Often when I write one of these blogs I save it to do a final read over later before publishing. Well! Nearly a month ago I wrote a blog about the stress of house hunting, but as November was the most insanely busy month of my life, by the time I could get back to it we'd already found a place and I had to start packing. And now that I finally am getting back to it, we're all moved in and I've handed over the keys to my old apartment!
So, let me catch you up...
Early on in our friendship, Trouble and I started tossing around the idea of getting a place together. Every now and then we'd look into it, but after a few days of excitement we'd drop our new play thing and get back to our lives. I had decided a while ago that I'd move house at/towards the end of my PhD, and when I chose my last flatmate, a major draw was that she only wanted temporary accommodation. Her boyfriend is overseas, and when he returns they'll be getting a place together. I decided that I would stay on here until he came back, and then find somewhere cheaper to live. Before I left for Canada we talked about when that might be and agreed to move at the start of December.
My plan was to just find a room in an existing share house and sell off all my excess furniture, but of course I let Trouble know that I'd soon be looking for a new place to live. Well! The stars had finally aligned! She was ready to move on from her place too. We started checking out different places online and getting a sense of what we both wanted from our new home (something which has been remarkably easy since we agree on pretty much everything). We're both over the moon about finally getting a place together to make our own little queer, sex positive, clothing optional, clean and tidy, haven!
The original plan was to find a decently sized 3 bedroom house in the inner west, because, such things exist both in abundance and for very cheap. While we've both been really excited about the move, the idea of changing suburbs caused us a fair amount of anxiety. My life is very firmly established in Brunswick; I regularly spend my weekend catching up with people on a whim, something that is easy to do given that almost all my friends live within 3 km of me. Plus I've got my gym, my yoga instructor, my Pilates studio... But a new suburb would invite new adventures, and Trouble was quite keen on moving out west.
I swear to Swimming Pool, it was the moment that I'd finally made peace with the idea of leaving Brunswick that Trouble said to me SHE was really anxious about leaving Brunswick and would much prefer to stay! Well, fuck! Cue the search for an affordable 3 bedroom house in the Brunswick area...
While such houses are abundant out west, they are almost non-existent in Brunswick. Comparatively, they are smaller and more rent than what we would get out west. Of course, that is because even though TuPac claims the west side is the best side, Brunswicked is where it's at! In our search, we came across 3 houses that were only marginally over our budget. The first one we'd found out about too late, the second one was only a block up the street from my apartment, and the third one practically shared a wall with my new girlfriend's house - and she was furious we were even considering it!
When we inspected the second house, Trouble was quite taken with it. I thought it was shabby, run down, and too small and was less than thrilled about it, even though I love the location. Well, it turns out that Joni doesn't know everything! It took us a week to get our application together, but almost as soon as we'd sent it in, the real estate agent rang me up to see if we were still interested. We were approved so fast that I didn't even have a chance to get crazily stressed out about where we would live! We didn't even get around to applying for anywhere else.
We picked up the keys on Dec 1st, which just so happened to be Trouble and I's 1 year friendiversary, and have spent the past 9 days getting ourselves settled into the space. While it is an old house and a bit shabby, it's amazing how the space has transformed once we got our stuff into it! It goes to show that a bit of personality goes a long way! The front bedrooms had really hideous blue feature walls and Trouble suggested we paint them a light grey. I didn't have the time to paint, but she sorted it all out and now the rooms look fantastic!
I've got a bigger room than I had, and as we've got more space in the house, I'm also able to keep less stuff in my bedroom, making the space much more open than I'm used to. I'm resisting the urge to fill it back up with furniture, though the urge is strong! We have a really cute front courtyard, and a bright, jungly rear courtyard with a really productive fig tree. We have a kitchen with enough space to eat in, a separate lounge, and, possibly my favourite bit, a long corridor with 3 rooms: the toilet, the bath/shower, and the laundry room! The house is bright and welcoming but is also quite private. It's much more spacious than I thought it would be. We're still figuring out how best to use the space, but it's gotten to the more finicky stuff like: where best to keep the cleaning supplies and our toiletries.
There is more furniture to get. Trouble and I both need a swag of things from IKEA for our rooms, plus we could do with a few things from Bunnings. We've got to sort out a bigger fridge than the one I have at some point, and get a household internet connection established. We also need some couches for the front, since it's just the perfect space for sipping beers in the evening sun! And we'll get stuff up on the walls, give the house our special blend of pizzazz.
Now, it is a 3 bedroom house, and that means we're looking for a third to join our crew! We've decided that we want to spend December getting ourselves established into the house first, and then January we both have people visiting, so we're not in a big rush to find the third person. There's been some interest and Trouble and I are in talks about what exactly we want in a third housemate, and happily are thus far very much on the same page. Hopefully finding our third will be just as painless as finding our new house was!
For all my initial reluctance about this place, now that I'm in the space, I'm absolutely loving it! I had no sadness about handing in the keys to my old apartment, and I thought that I would. It was actually a big relief when I finished cleaning it and knew I didn't need to go back again. That's probably helped by the fact that it's been on the market for sale and having people through for inspections has been really annoying.
I'm really excited about starting this new chapter of my life. I'm excited for summer, for getting the house set up, for attempting to garden, for Trouble getting us a juicer (!!!), for my family coming to visit, for choosing our third, for finishing my thesis (eventually), for making preserves from the various fruit trees, for just about everything in my life right now really!
Monday, December 10, 2012
Friday, November 9, 2012
Remembering Professor Smith
Earlier this week one of my colleagues at ARCSHS passed away. He had been seriously ill for some time, but his death was still a surprise to us all. Although I wasn't particularly close with Anthony, I've been quite affected by his death - more so than I thought I would be - and I want to take a few moments to reflect upon what he meant to me.
I moved to Australia nearly 5 years ago to do my PhD. I didn't choose Australia for the sun or the beaches, I didn't choose Melbourne for the culture or the shopping. I came here because I wanted to be a part of a truly amazing organisation: The Australian Research Centre in Sex, Health and Society. It is because of Anthony Smith that ARCSHS exists.
Anthony and I didn't have a lot to do with each other; I know him more through his interactions with my friends than through my own interactions with him. Although ARCSHS has evolved into a lively, social centre, Anthony was well known for being something of a hermit, hiding out in his office whilst everyone else gathered for cake, only to appear at the last moment to snag a piece and disappear off again. Most of my interactions with him have been passing him as he had a smoke out the front of the building while I made my way into the office. It was a sad realisation when I came in this morning to know I won't be passing him by anymore; him looking away to avoid idle chitchat, me looking away to avoid being called out at rocking up to uni at 11am.
Another thing that Anthony was known for was his rather fearless ability to stand up for what he believed in and tell anyone stupid enough to stand in his way exactly where they could go! While I'd always known that side of him existed, it wasn't until last year when ARCSHS was faced with sever budget and staff cuts (due to the incompetence of people entirely outside of ARCSHS) that I actually saw him in action. For a man who was otherwise so quiet, when he was passionate about something, he sure could roar! I don't think I realised how much he really cared about all of us at ARCSHS until witnessing that showdown! It should come as no surprise that I admire a person who can not only call someone an idiot to their face, but go into painstaking details as to why they are an idiot, all whilst having abuse hurled back at them. I do enjoy the 'head on' approach to confrontation!!
The one professional interaction I did have with Anthony is something I will always remember, as it was a formative experience for me as an academic. I was just a year into my PhD and had to present and defend my research proposal to everyone at ARCSHS. After I'd finished my presentation and the floor was opened up for questions, Anthony came out swinging! It very well might have been the first time I'd ever heard him speak - certainly it was the first time he'd ever spoken to me. He was critical of my research design and although the experience was confrontational, I handled it professionally and took his criticisms as a challenge to push myself to do better. And I've been thankful for his criticisms every day since! Because of him I completely revised my research design and have produced an innovative piece of research that I am very proud of.
ARCSHS is a very supportive, non competitive environment. Although we all work across quite a wide range of fields and projects, we work together to strengthen each other. I've always felt like I can approach anyone here to bounce ideas off of - whether they are engaged with my work or not. And I have enjoyed having others approach me to do the same. We are all very lucky at ARCSHS; this is not the norm for academic environments. Academia involves people working really hard to put together their ideas and knowledge to present to others, for others to engage with critically. Even at its best, this experience can be quite confronting and feel like a personal attack. It's not a field for the faint of heart! Anthony's challenge to my work was the moment that I knew I could hack it as an academic.
Pretty much anyone who has had the opportunity to be a part of ARCSHS will tell you that it is much more than a work place; it's a community. And for many of us, it's family. My first couple of years here, I didn't know many people outside of ARCSHS. My friends and family were a long ways away, but whenever I came into ARCSHS I felt like I was at home. The people here, the culture of the centre, made me feel not like I'd left home, but like I'd come home. None of that would have been possible without Anthony Smith and I will always remember him for that.
Over the years I've slowly managed to coax Anthony in the occasional jovial interaction, as we passed each other in the stairwell, in the kitchen, or in the corridor. And last year I finally got to engage with him one-on-one! We were hosting our Christmas party in Flagstaff Gardens, and this involved transporting rather a lot of food and beverages from our office to the park - a short distance away. Somehow Anthony and I found ourselves co-carting an impressive array of salads over the bumpy terrain of Franklin St, across the chaos of William St, and through the twists and turns of Flagstaff Gardens. I don't remember what we talked about during this at most 5 minute voyage, but I do remember that I relished every moment of getting him to engage in a social situation that called for idle chitchat!
While it is very sad to lose someone who has made such incredible contributions to the fields of sexual health and sexuality studies more broadly, it is a privilege to be able to continue his legacy onwards. Every day I feel honoured and proud to be a part of ARCSHS. My thoughts and sympathies go out to Anthony's partner, family, friends, colleagues, and students.
I moved to Australia nearly 5 years ago to do my PhD. I didn't choose Australia for the sun or the beaches, I didn't choose Melbourne for the culture or the shopping. I came here because I wanted to be a part of a truly amazing organisation: The Australian Research Centre in Sex, Health and Society. It is because of Anthony Smith that ARCSHS exists.
Anthony and I didn't have a lot to do with each other; I know him more through his interactions with my friends than through my own interactions with him. Although ARCSHS has evolved into a lively, social centre, Anthony was well known for being something of a hermit, hiding out in his office whilst everyone else gathered for cake, only to appear at the last moment to snag a piece and disappear off again. Most of my interactions with him have been passing him as he had a smoke out the front of the building while I made my way into the office. It was a sad realisation when I came in this morning to know I won't be passing him by anymore; him looking away to avoid idle chitchat, me looking away to avoid being called out at rocking up to uni at 11am.
Another thing that Anthony was known for was his rather fearless ability to stand up for what he believed in and tell anyone stupid enough to stand in his way exactly where they could go! While I'd always known that side of him existed, it wasn't until last year when ARCSHS was faced with sever budget and staff cuts (due to the incompetence of people entirely outside of ARCSHS) that I actually saw him in action. For a man who was otherwise so quiet, when he was passionate about something, he sure could roar! I don't think I realised how much he really cared about all of us at ARCSHS until witnessing that showdown! It should come as no surprise that I admire a person who can not only call someone an idiot to their face, but go into painstaking details as to why they are an idiot, all whilst having abuse hurled back at them. I do enjoy the 'head on' approach to confrontation!!
The one professional interaction I did have with Anthony is something I will always remember, as it was a formative experience for me as an academic. I was just a year into my PhD and had to present and defend my research proposal to everyone at ARCSHS. After I'd finished my presentation and the floor was opened up for questions, Anthony came out swinging! It very well might have been the first time I'd ever heard him speak - certainly it was the first time he'd ever spoken to me. He was critical of my research design and although the experience was confrontational, I handled it professionally and took his criticisms as a challenge to push myself to do better. And I've been thankful for his criticisms every day since! Because of him I completely revised my research design and have produced an innovative piece of research that I am very proud of.
ARCSHS is a very supportive, non competitive environment. Although we all work across quite a wide range of fields and projects, we work together to strengthen each other. I've always felt like I can approach anyone here to bounce ideas off of - whether they are engaged with my work or not. And I have enjoyed having others approach me to do the same. We are all very lucky at ARCSHS; this is not the norm for academic environments. Academia involves people working really hard to put together their ideas and knowledge to present to others, for others to engage with critically. Even at its best, this experience can be quite confronting and feel like a personal attack. It's not a field for the faint of heart! Anthony's challenge to my work was the moment that I knew I could hack it as an academic.
Pretty much anyone who has had the opportunity to be a part of ARCSHS will tell you that it is much more than a work place; it's a community. And for many of us, it's family. My first couple of years here, I didn't know many people outside of ARCSHS. My friends and family were a long ways away, but whenever I came into ARCSHS I felt like I was at home. The people here, the culture of the centre, made me feel not like I'd left home, but like I'd come home. None of that would have been possible without Anthony Smith and I will always remember him for that.
Over the years I've slowly managed to coax Anthony in the occasional jovial interaction, as we passed each other in the stairwell, in the kitchen, or in the corridor. And last year I finally got to engage with him one-on-one! We were hosting our Christmas party in Flagstaff Gardens, and this involved transporting rather a lot of food and beverages from our office to the park - a short distance away. Somehow Anthony and I found ourselves co-carting an impressive array of salads over the bumpy terrain of Franklin St, across the chaos of William St, and through the twists and turns of Flagstaff Gardens. I don't remember what we talked about during this at most 5 minute voyage, but I do remember that I relished every moment of getting him to engage in a social situation that called for idle chitchat!
While it is very sad to lose someone who has made such incredible contributions to the fields of sexual health and sexuality studies more broadly, it is a privilege to be able to continue his legacy onwards. Every day I feel honoured and proud to be a part of ARCSHS. My thoughts and sympathies go out to Anthony's partner, family, friends, colleagues, and students.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Entitlement
About a month ago Trouble and I met up for a rainy afternoon breakfast stack at one of our favourite cafes and had a good, long, intellectual talk about Life Stuff. She was telling me that on her way to meet up with me a car full of men had been yelling and honking to get her attention. When she finally realised they were honking at her, for no other reason than to express their sexual interest in her, she was pretty pissed off and told them to fuck off. As well she should! This is a frighteningly common experience for women. But what is really frightening is how bad women are made to feel about themselves when it happens.
Welcome to slut shaming 201. Today's topic is 'entitlement', or more specifically (since there are more forms of entitlement than I can shake a stick at) sexual entitlement. There is a part of me that wants to qualify that further and say male sexual entitlement, but this is a problem that is more complicated than simply being men's fault. Blaming men for entitlement isn't really any better than blaming women for rape. Patriarchy and misogyny know no gender bounds.
So what is sexual entitlement? It is the belief that a person's sexual desire for another person gives them the right to that person's body/mind/time. At this point I feel that it is important to note that while feelings of sexual entitlement are not exclusively the purview of men, given that men continue to have social dominance over women (broadly, yes I know this is not always the case) it is much more problematic when men feel sexually entitled to women's bodies/minds/time. It is also much more common that this is how sexual entitlement plays out.
The problem, as I see it, is that when it comes to sexuality, women are set up to fail. There is no possible way for women to 'win' if they play along with the patriarchy's rules. No matter what the situation, men's sexual desires trump women's. Three heterosexual examples (since I hate binaries and want to guide you gently through my argument; I will queer it up a bit later in this post) to illustrate my point:
1) A woman who abstains from sex until marriage, then marries a loving, respecting man is still expected to satisfy her husband's sexual desires over her own. She may be able to negotiate having her desires met, but there is no social expectation that her husband would have to negotiate getting his desires met.
2) A woman goes out to a party with the expressed intent of having casual sex. When she picks up a guy, there is a sexual script already in play that dictates the satisfaction of his sexual desires. If she is lucky, he will also satisfy her's. But again, there is no expectation on him to do so.
3) A woman walks into a brothel looking to buy the sexual services of a man. If she's done her research, she's gone into a brothel that actually provides such a service. If not, she may be met with ridicule and/or homophobia. Or maybe the brothel staff will be friendly and point her in the right direction. At any rate, she can't just walk into any brothel and purchase sexual service. I am not aware of the existence of any brothel that absolutely does not provide service to men.
