Seriously?!? is going into Orbit!

Weird that I come back out of my funk just in time to announce that I’m joining The Orbit blog family of awesome bloggers!

You can check out my new site, a new blog post, and the shitty banner I made here!

Can’t wait to see y’all there!

Thinking about Disability More

 

As you can see in this picture, I use a cane.  It’s pretty and shiny and it’s name is Draco. Let me let you in on a little secret; I don’t need it at all times.  So why do I carry it?

When most people think about disability, they think of people bed bound.  They think of 100% blindness, deafness, muteness.  They think of wheelchairs and walkers and crutches all day long.  They think of missing limbs and catastrophic brain injuries, but only the ones that leaves one capable of only drooling in the corner.  They think of that sweet bagger at the grocery store, trying their best.

And then, they stop thinking.

That’s where we get the heartless claims like,

“Most people on disability are lying and cheating the system.”

“Oh, poor you, have a bad back? Take some aspirin and get back to work.”

“I know she’s on Social Security, but I saw her walk to the mail box without her wheelchair yesterday!  She’s a cheat!”

You know, shit like that.

If they bothered to keep thinking, they might discover a few things.  They might discover the concept of “good days” and “bad days”. They might realize that disabilities come in different levels and flavors and severity.  They might realize that not all disabilities are in the legs.  They might get what ‘chronic’ means. They might even realize that mental illnesses can actually be disabling.

See, for me, a good day is getting up without using the headboard to lift myself.  It’s getting up and down the stairs slowly, actually getting shit done around the house.  It’s not needing to sit in my chair to put on pants and socks. It’s feeling up for dialing a number and speaking to someone. It’s standing or sitting in front of people and talking to them without feeling like fleeing (too much) It’s not needing my cane to get around to say, the corner store.  It’s feeling like going to the corner store.

It’s feeling that I don’t want to die today.

A bad day is, well, turn all that on it’s head.  It’s being so tired that my day turns into a series of naps. It’s sliding against the wall going down the stairs, or just not bothering with them at all. It’s crying in bed or in front of my computer for no discernible reason and ignoring PMs and sending phone calls to voicemail. It’s going 3-4 days in the same pajamas without showering because who the fuck cares, right? It’s being so anxious that I don’t even want to exchange greetings with anyone who lives with me.  It’s beating up on myself for being worthless.  It’s considering my options for suicide.

And yeah, those are cane days.  I lean on the fucker when I know I’ll be standing for a long period of time (like waiting for a bus) or around people for a while (the grip is nice and steady).  I use it to get in and out of the car. On the bus, I sit in the preferential seating.

When someone asks me why I use a cane, I give a short answer.  “Oh, I have fibro.”

What I want to say is “Because we live in a society that values our ability to labor over quality of life, I worry about being judged on my ‘good days’, so I carry it with me at all times whenever I leave the house.”

But those are longer words.  And they require people to think.  It’s a bit much to think about for others.

I really wish they would, though. The disabled need those thoughts.

My Offensive Halloween

I’m a little late with this, because sick, but I promised my FB friends that I would tell the tale of my offensive Halloween costume choice, because full disclosure and all that.

But first, let’s have a looky here:

Someone, in their natural mind, decided this was a good idea for a costume.  KKK robes and burning crosses. Can you guess the race?

Go on.

Guess.

Not only white, but the husband of a Oklahoma mayor and his buddies. What the entire blueberry pancake fuck? Who decides this is a good plan to go outside like this?

Well…

Once upon a time, when I was much younger, but still old enough to know better, I decided this was good idea.

Let me explain with two words:

I think I’ve already given away the surprise with this, but for those who haven’t seen this hilarious piece of social commentary by the genius Mel Brooks, a Western town gets a new sheriff, who happens to be black and hilarity ensues. For a movie that says “Nigger” a lot, I love it.  It makes me giggle.

Some friends were remedying my lack of Mel Brooks that wasn’t Men in Tights, and we watched this one, and I was inspired by this infamous scene:

I made my Klan robes out of muslin and fabric glue (I was so fucking poor, you have no idea), and slapped on the “Have A Nice Day” with letter stickers.  I thought this was gonna be funny; showing that the KKK is “just a joke” because racism is so funny now haha!

Did I mention I was such a Chill Black Girl, then? Holy crap, you guys, it was so bad.

