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

2010-07-05

In Memory of Luscious

I found out a couple of weeks ago that a former sweetheart of mine passed away. It was very sudden. We do not know why (beyond knowing that it was not foul play), nor do we know if we will find out why.

I have been in a lot of shock and denial about it. I also believe that the stories that are hardest to tell are the most important to share, so I thought I would put down my thoughts and remembrances.

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Photo courtesy of Tanja Tiziana.

I met Luscious in 2005 at the NOLOSE conference. I always thought she was cute and regularly flirted with her, to no great reciprocation (she was incredibly shy in that way). I also always thought she was in an open relationship. Thanks to her erroneous Facebook status.

For New Year’s Eve 2008/9 I went on a girls’ road trip to Toronto to visit friends and eat our way though town. I thought it would be fun to proposition her for a casual make-out, which I did in a clever and carefully worded email sent a week before we left town. She said yes and proposed a night to hang out. She was a very talented chef and came in on her day off to the restaurant she worked at (Disgraceland–fabulous name). She cooked us an insanely amazing meal of fried chicken, poutine, fried okra, mac & cheese, corn dogs, fried green tomatoes… The gravy on the poutine remains the best I’ve ever had.

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After much stalling and making me wait patiently (not my strong suit), she finally kissed me and we made a date for New Year’s Eve. We began our affair all night that night and had instantaneously intense chemistry. That first night I remember her sitting up on the bed and coming up behind her to put my arms around her. She leaned into my chest and said “I feel so safe with you.” That is one of the most treasured compliments I’ve ever gotten from a lover.

We began texting fast and furious the days following my departure. We had a marathon phone conversation where she moved furniture so she could get cell reception to talk to me. She invited me back and being both impetuous and impatient, I decided to drive back up 10 days after leaving the last time.

We checked into love island and had an amazing time. She drove me around Toronto in the winter, showed me her favorite spot in the city, someplace right on the lake where she could sit and look at the city skyline and think, or talk to her BFF, Arun. I got to hang out a lot with Arun, who at the time was beginning to court my BFF, Zoe.

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Arun (next to Luscious on the right, also Gigi and Kaleb are pictured) remains one of my favorite people.

We loved many of the same movies, Fried Green Tomatoes and Steel Magnolias were top choices. So we curled up to watch them on her bed-like concoction instead of a couch, which she called her “Flatress” and was more of an entity than it was a piece of furniture. She cooked me an incredible brunch. She complained in a facebook status update once that she wanted someone else to cook for her, so as a surprise for her I took a turn in the kitchen in lingerie and heels, making her muffins and bacon with brown sugar.

I met a few of her wonderful friends, but mostly we stayed on love island. She sent me home with cupcakes she bought for me from her vegan, gluten-free baker friends (they were seriously better cupcakes than I’ve had in NYC) and deviled eggs she made for my road trip.

One time she texted me “All I have to offer is my good palate, strong hands and big heart.” She had so much more to offer than that, but those were her most noticeable characteristics. She didn’t always speak up in big social groups, but she was incredibly giving to me in terms of intimacy. We talked a lot from the heart.

She was so kind. Even to people who weren’t particularly kind to her. One time we were in the grocery store, I was down the aisle a ways and this small child walked up to her and told her she was fat. I forget what Luscious said to the child but it was one of the most sweet and generous teachable moment responses I’ve ever witnessed.

She gave me one of my favorite cds, Dance Yourself to Death, who are her friends. I listened to it nonstop in my car for months.

On my next visit she curled up with me on the Flatress and showed me all of her photo albums, through her childhood and teen years. She was heart-open about so many things with me. She drove me to see places that were important to her history in Toronto and outside. She always held my arm when we were walking outside because she knew the ice terrified me. We had incredible sex.

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The problem with long distance is that it only works if the parties have compatible communication styles and abilities. She sort of dropped me suddenly, without warning. It was really devastating to go from a deep intimacy and fairly constant contact to next to no communication. About a month after our last visit and the sudden lack of communication we exchanged a couple of emails, but I still never really understood what she was doing or her intentions, and we came to no resolution because she never could tell me what she wanted from me or “us”.

I went back and re-read some of my journals from that time. I had forgotten how heartbroken I was over Luscious for quite some time. Imogen Heap’s “Hide and Seek” on repeat heartbroken. Couldn’t stop talking about it for months heartbroken.

Though I still felt very sweetly towards her, as a matter of self-preservation I kept some distance and we mostly communicated through Facebook comments and status likes. I was always pumping Zoe for updates on Luscious when she would return from visiting her boyfriend in Toronto.

