my new home.

dear friends,

tonight, i moved femme FATale over to wordpress for the sole reason of having the option of a little privacy if and when it's needed. you can now find me at http://hussyred.wordpress.com

please visit me over there from now on and update your links and readers or feeds as needed.

i've got plenty to say about the femme conference and plan on doing a series of posts about it. i'm also putting together a how-to post for pastie making that will run as a part of the new femmes guide to the universe blog! the only difference is that i'm going to do this all over at my new wordpress home.

please come along.

xoxo,
hussy red.

femme conference & moving?

well, thursday it's off to the femme conference in chicago! this week has been so busy preparing - there are *twelve* of us from the femme mafia twin cities roadtripping together, not to mention another member meeting us in chicago, as well as a handsome out-of-state friend i met at an academic conference a few months ago. full reports when i get back! i'll have access to a comp, but i'm guessing not much time to do on-site blogging. we'll see!

also, i'm thinking of making the move of femme FATale over to wordpress. while blogger suits me relatively fine, i like the option of being able to keep posts private and only accessible via password. i thought this was some fancy html magic you were all using, but it turns out that it's just another awesome wordpress feature! my readership has been increasing more and more and with it comes the possibility of people stumbling on here that needn't read certain things, things i want to keep to a select audience, etcetera, thus the switch. i'll have more info about the move as it happens, but i'm guessing over the next few weeks?

for now though, off to chi-town!

xo.

our wait is over.

the brilliant kids of the good asian drivers tour have put together a parody to the obnoxious hot mess that is katy perry's chart-topping single, "i kissed a girl." big love to them for being so clever and making the video we all actually wanted to see in the first place. also, it's chock full of total hotness. ch-ch-check it out!

the plural of haiku is ... haiku.

haiku about strap-ons. because they're fun, it's friday, and why not?

1.
you: new to strap-ons
me: so not interested
bruised cervix? no thanks!

2.
jersey femmes bring it
lipstick perfect, hair teased right,
nails that match your dick.

3.
harness in your drawer:
two-strap, white leather, studded
makes this girl say "ohh!"

honestly.

prompted by sinclair...

1. If I was being really honest with myself, I would admit that the reason I still seem so not over her is not because she was that incredible, but because I'm bored with the other options.

2. If I was being really honest with myself, I would admit that I voluntarily participate in aggravating relationships because I value the really good sex that has been a part of them...and I worry what that says about me.

3. If I was being really honest with myself, I would admit that I'm most likely not going to make it as a professor once I finish my Ph.D.

4. If I was being really honest with myself, I would admit that I really did kind of feel it when I met them those two brief days and told my friends I'd met my future husband...even if that's completely ridiculous.

5. If I was being really honest with myself, I would admit that I think I'm kind of a catch...despite the occasional self-deprecation.

6. If I was being really honest with myself, I would admit that sometimes I'm a judgmental bitch and that's not always ok.

7. If I was being really honest with myself, I would admit that my greatest fear is not making an impact.

8. If I was being really honest with myself, I would admit that I don't think I always mean it when I say "I love you," but I'm working on it.

barely with words.

with your lips to my ear and your fingers on my skin, you deftly trace across my body the lines and boundaries you have drawn for your own. "like this..." you say and with your mouth crushed against my cheek, your palm cups the side of my neck, slowly but decisively making its way past the top of my chest to the space between my breasts. your hand rests here, avoiding the flesh that surrounds it, flesh that you usually cannot resist to feel with hands and mouth. but tonight is not about this. tonight, with touches applied to my skin so that i might begin to understand your own, you teach me what "stone" means to you.

channeling the steady hands of a master cartographer, your fingertips pull channels down my abdomen, flowing free and unchecked against the soft roll and lower expanse of my belly. with palms wide and flat across my sides, you work harder, rougher, to push aside my ripples of curve so that the depth, the marrow of my bones, will remember the contrast in touches the sharp angles of your own hips demand, will retain the memory of distinction between my body and yours. when your hands reach my thighs and then skid along the tops of their inner slopes, you fall still. and with a deep breath settled in your lungs, you draft for me with the mere tip of one index finger the minefield of this place.

tomorrow, with you asleep next to me, i let my eyes follow the shape of a body recreated under the tightly wound ropes of sheet rolled over and passed over one hundred times in the night before we both stopped long enough to catch our breaths.

in one word.

stolen from leo maccool at butch girlcat.

1. Where is your cell phone? piano
2. Your significant other? nix
3. Your hair? cherry
4. Your mother? heart
5. Your father? morose
6. Your favorite time of day? dusk
7. Your dream last night? disappointing
8. Your favorite drink? tea
9. Your dream goal? calm
10. The room you’re in? warm
11. Your ex? unsatisfied
12. Your fear? letdown
13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? stronger
14. What you are not? regretful
15. Your Favorite meal? spaghetti
16. One of your wish list items? fishnets
17. The last thing you did? counseled
18. Where you grew up? n-e-wjerz
19. What are you wearing? boyshorts
20. Your TV is? sleeping
21. Your pets? lovepig
22. Your computer? bed
23. Your life? stressful
24. Your mood? ornery
25. Missing someone? always
26. Your car? pig
27. Something you’re not wearing? socks
28. Favorite store? evans
29. Your summer? solace
30. Your favorite color? fuschia
31. When is the last time you laughed? today
32. When is the last time you cried? monday
33. Your health? good
34. Your children? nay
35. Your future? promising
36. Your beliefs? changing
37. Young or old? both
38. Your image? charming
39. Your appearance? flirty
40. Would you live your life over again knowing what you know? depends

my own addition:
41. Song for right now?


happy friday, y'all. xo.

