TW: harassment, shit my sister shouldn't read
When you've been single as long as I've been, the whole dating thing is a mystery. However, lately, I've been getting a lot of attention from a multitude of genders. Now, I'm not exactly used to being frequently hit on, so it is kind of freaky. For the first while, it was all good, but now it's the precursor to a serious panic attack. Regular readers know that I'm not dating anybody or sleeping with too many different people, so I must be turning folks down. And this is where the problems begin.
If you've known someone for awhile, there may be an attraction. Sometimes the while consists of 3 beers, sometimes a year or so. But sometimes (okay, most times), there is just something about the person that doesn't do it for me sexually. Sure he/she/they could be my friend, and we may even become really good friends. Most folks laugh it off when I turn them down, a lot of cisguys act like it was a joke, and we move on.
But what happens if the human doesn't get the point?
Sometimes this occurs and most of the time the person will require being told more than once, but will eventually understand that it ain't gonna happen and you're all good. But when the person persists, there can be a serious problem. Sometimes someone you've passed on continues to be not only flirtatious, but sexually aggressive. While I've had insane-ass stalker people, who I'm writing about today comes short of being a criminal.
There's this woman who lives nearby who is a really decent person, for the most part. She cooks for people and hangs out and she's a fun person to smoke a joint with. So, all is wonderful, except for the fact that I just don't dig her that way.
But she really, really likes me and wants to have sex with me.
Lately, this person has been hitting on me strong. She discusses her level of horniness and the fact her pot's been down her bra. She tries to guilt me into sex and says she is going to get me drunk so I'll hook up with her. She doesn't want a boyfriend or anything, just a breathing masturbatory device like the guy upstairs who she would have made sleep with her had he not been sleeping. This really sounds like a whiny mancomplaint, but when woman X gets too big of a hard-on for me, I have a massive anxiety attack. I have to leave the room as soon as possible before she frots me or something.
Today, she was in full pervert mode and made me feel so uncomfortable that I barely said a word. She uttered all of the above things and more before I quietly left. And that's what I always do- I separate myself from the individual and gradually distance myself socially until the unwanted affection ceases. It may seem wimpy, but it's nonconfrontational and has worked for me thus far. But with this mama lies a fear that if I don't put out, she will get extremely upset with me. I won't do it; in fact I'll be more likely to be further repelled in my mind, but I am still not good at defending myself from overtly suggestive women, and humans in general.
So, here's where I need you, my readers. How do you turn someone down without hurting his or her feelings and remain friends? Is this even possible; will there always be sexual tension? Am I being a wimp by weaseling out of parties where she may be, and if so what do I say or do to better handle this and similar situations?
Throw your two cents in below.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
(Un)Blocked
WARNING: This piece deals with anxiety and contains references to depression, family issues, self-loathing, and includes a heap of colorful language
I am blocked.
I have a bounty of ideas, a full whiteboard, notebooks scattered about over my apartment, and 50 or so drafts and half-completed pieces on my computer. For the last several months, every dandy idea gets lost between the time of conception and the moment of publication; in fact, there's a probability of about 95 to one that you'll never read this. But why am I so non-productive?
Well, it all boils down to anxiety and how I deal with it and how it relates to my literary output.
For me, writing is something that has historically been effortless. Despite having had utterly dreadful English teachers in school, I was a kid who could compose a thousand-word Geography essay on the bus ride from nowhere to the Middle of Nowhere, where the school was located. All was well and good until I had an English teacher who used to make you write mini-essays for the first 15 minutes of every class. Prior to this stress exercise, you would see just how shitty he thought your previous effort was, and I would PANIC. I could not sit and automatically generate a poem, or thesis, or anything related to a bookshelf, or grass, or whatever other inane word he had scrawled on the board. I knew I was screwed, so after a month or so of empty sheets of Mead college rule, I began writing lists.
The first one was a Shit List. Even though Mr. X's name was on it, he gave me a decent score. After recovering from the sheer shock of him not writing some demeaning comment, I continued. I wrote a list every single day of that class, and even though the prof hated my guts, I survived long enough to score a 96 on the final exam and get away from my nemesis. Now here's where the blogging comes in.
