It was recently brought to my attention that a high school girl in Mississippi was forbidden by the school district to wear pants. Welcome back, 1923, it's been a while.
So here's the deal: lesbian a wants to take her girlfriend, lesbian b, to prom, and lesbian A wants to wear a tuxedo. And would like to dance with lesbian b.
Is this an issue for the school district to weigh in on? I must think no.
Au contraire, mon frère.
The Windy City Times goes into more detail; but in a nutshell, the school distric has decided that canceling the prom for the whole school is a less painful option than allowing a gay couple to attend and - gasp! - slow dance together. I mean - what would people think?!?!?
Now, is it just me, or are these decisions terribly archaic, outdated, and ... well, pretty fucking insulting? I'm not so naive that I imagine the entire US population is with me on gay rights. Our ever-wise Maggie Gallagher, of the National Organization of Marriage, is a prime example of the ignorance that pervades plenty of activists and lobbyist throughout the country.
I at least thought we'd reached a point in this country that discrimination like this at least had to be veiled to get away with it. I'm disappointed in you, United States of America. I thought better of you, Mississippi. Perhaps you should take a look at the other end of the spectrum, at this L.A. high school crowning their flamer "queen" for prom.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Poke - by Frightened Rabbit
A poetic look at a dying relationship:
Poke at my iris, why can't I cry about this?
Maybe there is something that you know that I don't?
We adopt a brand new language, communicate through pursed lips,
You try not to put on any sexy clothes or graces.
I might never catch a mouse and present it in my mouth
To make you feel you're with someone who deserves to be with you.
But there's one thing we've got going and it's the only thing worth knowing.
It's got lots to do with magnets and the pull of the moon.
Why won't our love keel over as it chokes on a bone?
We can mourn its passing and then bury it in snow.
Or should we kick its cunt in, and watch as it dies from bleeding.
If you don't want to be with me just say and I will go.
Well we can change our partners this is a progressive dance,
But remember it was me who dragged you up to the sweaty floor.
Well this has been a reel
I've got shin-splints and a stitch from weed
But like a drunken night it's the best bits that are coloured in.
Should look through some old photos I adored you in every one of those.
If someone took a picture of us now they'd need to be told
That we had ever clung and tied a navy knot with arms at night
"I'd say she was his sister but she doesn't have his nose."
And now we're unrelated and rid of all the shit we hated,
But I hate when I feel like this and I never hated you.
Frightened Rabbit
Poke at my iris, why can't I cry about this?
Maybe there is something that you know that I don't?
We adopt a brand new language, communicate through pursed lips,
You try not to put on any sexy clothes or graces.
I might never catch a mouse and present it in my mouth
To make you feel you're with someone who deserves to be with you.
But there's one thing we've got going and it's the only thing worth knowing.
It's got lots to do with magnets and the pull of the moon.
Why won't our love keel over as it chokes on a bone?
We can mourn its passing and then bury it in snow.
Or should we kick its cunt in, and watch as it dies from bleeding.
If you don't want to be with me just say and I will go.
Well we can change our partners this is a progressive dance,
But remember it was me who dragged you up to the sweaty floor.
Well this has been a reel
I've got shin-splints and a stitch from weed
But like a drunken night it's the best bits that are coloured in.
Should look through some old photos I adored you in every one of those.
If someone took a picture of us now they'd need to be told
That we had ever clung and tied a navy knot with arms at night
"I'd say she was his sister but she doesn't have his nose."
And now we're unrelated and rid of all the shit we hated,
But I hate when I feel like this and I never hated you.
Frightened Rabbit
How Many One-Night Stands Make a Relationship?
How does a woman become sexy?
Some carry with them a visible aura, undeniable by any man or woman she passes.
Others are in somewhat of a niche market; a certain look about her that's attractive to a particular taste.
I'd say I fall into the latter category. It's not unheard of to hear cat calls walking down a sidewalk, but I'm by no means a traffic-stopping, classic beauty. And I'm fine with that.
The key for sustaining this, or at least my perception of my sexiness, is to find a member of that niche market to tie myself down to. Someone who has the tastes I fit into just so.
This is why I'm somewhat hesitant to get dressed up & try to bag a man. It's certainly effective. I'm more than willing to get dressed up & bag a one-night stand; this is the illusion I'm comfortable with sharing with that person. But I know myself well enough that I'm not going to be keeping that up long-term.
I really thought I'd found someone who thought I, my person, was sexy. Yet, it seems no matter what I do, I'm falling just short, and landing in the cute or funny category. Not that I have any problem with those categories; I shine quite brightly in them. But nobody wants to fuck the funny girl; not forever. It's up to the chemistry, the perception of me, to keep the sexy alive. I can dress up in heels, hair & makeup, but it's just a one-night stand with a roommate.
Maybe I'm done trying. Maybe it's time to find someone who things I'm god-awful hot in my nipped-out tshirts and panties.
