mela_ne

05:37 am: It's again very early, so no Pics, again. Sorry.

I sound like every other parent out there, but...

...you all have to meet Katrina. OMFG. She's now two, of course, and every day is something new and amazing to laugh over. We need a camera that shoots video again, have to look into that for later, but before she loses some of the adorableness. The way she pumps her arms and says "FAST!" when she "runs" (or, rather, walks with deliberate briskness) is too much each and every time she does it. She speaks in full sentences with proper grammar, and her use of inflection gives me something else to be proud of - she can be so sarcastic! Not mommy's kid at all is she? Nooooo. Her smile is still beaming and she cares so much about us, really getting upset when we get hurt or have a cry for any reason; unless, of course, the reason is that she yanked a small handful of hair out while head-butting me which is apparently a very exciting game for her. No need to film that, thanks. It's so exciting seeing her "get" something for the first time, and one rarely misses those moments because the sudden realisation is typically followed by a half-amazed, half-wise "Ooooohhhhhhh!" Altogether too much. Oh, and she tries to catch us by stating an absurdity, and when we attempt to correct her statement or repeat the statement in mock surprise (to which she responds "no"), she says in proper '80s tone: "Duuuhhh!" and laughs. Do all toddlers go through this?

Then there was the "Mommy, I eat Robin-Birds." as she's holding a(n organic, baked) tortilla chip bit between her fore-finger and thumb like it's a bird's beak. Then she dipped it in the hummus and added: "I eat Robin-Bird [mumble that might have been 'with'] hummus." Apart from the Ozzy Osbourne inspired mental flash of Kat on stage biting the head off little Robin-red-breast, I was amazed that she had seen the visual similarity between the chip in her hand and the head of a bird, and the had the innocently wicked idea to proclaim her intent to eat it with a tasty dip. My Baby's Twisted! Oh, joy! Let's just hope that this is all in pretend-land, though. I don't want the headlines to read: "Girl Contracts West Nile Virus By Devouring Fowl" I'd much rather she get it from mosquitos like everyone else, though they can also transmit meningitis and have done so relatively locally. Mosquitos suck, or "M'quito icky-bug! Ow."

We need to visit family, all of them. I need to get the next round of photo updates mailed. I also need some sleep.

Tags: not to be removed before purchase under

07:06 am: More [missing the] fundimentals from those sociopathic fundies.
Yeah, so...

I want to stop talking all the time about being transsexual, intersexed, queer, and mad. I want to talk about other things for once, not those topics that seem to divide me from the general population, even if I do enjoy being held apart from them given the measured ignorance of John and Jane Q. Public and their gaggle of future Wal-Marters. What I want is the anonymity of a perceived normality. No disgusted double-takes, no whispering just loud enough for me to hear it, no issues with financial or employment applications. I want to be on that level playing field I perceive other, cisgendered, people to be on. I am who I am, you can judge me in your mind all you want, and be sure I am doing the same to you and your fabulous mullet, but keep your hate nestled right upside its mommy, ignorance, there in your foetid waste of a mind.

So how can I ask this and insult you in the very same way for which I admonish you? Well, if you are a member of the caste I describe, chances are you are familiar with and tolerant of the sweet taste of hypocrisy, as those who gave you your hateful notions are frequently guilty of it. Also, to quote the kids of my neighbourhood: "you don't know me." Ah, but I doknow you. I've lived among you, spoken at length with you, were privy to your candid thoughts and feelings, and the injustice of your influence upon my life has stained my once bright soul an ashen crimson. I tried to be like you, and only in the depth of my anger have I succeeded. You are the myopic herd, unable to understand the world outside the flanks of those who share your bearing and fate. I hate you because I cannot bear the pain of actually embracing the disappointment and frustration I have for you. Because I really love you, and I cannot understand how you can limit yourselves and your interpretation of the universe to the degree you have.

An LA Times sports writer, Christine Daniels (nee Mike Penner - if you know who that is), recently came out as a transsexual. To this article she received overwhelmingly great support, but then I read that the mod took out 10% of the total submissions for profanity and over-the-top hate speech. Some of the more tame stuff was published, and it peppers the 800 comments available. Simply amazing. I just don't understand the lack of logic, knowledge, and restraint that the detractors had. But then, I don't know how you could insist that a woman carry a foetus, that was the product of incest or rape, to term because it's destroying that widdle bay-beeeeee! The woman is but a vessel for the seed of man. Fuck. You. But that's another story for the next time the Supreme Court strips away a woman's integrity.

And just like men with no understanding of the issues surrounding pregnancy and the right of a woman to her own body, non-queer people should recognise that they are impossibly ignorant of the issues regarding being gay, bi, trans, or intersexed. They just have no way of knowing, and therefor all their conjecture on the matter is limited and flawed. Sorry. So, I get so mad at those self-righteous nanowits who try to erase me. Oh, yeah, back to the Sportswriter. The anonymity of the internet affords the simply moronic to confidently post their "opinions" without having to explain their assertions beyond a vague wave at some scripture somewhere.

One idiot used the Adam and Eve bit to illustrate that there was no such thing as a transsexual because "You arnt made like this.the Bible says that God made us in his image.and Gods not a Transsexual" (copied directly with all errors intact). No, dumbass. No, God was not a transsexual, you're right! God is an Hermaphrodite. God made Adama, and afterward took the female from Adama's "side" -not *rib,* BTW - leaving the male. This would seem to be exactly opposite of what actually happens in the womb, where all those sacred widdle bay-beeeeeees start off as essentially underdeveloped females, then develop as female or male (if they get the right mix of hormone washes at the right time in development). And capitalise all pronouns in reference to your Deity of choice, please.

There were more I'd like to quote and respond to, but it's way early, and I'd like to sleep some before the sun gets too high. Maybe later, with added Katrina photos.

Tags: bigotry, fundies, ignorance, transsexual

03:26 am: Dear Transadvocate, I never thought it would happen to me, but…

Originally published at Mel_Musing. You can comment here or there.

More later, but let me just say that Marti is das Scheiße! My nips are petrifying just thinking about how cool it would be to meet her. I think I’ve left a puddle, too.

But no, I must go. To the land of Nod, where live my good friends Winkin’ and Blinkin’.

Oh, and might I add that I have a very lovely daughter.

Bad Photo of Uncle Nick, but all the adorableness was sucked over to the Illuminated One.

Tags: uncategorized

03:26 am: If You Don’t Know Me By Now…

Originally published at Mel_Musing. You can comment here or there.

You mean you haven’t heard of me? No? Cool. Well, I am just another manifestation of an underachieving Übermensch stuck in the muddy rut called the Midwest. I’m a mom, I’m a spouse, I’m opinionated and outspoken - or at the very least I talk too much. So stop reading this, and move on to the real blog, already!

Tags: uncategorized

01:23 am: Like, far out, man.
I have no idea what is happening to me right now, but I'll try to explain it. I'm feeling timeless, or out of and in touch with all periods and everything that I'm seeing. Like an intimate knowledge of and nostalgia with everything I'm seeing. Looking on Rubylane at the Art Nouveau Art (a masochisitc indulgence) pieces, I knew the feel of the inkwells, the scent of the long missing flower of the vase, the laughter of the dour people in old photographs.

On iTunes, I'm listening to Milla Jovovich and some Howard Jones among others. Everything is sucking me back into a dreamtime vision with every sense I posess. Nothing seems more real than the mmemories and sensations flooding this consciousness. Is this what tripping feels like? If so, I understand the appeal. Maybe it's lack of sleep, and my writing this at 1am is doing nothing to cure this. Or maybe it was re-reading The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane. I cried at a couple of points, and this profound need to give Katrina some of the beauty that I have known in life, that I was feeling looking at her smiling, giggling face, to her so that she could one day know the odd feelings I'm having right now.

I want to wrap the memories of joy around myself like a heavy felted wool Indian Blanket and re-learn how to be whole again. Maybe that is a function of the slightly cool house, or maybe I'm losing it in a good way. Or, I forgot, it's the full moon. Regardless, Beauty is without and within and that includes all that I find repulsive or beneath my station. I Love. Almost forgot what that was like. Blessings and/or Good Vibes to all you. May this feeling never leave me.

And, now, Christmas with Katrina:

07:51 pm: Patriarchy Rules! or I Left My Genitals In Addis Ababa
I like Wikipedia, it's a great idea like free speech and freedom, but like those two, it has its problems as well. Take the definition for Female Genital Mutilation. There is none, instead, you are re-directed to the entry for Female Genital Cutting.

After the EEEWWW shudders have run through you, and you have uncrossed your legs, let me give the most basic and frankly biased description of what this is. In some cultures, it is considered a custom to remove a young woman's clitoris and sometimes labia. In some cases, the remnants of the labia are then sewn together with a small hole to allow for menstruation, only to have them cut apart for her wedding night. Don't cover that in Modern Bride, do they?

The people who place cultural integrity (as if there was such a beast at this point in history) above all common sense argue that for people in these cultures, this is normal and even enjoys the support of the girls' female family members (who have had this committed upon them). If this is so, I'd like to get back to a little practice my ancestors had called human sacrifice, or in today's terms: Trans-mortem autopsies. I feel that holding the still-beating heart of my enemy in my hands or watching them roast alive really connects me to my family and the cultures they came from.

