Thursday, June 28, 2007

Remember what I said foo..

So to continue from yesterday, I will talk about catcalling.

I got really distracted reading Ms. Doolittle's writing and yeah.

Where was I? Crackpot sexologist?

Actually before I get to the cat calling let me say that since I heard someone use that term to refer to Ducky Doolittle as a CrackPot Sexologist something in my wee black heart went DING DING DING BINGO WE HAVE A WINNER!

So oh wow I entirely just realized that I have never spoken about this here or really in public aside from to close friends.

My secret is out.

I want to be the laymans sexologist when I growed up.

I'm talking about people like (now understand this is just my view of these folks they do a lot more than talk about sex or work in the sex industry) Tristan Taormino, Annie Sprinkle, Betty Dodson I could go on and on.

Essentially I am really truly passionate about sexuality. Having it, understanding it, helping people understand and enjoy theirs. Way deep down in my soul I want to give the world orgasms. Seriously. I want people's sexuality to stop being fucked with, and if it has help them to get past that and emerge out the other side fully able to make some love.

I don't want to be a doctor. I want to be a homie. I want to be one of those people you can call up and say, "GURL Oh MAH GAWD you will not believe what just came out of my vajayjay." And feel comfortable.

Write me and say, "I'm a gay man and I'm afraid of teh buttsex what do I do?"

You get my drift here?

I really think my whole pansexual I'll bite it if I think it's hot thing is more of a blessing than most people would think. That along with my love of sexuality and the fact that I can freaking identify with people. And it would make me feel good.

Wow.

I had to back it up there for a second. I've not really been ahem open about this with many people at all. Granted as passionate about it as I am,I have my reservations.

Most of those don't really stem from a lack of knowledge. I read about sex and sexuality, I talk about it, I write about it that's not the problem. I think the real base fear is that I will suck at it. Of course. But I study and just lately I've been trying my hand at writing some non-fiction (hopefully) humorous essays and things that I am growing the cajones to submit places.

Also (and I am totally showing my ass here, if you laugh at me I'll find you and shit in your computer) another thing that I am frightened of is my lack of education. I have not been to college and my burning need to learn and my disgust with how education works in this country even at higher levels are at constant battle.

I very honestly will be goddamned if I am going to spend essentially my ENTIRE income to get a piece of paper that theoretically promises the big dollars but in reality doesn't. I think the number of college grads I know who work in retail, food service, customer service etc and not in what they got their fucking degrees in to begin with plays a big part in that. I have met more Phd's who sling coffee or hash because they have to than I care to think about.

Education is something I value so deeply and intensely that it feels cheap to just say 'Oh I should just go to college'. Also for years now because if I'm going to be honest with myself from the first time I heard Mary Martone and Dan Savage on the radio giving sex advice (Seattle folks am I dating myself here or what?) I knew then that's what I wanted to do.

And after all these years I still (unless it's the Kinsey Institute I have no desire to have that experience. The life I want to see stretched out in front of me has nothing to do with physics, beer bongs, football games or any of that. Never has and as much as I try to delude myself never will.

I am self taught. I am taught by the incredible people I meet in person and through their books and other media. I want experience not to go into a blackhole of debt for a piece of paper.

Holy fucking crap.

If you haven't been reading me for years it's fairly rare that I ever say anything quite this massively personal and close to my heart and it feels weird but I think I'm ok.

So that people is my big dream. Well one of them anyway. Contrary to how I might appear I have a very clear vision of what I want to remember when I'm 98 years old sitting on my front porch with a cup of tea in one hand a cat in my lap and a smile on my face.

Ok back to my original topic of cat calling if you're still here.

As I said yesterday my two main means of diffusing cat calls are to either perplex the jackass or scare them.

No really it works. You see folks I am very good at coming up with strange things to say off of the top of my head. Included but not limited to gems such as these, imagine a carload of horny dickheads pull up and say: "HAY BABY U WAN RIDE DIS?"

Some of my favorite responses:

"Hell yeah I'd love to give you all the Herpes."

"Ride in your car?" Ok rule with that one is you have to stare sort of blank and wide eyed at the person speaking to you. Try it sometime it freaks people out. And bonus points if you can dead pan your voice at the same time.

"Um what? Cookie? No wait are you saying I get a cookie?" This is a proven fact if people think you are batshit insane they will leave you alone.

Other tactics. I like a weird random lecture. Case in point the other night. Same scenario here is what I did.

Essentially I told the boys that I could get in their car but how were they to know that I wasn't packing heat and would not in fact roll them, steal their car and pistol whip the one with the crappy jewelry? And of course again if you do something like this the more calm and conversational you are the better. I then proceeded to tell them that the only thing I wanted to do with any of them was maybe give them, TEH HERPES.

