I'm doing NaNoWriMo this year which I'm stoked about. I'm writing again for the first time in... well... I am not quite sure how long. It's been a long time since I've written anything of this length. I'm at about 5,000 words. My novel takes place in a future dystopic world. Think The Handmaid's Tale and 1984.

For two days I have been lazing around the couch with the hubby & wife and writing, drinking tea and juice, eating delicious food, and watching a lot of television. I have been sick for a good two weeks now. No, it's not the flu but just a cold. My lungs were about to collapse the other night. Tomorrow is back to work though... I would take another day off but I can't afford to lose any more money.

It's weird staying in so many nights in a row. I let myself get sick by being too busy all of the time, by partying too much, drinking too much, etc. Taking it easy has been amazing. I am still unsure of whether I want to go out tomorrow, though... oh, what a dilemma!

“WHAT’S GENOCIDE?”

their high school principal
told me I couldn’t teach
poetry with profanity
so I asked my students,
“Raise your hand if you’ve heard of the Holocaust.”
in unison, their arms rose up like poisonous gas
then straightened out like an SS infantry
“Okay. Please put your hands down.
Now raise your hand if you’ve heard of the Rwandan genocide.”
blank stares mixed with curious ignorance
a quivering hand out of the crowd
half-way raised, like a lone survivor
struggling to stand up in Kigali
“Luz, are you sure about that?”
“No.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Carlos—what’s genocide?”
they won’t let you hear the truth at school
if that person says “fuck”
can’t even talk about “fuck”
even though a third of your senior class
is pregnant.
I can’t teach an 18-year-old girl in a public school
how to use a condom that will save her life
and that of the orphan she will be forced
to give to the foster care system—
“Carlos, how many 13-year-olds do you know that are HIV-positive?”
“Honestly, none. But I do visit a shelter every Monday and talk with
six 12-year-old girls with diagnosed AIDS.”
while 4th graders three blocks away give little boys blowjobs during recess
I met an 11-year-old gang member in the Bronx who carries
a semi-automatic weapon to study hall so he can make it home
and you want me to censor my language
“Carlos, what’s genocide?”
your books leave out Emmett Till and Medgar Evers
call themselves “World History” and don’t mention
King Leopold or diamond mines
call themselves “Politics in the Modern World”
and don’t mention Apartheid
“Carlos, what’s genocide?”
you wonder why children hide in adult bodies
lie under light-color-eyed contact lenses
learn to fetishize the size of their asses
and simultaneously hate their lips
my students thought Che Guevara was a rapper
from East Harlem
still think my Mumia t-shirt is of Bob Marley
how can literacy not include Phyllis Wheatley?
schools were built in the shadows of ghosts
filtered through incest and grinding teeth
molded under veils of extravagant ritual
“Carlos, what’s genocide?”
“Roselyn, how old was she? Cuántos años tuvo tu madre cuando se murió?”
“My mother had 32 years when she died. Ella era bellísima.”
…what’s genocide?
they’ve moved from sterilizing “Boriqua” women
injecting indigenous sisters with Hepatitis B,
now they just kill mothers with silent poison
stain their loyalty and love into veins and suffocate them
…what’s genocide?
Ridwan’s father hung himself
in the box because he thought his son
was ashamed of him
…what’s genocide?
Maureen’s mother gave her
skin lightening cream
the day before she started the 6th grade
…what’s genocide?
she carves straight lines into her
beautiful brown thighs so she can remember
what it feels like to heal
…what’s genocide?
…what’s genocide?
“Carlos, what’s genocide?”
“Luz, this…
this right here…
is genocide.”

Carlos Andres Gomez

I feel like I need to consolidate my thoughts in order for any of this to make sense. I think that it might be an entry that goes on for many parts, as the thoughts are constant and there is so much to consider and discover.

I'm reading one of those amazing books - a book that is both inspiring and makes me want to make some real changes in my life as well. It's called The Sexual Politics of Meat by Carol J. Adams.