I emailed her in December when I found out she was having gastric bypass surgery. I know it can be really isolating and hard to make decisions about weight-loss (especially surgery) when you are in a fat activist community and I wanted her to know I was available to talk and supported her doing what she needed to for her own bodily self-determination. I also secretly wanted to open the door for communication otherwise.

I saw her again at the NOLOSE Conference in Oakland the weekend before she died. I went up to her and gave her a big hug and kiss on the cheek. We didn’t really talk beyond small talk though. It was hard to figure out what to say. We shared a lot of stolen glances, and the look on her face when I was on stage on Saturday night is something I’ll never forget.

I know right now I am feeling very confused, devastated, and needy. It feels so weird since I don’t live in her town and wasn’t an active part in her life. We were Facebook “likers”. In this day and age of Facebook and social networking it feels weird and hard that she has a Facebook account. It seems weird that I got a notice that she liked my status update on Saturday and then moments (?) later she was gone. It seems weird and also awesome that her Facebook page is now a memorial site for people to post about her.

It also feels weird to grieve someone who I was so intimate with, but who was no longer a current person in my life. I feel really grateful that many of my friends reached out to me when they found out. One of whom is my friend Kristyn, who also had former lovers die suddenly (multiple within a year) and she met up with me to talk about it. She said this really beautiful thing to me, the gist of which is the following.

As sex positive queers, it is really important to acknowledge that sharing your body with someone is a really sacred act. And even if you’re no longer sharing your heart and body with someone any longer, when they leave this earth there is still part of you that goes. It is really important to recognize that it is a significant and distinct loss.

At this point I am just trying to feel it. The first day I had some time alone after I found out I spent the day writing, working and listening to Brokeback Mountain soundtrack. I cried a lot and got it together to go to Rebel Cupcake. I dedicated the show and the party to her–a fat positive queer dance party with lots of good seating was exactly her jam. No one there knew her but it felt like something I could do for me. I am still finding ways to honor her and my grief day by day. Leah Lakshmi told me the night I found out “Shark, do the best you can to just feel your feelings.”

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She was really important to me and still is. I still thought about her every day. I hope that whatever happened that she wasn’t scared. I hope that she is someplace looking over us, and smiling.

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!!

2009-03-20

Metaphor of the Month: Eggs and Baskets

As I said in a previous post, Spunky and I can weave a metaphor like you wouldn’t believe.

Our Metaphor of the Month is an old one. Wikipedia even calls it a cliche. Don’t put all of your eggs in one basket. It’s really good dating advice and especially so for girls like me and Spunky who are prone to Big Crushes.

Rewind back about 7 years ago. I was in the second year of my juris doctor and she was a teacher in a small, rural town in the northern Midwest. She got this enormous, all-encompassing crush on this pig farmer. Seriously. When she called me to give me her initial run down on the guy I screamed “I can’t believe he’s a PIG farmer. Didn’t you read Charlotte’s Web?”

Considering she eventually moved back to California, obviously things didn’t work out with the Farmer. The short version is that they dated for about half a minute, every few months she’d get him to go out with her or make out with her on a couch and then he would disappear for a long time and not return any of her phone calls or texts.

Spunky very firmly had all of her eggs in the Farmer’s basket. Every time he would tell her “Don’t keep any of your eggs in this basket. Here have this back. No really, here.” She never actually believed she should get the eggs back. The slightest glimmer of interest inspired a new round of “How can I get him to keep my eggs this time?”

This is a photo of Spunky I took at his farm when I went to visit her over Thanksgiving. It was about six months after they had dated, when she was still chasing after him. About six more months and he would leave her eggs in a parking lot along the side of the interstate when he told her something along the lines of “Why don’t you get it, no really, I don’t want to go out with you.”


We’re the kind of friends who drive past the houses of our crushes. Or, you know, sneak into their tractor garage and take holiday card photos.

Spunky isn’t the only one who has had to learn the eggs in a basket lesson the hard way. At the same time she was scampering after The Farmer through dive bars, I was dating the first in a series of girls named Jen. (They were all from different states, which helped my friends keep them straight.) She lived across the country and we began our lovely tryst the day she turned 30 in the bathroom at Henrietta Hudsons*.

We spent hours on the phone together, had romantic weekend dates once a month (which is a lot for two people in an expensive graduate program). At 23 I didn’t know any better than to give her all of my eggs–even though she was adamant that we weren’t “girlfriends” and I should be dating other people.

Eventually things ended with her saying that the distance or the age difference could have worked, but not both. I also realized eventually that she was already dating her new girlfriend when she broke things off.