They sort of blinked then drove away.

My all time favorite however has to be last winter. I wear a big red knee length coat. And this car pulls along side me a boy hanging out the window asking if he can come home with me. Now remember, I do the dead pan so you just have to imagine it.

I said: "Baby the only way you're coming home with me is if you and my old man play prison bitch and I get to call you Sally."

In case you're not as pervy as me I was inviting him to get violently violated in his nono hole while getting beat with a baton by me. It took him I'm serious about thirty seconds to realize that was in fact what I was saying and his face blanched and they drove away. I chortled the whole way home.

More dead pan responses. Bonus points if you speak really slowly.

"Are you fucking serious?"
"No." Give the perp a long look up and down, shake your head slightly. "Really no."
"I am anti-penis."

That last one is fun.

If you don't want to talk or can't think of my brand of weirdo humour try these.

Unless you are in the middle of working out come to a dead stop, pivot slowly and stare. No raised eyebrow, no smile, no frown just stare. It can be really fun to watch a grown man squirm. Also the one brow lifted and the "are you really that fucking stupid" look can work wonder.

I know I'm weird but I do have a fairly sadistic streak and I really enjoy making stupid people squirm and look like the dickheads they are. Granted this sort of thing doesn't work for everybody but if it works for you, work it.

Ok that is seriously more than enough tl:dr from me.

Homo Out.
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Wednesday, June 27, 2007

I'm Bossy....

First off go read Fatfu today. Right now.

No seriously again I'll wait and it'll open in a new window or tab. Go NOW. Done fantastic.

First of all I am wearing make up today that is the hot fucking sex but I have no foto because my webcam decided to take a gigantic crap while I was trying to take it. So I will describe it for you.

It's very retro and cute. Not a look I do often. I colored my upper lid in Jane Colorsticks eyeliner/shadow in my boyfriend. A word about that product it goes on nowhere near as dark as it looks. It is however a good very very dark sparkly gray which served the purpose well. I did a slighly exaggerated cat eye. I then went over that with one of my favorite black loose sparkly shadows. Fyrinnae's Bastet. Fabulous sparkly color. Then lots and LOTS of mascara and topped off with a light mauve lipstick. With a hint of clear sparkly gloss.

Very retro badgirl. It would only be better if:

  • It wasn't humid.
  • My allergies weren't acting up.
  • I could have worn foundation without sweating it off.
  • And if I had done some sort of large thing with my hair.


But whatever it's still fucking hawt.

So I feel cute today regardless of the fact I had jacked up sleep and my skin is looking kinda pissed off. But yeah.

What else?

I am obsessed with this drink mix called Zuko that imported from Chile and is super freaking tasty. It's sugarless and tastes like real juice but you get that little Koolaid bite that I love. And bonus it is super cheap at grocery outlet.

I am weird when it comes to drink mixes I like mine tart so I wind up using less than it says to on a package. A supposedly 2 gallon making thinger (such a technical term) of sugarless Koolaid will last me for like 5 liter bottles of water.

Let's talk about catcalling. In many of the various blogs I read people have been talking about it and how to deal. This is my method.

Perplex them until they fuck off.
Scare them.

I like both equally. I am very good at the first because I have a talent for saying random weird shit.

Actually I don't feel like talking about this anymore.

Instead I want to say that I really -really- dig Ducky Doolittle. She is amazingly smart and has a smile that makes me want to smile. And she wears gorgeous lipstick.

She really makes me want to relearn how to walk in heels and be a crackpot sexologist.
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Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Ghiradelli chocolates...and glee.

So I am a new chocolate convert. I am right this instant nibbling on a piece of Ghiradelli chocolate.

It is in fact a 60% cacoe Squares Dark chocolate. I am having it with a very large cup of coffee. I love these chocolates because they are perfect size for me. Enough to be nibble satisfactorily but not so much I feel icky in the stomach area afterwards. Perfection in a dark chocolate square.

I was reading Fatshionista this morning and one post in particular hit me very close to home. One woman posted about years of getting the not so subtle signal that her body was/is inappropriate. What struck me more is that we have very similar measurements.

The idea that because your body isn't what society decides is ok is one that has been close to my heart for a long time. Doubly so I think because of how I've tended to dress over the years and because I'm black.

Before I really get into this let me say right now I am not interested in playing in the Oppressed Dick Sizing Olympic games. This is entirely based on experiences had in my 30 years on this Earth so don't bother.

So right.

I have to say that over the years probably the most hurtful and damaging things have always been based in the idea that I am not appropriate. Even now when someone approaches me from that standpoint it is one of the few things that I can't just let roll off of my back and that I will take in and hold it like a piece of sand until it's just another pearl to stack with the other ones.

