Boss Up with Bevin Your dream life is at the end of your comfort zone

2015-07-24

Additions to the Queer Lexicography: You’ve Got Toptions

Wow things have been a little hectic around here! It’s summertime in NYC and I am working hard on my East Coast bucket list. Last weekend I went to a Bluegrass festival in the Catskill Mountains about 2 hours North of NYC, this weekend I head to Atlanta for pre-wedding preparations for one of my besties, I went to two queer weddings in June (one of them at a summer camp in PA!), did NYC Pride (aka Gay Stamina month), produced Rebel Cupcake for the last time and a couple weekends ago took an overnight trip to Fire Island! On that trip I caught up with my friend Avory who loves a clever turn of phrase as much as I do and inspired this edition of Additions to the Queer Lexicography!

AvoryAvory on their birthday after the incredible Bjork concert! Avory serves great fashion and great turns of phrases.

Toptions. This is the idea that you have a lot of different Tops to choose from. And yes, I’m talking about Tops in a sexual way not a sartorial way, but feel free to use it that way too, especially when talking about fat friendly crop tops! Being open to Toptions means being in a mindset of abundance. I think a lot of people out there lament that they do not have a lot of Tops to choose from. Believe me, as a Femme who is Top leaning, especially when it comes to public play, I know that there are lots of Tops out there. I feel like going into any situation where you may want to play, you’ve got to be open to possibilities, talk to lots of folks, explore your Toptions (or bottom possibilities) and have a mindset that there are lots of people out there waiting to be explored!

I spent so much of my early twenties totally convinced no one would be attracted to me that I barely tried. I often clung to the edges of play parties, dance parties and whatever other cruising environments I was in not interacting with folks. I’ve learned that there are lots of Toptions out there, you just have to leap into small talk with folks and feel things out. Being there is often not enough to open the door, you gotta break the ice. Small talk doesn’t cost anything but time and maybe a little annoyance. And, as Rachael says, if you’re going to have to get through 9 rejections to get to 1 yes, get through them as quickly as possible!

You booed up with the first person you met on Fire Island? You are really missing out on all of your Toptions!

Related post–my theory of Butch abundance!

abundanceI believe in abundance so much and want to be reminded of it all the time so I have it tattooed on my wrist! A scarcity mentality is draining to me! Also, I’m repping Wide Eyes Open Palms my favorite latte makers, in Long Beach, CA!

Fuckit List. It’s like a bucket list of who you want to fuck! I have a few people on my Fuckit List and I know we’re all going to be gay for a real long time so that helps me to have some perspective and patience. Also I’ve talked to a lot of older queers about their sordid pasts and have heard many juicy stories about finally being single/available at the same time and getting to do it to that person they’d had their eye on for 15 years.

Also when going to a queer event or place and you know who you’re going to run into, having a Fuckit List in mind of possexibilities is a good way to be prepared and manifest abundance.

Freddy is monogs now, but I’ve got them on my Fuckit List.

nailsMy nails from the cold brew photo… relevant to my abundance mindset and inspired by sunsets in LA!

Shark Week. An incredible euphemism for your period. It’s vicious and bloody! Lasts about a week. Get it? I loooove it. It’s also great because it can be kind of masculine (though Femmes shark it up pretty magnificently) and it’s always nice to have a masculine version of a period euphemism!

200069_10150172750922079_5109552_nI can’t talk about Shark Week without Miss Mary Wanna doing her shark burlesque act! Photos by Kelsey Dickey for Rebel Cupcake!

This one has been spinning out there for awhile and somehow I always thought people were talking about the Discovery Channel. I don’t know, I don’t have cable, I know people really like Shark Week. But when I heard it multiple times during a few months I was like, wait a minute, Shark Week? And I finally asked.

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OMG it’s Shark Week and all the ibuprophin is gone. This is a nightmare.

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Manses. I can’t believe I never talked about Manses before, but Glenn Marla introduced me to this awesome masculine of center euphamism for period. Get it.

It’s my manses and I hate that all of the products come in pink. Get it together Kotex, people of all sorts of genders get periods!

MacyBevinbeachReading on the beach at Fire Island (Cherry Grove) with my dog Macy!

2013-01-17

Additions to the Queer Lexicography

It’s been awhile since I updated the Queer Lexicography here at QueerFatFemme.com and I have been employing some gems in my real life lately that might apply to yours.

Textversation. This is that tendency to use texting like IMing was back in the day. (Remember AOL Instant Messenger?) Some people are more prone to this than others, but I go back and forth. Sometimes I only want to use texting for pertinent information shares, sometimes I want a meaningful conversation to continue. Also, certain couples I know are basically always in textversation with one another when not in the same room.

“We were in textversation for a solid week and then, BAM, nothing for like four days. What happened?”

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Victoria setting up Apples to Apples at my birthday party. I want to start using the Queer Lexicography words in Apples to Apples.

Sending the Representative. This is a gem my friend Mackenzi introduced to me about that thing that happens when folks don’t show you who they really are when you date them. A particularly hilarious story accompanies this term that involves a suitor who engaged her intern to burn some cds she could keep in her car that would make Mackenzi think the suitor had good taste in music. It’s such a gift when your beau is being authentic!

“We were really vibing but it turns out they were totally sending the representative and I don’t actually know them at all.”

Sex Vortex. See also Kissing Vortex. This occurs when you’re in the kind of chemical magic with another human that time either stands still or ceases to exist when you’re having sex or kissing. I’ve had this happen to me, where I lose track of time and space, and also where my frien was watching me make out with someone at a dance party and said, “Bev, it was like time was slowing down watching you two.”

“We were supposed to have dinner at 7:30 but we accidentally fell into a sex vortex at 6 and didn’t realize it until 8:30. Oops.”

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Me and Sexpert Diana Cage at my birthday party.

DTR conversation. My BFF Spunky and I have been using this for years. DTR stands for Define The Relationship and the DTR CONVO is totally important but not something to be rushed. Being okay with ambiguity is something I’ve acquired over the years (see, why I love a date not a date), after a couple of years of really intense emotional work. But, dang, before I turned 31 I would go crazy without a DTR.

“I’m not trying to have a DTR with you but I need you to not euphemize this as ‘hanging out.'”

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Speaking of, let’s talk about the euphemism “hanging out.” I “hang out” with lots of folks. Let’s say I would actually hang out with pretty much all of my facebook friends. But I only sleep with/have slept with a small number of those people. I bristle at that common euphemism because if someone says they’re hanging out with someone I don’t know if they mean just like, chilling, with a friend or if they mean they are going to be doing it.

A friend of mine recently said that about someone she was sleeping with and I said, No, be more specific and she said, “Well, this is a girl I don’t spend money on and I’m not trying to woo. What do we call that? Is that just friends with benefits?” Dear readers who know more slang than I do, is there a term out there that I’m missing? Does everyone use the term “hanging out?” What if you’re not really friends but you just do it sometimes? What if it’s like somewhere before dating? Relationships are so complicated!

