yourself to marrying them within a year, bitches be crazy, and you don't want to be marrying crazy bitches anyway. There is a crazy huge divorce rate. In Canada, 4/10 marriages end in divorce(and according to Statistics Canada, that number would be larger if it weren't for all of the common law couples, because when they split it doesn't count as a divorce). Relationships end. All the damn time. People are constantly breaking up and divorcing. As an adult, if I meet someone new and they tell me their parents are still together, it is a shock. It's less of a shock when I meet someone in their thirties and they mention they're divorced, and they tell me that it was stupid to get married so young, to someone they didn't know that well.
So just, wait. If they're perfect for you, they'll still be perfect for you in two years. And if they're not, well, wouldn't you rather know that before you get married?
Monday 27 January 2014
My SAD Relationship with Old Man Winter
Good morning, Monday.
I, like so many others, suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder or SAD (which is probably the best name for a depressive disorder ever). It's essentially your body freaking the fuck out because the days are so short and you're not getting enough sunlight. Anyone that sees me in the summer sees a lovely, confident, cheerful, and sociable Sara. I go to all kinds of events and parties, and I'm fun. I make new friends, I flirt, I dance, I have boundless amounts of energy. Not many people see me in the winter. It starts in October, when the light/dark ratio goes below 50%. I notice myself getting tired, snappy and easily overwhelmed. The layers upon layers of clothing I now have to wear pull on my muscles that are sore for NO reason, squish my newly acquired pounds of winter fat and make me miserable every time I have to go outside. I bail on plans, and not because I have something else I would rather do, but because I don't think anyone would like me like this. I don't. I'm tired, whiny, easily offended and just SO FUCKING SAD.
I had my first full breakdown when I was 13. I'd been grounded for a long time, no phone, no friends, no television, no leaving the house. School was out for the holidays. I felt very alone, and I hated my home. My stepdad was a tyrant, and my mom was a pushover. My brother was staying with my dad for Christmas, and I hadn't wanted to go. I cried all the time. I screamed, I punched things, threw things. I was a brand new teenager with hormones to spare and a depression I didn't understand. I remember writing "I hate myself" all over my body in red sharpie. (Oxy pads get that shit right off, btw). I remember fighting with my stepdad, screaming that I hated him, that I didn't want to live there anymore, and him opening the door and telling me to leave, then. Which I did. In socks and pajamas, I ran to my friend's house. In the snow. Through a trail and over a train trestle. (Which is a bridge made of train tracks for anyone unfamiliar). They tried to put me in a foster home after that. Which brought up a whole lot of pain that I wouldn't show, my mother was being forced to choose between her daughter and a man, and she was choosing a man. They wouldn't take me into foster care, of course. There were kids who had it way worse off than me. What finally caused me to fully crack was when my brother got home from my father's with a shiny new skateboard and some cash, and told me that I because I hadn't gone to spend Christmas with him, my dad had decided that I didn't get any presents. Stupid reason, really. But I snapped. Completely freaked out. Locked myself in the bathroom and threatened to kill myself if they didn't leave me alone, because I hated them all. Which is when my mother called the cops, and I got my very own police escort to the hospital to talk to a therapist, and court ordered therapy sessions every Thursday at school for three months.
In the ten years since, I've had some bad winters, and some worse winters. I've experimented with anti-depressants, and self medicating in healthy(exercise, tanning beds, vitamin D) and unhealthy (meaningless sex, drugs, cigarettes and alcohol) ways. I've had the best results this year with a combination of the two. Tanning beds, a healthy sex life, a good sativa during the day, a strong indica to help me sleep, and wine. I'm going to Cuba in two weeks, and having an end in sight, even if it's just for a week, is doing wonders. I also have an amazing partner who helps me see the light, or at the very least, makes my darkness more comfortable.
I, like so many others, suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder or SAD (which is probably the best name for a depressive disorder ever). It's essentially your body freaking the fuck out because the days are so short and you're not getting enough sunlight. Anyone that sees me in the summer sees a lovely, confident, cheerful, and sociable Sara. I go to all kinds of events and parties, and I'm fun. I make new friends, I flirt, I dance, I have boundless amounts of energy. Not many people see me in the winter. It starts in October, when the light/dark ratio goes below 50%. I notice myself getting tired, snappy and easily overwhelmed. The layers upon layers of clothing I now have to wear pull on my muscles that are sore for NO reason, squish my newly acquired pounds of winter fat and make me miserable every time I have to go outside. I bail on plans, and not because I have something else I would rather do, but because I don't think anyone would like me like this. I don't. I'm tired, whiny, easily offended and just SO FUCKING SAD.