Given that men's sexual desires hold more social value than women's, it is not surprising that sexual entitlement is so prominent. And unquestioned! I started writing this blog a month ago, and in that time I've been noticing sexual entitlement everywhere I look. In an earlier draft of this blog I had a long list of examples of times I've encountered something similar to the anecdote I started this blog with. I think most women could come up with a few personal examples pretty easily if you asked them. I'm not going to list off my experiences here, as I've decided to go in a bit of a different direction with this post, inspired by a recent night out with my siblings in Kelowna. I want to talk about what I think men don't realise; I want to talk about what happens to women when they encounter sexual entitlement.
I'm currently in Canada, visiting family, old friends, and working on my thesis. Right now I'm in Kelowna, soaking up the last of the summer sun. Last weekend, two of my siblings were out here with me and we decided to go have a bit of a night out on the town. I wasn't crazy about the first pub we went to; it was loud and very heteronormative (that is, everyone was heterosexual and seemed to be aspiring to social standards of 'normal'). We headed off to another pub where there was a local band playing. The crowd was still pretty hetero, but less normative. I was excited to find that not only was I not the only lesbian in the place, but the other lesbian was pretty darn cute!
I thought that she was there with a straight couple, but as the night went on I discovered that she was there with a female friend who some guy was hitting on (I discovered this, btw, when said guy tried to stick his hand down my shirt while giving me a very unsolicited hug - that's a very obvious example of sexual entitlement that I hope my readers don't need me to further deconstruct). When I told my brother that I thought the lesbian was really cute, he encouraged me to go talk to her. I said nah and continued to sit and listen to the band, occasionally glancing over towards the cute girl.
As the night went on and the cute girl made her way to the dance floor, my brother dragged me onto the dance floor and tried to push me over to go and 'mac on' the girl. At that point, I got really angry with him and told him if he didn't back off I would punch him. He backed off and I was left to scratch my head about why I reacted so strongly to him trying to be my wingman.
I'm not shy about hitting on girls. I like the chase and while I don't always initiate, I'm pretty upfront about my interest. Chances are, if you're wondering if I'm into you or not, I'm probably not into you.
Eventually, I realised what was bothering me about my brother's approach: it reeked of sexual entitlement. It seemed that for my brother, my thinking the girl was cute was reason enough for me to go talk to her. In this framing, my desire for her gave me the right to access her mental/physical/emotional space - or at least the right to try. But for me, having been on the receiving end of unwanted sexual attention far, far, too many times, I didn't feel that my desire for this woman gave me any right to her at all.
I think that there is this big misconception that being hit on is a nice experience. Sure, it can be nice. If you want it to happen. But if you don't, it can be horrible. Even if the person doing the hitting on isn't horrible; even if they are, in fact, pleasant, it can still be a horrible experience. This is because of the social protocol that deems it rude not to talk to someone when they initiate a conversation with you, and the gender differential that is at play. For a man to blow someone off, he is simply being rude in that instance. If a woman does it, even once, she is forever a bitch.
Women face a lot more social pressure than men to engage in conversations with anyone who decides to talk to them - whether they want to or not. This means, when you hit on a woman, she may not be talking to you because she wants to, but because she is socially obliged to! So please, everybody, think about that the next time you decide to strike up a conversation with a woman, whatever your intent.
The reason I didn't want to go up to this woman and strike up a conversation with her was that while I was sitting at my table watching her, she wasn't watching me back. I wasn't leering at her, but I also wasn't being subtle about the fact that she had caught my eye. If she had been interested in me, it would have been easy for her to make eye contact with me. That she didn't told me that she just wanted to hang out with her friend and enjoy the night, and I can (and did) respect that.
I did contemplate doing one of my favourite moves: the toilet queue chat. There is a lot of solidarity about women's toilets and the secret business that goes on in them. It is quite easy and acceptable to strike up a conversation with someone while waiting for the toilets, and it is also a space that if you are not interested in talking, it's easy and safe to signal your disinterest in a conversation. It's a great way to break the ice with someone and get a sense of if they are interested in having a chat or not. Of course, a willingness to have a chat does not equate a desire to be hit on; it's more that if they're not interested in talking to you in the toilets, they're not interested in talking to you. As I didn't have the chance to try this move, and she had not paid me any particular attention, I felt it would be incredibly presumptuous of me to strike up a conversation with her on the dance floor.
The thing with sexual entitlement - and entitlement in general - is, I think a lot of people are really unaware of when they are acting from a place of privilege, and how that privilege impacts on others. And I also don't think that people are aware of the accumulative affect of entitlement. Because, yeah, a single instance of a bit of unwanted flirting is probably not going to cause someone a great deal of grief. But while it might be a single instance for the person doing the flirting, chances are it's not a single instance for the person on the receiving end. Your single instance may just be the straw that broke the camel's back.
I remember my straw. Back when I worked in an adult store, I had a guy come in one day and tell me that I looked very pretty. He wasn't being lewd or particularly aggressive, and his comment was incredibly tame compared to many of the other men who felt they had some sort of right to comment on me as a sexual being when they came into the store. His comment would have been sweet if it had come from someone I trusted. But he was an older man, a stranger, and the only other person in the store with me, and I did not feel safe being alone in the store - in the middle of the day - with a man who felt it was not only acceptable but innocuous to sexualise me.
I'm not the kind of person to let something like that slide, so I informed him that I did not find his comment appropriate. This made matters much worse because then he felt like he needed to justify himself, and the only way he could do this was by vilifying me. There was nothing wrong with him and what he did; it was my problem, my fault that I couldn't "take a compliment." If I didn't want to be complimented on my appearance, I shouldn't put any effort into looking professional. Nevermind that my employers required it of me, or, more importantly, that it made me feel good about myself. Apparently the only reason a woman puts any effort into her appearance is to invite the attentions of men, and she should be damn grateful when she gets them! Eventually he left the store. I ended up quitting my job - which I loved - over this, and how the company refused to deal with it.
This is what happens when we construct reality in terms of binaries: a person's disinterest in someone's sexual advances becomes a personal insult. When a person is insulted, they have to defend themselves, usually by pointing out how the other person is wrong to be insulted. There is a term for this, it's called 'victim blaming'.
But why should a person's disinterest in someone's sexual advances be taken personally? I wasn't personally insulted when the woman at the bar didn't show any interest in me. I don't actually think it has anything to do with me. She wasn't looking, and it would be insulting of me to assume that she should be.
Confrontation makes a lot of people uncomfortable. I think there's this cultural assumption that women are a lot more uncomfortable with confrontation than men are, but I think if that was true then slut shaming and victim blaming wouldn't even be things. These are tool that are used against women (by men and women) to uphold sexual entitlement. Because it's when women stand up for themselves - when they are confrontational - that they risk encountering slut shaming and/or victim blaming.
Let me take a step back here to talk about our social understandings of how women are meant to negotiate sex. On the one hand, women are told - ad nauseam - to just say 'no' to sex. On the other hand, women are told that they are horrible people if they reject someone. You know, because it is a woman's job to make everyone else feel good about themselves and nevermind about how she feels about herself. So when a woman is faced with a sexual advance, she's faced with a catch-22 situation. She's not meant to say yes because that makes her a slut, but if she says no she'll hurt the other person's feelings and that makes her a bitch. What to do, what to do? For a lot of women, the result is a complex game of avoidance.
Going back to my experience at the adult shop, it was the very innocuousness of that man's comment that made the experience so upsetting for me. He was paying me a compliment; and as he was not in clear violation of social norms, he could not understand why I would be upset by his compliment. It was much easier to deal with men who knew they were overstepping their bounds because they understood that if they didn't respect my 'no' they were in the wrong. Their actions may have been a lot more explicit, but my rights to be offended by their actions were also a lot clearer.
It's these smaller experiences that are a lot harder to avoid, and a lot harder to negotiate. I feel like there is some sort of confrontation/entitlement binary/blind spot happening in society. Some people feel that they are entitled to make sexual advances onto others, but then forget that the person they make the advance on is entitled to tell them to fuck off. And when they get told to fuck off, they feel like how dare this person feel entitled to put them in a confrontational situation, but ignore the fact that it was actually them who put the other person in a confrontational situation - and what right did they have themselves to do that?
I feel like I'm starting to spin out here, so hopefully I'm not losing you along the way. The point that I'm trying to make is, I don't think people are often aware of when they are putting someone into a confrontational situation. And I think that women get put into confrontational situations a lot, and that society does not adequately prepare women for how to manage these situations. I also think that men are not put into confrontational situations nearly enough. And I think that for everybody who gets put into a confrontational situation - whatever the situation and whatever their gender - there is far too great a tendency to try and get out of the situation by placing the blame on somebody else.
So if I can leave you with a few takeaway points, it's this:
1) Think before you act. Consider how your actions might impact on the other person, and try to think of at least 3 possible outcomes, because there are always more than two options.
2) Learn to be comfortable with your own discomfort. Nobody likes being told they are in the wrong, but before you jump in to defend yourself, consider the possibility that maybe the other person has a point.
3) Question your assumptions. What makes it OK for you to behave in a certain way? Are you sure? Is that always the case? What might happen if you behaved differently?
4) Look out for nonverbal cues. Most people are pretty crap about communicating with their words. It's not their (or our, since I am certainly not exempt from this!) fault; as a society we're pretty crap at teaching people how to communicate, and we tend to penalise those who do. Especially women. Understand this.
5) Be aware of and listen to your instincts. If you feel uncomfortable in a situation, there probably is a good reason for it, whether it's apparent or not. If you sense that someone else is uncomfortable in a situation, address it! Remember point 4. Sometimes you'll have to be the one to start the hard conversations, even when it's the other person who's got the issue.
I have so, so, so, much more to say on this, but that is enough for Part Two. I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this, and writing Part Three when next the mood strikes. Until next time...
Welcome to slut shaming 201. Today's topic is 'entitlement', or more specifically (since there are more forms of entitlement than I can shake a stick at) sexual entitlement. There is a part of me that wants to qualify that further and say male sexual entitlement, but this is a problem that is more complicated than simply being men's fault. Blaming men for entitlement isn't really any better than blaming women for rape. Patriarchy and misogyny know no gender bounds.
So what is sexual entitlement? It is the belief that a person's sexual desire for another person gives them the right to that person's body/mind/time. At this point I feel that it is important to note that while feelings of sexual entitlement are not exclusively the purview of men, given that men continue to have social dominance over women (broadly, yes I know this is not always the case) it is much more problematic when men feel sexually entitled to women's bodies/minds/time. It is also much more common that this is how sexual entitlement plays out.
The problem, as I see it, is that when it comes to sexuality, women are set up to fail. There is no possible way for women to 'win' if they play along with the patriarchy's rules. No matter what the situation, men's sexual desires trump women's. Three heterosexual examples (since I hate binaries and want to guide you gently through my argument; I will queer it up a bit later in this post) to illustrate my point:
1) A woman who abstains from sex until marriage, then marries a loving, respecting man is still expected to satisfy her husband's sexual desires over her own. She may be able to negotiate having her desires met, but there is no social expectation that her husband would have to negotiate getting his desires met.
2) A woman goes out to a party with the expressed intent of having casual sex. When she picks up a guy, there is a sexual script already in play that dictates the satisfaction of his sexual desires. If she is lucky, he will also satisfy her's. But again, there is no expectation on him to do so.
3) A woman walks into a brothel looking to buy the sexual services of a man. If she's done her research, she's gone into a brothel that actually provides such a service. If not, she may be met with ridicule and/or homophobia. Or maybe the brothel staff will be friendly and point her in the right direction. At any rate, she can't just walk into any brothel and purchase sexual service. I am not aware of the existence of any brothel that absolutely does not provide service to men.
Given that men's sexual desires hold more social value than women's, it is not surprising that sexual entitlement is so prominent. And unquestioned! I started writing this blog a month ago, and in that time I've been noticing sexual entitlement everywhere I look. In an earlier draft of this blog I had a long list of examples of times I've encountered something similar to the anecdote I started this blog with. I think most women could come up with a few personal examples pretty easily if you asked them. I'm not going to list off my experiences here, as I've decided to go in a bit of a different direction with this post, inspired by a recent night out with my siblings in Kelowna. I want to talk about what I think men don't realise; I want to talk about what happens to women when they encounter sexual entitlement.
I'm currently in Canada, visiting family, old friends, and working on my thesis. Right now I'm in Kelowna, soaking up the last of the summer sun. Last weekend, two of my siblings were out here with me and we decided to go have a bit of a night out on the town. I wasn't crazy about the first pub we went to; it was loud and very heteronormative (that is, everyone was heterosexual and seemed to be aspiring to social standards of 'normal'). We headed off to another pub where there was a local band playing. The crowd was still pretty hetero, but less normative. I was excited to find that not only was I not the only lesbian in the place, but the other lesbian was pretty darn cute!
I thought that she was there with a straight couple, but as the night went on I discovered that she was there with a female friend who some guy was hitting on (I discovered this, btw, when said guy tried to stick his hand down my shirt while giving me a very unsolicited hug - that's a very obvious example of sexual entitlement that I hope my readers don't need me to further deconstruct). When I told my brother that I thought the lesbian was really cute, he encouraged me to go talk to her. I said nah and continued to sit and listen to the band, occasionally glancing over towards the cute girl.
As the night went on and the cute girl made her way to the dance floor, my brother dragged me onto the dance floor and tried to push me over to go and 'mac on' the girl. At that point, I got really angry with him and told him if he didn't back off I would punch him. He backed off and I was left to scratch my head about why I reacted so strongly to him trying to be my wingman.
I'm not shy about hitting on girls. I like the chase and while I don't always initiate, I'm pretty upfront about my interest. Chances are, if you're wondering if I'm into you or not, I'm probably not into you.
Eventually, I realised what was bothering me about my brother's approach: it reeked of sexual entitlement. It seemed that for my brother, my thinking the girl was cute was reason enough for me to go talk to her. In this framing, my desire for her gave me the right to access her mental/physical/emotional space - or at least the right to try. But for me, having been on the receiving end of unwanted sexual attention far, far, too many times, I didn't feel that my desire for this woman gave me any right to her at all.
I think that there is this big misconception that being hit on is a nice experience. Sure, it can be nice. If you want it to happen. But if you don't, it can be horrible. Even if the person doing the hitting on isn't horrible; even if they are, in fact, pleasant, it can still be a horrible experience. This is because of the social protocol that deems it rude not to talk to someone when they initiate a conversation with you, and the gender differential that is at play. For a man to blow someone off, he is simply being rude in that instance. If a woman does it, even once, she is forever a bitch.
Women face a lot more social pressure than men to engage in conversations with anyone who decides to talk to them - whether they want to or not. This means, when you hit on a woman, she may not be talking to you because she wants to, but because she is socially obliged to! So please, everybody, think about that the next time you decide to strike up a conversation with a woman, whatever your intent.
The reason I didn't want to go up to this woman and strike up a conversation with her was that while I was sitting at my table watching her, she wasn't watching me back. I wasn't leering at her, but I also wasn't being subtle about the fact that she had caught my eye. If she had been interested in me, it would have been easy for her to make eye contact with me. That she didn't told me that she just wanted to hang out with her friend and enjoy the night, and I can (and did) respect that.
I did contemplate doing one of my favourite moves: the toilet queue chat. There is a lot of solidarity about women's toilets and the secret business that goes on in them. It is quite easy and acceptable to strike up a conversation with someone while waiting for the toilets, and it is also a space that if you are not interested in talking, it's easy and safe to signal your disinterest in a conversation. It's a great way to break the ice with someone and get a sense of if they are interested in having a chat or not. Of course, a willingness to have a chat does not equate a desire to be hit on; it's more that if they're not interested in talking to you in the toilets, they're not interested in talking to you. As I didn't have the chance to try this move, and she had not paid me any particular attention, I felt it would be incredibly presumptuous of me to strike up a conversation with her on the dance floor.
The thing with sexual entitlement - and entitlement in general - is, I think a lot of people are really unaware of when they are acting from a place of privilege, and how that privilege impacts on others. And I also don't think that people are aware of the accumulative affect of entitlement. Because, yeah, a single instance of a bit of unwanted flirting is probably not going to cause someone a great deal of grief. But while it might be a single instance for the person doing the flirting, chances are it's not a single instance for the person on the receiving end. Your single instance may just be the straw that broke the camel's back.