It is about the ways in which we use and abuse non-human animals and this relates directly to the oppression of women throughout history. Some of the arguments are so well articulated and thought out that I feel like I must compile quotations in order for it to make sense. Unfortunately, I forgot the book at home. That post will come later.

But... to re-articulate this complicated argument in just a few sentences: meat is sexist. Meat is racist. Meat is classist. If you can justify these things, you can justify killing animals. As vegetarians, we see meat as death - they are the dead animals - the absent referent. Meatheads see meat as life. They seperate their food from the animals. I cannot, personally, remove the animal from animal consumption. On a plate, I see only an animal. To me, it is offensive. I can only picture the screaming sows and the mothers... and my mother... and me... and I never understood meatheads after I became a vegetarian, I never understood how they could not see the animal. I can a little more now - I can understand that they see only fragments removed from death. Just as they see fragments of women, just as they can, sometimes, justify racism and patriarchy. It is the matrix of domination at work here. It is the White Supremacist Capitalist Hetero-Patriarchy.

We are eating female animals and we are consuming "feminized proteins". Male animals are oppressed too, but not to the extent that female animals are. To the point where their own children are being taken away, where the animals we are eating are mostly female, females who have been spent, who have lived their lives on a rape rack. Their bodies are the fragmented bodies of females that we see in advertisements, we literally cut them up to reduce them to nothing more than body parts - their flesh is ours. We violate them. And this is why, they say, more women are vegetarians - they recognize this oppression. Non-human animals are objectified - we take their bodies. How is this different for women? It's not. We objectify - in advertising, in pornography, in all parts of life.

People working in the meat industry talk about hog splitters and spinal chord removers. They sell these products to promote more consumption - to see who can split hogs the fastest. This is sick, this is wrong, this is murder, this is oppression, this is sexual violence, this is...

Economy is the bone, politics is the flesh,
watch who they beat and who they eat

Andrea Gibson - See-Through

We're on our way back to school from gymnastics class.
And only in Boulder, Colorado,
the kids are singing John Lennon's "Imagine"
at the back of the bus, when

Jesse stops herself mid-verse,
stretches her arm across the aisle like a sunbeam,
tugs at the edge of my shirt and asks,
"What does hatred mean?"

Jesse's five years old.
Anything I say, she's gonna believe.
But I realize, I don't know the answer.
I'm not sure what hatred means.
I could guess and say it's the opposite of love.
I could guess and say,
"Jesse, hatred is why there are nothing but white faces
on our private-school bus."

But Jesse isn't white yet.
Go ahead and ask her.

"What color are you, Jesse?"

"Well, it looks like I'm pink."

Shane thinks he's orange.
Skylar says she's tan.
Rhett says he's see-through.
"See, you can see how my veins are blue
but they're red when I bleed."

And I wish there was no such thing as springtime.
'Cause I don't trust the machines
that will one day be planting seeds in these gardens
teaching them that some people are flowers
some people are weeds,
rip the weeds by their roots
ignore their screams
tilt your own face to the sun
take what you want,
you are the chosen ones.

Sitting Bull said white people are liars and thieves.
I wanna tell Jesse he was wrong.

I wanna tell her we didn't come like a time bomb,
gunpowder on our breath,
teeth built like bullets,
that this land didn't weep when our feet
first mercilessly hit the ground.
I don't want to say we drowned and maimed the children,
sliced long strips of their skin for bridle reins,
I don't wanna say the moon was slain,
the constellations dispersed like shrapnel.
Mothers killed their babies, then killed themselves
when they saw our faces on the horizon
and all that we left was a trail of tears.

But if I have to say that,
I wanna say our boats stopped there.
I wanna say the waves never saw the sails of slave ships,
never heard the sound of chain links,
but Jesse, think slaughterhouse.
Think people branded, suffocating, foaming at the mouth.
Can you imagine what kind of pain you would have to endure,
to throw yourself overboard 2000 miles out to sea?
Lungs gratefully exchanging breath for saltwater,
gratefully trading life for death.

Can you imagine being chained to your dead daughter?
How many days would it take you to stop
searching her hands for lifelines?
To stop searching her fingertips for remnants of sunshine?
To stop searching her wrists for a pulse,
for just some sign of time turning backwards
to when you knew
people could never do things like this?