It started when I was very young. I was a very strange child. I read early, my tastes were not on par with a lot of my peers in many ways. At the time generally adults weren't the ones sending the message. Most of them thought it was cute. Me reading novels, watching NOVA and trying to discuss astronomy. However other kids as you can well guess tended to be mean.

As I got older though, adults started to treat me as other too. I assume from an adult standpoint that I was probably often startling. I was still very small, undersized and looked way younger than I was and yet I spent a lot of time talking to adults about the things that interested me. Ancient Egypt, mummification, embalming and the death rituals of various cultures. Yes it was strange. But, I started to get the message from people that somehow wasn't ok.

I spent a lot of time back then absolutely puzzled. I didn't understand (as I don't understand now) why it was so strange to just be as I was.

Then of course came the teen years and my start to hear why I was not ok.

It started with how I speak. I heard from family members, random people and my peers constantly that I was "trying to be white". How I dressed, how I spoke, the music I listened to, my hours at the library, my budding predilection for strange hair colors apparently to everyone but me, indicated I was a self hating black person.

I wasn't actually. And only once that I can recall did anyone ever bother to really pay attention to me when I got upset about that fucking slur. "Trying to be white".

I learned eventually to verbally dress down anyone who dares question my love of my blackness.

Also during my preteen years I began to learn how wrong my body was. I was in about the middle of the pack for the start of puberty. I had tender buds for boobs up until about the sixth grade when I became a perky bra hating bcup. At that small (now that I look back) time period my body was ok.

And then two years later my body turned against me and everyone else. I went from said Bcup to a bit bigger than an F cup in less than two years.

I don't want to go into too many details suffice it to say everyone and I mean everyone from my peers, teachers, random people on the street had something shitty to say about my body. I rarely got called fat even though I very purposefully gained a shit-ton of weight but, people cat called and were very cruel. I got lectures from strangers about bra stuffing, I got screamed at by my gym teacher for changing in the toilet stall or not participating because back then a good sports bra for boobs that big was just way too expensive for my parents to afford.

People threw things at me from cars. I was harassed and tormented to the point that save for going to school I rarely left the house or my bedroom. I for the most part stopped speaking entirely. It gets worse.

Cut to the end of that hellish two/three year period and my parents finally were able to get insurance to cover a breast reduction. By the time it happened though I was damaged inside and out. (Sorry this is a little gross) The weight of my breasts had pulled my entire back out of alignment, starting causing the tissue to separate from my sternum, I had nearly inch deep grooves in the top of my shoulders from my bra straps, I was having trouble breathing to sleep at night. The list goes on. And that was just physical.

I remember very vividly while in the surgeons office for an appointment he asked me if I had gained a lot of weight to which I said yes. I said:

"I'd rather be the fat girl than be the girl that everyone hates."

So I got the breast reduction.

I returned to school after a three week absence pretty much ready for fucking war. However the abuse very abruptly stopped. Random kids asked if I'd lost weight. Boys I'd known since third grade told me I looked pretty.

I hadn't lost weight except for my tits.

I found out later that the rumour was I'd been to fat camp. I never bothered to correct it.

After all that I did in fact start to lose some of the weight I'd put on. I started dancing, playing volleyball, being a cheerleader (don't laugh I shit you not I was a cheerleader) and though the comments had ceased I still felt wrong and bad.

For about (gah I hate to even say this) ten years my weight yo-yo'd quite a bit. From about a size 16/18 all the way down to a size 5. At every weight someone thought my body was inappropriate. Too skinny, too fat, thighs too big to be wearing that skirt, no ass, boobs too big etc.

My body has been put through hell by me and by the world at large and it makes no sense.

At my happiest and healthiest I'd say I was probably an 11/14 or so. Not much smaller than I am now. I felt good and my body for the first time in a long time didn't feel like the enemy.

All through those years and into my twenties I struggled so hard to even accept myself. When you heap on the frowning of the community what do you get?

I'm sure you know what I'm saying here.

Now I am re-learning and reconditioning myself to realize that no, there is nothing wrong with my body. There is nothing wrong with your body. And it's nobody's goddamn business anyway.

Dye your hair magenta and wear a choli, overalls and Wellies if you wanna.

Fuck em.

I refuse to spend the next thirty years of my life trying to achieve some arbitrary standard that doesn't actually fucking exist. No matter what you look like or how you behave someone will not like it. And that's just too goddamn bad ain't it?

It's not a war worth fighting.

What's worth fighting for is your right to be who you are regardless of what anyone else says. It's worth it to fight for good health care and to be happy and healthy.

That's a war I'll sign up for.

Draft me.

Ok enough. I'm a little spent after all that. I had actually intended to talk about the news but that's even more fucking depressing and I can't handle it right now.

Homo Out.



