Ableism

For the last few years, I've jokingly called myself a cripple. It's always been a joke, a reclaiming of an ableist term among friends. But you know what? Having a medical condition that physcially limits me doesn't make me a lesser person. It doesn't make me lazy, hypochondriac, or over-worried. It does not mean I'm crazy, or that it's all in my head. It does not mean I'm just not working hard enough to get over it. It does not mean that my divinity of choice hates me. It doesn't make me a slacker. It doesn't make me less able to do intense mental labor, though I may never be able to do the same physical things you take for granted.

It sure as sunshine doesn't give you the right to interfere with my life in any way, nor does it give you the right to condescend to me, nor does it give you the right to force your "advice" on me.

Cripple I may be, but don't look down on me for it. And don't EVER call me that without my permission.

PSA: Dating Rights

Public Service Announcement:

Neither I, nor anyone else, in any way "owes" it to humanity to "shop around" more on the dating scene to give them a "chance" at us. We are not National Parks, we are people.

Addendum:

This also applies to procreation. We do not "owe" society any copies of our supposedly wonderful DNA.

Jerks

Following a woman around, listing off characteristics about her and trying to guess things about her, loudly, is assanine. It is not flattering, it is not cool, it is not funny, and it sure as hell is not going to earn you points with her.

"Look, there, no, her over there. The hot one with the ponytail. Yeah, I see her walking along here every week. I know it's her because she always wears the same coat and pants" (Which I don't, I just happen to prefer dark denim, and it's been cold so I wear my parka most days.) "She's got to be somewhere between 18 and 19. I'm betting... she's got to be 17 3/4. Don't worry man, she'll be 19 soon. *lecherous chuckle" (I'm 23.) "But she's definitely a sophomore, definitely man, so you're good." (I'm a 5th year "super-senior.") "That hair is probably dyed, too." (No, I'm just the first natural blond you've seen this side of the Atlantic.) "Yeah, she's DEFINITELY possible. Dude, totally! *laughter* *mutter mutter* ask her *mutter mutter* See ya later, man!" (No. Hell fucking no. I am not even a remote possibility for you assholes.)

Seriously? Do parents teach their children no manners anymore? Thank goodness I'm not looking for a boyfriend right now, because I might be tempted to stab my eyes out in frustration at the 3rd grade social tactics of the testosterone-drenched sex.

PSA: WTFJELLY

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

Let it be known that any material known as Jelly, Jel-lee, Jellie, Gelly, etc, is NOT sterilizable, under any circumstances.¹ Such materials are highly porous, and very unstable when subjected to high temperatures. They cannot be sterilized, or even sanitized, with boiling water, bleach, rubbing alcohol, UV wands, or antibacterial soap. Even medical grade Quatricide cannot sterilize a jelly toy.

You cannot sterilize jelly. Ever. Period.


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(1) And oh, sprockets, I wish I was kidding when I tell you I've heard people claim this.

The fallacy of polarities and binaries

Polarity. Binaries. As humans, we're drawn to them, because they make the world easier to understand. They take the work out of classifying what we encounter in life.

If you're not with us, then you're against us.
If you're not perfect, then you're a failure.
If you're not straight, then you're gay.
If you're not gay, then you're straight.
If you're not male, then you're female.
If it's not perfectly good, then it's utterly evil.
If the answer isn't no, then it must be yes.
If it's not a scientifically proven fact, then it's a horrendous lie.
If it's not so clean it's sterile, then it's totally filthy.
If you're not a virgin, then you're a whore.
If you're not monogamous, then you have no loyalty or ability to love.
If you're not a scientist/doctor, then you're stupid and ignorant.
If you're not a layperson, then you can't understand what real life is like.
If you're not a size 0, then you're fat.

Look at those statements carefully. Anyone who can't see that there's a deep, common conceptual problem with each and every one of those statements should stop reading now.

In real life, there are few, if any, true natural binaries. All of these heavily polarized binaries are human inventions, human concepts. Even Alive vs Not Alive is a gradient - viruses are so hard to categorize because they straddle the barrier. We classify them as "not alive," but they haunt us, because they have so many of the characteristics we use to describe "alive." The barrier, the cut-off point is completely, humanly arbitrary.

So are all of the binaries I listed above. Each is a gradient, not just shades of gray but a glorious field of color. We have artificially created binary categories to define them because it makes it easier for our poor little brains. Sometimes, that's a good thing (for example, "food" vs "not food" was incredibly adaptive from day one); other times, it is horribly damaging.

How many times has "if you're not with us, then you're against us" been used as justification for hatred, violence, subjugation, exclusion?