I had my first full breakdown when I was 13. I'd been grounded for a long time, no phone, no friends, no television, no leaving the house. School was out for the holidays. I felt very alone, and I hated my home. My stepdad was a tyrant, and my mom was a pushover. My brother was staying with my dad for Christmas, and I hadn't wanted to go. I cried all the time. I screamed, I punched things, threw things. I was a brand new teenager with hormones to spare and a depression I didn't understand. I remember writing "I hate myself" all over my body in red sharpie. (Oxy pads get that shit right off, btw). I remember fighting with my stepdad, screaming that I hated him, that I didn't want to live there anymore, and him opening the door and telling me to leave, then. Which I did. In socks and pajamas, I ran to my friend's house. In the snow. Through a trail and over a train trestle. (Which is a bridge made of train tracks for anyone unfamiliar). They tried to put me in a foster home after that. Which brought up a whole lot of pain that I wouldn't show, my mother was being forced to choose between her daughter and a man, and she was choosing a man. They wouldn't take me into foster care, of course. There were kids who had it way worse off than me. What finally caused me to fully crack was when my brother got home from my father's with a shiny new skateboard and some cash, and told me that I because I hadn't gone to spend Christmas with him, my dad had decided that I didn't get any presents. Stupid reason, really. But I snapped. Completely freaked out. Locked myself in the bathroom and threatened to kill myself if they didn't leave me alone, because I hated them all. Which is when my mother called the cops, and I got my very own police escort to the hospital to talk to a therapist, and court ordered therapy sessions every Thursday at school for three months.
In the ten years since, I've had some bad winters, and some worse winters. I've experimented with anti-depressants, and self medicating in healthy(exercise, tanning beds, vitamin D) and unhealthy (meaningless sex, drugs, cigarettes and alcohol) ways. I've had the best results this year with a combination of the two. Tanning beds, a healthy sex life, a good sativa during the day, a strong indica to help me sleep, and wine. I'm going to Cuba in two weeks, and having an end in sight, even if it's just for a week, is doing wonders. I also have an amazing partner who helps me see the light, or at the very least, makes my darkness more comfortable.
Monday 20 January 2014
Me time (Why I Miss Having a Bathtub)
I really enjoy time to myself. At least 5-6 hours a week, preferably an entire day. A couple of hours to write, read, or just watch an entire season of "How I Met Your Mother". Give myself some time to breathe, and think. Practice some Spanish or watch hentai and masturbate. Go shopping, or not change out of my pajamas all day. The point is not what I'm doing, but who I'm doing it for. Me time is the chance to get away from expectations, to really just do whatever I want. Today I just want to drink juice and finish my book.
I really miss having a bathtub, though. At least once a week I would sit in a nice hot bath with my headphones on(Sigh No More by Mumford and Sons is my go-to album), smoke a joint and have a glass of wine. Or a bottle if the week had gone particularly awful. Me time just isn't the same without a bathtub. Especially when I'm really upset and want to cry in the bath. Crying in the bath is a lot more elegant than sitting on the floor of your stand up shower sobbing. You can't even eat chocolate in the shower.
Friday 10 January 2014
Daddy Issues
No one's seen you today. I wonder if you're dead. Sometimes I find myself wishing that you were. Then when people ask me about my father I can say "He died" and they can say "Oh, I'm sorry" and we can move on. I wouldn't have to explain, "Well, we're not very close. He's a manipulative abusive deadbeat alcoholic and occasional crack user".
I wouldn't have to worry about my little sister. I remember finding out that you'd smoked crack in our apartment while she and I were asleep in the other room. I remember coming back a few days later to find you passed out on the floor, and her, naked and crying, begging you to get up. I think about the time you abandoned her for several days. When she was all of three years old. I'm sure you were just trying to teach her some valuable survival skills. Like not to trust or rely on you.
I worry about my brothers, and your influence on and over them. I wonder what we'd be like if we had had a strong father figure. But we got you, and your enlightened teachings of drink, fight, yell, and be an everlasting victim.
Sometimes I wish that you were dead. Most of the time though, I just wish that you'd get better.
I wouldn't have to worry about my little sister. I remember finding out that you'd smoked crack in our apartment while she and I were asleep in the other room. I remember coming back a few days later to find you passed out on the floor, and her, naked and crying, begging you to get up. I think about the time you abandoned her for several days. When she was all of three years old. I'm sure you were just trying to teach her some valuable survival skills. Like not to trust or rely on you.