fail: beth ditto

this week has been one where you can't blog fast enough about something. it seems like the second i read the news about beth ditto's recent problematic spread in nylon magazine, five other posts popped up on my reader about it. namely, check out the smart and thoughtful responses from tara at fatshionista.com and the fierce ladies at threadbared (which is also cross-posted over at racialicious, one of my favorite reads!). both of these pieces are super insightful and exciting for the fact that they are so complete in their analyses. read them and love them!

the only 2cents i want to add is oh how i wish this photoshoot had come about a month sooner! don't get me wrong, i wish it didn't exist period, but if it's going to, the least we can do is use it as a teaching tool and that i find exciting amidst the harm a photo like this does.

i'm thinking about june of this year when i went to an academic conference for an area of study whose evolution over the past thirty or so years has been so dedicated to thinking intersectionally about issues like gender, race, and class, along with the much-needed additional analyses of other identifiers like dis/ability and size. and yet, at a meeting aimed specifically at making space for fat studies within future conferences and the discipline as a whole, conversations about fat inclusion were "justified" by claims that "being fat is the last acceptable oppression." i was so stunned by this response that i couldn't control my body's reaction to shake my head "no" rapidly and uncontrollably despite what i'm sure many assumed to be quite rude. this position is so offensive and so privileged, yet surprisingly rampant amongst a number of straight, white, fat folks.

and so then here's beth ditto! someone who is white, but who grew up poor and has working class roots, is fat (publicly and on-stage!), and is queer and partnered with a masculine-identified, female-bodied person (i'm not sure how freddie fagula identifies, so...). and despite all of this, a photo like this exists that just so "brilliantly" makes clear that we are so far from any kind of place where any one identifier is the final frontier of oppression.

beth ditto, i thank you for being a strong, fat, queer girl, and for all of the awareness you've raised about what it's like to be fat in the spotlight and in the mainstream, but it takes so much more than that to hold my respect. where'd your good politics go, girl? the ones that made us all fall in love with you in the first place? we're all waiting for your response...

Radical Queer Femmes Gather at the Femme2008 Conference

Here's a guest post from my fellow Femme Mafia Twin Cities member (and bff!) spreading the word about the femme conference! We can use all the publicity around this that we can get, so if you're able to do so, please re-post this guest entry on your own blog and leave a comment here so that we can thank you from the bottom of our hearts. xoxo - hussy red

What: Femme2008 Conference: The Architecture of Femme!
Who: Femme Collective, along with speakers Dorothy Allison, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha and Julia Serano
When: August 15-17, 2008
Where: Chicago Wyndham O'Hare
How: Register online! Registration is still open, and is $95. You can get all the conference details at www.femmecollective.org.

Guest post by Charlotte Albrecht, Femme Mafia Twin Cities

For months now, I have been looking forward to attending Femme2008: The Architecture of Femme this August in Chicago. It has been just a few years since I started to claim a femme identity and only in the last year that I began to find community and connect with other femme-identified and femme-supportive people. As a mixed race light-skinned femme who grew up steeped in middle class white American culture, my models for femininity were clear and, like many other girls, I learned to examine all the ways that I deviated from this norm. When I started to acknowledge my desire for female-bodied people to myself and to those around me, I found myself wanting to be visible to those I desired. This desire coupled with my longstanding understanding of myself as "not feminine enough" added up to a gender presentation that was not true to myself. It wasn't until a few years later when I met femmes of my age who encouraged me to embrace whatever feminine parts of me there were, that I ceased apologizing for dressing up and accessorizing, and, more importantly, started to think critically about the relationship between my own femininity and my sexual desire.

I see the Femme Conference as a unique opportunity to push myself further to think about the numerous forms 'femme' can take - shaped endlessly by each of our cultural and social locations, sexual desires, gendered selves, and outward appearances - and how I can support other people in their own journeys. I am particularly looking forward to meeting others from across the country who are organizing for femme visibility in their communities and actively connecting this work to radical liberatory politics.

You might be asking, but what is femme? Femme can mean many things, and if you ask a hundred femmes what it means to be a femme, chances are, you'll hear a hundred different responses. Since femme is a complex, varied identity, it is frequently misunderstood. However, we can say that femme is based in a queer subculture of radical femininity. It can be both a sexual and gender identity. Femme is a queered, transgressive, stand-alone version of femininity that can be constructed independent of and/or intimately connected to biological sex.

Femmes have been both underrepresented and misunderstood within and outside of queer communities. The Femme Conference is an important and exciting time for femmes and allies of all walks of life to increase visibility and create radical queer femme community. It will be full of amazing performances and workshops, as well as a powerhouse keynote lineup: Dorothy Allison, Julia Serano, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha, and Veronica Combs a.k.a. Vixen Noir.

So join me, and let's create some radically affirming community together. It'll be fierce

--Charlotte Albrecht, Femme Mafia Twin Cities

misplaced(?)

this afternoon, my mother called me from the hospital in nj. my dad has been admitted for vomiting, dizziness, shortness of breath. he's undergoing some tests, specifically an m.r.i. of his head to see if there is anything to be suspicious of there. my dad's had cancer for the past several years. it started with his kidney, which was removed and he enjoyed about a year and a half of remission before it crept back up again in his spleen and liver. through chemotherapy, those tumors wound up shrinking significantly, but it's always been made very clear that there's no more opportunity for him to "beat" cancer. it's more just a waiting game of where it will pop up next and with what kind of vengeance. earlier in the year, it was discovered he had a spot on his spine. it wasn't particularly large or intrusive, but once cancer hits bone, especially spine and its column of connecting fluid, it's not the best of signs. needless to say, it seems the dr. is going straight for scans of his head to see if there is any brain tumor or lesion to be found there.