( Cut for those who would rather not be inconvenienced by photos of atrocious deeds. )

Um, bullshit anyone? Beyond the blatantly sexist motivation of taking away two of the most sensitive sexual organs a woman possesses thereby taking away her capacity for full sexual enjoyment so that she does not have intercourse before marriage (with no corresponding reduction in sensation or imposition of control for the boys), it's a bloody, brutal, and inhumane butchery usually carried out with bits of broken glass, knives, or even lids off of tin cans, none of which are particularly sterile.

So let's be fair. We'll do some equally damaging Male Genital Cutting (break out the safety scissors and construction paper, kiddies!), and remove the last half of the boy's member when he turns 12, then stitch his scrotum up and over the stump so as to make a cute little hood for it. Hey, it's a new family custom.

And screw Wikipedia for going all PC. You know, thinking along those lines, one could justify manifest destiny, the holocaust, and rampant imperialism. But I'm young and idealistic. When I grow up and have kids, I'll get over such notions and have my own daughter's genitals erased, and encourage my son to insist that his bride be a virgin.

10:02 pm: The Big 01 or Wow, We All Made It
It's been one year, now, since the experiment formally known (and finally state registered) as Katrina Elaine Davis began. As a whole, things are advancing smoothly, though she's not yet talking (like I did at this stage), and she's not walking on her own quite yet, but she's close in both of these things. She does dance nearly perfectly to the beat of techno, deep house, some trance, and Jethro Tull. There is some singing attempted, though the register is off, she probably learned this from her mommy who hasn't been able to sing since her tonsils and adenoids were removed. Mommy officially reports no bitterness at this. None at all. She is sure the doctors and her parents made the only decision they could have with the information they had at the time. So what if she'll never be able to sing along to Stevie Nicks, Led Zepplin, or Journey and must now make due with Gordon Lightfoot, Cat Power, Issac Hayes, and Type O Negative? Really, no apologies for the gross loss of quality of life are necessary. I'm fine. *sniffle*

One can almost see her thinking through actions before she does them, this leads me to conclude that to do an act of evil is more a conscious decision than reaction to an infernal stimulus. Right now, for instance, she has discovered mommy's gel shoe insert, and cleverly thought to place the displaced item into a shoe of amma's that is slated to be sold on ebay. It is placed exactly as it is in mommy's shoe: pointed end forward, gel side down, in the ball of the shoe. One might not guess that she knows that mommy will be writhing in pain tomorrow at her work because her feet are un-cushioned, one would be wrong. She knows, why else the sinister smile in my direction? Oh, she fancies herself so sly.

The subject is healthy, robust even, though not overly nutrified as can be seen in many cases where the child will resemble Hervé Villechaize or a large, flushed, screaming tuber. Entropy can now be quantified as weighing 21 pounds in diaper and onsie, and measuring approximately 31 inches in length. This qualifies it to face forward in its car seat, for which the Subject seems somewhat more calmed, and yet stimulated to the point of not being able to go to sleep on long trips. I would include video of the devastation caused by this deceptively smaller storm as the cyclone of the same name which laid waste the Gulf Coast last year. Co-incidence? I think not.

There goes the cat food bowl. The poor cats are much distressed by this. Without a sandbox, the Subject makes due with dry kibble in stoneware bowls. She displays amazing adaptation skills, and frankly, these researchers are relieved she has not discovered the feline waste receptacle.

Okay, you've endured enough of the writing thing, on to the meat (or Tofuti®, for those of you who don't like tasty dead animals) of to-night's offering: PICTURES!!!!

( Click here for visual crack )

Today, we went to the doctor for her one-year checkup. Dr. Richter is so nice and a crunchy-ish mom, herself, so she is more familiar with the choices we've made regarding Kat's health care and our general nurturing style. In the office to-day was an intern doctor from Chicago who was really cool and asked a lot of questions, and I still forget her name. I can't vouch for her doctoring yet, but her bedside manner is well above par for the doctors I've met. Too bad Indianapolis is going to sap the energy from her in its unique way. Thanks to everyone for the gifts and cards for Kat's birthday. Sorry our phone is out of time 'till to-morrow, but we still have internet, so use the instant messenger, people! it's free, and some of them even have voice now. We did have an all-day sort of relaxed celebration with a the gifts from grandparents and us. She had a blast with the paper for a few seconds, the true test of the toys comes in a few weeks as she assimilates them into her playing rounds.

Okay, it's 10pm, what the hell are the neighbour kids doing up playing in the dark, outside? The youngest is just over 2, the oldest maybe 7, and they are never supervised by an adult. What's up with that? I so would have loved that arrangement when I was a far-ranging child! But as a responsible *ahem* adult and parent, that's not even close to safe. We have to move from here. Well, I've wasted enough time, I should get to dinner or cleaning up after the tiny typhoon or something that gets me closer to buying this. Nighty-night.

08:44 pm: Seriously, I get online, check one email, and my blood begins to boil. Is being somewhat informed always going to trigger my genocidal tendencies? If so, I might just opt for a good brain pithing lest my desire to be somewhat a part of the world leads me down darker roads. Ignorance is bliss.

Let me explain just a little. I'm queer, you may have noticed that, and being a queer means that I have to come to terms with those who react though ignorance many times compounded by a glaring lack of compassion, critical reasoning ability, or a shred humanity beyond the basic capacity for speech and a semi-erect gait. Usually, I have nothing more to deal with than the occasional stare, glare, smirk, laugh, or rude comment. On occasion, I've been pursued for a short distance and heckled. In this, I have been relatively lucky, I realize this and am grateful to whatever power has watched out for me thus far, but others arent so fortunate. There are a good number of people out in this world who feel it is their right to utterly destroy others they have never met, and have no personal quarrel with beyond the victim having crossed some invisible and arbitrary threshold of tolerance in the attacker. Then there are the cowards who spread ignorance and fan the fervent flames of fear (I like that) so as to incite the dim herds into carrying out their own twisted desires upon the targets of their hate. How utterly horrible these cretins must feel inside to lash out at those different from themselves when no wrong has been done, to steal away life and happiness without provocation, to persecute the innocent. What self-loathing could inspire such wretchedness?

To wit: the reward offered by a heretofore-unknown radical fundamentalist Jewish group for someone to kill attendants and participants of an otherwise peaceful World Gay Pride parade in Jerusalem. [read story here] Did God not give commandments to His chosen people? Was not the fifth of the famous ten: Thou Shalt Not Murder? I dont remember any footnote *Except for the faggots, dykes, and queers; blacks, browns, and yellows; poly-, ana-, and other monotheists. Then its open season. Happy Hunting! - Yaweh"

So what would the fallout be if a flyer of similar caliber was spread around notoriously liberal neighbourhoods calling for the extermination of Christians, Jews, and/or Muslims? What if the morbidly faithfull's universally rabid quest for any remaining spark of persecution for adherents of these religions was given merit? They would simply do what they have done for the past 3000 years, they still the voice of all who are not of like mind by sword or pen. I had thought we were graduating to the pen here in the civilised world, but no.

There are people next door to you who believe that hurricane Katrina and 9/11 were brought upon us for this country's supposed leniency toward gays and lesbians, and who still believe that AIDS is Gods punishment for homosexuality despite the evidence showing that the people most hurt by the disease are African women and children. What about the devastating earthquakes and tsunamis that have occurred around the globe in recent years in countries that are notoriously intolerant of us: Iran, Pakistan, Indonesia, India? And these fevered brain-trusts are the people we are supposed to turn to for a definition of morality and values? Considering that I am 17 times more likely to be killed for just being myself than the average American, I am feeling a little persecuted, myself, and stories like this only add to the sense of looming danger. Just consider that: 17 times more likely to be killed for being queer. For being gender and sex variant, I have a 1:612 hope for a violent end. Someone fetch me a scratch-off ticket.

Here is where I am ashamed to admit a kinship with those who seek my demise, I find myself wishing violence upon my oppressors. Happily, this in no way conflicts with the tenets of my belief system, saving me from gross hypocracy.

I need some chocolate milk and a bag of cookies, but Ive only got a packet of alfalfa sprouts and 15 lbs. of frozen tart cherries. Thank Deity for tomorrow.

06:15 pm: Recentness
It's been a little while, I guess, since last this page saw new words.

And how about a photo of the Adorable One?



This was after her first day swimming, and just before her first time on a swing at the same park. Now, mommy doesn't go for the public pool thing for a number of reasons, first of which is one of the reasons her amma doesn't do lakes, streams or the such: EWWWW! So, Ang took Kat into the clear, fluoridated, chlorinated, and (by virtue of its provenance) contaminated public pool at Brookside Park whilst I sat awhile in full attire somewhere near the shade, and looking rather left out of my own accord. We were there as an outing with some other mammas from an online local AP (Attachment Parenting) group. Their kids were really cute and very well behaved, everyone had a good time save for our Kat, who "sang the Song of Discontent" as Angela calls it most of the time they were in the kiddie pool. I didn't get any pictures because I was unsure of the park's rules for cameras in the pool area. There are some real creeps out there, and combined with my general disdain for all things "public" (think: parks, restrooms, and other sticky-icky things) and the neighbourhood, I know I'd be damned suspicious of anyone with a camera lurking about my child in a bathing suit.