2011-07-01

Additions to the Queer Lexicography: Pride Edition

Hey, I can get legally married in my home state! How rad! I gave my thoughts to the Autostraddle round-up. Check it out!

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The cast of Rebel Cupcake Pride! Rod Tame, Dominic Berry, Fancy Feast, Regie Cabico, Me, and Rocco Katastrophe. My favorite part of NYC Pride weekend, at Stonewall. It was a precious and incredible event.

I went away on the beach sojourn I mentioned in my last entry! It was awesome, calming and amazing. One night away and two long cloudy days on the beach in awe of the beauty held in gray skies and gray water, the miracle of shells. The sweetness of a shih tzu.

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It has been a few months since I’ve updated the Queer Lexicography!

Gay Stamina Month:
So many people resonated with my declaration of Gay Stamina Month I thought I should include it formally in the additions to the queer lexicography. Gay Pride Month! How incredible that a rebellion in a bar in the late 60s would turn into a non-stop hustle of events for all homosexuals? They run the gamut from family pride picnics to insane nightlife celebrations. It takes a lot of stamina to stay that excited and go to that many events and yet people really seem to do it.

“Ironically I decided to take a break from Gay Stamina Month at Cherry Grove on Fire Island, where everything is so gay the bar at my poolside hotel room played ‘We Are Family’ on the hour, every hour.”

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Me and my former roommate Blaney! Photo by Amos Mac for Rebel Cupcake.

My friend Taylor Black is causing a hullaballoo at the new website PrettyQueer.com because of his harsh critique of Brooklyn nightlife. I have some thoughts on his entry in an upcoming post.

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But that said, I appreciate Taylor as a friend and co-creator and he brought me this incredible Gay Pride quote in honor of the season.

“I don’t think you can really be proud of being gay because it isn’t something you’ve done. You can only be proud of not being ashamed.”–Quentin Crisp

That is exactly it! Anyone in a marginalized identity has to work so hard to love themselves. It’s really being proud of overcoming the shame of a society that makes it really difficult to love yourself no matter who you are, but especially for who you are attracted to.

In the spirit of celebration of gayness, let’s add to the lexicography about sex! One of my favorite parts of being gay is having sex that celebrates the body and all it is capable of.

Sex Tornado: You know how when you have a sexy romp and it goes on for hours and sometimes it lands in multiple rooms? Like the couch cushions are on the floor, there’s sex ephemera everywhere (bottles of lube, toys, wrappers), clothes crumpled places, the bed blankets are on the floor, etc? And you go to the bathroom or leave your hotel room and come back and realize it is beyond obvious what has happened. It needed a name.

“I just got done cleaning up the sex tornado. I think we are due for another storm tomorrow night.”

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Fuck Knot: Glenn Marla introduced me to this term. It’s a good one, and it happened when we were teasing someone who was taking a break from a laycation in process who we noted was sporting a giant tangle in the back of her hair. It’s a thing, it happens. It’s really funny.

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Straight hair is more likely to develop a fuck knot, says Glenn Marla. This is Leslie and me (she is straight) at Mackenzi’s store.

Sex Isle: This is a derivative of sexile, which, according to Urban Dictionary means to be kicked out of your apartment so your roommate can have sex. However, I think the other side of that is part of the Sex Isle and is clearly more fun. Also, Sex Isle is a derivative of Love Island, where you disappear to when your lover is in town or you go on laycation with someone with whom you share romantic feelings.

“I have been on Sex Isle all week and I keep combing fuck knots out of my hair.”

As an aside, I have a different straight friend with a great coping mechanism to the soul-suckage rejection machine of online dating. When she goes onto her website of choice to check her responses she sings a theme song. And when she gets a particularly fun response she reads it aloud. It helps to make it a bit of a game.

Thanks to everyone who reached out after my last post about Cheryl’s passing. My friend Kelli stayed at her bedside literally 24/7 for months. If you are able to donate to the WTF Love Fund to help Kelli’s ability to pay bills you can donate at this website.

2011-01-21

Additions to the Queer Lexicography: Sleeper Crushes Edition

Sleeper Crush: Similar to a sleeper agent, a sleeper crush is someone who has a crush on you that you don’t know about. I know from later confessions there were lots of people who had sleeper crushes on me when I was a teenager (haaaaay, girl scout camp) that I was oblivious about. Sadly, I knew not how to smoke out the sleeper crushes so I was unable to take advantage of the possexibilities* (haaaaay, late bloomer).

The invention of social networking, and especially Facebook has made having a sleeper crush much easier. With no way of effectively tracking the stats of who looks at your profile on the daily, how will we ever know who has a sleeper crush on us?

Sometimes a sleeper crush manifests for you when you’re monogs with someone else. In that case I just call it “bookmarking” someone for later, putting the sleeper crush to bed until you have room in your heart/relationship negotiation for someone else.

“This dry spell is out of control. I wonder if there are any sleeper crushes on my Facebook who want to take me out for some date steak.**”

Going Out of Business Sale: My friend Jessie Dress declared this term during a skype date the other day. This is when someone moves away and suddenly they are the hottest queer in town. Seriously, it happens so often. Move away, broadcast it, and you’d be amazed at how it really gets people spurred to action. There’s something exhilarating about only getting a chance to do it for a few weeks/days.

Beware, though. I had a friend meet her love during her Going Out of Business Sale and then they had a complicated, sad parting and then moving across the country to join her 3 months later thing. But it’s all happy ending, they’re still together.

“If I declare a Going Out of Business Sale will it smoke out the sleeper crushes in my queer community?”

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Sophie just moved across the country (the most recent of four friends in my immediate social circle who moved out to the Bay from Brooklyn) but I don’t know that she actually had a Going Out of Business Sale. I just miss her.


Lesbian Tea Basket with me and Jessie Dress!

Making Bad Decisions: In the spirit of sparkling hard in 2011, I am now totally into using “bad decisions” as a euphemism for lots of things relating to making mischief–going out and drinking too much, being too loud, late night texting “Where are you we are having soooo much fun! You should be here!”, going after a red flag waving queer.***

I am so drawn to making bad decisions lately! It’s not like I am turning into a wild woman (I’m a party promoter who hardly drinks at her own parties) but I am loosening my tight grip on behavior and just having fun this year.

“I went way out of my way to walk to Heather’s house at 11PM on a Wednesday to try to get her to go make bad decisions with me at Metropolitan Bar.”

Bluetool: My BFF Brian brought this to my attention. This is when someone using a bluetooth device appears to be talking to themselves. Also anyone who is wearing a bluetooth device as an accessory. Bluetooth devices are not earcuffs. They are for function not for fashion.

“The other day during my wait for tasty brunch at the Morning Glory I passed the time watching a bluetool with bad hair walking back and forth and looking cray.”

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Brian and I toasting sausages on sticks at the sheep & wool festival. Brian is a self-proclaimed bluetool.

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Bluetool, put that thing away you’re on a date!