i've always feared this moment and i've been pretty realistic in knowing it would probably come soon, at some point. spine and brain are so connected and usually once one has had a taste of the cancer stuff, the other is next to follow. all the reading i've done has told me that brain cancer is a quick and slippery slope with fatal results. it's strange to write these words. my father's and my relationship has been so strained my whole life. there have often been times since his diagnosis several years ago, not to mention times before that when he was still a healthy man, that i've thought of how it would be easier, especially on my mother, if he passed away. and now, with that reality staring me in the face, part of me regrets ever thinking it and the other tells me not to forget the long history of emotional violence that stems from him.

but what really gets me every time i worry about him or start to contemplate his death and what that will be like for me, i almost always lose sight of the reality, the right now. i eventually, without fail, always wind up overlooking him and land up at the fact that i will take care of and console my mother, what's needed anyway, but who will take care of and console me? every time i think of his illness and his passing, i come back to this right here...and i miss you terribly; in ways that make me clutch my gut with the pain of your absence. because despite everything we went through and regardless of how you never knew what to say when i was upset over his illness, you were and still are what i think of when i think of comfort. when i consider all that i might need when his final decline begins, it's only you that comes to mind. you, the person who struggled most with knowing what to say to me in times of sadness. you, who thought i needed more than just your silence and support or the physical strength and safety of your arms and shoulders. i have every reason in the world not to trust you and this won't change that; this won't find me dialing you aimlessly at 2am needing to hear your voice. yet still, it's your absence i'll cry for right now and not the eventuality of my father's.

you were my safety net despite all of your fears that you were never strong enough for me. did you ever really know that?

butch vs. femme, or why it's not ok to play "i have it harder than you."

after a fairly successful weekend of fun, i was visiting my usual online haunts before getting ready for bed and came across the most recent vlog by resident youtube butch, AJ on her sister channel, the Beaver Bunch. i don't know how popular AJ, of Ask AJ Anything fame, is amongst us tech savvy queers out there, but basically she gives advice and makes a lot of "top 10" lists. i've never found her much to write home about, but that's just my opinion.

anyway, this week's vlog was about sharing coming out stories, which was all well and good until about 4minutes and 45seconds in when AJ starts talking about being visibly queer and how she can never not be "out" because of her appearance. shortly after this, she relays the following message that has had me fuming for the past hour. basically, this: femmes have it easy. maybe my anger is misdirected. AJ is only one of many butches i've heard voice these sentiments in the past few years and i'm officially over it. so, to AJ, and all those who might agree with her, here's my rant:

so, check it. unfortunately, most of us who are queer have had homophobic speech slung at us at least once in our lives. whether it was directed to us individually, as part of a couple, or with a group, the impact is still the same. for me personally, this usually isn't what i get called out on the street for when i'm on my own or with a group a friends. if i'm going to be heckled in broad daylight in the middle of downtown, it's going to be because i'm fat or, the way i like to think of it, because i'm a hot fat girl who defies every convention of what it is i'm supposed to do - cover up every inch of skin, wear dark colors, talk quietly. basically, do everything i can to keep attention away from me, to fade into the woodwork. though truth be told, assholes on the street would find me there too.

when i've been the target of queer bashing though, it's always been in the company of others. a big group of my homo friends at a non-queer bar or arm-in-arm with someone i'm dating who, because i always date on the more masculine end of the gender spectrum, tends to be more visibly queer than myself, thus drawing attention to us. those times have mostly been scary, some downright terrifying and, later, when safety is certain and blood pressures have resumed a normal range, angering for everyone involved. never, though, have i sat down afterward with my significant other or with my friends and deliberated which one of us motivated the attack, who's most queer in appearance, or who has it easiest/hardest...and i, frankly, can't understand anyone who would!

i know all about the differences of visibility and invisibility when it comes to butch and femme (or anyone queer who doesn't pass as straight and anyone queer who does - the labels don't matter here); i deal with what it means to be invisible to a straight world, and even a queer world sometimes, on a regular basis. for example, there are few things more infuriating to me than my lack of recognizability as queer and the swiftness with which that changes based on who my partner is. far too often, my entire gender and sexuality become about the gender identity of the person i'm dating rather than anything about me. all this being said though, i also know that i'm privileged in passing because my queerness is rarely a visible target of staring, behind-the-back whispers, or violence, and that those are things butches and other masculine-identified, female-bodied folks are forced to deal with constantly. i don't deny AJ, or any other person who exhibits female masculinity of any kind, the fact that their visibility is always more dangerous. the ways in which they bravely navigate that on a daily basis will always have my utmost respect and appreciation.

my frustration instead is about the need to make this comparison, to attempt to outdo eachothers' experiences of oppression. i would never say to a butch, a trans guy, someone genderqueer, that i experience discrimination worse than they do because of x, y, or z. i realize, in the case of visibility, their identity puts them in a different place, a more volatile place even, than myself, but i'm not going to tolerate them or anyone else telling me that i have it easy. this is not to say that differences in experience don't need to be acknowledged. of course they do! and in the particular case of discrimination as a result of visibility, i know who has a roughter time. but what's the point of sitting around contrasting whether the attack on your queerness is greater than mine? what gets accomplished in that? and more so, what significant information gets erased in this attempt? what about the particulars of space and time? or the specifics of the person and the variety of other intersecting identities like race and class and size, amongst others, that operate simultaneously with queerness and how we experience discrimination? are we really going to spend time figuring out whose feelings were hurt more or who was treated more unjustly when a stranger called you a "dyke" and me a "fat bitch"? or are we going to acknowledge the fact that it sucked in a bunch of different ways for both of us, but we learned a bit from each others' experiences as a result?