Anyway, I did get this photo and about 10 more and a video of her swinging. The girl's a natural on the swing! She knows how to lean and kick her legs to keep herself going, and she likes it high. After the pool, she's come to like bath-time a bit more. Last night she stayed in well after her cleansing was done, just playing and splashing and trying to take the plug out of the drain. It's light blue in the white kiddie-bath, and she zooms in on it every time. The water got cold, but she cried when I tried to pull her out. Her little toes were so wrinkled when I did manage to coax her from her berth.

Does anybody else with kids ever have a hard time with not taking pictures of them in the tub doing incredibly cute things such as lapping the water flowing down her face while I'm wetting her hair like some desert gecko licking dew from its head? It was supremely annoying to have the Polaroid 8mm videos of my brothers and I trotted out for company (yes, I'm old enough to have had actual film of myself taken; No, nobody ever needs to see them again - thank God[dess(es)] for obsolete technology), and I vowed never to do that to any baby of mine, but there I am, with camera in hand, ready to ruin my little darling's future prom night. "Hey, want to see a video montage of Katrina in the tub?" Nothing kills romance faster than a stroll down memory lane, in the nude, as a baby. "Katrina, there's nothing more I wanted to do tonight than to go to the dance, maybe an after party, then have throw-down awkward, uncomfortable, and ultimately unrewarding because-we-were-interrupted-by-the-mall's-homeland-security-battalion sex with you in my parents' Prius, but now I'll always see you as that one-year-old in the tub, laughing every time she farts in the water." I don't want to do that, at least not that way. I want her to have self-esteem, well some, but not too much. She is a Leo after all.

Oh, and one more thing: I won a couple of free tickets to a bunch of destinations around the globe (Fla, Cal, Cancun, Paris, Rock Springs - okay, not Rock Springs, but hope springs eternal), discount rates ($69/night) at select resorts, and a $50 pre-paid Visa card from a sweepstakes thing I filled out at Indy Pride. I have to sit through a 90 minute "live commercial" for the resorts, and use the tickets within the next two years (and book everything with the in-house travel agency). We'll see if everything pans out. But sooooo cooool!!!!!!! Maybe Europe? Maybe Cancun again (though I'd rather visit Mayan ruins, visit the little secluded beach spots with random hammocks, and do some more snorkelling except for the barracudas - bad fishie!!!)? Maybe go anywhere else but the friggin Midwest, which isn't even West all that much and definitely not West or even East enough to cover any mountains having formerly been the mud at the bottom of some Late Cretaceous era shallow sea? We'll keep you posted.

What the hell am I doing up so late? Oh, yeah, resume finishment and such. Grrrrr *plop*

02:30 am: Nothing Much
God, it's been forever since I've updated, so sorry to disappoint you all (anyone... anyone?) with this tripe but I am here and the computer is here and I was thinking things somewhere in the back of the late quiet when I should be sleeping only I can't because today's been a big day and I'm overstimulated.

Kinda. Only in a more not sort of way. Or maybe I'm just nervous about people stealing the yard sale stuff off of the porch. Either way.

Mutability, that's me. I can be many things to many people sometimes at the same time. Sound like a boast? Nope. Somewhat of a lament, actually. Should I have sufficient need, I can become your ideal of who you think I am or whomever you need at that time, but this rarely serves either party involved well. I have few demands, one of my faults, and I have languished in situations all my life because I lacked the ability to stand up and ask for what i want. I don't trust it will happen, I don't think it would happen, I know i won't get what I want, so why ask? Because maybe this will be the time.

but

What if I become all you ever wanted in a person? You'd love me, you'd do things for me because you like to see me smile, I'd get what i wanted through making you happy and more secure. Only, it's never worked out that way. Usually I just get shafted, and not in that sweetness and afterglow "what happened to the condom?" sort of way. Oh, we can take advantage of sweet ol' Melanie, she rolls with it. Then I get all angry and do all sorts of nothing about it until the rage builds to such a point that I become absolutely negative and unbearable to be around. Like now. Well, like recently, as I think I'm getting better, slowly. It's just so fucking hard to change into an assertive gimme-gimme-gimme person, which isn't the ideal, healthy, middle of the road sort of reaction to need and desire, but I've never known people other than sacrificers and those who suck the first sort dry. Retail hasn't helped in this. Deference to the ignorant client base? Really makes one's self esteem take an ice bath.

and yet it comes in handy

Like in this child rearing thing. I don't worry so much what will happen as I feel that I can handle it. I do check on her sleeping every 5 minutes or so, and i think that's a reasonably long time. The fears of problems arising in health, housing or income don't weigh on me as they used to or as I seem to imagine everyone else's burden to be on them. Never yet have I been in a situation that I couldn't remedy to a satisfactorily positive conclusion by knowing where to bend and how. Like bamboo. Not the cut shoots in a jar variety, but the tall, treelike grass, superior building product kind. I can let things go if need be, and creative problem solving comes in 11th hour inspirational nudges on a fairly regular basis. Of course things as always have to even out, and some days i get confused with Velcro.

Overall, I'd much rather be mutable and flexible than rigid and unyielding, but this is what works for me most of the time. Your Mileage May Vary.

02:44 am: squee!
Okay, I'm supposed to be getting into the habit of updating Kat's blog, but I am not yet done here. I was tipped off that those who read this find my writing a tad bitter, and I agree. This blog has been the repository for all my frothing, vitriolic, incoherent rages that never should be made in person before a live audience. You're welcome. But, it's also the place where you get to see the other side of me, my inner dialogue for a brief second or so. I am seething with rage and hate and all of those "bad" feelings over slights and injustices I've felt since the day I was dropped into this accursed plane. To be sure, I've enjoyed myself on many occasion, especially this past year, but my flowers only seem to bloom in misery's ash. Mmm, that was almost too Goth for me.

I find myself feeling guilty for being so pessimistic and mean of late, this is not how I wish to be known and not how I have known myself. Somewhere behind all of the anger is the happy child flying her kite, trying to get the string caught in a plane's propeller. Okay, I've been twisted from day one, there, it's said. Anyway, here is a happy update of sorts:

Dad (Dennis) and Alayna (sp?), came down with a surprise - a car! It runs and makes getting to work for Ang possible and getting to and from the store so much easier than hoping for a ride. Thanks, dad! And he's helping to get heat going in the house later this month along with Nick.

Jon and Ryann and mom sent a care package with all sorts of goodies. Thank you guys, but what's up with the edible undies?

Father (Charlie) and Kathy came up for a couple of days to visit and treated us to a couple of great dinners and brunch. Mmm, Ahi! We went to Brown Co. State Park on Sat. And Kat enjoyed much of it. Note: don't try to hike without some sort of baby-holding device. God[dess(es)], my arms were killing me, but we saw Jeff and Jeannie there (weird) and Kat demonstrated her powers by dodging all of the falling chestnuts. I learned two things there: 1) nothing beats Nature, and 2) I'm way fat. Nashville was as crowded as ever so we didn't stop to shop. One thing I forgot was that there's a Thomas Kincade®© gallery there, which is absolutely repulsive when one stops to consider the real artistic talent that once walked the same, but calmer, streets not a century ago. I've worked on pieces from nearly every Nashville and Brown County artist, and to be fair, I've even had a couple of Mr. Kincade®©†'s prints in for restoration attempts. For anyone still enamoured with the trite, over-sentimental, hokum copies of pastel Victoriana: your investment is for naught, sell while you still can. This is for your own good. The print quality is poor, and the gel overcoat will not last through UV exposure, dirt, or soot. Should there ever be damage to the thing, there is no way to repair it. It's a fad, and you're spending tons of money on a print in a frame. I try to tell clients this, but they seem to be too caught up in the beauty or something. It's almost as horrible as Precious Moments®©, but not by much. Nothing compares to a canvas slathered in dancing oil paints lovingly placed by someone caught in the spirit. I hate to see that hack take so much money from innocent people.

Damn, went into another rant. Oh well, the truth shall out. Peace, Love, and ICBMs! Thanks, Everyone!

01:05 am: Where does one begin?
Really! I mean, this has got to stop sometime, right? I'm still riled up about Pat Miller's attempt to keep the Scary Queers from having children. Too late, you twisted old troll, I already got one! (no offence to any actual twisted old trolls out there) Then, as I'm mulling over what I want to write about that (nothing that hasn't already been said a million times already, so I didn't) I see a news report that really pisses me off. But let me guide you through the convolutions of my though processes so as not to make you say, "eh?"

First, I was thinking about the psycho pseudo-Christian right-wingers exemplified by the right-reverend Fred Phelps (of God Hates Fags fame), thousands of stump-jumping fire-and-brimstone evangelicals, our fearless leader (who says he gets his directions directly from God), and locally, the great Miller Duo: State Senator Patricia Miller and Eric Miller. I tried to understand from what source these people fuel their hate. Is it repressed homosexuality within themselves? Is it the handful of minor biblical references to homosexual acts stoking great fires of self-righteous wrath? Do they need to get laid? Is it a mental disease? Is it something we queer folk said? Or, is it merely a misunderstanding of fellow humans made worse by a trove of age-old lies and misconceptions? If the latter, how can a person in this information age believe some of the same baseless suspicions and allegations of heinous activities as have been assigned to homosexuality throughout modern history? Accusations of recruiting, molestation, rape, coercion, violence, among other things fill their literature, sermons, and rhetoric. Untruths spread among the ignorant and those that should know better, and everything is regurgitated in their homes, schools, and workplaces. I know, I've heard it.

