Adventures in Mediocrity

Follow me!

2012-07-18T05:46:00.000-07:00

Y'all! I have been posting stuff at the new URL for a bit, and just wanted to remind you to come follow me over there - it will make me feel less lonely! Come onnnn you know you want to. Here's the latest post over at the new blog:

Walking across Hawthorne Bridge was a riveting adventure indeed. But you will not know how this perilous journey turned out unless you click on through to the new bloggie!

In case you forgot, here's the URL: http://rainbowreverie.net

Make sure to subscribe or "follow" so that I can follow you back!

A new home for the bloggie

2012-06-18T06:35:00.002-07:00

I've been messing around with moving the blog over to Wordpress, since apparently that's the hip new thing to do. Sooo y'all should come follow me/the blog over there! The URL is:

http://www.rainbowreverie.net

The RSS address is:

http://rainbowreverie.net/feed/

I will be making that one prettier in the days and weeks to come, posting more frequently and posting more purdy pictures, too. Hip hip hooray! Come with me pretty please?!?!

Music Monday: Swedish edition

2012-06-11T06:17:00.003-07:00

Jose Gonzalez. You want to have his babies:

Bicoastal Weekend: Portland to New York

2012-06-11T05:01:00.000-07:00

Here's what I did over the weekend:

Karaoke, eyelashes, Pimm's, Portland, rain, silly outfits. Then I got on a plane, and now I'm here:

Tiny peanut packets, tall buildings, wake-up calls and coffee.

How was your weekend?

Call Your Girlfriend - Mr. Chase (sign)

2012-06-05T05:30:00.000-07:00

I love Robyn. I love this particular Robyn song. I love enthusiastic dancing. I love this guy, who is dancing his cute little heart out and signing along to this Robyn song. Sent to me by the illustrious Deena, who recently had a birthday: Enjoy:

Happy Tuesday!

Portland: Among worst-dressed cities

2012-06-04T09:33:00.000-07:00

Portlanders (don't call us Portlandians) "look like they’ve been playing dress up in their grandparents' musty prom clothes," according to a story reported by OPB this morning, originally from Travel & Leisure Magazine.

Sounds about right to me.

Except, when my grandparents went to prom, blacklight-reactive hadn't been invented yet.

What do you think of Portlanders' fashion sense? What about other cities?

First weekend in June

2012-06-04T05:53:00.000-07:00

Had a lovely time spending too much at the fancy-pants liquor store, eating deep-fried things at the semi-dive bar, examining pretentious art and contemplating my toes with felines.

How was your weekend?

Portland Carnival

2012-06-01T06:35:00.003-07:00

We went to the carnival on Monday. There was a Ferris wheel, deep fried food and hordes of screaming toddlers.

That thing in the corner is a funnel cake. If you haven't had one, I highly recommend it. It's a deep-fried vehicle for powdered sugar. You can't go wrong there.

I rode the carousel. People always think it's hilarious when I do that.

I say: Why should 4-year-olds have all the fun?

What are your plans this weekend?

If nothing else, subscribe!

I Got Bangs!

2012-05-31T08:53:00.000-07:00

I'm wasting no time in crossing things off my 30 Before 30 list - so last night, I got bangs!

What do you think??

Don't forget to subscribe!

130 Days: 30 Before 30

2012-05-30T05:29:00.000-07:00

Guess who's got two thumbs and turns 30 in 130 days?

THIS GIRL!

That's right, kids, your beloved blogger will officially be An Adult. Goodbye, freewheeling 20s, hello tax-paying 30s! In the spirit of entering The Responsible Decade, I've made a list of things I want to accomplish before The Big Day:

In case you can't read my scrawls, here's the list in boring Times New:

Take two aerial classes
Wear everything in my closet once
Make magnetic makeup board
Make rainbow macaroons
Go to the beach
Yarn-bomb
Make countdown-to-30 calendar
Take one photo per day
Start photo blogging
Have a fake wedding photo shoot
Have pictures taken in a photobooth
Get a six-pack (of abs!)
Do the splits (both ways!)
Find the perfect black shift dress
Hike Little Grayback Mountain
Have high tea
Visit feminist bookstore
Do 20 push-ups on my toes
Dye my hair
Get bangs
Make funky-colored hair extensions
Run six miles per day
Run a 5k with a friend
Join a running club
Plan and host a rainbow party
Go berry-picking
Make limoncello
Write in diary
Enroll at Columbia
Plan and host an awesome 30th theme party!