I have been penning and burning diary entries, sports stories, and random essays since I was a small child. I apparently began reading and writing at a young age. (and doing a ton of other things ahead of my peers, but we'll get to it at another time.) Of my 2 childhood memories, one is of me building a little village out of recycled materials after reading about it in a Sesame Street book. I have since found out that I was 3 at the time. So...back to the writing.
I'm sure that my journal entries were page after page of drivel, however, when I was 13 or 14, it became very apparent that the first of my dickheaded stepdads had been going through my belongings for a very long time. He began giving me shit for things I had thought but not said and for things I had only done in the confines of my bedroom. (it was actually a cement-floored storage room, but it was mine, so there.) After that, I incinerated everything I had ever written and only wrote about topics I was emotionally distant from, like the Flyers-Oilers rivalry. For well over a decade, I became so paranoid that I burned or shredded everything emotive, even when living by myself. Whenever I lagged, a visiting relative or person I was seeing would read my shit and then give me shit, so I internalized my feelings or destroyed all evidence of my humanness.
Cue the advent of MySpace.....
I began blogging on MySpace and similar sites some years ago. I had a decent enough job and still felt tremendous guilt whenever something personal would be touched on. A given post would only garner 10 or 15 views, but I was still highly restrained, and I still was for at least the first year on this platform. After a short while, people I had never met were tuning in. Lots of them. And with the number came a recycling of vintage neuroses that includes a ton of internalized shame. I embarrass incredibly easily. It may not show on the surface, but real or imagined guilt over uttering a single misplaced word in a conversation 10 years ago can stay with me.
Herein lies a problem, or rather several. Sometimes writing is therapeutic and it often deals with difficult subjects that cause people to feel things. There may be references to child abuse, mental illness, violence, alcoholism, and other nastiness that I figured occurred in every family until very recently. With the increase in numbers comes a sea of folks who may not be comfortable with me emptying the family litter box.
One of my personal anxieties comes to sex. I used to frequently discuss my feelings about so-and-so, masturbation, sex toys, and all sorts of things, but I feel extremely sheepish now because my pop and others read the not-so dinnerlike conversation. I get so freaked out that I censor pieces until there's nothing left because I have the irrational fear of giving Aunt So-And-So a myocardial infarction.
On the subject of embarrassment, I've created enough to last several lifetimes. If you scroll around enough, you'll find misogyny and transphobia; Islamophobia and migrant-bashing; religious fervour and equally ardent antitheism. To the reader, this may simply be a serious of downs and ups, but to me, much of this is an account of some of the most ridiculous ideas to escape my often disturbed mind. I was afraid of myself and transferred it upon others because that's what self-loathing, people-pleasing douchebags often do. I made horrible judgment calls and typed some things I no longer agree with and I apologize.
Next, we have the more current content. I really hate being ripped for things like syntax, but I loathe upsetting my readers more. Underneath my tough veneer is someone who has been hurt, yet doesn't want to cause pain in my fellow beings. The difficulty I experience is often with language itself. I'm not always up-to-date on the latest terminology and can say things that annoy some, albeit unintentionally so. Additionally, there may be veiled or overt references to discrimination, rape, abuse, sexism, racism, gaybashings and a slew of things not for the faint-of-heart. The content contained within these pages is an account of a very personal journey, even when it isn't obvious. My own issue is that I don't want to offend my non-family-member readership as well while still making whatever point it is I'm attempting to make.
Another dilemma is right here at home. I have a lot of insecurities, but the most recent ones arise from my personal transitions. I currently reside in a building with 42 fairly sheltered people who sometimes say absolutely awful things to me that trigger feelings of inadequacy or dysphoria. Also, I'm on the ground floor, so there are plenty of people just dropping by unannounced and I have been having difficulty dealing with all of their psychological issues as well. It's difficult to work on yourself when you have someone either reading over your shoulder or blabbing about their ex who just got out of jail, especially when most of your personal quirks arose from privacy violations.