What angers me is the blind fucking ignorance that those who believe this nonsense exhibit. Screeching things like "what about the children?" these morons fail to realise that homosexuals are not to blame for the overwhelming majority of the cases of rape, molestation, and violence. Most of my female friends have been the victims of abuse or sexual assault at the hands of family members, friends, and boyfriends before they were old enough to vote. All of these were heterosexual attacks, some perpetrated by members of the church, some - as in the case of my family's personal molester - were trusted and respected family members. While the homosexuals of families are disowned, the perverts are invited to watch the kids. Then, when the truth comes to light, nobody can believe that venerable uncle Sam has molested every girl in the family for three generations, they must be making it up. You know how girls get.

"Yes, but what about all those boys who get abused by men?" Pedophiles, not usually homosexuals. There is a world of difference.Pedophiles like children, homosexuals like adults of their own sex. Are there depraved gay people? Sure, but not as many as there are depraved straight people by far. Which brings us to the newscast we watched last night. A straight and married man picks up a woman, gets into a fight with her, kills her in his truck, buries the woman under a neighbours' kids' swingset and leaves the state. A mother of three had her first two taken away after signs of abuse, abused her third to death, and is going to give birth to her fourth child in prison. And for the icing on the cake, a snippet about a child molester. Straight people, the lot of 'em. Any faggots lurking in the dark? No? Any dykes prowling cheerleaders' locker-rooms? Any trannies leering at you in the "wrong" bathroom from under the stall partition? No? Didn't think so. The lies live on, though the evidence calls for its death.

There should be a law to protect us from the Heterosexual Menace! Those people are twisted, violent perverts who are hellbent on ruining our children's purity. I, for one, am going to try to raise my child as far away as I can get from straight people, It's not that I don't trust them, but this is my daughter, and they are a danger to my family. Family first, God help the rest of you.

People are sheep, and their shepherds are all wolves.

01:15 am: Hurricane Katrina, because we need another post about it.
Sitting. impotently "sucking the glass nipple" (love that) of network news coverage of the tragedy unfolding in Mississippi and Louisiana and getting progressively more and more disgusted over the way this was handled by our concerned leaders, I feel I have to vent some, so please understand when I blame everyone for their ignorance that this anger will pass as I am lulled back into an unconscious daze by the steady drone of everyday life. Fuck all of this. This is what my daughter has to look forward to? Watching, or God[dess(es)] forbid - experiencing, such mass ignorance and ineptitude by her neighbours and elected (if they still are by then) officials. Let me explain what I mean.

I'll begin with a foundation for this disaster: people living in a coastal- and/or flood-plane, or below sea level without adequate measures taken for the worst possible scenario like, say, a category 5 hurricane and the surges, waves, rain, and winds that come along with that. Five years ago, a 25ft seawall to protect against high storm surges was recommended for New Orleans, nothing was done about it. If you live below sea-level, build a wall that will protect against a surge you know will be coming at some time, don't gamble with the safety of your community. Lake Pontchartrain breaks through the levee that holds it in check, but there is no safety measure beyond that, like maybe a second levee. It works for boat hulls, and after the flooding of the Mississippi River in '93, one might think twice about not only further developing a flood-plane/swamp into residential and commercial space, but also of the inevitable failure of dikes and levees. And, no, having a ready supply of little Dutch boys with thick fingers at the ready will not do.

Should you live on a coast known to have violent storms of the "gee, I don't think we're in Mississippi anymore, Jethro" strength or more, insist on a brick or solid concrete home if you plan on having a hurricane party. If you are going to leave said abode for safer climes in times of imminent danger and don't have anything that cannot be replaced, then disregard this last suggestion. My father builds houses in Florida along the Atlantic side, and the building codes require the use of concrete block and special windows to resist the horrific power of a hurricane. Sounds far-fetched? Maybe a little untraditional and strange? Remember the Three Little Pigs? Didn't learn anything from it did we?In the Philippines, a place battered by cyclones (Pacific hurricanes), the local building code specifies concrete as the building material. It takes a little longer to put a house together, but it lasts through monsoon after monsoon. Trailers, while convenient, are just fucking dangerous and disposable. Should you have one of the less sturdy structures by choice, then you shouldn't lament the loss of your home, it was as permanent as a Bic lighter, and you should know that. Also, if you are a lawmaker in an area where hurricanes are known to frequent, do your community a favour and insist on the use of concrete structures within a couple of miles from the beach, at least. Also, build high. Put the garage underneath the house so that the bulk of the floodwaters pass under and not through the living spaces. Americans need to climb more stairs anyway. If you choose to live on a flood-plane, just know that at some point, you are going to have to evacuate and replace everything you own.

These are not hindsight criticisms, just learning from the past and what works now.

To the President: Piss the fuck off. You did nothing to help avert the crisis, and your urging the residents to flee was "too little, too late." Residents should have been told to evacuate a full day or so before they were by the Governor, and told to prepare for an evacuation as soon as they thought that the hurricane may hit the area. Highways should have been opened on both sides to allow the mass exodus to move smoothly out, and help in the form of school and municipal busses should have been mobilised to help those who had no transportation or were too infirm to evacuate by themselves. The halting of traffic on I-10 was just reckless endangerment of those trying to leave; though, had I been in one of those cars, I think I would have made the median, shoulder, or the oncoming lanes (mostly empty at the time) an honorary carpool lane to safety. For those who cold have decided to leave, but instead stayed behind, your death is not a tragedy, but an ignorant suicide, but your survival is a gift. National Guard units should have been given orders to report and deployed before Katrina made landfall, instead of waiting until the next weekend to drop by. Refrigerated trucks should have been donated by the nation's largest supermarkets to serve as temporary morgues and mobile pantries.

Now Mr. President is calling for a "zero tolerance" policy toward those who are breaking the law, including looting and gasoline price gouging. Well, I agree with the gasoline thing, but looting? Looting what?

As to the "looting," let me make sure I understand this. Business A boards up their building against a storm expected to completely destroy it, knowing that after the roof is lifted off and everything inside is soaked or beaten to a shattered mess they will just have to claim it all as a complete loss on their insurance without having to physically account for every scrap - which would be impossible, anyway. Business A is scrapping their stock. Streetperson/impoverished resident who had no transportation out of the path of destruction, and without the means to leave provided to them by the government, stays behind and picks through said trash for something not broken so that they might have just a little something to make them smile as they are drowned or have their building collapse upon them and their useless treasure. Who the fuck cares? Nobody is out anything except the insurance companies, and all those TVs and Microwave ovens are going to be ruined by the rain and floodwaters and totally useless in a city without power. No, that's not looting, it's dumpster diving.

One more thing on "looting." Going into a flooded grocery store and coming away with a bag of groceries is not looting, it's surviving. The food's going bad, and there is none on the way for at least a week until the National Guard gets it's orders to assemble and ship out. So how is this wrong? The store's a write-off, who cares if people facing starvation, disease, and dehydration take some stale bread and a case of cola back to their rooftop? You're a cold, sick person if you would deny a person at least trying to survive. Regular law-abiding citizens need food and medicine, would you stop them from going into a permanently closed pharmacy to get that? They broke into the kitchen at the Superdome where they're out of water and food, and there is no sanitation, the dead are piling up outside, and the couple of National Guard soldiers that were there threatened to blow the heads off of the chef and others who just wanted to use the food to feed the swelling crowd which grew to nearly 30,000. There are a couple of reports of rape, for which the perpetrators should end up among the floating nameless in my opinion. There is gunfire, rioting, arson and general chaos, and it's caused by a lack of any planning or effective resolutions to the needs of these people to get basic care. The solution? Send in more officers and military to stop these people from helping themselves, and tell them that there is no timeline as to when they can expect help. Corral the desperate. Good idea.

Now if they were terrorists, Bush'd have a half a million service people down there yesterday, but it's only the fellow countrymen suffering here. One also has to wonder how much his family is making on the gas price surge. Of course, maybe the shortage will refocus the American people's dull gaze onto Hybrid and Hydrogen technologies for vehicles, and other renewable resources for home and industry, but probably not. I'm tired, and have to sleep, but at least I can in a bed and not on my roof.

01:47 am: Have I shown you a picture of my little angel yet???
This type of posting loses its appeal very quickly, I know. It's about as annoying as the mu-mu clad, slightly sweaty, abundantly cheeked and quite flushed grandma-ma on the bus who simply must show you every f-ing photo of her little Churchill from his first gasp of air ten years ago to his first poop in the alley behind her tenement last week.

But seriously, this one wins in the cuteness dept., so please suffer through it. We're talking stock-photo material, here.


Cute, right? Nearly cartoonish. This is my favourite thus far, but she was only a week old.

She's so going to hate me. I love it!

01:35 pm: We're mammas!
Okay, for those of you out there who still have a tingly rememory of me, more news:

The Foetus Has Landed
I'll spare you all the gruesome bits and photos. You're welcome.

As of July 24th, 11:32am local time, on our bed, attended to by 3 midwives and a lot of blood and mucous was or child born. Holy cowage! So we don't have a name as yet, she's still a little wow. All this time away has been in preparation for her, and now that she's here there is some time available - for me at least. Angela is breastfeeding, so that ties her all up and gives me some things to work on, but I just have to share a bit of the story and some photos.