I remember my straw. Back when I worked in an adult store, I had a guy come in one day and tell me that I looked very pretty. He wasn't being lewd or particularly aggressive, and his comment was incredibly tame compared to many of the other men who felt they had some sort of right to comment on me as a sexual being when they came into the store. His comment would have been sweet if it had come from someone I trusted. But he was an older man, a stranger, and the only other person in the store with me, and I did not feel safe being alone in the store - in the middle of the day - with a man who felt it was not only acceptable but innocuous to sexualise me.
I'm not the kind of person to let something like that slide, so I informed him that I did not find his comment appropriate. This made matters much worse because then he felt like he needed to justify himself, and the only way he could do this was by vilifying me. There was nothing wrong with him and what he did; it was my problem, my fault that I couldn't "take a compliment." If I didn't want to be complimented on my appearance, I shouldn't put any effort into looking professional. Nevermind that my employers required it of me, or, more importantly, that it made me feel good about myself. Apparently the only reason a woman puts any effort into her appearance is to invite the attentions of men, and she should be damn grateful when she gets them! Eventually he left the store. I ended up quitting my job - which I loved - over this, and how the company refused to deal with it.
This is what happens when we construct reality in terms of binaries: a person's disinterest in someone's sexual advances becomes a personal insult. When a person is insulted, they have to defend themselves, usually by pointing out how the other person is wrong to be insulted. There is a term for this, it's called 'victim blaming'.
But why should a person's disinterest in someone's sexual advances be taken personally? I wasn't personally insulted when the woman at the bar didn't show any interest in me. I don't actually think it has anything to do with me. She wasn't looking, and it would be insulting of me to assume that she should be.
Confrontation makes a lot of people uncomfortable. I think there's this cultural assumption that women are a lot more uncomfortable with confrontation than men are, but I think if that was true then slut shaming and victim blaming wouldn't even be things. These are tool that are used against women (by men and women) to uphold sexual entitlement. Because it's when women stand up for themselves - when they are confrontational - that they risk encountering slut shaming and/or victim blaming.
Let me take a step back here to talk about our social understandings of how women are meant to negotiate sex. On the one hand, women are told - ad nauseam - to just say 'no' to sex. On the other hand, women are told that they are horrible people if they reject someone. You know, because it is a woman's job to make everyone else feel good about themselves and nevermind about how she feels about herself. So when a woman is faced with a sexual advance, she's faced with a catch-22 situation. She's not meant to say yes because that makes her a slut, but if she says no she'll hurt the other person's feelings and that makes her a bitch. What to do, what to do? For a lot of women, the result is a complex game of avoidance.
Going back to my experience at the adult shop, it was the very innocuousness of that man's comment that made the experience so upsetting for me. He was paying me a compliment; and as he was not in clear violation of social norms, he could not understand why I would be upset by his compliment. It was much easier to deal with men who knew they were overstepping their bounds because they understood that if they didn't respect my 'no' they were in the wrong. Their actions may have been a lot more explicit, but my rights to be offended by their actions were also a lot clearer.
It's these smaller experiences that are a lot harder to avoid, and a lot harder to negotiate. I feel like there is some sort of confrontation/entitlement binary/blind spot happening in society. Some people feel that they are entitled to make sexual advances onto others, but then forget that the person they make the advance on is entitled to tell them to fuck off. And when they get told to fuck off, they feel like how dare this person feel entitled to put them in a confrontational situation, but ignore the fact that it was actually them who put the other person in a confrontational situation - and what right did they have themselves to do that?
I feel like I'm starting to spin out here, so hopefully I'm not losing you along the way. The point that I'm trying to make is, I don't think people are often aware of when they are putting someone into a confrontational situation. And I think that women get put into confrontational situations a lot, and that society does not adequately prepare women for how to manage these situations. I also think that men are not put into confrontational situations nearly enough. And I think that for everybody who gets put into a confrontational situation - whatever the situation and whatever their gender - there is far too great a tendency to try and get out of the situation by placing the blame on somebody else.
So if I can leave you with a few takeaway points, it's this:
1) Think before you act. Consider how your actions might impact on the other person, and try to think of at least 3 possible outcomes, because there are always more than two options.
2) Learn to be comfortable with your own discomfort. Nobody likes being told they are in the wrong, but before you jump in to defend yourself, consider the possibility that maybe the other person has a point.
3) Question your assumptions. What makes it OK for you to behave in a certain way? Are you sure? Is that always the case? What might happen if you behaved differently?
4) Look out for nonverbal cues. Most people are pretty crap about communicating with their words. It's not their (or our, since I am certainly not exempt from this!) fault; as a society we're pretty crap at teaching people how to communicate, and we tend to penalise those who do. Especially women. Understand this.
5) Be aware of and listen to your instincts. If you feel uncomfortable in a situation, there probably is a good reason for it, whether it's apparent or not. If you sense that someone else is uncomfortable in a situation, address it! Remember point 4. Sometimes you'll have to be the one to start the hard conversations, even when it's the other person who's got the issue.
I have so, so, so, much more to say on this, but that is enough for Part Two. I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this, and writing Part Three when next the mood strikes. Until next time...
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Without Country
I put off coming back to Canada for a long time. Historically, it's not a place I've enjoyed being. As I've often said, it may be where I'm from, but it's not my home. Melbourne is my home, whether I stay there or not. But no matter how many times I said it, the reality always was that I am a Canadian citizen, and whenever I enter into Canada, I'm always returning 'home'.
So imagine my surprise when I rocked up to Calgary and the customs officer told me that for immigration purposes I was not a resident of Canada, but a visitor!
While that is certainly how I feel about being back in Canada, it is also a little unnerving because it means that I am a woman without a country. I am in some sort of immigration twilight zone where my status changes depending on who asks and why. My Canadian citizenship is pretty meaningless given that I currently don't have a single piece of government issued Canadian identification (I am between passports, as it were). I don't have any health insurance here; I didn't get travel insurance because I didn't think I was really a 'traveler', but in retrospect, that might have been a good idea. I am not an Australian citizen; I am a temporary resident. And although I live there and my life is established there, my residence can be taken away from me if I don't follow the rules.
It's been interesting being back. It seems like it's not just Canada Customs that sees me as a visitor here; my family do too. I expected to go back to my Mom's and be expected to pick up all my old chores again, but it seems that in the last few years they've figured out how to keep the kitchen clean without me. It's been a much more relaxed trip than I had expected, just being a visitor. The expectations and responsibilities that I've felt get put onto me (which I do not want) have not felt so intense. I don't know if it's me or them, probably it's both. I've been gone a long time, everyone's gotten used to me not being around. And we're all older, and I'm certainly calmer, more centred in who I am.
Much to my surprise, I'm having fun! I like being here! I'm a bit sad that I'm only staying for a month! And I'm glad that I'll be back next year!
I was only in Calgary for a few days, and I had a lot of stuff to do at my Mom's, so the full experience of being back hasn't really hit me. But people seem more relaxed. I don't know, maybe it's the weather. Summer is just coming to an end here, and the weather has been pretty spectacular. My Dad's new place in Kelowna is freggin' amazing! I'm totally over my "let's meet in the middle and go to Hawaii" business; I'm all about Kelowna now! Even if I get mistaken for a heterosexual because there's no real queer culture here, and there's heaps of religious nutballs running around town with anti-choice propaganda. The city is gorgeous, the house is incredible, and the shopping is ace! I totally forgot that Kelowna is the place to buy vintage hats. AND, my favourite store here is still rocking it 3 years later! Plus, I found the dyke shoes of my dreams and had a total broment with the sales guy (he has shoes just like the ones I got, only black and kinda different, but the loves is just as intense).
It's been amazing catching up with my family. I'm glad that my Mom and stepdad are coming out to Vancouver with me so we can spend some more time together. I'm glad I got to spend a few days with my stepsister and go horseback riding and have girl talk til the wee hours of the morning. She really amazes me with how insightful and switched on she is. That girl gets life in a big way! And it's been fun hanging out with my brother, who is about to move into his own place and enter the world of no money and hand washed dishes. I'm very excited for him. I'm sad that my baby brother isn't here, but happy for him because he's off at uni on a football scholarship. I'm glad I'll get to see him next year. And I'm having fun with my Dad and stepmom. It's just going to be the three of us as of tomorrow; and then in a week it'll just be me and Dad. And my thesis. Which is about to re-emerge in my life in all her abusive, controlling splendour. sigh
It's nice to know that although I may be without country, I'm certainly not lacking for love. Here or in Melbourne. I don't know that I'll come back every year, but I don't think I'll put off my visits for so long in the future. Maybe there is a bit of 'home' left for me in Canada after all.
So imagine my surprise when I rocked up to Calgary and the customs officer told me that for immigration purposes I was not a resident of Canada, but a visitor!
While that is certainly how I feel about being back in Canada, it is also a little unnerving because it means that I am a woman without a country. I am in some sort of immigration twilight zone where my status changes depending on who asks and why. My Canadian citizenship is pretty meaningless given that I currently don't have a single piece of government issued Canadian identification (I am between passports, as it were). I don't have any health insurance here; I didn't get travel insurance because I didn't think I was really a 'traveler', but in retrospect, that might have been a good idea. I am not an Australian citizen; I am a temporary resident. And although I live there and my life is established there, my residence can be taken away from me if I don't follow the rules.
It's been interesting being back. It seems like it's not just Canada Customs that sees me as a visitor here; my family do too. I expected to go back to my Mom's and be expected to pick up all my old chores again, but it seems that in the last few years they've figured out how to keep the kitchen clean without me. It's been a much more relaxed trip than I had expected, just being a visitor. The expectations and responsibilities that I've felt get put onto me (which I do not want) have not felt so intense. I don't know if it's me or them, probably it's both. I've been gone a long time, everyone's gotten used to me not being around. And we're all older, and I'm certainly calmer, more centred in who I am.
Much to my surprise, I'm having fun! I like being here! I'm a bit sad that I'm only staying for a month! And I'm glad that I'll be back next year!
I was only in Calgary for a few days, and I had a lot of stuff to do at my Mom's, so the full experience of being back hasn't really hit me. But people seem more relaxed. I don't know, maybe it's the weather. Summer is just coming to an end here, and the weather has been pretty spectacular. My Dad's new place in Kelowna is freggin' amazing! I'm totally over my "let's meet in the middle and go to Hawaii" business; I'm all about Kelowna now! Even if I get mistaken for a heterosexual because there's no real queer culture here, and there's heaps of religious nutballs running around town with anti-choice propaganda. The city is gorgeous, the house is incredible, and the shopping is ace! I totally forgot that Kelowna is the place to buy vintage hats. AND, my favourite store here is still rocking it 3 years later! Plus, I found the dyke shoes of my dreams and had a total broment with the sales guy (he has shoes just like the ones I got, only black and kinda different, but the loves is just as intense).
It's been amazing catching up with my family. I'm glad that my Mom and stepdad are coming out to Vancouver with me so we can spend some more time together. I'm glad I got to spend a few days with my stepsister and go horseback riding and have girl talk til the wee hours of the morning. She really amazes me with how insightful and switched on she is. That girl gets life in a big way! And it's been fun hanging out with my brother, who is about to move into his own place and enter the world of no money and hand washed dishes. I'm very excited for him. I'm sad that my baby brother isn't here, but happy for him because he's off at uni on a football scholarship. I'm glad I'll get to see him next year. And I'm having fun with my Dad and stepmom. It's just going to be the three of us as of tomorrow; and then in a week it'll just be me and Dad. And my thesis. Which is about to re-emerge in my life in all her abusive, controlling splendour. sigh
It's nice to know that although I may be without country, I'm certainly not lacking for love. Here or in Melbourne. I don't know that I'll come back every year, but I don't think I'll put off my visits for so long in the future. Maybe there is a bit of 'home' left for me in Canada after all.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
A Decade In Reflection
Hello Readers!
First off, my last blog about slut shaming has gotten a really awesome response, so THANK YOU to everyone who read it and to everyone who has since given me food for thought on the topic. I've been having heaps of really engaging conversations/debates on this topic and readings lots of other blogs and am really excited to continue exploring this issue!!! I've had about a million different thoughts and ideas for blog posts and I look forward to having the time to develop those.
But for now, I'd like to talk about something else: on Friday I am turning 30. I'm actually really excited about this. Maybe because this big life milestone is also lining up with other big life milestones... I've almost finished my thesis! Not only that, but my life has actually become the thing that I've always wanted it to be. I am independent, I lead an interesting life, and I am surrounded by people who love and respect me for who I am - flaws and all. And that's pretty fucking awesome!
I've been reflecting on the past ten years and the strange twists and turns my life has taken, wondering what 20 year old Joni would think if she knew where she'd end up in 10 years time. I doubt she'd ever have thought she'd end up with the dubious (*ahem* self-appointed) title of "Australia's leading expert on how to use social media to be a douche in intimate relationships" but I bet she wouldn't be all that surprised either. I've always wanted to be a cyborg.
The one thing that 20 year old Joni wanted so much for herself was to be a fiercely-independent-world-travelling-trend-setter. I reckon I've done her proud. I was thinking about this recently, what with my big trip back to Canada coming up. In the past 10 years - that is, 120 months - I have only lived in Calgary for 43 months, and a total of 55 months in Canada. I've lived in Ottawa, Amsterdam, and Melbourne. I've travelled to Thailand, Belgium, France, Germany, Denmark, Sweden, Poland, England, Portugal, Czech Republic, the USA, Peru, and South Korea. I haven't made it back to Africa or Japan, but that just gives me something to do in my 30s.
My 20s weren't all good; I struggled with depression for most of them. But now I have the knowledge and the tools to manage it, and it no longer rules my life. Not only do I know that 'it gets better', I know how to make it better. I'm very thankful to have so many supportive friends who are there for me when I need them. But I'm also very thankful to myself, for all the hard work I've put in to making my life what it is now. I hear people say sometimes "Oh, you're so lucky to have all these opportunities." Well... yeah, some of the things I've gotten to do with my life have been because I'm lucky enough to have rather a lot of social privilege. But I've also taken that privilege and worked really fucking hard to do something productive with it!
It's funny, so many people get freaked out about turning 30, but it just fills me with joy. I feel more youthful now than I think I actually ever have. And that's because I feel free.
When I was younger I felt like there would be all these unpleasant consequences to just being myself and living my life how I wanted to live it... I think a lot of people feel like there is a particular 'script' that they are meant to follow and that bad things will happen if they don't. But you know what? The bad things happen when you try to live a life that you don't want for yourself. Yeah, it can be hard to go against the grain. Yeah, probably a lot of people will want you to justify yourself to them. But really, you've only got to justify your actions to yourself. If you're happy with yourself and how you act towards others, then who cares what anyone else thinks? And if you're not happy, then what are you going to do to change that?
I understand that expression now: "If only I knew what I know now when I was younger..." I don't want to go back in time and sit down and impart younger Joni with this knowledge though. She wouldn't listen anyways; she likes to figure things out for herself. I get that. I think if I could sit down with my younger self and tell her one thing, I'd tell her that I respect her for that. She'd like that. I have a lot of respect for the person that I was, because she made me into the person that I am today. And I really like that person. A lot!
First off, my last blog about slut shaming has gotten a really awesome response, so THANK YOU to everyone who read it and to everyone who has since given me food for thought on the topic. I've been having heaps of really engaging conversations/debates on this topic and readings lots of other blogs and am really excited to continue exploring this issue!!! I've had about a million different thoughts and ideas for blog posts and I look forward to having the time to develop those.
But for now, I'd like to talk about something else: on Friday I am turning 30. I'm actually really excited about this. Maybe because this big life milestone is also lining up with other big life milestones... I've almost finished my thesis! Not only that, but my life has actually become the thing that I've always wanted it to be. I am independent, I lead an interesting life, and I am surrounded by people who love and respect me for who I am - flaws and all. And that's pretty fucking awesome!
I've been reflecting on the past ten years and the strange twists and turns my life has taken, wondering what 20 year old Joni would think if she knew where she'd end up in 10 years time. I doubt she'd ever have thought she'd end up with the dubious (*ahem* self-appointed) title of "Australia's leading expert on how to use social media to be a douche in intimate relationships" but I bet she wouldn't be all that surprised either. I've always wanted to be a cyborg.
