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Sunday, October 30, 2016

Budget Artist: Wait For Inspiration, Or Use It Up?

 This is my new series, "Budget Artist." I want to help people enrich their lives, even if they don't have confidence or don't think of themselves as artistic. This is also ties into my philosophy that you don't have to spend money on "grownup" art supplies or buy the "right" things in order for the art to be "real." 
If radical feminists can use their own menstrual blood, you can use anything you have on hand. There's no need to spend a bunch of money; you can work within any budget. What matters is the art process itself, not the materials or even the results. The process itself will enrich your life, even without spending a bunch of money.



I often have the problem of taking out a sketchpad and some crayons or oil pastels, eager to draw something, and then my mind goes blank, and I have no idea what to draw.
I used to think that this meant that I wasn't artistic, or that I was bad at drawing. I would have loved to be one of those people who was always doodling something, but I had no idea what to draw.
This didn't help my fear of being bad at drawing, which prevented me from enjoying it. At some points, I sadly got rid of my art supplies, because I thought I would never use them, or never be good enough to use them.
Somehow, I would still sometimes buy supplies, hoping for the day that I got good or suddenly got a big burst of inspiration. I waited. For a long time, I waited.
But it got to the point where I have so many paper pads and different supplies--chalk pastels, oil pastels, colored pencils, graphite pencils, charcoal, acrylic and watercolor paints and brushes--and I wasn't using any of them, because I didn't have any inspiration.

Then the shooting at my school, Umpqua Community College, happened on October 1st last year. Something like this happening at the school you attend, and in the county you live in, changes things. That day, I ate up all the "good" chocolates in my freezer, that I had been saving for a special occasion. And since that day, I decided to use up the good stuff first, in every area of my life.
It took me a while to get to this point, but now I grab a sketchpad and some crayons, and just start running a favorite color over the paper, back and forth. Maybe I add other colors, or attempt a design, or scribble all over the paper. I want to use up all my paper pads, both sides. And I want to use up all of my art supplies, as soon as possible.
I'm not really relishing getting rid of these things, or using them up, but that is my goal, since I want more art and fun in my life, right  now. All of these paper pads--tracing paper, watercolor paper, drawing paper, cheap and expensive sketching paper, mini sketchpads, 18" x 24" pads, pads of every size and type--I look at all of that, and I see that all of it could have been covered in art I had done. Over the years, I could have had so much art in my life, and I could have had so much fun with it, if I had just relaxed and not waited for inspiration--or if I had just not cared whether it was "good" or not.
I should not have so many extra paper pads. It could have really enriched my life, if I had used them. If I had not worried about being good or not, or not cared whether all the pages were covered with nothing but random blocks of color.
What if I had not cared about finding the perfect medium for me, and just picked up any childish crayons that lay around, and drawn on any blank paper or cheap newsprint? What if the action of drawing was more important than the result? What if I had had a "use it up" mentality?
When I look at all of the blank paper I have, I see so many wasted years.

So I'm going to "use it up." I'm going to use it all up. It makes me so sad, that all of these sketchpads aren't covered in colorful drawings, scribblings, and shadings. That I don't need, and have never needed, a new sketchpad, or new crayons or chalk or oil pastels. That I was too afraid to ruin the paper.
So I'm just going to use it all up, even the children's crayons that I have (Crayola, because they are the smoothest that I have found). Sometimes I just do rainbows, or put some colors that I like together. Sometimes I just smudge the crayon across the page, because I like that color. Sometimes I actually attempt designs or sketches. It kind of helps when they're just relatively cheap children's crayons--though I'm going to have the same attitude towards everything I have.
But I really look forward to using up a pad of paper, or my big box of crayons--having nothing left of it, and having to go buy more if I want those particular crayons.
Perhaps it would help you to buy the big box of crayons, or lots of cheap paper pads (or a huge newsprint pad), so that you don't fear actually running out. But when you already have a lot of paper and art supplies, like me, you can try to use them up, or at least a part of them. I really want to fill one of my sketchbooks, on both sides. If possible, I want to completely fill each page, front and back. I want my life to have lots of color and art, and that is how I will get there. I want to be able to go back through these many sketchbooks someday, and remember how happy they made me--even as I fill more.
As my art teacher said to another student, a few years ago, "It's only paper. The worst thing that can happen, is that you make it ugly."
Even if it's ugly, though (which many things I draw definitely are not--quite the opposite, in my opinion), I will still have the memory of experimenting and coloring all over this paper.
All of this blank paper, and not having more art I did on my own, than my homework for that one class, has made me really sad. So I'm going to make some happy memories, and remedy the situation. I hope to have all of them completely filled up as soon as possible, maybe even by the end of 2017. I'm having lots of fun working towards my goal. And it is very relaxing, to try not to care about the finished product or whether I do it "right."

This is YOUR art. It doesn't have to be good, even according to your standards--because it exists to serve you. The finished product is not as important as you are. There are very few things sadder than a blank sketchbook, that you have had for a long time. Don't worry about "wasting" things because you're not "good enough" as an artist. What matters is that you get to enrich your life through color and art--even just "scribblings." And ironically, inspiration might come to you easier if you are in practice, or while you are drawing, though that should not necessarily be the goal.
It's only truly "wasting" supplies or paper if you don't use them up. You are worth it. You are worth the supplies, you are worth the money spent on them. So be "selfish" and indulge yourself, if you can afford it, or if you already have the supplies. It's not wasting supplies or money, if it enriches your life. You are worth it; believe that about yourself, and act accordingly.
It's only wasting if you don't use it up.

Saturday, October 29, 2016

LGBT: Is It Homophobia, Or Feeling Like You Don't Matter?

Every time I try to, for lack of a better term, have "gay thoughts" (and by that I don't mean anything sexual), I feel defensive, as if my homophobic uncle, or others, are right there, bullying me, sometimes in the name of religion. Every time I think of any gay person or couple I know, and funny gay character on tv or any skit by Ellen Degeneres, anything to do with coming out or stories of gay couples that I like to write--anything like that, and I struggle with being defensive in my own mind.
I find myself thinking along the lines of, "I wonder if that's the trans woman in this show that people were talking about?--No, we kill ourselves for being gay or trans, it's not a choice!" It's almost an automatic response now. I don't hear voices or anything, but I do know how people I know might react, and that makes me defensive. And if I don't respond mentally, I feel vulnerable, and like I will get caught off-guard.

I love watching funny gay couples on Youtube, and writing stories about Woody and Buzz falling in love, and thinking about my own future, in which I might be a wife, with a wife (though that will be a long time, and I'm still figuring out the kind of life I want). But every time I think about these happy, gay things, I have to resist the immature or bullying "voices" in my head. I feel self-conscious, as if I'm being judged or criticized in my own head.
And at first, I assumed that homophobia itself was the main thing that bothered me. And I am bothered, because of the damage that it does to people, including children and teenagers. But I wouldn't be bothered by it, personally, if I didn't have the background that I did. I was raised a conservative evangelical (though my own mother isn't one anymore), I went to a Christian school, and probably most of all, the most homophobic person I know, my uncle, also physically bullied me. I am still reminded of the trauma whenever I think of him, or see him.

