Art Is A Hammer

So I was thinking about this random quote: "Art is not a mirror. Art is a hammer." And I was thinking about art. And Ivan E. Coyote. At the same time. Cause I'm good like that. I discovered Ivan via Sugarbutch, and zie- this is a good person for nonspecific pronouns- is just brilliant. Amazing. I think every femme has her list of butch heartbreakers, and mine generally involves intellectuals. I mean, I can't discount k.d. lang or Dylan Rion, but my heart (and uh, any other regions) throbs for brainy butches: Rachel Maddow, Alison Bechdel and of course, studly genius Sinclair Sexsmith. So there's this video of this edible and nutritious butch, reading a short story with quite the Canadian accent (is there a word for that?). I have never heard that much Yukon in one person's voice before. And zie's reading about the methods and difficulties of packing, and I nearly swooned right there in front of my monitor-not to mention in front of my fiancee. I was entranced.

And this was before I was even really aware of hir words. And I had to start the video over, and actually listen to it (did you know blushing makes it hard to concentrate? I didn't). And hir writing is... warm. It's funny, and accessible, and sometimes a little wistful, and I savored it. I went to the library and read The Slow Fix, which was all the library had, and when I was done I wanted more.

Zie's writing about Canada, and often about solitude; I should be cold, shivery and lonely (I'm a rather empathic reader) when I'm done, but I'm not. I'm warm and as I read I'm smiling . It's like hearing stories about my family, and since many of hir stories describe being gay in a not-very-post-homophobic world, in a way it is.

Zie describes hirself as a "kitchen-table storyteller", and that's exactly what it is. And I love it.

I enjoy being taken by surprise by art. I was taking a class in Florence and one day, we went to an art gallery. "Cezanne in Firenze"; Impressionist art. Heretofore I'd always thought of Impressionism as 'pretty'. Monet, Van Gogh. Starry Night, Water Lilies, all that jazz. And then at some point while I was wandering around absorbing these paintings... I changed my mind.

The color, the strokes of the brush, the way you can tell how the artist was feeling about the subject or the day or the paints just from the damn painting! -it just blew my fucking mind. I stayed for two hours, I spent my lunch and dinner money on a book of the exhibition's art, I couldn't stop talking on the way home. I was wired, like I'd had an adrenaline orgasm and a pot of espresso. I was on fire, it was a revelation. I was thunderstruck by Impressionist art.

I know there're some people that don't feel the same fiery passion for their spouses that I can feel about art, or sex, or teaspooning against injustice, or sometimes even discussions of philosophy. (Yes, I'm serious.) And I am sorry for those people.

And I guess the point of all this is that Ivan E. Coyote's work didn't hit me like a hammer. And I was okay with that. As I read, it opened itself like a window, it wrapped around me like a blanket, it felt good under my hands like a leash or a steering wheel, like it wasn't going to take me anywhere I didn't want to go.

Something I know is that people revere classics, but they read stories. I feel as though I have found a friend in this author, and when the world is sad and scary I'd rather have a blanket than a hammer.

And Stay Out!

So I am feeling cranky today. Having had a week of period-induced mood swings and being banned from the computer after I read the news on Shakesville and broke down sobbing, I was looking forward to some Halloween fun. And there was some fun- I got to tie-dye my underwear, and be a really cute Velma! (These two facts really aren't related.)

Ferret and I were looking forward to going to the Halloween party at Local Gay Bar, checking out costumes, having a drink, and watching the drag show. One of the performers is a friend of ours, and we always like seeing her work. Unfortunately, it turned out to be not so fun. It was so crowded the Fire Marshal would have fainted, and so full of cigarette smoke our eyes started to water as soon as we stepped in. But we were determined to have a good time. There were some great costumes, good performance, plus we paid the cover charge, dammit! I was hoping to stick it out to see the costume contest, but we finally gave up and headed out. As we fought our way out, we heard the emcee say, "How many lesbians we got up in here?" [cheer] "Now how many gay boys?" [cheer] "And where are the straight people?" [really loud cheer].

Yup. The straight people outnumbered the queers in the one gay bar in town. And maybe it's my hormones, but that really bugged me. I try, I really do, to be inclusive. And I want everyone to get along. And I feel kind of... mean saying this, but:

Dear Straight People: EVERY OTHER BAR IN TOWN is for you. But hey, thanks a bunch for crowding me and my partner out of the one club we feel comfortable in because you want a cheap thrill on Halloween. Hey, you know what? The drag performers don't just do this on Halloween. They do it all the time. It's their thing. You can come see it even when you aren't in a costume. You can come see it even if you're sober. Yeah. But you'd know that, if you weren't all jerks. By the way, fuck you.

See? That's mean, right? But it's how I feel. There're never that many straight people there on a regular night, and there definitely isn't that level of binge-drunk stupidity.

Maybe if it hadn't been so crowded as to be the opposite of fun I wouldn't be bitching so much. Maybe. Maybe if there was that kind of crowd, with that percentage of non-queers, all the time, it would be different. Maybe I wouldn't feel like my community was made into a tourist attraction for one night. Maybe I wouldn't feel like my space had been taken over and appropriated. Maybe if there was more of a visible gay community, I wouldn't feel like this place is really all we have. Maybe if, I reiterate, every other bar in town wasn't a "regular" (meaning "for straight people" bar), this wouldn't be a big deal for me. Maybe.

