LGBTTQ History Month (Or Queer, as I will refer to it)

I just found out it is Queer History month. I didn't really have time to prepare a blog for this, so I'm going to totally wing it and take you back, back, to 1993. It is Saskatoon in midwinter. I had just hugged a girl with breasts and realized a) I liked breasts and b) I was a lesbian. I was fourteen years old. I did not have the internet. We had the Teenage Body Book, so I looked for the section on homosexuality (what a dry clinical word). Basically it said that LOTS of teenagers had these same sex feelings but most everybody moved on to happy heterosexual relationships, and not to pin a label on yourself at such a young age, of course pinning a heterosexual label is fine at ANY age.

Fast forward to coming out, Mum took it well but she said two things which she has denied saying ever since, "Are you sure?" and "Can't you just be bisexual?" Anyway, she went to Ottawa and crashed the women's bookstore for me to buy volumes of lesbian literature, some adolescent stuff, some sex books (no pictures), some comics, I forget what else. Her friend gave me two dozen roses to celebrate. And life pretty much continued like that for a while. I carefully selected people to come out to, I read everything I could get my hands on, I started buying the Advocate and learning politics, I rented Desert of The Heart over and over until I found Madchen in Uniform which I watched over and over. And I found the local queer youth group.

Finding the youth group was a fluke. I'd actually gone down to AIDS Saskatoon because I realized my safe sex knowledge was woefully inadequate with my sexuality. Use a condom. Hmmm. I mean, I had no dildos, I didn't know anyone else my age with dildos, and I knew I'd do other things (I still wasn't totally sure what). So I ended up at AIDS Saskatoon with a ziplock bag of dental dams, finger cots, and a latex glove and a wee pamphlete on Safer Lesbian Sex. Remember, this was the early Nineties. The AIDS epidemic was still HUGELY on peoples minds and all the people my age were getting drilled with safer sex messages (I believe this has sadly fallen by the wayside). Anyway, I noticed a pamphelete for a group called QYSS (pronounced Kiss). It stood for Queer Youth Support Service or something like that. And I was underage to go. By then I was fifteen, and you had to be sixteen (I later sucessfully lobbied for this to change to twelve). Anyway, I went to my first meeting on a chilly winter day and met a sweet boy who is now a well known DJ, and a round lesbian. Nobody else was there. Attendance was always erratic and dependant on infighting and who had just broke up with who. Anyway, they took my for french fries and the boy kept saying Mary and I was so green I thought the lesbian's name was Mary.

I kept going, we met in a tacky tiny boardroom with wood panelling and went through circle check. Everybody talked about how they were doing. That was mostly all we did, and then go for fries and dish. One boy told the round lesbian her peanut buster parfait looked like a bad rim job. I had to learn all these terms really quick or they could zing me and I wouldn't know it. Gay boys taught me how to dish, be catty, look good, and be generally flamboyant. They were great. We learned about a lot of things but the gay community really wasn't interested in giving much to us. Mostly we were an exploitable labour force for the annual Pride Dance decorating community. God, blowing up fucking balloons, hanging garlands off those ridiculous heads at the Ukrainian Hall. It was pretty boring. But we all did it because there was nothing else to do.

Oh yeah, and we changed QYSS to OPY, Out And Proud Youth, which seemed happier. But then a facilitator wanted us to be more mature, and a smart ass gay boy said "So what should we call ourselves then? MOPY?"

A drag queen tried to seduce me while we watched Egoyan's Exotica.

I met my first lover in art class. We'd been at high school in the same grade ever since grade nine, but even though she was cute I never paid much attention to her. I think she just sat down at my table because there was no where else to sit. The other person sitting with us was my friend the cutter, but she's not really relevant to the story. Anyway, we started chatting, I started getting crushed out, my best friend told me to forget it because she had to be straight to look like that. (Ha! My first introduction to high femmes!) Anyway, flirt flirt flirt, we'd flirt all over. I gushed about her to the queer youth group. Then my friend the bisexual man met her and fell in love. ARGGGG! This happened just after I came home from my second ever screening of my first ever video at Out On Screen in Vancouver (about 1995). They went on a date and I was heartbroken and seethed.

And then we had a threesome. (And her nails were really long)

And then we all had a fight.

And then his house burnt down.

And then . . . it was grade twelve by then. People had cottoned on to the fact they had a budding bulldagger roaming the halls, so I'd get shoved or have epithets yelled at me, people threw cans from moving cars, that sort of thing. I was really hating Saskatoon by this point and kept reading the catalogue for Emily Carr to get through the year. I tried to start a GSA at my school but no one was very interested in the meetings on the front lawn even though I brought chips. We all knew who we were at the school, the queers I mean. Mostly bisexuals and a couple gay boys. And I guess the five of us felt conspicuous to all sit together, some were quite stealth.

I went to my grad with two dates who were women, one of whom has since died. And then I swirled out of high school and by the end of the summer I was on a plane to Vancouver.

I've seen a couple people from high school since then, one of my best friends, my first lover, a girl who since came out, I know one of my high school pals is a 911 operator now. I've been tempted to dial those three numbers just to find her, but that's too much trouble. I found a guy I was sure was gay and yeah, he's come out since then.

And that's about it for my queer teen history. I wish there was more salacious stuff in there, like wild nights of lesbian debauchery, but I didn't get much play.

Hk 119

Hk 119 is my new favorite electroclash band. Hk 119 is essentially Heidi Kilpelainen, a performance artist from Finland currently residing in London who is now working under One Little Indian, Bjork's record label. Her work is "influenced by sci-fi, futurism and Russian constructivism." She has been compared to Siouxsie Sioux, Nina Hagen, Grace Jones, Kate Bush, and is influenced by Bowie and Iggy Pop.

The 119 represents September 11 (911 as written in Finnish) and her work is comparably dystopian, an audio/visual warning of worlds to come.

Her music videos are very much DIY, she does her own costumes, choreography, and her set is a black curtain against her living room wall. She's utilized tinfoil and garbage bags to make outre outfits for her demonic alter ego. She is in complete control of her songs utilizing 8 tracks, Cubase, and now Logic. She's completed her BA and MA at Central Saint Martins, where other students resented the fact that they catagorized her as a musician and she was working in an art school.

While my favorite song remains "Friend For Dinner" (quite possibly the sexiest song I have heard in years), the rest of her album has notable songs as well, referencing things such as Hal and Dave in 2001 a Space Odyssey in her track Malfunction.

Anyway, here is the music video for the ultra hot Friend For Dinner.



If you liked that, check out Malfunction.

A Glut of Youtubing

Okay, so for some reason my blogging from Youtube is crap these days and won't work. So, I'm going to try something different. Here are my recent favorite videos, perfect for a lazy Saturday afternoon.

Kittycat Dance

I wish Schrodinger danced.

Telling Truth Gently

(BTW, North American Genocide towards First Nations People killed 150 000 000 of us.)

Red Bull Music

One man with a can.

Andrew Imitates Bree Van De Kamp Having an Orgasm

(but she actually never had one until Season 3 Episode 1)
The acrimonious relationship between uptight Bree and her gay son Andrew kicks butt, and he's coming back!! Last we saw of him she left him on the side of a road after he slept with her boyfriend, rumour has it he's been supporting himself as a hustler.