So when I think of homophobia, I think of my uncle--and the terrified way he has always made me feel. So homophobia makes me feel terrified.
When I was little, I tried to tell my grandmother how much he bothered me, when he "teased" me. And she told me that he did it because he loved me. So I didn't feel listened to--I felt like I wasn't worth listening to. I was hurting so much inside, but no one believed me, or did anything to stop it. I have often described this feeling, as feeling like my words were as light as a feather, when I wanted them to be as heavy as iron. No matter how much I tried, no one even seemed capable of believing me or listening to me. The fact that I was hurting inside, was unimportant to those that loved me.
So when I think of homophobia, it makes me feel unheard and unimportant--like I don't matter.
So I still struggle with feeling like I have no voice, whenever I think of anything happy and gay. And I think dealing with those feelings might be more productive than dealing only with the homophobia itself.

So I remind myself, when I deal with or think of homophobic people, that it's the feeling of being unimportant and unheard that bothers me. That's a very scary feeling, to feel like a ghost, or to possibly be in danger because no one believes you. And that's part of the reason that something I don't even believe can bother me so much. I can no longer even talk to those who "disagree" with homosexuality or transgenderism, because for the most part, they just don't listen, and it makes me feel like shit. So I try to protect myself, and try to remind myself, over and over, that I do matter and that I am important.

This post may not have been as happy as I like them to be, especially since my life is usually happy, and writing usually makes me so happy. But it feels good, in a way, to work through these things. And I hope I can help people, by sharing what I've discovered.
Perhaps homophobia or transphobia itself does not bother you. Perhaps it is also something deeper--feeling unheard, or unloved, or not cared for. After all, any kind of bigotry rests on the idea of not listening to others' experiences--dismissing the hurt of slaves, of women, of people not white, of LGBT people, people with disabilities, etc.
Bigotry rests on the idea that you, or others, are not important, because of something you can't control. So maybe that's why it hurts you so much. Remind yourself that you are important, that you do matter. And try to protect yourself, as much as you can, from people who don't want to listen to you.
This is what I have started doing, and I hope it helps others.

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

Minimalism/Preppers: Don't Throw Everything Away Yet!

I don't like "capsule wardrobes" for a lot of reasons, and one reason I didn't mention was this: That capsule wardrobes, in which you have only a certain number of items (usually thirty or less, total), are based on the idea that you or the economy will never fall on hard times.
I have seen and read so many people, from extreme minimalists who live out of backpacks, to mothers with two or more young children, say something to the effect of, "If I need something else/if something wears out/if I need that item again, I can just go buy something else."
And this does betray a certain level of privilege, that they have the money to do that, and expect to continue to have enough, for the rest of their lives. But it also says something else: That they expect that the economy, and their own circumstances, will always stay pretty much the same. They are woefully unprepared for any sudden hard times to befall them.

Capsule wardrobes are great, in that they eliminate the burden of choosing something every day, if your clothes are all the same or matching colors, or if you have few enough of them that the choice is no burden. But can your capsule wardrobe last more than one season, if it has to? Do you have enough for next year? Are your clothes going to wear out before then? Even worse, do you plan for your clothes to wear out before then? Are you thinking, "I'll go buy something else when this wears out"?
I don't wish to shame anyone, just make people think, and prepare themselves. If you are saving money in order to purchase new clothes, when your current ones wear out, how do you know that there won't be terrible inflation that you have to deal with then? What if your money is worth less, or you have to save your precious cash for a house payment or medical bills?
Do you expect your one or two jackets to last not only all this winter, but all the next? Are you thinking of simply buying a heavy coat, if you have to? Are you going to purchase something next year, for next year's summer?
One never knows what will happen, or what could happen to their money.

I love getting rid of stuff. I literally go through part of my things every day--my clothes one day, my fabric the next, books the next, etc. It is my favorite hobby, and one of the most relaxing things I could ever do for myself. It is the best time of my day.
But gaining all that extra room, enables me to use it to give myself a sense of security--by stocking up on food, pet food, and other necessities. Even these I go through and purge, to make sure that I will actually eat them, but I plan to buy more of the foods I know my animals and I will eat. I hope to have at least a three-month supply, and eventually a six-month supply. (Though I also like just having the extra room in my room, but where and how to store this food is another issue entirely.)
But food is not the only thing to save for hard times. Even though you can make do with clothes a lot easier than you can make do with food, sometimes you can't make do with clothes. Especially in the winter.
If the once-in-a-few-years storm comes, and you have no heavy jacket or wool clothing, you might or might not be able to buy one. Perhaps it was a sudden storm, and they are sold out. Perhaps the economy is different, and the money you worked so hard to save up is almost worthless. Perhaps you have had to use all of that money for medical bills. Perhaps the roads are impassable, and you can't get to a store or a place where you can buy one.
There will always be an abundance of clothes in America and western countries--there already is, even after all that is donated and shipped overseas--and it's ridiculous. But you may not have enough money to buy the right kind of clothes, clothes that you actually need and not just want--or certain clothes items may be scarce, like stockings were during World War Two.
If you are too much of a minimalist now, and either you or the whole country goes through rough times, you may be stuck wearing a chicken feed sack, as your ancestors before you in the Depression--only nowadays, chicken feed comes in plastic, not cloth. It makes for great tarps, if it's thick enough and you have thick duct tape--but it would make for terribly uncomfortable, and cold, clothing. (At least against your skin. You need anything but an uninsulated raincoat or umbrella, and you're shit out of luck.)

I am not saying not to have a capsule wardrobe, or a small wardrobe. But while you're getting rid of stuff, or thinking about not buying any more clothes, also think about having enough to last at least two full years from this date. One year from this date is cutting it close, especially if your clothes wear out sooner than you thought they would. And three or more years would be too much stuff for some people--maybe even for me, too, in some areas (though I love my jackets).
 Do you have enough socks and underwear for this year and all of the next? What about warm accessories in the winter--hats, gloves, scarves if you need them? You can cut off pants to make shorts in the summer, but if you already have shorts, you can save those pants for the winter. Will those flip-flops last all summer? What about your winter boots? Are enough of your shirts light enough for the summer? Do you have both warm and cool socks? What about tights and long underwear, things to keep you warm? What about pajamas, and the clothes you feed your goats in? Do you have enough t-shirts, sweats, boots, and sweatshirts that you are okay with getting muddy?
I would recommend having at least two or three heavy jackets, if you don't live somewhere like Florida (maybe you should even have one in Florida, with all of the tropical storms down there). And two or three lighter jackets. I love having a variety of jackets, but if you don't, at least make sure you have enough to be prepared, if something happens and you can't get another. Likewise with boots, hats, gloves, warm socks, etc, for the winter--twice as much as you would wear in one season.
The summer is not as urgent, but it is important too. You can swim in anything, and so don't need two or more swimsuits, but many summer items are cheap and easily wear out. If you modify your winter clothes for the summer, you may still be much too hot--and you would then go into your winter supplies.
If you have kids, do you have clothes that are a size or two too big for them? I know it's exhausting to keep up with their growth--but if you must, you can keep a sewing machine, and (in case of loss of power) needles and plenty of thread, to modify grownup clothes. Not the best solution, but it's better than not having clothes for them. Just be sure to have extra grownup clothes for yourself and perhaps your spouse.

You don't have to store all of these clothes in your dresser or where you normally dress. A large box or two in the attic or under your bed should be big enough to store a change of winter clothes and a change of summer clothes, extra goat-feeding clothes, shoes, and a year's supply of extra socks (heavy and light), underwear, and stockings or anything else that wears out easily and quickly. One or two boxes for every person in your house is enough.
It will also be convenient, because you don't have to rush to the store to buy something when it wears out. Just remember to replenish your supply.