if we're queers and know what that means to us and understand the politics and investments of using that word beyond an identity of being G, L, B, or T, we need to learn what it means to be allies to one another; to be supportive, caring, respectful, self-reflexive, and to know that finger pointing and pitting ourselves against each other is futile. acknowledging the different ways we experience our lives and our identities is invaluable, but the pissing contest of who has it easiest and who has it worst seems to be a game with no actual winner.

fail: katy perry

i've been trying to write a post about katy perry's new song "i kissed a girl" for about two weeks now and every time i try to sit down and do it, i go off on these crazy tirades that take me far away from where i began. as destiny would have it though, my friend gave me the heads up on some reporter at the chicago sun times writing an article about how katy's song is the new summer anthem and asking for readers' opinions. i wasn't going to respond, but then my friend made me feel it was my queer duty. did i want some college co-ed responding instead about the merits of kissing random girls for free beer at frat parties? not really. so here's what i wrote up and sent to the reporter:


Before even getting into the specifics as to why "I Kissed a Girl" is so problematic, it seems necessary to note that the other song responsible for making Katy Perry popular is her "Ur So Gay," which details her woes of having an "emo" or "indie rock" boyfriend whose masculinity, and later sexuality, falls into question because of both his clothing style and taste in music. As a celebrity who has not gone on record as being anything but straight, we should question Perry's obsession with queer culture and her unapologetic capitalization of it through her music. Straight performers getting rich off of the experiences of queer folks should be as inflammatory as any other kind of exploitation. As far as "I Kissed a Girl" goes, the song is blatantly ignorant in its trivialization of sexual experimentation and of the lives and practices of queer women. This isn't to say that girls kissing girls, regardless of their sexuality, needs to be considered Earth-shattering events, but more so that reducing it to a naughty "game" aimed at getting a boyfriend's attention - a game that, mind you, isn't even worth Perry obtaining her girl crush's name - is just belittling for the many queer women who find significance in kissing other women! The video for the song makes any possibility of its subversion completely impossible by its rendering of girl-on-girl action down to the tired scenario of outrageously feminine women clad in lingerie and fishnets, applying each others' make-up amidst their flirty gyrations. While this demographic of high femmes, or queer women who express their femininity overtly, exists within queer communities and should be rightfully celebrated, it leads me to question whether or not mainstream music and media produced by straight people, Katy Perry now included, will ever actually attempt to represent the breadth of sexual and gender identities within queer women and lesbian communities. I'm not optimistic.

i know there's a ton more to say, but i was trying to keep my comments succinct and comprehensible to mainstream audiences. if she gets back to me and wants to use any of it, i'll press the problem of "trying on" another girl and/or queerness for a night and the ease and privilege straight girls have in giving it a go. also, props to my bestie charlotte for actually growling over that line when i sang it to her on the phone.

for reference:
"i kissed a girl" - video
"i kissed a girl" - lyrics
"ur so gay" - video
"ur so gay" - lyrics

femme conference!

click the image above for some info. on the national femme conference, which is being held in chi-town this august! i'm definitely going to be there with the femme mafia twin cities and cannot wait to see the amazing keynotes that are lined up, as well as the variety of workshops and performances. also, the femme conference is all-inclusive, so all the hot non-femme queers out there are welcome too...especially all of you single butch/genderqueer/trans boy types! spread the word and let me know if you're going! xo.

pride. le sigh.

i feel like a bad queer today. pride has come and gone and i did *nothing* to celebrate. in fact, i spent my saturday night with my queer-friendly straight friends playing rock band until the wee hours of the morning. i finally got to screech celebrity skin into a microphone with my friends on various back-up instruments. it was super sweet.

i don't know why i can't get behind pride anymore. i could say it's the commercialization of it, which it is somewhat. being in minneapolis during pride, the city that houses the headquarters of target, it's a little bit vomitous to see homos walking around with temporary rainbow tattoos with big target emblems in the middle. but that's not it entirely. my friends all went out last night, had a big gay time, and i'm sure i would've had a blast if i was with them. i just couldn't bring myself to do it though.

maybe it's the way that pride turns into a binge drinking fest, which i have no issue with necessarily except for when it's binge drinking done by a bunch of frat boy dykes with visors that make me want diiiiiieeee. popped collars, polo sport, and the who-has-a-better-6-pack contest amongst them is just so not appealing.

maybe i'm too old for this. but i'm only 26. should i really be this over it? i blame college. four years at a women's college where all we did was drink and buy into this gross fetishistic culture of talking about tits and bacardi 151. i wasn't even butch then or sporty or whatever...i was femme, but not out as femme because there wasn't any kind of space for that there. four years worth of all that grimey, sweaty, woo-hoo "pride" shit that has made me feel sour about it since.

but don't get me wrong either. i've been to prides all over the place, in various cities, since college and have enjoyed myself. nyc pride is fantastic and there's no way to not have fun there, whereas d.c. was just plain ol' underwhelming. i don't know what it is, but even my fonder memories of summers spent partying in the streets with a bunch of queers, covered in rainbows, and drinking margaritas smuggled in in nalgene bottles can't get me amped about it now.

