get free, get free of it.

had a lovely and debauchery filled birthday party for my favorite married couple tonight. It culminated in a topless dance party in the kitchen. I had a blast the whole time, but I left feeling very very low. Maybe I exhausted my supply of serotonin, maybe it is very late at night, but for whatever reason I started feeling like I was out of place the whole time and maybe I didn't know it. I didn't want to go home, I wasn't ready to leave, but by the time we left, I think it had been overdue. I have a very weak sense of boundaries and so I easily end up overstepping them with no intention of harm. I should work on that.

Sista girl needs to get free of the shame, body shame. Shape shame. This sweet sweet lady needs to know how truly valuable she is. That is the thing I hate the most, when people have poor body image and can't murder the shame. Murder it, take out back and kill your "super" - whatever that is. "super mom" "super girlfriend" "super boy" to the rescue - kill them. Because no one should have to live up to standards that other people set for them. Get free, girl, dance for your freedom. Everyone's cheering you on except for yourself.

[Edit 11:27 a.m.] My dear girlfriend explained to me that the reason I probably felt so out of place could have been because I tried the Pot for the first time. I didn't think I had had enough for it to do anything, but with the way my mood crashed, I am willing to think that is what happened. I have not had that much fun in a really long time. Wow.

deflowering

May I introduce to you, Tex.

I got home from the airport two hours after she was supposed to go to work. In those two hours, we figured out how to put it in the harness, how to tighten the straps, how to position ourselves. Gently, sweetly, I am wondering why on earth we didn't try this before. I'm hooked. It's going to take some getting used to. I can't handle it on a regular basis, but damn. Two words: butch cock. And she finally has something physical to locate it. I'm totally freakin pleased, and I imagine I will be for a long time. Damn good lovin' right here.

phew!

think before you speak

Discovered at Awakenings:


I'm sorry, do you understand why. WHY there is more suicide, disease, depression?

Because of you.

I should be surprised. I should be completely appalled, caught off guard. But I'm not. Because this is the type of shit I have allowed myself to absorb for years. Fall of '08 is going to be 10 years since I came out to myself - since I truly recognized my romantic affection for female people. But. This month is only the first year mark of actually starting to come out. A lot of people don't know, still. Tons. But I'm telling them easily, quietly, one by one, that I deserve their respect regardless of who or what I am. Jesus never said one fucking word about homosexuality, because that wasn't the point, or if he did, the writers of the bible didn't consider it important enough to include. The point was purity of intention, purity of heart. Jesus emphasized humility (serving others, having a right self-concept, being a vessel of peace - humility does not equal self loathing). He stressed the importance of loving others, giving of what you have, and being helpful. He wanted us to care for the needy, to spend our money wisely, and to live in peace with others. Sexuality was never the point. Never.

But no. This is normal Christian rhetoric. It's not the truth, but it is displayed as truth. And out of fear, people believe it. For fear of punishment people learn to believe lies.

What lies are you believing? Has someone lied to you about your body? Do you downplay your talents and highlight your faults? Has anyone told you that you're worthless?

As a rule, I don't give readers homework. But will you take some time to ask yourself what lies you are believing about yourself? Get rid of them. Chuck them like old soles. This type of thing is in my top-ten list of things I hate the most. Malicious lies like that might be #1, and misunderstandings is probably #2.

Healer's Heart

I know I've talked about this before, but one of the things that my heart's happiness hinges on is healing other people. In fact, my Myers-Briggs profile is actually called "Healer Idealist" - I'm an INFP or Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, Perceiving person. You can read all over the internet about Jungian personality types and it's really interesting. At times in my life I have swapped between Perceiving and Judging, but I'm only a judger when no one else around is being anlalytical and I get pushed in that role in a group setting. At the very core of my being, I'm a healer. That's what inspired me to call myself the "butch whisperer" - because it felt like my careful, loving manner has drawn so much pain out of the pores of broken people. I would like to think that they are better for it. Crave. Autumn. Marian who has broken down talking to me on the phone twice. And last night, Kelly, whose tender heart simply needed company.

