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Saturday, 20 August 2011 (charade you are) 5:09pm Such Bootcamp leg-ache. That's what I get for not stretching properly yesterday. Marta and I took it easy last night, watching Taxi Driver at my place, inasmuch as watching Taxi Driver can qualify as "taking it easy." (Next up will be Raging Bull and The King of Comedy, for obvious reasons.) This morning we finally had the sex we surprisingly haven't had since before last weekend, then did a bunch of erranding for her new place, neither of us ever feeling our energy quite getting up to speed. I'm at Dash now, and will probably be heading home soon for what I hope is a semi-productive evening. Tomorrow night's Bad Movie Night preshow still needs some work, among other things. | ||
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Friday, 19 August 2011 (raving and drooling) 9:11am At Dash, because if yesterday is any indication, being at home right now is not conducive to me-writing. It also means I'll get to see Marta sooner rather than later, which is a good thing. Not so good is the fact that I just broke one of their chairs. It's a cheap wooden chair that was clearly on its way out, but goddamnit, I'm 180lbs. I should not be breaking chairs anymore. I'm even went to Bootcamp this morning and everything! Maybe that extra weight is muscle. Sure. 10:03am Okay, now my first blog post for The Exhibitionist is up. And there will be more. 1:25pm My main concern about our arrival time at Saratoga Springs Resort for the Leather-Levi Weekend last Thursday was to getting there in time for the five o'clock "Opening Ritual" with Iain and Angela, the people who'd invited us to come to the event in the first place. But I was also determined not to stress about it, and accepted that we would get there whenever we got there. We arrived at Saratoga Springs just shy of four, and between registration (where we receved the endlessly useful Run Book) (the event is informally referred to as a "Run" in reference to similar motorcycle club events) and finding a place to set up our tent we didn't make it to the Ritual after all. Which was fine. We selected a spot for our tent which was just down the road from the quad and the main lodge and essentially the action, at the very bottom of the Camp Map between the two roads, close enough to only be a minute's walk but far enough that it was quiet, which we appreciated. And there were people who were even further down the road than us, included a pair of obvious veterans (they spent the majority of the weekend naked) with hardcore camping gear, so we didn't feel entirely isolated. We were also close to the pool area and therefore the bathrooms, which was important. The watersports area was also fairly close by, essentially a very yellowed tub under a gazebo. We slowly began to meet people as we registered and got acclimated, some of whom recognized us from other places (like our truck-loading chores the day before), but to most people we were rank strangers. Meeting people is always scary, even when you're given a lanyard with your name on it, especially as you come to realize that everybody already knows everybody else already. We met a few people on the porch at registration, and more when we went and swimming and hot-tubbing before dinner. It's getting increasingly obvious that there will be no family-reunion pool party at my mom's place this year (or possiby ever again) because the older kids can't get along, so this will have to do for our summer swimming trip. Dinner was held in the Main Lodge. One of the elements that convinced us to attend was that all the meals were included in the price of admission (which itself was greatly reduced for us since it was our first time), and good lord, was the food delicious, healthy and plentiful. It was cafeteria-type seating, and us being us, we sat with the girls that we thought were cute. It seemed like we hit it off, and I got a little indie cred with one of them when I mentioned that I write for PrettyQueer. A girl named Miska invited Marta and I to join their leather organization. We were open to the idea but non-committal, and when Miska took our not-disinterest to mean we definitely wanted to join, Marta said both flirtatiously and factually: well, we haven't decided, but you have the rest of the weekend to convince us. After dinner was the Meet & Greet held behind the Heart Lodge (itself functioning as the main Indoor Dungeon, which plenty of equipment set up), and event subtitled "Silly Ice-Breaker Games." Very much wanting to meet and greet and get ice broken, Marta and I attended. (With the possible exception of the meals, which nobody wanted to skip, there really weren't any mandatory events. Once you registered, roll was never taken, and you could just stay in your tent or cabin for the rest of the weekend if you were so inclined. Which we were not.) It was on the back patio of the Heart Lodge, across from the Main Lodge. About two dozen of us sat in a circle, and the Chairman started things off by having each of us take a hanky out of a bag, off the top without looking. The colors were black (SM), green (daddy/boy), red (fisting), gray (bondage), dark blue (fucking). We discussed what each one meant, and traded with people if we hadn't gotten the color we wanted—I'd ended up with red, and traded