*Nod to the ever fabulous Femmes Guide to the Universe.
**Date steak: Steak bought for you on a date. That you don’t have to pay for and then you follow up with a good make out or some sex. See also, Steak and Blow Job Day.
***Note: I am doing well not going after any red flag wavers for the moment. A departure from my history treating red flags like air traffic control. However, I am totally counseling friends to just walk eyes wide open into big red flaggy situations. 2011… fuck it! At least when you see the red flags coming it won’t surprise you when they act all red flaggy, doing the things the red flag queers do.

2010-05-12

In Solidarity With Those Who Have Been Called “Too Much”

I have a bestie who lives far away. When we used to visit only once a year and not keep up with each other regularly, as soon as she would pick me up from the airport I would ask for the current love life run-down. She is polyamorous and it was (and still is) always an interesting mix of folks.

One time, the list included a girl she was particularly fond of and things were going quite well, except that the girl’s other love interest was quite the opposite of my bestie. “I don’t know how to describe her except that she’s just… very beige.”

What made the situation, and Beige herself, so vexing was that the love interest was starting to spurn my bestie for Beige. “I just don’t know what she sees in Beige. She’s the exact opposite of me.”

This love push and pull between my bestie, that girl, and Beige would go on for years, with the girl bouncing back from monogamy with Beige to my bestie and back again.

I have incorporated the descriptor “Beige” in my love vocabulary now. It’s hard to describe what Beige even means, as a personal trait. Maybe it’s just the absence of bold color? I just know it’s pretty much the opposite of glitter. I identify as glitter, which to me is a color.

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Vagina Jenkins has been told that she is “too much”. Also check out her kickstarter so she can bring her too much to your town!

Glenn Marla has a performance piece in Tragic Magic where he talks about people who have been called “too much”. I’ve been called too much my entire life–too fat, too loud, too feminine, too “lipstick” when I first came out, too expressive, too blah blah blah blah blah.

I hate it. I love big and I always express myself. When I am excited about something I get louder, and I really like to be excited. I am effusive in my praise of people, and when I’m with someone in a romantic context I can make them feel like the only person in the room. I’ve been told this by multiple partners, which is why I tend to date Leos. I have also been told that I am a lot different than people expect by a lot of lovers.

I LOVE romance. I really enjoy giving and receiving special attention and courtship. I am so not the kind of girl who can play aloof–I just don’t have time or inclination to pretend to be something I am not. If I can “take it or leave it” I’ll just leave it.

I was told by someone I went on a couple of dates with that I was “a lot to get used to.” It brought up a lot for me–I had so much rage around being told that and it took me a few weeks to unpack. It felt like being told I was too much, even though I know that wasn’t the intention. I guess this post is my way of turning that unexpected rage into productivity.

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Heather has been told she is “too much”. Me, too. That’s why I got big hair, to go along with my big personality.

Heather and I were talking about being too much and how people get so scared and run to the easy, non-threatening beige. “It’s so unfortunate because they could have something so good and so easy, but instead they run away like a coward and don’t want to deal. If I wanted to date people who didn’t want to communicate and were douchebags I’d just go back to straight dudes.”*

We’ve both been left for people who didn’t hold a candle to us. It sucks! I don’t even know how to tell you how to deal with that except just to let it show you who that person really is. If someone prefers beige to glitter than it tells you that they don’t have it in them to date you and they don’t deserve you.

I go out with people and I see they have all of this potential and then all of a sudden they’re dumping you in a picture text message from the Gossip Girl set.** It can take a minute to realize that they really just showed you all you needed to know about them from their bad behavior.

I don’t know what it is like to be left for someone who is fabulous. I’ll let you know if it happens. I don’t usually get left for someone else, though, I get left because people aren’t emotionally ready to deal with anything, not even the conversation where we come to some agreement about what our casual romance, Romance, or ROMANCE could look like.*** I mean, everything is negotiable. And if it isn’t then at least you know it isn’t and that in and of itself is some sort of answer. I just think it’s worse being left in the dust holding nothing and wondering what the hell happened.

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My BFF Rachael, the Donna of Femme Mafia International, has been told that she is “too much”. Hey Atlanta, check out her new monthly Friday Femme Centered party starting THIS Friday, Friends With Benefits. Info here.

My friend Taueret has a tattoo that says “I love harder than expected.” I think that’s true for a lot of Ferocious Femmes and other flamboyant queers. I think it scares people. I mean, it’s true, some of the most scoundrely scoundrels I have dealt with let loose the “I love yous” within a week of starting to date me, which I ate up. I like to think that I am learning how to temper it a bit and be a little bit more skeptical about professions of forever(!!), and of course not profess love too early. But I do believe in showing people affection. And when you’re enthusiastic about people, actually saying “You’re awesome!” instead of hiding who you are and how you feel.

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Taueret. Frankly I just don’t understand how there can be too much of her love.

My bestie Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha told me once on the heels of another fizzled romance that she feels like this agent who incites change–that she tends to somehow be that catalyst for the people she dates to suddenly start working on their issues, and then they are sadly no longer emotionally available to date. It feels very frustrating when this happens over and over again.

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I feel like if Leah is an agent who incites change, it is somehow made less threatening and more appealing by her propensity for wearing hot miniskirts. I’m just saying.

There’s no great answer to this. I want to tell you all there is absolutely someone out there for you and that suddenly your Prince(ss) charming will show up and tell you that you are SO much instead of TOO much. I do firmly believe that there is someone out there for everyone. I just also know from personal, current experience that it takes empyreal patience to find someone who is in it for the full flamboyance, nurturing, love, whatever you have to give.

It took so much work to become the confident, courageous, colorful and caring person that I am. I won’t quiet it and I won’t be shushed just to make someone like me back. The right romantic interest, friends and community would want me to be my most vibrant self.

Being a risk-taker in love is going to pay off. I will always have experiences worth writing about, good and bad, I will always have things to learn from. I will always keep changing and keep growing. I am the kind of person who needs an adventurous risk-taker to come along for the ride. I encourage everyone to take risks, big and small, in love and in life as much as you can. It is what makes life so much more interesting than beige.

I had a great date with a really hot, fat, tattooed older butch who said they didn’t like make-out parties because “I’m a specialty food. The people who are attracted to me are really into me. But there are lots of people who aren’t.”

I have found a lot of empowerment from this statement. Being a specialty food is something special. It makes me a lot more interesting–going through the work I have had to go through to unlearn self-hatred and myriad of other things has made me a really fun and fascinating person. It makes the days I feel good really fucking shine, for no reason in particular. It means the work I do as a Queer Fat Femme performer, writer and activist is to create visibility. I hope my visibility helps all of the young Queer Fat Femmes out there have an easier time with dating when they’re 31. Maybe in 10 years Queer Fat Femmes won’t be such a speciality food (but will still be special!).

There’s no magic formula to making someone not intimidated by you. There’s no magic formula to helping people get over a lifetime of hatred to love themselves enough to want to date someone who is nice to them. It’s true for any marginalized identity, fat folks, dis/abled folks, people of color, trans folks, survivors, queers, etc…

I can give you this answer: There is only patience and confidence that as a community, if we love each other enough and work to help one another heal, we’ll create queers who are confident enough to love out loud and give glitter (and orange, purple, and paisley) a chance.