We lay snuggling and kissing in her bed until 5:30 this morning when I finally convinced my mind to shut off. She's been with boys - one boy in particular - for a long time. Having a bit of trouble detaching from him because his tentacles have seeped into her life and put her in a vise grip. Getting out of his sphere of influence is infinitely easier said than done. She's with a boy, but she is quite certain of her affection for women. Unfortunately all of her physical experiences with women have been in the company of said boy - and, if there was one, the boyfriend of the other girl involved. I call him a boy because he is a big 30 year old baby. An absolute child. He needs her like he needs air to breath and food to eat. without her affections. It is that male parasitism on females that I have talked about - how men, denied the company and tender loving care of women, fall into desperate disrepair.

She's a precious girl, precious, lovely, sweet and valuable person with so much love and affection to give and it has been wasted for such a long time on someone completely unappreciative. She's full of compliments, loves to make sure that everyone feels comfortable, and has a lot of trouble looking out for herself at times. Kelly has been undergoing a lot of physical renovation lately and I'm happy and excited to be able to afford her some positivity about her shape. I simply love bodies, and in my short time learning to be a beautiful "baby lover" I've seen a whole vast range of shapes and sizes... making other people feel desired or appreciated makes me myself feel even more beautiful as a person...

She kept thanking me for staying, I shielded her from having to confront the monstrous mess this boy has caused, I distracted her heart from sadness. She's beautiful, so beautiful and I'm pleased to have met her.
But tell me. How come all the new friends I'm making end up somehow in my bed or theres, basically right away. Is there a problem with this? Or is this just what my heart wants to do? To heal through talking and touching, breathing and moving? Best kind of healing in my opinion. The basis of all the problems we have with our sense of self in Western society originates with our bodies, so why not start healing from there? It just makes sense to me.

I'd like to do some more exploring with Kelly. We slept in her bed and felt, again, that incautious trust that I have gotten so accustomed to giving to others. It was a safe night of company, so that neither of us had to sleep alone, it was very peaceful. You may be wondering how Miss Avarice, self professed bottom, infamous pillow queen (according to some ;) biased sources), lover of butches could be interested in more exploration with a bisexual femme [bottom] (are there any truly bisexual butches? it seems possible as a theory, but I've never heard of it in practice). Well. I do need topping practice, and this pretty femme could use a little bit of girl sex, loosen her up a bit. She's had her wild phase and maybe she thought it was over. I can fix that! It's never to late for shameless self loving or an imprudent search for personal satisfaction, is it? I think not.

We're going to see Ani in two weeks - hurrah!

sometimes it's impossible to fully prepare

I honestly do not have words to tell you people how important and relevant the Celebrating the Body Erotic workshop was for me in October. But one thing is certain, I was not prepared for it. I thought I was, but when it came down to it, I felt so very new, green to everything. And I've decided that it is not something that you can ever fully prepare yourself for. At least not the first time... You just have swallow your pride and do it. I know it sounds like a lot of money, but it is worth it. I didn't think I would be ready again so soon, but with all the physical processing (Autumn, Crave, Erin) I am feeling very steady. With any luck, I will also cherish Delilah's very fine company - she's a very brave soul who always has my full undivided attention whenever I am in her presence. I'm sure she will enrich the experience.

Body Electric School 2008 Spring Programs, NYC

Safe, playful and profound workshops for women of all ages and sexual orientations
Taught by two very gifted teachers

newly updated
Celebrating the Body Erotic for Women
March 29-30, NYC, Sat-Sunday 9am-7pm
with Isa Magdalena
(back teaching at Body Electric after many years)

• Feel comfortable in your body
• Improve your body image and self-esteem
• Expand awareness, sensation and pleasure through conscious breath,
movement, touch, and communication
• Release fear, shame and old patterns that hold you back
• Communicate your desires and boundaries more clearly
• Learn to give and receive without losing yourself
• Explore the power of sexual energy / ibido / life force / kundalini
• Learn from your own and others' experience
• Enjoy sex more
• Have more fun

Isa Magdalena was the first woman teacher at Body Electric (1993-98). She teaches sexological bodywork at the Institute of Advanced Studies of Human Sexuality in San Francisco, is author of Libido: Where Sex, Science Spirit Meet (2006). Isa is featured in several sex education videos from the New School of Erotic Touch, is a practitioner and leads classes in Taos, New Mexico. For fuller information, visit www.xtasia.info

first time in many years
Power, Surrender and Intimacy for Women
June 20-22, NYC, Friday 7-10pm, Sat-Sunday 9am-7pm
with Alex Jade