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Monday, June 25, 2007

Purse Envy.

I want a new purse. Like the lovely who posted about purses on Too Fat For Fashion I too am a lover of the big purse. I need a big purse. I love a big purse.

My main requirement is that my huge headphones fit in it. Otherwise no motherfucking go.

That said why am I lusting after those sequined hobo bags when the first time I saw one I actually flinched? What the HAYL is wrong with me?

No seriously people you just do not understand. And it's not just any shiny black hobo bag I want. No I know exactly the one I want now I just have to find it.

It's really a good thing I have a sense of humor about my fashion. I have to I mean come ON I carry on occasion a JailHouse Rock print Elvis purse with matching coin purse.

I might be able to go without the stupid hobo bag if I find a cute tote bag. I'm thinking a Bettie Page or maybe Marilyn Monroe or somesuch.

Must be large+cute=HappyBeasty.

While on the subject of wants I realized this morning while getting dressed that I have no accessories anymore. I used to have a ton of UberGawth type stuff very pretty that I just don't have anymore and that makes me a sad monkey.

So either I learn how to make the shit or I start releasing my choke hold on my wallet and buying it. I am very partial to fancy chokers and large vaguely inappropriate collars. I generally go for all silver I'm not a huge gold fan.

So this means, I need to start getting out of the fucking house at the weekend instead of holing up like an angry fucking groundhog.

So I need to start shopping more at (myspace link heads up it makes noise) The Metro I can't say when I stopped shopping there. I used to shop there a lot. What the FUCK is going on with me? Also note to self, still not crawling out of the batcave. Really. Srsly.

Where was I?

I got distracted by something shiny.

Ok anyhow. Let's talk about me and my irrational fear of starting to sew again.

For some reason it is very highly imprinted in my head that I have not only forgotten how to do anything remotely cool with my sewing machine I also should just not try.

Nevermind the fact that I've had SO many kickass ideas. I really need to get the fuck over it.

*Deep breath*

So I should make myself a hot little totebag. I should also get my stuff together for clothing remixing.

Please self can we not do this whole fucking I can't thing?

Gods.

Moving on I am still in a terrible kind of lust with brightly colored make up. I just can't help it. When finances are a little smoother I'll be investing in some Kryolan colors. Very excited about that. I think my hard on for Mac is waning a bit. I also need to invest in some more lipgloss. I need new colors.

Speaking of make up I am such a lucky woman that I am involved with a man who I can send to Rite Aid for hair products and make up and who never gets the wrong thing.

Now I'm spent.

I'm going to eat popcorn and finish my monthly soda.

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Friday, June 22, 2007

Things on my mind.

I'm feeling better after my little snit one entry down.

And blog entries I found via Kate Harding at Pretty Pear has me thinking. Well has me continuing thoughts I had earlier.

Go ahead go read their entries then come back I'll wait.

Done? Fantastic don't forget to bookmark them.

I think I have it pretty easy here in my little blogland. I'm not by any means a known blogger in any realm so what I say pretty much goes unnoticed. I might blog about fat and things of the sort often but I am not in the sphere of the fat acceptance bloggers. So I can probably talk about this stuff without too much undue bullshit.

What I want to talk about is what happens when you're ideology (in this case Size acceptance...more about why I rarely say Fat acceptance later) and your brain are sending the proverbial mixed messages.

In my case I've been a lot more active since it's been nice out and I have lost some weight. In fact even though I've been an Inbetweenie for years and years, I'm edging into not fat status. I'm feeling a little meh about it which I think I've mentioned before.

On one hand I have the "YEAH now I can shop where ever mostly" thought and then the other, "Buuuut I was fine before" thoughts. It's a tough thing. Especially when weight loss wasn't what I was after in the first place. That makes me a little upset in a few ways.

I am finding that I often feel like I am not sure I should open my mouth about the size issue anymore. Then of course I tell myself what the FUCK of course you can.

It's a difficult thing.

Also, there's the issue (this is *my* issue not any one else's responsibility) that I have been shying away from going to any of the local Fatshionista things. Mostly because I am very well aware that to a lot of other fat people I am not actually fat. Mostly I think this is because of how I tend to dress combined with generally my posture. I tend to have very good posture which as all the fashion rags will tell you makes a girl look slimmer. I am very sensitive still to the idea that I will might be rejected or resented because of my size.

It's happened before and I was so badly hurt I really don't want to go through that again.

Also while on one hand I do not agree at all that smaller fat people should be excluded from bigger fat people activities and vice versa on the other hand I don't want to be the cause of someone else's distress. Especially if that person is not in a place to own the fact that it's not my issue that they are distressed but something they need to look at with themselves. Does that make any fucking sense?

So yeah. There is probably a good reason I'm not a "name" blogger.