*I want to say there are plenty of straight dudes who are not douchebags.
**True story. “Thought of you. Also let’s not see each other anymore.”
***This is why Unicorn Dick is described as that fantastic head, heart, lust, timing combination–timing is often a bitch. Um, also, I hate this trend amongst queers where it feels like we can’t talk about “WHAT IT IS THAT WE’RE DOING” because it’s so threatening to have words for it. Come up with something creative but don’t avoid talking about it because it’ll scare someone away. It just leaves you left with no ending because there was no real beginning. Dangling participles are sucky in grammar and suckier still when they hurt your heart!

2010-05-07

Additions to the Queer Lexicography: Identifying Your Emotions Edition

A couple of months ago I had a little miscommunication with someone around me stating that I was feeling jealous about something. She saw it as a red flag whereas I meant it as information, and actually, ultimately a compliment.

Jealousy is such a loaded word and it really doesn’t need to be. I’m an only child, I get jealous about lots of ridiculous things–friends, success, clothes, lovers, access to cable television. I have learned how to manage my jealousy internally and rarely feel it more than fleetingly. I have also learned that jealousy is a great information gathering tool for myself in terms of checking in with my emotions.

When it comes down to it, if I don’t care about someone enough to feel some jealousy, I probably don’t want to be friends or lovers with them. But me being jealous is not that deep.

Enter Glenn Marla, with a new term for the queer lexicography.

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JELLO. JELLO is a shorthanded way of saying jealous. “I am feeling a little JELLO about that” sounds much less threatening to yourself and the person you are expressing it to than jealous. Jealousy has such a bad rap, but if you can use the shorthand of “Having some JELLO” it feels easier to deal with. No weight watchers points, single serving. Try it, it’s fun.

“Hey baby, I just needed to tell you I am feeling JELLO about your date on Monday, so if you could make some time for me on Sunday to hold hands and watch a re-run of Glee, it would take the edge of my JELLO.”

This is a derivative of the term “J.Lo” which was brought to us via Damien Luxe via some generous queers in Philly.

Battleshipping. You know when you meet up with a friend, bring your laptops and do work together but separately, which somehow keeps you more accountable to the work product and slightly encourages you not to look up Jersey Shore news on Gawker? If you ever think about what it looks like with two people and their laptops back to back, it’s just like the rad board game Battleship. Heather came up with the term and was throwing it around about Silas and Damien and for awhile I really thought she meant they were playing board games.*

“Hey Zoe, want to meet up for Battleship next week? I really need to haul ass on the production of my book. Kate Bornstein wants to see one out of me soon.”**

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Me, Kate and Carmelita Tropicana at the reading for King Kong Theory, published by the Feminist Press.

Maple Chaser. I have thrown this term around on this blog before, but basically it is someone who has an affinity for Canadians. Like a chubby chaser or other such semi-creepster terms. I heard about it for the first time on FetLife. I like it for the double entendre of Canadian people and also maple as a food/concept. I think Canadians are hot and really love to visit Canada.*** And I love maple syrup, maple flavored anything, and especially maple donuts. They are very uncommon in New York, but very common in my home state of California. I have them at least twice a visit when I go to Canada.

“I find that tattooed butch from Toronto a triple threat in the lust department–I am a Maple Chaser.”

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Me. In Toronto. I am due for a trip. Book me for a gig!

The Days of Fried Chicken and Deviled Eggs. I use this term to describe that beginning courtship phase when people do sweet things to woo you. It is in reference to an actual girl who wooed me by making me amazing meals involving both of those things. Several weeks later, she stopped the wooing without explanation. I kept hanging on, waiting for The Days of Fried Chicken and Deviled Eggs to resume. What I didn’t realize was that she was showing me another aspect of her personality, though I was having a hard time adjusting to this new version of her when I liked the TDOFC&DE version so much more than the one that was ignoring me.

It is my belief that the Days of Fried Chicken and Deviled Eggs should never cease–a relationship needs to involve a certain amount of continuous courtship. Courtship does not require a great deal of energy, just a little thoughtfulness. (Check out the FemmeCast episode on courtship for some great ideas and guidance.)

“It is really difficult to do, but I need to move on. Now that The Days of Fried Chicken and Deviled Eggs have ended I am not being treated very well, and I deserve to be cherished. My feelings for her are strong, but my feelings for me are stronger.”

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Enjoying Fried Chicken with Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha. Our friend courtship continues, as we approach our 2 year friendaversary at the 2010 Femme Conference.

*Both highly productive people in my life, I wondered why they were having game night and not inviting me. I felt a little Jello about it until I realized it was a work/production date. Ha ha!
**Real quote! Nothing kicks you in the ass like meeting and performing with one of your heroes and having them tweet that at you!
***Seriously, Toronto has these incredible hot dog carts with all different kinds of hot dogs, tofu, turkey, regular, sausage and then tons of great toppings to put on them! And lots of hot queers, fun things to do, good beer, cheap ferry rides, amazing restaurants…

2010-02-09

Additions to the Queer Lexicography: Phraseology

What Would My Dreamy Boyfriend or Girlfriend Do? As a single girl, I like to ask myself this when I am feeling lonely or tender and really want someone to take care of me. This idea, of the mythical dreamy boyfriend or dreamy girlfriend (depending on your orientation/their preference), is totally ridiculous but ultimately a fun way to look at self-care.

Basically in an ideal world, what would a partner do to soothe you? My dreamy boyfriend would totally take care of getting my car cleaned–inside and out. Really, it’s just taking it to the vacuum and wash place or whatever, but it’s a nice thing. So sometimes I go to the car place and do all the work that I hate to do ever so much and attribute it to my dreamy boyfriend. Makes it less of a chore.

My dreamy girlfriend has been paying attention to my twitter feed for the last six weeks and knows that I have been obsessed with getting a pink snuggie, so she totally bought it for me at Rite Aid. I’m going to bling it out with cupcake embellishments to make it extra perfect for me. (This justified the spending of $14.99 when trying to save up for a couple of impending trips.)

The next time you feel distraught, think “What Would My Dreamy Boyfriend/Girlfriend Do?” And those of you with actual real life Dreamy Boyfriends or Girlfriends? Treat them to Steak and Blowjob day.

Grapefruit-o-clock: My friends Ally, Damien Luxe and I had brunch the other day and Damien brought a whole pile of grapefruits. She disclosed that since she quit smoking she looks forward to her grapefruit every day (there is a ritual aspect to it that nicely distracts from the non-smoking). She supremes the grapefruit by hand–peeling it, removing all of the pith and just eats the tasty pulp.

Since that day I have enjoyed grapefruit-o-clock almost every day. Eating it like that is a total adventure, it’s very tasty and brings joy to an otherwise bleak winter day.

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Cheesy 20Femme moment with Damien. If you can’t don ridiculous glasses with your friends while wearing giant hairbling and corsets, who can you do those things with?

