Arrrrgh

I know Talk Like a Pirate Day is over, but I have to Arrrrgh. My boss Captain Bligh has just accepted her second resignation in a week, when her first mate and my close friend and coworker Mr. Millicent the Innocent jumped ship (ok, he gave a generous TEN weeks' notice). I'm now looking at the craigslist.org nonprofit job listings. Again thus I've opened and had to close the window on applying to a cool job because I have an ex who is in the management of the organization.

Why, oh why, did I have to have bad break ups (or bad after-break-up friendship-break-ups) with people in the management of:

ACORN - empowering communities to create the change the want to see, for and by themselves;

and

Pacific Environment - formerly PERC, Pacific Environment Resource Center, empowering environmental activists of all sorts all around the Pacific Rim, including the Far East and Eastern Siberia.

Thank the gods I'm dating someone who works for the goddamn government, for whom I NEVER intend to work.

Happy Talk Like A Pirate Day! Celebrate with mutinous abandon!

Well, my coworker Mr. Woody has taken Captain Bligh's cherry, being the first to resign on her. We will all, slowly, one by one, leave her on this ship to sink alone, burned out and ravaged by responsibilities she is heaping on herself by driving us all away.

Unless, of course, she quits and *I* become captain, a course suggested by my results from the Talk Like A Pirate Day website's Pirate Personality Test.

You are The Cap'n!

Some men are born great, some achieve greatness and some slit the throats of any man that stands between them and the mantle of power. You never met a man you couldn't eviscerate. Not that mindless violence is the only avenue open to you - but why take an avenue when you have complete freeway access? You are the definitive Man of Action. You are James Bond in a blousy shirt and drawstring-fly pants. Your swash was buckled long ago and you have never been so sure of anything in your life as in your ability to bend everyone to your will. You will call anyone out and cut off their head if they show any sign of taking you on or backing down. You cannot be saddled with tedious underlings, but if one of your lieutenants shows an overly developed sense of ambition he may find more suitable accommodations in Davy Jones' locker. That is, of course, IF you notice him. You tend to be self absorbed - a weakness that may keep you from seeing enemies where they are and imagining them where they are not.

What's Yer Inner Pirate?
brought to you by The Official Talk Like A Pirate Web Site. Arrrrr!

Now that we're all Friendsters...

...I feel the need for other ways of making community.

Nemester

Do you have fantasies of stabbing someone regularly, but you suspect they may have the illusion that all is well between you? You can make sure your enemies know you hate them. I think it's good to have a list of enemies, and it would be even better to have a public place to show it. I would put Captain Bligh (my boss) and the President of Uzbekistan on that list. Among many others. Props to Mr. Woody who had the idea for Hatester, which I stole.

Annoyister

You know, brainless and overpaid celebrities with huge empty homes? Independently wealthy people who dress out of the Community Thrift reject pile for their street cred? Annoying. And the neighbors who have screaming fights in the morning, or *vacuum* every night at midnight? And then there are the journalists and politicians who grind their axes on the community's hardest-working (or broken) backs, demonizing immigrants and sick people and the homeless. Let people know that they are not hate-worthy, just extremely annoying.

Slutster

A grand way to let people know you wouldn't kick them out of your bed, should they happen to end up there. I think the Friendster community really needs this way to break through the pretension of being friends(ters) when you're really just all about connecting-the-dots with their freckles and your tongue.

Drinkster

Let people know you don't really want to be their friend, you don't really want to sleep with them, but you really, really enjoy getting drunk with them. Maybe you'd go to a ballgame with them, hell maybe you'd even sleep with them, but mainly you'd like them to know that you'd trust them to hold your hair/ jacket/ gun while you barf.

Spouster

Obviously, a great way to let someone know that you would marry them. I would Spouster Angelina Jolie first. If she wasn't ready to make that bold move at this point in her career, or turned out to be a femme bottom like me, then we could laugh it off and stay Friends(ters), and I would Spouster Jon Stewart (from the Daily Show). Then, since he is a straight man with a wife who is probably smart enough to ignore a marriage proposal from a lesbian, I would Spouster Lucy Lawless, who said on a late night talk show (to a question about whether she'd swing with the ladeez) that she's up for anything after drinking 12 white russians. I bet Spouster would have the best "testimonials" of them all.

