My Favorite Holiday

There were many reasons for me to loath this holiday, but when I look beyond those to how I choose to see Thanksgiving, I hold it to be most high of holidays. What better reason for celebration than gratitude? And I know fat people are supposed to feel shame when overeating, but fuckitall because I love me some turkey dinner!

I am always thankful for those that love me and support me. I feel more cared for now than I have since I was a child. My thoughts of gratitude today go especially to the earth. Our mother and keeper, our bones and blood, she is why I am here. Aho.

Also, Washington drivers: what the fuck is wrong with y’all? Holy shit! I suppose I should thank you, too. I appreciate not being killed on your roads.

Mazel tov!


A Snapshot

Quick story that I think will be telling of my personality:

When I was a Junior in High School I took a Psychology class.  It’s one of the rare classes that actually inspired me to pay attention.  When we learned about mindset we were discussing how 10 people could witness an accident and all describe it differently.  I swore to myself that I would be the person that set aside my biases and would see the events as they actually happened.  Naïve little idealist, wasn’t I?

The Farce of Words

I tend to agonize over word choices.  I constantly check definitions of words I already know to make sure that it means exactly what I want to say.  Passages are re-written to be more similar to the way I speak. And even still, some of my personal interactions with readers responding to what I have written have not gone well.  My words have been taken out of context, misconstrued, misused. People have even added their own words to mine, which gives whole new meanings that were completely unintended. This happens in all of my writings; blog posts, emails, texts, yeah.

So, I have this realization that sometimes it doesn’t matter how much thought I put into my word choices when I cannot control how anyone will think or feel or respond to what I write.

Maybe this is the same realization inspired James Joyce to write Finnegan’s Wake?  Maybe I should just write what I want to most, what interests me, what entertains me, and fuck the readers? Okay, that doesn’t work either.  If I did that it would read like a jazz musician pounding their way through an improvisatory solo where no one in the audience has a god damned clue what the fuck they listening to. At best, writing that way would entitle me to a membership with the Chronic Masturbators Society.  No offense, James Joyce.  Also, no offense to masturbators.  I love you, masturbators!  Thanks for doing what you do.

My initial feelings when encountering these confused interactions have been anger and frustration. I am the kind of person that accepts responsibility for everything I do and say, and for understanding what I read or hear.  That’s a lot of pressure to put on myself. I’m thinking now that I should put some of that responsibility on others.  It’s a two-way street, right?  I can hold myself accountable for doing my best to express myself in a clear and thoughtful way, and expect people to read the words I actually write…  Yeah I’m so fucked on this one.

I am, at this moment at least, resolute in that I should look for the humor in these situations.  The truth is and will always be that people will have their own mindsets.  Certain words will trigger reactions that I have no control over.  And especially on emotional topics, my obsession with being clear and precise may not matter.  I don’t want to write with a billion footnotes and citations.  That is tedious for everyone.

For now, because I feel like it, and because it is oddly appropriate, I will leave you with a favorite quote from the inimitable Tom Robbins:

“It is what it is.  You are what you it.  There are no mistakes.”



At the Limits of Language



Inexpressibles building

A deafening crescendo

Heartbreakingly unhearable

So much change

Leads to so much longing

Unearthing the depths

That lie


In the heart

Lost in grey matter

Woven into tissue and bone




Fucking obsessions

Give way to the same

Unanswered shit

At the limits of language

A Necessary Cry

Last night I watched a movie, and something about the ending just got to me. It wasn’t even tragic. My chest started heaving beyond control, and the tears welled up. I managed to to control most of it until I left my friend’s house, but once I got into my car it was all over. Full on sobbing and everything.