for a gray, which suits me much better. I wouldn't have been too thrilled with green, either, because I just don't get the daddy thing. I mean, I get it, but I just don't feel it. At all. Nor does Marta, which is both why we're so perfectly suited for each other, and also why we're so anamalous in the local secksculture. We don't want a daddy, nor do we want to be anyone's daddy, plzkthxbai. (In retrospect, I suppose the fact that Jezebel used to call me "mommy" qualifies as a form of daddy play. Not that that ended well.) The concept of doing and having done to were discussed, giving and receiving, pitching and catching and all that, was discussed, with the hank going into the left back pocket if you wanted to do to and and the right back pocket if you wanted to be done to. Very basic hanky code stuff that dates back to the seventies (immortalized in the legendary scene from Cruising, which also goes to show how much it's changed over the years, as well as the regional differences). Lacking pockets, I attached mine to my skirt in the back on the right. The Chairman then had everybody in the group announce (one at a time) what it was they were looking for, in the form of i've never done _______ but have always wanted to, and after each person spoke the Chairman asked people who had experience in such things or were otherwise interested in helping out to raise their hands. It's so scary to announce what you want, especially when you've been rejected outright before, but being open was the point of this event, and to not go for it would be to miss that point. So, for my _________ I said that I'd never experienced serious bondage, heavy on the constriction. A few hands went up, including Stripe, a cute girl who was sitting with and seemed very close in general to Miska. My hopes got up a little. Marta's _________ was that she's never been flogged and otherwise done to on a cross, and some hands went up for her, as well. After it was over, Stripe walked past me without saying a word or even acknowledged my presence. Okay, then. Maybe later. We adjourn to the couch-equipped patio of the main lodge for chatting and beverages. Marta and I continue to be off Stripe and Miska's radars, but I mentioned to one of the boys who'd raised also his hand (and actually picked me up and carried me around for a moment and the start of the Meet & Greet, for reasons that I cannot recall to save my life), Spot, that I'd very much like to follow up with him later, and he's game. Some people are generally open, and some give us the hairy eyeball. When I hear one of the latter, an older man, mention that he lives in Fresno, I take that opportunity. I ask him whereabouts he lives, and when he says he lives in the Tower District, we're solid. We talk for quite a while about Fresno and the Tower and the differences between the different parts of town. I even get him to laugh, which is quite possibly the most important part of gaining a new person's trust. He asks me if I was ever part of the club scene in Fresno, since my hair reminds him of the current crop of clubkids. I take that very much as a compliment. For as much as the younger girls seemly increasingly indifferent about us, the older dykes take an interest in us, actually engaging us in conversation and making an attempt to get to know us, which we greatly appreciate. In addition to suggesting that we join The Exiles (which I've orbited a few times, Collette and I having gone to one of their meetings in August of 2005, and Vash and I kicking off our relationship in an appropriately inappropriate spectacle at one of their events the following month), a woman named Sally sas that she'd love me to run for Ms. San Francisco Leather. Flattering, to be sure, but I also can't help the feeling that there's a "we need more diversity" element at work along with the more baseline "we need more people to run in general." Still, I'd probably sooner do that than join the youngling's group. (I can't shake the feeling that if they really wanted us, they would have been more hospitable to us . But they haven't been. Of course, I've been told more than one that I'm not the easiest person to approach and/or get to know, so there's that.) Anyway, the Ms. San Francisco Leather thing is strangely not un-tempting, it would certainly be an experience and all. But I think the only way I'd really feel comfortable doing it would be if I got the Trinity (or, preferably, Quorra) look together by then, though I also find it doesn't quite fill me with the same but what if i lose? fear that the the possibility of entering the Cotillion did. Alas. We'll see. Marta and I go nightswimming and hottubbing again, and our convinced to not go to bed just by an invitation to play Apples to Apples in the main lodge. (Ten to midnight of each night is designated as "Cards, Games, Et cetera" time with "Quiet Time" starting at midnight.) It's fun, and there's not quite so much of the cliqueyness that is also ready starting to feel so impenetrable. That neither Miska nor Stripe nor the Leader are there helps. We'd heard tell that the nights are so warm there, one can sleep outside of a tent on top of their sleeping bag if one is so inclined. This does not prove to be true, but our tent and air mattress and single sleeping bag are more than sufficient, and we both sleep quite well. Breakfast is at