Stalkster

The politest way to tell someone you are stalking them. Then again, I'm not sure Friendster isn't just a cover for some malicious hoarde of stalkers...

Exster

Now, as those dozen or so people who follow my blog know, I recently had a person I considered an ex call me at work to tell me s/he is not my ex and to please stop spreading around that information. So, I think it would be useful to have a service like Exster, where you can let people know that they are in fact an "ex" (exfuckbuddy, exgirlfriend, whatever), just so that there are no nasty surprises on either end, like someone thinking you never dated, for example. Or that you are still dating, heaven forbid.

My Boss Is a Fiasco

I just listened to the Fiasco show from the "favorites" collection in the archives of This American Life, and I have finally reached the point of Zen acceptance that my boss is a fiasco.

I will call her Captain Bligh. Captain Bligh's incompetence is so extreme that it has become funny, all office protocol has been scratched, and we are all {} THIS CLOSE to starting a real office betting pool as to what date she's going to lay us all off.

Today's additions to the fiasco unfolding are her apparent accidental deletion of the record in our database of our organization's most important contact at the United Nations (we're a gay human rights agency, which needs all the friends in high places we can get). I can't prove that she deleted it, but who else, I tell you, when she's been working closely with the dude, and hasn't let anyone train her on ANY of our systems. Then she put a letter in the box of letters to be mailed... sans postage... and the letter looks like it's the contract for our newest and most important (next to Captian Bligh) employee. I saved it, but I have had to put a pointed sign on the mail out box that letters that are intended to be mailed should have postage on them.

In the mean time, another This American Life show from the archives, Music Lessons, features David Sedaris singing the Oscar Mayer Wiener song in the style (done with chilling accuracy) of none other than Billie Holiday. I ask you.

So I naturally was drawn to doing some research on the famous song... from which you will now all benefit.

Here's a page from Kissthisguy.com, with an instance of the wiener song's lyrics misheard.

Ya know, I think sometimes we all wish we were an octopuss' wiener.

Top Signs Your New Lezzie Romance May Be PoMo

I define PoMo here as post-modern/ post-industrial, showing characteristics of a micospecialized lifestyle or society, celebrating performativity and self-consciousness in the fragmented public narrative. I don't know what motivated me to make this list, I just haven't dated in a long time and it's like an anthropological experiment for me. Join me on this jungle ride... watch the strange new lezzie dating practices, but keep your fingers inside the car...

Your new lezzie romance may be PoMo if:

1. You met on Craigslist, or another anonymous mochepit of sex-starved people with 56k dial-up service.

2. You Google to confirm points of fact... while on dates.

3. You shop for your novelties and lingerie on eBay... while on dates.

4. You have a porn star encounter clause in your fidelity agreement. (There are so many of them now. Porn stars, I mean. But there are lots of different fidelity agreements out there too, aren't there?)

5. You have a list of urban straight hotspots where you intend to have sex using remote-controlled vibrators.

6. You share feedback about your preferred sexual practices on your blog.

7. Each date's preparation involves doing your nails, packing a toothbrush and change of underwear, selecting a costume and buying a soundtrack CD.

8. The date's degree of distance from internet connection is directly proportional to the numbers of cameras involved in documenting the date.

9. Friends e-mail you to see if you're having sex at that moment... and you e-mail back that you are.

10. You mark your one month anniversary with an appointment at a tattoo parlor.

Presenting People For the Unethical Treatment of Fireflies

The Pagan comic for Pagans and the people who love them, or used to love them.

PETA in this strip refers to "People for the Eternal Torment of Animals."

Where I grew up the only "out" Pagans were pretty scary folks, and they liked it that way-- their reputation kept the Xtians out of their hair. They had a sign on their porch "We shoot every third Christian who knocks on this door." I even heard that they used some rest stop on Route 177 (a major trucking road) to do a pig sacrifice. Now, that skeezed me out. But lately I've been getting into eating pork again and, in reflection, I'm betting they put on a nice barbeque for those truckers, and some State Trooper had to go blow the whistle... turning it into just another "animal sacrifice."

Ah, The Secret Spells Triad is Complete. Soon I Will Conquer the World.