Great. I feel angry, and I feel like an exclusionary bigot at the same time.

Oh well, next weekend it'll be back to normal.

Happy Halloween.

(By the way, if I go into the grocery store tonight and hear a bunch of cross-wearing preppies talking excitedly about their "Sam-hane night ritual", you'll see me on the news. I'll be the one in handcuffs.)

I really have no patience with anyone, do I?

Kittens Have No Tact

So I had that song "Lights" by Journey stuck in my head yesterday and decided that singing it (while hanging clothes in my closet) would be the best remedy.

I got to the part where he goes way up and belts "It's sad, OH, there's been mornings out on the road without you /Without your charms".

I was fully into it, holding that last note rather spectacularly, when the kitten jumped up on the bed and stood on her hind legs to put her front paws on my chest. She then proceeded to stare intently and worriedly up at my face, where the strange noise was coming from. I was rather offended- I'm a trained karaoke diva!

The worst part- that song stayed in my brain for the next day and a half.

Stupid cat. What does she know about good music?

Good Dyke Porn Is Good

I was thinking of that timeless lyric: "Hey fellas (yeah?)/fellas (yeah?)/Grab your left nut and make your right one jealous/"... and decided it needs a lolcat response. And a porn review to go with it. So, here!

Ha! Yes doodz, you now have to grab your own harbls... er nuts.

(Wait, does that even make sense? More importantly, do I care about the sense it does[n't]make?)

It ties in, though: straight folks should be jealous, whether they have nuts or not. I'm not sure they can appreciate this porn of queer fabulousness.

Okay, so maybe watching this awesome porn has got me in a weird, funky, freaky-ass mood. One might even call me Supafly. Or not.

Really, though, how can you not love a porn called "Superfreak" that involves the horny ghost of Rick James (portrayed spifftastically by the director, who is in fact a lady)? Well, maybe you can resist. I couldn't.

Yes, I found some feminist, lesbian, not-for-het-dudes porn, and all I can say is... I'll be in my bunk. Oh, and Dylan Rion can jump my freaky bones any day.

What? I'm a kinky little sex-obsessed perv in my spare time. And by "spare", I mean "all the".

Glad I could share that with you all.

Morning Breath

So this morning my grouchy Ferret was bitching about her new deodorant; apparently, it doesn't make her stink as nice as her old one. It's all boy-smell to me, but hey. She's bitch-and-moaning and I haven't had any coffee either.

"I don't like it", sounding like a two year old.

"Well, I didn't like choking on cock but I still gave head to guys for five years. Suck it up and deal with it!"

She stares at me for a sec and then goes to put on her shirt, muttering, "Not my fault you were a stubborn-ass bitch for five years."

I snark back "Yes it was!"

At which point she sputters for a few seconds and then gives up and puts her shoes on.

Aren't we charming in the morning?

Anti-Cynicism

So there're lots of things to be cranky about- our lack of cashy goodness, the elitism in Food Network shows, and sexism all the hell over the place.

But today was a good day, and sometimes it helps when I am reminded that not everyone is awful.

Today's case in point: my Ferret. Her birthday is this week, and to celebrate, we went to see "9" (pretty good, by the way) and then wandered over to an arcade. I am not really big on arcades, but since this was her birthday, I smiled and went along. She got a bunch of tokens, had fun playing games, and got a big ol' fistful of tickets.

When the last token was gone, I assumed she was going to go up to the counter and choose some random toy with her winnings. (And annoy me with it all night somehow, because deep down she is six years old.)

And then she told me what she usually does at arcades, and I found myself grinning like a kid.

A minute later, she'd found the youngest kid in the arcade (two little girls about 10 years old) and dropped her pile of tickets on the counter in front of them. We left to the sound of "Thank you! Thank you!!" and joy-squealing.

Sometimes, a little thing is all you need to remember that there are good things in the world. And if I ever doubted it, today would make me absolutely certain that I am marrying the right person.

My Ferret. The BoyScout. My knight in shining armor who spends her spare time rescuing anybody who might need it.

Plus, now she knows I will be much more amenable when she asks to go play arcade games.

Death Panel For Teeth

So we are having a bad month here at Casa Lemur-Ferret. My poor Ferret has apparently neglected her flossing. And also her sacrifices to the gods of Teeth and Health Care.

We've been told she has some fairly heinous stuff going on in her mouth- terms like "root canal" and "extraction" were tossed around. Shit, I want a Vicodin just thinking about it.

She woke up feeling like she'd brushed her teeth with battery acid and hot barbed wire, so we went to the local dentist, where we spent 3 hours sitting around, filling out forms, and in Ferret's case being probed and ending up 2 hours late to work.

And at the end of this delightful outing was the educational part. I learned that if one does not, as I previously did, have the privilege of being insured, then dental work costs one, as Bradley Nowell once so poetically wrote, "un chingo de dinero". (Yes, I did just bend over backward to work in a Sublime reference. There're worse crimes.)