I'm not sure how minimalist travelers who live out of backpacks or cars would do this, but they would be shit out of luck anyway, if food was suddenly scarce and they couldn't get back to their homes or heated mini storage units, or if these places were looted or squatted in. If you have relatives or friends who keep things for you, you may not be able to get to them, especially if you don't have a car (or if gas is rationed, or a lot of cars are migrating to better places because of hard times). The mail may not be able to get through, either, even if you are close to the post office.
I don't know what to say. You traded security for freedom and spontaneity already. To some people, and at some points in people's lives, this is what is important to them. In an apocalypse, you would be moochers. Try to have some sort of useful skill you can trade for food. If it's not needed, though, you might still wind up a moocher or a thief. I'm not saying you should start honing the skill of shoplifting to prepare for the apocalypse, but, well...it might help...

I'm also not saying that you should keep anything that is uncomfortable, itchy, doesn't fit, or that you otherwise hate or don't love. You can even buy duplicates of the same items, if you want.
And I'm not saying that you should keep "just in case" items like cocktail dresses or other things that aren't needs. (You can probably borrow one from someone else, if you must. I must note that I do have a few beautiful evening dresses, but that's because I love them--I know they're not a need.)
Though professional wear might be helpful to keep, if you already have it--you might be laid off, if the economy goes bad again. I'm not sure I would spend a lot of money on something like that, that I may not need, though. If I need it, I will borrow from my mother, or if she gets rid of it all, I'll take her castoffs.
Get rid of all that clutter. You'll be so much happier. Just be sure to save a few comfortable, well-fitting items for rough times. It doesn't even have to be that much. And if you buy a jacket or something that you love more, you can get rid of your "extra" one, provided it's the same type of clothing or jacket. Your current jacket then becomes your extra one, if you want to wear the new one now. (And why would you buy something, that you don't want to wear right away?) 
You can have a pretty minimal wardrobe, and still have enough to last through rough times. It's all a matter of balance.

LGBT: My Mom Wishes I Wasn't Gay

While discussing whether I should come out to my mom's family or not, my mom said that she wished I wasn't a lesbian (though I'm really not sure what I am right now--just that I'm not straight). "Because it's a hard life," she said.
I'm glad she told me. I knew something was up, because I got the impression lately that if I was "too gay," if I made jokes about being gay too often, that she was uncomfortable. I knew something was up.
I always have known that my mom loved me, and would always love me, no matter what. And I know she's done everything she could to be supportive. But the thing is...I like being gay.
Of course, it's no picnic. My very first thought, when I saw my first girl-crush, was, "I can't be a lesbian! My life will be so much harder!" And I was mostly thinking about coming out to my conservative family.
But even though my sexuality is so confusing, for the past two years that I've known, other things are so much clearer, make so much more sense.
No wonder the thought of being married (to a man) made me think, "Why would anyone long for that?" And no wonder I was so "picky." Maybe I wasn't as into these guys, or most of them, as I would have been into girls.
And certain stereotypes have changed the way I think of myself, in a positive way.
It also has become abundantly clear to me that, if my family wouldn't accept me as gay, then they are not completely accepting me if I were straight. If I am accepted (not just loved; you can love someone and not accept them) just because I am what they happen to approve of, then I'm not fully accepted.
And I just generally feel like more of myself, now that I know myself much better. It's really an awesome feeling, and it gives me so much more confidence, even if it was a struggle to get here, and it still is a struggle sometimes.
I know now why I was bothered so much by our family and their religion, almost all of my life.And everything just seems to make more sense--if life can make sense at all, that is.

I have a feeling that she kept this from me, for this long, because she didn't want to burden me with it. And maybe it would have been extremely upsetting when I first told her I was bisexual (though lately I don't like that term, since it seems to imply 50-50). I'm not sure what to do about this.

She says that if I came out, she would grieve, because my Papa--my grandfather--would grieve. And she said, "And you know that grief can kill you." I don't want to grieve Papa, and certainly don't want to wonder if I killed him. And I especially don't want to grieve her. But I don't want to grieve myself, either.
I'm not the type of person who can live their entire life in the closet. When I think about the possibility of never being fully out, it's unbearable. But before she said this, I was already thinking that, ideally, I would want to wait until I didn't care what they thought or said at all. That I could come out in a happy way, no matter how they reacted.
I don't feel ready for that at this time. But I can't let my homophobic uncle go off about his favorite people to hate, without saying something. So I was thinking, "You have no idea who you're hurting," might be a good answer to him, and repeating it enough to sound vague, but maybe imply something. If asked, I can say that it's none of his business, or maybe, "Does it matter? Would you love me any less?"

Barring someone bad-mouthing LGBT people in front of me, I am willing to put off coming out for at least a few months, if she needs time to get used to the idea, and time to try to stop feeling responsible for my grandfather's feelings. I have already begun the process of trying to stop feeling responsible for his feelings, and so it seems to bother me less than her.
I might also, when the time comes, tell my Papa that we don't have to talk about this all at once. That if it makes him feel better, and if he is nice about it, he can think about it, and we can talk some more later or over a few months. That any time he has concerns, I would rather he come to me than just keep it in. I want to encourage him to talk to me, but he's so sensitive that I'm afraid he would mistake any bit of passion for anger, and talk to others behind my back instead of me. (In fact, that's probably a good thing to tell him--that I'm afraid he'll talk to others about me, instead of talking to me about me.)
I could also simply come out as bi, which is like halfway coming out to me, since I think I would be happier with a woman, in general. "I might end up with a man, and I might end up with a woman." He might try to extract a promise that I won't end up with a woman (which is utterly ridiculous, to me, because if I had a penis, it would be an exact opposite standard; I'm defined by my genitals here!). If that is the case, I could say, "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," or, "I'll just have to see who I fall in love with." I may say that same thing as above--that we can talk about this more when he has time to think more about it. I might even say that I'll pray about it--that certainly has been true in the past.
As for them not wanting me to be with a woman, I have been practicing the phrase, "Or what, you'll disown me? Boo-hoo." I might also add, "As our cousin said to the CPS worker, 'Don't threaten me with a good time.'" But those are kind of cruel, so I don't think I'll say them to my grandfather.

My mom says that if I come out to anyone in our family, I'll be the subject of gossip. I don't really care about that. I've even thought about saying to my homophobic, awful uncle, "If you can't say anything nice to me, talk about me behind my back--I know you will, anyway."
The others will talk, but I don't care about them. And my grandmother will get over it; she's much more emotionally resilient than her husband. But the only one I really worry about is my Papa. 
Sometimes a small part of me wishes he would die suddenly, so I don't have to deal with coming out to him--or letting him hear through family gossip. I also made a pact with myself that if he is diagnosed with something and doesn't have long to live, that I'll come out to him. And that if I find someone I love, even a man, I'll come out to him. ("If you would boycott a gay wedding, please do not attend this one--those kind of people are not welcome here," my invitations will read.) And I am public about my sexuality on Facebook, so if my uncle or anyone else searches for me and finds me, well, then, oops--oh, well. They haven't so far, and probably won't, but how else am I going to find a nice girl or supportive guy, if I'm not open about being bisexual?
I'm coming up with all these scenarios in my mind in which I either "have" to come out to him/them, am outed accidentally, or he dies suddenly and I can come out to the rest of them. So I know that I have to at least be working towards coming out, if I am ever to live a happy and fulfilled life. But like I said, barring homophobic remarks, I can put it off for a short time (while I work on practicing), for myself or my mother--but not indefinitely. Everything would be far less complicated if I didn't have to worry about her feelings, too. Still complicated, but far less so.