Meet Secret Spells Kayla's best friend Secret Spells Barbie.

School girls by day, "by night they turn into magical enchantresses." No wonder it is out of stock. That dirty old man market is a surefire sell. Do they really send "edible poisons," do you think? Do you think they meant poissons? That they will send you some dried salmon jerky with every order?

And oh my god you can order their best friend Secret Spells Christie "in African American." This ad's blurb explains that they are sending sugar-based mixtures that you can drink, i.e. mystical Kool-Aid. Getting the little African American girls ready for Jonestown, are we? I know, I know, that was inappropriate. Shame on me.

Lookit What I Found: The Geekcorps

VERY COOL as benificient Developed World send-us-your-tired-masses-and-we'll-send-you-our-grad-students patron projects go, but they have GOT to get a better logo. Or the Happy Computer should be using both hands to hold the world. He looks rather cavalier, like he's playing volleyball. And is that his keyboard or is he just happy to see me?

Well, There Goes My Solution to All My Problems

I should've been tipped off by the web site describing it as a "fictional reality show."

Thanks for everyone who wrote lovely recommendations on my behalf. Just so you know, the application did not in fact ask for your gender identity. I bet a lot of other girls applied. But they only apologize to the men. Like my feelings wouldn't be hurt.

Dear Lapdance Island applicant

I would like to apologise unreservedly to the tens of thousands of men who
recently applied online to take part in E4's new reality show Lapdance Island
at http://www.channel4.com/lapdanceisland

The show promised to take ten hot blooded male contestants to a deserted
tropical island and have forty lapdancers gyrate around them 24 hours a day.

The truth is there are no lapdancers. There is no island. There is no show.

We made it up to promote The Pilot Show, a genuine series starting on September 8 at 10.30pm on E4. The Pilot Show hilariously dupes unsuspecting celebrities and members of the public into appearing in bogus TV shows.

Sorry about the lapdancers but, as compensation, you can laugh as other people get taken for a ride on The Pilot Show by watching the special preview clips at http://www.channel4.com/pilotshow.

Yours faithfully,

K Andrews
Managing Director, E4

Wiccans Finally Break the Mattel-Plastic Ceiling

I actually have a witch friend by this name-- she's a little older, has a career in linguistics and is a bit more professorial than this babe-alicious witchipoo...

Secret Spells Kayla at KBtoys.com

I suppose if they're going to have action figure Jesuses and Moseses on the market, it's time to have a mainstream witch action figure, I mean doll.

Has Anyone Else Noticed...

That the temperature in the mouth is lower after an orgasm?

Really! Feel your tongue afterwards. It is almost cold.

That pretty much sums up the sum total of my revelations from this weekend, except that I don't look as bad as I though I would in pink. Yes, I've reached that stage of femmehood. I have reclaimed pink.

The Stalker Reveals Herself a Little Tonight- Woohoo!

Here's a crumb for my own slacker stalkers:

Here is my fifteen-day-old tattoo! Doesn't it look innocent when it's sleeping? Yes, it matches my Wedgwood china.

And yes, that graphic is posted on Friendster, and yes, this Slacker Stalker has no friendster friends at this time. Will you be my friendster?

In further revelations, I have to post a poem. I'm committed to NOT putting my original poetry up on this blog. But this is a pertinent follow-up to the ex=ex blog entry, so please forgive this indiscretion. I wrote it almost three years ago in the wake of a break-up with someone who was termino-phobic about the word girlfriend.

San Francisco Replacement Terminology for the word ‘Girlfriend’

A thing
A fling
A fuckable friend
A crush
A flirt
A bendable bend
A Frisco disco
  Swingable girl
   A bubble bath elbow kiss
   Titclamp tilt-a-whirl

A pounding mound
A rebound to a rebound
   A tie me up / tie me down

An easy-bake cake
An mm-hm! earthquake morning roll, a low-fat schmear
   A "you know I hate
   to drive home this late / you can stay here"

A futon footsie tongue twister date
A polypolyamorous play-mate
A mental whack-a-mole
A sleepless queer
  Give her a name and
She'll disappear

Thank you for your indulgence. You will now be returned to your regular poetry-free stalkage.