The one thing that 20 year old Joni wanted so much for herself was to be a fiercely-independent-world-travelling-trend-setter. I reckon I've done her proud. I was thinking about this recently, what with my big trip back to Canada coming up. In the past 10 years - that is, 120 months - I have only lived in Calgary for 43 months, and a total of 55 months in Canada. I've lived in Ottawa, Amsterdam, and Melbourne. I've travelled to Thailand, Belgium, France, Germany, Denmark, Sweden, Poland, England, Portugal, Czech Republic, the USA, Peru, and South Korea. I haven't made it back to Africa or Japan, but that just gives me something to do in my 30s.
My 20s weren't all good; I struggled with depression for most of them. But now I have the knowledge and the tools to manage it, and it no longer rules my life. Not only do I know that 'it gets better', I know how to make it better. I'm very thankful to have so many supportive friends who are there for me when I need them. But I'm also very thankful to myself, for all the hard work I've put in to making my life what it is now. I hear people say sometimes "Oh, you're so lucky to have all these opportunities." Well... yeah, some of the things I've gotten to do with my life have been because I'm lucky enough to have rather a lot of social privilege. But I've also taken that privilege and worked really fucking hard to do something productive with it!
It's funny, so many people get freaked out about turning 30, but it just fills me with joy. I feel more youthful now than I think I actually ever have. And that's because I feel free.
When I was younger I felt like there would be all these unpleasant consequences to just being myself and living my life how I wanted to live it... I think a lot of people feel like there is a particular 'script' that they are meant to follow and that bad things will happen if they don't. But you know what? The bad things happen when you try to live a life that you don't want for yourself. Yeah, it can be hard to go against the grain. Yeah, probably a lot of people will want you to justify yourself to them. But really, you've only got to justify your actions to yourself. If you're happy with yourself and how you act towards others, then who cares what anyone else thinks? And if you're not happy, then what are you going to do to change that?
I understand that expression now: "If only I knew what I know now when I was younger..." I don't want to go back in time and sit down and impart younger Joni with this knowledge though. She wouldn't listen anyways; she likes to figure things out for herself. I get that. I think if I could sit down with my younger self and tell her one thing, I'd tell her that I respect her for that. She'd like that. I have a lot of respect for the person that I was, because she made me into the person that I am today. And I really like that person. A lot!
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| crazy thesis eye + orange chocolate mud cake |
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Who should be ashamed?
As the Olympics have started, I'm spending a lot of time watching Channel Nine. For those of you that don't know, Channel Nine is absolutely appalling! It's right-wing, conservative, homophobic, racist trash. But... I am actually really interested in watching the Olympic coverage. At least of the swimming. Yes, I did spend my morning yelling at the TV and talking to myself, but seriously, my love of swimming is intense! I have much love for the Australian women's freestyle relay team.
Anyways, there is a weekly 'news' show on Channel Nine called A Current Affair, and they've been advertising a story about how teenage girls are going out in Melbourne with not a whole lot of clothing on. With tag lines like "Would you let your daughter go out looking like this?" and "Do you want to look like a hooker?"
This advertisement is causing me serious distress!!! There is so much wrong about it, I don't even know where to begin. It completely infuriates me. I started to critique it last night while my flatmate and I were sitting around watching the games, but that just left me feeling even more upset. As a flatmate, mine is great. But politically, we are worlds apart.
I commented that it was a total load of bullshit to claim that parents have any control over what their adult children wear out, and she replied that if these girls were taught some self-respect then they wouldn't dress so trashy. I replied that if men were taught to actually respect women it wouldn't be an issue what women wear. This is an emotional issue for me, and so I left it at that. But it's still bothering me, so I'm gonna blog it out!
What is it about women taking ownership over their sexuality that is so threatening and offensive that it has spawned this massive culture of shame? Why are women's bodies assumed to be available for consumption by others? Why do people - both men and women - feel that they have any sort of right to tell a woman how she should or should not look? How is it that our society feels it's appropriate to claim that women are wearing too little or too much clothing? Why does anyone take these social mores seriously when they simultaneously claim that wearing a headscarf or wearing a mini skirt are disrespectful of women's sexuality? Why isn't it blatantly obvious that it is this attitude - and not the clothes women choose to wear - that is offensive?
This is something that I have been exploring both personally and academically for, oh, a decade now, and I'm still struggling to find any satisfactory answers. I think this is a really complicated issue! There is such a strong belief that sex is this mega-valuable thing that if it's just given up, makes it cheap. The problem with this though, is that it only makes it cheap for women! Men can have as much sex as early as they want and there's no claim that anything about them loses value.
The thing that bothers me the most about this is how women oppress each other through the language of slut shaming. Judgements pass so quickly and uncritically that when it happens, I wonder if women are even aware of how much damage they are doing to others and to themselves. I'm shocked that it happens at all, but I'm especially shocked at how often it happens amongst women-identified types in the queer community. Our lives are organised around a sexual 'otherness' and yet there can still be so much disrespect for those who do not follow normative conventions about women's sexuality!
Sex is something that is meant to make people feel good - physically, emotionally, spiritually, etc. So I guess that makes it an easy tool to make people feel completely horrible about themselves. It's interesting, thinking about the sexual double standard, and how women are often made to feel bad for having sex. From my interviews with heterosexual men I learned men have a lot of insecurities and anxieties about sex too. The difference is that men are encouraged to have more sex to deal with their issues, and women are encouraged to have less.
For my own part, I try to challenge assumptions about sluttiness. While reclaiming the word 'slut' is fraught with problems that I don't even want to pretend to be able to meaningfully be able to discuss, I feel like I can at least reclaim my own sexual agency, and if I'm lucky, help a few other women do the same! I don't think anyone should be made to feel badly about acting upon their sexual desire with a consenting partner. But even more than that, I actually think that people - and especially women - should be made to feel good about doing so.
Anyways, I could talk about slut shaming forever, and there very well might be more posts on this in the future. But I'll leave it at that for now. So go forth and fuck, but for fuck's sake, be nice to each other out there!!!
Anyways, there is a weekly 'news' show on Channel Nine called A Current Affair, and they've been advertising a story about how teenage girls are going out in Melbourne with not a whole lot of clothing on. With tag lines like "Would you let your daughter go out looking like this?" and "Do you want to look like a hooker?"
This advertisement is causing me serious distress!!! There is so much wrong about it, I don't even know where to begin. It completely infuriates me. I started to critique it last night while my flatmate and I were sitting around watching the games, but that just left me feeling even more upset. As a flatmate, mine is great. But politically, we are worlds apart.
I commented that it was a total load of bullshit to claim that parents have any control over what their adult children wear out, and she replied that if these girls were taught some self-respect then they wouldn't dress so trashy. I replied that if men were taught to actually respect women it wouldn't be an issue what women wear. This is an emotional issue for me, and so I left it at that. But it's still bothering me, so I'm gonna blog it out!
What is it about women taking ownership over their sexuality that is so threatening and offensive that it has spawned this massive culture of shame? Why are women's bodies assumed to be available for consumption by others? Why do people - both men and women - feel that they have any sort of right to tell a woman how she should or should not look? How is it that our society feels it's appropriate to claim that women are wearing too little or too much clothing? Why does anyone take these social mores seriously when they simultaneously claim that wearing a headscarf or wearing a mini skirt are disrespectful of women's sexuality? Why isn't it blatantly obvious that it is this attitude - and not the clothes women choose to wear - that is offensive?
This is something that I have been exploring both personally and academically for, oh, a decade now, and I'm still struggling to find any satisfactory answers. I think this is a really complicated issue! There is such a strong belief that sex is this mega-valuable thing that if it's just given up, makes it cheap. The problem with this though, is that it only makes it cheap for women! Men can have as much sex as early as they want and there's no claim that anything about them loses value.
The thing that bothers me the most about this is how women oppress each other through the language of slut shaming. Judgements pass so quickly and uncritically that when it happens, I wonder if women are even aware of how much damage they are doing to others and to themselves. I'm shocked that it happens at all, but I'm especially shocked at how often it happens amongst women-identified types in the queer community. Our lives are organised around a sexual 'otherness' and yet there can still be so much disrespect for those who do not follow normative conventions about women's sexuality!
Sex is something that is meant to make people feel good - physically, emotionally, spiritually, etc. So I guess that makes it an easy tool to make people feel completely horrible about themselves. It's interesting, thinking about the sexual double standard, and how women are often made to feel bad for having sex. From my interviews with heterosexual men I learned men have a lot of insecurities and anxieties about sex too. The difference is that men are encouraged to have more sex to deal with their issues, and women are encouraged to have less.
For my own part, I try to challenge assumptions about sluttiness. While reclaiming the word 'slut' is fraught with problems that I don't even want to pretend to be able to meaningfully be able to discuss, I feel like I can at least reclaim my own sexual agency, and if I'm lucky, help a few other women do the same! I don't think anyone should be made to feel badly about acting upon their sexual desire with a consenting partner. But even more than that, I actually think that people - and especially women - should be made to feel good about doing so.
Anyways, I could talk about slut shaming forever, and there very well might be more posts on this in the future. But I'll leave it at that for now. So go forth and fuck, but for fuck's sake, be nice to each other out there!!!
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Balance
Recently my Mom was commenting that it's been awhile since I've updated my blog. It has been! And I imagine that my blog posts will continue to be infrequent for the next several months, until I finish my thesis and get to face the real world excitement of unemployment! Yes, times are bum and getting bummer! And while there is a light at the end of the tunnel (dim though it may be) for finishing my thesis, I can't quite make out the light in the 'poverty' tunnel anymore. My days as a starving student may not come to an end when I stop being a student after all. Huzzah!
Yes, money has got me stressed. My scholarship has long run out, soon my tuition fees will start accruing, and budget cuts have meant that on the rare occasion where casual work does pop up at my research centre, there's about 20 post grad students scrambling to do it. Being told to "hurry up and finish" my thesis isn't exactly helpful when I'm worrying about how to pay the next month's rent. All of which is complicated by my being an international student, meaning, I have to pay a fuckload more for everything and have a fuckload fewer resources available to me. I don't regret coming here, at all, but it is a lot harder than I ever expected it to be.
My life at the moment is like a game of Tetris. I'm doing my best to put the pieces together and clear the lines, but they keep coming, faster and faster. Money, uni, work, visas, health, friends, family, lovers... All coming at me in weird angles, forming complex shapes and piling up in debris around me instead of steadily building into coherent lines that are easily cleared from the screen. And like in Tetris, I am taking risks, putting pieces in where they don't necessarily fit in the hopes of creating a line that can be cleared later on. Am I doing a good job of it? I don't know. But I'm still in the game, and that's what counts!
You know what it's like? It's like walking a tight rope while juggling 3 balls, when you don't know how to do either. I walked a tight rope recently...not while juggling, but I did that recently too. At the end of last year I finally decided that I would join up with the Women's Circus. I started the New Women's program in January. It is - without a doubt - the best decision I have made all year!
I was fortunate enough to end up in a class with the most amazingly friendly, supportive and fun women! And not only have I made some awesome new friends, but I've made them while doing the most ridiculously cool stuff! The kinds of stuff that you just don't get to do as an adult. But the best thing about circus is: for two hours every week the stress of the Tetris game goes away. For two hours every week all the complexities and worries are gone, and in their place is fits of giggling, goofing off, learning new skills, and just having fun!
The New Women's program isn't focused on any one circus skill, but covers a wide range of different skills, and involves playing a lot of fun/silly games. Like 'tiggy tag' or 'freeze tag' as we'd call it in Canada, and 'chuck the chook' (I don't know what we'd call that one in Canada, but it involves a rubber chicken). My all time favourite game was one where we were in groups of 4, we lined up single file, hands on the person in front's shoulders, and only the back person was allowed to have her eyes open. It was her job to steer the rest of us in a human locomotive. I liked being one of the people with their eyes closed best. I couldn't stop laughing!! And when I was at the front of our train, I started doing some dance moves that had our conductor in hysterics. Our trainers (who are INCREDIBLE) kept telling us to try and keep it a relatively silent activity...which wasn't exactly happening due to my hyperventilating from laughing too much.
Every week we do something different, and we usually have no idea what we'll be doing until we're already in the class. I like the surprise of each week. It makes me extra reluctant to miss class! And I like that we get to try so many different things: aerials, acrobalance, clowning, stilts, tight rope walking, tumbling, trampolene, juggling, hula hooping... You just never know what's coming next!
Funny story about that: we do a lot of activities that involve being up close and personal with each other. You get used to having someone you've just met touching you in ways people don't normally touch you. So one day, after doing some warm up games stuff, when one of our trainers announced what we were going to be doing next I heard 'group pooping'. Everyone in the class began to cheer and get visibly excited, meanwhile, I had a look of complete horror on my face and was like "Wait, what? We're doing what? Please tell me I did NOT hear that right!!!" And no, I did not hear her right. She said we were doing hula hooping, not group pooping. I was only slightly relieved.
Much to my surprise, I do not enjoy hula hooping! It's awesome to watch people who are good at it do their thing, sure. But I am not one of those people! I am terrible at hula hooping! I just do not understand how my body is meant to move in order to make the hoop not fall to the ground. And it apparently doesn't matter which part of my body I attempt to spin a hula hoop from: it ain't happening! I'm OK with this though. There are many other things that I am good at, and many other things that I am terrible at but that I deeply enjoy anyways. Hula hooping is just not for me. Juggling, on the other hand... I am pretty crap at juggling, but also much to my surprise, it is pretty much my favourite thing to do. Go figure!
Tumbling is another activity that I'm surprised to find myself loving! Up until a few months ago, I had never, in all my life, done a somersault. Even as a kid, I just couldn't figure it out. I could do backwards ones for some reason, but forward rolls alluded me. But then one day we did them at circus. The trainers took us through the process of doing a forward roll step by step and got us onto this wedge mat to make it easier for us. When my turn came to attempt the forward roll I expected to end up heaving over sideways. But, I bent over, bit my bum, and HUZZAH! Over I went, in a relatively straight line! By the end of the class I was doing them on the floor without any assistance. Tumbling is decidedly awesome!
Then there's aerials: things like trapeze, ropes, tissue, and the cloud swing. I struggle with aerials. I don't have the upper body strength to pull myself up onto the equipment, which can be a challenge. But, as I recently found out, it's not really an excuse for not giving it a go anyways! We did a bunch of aerials stuff a few weeks back, when I happened to be in the most foulest of foul moods. I was feeling particularly sensitive about the decline in my fitness - thank you thesis stress for that! - and was determined that I wouldn't be able to get into any of the aerials equipment, and was not particularly interested in trying.
But... no matter how grumpy I was, the group I was working in wasn't giving my bad mood any energy. They hoisted me up onto the equipment anyways! I still wasn't feeling up to the challenge of actually doing anything once I got up there, but, I was pretty damn happy to be there! I probably will be more brave in the future when we do aerials stuff, as just getting up into the equipment - even with a lot of help - was a huge confidence booster!
When I started up with the Women's Circus I thought that I'd be pretty awesome at acrobalance, and particularly at basing. It has proved more challenging than I had anticipated! But also, very rewarding. I've discovered that some of my dodgy bits can make acrobalance quite hard. One of my shoulders is a lot weaker than the other (something I have recently come to suspect is a result of my skiing accident 20 years ago) so holding somebody's weight over my head can be difficult. I've also got an exposed nerve on one of my hips which can make having someone stand on me really painful, though it's totally fine if they're not putting pressure on the nerve. Due to a dodgy knee I have trouble holding my legs straight, which can make leg basing tricky.
I have actually found it easier to be a flyer than a base, though I generally prefer basing to flying. It is mentally challenging to bring myself to let someone much smaller than me base me, thought the women in my class certainly have been perfectly capable of doing so!! It is a bit funny though, trying to step up onto someone teeny tiny, just because there's not a lot of surface area on which to stand. You kinda just have to go for it and trust that they'll let you know if it's not working. I like basing when we do standing poses, or anything where we move around. Last week we did this cat on cat stuff...it was like when you're a kid and someone gives you a pony ride, only the person on top is actually balancing on the base's back. I'd be quite happy to move people around a properly padded surface in this way any time!