Of course, I showed up at a friends house for our annual Halloween shindig, and the vastly white guests LOVED IT.  It was hilarious.  There’s pictures. I don’t have any of them.  I got dares to walk to the door, or walk to the mailbox with the hood on for cash.  The only other Black person at the party at that time refused to have anything to do with me until it came off.

Two other friends from Morehouse (a HBC) were approaching the door, and everyone was like “Put on your hood! Answer the door!”  And of course I did.

And to this day, one of those poor gents loves bringing up how hard he and his buddy ran when I opened the door.  They got me back by posing for pics of me with the hood, laying down while they pretended to kick my ass.  Pics I also don’t have, sadly.

Finally, midnight came around and the poorly put together (the stickers were falling off) outfit was finally off.  I could hug my offended friend, and mingle while not sweating to death (seriously, actual KKK members, how do you stand being in that fucking robe near a fire?  I was in a house full of people and was swimming in my own sweat).

And to this day, it’s the one costume everyone remembers.

I’m not even sure what the reaction would have been if we had a larger social media presence, and one of these photos got posted everywhere.  I can remember my friend’s discomfort more than the costume and I feel a bit of shame when it comes up.

Still not as awful as the recent slew of fucked up costumes white people came up with this years (again, I keep forgetting to save photos to show here, I suck at blogging), but awful.

Hit it, Miss Kahn:

Getting My Bearings

So, ‘sup?

Been a while, yeah?

Sorry.  August has been a very tough month for me, mentally and physically, so I haven’t really been up for loud ranting and raving, though there is so much to rant and rave about.  It can be overwhelming at times.

It’s strange.  One deleted comment after my “whiny gamerbro” post suggested that I “get therapy”.  Funny, I’ve been in therapy for years, and still think gamerbros are whiny entitled babies who don’t want to share their toys, so take that, anonymous asshole.

There’s so gentle way to get into this, so here goes.  I admitted myself into a hospital a couple of weeks ago for suicidal thoughts and a plan. I’ll spare you the details, but it was just what I needed.  I managed to get out, feeling better, just in time for the Secular Women Work conference here in town.  It felt so good to see some of the people who’d be rooting for me up close and huggable.

And holy cow, how much rooting did I get!  I got well wishes on Facebook that a dear friend printed out for me (since they took my phone away), and stuffed animals and make up and gift cards and so many people wishing me well and health and to return.

…and thanking me for knowing when and how to get help.  That’s the hard part.  It always is.  Going from “well, this is it” to “well, maybe I should reach out” is a big leap.  But so far, I’m glad I made the jump.

So, I’m getting my bearings, getting used to new meds, looking to get a new psychiatrist (the last one can eat glass), and getting back into the swing of things.  While I was in the hospital, I filled journals with my days and my thoughts, and I might share them here.  I think people need to know what it’s like to be Black and mentally ill. But don’t worry.  I’m back, I’m gearing up for some of the old ultra-snark, and I can’t even leave anyway…Weasel said so.

He’s sitting on my shoes, y’all. I can’t leave the how #catlogic

Now For Something Fun (For Me)

(Content Warning: So. Much. Dragon Age Geeking.  You’ve been warned)

(Also, this is mostly a ramble.  I needed this and you will deal.)

It’s been a rough week?  Month?  Forever?  I dunno.

But I needed a pick me up, so I went peeking through my tags and closing most of them (I’m a tag hoarder, I’ll admit), and I found this gem that I wanted to post sooner, but then racists were racist and people died and all I wanted to do was hide in my room for the next forever.

So I’m a little behind the ball, but who cares? I love having the opportunity to made fun of sad gamerbros being bros, so enough wind up, here’s the pitch.

Someone sent this to Bioware.  Some actual human sent this:

Aww, poor boo-boo.  Damn shame BioWare lost it’s Most Loyal Fan. I’m sure they’re crying into all the money Dragon Age: Inquisition made.

Full disclosure: I LOVE THIS GAME.  Is it perfect? Nah.  I could talk about where they fucked up and how they fucked up for days.  Because I’m an adult who can love something and criticize it at the same time, something a lot of gamerbros seem incapable of comprehending.

One problem I do NOT have with this game is that my squishy bits aren’t being satisfied enough.

But this, man.  Come on.  Why not just send a picture of your sad, sad boner and spare so many words?  I can’t even reread this shit without imagining this poor fellow just whirling his fists around, whining, “Why aren’t there pretty people and sexy times for meeeeee!”