How many bisexual people have found that they aren't welcome in many gay communities?

How many transpeople have found themselves unable to find acceptance at either pole of the gender spectrum?

How many non-monogamous parents have had their children taken away?

How many spiritual or philosophical truths have been laughed away simply because they cannot be tested?

How many people give up, or never even try, because because they cannot be perfect?

How many wonderful accomplishments are ignored or even reviled because they are not perfection?

How many good people find their lives destroyed because they made a single mistake, and were identified only by that mistake for the rest of their lives?

The answer is not to destroy all classification systems, all binaries and categories and labels. We're human, we need them - that's just how the brain works. The answer is to be aware of your binaries and your biases, your categories and your labels. The answer is to question them. How are they helpful? How are they hurtful? Why are they there? What does it mean to me? Do I really need it in order to function? When you find ones that are more healthy than hurtful, keep them, but always under surveillance. When you find ones that are harmful, try to understand them, and to perceive the gradient of color that lies between and around the poles.

Dare yourself to look inside, and to be honest with what you find. No one is perfect. No one can eliminate all of their false binaries and biases and stereotypes. That's not the point. The point is the awareness, the attempt.

The process.

Where did the vacation go?

And here I thought that I'd have all this time to catch up on reviews over my lovely winter break. I guess I forgot that living under this roof means no locking of doors, no privacy because of freaky acoustics, no playing in the shower because of the small water heater, and no computer time because if I can't prove I'm studying for the MCAT, I get bitched at for wasting time goofing off online when I should be studying or cleaning up after my sister or, most importantly, spending time with my family!

(Oh Great and Terrible Goddess of Grammar, I do beseech thee to forgive me for creating such a hideous run-on sentence.)

I planned on testing toys at my boyfriend's house... until his family decided after 4 years of us enjoying ourselves in his attic room, that they didn't want to hear the floorboards creak anymore. Boo, hiss. (Also, they don't approve of kink, so I can't test my very first crop, or play with my scrumptious deer suede flogger)

I planned in finding time to test that nice crop... until I injured most of my upper back. (long story short, I caught someone WAY too heavy for me)

I planned on getting reacquainted with myself sexually, now that I might have a libido again... until I got hit by

epic stress + nuvaring = month-long "period"

And since then, I've been either ill, or in the hospital for a procedure (went fine, thanks), or studying my brains out for the MCAT. Free time? What's that?

Change in an RA program

I recently spent an evening talking about all of the recent homophobia-bullying triggered suicides to a friend of mine from Rutgers. My friend is an RA in one of the Rutgers dorms, and she painted a picture for me that hasn't made it into the news.

Tyler Clementi went to an RA for help before he killed himself. While the RA took his situation seriously, and the University had rules in place against invasions of privacy that should have resulted in the expulsion of his filmers, nothing had yet been done about the situation when he decided to take his life. The RA he spoke to hadn't had any idea that he was on the verge of suicide.

The world has seen how the Rutgers community rallied in support of Tyler's family, holding candl-lit vigils in his memory. What they have not seen are the shock waves that have reverberated through the Residence Assistant program. As a group, they are beating themselves up over this. As a group, they feel that they failed him. They blame themselves for his death even more than they blame Ravi.

It will take a long time for the program to recover from the emotional aftermath of this tragedy, but in the healing are springing up seeds of hope. The residence assistance program has a strengthened resolve to be advocates for the victims of harassment. They have a very immediate motivation to make sure that they never, ever overlook the signs of depression and despair in a student. The aims of the program are changing for the good as they are trying to do everything in their power to make sure nothing like this every happens again. Ever.

It was good to hear, from someone on the inside, that Tyler will never be forgotten. It was good to hear that his death has finally sparked the changes that have been desperately needed to protect LGBTQ students from harassment and abuse. It's good to hear that something good will come of this horrible tragedy.

But damn it, what the hell is wrong with us, as a culture, that kids need to DIE before changes are made to protect them?

Bigotry and Transgender Health Care

On Tuesday, my family was reminded of the discrimination that transgendered couples can face in our area. My transmom had been sick for a few days when she went to see our doctor (who does know that my transmom is transgendered). She sent my transmom straight to the hospital to be checked for diverticulitis. She should have gone straight there, but she couldn't.

Why?

Because she had to go home and change into masculine clothes, taking off her bra and switching from panties to briefs. She had to make sure that no one would question her presentation as a man before she could go to the hospital.

Why?