Do you make birthday lists? What do you want to do before you turn 30? Or, what do you wish you had done before your 30th birthday? Or what do you want to do before your next birthday?

Subscribe!

Portland Double Rainbow

2012-05-25T19:05:00.003-07:00

Dark grey skies, double rainbow, rain, sunshine, and thunder. Just another spring day in Portland.

Towel Day Open Thread: Douglas Adams Edition

2012-05-25T06:30:00.002-07:00

Happy Towel Day, humans! If you don't know what Towel Day is, it's a day that started in 2001 after Douglas Adams, best known as the author of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and a number of other awesome laugh-out-loud books beloved by nerds like me everywhere, died. May 25 was selected as a day for fans to carry a towel with them wherever they go, since a towel is a massively useful thing for interstellar hitchhikers.

So, after you're done mopping up all the blood that poured out of your ears during the Vogon Poetry Slam, stop by here and spill what's on your mind. It's an open thread, so talk amongst yourselves. What are your plans this weekend? On a scale of 1-10, how much did you love the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy? Are you carrying a towel with you today?

And most of all, remember kids: DON'T PANIC.

Baking with Instagram: Cinnamon Buns

2012-05-24T05:02:00.000-07:00

I love to bake. I especially love to bake sweet things. I also recently discovered instagram, so now you get to experience my baking adventures with 75 percent more faux-artsy filter effects, free!

Here we have your standard dough ingredients, all mise'd and ready to go.

Let's not forget the bowl full of sugar, cinnamon, and a pinch of salt, for the filling:

A little TV magic and what felt like six hours later and we've got this:

Some sickly-looking creatures ready to be popped into the fridge for oh, say, 16 hours. Not before I sampled the filling, of course. AHEM.

Take them out, put them in a cold oven with a pan of boiling water beneath them for about an hour, and you get something like this:

Festively plump cinnamon rolls!

Bake them for a half hour and then you're ready for another filter effect:

Let them cool as long as you can stand, pile a crapload of maple-cream-cheese-buttercream frosting on there, and you're ready for a (dunh duh duhhhh):

OK, I lied. this one isn't instagram. It's just me drawing on a crappy photo in an attempt to make it prettier for you, my internet friends. You get what you pay for, folks!

Here is the recipe I used, in case you want to make your own Instagram Cinnamon Buns:

Instagram Cinnamon Buns:

Ingredients

Dough:

    4 large egg yolks, room temperature
    1 large whole egg, room temperature
    2 ounces sugar, approximately 1/4 cup
    3 ounces unsalted butter, melted, approximately 6 tablespoons
    6 ounces buttermilk, room temperature
    20 ounces all-purpose flour, approximately 4 cups, plus additional for dusting
    1 package instant dry yeast, approximately 2 1/4 teaspoons
    1 1/4 teaspoons kosher salt
    Vegetable oil or cooking spray

Filling:

    8 ounces light brown sugar, approximately 1 cup packed
    1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
    Pinch salt
    3/4-ounce unsalted butter, melted, approximately 1 1/2 tablespoons

Frosting (I used leftover maple cream cheese buttercream frosting from this recipe):

Directions

For the dough: whisk the egg yolks, whole egg, sugar, butter, and buttermilk together. Add approximately 2 cups of the flour along with the yeast and salt; whisk until moistened and combined. Add all but 3/4 cup of the remaining flour and stir together. Turn out onto counter and knead for 5 minutes. Add more flour if necessary. Knead another 5 minutes or so. Oil a large bowl. Transfer the dough to the bowl, lightly oil the top of the dough, cover and let double in volume, 2 to 2 1/2 hours.

Combine the brown sugar, cinnamon and salt in a medium bowl. Mix until well incorporated. Set aside until ready to use.