( Story/Photos behind here... You know you want to. Here's a teaser: )

09:02 pm: True vs. Impotent Rage.
Hi all, I'm still alive, just a bit pressed for time nowadays. I don't have my sbcglobal.net e-mail anymore, I've moved back into the house, kind of, I still have my shite all over the place. I'm sorry Marti, I will make every effort to have my junk out of your place this weekend, thank you for putting up with my inconsistency! In other news: Angela's mother had a stroke, an HIV+ friend is in the hospital with pneumonia, and then there's that thing about the baby. Life can slow down a bit anytime it feels like it; save some of this action for my golden years. But these are not ragey items, and are only light updates of the maelstrom of the current situation. On to the meat of the heat...

I am rapidly developing another "quality" I do not consider as valuable. Apart from the typical brand of Mel's Fine Impotent Rage (in light syrup), I am displeased to announce a new addition to the family. The baby? No. No, this is purely mine own creation, born of every flaw marring my surface and interior, so you know it's going to be big. Right now, as we speak, there is an unsettled fury smouldering away within that I have not been able to quench with my usual cool manner and untouched by my reluctant optimism. I'm angry. Why? Why not? I'm surrounded by incompetence to rival my own, inexcusable greed, and evidence of my every personal failing. And all of this needs to be corrected now.

Let us start somewhere, say, with the spouse's mother. Bonnie's had a stroke compounded with hypothermia from succumbing in the shower, unable to move out of it and flailing about in the ice-cold water for about nine hours. That part tears Ang up, and if I dwell on it, I would also feel really bad about it. I almost did, but there was something that came before that prevented me from getting too upset that she suffered for nine hours in a shower stall and has partial paralysis on her left side. Some call it Karma, some say it's God's mysterious way, I kind of blame my negative thoughts for it, but that's awfully egotistical for such an unimportant peon such as myself. What could she have done to deserve such an ordeal? She sought to take from my family, and she may yet succeed, but I'd strongly advise against that course lest the full brunt of the Almighty's justice be visited upon her frail frame.

Let me explain: Angela and I wanted to stop our neighbour from making the house behind us into sleeping rooms for weekly renters. This is after we had been victims of a break-in by a tenant of his. Crack addicts are a group that this type of slumlord specialises in. So we offered him $5,000 for the house, and he took it! Go us. Not having that money, we asked Ang's mom and step-father to help us out. They took out a loan for at least twice that to get Ang's brother RK surgery and help pay for a couple of new cars for themselves. In turn, they each had a quarter interest in the property. Well in the depression we both found ourselves in following the lengthy court battle for our house, nothing was done with that one, and it acted as a repository for all manner of collected pieces of potential importance. When we split up, Angela came to me insisting that I sign over my interest in the back house. I knew what the move was for, and I figured it was a part of the clean break that Angela was working for. Her mom and Steve would sell the house, take what we owed them for the property (half of the purchase price) and give the rest to Ang, but I was to see nothing of it. She later confirmed that they had told her they were going to do this very thing (and I hadn't even told her that's what I anticipated). I was okay with the whole thing, this was February, and the way things were falling apart, I was willing to give the property up. Angela wasn't, and she stood to gain a lot from it, enough to bring her out of debt, with some to boot as the asking price was $15,000. Then came the baby news, and the paradigm shifted for the second or third time that year. Bonnie could all of a sudden look at me again, and I think she even stopped talking shit about me. What a turn around! But wait, there's more! Within about a month, after planning a trip to Aruba, Bonnie told her expecting daughter that she was going to give Ang "what she put into it" (about $2,500 - $3,000) and Ang's uncle needed some help, and her brother as well, and then there was the looming vacation. These are people who brag to their children who are going without heat or electricity that they just lost $1,800 yesterday at the casino. I say brag, but they were really complaining. Hey, that's fine, it's their money, but this is different.

Then, three weeks ago, Bonnie comes up with another one. She had been trying to get Angela to let the mortgage company foreclose on the house, and move into an apartment closer to her brother who lives in a neighbourhood that makes ours look like prime real-estate in Manhattan. The whole family tries this on her, completely ignorant of anything but the "family has to stick together" line. They don't understand the concept of owning and having equity in a property, except her uncle, the one in trouble, who's a slumlord himself. Keeping the house is one of the good decisions that Ang is now making, but the dumbasses can't grasp that. Anyway, we're looking at filing for bankruptcy, or maybe just Angela given my pending name-change, and that would stop the foreclosure, and allow us to start afresh with a house that has $12,000 equity in it. Anyway, three weeks ago, Bonnie tells Angela, her pregnant daughter, that they've decided that instead of giving her the money, they are going to hold onto it in case she loses the house, and we have to move. Oh, and by the way, did I tell you about Aruba?

WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK??????????

Your daughter is in an admittedly self-induced poor financial position, but not without viable options, and you take money made from her investments that you promised, decreased, and decreased again to go to on holiday with your friends? Oh, but you bought a used fucking crib that we didn't want. That certainly makes up for this. let's not mention claiming your daughter on your taxes in the past, when she was living here, just so that you could get another thousand on your return - nevermind that she would have to pay taxes because of that. I call it selfish, self-serving, and parasitic at best. These are the parent models to live up to? These are the caring, loving individuals we want around our child? Not me.

Within a week, she's face-down with a stroke in her shower. Divine recompense for her selfishness? Maybe. Beats it being bad mojo being sent out by me - or maybe it doesn't.

But that's not the anger that bothers me, that's a part of the reason for it. This burning is caused by the wall of my own construction that I face. I am going to demand the money of Steve, at a time when his spirits are crushed, at a time of uncertainty and distress imposed in his happy little world. I am going to be the beast I never wanted to be. My weakness is the problem. My hesitancy proves my lack of backbone. Demanding the money due at least Angela is important for my family, and I need to be able to do this regularly to secure what I want for my child and self. I'm angry with my dad, Dennis, who taught me fear and self-hate (this is why I have a difficult time calling my father "dad," - there are too many issues). I'm mad at the life of hiding and cowering that I have led. This is a different kind of rage, not impotent, because I can do something about it. This is the anger of birth.

I don't worry about those who do wrong to me or mine. Obviously, their rewards are claimed.

03:15 am: Who's Your - um, Dama? Momad? Mofather?
Cross-posted to the baby's LJ: bebe_solune

"Any dick can be a father," so the saying goes, but it takes a special dick to be a mother. Confused? Sure, we all are. I get asked a lot, "so, what are you going to be called? Mom? Dad? What?" At the therapist's visit this week, I was struck by the realisation that babies don't have a set idea of whom to call "mama" or "dada" or "ginyxylplix!phphp" They just don't care, it's whatever you impose. "No, (insert baby's name), I'm mama. Maaaa-mmmaaaaa." Babies are taught language, as well pre-programmed as they are for it, it's still incumbent upon the parents to teach sounds, words, phrases, and their meanings to this bright and eager little sponge. The child has no innate knowledge of the biologically and socially defined roles of mother and father. It makes no judgements beyond what it deems to be right and good and what is not so good and disturbing, which are primarily based on it's developing senses and it's ability to handle the dynamic around it. So, where does the question posed by well-meaning family and friends come from? Is it intended to clarify things for the child? No. No, it's meant to let them understand the role i will play in the rearing of the child, because this world is perceived as having polar opposites, dualities, binary compliments, yin and yang, man and woman, thee and me. Of course this is utter bullshit, but it's not your fault, it's hard to imagine anything other than what you know.

Our ideas of parents are so already defined that it is hard to imagine any dynamic other than the one presented by our childhoods, the media, and our religious institutions. Mother, father, child is the basic formula. Sometimes there is only one parent who is seen to have to take on both roles, as the individual responsibilities of child-rearing are prescribed to either male/father or female/mother, instead of being individual pieces of a giant puzzle. The stereotypes of the nurturing mother, and the somewhat detached disciplinarian father are now expectations and even goals. "I am a _____, therefor I am responsible for these things. I should act this way. I expect these things." But looking at real life, the moms and dads and families around us, we see that this simplistic "ideal" is nothing but a description of the way a large percentage of the populace makes it work, but the numbers are neither overwhelming, nor do the necessarily ensure the best environment. I know too many traditional families that included alcoholics, dope-fiends, deadbeats, pedophiles, physical and mental abusers, and parental relationships that even the children consider unhealthy enough that the parents should divorce. And I know some very good families that fall outside of the basic formula, but even they struggle with the identity issue as they are redefining it.

Ahh, the benefits of a "traditional family unit" - not. Where the hell am I driving this bus? In short (my point, not the bus), the roles of parenting need not be divided in the same manner as is standard accepted practice, nor should they, in my not-so-humble opinion. The individual tasks should be performed by whomever is available and best able to perform them. For instance, If we are to teach our child about the thrill of competition, something mostly assigned to the male/father figure, I, the sperm donor, will not be the best choice for this lesson because I am only mildly competitive whereas Angela, the bearer of the child, is a champion competitor. Am I failing as a father? Yes, by this and other tests, but am I failing as a parent? Not if I teach the things I am most proficient in. Would Angela be failing as a mother if I were the primary caregiver, or even a stay-at-home mom while she made the majority of the money? No, provided that this was the best arrangement for our child's future, and her immediate strengths lay in the "provider" role.