I worry about my brothers, and your influence on and over them. I wonder what we'd be like if we had had a strong father figure. But we got you, and your enlightened teachings of drink, fight, yell, and be an everlasting victim.
Sometimes I wish that you were dead. Most of the time though, I just wish that you'd get better.
Monday 6 January 2014
New Year, New Eating Disorder
So it's January 6th, and the "New Year, New Me" posts are about winding down now. I don't make New Years resolutions anymore. If I want to change something now, I just change it. Setting goals just because the last number of the date changed seems doomed to fail. Everyone's all, travel this, change that. And by February it's forgotten.(Maybe next year!) The number one NY resolution is to lose weight.
I used to have an eating disorder. Not that our society calls it an eating disorder if you actually have some weight to lose. Fat girls are just "getting healthy". Even if it's in the unhealthiest way possible.
You know what the easiest way to lose weight is?
Fuck that, and fuck you.
I do worry about my long term health, and thanks to my lovely eating disorder that used to kick up every time I got to 180 lbs, my long term health is now in question. I have so many stomach problems. You just can't take tons of pills, not eat, and work out all the time. Your body will eventually rebel. So now I have a number of food sensitivities, and acid reflux. I can't take ANY pills without feeling queasy at best, curled up in agony at worst. So I try and eat well, and get enough exercise, only take medication that I need, go easy on caffeine, etc, etc.
But it still creeps in. I'll put on weight and think horrible things about myself, and about the way my body looks, and my brain will ominously whisper "We know how to deal with this, we've done it before" And I know it would be so easy, what's a little excruciating pain when it comes to beauty and acceptance? But no, not anymore. Now, I just ask myself, "Hey, Sara. What are you doing that's making you feel less than super awesome and totally sexy?" If I'm eating too many snacks, I eat fewer snacks. If I'm not getting enough exercise, I do some fucking exercise. If I'm not having enough orgasms, I masturbate more. (There is nothing better for your self esteem than orgasms, in my opinion. But using others to build up your self esteem is cruel and manipulative. So masturbation, not casual sex. Not that I'm against casual sex. I just don't support it for reasons other than sexual arousal and attraction.) If there are people around me that judge me by my weight? To the best of my ability, they're not around me anymore.
I'm working on loving myself, and not because it's a New Year. Because it's one year of many that I have left, and I want to love myself for all of them.
I used to have an eating disorder. Not that our society calls it an eating disorder if you actually have some weight to lose. Fat girls are just "getting healthy". Even if it's in the unhealthiest way possible.
You know what the easiest way to lose weight is?
- Coffee(Hunger suppressant AND laxative)
- Diet Pills(More of the same^)
- Vitamins(Avoids unhealthy pallor and your body won't realize it's starving as quickly)
- Cigarettes(Again, hunger suppressant)
- 2-3 litres of water(Drink whenever your stomach feels like it's eating itself)
- Work out every day. Hard.
- Don't eat(Unless you feel like you're going to pass out, then have some celery, an egg or a bit of white rice)
Fuck that, and fuck you.
I do worry about my long term health, and thanks to my lovely eating disorder that used to kick up every time I got to 180 lbs, my long term health is now in question. I have so many stomach problems. You just can't take tons of pills, not eat, and work out all the time. Your body will eventually rebel. So now I have a number of food sensitivities, and acid reflux. I can't take ANY pills without feeling queasy at best, curled up in agony at worst. So I try and eat well, and get enough exercise, only take medication that I need, go easy on caffeine, etc, etc.
But it still creeps in. I'll put on weight and think horrible things about myself, and about the way my body looks, and my brain will ominously whisper "We know how to deal with this, we've done it before" And I know it would be so easy, what's a little excruciating pain when it comes to beauty and acceptance? But no, not anymore. Now, I just ask myself, "Hey, Sara. What are you doing that's making you feel less than super awesome and totally sexy?" If I'm eating too many snacks, I eat fewer snacks. If I'm not getting enough exercise, I do some fucking exercise. If I'm not having enough orgasms, I masturbate more. (There is nothing better for your self esteem than orgasms, in my opinion. But using others to build up your self esteem is cruel and manipulative. So masturbation, not casual sex. Not that I'm against casual sex. I just don't support it for reasons other than sexual arousal and attraction.) If there are people around me that judge me by my weight? To the best of my ability, they're not around me anymore.
I'm working on loving myself, and not because it's a New Year. Because it's one year of many that I have left, and I want to love myself for all of them.
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