And Jesse this
is not just a picture of our history,
not just a picture of our past.
We've been hundreds of years
measuring the size of our hearts
by the size of our fists,
erecting our bliss on the broken backs of dark skin.
The present is far from gift-wrapped.

Ask New Orleans,
Ask mothers in the Bronx,
chasing rats out of their babies' cribs.
Ask the fathers of the kids
whose lives we exchange for cheap gas.
Ask our prisons why jail bars always come in black.
Ask Afghanistan, Palestine, Iraq.
Ask the woman in Thailand whose cancer builds our laptops.
Ask the Mexican man working in a field fertilized
by nerve gas.
Ask his daughter when she's born without fingers
or hands to pray with.
Ask me how long I could keep going with this list.
God might be watching,
but we are not.

You are white, Jesse.
There are bodies dangling
from the limbs of your family tree.
Our people pull people from the soil like weeds.
Breathe in our story.
Force yourself to hold in your lungs
'til you can hear our hymns sung beneath white sheets.
'til your can feel your own finger on the trigger of the gun.
Feel yourself fire as they shout.
Do not look away as bullet enters heartbeat.
Now breathe out.
This is where we come from.
This is still where we are.
Now where will we go from here?

I don't believe we're hateful.
I think mostly we're just asleep.
But the math adds up the same.
You can't call up the dead and say,
"Sorry, we were looking the other way."

There are names and faces behind our apathy,
eulogies beneath our choices.
There are voices deep as roots
thundering unquestionable truth
through the white noise that pacifies our ears.
Don't tell me we don't hear.
Don't tell me we don't hear.
When the moon is slain,
when the constellations disperse like shrapnel,
don't you think it's time,
something changed?

I love the idea of a revolution. We talk about it in Women's Studies, as if this is the ultimate goal we're working towards. A revolution. This is my own spirituality.

Yesterday, we debated the word "virginity". Someone said that oral sex isn't sex and I scoffed - being a lesbian and all. Oral sex isn't sex, huh? I guess I'll be a virgin forever. There's nothing I dislike more than when people say that to me. Thanks, guys. [heterosexism always wins]

It's all about semantics. I think this is what it comes down to. Take the word "racism". Racism - the word - is rooted in a white supremacist culture. It was born out of the mouths of white men, therefore, non-white people cannot be racist. Because racism, at its core definition, means white privilege. What does a black person gain from being racist against a white person? Nothing. Reverse racism is bullshit. Certainly, minority races can be prejudiced against one another. Prejudice is different... the word prejudice means something else.

I realize now that my double consciousness as a lesbian plagues me everywhere I go - although I view it as more of an insight into the world, than anything. I came out at work. Sort of. I just came to work one day and I didn't say "Look, there's something I need to tell you..." Instead I said, "I totally made out with the cutest girl last night!" and they understood, although I think they think I'm bi and I will never utter the word lesbian, because it would make it too easy and simple for them.

The word lesbian... the word itself is flawed.

It's all about semantics.

I'm actually sure I met my wife tonight. I even made out with her. She has a boyfriend. But... but...

Okay, in the meantime.... I love this song. It is so cute and amazing.

Yesterday night I watched Polytechnique. It is about the Montreal Massacre. I was unsure if I wanted to watch it. I don't like films that try to explain why the killers did what they did. But I also hated Elephant because I found that it was trying too hard NOT to offer any explanations.

Polytechnique was perfect, though. It had the right amount of storyline, the right amount of...everything. The ending was perfect. It didn't try to explain away the mass murderer's actions. It presented its characters, stated the facts, and showed how fucking scary that day was for the students of Polytechnique de Montreal.

Marc Lepine said "I have decided to send the feminists, who have always ruined my life, to their Maker... the feminists have always enraged me... They want to keep the advantages of women while seizing for themselves those of men" before killing 14 women.

And then, once again, a month and a half ago another man open-fired on an aerobics class, killing four women. He did it because he harboured an immense hatred of women after years of rejection and... not getting laid.