Butter a 9 by 13-inch glass baking dish. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured work surface. Shape the dough into a rectangle with the long side nearest you. Roll into an 18 by 12-inch rectangle. Brush the dough with the 3/4-ounce of melted butter. Sprinkle the filling mixture over the dough; gently press the filling into the dough. Beginning with the long edge nearest you, roll the dough into a tight cylinder. Firmly pinch the seam to seal and roll the cylinder seam side down. Slice the cylinder into 12 pieces. Arrange rolls cut side down in the baking dish; cover tightly with plastic wrap and store in the refrigerator overnight or up to 16 hours.

Remove the rolls from the refrigerator and place in an oven that is turned off. Fill a shallow pan 2/3-full of boiling water and set on the rack below the rolls. Close the oven door and let the rolls rise until they look slightly puffy; approximately 30 minutes. Remove the rolls and the shallow pan of water from the oven.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

When the oven is ready, place the rolls on the middle rack and bake until golden brown, , approximately 30 minutes.

While the rolls are cooling slightly, make the icing (or just get your leftover frosting out of the fridge, and eat some while no one is looking.) Spread over the rolls and serve immediately. Eat six or seven in a row, and tell everyone you made a half batch. Ha!

What's your weakness, loves? Mine is clearly sweets - especially sweets of the cookie, cake or pastry variety. If it combines butter, sugar, and a hot oven, it's a sure bet in my house.

Bloglovin'

2012-05-21T10:15:00.001-07:00

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

Kumquats

2012-05-21T06:05:00.000-07:00

I recently discovered kumquats.

They look so innocent and delicious, don't they? Like oranges. Cute, baby oranges. That you don't have to peel! How handy.

But I quickly discovered that I don't like kumquats. They taste like lemons, only with more... "kick." Fruit, my dears, should be sweet.

Add a ton of sugar and put it in a pie crust for maximum delicious.

What are your favorite fruits, and ways to eat them? And, if any of you have a way to make strawberry pie that isn't watery, do share. I've tried for three summers in a row with no success, and strawberry-picking season is coming up!

Things I Once Believed Were True

2012-05-17T05:19:00.000-07:00

When I was little, I asked my mom why people hated hippies. (Right after asking her what a hippie was.) She replied: “Well, people thought they were dirty, and that they slept around.”

Having no knowledge of euphemisms at such a tender age, I naturally assumed that “sleeping around” meant a person who would wake up in the morning, then go into their living room and take a nap. Then go out for groceries and have a nap in front of the grocery store. Then go to the bus stop and sleep a little bit there, too. Then maybe wander to the park and have another nap, followed quickly by a quick snooze on the train or at the library, before heading home for a good night’s rest.

From here.

I then pictured my parents as young hippies, sleeping all over town, being despised by the squares for their perceived laziness. My parents, I figured, must have changed a lot since then, as they were forever waking my little brother and me up for things – school, summer camp, chores. Their sleep needs surely diminished in the years between freewheeling hippiedom and parenthood. Of course, their lives didn’t really exist before ME, so I didn’t trouble my round little head about it much.

Kid logic is a lot like adult logic, only funnier.

Recent frippery

2012-05-09T08:55:00.000-07:00

Well, dears, I finally got my mitts on a pair of these babies:

I have wanted these ever since New Year's, when I had a sparkle/glitter-themed soiree. I spied them online, and even went so far as to order them, but they were swiped from my front porch on delivery day. Sooo I went to the brick-and-mortar store from whence they came, but they were sold out in my size. Sadfaced, I had to wear brown metallic pumps instead of these glorious silver ones to my party, and resolved to be forever sparkless.

But, Lo! On my way to pick up a pair of Sensible Black Flats (to replace the other pair that had been mercilessly peed upon by an Evil Cat) the other month, I spied with my little eye... SPARKLE SHOES! They had restocked since New Year's, in my size, and now they are mine, mine, MINE all mine! And I shall commence inventing occasions for which to wear them post haste.

And then there are these:

There really is no justification for them, other than they are AMAZING and I love them. The context: Coworker needed to pick up some mustaches (for obvious reasons), I accompanied her to the frippery store, spotted these in the crazy-ass eyelash section and snapped them right up. Occasions shall be invented, glue shall be applied, fun shall be had.