• Learn BDSM techniques and develop skills
• Discover and clarify issues of empowerment and liberation
  
• Recognize how you engage in power dynamics in your everyday life and exercise more conscious choice
• Heighten awareness of your body's capacity for sensation
• Explore power and sensation games for fun and healing
• Experience the joy of surrender and trust

Presequisite for this workshop is Celebrating the Body Erotic

Alex Jade has been a leading teacher at Body Electric for a decade and has developed several courses for the School. She is a gender-fluid sex activist, community organizer, shadow explorer and body-based therapist living in Seattle. She uses her training as a massage therapist, movement therapist and masters degree in social work to teach experiential sexual education classes and has a private healing practice.

Both Isa and Alex are profiled in Reclaiming Eros, Suzanne Blackburn and Margaret Wade, editors (2007).

Tuition: $395 per workshop. Recent CBE grads receive $50 discount on repeat workshops. Early registration discount of $35 until March 1st, full price thereafter.
Register with minimum $100 deposit. Full tuition is due three weeks before start of workshops.
Contact Debi Soler, NYC coordinator, 212-726-0679
passionjustice@gmail.com
http://www.thebodyelectricschool.com

sizing up

I finally went through some of my clothes tonight and threw away everything that no longer appeals to me. Over the past two years I have gained back all the weight that I had lost, so I had to get rid of guilty clothes that tell me I'm not the right size. I held on to some clothes that don't fit, because I will probably be able to fit in them again soon enough. I did get rid of pants that do not fit my body shape correctly - the ones that are for the hour glass figure - I'm more of an apple shape. skinny butt, big torso.

Had a talk with a [spiritual] cousin of mine... it's eating disorders awareness next week on campus and she has struggled with EDNOS for a long time. She says, she wants to be skinny because she loves how people compliment her on her body. She loves how much her boyfriend delights in her thinness. She feels desirable.

I'm practically twice her size. And I get plenty of compliments on how I look, and I still feel very attractive, even desirable! Even at nearly double her weight, I'm pleased with how clothes look on me, and obviously. Obviously there have been people who like my body. So what's the difference? Tell me.

too much love

I have so much on my mind right now. This rant will say a lot of things to a lot of people, but know that when I say "you" I mean the figurative "you" plural, at large, and not anyone specifically.


There are some people in my life . . . one, two, some. Who are challenging me now. Some are old old friends from before the dawn of time (figuratively... at least it feels that way) and some are new friends who are still learning my language, and I theirs. Some are old friends who feel new again. Some are new friends who feel ancient. I'm starting to feel that familiar pressure on my chest bone, like someone is pressing their hand against it. A warm ache. A warning.

If I knew. Oh if I knew.

And. I've been in my hometown long enough that I'm starting to get anxious to leave. I've made it longer than I normally do. I'm usually surprised if I make it six months without that antsy feeling. I've been here doing the same thing for a year now. Existing. Alone. I've made progress, I suppose. No - I have made plenty of progress. My temperament dislikes stability. As soon as I have settled, I run.

She... she... she.

My heart, the capacity of my heart is so big that it makes my aloneness seem greater. I have so much love to give. So much affection and compassion. And I have not given myself the opportunity to express it. Either that, or the universe, god, people, have not given me the opportunity to express it. I've had my affections set on so many people in the last year. Maybe if I had one (or two?) people to focus on, then I would not scatter like marbles the gifts my heart has to offer.

Wait. Weight. Wait.
This may not be true. Lord I hope this isn't true, but from my perspective, all the butches I've met, in this town anyway, over the course of the year, have been drawn to thin femmes like deer in the headlights (if they are into femmes at all - which several were not). I'm getting to the point where I'm wondering now what's wrong with me, that I've been "on the market" so to speak, and not get snatched up by some adoring lover. Any. Is it because of my shape? I'm pretty, kinky, feminine and smart - what more could you want? Maybe I'm too smart. Maybe I'm too kinky. Maybe I'm too feminine. Maybe I'm too fat.