Now onto why I hate the phrase Fat Acceptance.

I hate it because it feels alienating to me and often gives one too many people free reign to bash other bodies. That is not ok with me.

I LOVE the term Size Acceptance because that's what we're after isn't it? To be accepted at whatever size we are? Fat thin inbetween etc. I WANT us all to be accepted regardless of how big our asses are. I am a firm and (starting to be) joyful lover of the HAES ideal. That turns me on in the best kind of way.

What I want ideally is to be one of those people who not only says it but can almost every day feel it. I'm working on that part.

Don't think I never have issues with my body image because guess what I have a truckload. Matter of fact I am right this instant having some that I don't particularly feel like talking about but suffice it to say that my brain and my heart are fighting it out.

It's kind of freeing not to feel like i have to pelase anyone here. I love my little corner of the web.

Granted I wouldn't be mad if I got to be a famous blogger but it's not important. What's more important to me these days is having somewhere to let it out and leave my bits of brain poo to mark my territory. The fact that there's a few of you who read it is just gravy.

And now I am going to scour the internetz for some thrifty fabulous deals.

Maybe I'll post about that later.

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Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Let's get a few things Straight...also known as don't get it fucking twisted.

So I got an email from someone who "cares" and of course this person is a huge fucking douche and my response (my initial one was actually polite) bounced so here we go.

This is not going to be polite. If you're frightened easily you might want to turn your head.

First of all yes, if you've been reading me since the Diary-X days you should have known the following things if you had any fucking reading comprehension skills at all:

  1. I am not straight. I have never been straight and will never be entirely heterosexual. Not a big motherfucking secret. I am the (my favorite term to date) omnisexual will bite that ass if I like it kind of girl.
  2. I curse a lot. Matter of fact it's a fucking art form for me. Not a day goes by that the words mother fucker, cock, cunt, pussy, bitch and whatever combination thereof I deem necessary does not pass my lips. I like to curse. I refuse to say gosh diddly darnit fudging freak shizz. I will say God damn it fucking fuck shit. Because that is exactly what I fucking mean.
  3. If you're new to the club let me fill you in a a few things that although you're a great lover of my writing you seem to not have picked up on. I like porn and have been paid to write it. Very gay nasty ass fucking all singing all dancing perverted kinky extravaganza type complete with knives blood and bondage. I don't care if you don[t like porn fuck off and don't read it.
  4. When I discuss fat, being fat, fat politics I am not doing it for attention nor to justify the size of my fucking ass to you or anyone else. No I don't often post pictures because I don't have a fucking digital camera. Not because I am teh super seekrit internetz fatty. For the record (pay close motherfucking attention here twat) I wear a Torrid Size 12. I don't own a scale and haven't been to the doctor in months so I don't know (nor do I care particularly) how much I fucking weigh. If I was a size 4 or a size 28 my response to the issues around fat politics would be the fucking same. Fuck you.
  5. Don't fucking email me with a fake email address and have the temerity to think that will change anything about me. Fuck off.
All I have to say in conclusion is you sir are a fucking douche. And I use that in the spirit that you are an icky manufactured substances that irritates my fucking vagina.

Ok enough of that.

I am not in the fucking mood for that kind of shit this week I am really not.

In other news I am wearing excellent perfume today that I cannot recall the name of and the label is super faded. I know it's one I got from Fyrinnae but which one? I don't know.

Can we discuss junkfood for a minute? I don't really eat a lot of junk food at all. I rarely eat fast food (although a back of Dick's is just what the doc ordered..whole other issue though) however right now I want a bag of those spicy cheesey Dorito's so bad I could punch someone in the face.

I'm not premenstrual I think eating all of the tasty Vegan soups lately has me lacking in the salty food area. And I rarely salt anything so I think that's what it is. Sadly though I have no tasty cheesy chips so I will probably make popcorn instead.

I'm wearing this cami top today that has a shelf bra in it. Normally I am entirely anti shelf bra. The D Cups of Doom(tm) DO. NOT. WANT. Generally shelf bras are just a no. They give me uniboob and quite frankly if you are above about a mid C cup that is just not fucking cute nor is it comfortable. But this one is constructed in such a way that though it is a touch too small and squeezy my cleavage is like WHOA.

I should take a picture on my webcam when I get home to demonstrate. It is the chubby baby butt type cleavage and I likes it. I also keep sniffing my own cleavage because I dabbed perfume in there and it smells nice.

I'm in a far better mood today. One Hung Low made it through his post operative check up ok. The nurse told him his wound is looking fantastic and that he's doing a good job with wound care and the other irritation in the area is just chafing. Thank ye gods.

I've been so scared and tense it's just not funny at all.