Parker Posey Desperately Seeks a Bumblebee

Classic scene from Best In Show, I'm embarrassed to say I too looked desperately for a particular dog squeaky toy, a pig to be exact. I made mom go to five different pet shops in town. No piggie, they got squeaky hamburgers instead.

Remember remember the Groove of November

Deanna introduced me to V for Vendetta and I have to say it kicks ass. But every anarchist/revolutionary needs some downtime, and this is V's.

Apparently I am "fat" that needs to be trimmed

I've lost nine pounds. I consider this an achievement. However now my identity itself is considered fat, if you believe Stephen Harper's recent defense of his budget cuts which have been targeted towards women, minorities, poor/working class people, the arts, the environment, health care, and education, among many other things I am still researching. We have a 13.2 billion dollar surplus, yet Harper's alliances to the so called middle class, big business, and oil and gas companies have been given top priority.

This list is by no means exhaustive, but here are some of the programs which have been cut (either partially or entirely):
Adult literacy programs.
Child care and development.
Arts and museum funding.
First Nations and Inuit Tobacco Control Strategy (non aboriginal stop smoking programs have not been affected).
The Status of Women.
Pine Beetle Management (Pine beetles are threatening to destroy most of the forests in British Columbia's interior).
Medical Marijuana research.
Youth International Internship Program.
The Court Challenges Program (an organization which advances federal court cases relating to language and equality rights)
Employment Initiatives.
Technology partnerships Canada (which funds high tech research and development)
15 Kyoto related programs
Canada Mortgage and Housing Corporation
Funding for softwood-lumber trade litigation
Elimination of National Defence High-Frequency Surface Wave Radar Project
Elimination of Centre for Research and Information on Canada
Canada Firearms Centre
Museum assistance
Elimination of the RCMP drug-impaired-driving program's training budget
Law Commission of Canada

Not only that, but only Canada and Russian OUT OF THE ENTIRE WORLD declined to sign/participate in the Draft Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.

Now, I know people bitch about taxes, people ALWAYS bitch about taxes. But to be perfectly honest, I get creeped out when someone swoops into office promising to cut taxes because A) Tax cuts are aimed at the wealthy; and B) Tax cuts are subsidized by the poor. And this is a clear example.

Technically we could have this racist/sexist/ignorant/redneck asshole in office until 2011. I don't want to wait that long, dammit. Only 36% of us were stupid enough to vote for him, and hopefully he'll lose a vote of confidence and all our MP's can paddle his ass on the way out, which means an election would happen in 2007 or 2008. I'm not confident in him, that's for sure. He's shown where his priorities lie, as if we didn't know before. I mean, my god, even Joe Clark doesn't like this new Conservative party (which is really the Reform party with a new name). HOWEVER the Conservatives are trying to amend the election act to make elections fixed, which means we couldn't boot him out until 2009 at the earliest. How much more damage can they wreak on Canada in three more years?



Oh you don't even want to know.

So, if you're a concerned Canadian, let him know. Emails are good but tactically phone calls are more effective. If you're not Canadian, write anyway, hell, let him know he's making Canada look bad in the global sphere.

Rt. Hon. Stephen Harper
Office of the Prime Minister
80 Wellington Street
Ottawa, K1A 0A2
Phone: (613) 992-4211
E-mail: pm@pm.gc.ca

PostScript:
Since we don't have quit smoking programs anymore, Natives will still be buying smokes. HOWEVER the Imperial tobacco company has decided to discriminate against First Nations stores carrying tobacco and thusly we will be paying more for our smokes from them. The brands involved are Players, Du maurier, Cameo, Avanti, and Peter Jackson. Already I've noticed Aboriginal stores running out of these brands due to a lack of effective distribution. I encourage all Aboriginal people and our allies who are still unable to quit smoking to switch brands. I've given up Du Maurier for Export A, which I actually like better.

Bukwas on Entertainment Tonight

The other night I was innocently reading a book about a manic depressive who committed art fraud, went to prison, and then had electroshock treatments when my mother inturrupted my revery by saying, "Look at her! She looks like Bukwas!"

Maria Shriver was on television.

In case you don't remember, she looks like this.



And this is Bukwas:



I must say, the resemblance is striking. For those of you not up on your kwakiutl mythology, Bukwas is a wild man cannibal who lives in the woods. Contemporary Sasquatchologists (I think I just made that word up) say Bukwas is a Sasquatch.

Hmmm . . .

Bloody Buggery Hell!

My Youtube posts still haven't come in. Poop. Oh well, there's not too much I can do about it.

Cree class was mucho fun. I learned a bazillion new words and all about the five dialects of Cree spoken, including Y, Th, N, L, and R. I learned that there are no capital letters in Cree, and in the Y, Th, and N dialects there are no L's or R's. So why are we called Cree? It's a shortened form of the French word for us, Kiristenaux, which means Christian. Why did they call us that? Dude, don't ask me. Our real name is nehiyaw. I learned that the Cree word for fire is iskotew, which also means woman's heart. Also the Cree language changed post contact, reserve land is not called aski, which means land, it is called askihkan, which means land that is not real, or iskonikan which means land that is leftover. okimaw, which means leader, became okimahkan, which means fake leader. Likewise councellor (I'm assuming it was wiyssowew) became wiyssowehkan which means fake councellor. The words I have just written aren't totally correct since blogger doesn't do roman orthographics, or else I just haven't figured out how to type it on here.

If you would like to know more Cree words, go to the Saskatchewan Indian Cultural Centre (which incidentally is also mandated to preserve the other languages of Saskachewan, Dene, Lakota, Dakota, Nakota, and Nakawe). They have various words, simple phrases, and audio files for the correct pronunciation.

At work I also learned the true origins of Hochelaga, the commonly accepted aboriginal name of Montreal. In fact, that is not what the Mohawks called it. When Cartier landed he went about his european way of showing peace by shaking hands with everyone. Trying to figure out what these bizarre furry smelly people were, they collapsed two words together, Osha which means hand, and aga which means people. Osha Aga, the hand shaking people. Later on the sailors were trying to figure out who they met and because they heard them saying this word they decided those people and that place was Hochelaga.

Goddamn French!

Canada's origin is even funnier. Kanata was the word for village, and aja (?) was the word for sitting someplace. White people showed up, came to the villages, and just started sitting around and never left, so they called them squatters, Kanatja, literally village sitters.

Possibly the most romantic sounding cree word that I learned is achakasa ka-akohpit, which means he uses the stars as a blanket.

But the most common Cree word I heard as a child was awass! Awass means go away. Which is what I must do right now.

I heart Marcia Cross

Dudes, my damn blogs from Youtube have yet to come in. But I liked this shot of Marcia anyway so I wanted to share. I don't have many/any crusholas in Saskatoon, except on the television.



Today was a good day to start my new job, I really like it, it's interesting and cool to be working in a production office for a while, until I move over to the law office. I had a really hard time going to sleep last night, mostly because I have a cold and was coughing and coughing, bleah. I'm trying to get my shit together about grants and so forth, AND writing, AND nailing down my producer, and the possibility of going to Vancouver for a week this fall to do a shoot and edit for the porno if my star and I can get there at the same time.

Tomorrow Cree class starts!!!! I'm going to take my little tape recorder to my Grampa's and have him say all the Cree words I'll be learning so that I can pronounce them properly.

Time to go to bed. Night all.