Because if she went to the hospital as the woman she is, the hospital could (and has, to other families) turn my mother away and refuse her visiting rights. They are legally married in this state, but the hospital would assume that a marriage between two women couldn't possible be valid, as homosexual marriages are illegal in our state. (My parents can remain married once my transmom legally transitions, but they would not be allowed to marry if they hadn't met until after the transition)

My transmom had to endanger her health and delay going to the hospital, just to make sure that she didn't offend someone by being in a homosexual marriage.

Diverticulitis is not a condition to be trifled with. The doctors at the hospital suspect that my transmom may have a perforated bowel. She may have an infection spilling into her abdominal cavity. She may need to have a section of her colon removed after this.

And she had to delay even going to the hospital, because of pure, unadulterated bigotry.

Cystic fibrosis? Again? Really?

Last winter, when my Vitamin B12 deficiency came to light in and around the usual bouts of bronchitis, my primary care doctor (Dr. M) decided that I should be tested for Cystic Fibrosis. She told me to get in touch with my pulmonologist (Dr. D) and talk to him about getting the test done.

Long story short, it took me a month to get that appointment. He had a new secretary, unfortunately - the old one knew that Dr. D wanted patients like me with cronic, often critical medical problems to be worked in the week we called for anything other than the twice-yearly lung checkup. That left me with a month of time to stew.

I've joked that I'm addicted to the internet, that I've got an "interwebs graft into my thalamus" and that I half live in the online world. While it has its downsides, I am also very comfortable and competent at finding good, reliable information on the internet, fast. Google and I are tight, you know? Like a good patient, the first thing I did when I got home from seeing Dr. M was to head over to MedLinePlus (a website run by the NIH) to find out more about this disease she wanted to test me for.

As I scrolled through the page, I learned. I saw lists of symptoms, treatments, causes, and mechanisms. I saw that yes, I did show a few of those warning signs (phlegmy lungs, frequent lung infections, vitamin/mineral deficiencies). Then, I reached the part about  median lifespan.

Open Letter to My Breasts

Dear Boobs,

Please pick a size and stick with it. Seriously now, this is starting to get a little ridiculous. I'm almost 23, it's high time you settled down. Continued size- and shape-changing shenanagins will force us to resort to more drastic measures.

Respectfully,
The Management

Orgasmic Issues

Something is wrong.

Usually, it's quite easy for me to come. Getting turned on is hard, but once I'm going I can usually have a rip-raorin' clitoral orgasm without much trouble. Heck, I could orgasm on command if I had some modest clit stimulation going on. I'd perfected the art of the 2-minute shower orgasm.

Something has been different for the past few months. Sometimes, pressing a vibrator to my crotch has been like pressing it against my stomach: not at all sexually stimulating, but not a turn-off or relaxing massage, either. The vibrator was just... there. Same with the fingers. Ooh, yay, it's like I'm kneading my elbow. I could poke my clit directly, and while it wasn't numb, I could feel my finger, there wasn't a single twinge of pleasure.

I figured, maybe I need more stimulation than I used to. So, I reached for a more powerful toy. I pulled out my Wahl and FairyMini (on a very low setting, through fabric... that thing is strong!). They had been my go-to toys when I wanted a fast, effortless, no-fuss-no-frills orgasm. I could lightly hold them against my clit, and in less than five minutes I'd have blasted through at least one or two orgasms.

Imagine my shock when not only did it take me half an hour to come with my Wahl, but the orgasm was definitely unsatisfying. It was the kind of wimpy orgasms I usually have to coax out of cheap, weak, or poorly made vibrators I try to review.

The weeks progress. I essentially stop masturbating more than one attempt a week, for reviewing. It's not satisfying even if I manage to wring an orgasm out of it, and it's a hell of a lot of work either way for something that should be a de-stressing tool. I figure, if nothing else, a break from regular masturbating should bring back my sensitivity, right?

Last week, I convinced myself to try to get started again. I needed all the help relieving stress I could get.

I bruised my crotch pretty badly, applying pressure to try to get enough stimulation to orgasm. I almost broke one of my Wahl attachments, but I managed to orgasm. And the next day I could barely stand discomfort of my jeans seam rubbing against the bruise. I tried again a few days later, trying to be careful not to apply so much pressure. I ended up having to throw caution to the wind to get a single orgasm out of the mess. Getting desperate, I reached for the Pure Wand, the only toy that can make me orgasm without clitoral stimulation.

It hurt.

It found my g-spot, it cuddled up for some lovin, and it hurt.

As long as I'm careful (which I was), the Pure Wand never hurts, to me. This time, though, my vagina basically told it to fuck off.