Finances are still very tight but we're surviving and not having to eat crap which is a relief. Hopefully I'll be able to ferret away some monies for books and projects.

It's really rough having some really fantastic creative crafty ideas but no loot to fund supply buying and such. Hopefully this Fall I'll be able to do some.

I also really want to do something for Pride this weekend.

That something does include the serious want to snog random hot people and probably rubs my boobs against a hot 6'7" drag queen (not that I would ever do anything like that o_0) and go dancing at Neighbor's with people from work. (And um whty the FUCK does that place not have a fucking webpage? At least a Myspace that I can find? What kind of homos are they up in there?) Ok wait where was I? Bootyshaking, homos, boobs, Pride oh right-o.

However I am still just exhausted

But, a little partying bootyshaking and probably fag snogging might do me good.

This is yet another time that reminds me I need more homos in my life. I need a gay boyfriend. I miss Mikee. Who else would take me into the mostly boys only leather bar and leave me alone to play with random LeatherBoys and their Daddy? I loved those boys, there is nothing more fun than riding a LeatherBoy like a pony. Except maybe being put in the sling in the corner and dry humped to be shown what it's for. Yeah ok that's better than riding a PonyBoy.

Also I miss another gay boy with whom I spent way too much time making out in seedy mens bathrooms with. Bathrooms, taxis, on his doorstep much to the horror of his neighbor. *Le sigh*

I miss my big gay life.

Maybe once my life settles down into a more comfortable groove I will be able to re immerse myself in homosexuals from the toes up.

Ok I'm done. I want my popcorn right now.

And as the tshirt Boy&Gurl Venus got me, "It's not PMS, it's you."

Homo Out.









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Monday, June 18, 2007

Oi vey

So it's been a rough week obviously.

Mike is still recovering and is as I type on his way back to the ghetto hospital of doom to get a check up.

I also apparently entirely forgot about paying for my hosting on the new bi yearly billing. And of course I'm broke right now electronically speaking so I think I will have to put up some quick auctions or something.

That really sucks.

I really hate being consistently stressed out. It really saps away everything else.

Fuck sake.

I'm not really in the mood to share anymore.

However I am wearing my favorite sweater. And got several compliments on my hair which is nice.
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Thursday, June 14, 2007

Things I find tiring.

First for the record since I talk about fat related things a lot.

I don't actually know how much I weigh. Matter of fact I couldn't even really make an educated guess. I'd be way wrong most likely.

Furthermore in discussions about bodies it really fucking annoys me that everyone has to have their disclaimer. The "I'm thin so I know" the "I'm fat so I know" height weight measurements what have you. I hate to break it to people but the only person who really gives a shit about that is you.

Frankly when discussing the politics. Discrimination, hatred, etc how wide your ass is or is not really isn't important.

I know some of you (all four of you) are thinking, "Shannon you fucking twat you talk about your size all the time" yes I do. The key here is context darlings.

When discussing the fit or lack thereof of a piece of clothing I find a size mention, an ass width mention etc to be very helpful. I know my measurements so when someone says that the blablabla didn't fit in the boobies and they have a blablalba inch bust then I can decide hrm, that garment will not cover the D cups o Doom.

I am also tired of anything that clings to old stupid stereotypes. Get over it.

Yes, there are fat people who are healthy. Yes, there are fat people who aren't so healthy.

Yes there are thin people who are angry and miserable and starving. Yes, there are happy healthy thin people.

No, whatever you read on some website six years ago that said that 40% of all people with freckles on their asses are more likely to have a heart attack isn't important and furthermore nobody fucking cares.

Seriously.

Why is it so fucking hard to hear the following: "Don't discriminate against people"

WHY?

Why does it seem like at every turn someone is trying to find somebody to put on the list of people it's ok to be a dick to?

Gay? Sure why not.
Fat? Sure why not.
White? Sure why not.

Fucking stop already it's getting fucking old and there are way bigger issues to be taken care of.

Why as a cuntry (yes I misspelled that on purpose) do we Amerikans insist on arguing over what is in fact petty shit.

Get over yourselves. Be pissed at shit that will actually impact your fucking life not how big/small/gay/etc someone elses ass is.

How about putting all that vitriol to good use and demanding our schools be improved?

How about getting righteously indignant over the fact that our country is running so far into debt your Grandkids' great grandkids will STILL be paying it off and probably all living in fucking plastic pods because we've used up all the other fucking resources.

Fuck SAKE.

How about demanding that your fucking government take a step back and a look in the fucking mirror before sending your brothers, sisters, sons, daughters and neighbors to fucking die in a place they can't even pronounce the name of?

I am pissed off.

You should be too.

Homo Out.


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Wednesday, June 13, 2007

What a fucking week.