Madeline Kahn's Orgy

I love Madeline Kahn, I hope I get to meet her when I die. She'll be the first person I ask to see. This is my favorite scene of hers from History Of The World. Enjoy!

Marshall McLuhan Moment

Just for fun I am posting one of my favorite links from Megan Morman's site, The Canadian Art Gossip Generator. Everytime I see it it makes me laugh. For the full experience I recommend eating cheese and drinking cheap wine while visiting.

The Canadian Art Gossip Generator

I've been checking out who has been reading this blog (well, sort of, I only know where their isp is). So far I've seen visitors from Norway, Spain, Austrailia, New Zealand, Saudia Arabia, India, Japan, the UK, Germany, the Netherlands, America, Romania and Poland. So I tip my hats to you, international readers. It's such a warm Marshall McLuhan Moment.

I'd also like to highlight a blog this week by Mukhtaran Bibi, a Pakistani woman who was sentenced by a tribal council to be gangraped for a crime her brother committed. This is her blog, this is part of her blog in english, and this is her wikipedia entry.

I'd also like to mention the fact that under our current Prime Minister, Canada now has a very clear target painted on our country. While before terrorists probably did consider Canada as a target, we were at least quasi uninvolved with the current crisis in the Middle East fueled by some oil hungry texas cowboy. But now that we're in Afghanistan, we're fucked. A lot of Canadians are really unhappy that we're there, but I've also noticed an increase in yellow ribbons on trees and bumpers. Every other day some new dead Canadian shows up on the local paper who's been killed in combat. Personally (and I know many other people who would agree), I'd rather see our armed forces working in peacekeeping and humanitarian missions globally, not contributing to escalating cycles of violence. And I know, one day a major terrorist attack is going to hit Canada. And I won't be surprised, I won't blame a whole nation/religion, I won't ask why, if there is anyone to blame it's our government for taking us into a war we shouldn't be a part of. All I hope is that no one I love gets hurt. Hopefully in our next election we can get Stephen Harper out of office.

Stephen Harper's a clown. The most bad ass Prime Minister we had post Trudeau was Jean Chretien. Yes, he put pepper on his plate, but he also fought off an assasin at 24 Sussex Drive with an Inuit sculpture on loan from the Art Bank.



Come on, First Nations Art saves the Prime Minister! That is an awesome headline.

Which brings me to more headlines I hope to see someday.

Rearview Dreamcatchers Deter Auto Theft

Recently Discovered Kinsey Report Says Aboriginals Make The Best Lovers

Natives Repatriate 24 Tonnes of Gold From Spain

Jim Morrison Found In Hiding On Pine Ridge Reservation

Native Land Claims Settlement For Manhattan, Rockerfellers Get Beads

I have my meds again, no brain shocks today!!! I feel much happier. I'm also juggling two scripts now, my big one and a shorter comedy titled Love Medicine Number Nine. I like it when I write and make myself laugh.

See ya later my global readers.

Killer Condom

This is my all time favorite horror flick. I was telling a not so bright coworker about it and he just started talking about how stupid it is and he would laugh at it. Um . . . it's a comedy. You're SUPPOSED to laugh at it.

Luigi Macaroni is a gay New York detective set on discovering why men keep getting their penises chopped off. Along the way he meets a cute hustler and his ex-trick and coworker now transitioning and going by the name Babette. As a send up of America, it is priceless, most notably the scene where Luigi's impressive member is proudly measured at 32 centimetres. The killer condom (kind of a misnomer since it's actually a dismembering condom and never kills anyone) was designed by HR Geiger. Blood, gore, queers, sex workers, badly lipsynched songs like Teach Me Tiger, this film has it all. For those lucky folks in cities with decent video stores, go out and rent it! And smoke some joints while you watch it.

Weekends mean something again

I'm starting a new job doing research for a book on residential schools (not my book). I'm excited to have a job again, especially one that means something. I have to say, much as I love contemporary art, sometimes I just think we keep cranking out shite. Maybe I'm jaded or bitter or something, I guess I just lean towards activist/political work.

I start work on Monday, it's a six month contract so I'll be able to save up cash to move to Toronto in April. Yay! Moving! Yay! Desperate Housewives is on sunday night! BREE does something smutty!!! Das ist schmutzig! I was hoping it was anal, but now I'm thinking it's oral. Poor Bree, to go through her whole life without oral sex just because she's Republican? NOW we know why Republicans are fucked.

I also decided since I'm going to be learning about residential schools in my new job I should do something Native and empowering, so I will start taking conversational Cree classes. They are every Tuesday night, which is good because there's nothing on television I will be missing. I wish I could speak more languages than English. If I had my druthers I would be fluent in Cree, German, and French. I've been meaning to learn German for ages, and only recently since moving back to my ancestral territory have I had the chance to learn Cree in ages and ages.

Ugh, I ran out of antidepressants and Lamictal, so I've been having brain shocks for a couple of days. If you're unfamiliar with this condition, it's common for people withdrawing from psychiatric medications, specifically anti-depressants. Your brain literally pulses and throbs in a really painful way, while also temporarily obliterating thought and the ability to process information. My brain shocks happen about once every five minutes. It's gross, ugh, I hate it. Paxil is the worst one for shocks though, Paxil shocks also carry a mild electrical charge with them that run through your entire body. It's even worse than licking a nine volt battery. (If you're wondering why I know, it's because I have licked a nine volt battery) Not as bad as getting a bare wire charge, but ALOT worse than medium Violet Wand play. Anyway, tomorrow I will be getting more medication, thank god. No more brain shocks for me.

The death toll for Americans in Iraq and Afghanistan has now totalled more than the number of people killed on September 11. For us Canadians who have just started fighting a fucked war, our troop deaths have more than surpassed the number of Canadians killed on September 11. And that's just the deaths, think how many people are coming back maimed physically and mentally. I haven't even seen a recent count of how many civilian deaths these two wars have caused, except that it's obviously exponentially larger than September 11.

I know I bash George w. Bush on here a lot, but I really do need to take some time to bash Stephen Harper. Hmm, where to start? How about that he slashed increased childcare by proposing to give $1200 per child a year to parents. How much daycare can $1200 pay for? Monthly daycare in Montreal is $205, while Toronto is $800. Yep, that 1200 is gonna go real far. Harper said Israel's attack on Lebanon was measured and they had a right to stick up for themselves. He took us to Afghanistan to fight a war that is none of our business. He's still trying to figure out how to eliminate queer marriage. And he lets Bush call him Steve. Ugh. Okay, I'll write something more kick ass on why he sucks later. But really, UGH! Look at him, he's so soulless. He's got cold shark eyes. Like that Pope, don't trust that Pope either.

I'm trying to figure out what to go as for Halloween. The options are: Lenore, Bree Van De Kamp, The Black Dahlia, Danica Talos, or some kind of femme vampire. I'm going for Femme this year, because they scare me the most as cute as they are. Plus I look hot as a femme and I don't do drag much. Lenore would be cute, but it would lack the sex appeal I'm going for. That being said, there's not anyone around here I'm trying to appeal to.

Die-die, Sweetly Die

I've had a massive vampire fetish since I was fourteen years old, just a few months before I came out. Dracula was in the theatres and I grooved on the soundtrack. But the sex appeal of vampires took a while to develop. It wasn't until I read an academic book about lesbian representation in cinema (yes, I was fourteen and nerdy) and started drooling over pictures of old lesbian vampire movies that I really started going. I hit EVERY second hand bookshop in town until I found Sheridan Le Fanu's Carmilla (which predates Dracula BTW) which I endlessly read OVER and OVER. (If only we had the internet, you can read it here.)