My inner feminist is screaming at me now to forget all that - she's trying to preserve my self esteem. But if men can be attracted to big girls (and they have been believe me) then why not butches?

Disagree with me all you want. Please do. I think butches like skinny girls because they can wrap their arms all the way around and hold onto them. Skinny girls fold themselves into your strong arms and make you feel big because you're bigger than them. Skinny girls. Puff up your big bad attitude. Somehow, their shape makes you more masculine. Isn't that it?

Big girls just don't do it for you, eh?

I'm indignant. I'm sorry. I know this is not what you mean to say with your actions. This is how I read it from my end.

I have so many hard conversations to have in the next few weeks. I'm going out to dinner with my best friend from jr. High and I've been meaning to tell her all year long. I can't imagine a good outcome to that. And other friends have been stirring up unexplainable feelings that I don't know how to sort and categorize. But I have to start, and talking is the starting.


P.S. If I don't have your address. Tuesday is my last day to ship your little gift before Christmas - E-MAIL.

Health Summary

I've been meaning to make a list.

1. PCOS: Poly Cystic Ovary Syndrome. Weight and sugar problems (it makes you fat, and being fat keeps you fat), screwed up hormonal system (progesterone levels = post-menopausal), failed ova become cysts and block the fallopian tubes so no ova can get to the uterus (oh, fabulous). I'm taking hormonal bcp's but I really don't think having a period is all that important because if I don't have progesterone in my system, I'm not growing an endometrium worth having a period over anyhow.

2. I've gained 15 pounds in the last year and a half after I had really slimmed down. Yeah, not happy about that. Actually, I'm pretty pissed. Part of it has to do with lack of movement, part of it is diet, all of it is related to the PCOS.

3. Lower back: I went to the chiropractor, and the news is not good. My lowest 5 discs are basically not moving and will dry up and crack on half and I will have to have surgery like my 53 year old mother. If, that is, I do not get on a regular schedule with a chiropractor down here, and get ex-rays to determine the reason for the lack of movement and get them fluid and crackly again. Yay. More money spent on health. Remember the wardrobe? Remember the desk? Remember the dresser? Remember the fish tank? I've really put my lower back through some hell the last few months. I also carried a 50 pound back pack around turkey for a month and a half last year. I bet that started it all.

4. Allergies. This apartment has carpet and two cats that do not tend to be well cared for. They are not mine, so it is not my responsibility, but it is affecting my breathing. I get hives from the animals sometimes too. And carpet is the worst when it comes to dust.

5. I think I have a mild phobia of the dentists and it is costing me.

whorish

RANT Disclaimer: In this discussion I use the word "men" in a general way, mainly referring to non-feminist men and those who are perpetuating a violent, systematic (at times, even unconscious) suppression of women's various rights, freedoms and responsibilities, - not, indeed, to every individual man. I have known and have dearly loved a great many men who truly give women a voice, and safe space to stand tall. I do not hate men, so if any males are reading (and if you are, please speak up!) please do not take this personally; but let us all consider our own behaviour and thought patterns for the purposes of personal growth and edification.

Since I wasn't able to properly articulate what I was thinking (read: feeling) during a conversation I had with an old friend, I'm going attempt some thinking-out-loud here. My old friend is actually an old friend of the family, and one whom I would consider a distant cousin - not by blood, but by the spiritual connection of our families.

We were just casually discussing a mutual friend who has only been around a short while. Old friend, A, and new acquaintance, Z, (funny...a-z) recently had a rather turbulent falling out. But we both agreed that she tends to dress provocatively. Z has a sister whom I went to high school with, who in fact had larger breasts than Z has, so it runs in the family. Anyway, Z is quite bright but A made a comment about how she always has these crummy boyfriends that end up screwing her over. A decided that it was because of the way she dresses.