So what to do? I think I'll be honest from here on out. I'm not going to sanitize my expression but I'll try not to rip anyone's heart out. I'm going to mention the things that make me hate myself and want to blow my brains out, as well as those that bring me tremendous joy. There may be some content that makes you feel, but I need one safe place in my chaotic life, and this is it. To my family, I'm not going to apologize, because if reading about my sexual quirks, political viewpoints, and possibly the stupid shit you have done to negatively affect others disturbs you, find something else to read.As for the old stuff, I'm going to keep it because it's a record of my emotional and sociological learning curve.
And there is work to continue. If I don't give myself a break and stop beating myself about the head for possessing similar emotive qualities to other members of the species, I will wind up in the hospital for the **th time. Thusly, I'm going to work on the whole not hanging myself with my intestines thing, and you're invited to watch.
So, am I going to turn into an asshole? Quite the contrary. I'm going to alert you if what you're about to read is heavy. With awareness of my own anxieties comes a respect for those of others. There will be things discussed that are of a sensitive nature, so in order to continue doing what I do, I will give you an idea of what you're in for and you can decide for yourself whether or not your psyche can tolerate the content of an individual piece. This new policy is not just for the benefit of younger/family/easily triggered readers, but for my conscience. I need to be able to free my mind without fucking up any of you. Also, if you see, hear, or read anything that makes your blood boil, feel free to comment or email me.
Here it begins. If it's your first time on here, I'll warn you that nothing published prior to this has been tagged. There are some frank discussions of rape, murder, child neglect, drug use, but also pieces about the origins of the toilet and frontal wedgies. It's mostly politics, but there's some weird shit back there. Periculo tuo ingredere.
By the way, I think that block thing may have been given a swift kick in the tuchas. Stay tuned.
I am blocked.
I have a bounty of ideas, a full whiteboard, notebooks scattered about over my apartment, and 50 or so drafts and half-completed pieces on my computer. For the last several months, every dandy idea gets lost between the time of conception and the moment of publication; in fact, there's a probability of about 95 to one that you'll never read this. But why am I so non-productive?
Well, it all boils down to anxiety and how I deal with it and how it relates to my literary output.
For me, writing is something that has historically been effortless. Despite having had utterly dreadful English teachers in school, I was a kid who could compose a thousand-word Geography essay on the bus ride from nowhere to the Middle of Nowhere, where the school was located. All was well and good until I had an English teacher who used to make you write mini-essays for the first 15 minutes of every class. Prior to this stress exercise, you would see just how shitty he thought your previous effort was, and I would PANIC. I could not sit and automatically generate a poem, or thesis, or anything related to a bookshelf, or grass, or whatever other inane word he had scrawled on the board. I knew I was screwed, so after a month or so of empty sheets of Mead college rule, I began writing lists.
The first one was a Shit List. Even though Mr. X's name was on it, he gave me a decent score. After recovering from the sheer shock of him not writing some demeaning comment, I continued. I wrote a list every single day of that class, and even though the prof hated my guts, I survived long enough to score a 96 on the final exam and get away from my nemesis. Now here's where the blogging comes in.
I have been penning and burning diary entries, sports stories, and random essays since I was a small child. I apparently began reading and writing at a young age. (and doing a ton of other things ahead of my peers, but we'll get to it at another time.) Of my 2 childhood memories, one is of me building a little village out of recycled materials after reading about it in a Sesame Street book. I have since found out that I was 3 at the time. So...back to the writing.
I'm sure that my journal entries were page after page of drivel, however, when I was 13 or 14, it became very apparent that the first of my dickheaded stepdads had been going through my belongings for a very long time. He began giving me shit for things I had thought but not said and for things I had only done in the confines of my bedroom. (it was actually a cement-floored storage room, but it was mine, so there.) After that, I incinerated everything I had ever written and only wrote about topics I was emotionally distant from, like the Flyers-Oilers rivalry. For well over a decade, I became so paranoid that I burned or shredded everything emotive, even when living by myself. Whenever I lagged, a visiting relative or person I was seeing would read my shit and then give me shit, so I internalized my feelings or destroyed all evidence of my humanness.