There's all sorts of different classes that focus on different skills run by the Women's Circus. When you join, you can't do any other classes until your second term of New Women's - which I'm in now - and while you only have to do two terms of New Women's, you're encouraged to do a full year. There were a few classes I was interested in this term, but I decided not to sign up for any more as I didn't feel I had the money or the time. But you know what? Circus provides me with so much respite from all the other crap in my life that next term - even though I will very likely be back in Canada for part of it - I plan to take a second class. After all, what's a bit of money for a whole lot of happiness?
Yes, money has got me stressed. My scholarship has long run out, soon my tuition fees will start accruing, and budget cuts have meant that on the rare occasion where casual work does pop up at my research centre, there's about 20 post grad students scrambling to do it. Being told to "hurry up and finish" my thesis isn't exactly helpful when I'm worrying about how to pay the next month's rent. All of which is complicated by my being an international student, meaning, I have to pay a fuckload more for everything and have a fuckload fewer resources available to me. I don't regret coming here, at all, but it is a lot harder than I ever expected it to be.
My life at the moment is like a game of Tetris. I'm doing my best to put the pieces together and clear the lines, but they keep coming, faster and faster. Money, uni, work, visas, health, friends, family, lovers... All coming at me in weird angles, forming complex shapes and piling up in debris around me instead of steadily building into coherent lines that are easily cleared from the screen. And like in Tetris, I am taking risks, putting pieces in where they don't necessarily fit in the hopes of creating a line that can be cleared later on. Am I doing a good job of it? I don't know. But I'm still in the game, and that's what counts!
You know what it's like? It's like walking a tight rope while juggling 3 balls, when you don't know how to do either. I walked a tight rope recently...not while juggling, but I did that recently too. At the end of last year I finally decided that I would join up with the Women's Circus. I started the New Women's program in January. It is - without a doubt - the best decision I have made all year!
I was fortunate enough to end up in a class with the most amazingly friendly, supportive and fun women! And not only have I made some awesome new friends, but I've made them while doing the most ridiculously cool stuff! The kinds of stuff that you just don't get to do as an adult. But the best thing about circus is: for two hours every week the stress of the Tetris game goes away. For two hours every week all the complexities and worries are gone, and in their place is fits of giggling, goofing off, learning new skills, and just having fun!
The New Women's program isn't focused on any one circus skill, but covers a wide range of different skills, and involves playing a lot of fun/silly games. Like 'tiggy tag' or 'freeze tag' as we'd call it in Canada, and 'chuck the chook' (I don't know what we'd call that one in Canada, but it involves a rubber chicken). My all time favourite game was one where we were in groups of 4, we lined up single file, hands on the person in front's shoulders, and only the back person was allowed to have her eyes open. It was her job to steer the rest of us in a human locomotive. I liked being one of the people with their eyes closed best. I couldn't stop laughing!! And when I was at the front of our train, I started doing some dance moves that had our conductor in hysterics. Our trainers (who are INCREDIBLE) kept telling us to try and keep it a relatively silent activity...which wasn't exactly happening due to my hyperventilating from laughing too much.
Every week we do something different, and we usually have no idea what we'll be doing until we're already in the class. I like the surprise of each week. It makes me extra reluctant to miss class! And I like that we get to try so many different things: aerials, acrobalance, clowning, stilts, tight rope walking, tumbling, trampolene, juggling, hula hooping... You just never know what's coming next!
Funny story about that: we do a lot of activities that involve being up close and personal with each other. You get used to having someone you've just met touching you in ways people don't normally touch you. So one day, after doing some warm up games stuff, when one of our trainers announced what we were going to be doing next I heard 'group pooping'. Everyone in the class began to cheer and get visibly excited, meanwhile, I had a look of complete horror on my face and was like "Wait, what? We're doing what? Please tell me I did NOT hear that right!!!" And no, I did not hear her right. She said we were doing hula hooping, not group pooping. I was only slightly relieved.
Much to my surprise, I do not enjoy hula hooping! It's awesome to watch people who are good at it do their thing, sure. But I am not one of those people! I am terrible at hula hooping! I just do not understand how my body is meant to move in order to make the hoop not fall to the ground. And it apparently doesn't matter which part of my body I attempt to spin a hula hoop from: it ain't happening! I'm OK with this though. There are many other things that I am good at, and many other things that I am terrible at but that I deeply enjoy anyways. Hula hooping is just not for me. Juggling, on the other hand... I am pretty crap at juggling, but also much to my surprise, it is pretty much my favourite thing to do. Go figure!
Tumbling is another activity that I'm surprised to find myself loving! Up until a few months ago, I had never, in all my life, done a somersault. Even as a kid, I just couldn't figure it out. I could do backwards ones for some reason, but forward rolls alluded me. But then one day we did them at circus. The trainers took us through the process of doing a forward roll step by step and got us onto this wedge mat to make it easier for us. When my turn came to attempt the forward roll I expected to end up heaving over sideways. But, I bent over, bit my bum, and HUZZAH! Over I went, in a relatively straight line! By the end of the class I was doing them on the floor without any assistance. Tumbling is decidedly awesome!
Then there's aerials: things like trapeze, ropes, tissue, and the cloud swing. I struggle with aerials. I don't have the upper body strength to pull myself up onto the equipment, which can be a challenge. But, as I recently found out, it's not really an excuse for not giving it a go anyways! We did a bunch of aerials stuff a few weeks back, when I happened to be in the most foulest of foul moods. I was feeling particularly sensitive about the decline in my fitness - thank you thesis stress for that! - and was determined that I wouldn't be able to get into any of the aerials equipment, and was not particularly interested in trying.
But... no matter how grumpy I was, the group I was working in wasn't giving my bad mood any energy. They hoisted me up onto the equipment anyways! I still wasn't feeling up to the challenge of actually doing anything once I got up there, but, I was pretty damn happy to be there! I probably will be more brave in the future when we do aerials stuff, as just getting up into the equipment - even with a lot of help - was a huge confidence booster!
When I started up with the Women's Circus I thought that I'd be pretty awesome at acrobalance, and particularly at basing. It has proved more challenging than I had anticipated! But also, very rewarding. I've discovered that some of my dodgy bits can make acrobalance quite hard. One of my shoulders is a lot weaker than the other (something I have recently come to suspect is a result of my skiing accident 20 years ago) so holding somebody's weight over my head can be difficult. I've also got an exposed nerve on one of my hips which can make having someone stand on me really painful, though it's totally fine if they're not putting pressure on the nerve. Due to a dodgy knee I have trouble holding my legs straight, which can make leg basing tricky.
I have actually found it easier to be a flyer than a base, though I generally prefer basing to flying. It is mentally challenging to bring myself to let someone much smaller than me base me, thought the women in my class certainly have been perfectly capable of doing so!! It is a bit funny though, trying to step up onto someone teeny tiny, just because there's not a lot of surface area on which to stand. You kinda just have to go for it and trust that they'll let you know if it's not working. I like basing when we do standing poses, or anything where we move around. Last week we did this cat on cat stuff...it was like when you're a kid and someone gives you a pony ride, only the person on top is actually balancing on the base's back. I'd be quite happy to move people around a properly padded surface in this way any time!
There's all sorts of different classes that focus on different skills run by the Women's Circus. When you join, you can't do any other classes until your second term of New Women's - which I'm in now - and while you only have to do two terms of New Women's, you're encouraged to do a full year. There were a few classes I was interested in this term, but I decided not to sign up for any more as I didn't feel I had the money or the time. But you know what? Circus provides me with so much respite from all the other crap in my life that next term - even though I will very likely be back in Canada for part of it - I plan to take a second class. After all, what's a bit of money for a whole lot of happiness?
Friday, April 6, 2012
The Easter Bunny Chronicles
I have a fairly tumultuous relationship with public holidays, and this is especially true of religious holidays that have gone public. I mean, why am I given (read: forced to take) time off to celebrate the birth and death of Jesus instead of, say, Foucault? Why should I have to juggle work and participating in important cultural events just because my primary source of community has to do with my sexuality, and not my religious beliefs? Do we not live in a big enough, diverse enough, creative enough world to come up with some sort of holiday rostering system so that instead of the entire country shutting down all at once we could divvy things up between the Christians and the Jews and the Muslims and the Queers and the Footy fanatics and all the other various groups that hold more important other dates on the calendar?
I've been reflecting on holidays lately, and particularly on Easter because Australia has this whole 'hot cross bun' phenomenon that has mystified me for the past 4 years - but that's another story! Anyways, I've been thinking about the holidays and I've realized something: Easter has long been my favourite of the lot! (If you're curious, I deem Thanksgiving the worst. It's a blatant celebration of white privilege and turkey slaughtering, and I really don't think those are things to have a party about.)
Easter has always had this mythical, ethereal feel to it. There were attempts to bring me up Catholic - but like trying to raise a chicken to be a duck, it didn't take. I was always really perplexed and amused by the religious traditions that surround Easter. Ash Wednesday, Lent, the stations of the cross... they are all steeped in this seriousness and solemness that I could never understand. Perhaps because at the same time as all of this was going on, all the commercials on TV told of a magical egg laying bunny that comes once a year to deposit chocolate around your house.
You've gotta admit, that sends a pretty confusing message! I mean, at least there is some sort of a logical link between Santa and Jesus's birth: you get presents on your birthday! With Easter it's like: man gets tortured and killed and rises from the dead, so a bunny comes 'round and lays chocolate eggs at your house. I don't really know much about zombies, so maybe the logical conclusion of a zombie uprising IS a chocolate egg laying rabbit. I've seen lots of birthday celebrations and there's always an exchange of gifts. I've only ever celebrated the one zombie uprising, so I don't have a frame of reference for these things.
Growing up, the Easter tradition at my house was to have an Easter egg scavenger hunt. We'd wake up on Easter Sunday and discover that the Easter bunny had come by and deposited a handful of chocolate eggs in our rooms, along with a rather cryptic note (which, I think, is to be expected from a bunny who both lays chocolate eggs and has good penmanship). The note would contain a riddle, the solution to which would take you to your next clue - and next lot of chocolate. There would be a series of these notes scattered in all sorts of crazy locations throughout the house, and I believe the idea was that the riddles got progressively harder to solve as you got closer to finding your Easter basket - which was always filled with amazingness!
As I'm writing this, I'm seeing a link between my love of Easter and my lifelong love of pirates... which also reminds me of one of my favourite memories of my Dad. I used to go on searches for buried treasure, and would find really random things (like a dog's milk bone) and claim them as my treasure. One day, I drew up a pirates map and pretended that it was not something I had just completely made up myself. I asked my Dad to take me to the park so that we could investigate this map and go digging for buried treasure. We went to the park and eventually I decided that we had reached the 'X marks the spot' spot, and we started to dig. In a classic Dad move, my Dad made up some BS about how I should check just behind me, which I did. While my back was turned, he buried some coins and drew an X where I'd been sitting and called me back to inform me I'd been sitting on the X all along! I knew that he'd done it - I'm sure I probably stood there and told him off for doing it too (which he would have denied vehemently) - but I'm glad that he did. Even though I knew it was all make believe, he'd made the magic real.
Ha! Oh geez! This lifelong love of scavenger hunts and finding unexpected things... it's no wonder I grew up to be a researcher!!
But back to Easter! Those Easter egg hunts were the best! I remember one year my brother and I were gradually lead into the laundry room, where our Easter baskets were strategically hidden inside the washer and dryer. We both thought that was just absolutely preposterous of the Easter bunny! Silly rabbit! Another year, as I was getting older (and hence my riddles were getting a lot harder - I seem to recall some of them involving solving mathematical equations...), I was given a riddle that I was completely unable to solve. In my memory, we sat there for an hour while I tried to make sense of the bloody thing. Meanwhile, my little brother has solved all his clues and is happily making his way into a sugar coma.
I think in many ways my parents (and for those of you unfamiliar with my family dynamics, I have two sets) balanced each other out well: for all the attempts at 'gendering' I got from my Dad, my Mom taught me how to be self-sufficient and do my own heavy lifting. It's because of her that, no matter what happens in life, I can pick myself up and put myself back on track. I'm not really sure who's responsible for my love of doing laundry though...
I'm missing my family a lot this Easter. This year, my life... let's just say I passed 'full on' a few stops back! Being on my own, so far away from my family, sometimes it's tough. Now that I'm so close to finishing my thesis that I can almost taste it, what I need more than anything is to just lock myself away in a room where I can think big thoughts and not have to worry about the minutiae of life: those things like having food in the house, or cooking nutritious food, or having clean dishes, or having clean clothes, or earning an income... It's not the kind of thing that everyone is going to understand, but this level of intellectual work is fucking exhausting! It zaps your mental energy, leaving you in a zombie-like state where making small, day-to-day decisions that normally wouldn't seem to require much thought become painful. For example: I love cooking, but lately, the thought of having to find the time to cook has made me want to cry.
I have a lot of amazing friends who, seriously, I cannot even begin to explain how grateful I am for them and their support! Hubby especially. The number of times he's cooked for me, cut my hair, and just held my hand as I've freaked out... He makes up a lot for not having my family to turn to for those immediate, day-to-day things we all so often just need some help and support with. And he's certainly not the only one. I feel like I've got a whole village of people looking out for me and doing what they can to help me along, and I cannot even begin to express how much I appreciate everything that all of my friends do for me, big and small.
But still, I am really looking forward to going 'home' in a few months (dates still TBD) and just letting my family be responsible for my day-to-day existence, just for a bit!
I've been reflecting on holidays lately, and particularly on Easter because Australia has this whole 'hot cross bun' phenomenon that has mystified me for the past 4 years - but that's another story! Anyways, I've been thinking about the holidays and I've realized something: Easter has long been my favourite of the lot! (If you're curious, I deem Thanksgiving the worst. It's a blatant celebration of white privilege and turkey slaughtering, and I really don't think those are things to have a party about.)
Easter has always had this mythical, ethereal feel to it. There were attempts to bring me up Catholic - but like trying to raise a chicken to be a duck, it didn't take. I was always really perplexed and amused by the religious traditions that surround Easter. Ash Wednesday, Lent, the stations of the cross... they are all steeped in this seriousness and solemness that I could never understand. Perhaps because at the same time as all of this was going on, all the commercials on TV told of a magical egg laying bunny that comes once a year to deposit chocolate around your house.
You've gotta admit, that sends a pretty confusing message! I mean, at least there is some sort of a logical link between Santa and Jesus's birth: you get presents on your birthday! With Easter it's like: man gets tortured and killed and rises from the dead, so a bunny comes 'round and lays chocolate eggs at your house. I don't really know much about zombies, so maybe the logical conclusion of a zombie uprising IS a chocolate egg laying rabbit. I've seen lots of birthday celebrations and there's always an exchange of gifts. I've only ever celebrated the one zombie uprising, so I don't have a frame of reference for these things.
Growing up, the Easter tradition at my house was to have an Easter egg scavenger hunt. We'd wake up on Easter Sunday and discover that the Easter bunny had come by and deposited a handful of chocolate eggs in our rooms, along with a rather cryptic note (which, I think, is to be expected from a bunny who both lays chocolate eggs and has good penmanship). The note would contain a riddle, the solution to which would take you to your next clue - and next lot of chocolate. There would be a series of these notes scattered in all sorts of crazy locations throughout the house, and I believe the idea was that the riddles got progressively harder to solve as you got closer to finding your Easter basket - which was always filled with amazingness!
As I'm writing this, I'm seeing a link between my love of Easter and my lifelong love of pirates... which also reminds me of one of my favourite memories of my Dad. I used to go on searches for buried treasure, and would find really random things (like a dog's milk bone) and claim them as my treasure. One day, I drew up a pirates map and pretended that it was not something I had just completely made up myself. I asked my Dad to take me to the park so that we could investigate this map and go digging for buried treasure. We went to the park and eventually I decided that we had reached the 'X marks the spot' spot, and we started to dig. In a classic Dad move, my Dad made up some BS about how I should check just behind me, which I did. While my back was turned, he buried some coins and drew an X where I'd been sitting and called me back to inform me I'd been sitting on the X all along! I knew that he'd done it - I'm sure I probably stood there and told him off for doing it too (which he would have denied vehemently) - but I'm glad that he did. Even though I knew it was all make believe, he'd made the magic real.