Now lemme tellya, that really pisses me off. Most importantly, social acceptance of different modes of dress differ across lines of time, place and culture. But what she said was very revealing about the fact that our, and all, cultures have a set of standards for women's appearance that somehow communicate a message about the woman. Women who show more skin are automatically deemed to have low moral standards, they are grouped into a lower social class, and also assumes that she's easy. This is only one example of how appearance can miscommunicate. Appearance is a means of segregation - male from female, homeless from working class from upper class, gay from straight, trustworthy from untrustworthy, normal from eccentric... And of course although we think we can judge people's character, or race or class, or sexuality or whatever, from their appearance, most of the time we're dead wrong and don't actually know it.

everything i do is judged,
and they mostly get it wrong
Ani Difranco, "Joyful Girl"
(and one of my most favorites)

Our clothing would be totally, completely inappropriate in the context of some (but not all) Muslim cultures. For example, in Turkey (Scroll down to "Turkey") it might have been okay for a girl to wear a t-shirt and jeans, but never a tank top, and never, ever shorts, which is basically the only thing A ever wears. Here's another example from Indian culture.

So why do we say that Z only attracts trashy men by dressing in a manner that accentuates her breasts and legs? A said it's because a respectable young man doesn't want someone who's "easy". Or a tramp... That because she doesn't cover up and dress nice, she'll never find a guy who's respectful and respect-worthy?

I don't know, this just doesn't sit well with me. It doesn't sit well at all. Because there are times when I dress provocatively, not because I'm easy (heh, although that may be the case...) but because I enjoy being in my body. I want to revel in that confidence. I guess I don't mind a little bit of attention, [friendly, appreciative, non-threatening attention - like when someone recognizes that I like what I've got] but I hate that I get read as a whore, (informally, if not formally). A few months ago, and I don't remember if I mentioned it here or in another space, I was out buying gasoline for the car after having visited a friend. I was wearing a seriously, seriously short skirt. Something I would not worn in public except for driving in the car, but I had run out of gas so I had no choice. As I was leaving, this large, hairy, burly man said, "how you doin?" as if that were going to attract my attention. AS IF I WOULD TAKE THAT AS A COMPLIMENT - THE FACT THAT YOU THINK I'D GO FOR YOU JUST BECAUSE YOU HAVE A DICK, JUST BECAUSE YOU MISREAD WHAT I WAS TRYING TO SAY WITH MY BODY. Ugh. This gets me into the argument about being femme and being straight until proven guilty. Which I have beat into the ground, and will continue to do so until I have completed my paper for one of my exit courses.

And for all my years of feminist training and learning to love my body and in all the volumes of feminist rhetoric stored in my head and on my shelves, all I could think to do was give him the femme-eyes-of-death and say, "You don't need to be talking to ladies like that." Seriously? I didn't even tell him why he shouldn't be talking to me like that. I didn't even tell him that the fact that my skirt showed the panties over my rear a little bit does NOT JUSTIFY his patronizing, sexist comments. Would he have said the same thing if I were wearing a swimsuit at the beach? Unlikely. So he said, "well, fuck you too." And I should have said, "not in a million years, in fact, never, not ever."

AND ANOTHER THING: Anyone who thinks I was asking for it can fuck off. A man is not an animal. If we give him the mind to think and reason (as we deny that to women) on the sciences and the arts, can we not allow him the exercise of his will in the realm of sexuality, too? By calling them chauvinist pigs we're dehumanizing them and stripping them of 1) the right to choice and of 2) civil responsibility. That's one another reason I have a problem with Trojan's Evolve campaign. Yeah, men should be prepared if they are going to sleep with someone, but the ad automatically assumes that just because the man has a condom (whoopdeedoo!) in his back pocket (not a safe place for condoms) that the woman he's trying to talk to is into men (problem number 1) and going to fuck him that same night (problem number 2). I'm glad someone's saying use a condom, I'm glad a condom company finally figure out that they could use their commercial adverts as a public service announcement [edit: BUT do it in a way that respects women and gives them the brains to make a choice - of course what kind of an advertisement sends that message... "use our product, but you still might not get laid...". And by the way, she is just as responsible for the condom as the guy is.]

I keep typing things and then deleting them. I don't have sufficient words and phrasing and presence of mind to explain how I feel about this. I just feel like screaming. What a fucking insult, really, to say that someone isn't worthy of a good man because she enjoys the sensuality of her body. There's no winning this game, when the winner is supposed to be fucking Martha Stewart at home, the blessed virgin mary, and Jenna Jameson --- oh, and don't forget Joan of Arc when men's lives are in shambles and only the strength, resourcefulness, and tender care of a woman can salvage him. I'm just fighting for sexual agency and my environment doesn't want to give it to me. I just want to wear whatever I want, and not have to explain and excuse and prove myself. A single woman is either a prude or a whore but I just want to have a healthy sexuality that doesn't compromise my standards or my safety. Is that so much to ask? It is, and it has been for centuries. And I'm fucking done with it.