 But ultimately, this is my life, and I have to live it for me. I can't make myself miserable for the sake of my Papa, or even my mother, who is also like my best friend. I want to be fully out, as the subjects of my dating or LGBT stuff come up. I want to be fully and naturally out. And someday I will be. But I've also been trying to get used to the idea that it doesn't have to be tomorrow--I can do things at my own pace, and that is okay. If circumstances are right, and  my family behaves themselves, I can even do things at my mother's pace--but only temporarily, for a short time of a few months or so. Ultimately, this is my life, and I have to be happy. Someday, I'll be even happier than I am now.

Thursday, October 13, 2016

LGBT: How Gay Stereotypes Have Improved My Life

 About two years ago, I discovered that a girl can get my heart racing just as good as some guys do (at age twenty-three--thanks, body, for that little prank you played on me, making me think I was straight for so very long--although, well, it was pretty brilliant). And since then, I've discovered that it makes sense that I was always very picky about guys, since I mostly like feminine-looking women with short hair.
My very first thought, when I saw the first of what I much later would realize was kind of my "type" (cute, feminine girl with short hair), was, "I can't be a lesbian! My life will be so much harder now!"
And it's true that it's a challenge to think about how to come out to my mother's conservative, religious family (though I think my dad's family is pretty liberal). Though my parents were easy, and they are completely accepting, I still wonder how my relationship with her family will be changed, once I come out.
But it isn't all more difficult for me now. There are some ways in which my life has improved, and even become easier. Most of it has to do with how I see myself now--though ironically, I deal with a form of internalized homophobia, too.
I find myself buying into stereotypes about lesbians, and I am partly or mostly lesbian. So I find myself thinking things like:

 "I don't have to wear makeup anymore, I'll just be butch."
"I can wear as many flannels as I want to."
"I can open this pickle jar--lesbians are strong!"
"Who cares if I have a deep voice? That's expected of me. I should focus on using my words to speak my truth."
"Goodbye, high heels--I'm too gay to be uncomfortable!"
"Being a mechanic might actually HELP me find someone!" 
"I can learn this, if I have an opportunity--my people are good with cars!"
"Pants to a wedding is fine for me!" 
"Suze Orman is a lesbian--I'm good with money, because I'm like her."
"'Normal' women may wear skirts sometimes, but it's not strange for me to wear pants always, since I don't have to be 'normal' anymore."


Yes, some of these sound rather silly, but they make me feel better, nonetheless. And, well, I think they're true, at least in my case. It has given me a lot more confidence, in a lot of areas.

I no longer wonder if wanting to be "butch" sometimes (though with long hair) or wanting to work on cars indicates that I'm a lesbian. I already know the answer: Yes, yes it does--at least in my case. Just as "losing my faith" (conservative, evangelical faith) made me stop fearing that I would, well, lose my faith, being lesbianed by circumstances made me stop wondering if I was one. My sexuality isn't that scary anymore. It's just confusing, that's all!
And of course, I "should have" known all along that I can be and do whatever I want, not caring what others thought. But knowing something and "feeling" it are two different things. And now I no longer worry about not finding a mate, or being mistaken for a lesbian--because it won't be a mistake. And given my experience with people's assumptions so far, I know I'm probably going to have to, indeed, come out my whole life, like they say I will have to--at least as long as I am single, or not physically with her. (Unfortunately, that is actually a privilege, to be seen as straight.) So it's not likely that I'll be "mistaken" for a lesbian (though I was, once, when I held my mother's hand, and we were harassed for it--a story I'll share sometime in detail).
And the stereotypes I'm finding myself thinking, are pretty much all positive, for me personally. I don't feel a pressure to be butch, but I like wearing butch clothing on occasions. And I believe more in my innate abilities and physical and emotional strength. I'm not sure how it would be for a gay or "partly" gay man, though I hope he would take the license to be more "feminine" if he wishes, and not the negative, "weak" stereotypes. (Though why is everything beautiful considered to be feminine? That is twisted and fucked up.) I can't even think of how it would be for a trans person, though I hope they would gain more confidence at least in some ways.
I know these stereotypes come from assumptions, which are bad, but ironically, these gender-non-conforming stereotypes give me more permission to be myself, and believe in myself. It does make me wonder if, in order to believe in myself, I had to discover that I was "less feminine," according to stereotype, and what that means as far as internalized misogyny or sexism. It also makes me wonder if I'm also more confident because I know myself better, much better, than I did when I thought I was straight just two years ago--almost all of my life. I'm not sure how much of my new confidence comes from toxic original sources, and how much does not. But regardless, I am glad to have it.

Of course, it's definitely not all sunshine and roses when it comes to my sexuality. I don't know how my family will react or treat me when I come out--and I know I personally can't live my life, knowing that I will never be completely out, to my family. And it is still so weird, to think of myself as gay. It feels like I am describing the experience of someone else, but, well, it happened to me, too! It's very weird to read about other people's experiences, just out of curiosity--and then it happens to you!
But I've inherited enough of other people's shit, and internalized homophobia, when I walked into the crafts store and left with some yarn and a new sexual orientation. So I'll take all of the perks I can get!

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

Minimalism: I LOVE My Old, Hand-Me-Down Car!

 I do feel a little bad about how hard I was yesterday here on a friend of mine who bought his husband a new car. (He never saw this blog.) "Just as stupid as the straight people" might have sounded like I don't think he's a very kind and goodhearted person. But we all make foolish choices, when we don't know any better, even the goodhearted among us.We all burden ourselves, and this type of burden is a heavy and long-term one indeed.
Yes, it is their own life, his and his husband's. But they are ruining it, and it is so hard to keep my feelings to myself (though I will for their sake). They are making it so much harder for themselves than it needs to be, and all because of fashion, to impress others, or because they like the egg-or-box-shaped monstrosities of the modern age.
There is no shortage of reliable, older used cars where I live--far from it! (How many are wasted because they rust away out of neglect?) And I can't imagine there are very many places in America where it is much different. Until we run out of reliable older used cars, no one--not even a millionaire--has an excuse to waste money and resources like this. It's not very eco-friendly, in my opinion (and yes, there are ways to reduce emissions or increase fuel efficiency for older cars). And all of that metal, plastics, cloth, and other components has to come from somewhere (I've never seen a recycled car), and be manufactured and shipped with even more energy.