eight, and we try to sit with Miska and Stripe and the other younglings. It doesn't really work so well, them mostly ignoring us except for again suggesting that we should join the official group. I can't help thinking that if joining (which we wouldn't be able to do until we got back to town anyway) is a prerequisite to getting to hang out with them now, it doesn't make it sound like a very nice club. After breakfast are the daily discussion groups: one for doms, one for subs, and one for switches. We both identify as switches for want of anything better to identify as, and we ended up not going to any of the groups at all, instead retiring to our tent for some processing. It won't be the last we do over the course of the weekend, and it's also a good thing. The discussion groups were followed at half past ten by two concurrent classes: "Flagging Brown" (originally misprinted on the schedule as "Flogging", and corrected by hand) and "Role Play & Improv in BDSM." The latter sounds far more interesting to us, and is certainly not worlds away from pony play and such, but we decide instead to take our laptops into the Main Lodge and get a little writing done. A few people gave us really? you're on your computers? looks, but we weren't the only ones, including some veterans of the event, one of whom told us that he didn't attend any of the discussion groups until his fifth year, so we shouldn't feel any pressure. Yay validation! Besides, we had a valid excuse (beyond the fact that Marta and I are both writers and go a little nuts if we go more than a couple days without doing so): preparation for the Run Show on Saturday night, basically an open mic. We'd both already signed up for it, because there wasn't no way we weren't gonna participate in that. It asked for both our name and our act, and for want of a better way to describe it, I put "Spoken Word." At lunch, we tried to sit with new people. They weren't interested in talking with us. Alas. The sun was high and warm after lunch, meaning it was time to go topless (with skirt and stripeys and sandals), with plenty of sunscreen and bug-spray applied. The two concurrent post-lunch events were "Puppy Pile / Greasy Grenades" and "Singletailing with Gauge." We attended the latter, and Marta was particularly excited about it, though I'd received an interesting offer from one of the regulars who pegged me as a cat due to the tail on my skirt: joining her for a feline insurrection on the Puppy Pile. It was tempting, to be sure, but we went with the singletailing. Which was so much fun, and I totally want a signalwhip now. I spent much of the class practicing with one, choosing not participate when he was demonstrating on people, since I know from experience that I'm not a huge fan of stinging. Marta happily got singtletailed, though, and there's a twice-monthly public whip-workshop deal in Golden Gate Park we'll no doubt check out sometime. After lunch was either "Watersports" or a "Pool Party" (see what they did there?). I wasn't uninterested in the watersports since Vash and I use to do play like that (it became one of the last high points of our romantic relationship) but Marta's just not interested, which is fine. Maybe someday she will, maybe someday she won't, and it's all good either way. So we got in plenty of swimming and, thus, exercise. Which is doubly good since, the food has been consistently delicious and plentiful (and vegetarian-friendly), and we weren't doing nearly as much hiking and such as I might have expected. We remained topless after swimming, but and I took off my stripeys as well, leaving me in just my skirt. Rome! Then came the class was I especially interested in, "Rough Body Play." (It was held at the same time as a spirituality-in-kink class called "What's Woo Got To Do With It?".) Held in the Class Tent, it was taught by Spot, the boy who'd picked me up at Meet-n-Greet the night before. While I'm not a big fan of sting!, I am quite fond of thud!, which was what the class was all about. Much of it was stuff that Marta and I already do, but there's also a lot to be said for staying within our comfort zones, especially in what's still unfamiliar territory. After the class, Marta asked Spot: "Can we get together later so you can tie my girlfriend up and show me how to do it?" He continues to be game, and suggests we get together for it in the Heart Lodge at eleven that night. We then head Heart Lodge anyway for "Let's Drink Some More Wine!", and traditional swish-and-spit wine-tasting. that I've never done before, after in the Heart Lodge. There was also a human fruit tray, which is neat in concept though we chose not to indulge since the tray in question was a big hairy man. (It wasn't quite as appealing as when Ali was a human fruit tray at a 2005 Folsom Street Fair event I didn't attend because I was too busy breaking up with Collette so I could focus on Vash, among other reasons.) . After the tasting, Marta and I wandered off and found a place on the floor of the Lodge to engage in some of what we learned in the Rough Body Play class. Before dinner, which was an impossibly long half-hour away, we hung out with some of the less-cliquey kids, the ones we'd played cards with the night before. They saw Marta and I approaching their tents (in the main campground area, where the elder Fresnan had suggested me move to