The Lesbian Plunge: Basically, this is a phrase similar to “Uhaul Dyke” and other monikers that poke fun at the lesbian tendency to partner up right after the first date. It’s often a slippery slope to disaster, but can sometimes be to great effect–I did it twice and stayed with the person for 2-3 years. You can do a lot of things to mitigate your tendencies towards the Lesbian Plunge. Paying attention to your red flags is one. Having good boundaries (and enforcing them and sticking to them) is another. I mean, I’ve listened to enough cheesy R & B love songs to know there’s no stopping the train, but you can mitigate the impending disaster at least a little.

Dates Not Dating: You can read the whole description here, by the ever eloquent Bee Listy. The gist is, hey, what about just going on dates with someone without worrying about “where is this going” and “what do we mean” or anything like that? No expectations beyond the date itself (showing up on time, generalized good respect for one another).

I’ve found the idea of it to be pretty liberating. When a girl is totally not relationship material but treats you well, you can still go on dates with her (and vice-versa, especially when one is fresh from a break-up or going through other life stuff that makes you/they feel like dating is not a good idea). It’s pretty much the opposite of the Lesbian Plunge.

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I just love this picture of Bryn. She cut my hair two months ago and it’s grown in really well.

Younicorn: So few things bring me the kind of joy that being made into a unicorn does. Brian, my Gay Boy BFF and I had this interaction about the new iphone application Younicorn.

TO: Brian

FROM: Bevin

Subject: Younicorn

Brian this iphone app called Younicorn allows you to make anyone a unicorn. You should get it immediately.

TO: Bevin

FROM: Brian

Subject: Younicorn

Bevin, I feel like this app is worth having, providing that it costs $0.99 or less. I don’t feel like the ability to make anyone a unicorn is worth a full dollar to me. This is an arbitrary sum, to be sure, but a whole number threshold seems to be reasonable given the expected payoff in terms of joy brought to my life in this instance.

Thoughts?

TO: Brian

FROM: Bevin

Subject: Younicorn

Brian, I would like to confirm that this app costs, in fact, 99 cents exactly. I can tell you that it has brought more than a dollar’s worth of joy into my life already and I do not even own an iphone. My friends Glenn Marla and Jessie Dress have both made a younicorn out of my image and both times I have squealed. Squealed, Brian. I have spent $1.50 on a fresca and never squealed. I think that if you bought the younicorn app you could make your fiance Jose look like a unicorn from another planet and it would bring you at least the retail value of a bag of cheetos worth of joy. Also, when you save a younicorn, it makes a tinka tinka noise like the noise a unicorn would make while flying through the air.

Brian I hope you take this into consideration.

And you, magical readers, I hope you take THIS into consideration.

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His response to me was a photo of me from a wedding we went to together, eating an oyster, as a younicorn. I rest my case.

2010-01-25

I Try To Love Myself As Much As She Loved Me

I met Liz when I was 11 years old, when she decided to marry my absentee father.

Dad and Liz got engaged 9 days after they met as adults. They both grew up in the same mid-size city in California’s Central Valley and were high school classmates. An accident at the factory Dad worked at brought him to the emergency room where Liz was an intake clerk.

Once they were engaged, Dad called me to tell me about it. I remember speaking to Liz on the phone, she was so excited to finally “have a daughter”. She said it over and over again, that she’d always wanted a daughter.

Liz had two sons, 19 year old Richard Luke was living in Germany with the army. (I could never wrap my head around why that kid had two first names.) The youngest, Shawn, was almost 14 still lived at home. My Dad moved in with them right away.

At this point in my life my dad was intermittently in the picture. My parents separated by the time I was 15 months old and my mom worked really hard to make sure he had a presence in my upbringing, even though we lived two hours away in the Bay Area. My mom ran out of steam covering for my dad’s lazy parenting by the time I was 6 or so, and I hadn’t really seen him more than a couple times a year. The logistics of getting a kid for a weekend when you live two hours away is a little complicated for someone who doesn’t make a lot of money and barely pays his child support as it is.

By the time I was 11 I was horribly shy. I was always a fat kid and being a fat kid turns from cute to, well, graceless around the Tween years. Of course they didn’t have that cutesy word “Tween” in the 80s, back then it was just fat and awkward.

I was well-aware of my fat by then, everyone in my life teachers, peers, relatives and my beloved television wanted to remind me of the fact that I was fat. I was a total bookworm. In books I didn’t have to see the differences so starkly between me and the main characters. I could easily blend into the Baby Sitters Club. I always identified with cosmopolitan native New Yorker Stacy. She had fluffy blond hair and good fashion sense.

In real life I had fluffy golden brown hair with streaks I got in the summertime at camp. I longed to be normal and thin.

Liz was fat, too. Not just sort of in between fat, either, like my mom and other female relatives were at the time (though now, of course, most of them are around my size). She was short and round, with a round face, black curly hair and a mouth that was always smiling. She was half Italian half Mexican and very girly.

The first time we met, Liz was ready to be a huge part of my life. I was mistrustful and didn’t understand why she loved me so much already. I was used to adults liking me, since as an only child I learned to socialize well with grown-ups and I was very bright. But the way she just immediately loved me, in that I-loved-you-before-I-knew-you way that parents talk about felt so weird. As I continued into adolescence and hated myself more and more, the more suspicious I was of her unconditional love.

My mom wasn’t what I would call emotionally nurturing. She was a stressed out single mom putting herself through undergrad. There was always a contingency and a reward to meet. Usually it was “get good grades and you’ll get this” and “lose weight and you’ll get that”. I was exceptionally good at the former. The fact that Liz was so proud of me regardless of my latest accomplishment felt bizarre. My weight was never an issue.

She had lived in the same town almost all of her 40 years. Everywhere we went when I visited she either already knew someone or got to know someone new. She would always introduce me as her daughter. I would blush when she said this because I thought it wasn’t true and it never made sense to me. I also felt a little weird because she was so open and friendly with strangers. She had a huge heart and was extremely welcoming to strangers. She was proud of being friends with all sort of people, including a big biker crowd from her younger days. I was jealous of her self-confidence.

I didn’t get to go to Dad and Liz’s wedding because of some last minute drama having to do with some friend of the family who was supposed to be my chaperone on greyhound that didn’t work out. I went for Thanksgiving a few weeks later and watched the wedding video so many times over the next few years each frame feels like my own memory.

Her family was huge. Five girls, all fat, most of them had five kids of their own. Everyone would gather at Liz’s mom’s house the day after Thanksgiving to make tamales. It was a huge ordeal, making hundreds of them, with many different stations going at once and different groups responsible for different parts of the assembly.

The house was cozy and humid, smelled sweet with a tang of chili and meat and filled with talking and laughing. I was placed in the masa station, spreading a white dough made from cornmeal dough, lard and salt on the insides of damp corn husks. Liz and one of her sisters or her mom would put meat and an olive inside each one. One of the kids would fold them into little pockets. They would then go into a steamer for awhile and then placed into freezer bags by the dozen.