Any takers? Thought so ;-)
Some carry with them a visible aura, undeniable by any man or woman she passes.
Others are in somewhat of a niche market; a certain look about her that's attractive to a particular taste.
I'd say I fall into the latter category. It's not unheard of to hear cat calls walking down a sidewalk, but I'm by no means a traffic-stopping, classic beauty. And I'm fine with that.
The key for sustaining this, or at least my perception of my sexiness, is to find a member of that niche market to tie myself down to. Someone who has the tastes I fit into just so.
This is why I'm somewhat hesitant to get dressed up & try to bag a man. It's certainly effective. I'm more than willing to get dressed up & bag a one-night stand; this is the illusion I'm comfortable with sharing with that person. But I know myself well enough that I'm not going to be keeping that up long-term.
I really thought I'd found someone who thought I, my person, was sexy. Yet, it seems no matter what I do, I'm falling just short, and landing in the cute or funny category. Not that I have any problem with those categories; I shine quite brightly in them. But nobody wants to fuck the funny girl; not forever. It's up to the chemistry, the perception of me, to keep the sexy alive. I can dress up in heels, hair & makeup, but it's just a one-night stand with a roommate.
Maybe I'm done trying. Maybe it's time to find someone who things I'm god-awful hot in my nipped-out tshirts and panties.
Any takers? Thought so ;-)
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Sexy to Sexless in Six Months Flat
It seems I've just this day realized something about myself.
I am not different.
Why am I so inanely, and insanely focused on gaining sex when I am out in the world on my own, yet perfectly contented in sexless companionship once I feel love?
I am the terribly cliched woman who uses sex to get love. I've never known (seen, but not truly known) such a perfect example of this distasteful state of being.
I've always (since that fated 21st January, when I finally decided to just give it up) considered myself to be a very sexual being. I've had ridiculous conquests for a Midwestern girl of only 26. I've had nearly public threesomes and loved the hell out of them.
But put me in a relationship, sharing a bathroom, renting movies together - and I am so perfectly content in that blissful companionship that an amorous feeling is expressed in a snuggle; a hug.
So this begs the question - am I TYPICAL?
This may very well be the case.
So here go all of my previous assumptions out the window; I am a perfectly reasonable, middle class white woman, growing into her mother's, aunts', television cliches' shoes. I am on the verge of being single once again, and will be set out into the world with dreams of sex-leading-to-companionship once again (only this time much more clearly) and surely will repeat this cycle again. Luring in men with my temptress, fucking my way into their homes, and then setting up shop, only to take their libido, crumple it up into a little ball, and set it out for weekly trash pickup.
I am asexual.
Yet I have no idea how to find love without it. Apparently, and unbeknownst to me until about 18 hours ago, I have no idea how to keep it either.
So, do I change? That seems the only logical fix to this pickle I'm in. But - change. So illusive, and seemingly unattainable for this person I've become. Not once have I looked at my future self, thought, That's what I'm going to be, and successfully achieved it. Not once.
Perhaps I should take a cue from the women I know only as characters, from nuclear wives of decades past, and tie down the next man before he knows what he's getting himself into. I am, after all, getting up there in years.
I am not different.
Why am I so inanely, and insanely focused on gaining sex when I am out in the world on my own, yet perfectly contented in sexless companionship once I feel love?
I am the terribly cliched woman who uses sex to get love. I've never known (seen, but not truly known) such a perfect example of this distasteful state of being.
I've always (since that fated 21st January, when I finally decided to just give it up) considered myself to be a very sexual being. I've had ridiculous conquests for a Midwestern girl of only 26. I've had nearly public threesomes and loved the hell out of them.
But put me in a relationship, sharing a bathroom, renting movies together - and I am so perfectly content in that blissful companionship that an amorous feeling is expressed in a snuggle; a hug.
So this begs the question - am I
This may very well be the case.
So here go all of my previous assumptions out the window; I am a perfectly reasonable, middle class white woman, growing into her mother's, aunts', television cliches' shoes. I am on the verge of being single once again, and will be set out into the world with dreams of sex-leading-to-companionship once again (only this time much more clearly) and surely will repeat this cycle again. Luring in men with my temptress, fucking my way into their homes, and then setting up shop, only to take their libido, crumple it up into a little ball, and set it out for weekly trash pickup.
I am asexual.
Yet I have no idea how to find love without it. Apparently, and unbeknownst to me until about 18 hours ago, I have no idea how to keep it either.
So, do I change? That seems the only logical fix to this pickle I'm in. But - change. So illusive, and seemingly unattainable for this person I've become. Not once have I looked at my future self, thought, That's what I'm going to be, and successfully achieved it. Not once.
Perhaps I should take a cue from the women I know only as characters, from nuclear wives of decades past, and tie down the next man before he knows what he's getting himself into. I am, after all, getting up there in years.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
