I beg pardon?
My mother and grandparents have arrived, which has left me feeling a bit bewildered by the sudden entrance of relatives into my proximity and the old habit patterns which remain. I really don’t know how to relate to my relatives the way I can to my friends.
Or it was because I forgot some pills last night. My bad.
But I really think it was the Secret Talk I got after dinner with my family. My mother had been watching me like a hawk all day, and then she leaned in and said, “Your grandparents and I want to talk to you about something.”
Oh shit, I thought, I’m crazy and I haven’t noticed, and now she’s going to send me to the bin again, and god knows what that would provoke-
“We think you pee too much.”
“You’re only supposed to pee eight times a day. You should really go see a doctor about that. They have medication for it now.”
Yes, so now my mother wants me to throw another medication into my cocktail for peeing. PEEING!
There’s a comic by Natalie Dee which relates:
See more of her daily comics at:
The bubbles have melted.
I bought a mint Aero bar for my birthday breakfast and I left it in my pocket. The bubbles have melted. It is a chocolate and mint paste.
I googled her. She googled me. They googled him. He’s gone googly. Ah, Google, it’s one of my all time favorite things, to google. Especially googling people. Recently I googled an ex girlfriend under Images and found a picture of her name on a tombstone, which I promptly emailed to her.
People have told me they googled me, which always makes me feel weird, kind of like the time I found a friend’s webcam site and got trapped in the popups. I tried so hard to shut the windows, but no, they kept coming.
Anyway, whew, that took me back.
I’m glad I have medication.
Well, today is my birthday. The Dali Lama once said that every birthday is really a celebration of your coming death, so celebrate I must. I have some money in my pocket and cigarettes and a small crowd of good friends, going out dancing wearing a sexy outfit, looking for spankings from girls. It’s going to be great fun. Every birthday I try to think if I’ve learned anything over the year. I mean, life lessons, not just what I learned at Emily Carr.
I shall have to ponder while I clean for the mice exterminators.
Nearly there . . .
I met with the prof of the class I was really concerned about passing. We actually had a really good meeting. She told me my attendance was appalling, and I knew that to be true. In fact, it’s the worst attendance I’ve had ever. But she liked my paper, and was even going to keep it for future students to read. That was really great, because I had felt like my paper was so shitty while I wrote it. I guess I was hard on myself. Anyway, basically all it means is that I’m graduating! Yippee!
We also talked about grad school, and she asked why I wanted to go, and told me now the marks they want are 3.5 GPA’s, and mine is hovering at a meager 2.974. But she said I could get into grad school if I made a larger body of work, and making my feature will really help. So, looks like that’s the plan.
Back to Bunnyhug. It will be really nice to write my script again. I like living in a fantasy world part of the time, I guess that’s why I’m an artist. And slowly my characters are starting to develop lives of their own. I’m also really happy about my script right now because a stronger structure is coming into form, whereas before I had really started writing blindly. Anyway, the deadline for the Sundance Screenwriters Lab is coming up in February, so I’m going to submit my script and see if they’ll take me.
Wow, so soon I will walk across the stage and get a degree. It seemed like it would never happen.
A Salute to James Dean
In continuation with my recollections of adolescence, I thought it would be wise to mention James Dean.
See, I was a nerd, and queer, and crazy, and I didn’t really have a life. Oh there was that naughty escapade with the bisexual witches in grade twelve, and the rave scene I was in, and making videos that went to queer film fests all over the world, but before all that life was pretty grim. Watching music videos, playing video games, reading bell hooks. pimply nerd girl stuff. And I needed some kind of outlet, and it came in the form of the movies.
The movies was where I could dream about who I wanted to be and who I wanted to be with, it was it’s own magic world. I was all about finding queer subtext. I mean, I was sticking deep complicated meanings on these movies based on my identity and gender. My two icons were Marilyn Monroe and James Dean.
Ironically my favorite diner in Saskatoon where I whiled away much of my youth is absolutely PLASTERED with James Dean/Marilyn Monroe memorabilia and photos.
I think I wanted to fuck Marilyn, but I was also watching her, trying to figure out femininity. I wasn’t around uber femmes in my life, all my cousins my age were boys. It also made me really want to try out smoking. Fuck, she smokes a lot.
But James Dean appealed to me. Later I would find out it was a gay/lesbian attraction. But what I liked so much was his vulnerable masculinity. I wanted to BE James Dean. He was my role model for masculinity.
I don’t know where it went wrong.
Do you suppose it’s the bunnyhug?
Hazing Parker Posey
I was recently thinking about the scene in Dazed and Confused where Parker Posey hazes all the freshman girls. There is something about the scene which makes it totally hot. Squirting condiments all over other younger teenage girls. I dunno, I always wanted to interact with the older hot teen girls when I was younger, but I had no idea how to do it. And there was this element of hazing. At my high school select girls were attacked with bingo dabbers all over their face. And it stayed for a really long time. I never got hazed. I didn’t want to either. I was going through my angry bleak and cynical year and was just about to realize I was a homo. I wore long hair to hide the growingly obvious fact that I was a butch dyke heading into four years of high school in Saskatchewan.