Ha! Oh geez! This lifelong love of scavenger hunts and finding unexpected things... it's no wonder I grew up to be a researcher!!
But back to Easter! Those Easter egg hunts were the best! I remember one year my brother and I were gradually lead into the laundry room, where our Easter baskets were strategically hidden inside the washer and dryer. We both thought that was just absolutely preposterous of the Easter bunny! Silly rabbit! Another year, as I was getting older (and hence my riddles were getting a lot harder - I seem to recall some of them involving solving mathematical equations...), I was given a riddle that I was completely unable to solve. In my memory, we sat there for an hour while I tried to make sense of the bloody thing. Meanwhile, my little brother has solved all his clues and is happily making his way into a sugar coma.
I think in many ways my parents (and for those of you unfamiliar with my family dynamics, I have two sets) balanced each other out well: for all the attempts at 'gendering' I got from my Dad, my Mom taught me how to be self-sufficient and do my own heavy lifting. It's because of her that, no matter what happens in life, I can pick myself up and put myself back on track. I'm not really sure who's responsible for my love of doing laundry though...
I'm missing my family a lot this Easter. This year, my life... let's just say I passed 'full on' a few stops back! Being on my own, so far away from my family, sometimes it's tough. Now that I'm so close to finishing my thesis that I can almost taste it, what I need more than anything is to just lock myself away in a room where I can think big thoughts and not have to worry about the minutiae of life: those things like having food in the house, or cooking nutritious food, or having clean dishes, or having clean clothes, or earning an income... It's not the kind of thing that everyone is going to understand, but this level of intellectual work is fucking exhausting! It zaps your mental energy, leaving you in a zombie-like state where making small, day-to-day decisions that normally wouldn't seem to require much thought become painful. For example: I love cooking, but lately, the thought of having to find the time to cook has made me want to cry.
I have a lot of amazing friends who, seriously, I cannot even begin to explain how grateful I am for them and their support! Hubby especially. The number of times he's cooked for me, cut my hair, and just held my hand as I've freaked out... He makes up a lot for not having my family to turn to for those immediate, day-to-day things we all so often just need some help and support with. And he's certainly not the only one. I feel like I've got a whole village of people looking out for me and doing what they can to help me along, and I cannot even begin to express how much I appreciate everything that all of my friends do for me, big and small.
But still, I am really looking forward to going 'home' in a few months (dates still TBD) and just letting my family be responsible for my day-to-day existence, just for a bit!
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Kissing Sydney
Have you ever met someone and just clicked with them, forming a friendship before you even really know much of anything about one another? I've made a heap of friends like that recently. It may seem like the kind of connection that is superficial and won't last, but when you click with someone so easily, maintaining a friendship with them is really quite easy. Case in point, my friend T. We met 7.5 years ago when we were both studying in Amsterdam and have stayed in touch over the years. In one of those funny coincidences that make me think the world is not such a big place, she moved to Sydney not all that long after I moved to Melbourne. As I never seem to travel anymore, we try to catch up whenever she's in Melbourne. When she was down in November, she invited me to come up to Sydney for Mardi Gras and stay with her. I booked my flight the next day.
On New Years Eve I declared 2012 the kissing year and was issued a challenge to kiss 52 girls in 52 weeks. This was turning out to be easier said than done. By the beginning of February I hadn't kissed anyone; not even hubby! One night I was out at a queer club with Trouble and she made a comment about how it was obvious we weren't together as we were both checking everyone else out. So I grabbed her and pashed her and declared it a date (a running joke between us). The kissing picked up from there, but still, when March rolled around I'd only reached 4/52. Drastic actions were needed if I was ever going to reach my goal! And I knew just the thing...
T was marching in the parade with Scarlet Alliance and Gender Agenda, promoting sex worker rights; something that I am very much in favour of. She invited me to march with them, but initially I decided to be a big lameypants and said I wanted to just watch the parade this year as I'd never seen it before. But we went out for dinner with some of her friends on Friday and they informed me that when you march in the parade you spend several hours in this holding area where everyone lines up and it's a big ass party. Quite frankly, that sounded like a helluva lot more fun than standing around on some street corner all night. So I marched! And boy am I ever glad that I did!! In that one night I managed to pash 31 girls; all but 3 of whom were a direct result of my marching in the parade.
Having decided to march, I of course needed something outrageous to wear. Our group had a decriminalise sex work theme, so some people were wearing orange jumpsuits and shackles, some were dressed as sexy cops, and everyone else was dressed in red. And then there was me...
The outfit certainly got me lots of attention, especially the eyelashes! Girls kept stopping me and asking to take a picture with me, to which I replied "Sure, but it will cost you a kiss." Most of those kisses were really conservative ones - on the cheek or a peck on the lips - and did not count as part of my tally. Had they, my total of girls kissed would be significantly higher. That pre-parade area was insane! For awhile there it was like everywhere I turned I was kissing someone.
But it wasn't all about the kissing. I met heaps of lovely people who would just come over and have a friendly chat. My favourite non pashed randoms that I met were the Snow Queen and King (both women, obviously) who I met in a queue for the loo. It was absolutely pissing down rain and they were both standing under a massive umbrella, so I stood under it with them and we struck up a friendly conversation. They were marching with the Jews, and had I been Jewish I apparently would have made excellent marriage material (no, I did not tell them that I'm both anti-religion and anti-marriage).
We were in the pre-parade holding area for at least 3 hours before we started marching (possibly longer as we were bringing up the rear) and it was pouring rain. We were marching with red umbrellas, which was fortunate, but I still got completely drenched. And you know, since I was wearing a white t-shirt that had been completely soaked through, the only sensible thing to do really was to ditch the bra... And of course, after mixing champagne and vodka, the next logical move was to flash the drag kings...
My strategy for kissing girls was basically to run up to anyone who looked kissable and made eye contact with me for more than 5 seconds and pash them. It made the march super fun! Sometimes women were screaming from the sidelines for me to come over and kiss them. It was awesome!!
After the parade we went to a party at the Red Rattler called Oi!! Monsta Gras. That people would be dressed up like monsters had not even crossed my mind, so when I walked in, I was blown away by all the amazing costumes. And, like any good queer party, I ran into people I knew and a couple gay guys fell in love with me. It was a pretty awesome party. I mean, I was grinding with The Hulk and I pashed a unicorn! But more on that later.
As the night went on, it got harder and harder for me to find girls to pash. This seemed counter intuitive; usually as the night goes on, lips get looser. But then I saw myself in the mirror and suddenly I understood why!
We made it home at about 4am, which, given T lives in Manly, was about 3 hours earlier than I actually had expected to be home by. And, true to form, I woke up at 7am the next morning. And by next I mean same. There was nothing for it but to go wander down to the beach, get some Ben and Jerry's for breakfast, grab a coffee and get a pedicure. I know, it's a rough life!
Well, I'm sure you're all dying to get the goss on these 31 girls that I pashed. There is no way that I could possibly recall them all - like I said, it was a lot of me running into the crowd, making out with random people, then running back - but I can give you a Greatest Hits summary!
#5: The Boys
Yeah, yeah, yeah, they weren't meant to count BUT it was Mardi Gras and everyone's a little bit queer anyways, right? Both the boys I pashed were marching with us... as were several of the girls, but I'll get to that! After some random pashing in the pre-parade area I was complaining about how conservatively people were kissing me, and a guy from the Australian Sex Party offered to give me a real kiss - the kind you see naval officers give their girlfriends when they return home for shore leave. That didn't count at first, but after the third time I figured he could be an honorary girl. Same with the pirate. Goodness he was gorgeous! Tall, dark and handsome in an effeminate way, and totally straight. And very confused as to why I - as a lesbian - was giving him a free pass to kiss me. Desire is a funny thing and kissing is a lot of fun! There's no need for it to be anything more.
#4: The Unicorn
At the after party, I had wandered up to a couple of girls on the dance floor and was trying to convince one of them - or probably all of them - to pash me. I recall that I was focused on the one who was not dressed up as anything, who then informed me that while she wasn't going to pash me, her friend - the unicorn - would be most happy to oblige. I looked at her friend and said "I've never pashed a unicorn before." To which she shrugged and gave me a kiss, with just a bit of sneaky tongue. I didn't realize it was sneaky tongue until after we stopped kissing and this blue haired woman was staring at us going WTF?! I am interested in many things; causing lesbian drama is not one of them! I gave her friend shit and apologised to the girlfriend and walked away. Still, I figured pashing a unicorn has got to be good luck...
#3: The $20 Kiss
This was just beyond outrageous! One of T's friends said that she'd help me with my pashing numbers but couldn't because she's in a relationship. Fair enough. But then, as the night went on, they came to an agreement that she could kiss me if I paid her $20 for it. I was just like "Dude, you're barking up the wrong tree if you think I'm going to pay $20 for a kiss!" She kept going on about how amazing a kisser she is and how at a loss I was, and I was not budging about the money, so we were at a stalemate. But then! T, highly amused by the whole situation, bought me a $20 kiss with her friend!!! It was... a very vigorous kiss. Personally, I like tongue to be more hinted at than made explicit. We felt differently about this. The bite at the end was pretty hot though.
#2: Special Guest Appearance
I have another friend who is from Melbourne but has moved to Sydney and I was hoping to catch up with her over the weekend. I called her up and let her know I'd be marching in the parade and she said she'd be my cheer squad. We both had plans to go to the same party after the parade, so I figured I'd see her there. I tried to keep an eye out for her during the parade, but I figured I must have missed her. Then, all of a sudden, as I was just walking along, pulling our suitcase and having a break from the pashing, she jumped the barrier, ran into the parade, and pashed me! It was pretty hot! Given that was all I ended up seeing of her during my trip, I'd say we made the most of our time!
#1: The Mardi Gras Miracle
So as I said before, I pashed a few of the people who were marching with us. There was this one girl who I had seen before we left the Scarlett Alliance office that I thought was pretty cute and was a bit shy to go up to (I am a lot more forward with people when I know all I want is a kiss). As we were waiting for the parade to start we were sitting on the sidewalk, in the ran, having a chat and I told her about my kissing challenge. She said "Well, I'll pash you." And we proceeded to have a very nice kiss that left us both smiling. We resumed our conversation and discovered that we were both planning on going to the same after party. Then I got a call from T and I had to run off and try to find her. As the evening progressed, I still had this kiss on my mind. So when we returned to actually get lined up to march, I went up to her and pashed her again. She informed me that if I was to continue doing that it would really make her night. Unfortunately, I was being a bit too in the moment and that was the last I saw of her! I had not even thought to exchange numbers to ensure we were able to meet up later. This did not play too heavily on my mind on the Saturday, but come Sunday, I had regret!
Sunday afternoon there were various post Mardi Gras parties happening around the city. T and I made plans to meet up with some of her friends at a party in Newtown. We were all pretty exhausted and even though the party was pumping, the rain was still pouring down, and the dance floor was outside. So we decided to head off and get some food and hope that the rain would let up. It did, and we returned, but none of us were really all that keen to stay. So we decided to have one drink and hit the dance floor and then head off. I was dancing away when a familiar face walked past - one of the guys who had been marching with us, and was friends with the girl I had pashed! At first I just smiled at him, but then the logical part of my brain gave me a thunk and I asked him if he could either give me this girl's number or give her mine. He gave me her's and I promptly sent her a text. We weren't able to meet up again whilst I was in Sydney, but she has plans to come down to Melbourne, and I have a date! You see? Pashing a unicorn is good luck!!
On New Years Eve I declared 2012 the kissing year and was issued a challenge to kiss 52 girls in 52 weeks. This was turning out to be easier said than done. By the beginning of February I hadn't kissed anyone; not even hubby! One night I was out at a queer club with Trouble and she made a comment about how it was obvious we weren't together as we were both checking everyone else out. So I grabbed her and pashed her and declared it a date (a running joke between us). The kissing picked up from there, but still, when March rolled around I'd only reached 4/52. Drastic actions were needed if I was ever going to reach my goal! And I knew just the thing...
T was marching in the parade with Scarlet Alliance and Gender Agenda, promoting sex worker rights; something that I am very much in favour of. She invited me to march with them, but initially I decided to be a big lameypants and said I wanted to just watch the parade this year as I'd never seen it before. But we went out for dinner with some of her friends on Friday and they informed me that when you march in the parade you spend several hours in this holding area where everyone lines up and it's a big ass party. Quite frankly, that sounded like a helluva lot more fun than standing around on some street corner all night. So I marched! And boy am I ever glad that I did!! In that one night I managed to pash 31 girls; all but 3 of whom were a direct result of my marching in the parade.
Having decided to march, I of course needed something outrageous to wear. Our group had a decriminalise sex work theme, so some people were wearing orange jumpsuits and shackles, some were dressed as sexy cops, and everyone else was dressed in red. And then there was me...
The outfit certainly got me lots of attention, especially the eyelashes! Girls kept stopping me and asking to take a picture with me, to which I replied "Sure, but it will cost you a kiss." Most of those kisses were really conservative ones - on the cheek or a peck on the lips - and did not count as part of my tally. Had they, my total of girls kissed would be significantly higher. That pre-parade area was insane! For awhile there it was like everywhere I turned I was kissing someone.
But it wasn't all about the kissing. I met heaps of lovely people who would just come over and have a friendly chat. My favourite non pashed randoms that I met were the Snow Queen and King (both women, obviously) who I met in a queue for the loo. It was absolutely pissing down rain and they were both standing under a massive umbrella, so I stood under it with them and we struck up a friendly conversation. They were marching with the Jews, and had I been Jewish I apparently would have made excellent marriage material (no, I did not tell them that I'm both anti-religion and anti-marriage).
We were in the pre-parade holding area for at least 3 hours before we started marching (possibly longer as we were bringing up the rear) and it was pouring rain. We were marching with red umbrellas, which was fortunate, but I still got completely drenched. And you know, since I was wearing a white t-shirt that had been completely soaked through, the only sensible thing to do really was to ditch the bra... And of course, after mixing champagne and vodka, the next logical move was to flash the drag kings...
My strategy for kissing girls was basically to run up to anyone who looked kissable and made eye contact with me for more than 5 seconds and pash them. It made the march super fun! Sometimes women were screaming from the sidelines for me to come over and kiss them. It was awesome!!
After the parade we went to a party at the Red Rattler called Oi!! Monsta Gras. That people would be dressed up like monsters had not even crossed my mind, so when I walked in, I was blown away by all the amazing costumes. And, like any good queer party, I ran into people I knew and a couple gay guys fell in love with me. It was a pretty awesome party. I mean, I was grinding with The Hulk and I pashed a unicorn! But more on that later.
As the night went on, it got harder and harder for me to find girls to pash. This seemed counter intuitive; usually as the night goes on, lips get looser. But then I saw myself in the mirror and suddenly I understood why!
We made it home at about 4am, which, given T lives in Manly, was about 3 hours earlier than I actually had expected to be home by. And, true to form, I woke up at 7am the next morning. And by next I mean same. There was nothing for it but to go wander down to the beach, get some Ben and Jerry's for breakfast, grab a coffee and get a pedicure. I know, it's a rough life!
Well, I'm sure you're all dying to get the goss on these 31 girls that I pashed. There is no way that I could possibly recall them all - like I said, it was a lot of me running into the crowd, making out with random people, then running back - but I can give you a Greatest Hits summary!
#5: The Boys
Yeah, yeah, yeah, they weren't meant to count BUT it was Mardi Gras and everyone's a little bit queer anyways, right? Both the boys I pashed were marching with us... as were several of the girls, but I'll get to that! After some random pashing in the pre-parade area I was complaining about how conservatively people were kissing me, and a guy from the Australian Sex Party offered to give me a real kiss - the kind you see naval officers give their girlfriends when they return home for shore leave. That didn't count at first, but after the third time I figured he could be an honorary girl. Same with the pirate. Goodness he was gorgeous! Tall, dark and handsome in an effeminate way, and totally straight. And very confused as to why I - as a lesbian - was giving him a free pass to kiss me. Desire is a funny thing and kissing is a lot of fun! There's no need for it to be anything more.