She used to place her pretty arms about my neck, draw me to her, and laying her cheek to mine, murmur with her lips near my ear, 'Dearest, your little heart is wounded; think me not cruel because I obey the irresistible law of my strength and weakness; if your dear heart is wounded, my wild heart bleeds with yours. In the rapture of my enormous humiliation I live in your warm life, and vou shall die-die, sweetly die- into mine. I cannot help it; as I draw near to you, you, in your turn, will draw near to others, and learn the rapture of that cruelty, which yet is love; so, for a while, seek to know no more of me and mine, but trust me with all your loving spirit.'
-Carmilla

So literary vampirism started out VERY lesbian. Then moved into exploitation movies where lesbian vampires always bit breasts. WHY when the neck is so sexy and has those great veins?

I read the entire Vampire Chronicles. Not much lesbo action, but there was a vicarious thrill to read about sexy immortal gay boys and their dramas.



Parker Posey is not a lesbian vampire in Blade Trinity (or is she?), and the movie itself is rather stupid, I don't know how she was expected to work with such atrocious dialogue. The best thing to do when watching this movie is just admire Parker Posey's sexy vampire styles, especially the scene where she has vampire sex. Man, Parker Posey AND Vampires!!? That's true love!!! My first girlfriend had fangs, I used to call her my vampire, she was so adorable. She didn't eat meat though so I think convincing her to do bloodplay was completely out of the question.

Later on in life (okay, four years later) I read Macho Sluts by Pat Califia and totally got off on the vampire story in it. Fucked if I can remember what it's called.

Lesbian vampires are popular again, and nowadays instead of wanting to be the victim I want to be the vampire. As Patrick Califia states:

It would be even better to be able to rise each evening free from depression or hesitation, to choose a new beloved and stalk them, savoring the perfume of their fear, then pin them down for a final fuck that ends with a painfully prolonged ejaculation and arterial spurting. Whooooooooeeeeeeee!!

That all being said, if Parker Posey stalked me down an alley and pounced, I'd just roll with it. Who am I to argue a cutie like that with teeth like THESE???



I looked for some hot lesbo vampire video, and the best I could find is Allyssa Milano as a lesbian vampire in Embrace of The Vampire.

24 minutes left of the day, FOUR POSTS!

Hey dudes, trying to squish on some more fly content before the end of . . . um, tuesday.

This is my favorite cousin Deanna wearing Schrodinger's crinkle tunnel (which he never plays with by the way) standing in my old apartment before I got kicked out for getting a weiner dog.



And this is my cute cute cute kitten Schrodinger, when he first came home. He's much bigger now of course.



MORE CUTE!



And this is my little WEINER BOY!!! Goofy bratwurst that he is. He hogs the middle of the bed.

I'm A Butterfly

I was doing narcissist googling and discovered the Anetia Thirza Butterfly, a relative of the Monarch. This is me:



I'm pretty, oh so pretty, still a super hot female . . .

Queers Fucking Eminem

This image is straight from a gay porn blog, titled, erm, gaypornblog.com.

Okay, I was wondering if I was the only Queer who has an aggressive erotic fixation on Eminem. Apparently NOT!!! Tristan Taormino's openly discussed making Eminem her bitch. "Does my urge make me as depraved as he's supposed to be? (My bitch says, "I am whatever you say I am.")"

The Pet Shop Boys wrote a song called "The Night I Fell in Love" about a boy doing it with a famous rapper who sounds suspiciously like Mr. Mathers.

And Canadian Gay Icon Scott Thompson did his own Queered version of Slim Shady's Stan (which was already pretty queer). "Dear mister 'I'm too hardcore to come out of the closet cause I don't wanna lose my street-cred with the homies, but inside I'm just an nsync lovin little giiirl!' I can no longer continue with this one sided relationship Marshal, and I have therefore decided that this is the last you will ever hear from me."

Any other Queers have lurid Eminem fantasies?

If Thirza Worked at Much Music

I'm in a goofy mood today. I got up early with the intention of diligently continuing my screenplay, but after reading the news I got goofy and started Youtubing various music videos. Why do I have writer's block? Dunno, but I don't think I really have it, I think I'm just hypo and easily distractable today.

On to the videos!!!

This is Gwen Stefani's video for What you Waiting For? I love the song, and the video kicks butt. I think this video is somewhat of an indicator of what I want my next feature film to be, a full on lush Saturated technicolor fable with crazy period costumes glorifying femmes and butch dandies, maybe even a musical. Like the Cremaster Cycle only shorter. I shall call it The Menstruel Cycle.

What You Waiting For?

Shoes, shoes, Oh my god, shoes. This is a current classic making waves on the internet. Let's get some Shoes!! My shoes are over a year old. These shoes suck!!!!

Shoes by Kelly

I don't know anything about this guy, but he is really funny. Presenting Gary Brolsma!

New Numa

Okay, here's another remix, Madonna Meets Gwen! Hung Up mixed with What You Waiting For, for a mix this is pretty awesome.

What You Hung Up (Jaques Lu Cont & Vinicious edit)

Annie Lennox was my idol from the age of two onwards. I charted her career for ages, and I think her early eighties look solidified my penchant for redheads. She made me feel like I could be a gender transgresser and still be goddamned sexy. Madonna never exemplified the ability to evolve personas of femininity the way Annie did. Here is her video for Little Bird, which depicts nearly every alter ego from her career, and shows them getting terribly out of hand, as alter egos are wont to do.

Little Bird

PEACHES!!! I was 4 feet away from her sweaty body at Dicks on Dicks in Vancouver. This is Set It Off, a must see for lovers of bush! (not George, just nice bush) Personally I love riots of pubes, and these pubes could storm the Bastille! I tried to find a version that didn't sensor Motherfuckers, but alas. So when you sing along, be sure to sing Motherfuckers as loud as you can!

Set It Off

Because I love Tori Amos, and because I love her cover of Strange Little Girls, I include her video for it. It's a female Bildungsroman!!! (okay, I also picked it because I've wanted to say that for ages)

Strange Little Girls

Okay, since I posted about Courtney yesterday I have to post one of her videos. Let me tell you, it was a tough call between Miss World, Gold Dust Woman, and Violet, but I finally settled on Violet. I was also going to post Heart Shaped Box by Nirvana, but I didn't want to detract from showing props to Hole, who really did get me through adolencense.

Violet

My film school background won't let me NOT post Smashing Pumpkin's Tonight Tonight, a lovely ode to Melies Voyage Dans Le Lune. Plus I love that song.

Tonight, Tonight

Okay, when I lost my virginity this was the Top of The Pops. I'm not posting it because it's necessarily a good video, or even a good song, just because I'm weird. I lost it to the hottest girl in my grade, in the most conventional of lesbian first times, a girl-girl-boy threeway, although as I remember it the boy was mostly on the floor while she and I rolled around. We still chat by the way, the girl and I, not the boy, I don't know what the hell happened to him after his house burnt down (I didn't do it). By the way, the night we did it WAS a Saturday.