Finally, in a bit of a Hail Mary pass, I turned the FairyMini all the way up, and applied atomic-missile-grade-vibration to clit. I orgasmed, but got no post-orgasmic bliss. Nothing aside for the usual panting from exertion.

I don't know what's wrong with me. It's like my sexuality is broken. I can get all hot and bothered by porn or erotica, but I can't do anything about it. I don't want to have sex, but if I manage to get going I can enjoy it... for a few minutes.

Something is wrong, and I don't know how to fix it.

Transwomen are Real Women

After reading a very painful passage in a book this morning that completely invalidated transwomen, I think I need to make something perfectly clear.

Transwomen are women. They are "real" women. They are not men who want to be women. They are not men who "think" they are women. They are not even men who identify as women. They are not delusional or liars about their womanhood. They are not frauds, or freaks, or fakes, or trying to destroy the feminist movement.

Transwomen are not "really men." They are women. Regardless of what genitalia are currently between their legs, they are women. A pre-transition transwoman is just as much a gal as I am, or as a post-transition woman is. The fact that they were born with a penis and a prostate instead of a vagina and a uterus doesn't make them less of a woman. More than once, when confronted, cis-women have told me that a transwoman can't be a "real" woman because, you know, she doesn't have a uterus or anything! She can't have kids, never could never will!

To that I have to cry bullshit. Lack of a uterus or inability to have children does not remove someone's womanhood. A childhood friend of mine had to have a hysterectomy at age 6 because of a rare cancer. She has no uterus, and is completely infertile. She can't have kids, never could never will. Does that make her something less than a woman? She sure as salt isn't a man, or a boi, or a grrl, or genderqueer. She's a woman, an ordinary cis-woman, but the rational that invalidates my trans-parent's womanhood would remove this girl's as well.

Please, think before you completely invalidate someone else's gender. Remember that, in our culture, we constantly and incorrectly use gender and biological sex terms interchangeably. A "male" is generally accepted to be a human with masculine secondary sexual characteristics, a penis, and usually XY chromosomes. That is biological sex, which can be greatly altered through surgery and hormone therapy. "Woman" refers to gender identity, which does not always match up with biological sex.

That's part of why it's called "transgender": because the gender does not match up with the biological sex. Transitioning refers to the process of fixing the sex part of the equation, because the research has shown that gender can't be changed. One of the most important things to remember is that the person's gender always trumps the biological markers. If a transperson tells you she's a woman, but she has a penis, she is a woman. A little voice in the back of your head may quip: "Oh, ok, she's a dude!" No. Reach back and correct the voice. She is a chick. She may have a dick, but she's still a chick. Respect that, even if it's not your cup of tea. You don't have to want to fuck a transgendered person to respect their gender. Respect that, and you'll earn the gratitude of a terribly marginalized community.

This is a summer break?

I have not had sex in almost three weeks. Though we're less than three miles apart, I haven't seen my boyfriend in almost a week (though not for lack of trying). I'm spending about 6 hours a day studying for the MCAT. I'm working out an hour to an hour and a half a day trying to get this weight off (because my body decided that 1400 calories a day wasn't enough of a cut back to drop a single pound). I'm sewing costumes for our theater production 3-4 hours a night to meet the deadlines of Directorzilla. And I'm cooking meals, cleaning the house, dealing with the dog, keeping my little sister on track, making sure my MTF parent gets off the conference calls with enough time to hit all those doctors appointments...

Somewhere in here I'm supposed to be resting and recovering from severe burnout this summer. Somewhere in here I'm supposed to be meditating for at least 15-20 minutes a day. Somewhere in here I need to find time to masturbate, or I'm going to go flipping insane!

Thank goodness for my boyfriend. Tomorrow is date night. He's taking me out for Thai, then we're going to go to his place to watch a movie and chill out. (because why go to a movie theater when he's got a nice TV and Netflix through his PS3? Given cash flow, saving money rocks. Besides, groping in a movie theater is generally frowned upon)

I promise myself...
I will try to make sure I get my workouts, because I always feel better after
I will try to make sure I get enough sleep, so the doc doesn't yell at me
I will try to make sure I make time to meditate, because it reduces my stress level and helps my acid reflux.
I will try to make time for masturbation more than once a week. Once a day would be nice, but we'll start with baby steps.
I will try not to throw a pile of fabric and pins at the director's head, even if he changes his mind about what he wants after I've cut it YET AGAIN. I won't even throw scissors.
I will make time for my boyfriend. Just because there simply aren't enough hours in a day to get everything done, doesn't mean that I should neglect our relationship. We both deserve better than that.