to be closer to world, but we didn't) and actively invited us to join them. They won. After dinner as another big event we'd been looking forward to: the "SM Sampler." Held in the Heart Lodge, our first stop is the Cupping Table. A hand pump is used for suction rather than the more dramatic-looking fire (and fire is not permitted at the Resort, particularly not in the dry late summer), and I get two plastic cups on my back, as does Marta. Hers are only on for about twenty seconds before she starts to get woozy and they have to be removed—the poor thing has always had sensitive blood—but I keep mine on for a good long while, and when one of the falls off, I have it put right back on. With the cups on my back, we go over the violet wand table, where we get to play with different attachments and configurations. We're not actually operating any of the devices, of course, nor would I trust myself to without a lot of practice. The guy who is operating the wand finds the noises I make every time I'm zapped to be (good-naturedly) hilarious, and I realize that I'm involuntarily doing Bender from Futurama. Sure, why not? I'm happy that Marta also enjoys it, even/especially when there's electricity hitting directly onto the scarring on her nipples from the singletailing earlier. Convergence! From there it's a pummel or two from Spot (who I just click with, even though he's very much a boy and reads me as very much a girl, but our energies are syncing) as we wait for our turn at the wax play table (another one of those things I did once years ago and have wanted to since but never did). The cups are removed by then, of course, and I text a picture of my pepperoni-looking cupped back to Davina, who is at similar kink-sampler event with Mouse that same evening, which I find rather hot. I try to text it to her, anyway, but the extremely limited cell service won't let it go through. Marta and I go nightswimming and hottubing afterward, exhausted but intending to keep our eleven o'clock date with Spot. We meet him on the Main Lodge patio, and I'm a little relieved when he asks if we can reschedule for tomorrow night, since returning to our tent and crashing out sounds lovely. It's been a long, full, largely wonderful day, and my gut tells me that Spot is genuinely rescheduling rather than brushing us off. Saturday morning breakfast is our final attempt to actually join other people, specifcially the cliquey girls, but they ask to please sit down the table from them, as they're saving seats for other people (who don't show up for nearly half an hour). Okay. Message received. We do, however, meet a latecomer, a trans woman who is belong to Miska and Stripe's organization, the one they briefly tried to sell us on on Thursday night. She also suggests we should join, that we'd get to volunteer and usher at events and whatnot, trying her damndest to make that sound appealing. And I suspected she probably does enjoy that, which is great, but, no, it's not for me, especially considering how the others aren't really interacting with her or making her seem like part of their circle. No, surprise there—since when does the cannon fodder mingle with the generals, anyway? Besides, I have to choose my extracurricular activities carefully these days, because I don't have an abundance of free time to begin with. The after-breakfast events the usual dom/sub/switch discussion groups, followed by the concurrent "Vaginal Fisting" and "Naked Yoga." We once again spend the time in the Main Lodge on our laptops, as do some other people, as well as people reading or writing in notebooks (though we get the brunt of the go out and play! scolding). One of the other people in the Lodge, a boy who hadn't arrived until Friday morning and whom I first noticed at "Rough Body Play," offers to give us each a Hello Kitty Tarot reading. We both accept, and mine gives me more to mull over than I expect it to. At lunch, we decide to give the main room a miss and sit in the back room, which is attached to the main room and feels not unlike a sun room. There are plenty of tables set up there, too, so it's not like we're separating ourselves from everyone else. Still, nobody sits with us or invites us to join them, and the other tables in the back room start to fill up. It all begins to take its toll, and Marta begins to cry, so we relocate outside to a picnic table a good ten yards away from the back of the lodge. I tell her that we can leave if she wants—what the hell, we'd had a good Run (as it were) and her emotional well-being is most important—but, no. She intends to stick it out. After lunch, we moved onto the couches on the Main Lodge patio both to be social and to wait for the "Energy Pull" to begin. (Sort of a group-piercing session in which everybody's physically and presumably spirtually attached to everybody else, it was an event that had intrigued me ever since we'd been told about it at the piercing class we attended back in May—the same class at which we'd heard about the Leather-Levi Weekend to begin with and got this whole ball rolling.) Two boys, including the one who'd rolled his eyes and said "Oh, at that again?" when he saw Marta and I on our laptops were there with a big industrial-sized roll of plastic wrap, similar to the pallet wrap that Vash was so fond of and that we sadly only got to play with once, talking