Sharks In Lady Land

It’s shark week in Lady Land. One of my favorite things about living alone in my girl apartment is having my period here. Dudes don’t know about this; most of them think that period days are like any other day, except with extra bathroom time. And for parts of my life, this has been true. It might be true for some of you. But the rest of you know what I mean when I say there is a difference between bleeding for a week and Having Your Period.

Having Your Period is more easily done when it magically coincides with Having Time Off, like a weekend where you somehow don’t have to go outside or do anything productive that can’t be done sitting on the couch (see: right now). Even better, though, is when Getting Your Period coincides with Having Time Off and Being Alone. That right there is how you transform general being on the rag to all-caps Having Your Period.

Having My Period in Lady Land means getting to spend days in pajamas with a giant fucking maxipad like a diaper underneath me, just sitting and bleeding. Tampons, while great for guaranteeing the ability to ride a white horse bareback on the beach in a white dress and not leak blue stuff everywhere, do not make for efficient bleeding. They tend to stop up the flow, making my period take a few days longer. I prefer, instead,  to spend as much time as I can sitting atop the fluffy, absorbent pillow of my natural-fiber maxi with the drain fully open, last month’s still-hot bathwater swirling down and out in great, hiccuping gulps. When timed properly (again, see: right now) I start on Friday evening *exactly* when my movement-based Diversity class ends, and am down to a panty-liner by my first class on Monday.

This timing is, of course, GENIUS, but for one thing: what do you do with a whole weekend stuck sitting around on a fucking panty mattress? I know, life’s real hard. (Also: Panty! Panty Panty Panty!) What you do is get yourself a laptop and watch any and every thing on Netflix or Sidereel or Amazon or wherever you stream video from (where do you stream video from?). There’s no one there to hold you accountable for openly worrying about the teens on Top Model, or for nodding your head and making that “UH” sound at the really profound insight Ally McBeal just dropped on Brothers and Sisters (or for even watching that shit in the first place; why is Ally McBeal a Republican? What does it mean?), or for crying  over the silly sweetness of Marshall and Willow Lilly’s marriage on HIMYM or at that one Hulu commercial with the African kids every fucking time it comes on, which is way too often. And this article says that fiction (including TV) is good for you so you don’t even have to feel guilty about consuming so much media, just go for it!

Find yourself a handicraft or other thing you can do on your lap while you watch 36 hours of video, and add those supplies to the nest you’re building around you of chinese takeout low-sodium foods, jug of wine water, extra napkins, magazines, books, slippers, etc. This weekend I made a bunch of wrap bracelets and macrame shit, packaged up the seeds I’m mailing out for the seed swap, made my to-do list for next week, and tonight I’m giving myself a manicure. (I might do some homework too, but I’m tired so we’ll see.) [Editor's note: post amended to admit that tonight I got up and did laundry, planted seeds, cleaned house, and cooked dinner. I'm back on the couch now, though, so the story can continue.] If you have to leave your nest to go out and do something like work or whathaveyou, like I did today, that’s fine too. It’ll be there waiting for you when you get home, and you will be so excited to slip back into that diaper-wearing sloth groove.

Make sure your nest is lined with comfy pillows, blankets, etc; and of course you pajamified at the beginning of all this, right? There’s no need to take pajamas off until you are done Having Your Period, unless you decide to take The World’s Longest Shower (hot muscley water, exfoliate the skin with that little glovey-thing, do all the shaving, deep clean and condition the hairs, maybe a face mask beforehand?), to be immediately followed by putting on fresh, clean pajamas for the duration of Having Your Period. That feels great and I recommend it.

Time spent Having Your Period is actually perfect for doing self-care and cleansing stuff, since to combat bloating and general ick you are already drinking tons of water during all of this, yes? And avoiding caffeine (there are other teas for this time) and high salt foods (but seriously, ordering a pile of takeout when Starting Your Period is rad because you can just munch on it the whole time)? I want to try the Boscia Black Mineral Mask but I’m a little afeared because some of the reviewers said it burned their eyes? Like…maybe there are fumes? If anyone has had experience with this one let me know; if not maybe I’ll get it and do a product review. Oh god, all of their stuff looks so amazing right now, I’m totally going to spend an hour on Sephora “window shopping” when I’m done here. That’s another thing you can do guilt-free when Having Your Period, btw: window shop for as many hours as you’d like, and when you’re done just close the window. It feels good to curate. Let yourself do that.