So I'm not officially a drag queen. But anyone can be a queen, darling.

Fishing for compliments

2012-04-26T08:32:00.000-07:00

Sent to me by my bestie C.

I want you to read the clever little comic on the right over there. If you can't see it, I'll describe it for you:

First panel: Male to female: "You're really pretty."
Second panel: Female to male: "I'm fat."
Third panel: Male, to himself, walking away: "My mistake."

This was sent to me by my friend from the wonderful world of Reddit. Naturally, what followed was a slew of comments from neanderthals whinging about wimmins and their "deep-seated psychological issues." According to knuckle-draggers on the internet, women do this sort of thing for one of two reasons:

They're crazy.
They're fishing for compliments.

The fishing for compliments excuse can be further broken down into sub-categories of varying degrees of "bitch"ness. There is the "low self-esteem" fisher, who is merely seeking affirmation from her conversation partner that she is not, indeed, ugly or fat. Then there is the "preening" fisher, who knows she's hot shit and wants to force you to say it. It's the grown-up equivalent of a little girl sitting on your chest and twisting your arm while screaming, "I'm a pretty pretty princess! Say it! SAY I'M A PRETTY PRETTY PRINCESS!"

Of course, there are varying degrees of untruth in these stereotypes. Sure, some women are nutjobs because some people are nutjobs. And some women are conceited and passive-aggressive, or trying to make their friends feel bad about themselves by comparison. Most of the time, though, the "you're pretty/no I'm not" response is a conditioned response to the act of growing up female.

(Have we mentioned the fact that "fat" does not equal "unpretty" yet? No? Well it doesn't. That them thar right there is problematic. Not to mention the fact that women are supposed to act flattered and grateful that some total stranger on the street has taken time out of His Important and Busy Day to evaluate and announce his assessment of their fuckability. Oh THANK YOU, your highness. I'm SO GLAD you want to prong me, whatever would I DO without your validation that I am worthy of your gaze?)

I could go on, but Reddit commenter AustinTreeLover said it better already:

"If a mother constantly tells her kid he's stupid, does the kid grow up to feel smart? Usually not. That would be abusive, in fact, because we know what it does to someone psychologically if we repeat something to him over a long period of time. This is how people are conditioned to believe something and anyone in the military, or who has trained animals or who has worked with children, knows this.

The comic would be more realistic if it showed the woman wake up, put on her ill-fitting jeans made for someone with no hips, watch one hour of television and see dozens of ads telling her she's fat, turn on the radio to hear how fat she is, walk by 100s of ads on magazine stands, buses, taxis, billboards and storefronts telling her she's fat, she gets to work and her co-workers are all talking about diets because they think they're fat, she goes to eat lunch and there are specials everywhere telling her to try low-calorie, low-fat, carb-free choices because obviously she's fat, then someone says, "You're pretty" and she says, "I'm fat."

Of course, this makes her "crazy" or she has deep-seated psychological problems. Later, when she says she regrets the comment, someone will helpfully remind her that insecurity is unattractive. She can't win.

This is why women think they're fat. Not because they're crazy, but because, at least American women, are incessantly told we're fat. All of our lives. We're conditioned to believe we are fat because it sells diet fads and cosmetics and exercise memberships and so on.

Companies spend billions and billions of dollars conditioning women to believe they're fat. Some of us have overcome it, but the playing field is not exactly level.

When we hit 40, it's considered a fetish to even find us attractive (a student told me the other day I'm a "MILF", so, I guess now I'm in a different porn category). However, we are still supposed to put up the good fight and look like Jennifer Aniston. If we fail, we've let ourselves go. If we spend too much on it, we're trying too hard or not "aging gracefully".

If we complain we're fat and we're not we're "crazy". If we complain we're fat and we are, we're told to fix it. And no matter what we look like, if we say out loud that we like ourselves we're conceited bitches. We're especially conceited bitches if we like ourselves and we turn a guy down.

So, some women are crazy and some women would be this way no matter what. But if you really want to know why so many women react this way, this is why.