about where the best place is to do some mummification play. My ears perk up, since the whole point of this event is to get to do things and experiment and indulge one's self, and indeed I was a little disappointed when I saw mummification was not listed on this year's schedule, since it had been on the 2010 schedule. Marta wished me luck and excused herself to use the restroom. I took a deep breath, got up from the couch, walked over, and said that I'd overheard some talk about mummification play and that I was very interested in it. One of them (the one who'd rolled his eyes because I was writing earlier) said: what? oh, no. no, nobody had said anything about mummification. (Fun fact: there are very few words that can be mistaken for "mummificiation." It's a unique combination of vowels and consonants.) The other one, the one holding the pallet, said : maybe we're just going to be putting this down on the ground as a tarp for other kinds of play. did you consider that? Neither of them were smiling or gave any hint that they were joking, nor was there any kindness at all in their tones. I said: oh. i couldn have sworn that's what i heard you say, and i was really hoping there'd be something like this going on, since one of the reasons i'd wanted to come to llw was because mummification was listed as one of the classes last year, and i was disappointed it wasn't on this year's schedule, since it's something i really want to do, and i thought i heard you say you were going to be doing that, so... I kept waiting for them to break their coyness by suddenly laughing and say that they were just teasing me, and that, yes, that was what they were going to do and I was of course welcome to join them because this whole event was about community and stuff, or even a suggestion of who I should talk to if I was interested in such things. They did not, nor did they even start smiling. They just kept looking at me, waiting for me to go away. I returned to the couch, already feeling the tears welling up. Wow. If they'd even just said that it was for a private thing they were doing that would have been fine, but I didn't even deserve that much courtesy. I went inside the Lodge and found an unoccupied corner. When Marta found me, she consoled me as I cried, trying to do so without calling too much attention to myself. I was tempted, so very tempted, to just leave, especially if we could manage to do so without telling anyone. Just pick up and split. We are just so not welcome. Tolerated, but nothing more. Hell, if we left right now we could even make it back in town in time for Frolic. Marta says: it'll be okay, baby. it's just growing pains, that's all. She's right, of course. And, no, we aren't going to leave. If nothing else, we have a date with Spot tonight, and we're both signed up for the Run Show, so it's bound to be noticed if we disappear. It's also unlikely that I'd ever forgive myself for giving up so easily. As the "Energy Pull" began, we decided to give open-air nekkid-napping a shot. We took the long way around to get to our tent, hoping to avoid the pool area and seeing things going on that were not invited to. We took off all our clothes, sunscreened and bugsprayed our full bodies, took our sleeping bag out of the tent and spread it on the ground. Unfortunately, there was entirely too much direct sunlight, and we lasted all of half an hour. Marta dozed a little, but I didn't at all. Which is not uncommon for our napping whether we're outdoors or indoors. Swimming, then. I declare that I'm over it, and that if they're doing the things that I wanted to do then the worst that'll probably happen is I'll hiss (an unfortunate tendency of mine when I'm unhappy at someone, as Ennui can attest, though I never hissed at her). I don't see them in the outdoor dungeon area next to the pool but Spot is there, and he starts talking to us about rope techniques. I feel myself beginning to break down again. Fuck. It's still very much in me, and even though it was well over an hour ago, the brush-off in what's supposed to be a welcoming envrionment is still hurting bad. When Spot asks if he can tie my arms, I say as best as I can that I am in no way ready for it, which is when he realizes that I'm crying. (I'm wearing my sunglasses, of course, so it's not quite as obvious as it might be otherwise.) At first he steps away to give me space, but I ask him to join me on the ground because I know that I have to get it out of my system and tell someone else, someone who's not Marta, that absolution can only come from a third party and it's gonna be him. Spot holds me gently as I cry and explain what happened. He assures me that it's okay, that it wouldn't really be a Leather-Levi Weekend without at least one person crying. I'm not quite sure how to take that at first, but reiterates that it's okay, and very natural. I repeat what Marta had said earlier: growing pains. Spot: exactly. besides, i like playing with you. i don't usually do well with girls, but i like your energy. Me: same here. i mean, i don't normally care for boys, but you...this...works. Spot: tonight, then? after the run show. Me: yes, please. Marta and I do go swimming and hottubbing, then return to our tent to get ready for the "Cocktail Party Crawl" at half past five, for which the Run Book instructed us to "dress to impress." (I'd tossed