In fact, that’s basically the point of Having Your Period: Letting yourself do this thing; acknowledging that your body is going through a major physical change, dumping all the hormones built up over the last few weeks and replacing those with different ones, and shedding away the endometrial lining as fast as you will let it. Let it.  Help it along as much as you can–assist the natural process. (Know what helps a lot? SEX! Period sex FTW! But if you decide to have it with another human, take off your diaper first.) And if you’d like some guidance through the whole Lady Bits process, here are some promising books:

1. CUNT If any part of this blog post made you feel squicked out, stop what you are doing and read this book right now. (Unless it was the word “panty” that got you; it won’t help with that. Panty Panty Panty! Hahhahahaha every time I do that to you my inner 12 year old squeals with evil glee. Sorry. Not really.)

2. Our Bodies, Ourselves, Bazillionth Edition. A dear friend had this book in college, and I’ve been meaning to buy it ever since. This puppy will walk you through every inch of your lady bits and processes, from Menarche to Menopause. It teaches you how to do a cervical self-exam (with your own speculum!), and how to read the changes in vaginal secretions which signal changes in your cycle (my favorite part of the book!). AND GUESS WHAT? The whole thing seems to be available through Amazon’s “Look Inside this Book” feature; the table of contents is made of clickable links which take you to the corresponding chapters in their entirety!

3. Women Who Run With the Wolves for understanding and assisting the spiritual processes women go through, as well. Clarissa Pinkola Estes is like Joseph Campbell for lady things, and she knows it all (ha). She has a PhD in Ethno-Clinical Psychology and has built her career on collecting myths, fairy tales, and oral histories from around the world, and compiling them into the basic sets of archetypes or themes which seem to repeat across cultures. This book specifically analyzes myths and stories relating to womanhood, motherhood, daughterhood, sisterhood, wifehood, and etc. (Although I’ve passed stories from this book on to dudes who found them to be equally helpful and meaningful, too.) If you are having or have ever had a spiritual crisis, you might want to get your hands on a copy of this book. I didn’t read it all at once, but turned to it as I needed it over many years’ time. I still return to it when I’m feeling introspective and want to sort of “sum up” the experiences of my recent (or less-recent) past.

There are so many books I could post here, but those three are my favorites. The Red Tent has been on my reading list for years, so maybe I’ll read that one next time instead of movie-watching. What other books should I be reading when I’m Having My Period in lady Land? Have you any Netflix recommendations? What do you do when you’re Having Your Period, or do you never have time to stop and do that because you are so busy playing tennis and beach volleyball  and lunching in bright white clothes?

Housekeeping! (knockknockknock)

Hi all, just some housekeeping today. Nothing helps me keep house better than a list, so:

1. I finally wrote my “about me” page. You’ll find it at the top there, where it says, “What’s a Southern girl doing in the world?”
2. I don’t know why the title of my post about gun culture is not showing up on the main page. It took so long for me to find the right one and now it won’t show itself!? If you click on the post it’s there. Does anyone know about technology?
3. Speaking of failing at the internets: I was so embarrassed to discover that my private posts were not actually private! I guess once you change the setting from “public” to “private” you have to hit update again. So, my angry screeds were posted for the whole world to read, whoops. Sorry if you are one of the 3 people who reads my blog and you had to deal with my little hissy fit. This is why you shouldn’t try to use your blog as your personal journal, unless you are really capable of keeping it 100% anonymous. Which was supposed to be the point of this blog, actually. I wanted a space to communicate about whatever scandalous or vulnerable thing with actual people who don’t actually know who I am, so that I could have those kinds of genuine interactions without the negative repercussion. But then I want to share my poetry or rambling or whatever with my friends and so…you get what we had here last week. I don’t like it anymore than you men.
4. Still working on poems sold in the Poetry Sale! I have begun them all but not finished any of them yet. I will keep you appraised of their progress, and am assuming that no one needs their poem ASAP. If you are on some sort of poetry deadline, let me know.
5. I’m working on getting existing posts organized into folders, so keep an eye out for collections of poetry, recipes, etc. to appear in the sidebar.
6. This quarter is going really well. I can’t believe it’s midterm season already?! I’m just in love with my apartment, and so happy to have simplified life into just being a student and a writer and focusing all of my attention thusly. This is how it’s supposed to be. Except maybe I’m not supposed to go around typing shit like “thusly.”
7. I am happy.

how to read

a book:

spread open

like a woman with needs

lacy black text crisscrossing her columns

while I watch with voyeur’s eyes

she unfolds her secrets

fingers greedily plunder pages

until she is consumed

Sometimes you just have to trick yourself.

So I wasn’t a very good student this weekend. I had a lot of work to do and I just…didn’t…do it? I don’t know, I was just having So Much Fun! I am not allowed to have So Much Fun when I am in school, right? But I did!