If we look at most of the school shootings women are very often the targets (with Virginia Tech it was assumed that the killer and second victim had a relationship which caused a delay in how the police and university responded to the attack). Yes, bullying is an issue. But we're also ignoring another large issue by only focusing on bullying.

So let's not forget the tragic Montreal Massacre... ever. Which is why you should all go out and rent Polytechnique. Like, right now. (and it's sad that the 20th anniversary is coming up and it still hasn't taught us much...)

I'm pretty sure I met my future wife yesterday. But some guy got all up in my space and I think he was trying to make a hip hop video the way he was dancing with me.

I posted on missed connections. I at least know her name... so... that's a start.

Daughter

i'll teach my daughter
to bang on anything that makes a beat
She'll shake-a-boom, She'll quake a room
She'll paint her cheeks warrior-style, then smile
beguile you, turn you inside out
til your guts plead guilty.

She'll be built like a truck, built to work you down
as she works herself up
She'll make holes in the streets
in her ten inch spike heels,
in combat boots, stilts, on roller wheels,
She'll stroll through Male Pride
Amazon Babes at her side.

She'll relinquish White Privilege
observe, be wise, She'll compromise
when the fire is stoked by Other Womyn's desires
but She'll never leave the flame.

All the same, She'll crave what makes her burn
She'll learn her Cunt's good name-
the thick red lips, the small hot tip
no more of this cryptic shit.
This Vagina will be known.

She'll park in all the wrong places,
make faces at police cars,
wind up behind bars, bust out big before serving her time,
fingernails full of this grime we call

Reality,
She'll dig her way through.

She'll pick her nose when she has to,
She'll scratch her ass,
She'll be a crass medusa child
a wild healthy Fiend
She'll live in all fonts and all sizes
curly q's, caps, italics, and Bold.

She'll fold airplanes out of shredded Cosmos
and Mademoiselles,
then pilot them to Never-Say-Never Land
where Peter Pan's gay and Wendy's ok with it.

She'll wear thick braids, She'll shave her head,
She'll eat thick breads, She'll let her breasts flop,
She'll mop the floor like Cinderella,
then with Rebellion- Prowess,
She'll unionize Daughters for a higher allowance.

She'll be male and female and in-between.
She'll preen, then crack her mirror, crack a beer
and watch Love Connection.
She'll go for days without taking a shower
just to feel unchained ivory-slave power.
She'll want more than what She's 'entitled to'
She'll watch through
Nike commercials
and She'll Just Un-Do It
ask Who's making that shit, Who's breaking their backs
keeping her breaking that
glass ceiling.

She'll do all of this.
and She'll do none of this.

and it's funny how we hide behind these Daughters,
hide ahead of our own Herstories
scared of ourselves
scared of the world
scared of Someone
who made us
one way
or another.

Well, this time around,
i'll be bound to my own mind womb
in my own birthing room,
i'll squeeze out, squeeze out
each crimson thick belief
then eat each pungent, sweet placenta
and relieved,

i will tear up this country's
"Welcome to the World" certificate,
tear off my father's father's father's father's name,
i'll legitimate my own entrance into a
Thinking Existence
i will birth myself towards
Resistance.

But no frantic tick-tock of this Biological Clock.
On my own time, Foremothers at my sides,
Sisters as midwives,
i'll cut my cord, head for that War
i will mother myself into my own grown Daughter
and I will call myself a
Home-Grown Woman.