... Sometimes people are fishing for compliments. But, we should ask ourselves why so many women feel that need to fish for compliments. Why does the same woman who fishes for compliments at home getting dressed for work doesn't fish for compliments at work regarding her work? Why is she confident in one area and not the other? Remember, she's supposed to feel ugly and she's supposed to feel confident too. But, not too confident. If she gives herself too many compliments or at the wrong time or in the wrong tone, we're back to conceited bitch."

In conclusion: Yeah, when you compliment a girl and she doesn't take it the way you want her to, it's awkward/disappointing. But before you freak out on her, examine your motives for complimenting her. Did you tell her she looked nice because you genuinely wanted to brighten her day? If so, her reaction shouldn't really matter to you. Or did you compliment her in hopes of getting something in return? You can tell what your motivations were by paying attention to how you feel about her reaction. Does it make you angry that she responded in an "ungrateful" way? Then you were probably complimenting her selfishly anyway, so get over it and don't do it again. Does it make you sad that she responded in a self-deprecating way? Then you probably actually care about her. Good for you. Now you can do one of two things:

Say, "That's not true and we both know it. Anyway, how 'bout them Knicks?" A dismissal of the self-deprecating comment followed by a quick subject change will avoid the awkward "you're pretty/no I'm not" back-and-forth, and allow the conversation to continue with nary a skipped beat.
Say, "You know, it's not like you to feel this badly about yourself, what's going on?" or "It really hurts my feelings to hear you talking that way about my friend, could you please stop?" or something like that.

Of course, you could always get into a discussion about patriarchal oppression and body image, but I find that tends to get you queer looks at parties, so take that option at your own risk.

We Do Not

2012-04-11T06:16:00.000-07:00

We do not wear halter tops. We do not wear sleeveless shirts or dresses without cardigans, blazers or shrugs. If we do, we feel eyes heavy on our backs and our chests and we cringe and blush and try to cover ourselves with our hands, to no avail. We no longer wear that beautiful silk shirt whose ruffles are so heavy that they pull the neckline down too low. We shall no longer wear cowlnecks for that same reason. We do not ever wear tank tops.

We do not wear skirts that are higher than a fingers' length above the knee. We rarely wear skirts anyway. We do not wear heels above three inches. We never wear heels anyway. We do not wear jangly earrings, even though the tinkling sound of metal on metal near our ears always reminded us of wind chimes on sunny spring days. We do not wear glitter, even if it makes us feel like the night sky.

We do not wear our pajamas to the grocery store. We do not wait at bus stops in our bathrobes. We do not go barefoot in public. We are appropriately ashamed of our chipped toenail polish. We do not line our eyes in kohl, or paint flowers on our cheeks. We do not skip. We do not run. We in no uncertain terms do not do cartwheels. We never glue gemstones to our faces.

We do not wear shorts. We do not laugh too loudly or for too long. We do not interrupt. We do not look up. We do not stride, or stand up too straight, or take up too much room in our chairs. We do not make eye contact first, and we look away and down quickly, blushing, feeling a rush of shame and anxiety as we pass strangers in hallways. We do not walk a straight line through a crowd.

Assorted songs I like, and weekend open thread

2012-03-30T06:25:00.000-07:00

Amy Ray came to Portland on Tuesday. Her band was the mutha-effin BUTCHIES, (yay!), and this rad chick named Lindsay Fuller opened. Amy Ray played this, among other awesome songs in her typically awesome fashion:

I saw Stanley Clarke quite by accident at Blue Note in New York last week. Fantastical show, including a 15-year-old pianist that blew the tops of everyone's heads off. It was very messy. Here's Stanley playing bass and then talking about playing bass:

You all know how I feel about unexpected covers, so this acoustic cover of the synthey Heaven pretty much rocks. Brandi Carlile is in Portland in May, and I'm currently trying to justify the ticket price. Stay tuned to find out who wins, my fiscally conservative self or my musically liberal self. Ha:

Another cover, for kicks, because I was listening along to Lights not expecting this AT ALL (bonus track! C'mooon CDs aren't dead YET, guys, amirite??):

I love a good remix as much as I love a good cover, and thanks to Pandora this song in both its original and remixy forms is now in my regular rotation:

Heard anything good lately? Any good shows or stuff you're excited about this weekend? Share, share alike.

