Archive | June, 2012

Portland Gay Pride: Recap

19 Jun

I had big plans to take lots o’ pictures of all kinds of wacky characters at Portland’s Gay Pride this weekend, but instead I just took a bunch of grainy photos of my pals and I horsing around and getting progressively drunker. Which, let’s face it, is as it should be.

Here I am in my kooky makeup (finally got to wear my feather lashes!):

On my days off, I’m not-so-secretly a loud-mouthed drag queen.

And here is Special Laaaadyfriend wearing festively smoldering eyeliner:

Pondering the many ways to blow bubbles.

And here we have the pièce de résistance, the ultimate Pride Photo:

Those are my legwarmers. THEY ARE BLACKLIGHT REACTIVE.

The rainbow legwarmers in their natural habitat. SO FUZZY!

Of course, the night wouldn’t have been complete if we hadn’t witnessed the Portland Naked Bike Ride while waiting for the cab to pick us up. There were a lot more strap-on glitter unicorn horns than one would expect, unless one really thought about it, and then there were exactly as many strap-on glitter unicorn horns as one would expect.

See, this, this is why I like Portland. Even though summer is but a distant, pleasant memory now, we have naked bike rides, pop-up lesbian bars and cab drivers that return your camera when you leave it behind in the back seat.

Portland Gay Pride

16 Jun

Happy gay pride weekend, Portlanders!

Portland weather shows a little gay pride.

I’m back on the left coast and will be venturing out to take lots of pictures of the festivities to post here for your viewing pleasure, so stay tuned.

While you wait, what are your plans for pride this year? Portland or otherwise!

20 Ways In Which I’m not a Grown-Up

15 Jun

Since I’m turning 30 soon, it’s a good time to revisit the many, many (many) ways in which I am not in any way “An Adult.” Tell me yours in the comments!

Mature adults do not generally wear sparkly eye patches out to bars for no good reason. (Pff, like you need a reason to be a pirate!)

  1. I sometimes replace an entire day of meals with cookies.
  2. If I ever find myself with a large-ish wad of cash, I wander around the house, cash in hand, yelling “Who wants to dance for me?! I want to make it rain! Dance for me, minions! DANCE!”
  3. I wear contacts, but don’t carry solution. The space in my purse that could have solution instead has leftover gum wrappers, three pairs of defunct iPhone headphones, a calling card from ten years ago, an empty prescription bottle, and various types of identification the government recommends you don’t carry with you.
  4. I have a mobile mini-bar. (It could be argued that this belongs on The Ways in which I am an Adult list.)
  5. I still think getting 6 or fewer hours of sleep per night is a perfectly acceptable way to Get More Done.
  6. I think diet rock star is delicious. This is probably related to No. 5.
  7. Novelty candy-infused alcohol amuses me.
  8. I force people to make a big deal out of my birthday.
  9. I once replaced dinner with four martinis. OK, more than once.
  10. I own several pairs of impractical shoes
  11. I refuse to purchase one of those douchebaggy bluetooth things, even though my favorite time to talk on the phone is while driving.
  12. I forget about produce I have in the fridge, until it spoils.
  13. It takes me an inordinate amount of time to get around to making doctor’s appointments.
  14. I think a trip on a Green Tortoise bus would be deeply entertaining.
  15. I play sophomoric party games.
  16. I cannot perform amortization calculations accurately, even when presented with a handy chart.
  17. I am a terrible single-tasker.
  18. I feel it is entirely reasonable to blow huge wads of cash on theme parties.
  19. I think dead baby jokes are funny. I know they’re not, but they totally are.
  20. My filing cabinet is very disorganized. And contains craft supplies.

In what ways are you still a kid/teenager/generally irresponsible?

Are you high-maintenance?

14 Jun

By caring about her appearance – as society tells her she must – she is punished by being called high-maintenance, shallow, superficial, flippant.

“High-maintenance” often describes women we don’t like, but does anyone really know what it means? “High-maintenance,” like “slut,” is used to insult women who don’t conform enough (or conform too much) to society’s expectations of femininity.

I’m addicted to fake eyelashes. Does that make me high-maintenance?