Does dental care really have to be this expensive? Do enamel, root canals, and WaterPiks require this much overhead? I really don't know. I don't have a reason to care, unless I suddenly remember where I misplaced that extra several thousand dollars.

Our other choice is to call in a same-day-only appointment, radio-contest style, to the county dental clinic. The care is much less expensive, but they open at 8 and are booked by 8:30. And they aren't open on weekends, which seems like poor planning to me- most of their patients would be working, yes? So why close on the days people are most likely to be off?

The sad thing is I do realize we're lucky to have that option at all. If we were in a more rural area, I doubt we'd have any other choice than to pay the huge costs of "normal" dental offices. And if there was no way we could afford that, at all? (Which really, we could not have. Just so you know.) Then what? Live with the pain? Grab some pliers and fix it ourselves? The fuck is this, medieval Europe? Are people going to start dying from an abscessed tooth because they can't afford to fix it?

And people are arguing against the government somehow getting everyone decent healthcare. WHY? Gods, why? I would give almost anything to not have to worry what will happen if she or I get really sick or hurt. I know it's crazy but I'd like to be able to go to the eye doctor without saving for 8 months, or the dentist without having to sell a kidney.

Thing is, I'm freaking out on behalf of my Ferret, who with a little luck just has to last the next few days, and we have some painkillers, thank Gaia- or else she couldn't manage to eat.

What happens to people who don't luck into county resources? They pay $300 a month for 36 months- or...? Or what? Or what??

Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

That is what I have been having. For like, the last three days.
All the little things are going wrong, and a few medium-large things too. Oh and also, I'm having extra fun with PMS! Hooray for moodiness and back pain! I mean, fuck. It feels like everything I do is bound to go wrong, somehow. I'm afraid to drive because this feels like my week for being hit by a car (even though that already happened last week!). It's just been that kind of thing lately.
It leaves me in no mood to blog, be cheerful, be motivated, be businesslike, cook, clean, leave the house...
Actually it leaves me in no mood to do anything but lay on the couch with homemade chocolate-chip cookies and watch Monty Python.

Yes, I am now officially twelve years old. I'm pouting. I don't care.

Look for me to come out of my blue funk in like a week.
Til then, eh.

Bad Lemur, No Cookie

So I have been a domestic Lemur of late, and also contemplating my Ferret's possible promotion (we would have to move! It's exciting! And scary! And frustrating! Yeeeee!). I am anxious and must blog about a vague triviality now, even though I could be blogging about Sady's Because-Um Girl (Sady is my hero and I would do her taxes for free [were I capable of doing taxes]), or James Bond movie misogyny, or the fact that there are people in this country who are apparently not aware of the existence of lesbians.
...
I like the Bloodhound Gang.
...I know. Put me in Feminist Jail now.

Maybe I'm just trying to make excuses, but they do seem to be offensive in the best way. As in, they make fun of everything and everyone, including themselves. Their mockery isn't just limited to minorities/the powerless, and they seem to go to such an extreme that unlike a Judd Apatow movie *shudder*, there doesn't seem to be much of a risk of anyone taking their "message" seriously. (I'm pretty sure their overall message is: "ha ha, we are a bunch of dorky white boys who get paid to be gross and make cultural and meta references!")
Thing is, I can see a guy doing something misogynist and then referring to a Judd movie to excuse it. I can't see a guy doing something icky and then saying 'I got the idea from the Bloodhound Gang!", because the response he is most likely to get involves a long, disbelieving stare and then the immediate bestowal of The Dumbass of the Year Award.
Then again, I would not have believed people would do the shit they saw on 'Jackass', either. Maybe it's something in the water in this country.
Or maybe I'm just starved for catchy music with clever pop-culture references that doesn't take itself seriously. I can't escape the fact that they're foul. And misogynist. And have gotten less funny over the years.
...Oh damn, I just rationalized myself into a corner.
...Fuck.

Well, there's always tomorrow.

Ink Link

So this is my tattoo. It's my first tattoo ever. I decided to make my personal political and get a femme spiral on my shoulder. I then decided to treat you to an extreme closeup of it. Yay!

It is indeed a vine. Points for noticing that. It symbolizes my religion, and also, yes, my incredible pretensiousness.

It's very new in this picture, which explains the shiny tat goo all over it. 

And oh yeah, please ignore the fact that I am very extemely pale. I am Whitey McNoTan von Needstoseethesunmore.

...My very first ink! Squee!

...And here is a kitteh picture, as requested by PhysioProf. And as a refreshing change from me and my epidermis.

 

Chaos and Nomad are conquering the laundry basket. For strategic nap purposes.

You'll Find Me In The [Strip] Club

...Or rather, you won't.

I've been to strip clubs; "both kinds" (that is, for het guys and for het ladies)... I was younger, I was dumber, I was curious, I was invited along.

And most of what I can remember is... it's weird.