Parenting roles need not be tied to biology. Some mothers make the best dads, and vice-versa when using traditional models. Many moms and dads fail no matter what role they have, they're just horrible and there's nothing that can be done for them. Parenting roles are based on universal and individual needs of children, and the family structure whether traditional or not. A child will need certain things at each stage of development, and the attention and care given to those needs is not the responsibility of any one sex unless the need happens to be biological, like birth or breast-feeding. The emotional and the majority of physical needs should be addressed by whomever is at hand or best qualified, to put diaper changing off as the female/mother's duty except when it's "dad's turn to watch" is just stupid. So too, is it unreasonable to put off discipline for when "your father gets home." This polarity of function will be picked up by the child and internalised into it's expectations of what the gender and familial roles are to be. The words "mother" and "father" mean nothing, themselves, but the social definition of those as functions is incredibly important. So what lies beyond? What of same-sex couples? Are single male/fathers emasculated for having to maintain a home, and are single female/mothers likewise stripped of their femininity should they need to work and discipline the children? Hell no. The definitions of the roles of mother and father have changed over time, if ever so slightly, and society has not ended. Single parents are responsible for some of the great leaders and innovators throughout history, and same-sex couples show that they are every bit as good at raising stable, healthy children as their heterosexual counterparts.

The conventional mantle of mother or father is one I would rather not take upon myself. This isn't a political statement as much as it is a difference of definition. I seek to be the best parent I can be for my child, and that will mean that I will have to take on the roles of both. How do I identify? I am mostly female, and if that means that I am a mother to you, then I gladly accept that honour, but I am also just enough male to have sired this child, so if that makes me a father in your eyes, then I guess I am that, too. Just don't expect me or Angela to fall into tidy categories. If mother and father are simply parts played, each with their own prescribed lines, then I am neither and both. For our child's sake I will probably be "mom," "mommy," or "hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey...!" for Angela (who is never to be referred to as "mommy"), her name may end up "mom," "mama," or "Ama," the latter being my favourite. "Mistress" was right out, much to Angela's disappointment. I really don't care too much, I would prefer not to be called "daddy," as that would make me uncomfortable from a societal gender expectation perspective and from a self-defining point of view. While I accept those who are female fathers, I don't feel like one, but then, do I feel like a mother? Maybe more so, but I'm just as confused as the rest having been brought up in a traditional world, even if I was queer from the beginning. I have my expectations and my fears and my hopes, and they are genderless.

04:59 am: New LJ Community for Our Child
Wondering where I was? Remember me at all? Wondering what I'm doing on your friends page? Have a restraining order against me? Same here. Apart from living the soap-opera I do, and now trying desperately to play catch-up with the prenatal tests and whatnot, my keyboard went *pbbbblppphhhttt* again. Mac keyboards - they look nice, but last for shit. This was like the third one for this computer already. So I went to the pit of all evil, Wal-Mart, and picked up a generic USB wireless keyboard/mouse set. And now to the meat of the entry...

I've just started a LJ community for our future baby. To what end, you ask? Ahh, because I like parents' journals to their unborn children, and I thought on that could be joined by all the people in the child's life would be even better, and then the kid could read all about the world as it began focusing a little toward it, even in the womb (not that the child can read in the womb, how the world was when they were in there, duh). In order to post, you need an account and need to be a member of the community. It's on LiveJournal, so the account is free, and easy to set up. Just start off at LiveJournal, and then go to bebe_solune and click on the link to join the community. Simple, just like me. I'm also easy like Sunday Morning, but that's a different story altogether. Anyway, check out the community, join, post your thoughts regarding the child, and please read the posting rules just to make it nice for everyone.

01:53 am: I gave in.
Yeah, yeah. Nothing better to do than to take these tests, but i'm still processing the info from today, so I'll maybe post something of substance later. In the mean time, here are some of my results to a couple of quizzes that friends are doing.

Like nobody saw this coming:

You scored as Satanism. Your beliefs most closely resemble those of Satanism! Before you scream, do a bit of research on it. To be a Satanist, you don't actually have to believe in Satan. Satanism generally focuses upon the spiritual advancement of the self, rather than upon submission to a deity or a set of moral codes. Do some research if you immediately think of the satanic cult stereotype. Your beliefs may also resemble those of earth-based religions such as paganism. </td> Satanism 75% Paganism 71% Hinduism 67% Buddhism 54% Christianity 46% atheism 42% Islam 42% agnosticism 42% Judaism 25% Which religion is the right one for you? (new version) created with QuizFarm.com

Always good to know that I'll be an Zombie Apocalypse Survivor, though I pray I don't look like this schmuck:

Official Survivor Congratulations! You scored 83%!

Whether through ferocity or quickness, you made it out. You made the right choice most of the time, but you probably screwed up somewhere. Nobody's perfect, at least you're alive.

My test tracked 1 variable How you compared to other people your age and gender : You scored higher than 99% on survivalpoints

Link: The Zombie Scenario Survivor Test written by ci8db4uok on Ok Cupid

As I said, real stuff later.

Happy Canonised Irish Traitor Bastard Day! On this day, everyone should stuff a poisonous snake up a Bishop, Cardinal, or Pope's robes, and wear green in memory of the beautiful isle, once the last stronghold of the Celtic lifeway, now a dormant shade of it's former glory. May the sidhe open and their occupants reclaim the land.

01:03 pm: Just an advert for a fledgeling group
Just an advert for a fledgeling group that needs to grow. If you're Trans of any stripe, an SO, friends, or supporters, especially with Indiana ties, give it a try. Go, post, read, comment.



Oops, duh. Forgot a couple of "*" thingies. Bugger

03:23 am: And Another Thing...
For those of you who don't know, and that's the majority here, there have been some new "developments" in the fractured MelAng household.

Wanna guess?

Come on, please?

Well, no.

Not that, either.

You'll never guess...

Mom, you hush. You just have to be the first to tell, don't you...

( The answer's behind here, and it's pretty important, so click, damnit! )

I may not remain firm on any one issue, but that's because I can recognise and embrace change, and thank God[dess(es)] for that, otherwise I couldn't have come this far.

04:36 am: On Turning 30.
Today began much the same as they all do: the Sun rises, birds chirp, I drift in and out of consciousness until my alarm disturbs whatever wonderful dream I had, and I wake to find myself alone again. Marti's in the next room, but you know what I mean. So I drag myself into a semi-vertical posture and trek to the bathroom with a new scrubbie mitt and a fresh razor, 'cause it's my birthday. Jon called me the other night. I've just finished his birthday/Christmas/Swiss Bank Holiday/birthday present, an Byzantine Orthodox cross with Celtic knotwork on the inside. There are some design problems that I am still not happy with, but I got the near-final draft off to him so that he may now hunt down a suitably skilled tattoo artist to execute the piece. It's the first tattoo design I've done in years, and the first I've done on the computer. We wished each-other Happy Birthdays, but those are usually benign pleasantries we pass back and forth like head-colds at daycare. In this case, however, it came to be.

( Cut for length. Click Me for the full story. )

Thank you all for making today a truly Happy Birthday. May all of yours be every bit as great.

Love,
Mel

10:46 am: Happy Birthday to Me!
Hmm. Survived last night, let's see if I can ruin myself tonight!

Funny, I don't feel 30. As a matter of fact, with all of the alcohol I ingested last night, I should be feeling quite the worse for wear. No hangover or "wasted" feeling at all or, miracle of miracles, no alcohol poisoning. Though, I need fluids like now!

Real post to follow maybe this weekend, maybe tonight. I've enough alcohol here to make me comfy, and it won't cost $6 a small, ice-filled plastic cup. Brilliant!

01:42 am: Okay, When Do I Wake Up?
This week's been kinda strange. I came out to my father in the worst possible way next to showing up drunk on his front door in a little black dress (no, nobody will see me in one of those, BTW), being carried by the women's rugby team I "entertained" the previous night, caked makeup and sex running down my face, with a contract out on my life by the Russian Mafia for accidentally insulting the boss' wife by comparing her to a cross between Baba Yaga and a Yeti. (I still contend that she is ugly, but concede that this it was probably in poor taste to verbalise the obvious.)

( Cut back here for long-winded and disjointed revelations and the like. )

Happy Birthday, Dad, and no, 54 isn't so old. You still have the entire length of my life or so to go.

04:55 am: Been thinking a bit.
Well, tons going on, obvious and otherwise, but here's the crux of the majority of the problems I believe I have: evil in the purest form has seeped into my fractured heart and converted me to a life of sarcastic cynicism and seeking pleasure in other's humiliations and frustrations. Or maybe I just become a horrible person by my own hand. Probably the latter. Do they have a pill for this, yet? Can I get it from Canada?

See? More joking about a serious matter. I've railed on like this before with nearly the same words, so I will not bother with outlining my horrible fascination with adopting a guise of superiority. I am fast approaching a time when I will need my den again so that I may return to the womb and seek guidance from the all-mother. Sound too new-agey for you? It has nothing to do with that. People have been entering caves and lodges over millennia to seek their mothers' guidance. My room was once such a place, but She was not there, only despair and selfishness, this time, I'm free of those for the most part. I used to be Right, I used to be kind, I used to be wise, now, I am nothing of those. I need to centre myself and learn to think in the first way, again.

What a long strange trip it will be.