Things rich people get for free

2012-03-27T04:44:00.001-07:00

I flew first-class a while ago. I figured that it would be the same as regular-class, except with bigger seats. OH NO, my friends, THAT IS NOT SO. There are free things. THEY GIVE THE RICH PEOPLE FREE THINGS. Allow me to regale you with a list of Unlimited Things Rich People are Given for Free While Flying:

Alcohol
Soda
Tiny bottles of water
Tiny candy bars
Cookies, pretzels, peanuts
Hot towels*
Dinner**
GIANT ARMRESTS
Pillows, blankets
Seats that recline to a comfortable and reasonable distance
First choice of where to put your crap
Obsequious service

I'm not kidding about that obsequious service part. After partaking liberally in everything that was free, I passed out in my chair. I woke up at some point to adjust my position in my 45-degree reclining chair (!) and the attendant said, "You know, if your drink goes flat I can replace it for you." SERIOUSLY.

* I'm still not clear on the purpose of these. I watched the old white men to see what they did with them. One guy wiped his hands, another guy wiped his face. I briefly considered taking a bum bath for lulz (ha!) but just copied the white-hairs, minus the face thing cuz makeup, duh.
** Not just any ordinary plane ride dinner, you guys. It had an entree, a fruit side, a salad, chips, a dessert and actual silverware on a freakin' platter. A PLATTER. And a cloth napkin.

I want to wear pants!

2012-03-15T06:04:00.000-07:00

Delightful thing my roommate brought to my attention. It's a re-swizzling of Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance," but it's about suffrage and it's way better than the original:

S

Just remember, ladies: Suffrage is swell, but the battle ain't over yet. Don't listen to Beyonce. Girls do not run the world. That is straight shit and everybody knows it.

Time for some fluff

2012-03-14T09:33:00.005-07:00

No really, fluff! Check out these faux-furry bad boys:

What do we all think of these boots? I know, I know, they look kinda like Uggs (which, from what I hear, are not waterproof and become stinky after a while), BUT, these are waterproof and snowproof. YES!

I am in need of some rain/snowproof boots because I LIVE IN PORTLAND and the cuffs of my pants are pretty much always soaked. Not to mention my feet. Plus they just look sooooo cozy. ZOMG cozy. I would put them on and feel like a warm furry bear with opposable thumbs in a cozy bear cave next to a roaring bear fireplace drinking hot chocolate with whipped cream and teeny tiny marshmallows. It would be magnificent.

Special ladyfriend bought me a proper pair of wellies a couple of Christamasses ago but they don't fit right and we forgot to exchange them. These are waterproof AND cute, right? Or do we think the faux fur thing is going to go out of fashion really really soon? Or do we hate it in general? Clearly I need your sartorial guidance, internet. So tell me, should I get the bear boots or will I look like a giant dork? (Ha, as if I could help that. I was a mathlete, after all, dorkdom marches through my veins like radioactive rubber pants.)*

*Bonus points if you can name that quote.

Jerks on the internet, jerks in real life

2012-03-05T09:11:00.000-08:00

As you might guess, I spend a fair amount of time on the internet. It's a pretty great medium for curating Important World News, tasty new recipes, and ridiculous makeup tutorials (little known fact: I’m secretly a drag queen). It also works pretty well for meeting new friends who share my interests, as opposed to the IRL version of meeting new people, which mostly involves proximity. Why leave things to chance when you can find new friends who are pre-approved by the internet as awesome, amirite?

As such, I like to host meetups – which are real-life get-togethers for internet people. I do dance ones, and queer people ones, and feminist people ones, and anything else that sounds interesting. Because, despite my misanthropy, I have this irrepressible urge to meet and become friends with people. I can't explain it, it's just the way it is. I organize monthly bar crawls, am doing Portland’s first-ever queer bar takeover this Saturday, and throw an obscene number of parties despite the smallness of my house.