I remember my step brother Shawn complaining that the other kids in the family had to be teenagers before they got to spread the masa, but somehow I was the exception. Liz ignored his complaint, and I kept assembling tamales.

They treated me like one of their own, and I came back year after year with Liz to spread the masa.

My visits to my Dad increased exponentially once Liz was there to motivate them.

Liz loved to go garage saling, where she taught me to haggle and bought me lots of stuffed animals I didn’t need but I certainly wanted. We would pile into her car with her friend Terry, who was a little fatter than Liz. I remember one time Terry pulled out a seat belt extender so that she could use the seatbelt in the car, they were both very excited that their older cars with seat belts made for very small people were just a little bit safer for them.

We spent a lot of time crafting. She would set me up with a cross stitch or a beading project and we would sit at TV trays side by side watching TV and laughing. When I let my guard down around Liz I felt very comfortable. She talked about what it would be like when I had babies and how she couldn’t wait for me to have a daughter. I was just being adolescent and contrary when I claimed I would refuse to let her put my babies in ruffle butt tights.

She loved clothes. I remember when she got approved for a Lane Bryant credit card she was ecstatic and immediately maxed it out on new things from the catalog.

She loved the color pink. She collected elephant everything. Whenever I was at a loss for what to get her for Christmas I would get her a blinged out elephant knick knack and she would love it.

Richard Luke got married in Germany. Liz was devastated that she couldn’t go to the wedding, but a transcontinental trip was entirely out of the question financially. I promised she would have a lot of fun at my wedding and was already working out in my head how I would handle the mom/step-mom dynamics.

Liz told me about her ex husband a few times. Richard Luke was born out of wedlock and later she married Shawn’s dad. He was abusive. Her struggle to leave him was epic and she had to work her way off welfare.

Liz and Dad loved each other a lot, that was clear. My dad hit my mom, which was why she left. I am unsure whether or not Dad was ever violent with Liz, though I remember a screaming fight I witnessed when I was 16 or so that drove Shawn out of the house with me in hot pursuit. From what I could tell they mostly fought about money and Dad’s drinking. They also expressed their love pretty regularly, too. She saved one dried flower from every bouquet Dad ever gave her in a jar under the TV.

While Liz was outgoing and confident, and dressed as well as she could manage with not a lot of money or access to cute plus size clothes, she did talk about losing weight. Not as regularly as my mom, but of course I didn’t live with her so I’ll never know for sure. She had a lot of chronic health problems that her doctors always blamed on weight. She was regularly dealing with asthma, bronchitis, diabetes, among other things. She also complained of aches and pains and trouble walking.

Being fat was hard for her, too. She didn’t always fit in seats. Had she ever made that transcontinental flight she would have been in a lot of pain from the armrests.

I remember one time we were in our pajamas and I saw her belly peak out from under her loungerie. It had a dimple in it, below the belly button. I thought it was so odd and was slightly horrified. I developed the same dimple myself by the time I was 20. I hadn’t been exposed to naked fat women before, I didn’t know what that kind of flesh was supposed to look like.

She dealt with being fat very differently from my mother. Mom switched us to nonfat milk really early in my childhood, I don’t remember ever having butter instead of margarine. We stocked our pantry with diet food. Things could have tasted so much better if we focused on moderation, vegetables and using real ingredients.

Liz would cook full force with fat. One time when I saw the giant bucket of lard from the tamales I was shocked. But she never really stopped, and her cooking was incredible. I think she would occasionally diet.

Around 1996 the drug Fen-Phen started making its rounds. It was a weight-loss drug made from fenfluramine and phentermine. It was heavily marketed and people were seeing pretty immediate results. I was about to graduate from high school and my mom suggested I start taking it. I blew her off, as I often did, especially about weight loss stuff.

A year or so later Liz told me over the phone that she had been taking Fen-Phen to help with her medical issues and was losing weight pretty quickly. She was excited about that.

In early 1997 valvular heart disease and pulmonary hypertension started showing up, mostly in women who took the drug. It was taken off the market in September of that year. While I was in college I saw Liz and Dad less because I was busy with school and my social life. She stopped taking Fen-Phen and I never did notice any difference in her weight.

In mid-1998, toward the end of my Sophomore year of college, I went to visit Dad and Liz for Dad’s graduation from Community College and his 50th birthday. It was really important to Liz that I be there. We did all of our regular stuff, crafting, hanging out. She told me that weekend she was trying to get in touch with the child my Dad fathered in high school but was put up for adoption, and that Dad was putting up resistance.

Just three months later I was coordinating move-in at my dorm. That morning I had been getting ready and looked outside my window at the sky and felt really peaceful and happy, which was unusual for me at the time—I was starting to come out of a several year long depression and was taking steps to stop hating myself. I got a message from my mom to call home right away. When I talked to my mom that night she told me that Liz had died.

Liz woke up, kissed Dad and went out to the living room. About and hour later he got up to join her. She was on the couch, dead from a heart attack. She was 48 years old. That week she had been complaining that her asthma was acting up. Her heart was weakened. Probably from the Fen-Phen.

I was devastated and in shock. Mom offered to come with me to the funeral but I said no. I didn’t want to add to the confusion and weirdness with the ex-wife dynamic. The weekend was bizarre and hard. I had never been to a funeral before. My dad was drinking again. He had me sleep on Liz’s side of the bed, and I didn’t know how to say no, that that was weird and bad boundaries and I didn’t want to sleep on my dead step-mom’s side of the bed.

We’re all Catholic, at least mostly. The Rosary was the night before the funeral and it was open casket. I walked up the aisle and burst into hysterics that I didn’t want to see her like that. My Dad’s mom, who had been really cruel to me as a child, was the nicest and most nurturing I’d ever known her to be that night. She brought me into the pew and told me I didn’t have to see her like that if I didn’t want to.

The mass was big and weird and there were hundreds of people there. I felt this obligation to stay with my dad, even though I probably should have just gone with my grandparents. His house became this huge party with all of this drinking and pot smoking and at 19 years old I was still pretty square and still wasn’t drinking a lot in college. I felt uncomfortable, unsafe, and scared. I didn’t know how to articulate what I needed because I didn’t know how to advocate for myself.

I went back to school. I tried not to deal with it. I did pretty well.

I am angry that I only knew Liz when I was an adolescent and didn’t appreciate her the way I wish I had. I am angry that her physical heart was affected because her doctors treated her weight and not her symptoms. I am angry that Liz never got to go to any of her children’s weddings. I am angry that Dad never joined the class action suits against the makers of Fen-Phen. They paid out over $14 billion in settlements. But at the same time I certainly didn’t want to have to think about it or interact with him that much to do the work of making it happen.

Over the years little things occur to me. The way Liz always wanted to make people feel special and at ease, the way she was welcoming. I get that from her. I loved that about her. Her huge metaphorical heart cannot be weakened by a pharmaceutical company’s greed and exploitation.