"Regular" strip clubs (where women get naked for men) are... disturbing. These women looked so naked- I mean, more naked than usual, stalking around in nothing but torture-high heels. And I felt very out of place there. This did not turn me on. Even though I appreciate nudity on both genders (having only seen cis-men and cis-women naked, and not any other gender), this was... different. They weren't naked because they wanted to be, and it seemed unfair and wrong. As one woman headed on to the stage for her dance, I saw her coworker come down the stairs, look sympathetically at her, and remind her to "smile!". Smile, because it was her job to be on display and to look like it was fun. I can remember that image, because that's when I knew I would not be going back to that place.

I've been to a 'naked-men' strip club, too- even worse, I swear. I went to a friend-of-a-friend's bachelorette party. What was really amusing was that while women in strip clubs (in Florida, anyway) can get fully nude, men apparently don't. These guys took their clothes off down to a pair of black speedos, and some of them put... socks? a roll of quarters? a small dildo? in there to be more, um, impressive. And while the guy onstage was dancing, other guys would stand around the edge of the stage which ran the length of the club and just... um, pelvic-thrust. And women would put money in their speedos. Seriously. I could not imagine a sane reason for it, but there it was. I was torn between laughter and nausea. Eventually nausea won and I asked my friend if we could leave early.

These guys all looked like they were, really, having fun. And why not? I could feel the calculated performance, the condescension, and the lack of vulnerability that I'd seen in the women strippers. Hey, I thought, in my next life, I wanna be a Chippendale's dancer!
On my way out, a girl popped up out of nowhere and started talking to us. She told us that "she was good friends with lots of the performers" and that "all of them are single and all of them straight". This, I reflected, was either some highly draconian hiring principles or the biggest pile of bullshit I'd encountered all month. Didn't matter, anyway. We wished her good night and got the hell out.

The objectification of women as a sex class aside, strip clubs creep me out. And that's why.

Whatever fundamental difference there is in the thought processes of men and women, that's part of it. Many men go to these places and spend all their money and have a good time. And I... felt a queasiness in the pit of my stomach the whole time: the kind that says, you should leave. you are doing something wrong.
Sigh. IBTP

iBleed

So, I am having my period. 

...This is an experiment I'm doing. Have you ever noticed that having lady-parts is like this big, taboo thing? That we are expected to never talk about, ever? It's a conspiracy:

I was harassed when I got my first period in 7th grade- by other girls.

My parents get unnerved when they see tampon commercials on tv. Cause happy floating tampons and ambiguous blue liquids are unsuitable for viewing, or something.

My mother told me to hide my pads in the garbage in case my 10-year-old brother saw them.

This, despite the fact that 50% of the population does, will, or used to have a period!

I feel that this is some bullshit. So, from now on, I don't care that it's an "overshare" to talk about my period. I have one. If it is relevant, I will mention it. If I have cramps, I will say so. I will not wrap my used tampons in 83 layers of toilet paper lest fragile male eyes be traumatized by the sight of blood. If there are people out there who aren't aware that cisgendered females of "reproductive age" have menstrual cycles, it is time they learned. 

Also, if I hear any more men make that stupid "joke" about "Being afraid of anything that bleeds for 7 days and doesn't die", I will... actually, I haven't decided how I will respond yet. I have many options, though! 

Do I:

a) tell him I, personally, am afraid any group of people responsible for 90% of all violence, such as men;

b) respond with "I'd be afraid of that, too! But technically, I'm not releasing blood out of my veins. I'm expelling the unused lining of my uterine wall, which is totally different and not part of my circulatory system!" in the hopes that I will gross him out so much he will shut up;

c) explain that that fucking joke isn't funny, wasn't funny 40 years ago when it was new, and tell him never to talk again because he's abused the privelege;

d) or, when he tells me it's "just a joke", kick him in the nuts- because that would certainly make me laugh... now who's "oversensitive", smartarse?

Any thoughts? Because I know at least one person who's likely to say that to me at some point.

Sparkly Beef Humor

So last night I took some meat out of the freezer to defrost (and yes, this Wiccan does eat meat. More on that some other time), and Ferret saw it in the fridge and said "Hey hon? Where'd we get this?" 

"The freezer, dear; I just took it out" said I.

"Really?"

"Uh-huh."

"You're sure?"

I sigh in exasperation.

"No. I lied. The Magical Meat Fairy dropped it off. She magically left us some magical sparkly twinkly beef in the freezer."

My Ferret muttered something snarky and wandered away, but "sparkly twinkly meat" became my catchphrase for the rest of the night. Including at the top of my lungs in the store parking lot, much to her chagrin.

*snerk* Twinkly beef!

Embrace the Pain, Dammit!

Wow... so this is kind of a scary discussion. There's a whole series of it, by the way, and I am not the only one who's taking offense, apparently.

ND, speaking as someone who generally likes your stuff, not cool. Why would you ask these questions if you don't think there's a possibility of changing your mind? Why, if you're going to discuss BDSM, would you only take on this one aspect of it? And I don't know how you can agree with your commenters who treat the sub (and dom) women (and men) who answer you as though their actual, lived experiences don't matter. As though they're crazy, brainwashed, anti-feminist nutjobs if they're submissive women, and sadistic misogynist serial-rapist bastards if they're men.