#4: The Unicorn
At the after party, I had wandered up to a couple of girls on the dance floor and was trying to convince one of them - or probably all of them - to pash me. I recall that I was focused on the one who was not dressed up as anything, who then informed me that while she wasn't going to pash me, her friend - the unicorn - would be most happy to oblige. I looked at her friend and said "I've never pashed a unicorn before." To which she shrugged and gave me a kiss, with just a bit of sneaky tongue. I didn't realize it was sneaky tongue until after we stopped kissing and this blue haired woman was staring at us going WTF?! I am interested in many things; causing lesbian drama is not one of them! I gave her friend shit and apologised to the girlfriend and walked away. Still, I figured pashing a unicorn has got to be good luck...
#3: The $20 Kiss
This was just beyond outrageous! One of T's friends said that she'd help me with my pashing numbers but couldn't because she's in a relationship. Fair enough. But then, as the night went on, they came to an agreement that she could kiss me if I paid her $20 for it. I was just like "Dude, you're barking up the wrong tree if you think I'm going to pay $20 for a kiss!" She kept going on about how amazing a kisser she is and how at a loss I was, and I was not budging about the money, so we were at a stalemate. But then! T, highly amused by the whole situation, bought me a $20 kiss with her friend!!! It was... a very vigorous kiss. Personally, I like tongue to be more hinted at than made explicit. We felt differently about this. The bite at the end was pretty hot though.
#2: Special Guest Appearance
I have another friend who is from Melbourne but has moved to Sydney and I was hoping to catch up with her over the weekend. I called her up and let her know I'd be marching in the parade and she said she'd be my cheer squad. We both had plans to go to the same party after the parade, so I figured I'd see her there. I tried to keep an eye out for her during the parade, but I figured I must have missed her. Then, all of a sudden, as I was just walking along, pulling our suitcase and having a break from the pashing, she jumped the barrier, ran into the parade, and pashed me! It was pretty hot! Given that was all I ended up seeing of her during my trip, I'd say we made the most of our time!
#1: The Mardi Gras Miracle
So as I said before, I pashed a few of the people who were marching with us. There was this one girl who I had seen before we left the Scarlett Alliance office that I thought was pretty cute and was a bit shy to go up to (I am a lot more forward with people when I know all I want is a kiss). As we were waiting for the parade to start we were sitting on the sidewalk, in the ran, having a chat and I told her about my kissing challenge. She said "Well, I'll pash you." And we proceeded to have a very nice kiss that left us both smiling. We resumed our conversation and discovered that we were both planning on going to the same after party. Then I got a call from T and I had to run off and try to find her. As the evening progressed, I still had this kiss on my mind. So when we returned to actually get lined up to march, I went up to her and pashed her again. She informed me that if I was to continue doing that it would really make her night. Unfortunately, I was being a bit too in the moment and that was the last I saw of her! I had not even thought to exchange numbers to ensure we were able to meet up later. This did not play too heavily on my mind on the Saturday, but come Sunday, I had regret!
Sunday afternoon there were various post Mardi Gras parties happening around the city. T and I made plans to meet up with some of her friends at a party in Newtown. We were all pretty exhausted and even though the party was pumping, the rain was still pouring down, and the dance floor was outside. So we decided to head off and get some food and hope that the rain would let up. It did, and we returned, but none of us were really all that keen to stay. So we decided to have one drink and hit the dance floor and then head off. I was dancing away when a familiar face walked past - one of the guys who had been marching with us, and was friends with the girl I had pashed! At first I just smiled at him, but then the logical part of my brain gave me a thunk and I asked him if he could either give me this girl's number or give her mine. He gave me her's and I promptly sent her a text. We weren't able to meet up again whilst I was in Sydney, but she has plans to come down to Melbourne, and I have a date! You see? Pashing a unicorn is good luck!!
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Queer Aesthetics
You know when you're trying to write about one thing, but you've got something else boiling under your skin? Yeah, that's what's happening with me at the moment. I'm trying to finish my final data chapter (!!!) but there's something else that is on my mind: aesthetics - and particularly lesbian/queer aesthetics.
This has been something I've been pondering for awhile, especially over the last six months, as I've come to the end of (or rather a pause in) a massive physical transformation and have been quite actively exploring what it means for me to be single and gay, and where I situate myself within the queer community.
To contextualise this: I only realised I was gay about 2 years ago, after breaking up with my first girlfriend. Since then, I have lost around 30kg. This was the result of a very intensive campaign to get fit and improve my health; it was never about being thin (something I have no desire to be). I have talked about my weight loss a lot on this blog, and I don't want to get into it again here. All that needs to be said about it here is that I reached a point where I was happy with my body, sick of spending all my time exercising, and annoyed that my clothes never fit me for more than a couple of months (that's all well and good when you can afford to buy new ones; I can't!); so my body transformation project has been put on the back burner for the time being. Over the past, erm, 8 months I've also been figuring out - for the first time - what it means to me to be gay and single. When I first came out I felt like my sexuality was contingent upon my relationship status. It wasn't until Lady Cop and I broke up (for the final time) that I started to explore life as a single lesbian; in a nutshell it's AWESOME!
When I first started dating women, I was quite insecure with myself, particularly about my appearance. Coming from heteroland, I felt that I did not have enough beauty capital to attract the kind of man I was attracted to, and I did not know if those same beauty dynamics would transfer over into the lesbian community. How would other women engage with my body, and how would I engage with their bodies? It has been completely fascinating for me to observe and experience a variety of queer aesthetics. Heteronormative beauty standards do not hold the same influence within the queer community - though they are not completely absent either - and while I have found that incredibly liberating, I have also discovered that queer aesthetics can be quite difficult to navigate.
For me, aesthetics are extremely important. They are important because they are about how I represent myself to others, and about how I interpret others. I think it's also really important to differentiate between aesthetics and looks/attractiveness, because while they are related, they are not the same things. I understand looks/attractiveness to be about how one measures up to some external standard of beauty. Looks/attractiveness is often quite a disempowering framework because it is quite narrowly defined, is always about comparison and conformity, and its standards are nearly impossible for most people to obtain. I understand aesthetics to be about how one expresses one's individuality. I would say that it involves developing a stylized version of one's self, though technically such a stylization could involve completely disengaging from the dictates of the fashion and beauty industries.
The reason I believe aesthetics are so important is because of their link to desire. And this is precisely why I find myself so fascinated by queer aesthetics; because they signal queer desire - often in complex and messy ways. Our aesthetic practices (generally) signal something about our personality to others: wearing gym clothes tells people you are interested in fitness; wearing a suit is a sign of power; high heels are a sign of femininity; and asymmetrical haircuts are, apparently, a sign of living in Melbourne's inner north. Queer aesthetics complicates this, because queer culture is about challenging binaries and finding new ways of being. Queer culture is further challenged by the fact that not everyone in the gay community is queer. This has meant, for me, that sometimes I am misread.
I suppose that being misread is part of the parcel of being queer; not everyone is going to get it and that is, after all, the point. Why I struggle with being misread is because I misread myself for so much of my life. Being heterosexual was an identity that never sat comfortably with me and ultimately made me very unhappy; I am eager to distance myself from it in as many ways as I can. I spent far too long passing for a heterosexual; I want my body to signal to myself - as much as to anyone else - that that is not who or what I am.
Since coming out, I have sought to make myself visibly 'queer'. Many of you are familiar with my quest to achieve appropriately 'lesbian' hair: in an effort to make my gayness immediately obvious, I have shaved off most of my hair. My hair certainly signals to the right people that I am gay, and as I joked before, that I live in the inner north. I have this desire to achieve an aesthetic that is unmistakeably queer; an aesthetic that is not linked to clothing, but is of my body. Tattoos are good for this, though even the visible and aggressive ones have been appropriated by certain heterosexual aesthetics. At the moment I am experimenting with being a hairy lesbian, since body hair seems to be something straight women shy away from. The problem there is that I am ridiculously blonde, so even after months of growth my body hair is not immediately visible.
The reason that I, at times, am misread within the gay community is because there is a disconnect between what my aesthetic says about me, and how I actually am. You see, I like to wear dresses. I always have, and I reckon I always will. But I am not now, nor have I ever been, a 'girly girl'. If I had to sum myself up in four words, I'd probably go with: wears dresses, throws punches. The picture of me at my 4th birthday that I have on this blog I think demonstrates this divide nicely. Because of this, people often tell me that I should go for the rockabilly look. And while it's true that this style suits me remarkably well - it is a style that celebrates the hourglass figure - there are three reasons why I am not taking on a full time rockabilly aesthetic:
Queer aesthetics are about pushing the boundaries of existing ways of being, and opening up space to become something new. Doing so involves inhabiting spaces where, as Cressida Heyes described it, one is - to some extent - unintelligible to others. I have not quite worked out how to signal my desires through my aesthetic: I am a masculine woman with feminine aesthetics who desires masculine women with masculine aesthetics. But this is part of the fun of being single: I get to experiment with my aesthetics and see who responds and how.
And while it would be nice to have my self and my desires read correctly through my aesthetics, I find that having conversations with people tends to clear up any misinterpretations that may occur (if only everyone was as open to having such conversations as I am)! Besides, even if there was some aesthetic that did signal exactly who I am and what I want, desire is much too fluid to stay in any one place forever so any successfully occupied aesthetic is always going to be temporary anyways. Thank goodness I am finally happy just being me!
This has been something I've been pondering for awhile, especially over the last six months, as I've come to the end of (or rather a pause in) a massive physical transformation and have been quite actively exploring what it means for me to be single and gay, and where I situate myself within the queer community.
To contextualise this: I only realised I was gay about 2 years ago, after breaking up with my first girlfriend. Since then, I have lost around 30kg. This was the result of a very intensive campaign to get fit and improve my health; it was never about being thin (something I have no desire to be). I have talked about my weight loss a lot on this blog, and I don't want to get into it again here. All that needs to be said about it here is that I reached a point where I was happy with my body, sick of spending all my time exercising, and annoyed that my clothes never fit me for more than a couple of months (that's all well and good when you can afford to buy new ones; I can't!); so my body transformation project has been put on the back burner for the time being. Over the past, erm, 8 months I've also been figuring out - for the first time - what it means to me to be gay and single. When I first came out I felt like my sexuality was contingent upon my relationship status. It wasn't until Lady Cop and I broke up (for the final time) that I started to explore life as a single lesbian; in a nutshell it's AWESOME!
When I first started dating women, I was quite insecure with myself, particularly about my appearance. Coming from heteroland, I felt that I did not have enough beauty capital to attract the kind of man I was attracted to, and I did not know if those same beauty dynamics would transfer over into the lesbian community. How would other women engage with my body, and how would I engage with their bodies? It has been completely fascinating for me to observe and experience a variety of queer aesthetics. Heteronormative beauty standards do not hold the same influence within the queer community - though they are not completely absent either - and while I have found that incredibly liberating, I have also discovered that queer aesthetics can be quite difficult to navigate.
For me, aesthetics are extremely important. They are important because they are about how I represent myself to others, and about how I interpret others. I think it's also really important to differentiate between aesthetics and looks/attractiveness, because while they are related, they are not the same things. I understand looks/attractiveness to be about how one measures up to some external standard of beauty. Looks/attractiveness is often quite a disempowering framework because it is quite narrowly defined, is always about comparison and conformity, and its standards are nearly impossible for most people to obtain. I understand aesthetics to be about how one expresses one's individuality. I would say that it involves developing a stylized version of one's self, though technically such a stylization could involve completely disengaging from the dictates of the fashion and beauty industries.
The reason I believe aesthetics are so important is because of their link to desire. And this is precisely why I find myself so fascinated by queer aesthetics; because they signal queer desire - often in complex and messy ways. Our aesthetic practices (generally) signal something about our personality to others: wearing gym clothes tells people you are interested in fitness; wearing a suit is a sign of power; high heels are a sign of femininity; and asymmetrical haircuts are, apparently, a sign of living in Melbourne's inner north. Queer aesthetics complicates this, because queer culture is about challenging binaries and finding new ways of being. Queer culture is further challenged by the fact that not everyone in the gay community is queer. This has meant, for me, that sometimes I am misread.
I suppose that being misread is part of the parcel of being queer; not everyone is going to get it and that is, after all, the point. Why I struggle with being misread is because I misread myself for so much of my life. Being heterosexual was an identity that never sat comfortably with me and ultimately made me very unhappy; I am eager to distance myself from it in as many ways as I can. I spent far too long passing for a heterosexual; I want my body to signal to myself - as much as to anyone else - that that is not who or what I am.
Since coming out, I have sought to make myself visibly 'queer'. Many of you are familiar with my quest to achieve appropriately 'lesbian' hair: in an effort to make my gayness immediately obvious, I have shaved off most of my hair. My hair certainly signals to the right people that I am gay, and as I joked before, that I live in the inner north. I have this desire to achieve an aesthetic that is unmistakeably queer; an aesthetic that is not linked to clothing, but is of my body. Tattoos are good for this, though even the visible and aggressive ones have been appropriated by certain heterosexual aesthetics. At the moment I am experimenting with being a hairy lesbian, since body hair seems to be something straight women shy away from. The problem there is that I am ridiculously blonde, so even after months of growth my body hair is not immediately visible.
The reason that I, at times, am misread within the gay community is because there is a disconnect between what my aesthetic says about me, and how I actually am. You see, I like to wear dresses. I always have, and I reckon I always will. But I am not now, nor have I ever been, a 'girly girl'. If I had to sum myself up in four words, I'd probably go with: wears dresses, throws punches. The picture of me at my 4th birthday that I have on this blog I think demonstrates this divide nicely. Because of this, people often tell me that I should go for the rockabilly look. And while it's true that this style suits me remarkably well - it is a style that celebrates the hourglass figure - there are three reasons why I am not taking on a full time rockabilly aesthetic:
- I have 'commitment issues'. I do not not want to be boxed in to any one way of being. I would get extremely bored if I only ever expressed myself in one particular way. Besides, my personality is far too all over the place to be contained by any one aesthetic.
- The best thing about being poor has been that it's forced me to breakup with consumerism. I am a recovering shopaholic. I have found it so liberating to not be concerned about wearing the flashest clothes, and have found it incredibly empowering to experiment with fashion I can afford. As it turns out, if you wear your clothes well, it really doesn't matter that they came from Kmart and Savers.
- While I enjoy the rockabilly aesthetic, I feel no particular connection to rockabilly culture. Largely because, from the outside looking in, rockabilly feels quite heteronormative to me. I know that there is a huge queer engagement with rockabilly, but, it strikes me as often reproducing the butch/femme dichotomy, which is something that I personally do not want to engage with. I consider my personality to be quite masculine, and while there is room for that within the rockabilly femme aesthetic, I don't know, it just doesn't sit well with me. Maybe that's unfair. It's based on a personal experience I had with a woman who - I think - expected me to act femme when I dressed femme. Which just made me want to act incredibly butch. Which made her not want to talk to me anymore. There's good reason for why I have a rep at my office for topping from the bottom!! Maybe I just need to come with a disclaimer...
Queer aesthetics are about pushing the boundaries of existing ways of being, and opening up space to become something new. Doing so involves inhabiting spaces where, as Cressida Heyes described it, one is - to some extent - unintelligible to others. I have not quite worked out how to signal my desires through my aesthetic: I am a masculine woman with feminine aesthetics who desires masculine women with masculine aesthetics. But this is part of the fun of being single: I get to experiment with my aesthetics and see who responds and how.
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| body love |
Monday, February 6, 2012
Midsumma Madness!
Well my lovely queers and heteros, another Midsumma has come to an end. And what a girlwind it was! From spending a week in the mountains with 30+ ladies, to hitting the clubs, to checking out the shows, to pashing some girls, to making new friends, to catching up with old friends, to marching with Pride... It's been a busy month!
First of all: drama camp was AWESOME! I had such a great time and met many, many amazing women. I also got to cook some insanely delicious food and be loved and adored for it. While hanging out in the mountains. I felt like I was being spoilt! I even managed to get some quality work done on my thesis, which, as you'll remember, was the whole point of me going on this trip!