And then this morning I tried to wake up early and do the homework that was due in class today, in the class on Empathy that I love so so so fucking hard, and kinda had to beg the teacher to let me register late for, and seriously I’m gonna show up without the first fucking assignment? And not having read? At all? No way. So I set my alarm for 8am but then I snooze uncontrollably for an hour and then I missed the bus and had to walk back home and drive in and then, jeeze, totally no time to do the homework. I’m going in with no homework, and I just have to accept that. Shit. Okay, well, here goes.

I go into the classroom and…I don’t know any of these people. Why do none of them look familiar? Am I in the wrong room? I go back outside and pull out my schedule to check the room number and realize…

…this class doesn’t start till 1:15!!! It’s only 11!!! YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYY!!!! And then I went to the library and spent two hours doing my homework and got it printed in the nick of time and everything is fanfuckingtastic the end.

Tools for Death

I just read this article and it brought up a social issue that I’ve yet to find a personal understanding of: I keep not knowing where I stand on guns. I know that people use them when they shouldn’t. I know that people say guns are like any other tool, and that is a lie. Sure, a hammer could be used to kill someone. But it can also build a house. Guns only kill things. That is what they are for. They might be tools, but they are 100% only tools for death.

Death tools.

So how do I feel about death tools? Well, I think they’re fucking horrible and shouldn’t exist. But the trouble is, they do. They do exist and other people have them and if someone else has one and I don’t my chances of dying increase exponentially.

But we also know that if I have one, the chances of me or someone I know dying from it increase exponentially. Live by the sword, die by the sword, etc. Also, if I own a gun, the chances of my death by suicide increase dramatically. We all feel depression at some point during life, but we don’t all have a gun on hand when that happens. Depressed people + guns = bad combination. Despite knowing all this, I still sometimes wonder if I need to own a death tool, to equal the playing field in case I ever encounter another person trying to use a death tool against me? I should certainly know how to use one, right?

Mutually Assured Destruction

This is not really a question of whether I personally need a death tool. It doesn’t come up much in my daily life. I often need #2 pencils, cooking knives, or a vacuum cleaner, but not so often guns. I don’t usually need to make anyone die. No, this is a question of power. It’s like nuclear weapons: no one wants to use one, ever. But if only one person has them, then everyone else is fucked and must submit to their power. They don’t ever have to even use it, they just have to have it, and now we all have to do what they say. So, since nuclear weapons are evil and we don’t ever want to use one, do we just continue to not have them, and submit to the power of whatever asshole is willing to take it from us by nuclear threat? No, we don’t. Of course we don’t. We become assholes ourselves. We get ourselves some nuclear weapons and we become the kind of asshole willing to threaten to use them back, and we keep our independence and personal power.

Guns are about taking or keeping power. If you don’t have one someone else who does have one can have power over your life. That is a pretty fucked situation. And it would be just lovely if we could just get rid of every single one of them, “I hereby eradicate these tools for death  from all the lands!” But I don’t see that happening as long as the people making and enforcing policies and social pacts governing human behavior are power-hungry themselves.

No, it seems that because there has once been a death tool, there will always be death tools in the world. The danger then becomes the chance of  just one allied group of people having them, and using them to control everyone else. So, then, everyone has to have them, right? For it to all be equal? That’s how it works with nukes, right, balance of power?

Sheltered People with Power

The thing with a nuclear weapon, though, is that it destroys quality of life for everyone on the planet, which is why no one wants to use one. Guns do the same, but on a much less immediately visible scale. There’s not that pressure to never, ever use them.

You might not encounter it much in your own life, but this country has a very strong gun culture, and it is not a responsible one. The NRA is not an intellectually responsible organization. Most of the organizations which create public discourse about firearms are not intellectually responsible organizations. They are not culturally responsible organizations. This country’s gun culture is created by people who want money and power and influence, not by people who accept the presence of guns but still want to build a society in which all members thrive.

It would be one thing if everyone had a gun but society strongly condemned their use; if we lived in a society which strongly valued de-escalation of conflict, and resorted to death tools only as a last resort, for use in the odd case when someone violates that social contract and uses a gun irresponsibly. But we don’t live in that culture.We live in this one. We live in a world which doesn’t hold journalism or other forms of entertainment to any standards; but instead promote intolerance and paranoia and glorify death tools as a means of taking and maintaining power (and where daily life is continuously framed in terms of taking and maintaining power). We also live in a world full of poorly educated, undeveloped people who are very susceptible to this kind of culture.