I think about the plus size resale store I work in now and how much she would have loved it. I work hard at body liberation activism because I want to make it easier for people to live in this world and I don’t want Fen-Phen to ever happen again. I think about Liz every time I see an elephant tchotchke. I can’t wait to have a daughter.

*I feel compelled to share this story now, as an initial draft, as a way of honoring Liz and bringing her into my adult life. Especially in light of the perpetual crop of weight-loss drugs on the market, the fact that I keep hearing ads for them on the radio and in side-bars on websites, and the fact that on Friday the LA Times and New York Times reported that the FDA in America chose to recommend “stronger warnings” on the sides of Meridia bottles while the European Union recommended a ban of the product. I guess posting this story is my way of turning my rage over that news into productivity.

2010-01-05

Additions to the Queer Lexicography: Glamorous Life Edition

It’s time again for another Addition to the Queer Lexicography.

Sometimes I like to split elements of my night into “Glamorous” or “Unglamorous”. Tonight, for example, my old roommate Blaney came over and made me Fauxrizo tacos and we split a bottle of Pinot Noir. Having someone come to your house to cook for you? Decidedly glamorous. Taking a bath and finishing it off with a cream colored satin robe? Also glamorous (and a great investment, mine was $18 and I love it very much).

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Blaney and me at the Dyke March.

Unglamorous? The part where my cat, Bear, has developed this gooey eye thing today and continues to insist on pooping in front of my current roommate’s bedroom door.
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Bear, unglamorous.

Loungerie. I blogged about this concept before, but now it has a word! (I forget who gave it to me.) Anything lingerie you buy that is really more for loungewear. Some lingerie is a little too… uncomfortable to be for lounging. But some is a nice long gown or a comfy chemise or a perfect cream colored satin robe and makes excellent loungerie.

Same Time Next Year: This is a term for someone with whom you have a standing arrangement for doing it about once a year. Works really well if you both attend the same yearly conference or event. It originates from this really awesome movie from the 70s of the same name. If you can sub into your mind when you watch it that it would work a lot more ethically if these people were just nonmonogamous or polyamorous, it helps to get through it. It also helps to get through it if you can overlook the Johnny Mathis theme song.

Oh but it is so very endearing and it’s such a sweeter and more tender way to say something than “fuck buddy”. The nice part about STNY is the little bits of romance and fun reconnection that set it apart from just friends who do it now and again. Anyway. I think it is just marvelous.

20Femme: I talked about this in my last post, but it’s worth an addition. This is the year of the Femme! Imagine all of the most admirable traits of the most awesome Femmes you know, and figure out a way to embody those traits yourself this year! There’s no stopping us now!!

And a twitter submission tonight. Via Sarah Dopp : Proposing “exacerpated” as a new hybrid word. Means: bitterly enamored.

Oh, I’ve been exacerpated. I probably am right now. “I’m so crushed out on that girl but her insecurity leaves me exacerpated. I just can’t do it to someone who isn’t into themselves.”

2009-10-15

Additions to the Queer Lexicography: Doing it and Doing it Well

Damien Luxe brought me the following two terms after her trip touring the Femmes Fight Back Installation* 10,000 miles in August and September.

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Laycation: A Laycation is a vacation or staycation (where you don’t leave your town or home) with a lover where the intent or the result is that you do it the whole time. A vacation to get laid. Or a “we’re so broke we can’t do anything and we’re long distance so we’re just going to lay around and do it when she comes to town” sort of adventure. I love the idea of a Laycation, especially considering how in the queer community often our lovers need to be imported from other places to keep things fresh and ethical.

“Sorry to miss your party, my long distance romance Shawna is only in town for three days–we’re going to be on laycation the whole time.”

Web 3.0: Damien used this term to describe being in person with people–making actual community connections instead of remaining plugged into the social networking media websites (also known as Web 2.0). I have been using the term Web 3.0 to talk about the ways in which Web 2.0 actually enhances real life experience. Like a queer dance party that is announced and networked entirely on Facebook but brings people together. Or those twittering experiences where you’re able to increase your understanding of an event as it is happening.

At the Gossip concert the other night I was getting tweets on my smart phone from the people in my entourage around me (since I couldn’t hear their reactions because we were in a crush of hipster bearded boys), communicating en masse to our friends who were trying to find us in the sea of aforementioned hipster boys, as well as seeing the tweets of JD Samson of MEN (one of the opening acts) from backstage. I think there’s something to that information that adds nuance to an in person situation just so long as you’re not glued to your iphone during the entire experience.

The following term was brought to me by Ally Picard of Bloodhound Photography, who held a copy of the Lesbian Lexicon in her hot little hands.

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According to the Lesbian Lexicon, (and I summarize because it is sadly sold out so I don’t have a copy of my own) the term Bangover describes the sore muscles one has after a night of banging. Seriously, there are certain ass muscles one only feels the day after sex. Or a sore arm. Or a sore whatever kind of body part because of the position/place you all were doing it.

I love it! Allow your Web 3.0 experience to coordinate a laycation, but be sure to nurse that bangover with some advil and gatorade!

These photos were part of the animal print photo shoot conceived of by Damien and photographed by Ally. It was so much fun!

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That’s my dog, Macy, wearing zebra print and doing her best stuffed animal impression.

*It’s really cathartic and powerful–she’s trying to tour it around the East Coast in late Fall, bring her to your town!

2009-09-18

Additions to the Queer Lexicography: Ages and Dating and PR

There’s been a trend amongst my friends lately to date ten years up or ten years down. My friend Heather told me once, her voice dramatically raspy like an aged actress, holding a drink and wobbling a little bit with the truthiness of alcohol, “You gotta get ’em before or after they’re in the thick of their shit. 29 year olds are weighted down with issues.”

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I have to say I’ve found some seduction in that idea. When my fiance and I broke up I was a little obsessed with finding a 39 year old butch divorcee. My theory was that it took the end of at least one significant adult forever releationship to season someone enough that they could do it better the second time. Also, I had a couple of friends at the time who were dating 39 year olds and they seemed like breaths of fresh air compared to the crop of 28 year old scoundrels I had been dealing with.

Of course, it’s not that simple. A year later it turned out at least one of those 39 year olds was a super powered douchebag and I never should have looked to her for any sort of relationship idealizing.

However, I will say age and experience are an important factor in how compatible someone is with you and what kind of match you’re looking for. But now there’s a new crop of Queer Lexicography to explain the big giant age difference!

A Tiny is someone who is in their barely twenties.* Tinies can be great. They are someone you can be really tender with because of their stark vulnerability in contrast to your older jadedness. They can be really fun to corrupt. They can also help you not take things so seriously. Tinies sometimes have more active sex drives. They can make you feel really old when they don’t understand your Jem and the Holograms references.

Because they are tiny they are fresh faced and full of energy, and you can train them to suit. Basically it’s like you want to enjoy them and be the hot older woman who teaches them things. When a tiny doesn’t act right you have to understand that this is your opportunity to not only help the tiny but also help the community. Pay it forward, if you will. I’ve had a few lovers who definitely benefitted from prior experience with someone much older. I got to reap those benefits, too!