My mom's words echo in my mind: "Why would I want to go to work every day, to pay for something...that gets me to work every day?"
Car payments are a terrible burden that people should avoid whenever humanly possible--and if you absolutely must incur payments, why not buy a car that burdens you with as few payments as possible? A hundred dollars a month for five years or more--or two hundred, five hundred or more for a few years--if freed up, could comfort you and your family with a lot of security and peace of mind. Why not free at least some of that money up by trying to sell? Or not tie it up in the first place?
I repeat my mantra: No car ever feels as good to drive, as it feels to not have a car payment.
I've never had a car payment, and am very fortunate that way. I don't know firsthand what it's like to have a car payment, but I do know how good it feels not to have one. And I also know how much I worry at the prospect of having to come up with a car payment every month, and I don't even have one yet. I will try my best to avoid one, or buy a reliable car at least ten years old--the cheapest I can find, especially in case I have to sink money into mechanics' fees--so that I can make as few payments as possible. Yes, mechanics' fees cost money, and that should be taken into account. But for goodness' sake, they don't cost tens of thousands of dollars, plus interest!
My mom says that whenever she has had car payments, she has worried and stressed over being able to make them, even in good times. I am so fortunate to have her hand-me-down. And I will try not to ever know for sure how I would feel with a car payment, especially for years at a time.
I feel like harping on this subject so much, because this isn't just a little extravagance or a little waste. It is tens of thousands of dollars, sometimes even approaching one hundred thousand dollars. Plus interest, which can easily double the total cost over the years. Never forget the interest; it will ruin your life. It adds up fast.
When my own family or friends incur such debt, it feels like I am silently screaming at a horror movie, "Don't open that door!" Except that the door is often already open, or their hand is on the knob, so saying something would be useless and only alienate them. Only to my mother and this anonymous blog can I really share how I feel about new cars and the car industry.

I am so proud to be driving my mother's hand-me-down Nissan. It is a year older than me (I'm twenty-five), and it is still running beautifully. Yes, there have been a lot of mechanics' bills over the years, but for goodness' sake, how much more would it have been if my parents had traded in cars every few years--especially middle-class status symbols? On top of the routine maintenance that all cars share, it's a couple hundred every few years, not a couple thousand, tens of thousands, or more, every few years.
My mother bought it when I was about eight, when it was already used a few years (maybe now, she would have gotten a used car older, I'm not sure). She hasn't had a payment on it in more than a decade, and now I have no payments on it at all, just upkeep and insurance, which one has to pay for anyway.
I have many very fond memories of her picking me up in that car, or taking me shopping with her, and how great a time we had talking in it.
She once decided not to listen to my pessimistic father, and get it fixed instead of trading it in, and discovered that it wasn't nearly as expensive to fix as she had thought. "My car!" she exclaimed when we went to get it, clapping her hands. "Your car!" I exclaimed with her. She had listened to her gut, instead of a man, and it had paid off.

Once we hauled two miniature goats in the back seat. They didn't even poop or pee back there, and stuck their heads up front to see us once in a while. And once we got on the road, they stopped crying and one even lay down on the back seat.
A bus full of inmates on a work crew passed us, then slowed way down so that we would pass them, then passed us again, just to look at our goats and point and laugh. We were at a loss for words--what the heck was the big deal, here? People have their dogs with them all the time. These were like vegetarian dogs.
"You have Texas license plates--you've seen things like this before!" my mom said a little crossly at a passing truck with a giggling couple in it. We can haul goats in Oregon, warm and sheltered from the weather, just as well, too.
We had a good time, and my grandparents, especially my grandfather, really love their goats. (Don't worry, we have seven others now; we're not goat-poor. My mom has a van they can go in if there's a fire and we have to flee.)

My mom gave me that car to me when she got her new van--new to her, about the same age as the car. "I just love my van!" she says every once in a while when we're out and about. She got an insanely good deal on it--eight hundred dollars, and the guy even worked on it for her before giving it to her--because...well, because she has big boobs.
The guy who sold it to her, an acquaintance who is not in her life anymore by her choice, was the kind of man who is married but still acts like he's looking, thinking he can still charm the ladies. He is one of a long line of creepy men she has had to put up with over the years, and has to even now sometimes, so I don't blame her at all for using his ickiness to her advantage, in the one or few times she can. She never had to make any promises or any actual trades, either. She's very shrewd.
Once we met some people in a parking lot to buy ducks from them. She has the back seat removed anyway, to haul boards for our (her) ambitious home improvement projects. We put a tarp down in the back, then put a cage on top, and gently dropped them in. We drove home happy and laughing, listening to all five of them talking, knowing that they were as warm and safe as we were.
"It's just so awesome--I thought nothing of just putting them in the van," she said. "I wouldn't be able to do that, if it was a nicer rig."
The cats love her van too. Whenever we unload it, several of them are eager to get in it and lie down in there. Our white cat, Snoober, sits down on the open hatchback door, the highest point on the van, and cleans herself; we have to shoo her away to close it. Another one even went with her to work one day, without her knowledge. She put him in a spare room at her work and brought him home that night, and we still have him. (I am so glad that he is not someone else's, since he is so sweet that they would steal him.) He doesn't get in the van anymore.
My mom shares my values when it comes to cars. Our cars are not a symbol of lack to us ("I can't afford a 'nice' car"), but a symbol of all the money that is free for our use, or all the debt we are not in, because we don't have a car payment.

I love my car so much, and I'm so glad that my mom loves her van so much. It doesn't matter that I have to tell people it's my mom's van when she picks me up, so they don't fear for my life. It doesn't matter that my little brother called it a "rape van" when she first got it. There are no rapes and murders here, only good times and saving money.

Minimalism: Why I Don't Like "Capsule Wardrobes," And My Own Tips

 I don't like to be limited to a "capsule wardrobe." I find the concept boring. If everything goes with everything else in your closet, how much variety can you really have?
I occasionally find something that does not look at all like the other things in my dresser, but that I love. And I don't want to be limited to having only one "style" of clothing or sticking to one color theme.
I do want to have only a relatively few favorite pieces, but another part of me wants variety, so it becomes a matter of balancing my two wants. I also sometimes feel like wearing "butch" or "plain" clothing, and sometimes more feminine clothing. It becomes even more complicated when I like something, then I don't, and I put it in the donation box, then really want it and take it back out. I just try to get better at knowing what I like, through trial and error.
Here are my thoughts on a wardrobe which I try to keep minimalist, but also try to accommodate to my changing preferences and many personal styles:


1) You may have more than one personal style. I certainly do. I have what I consider "butch" button-down shirts, some bohemian-inspired pieces, bright and colorful "gay" pieces (in both senses of the word), lots of purple, and some pale pink. But I still go through my stuff all the time to see what I don't like anymore. Just remember that you do NOT have to choose only one "personal style." You can choose several, and if something new strikes your fancy, then you can choose that, too.

2) Forget putting together "outfits." Choose some jeans or a black pair of pants, and wear the same pair until it needs to be washed. I like to do this, and I don't care about choosing what pair of pants to wear all the time. The same thing goes for shoes. I have the same pair of boots, sandals, or tennis shoes that I wear all season, pretty much, until occasionally I wear a different pair of boots. But mostly, I wear the same pair of pants and the same pair of boots all the time, and I like it that way. I often wear the same coat over and over again, too. Everything needs to be simple. Black slacks and blue jeans go with pretty much everything, but if you enjoy brightly patterned pants, as I sometimes do also, a white or black shirt will probably go with them. Keep the pants and shirt together, if that's the only time you wear that shirt.

3) Don't choose from among all your tops every day. Choose a few favorites, to wear over and over, until you tire of them, then choose different favorites. This is what I like to do. I don't wear the same thing two days in a row, though there's nothing wrong with that, if it's still clean. But I like to focus on a few pieces at a time, like my small purple collection. I don't have to worry about choosing pants every day, either, since most of my shirts go with my pants already. I can wear the same pair of pants until I get tired of them or they need to be washed. Same goes for shirts, to an extent.

4) If you love everything you have, "one in, one out" is not necessary. I recently surprised myself by going into a thrift shop and buying five new-to-me tops, after months of not shopping for clothes at all. But I loved all of them. I had been wishing that I had more purple tops in my wardrobe. But I also love everything I have at home. So...I have five new tops now. I don't go by the "one in, one out" rule. I don't shop for clothing a lot, especially compared to how much I used to. And I'm very picky when I do. I also really enjoy going through my things, including clothes, so I don't worry about "one in, one out" when I go through things relatively often.