The Farmer and Jen from the West Coast could have been far less devastating for 23 year old Spunky and Bevin if we had learned the delicate process of Graduated Egg Distribution.

When, at 29 and pretty fresh from a break-up, I wrote my brass ring personal ad, it was with the intent to make a contract with myself. I was going to give my eggs away slowly, and only upon being shown those qualities I list in a potential partner and experience what I wanted to see in a potential relationship. Until then, I do everything in my power to keep the investment super light.

It is also important to carefully evaluate how sturdy the basket is that you are depositing those eggs into. On my recent visit to California, Spunky was in the bizarre position of needing to break things off with someone in an email. I helped to draft it, laying out specifically where things went wrong and what he had done. They had four dates, and though an email break up is totally a violation of protocol**, he was exhibiting enough creepy/bizarre behavior that not being in his vicinity was a safety concern for her.

The problem with this guy was that he kept insisting that Spunky take all of his eggs, despite her basket having holes in it. She would say “No, we need to take things slower, it is important to me to lay a solid foundation of friendship, I have a lot of trust issues with men who come on too strong” and he would just toss his eggs right in there and keep barreling past her boundaries.

It’s very funny, I think about who she and I used to be and re-read that email we sent him, and it so easily could have been the Farmer or Jen from the West Coast sending it to us. But having been through enough heartbreaks between us (my fiance taking my entire collection of eggs and throwing them against a wall, her ex taking each of her eggs and scrambling them so she doubted her own self-worth and self-reliance) we know better now.

Sure, we still get excited about people. Sometimes I might give away as many as 3 eggs at a time to someone who meets enough criteria because having a good old-fashioned crush is just plain fun. But I know that right now in my Baker’s Dozen*** of eggs, I’m still holding delicately firm to at least 9 of them.

Of course, I don’t think Spunky and I shouldn’t have given our eggs to The Farmer or Jen from the West Coast–they were really important learning experiences for us. The most important lesson was that, in the long run, the person that is going to love me the best and the most is myself. While I know I’ll get engaged at some point again, I won’t be promising all of my eggs to my betrothed. A significant portion, but I’ll still keep a couple to remind me that my commitment to myself makes me strong enough to love and care for everyone else.

*A NYC lesbo bar that is so for tourists I have actually only been to once since I moved to New York 5 years ago.
**I have a future post and a future episode of FemmeCast lined up to talk about how to break up with someone properly.
***I am a fat girl, after all.

All this talk of eggs and I had to include a picture of Macy in a chicken sweater I knitted for her myself.

2009-03-14

Catching the Brass Ring

In my last post I talked a lot about the trifecta (housing, romance and career). I’m a big believer in thinking positively–and thinking big*–and in that vein I’ve been writing lists of what I’m looking for. I have articulated my career desires and my roommate/housing desires**, but let’s be honest, the romance stuff is way more fun.

A friend of mine told me that coming up with her ideal personal ad helped her to recognize the person when they came into her life. Another friend started referring to her hypothetical “First Lady” and within a few months totally manifested it.

I call the phenomenon of declaring your pie in the sky wishes for a potential date and then finding your manifested desire catching the brass ring, especially when that desire is beyond what you really thought you could get. I talked a lot about not settling for less than you want or deserve in Episode 6 of FemmeCast (The Lesbian Footwarming Syndrome). I believe really strongly that we all have brass rings available to us and we shouldn’t stop looking. As fat girls and queers, we often get stuck in a scarcity mentality that makes it difficult to imagine there is someone (or more than one someone) out there that can be a head, heart, lust match a/k/a Unicorn Dick.

Of course, it is much easier to see this for other people than in your own romantic life sometimes. I always post this ad to Craig’s List when I feel a little curmudgeonly about love. More out of a way to prove to myself that I still actually have hope than a sincere desire to wade through the responses asking me to define Faggy Butch. I also almost always get several responses from people who really love the ad and think it’s great that I posted it.

June Femme seeks Johnny Butch -30- NYC

I am a glamorous, queer fat femme. A glimmer in my eye, catalyst, comforting, big hair, big heels, big eyelashes kind of girl. Remarkably soft skin but never afraid to get dirty (though I’ll take the necessary precautions to maintain the integrity of my clothes). I also kill bugs. Always overdressed social butterfly who would do anything for my friends and loves creating and building community. Marilyn Monroe crossed with Dolly Parton crossed with Miss Piggy, with a dash of Siouxsie Sioux and Ginger Spice. I have a good sex drive, identify as a switch with a default to top and fuck back with gusto. I’m always thinking up ways to delight you and I pay attention to the little things. I am the life of the party but I love a night in. Tender, nurturing, and emotionally available. I’m a good communicator but processing too much makes me yawn. I love watching butches get dressed. I am always ready for an adventure.