Alix Olson

we've had discussions about the fear one feels walking down the street. as a woman. as a queer. they understand it - my queer friends. my male queer friends. one time, outside of the lesbian bar, as a male friend and i had a smoke, a group of men wearing suspenders walked towards us. for a second, we both felt that fear in our guts.

as they walked towards us we both looked at each other and said "oh no." for one second, we thought... this is it. we're going to get our asses kicked. they were actually with a stagette (yes, a stagette) party, which explained the matching outfits and suspenders.

he gets it, as a queer. he gets the fear. i often walk home alone at night, in the middle of the night, early morning. usually i don't see anyone. the other night i did and i've gotten to the point where i feel less harmed than before. less scared. i make a note of walking with my shoulders broader, my head faced forward, my legs spread apart. i make a note of walking like a boy. when i'm walking with my friends now, i feel less scared. we have a bald white guy dressed in a punk sports jacket, a dyke, a black girl, and a guy all dressed in black. it's not scary. walking with a group of girls... that's scary. we even comment on those group of girls, comment on how they perhaps shouldn't be dressed like that. and that in itself is misogynistic. i still engage in it. you do too. and yet, i love men. i love women. i love both. a lot.

i know the chances of my getting raped while walking home are slim. i'd probably more likely get raped by my roommate, by someone at a friends party. and this is something that happens to everyone but you. i've had too many friends who have been violated. too many friends who have been raped, who have had abortions. too many. a friend of mine told that it also sucks being a guy. because you have no intention of raping someone, but when you walk behind a girl at night and see her second look you... that's scary, too. but i wonder how scary. you can turn into the alley and ease her mind and yours.

one time i was followed home from school and i made a deliberate completely out-of-the-way turn into an alley. he followed me down the alley. when i turned the corner, i ran. my house was in clear view of the alley and i never saw him come out the other end. i still remember how my 10-year-old self felt. i still feel like that sometimes. maybe it was a coincidence. but as a man, wouldn't you deliberately try to go the other way, so as not to scare that child?

the other night, a friend of mine came to me and told me she was violated. i think this is the second time in a month. yes, having casual sex puts yourself into a potentially dangerous situation... but this... this is sick.

we shouldn't have to deal with this. we shouldn't have to be scared. we shouldn't have to feel that familiar feeling in your gut when a guy looks at you the wrong way. and maybe he's not even meaning to look at you that way, but we all know how it feels. queers and women, alike.

i walk down the street with my girlfriend and wonder if anyone will say anything at our holding hands. one time someone pointed. other times, they just stare. i wonder if they'll call us dykes, as if being a dyke is a bad thing... or what will happen. i wonder.

you know how it feels. why do we need feminism? let me ask you why. we all live with that fear in our hearts. let's create a movement.

the heart is a muscle, if you use it, it will fly.

Blue Blanket

Still there are days when there is no way,
not even a chance,
that I'd dare for a second
glance at the reflection of my body in the mirror
and she knows why.

Like I know why she only cries
when she feels like she's about to lose control.
She knows how much control is worth,
knows what a woman can lose when her power to move
is taken away

by a grip so thick with hate
it could clip the wings of Isis,
leave the next eight generations of your blood shaking.

And tonight
something inside me is breaking,

my heart beating so deep beneath the sheets of her pain
I could give every tear she's crying a year, a name,
and a face I'd forever erase from her mind if I could.

But how much closer to free would any of us be
if even a few of us forgot
what too many women in this world cannot.
And I'm thinking, "What the hell would you tell your daughter?"
Your someday daughter
when you'd have to hold her beautiful face
to the beat up face of this place
that hasn't learned the meaning of
STOP

What would you tell your daughter of the womb raped empty,
the eyes swollen shut,
the gut too frightened to hold food,
the thousands upon thousands of bodies used?

It was seven minutes of the worst kind of hell.
Seven.
And she stopped believing in heaven.

distrust became her law,
fear her bible,
the only chance of survival...
don't trust any of them.

Bolt the doors to your home,
iron gate your windows,
walking to your car alone
get the keys in the lock
please please please please open
like already you can feel
that five-fingered noose around your neck
two hundred pounds of hatred
digging graves into the sacred soil of your flesh
please please please please open
already you're choking for your breath
listening for the broken record of the defense,
Answer the question,
Answer the question.
Answer the question, miss!

Why am I on trial for this?
Would you talk to your daughter,
your sister, your mother like this?
I am generations of daughters, sisters, mothers,
our bodies battlefields, war grounds
beneath the weapons of your brothers' hands.

Do you know they've found landmines
in broken women's souls?
Black holes in the parts of their hearts
that once sang symphonies of creations
bright as the light on infinity's halo.