5) Use the Rule Of Immediate Consumption. Instead of "one in, one out," I use my own Rule of Immediate Consumption. I ask myself, "Would I wear this right now, if I could?" And with all five tops, the answer was yes. Sometimes, even with this rule, there is more than one item that you want to wear right now. But all of the other tops I looked at, I put back, because I would not wear them right away if I could.

6) I sometimes take a picture of the clothes I get rid of, along with a picture of the tag with the company name, in case I want to get it back. I can order it online. And if I can't find it, then at least I know I tried, and I will probably feel better about that. I may even be able to make something like it, if I have pictures and find a pattern. 

7) If something doesn't fit, but you still love it, take pictures and try to find a different size of the same thing online. Get rid of it in the meantime, since you won't wear it anyway. Or if you sew, you can try to alter it, though be sure to find matching or complimentary fabrics if you're making it longer or looser, or else you won't want to wear it. If it is itchy, fits too snug no matter what size, or is otherwise uncomfortable...well, I'm afraid there's no redeeming it, unless perhaps it's loose and cool enough to wear a long-sleeve shirt underneath.

8) Sort the same two or three times, in different categories each time. For example, you can sort all the purple shirts together, comparing the category to see if any look like an inferior or less-favorite version of another purple shirt. Then, put all the shirts together, and compare your favorite purple shirt to your favorite orange shirt. In each category, which one would you grab the most, and by how wide a margin?  You can repeat this process as often as you wish, with as many categories as you wish or can think of. You often find clarity about an item when you have the right things to compare it to. For example, it may be your favorite of the purple shirts, but maybe you like the color orange better. Or maybe you love purple, but when comparing all the purple shirts together, you don't like them all equally. When you find the right thing to compare it to, you learn much more about whether you like it, than you would otherwise. So compare it in several different categories and piles before deciding about it.

Above all, remember to do what works for you. Sometimes you are not yet ready to get rid of something; someday you probably will be, or you will discover that you really do like to wear it, after all.
I hate when minimalist experts tell people to be ruthless with themselves. If you enjoy trying to make your life simpler, as I do, then slowly it will get simpler. And if you practice, you can find out what you truly want to keep, and what you want to get rid of. You can get to know yourself more. And your things will reflect you more.

Sunday, October 9, 2016

LGBT: Almost-Inclusion: Dumbledore Revisited

 This was originally published on my other, older blog, Atheist Journeys. It's a favorite of mine, so I wanted it here, too.

I call this entry "Dumbledore Revisited" because about ten years ago, when I was 15, I was on a panel of teenagers that my local newspaper printed, called "Truth of Youth," in which we answered questions put forth by our editor or the readers. I was asked what I thought of the then-recent announcement of Professor Dumbledore from the Harry Potter series being gay.
Back then, I was confused about what I thought, or should think, about LGBTQ issues, but desperately wanted to believe that God was not someone who burned people in hell for something that harmed no one and gave people love and happiness. I desperately wanted to be a Christian, too, but I just couldn't see how I could ever read my bible or pray any more. It was not a good time in my life.
I also had conservative relatives who read my entries faithfully, and I was not at all ready for the religious onslaught that would await me if I dared to voice my hopes about God aloud; or my uncertainty that homophobia was right at all; or my own confusion in this matter. I just wanted to figure this out for myself, and not be told what to believe or what was true (according to them). And I wasn't ready to give this issue much thought at all, because it was so emotional to think about--much less to say these things aloud. I didn't want to serve a sexist and homophobic God, who had more rules for women than for men, and who insisted on his own way, even at the expense of others' love and happiness. And most of all, I didn't want to believe God was like that. This issue was all wrapped up in the issue of my own faith, and the crisis I was going through at the time (and still am, sometimes).
I did not know what to do. I was stuck. I thought it was annoying, that Rowling had simply made that announcement without actually putting it in the text. I thought she was just trying to get more attention and therefore sell more books. But I secretly wanted to be gay-affirming. I did not know any gay people at the time (that I know of, of course--and other than my mom's lesbian coworker, who was fired shortly after Mom started working there). It was so foreign to me, the experience of being gay. (My, how times have changed!)
But I liked to read about other people's experiences, which I think saved me from being indoctrinated by my Christian school, even after I started homoschooling (I left that typo in, because it actually seems to make my point even clearer). And it was hard to imagine growing up gay in a conservative or homophobic home. (Boy, was I clueless! Bisexuality must be the most confusing sexuality, because your straight side fools you for so long.)
But I felt compassion for these people, even if I couldn't imagine their struggles and feelings. And I hoped that God would not punish love (or femaleness).
This must be part of why LGBT issues are so personal and dear to me--because in addition to affecting me and those I love, it also reminds me of this struggling, uncertain time in my life. Even just writing about this is more emotional for me than I thought it would be.

What I said back then was, "Well, I don't know who Dumbledore even is, but if he's gay and happy with himself, more power to him! His lifestyle doesn't affect my life, so why should I care what he is?"
It was the shortest answer I had ever given. They wanted us to typically keep our answers around 150 words.
I meant it, too. I thought Rowling was trying to sell more books, and she may have been. But I hated Christians' efforts to change or pester gay people. I wished that they would leave them alone. I wished a lot of things. This was before I discovered the very freeing fact that bible scholars had different theories for how God inspired the bible, and not all of them were literal! My life changed, the day I read that in a very conservative (A-beka) Christian curriculum. I was finally free! I knew that no good god would ever inspire homophobia and sexism, after all.
But this was before I read that interesting little fact...so I quietly, secretly disagreed with the bible, and with God, if he inspired it. I couldn't help being born female, after all, and so shouldn't have additional rules, restrictions, and burdens. And the gays were harming no one, so why shouldn't they be allowed to simply live their own lives?

Now I am about halfway through the sixth book in the Harry Potter series, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. And the only indication, so far, that I have seen of Dumbledore's sexuality is based on a stereotype. Through magical memory peering, Harry sees a much younger Dumbledore, wearing a "flamboyantly cut" plum velvet suit. Now, I get the appeal, since I own a pair of plum velvet overalls. But I doubt that a straight man would have the courage to wear a suit of such material, though straight wizards may dress like Oscar Wilde all the time.
And though I'm glad that Rowling took a stand in favor of...acknowledging that gay people exist and can be good, I guess?...and I did not appreciate at the time how hard it might be to do so--I can't help but be disappointed. This isn't exactly representation. This isn't exactly having two young wizards or witches cuddling up and holding hands in Hogsmeade (a nearby village to the magic school, which the older students take trips into) on Valentine's Day. This isn't exactly a trans-wizard or trans-witch going to St Mungo's (a magical hospital) for magical gender reassignment. This isn't exactly a student feeling like a witch one day, a wizard the next, and acting or looking accordingly.
Everything about this is so frustrating! I have no idea how much control Rowling really had over her writing, especially when it became successful and was picked up by Scholastic Publishing. But this is not enough!
For goodness' sake, I shouldn't have to be grateful for the scraps of recognition we get, that aren't even in print. I know this was ten years ago, but LGBTQ representation is still woefully lacking--even magical LGBTQ representation!