You should be stylish, with good hair, tattoos and in touch with your faggoty side. Appreciate your deep lez roots. Be a badass on the outside, sweet, friendly and tender on the inside. Love your community and recognize your part in it. Wherever you land on the transmasculine spectrum, have thought about it and be comfortable and confident in your skin. Think on your feet, be smart, articulate, funny and easygoing. Make art a priority. Make passion a priority. Be charming but genuine. Love animals, I’ve got three. Don’t embarrass easily. Be committed to ever learning, growing and evolving. Have a hearty appetite and sex drive. See fat and queer as lived identities. Communicate well and be emotionally available. Jump into the party with both feet.

We will love ourselves first. We don’t hold back but know there’s no rush. We are a dynamic duo. We rock our own shit but look great together. We close down bars and go for daybreak walks. We spend long Sundays in bed, talking, fucking and napping. We brunch with friends. Long talks about gender, sexuality, gossip, celebrity, art, media, social justice, movies, 80s nostalgic kitsch and how to incorporate 50s retro style in a modern decor. Romantic, dynamic and passionate. We prioritize our development, friendships and community. We travel. We create. Basically, June Carter and Johnny Cash with a little less Jesus and pills.

My latest dinner party question, among my single friends, is to ask them to articulate for me their brass ring. As a born matchmaker, I am definitely looking to use my networking powers for good.

Wherever you are right now reading this post, I think you should pull out an old receipt, pull up a simple text editor, whatever, and start writing your brass ring list. What are you looking for? Who would your pie in the sky date be?

*Thinking Big is actually an upcoming FemmeCast episode theme highlighting queer entrepreneurs, community organizers and artists.
**And so far the craig’s list response has been downright creepy–here’s hoping my personal networking yields someone magical so I don’t end up momentarily homeless and living in Muse’s guest room.

2009-02-14

Unicorn Dick

Zoe and Tara and I decided to head to Toronto for a crazy Femme adventure and somehow fate landed us each a hottie to have as a date on NYE. Despite our burgeoning Canadian trysts, we had an amazing Femme bonding weekend*. We went to a women’s only spa called Body Blitz, lounged in their salt pools, hot tubs and saunas for a few hours for only $35 Canadian! We ate brunch, our favorite meal, every day at a new place. We got to indulge in one of our favorite activities, sexcapade redux on the road trip home, as it is rare that the three of us are getting it simultaneously.

During our trip we plotted out the details of our Golden Girls retirement home. You see, our plan is that we are each others’ life partners, and we intend to retire someplace warm (I oppose Florida because humidity is not a friend to my thick tresses) and to seal our bond we are going to adopt a new last name. This last name is an amalgamation of all of our Femme Besties’ last names put together, O’LowErlelisshamwinsonsonlee-Murphy. Rolls right off the tongue! We can’t wait for the telemarketers to get a hold of that one.

I had a big crush on the Toronto Hottie I hooked up with, who I propositioned for a make-out ahead of time with a clever Facebook message. Rendering me shy is the sure sign that I am monstrously attracted to you, and even though I’ve known Toronto Hottie for years, I’d never mustered the gumption to flirt with her and thought the Facebook proposition was the surest way to overcome my shyness.

The proposition was very well-received. She was even better, nicer, and more talented than I had thought, and we connected in a way I crossed my fingers might be more than a one night fluke. A couple of sweet text messages on my ride home, and a few dirty Facebook emails the following weekend told me the chemistry was still there. It took a week to muster up the courage to ask her for a phone date. Or rather, a week and Zoe’s Consiglierie insistence “JUST TEXT HER AND ASK”. Our phone date was the same night, three hours long, I got off the phone and my cheeks hurt from smiling.

There’s just so much to talk about and I have a lot of fun even on the phone with her. Since I’m funemployed, I’ve got a lot of extra time on my hands these days, thus much more traveling flexibility, as I can look for a job using the internet even in another country. Anyway, it didn’t take much beyond her first couple jokes of “You should come visit next week” for me to seriously ponder this as a possibility.

I debated this pretty hardcore for the better part of a day. In some ways it seemed very practical–a fact-finding mission. Did we have chemistry beyond the first date? Was she as fabulous as she seemed and was she more than just a friend? Could she make the amazing deviled eggs she promised? Naima answered the practicality for me. “Bevin, the way I see it, there is nothing more sane than traveling for good sex.”

I got further support from my friend Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha. “I completely support you traveling to the Dot** for Unicorn Dick.”