I mean hell, where do I even fit in with all that? What am I, chopped liver?

It's hard not to take it as a personal attack on my own agency and sexuality. I'm a bisexual feminist in a relationship with a Dom woman- so what does that make me? Deluded, abused, not actually extant? Is it better because Ferret's a woman, or worse because she's butch, so that makes her "like a man"? 

FFS, nobody "groomed" either one of us to like what we like. We just do. And yes, I've been in relationships that were strictly "vanilla" and it was fine. So? Just because I can be content with that, does it mean I should limit myself to only "plain" sex because anything else is "disgusting"? 

Just because I can enjoy sex and relationships with men, does that mean I shouldn't be with my Ferret, because Xtian fundies think it's "disgusting"?  

Because my partner enjoys being dominant, rough, and violent in bed with me, that makes her an abuser, sick, demented? Because she enjoys that dark side of herself, she should kill herself? Come the fuck on.

I enjoy the adrenaline rush that comes with fear during sex-- it's controlled fear like a rollercoaster, not the sickening helplessness of real rape-panic. I enjoy the endorphin rush that accompanies pain done well, and wouldn't do it with anyone I didn't trust totally. 

I love my partner and I'm sorry but I get a little offended at anyone telling me that what I like is "sick" or "abuse". I was in an abusive relationship, thanks. He never beat me, the sex was vanilla, and I was still miserable. Now I have a partner who sometimes whips me with a belt during sex and I've never been so happy. I've given a LOT of thought to BDSM and its feminist implications; thought about whether I'm defective, thought about whether I really enjoy it or whether I'm just doing it because Ferret loves it. 

Is it kinda weird? Yeah. Is it abuse? I'm gonna say no. Do I know the difference? I think so.

I can understand why ND feels the way she does; I get it. It's hard for me to watch a man tie up and flog a woman and NOT associate it with "actual" torture, even knowing the woman in question has not just consented but probably requested this treatment- because she enjoys it. Because yeah, women have been and still are abused that way and it's hard not to see enjoyment of it as a pathology. 

So I get how it would horrify her. 

But...but! It's not the whole story, and it is indeed a long and complicated story. And reducing it to a few sentences- leaving half the numbers out of the equation- means you get a flawed answer. And telling the multitude of men and women who swear they enjoy BDSM that they are sick, deluded, or brainwashed doesn't give enough credit to the agency or free will of strong, intelligent adults- myself among them.

Why Lemur Doesn't Make Lawyer Jokes, Part 2

Continuing from Part 1,  we have a very frightened Lemur, who finally managed to leave her abusive boyfriend. 

She was running out of strength. Her friends were distant, her family was losing patience, and she was becoming afraid to leave the house because every white truck she saw triggered fear. So as a last resort, she did what she'd been taught: she went to the police. She had called them before, but they never seemed to be able to help. This time, though, she had a goal: a restraining order. Something, anything, to make him stop! So she went- and got an interview with a bored-looking officer who not-quite-sneered at her lack of "hard evidence" and told her there was nothing he could do; a judge wouldn't grant a restraining order without evidence of threats of physical harm, which she didn't have. She walked out, feeling alone and helpless.

This was it. There was no way to stop him; the only other option was to try and avoid him- even though he knew her phone number, where she worked, where she lived, where her friends lived... even though he'd accosted her in daylight, in a public place, in his work uniform and seemed to have gotten away with it. There would be time to gather her strength and self-reliance and work out a plan later; at that point, Lemur was defeated. She sat in her car in the police station parking lot and gave in to misery and fear. As Lemur sat there and sobbed, there was a tap on her car window.
A lady stood there in the parking lot next to her car, looking concerned. Lemur opened the door and looked at her. "Are you ok?" asked the lady. At this bit of concern, Lemur lost her reserve and broke down, explaining that her ex-boyfriend was stalking and harassing her and that the police had told her there was nothing they could do about it. The lady's face darkened. "Like hell there's not! You come with me." Lemur followed the woman  across the parking lot toward a different part of the police building, at a complete loss. The lady explained as they walked that she was a public defender; when they got to her office, she sat Lemur down and told her in no uncertain terms that there were, in fact, laws for cases just such as hers, adding her professional opinion that the cop Lemur had spoken to "just didn't want to do the damn paperwork. Lazy ass. You realize if you'd gotten hurt, he's guilty of negligence?"

The lady looked up the laws, showed them to Lemur and gave her a copy of the relevant pages, and then asked for Jerkoff's phone number.
She left a message on his phone: "You should call me for some free legal advice, unless you'd like the first time you speak to me be when you're in jail on a felony charge." She hung up the phone and smiled. "Here's my card. Call me if he bothers you again, but I don't think he will."
She was right. Lemur waited anxiously for a day, two days, a week, a month. Nothing. It was like he'd disappeared. She was finally free, she could leave the house! (Still, it took several more  weeks before she stopped being afraid of white trucks.) She could drive by Jerkoff's neighborhood without detouring to avoid it. Several months later, she met someone nice and realized she was strong enough to try dating again. She grew, and she learned, and she mourned the things she had lost and the time she had wasted. And she held on to the lessons she'd learned, and swore she'd never be such a fool again. (So far, so good.)
But she never forgot the lady lawyer who saved her, gave her her life back, and gave her hope when she was on the edge of despair. Not the police. Not the system. One strong woman, one lawyer who cared about an anonymous wreck of a girl in a parking lot. She didn't forget.