She says, "I remember the way love
used to glow on my skin
before he made his way in
now every touch feels like a sin
that could crucify Medusa, Kali, Oshun, Mary
bury me in a blue blanket so their god doesn't know I'm a girl,
cut off my curls
I want peace when I'm dead."
Her friend knocks at the door,
"It's been three weeks,
don't you think it's time you got out of bed?"
"No, the ceiling fan still feels like his breath,
I think I need just a couple more days of rest, please."

Bruises on her knees from praying to forget.
She's heard stories of Vietnam vets
who can still feel the tingling of their amputated limbs.
She's wondering how many women are walking around this world
feeling the tingling of their amputated wings,
remembering what it was to fly, to sing.

Tonight she's not wondering
what she would tell her daughter.
She knows what she would tell her daughter.
She'd ask her, "What gods do you believe in?
I'll build you a temple of mirrors so you can see them.
Pick the brightest star you've ever wished on.
I'll show you the light in you
that made that wish come true..."

Tonight she's not asking you what you would tell your daughter,
She's life deep in the hell, the slaughter,
has already died a thousand deaths with every unsteady breath,
a thousands graves in every pore of her flesh
and she knows the war's not over,
knows there's bleeding to come,
knows she's far from the only woman or girl
trusting this world no more than the hands
trust rusted barbed wire.

She was whole before that night.
Believed in heaven before that night,
and she's not the only one.
She knows she won't be the only one.
She's not asking what you're gonna tell your daughter.
She's asking what you're gonna teach
your son.

Andrea Gibson

How many people have you kissed? 20-25

How many of those did you make out with? Not sure. 20?

Ever kissed someone you weren't dating at the time? Yes.

Ever kissed someone you'd met less than an hour before? Yes.

Of the people you've kissed, how many do you regret kissing? None.

Were any of them in relationships with someone else at the time? Yes, a few.

How old was the oldest person you've kissed? One guy I kissed one night looked like he was 35.

How young was the youngest person you've kissed? I was 12, they were 12.

Ever been kissed by a legal adult when you were a minor (or vise-versa)? yes

Ever been kissed by someone you didn't want to kiss? Not really.

Ever been walked in on while you were making out with someone? Yes.

By your parents?: No.

Weirdest place you've kissed someone? (geographically, not physically) In a bathroom.

Ever kissed someone and had someone else get really mad about it? No.

Ever stopped kissing someone because they had bad breath? No - I never notice bad breath.

Ever kissed someone one of your good friends had previously kissed, too? Me and my best friends always make out. so, yes.

Ever not known the name of someone you kissed? No.

Ever kissed someone on a dare/as part of a game? No.

Kissed someone you didn't really like just to make someone else jealous? Sort of.

Ever had a really horrible kissing experience? Nope.

Ever been called a bad kisser? No.

Ever called someone else a bad kisser? No.

Where's the most public place you've ever made out with someone? In a club. On a stage.

Where's the most private place you've ever made out with someone? My room.

Ever kissed some out of pity just so they would stop badgering you? No.

Ever kissed someone just to forget about someone else? Yes. (it doesn't work)

Ever thought of someone else while you were kissing someone? Yup.

Do you usually kiss on the first date? Not usually, but I have no problem with it.

Ever kissed someone you later found out you were related to? No.

Have you ever given or received an obvious hickey? Yes, both.

What album/artist do you associate with making out? None, really. Maybe just club music in general... haha.

Ever bit someone/been bit on purpose while kissing? Ohhhh yeah.

Would you ever kiss a drunk person that you knew wouldn't kiss you sober? Probably.

Have you ever kissed a member of your own sex? (or the opposite sex if gay)? Yes.

How much money would it take for you to kiss someone you thought was gross? Not much. haha.

Have you ever been propositioned for a kiss in exchange for a favor? Nope.

Have you ever kissed more than one person within a 12-hour time block? Yes.

Ever kissed someone after the two of you broke up? No.

Ever stopped dating someone mainly because they weren't a good kisser? No.