Ya Know, Sometimes the Russians Scare Me a Little

I spent yesterday evening schmoozing with some wonderful civil society organizers working on cultural tolerance trainings in St. Petersburg and Kazan, Russia. One of the organizers is this salt-o-the-earth veteran, who is also Jewish, and who is a grandfather who brings up his grandkids within minutes of starting any conversation about whatever. We bonded and had a great time. There was this other person there, though, who specifically had wanted to meet some LGBT community organizers, and to whom I was specifically introduced as such. He's a polkovnik (a colonel, a high position) in the MVD (Ministry of Internal Affairs), and apparently not clear on the concept of lesbian. It never fails. I get asked if I'm married, I say no, and then clueless straight man who knows I'm lesbionic for some reason gets very happy. Now since my partner Kris went and got cancer and killed herself I get to use the beautiful Russian word vdova (widow), and change the subject to that of the prevalence of cancer in the US. But really, this guy is a leader in the cultural tolerance movement? Scary!

Meanwhile, I got a posting on my Slavic Pagans mailing list that led me to the Propoganda section of the site of The Union of Slavic Tribes: The Slavic Native Faith -- this makes me a little scared of the new Slavic Pagan movement. It looks like a Soviet Russian cultural imperialist war-god-driven "let's trample the natives" (or trample the Catholics, Jews and Muslims) kind of project.

Check out this item from the Propoganda section:

Caption: We Are Russians! What an Ecstasy! The glyph associated with the Slavic god of skies and thunder, Perun, is photoshopped onto the side of the plane.

Bosnian Muslims and Croat Catholics, run for the hills! The Pagan Russians are in ecstasy! And they've got fighter planes to give you the money shot!

Shudder. It just hasn't been long enough since the latest Yugoslav war for that kind of propoganda. It will never be long enough...

When X = X, or,
When Is An Ex An Ex?

Some people have lately been admiring my system of defining stages of relationships, so I thought I would share it. It is especially pertinent at this point because I had the unique experience on Friday of being called urgently by someone I've referred to as an "ex" telling me that it was an inappropriate term to use. Not that we're dating again-- in fact I think our friendship (which was always the main relationship) just ended. But that is neither here nor there. I would like to make an open book of when and how I am going to claim someone as an "ex."

By the way, I think the reason "girlfriend" and "boyfriend" are so loaded in queer minds is that - without the white wedding option- those terms are the gateway to the courtship's end. Me, I'm part heterosexual (being historically more bi than lezzie, although currently a lesbian bisexual [I like femmes and butches]), and I am an activist who happens to know that you can currently get homosexually married in three different countries (and soon to be more, more, more!) so I know that girlfriend/ boyfriend is not the end of the line, and so I'm not as gf/bf termino-phobic. But most queers are, and that's why at the latter end of my queer relationship trajectory "THING" is used a lot. "EX" is loaded for people for the same reason gf/bf are- it implies to queers a history of having a committed relationship, whereas among the hets it generally just means you have a history, maybe you shared fluids or something. Quibble with me if you will, but that's how I see it.

I have two relationship plans for fuckable people, i.e. non-blood-relatives who are minimally attractive to me. If you are not currently in an open/ known (uh, by both parties) sexual relationship with me, and I'm attracted to you, you are potentially eligible to advance on the Friend/ Fuckwatch or the Fuckbuddy Program.

This is how it has historically worked for me.
WE MEET
A. WE BECOME FRIENDS, or,
B. WE FUCK

---

WE MEET:
A. WE BECOME FRIENDS
A1. WE'RE FRIENDS, WE STAY JUST FRIENDS
A2. WE'RE FRIENDS, BUT I LIKE YOU IN THAT WAY. I PUT YOU ON
FUCKWATCH. You are now on the Friend/ Fuckwatch Program (365 days' observation after meeting, to determine that kind of compatibility).
|
A2a. WE NEVER FUCK. Nothing changes. We stay friends. Yes that means you, I know you know who you are. We will never fuck, and yes you are still my friend.
A2b. WE FUCK.
|
A2b/1. It's not all that. Return to A.
A2b/2. It's all that. Skip to The All Important 3rd Date.