Whigfield's Saturday Night

OKAY!!! I had to come back and re-edit this because I couldn't in good concience leave it with such a crap video. In honour of my strange buttfucking crush on Eminem, I present my favorite video of his, Without Me. Oh, seems the RIAA made Youtube take it down. Well, it was either Without Me to the Village People, or this Harry Potter Without Me Fan vid. I think Draco makes a good Slim Shady.

Without Me

AAAAND . . . everyone always asks me "Where can I see Ewan McGregor's cock?" Okay, not always, but more than you would think. I keep directing them to Todd Haynes Velvet Goldmine, but I dunno, they can't find it or whatever. For all who want to see Ewan's dangling dick, here it is.

Show me Ewan's Cock!

Last but not least, a short clip of Bjork talking about being sexy. And eggs.

Hell in a Handbag

Spike Lee is among millions who hate George W. Bush. Recently he called Bush America's worst president in history, who is "taking us to hell in a handbag." Much as I love anyone who slams Bush, I had to crack up at the notion of George tucking America into a Burberry handbag and trotting them all into the chaos of the Middle East, Katrina, and loss of civil liberties. How elegant, and oh so queer. Maybe it is a manbag?

I've neglected my blog in favour of following the dramas of other's blogs, notably Feministing, who were involved in a blogger Brouhaha this week led by Ann Althouse, a self-described feminist who attacked Jessica of Feministing for posing in a picture with Bill Clinton where you could see her breasts. Covered, by a modest shirt. A woman with breasts! You don't say!! While clinging to right wing "feminist" rhetoric, she proceeded to attack Jessica based solely on her looks and not her incredible work in blogging about international women's issues. As it happens, Feministing is one of my favorite blogs right now. It's got a perfect mix of humour and news that makes you want to whip out an AK-47. Plus it's one of those refreshing feminist chronicles from a younger perspective, while I admire older feminism, things like anti-porn, anti-sex, anti-lesbian, anti-S/M feminists piss me off.

Either way, the comments threads went down in Blog history, eventually getting coverage from dozens of other blogs and Salon. All because of boobs.

What pissed me off the most was the way Althouse slammed Feministing as an unfeminist blog, based on boobage and her own twisted ideals of feminism. There were complaints about a t-shirt bearing Feministing's logo (it's a shot of boobs!!! Um, yeah, t-shirts are often chest shots because they cover your CHEST!). There were complaints about Feministing using Mud Flap girls for their logo (ignoring the fact that the girls are giving the finger).

I'm tired of people telling me what's feminist and what isn't. I consider myself a feminist. Yet I'm aware that several things about myself make others question my politics.

1. I am butch. I do not wear dresses, ever. I buy from the men's section. I like femmes. I sometimes walk around with a banana down my pants. But my masculinity does not detract me from the struggles of women all over the world.

2. I like sex. I like all kinds of sex. I like vanilla sex. I like rough sex. I like BDSM sex. I like roleplaying sex where someone really does pretend to be a dude. I like porn. I like straight porn and gay porn and ridiculous stories about things I would probably never do. My favorite porno is the comic Convent of Hell about Satan having group sex with a bunch of Nuns. Maybe someday I will roleplay Satan/Nun sex. Who knows? But liking sex and penetration and porn and SM does not make me any less feminist. Having a fist or dildo up me doesn't make me any less upset about women having lower wages or the fact that the female population is not adequately represented in politics. Although I admit it does distract me for a half hour or so.

3. I have boobs. BIG boobs. After Celexa they are C-cups pushing D-cup. I show them off sometimes. Sometimes I run around at Pride with my shirt off, because I can. I've had them in two films of mine (for which people assume every film I ever make has my boobs in it, uh, no. Ten of twelve videos are boobless.). Sometimes I wear tight t-shirts, both because I like how it feels and because it shows off my breasts. Sometimes I have cleavage revealling tops. Whatev. It doesn't make me less feminist, less butch, less anything. It makes me a woman who likes my body. And having boobs doesn't mean I like being sexually harrassed, doesn't mean I'm looking for something sexual with anybody. It means I have breasts, and if you're lucky you can meet them face to nipple.

4. Um, I actually can't think of a fourth one off hand. I eat eggs. I hate my period because it seems useless considering I won't have kids. I listen to Eminem sometimes. Sometimes I have sex dreams about him. Whatever.

So, yeah. What else has been on my mind?

OH, I know, one thing has been pissing me off for years. I am a filmmaker/video artist. I am also queer. I am also mixed race. And for some reason, EVERY FUCKING time I am curated, it is either in a First Nations exhibition or I am asked to curate some goddamn Queer Native programming. I do not want to be constrained curatorially by my ethnicity or lesbianism or both. I am tired of being Canada's token red dyke. Go find some other red dyke to be your token. I am tired of first nations people getting freaked out by my frankness about sexuality. I am tired of queers assuming I only think about race when I've only made two videos explicitly about race and racism. Please, someone ask me to curate, like a fisting program, or an experimental program, or anything. My favorite curatorial experience was when I had carte blanche to put together something for Video Out's collection and focused on the theme of low budget personal videos. That kicked ass, and it was an awesome program that I am still very proud of, even though few people saw it because it wasn't Aboriginal Queer Thirza doing her ghettoized thang.

Take your fucking ghetto and fuck off you fucking fuckers.

OOOOH! ONe more thing that pisses me off. I LOVE Courtney Love. And people bash her, say she's a skank, say she killed Kurt, say she's a druggie (and how many male rockers are druggies? Hmmm). Once in my feminist class I mentioned my love of Courtney only to be totally slammed by a MAN who inturrupted me and went on and on about what a bitch she was, and refused to let me finish my sentence about why I think she rocks. Man, if I didn't have Live Through This when I was a queer teen in Saskatoon, I would have died. She made me feel like I could rebel, and I did.

I felt like I was in the minority of women who thinks she's cool, but then I came across this article from Margaret Cho's Blog about people, even feminists, talking shit about Courtney. Margaret, you rock, and Courtney, keep on ROCKING man!

MEEEEE!

I got some pics of me at the photobooth today looking really cute. Came home to scan them only to remember my scanner is totally dismantalled. So . . . you'll have to wait a bit to see them. I tried to look sexy, but I think I ended up looking goofy. Oh well.

And I found my Eminem for my porn video!!!! I'm terribly excited, we will be shooting in Toronto or Montreal hopefully next spring, if anyone has a mini DV camera and wants to watch two people get it on, let me know. Oh yeah, and I think I'm turning into a switch!!! I've been having some VERY toppy fantasies lately. It's rather exciting, a whole new aspect of my sexual identity!! And my dear friend who's gonna play Eminem might be the first person I top. EEEEEeeee!! I'm going to have to do some serious research, especially on butt fucking. I wish I had a person to practice on.

Anyway, I wanted to put on SOME pictures of myself on here, so I ripped off some pics from my Friendster account (which is why they are so teeny).



This is me when I was seven. I don't look too impressed.



This is a publicity shot of me on my quasi metoric rise to obscure video artist fame. I think I look hella sexy, but most of my friends just laughed at me.



This is REALLY teeny tiny and is a still from Helpless Maiden Makes an "I" Statement. Yep, I really was totally naked for the entire shoot, but nary a nipple is seen.



This is a still from Anhedonia, the video that nearly killed me and definitely drove me to madness. Originally I envisioned covering the window with molasses and licking it off, but have you ever tasted molasses? Blerg!! So it was Hershey's chocolate syrup in the end.