Someone who is in their barely twenties is probably much less likely to be the marriage and kids kind of forever dater the way same age people are. That’s a nice relief and a lot less pressure. More emphasis on dating for the fun of it and less on the dating with expectations.

Of course, like with all relationships, you have to be careful with your Tiny. You don’t want to ruin them and make them jaded like you are.

Being someone’s Tiny is great. Instead of dating someone else in their barely twenties where you’re just sort of fumbling through things with a soundtrack of Sarah McLachlin and don’t know any better between the two of you, someone shows you the ropes of how to be in and communicate in and have fun in the queer community.

Being someone’s Decade Down, is sort of like a Tiny, except you’re not in your barely twenties and have some life experience, have done the Saturn Return and thus have a lowered tolerance for bullshit. You can be the young one in their friend crowd, who is fun and full of energy and wants to go out dancing more than once a month. Your Decade Up is your connection to a certain part of queer history that you didn’t live but maybe read about in Michelle Tea novels. They can teach you more tricks in the sack because hopefully they’re more experienced. They are over being the wandering panty chaser and want to settle down a little bit. Maybe.

Experience always trumps age. But unless you’re a crazy overachiever or chronically unable to learn from your mistakes, age makes a difference in how you relate to people and life. I’ve also learned that just because someone is older it doesn’t mean they are automatically good in bed, but that is true more often than it is not.

You shouldn’t mess up a good thing by getting bogged down with age stuff. Heather likes to say “Who fucking cares? Shut up you’re ruining everything.”

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In other words, age, like other relationship differences, is sexy and fun to play with when appropriate. Like zodiac signs. But there’s no way to say just because someone is a Scorpio they are definitely going to fuck you over, though it’s quite possible.**

I got another addition emailed to me by Mira Bellwether the other day that I’ve already rolled into my Queer Lexicography.

Pussy Response: PR

This is a term my friends and I have been using for a while now, frequently or usually abbreviated to PR, especially in polite company, and for the sake of coding (and abbreves.) The appeal of Pussy Response to me is that it describes an active process/state of being that belongs to the person who expresses it, rather than a passive state of being or one that is done to someone (“she makes me wet.”) The latter is sometimes accurate, but I like having a term that puts things in terms of my desire rather than what someone else is up to. PR also doesn’t necessarily rely on wetness to gauge sexual response or arousal, but it can be part of the whole pussy response experience. We also talk about PR campaigns, and PR can be an exclamation like “Hot!” that focuses on what the speaker’s body is doing rather than stating something about the object of desire.

Examples:

“The bartender at that place gives me total PR!”

“Did you see her arms? PR!”

“I have such PR for that boy.”

“You look amazing tonight, you’re sending me on a PR campaign!”
“Oh really? Well, you’re going to feel my PR all over your face as soon as I get you home.”

I’ve also heard tell of at least one butch using the modified “CR” for cock response, but the association with consciousness-raising makes me slightly uneasy.

I, on the other hand, love consciousness raising, so CR will work around me. Thanks for the addition Mira!! The deviled egg hair fascinator you made me is creating a PR campaign in the queer fat femme community.

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*Sugar plums, let’s keep it 18 and over, always.
**That’s a shout out to my good friend who shall remain nameless. USE YOUR WORDS to break up with people, not the ignore button on your iphone!!

2009-09-10

Plump Dump Truck Friday Post: Radical Fatshion Weekend at Re/Dress NYC!!

I ghost wrote this for Deb to post on Fatshionista for “Dump Truck Friday” (when you can post events). But since I am seriously overwhelmed with excitement over all of the clothes that have just arrived in the store I cannot handle it, I had to repost it here. After 9 years in the plus size fashion industry, Deb can curate an astounding shopping event!

The designers have arrived!!

Here at Re/Dress NYC we are gearing up for our Indie Designer Trunk Show!! I’ve been planning this show since before the store was open as a way to highlight some of the great independent designers for plus size customers and bring them in person to sell their wares in New York City. This is a rare opportunity to see these amazing pieces in person and try them on!

When I set the date I had no idea it was fashion week in Manhattan. We’ve turned our trunk show and the Glutton For Fatshion Zine Release Party (Friday, Sept 11th at 8PM) into a mini Radical Fatshion Weekend in Brooklyn! Click here for all the information on the Zine Release Party.

Watching the trunk show come together I had no idea how it would manifest, but seeing the designers unload together and the looks on our customers’ faces has been priceless. We’ve taken some photos today and hope you enjoy this mini photo essay. If you’re in New York City this weekend, please make it out to Brooklyn to support the designers! Even if the cold cruel world of fashion doesn’t care about us, we can care about each other and maybe they’ll catch up and get wise.

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Cupcake & Cuddlebunny (Rachel Cupcake, from Cleveland) arrives and brings amazing t-shirts, couture and her fabulous hand altered vintage.
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Rachel has all of these amazingly adorable appliques–little owls and birdies and cupcakes and apples. There’s been a lot of squealing in delight.
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Size Queen Clothing from Portland (Bertha Pearl) arrives with kitchen slut aprons made for plus size waistlines and for all genders, amazing skirts, fabulous vintage inspired dresses, bamboo faux wrap dresses, sexy couture, bix boxers and robes. A little bit of everything made with a whole lot of love and attention to plus size bodies and needs in size 1X-7X!!

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These dresses feel so amazing. Bamboo is a sustainable and ecofriendly fabric. They are a great flexible fashion, wear to work or wear out. A flattering fit for a variety of body types. This is a limited run of a really ingenius dress.
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Cowboys cook, too!!
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Diesel Femme Wear (Sossity Chiricuzio) from Portland, beautiful one of a kind embellished slip dresses 1X-5X, slip skirts, camisoles, masculine shirts and ties.

Bevin declared that she had “Fatshion Vapors“* when we unpacked this dress.
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Today the Glutton for Fatshion zines arrived!! We thought it was sort of the Re/Dress answer to those “Magalogs” that the chain plus stores put out. It’s radical fatshion from a DIY, privilege acknowledging, POC centered and fun with fatshion point of view. I did an interview with the designers from our trunk show for the Zine, there’s plus size paper dolls, a crossword, poetry and tales from the fat closet.

Kelli Dunham did a great interview with the editors of the zine, Taueret and Erin, right here on examiner.com.

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Zines

GLUTTON PARTY FLYER

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The store is located at 109 Boerum Place in Brooklyn, off the F/G at Bergen Street and plenty of street parking available. You can use credit cards to buy from the designers! We’re open 12-9 Thurs-Sat and 12-7 Sun-Mon.

*We’ll call Fatshion Vapors an addition to the Queer Lexicography. It’s when you have the wide eyed “love at first sight” feeling at seeing the perfect plus size garment come into view. I totally bought that slip dress today. I’m wearing it tomorrow night to perform at the Glutton For Fatshion Release Party. I’m doing my “Life in a Body Bigger than Average” piece.

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