And that is why this Lemur- badass irreverent feminist bitch- doesn't make lawyer jokes. Because a lawyer saved me when no one else would or could. Why did I tell this story? I don't know. Because I felt it important to share my experience. Because someone reading may recognize their own past or present; because someone may avoid that future. 

Because- thank you, Carol-  hope comes from unlikely places.

Why Lemur Doesn't Make Lawyer Jokes: A Long and Painful Story, Part 1

Let me tell you a story:

Several years ago, in a far-away place in the South, there was a young Lemur. This Lemur didn't consider herself naive or easily led; she was sexy and strong and confident. But one day through some friends, this Lemur met a guy when she was newly-single and rebounding. This guy, we'll call him Jerkoff, was in fact a handsome and charming guy, and Lemur soon found herself dating him, despite the occasional... difference of opinion. To make a VERY long story short, Jerkoff soon proved himself to be a manipulative, abusive bastard. Miserable and fearful, having lost many of the things in life most important to her, Lemur struggled with the relationship for nearly two years before she finally found the strength to leave him behind for good.

Jerkoff, however, was determined not to go quietly. Oh, no. He had her under his thumb (despite her repeated attempts at independence) and he knew how to make her cry. He knew how to make her angry and frustrated, and he decided to get his revenge on her for having the audacity to leave him. He began his campaign: he called her phone dozens of times a day. He tried to get into her car when she left him for the final time. He followed her to friends' houses and tried to see her. He began vandalizing her car, nearly injuring her twice. He called and threatened her, threatened her parents and threatened to kill the pet cats she'd been forced to leave with him. He cornered her at a gas station and threw soda on her car: seemingly not a big thing, but humiliating and demoralizing.

To be continued on Part 2...

"My House Is Not On Fire"

So sometimes I worry about my friends. I worry about everyone who just. doesn't. understand! about why this whole feminism thing is so important. And I get angry about it. In theory, I understand that not everyone will think like me or even agree with me, and it doesn't make them wrong. But when it comes to this, and especially when it comes to other women who are deliberately, bilssfully ignorant about the shit that happens all around us, it's hard to keep a level head.

Case in point: my friend B. We have been friends for years and are used to each others' quirks. I was visiting her yesterday and while reading teh interwebz, I saw this post from Hoyden About Town and was bitching to her about the tendency of advertising to treat women as interchangeable body parts. Her response: "I don't care about that stuff. I'm not a feminist, Lemur, you know that." 

"Yes, B, you are. Do you like going to college? Choosing who to marry? Having a career? Owning property? Hell, getting to vote?? Feminists did that. You're a feminist."

"Okay, fine, but I'm not as much of one as you are. I don't care about that stuff, Lemur. I'm not angry about ads and commercials and stuff like you are- they don't affect me. I don't leave the house (and she really doesn't if she can help it), I don't watch TV or read magazines, I don't watch the news. That stuff is just depressing, and I'm happy where I am."

At this point I lose my patience. I tell her about the Global Gag rule, the HHS "conscience rule" that Shrub just passed, about 9 year old child brides in Afghanistan, about rape culture, about the effects of popular media. 

I finish with, "This stuff is allowed to happen because people don't want to worry about it. Because people sat back and didn't care about it, until at some point we realize we've lost all our rights, we're in too deep, and there's no way to fix it. 

Maybe you don't care about these ads, but they care about you! They make you into a demographic, a commodity, an object. This stuff affects how the world sees you, and even though you don't realize it, they affect how you see the world! Your boyfriend, in the other room? He's a good guy, yeah. These "stupid, unimportant ads and stuff" affect how sees you, and me, and himself. No one is immune. This IS important, and someone has to care about it."

I can see by her face that she feels that I'm lecturing her, trying to browbeat her. I can tell she's annoyed, put out, not listening. She doesn't understand, and I feel like crying. I don't know what I can say, what the magic words of realization might be. I can't make her care, but I am baffled that she doesn't. How can any woman not care about this?

I feel as though I am telling her: "The house is on fire! We have to do something!" And she only says: "I am in my room, the door is closed, and it's not warm in here at all."

All New! PSA

So we moved into our new place. And being from a place where the sun actually functions, we didn't think about certain things, like sidewalk salt, that you think about up here. And uh, I fell and broke my ass. Yeah. My ass, knee, and (somehow?) neck were severely battered by my impromptu attempt to get airborne yesterday morning. So now we have sidewalk salt on our very slippery, icy back steps. And I have a really interesting bruise.  If you live somewhere cold, please salt your steps and sidewalk. Pretty please.

(My ass is expected to recover.)

That is all.