Oh, and the best part: I finally got to make use of my valid Victorian driver's licence and drive someone's car!! It seems that leaving out the whole "I've never driven on the left before" thing is key. I didn't have to drive far, and it was on a small mountain road with very little traffic. I'm so used to traffic moving from the left here now that I thought I'd be fine to drive. But I was not prepared for all the signals and gears and stuff to be on opposite sides!! It was way more disorienting than I had anticipated. BUT, I am an entirely competent driver and we made the trip without issue AND I did a fabulous job parking upon our return. I waited a couple of days before informing the owner of said car that she'd inadvertently popped my driving in Australia cherry. ;)
Like most things I do, I had no idea what I had signed on for. Our days started early and ended late. There were three of us on the kitchen crew, and hubby proved to be not only a great cook but an efficient and organised leader. He planned the meals, I just chopped what I was told to chop, stirred what I was told to stir, set out food and plates and cutlery where I was told to set them out, and grilled some sausage when I was told to grill some sausage! (I seriously hope the sausage was not completely disgusting; turns out I still can't stomach the thought of eating beef.) What I did take charge of was the clean up crews. After every meal I supervised the clean up crews as they did all the actual work of scrubbing up all the mess we'd made in the kitchen throughout the day. I had so much fun with the clean up crews that I actually started applying for work as a dishwasher when I returned to Melbourne. (Alas, a career as a dishwasher does not appear to be in the cards for me: instead I'll be doing some data entry at ARCSHS.)
I didn't know what to expect from the girls, not being from a drama background myself. The vocal warm ups freaked me out, at first, but then I got used to them and even missed the chorus of weird squawking and chanting at 9am when camp was over. The singing I did not miss so much. It took me about 4 days to get the songs out of my head!! But otherwise, I was quite delighted to find that they were all friendly and curious about my thesis (although after having the same conversation for the 20th time I may have started to wish they weren't) and good eaters! We made a lot of food and very little went to waste! I ate like a freggin' king! I mean, being on the kitchen crew, we had to make sure everything was fit to be served...and sometimes we had to check more than once, you know, just to be sure.
Girls Do Gertrude was a double bill of Gertrude Stein plays. The idea was to go away to the mountains for a week of intensive rehearsals, then come back and put the plays on. One group rehearsed downstairs in the lodge, and the other rehearsed in the space beside the kitchen. So we got quite familiar with the goings on of that particular play. With the singing, and the circles... *ahem* The second play, however, was a total mystery to me. Except, every now and then we'd hear these blood curdling screams coming from downstairs. Often the screaming came when we were reaching the breaking point of hearing Ain't We Got Fun yet again, so I wasn't entirely sure if they were related to the play or not! ;) It was actually really cool to see the play come together over the course of the week, and to know that there was this whole other play happening that I'd get to be surprised by when it was all finished.
I went to see the show last weekend, though in a funny twist of events I actually ended up at Northcote Town Hall with a couple of friends to check out another Midsumma event earlier in the week, and ran into the girls after their show. That was quite fun! Anyways, I went to see the show on Saturday and I of course had to get dressed up for it! 1920s style! I just so happened to have the perfect outfit lying around for the occasion. I even broke out the iron for it!
From what I'd seen in the rehearsal week I figured the plays were going to be good, but honestly, they were so much better than I expected! The first one, A Circular Play, was really witty and fun - and the costumes were incredible! I don't really know how to describe it, other than that it gave me a whole new appreciation for the art of acting. And directing! And the difficulty in learning the words to a song! The second play, Three Sisters Who Are Not Sisters, was amazing! It was a play repeated three times, each time a bit differently, and each time I got something different from it. It had this incredibly fun opening part where the girls were all being little kids playing and their play turns violent. It was dark and twisted, and yes, the screaming was part of the play. I have a new found appreciation for theatre after that week!
There is much more that I could update on, but I don't want to sit at my computer forever. So to do a quick summary: I have reached exciting new depths of poverty. It's been an interesting experience to have so little money to see me through the month. I've agreed to let hubby cut my hair for free, which he did last week...with his beard clippers and some kinda dull scissors. He actually did a rather amazing job, and may possibly be able to turn a small profit on offering niche market lesbian haircuts. I'm also on this exciting new diet called eating what other people give me for free! It is supplemented by another diet called eating food I can get for cheap. The health nut in my cringes at this, but the social scientist in me sees this as an interesting new experiment and is excited to see where it leads. Meanwhile, the student in me says as long as there is money for coffee and beer, I've got nothing to worry about.
I started my classes with the Women's Circus last week. That is quickly shaping up to be the most fun I have ever had, and possibly will ever have, in my life! My trainers are fantabulous, the women in my class are awesome, AND I get to learn cool tricks that involve me looking like I'm ridiculously strong. My guns aren't too shabby, but I'm not quite at llama status yet!
Now that Midsumma is over, I'm under official lock down to get my thesis over and done with! I've only got six more months to go, and a mountain to climb in that time. It can be done, but it ain't gonna be easy! I just have to keep reminding myself that the sooner I get my first draft completed, the sooner I can get the tattoo I've been planning for the past two years! I may barely be able to afford groceries, rent, or electricity, but I'm saving up my pennies for that next tattoo. There's no fucking way I'm completing that draft only to find out I don't actually have the money to afford the ink!!!
Until next time...wish me adventures!
First of all: drama camp was AWESOME! I had such a great time and met many, many amazing women. I also got to cook some insanely delicious food and be loved and adored for it. While hanging out in the mountains. I felt like I was being spoilt! I even managed to get some quality work done on my thesis, which, as you'll remember, was the whole point of me going on this trip!
Oh, and the best part: I finally got to make use of my valid Victorian driver's licence and drive someone's car!! It seems that leaving out the whole "I've never driven on the left before" thing is key. I didn't have to drive far, and it was on a small mountain road with very little traffic. I'm so used to traffic moving from the left here now that I thought I'd be fine to drive. But I was not prepared for all the signals and gears and stuff to be on opposite sides!! It was way more disorienting than I had anticipated. BUT, I am an entirely competent driver and we made the trip without issue AND I did a fabulous job parking upon our return. I waited a couple of days before informing the owner of said car that she'd inadvertently popped my driving in Australia cherry. ;)
Like most things I do, I had no idea what I had signed on for. Our days started early and ended late. There were three of us on the kitchen crew, and hubby proved to be not only a great cook but an efficient and organised leader. He planned the meals, I just chopped what I was told to chop, stirred what I was told to stir, set out food and plates and cutlery where I was told to set them out, and grilled some sausage when I was told to grill some sausage! (I seriously hope the sausage was not completely disgusting; turns out I still can't stomach the thought of eating beef.) What I did take charge of was the clean up crews. After every meal I supervised the clean up crews as they did all the actual work of scrubbing up all the mess we'd made in the kitchen throughout the day. I had so much fun with the clean up crews that I actually started applying for work as a dishwasher when I returned to Melbourne. (Alas, a career as a dishwasher does not appear to be in the cards for me: instead I'll be doing some data entry at ARCSHS.)
I didn't know what to expect from the girls, not being from a drama background myself. The vocal warm ups freaked me out, at first, but then I got used to them and even missed the chorus of weird squawking and chanting at 9am when camp was over. The singing I did not miss so much. It took me about 4 days to get the songs out of my head!! But otherwise, I was quite delighted to find that they were all friendly and curious about my thesis (although after having the same conversation for the 20th time I may have started to wish they weren't) and good eaters! We made a lot of food and very little went to waste! I ate like a freggin' king! I mean, being on the kitchen crew, we had to make sure everything was fit to be served...and sometimes we had to check more than once, you know, just to be sure.
Girls Do Gertrude was a double bill of Gertrude Stein plays. The idea was to go away to the mountains for a week of intensive rehearsals, then come back and put the plays on. One group rehearsed downstairs in the lodge, and the other rehearsed in the space beside the kitchen. So we got quite familiar with the goings on of that particular play. With the singing, and the circles... *ahem* The second play, however, was a total mystery to me. Except, every now and then we'd hear these blood curdling screams coming from downstairs. Often the screaming came when we were reaching the breaking point of hearing Ain't We Got Fun yet again, so I wasn't entirely sure if they were related to the play or not! ;) It was actually really cool to see the play come together over the course of the week, and to know that there was this whole other play happening that I'd get to be surprised by when it was all finished.
I went to see the show last weekend, though in a funny twist of events I actually ended up at Northcote Town Hall with a couple of friends to check out another Midsumma event earlier in the week, and ran into the girls after their show. That was quite fun! Anyways, I went to see the show on Saturday and I of course had to get dressed up for it! 1920s style! I just so happened to have the perfect outfit lying around for the occasion. I even broke out the iron for it!
From what I'd seen in the rehearsal week I figured the plays were going to be good, but honestly, they were so much better than I expected! The first one, A Circular Play, was really witty and fun - and the costumes were incredible! I don't really know how to describe it, other than that it gave me a whole new appreciation for the art of acting. And directing! And the difficulty in learning the words to a song! The second play, Three Sisters Who Are Not Sisters, was amazing! It was a play repeated three times, each time a bit differently, and each time I got something different from it. It had this incredibly fun opening part where the girls were all being little kids playing and their play turns violent. It was dark and twisted, and yes, the screaming was part of the play. I have a new found appreciation for theatre after that week!
There is much more that I could update on, but I don't want to sit at my computer forever. So to do a quick summary: I have reached exciting new depths of poverty. It's been an interesting experience to have so little money to see me through the month. I've agreed to let hubby cut my hair for free, which he did last week...with his beard clippers and some kinda dull scissors. He actually did a rather amazing job, and may possibly be able to turn a small profit on offering niche market lesbian haircuts. I'm also on this exciting new diet called eating what other people give me for free! It is supplemented by another diet called eating food I can get for cheap. The health nut in my cringes at this, but the social scientist in me sees this as an interesting new experiment and is excited to see where it leads. Meanwhile, the student in me says as long as there is money for coffee and beer, I've got nothing to worry about.
I started my classes with the Women's Circus last week. That is quickly shaping up to be the most fun I have ever had, and possibly will ever have, in my life! My trainers are fantabulous, the women in my class are awesome, AND I get to learn cool tricks that involve me looking like I'm ridiculously strong. My guns aren't too shabby, but I'm not quite at llama status yet!
Now that Midsumma is over, I'm under official lock down to get my thesis over and done with! I've only got six more months to go, and a mountain to climb in that time. It can be done, but it ain't gonna be easy! I just have to keep reminding myself that the sooner I get my first draft completed, the sooner I can get the tattoo I've been planning for the past two years! I may barely be able to afford groceries, rent, or electricity, but I'm saving up my pennies for that next tattoo. There's no fucking way I'm completing that draft only to find out I don't actually have the money to afford the ink!!!
Until next time...wish me adventures!
Thursday, January 12, 2012
You Know You're A Grad Student When...
Last night I had condiments for dinner.
Condiments.
I shit you not.
It wasn't even intentional, it just...happened. And I didn't even realize I was doing it until I broke into some of the more obscure condiments in my cupboard.
Yes, money is tight right now, but it's not that tight. Well, OK, it is. You see, I am not completely out but coming close to being out of groceries and as I'm about to go away to drama camp (I'll get to that) for a week, I'd like to avoid grocery shopping if I can! Last night I was down to the weird odds and ends, and I decided not to break into the nicer stuff because I had chicken in the freezer I could defrost and cook another day. All that left me with was some moldy bread that was getting to the point where I couldn't just keep cutting the moldy bits off, and tortillas. And condiments.
It started off innocently enough. I decided to throw out the moldy bread and make myself a couple of peanut butter and banana tortilla wraps. After which, I was still peckish and only had a couple of tortillas left. Surely I had something I could spread over them? I poked around my cupboard and what did I come up with? Sweet and sour sauce. It wasn't until I plopped the sweet and sour sauce onto the tortilla that the absurdity of what I was doing struck me. And no, it was not delicious. It was weird. And messy. I got sweet and sour sauce on my shirt. After that debacle I figured I must have something better in the fridge. And you know what I had a shitload of in there? Cream cheese. Yeah. I had a tortilla with sweet and sour sauce for dinner last night when I had a perfectly good container of cream cheese sitting in my fridge.
And that, my friends, is what's called thesis brain.
So, drama camp! You know how I've taken to saying yes to all sorts of random things? This would be one of those things. Clearly. Because me and the performing arts...yeah, no. You know what else is a big yeah, no for me? Food services. So guess what I'm doing on drama camp? Oh yeah!
This all came about because of Hubby. I knew about the performing arts stuff, but apparently he's got this whole food services history too. One of his friends is directing a play for Midsumma (Girls Do Gertrude, check it out) and he has been "recruited" to be the chef for their rehearsal week out in the mountains. Now, there's this weird dynamic to my relationship with Hubby where I pretty much do whatever he says. I don't understand it, but there you go. He says run a 10k, I run a 10k. He says come out clubbing, I go out clubbing. He says come out to the mountains and help me cater a drama camp, I go out to the mountains and help him cater a drama camp. It seems the only thing I've said no to was his marriage proposal. Funny side note, that makes him the only man who's marriage proposal I've actually turned down!
So after Carnival on Sunday I'll be off in the mountains with a bunch of performing arts peeps, cooking and possibly doing various other odds and ends jobs. It was suggested that if I play a musical instrument I could be in the show, but I don't think it's the kind of show where they're taking the piss out of themselves so I think my particular musical talents will go unused this time around. I am, however, open to being the Twitter bitch, and will hopefully knock out a few interesting blog entries while I'm there. Oh yeah, and like, write my third data chapter. I do remember this originally being sold to me as a free study vacation...
Condiments.
I shit you not.
It wasn't even intentional, it just...happened. And I didn't even realize I was doing it until I broke into some of the more obscure condiments in my cupboard.
Yes, money is tight right now, but it's not that tight. Well, OK, it is. You see, I am not completely out but coming close to being out of groceries and as I'm about to go away to drama camp (I'll get to that) for a week, I'd like to avoid grocery shopping if I can! Last night I was down to the weird odds and ends, and I decided not to break into the nicer stuff because I had chicken in the freezer I could defrost and cook another day. All that left me with was some moldy bread that was getting to the point where I couldn't just keep cutting the moldy bits off, and tortillas. And condiments.
It started off innocently enough. I decided to throw out the moldy bread and make myself a couple of peanut butter and banana tortilla wraps. After which, I was still peckish and only had a couple of tortillas left. Surely I had something I could spread over them? I poked around my cupboard and what did I come up with? Sweet and sour sauce. It wasn't until I plopped the sweet and sour sauce onto the tortilla that the absurdity of what I was doing struck me. And no, it was not delicious. It was weird. And messy. I got sweet and sour sauce on my shirt. After that debacle I figured I must have something better in the fridge. And you know what I had a shitload of in there? Cream cheese. Yeah. I had a tortilla with sweet and sour sauce for dinner last night when I had a perfectly good container of cream cheese sitting in my fridge.
And that, my friends, is what's called thesis brain.
So, drama camp! You know how I've taken to saying yes to all sorts of random things? This would be one of those things. Clearly. Because me and the performing arts...yeah, no. You know what else is a big yeah, no for me? Food services. So guess what I'm doing on drama camp? Oh yeah!
This all came about because of Hubby. I knew about the performing arts stuff, but apparently he's got this whole food services history too. One of his friends is directing a play for Midsumma (Girls Do Gertrude, check it out) and he has been "recruited" to be the chef for their rehearsal week out in the mountains. Now, there's this weird dynamic to my relationship with Hubby where I pretty much do whatever he says. I don't understand it, but there you go. He says run a 10k, I run a 10k. He says come out clubbing, I go out clubbing. He says come out to the mountains and help me cater a drama camp, I go out to the mountains and help him cater a drama camp. It seems the only thing I've said no to was his marriage proposal. Funny side note, that makes him the only man who's marriage proposal I've actually turned down!
So after Carnival on Sunday I'll be off in the mountains with a bunch of performing arts peeps, cooking and possibly doing various other odds and ends jobs. It was suggested that if I play a musical instrument I could be in the show, but I don't think it's the kind of show where they're taking the piss out of themselves so I think my particular musical talents will go unused this time around. I am, however, open to being the Twitter bitch, and will hopefully knock out a few interesting blog entries while I'm there. Oh yeah, and like, write my third data chapter. I do remember this originally being sold to me as a free study vacation...
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