Joining the Conversation

If we can’t get rid of the death tools, we can support these vulnerable members of our population by educating them and empowering them to make better choices. We can accept the presence of guns and maintain the right to bear arms, but change the way that we think and talk about them. I guess the first step is for those of us who don’t like to think and talk about them to start doing that more. We need to turn our attention to the current public discourse surrounding guns, and weigh in. We need to shed light on the fallacies which currently prevail, and thus liberate those who are currently held in the sway of the power-hungry. If we can’t get rid of guns, we can get rid of the irresponsible ways in which people think about (or don’t think about) and use them.

We can educate those people who are vulnerable to the fallacies created by the current governing orgnizations. We can tear down this false-truth media fortress, and clean out the closets of our country, drawing out all those overlooked, sheltered extremists and bringing them into the light. We can change our world.

Or we could just sit here and watch people slaughter one another on the news, argue over which group is maintaining power over the other, and eat fucking cinnabuns until we fucking die. But we are better people than that, aren’t we?

There’s No Us v. Them if We Join Them

So I guess the question isn’t, “How do you feel about guns?” I mean, that’s an important question. Ask it, and answer it for yourself. But then move on, and ask yourself the more relevant question, “How do you feel about gun culture?” And when you find the answer to that question, act accordingly. Do something about it. Yes, you can. Stop arguing with me and listen.

You can find a way to use your life to change your world. Locate a single aspect of life which perpetuates this kind of culture of death and anger and paranoia and stupidity, and use your time, talents, knowledge, abilities, and proclivities to change that one thing. Use your presence on the planet to improve the world you were born into. Remember the campsite rule? “Leave it better than you found it.” Be a good steward of your own culture. Leave it better than you found it.

From My Gloriously Sun Dappled Roost

First day of school means exhaustion; I can never sleep the night before. This time because my bed is an air mattress which has sprung a leak, which I tried to think of as being similar to a hammock or one of those old-people Sealy-posturepedic movable beds which are probably really comfortable, right? This is comfortable! I’ve discovered a new way to sleep! But, really, it’s kind of distracting.

I woke up after 4-5 hours of sleep anyways, threw together the oatmeal and the tea, grabbed my carefully packed school bag (!!!), and cruised over to campus to do the last-minute registration dance which has also been common to all previous quarters at this school. It’d be nice to not do this again next time, and register at the end of the quarter like I’m supposed to. I somehow always end up in better classes than I’d originally have chosen, though, so maybe I need to learn to go with the flow more and just let my life be the way it is. It is this way.

The class I ended up in today is SO FUCKING PERFECT I’m in love with it already. The two others I’m taking were surprises which I think will turn out to be just right. Class, registration, and financial aid requirements accomplished, I gratefully retreated home to enjoy the first day of shark week the way it was intended: in pajama pants and a slinky-soft t-shirt, with a plate of leftover pate, sardines with mustard, oven-warmed brie with non-sweetened figgy goo, and some carbolicious chewy baguette. Why am I out of wine? Oh, because it’s not yet 5pm on the first day of school. Fine. Water then.

So, I’m obviously shy on furniture over here. I got a loveseat this weekend and suddenly the whole world has changed. Sitting on this couch, school-loaned laptop in front of me, feet up on the ottoman, afternoon sunlight streaming in through the sliding-glass door, music playing, is a fucking revelatory experience.

Home achievement unlocked!!!

Here’s what I’m listening to in LadyLand: http://grooveshark.com/#!/playlist/ElectricLady+LadyLand/67768266

Welcome home, everyone.

Eat-in Chicken

Tomorrow is the first day of spring quarter, meaning it has officially been one year since I started at this new school, the final exciting step in my undergraduate studies. It has not been the hardest year of my life. I’m thinking it has also not been the easiest. I certainly didn’t live it the way I thought I would when that acceptance letter arrived. I wonder if I’d begun to feel my life changing. Did I notice the wind?

I guess if you’ve been reading, you figured out that me and my Goat Man separated. It was a horrible, painful decision, but we weren’t happy and are committed to trying to be. I think I can say we’re both doing okay now, and are very glad to see each other when we can, but I think the last ten months have beaten the shit out of us both. I’ve moved three times since, and I’ll admit it’s been pretty tough to pull off. Some gypsy I am.  /spits

I’ve somehow, through all three moves, managed to remain a full-time student, keep my job, survive a cracked rib and a SHITPILE of drama, and not destroy all of my important relationships. Hell I even went to Burning Man. The “somehow” is not a mystery at all; I’ve managed to pull this year off because I have an amazing support network. Other people have carried my ass when I’ve fallen behind, and don’t think I don’t know it.