I don't feel like going into uber detail but Mike (One hung Low keep up here people) had to be hospitalized on saturday night and had emergency surgery early Sunday morning.

I brought him home yesterday. He's ok. I'm mostly ok and it really fucking sucked.

I would not like to talk about it.

Other things.

I am really glad (I think it was) The Rotund pointed me towards Kate Harding. You should all go read them. I decree it.

Now what else was I going to talk about?

How about the state of my jiggly ass?

So I mistakenly put on my black trousers from Torrid that have never fit and now I am annoyed. My pants are seriously pinned to my shirt to keep them from falling off.

Torrid, you vanity sizing bitches. But I love you anyway.

Oh how I pine for some sort of standardized sizing. Torrid says I'm a size 12, other stores I can be anywhere from a 12-19 or some such bullshit. Do these people know how difficult that makes it to find ass covers?

Do they really want me running around with no comfortable pants?

I know it's a pipe dream.

What else?

I continue to be in love with that Style Hive thing. Lots of amusement to be had there.

I am going to listen to Hank Williams III and try not to pass out and/or yell at anyone. A salty snack may be needed.

Nooooooooooooooo wait I have coffee. French Press here I come bitch. I can already taste you sliding down my throat like absolute dark joy.

Ok so yeah I go now.

Homo Out.

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Friday, June 08, 2007

Amusements first.






What kind of sex toy are you?

handcuffs
Take this quiz at QuizHeaven.com



Um yeah duh.

I read something horrible via The Rotund via Kate Harding but I don't really feel like talking about it right now. Suffice it to say some people fucking suck.

in other news, you might recall I said I had a migraine the other day. Well that turned into the migraine of motherfucking doom. That was the single worst migraine I've had in about five years and I've had some doozies. There was puking sobbing and all round insanity. I very seriously thought I was going to die and wasn't upset about that. The dying that is.

That was one of those migraines that reminded me that a.)my central nervous system is fucking boss and b.)I could in fact go insane. More insane anyway.

Feeling better today and I no longer am wishing violent death on myself.

I also gave myself the finger this morning but that was because instead of sleeping I was very smart and playing this pool game I have.

So yeah it's been a craptastic week and I am very glad it's Friday. This weekend I am doing nothing more strenuous than play computer games and probably give my hair a moisturizing protein mask I'm making myself. Exciting no?

I am also really seriously craving fries right now. However I have grapes.

Wow I totally forgot about this again. I've been busy thrifting on LJ again. I really love that I've learned how to do that. The Torrid shortpants are very freaking cute. And 28 freaking dollars off of retail? Can I get a HAYL TO THE MOTHERFUCKIN YEAH.

And I want a fucking kitty. Really bad. Right now.

I think that's all I've been pecking away at this for two hours.

Homo Out.

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Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Widgets and other fine things.

So I have a serious migraine right now but I took some drugs and am trying to ignore it so I don't have to go home early from work.

I've been playing with this thing called Style Hive. It is really neat. Now I can put all of the things I"m lusting after in one nifty place.



Click it I'll wait.

Back now? IF you have one we should be homies. I'll follow you.

I've been bookmarking clothes and bags mostly so far. Housewares and shoes.

Ugh my head is going to seriously blow up.

I really don't feel so well.

More tomorrow maybe.

Homo Out.

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Monday, June 04, 2007

Lots to talk about today.

First let me say I had a very nice weekend. Saturday One Hung Low and I spent the day walking around running errands.

Picked up some little things, necessities mostly. Walked a lot, sweated a lot. I also got myself a tan line stripe on my nose from my sunglasses.

I also looked hot in my striped asymetrical hem skirt and fluffy halter top. However my boobs were not excited about the strapless bra nor about the almost a little too tight top.

Sunday was a mostly lazy day. Though I did spend a few quality hours with my hair. I did a relaxer then mixed up my own deep conditioning treatment which was very nice.

What else?

Had some random lady at Walgreens get an attitude with me on Saturday for no good reason.

Bonus today I got called a fat bitch on the bus. I was a little amused because it really came out of nowhere which I find funny. The lady sitting behind me spent teh entire half hour on the bus muttering. Fat bitch to me, shut up to the guy asking the bus driver what time we'd arrive in downtown, she called someone else a jackass. Metro can be so amusing sometimes.

I really need to take in the skirt I'm wearing and maybe invest in a petticoat to wear under it. Or I might try to trade it to someone or something. It's way too big and I think it fits kind of funny although I do love the cut.

I'm a little sad I have to give up the cream I use in my hair because I just cannot find it locally and buying online is just not working for me. :( I will probably go back to the Profectiv Break Free products. Which reminds me I should search for a coupon or something.

I feel kind of weird and disheartened today for no apparent reason. Other than maybe i'm a little constipated and bloated. Also vaguely headachy.