Attitude Adjustment

Without even revising, polishing any of my poetry - never mind submitting it for publication, I found myself thinking this afternoon that my writing is simply unpublishable. Like this blog, my poetry is self-centered, way too personal and abstract, and totally lacking in theses. All of my poems these days have I's in them. I this, me that. Who am I to say that my work is no good? Or that it is any good at all? I've been such a fatalist. Let me take it one step at a time. Being in a poetry workshop again would be helpful. Avarice, why haven't you done that yet? Put that on the 43thingslist. Ugh. My list is too long.

I want to polish these poems: Siren, Do it With Tenderness, Secrets, Peaches, and even Wants/Needs - there seem to be some journals who may publish such a thing...

I skipped school and made some revisions to Not a Skinny Girl:

I am not a skinny girl
I can take up space.
I like being able to
spread out my borders
like a blanket on the beach

I am not a skinny girl
And. I. Love. My. Breasts.
The pair hang suspended,
thick, heavy and expectant.
Saturated with power,
they attract, warn, bless, curse.
But more than anything,
my breasts show appreciation.

I am not a skinny girl.
And. I. Love. My. Belly.
She is round and sweet,
leans over the balcony
of my jeans trying to
breathe fresh, fresh air.
My belly hovers, vigilant above
such tender flesh below.
She guards, gentle, alert.

I am not a skinny girl.
And. I. Love. My. Legs.
They have stamped out injustice,
the musical beat of a revolution.
They are strong under my weight
strong as I await a deeper freedom
Marching me into the future,
My legs know the truth.

[it needs a resolution. it just ends. what does it need? do i need encourage big girls to be themselves? how do i say fuck the man and his wiry definition of beauty?]

I wish I could always explain why I wrote a poem in such a way. Purposefully, I never said [in so many words] "I'm not skinny, but..." anything. "but, i don't mind being big", "but i'm still beautiful", "but I have other redeeming qualities."

Being "not skinny" and being beautiful or sexual or strong or proud or confident - they are two separate ideas. So I use -AND- to bring them together. I am not a skinny girl AND I love myself. AND I'm not afraid to take up space. AND I'm not afraid to take up space... in fact, I kinda like it. The word BUT would have given it a sense of apology. I'm sorry I'm not a skinny girl? Hell no, and Far from it.

titties on parade

I've just tonight remembered that Burlesque dancing would be extremely good for the improvement of my overall health. I mean. I'm no waif. But you should see my tits. Those of you who have eaten from The Tree of Good and Avarice can testify to their luscious curves and aching weight. Just the other day I received a comment from somebody's girlfriend:

the g/f: "Miss A. I'm always so glad when you come visit"
avarice: "Oh yeah, why? Because I bring food?"
the g/f: "No... because you bring your tits"
avarice: "Oh, thanks!" *smile*
the g/f: "Yeah, if I wasn't with [said friend] I would totally fuck your brains out..."
avarice: "*ehem* wow, no one's ever said that to me before!

I've decided that I like the way they sit - with or without a bra. I mean. Yeah they're flippen huge. But that doesn't mean they don't stand at attention -- command attention.

And I'm proud of these bitches for what I've put them through - underwire bras with the wire sticking out! OW. Bras and shirts and corsets that were too tight. Heat rashes in the middle from not planning ahead. And on top of that, often being hidden, deemphasized and generally undervalued. Cuz [every tool is a weapon if you hold it right] these girls - my right one (Cheeky Bitch) and my left one (Miss Priss) - aren't in it for the money, but for POWER.

Oh my darlings, I promise to love, honor and cherish you from this day forward and as long as we three shall live.



Back to the Burlesque dancing. I was thoroughly inspired by a show earlier this year and nearly decided to audition. To the disappointment of close friends, however, and having never performed such a style of dance, I chickened out. I want to sing jazzy love songs like "funny valentine" and "whatever lola wants". And I seriously need to purchase a garter belt. My lingerie drawer is positively incomplete. Any suggestions?