The last move has finally landed me in a sweet-ass apartment that I love and am super possessive about, which is weird because my family is helping me pay for it for a year so I can finish school and not have to work full-time. I can’t even really be like, “This is all miiiiiine” in a creepy Dynasty voice while sliding my heavily ringed fingers over the smooth, fake-granite countertops because I am not the sole provider and because I do not have very many rings. This comes with all sorts of weird feelings which I’m trying to teach myself to deal with in the name of finishing this fucking degree already, but sometimes when I get all precious about my beloved kitchen I creepily remind myself of Daisy and her eat-in-chicken:

Also, in the end, when Winona peeks into Daisy’s room and finds the record player repeating the creepy song to which Daisy has hung herself? I catch myself admiring the butterfly wallpaper, and then respond by hating myself on numerous levels: Daisy has ended her miserable life, hello? Why am I looking at the wallpaper? Also, Brittany Murphy! This is sad stuff! But really, and most importantly, liking any part of Daisy’s creepy dollhouse apartment with birdcage chair and uncomfortably high staircase freaks me out because I AM NOT DAISY AND THEY ARE ONLY HELPING ME WITH THE RENT FOR A LITTLE WHILE SO I CAN FINISH SCHOOLOHMYFUCKINGGODIAMDYING.

Ahem. Sorry. Where were we?

Right, so, I have moved away to college. My campus is outside of the city, kindof in the suburbs? Not kindof. Totally in the burbs. Which is weird, and though only 45 minutes from downtown, feels so very fucking far away. It was novel for a while, but I am feeling more and more isolated, and realizing more and more what a life change I have made by moving here. I moved away from everything that has been home to me since the storm: from my old neighborhood with its familiar streets and not-too-fashionable restaurants; from my friends and our fun; and from my partner and first true love, and the whole world we’d envisioned together. I miss our grocery store. I miss walking arm-in-arm down Ballard Ave on a Sunday, sipping coffee from my favorite shop, picking out houseplants or daydreaming about the kind of bar we’d open in Portland, peering into storefronts, stopping into our favorite haunts along the way. It was home, and when I go there now I feel like I’m punishing myself. I drive down its not-mine-anymore streets and cry like a big dumb driving baby. I come back here, and I am “home” but I feel displaced. Isolated. Not because of the 45 minute drive. Not really. Those places aren’t just not-mine anymore. I’m becoming not-her. I don’t live the same life I used to. Abolished, for the time being, is a lifestyle centered on food and drink and parties and art and shows and all the things that normal people only get to do on the weekends. And when I approach those parts of my life again, it won’t be in the same way. It won’t be from the inside, from behind the curtain. I won’t be the same. Being here is about completely turning into a student and a thinker and a writer; it is about becoming.

That’s what all of this—this entire last year of my life—has been about. I’m not just going into classrooms and writing down information and memorizing it long enough to take a test. I’m not just soaking up knowledge like a sponge, here. This education is different. The girl you hung out with in the bar, on one side of it or the other, for the last 15 years is not going to be anybody’s therapist. That’s not how it works. I’m becoming.

I’m becoming the version of myself who can do all the things I want to do. Who can live the ways I want to live. I’m not just learning new information; I’m learning new ways to understand information, and new ways to react to it. I’m learning to let go of what has held me back. I mean, I’m still myself, it’s not like college is some grand transcendent experience. Except for all the ways in which it totally is. Especially at this school and in this program and in this way that I’m approaching it now. So, you see, I had to leave. It all makes so much sense now. I couldn’t go and become someone new and still keep living the same life. You can’t really change in a world that stays the same. Not this kind of change. Not this kind of becoming. You have to make yourself a cocoon. You have to focus.

So that’s what I’m doing now. Tomorrow begins a new year here in Lady Land, which is what we’ve named my new apartment. I’ve also renamed the town I live in, because its old name seemed vaguely religious in a way that made me uncomfortable. I’m all tucked in and hopefully get to stay put all year and finish school on schedule, so this year ought to be a hell of a lot better than the last. I hope that will be reflected in my grades. I have certainly not maintained anything resembling a 4.0 with all this shit going on. Which I’ve decided to be okay with, but I wouldn’t mind seeing my name on the dean’s list again before it’s all said and done.

And this isn’t goodbye. I’m not in such a cocoon that I don’t get to have you people in my life. You are a part of my education. The someone I’m becoming is a better version of who I would have been if I hadn’t met you. Especially you, my sweet Goat Man. I learn more about who I am and who I want to be every time we talk. Whatever happens, I hope it makes us better versions of who we are now.

Goodnight, and Happy New Year.