i guess what makes me feel guilty, when i really think about it, is that as a femme, i recognize that i get away with a lot. i walk down the street and what i get noticed for or heckled for is almost never my gender or perceived sexuality. i'm read as a straight girl unless i'm arm-in-arm with some handsome boi type. and so i know that, in the spirit of pride which, lest we forget with all that beer and all of those tits, that what we're celebrating when we do pride is that queers exist and that we can organize and form mass and can be political and powerful. this is, after all, our remembering of stonewall, right? so i feel this obligation as someone who passes as straight 99% of the time to stand-up and state my queerness and my desire and to challenge people's assumptions that yes, queer can come in a body that wears red lipstick and dresses. here i am, come and count me. but even with all that on my mind, i couldn't get myself to the parade, to the various marches (including the trans march, which is way smaller, not commercialized, and struggles with visibility every year), or even to the afterparty at our local queer watering hole.

i want to be excited about pride again or maybe not even "pride" but just queerness in general. i want to take it back from its sponsors and i want it to feel inclusive and fun and political. i want margaritas and middle-of-the-street dance parties, and making out at random, but i want powerful protest signs and memory behind that too. acknowledgment of a history of queers that kind of gets lost somehwere for me in all that is "pride" currently.

did she really do that?

i've been busy spending my days since getting back from vacation endlessly visiting the apple website as i make and remake my new dream computer, as well as working on a conference paper for this big schmoozy national meow meow academic conference i'm leaving for tomorrow. at least they're showing the film "female to femme" by kami chisolm, which i'm totally amped about seeing. i've heard a lot of praise and a few seemingly viable criticisms, so i'll report back more on that later and let you know where i throw my hat on that debate.

in the meantime, i just wanted to post quickly about the absolute hilarity that is life sometimes. my most recent, serious ex (i.e. love-of-my-life, broke-my-hearts-to-bits ex) has resurfaced over the past several weeks. we stopped talking in november and i instituted one of those "don't contact me again, you ruined my life" policies. she didn't really abide by it. tried to contact me in february with no response from me and then sprung up again right before i left on my trip. it's a bad idea for us to talk. ever. i resent her for 100 reasons, she's perpetually unsatisfied with life and whoever she's dating, i'm over feeling like someone who just fills time for her, etc.

anyway, it was a struggle the past few weeks deciding what i wanted to do. had i moved on enough emotionally to let her in a bit or see what she had to say? should i just stay the course and run away faster than i ever had before? i was undecided. somehow, i managed to do both with the end result being a reinstitution of a new and improved "don't contact me again, you ruined my life, you arrogant butch fuck" policy. hopefully she'll stick to it this time, though who can say?

...and then today, because the internet is amazing and because sometimes after a bunch of lemons life actually just hands you lemonade in a tall, chilled glass... [insert dramatic pause]... i found out she got a cat and named him after me.

ok, so not exactly after me. i mean, we don't share the same first and/or last name, but she named him the stupid, cute nickname we used to call one another when we'd get grossed out over how "made for each other" we were. is that fucking precious or what? if this was 6 months ago, 4 months even, i'd feel sad or sentimental or some other nonsense, but at this point, it's just comical. and incredibly just and vindicating. mostly, though, just hilarious. i mean, can you think of a better, more ridiculous foray into an anecdote about dyke drama only to say, "...so she named her cat after me..."?! i challenge you all to post any stories of the like. come on, i need something to keep me laughing while i'm being all studious in a terribly unappealing, midwestern* city!


* this is not to hate on the midwest generally. after all, i do live in the midwest. just the particular city i'm going to is hardly somewhere to be stoked over. so yeah, tell me funny things, no? xo!

updates 'n such

i've been taking it easy on the beach the last few days since finishing finals. i have about 100 things i want to post about, but a slower than slow internet connection on which to do it. so i'm jotting things down and making notes of all the things i need to get down on this blog once i get home. so for now, it's back to the sand and the gulf, but expect to be hit with a barrage of updates in no time at all. don't lose faith in me yet tiny, but faithful and lovely, handful of readers!

xo.

fat/queer anthology project!

here's one of the many side projects i'm working on! i say "side" because anything not part of coursework or studying for prelim exams counts as "side." bleh.

--

Call for Submissions

Working Title: Spilling Over: A Fat, Queer Anthology
Contact: spillingover@gmail.com
Submission Deadline: December 1, 2008

Despite the attention given by queer studies to the materiality of bodies and the cultural and social inscriptions that designate them, still a dearth of both scholarship and literature exists around intersections of gender, sexuality, and fatness. As fat studies begins to emerge as a viable academic location of inquiry, questions surface as to how fat bodies, deemed “excessive” in their trespasses of size and space, create even more complex subject positions when compounded by queer desires. This proposed anthology seeks contributions addressing junctions of “fat” and “queer” in pieces that consider the representations and resistances of non-normative corporeality and also writings considering the theoretical conceptions of these intricate subjectivities. Spilling Over will reflect the notions of excess, boundaries, and containment implied by the labels “fat” and “queer” both singularly and collectively. In the form of scholarly writing and creative non-fiction pieces, essay submissions might consider (but are not limited to):

• theorizing the concept of “excess” as it pertains to fatness and queerness
• fat and queer identities; personal narratives; reclaiming “fat” and “queer”
• notions of (in)visibility, hypervisibility, and passing and/or privilege
• intersections of race, class, gender, sexuality, ethnicity, (dis)ability, age, and religion
• the economics of the obesity “epidemic” and the diet industry
• fat, queer art and performance; performativity
• pleasure, sex-positivity, eroticizing non-normative bodies
• acceptance movements, political activism, resistance
• the engagement of feminism with fatness
• global, transnational, transcultural constructions of fat, queer bodies and lives
• critical reflections of fatness and queerness in media, literature, film, music, and visual arts
• the rhetoric of fat oppression, fatphobia, homophobia, transphobia, bigotry, responding to and/or addressing hate speech

By December 1, 2008, please send your 2,000 – 6,000 word submission, along with your complete contact information and a 50-100 word biography, to spillingover@gmail.com with the subject line of “Spilling Over – Submission.” Submissions must be received in 12 point Times New Roman font and sent in via Word documents (PDFs will not be accepted). Pieces will be reviewed and decisions made by April 2009. Please note that accepted submissions will be approved on a tentative basis, pending editorial board approval once the anthology has secured a publisher.