So I drove my Prius up to Toronto again and had a really great date. I learned a lot about her and had a lot of fun in all the best ways. The sex was still amazing and so was hanging out an watching our favorite movies.

The next few weeks and follow-up visit have had me thinking a lot about Unicorn Dick in the context of the Queer Fat Femme lifestyle. Anyone who has done the dating thing as a Queer Femme knows how hard it is to find someone that embodies the killer combo of personality, looks, chemistry, smarts and timing.

I asked Leah to define Unicorn Dick further, and here’s her dispatch:

“Unicorn Dick is lust and sexual skill. It also refers to the almost mythological perfect butch/trans guy cock / love / brain package that we often believe is as rare as a Unicorn Dick. When we find it, we can sometimes go insane, elevate the degree to which which value it above our life and our girls, and try to hide it / protect it / get crazy over it / everything in the world pales next to the Unicorn Dick.

This is unhealthy and is counter to the Femme Shark principle of ‘His dick is not gold plated, but you goddamn well are.'”

It’s hard to avoid a scarcity mentality when you find something you don’t come across very often. As in, you want to absorb as much as possible because you’re afraid it won’t come around very often. But it’s important to remember that if the Unicorn Dick is worth it, s/he is going to realize how crucial your besties are to you and support your priorities. Further, if you’re a badass Queer Fat Femme, you can’t become any less badass to please someone. In past relationships I usually deferred to the sensibilities of my partner because sometimes I was “too much”. I remember Zoe reminding me when I was broken up with my ex, John, how much he held me back. I’m not doing that again.

You can get excited about Unicorn Dick but you can’t let your inherent amazingness suffer. Because, ultimately, Unicorn Dick won’t hold you up the way your inner strength does or your besties do. Maybe over time, maybe when things develop Unicorn Dick becomes part of your support system–but even then it should be part of it and not everything. I know from losing the man I thought was my forever how crucial it was that I kept my friendships strong. Even when I didn’t even have the resources to get up off my kitchen floor while I was crying, I knew I could call someone to be there with me while I fell apart.*** That’s what besties are for.

The reason why my Toronto trip was so wonderful wasn’t just because I got laid or uncovered Unicorn Dick like a lusty archeological dig, it was because I was having such an amazing time with my closest friends. And you can’t let years of friendship suffer because you find something shiny.

While I remain very excited about this Unicorn Dick, I’m still letting things unfold and in a data gathering phase. I enjoy the time we spend together, am appreciative of our connection and the chance to learn more about her and have great sex when we can make time for one another. Leah calls this attitude a “Zen Buddhist slut move”. But what I’m really grateful for right now is the support of friends like Zoe. Knowing I have been having a really horrific unemployment/housing situation right now, Zoe sent me the following love letter.

“dear Bevin [a femme love letter]

sometime around spring 2002 i went to see this philly drag troupe perform and watched wistfully as all these hot [thin] femmes performed on stage alongside the kings. and i so wished to be one of them but i knew that as a fat girl, i wasn’t good enough to do so. and then you came out and you unhinged my world in … Read Morethe best of ways…

7 years later you are one of the best BFFs a girl could ask for. not only did you help me get on that stage myself (and so many wonderful, crazy, lascivious, hilarious adventures ensured), but you have been there for me through the good, the bad and the downright fucked up, steadfast in your love and loyalty.

over the past 7 years i’ve watched you grow and change and unfold unto the fucking dynamo badass force of glitter, muppety smiles, cheer, snark, wit, glamor, smarts, performance art, social hub and social change that you are. and you did so even through serious strife and hard times. i am so fucking proud of you.

one of the things that so amazes me about you is not only your ability to stay strong and positive and to focus on your joy in the midst of bullshit, but to be able to ask for help and reach out when times are hard and when you need support.

and so i just want to remind you, openly and here on facebook and for posterity, that i will always be there for you, by your side, whether it’s on stage in matchy-matchy glittery outfits, holding your hand through hard times, or being next to you on the couch, cuddled up next to you and laughing while you torture me by playing Bob Seger songs on repeat.

you are an inspiration and you are my heart.

golden girls forever.
xoxoxoxoxo,
Z”

It is my wish for all Queer Fat Femmes that they find the kind of community, love and support I’ve found with my QFF besties. It’s really the most special, magical thing you’ll ever find–even more magical than Unicorn Dick.

*We were having such a great time Anna hopped a $70 flight from NYC to join us. She did not hook up on NYE but is pretty much awash in pussy in her new social circle in Portland, though technically still single and looking for dates.

**Why do people call Toronto “T Dot”?

***This happened to me again recently, for reasons not related to romance.

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