around ponying up for this particular event, and we'd brought along all the gear, but I was in no way prepared to feel that vulnerable.) The various leather organizations that were present set up tables with both alcoholic and non-alcoholic cocktails and various other snacks, including a metric fuckton of TCHO chocolates, and what few of us left who didn't belong to any of them walked around the camp and stopped at each group so they could do their spiel. Sometimes I think the straight world would be amazed to discover just how many different groups and organizations there are in what is otherwise considered to be a shadowy, shameful subculture. It can make the whole thing seem downright...normal at times. The crawl also took us near, but not into, the perpetually red-lit Fisting Tent (listed as the Fist Tent on the Camp Map because there wasn't enough room for "Fisting") (and it's never referred to as "fistfucking by anyone who actually knows anything about it). We never did go in there. Maybe next year. Dinner was referred to as a Banquet, though the only thing that was noticeably different from past meals was the fact that everyone was more dressed up than usual, what with it being right after the Cocktail Party Crawl (and the fact that vegetarian meatloaf was mind-bogglingly delicious). Marta and I sat a table in the back room by ourselves again—well, by ourselves except for the presence of Nick, a boy who'd played cards with us on the first night and who seemed to be often floating near us, though always at a respectful distance. He seemed pleasant but shy, seldom interacting with people (and not, as far as I could tell, making as much of an effort to do so as Marta and I), and I always made a point of saying hello to him whenever I saw him. If the least I could do was to make him feel as welcome as possible, so be it. (Obviously, I don't believe that it's actually anyone's responsibility to make us feel welcome, and I'm well aware that most everyone at the event has a history together from past Weekends—this one has the smallest attendance yet, about half of average years—and from just being active in the leather scene in general, which Marta and I are not. Nobody owes us a goddamn thing, and if Miska and Stripe aren't interested in getting to know us, that's their perogative. It just makes us appreciate the kindness of Spot and Sally and Gauge and the others.) As the chairs were being set up in the Heart Lodge for the Run Show, I heard some people saying that "Spoken Word" sounded weird, and expressing skepticism that it could be sexy. Couldn't really blame them on that one. I went first—somehow, the host just knew that I historically go first at most readings—and killed, if I do say so myself. I hadn't thought to bring anything printed out and my holding laptop was too cumbersome, so I read off my iPhone. I briefly considered "The Four-Year Gait," since it's newer and therefore betterer, but went with "Meet on the Ledge," which is more overtly sexy, being about group fucking and stuff. Gotta know your audience. Since there was no mic stand and holding both a microphone and my phone would greatly reduce the amount of arm-flailing I typically engage in while reading, I enlisted Marta to be a Human Mic Stand. The audence loved that aspect of it as well, and she even got to read a line, something she'd said on the night "Meet on the Ledge" is about. Very meta, or something. The host had asked for an introduction, and of course I mentioned Bad Movie Night, because I always do. When I sat back down (glowing from the positive reaction and the feeling that, holy shit, maybe they'll realize I am one of them now) a trans boy who was sitting in our row asked me if I'd opened for Lynn Breedlove at The Dark Room back in 2005. When I told him that I did, he said: that's where i recognize you from! i was fifteen and a friend smuggled me in to see lynnee's show. seeing you read was the first time that i'd ever encountered another trans person out in the real world, especially one who looked like they were living, you know, a well-adjusted and fun life. it was inspiring. Okay, that was worth the price of admission right there. When Marta read, she opted to sit on chair with her laptop, since her style is not quite as spastic as mine. The audience absolutely adored her, too. There were two other people who read stories, and got the impression this was more a writing-heavy year than usual. One of the only acts which would be considered traditional in the context of a Run Show was a drag performance, and the night before in the hot tub, Marta and I had heard the perfomer talking to someone else about it, saying that he'd been robbed of the Best Run Show Act award the year before, and he was determined not to let that happen this year. He also talked about the difference between drag/female impersonation and being trans, and not unusal for people who do drag, he very much looked down on transsexuality, finding it baffling and troubling. I took the fact that he didn't realize there was one of us in the tub with him at the time to mean he didn't read me as such. (Or he just didn't care, but I'm more inclined to believe that I was passing, even naked, what with it being dark and all.) Ballots were given out at the end of the show for the awards. I vote for Marta for Best Run Show Act, and she votes