The Continuing Saga of Me and Epson

Come to think of it, ALL of my printers have been Epson, and ALL of them have sucked major ass. You'd think by now I would have switched to Canon or Hewlett Packard. It's kind of like my continuing fondness for a certain volatile ex girlfriend.

Anyway, right now my printer is laying in pieces on the floor in the office, much like the result of the Scarecrow meeting those flying monkeys. I can hear it now "And then she took my scanner and threw it over THERE! And then she took my power board and threw it OVER THERE!" Right now I am stuck, because I need a long screwdriver to get at two teeny screws standing between me and the printer mechanism. I got so angry last night I tried to just rip the damn cover off. It didn't work, which is maybe a good thing. After that I have to locate a tube and flush it out using a mixture of rubbing alcohol and a copper wire. Luckily I have rubbing alcohol from a failed attempt to make oil out of dirty pipes.

Apparently I'm going to have to do this EVERYTIME I change the ink cartridges. For the amount of labour and the high cost of ink, I could just get another printer.

I amused myself today by imagining myself dick slapping an ex and best friend with a banana and making her eat it. Maybe I should dick slap Eminem. I bet he'd get a kick out of it. I've heard rumours he's a little light in the gangsta wear. I'd feel a lot better about this politically incorrect crush on him if he was a cocksucker. Lesbians and Gayboys have a long history of secretly gettin' it on.



My little weiner dog did the RUDEST thing to me this morning. I was roused out of sleep by the feeling of something cold and wet pressing against my butt crack. I kept moving away and thinking "What the hell is that?" and then I realized he was sticking his nose in my butt. Aaaah! Bad doggy, no butt for you. I'm not into that weird shit. Then I couldn't get back to sleep so I started wiggling my toes around like I sometimes do, when Schrodinger decided to pounce on my bare feet and rip the shit out of them. So I got out of bed, early. Maybe if they keep ganging up on me in the morning I will have reasonable waking hours. I've also noticed my dog likes catnip. Pourquoi? He totally pushes Schrodinger out of the way and snorfs it down. I thought it would be funny to cover him in catnip and see what happens but he wanted no part of it.

The dog and cat have figured out how to take up half the bed, I don't know how they manage it but I always wake up squinched over to the side while they're happily sprawled out.

And I keep having weird nightmares. I had a dream a female moose got up on two legs and started chasing me and the only way I could get her to stop was to pretend a stuffed animal was humping me. Last night I had a fucked up dream too.

On September 10th my grandparents came over and I heard the most classic thing from my Grampa. He said "I'm tired of 7/11!"

Okay, for hot gender parity in this blog, I also submit another picture of a hottie.



I know the caption says Stuff For Men, but from what I hear Jorja's stuff is strictly ladies only. Woot!

Goddamn Presidents!

I had the most bizarre dream last night.

It started out that I was in Grade Twelve, AGAIN! I was at an assembly where Stephen Harper and George Bush were speaking. I had a glass of orange juice and I forgot it on the podium, and Stephen Harper drank it while he was talking. Everyone saw me go up and get my little glass back, then I washed it and got grape juice, but this time George W. Bush drank it! As I was leaving the assembly with my empty glass I yelled "Goddamn Presidents!" and the whole school cracked up.

I was talking about it with some friends in the lunch room when the principal came over and said I wasn't allowed to talk about politics or be political in school.

Later Eminem came to the school because he was in town touring and he had to go to class. Somehow we struck up a conversation and I found out he was trans. Later he invited me to party in his hotel room and we took mushrooms and ecstacy. He was actually really nice and not all tough at all. He was surrounded by gangsta types and groupies, and I kept flirting with him and trying to get him into bed, but he went off with one of the groupies. Then I left but I forgot my shoes there.

The next day I came across a trans friend of mine who was also going to class (which is even MORE ridiculous because she's over fifty) and in class we heard the teacher talk about how awful her video was and what was wrong with it and then he was going to screen it so we would all know how bad it was. And as it started she and a lot of our friends and I just walked out.

And then I told her about Eminem being trans and she got all happy, "A trans superstar!"

I woke up wondering if Eminem really was trans, but then I remembered he had a kid. Still it was an interesting dream.

But why do I keep dreaming about Eminem?

Medical Marijuana and my Mood Disorders

I use marijuana on a frequent basis. Right now I'm broke, so I have none, which kind of sucks because I'm coming out of a mixed episode. I've been smoking for the past nine years. I've been bipolar for the last twenty-one years. Before I started smoking, life REALLY sucked ass. I had way more volatile episodes, involving violence (mostly towards inanimate objects), rages, suicide attempts, and so forth. The first time I smoked pot I saw a Pink Floyd and The Doors laser light show. Mostly, I kept smoking because it was so goddamned fun.

As time has passed I've learned when I'm using it mostly to alleviate symptoms of my bipolar. As a natural mood stabilizer, it is remarkably effective. During depressive episodes it lightens my mood and eases mental pain. During bouts of insomnia it helps me get to sleep. In a hypomanic or manic state, it brings me down to a more even keel and calms and relaxes me. It has far less side effects than most of the psychoactive pharmaceuticals I'm on. It stops racing thoughts. It basically works on nearly every symptom I can have.

Medical Marijuana is a contentious issue, even for people seeking prescriptions and exemptions for conditions like HIV, glaucoma, chronic pain, etc. But if you're bipolar, woah, people REALLY have issues with marijuana and mental health conditions. This stems from the myth that pot makes people crazy. Pot doesn't make me crazy, PEOPLE make me crazy. The Israeli government has recently approved giving medical marijuana to soldiers suffering PTSD, another mental health issue.

The Canadian Mental Health Association's official position on marijuana is that no one with psychiatric disabilities should EVER get near marijuana. However off the record a number of psychiatrists and psychotherapists will admit to their patients that marijuana is fairly effective in treating bipolar disorder. Some will write prescriptions. A number of bipolar people have come forward about their experiences in using marijuana, whether it's legally prescribed or illegally purchased from street dealers.

Ideally, I do not want to buy off dealers, and I don't want to buy Government approved marijuana because it's dreadfully weak in THC (the active ingredient which helps people) and is tainted with lead and arsenic, FAR more dangerous than street drugs. What I would like to be able to do is to grow my own, just for me, one wee plant at a time. I'd like medical and legal support to be able to supply myself with my own organic hydroponic weed. I mean, for god's sakes, IT'S A FRIGGIN PLANT!!!

Someday, in this next generation, people are going to look back at us and say "damn dudes, you were all backasswards." We're going to seem as dumb as alcohol prohibition.

Anyway, if anyone has weed to give me while I'm broke, let me know.

Mohawk Ironworkers and the World Trade Center

Once when I was more of a bolshi Indian Activist (I was about 11), I mentioned to a white schoolmate that I was sick and tired of us all being sent to rural reserves and wondered why we couldn't have a city of our own. She retorted that we could have a city if we built it. Later when I told my Mum she said "Oh good, we can have New York."

The fact is, Mohawk people are renowned ironworkers, and were involved in the construction of The Sears Tower, The Chysler Building, The George Washington Bridge, The Empire State Building, and most notoriously, the World Trade Center, among a multitude of other New York buildings. Their aptitute for being ironworkers was evidenced during the building of a bridge on Kahnawake in 1886, when construction crews noticed children and adults alike trotting along foundation beams. Currently a quarter of the male population in Kahnawake are ironworkers who commute to New York.