Ever kissed someone legally off-limits? (a boss, employee, professor, etc.) No.

Do you kiss and tell? Yes. haha.
( Read more... )

Calling yourself a romantic
let me explain
Been across the whole Atlantic
and back again
I've had it with your antics
your childish games, baby

I call your number twice
But it rang and rang
Against my best friends advice
I should be ashamed
You did it to me once
you'll do it again
so she says

Love long distance
is testing me, trying my patience
I need more of your assistance now
Love long distance
is testing me, trying my patience
I need more of your assistance now

I heard it through the bass line
not much longer would you be my baby

You work yourself into a panic
bent outta shape
And then take me for granted
like nothing's changed
All my friends are asking
why you're that way
But I can't explain

Why I call your number twice
but it rang and rang
Against my best friends advice
I should be ashamed
You did it to me once
you'll do it again
She promises

Love long distance
is testing me trying my patience
I need more of your assistance now
You're making me crazy
the way that you've been acting lately
I need more of your assistance now

Breaking up or breaking down
When I need you, you can't be found
I want someone who's around for me
Does it have to be so complicated?
Either way I'm devastated
I could use a little comforting

Love long distance
is testing me trying my patience
I need more of your assistance now

Love
I need some assistance now
and I will thank you for your cooperation
and I will thank you for your cooperation
Stop playing with me

My other new favourite album: Gossip's Music for Men



Beth Ditto rocks my world.

Did I mention that Placebo's new album is orgasmic? No? Just listen.

haha! this is me and ummm.. a LOT of my friends.



(we started a compost the other night...)

A bunch of lovely friends and I have decided to spend the long-weekend in Vancouver for Gay Pride. Since Calgary Pride was pushed back to September (when I will not be here), I feel like I should at least take in one Pride and this way I can go a few days early and spend some time with my niece!

Only thing is hotels were way too expensive, so we are probably booking a hostel. Which I haven't done before. But it should be an interesting experience and actually looks rather fun. The flights are also cheap right now and I still have a credit left over from last year that I have to use up, which is really the whole reason why I'm making the trip.

I haven't booked anything yet, as I'm still finalizing some plans. But I am super excited. As many times as I've been to Vancouver, I have never been there for Pride and I have never been there to party. In fact, I think every time I actually went there was when I was under-age. So, hooray!

Also - Victoria/Washington friends (that means you Meg & Alysha!) - come down for pride!

Go to urbandictionary.com and type in your answer to each question in the search box, then write any definition it gives you.

1) Your name? Kelsey.
A girl who has a really loud laugh, shes a total cum dumpster, and she is a bad roommate. She frequently pukes after drinking because she can't hold her damn liquor. Despite all these bad qualities, she is a really good friend, but smokes more than a chimney and will start to develop lung cancer by age 22.

"Wow, I was so Kelsey last night."

"I told you not to drink and smoke that much, now youre puking in my garbage can."

2) Your age? 22
The age after 21 where you realize you still have another 3 years to get your shit together

Haha I'm only 22

3) One of your friends? Danielle
The sexiest girl known to man. She is also the perfect girl. Danielle has an ass larger than the earth itself, but in a good way. She is the blackest white girl you will ever meet.

That ass is so phat, it's gotta be Danielle's.

This chick is perfect like Danielle.

4) What should you be doing? Nothing
Actually means "something," but is used when you don't feel like explaining.

Hey, whatcha doin'?

(clearly working on something complex and important) Nothing.

5) Favourite colour? Purple
1. Referring to something of the sketchy variety or to a sexual scene.

2. The color that is rich indeed.

Elsbeth: *hands over book* I have something for you to read.
Eugenia: Does it have any purple scenes? *suggestive eyebrow raise*

6) Birthplace? Calgary
A city in Alberta, Canada, which is near Edmonton and the Rockies. Known for the Stampede, and it's incredibly large population of homophobic racist closeted cowboys.

Calgary is full of homophobic racist closeted cowboys. But still good.