Cue the advent of MySpace.....
I began blogging on MySpace and similar sites some years ago. I had a decent enough job and still felt tremendous guilt whenever something personal would be touched on. A given post would only garner 10 or 15 views, but I was still highly restrained, and I still was for at least the first year on this platform. After a short while, people I had never met were tuning in. Lots of them. And with the number came a recycling of vintage neuroses that includes a ton of internalized shame. I embarrass incredibly easily. It may not show on the surface, but real or imagined guilt over uttering a single misplaced word in a conversation 10 years ago can stay with me.
Herein lies a problem, or rather several. Sometimes writing is therapeutic and it often deals with difficult subjects that cause people to feel things. There may be references to child abuse, mental illness, violence, alcoholism, and other nastiness that I figured occurred in every family until very recently. With the increase in numbers comes a sea of folks who may not be comfortable with me emptying the family litter box.
One of my personal anxieties comes to sex. I used to frequently discuss my feelings about so-and-so, masturbation, sex toys, and all sorts of things, but I feel extremely sheepish now because my pop and others read the not-so dinnerlike conversation. I get so freaked out that I censor pieces until there's nothing left because I have the irrational fear of giving Aunt So-And-So a myocardial infarction.
On the subject of embarrassment, I've created enough to last several lifetimes. If you scroll around enough, you'll find misogyny and transphobia; Islamophobia and migrant-bashing; religious fervour and equally ardent antitheism. To the reader, this may simply be a serious of downs and ups, but to me, much of this is an account of some of the most ridiculous ideas to escape my often disturbed mind. I was afraid of myself and transferred it upon others because that's what self-loathing, people-pleasing douchebags often do. I made horrible judgment calls and typed some things I no longer agree with and I apologize.
Next, we have the more current content. I really hate being ripped for things like syntax, but I loathe upsetting my readers more. Underneath my tough veneer is someone who has been hurt, yet doesn't want to cause pain in my fellow beings. The difficulty I experience is often with language itself. I'm not always up-to-date on the latest terminology and can say things that annoy some, albeit unintentionally so. Additionally, there may be veiled or overt references to discrimination, rape, abuse, sexism, racism, gaybashings and a slew of things not for the faint-of-heart. The content contained within these pages is an account of a very personal journey, even when it isn't obvious. My own issue is that I don't want to offend my non-family-member readership as well while still making whatever point it is I'm attempting to make.
Another dilemma is right here at home. I have a lot of insecurities, but the most recent ones arise from my personal transitions. I currently reside in a building with 42 fairly sheltered people who sometimes say absolutely awful things to me that trigger feelings of inadequacy or dysphoria. Also, I'm on the ground floor, so there are plenty of people just dropping by unannounced and I have been having difficulty dealing with all of their psychological issues as well. It's difficult to work on yourself when you have someone either reading over your shoulder or blabbing about their ex who just got out of jail, especially when most of your personal quirks arose from privacy violations.
So what to do? I think I'll be honest from here on out. I'm not going to sanitize my expression but I'll try not to rip anyone's heart out. I'm going to mention the things that make me hate myself and want to blow my brains out, as well as those that bring me tremendous joy. There may be some content that makes you feel, but I need one safe place in my chaotic life, and this is it. To my family, I'm not going to apologize, because if reading about my sexual quirks, political viewpoints, and possibly the stupid shit you have done to negatively affect others disturbs you, find something else to read.As for the old stuff, I'm going to keep it because it's a record of my emotional and sociological learning curve.
And there is work to continue. If I don't give myself a break and stop beating myself about the head for possessing similar emotive qualities to other members of the species, I will wind up in the hospital for the **th time. Thusly, I'm going to work on the whole not hanging myself with my intestines thing, and you're invited to watch.
So, am I going to turn into an asshole? Quite the contrary. I'm going to alert you if what you're about to read is heavy. With awareness of my own anxieties comes a respect for those of others. There will be things discussed that are of a sensitive nature, so in order to continue doing what I do, I will give you an idea of what you're in for and you can decide for yourself whether or not your psyche can tolerate the content of an individual piece. This new policy is not just for the benefit of younger/family/easily triggered readers, but for my conscience. I need to be able to free my mind without fucking up any of you. Also, if you see, hear, or read anything that makes your blood boil, feel free to comment or email me.