for me. After the show we went for one last swim and hot tub excursion, got back into our more casual clothes, then hung out out on the Main Lodge patio, waiting for Spot. I share one of the couches and talk with a cute older British woman, and it finally begins to dawn on me that she's been cruising us the entire weekend without me picking up on it (dumb kitty!). It's a little too late to do anything with the ice that's finally breaking other than some light cuddling, but gods, it's so nice to be actively flirted at, especially with Marta on my lap. Oh well. Maybe, as with so many things, next year. Spot joined us, and we relocated to the Heart Lodge. Spot had invited another boy to join us, one with more rope experience than him, or at least more rope-teaching experience. Which is fine, and the boy is very nice, but he's also rushed because his partner is in the corner, getting pouty and demanding that he play with them, never mind those other people (us). Alas. He teaches us the basics and how pretty much all rope bondage is a variation on these basic moves, and by the end of the night I'm hog-tied on the ground with Marta taking advantage of me. Which is a good way for the night to end. During breakfast on Sunday morning (sitting at a table by ourselves in the back room, worldwithoutendamen), the awards for the weekend are given out—and Marta wins for Best Run Show Act! I'm very proud of her, of course. And I kept waiting to hear "Best Fascist Dictator: Adolf Hitler", but it doesn't happen. We choose not to attend the Community Meeting or Closing Ritual after breakfast, instead packing up our stuff and saying our goodbyes to the people we've become friends with and exchanging contact information. We're unsurprised to hear "I'm ______ on FetLife" several times, an we're also extremely pleased to have made it through the entire weekend without ever hearing the words "Playa," "Black Rock City" or "Burning Man." It's funny, for the past few years now I've been poking around at the possibility of finally going to Burning Man, and going next year was something that Ilene and I talked about when we were talking about things, but I've been very conscious of the fact that I've spoken to many Burners and not a single one of them has ever said you should go sometime. Nobody has so much as even hinted at it. Unlike this even. Once we're on the road and actually have cell service, I'm able to text the picture to Davina, who says that she learned how to get people on the ground and tie them up with rope, and that Mouse got to play with a singetail. Excellent! I suggest to Davina that the four of us get together soon to practice the things we've learned on each other, and she says she'd like that very much. As would we. 4:41pm At the Viz Cinema Cafe in the New People Mall. I've written and emailed the one-to-two paragraph pitch for Landing on Water to My Agent. I think it's horrible, but she really likes it, and I have to trust her on these things. She's sold many more books to publishers than I have, after all. I'm bummed to learn that Black Peace Now is moving from Japantown to Union Square. They don't make anything I can afford/fit into, not even right now when everything's marked down for their big moving sale, but I'm still sad to see them go. Obviously, they won't be gone-gone, but I'm frequently in Japantown and hardly ever in Union Square. Ergo. It was nice to browse there and at least pretend I could actually wear their clothes. | ||
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Thursday, 18 August 2011 (you gotta be crazy) 12:35pm Most of the morning has been spent working with My Agent on Landing on Water, mostly finessing the very beginning and the very ending, figuring out exactly where the story starts and where it stops. She also needs me to write a one-to-two paragraph pitch for it, similar to a query letter, that she can use when bringing it to publishers. Oooh, I hate this part. The marketing guy still has no work-work for me yet, and I've earned less than a hundred dollars for August. The next couple months are going to be a bit tricky financially. 2:11pm Fan mail! A fellow trans woman who really liked my Gender Outlaws: The Next Generation essay, and reports being inspired to masturbate to t-girl porn after reading. High praise, indeed. 4:15pm The second blog post I wrote for the weekly—which I requested to be the first one published, since the first one I actually wrote didn't get published for no apparent reason, and the second one is better anyway—went up for about five minutes this afternoon, and was then pulled by the web editor, who's going to run it tomorrow morning instead. Another article of mine was supposed to be published on PrettyQueer two weeks ago, but it got stuck in the tube, and the site itself seems to have ground to a halt. Oh, the nutty blogosphere. | ||