I cannot believe how my feelings about this have changed. I used to think that people were forcing gay or trans characters into media, in order to win points with certain people. But now I see the controversy whenever any character is even hinted to be LGBTQ.
Now, when there is an LGBTQ character or gay romance or coming out story, I eat that shit up. I specifically seek out entertainment with these storylines. I write about Buzz and Woody as a couple, and Bo and Jessie as a couple, and gay and transgender superheroes. I can't get enough of it.
I get so sick of most straight couples in media, who have practically no chemistry except for being in close proximity to each other, and maybe hating each other (yeah, that's healthy!). And nothing brings out my lesbian side more than straight women in movies and tv whining or talking all about guys. And now that I know I'm not straight, I know how much I'm erased.
And I consume all of the real and fictional coming out and romance stories that I can, because I want to learn as much as I can about this subject. I have only known I was bisexual for about two years now. And I have a feeling that this is a subject that one may never stop learning about. The more I learn, the more I want to learn.
And I want all of the media I consume to have characters like me. I don't want to be left out of love stories, or any stories. I want to be represented, or have people similar to me represented.
And in one of my now-favorite series, there is not one indication save for dressing like a typical wizard--Lockhart in the second book was more stereotypically "gay." (With his flamboyant dress and his flirtations with his hordes of middle-aged female fans, he was probably based partly on Liberace, in fact--my own theory.)
Not one throwaway line about a man Dumbledore was in love with or something. And his time is running out--I know our ONE single gay character out of hundreds, who is apparently supposed to represent transgender people too, bites it at the end of the book I'm reading.

So I changed my mind--I DO care about the announcement that Dumbledore is gay. And I hate it!
I hate it--because it had to be an announcement. It is almost-inclusion. And almost-inclusion is simply not good enough. It's not even almost good enough.
This is so very frustrating!

LGBT/Minimalism: Drag Is Awesome, And New Cars Are Disgusting

Last year about this time, a very kind friend of mine, whom I call Michael here, went in costume to "Spirit Week" at his local public high school. Michael is a teacher there, and also a gay Christian married to another gay Christian teacher. (Teachers always seem to come in pairs--both my (presumably straight) grandparents on one side are also retired teachers; oddly enough, they match even more than that--Michael and Rob both teach high school, while my grandparents both taught elementary school).
And there was apparently a Wizard of Oz theme among some of the teachers' costumes, last year. You can probably guess who dressed as Judy Garland, though the assumption might possibly be offensive if it wasn't true. He had pigtails and a basket and a stuffed dog and everything. And yes, the shoes too.
This year, he was Wonder Woman, complete with tiara, bustier, cape, knee-length skirt, and super-high-heeled pumps. He didn't even have to wear the high heels, as he had shoe-covers that looked like her boots and he could have worn anything under them. But he went the extra mile in black patent-leather pumps that apparently fit him, making me wonder if he had them just lying around. (In a few years, I may have to change the pronouns on this article and add some S's.)
He captioned his Facebook photo, "The things I do for the kids." I guess it was educational for them to see Wonder Woman with a beard. (When I mentioned his beard, my mom said, "I thought he divorced her, though...")
He even spoke in some kind of school assembly, trotting out onto the gym floor in his fabulous footwear.

"How could he do that?" I thought, "It's too cold to dress that way!" And indeed, he was posing in a photo with the Joker and a Batman baby, with a background of a rainy, overcast October sky. (I have never understood those who can wear skimpy Halloween costumes, even if I don't think they should be slut-shamed for it. We need a separate costumed holiday in the summer so people don't freeze and I can finally be Mary Marvel.)

The next day, I was gleefully showing my mother the sheer hilarity and fabulousness of it all, when on his Facebook page, I saw that he had just bought his husband a new car for his birthday. As far as I know, the car is literally new--brand new--and they said nothing about having any problems with their old car, which they appear to have traded in.
And I immediately lost a lot of respect for them both. I couldn't help it.
Buying a brand-new car is foolish enough, especially on two teachers' salaries--and the fact that they have seven kids between them. Seven kids--I call them the Gaydy Bunch behind their back. And they weren't buying a bigger car, either.
I lost respect for them. They're just as stupid as the straight people. You expect more from LGBT people, when Suzie Orman is a lesbian. Though even she might drive a recent-model car, with how rich and famous she is. (Oh Suzie, say it isn't so...)

Literally all of extended family on my mother's side, other than my mother and me, are also new-car-crazy. And my big problem with it comes down to this: No car can possibly feel as good driving it, as the sensation of not having a car payment. There may be some instances where people have to have one, but with established middle-class adults, they've got no excuses to have them for years on end. And at least in my small-town area, no one has the excuse to go into the high four-figure range, or even the five-figure range.
What are these two men teaching their children? What is my family teaching my younger cousins? They are already foolish with money, the youngest, still in college, buying our aunt's "old" car, only a few years old, because she ordered a new custom car--yes, a fucking custom car! His older brother also has asked his mom to buy him a nice new car, when he had a perfectly good car already.
I am twenty-five, and they are both years younger than me. They are headed for a lifetime of unnecessary debt to worry them, in addition to crippling student loans (which I also don't have, more on that in a later post, perhaps).
And their elders don't know any better, either, in spite of having twice or three times as long to learn their lesson. Literally all of them have new cars, and loads of payments and interest. Most are on their second or third new or recent car. I am polite, not to hurt their feelings, but I want to scream--my grandfather is a retired mill-worker, and we used to be so proudly working-class and practical! Or maybe I was the only one who was proud...and practical...

The one whose price I know is my (closeted, I believe) homophobic uncle's--about $12,000--because he bragged that he got a "good deal" on it and how he thought that was from the Lord. While showing it off, he asked me, "AJ, do you want to sit in it?" as if he was being generous and kind. I just went along and put my hands on the wheel to be polite, all the time wondering, "How ever can you drive something that you're afraid of breaking?"
The aesthetic also felt like sitting in an iPod. So much black everywhere--why are all the newer cars so dark inside?
I know he got a loan on it, too, because before this, I saw my grandparents' car (which I later learned he borrowed) at the bank, and ran in to say hello. I looked around, confused, because my grandparents weren't with the teller. "Sorry, I thought my grandparents were in here," I explained to her. "That looks just like their car." (I knew it was, in fact, but didn't want to seem to accuse someone of theft.)
"Oh, it belongs to a member," she smiled. I thanked her and left, and later, it all made sense.
He hadn't had twelve thousand dollars in savings, after all.
And that was only his first expensive car.






All of this is such foolishness. Meanwhile, my mother and I both absolutely love our cars, which are both about the same age as me. I will write about them more in-depth later, because they are just so special to us, for many reasons. And when you're truly happy with your life, why does it matter what gets you places, as long as you get there?
"I just don't understand why I would want to go to work, to pay for...the thing that got me to work," my mother remarked as we shook our heads at Wonder Woman's terrible decision. "And your aunt says that they don't want to mess with mechanics, but what if it crashes? What if there's an accident? There's no guarantees."
"The only car I would ever go into debt for, if I had disposable income, is a vintage car, because they keep their value," I added.
"I just wonder if he's trying to get that man to love him," she said. "'Happy Birthday, my love...'?" she quoted.
I thought of his Halloween costumes--all women--and wondered if he felt he had to bribe him...because his husband, "that man," was gay, and he himself didn't actually want to be a man.

LGBT: No Matter How Hard I Try, I Can't Be Butch!