Questions can be directed to me at spillingover@gmail.com or visit the MySpace page at www.myspace.com/spillingoveranthology

Please distribute widely.

also.

despite colossal arguments that make my blood pressure shoot through the roof, how else am i to write my last final paper of all time when in a week and three days, i'm going to be here:

mmm. sanibel island, fl.
who cares if i'm going with my parents and my 83 yr. old g'ma?
whateva, haters.

excess baggage.

i'm thinking more and more lately about the intersections of fatness and queerness, particularly now in my own day-to-day life, not just academically, and what that means for the spaces i'm comfortable in and those where i'm not. it's interesting how when i'm in public and looked at because of my size, it is absent also of a queer read. because i'm femme and thus usually invisible as queer, the spectacle that my body becomes is only because of the "excessiveness" of my size and not also a reaction to my gender or my sexuality. this, of course, becomes complicated when i am in the presence of people who are visibly queer and takes on another dimension entirely when that person is clearly romantically linked to me. these are moments that i both cherish and fear because the transgressions are actually palpable. my fatness and my queerness, when they're both noticeable, create opportunities for rethinking love, desire, and sex despite size and despite who i'm fucking. these opportunities for conceiving differently, progressively even, of fat queer bodies, though, is also of course, made possible by the fact that i'm white and that i'm seemingly within a normative economic class. so there's potential here for blowing people's minds a bit, but there's also this overwhelming sense of danger that goes beyond queer bashing and the already serious danger of that. because now what must be taken into consideration is not only hatred of queerness, but also of fatness and the feelings of repulsion that inspires in people, let alone when fat sexuality is being made so open.

this is all to say that yesterday, when i was at a may day festival, surrounded by thousands of people and my friend - a brown, non-American, butch, my former lover - attempted to hold my hand as we made our way through cheese curd stands and kids running haywire with pink and purple paper streamers, i froze for a reason. and not because i didn't want her to take my hand because i feared what holding hands would signify in a relationship that is already complicated by our past as people who once loved a little and fucked a lot. i hesitated because of just how queer - because of the "excess" present in my size, our gender, our intimacy, our difference in skins - we were in a space where things seemed safe enough, but how and when do you really know? it was only two seconds worth of deliberation before i folded my fingers up with hers, but it's another example of thinking about this junction between sexuality and size and how it's real world stuff, daily stuff, that constantly reinspires my academic work on all of this.

dreamy you.

this morning:
with a stinging on the outer curve of my right shoulder, i awoke to the burn of your teeth planted firmly in my soft, languid, waking skin. a dull, lingering ache lay atop the left one, too - the place where your teeth had sunk into my flesh moments prior.

before:
with your teeth gnashed against my bones and their freckled sheathing of epidermis, your body moved against mine, for the first time, fast enough and hard enough to make your knees buckle to the point where holding yourself upright required you to hinge the solid, smooth enamel of your incisors into the give of my skin. this is the yielding of me to you.

now:
alone in my bed, pillows damp with their cases wrinkled and askew, i open my eyes remembering what it felt like in that dreamland to have your fingers three deep inside of me while your teeth fought deliberately at breaking skin, at breaking me.

the visceral early morning memories of you: the sweat gathered around my hairline and the slickness of wanting between my thighs, serve as daily guilt-stricken reminders of how she got to you first.

leaving you.

friday night i'm with you and you're fucking me in ways that make my stomach first and my heart second, feel like they are being pulled down from their place high up in my body cavity, out between my thighs. every time there is the slightest retreat in your touch or in your thrust my body tenses with the fear that you will stop and break this chain you've created that links all of my important organs - brain, heart, gut, cunt - with all of yours - brain, heart, gut, cunt, fist.

we've been fighting for weeks now over stupid shit because you can't recognize what love and care looks like. or maybe you've just got an unquenchable thirst for it; for playing games, for mindfucking. you're losing me now and you know it. this is irreparable. you've waited too long without giving me much. you've waited too long to fuck me heart-to-heart like this.

and, for a second, i think i have it figured out. i think that i've wound up on top in all of this because i'm realizing these things even while my whole body is beating around the hand you still have inside of me. but i can't see that you're also thinking beyond the fucking and the grunting right now too. you're not processing shit the way my sweaty, little head is doing while mashed against my pillows and headboard. no, you're still trying to figure out your next move in this long drawn out game of "who do you love?"

then you do what i fear most, but what i least expect - you pull your hand from me quick and cruel, causing me to gasp at the contrast of going from full to empty in less than a second. i hear conceit, a tonal snicker to your words, as you throw yourself down next to me and say low, a threat for my ears only, "i wanted you to feel me leave you."

just.

when i slip my hands in the pockets of your jeans as you're getting dressed in front of the mirror, tying your tie with shoulders scrunched, brow furrowed, legs slightly spread in solid stance, i move up on tip-toe in order to position my mouth just behind your left ear. careful to avoid the collar of your shirt, lest i muss it with that carnal red shade of lipstick you love so much, i lean in closer, pause, whisper, "handsoooome." i draw out the last syllable for amatory emphasis, of course. you pause, turn to me eye-to-eye, smiling. no other word could better describe you right this moment, you know. that face, that body...don't even get me started on those hands of yours...fingers rounded, palms wide, wrists thick and strong.