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Wednesday, 17 August 2011 (us and them) 8:01am Spent the night at Marta's place, something I expect is going to start happening a lot more than it used to, since she now has her own bedroom. That makes a big difference. I considered just staying in her neighborhood and working at Dash, but among other things, that would have required quite a lot of circling to find a unmetered and unlimited place to park, plus I didn't bring a change of clothes and didn't have a chance to shower. On the plus side, I did my first Walk of Shame in five years, so that was kinda cool. 9:51am Janeway doesn't understand why she can't come in. 10:25am Just finished my first SJSU class towards my Masters in Library and Information Science! It was just a one-unit course on how to actually use the online system, but, still, it's momentum. 9:11pm Did a ton of Dark Room and Bad Movie Night updates and general busywork, and I've started on the third post for the weekly's blog. Not that that either of the first two have gone up yet, but pick pick. | ||
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Tuesday, 16 August 2011 (set the controls for the heart of the sun) 2:16pm Spin class with Rita this morning, then a bunch of erranding this morning, and now schoolwork. After this, probably Dash to continue with the me-writing before dinner with Marta and Breaking Bad with the Goldies. 2:16pm Draft 3.0 (aka "The De-Adverbification") of Landing on Water is finished and on its way to My Agent. If all's well, she says she'd like to start submitting it to publishers on Monday. Meep. 7:13pm Dinner at Masala Dosa. We're slowly making our way through the restaurants in Marta's new neighborhood. | ||
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Monday, 15 August 2011 (watching the watcher) 1:06pm At Dash with Marta. I have no work-work to do, and the system I do my college classes on is down for maintenance, so today's a me-writing marathon. I've also sent in a dozen pitches for the weekly's blog. I have ideas, I do. 3:58pm The editor likes all the pitches. That's a start. 9:32pm Two blog posts done so far. | ||
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Sunday, 14 August 2011 (circuits like freeways) 4:42pm Back in San Francisco, at Borderlands. It's been a long, good, occasionally heartbreaking and often exhilarating weekend. Marta and I both broke down and cried at different points, but that was good, too. It was necessary catharsis, and it helped to point us in the right direction. 10:53pm Another nearly-full house at Bad Movie Night, this time for Knowing. Thank goodness for the universal appeal of Nicolas Cage (though we've been on a streak since The Lord of the Rings, it's true). I need the money, and the show needs the mojo. I mentioned it a few times over the weekend, and people sounded interested, but, well, we'll see. If any of them made it tonight, they didn't announce their presence to me. I'd imagine they were all too exhausted. Hell, I'm shocked that I made it, except that it's my show and it's where I should be. | ||
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Saturday, 13 August 2011 (a rolling of the eyes) 10:57am Someone here has Roy Batty's i've seen things you people wouldn't believe speech from Blade Runner tattooed on their arm. Me, if I was going to get a Blade Runner tattoo, I'd go for it's too bad she won't live. but then again, who does? Seems more fitting. | ||
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Friday, 12 August 2011 (the stain that darkens) 8:37am Are there cliques? Of course there are cliques. But there are very friendly and welcoming people, too. The friendly people tend to be older, as it happens. 3:12pm With proper amounts of sunscreen and bug spray, toplessness is quite nice. And hooray for a body image that allows for it. 5:41pm I'm attracted to girls (and non-masculine girls in particular, putting me in a serious minority), but enthusiasm wins out. And the enthusiasm tends to come from boys. Most of the girls, they have no need for me. 9:22pm Cupping and violet wanding at the same time? That right there, that (and many other things) are worth the price of admission. | ||
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Thursday, 11 August 2011 (methane, extinction, and the absence of divinity) 3:03pm Marta and I always opt for Mexican food when we're on the road since, at least in California, it's the likely to get screwed up. And they can be full of surprises, too: the waiter at Puesta Del Sol in Kelseyville, a Hispanic fellow in his early-to-mid-twenties, was very excited to see my hair. He said that it reminds him of when he used to go to raves, and he asks me if I'm a raver. I say I'm not, but that I'm keeping the spirit alive (and why not a little fib to make him happy?). A little later he comes over and asks me basically the same question, if I still rave, and I kindly say that I do not. I'm pretty sure that the only time I've truly raved and/or been to something that qualifies as a rave was with Ennui on that alternately horrible and wonderful New Year's Eve. I've always wanted to back to one, but truth be told, Frolic fills that need quite well. We'll be missing it this month, of course, since we'll be up here, but that's okay. We'll regroup there with Davina and Mouse and (hopefully) Ilene next month. As we're leaving, Marta notes that the waiter has an "I Heart Raving" bumper sticker on his laptop. Poor kid. I hope someone else with rave-y hair comes in soon. 11:42pm So far so good, I think. We found a place to set up our tent that isn't too far from the action, yet is still relatively quiet, which is nice. It's also close to the bathroom, which is terribly important. Plus I bonded with a fellow Fresnan. | ||
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