When the World Trade Centers collapsed, Mohawks working on other buildings in Manhattan went to Ground Zero and were part of the clean up crew, often doing the most dangerous jobs. Many of them were descendants of the ironworkers who had built the towers. And a lot of them were also active participants in OKA during 1990. Cleaning up involved seeing a lot of disturbing things like human remains, which haunt some of the workers even now. The destruction of the Towers affected Quebecois Mohawks just as much as Americans. Some ironworkers had completed their entire apprenticeship working on the Towers. To this day, Mohawks are heavily involved in ceremonies and memorials for the World Trade Center. As in Aboriginal tradition, many are also pushing for a spiritual cleansing of this site. We Aboriginals believe that souls of the departed require ceremonies and guidance in crossing over to the other side, to avoid being trapped on this earthly plane.

This september 11, when people start their memorials and mournings, take a moment to remember the courage of the Mohawks in both building and cleaning up the World Trade Center. More people need to remember that Aboriginal peoples have shaped North America throughout history, even creating these skyscrapers which people regard as a modern testament to civilization.

Rewrites

Today I started on my fourth rewrite. Before it was mostly changing bits and pieces, but this is a complete overhaul of the plot, involving a lot more tension and more focus on the main theme, as well as fleshing out roles for specific actors I want to cast. I wrote 18 pages, and I think I'll be able to keep going at this pace for a week and then it will be done. After that, I'm going to have to get an outside opinion, some readings, and possibly tweaking it to make it more feasible within a low budget.

I've finally got an idea of who I want to play the main character, and THAT is really exciting because I've seen her work and she would be perfect in this role. I have a wish list for other characters as well. It's good to finally be able to imagine what they will look like when they're performing these roles.

I think this draft will be a lot heavier and darker, but the pace is also a lot better, and I think it will do a way better job of making it's point.

Mostly, it's just exciting. I want to make something so beautiful it will change the world. That's why I started making films in the first place.

The Hottest Biracial Bitches

"What are you" -White Queen
"Red?" -Red Queen
"White?" -White Queen.
"Pink." -Alice.
"PINK!" -White Queen
"Pink is hardly a color." -Red Queen
"It's a pastel." -White Queen
Thirza Cuthand's Through The Looking Glass

I was surfing around looking for online writings by and about the biracial experience when I came across biracial.com. Wow, I thought, a whole website devoted to biracial people!!! Well, I click on it and it's got total pussy shots and a huge headline proclaiming it to feature "the hottest exclusive biracial bitches on the net." Who knew? And why isn't my face on there?

Really though, I've been thinking a lot about the parallels between bisexuals and biracial/multiracial people. Although I'm not bisexual (I've tried and it always ends up being dumb), my primary romantic attachments have consistently been bisexual women. For a while I thought it was because I consider myself to be a blend of male and female genders, and that I wanted the possibility of transistioning to male without losing the love of my partner. But recently I've begun to think that it is also because I'm biracial. Being someone who straddles the boundaries of race, I find people who do not fit into neat little boxes incredibly sexy.

I also understand the pressure from society to pick a goddamn side and stick to it. No willy nillying around with something as sacred and clear cut as race. White folks think because I ended up with light whitey skin that it erases my ethnic identity and that I should just live as a white person, even though I have very defined aboriginal facial features and grew up within the Aboriginal community. Aboriginals accept me with a certain tinge of animosity, sometimes they think I'm white, sometimes they hate me because I have white privillege due to my skin (nevermind that racism hurts me just as much), sometimes they just want me to deny my Scots/Irish blood altogether. I have trouble filling in forms which want me to choose one race only. Biracial and Multiracial people are emerging as one of the most important aspects to dismantaling the barriers of race, yet so many are closeted, ashamed, and rejected by both or all of their cultures, and critical writings on the biracial/multiracial experience are sorely lacking.

Not only that, but people have the nerve to ask me "but which race are you more?" People assume because I'm so light that I would naturally be mostly white, but ironically I'm nearly three quarters Aboriginal. That all being said, chopping myself up into percentages and measuring out my race is kind of a sick and twisted way of thinking. Kind of like the stupid question people ask bisexuals "but which gender do you like better? Are you more homosexual or heterosexual?"

Another thing I've noticed in the Stupid Things People Ask category is the classic "Which of your parents is white/aboriginal?" This is fucked in a few ways. One, it assumes that interracial relationships is a relatively new phenomenon, when it's been going on for thousands of years. Another is that I'm a third generation biracial person, maybe even fourth generation. My ancestors are Scots, Irish, Cree, Red River Metis (which means I'm partially French as well), and Saulteaux. I have as much affinity for traditional drumming and fancy dance as I do for bagpipes and Irish step dancing.

There is something really revolutionary about people stepping forward and creating communities and dialogue about being on the borders, whether it's bisexuality, mixed race, or being both male and female. My dream is to see a day when all of these different groups band together and tell the world to knock off this divisive shit.

Producer wanted!!! Fame! Fortune! Edjimacation!

Okay, I'm going to do my regular blather a bit after this call for applicants. Right now I need to sound professional.

************************************************
Up and Coming Producer Wanted

Hello, I am an established internationally recognized short
filmmaker moving into feature film writing/directing. I have
written the third draft of a screenplay and am in the process
of applying for cash and mentorship. If my application is
successful there is also mentorship available from Industry
professionals for a first time producer. I have considered
being the producer as well, but I've decided that's too much
to put on my plate at this time and I would be better served
concentrating on my creative growth.

If you would like to move into film producing, this could be
your break. You must be a Canadian citizen, able to get a
letter of reference from someone established in the industry,
and have knowledge of Queer/Native/Mental Health/Poverty
issues. You may have produced one feature already, but no
more than that.

Ideally you are someone who is familiar with the work of
Christine Vachon (bonus points if you've read Shooting To
Kill). You have good money, time, and people managing
skills. You've had experience with film and/or video
production and post. You will be willing to temporarily
relocate to Toronto and work on location in Vancouver. You
understand Independent filmmaking and the duties involved
in being a producer. Brown people, women, Queers, and
people with disabilities encouraged to apply.

Briefly, the film is a love story about an interracial lesbian/
bisexual couple whose love is tested by a psychotic
episode and hospitalization. It's partly a black comedy,
partly a drama, and mostly a comment on the inhumane
treatment of the mentally ill. Creative control remains with
the director as per previous funding requirements.

If this application for funding/mentorship is not successful,
the producer position may still be available in the future
when funding is secured. Additional guidelines will be
emailed to promising applicants. Please submit your
resume and a letter explaining your previous film related
experience, why you want to produce, what qualities you
embody that would make you a good producer, and what
you have to offer to the project. A copy of the script will be
sent to the selected party. Deadline for applying for this
position is September 25, 2006. The deadline for the full
application for funding is October 20th.
Email me at fanggrrl@excite.com (I have a regular email address I use since the spammers found this one, so don't be surprised when I respond from a different addy).