i love the physical strength i associate with you. when my body responds to your first touches it is because of what i know is there lying asleep deep in the muscles beneath your blanket of skin. i also know, though, that this attraction, this pull is more than just good looks and strong forearms. to imply otherwise would be an insult to everything you embody and to the inherent infractions your masculinity and your queerneess makes in the world every day. this need i feel in my stomach for you, this yearning, is about gender fucking. it's about a dynamic that i can't describe to my best of friends despite the endless amount of words at my disposal.

it's about...how you smile with both your mouth and your eyes when you tell me i'm "such a fucking girl." it's a statement meant to tease, but one that is ultimately filled with pride and with validation for my femininity and your masculinity. you, my butch, my lover, my whole heart, understand femme, understand me. to you, i am the definition of what it means to be femme - both physically and politically. you never forget the latter and it is as important to you as it is to me. for the first time in my life there is you who values who i really am. i know it the day you tell me that i fuck with gender as much as you do. you get it and you love it. it turns your head, it spins your heart, it turns you on.

it's about...the look that we exchange every time you are called "sir." how my stomach flips at the utterance. i blush with excitement for you - of all that you already are in this place, in this body, and with the anticipation of your constant evolution and the privilege i feel in witnessing it. you should know though, that in this moment, i am only two seconds away from scanning the room, looking over our shoulders, preparing for battle in case someone should realize the gender trespass being made here at this cigarette counter. because while you're still enjoying your moment of passing, cataloging the details of this space - from the mismatched linoleum flooring to the smell in the air - i am planning our escape. to be on your arm, to be with you is to silently vow your safety as you have promised me mine. you will drop your guard, you will take this all in, you will revel in it. you will be safe to enjoy it on my watch. i promise you this.

see, this thing we call butch and femme is so much more than your chucks vs. my heels, though the way they sit side-by-side next to the front door of your apartment makes me smile in that way that causes me to, when i think about it long enough, drop my eyes, fold my chin down my neck, and bite the corner of my lower lip as it begins to sneak its way up my right cheek. this thing we do, that we feel, it is dependent, it is complementary. it's not just a dynamic, it is dynamic.

i am yours, you are mine, show me where and i will sign.

musings on a first date.

so, i went out with e last night and it was a really nice first date. i'm a habitual friends-first dater so, like, everyone who i've been involved with in my entire life, save for one or two exceptions, have been friends first and lovers/girlfriends/boifriends later. this was different. e and i, as detailed by my previous post, met after i posted on craig's list in response to some idiot's posting about "what lesbian equals" and how sick and tired she was of butches and genderqueer folks who "just want[ed] to be men." e wrote me back, complimenting my "defense skills" and then we just struck up conversation and out we went.

again, i mentioned in my earlier post that i had to out myself as fat to him over the phone. this was such a complicated situation for me. again, friends-first, but also, i've never done internet dating..if this can even be considered that. he had seen my myspace profile, but i wasn't exactly sure that my body size was clear from that. so here i am, in this awkward situation, of thinking that i need to tell him because i want to be upfront, but also not put myself in a disappointing or dangerous situation where i show up exactly as he did not expect me. but also, simultaneously trying to figure out how i'm going to convey what is mere fact and not actually a value judgment on myself and my body. like, how do you tell someone you're fat who you don't know whether or not they're in any way fat positive and, at the same time, don't want to make it seem as if you're dissing yourself. lord! what a weird situation to be in.

anyway, e handled it awesomely and so, out we went last night. i have to say, i was struck by how nice it was to have doors opened for me and this consciousness for chivalry on his end. i mean, i've dated a lot of butches and while chivalry has never been dead, so to speak, it hasn't been as well attended to as it was with e. we even had ourselves a good laugh about it when i tried to pay for my drink at one point and he insisted on paying and responded with "know your gender role!" cute. i mean, door opening, meal/drink paying, cigarette lighting, car door opening and closing. i mean, cute.

but yeah, the date was fun. he's interesting and has a great laugh and smile that made me feel comfortable from the start. it was too short, in all honesty. we met up at 9 and i was home by 11:30. mostly, i think, because it was easter night and a lot of places weren't open late, coupled with the fact that i totally would have invited him to see my apt. and meet lula (my cat), if my place wasn't such a disaster from living a spring break lifestyle the past week.

i guess we'll see what happens. i'd like to go out again. he was really sweet and fun and i'm definitely attracted to him. i'll see what comes of it.

also, not for nothing, but serious props to me. #1: i went out on a date with someone i didn't know, who wasn't my friend. awesome. #2: i went out on a date not even a week after deciding to end the destructive hook-up situation i was involved with. eat that.

my man, cuban.

i only have one friend who knows about this blog because of the fact that i'm supposed to be using it as a form of journaling. snooze, i know. anyone who knows me knows the only way i'd write a blog is if i could get a big queer following and be regaled in the online world as much as i am in the offline world (kidding!...kinda).

anyway, my one friend who knows about this blog has agreed with me that for archival purposes, i have to post this hilarious interaction that went down last week. i was at my friend k's house for dinner and i received a text message from some number in south jersey (SJ) inquiring if i had any bud left. i had no idea who this person was and decided to play along. it went a little something like this:

sj: yo, dude, you got any bud left?
me: totally, dude! come over!
sj: i don't know where you live. i've never been there before. i'm jenna's friend.
me: are you in new brunswick? (i had suspicions he was a rutgers student)
sj: no, are you still at ramapo? (another north jersey college)
me: no, but i can be there. where you at?
sj: pine hall. how long till you get here?
me: (avoiding specific details of my arrival) how much you interested in? just bud? i've got harder stuff too.
sj: about an ounce. what else do you have?
me: an ounce of kind bud with run you $50 (drastically inflated pricing). i only deal in cash, ya heard?
sj: what can you do for $20?
me: $20?! yo, don't be playin' on my phone for $20! i'm doing bigger things now. i'ma have my man cuban call you. he does smaller stuff. i'm out now. late!
sj: what's his number?
me: don't worry about it. he'll call you if he wants to sell. i told you i'm out now! peace!