Here it begins. If it's your first time on here, I'll warn you that nothing published prior to this has been tagged. There are some frank discussions of rape, murder, child neglect, drug use, but also pieces about the origins of the toilet and frontal wedgies. It's mostly politics, but there's some weird shit back there. Periculo tuo ingredere.
By the way, I think that block thing may have been given a swift kick in the tuchas. Stay tuned.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Nothing Implied
Mitt Romney really wants to be U.S. president, but he does have several obstacles in his way in order to be taken seriously by voters.
As former Bain Capital bigshot, many folks won't be convinced when he calls himself a job creator; anti-choice people don't dig him because he's soft on the whole making-rape-victims-bear-their-attacker's-offspring thing, and anti-war and rule-the-fucking-world assholes alike think he's too wishy-washy on military policy.
Now, there are a multitude of reasons why I think Mittens is an asshat, however, the primary reason why I laugh my face off every time I see and/or hear Mitt Romney is because he reminds me of Robert Tilton, also known as Pastor Gas.
Yes, I'm immature.
As former Bain Capital bigshot, many folks won't be convinced when he calls himself a job creator; anti-choice people don't dig him because he's soft on the whole making-rape-victims-bear-their-attacker's-offspring thing, and anti-war and rule-the-fucking-world assholes alike think he's too wishy-washy on military policy.
Now, there are a multitude of reasons why I think Mittens is an asshat, however, the primary reason why I laugh my face off every time I see and/or hear Mitt Romney is because he reminds me of Robert Tilton, also known as Pastor Gas.
Yes, I'm immature.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Killing In The Name Of
When someone discovers that he or she is infected with HIV, the person might be scared, confused, or in outward denial. When it comes to HIV/AIDS, quack alternatives can end lives early, but if the wealth garnered by folks like Peter Deusberg is any indication, decent people still buy into various HIV/AIDS lies.
Among the false-cure culprits are religious fundamentalists. The Synagogue Church of All Nations is located in London, United Kingdom. It is an evangelical church which the faithful flock to in search of cures for everything from bunions to the aforementioned retrovirus. While there are several churches that have reportedly claimed to cure HIV through prayer, Sky News caught SCOAN's Rachel Holmes in the act, telling the Sky reporter (who is HIV+ herself) that the church had a 100% cure rate.
The church states that after the person is healed through God, he or she must stop taking medications and is free to have unprotected sex with his or her partner. According to British authorities, at least a half-dozen people have died and several partners have become infected due to the church's message, which even includes documents stating that the person is healed.
Watch and wretch:
It may be easy to blame the sick in this circumstance, but I'd caution against it. Religion sells hope, and people desperately want to believe that a Creator can wash away what the sufferer may believe is a product of sin. SCOAN is a wealthy, multinational religious corporation with thousands of adherents- people who genuinely revere their God and want to believe that he can do anything.
If SCOAN was a clinic that dispensed drugs that its proprietors knew were fake, heads would roll. There would be arrests and fines and sanctions. The medical professionals would lose their licenses and the building would be sold to compensate the wronged individuals. But it's not a medical office. It's a church, and churches can do whatever the fuck they please, up to and including giving out letters stating that they have magically eradicated one of man's most feared infectious diseases through the power of prayer.
In every crisis, there are opportunists; people and organizations eager to exploit desperation in exchange for power and currency. If all of the recent scandals have taught us anything, it should be that religious groups and their leaders can be greedy, self-serving, sociopathic, and just plumb wrong. Faith so-called healing may not be as overt a grenade, but the result is still the same. Some people get rich and others die for the crime of believing a lie.
News at 11.
Among the false-cure culprits are religious fundamentalists. The Synagogue Church of All Nations is located in London, United Kingdom. It is an evangelical church which the faithful flock to in search of cures for everything from bunions to the aforementioned retrovirus. While there are several churches that have reportedly claimed to cure HIV through prayer, Sky News caught SCOAN's Rachel Holmes in the act, telling the Sky reporter (who is HIV+ herself) that the church had a 100% cure rate.