On College Tuition Hikes

I want to voice a few thoughts on college tuition, both as a current undergraduate student and as the child of a college professor. Recently, there have been huge, almost crippling cuts to the funding of my university. Rather logically, the university is considering turning to tuition to bridge the gap, so that they can cut as few programs and opportunities for the students as possible. There has been an uproar from portions of the student body over the proposed tuition hikes. They point to bloated sports programs and administrative salaries as problems that should be slashed to meet the deficit. What they fail to realize is that, at least in the case of our specific university, cutting these would only be a drop in the bucket compared to the shortfall. Huge cuts across the board and/or tuition hikes are some of the only options truly feasible at this point, to truly bridge the growing gap in funding.

One of the first places that the money will come from is the professors' pockets. Already a horribly underpaid profession, they stand to be hurt even farther. Ever heard of the parable of the cobbler whose children went barefoot? My mother is a professor at a certain private university. If my father didn't happen to be in a very lucrative position in his highly specialized field, if he had followed his dream of becoming a professor, there is no way I could have afforded to go to my current undergraduate university without a huge burden of debt... and I go to what is considered a (comparably) very affordable public university

I know that tuition hikes will hurt many people. I am among those who stand to be hurt, and hurt badly by tuition hikes at my college. I'm not saying "damn low tuition, screw those who can't afford it!" because I'm among those who would be hurt by this change. I'm just saying that, given the horrible financial situation that has very suddenly been dumped on our university by an awful governor (hey, I didn't vote for him) who thinks a good educational system is a waste of state money, there aren't many choices. I am unfortunately too aware of the other side of the story to join the hordes of idealists mobbing the doors of the administrative buildings, threatening violence if the proposed tuition hikes go through. I agree that the money should come from elsewhere first (hello, bloated sports and top-heavy administrative systems), but I can't ignore the facts. Too much state funding was ripped out from under us to make up for by paring sports or cutting superfluous administrators. They are going to have to raise our tuition costs.

Personally, I'd prefer, say, a 10% increase in tuition next year over not being able to complete my major because so many classes and sections were cut. I have friends who got slammed with that last time our state funding dropped. It took them an extra year to finish their degrees, which is a heck of a lot more than the cost of the tuition hike.

Stubble Hatred

I'm having a great deal of trouble getting used to the whole "shaving the cooch" thing again. After a year of mostly waxing and epilating, it's all so new and strange. And itchy. And unpleasant. And an all-around bitch.

It's over

That's it. I'm done. No more of this waxing/epilating my girly bits. It's over.

After a year of ripping the hair out of my crotch in search of weeks-long, razor-burn-free smooth skin, I'm going back to shaving. It was great to not have to worry about having pokey stubble less than a day after shaving, and not getting razor burn, but I'm sick of it. Ingrown hair scars are not sexy, nor is having to let the stubble grow out before ripping it out. Hours, possibly days of raw cooch is not fun. Being able to ignore the upkeep was nice, but for me, totally not worth it for me.

Rethinking my place here

In the past few weeks, I've had to reexamine what I was and was not willing to do in this, my Lily persona. I review, I blog, I tweet, I post HNTs. I've learned a great deal, and I've made a lot of friends, some of whom I originally idolized and never dreamed I'd be able to call them friends. I've mentioned things that would seriously narrow the search field if someone went digging.

The biggest has been the Loving a Transgendered Parent series I've been doing with EdenCafe. I've had a few sleepless nights over those, but I decided that the help they could give to people who needed to hear what I could tell them was worth more than the discomfort I'd experience if I had to explain all of this to my family.

When My Clit Goes On Vacation

Sometimes, my clit goes on vacation. She just up and disappears without a word. There's never any warning, because she fails to seduce my libido into running away with her. I can grind away with a massager powerhouse or rub it till the cows come home, and I might as well be playing with my arm. No amount of stimulation, of any kind, is going to get her going.

Someone shit in my gene pool.

Sorry, no sexy shoes this Tuesday. Usually window-shopping for shoes I would never really buy would be fun and a nice distraction, but after everything that's been going on, I just can't help but find it petty.

As many of you know, I've been dealing with a series of health issues. My asthmatic lungs are still recovering from being shredded by 5 bouts of bronchitis between last July and this January. I had to change birth control medications because the one I was on had, after 2 years of being amazing, started causing "mood changes" of a wide variety, a vaginal Sahara Desert, and a zombie libido*. (those issues have cleared up on the new meds, thank heavens) And now it's been a year since we started trying to figure out what's causing my back pain.