Urban Dictionary says:

1. Requiring a lot of attention. The individual is emotionally needy or prone to over-dramatizing to gain attention.

2. A person who has expensive taste. This person is never comfortable because he/she is constantly concerned about his/her appearance.

The first is a derogatory label for women who dare to ask for emotional support from the people around them. The second is a derogatory label for women who dare to take the time they need in order to conform to society’s expectations of them. By caring about her appearance – as society tells her she must if she is to be worthy of love or even leaving the house – she is called high-maintenance, shallow, superficial, flippant.

Blue eyeshadow: High-maintenance, or just tacky?

High-maintenance is yet another insult used to shame women who falter while walking that razor-thin line of acceptable femininity. The rub is that, with all things patriarchy, you can’t win. Let your striving show, and you’re a high-maintenance shrew. Don’t strive, and you’re ugly and unlovable, or worse – a feminist.

Any of you readers been called high-maintenance before? I certainly have. Tell your stories in the comments, eh?

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The Five Bigots You Meet in Queerland

13 Jun

We queer ladies (and gents) have to deal with a lot of crap. It comes from strangers who shout “dyke!” out their car windows, from friends who introduce you as their “lesbian friend,” (as if that were the only notable thing about you), and not-so-well-meaning friends who make drunken assessments of your “true” sexuality.

There are so many of these slights that they warrant categorization. So, without further ado, I give you the Five Basic Types of Bigot, as experienced by your friendly blogger:

1. The Hater

This person is the one who leans out of the car window and shouts, “Ugly dyke!” or “Fucking faggot!” at you whilst you are strolling along admiring the daffodils, holding your girlfriend/boyfriend’s hand. Examples in my life have included:

Haters are easy to ignore when you're a badass.

Haters are easy to ignore when you’re a badass.

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Ballet and body image

12 Jun

I, like millions of other little girls, grew up dreaming of being a prima ballerina. As soon as I was able, I began checking out the same three books about ballet from the library over and over and over, poring over each page, each photo, each dance step tutorial. My favorite was about a deaf girl who kept the beat of the music by feeling vibrations through the floor. Soon I had every position memorized and began using my dresser as a ballet barre. I begged my parents to send me to lessons – reasoning it was only fair that I take ballet, as my brother took baseball and we should each be allowed to have one extracurricular hobby.

Tutus are rad.

Modern tutus are affordable and come with stretchy waistbands so even non-ballerinas can pretend to be ballerinas in the privacy of their own homes.

I loved everything about ballet: the dancers’ strong, long limbs; their high, tight chignons; the grand pianos in the practice rooms; their romantic performance skirts; their utter fanaticism – skipping high school to study dance, shipping their preadolescent selves off to Russia to become the very best at a dying art, eschewing the pubescent party scene to practice plies and pirouettes.

Little did I know that while Little League is nearly free, ballet lessons are expensive. I took a single year of classes before my parents gave up the budgetary ghost, during which I learned many useful facts:

Pippi

  • Pirouetting to the left is harder than to the right
  • Tights + leg hair = itchy
  • I am more flexible than the average person, but not more flexible than the average ballerina
  • I have a perfect point
  • If part of your Halloween costume as Pippi Longstocking involves wire hangers in your braids, and you don’t have time to change before class, your braids will scrape the wall during your barre work, and probably leave a mark

The most important lesson I learned, though – imparted to me personally by Madame Instructor herself, a wizened old woman and an expedient disciplinarian – was that I simply did not have, and would never have, the “body type” of a real ballerina. It’s hard to fathom how the teacher could have possibly drawn any conclusions about my suitability for – or interest in – an adult career in professional dance based off of my 9-year-old body, but there you have it. And thus one of the many seeds of body hatred was sown in my innocent little mind. I was not thin enough, not rich enough, not good enough for the one thing I wanted more than anything else: to dance, dance, dance.

So, were there any evil grown-ups in your childhood life that tried to squash your dreams for no good reason? And do you remember a particular moment when your self-image (body- or otherwise) was thoroughly cemented in your wee childlike mind?

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Music Monday: Swedish edition

11 Jun

Jose Gonzalez. You want to have his babies:

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