I decided to take a 6 week break from my Ex.  It has almost been one week. I am still not sure it was the right decision, because I’ve been fucked up ever since. My work has been constantly reinforcing my desire to find a new job. And I’m still trying to understand how I could possibly have buried my attraction to men for so long. Also, why are men dicks? I know, I promised I wouldn’t say that anymore.  Fuck me. That’s what he said? O.o

So I had a good cry. I need more, methinks. I didn’t get it all out. Maybe I’ll have a mopey marathon. Quick, everyone name the saddest movies you can think of. Go!

Vignette the Ninth 

I do feel a tremendous amount of gratitude and appreciation for all of my friends, who are indeed my loved ones, that helped me and supported me in trying this out, in taking this chance. It was a pivotal night for me. I will cherish the memories of picking out the costume and agonizing over little details, of shopping for makeup, of getting the corset fitted, trying on the shoes for the first time, getting advice on shaving, and putting the full costume all together on the night of. Taking pictures. Walking down the street in my costume next to someone who loved me. All the compliments and cheers. Every person that told me how impressed they were and that they could never do something like that. I am thankful for the security guard at the club that threw his hands in the air and cheered me on EVERYTIME I walked by. Seriously. Every single time. I’m thankful for the bouncer chick who, when we were leaving, was so excited upon seeing me that she shoved my head in her boobs and shook them. Twice. Okay, I didn’t love that part, but I am thankful for her joyful reaction to me.

I know my other writings didn’t focus on any of this appreciation.  I did feel it everywhere I went, but I wasn’t blissed out and oblivious to the challenges. I needed to write about those separately.

So, from my heart: thank you to everyone that helped, smiled, cheered, boobed, and appreciated me. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Love.

Vignette the Eighth

There were some lessons that I learned from this experience. The first “aha!” moment came at the pre-party. Shortly after arrival and making the rounds, this guy made a big flourish upon seeing me, professing me to be hot and that he wanted to rub my nipples. Then he did. He rubbed them right through my corset. And he did it again later using his beer bottle. I was floored. Where were this man’s boundaries? And, for that matter, where were mine? So there it is. Men aren’t used to setting boundaries because they don’t have to. I’ll be more aware of that next time.

When contemplating that lesson after the evening, I had a realization. It was about something I thought that I had understood, but I believe that I see more now. When people put time and energy into making themselves beautiful and feminine, it is empowering. And, it also exposes them to unaware men who may not respect or recognize their boundaries. I get it. Fuck me pumps? What an unfair name! Just because someone chooses to wear something that makes them alluring doesn’t mean they welcome all advances. And it obviously doesn’t mean they want just anyone to fuck them. Duh.

By the way, nipple guy? Later in the evening his girlfriend came up and said she was ready to leave. He told her that he would be going home with me. She seemed happy with that.

Vignette the Seventh

A crucial decision.

Those parties wrecked me. I felt done. So much small talk and explanations. So much shit to sift through.

Do I have my Ex take me to her place to sober up and go home? Do I stay with her and dance?

You know what I did. But it wasn’t a quick decision. My empath and introvert self said “Fuck No!”  My love for her said that I had no choice. Apparently it was right. So glad I took the chance and went.

Vignette the Sixth

Party #2

We arrived with it in full swing. Upstairs people were casually sitting around and chatting. There was a desperately needed spread of hors d’oeuvres. Down the flight of unusually steep stairs there was a woman being bound and suspended with a blissful smile on her face.  In the next room there’s another in a cage. She’s naked, masturbating and orgasming on cue from her Master. There were many people gathered around each of the women. It’s pretty fucking hot, and yet it bored me. Don’t ask why as I haven’t a clue. Perhaps I looked too fabulous to care? Perhaps there should have been more boners. There was a man being led around by a leash attached to his collar. I felt amused at how I used to want that.

I received many compliments, and got some hugs from lovely people that I don’t get to spend enough time with.

I dipped my tutu in the spinach dip whilst trying to toothpick some wieners and meatballs. Oh my god the food was amazing. Granted, I was probably too drunk to know the difference, but I swear it was heavenly. And it was the first food I had eaten since I had one of my vegan health shakes 7 hours prior.