---

WE MEET:
B. WE FUCK
B1. WE HAVE AN ANONYMOUS FLING AND NEVER SPEAK AGAIN.
B2. WE MAKE A DATE. You are now on the Fuckbuddy Program (i.e. we will not be mistaken for "just friends" by anyone, including your exes). (See below for the definition of an ex).
|
The 1st Date (see my old definitions for sensual living to know if it was a date)
- this can be anonymous, or sharing first names and either e-mail or one working phone number.
B2a. There is only one date. No harm done, maybe we'll be taken for "just friends" after this. Maybe we'll even really be friends.
B2b. You make a second date.
    The 2nd Date
    - here you can find out the person's employment status, and/or other nonintrusive bits of information.
    - reveal your terminal illness here, if you have one.
    B2b/1. There are only two dates. No big deal. You can still sometimes skip to the Friend/ Fuckwatch Program here, after a brief cooling-off period.
    B2b/2. You make a THIRD DATE. This is the big one.
    \      
     \      
The All Important 3rd Date
- After advancing to the third date of the Fuckbuddy Program, you can only go back to the Friend/ Fuckwatch Program after a significant period of virtual or total noncontact after the last fuck, say, two calendar years. Don't waste your time trying to "be friends" because it was "not you, it was me" or something like that. Codependents (most of us are these at some point) do not do well with these "still friends" arrangements, with all the emotional responsibility of an intimate friend but none of the physical privileges of being sexual partners. So be on your most honest behavior on the third date (if you haven't been so far).
- on the third date you can reveal your relationship status(es), your safer sex and time/ space requirements, and how you feel about dating other people. My new standby rule is the "three freebies" rule, where you each can see one person three times without disclosure, but if you make a fourth date, you share the details from there on out.
- if you are a superhero, now is the time you should reveal at least one secret super power. No, it's not too soon.
        /
       /
      /
     /
After you make a fourth date, you become a
THING.
  {
   }
- The Post-Fuckbuddy Thing
Somewhere between the fourth and tenth dates is the zone where you can share a second working phone number (making you more than fuckbuddies), and if you break up you become EXES. Yes, it's a wide zone, but just so you know, if you are reading this, Mr. I'm Not Your Ex, we had more than a few dates. It was a Thing. Not a Thing Thing, but a Thing.
       {
        }
- The Thing Thing
Somewhere between one and twelve months the terminology question will arise, because you are calling it a "thing thing" to friends, and they want to know what that means. Although you can acknowledge that you are more than fuckbuddies, it is still appropriate at this time to skirt the topic and just use the words "girlthing" or "boything" or "boygirlthing."
   {
    }
- You are in an Entanglement sort of Thing Thing after two months.
Long-term emotional entanglements are my most special specialty. The Entanglement Zone is where people (ok, I) will sneak in the words "girlfriend" or "boyfriend." Secretly, to other people, but still. It is no longer funny to use the appellation "my special friend" even though your parents always use it. Processing ensues.
{
  }
- After six months you have a Post-Thing Thing: theTerminologically Challenged Zone.
You will not be able to avoid making SOME decision about the words "girlfriend" or "boyfriend." This is where you find yourself making derisive (but subconsciously longing) "husband" and "wife" jokes about eachother. If you have jointly purchased a piece of furniture without ever finishing the "girlfriend" or "boyfriend" discussion, my hat's off to you. You're beating amazing odds and should celebrate it with some kind of anniversary celebration. Like the anniversary of the first time you took off the latex. I think that's more important than the terminology landmarks. My best friend in high school and I had our favorite pick up line all figured out: "I want to catch all your diseases." When you really get there, that's something.

---

Note: Although "ex" isn't appropriate until after AT LEAST the fourth date, some kind of mediated divorce proceedings are a possibility at any time at all, if it is a lesbionic type involvement. Even that dried flower from the first bouquet you picked her on your first date can be negotiated in a notarized document. Not that I've ever gone that far, I'm just speaking from the point of dispassionate observation. (That's the lonely place I always try to pitch my tent on this blog.)