Sexy Breakfast Foods

So my everfabulous Ferret was itchy in some of her bodily parts the other day and asked me if I had anything to make her feel better. After the requisite eyebrow-wiggling on my part, I brought out the Holy Grail of lotions- Aveeno Fragrance-Free Daily Moisturizer. Having wildly sensitive, winter-itchy skin means I spent a LOT of time finding something soothing. 

I spend a lot of time rubbing this stuff into my lower legs and making Herbal-Essence-commercial-y sounds.

My beloved asks me, "Is this stuff any good?"

"Oh yeah" say I, "it's for sensitive skin and has colloidal oatmeal in it".

She looks at me with utter confusion and asks, "So, like, they put the oatmeal in after it's had sex??"

...Oh my.

One discussion of the difference between colloidal and postcoital (and some lotion) later, the Ferret is enlightened, less itchy, and ready for bed.

But sometimes, not everything pisses me off. Sometimes, it's the little things that crack me up laughing that make me realize just how damn lucky I am, and that I do occasionally have real things to be thankful for. 

....postcoital oatmeal! *still laughing*

Narrow, Reactionary and Judgemental

And today, folks, I'm talking about me. Because I did something I've never done before: cut off someone who used to be a friend on a philosophical difference. And I feel like shit about it. I've always been of the opinion that if someone is a good friend, agreement isn't always necessary. I have a friends who disagree with me on politics, religion; I'm friendly with an ex who regards my feminist standpoints with (highly irritating) amusement; hell, even my Ferret doesn't see eye to eye with me on the importance of proper moisturizing. But we can work it out, it's cool. 

The thing is, I also realized, being my friend also implies some inherent assumptions: you think I'm as good as everybody else, you think I'm fully human and worthy, and you care about my well-being. 

And today, someone I thought was an IRL friend wrote a blog entry about Prop 8 and gay civil rights that smashed all those fragile and carefully-held assumptions I'd clung to so stubbornly, and it was just the end. 

Let no one say I can't cite my sources for outrage. Here're some quotes:

"...LGBT's are gonna be shoving this down our throats for the next six months to a year until they get their way."

"I honestly don't care about same-sex marriage. It doesn't effect me, and if it were up to me, sure, let 'em enjoy all the trials and tribulations of marriage. Because life is just so much better when you do your taxes with your hump-buddy, and when breaking up involves a divorce lawyer on top of looking for an apartment and deciding who gets to keep the Barbara Streisand CD's."

"Like I said, I don't really care enough either way. What I disagree with is that they KEEP PUSHING FOR IT. ...Seriously. It's been denied in almost every state, in arenas both political and judicial, denied by the Supreme Court, Congress, and countless other institutions that this country's system of government relies on to make decisions. It's been proposed. In most cases, it's been shut down. Just move to Maryland and get over it."

:It's just part of the growing trend of "Things are only good if we (whoever we happen to be at the time) get our way" I see in this country. And I honestly see it as the beginning of the end of America."

Oh, and there's more. When I fired off a seriously angry reply (and he knew I would read it and reply), there was more. My reply wasn't exactly mature, thoughtful, and considered- observe my wrath.

"There is so much wrong with this entry I almost don't know where to start. But how about here: dumbass, "majority rules" isn't how our government actually works. If I hear one more asshole talk about 'judges legislating from the bench', I'll scream. Fucktard, the majority should not be allowed to decide on rights for minorities. For one, that's fucked up. Nobody should be allowed to decide someone's civil rights. For another, it never works; the majority is incapable of making decisions that benefit anything other than itself. "The majority" didn't end segregation. The Supreme Court did. And by the way, unless you are a member of an oppressed minority of second-class citizens- which you aren't- you don't have the fucking right to tell that group to get over it. ... Just because you've never experienced what they have, or don't understand it, doesn't mean it's invalid. 

...Now, YOU are perfectly free to marry the person you love; hell, you can marry some random stranger in Vegas, as long as she has a vagina. But I can't marry the person I love. THAT is fucked up. A bunch of people who don't know me deciding whether I'm worthy enough to be treated like a whole human being? THAT is the beginning of the end of America. So no, getting over it ISN'T A FUCKING OPTION!, you libertarian asshole.
So yes, I am EXTREMELY pissed off at you for this. And hey, thanks for saying you "don't care" either way. That's real generous of you, pal. You know, you have gay friends, but you couldn't just be supportive of them, oh no. You had to be a complete dick about the lack of civil rights for a group you know nothing about. You're really not as astute as you think you are.
Shithead.

So yeah, lots of anger, but it doesn't mean I was wrong. And you'd think he wouldn't have the audacity to defend himself... nope. So this is my blog therapy, folks; I'm gettin' allll my rage out. Here's his reply, and OUR (double-barrelled) mean, angry blog-sponse to it. My comments are in blue, and in a wacky spurt of angry guest-blogging, please observe my Ferret's bitchy comments in yellow:

"Alright... let's cover ground I've covered before. You are not being denied a righ [sic]. 

Oh, well then! I feel much better now! 

Wait a second: life liberty and the pursuit of happiness- you sure none of these rights are being violated?

 You are bound by the laws of the country you live in.

Newsflash: not now nor ever has "law" and "good" ever been entirely synonymous. 