7) Month of Birth? February
The month given to honor Black History so they wouldn't get 30+ days

Slave: Why is February the shortest month?
Master: So you wouldnt get a full month!

8) Last person you talked to? mom
The constant flow of cash and ass whoopings until the age of 18.

Dude my mom kicked my ass when I blew snot all over her new dress.

9) One of your nicknames? Kels
being superior to everyone else. being superior in every single way.

man you're kels! we should hang out!

10) Last food you had? Watermelon
The new breed of Environmentalist extremist, the term 'watermelon' indicates that these losers are only green on the outside, but red (or Communist) to their core.

11) favourite thing to do? Travel
(verb) In personals ads or Internet chat arrangements for casual sex, the act of going to the home of the trick, who is the host.

"I am married, so I must travel to your place."

12) Favourite video game? Sims
A "god" game. You create one or more characters, and can choose to start a family. You can build a house and have a job, etc. The goal is to create your version of a "perfect life".

It's fun to start off on, but after a few hours, you get bored and want to quit. After awhile, it's very hard to keep your SIM happy, and it's hard to balance their basic needs.

For example: If your character is too tired, they won't do anything but sleep. Their hunger level goes down and you have to wake them up to get them to eat so they won't die. However, they fall asleep at the table, and leave the stove on. So you have to pick up after them. You forget about the stove and your kitchen catches fire, and you end up having to call the fire department while your Sim either runs around in panic or tries to put out the fire.

Also, if they don't make it to the bathroom in time, they'll go right where they're standing, so you have to pick that up too. If you don't take good enough care of them, ominous music plays and the Grim Reaper comes. You can plead with him, and if you plead enough, he won't kill you. Watch out though, if you choose to die, make sure you're in your yard or something, because a gravestone is left where you die, and you can't ever move it or get rid of it. So don't die in your kitchen or bedroom or some place like that.

All in all, it's like taking care of a bunch of drunks. Sometimes I think the kids on the game are smarter than the adults. They're also easier to care for, since they go to school for most of the day, come home, eat, and then go to bed.

Oh, and another thing. Your character's social level cannot drop too low, or they'll become depressed and lethargic, lying in bed all day or crying every two steps they take. Every other level will drop too.

It's a very finicky game, and you'll end up spending most of your time just trying to keep the levels high enough so your Sim doesn't die.

It is a good game if you want to pass the time though.

My friend and I are going to play Sims all night long.

13) Favourite drink? Diet Pepsi
a drink that most fat people drink after a big meal and think it will help them lose weight and the drink tastes like crud yet many people like it and it was proven quite a while ago that if you drink to much it slowly dissolves brain cells though for some reason diet comes in more flavors than regular pepsi.

diet pepsi is for fat retards no offence

14) What are you doing when your done this note? facebook
An online network open to college students at certain universities. Students make up their own profiles which include a picture, name, birthdate, interests, and classes. They can then search for other students at their university or another university that has the facebook. One can add people they know or random people as their "friends."

Good for:
1.) Procrastinating
2.) Stalking

15) Last person you slept in the same bed as? Tiffany
When a girl goes into highschool and completely changes

Joe: Hey, have you seen how much Beck has changed since she's been in 9th grade?
James: Yeah I have, she pulled a Tiffany

16) last friend at your house? Bronwyn
the patron saint over a Mexican man who has a crush on a girl and their younger sister but thinks that the younger sister is hotter and gonna be more attractive than the older sister

That Bronwyn protects that mans heart from getting into too much trouble with the law.

OMFG. SERIOUSLY?! THEY WENT THERE?!

Wow, LJ, it's been so long! I'm in Toronto. Which I love. And I want to move here one day...or at least live here for a year or two, apply for my masters at York... the gay village really is what has drawn me in. It is like Queer as Folk's Liberty Avenue! The place is always happening, even on a Monday afternoon. There are so many cool bars and restaurants. I've fallen in love with a place called Zelda's. The waiters are all flamboyant and they dress in drag on Saturday's. I've also seen some amazing amazing drag shows! I also hung out with Allee!

I have so much to post about but Tiff wants to get going... so I have to head out!