I'm Just Sayin'

It is telling something about me that my book hunting today involved my continued stalking of a discount price on Bondage Fairies Extreme and buying the new Barbara Weiden Boyd edition of Selections from Vergil's Aeneid. And Amazon.com's suggested reading for me was Pookie Believes in Santa Claus, which I'm not buying because I'm not yet done digesting Pookie Puts the World Right, which is currently thumbtacked to the wall above my desk at work (where the world has most definitely NOT been right).

Vote Precious Party!

The Council of Elrond Presents: GOLLUM FOR GOVERNOR. Finally a candidate with transparent motives.

Honestly, I even considered running for governor, just because of the mass peer pressure.

My New Favorite Place to Stalk Stockings

This vendor doesn't have the seamed garter stockings I need, but s/he does seem to be enjoying selling unflattering old nylons more than anyone should.

Deedeebon's Vintage Pantyhose Web Store's Gallery of Goddesses aka their "Ho Museum" (maybe the URL was supposed to be HoseMuseum.html and it's just a lucky abbreviation).

And check out this shop's "Sultry Canadian" hose, with a cover picture the vendor describes as "crime-scene-ish" -- on the $5 hose page.

Greetings from Hell

From:  Collin Korf - co2link@msn.com
Date:  Fri, 8 Aug 2003

All homosexuals (that's what you are) will burn in hell unless you
immediately give up your perverse lifestyle *choice* and repent and
be saved by Jesus Christ. Trust Him now and avoid everlasting
torment.
Collin K.

I work at a queer human rights agency, and we get our fair share of hate mail. I especially liked the ones written by kids using their parents e-mail (Subject: Burn in Hell; From: thebrownfamily). We used to keep copies and pass them around for fun. Then it got old. Well, sometimes something still comes in that is just irresistable. When this relatively articulate piece of vitriol (above) came in, my coworker M. responded:


To:  Collin Korf - co2link@msn.com
Subject: Greetings from Hell
Date:  Fri, 8 Aug 2003

Life sure is great here. We met this guy named Jesus that just
happened to be a fire fighter. He extinguished the flames in the
blink of an eye, and the whole place was rebuilt . He even managed
to add a swimming pool with all the excess water and he walks across
it for fun sometimes as we all clap. The trick gets a little old
after a while, so hopefully he will learn something new next week.
Hope to see you here soon.

Have a nice weekend,

M.

Catnip makes everything better.

The girlcat and I have rekindled our romance with a big bag of catnip. I had forgotten what a difference catnip makes in our relationship.

The girlcat is one of those MyCatHatesYou.com centerfold candidate cats. She is a very intelligent tabby with piercing green eyes that are often narrowed in your general direction. She has drifted away from me, sleeping separately now for months, and lately sleeping on my suitcase in the closet. It has something to do with me getting a social life, and thereby sometimes staying out all day, all evening, and sometimes even overnight. So the distance has grown, gradually, imperceptably.

I finally realized it had been a long time since our last catnip overdose. So I bought a huge bag of it and poured it out into her toybox/ rolling box. We have had morning visits on the bed, complete with adoring lap cuddling, and gentle hand-cleaning. Kisses galore, every time we run into eachother around the house. I tell you, so many sleights are forgiven, so much affection is suddenly available with kitty drugs.

Check out the Catnip Pizza. I'm still not clear if tomato sauce is involved, and if that would then end up on everything the way catnip is now gently sifted over all my worldly possessions.

Some people apparently haven't yet heard of Aphra Behn.

My friend Melisa is inviting us all to get together to go watch Women's Will - an all-girl Shakespeare company- do The Rover by Aphra Behn, and so it bears reminding that Aphra Behn was a kick-ass proto-lesbian.

A 17th century professional playwright, poet, novelist, spy for the king, crossdresser, etc., also she wrote love poetry to women (from To the Fair Clarinda):

In pity to our Sex sure thou wer't sent,
That we might Love, and yet be Innocent:
For sure no Crime with thee we can commit;
Or if we shou'd - thy Form excuses it.
For who, that gathers fairest Flowers believes
A Snake lies hid beneath the Fragrant Leaves.

She was also opposed to the practice of slavery-- her play "Oroonoko : Or, the Royal Slave" served the abolitionist cause for centuries. Check her out, people.

Isle of Lesbos: Poetry of Aphra Behn

Queer Theory: Aphra Behn