I'm currently trying to become a Licensed Tax Preparer in Oregon, the strictest state in the nation, I am told, when it comes to paid tax preparation. So I'm taking a class to pass the state exam for my license, which I need to get what I hope will be a good job at least half the year.
The teacher was explaining a certain tax credit the other day, when she said something rather interesting.

"So that would be if you, or your husband, or your kid went back to school," she explained, looking around at the all-female class. She was preoccupied with the material, of course--too preoccupied to notice what she was saying.
There were four of us students in the class that night. The only male, which made five total, was absent. Two older women had husbands, and I and the girl closest to my age (I'm twenty-five, she's a recent high school graduate--eighteen or nineteen, I guess) did not have husbands.
So that means that the teacher was assuming all of us, and especially the two single young people, were straight. It's not likely she was thinking of bisexuality, since she did not say "Husband or wife."
I think the other girl is straight, though of course I am just assuming, too. The teacher looked around the room from the side that we two were on, to the side that the two older ladies were on (they were related, and so sat together). So it's also not likely that she looked at the two older ladies, and thought of their husbands.
I should not be surprised at being mistaken for straight. After all, for a long time I mistook myself for straight. But it always takes me by surprise. I go through life feeling like I have bright rainbow radiation, and everyone else has internal Geiger counters.
And it was on a day when I dared to be butch, or what I saw as butch. "No, no silk shirts," I thought. "They're nice, but I'm feeling very butch today. I have to wear the red plaid flannel. Must not deny my lesbian needs."
I took a risk that night. I felt very butch, and very warm against the cold. But apparently nothing ever looks butch on me. Even my mom calls my bulky leather jacket "cute" and "punky." (Though I suppose the word used doesn't matter, if I feel like I look good.) I'm not sure if things would change, if I cut my hair. But I do like it long, so I suppose I'm stuck with comments about boyfriends and husbands all of my life.
Even weirder, I always wear pants and boots or tennis shoes, and never more makeup than lipstick. Even that, I forget half the time. All I wore that night was uncolored lip balm. I feel terribly butch sometimes, but apparently I'm not, to other people. Some days I want to be feminine, and some days I want to be butch. But I don't want to shave my head or even get a pixie cut.
They say coming out is a process. (Though I'm not sure there's a need to come out in this situation, and in any case, I want to get a job before I say something, if I have the opportunity. In Oregon I can't be fired for being gay--unfortunately I have to say "in Oregon.")
But it always takes me by surprise when people assume. Do straight people really live in such a  sheltered, bland, straight world? Every gay person has many straight people in their life, but so many straight people don't (think they) have anyone in their life who is LGBT at all. Literally all of my extended family, save my parents, might think that--especially the conservative Christian side (my mother's side).
And someday, I will be thrilled to happily come out to them (in spite of whatever their reactions are, I want it to be happy for me), but for now, most probably think they know no one who is gay, at least not well. But they probably think that no one in our family is gay. And that is such a weird idea, to think that (especially with how suspiciously my homophobic uncle acts; I call his little eccentricities "Closeted Clues"). That is so weird, that they have no idea!
If anyone ever mentions that we don't have any gay people in our family (maybe because of how "Christian" or "lucky" our family is), I'm going to shout happily, "Yes, we do! And you're lucky to have me, too!"

When things like this happen, I wonder, "Do I look like someone who's going to have a husband?" And apparently the answer is, "Yes. Yes, I do." At least to others--not to myself, not at all. And that is what matters.

But between being assumed straight, and being an introvert and a lazy dater, I'm not sure how I will meet anyone someday. It seems that it's up to the "feminine" one to make the first move. And what if, heaven forbid, we are both femme, and thus both have no idea?
My mom once related to me something a lesbian acquaintance of hers said to her: "It's hard to find a good man. It's even harder to find a good woman. I'm lucky I've already got one."
She was probably referring, especially, to our relatively little town (20,000) and the surrounding rural county. I guess someday if I really want someone, I'll have to use a dating app, or go to the gay bar an hour away in a bigger city. Such is life when you're not very butch- or masculine-looking to other people.
But then again, the element of surprise might also be a little fun...

LGBT: Internalized, Impossible Demands To Be Straight/Cis

A few years ago, I discovered I was bisexual. And since then, I have had to deal with many more self-acceptance issues than I bargained for--though I was fully supportive of LGBT people at the time I discovered it.
The voice of my homophobic uncle, who was also my biggest and most terrifying childhood bully (he was a grown man, older than my mom, and physically hurt me), is often in my head, in spite of the fact that I plan not to be around him for a few more months at least, even over the upcoming holidays. But he wasn't my only bully. I went to a very conservative Christian school (though not skirt-every-day conservative). And my constant struggle, from the time I was a little child on for many years, was against the thought that I was a bad Christian, that being a good Christian would never come naturally and joyfully to me, even a little. It seemed so much easier for everyone else.
And then I discovered, even more shockingly, that I wasn't even straight! So now I had two major obstacles to self-acceptance for me, because of my childhood.
And recently, the negative voices in my head seem particularly pervasive, refusing to quit. But I thought long and hard about it, and I realized something that really helped me.
These voices weren't just condemning me, they were making impossible demands:

"Be a perfect Christian, all the time."
"Pray constantly in your own head."
"Be tireless in service to others."
"Never be happier with your hobbies than with God." (An idea which led me to get rid of my favorite childhood toys, though my mother luckily secretly saved them for me.)
"Never be happy unless it involves God. It's a slippery slope to forgetting God."
"Never talk about how your uncle hurts you."
"Always have perfect grades."
"Always work hard--no, harder than that!" 
"Be completely devoted to God, always and constantly."
"Always do your work first."
"Never stay up late/always get up early."
And, relatively recently, "Be completely heterosexual!"

That last one actually makes me laugh sometimes, which makes me feel better about it.
But notice something about all of these things. They are all absolutes: Always, never, constantly, tireless, perfectly, completely.
And human beings are not, and cannot operate within, absolutes or constants of behavior (for the most part--"Never kill people," for example, has not been an impossible standard to live up to for me so far).

I try to recognize the demand behind what bothers me. For example, the argument, "Homosexuality is an abomination" is actually, "Be completely heterosexual!" or "Never find love!" An impossible demand.
(People kill themselves for being gay or trans. When people say it's a choice, I actually worry about the speaker--because in spite of what they say, it seems that they think suicide is an okay choice for someone--maybe even themselves. I worry, when I'm not furious that they don't care about actual hurting, suicidal people.)
The accusation, "You are disrespectful," when thinking about my uncle, is actually, "Be quiet about how much I hurt you." I try to see the unspoken demands that people have made on me, so that I can combat them or at least see how impossible those demands really are.
Sometimes it's hard to know what unspoken demand is there, the impossible hoops you must jump through in order to be acceptable to someone else or your own inner critic. (Why does my inner critic have to be so religious, conservative, and anti-gay--in other words, anti-me?) But I can usually find one, if I keep thinking about it. And then I can deal with that, until I feel better, and see the literally impossible standard for what it is.
No one should have to try to live up to impossible demands, especially as a child. And it should be up to the individual, even a child, to know which demands of them are impossible--not up to others to decide for someone else.
I hope that by recognizing the impossible demands on you, even those you only struggle with in your own mind or heart now, that this technique will help you as much as it has helped me. I am still practicing and perfecting it, but I wanted to share, to hopefully help someone else.
Above all, try to be good to yourself and have compassion on yourself, just as you would for others.