I just wrote a letter to my father in Florida, three days ago. In this e-mail, I came out to him, and essentially to the rest of my family on his side. How rude can I be? And yet, how could I do such a thing otherwise? E-mail was not my first choice, I prefer face to face, but that was impossible in this case. I hope he can be okay with it, however, I expect to lose everyone at some point, but from now on, I'd prefer it not be of my gross incompetence and increasingly frosty demeanour.

News: I am seriously thinking about moving to Chicago in a couple of years. It depends on me finding a job and getting reliable transportation among other things, but nothing's totally etched in stone as yet. Oregon's not out, and I'd still love to get a Motor Home (not mobile home) to cruise about the continent in, but that's another pipe dream. Much more later, as I have time.

04:28 am: Wow, I'm such the Twit
I am such the twit - have been for a while.

Dear God[dess(es)], what's happening to me?!

Fucked if I know.

Damn.

02:00 pm: Ahh Statistics.

eBay Home Page

01:23 am: Reply to My Ang
Since I cannot seem to be able to comment directly on Ang's blog at any length of reply, I'll post an abbreviated version of my reply to her last post here.

( The body )

By the way, none of my family or friends (who have always been our friends) want to lose you, I have not demonised you to them, because you aren't a demon. You aren't always right or good or kind, but you're still no demon, so stop practising.

And I still think that on a practical level, it's very unwise to get a divorce. You have a potentially life-threatening thyroid problem for which you need treatment, and though me, you have insurance. I do not accept your "it's none of your business, now" reactionary retort, whether you like it or not, we've been together for a third of our lives, and I have never ever considered abandoning you. Leaving, yes, but the difference is staggering unless you make it otherwise.

12:56 pm: How to Hack a Commercial Slide-Load Washer
Today, I was reminded of something I used to do in college - hack a pay-washer in the dorm. For the amount we were spending for the education, the student body should have had people come retrieve our laundry and hand wash it in spring water, gently air-dry it, remove lint, mend the worn pieces, fold or hang the wrinkle-free garments and, unseen, replace them into the walk-in closets in our apartment-like suites via servant's entrances and hidden corridors. Alas, we had to take our funky piles downstairs to the two washers and four(?) dryers, shell out whatever spare change we had made by panhandling over the previous two weeks, and pray that we had 10¢ left over with which to buy a pack of ramen. While necessity may me the mother of invention, starvation is the deadbeat dad of same, and in a mad hunger-panged fit of darkest need, I was stricken with an mechanical epiphany: what makes the slide move forward is the tripping of tiny pressure-sensitive switches at the top of the coin slot.

"Hmm..." said I.
"Hrmgrhhhh!" replied my tummy.

Then it struck me, I could use the same palette knife I had been using to gain access to all of the "locked" buildings and rooms on campus to trip at least one of the switches in the little slot thing! Brilliance to rival any diamond, I tell you what. And you want to know something? It worked. I would fill the coin slots save for one, insert the then and narrow palette knife into place and push the carriage forward. Should it catch, well, then I fiddled about until I had made sure to trip that little bugger. So long as the sliding carriage moves forward, the washer and/or dryer will proceed to turn those semi-rigid textiles into the soft, supple, and mostly wrinkled-beyond-recognition clothes that cover what needs to be for the sake of society. Joy!

Now I've just found that the more modern machines (remember it's been 9 years since my college days) have teeny doors that are made to counter just these sorts of manipulations, but the palette knife should still work. I shall let you all know when I figure this out, but for now, I am knifeless and now quarterless, but mine clothing is going through the enviable experience of being gently rotated while the warm breath of a host of tiny putti removes the moisture from them. Speaking of, I must go check them. I just wish the putti's union wasn't so successful at bargaining. $1.25 for a load is ridiculous. Though it was rather worth the price to see the subterranean dungeon-laundry.

02:57 am: Welcome Back Mellie
Hey, everyone! Just a quick shout-out to let y'all know that Mel is back! No vengeance, but back nonetheless - with all new guests, chock-full of special features, and ribbed for your pleasure, excitement! So stay tuned for the amazing adventures of Mel the Imbiber, sure to smooth the pleats out of your skirts, and put a spring in your step.

Or something like that.

Many thanks to those who made today possible: Marti - Goddess of the beloved domicile and hostess with the mostest who was there with the most unselfish offerings (and we have the same vibes! but I hopes we don't get 'em confused), Nate and Paul - Haulers extraordinaire - there when you need 'em with smiles for miles, Jen the Serb of Giving - For super-human generosity and general coolness, Nick and Cori - You made my day and the phone and food was too much, Jess, William, Rachel, Erin, everyone I work with, many I don't, and well, thank you to everyone in my life. It's a rough time and you all made it a lot better, even possible, and I can't express how amazing you are for being so good to me.

Okay, that was cheesy, but I've really been amazed and humbled by how much I am loved by those I love. Thank you. I owe a lot, to a lot.

Sleep now.

02:09 am: Happy Holidays?
Some of you know, most don't, and not that it really impacts anyone else very much, but I've asked Angela for a seperation. It started out as divorce, but that was rather knee-jerk, and otherwise not right, so we've come to me moving out, for it is her house. I feel like the biggest failure, and the worst person for asking, and particularly right now, but it was a long time in the coming, and I think, quite for the best. I did it for purely selfish reasons, this I will readily admit, and I think she saw it coming, or something like it. She says that she never considered divorce, ever. But she has considered cheating, and what's wrong with a little emotional neglect mixed in with verbal abuse? Nothing when you're the one doing it.

Really, though much of this is my fault in that I allowed things to escalate to the point that I was a spineless yes-girl who expected my Love to treat me with respect and adoration. No, I'm not 14, but that's how i felt. I had become me when I was under my dad's spell. My Self had deteriorated to the point that it was in danger of blinking out of existence. Of course, this gave the go-ahead for Ang to treat me like the weakling that I was. Eventually the realisation that she was not going to snap out of her shit dawned over the rather thick pallisades of my skull, and I went into crisis mode. My trip out West was one such burst of self-interested insanity that also served to let me know just how little I had to stay for. I was welcomed by everyone but her; relative strangers at work at least pretended to be happy to see me again. She was apparently just waiting for me to tell her how my trip was. Well, after the "did you lock the fucking door" salutation I did receive, I figured you weren't all that enthusiastic about my return, and why should I bore you with happiness? Then, much of the same for another month and some. For over a year, she'd cultivated a rich fantasy life to which I was neither invited, nor welcomed, and had not a place in. I wouldn't understand, I couldn't handle it, I wouldn't approve of it. She didn't share thoughts, or why she had them, or what she wanted and why, or anything. I had lost my best friend and lover, only to be gifted a spiteful roommate "with benefits." We haven't kissed in almost a year and a half. I begged entrance back into her life, and for that time, I was spurned.

Then, recently, I came to another realisation: I no longer cared. Once, the sight of her face in the calm serenity of a morning slumber, washed with sunlight, would fill me with a love and happiness I couldn't begin to describe, but I find myself staring at a stranger's face with familiar features. Where is all the desire I felt, where is the jealousy, the fear of loss? BEyond those, I no longer feel Love for this person, nor can I re-awaken it for her. I can't bring myself to be manipulated or insulted for the sake of keeping the two of us as one. I'm nearly thirty years old, and I'm a little tired of suffering because I want the other people in my life to be comfortable. She's called it my martyring, I prefered to think of it as a necessary and practical sacrifice, but now I can see it from her point of view. One sacrifices what one can do without for a gain in something one cannot. A martyr gives unnecessarily of themself. I was giving money, time, and dignity for another's comfort and amusement, something she wouldn't have done in the opposite; therefor, I was foolish for giving of myself.

But this is my biased side of the issue. I still feel horrible for essentially giving up on her, but I need to be a whole person again and I need to transition, both of which are currently impossible the way things are. She also need to be whole, able to be confident in herself, her needs, her wants, and in her ability to satisfy them. With me, there's no need to take responsibility, and there's no need to think for yourself. I don't think she knows what she wants from life or that she can even have it. At her best, she's the strongest person I know, she's the only person who I have considered an equal, and she's just exceptional. But she's currently not that person, unfortunately. I will always love the woman she could be, the woman she keeps showing signs of, but in her current state, she is actively drowning me. I can not help her, she won't let me, and doesn't want me. I've just come to the same conclusion a bit later, but then, I've never been very good at math.

We are probably going to seek counseling together. She's not sure if she wants me, or if she wants to work on the very real problems we have. We'll see. At this time, we're in the passive-agressive phase. She's mad at me and, I'm sorry to admit, hopefully a tad hurt by my request. One that she was not hesitant to accept, though. I wish that we were anywhere but here. I remember being stupidly happy together, the two of us above the world, poking fun at the pathetic and aspiring to the profound, together. I'm broken now, there is no anger, no delusion either, no sense of self, no clue for later. I awoke to find myself alone only to realise I had been so for ages. Thank Deity for the lovely dream, though. I knew Love then, and I'll never forget.

David (Dennis) Charles (Paul) Johanson (Summers) is dead. Long live Melanie Lauren Davis, Reigning Empress of Mel-ancholy, Mel-O-Drama, Mel-Liciousness, and a biggish-small heavily forested and mountainous country as yet to be announced. Coronation to be Spring, sometime.