In this country (in most states, anyway), Sodomy (defined as anal or oral copulation with a member of the opposite sex, copulation of any kind with the same sex, see above. and/or bestiality) is illegal.  

Because straight couples get arrested for having anal or oral sex all the time.

 Also, in this country, a marriage isn't considered to be legally viable unless it is consumated (involving copulation with one's partner). 

Uh, how will they know? Big Brother is watching? 

Thus, to legalize gay marriage, and to allow those marriages to be considered legally viable, every gay couple that got married would have to be fined or arrested under decency code laws. Or people would be allowed to marry their dogs. 

Aw come on, not that bullshit again. Even the fundies have started to let go of that. 

Exactly how many laws and/or world-wide recognized definitions of words do you want them to change just so you can file your taxes together? 

Just the one, as far as I can tell. 

Worldwide? Last I checked, Christianity (and its definition of marriage) rules less than a third of the human population.

The bottom line is, there are plenty of places in the world (and even a few in America) that gays and lesbians CAN get married, with all benefits thereof. Yeah? La-dee-fuckin-da. Blacks had their own drinking fountains, yet they weren't satisfied. Hmmm... Yeah, she's being nicer than I would.

"But I don't want to move, I want them to change the law everywhere." That doesn't seem in the least bit selfish to you? 

Uh no, it seems like federal equality. Call me selfish. You mean, wanting my civil rights is selfish? How about you move instead? Like to Hell's Waiting Room.

Making phone calls, writing letters, and marching in parades takes little-to-no dedication. Moving to a different state (or in extreme cases, a different country) does.

Read as: "Move away, so I don't have to think about or be responsible to the people I'm helping to disenfranchise".

Wait, so I can try to change the law for everyone's equal rights, or just move? Which is easier again?

 That is why Democracy is an inherently flawed system, and how it leads to a nation-state with the "gimmies". It no longer takes dedication, it takes finding enough people who agree with you to make the news (or to make lawmakers uncomfortable).

And that doesn't take dedication? As though all you have to do is go out and say, 'Hi. Sign this.' at random and suddenly all the laws change. 

And you know we wouldn't want the poor lawmakers to be uncomfortable.

From there, it's just a series of "gimmies". Once the people realize that they don't have to leave their country to get a government they like, the ship is sinking fast. 

Yeah, how dare people think America should have a government that treats everyone equally?

I'm sorry, I snoozed through that part. It sounded like "blah blah, blah blah, I'm always right, blah blah selfish welfare people, blah blah my penis blah". Did I miss anything?

And seriously, being treated like a "whole person"? Marriage is a tax break, nothing more. Uh, really? Are we using the same dictionary? If you need a piece of paper to tell you that you love the person you're with, there are a lot more problems than the political system here. 

Someone graduated from Deliberately Obtuse University, with a major in Missing The Point.
Yes, there are other benefits to marriage, oh really?? ya think?? such as insurance policies that extend to one's spouse, undisputed legal entitlement to inheritance, etc. But those laws CAN be changed easily, and already have been in many states. 

And HOW much in paperwork and legal fees does that require, again? While straights can just get a marriage license?

In most of the U.S. it's now possible to name a domestic partner, or ANYONE, for that matter, as a beneficiary. 

Uh-huh. Sure, pal. Cause separate-but-equal has worked SO well in the past.
...
 In closing, I've said it a thousand times before, but I'll say it again here: An unbiased opinion is the ONLY valid and viable opinion. [insert mad cackling laughter here] By being a member of a minority group, one's opinion on the treatement of that minority group is inherently and unavoidably biased. 

Yes, because the majority's opinion of the treatment it receives is totally unbiased. Sounds like Fallacious Logic, 101. 

A neutral party is the only one who can offer a clear-headed, unbiased opinion. Oh, like yours, you mean?

And like I've said, MULTIPLE times, if it were up to me, a neutral party,hey I was right, he did mean himself! gay marriage would be legal.

 Oh, thank you! Cause I need your approval. No, really.

 If it were up to me, a LOT of things in the legal system would be different. Carrot Top for President! But they're not. 

Awww, come on. Nobody likes a pouter. 

And they're the way they are because the legal system that defines this country has declared it as such. 

Again with "law" always being the same as "the right thing". You gotta let go of that. 

You get gay marriage when I get the right to kill drug dealers. Getting married and playing God aren't the same.  Sound fair? 

No, not really. What did that have to do with anything?

And you're right, I do have gay friends. 

Well, you have a few less after this post, I bet. Asshole.

I also have friends that do drugs, and think they should be legalized. I don't think the laws should be changed for them, either. 

Did you just seriously compare gay marriage to drug use? Really? REALLY?? 

 There's a difference between being supportive and changing your views on a subject simply because you're friends with someone who doesn't agree with you. 

You're right. There is. But there's a bigger difference between not agreeing with someone and not understanding why they deserve the SAME friggin' civil rights as everyone else. So we can't be friends. I'm sorry. 

I'm not!

Wow, this turned out to be a really long post. Congratulations, anyone who got to the end! 

So, I'm feeling angry and guilty and maybe also angry about my guilt, and now I'm all typed out. Any thoughts?