The church states that after the person is healed through God, he or she must stop taking medications and is free to have unprotected sex with his or her partner. According to British authorities, at least a half-dozen people have died and several partners have become infected due to the church's message, which even includes documents stating that the person is healed.
Watch and wretch:
It may be easy to blame the sick in this circumstance, but I'd caution against it. Religion sells hope, and people desperately want to believe that a Creator can wash away what the sufferer may believe is a product of sin. SCOAN is a wealthy, multinational religious corporation with thousands of adherents- people who genuinely revere their God and want to believe that he can do anything.
If SCOAN was a clinic that dispensed drugs that its proprietors knew were fake, heads would roll. There would be arrests and fines and sanctions. The medical professionals would lose their licenses and the building would be sold to compensate the wronged individuals. But it's not a medical office. It's a church, and churches can do whatever the fuck they please, up to and including giving out letters stating that they have magically eradicated one of man's most feared infectious diseases through the power of prayer.
In every crisis, there are opportunists; people and organizations eager to exploit desperation in exchange for power and currency. If all of the recent scandals have taught us anything, it should be that religious groups and their leaders can be greedy, self-serving, sociopathic, and just plumb wrong. Faith so-called healing may not be as overt a grenade, but the result is still the same. Some people get rich and others die for the crime of believing a lie.
News at 11.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Visual Aid Of The Day
In Israel, a land of awesome foods and textiles, this is Chumus
It's cheap, delicious, and even has a Twitter account.
On the West coast of Vancouver Island, chumus means sweet, like candy. However, the word has generally lost it's original meaning. Amongst young-to-middleaged locals, chumus refers to this:
It's semi-legal, super-smelly, and is even featured on a license plate. (If someone can get a picture of the blue Plymouth with the CHUMUS plate, he or she will be rewarded)
More often than not, inhalation of item #2 will result in the consumption of vast quantities of item #1
It's cheap, delicious, and even has a Twitter account.
On the West coast of Vancouver Island, chumus means sweet, like candy. However, the word has generally lost it's original meaning. Amongst young-to-middleaged locals, chumus refers to this:
It's semi-legal, super-smelly, and is even featured on a license plate. (If someone can get a picture of the blue Plymouth with the CHUMUS plate, he or she will be rewarded)
More often than not, inhalation of item #2 will result in the consumption of vast quantities of item #1
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Process And Pronouns
As most of you may know, November is Prostate Awareness Month; however, some of you may not know it is also Transgender Awareness Month, and as such, I'm going to give you a quick lesson on pronouns and transgender faux-pas:
The correct pronouns for a female who was assigned male at birth/ male-to-female trans human: she, her, hers, herself.*
The correct pronouns and their declined forms for a male assigned female at birth/ female-to-male trans human are: he, him, his, himself.
These are to be spoken and written as such, no quotation marks please (i.e.: "she") ; no dehumanizing pronouns like it sil vous plait. Most of all, if you use the term he/she to describe a trans person or deliberately assign the pronouns of the person's birth gender, you will come across as stupid at the very least, with the most likely interpretation being that you're an asshole. If you're in doubt, quietly inquire.
Most transitioning folks will understand if a person makes the odd pronoun mistake, particularly if you've known him or her for a long time and this is a new deal, but some will be pissed. Personally, I think in degrees of malice- if none is intended, I take no offense; if pronoun fuckups are repetitious and done to belittle me or emasculate me in public, I'm probably going to leave and/or avoid any further darts matches.
Also, never call a trans person a tranny- the term is along the same lines as faggot. In many circles, it implies that the person is a prostitute, which is probably not the implication you're trying to make. Furthermore, if you think you "see" a transgender person when you're out in public, don't run up and talk to him or her like the person is a circus freak. Gender expression is varied, even amongst folks who were born in their desired gender, so you may be making a mistake, and in real life Jenny may get a little pissed if you tell her you think she used to have a penis. We don't live on the set of Maury Povich. If you would be uncomfortable with a stranger asking about your nethers, it's safe to assume that the person you are approaching would be as well.