I mean, damn, it’s not like you got that much detail in the brothel scenes in the two previous games.  And if you don’t find Cassandra attractive, I feel sorry for you.

Ms. “Looks Like A Man” according to this sad, sad person. WTF?

Dude, again, come on. Are women who can kick your ass that scary?  More’s the pity, her romance is one of the sweetest ones in the game.  I don’t normally roll straight romances for Dragon Age (barring Alistair because fuck you, I’ma be a queen), but I made an exception for this badass.

And Josephine is ugly?  What? Her?

Even Josie is skeptical.

What, is it the moles? Dark skin? Accent?  She seems smart?

Don’t get me wrong.  Everyone’s got tastes, and these two ladies aren’t to everyone’s.  I get it.  I wish this fool would get it to, because boy oh boy does he try to make his tastes seem universal.  I’m pretty sure Orleasian women get to wear their hair however the fuck they want.  As for Vivienne’s close shave and the ‘concept of women”, go fuck yourself. The ‘concept of women” is what we decide it is, not you.  Just admit that long hair is your thing and stop trying to make it anything more than that.

Madam Vivienne is amused by the thought that your opinion matters

And in case you though he wasn’t serious, after Tauriq Moosa (whose Twitter you should be following if you like games and diversity and diversity in games) posted this pic on his Twitter, the actual writer fessed up.  It’s been ages since this post, so I had to do a little digging, but here’s Tauriq’s post. Around that time, Dude responded and gave his example of a woman in a video that he approved of:

Perfection!

Ciri, from The Witcher 3.  Okay.  She’s pretty, I’ll give him that.  A badass, for sure.  Scarred even.  But let’s see the differences between Ciri and our DA:I ladies, shall well?

She’s pale with very light hair.

Cassandra has short dark hair, scars and a supposed “man jaw” (though I don’t see much a difference between hers and Ciri’s)

Josephine has long dark hair, is dark skinned and apparently “ugly”

Vivienne’s hair is very, very, very, very short.

…right. I think I get the picture.

So from a very causal glance, it looks like this fellow should just stick to playing The Witcher 3 if Ciri is fapworthy for him. Hell, it even lacks all of that icky feminism and LGBT agenda stuff that apparently makes it impossible to play DA:I.

Now that I’m done mocking his very narrow tastes in women, let’s go to this supposed agenda.  Oooh, we have exclusively gay characters you can smooch.  Oooh, there’s a transgendered character you get to talk to (a transgendered man, actually, so where the fuck he got the “lecture” about dress wearing from who the fuck knows).  OMG women are in important roles and shit.  The fact that this was enough to scare this person away makes this game even more enjoyable for me.  Truly.  It’s pure spite, I know.  But as a minority who loves games, it’s spite I believe is well earned.  BioWare has a history of making gamerbros whine and sad in the pants, from Zevran’s very existence, to Anders coming onto them, to Kaiden’s a smooching option for girls and boys in the last ME game, which is what I LOVE about them.

And they keep making games.  And money.  So me thinks this dude and the “lot” of people he knows who agree with him really won’t be missed with their “gay-ass feminist” agenda (I’d find the fact that he managed to use ‘gay’ to mean both ‘homosexual’ and whatever the hell gay’ass was supposed to mean hilarious, if it wasn’t so sad).

Farewell, BioWare’s Most Loyal Fan.

What the poor dear is missing.
Aww.

Feminace’s Suggestions for not Getting your Ass Handed to You Online

Hello cats and kittens, class is in.

Let’s say I’m in meatspace. And there are people having a conversation within earshot about sweet potatoes. How yummy they are, different types, different preparations, etc.

I hate sweet potatoes*. Would it be a good idea for me to walk over to that conversation and inform them that I think the thing they are talking about is silly/bad/wrong because I hate sweet potatoes and they’re gross and yuck.

Wouldn’t that be considered rude?

What is the difference between that and doing this online:

“Wow, One Direction is awesome!”
“Yeah, I love their music”
“The boys are so cute”
“This band is dumb! Why do you even bother listening!”

Or this:

“Look at this pictures of large women freely wearing bikinis!”
“They look awesome and brave”
“I need to know where she got this one!”
“Gross! I couldn’t get past the first picture!”