*************************************************************

I was instructed to make dinner tonight. Niblets, potatoes, and smokies. Simple enough right? I mean, really it's just boiling THREE things. Well, I burned the potatoes to shit. They were disgusting. So I put on some perogies. They were taking a really long time to come to the top until Mum pointed out they were stuck to the bottom. By the time we rescued them their innards had burst out of their wrappings and they had turned into a gelatinous goo. What the hell is wrong with me? How can I fuck up boiling THREE things?

I had PMS crabbies today, and it made me feel very uncomfortable, thank god I started bleeding.

Yesterday I had the best talk with my favorite person in the whole world. I feel really lucky to have her in my life. She's amazing in a bazillion different ways and I could go on and on about how lovely she is, but I'll get all shy and awkward. I don't really know how you can get shy on a blog, come to think of it.

HEY! I am trying to track down some people from film school, Miriam Needoba, who I'm pretty sure I have found, and Jessica Rose who is somewhere in Toronto. If you know the wherabouts of these persons, tell them to reach out and touch me.

Okay, this is sophmoric, but also pretty fuckin' funny. From Rotten.com the masterpiece that is "Doughboy Shits A Croissant."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I remember I remember when I lost my mind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I want it all!

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

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



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



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

french and saunders

Ha ha ha!!! This is fuckin' classic F&S.

Youtube and Me, Happy Times

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

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

Peaches "Kick It" video with Iggy Pop, fighting zombies.

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

Margaret Cho talks about Gwen and her job.

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

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

Dawn French takes the piss out of Bjork.

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

Sexual Predators in the Queer Community

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Needles, metal, cute girl, oh my!

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

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

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

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

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

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

I too am Gwenyth Paltrow!

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

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

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

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

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

Thank God For the Library

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

C'mon and drug me up

Well, I figure after such a depressing last blog, I should keep you updated as to the waning of the Snuff It's. I distracted myself in a stupid way last night (4 Quart pitchers are rather malevolent), and then I got a call from my sweet dear friend Maggie. We chatted and chatted and she cheered me up. She was shocked to hear both of our exes were in a photoshoot together for On Our Backs. I kinda liked the jocularity of it all. And she called me a beautiful butch which made me happy. Margaret has always made me feel better since our first days of art school. She had a unicycle but I never got to see her ride it. Sometimes when I had the snuffits she would let me sleep over and tell me all about her cat and how he looked like Barbra Striesand (He did too!). She has frigging amazing mental health bedside manner. It's really graceful and classy, and not many people can treat crazy people like that.

Anyway, another few reasons for getting over this strain of Snuff It's is that I'm just a really freakin' curious person. I want to know what the hell is going to happen. I feel like an ineffectual spectator to civilization's downfall. I feel sort of like a global rubbernecker. I think I'm so weird because I grew up right near the end of the Cold War. Maybe I would have survived it better if I hadn't snuck off with mum's copy of Where The Wind Blows and started anticipating imminent nuclear war.

I remember one time I wrote a letter to Reagan asking him for nuclear disarmament. I must have been six or seven. He sent me back a brochure about all the fascinating facts of the White House, including Abe Lincoln's ghost.

Thus began my fascination with ghosts.

Once in the psych ward an orderly asked me what my fascination with death was. He seemed to think it had to do with me being crazy. But it's just kinda . . . there. When I came back from France and Germany all my pictures were of concentration camps and graveyards. I'm just kinda weird. But then I've also been struggling with issues of death since my depressive episodes started when I was seven.

One of my meds is being increased, the one that could cause a fatal skin rash. It's also really good for depression, so hopefully that will improve life.

I saw my sister, which cheered me up. She kept sticking her finger up my nose and making me slap her thigh until I noticed a bruise. And she headbutted me several times. I think she pulled my hair a few times too. Sometimes I think I just became a butch so she couldn't yank my hair the way she used to.

I also think I'm just really sad about Christopher still. I had always wanted to be more involved in his life, he was such a goof and I always heard such funny stories about what he was up to. I think it's especially sad and humbling when someone younger dies. Death doesn't seem so removed anymore, it feels present everywhere.

I guess I would say I've also had some kind of spiritual intervention. It's a bit hard to describe though, sort of like feeling outside thoughts enter into your soul about what's going on. Not like hearing voices, or seeing The Virgin Mary (or even the Harlot Mary). Just these emotional messages that you can understand, and sometimes it translates into words and sometimes not at all.

I came upon an interesting fact recently, which in a really weird way cheered me up. It said that the most dangerous suicidal episodes when people actually complete the act are usually the first three suicidal episodes a person has in their life. Afterwards people begin to learn that these feelings are temporary. Even me, these ones have really scared me but the longest each episode lasts is three hours. I still feel sad, but I won't be in the danger zone until the next one. Like waves. I find depression really fluctates compared to mania. Mania increases to tremendous proportions, but when you're in a major episode it's pretty persistent and all consuming for days and days. I never noticed having three hours of feeling slightly normal before going up again. Maybe that's just me.

But anyway, I am WAY past my first experience with ideation, I must have gone through at least sixty of these episodes in my life. I do internet reading on suicide and try to grapple with it logically as a medical condition to keep from feeling too hopeless. And I'm really trying to shed my own stigma and recognize and honour this as a symptom of a lifelong disability and not a true judgement of who I really am. Sometimes I like to make myself feel better by imagining what social changes should take place to preserve the health and dignity of other people with mental health issues. Sometimes I imagine starting a terrorist organization made up of the mentally ill doing outrageous acts of . . . uh, activism. Like peeing on Ewan Cameron's grave.

Sometimes I just go to sleep and have strange dreams about beautiful women and political intrigue. Which I think I'm going to do right now.

The Snuff It's

I have been on a very long road trip with two queer gals and a mother through Western USA. Among the things we saw was the Arches in Utah. some lizards. petroglyphs, cave dwellings in Colorado, some canyons, The Balancing Rock, Devil's Tower, Sturgis, deer, bikers, and a helluva lot of RV parks. I am now an expert in doing sewage dumps, after mum undid the lid and got splattered in liquid poo and refused to do it again. I've seen first hand the RV class system, and dudes, we may as well have been towing around a cardboard box the way those people treated us. One day we were driving down the road when bikers kept pointing and gesturing at us, we discovered our sewage hose had fallen out of it's wee container and was being merrily dragged down the road.

Mister the weiner dog was with us and I was really glad for that, because one night at two in the morning I got the Snuff It's BAD. As in, I had worked out a plan and was about to carry it out IMMEDIATELY. I'm sure it would have been a pretty gory scene had I carried it out. Anyway, I was crying and feeling pretty hopeless and working up the nerve to just go do it and have it over with, and Mister started licking my face, and he just would not stop until I had calmed down. And then he snuggled right up to me until I fell asleep.

I keep getting the Snuff It's off and on and it's really bothering me. I'm not sure if I'm going to make it through this time. There isn't really anyone I can talk to about this stuff, because people freak out and get mad at you if you're talking suicide. I guess sometimes I just feel people would be better off without me, no one understands me, people think making fun of me is actually funny instead of abusive and making me want to kill myself even more. And people act like my bipolar disorder is a big burden on them, and besides all of that, I'm just not sure someone as marginalized as me has a fair chance in this world. I'm so tired of fighting and I'm so tired of not being loved. Most of all, I am tired of always wanting to kill myself, and I don't know anymore how to make it stop. What makes me most sad is that I still feel like part of me died in the hospital and is never coming back.

I don't know what else to say except that this pain is really awful and I'm running out of ways to make it go away.