What mean grim times my friend! It was about a mile from my house to the school, and I walked there rain or shine or snow. Sometimes it was minus 60 with the windchill. I was steadily working my way through the Vampire Chronicles and being very dark and troubled about it all.
Realizing I was a queer was the weirdest experience, next to going to the bin. It’s moments like that when your life totally changes. I stopped being so bleak and dark, sort of. I started being less afraid of people. And more afraid, but for different reasons.
I have often wondered if there is a hazing procedure for the queer community. I think I know what it is.
Queer youth groups.
Now I have a soft spot for my youth group days. I did it for five years, in three different cities. And to be totally honest, I always went hoping to score. I had grand dreams for queer youth groups. I went imagining it would be lead by a Parker Posey look-alike who would demonstrate fisting to us, or something else worthwhile. Knitting, even. Instead it was circle check. Man, everybody telling us how their week was, or something. And terrible things would be happening to everyone. Like live coverage of the war stories of trying to find your way as a queer in the world. So sad. I think it made us all crazy.
And then we’d all go out after. Usually to that place with the really great fries.
The second part was where all the fun came in, because people would gossip and flirt. But somehow we had to endure the circle check. Even if someone was still talking after half an hour.
I still know a lot of ex-youth group people. So in a sense it did serve it’s purpose as a social bonding experience.
Oh noooo, red pen!
I am editing my final draft of my paper and my red pen has disappeared! I think the mouse took it.
I was on the bus today when a creepy eerie thing happened. I guess I have been reflecting lately on turning twenty-seven in less than a week and what I’ve learned since I was seventeen. How I got more accepting and compassionate for those around me, and also just thinking of all the shit I’ve been through to get to where I am today. All those years with the wrong diagnoses, all the bad marks on my transcript from when I would go crazy. Anyway, I was wondering if I really am so mature, or if I’m still seventeen.
Then I got on the bus with my friend and these teenage girls who were Paris Hilton wannabes were tittering and making me feel awkward. And sitting next to me was a girl their age, probably from the same school, who looked like the girl from Welcome to the Dollhouse. I hope they didn’t make her feel weird. I remember being at the mercy of mean girly girls.
Paris Hilton scares me. And Britney Spears. I’ve seen whole hordes of Britney Spearses, hey, how do you say Britney Spears plural? Britney Speari? Anyway, hordes, like a biblical plague of locusts, descending on everyone, sprinkling perfume samples amidst the holy rollers that picket in front of the Virgin Megastore. You Will Burn in Hell! But on the way, be sure to purchase our new scent “Capitalist Beauty Queen.”
Really though, I love femmes. There is only one thing I would like to change about dating femmes; buying clothes. There is something about it, I dunno, it’s a bit like taking your medicine. You know it’s a good idea, femmes have a flair for picking out things that make you look good, especially if they groove on butch vibe. However this could go wrong if you’re shopping with a femme who secretly wants to make you over into a girly girl for a night. But ooooh, it takes so freaking long to pick something. I go out shopping, I’m like “Blue bunnyhug.” And I hunt through all the stores on Granville street and usually it’s at the Bay and I pay my money and I have my blue bunnyhug for the year. Or I buy jeans. That’s pretty much it for clothes shopping, that’s all I want to do. And I wear my blue bunnyhugs pretty much all day year round, so that’s it for fashion.
It’s because I am a bachelor. A blue bunnyhug wearing bachelor.
For those of you not in the know, bunnyhug is Saskatchewan for a hoodie.
Clean and Beautiful
I am going to a reception full of funders tonight. I’m taking my friend with me. I said we needed to dress up. She asked how.
“You know, clean and beautiful.”
I have to write my paper and the mess in here had totally become thouroughly disgusting, especially with the mouse getting bold. I had to set some boundaries. And there were some flies getting interested, oh it was awful. So I hauled out all the garbage. A mouse had been living in my garbage. Now it’s still a disaster zone, but cluttered more than anything. And I have a lot more energy. I think I was seriously depressed and I didn’t even know it. I mean, I must have been to sleep so much and not clean as well. I forgot how good it feels to clean. So much more room! And now that mouse will go away.
My name used to be Mouse.
I’ve just always loved rodents.
But I hate maggots. And I thank heavens that I didn’t see any on my cleaning spree.
Oooh, but there’s still the fridge.
I’m just glad I’m not a public hazard site anymore. I like my rat, but I got him at a pet store.
Clive’s gettin old, he doesn’t use his back legs as well. I hope he doesn’t pull a Pope and die a long drawn out death. He’s so old. I’m going to have to make a decision sometime this summer I fear.
I got some more clean and beautiful preparations to make.
I have a secret. . . .
I have a dirty fantasy in my head set to “School’s Out for Summer” by Alice Cooper. It’s the sexiest idea I’ve had in ages. It’s as dirty as my dishes, and believe me, that’s as dirty as it gets.