Or *sigh* even this:

“Good on those Native actors for walking off that shitty Adam Sandler movie set”
“Did you see that screenshot of part of the script? How is that funny?”
“You mean a Sandler movie’s using lazy sterotypes of an already marginized group? Say it ain’t so!”
“I don’t get what the big deal is. If people don’t like it, then don’t see it!”

See? First of all, you either just harshed someone squee or have made a demand for them to justify themselves to you (and seriously, who the fuck are you?).  Secondly, you’re trying to make this conversation now about you.

So if, you know, people tell you to fuck right off, do you really have cause to wave your burned ass around, or complain that you’re “not allowed to have a dissenting opinion” when those who were speak rightfully pile on?

I want to help you, so here is a strong suggestion: Shutting the fuck up is always an option.**

No matter what.  Food, music, social justice issues, the newest fad app.  It can apply to damn near everything! Just because you have the ability to comment on damn near anything online does not mean you have to.

And this only applies when your opinion is the equivalent of “ew! I don’t like it!” or “explain yourself to me now”.  I’m not a fan of trying to educate in spaces where I’m totally outnumbered, but some have that fortitude and go them.  But for the most part, make it easier on yourself.

I’m just saying, if you’re gonna say something, Say Something.  Make it count. Add to the conversation. Don’t make people take time and energy to deal with you. That is a hell of a lot more rude that any ‘angry cuss words’ I’ve ever heard.

Class is dismissed.

*No, this is not an invitation to inquire of ways I’ve tried sweet potatoes or suggest different recipes. I’m a grown-up and I get to Not Like Things.  I swear, food is almost like sex, if people have decided they don’t like a certain thing, people will come out of the fucking woodwork to either A. act as if my dislike is a personal attack or B. make unasked for suggestions to “help”.  But that is a rant for another post.

**If you are some combination of white, male, straight, and/or cis, tattoo that shit on both your hands, so you can see it before you start typing.

When #blacklivesmatter and Mental Health Collide: Some Thoughts on an Anxiety Attack

So, yesterday was the day during the five day week that I chose to leave the house.  There were things to do.  I needed some writing done and home is just the worst place to do it.  Also, I have four of my meds at once that needed refilling, and one needed approval from my doc.  Good thing my pharmacy and doc’s office were in the same building.

The plan was simple, leave house, catch bus, go to coffee shop for a couple of hours, eat breakfast while I was there and writing, take bus, transfer to another bus, go to doc’s office, then to pharmacy, then the drug store nearby for new lip balm, maybe some fries at McDonalds as a reward for being outside, then bus all the way home.

Not a bad plan.  I’ve done similar plans before, minus the writing bit. Just go, run errands, be back on the bus before the transfer runs out.  It’s short, it’s quick, I’m back before the fact that there is people and weather surrounding me gets to me. No eye contact, earbuds in at all times, make myself look as unfriendly as possible, in and out and back again.

Oh, did I ever mention that I have GAD?  Because I do.

The plan was going smoothly until that first bus transfer.  I was already a little hyped up on nearly missing this bus, then some lady wouldn’t take the “earbuds and short answers” hint.  Then the bus driver kept fussing at someone with the “headphones on too loud”, which made me paranoid as fuck b/c I don’t play my earbuds that loudly, so I had it practically on mute when she pointed it out again and that got me so worked up that I got off the bus two stops early and had to hoof it, cane and all.

So my mind just had a little meltdown on the way. All of these things may seem simple inconveniences of life to you, dear reader, but for a brain on GAD, simple inconveniences turn into big reason to worry very quickly and sometimes without warning. Last Saturday, a silly trigger I’m not sharing but had nothing to do with protesters nearly ruined my pretty good shift at the women’s clinic.

Thankfully I made it to the doc’s office, and they noticed that the hyperventilating teary woman who very much NOT FINE, as I said I was, took me to one of the back offices and had a nurse talk me down.  He asked me if I had anything I could take.

And here’s where things get just plain fucking hilarious.  See, I have an emergency script for Ativan.  Emergencies only.  Keeps me out of the ambulances and everything.  Problem is, I’m also a Black woman with a mental illness. What if a cop decided that the small amount of pills I carry with me isn’t for emergencies? Or knows but just don’t care? Wouldn’t that just be so funny, accosted and accused of having the wrong sort of drugs.  Oh the anxiety attack one could have in jail could be epic!