This last Saturday I organized a lesbian bar crawl – it was fun as always, and I got to see some familiar faces as well as meet a bunch of really cool new people (WHY didn’t I get everyone’s phone number?! Oh, right – I was busy taking shots.) The night got off to a rocky start, though, and ended on a sour note.

The beginning: A handful of women (who had been confused by the invitation and shown up an hour early [admittedly my fault]) were quite cold to me and others when we arrived. I thought at first they may have been upset at the timing of our arrival – but they seemed to be having a good time talking to one another. After a bit of awkwardness, as we were gathering up to head off to the next bar, this pack of … ladies… announced loud enough for at least one person to hear that they were leaving because there weren’t enough femmes in attendance.

Leaving. Because. Of. Lack. Of. Femmes. Honestly, I think I probably brought enough femme for everyone (red lipstick, 3-inch heels, crinoline dress, checked stockings, flower headband, hairspray’d updo). But that’s beside the point. Here was a group of people who’d knowingly showed up to make new friends, and then decided to leave because some of the people in the group didn’t look as they prefer. They didn’t even TRY to talk to anyone outside their group, despite my frequent attempts at engaging them. Good riddance, I suppose. But I still just can’t fathom why of all the things there are to do on a Saturday night, you’d choose to go to an event designed for mingling with such a narrow mind. What a pack of bitches. And what a shitty switch from the usual “you can’t be in the lesbian club because you’re too femme” crowd. Frying pan, meet fire.

The evening progressed well after that, and everyone else was nothing but charming and lovely. There was much cider-drinking and cheese-eating and general loudness. Special ladyfriend ran into her straight friend on the way to one of the bars, and we had a straight male ally show up, and everyone welcomed both of them as they would any other nice people. Because that is what normal people do! It doesn’t matter what your gender or orientation or gender presentation is, there is a human being underneath all that shit who is probably funny and interesting and smart in ways that are different from you. Or maybe they’re an asshole. Either way you won’t find out unless you talk to them. Why the hell would anyone give two shits about anything else?

When we got to the last bar we split into two groups as there were so many of us. Unbeknownst to me, as I was busy laughing my ass off, someone on the other end of the room who had been with the original group of crankypants people but stayed behind, was going on a cissexist, transphobic rant. As I innocently ogled pole-dancing pictures on my friend’s phone and arranged people into ridiculous poses for photographs, this was happening. I didn’t find out until the next day when my friend who witnessed the rant, messaged me to tell me she wouldn’t be coming to anymore of this type of get-together. I don’t blame her, I wouldn’t either.

I’m not really sure how to police people’s behavior at something as casual as a bar crawl, especially when I am likely to quickly become too intoxicated to really notice anything but the fact that everyone is suddenly very interesting and hilarious. Until I figure it out, though, meetups may have to be in a holding pattern.

Except this Saturday’s meetup, of course. That’s already scheduled and is an unstoppable steamroller of queerness. If you live in or near Portland, you should come. Unless you hate femmes, not-femmes, trans people, or any other group of people for no good reason. Then you should just stay home and eat moldy waffles.

Mexican adventures

2012-02-28T06:35:00.004-08:00

On the way out of the US, I had giant pointy metal sticks in my purse. I was allowed to carry these onto the plane. I then proceeded to pull them out and brandish them about hither and thither with wild abandon. No one bothered me a bit, and in fact they even brought me tea.

On the way back INTO the US, I was made to throw them away by a Rather Cranky Fellow. What were these sticks for, you ask? Perhaps for holding up the plane, redirecting it to a politically important location, and then landing it safely in order to have peaceful diplomatic talks in a mutually agreeable location? Commandeering it for a round-the-world disco dance party for me and 150 of my closest friends? For poking holes in important plane parts? Poking holes in important philosophical theories?

No, my friends, they were knitting needles. TSA even says I am allowed to have them on the plane. Mexico security, however, feels differently. Now let us all mourn the loss of my giant knitting needles and the boring scarf I was working on. Let this be a lesson to me: It is far cheaper to simply buy a scarf than it is to knit one. Although it certainly does kill the time on a long flight rather well.

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