And quite honestly I'm a little really tired of interweb drama.

I'm tired of non productive tons o wank. Stop it interweb you're making my head hurt.

I think that's all my head does really hurt and I think I need to make some tea or something.

Homo Out.




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Friday, June 01, 2007

When Activism starts to suck.

I don't hear this talked about often, but I will.

When you're really into a cause, be it fat activism, feminism, whatever there comes a point when it starts to suck.

For me it's when people are being irrational and start looking plain crazy.

When the people who you thought were cool and smart, fabulous people start sounding like they should probably spend more time putting away their tin foil hats rather than protesting whatever.

There have been times in my life when I would gladly speak up and say, "ok we're all on the same side but that's kinda nuts." Or when it's further out there a simple, "are you fucking serious?"

Maybe I'm just a snobby asshole but seriously, don't you look at people sometimes and want to shake them, holler in their face. "You are REALLY NOT FUCKING HELPING WITH THE CRAZY THERE SHUT UP!"

This is not the insane kettle calling the pot a fucking nutter. No I know I am kinda nuts. But, I find I appreciate it when someone will tell me to slow my roll and bring the crazy back a little bit.

Lately I've been biting my tongue about it. Online it's far more difficult to tell someone nicely that they are being crazy. Granted I recognize that someone might have a big reaction to something because of some internal trigger. That is a legitimate thing and it happens to all of us.

What I can't deal with however is when you try to maybe point that out, reason it down to maybe something going on with that person and instead you get:

"IT'S NOT ME IT'S SOCIETY!"

Then there's the crazy with people who will get butthurt over any perceived un-PCness. When discourse takes a bad turn and becomes policing.

Yes, there are a LOT of words that are incredibly offensive to any number of people. I will never dispute that. However when people come out of the woodwork with 50 year old vernacular meanings, etymology that (unfortunately or not) is no longer entirely relevant. When people come across from their moral super PC high horse and say, 'You shouldn't EVAR say that and you're bad if you do." that irritates the shit out of me.

Do people not see that those kinds of conversations would go so much smoother and maybe have a good outcome if you keep it simple and non-proselytizing? Think about it like this:

Sally Jo says: "Blablabla, POOOOOOOP, blablafuckityblabla"

Milly Jane says: "Don't you know that poop is used to degrade bowels and supports the patriarchy and causes global warming and makes baby Jesus cry? How DARE you use that word in this forum. I'm offended and you are ignorant."

Sally Jo says: "I was fucking talking about taking a shit calm the fuck down"

Milly Jane says: "I will NOT calm down you are ignorant and blablablalbafuckityblablabla"

If you've participated in any sort of online forum we've ALL seen it happen.

Scenerio 2:

Sally Jo says: "Blablabla, POOOOOOOP, blablafuckityblabla"

Milly Jane says: "I get what you're saying here. I agree. Did you know that poop is blablafuckity blabla so I stopped using the word myself,"

Sally Jo says: "wow I didn't know that thanks for the info."

See the difference here?

Being that language and it's use is such a complicated thing it's far more productive to skip the flailing and if need be get over the fact that someone says poop and you say bowel movement.

And while I'm bitching can we talk about something else?

Why is it that everything it seems like these days has to be radicalized? I really feel that willy nilly calling anything outside the mainstream radical and giving it a movement can detract from very serious issues.

Look you don't wear heels? Great. You're not a flat shoe radicalist. Seriously.

Again maybe I'm just being a dick but still. It pisses me the fuck off.

Another reason that upsets me is because people stop paying attention. It's like the whole idea behind the XTREEEEEEEEM advertising. The relatively decent idea gets so overused that people stop caring.

It's the Little Radicalist who cried Wolf syndrome and it needs to stop.

Also can we stop breaking things off of each other?

I really don't like getting into the nine million and four different groups within any movement. If you have overall similar goals go with it. You know what they say about numbers.

See this is why I tend to shy away from group politics in general. This is why Shannon can't play good with others. I have no patience for things that screw up things I care about.

I'm breaking my own don't be a dick rule a little bit but sometimes you just have to.

And let me say to the following people:

"Kill the white people" guy on youtube. You are NOT fucking helping the cause shut the fuck up you crazy fucker.

Some free tips for whatever group. Especially if you're saying unpopular "wrong" things.

Don't send the guy who only speaks in incoherent screaming to the press.
The guy that's in the meeting shaking his head and rubbing his temples because Bubba Jo Bob just started shooting again cause he's all excited, yeah send that guy.

Remember sound at least semi rational and people will be more apt to at least start to listen.

Also, please if you are getting your crazy on, don't do it in a way that makes your whole issue look absurd.

For the love of fluffy bunnies don't.

That's it.

Homo Out.




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