We also talked about having a little card to show someone if I happen to be having a meltdown in public. Just a simple “Hi, I have anxiety.  Please don’t call the cops.  They might kill me instead of help.” (okay, that’s my first draft). Because wouldn’t it just be a fucking laugh riot if someone mistook my crying/short of breath/eye darting wildness for something dangerous?  “911, this large Black woman is acting out. Please send someone to shatter her spine or shoot her in the head; she’s scaring the white folks!”

At the end, I left with a little keychain mounted pill holder that looks very professional.  Or like I could be smuggling cocaine or something.  That doesn’t help make me feel as calm as the thought of having emergency Ativan within reach should.

And as for that card, I’m still working on the wording:

“My hands are up, please don’t shoot”  

“Unless I pass out, call no one”

“I’m unarmed”

“Please don’t kill me because my brain is fucking up”

Talking about Abortion and the Argument from “Ew”

So, as I was gearing up for my First Talk Ever for FtBCon 3 (which starts today, and my talk is at 8:00CST, and here’s a link just in case you’re interested, and if you can’t catch it then it’ll be on YouTube afterwards and I’m going to shut up now), I noticed something.

Correction, I’ve noticed this thing for forever, and this is finally as good of a time as any to talk about it.

Part of my talk involves pictures of fetal remains.  Good thing my stomach has been a churning bowl of sour for nearly two weeks, or I’d be worried about being ill from having to dive into those image searches.  Between the ones posed next to coins and pencils and curled up in ways that would be cute if they weren’t dead and probably rotting meat, finding accurate pics was a pain.  A gross, bloody, irritating pain.

But I see gross fetal remains pictures every Saturday and frankly, they don’t gross me out.  They piss me off.  They show me that “we have no other argument, so let’s make you feel sick.”

Or as I like to call it, “Argument from Ew“.

You see this same shit if you scratch a homophobe (not literally, they’re not worth touching). Underneath all of that concern about the children and the sanctity of marriage, you’ll probably find some “Two boys kissing are ewwww” (but let me secretly wank to two women, cuz that’s hot!). Or “people having sex I’ve never heard of are eww!” for anything that isn’t one man, one woman fucking for the making of teh bebbies.

Don’t get too smug, liberals, you do it too.  I get a little angry when asshole vegans (rare, thankfully, but still annoying) tries to show me factory farm pics in order to get me to stop eating animal flesh.  Yes, I’m aware where hot dogs come from.  And that my eggs are chicken menstruations. And that there’s pus in the milk that eventually becomes the dairy products I enjoy (milk in its basic form makes me nauseous). Um, nope, that’s not going to work for the same reasons fetal remains will make me pro-life anytime soon.

And don’t even get me started on anti-vaxxers.  Oh noes, vaccines contain ingredients that sound weird.  Eww, don’t let them put that gross stuff into your kids, no matter how useful it is if you bothered looking up the “why” and not just the “what”! Ditto with GMO fear and Big Pharma fear (you will take my life-saving meds from my cold dead hands), and so on and so forth.

Maybe it works for some people, but trying to gross me out into changing my mind feels like an insult.  Don’t try to convince my stomach that you’re right, appeal to my brain, damnit. That’s what I use to think! I’m grown and we’re not in elementary school.

And now that I’ve gotten that off my brain, time to panic about my upcoming talk!  Yay!

Hey, Feminace? What’s up with that name?

Good question, title!

The “Femin” part should be fairly obvious.  I’m a cis lady, who occasionally likes to get all femmy’d up.  Thanks to fibro, and depression, topped with the shit cherry that is anxiety, I don’t leave my house very often, unless it’s to see the doctor or stand witness to the Merry Band of Morons, or dinner with my partner, but when I do, I sometimes like to get all dressy, put on makeup, maybe wear a dress.

And that used to be a thing I didn’t do for myself for a long time, and it just felt silly. Now, it’s for me, and here’s why:

That “-ace” part?

…and this asexual pirate stopped giving a fuck about doing her pretty for anyone else the moment she came out. I feel so much more confident now, like knowing myself better.  I’ll spare you all the long drawn out story of how I came to here, but let’s just say I spent a lot of years going down the wrong road.

Or the wrong way down the road?  I don’t know.

So, it’s Asexual Awareness Week, and now you’re aware of at least one asexual in your life.  Good for you 🙂