ok, so, i don't know anyone named cuban, but according to k that was a good name for a decoy. i also think the possibility that sj thought he was calling up some dealer that he possibly has a completely different idea of (like some white dude with locks who plays in a phish cover band), that suddenly got all hard and tough, is hilarious. in hindsight, i'm just glad we weren't part of a sting that led to being arrested.

open letters to my crushes.

crush #1:

dear e,

you weren't the response i expected when i posted that craig's list ad about stupid lesbians hating on butches, genderqueers, and tranny boys in the w4w section. you are sweet, funny and seem to have good politics. judging from that one phone conversation we've had and the slew of text messages we've exchanged, you seem like just the kind of guy i'd like to meet. your response to my being frantically upfront, due to the nature of our meeting, about being fat was pricelessly endearing - "it ain't no thang." thanks. i think you're a "severe hottie" too.

i'm excited that i get to have drinks with you on sunday. i hope your snowy travels between mpls and wisc. are, in the meantime, safe.

xo,
hussy red

--
crush #2:

dear j,

i was swoony over you the first time i met you, but after your attendance at the femme mafia meeting where you claimed a "femme ally" position and sat back and listened, consciously making femme space and questioning what you could do to be supportive, i melted into puddles.

i know you're already seeing someone not so seriously, i know you already casually asked out my best friend (good taste, but ouch!), and i know you're poly and all that noise, but if you might consider kicking it with me for one minute, i'd mend that broken heart of yours like florence nightingale on speed, son.

just sayin'.

yours,
hussy red

p.s. stop sending me so many text messages. i read too much into them because i like you so much. the end.

--
crush #3:

dear e (which is actually your name),

i saw you at the bar after pride in june 2007 when you sold me a beer and then didn't see you again until a few weeks ago. this time, you seemed to notice me...at least a raised eyebrow, big smile, and a "hey there" would suggest such. i tried getting up the nerve to talk to you, but every time i approached, you were surrounded by friends. you are handsome as all get out. i get all hot thinking of being domestic and cooking you eggs and bacon on sunday mornings.

they say you're single. they say you don't approach women. they say you like femmes. i say i'ma talk to them and see about you.

xo,
hussy red

i am my mother's daughter.

when i started going to therapy three months ago, i wasn't sure what i was expecting, but it certainly wasn't what i got - an amazing queer-friendly, sex-positive therapist with pretty progressive politics for a heterosexual professional who looks like a nicer, cuter version of ann coulter. it took only about three sessions until she had me pegged and left me wandering home, mouth agape, with the realization that after 26 years, there was no denying i was my mother's daughter.

i had suspicions this was going to happen. i laugh like my mother - loud, unchecked, and with legs stomping if you really get me going. when i'm upset, my words pour out 100 m.p.h. and my new jersey accent is as thick as molasses (...or maybe toxic, newark sludge). my feet are near mirror images of hers...save for my slightly wider instep and far superior baby toes. she is strong, she is loving, she is smart, she is beautiful. she is my heart and i am hers.

unfortunately though, being my mother's daughter also means that i have been witness to a cycle of emotional abuse that i have not only endured personally, but through her pain and heartbreak as well. my father, a manic depressive, has made 33 years of marriage a task worthy of receiving sainthood. i mean, it would be if you absolutely had to stay or, like, you would die. the fact is, though he has caused us hurt for decades, she has only participated in this violence through her decision to stay married to him and living within the same home. despite her reasons for not leaving being (somewhat) understandable, her continued involvement has enabled a cycle of anger, depression, and neglect. years of debating our staying and going manifested itself into an inescapable pattern for her.

and here i am now - 26 years old and on my own, living and loving the butches and the bois that come and go in some repetitious narrative (dare i say it?) of life that finds me - the strong one, the loving one, the smart one, the beautiful one - playing second fiddle to a conductor without ears. the lack of mutuality, the ungratefulness, the emotional ineptness is staggering, but i have taken it from you. i have participated, i have enabled. i have tried, like my mother, to unsuccessfully make good times out of your bad times. i have put my hurt aside to fix you, to care for you. i have loved you, i have listened to you. i have made you lemon bars, pastina, brownies. i have sent you flowers, taken you shopping, made you care packages. i have kissed your eyebrows, i have sucked your dick. i have raised your self-esteem, i have inflated your ego. i have been your saving grace, your biggest fan, your desire, your love. i have been what you said made you feel whole....

to me, you have been a dearth of reciprocity.

i am my mother's daughter because i believed you, despite the lack of tangible evidence and despite the harsh words, mood swings, emotional voids. i stuck with you. i let it happen again and again.

except then it stopped.

because i was not going to pay one more $200 cell phone bill to hear you tell me that you loved me, but that now was not the time (5 years from now, you say? go fuck yourself!). i was not going to spend one more long weekend/holiday/spring break without you because you couldn't get time off of work, but could, in fact, find time to go to nyc and see your mediocre best friend...and her harem of strippers. i was not going to spread for you on saturday, sunday, and monday for you to tell me on tuesday that you "hated" me. yes, even if you meant it ironically.

you see, i am my mother's daughter, but i am not her twin. i have learned from her mistakes. i have meticulously studied her scars.

i say to you now what my mother should have said to my father at 26:

you, sir, are fired.