Oh, and as a side note. Hugh Grant (or his identical twin) came up to my friend Marti and I while I was working and asked for a Rolling Stone. Then he smiled. I was so flustered that I forgot to ask for a spanking. I'd totally spaced that he liked pre-ops, and as both of us were, he was probably in some sort of chaser-heaven, which would explain his rather toothy and odd grin. Marti was non-plussed. William says that he was probably hitting on me, and as I like that idea, maybe that's how I'll remember it. Hugh Grant came on to me. In twenty years, this will of course turn into 'Hugh Grant showed me what it is to be a woman.' THough I would have to pick Alanis Morisette as the visiting celebrity I'd most like to have hot passionate sex with. Last place is tied with Gene Simmons and Mickey Dolenz.

09:41 pm: I Shaved My Legs For This?
So our phone is disconnected, and that means no blessed DSL service, but hey, we may not lose the house, maybe. This means I don't get online, and that I miss the news and viewpoints, and that my local friends have to listen to me rant and complain in magnatudes they are quite unused to, but I miss the news, so the ranting is tempered by ignorance. Tonight, I'm at a friend's place, mooching off their connection, and I check out my friends page, and I read of telivised homophobia on the Gilligan's Island show, denyed telivisation of inclusion and love from the UCC (United Church o' Christ), televised un-homophobing of the Matthew Shepard killing (which should void the commuted death-to-life sentence of Mr. Notahomophobe), and sundry backlashes against feminism and any social gains made by women in the past 40+ years.

It's only been a couple of weeks, and I'm feeling completely disoriented and frankly very angry right now because I've been exposed to this. Nobody takes it seriously, not the Republican Comfort Queen at work who is very sure that "they'll never overturn Row V. Wade," not my spouse who thinks my notions of feminism are silly and cute - if annoying at times, not anybody I can look at and have a conversation with. I read some of Amber's extensive coverage of her Amerikkka tour, and I just have to say that I love you, by the way, that odd odour is scented candle and cat box, but the house is about 50 degrees (F) right now, so the smell is much abated. She's right about the mess down here, and I had a vacation to get away from all of it, I love that. Anyway, all of the truely wonderful people in this world need to secretly dash the wasted grey matter of the necrotic Homo Rejectus right out of their thick skulls with the ossified remains of said's hellish spawn. To the Suppressing - their own. Unfortunately, without the support of thousands of others, I'd just be another crazy Tranny on page 4 of Section D in the local paper. I need a revolution to ease my revulsion.

More later, or whatever.

04:01 am: Good Weekend, but still pissed.
Yeah, I was a total spaz when Vikki and Amber came by this wochende! I hope their opinion of me isn't too marred by my absolute lack of sense or composure. But on a positive note, I want to have their babies, or, or something. Gush, gush. In hindsight, I wish that I had fun things lined up, but I really enjoyed the visit. More later (don't I always promise that?) as I'll just sound like a 12 year old at Summer camp. And they were only here for a few hours. Seriously, they're really cool people, everybody should know them.

Oh, one more thing. I keep hearing all this stuff about "snobby intellectuals" going around like it's a grand insult. Well, let me just say that I'm personally very fucking proud to be a snobby intellectual, and I will not apologise to those who are of the opposite ilk. If half of this country can be so proud of being an ignorant "redneck" that they emblazon that insult across their windshields, I can be every bit as proud and thankful that I am a free-thinking, questioning, learning human being who wishes infertility and painful syphilitic sores upon each and every one of their ignorant xenophobic, racist, sexist, homophobic genitalia. The rapture is coming, but it's not what you think; you're not being called up to the Lord before the end times, rather, you've been smothered in your sleep by the frustrated and fed-up people for whom your supreme ignorance and incessant breeding has left no alternative. Sometimes war is necessary to eliminate the weeds among the flowers, I'm talking about the garden in our own back yard, here. Remember this, you runny-nosed, dirty-faced ignoramuses: intellectuals are the ones who create the weapons, you're the ones sent to test their efficacy. Sleep tight, and if you experience a slight case of asphyxiation one night, just "let go and let God" and keep walking toward that light.

01:45 am: Another Shrubbery! or Years of Tears.
I awoke today with utmost certainty that he had won, this time with a frighteningly legitimate popular vote margin. That sends a message to me and millions of those like me, "We don't want your kind here." Not only had he won, but eleven states have added marriage discrimination amendments to their State Constitutions, four of which go the further step and deny benefits to same-sex couples through so-called civil unions. Four more years. The religious right has been handed our country on a platter, what they will do with it makes me shudder. Federal Marriage Amendment, intolerance preached from pulpit to law, vilification of minorities and ideologies, divine rule, and that's just from the first term. For once, I'd love to hear scriptural justifications for slaughtering thousands of innocent people on the other side of the world. I want to hear Jesus' own words on what love is, and what is tyranny.

At work this morning there was a hush like in the country after a good snowfall. Frightened whispers here and there from unsmiling clusters of people, huge cocky grins and a notable swagger from others. There's no need to say anything. Half of the country is now afraid of the other half. Indiana mirrored the rest of America in it's own elections with Republicans taking control of the State from top to bottom. Now, hateful, discriminatory legislation that has been festering for the past 12 years or so can pass unhindered. The already laughable Arts Initiatives are in peril as one of the first things to suffer a conservative sweep is funding for the Arts, which is ironic in that the conservative voting bloc is the greatest consumer of theatre, opera, symphonies, and "fine arts." Of course, we still have our sports, losing teams that cannot fill their venues, but sports nonetheless.

The first song I was conscious of on the overhead stereo was Simon and Garfunkle's theTimes, They Are a-Changin', which I couldn't decide whether it was a perverse joke, or a dark omen. Almost forty years ago, that song became an anthem for those who wished for equality, social justice, and freedom in a country divided by racism and sexism among a million other -isms, and ripped apart by a foreign war we had no place in. It was a song provoking hope for a better tomorrow, a call to action. Today, that generation is in office. That Senator's Son of privilege and irresponsibility John Fogerty called out is in the White House, voted in by the now complacent, fat, happy white folks who once changed the nation they lived in toward that lofty goal of equality and peace. Well sort of changed it. Like so many things in this world, only the surface is changed, but the old prejudices and patterns remain. My whole family still uses every derogatory racial epithet to refer to ethnic groups, keeping centuris-old misconceptions and lack of understanding for those people or their cultures. Faggot doesn't get used around me much, anymore. Thank you for that, but it shows what a bit of exposure to an unfamiliar idea can do. I really don't think that my family calls me "that sissy faggot" behind my back, though they have had a lot of soul searching to come as far as they have.

Familiarity breeds understanding, one of the core ingredients of wisdom and essential in breaking down the divisive Us-Them barrier. Sure, it's easy to bomb the hell out of a few thousand "sand niggers" or "camel jockeys," they're an adolescently amusing name, not real people. Not mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, and grandparents, not human like our spouses, children, and parents. Have you noticed that there're not a lot of photos of suffering people, few released shots of bloody faces, bloated corpses, dismembered bodies? Even the anonymous images of flag-draped coffins arriving in this country are forbidden, lest our casualties become more to the average American than a disturbing-enough death-toll. On the ground reports of civilian casualties by those who have to tend to the wounded and bury the dead are brushed aside for "official American tally of insurgents killed," or some combination of those words. Collateral Damage. 15,000 murdered civilians, the entire population of my hometown plus some of the next town over is dismissed as a sterile term. Whoever thinks this is okay, fuck you. There is no excuse for this kind of mass murder.

This doesn't even touch the death toll of Africa, home to all of humanity. Sudan's ongoing genocide, rape, and enslavement of the native people, Rwanda's genocide, Sierra Leon's civil war, AIDS, genital mutilation, no country there is free of violence. What do the compassionate rulers of America do? Talk about Iraq some more, talk about Emmanuel Goldstein - er, I mean Osama bin Laden. Finally, send a delegation on a fact-finding mission, and impose meaningless economic sanctions on an already impoverished country, thereby ensuring the further slaughter of innocents by those in power as already paltry resources become non-existent. Fucking brilliant. What's next, end child molestation by killing all the children, drowning by outlawing bodies of water, speeding by removing speed limits, or civil rights abuse by taking those rights away? Wait, that last one sounded too real. Oh, that's because it is.

The only good thing I can see for the future of this country my great grandparents came to, is that the youth may become mobilised and take action against their ill-informed counterparts and short-sighted, easily scared, turncoat parents to really produce a paradigm shift. Take America by it's Doritos-stained wife-beater, drag it off it's fucking Lazyboy recliner, away from the TV, and out into the sunlit, polluted, violent world everybody else knows about firsthand, and make the lazy bastard open it's eyes to the greater reality. We're all in this together, we're all human, we're all just wanting a bit of happiness out of our time here. Without that happiness we have only desperation and misery to bend our minds toward whatever reaction or remedy we can see. That's why some take up arms against the greedy who exploited them, duh. Want to know why religious zealots carried out 911? No, you don't. You think it's jealousy, or Islamic fundamentalism, or a "madman" or even that catch-all, Evil. No, it's because all of those people feel they have nothing else to lose. Imagine what it would take to put yourself in the mindset of a suicide bomber. What would it take for you to commit murder upon innocents and suicide? What extremes would you be facing, what are you motivations, your pressures? what we call terrorism is daily life for some people, and many times, these people can attribute the success of their own terrorisers to the influence and in some cases support of the United States.

By no means am I condoning the actions of these people, killing the innocent is never excusable. Instead, this nation as a whole, and the administration in particular should realistically consider the motivatio