Finally, if someone you know is trans, don't announce it out in public. Transgender people are frequently raped, maimed, murdered, and arrested without cause. (There is an old study that stated that 89% of young trans people had been assaulted or threatened with violence. I think that estimate may be low.) Even if none of the harsher things occurs, you're publicly shaming someone and making the person feel threatened, and that makes you an idiot. Also, most people don't want to know if their hairy-assed plumber used to be a pretty girl named Anita. If you're curious about something related to someone's transition, address it privately.
So how do you treat a transperson? Like a human first and foremost- like your neighbour or friend or kid. The person is still the same even though the exterior may have had a few upgrades.
When we begin or continue to treat all people in a manner consistent with the way we wish to be treated, we further the growth of our species and pass along a little decency along the way. Whether we are fat, thin; young or old; male, female, or anything in between, we are all cells that make up the glorious human condition. And our actions are what determine how close we really are.
*There are acceptable neutral pronouns like zie, hir, etc. used amongst some groups of LGBT people to describe trans-identified people, but a lot of folks who are stealth won't dig them. Plus, they aren't adopted by all people; I am not a fan because they remind me too much of female pronouns, and I identify as a binary male.
The correct pronouns for a female who was assigned male at birth/ male-to-female trans human: she, her, hers, herself.*
The correct pronouns and their declined forms for a male assigned female at birth/ female-to-male trans human are: he, him, his, himself.
These are to be spoken and written as such, no quotation marks please (i.e.: "she") ; no dehumanizing pronouns like it sil vous plait. Most of all, if you use the term he/she to describe a trans person or deliberately assign the pronouns of the person's birth gender, you will come across as stupid at the very least, with the most likely interpretation being that you're an asshole. If you're in doubt, quietly inquire.
Most transitioning folks will understand if a person makes the odd pronoun mistake, particularly if you've known him or her for a long time and this is a new deal, but some will be pissed. Personally, I think in degrees of malice- if none is intended, I take no offense; if pronoun fuckups are repetitious and done to belittle me or emasculate me in public, I'm probably going to leave and/or avoid any further darts matches.
Also, never call a trans person a tranny- the term is along the same lines as faggot. In many circles, it implies that the person is a prostitute, which is probably not the implication you're trying to make. Furthermore, if you think you "see" a transgender person when you're out in public, don't run up and talk to him or her like the person is a circus freak. Gender expression is varied, even amongst folks who were born in their desired gender, so you may be making a mistake, and in real life Jenny may get a little pissed if you tell her you think she used to have a penis. We don't live on the set of Maury Povich. If you would be uncomfortable with a stranger asking about your nethers, it's safe to assume that the person you are approaching would be as well.
Finally, if someone you know is trans, don't announce it out in public. Transgender people are frequently raped, maimed, murdered, and arrested without cause. (There is an old study that stated that 89% of young trans people had been assaulted or threatened with violence. I think that estimate may be low.) Even if none of the harsher things occurs, you're publicly shaming someone and making the person feel threatened, and that makes you an idiot. Also, most people don't want to know if their hairy-assed plumber used to be a pretty girl named Anita. If you're curious about something related to someone's transition, address it privately.
So how do you treat a transperson? Like a human first and foremost- like your neighbour or friend or kid. The person is still the same even though the exterior may have had a few upgrades.
When we begin or continue to treat all people in a manner consistent with the way we wish to be treated, we further the growth of our species and pass along a little decency along the way. Whether we are fat, thin; young or old; male, female, or anything in between, we are all cells that make up the glorious human condition. And our actions are what determine how close we really are.
*There are acceptable neutral pronouns like zie, hir, etc. used amongst some groups of LGBT people to describe trans-identified people, but a lot of folks who are stealth won't dig them. Plus, they aren't adopted by all people; I am not a fan because they remind me too much of female pronouns, and I identify as a binary male.
Bullshit Pledge Of the Day
The 2012 American election dickswinging parade is in full session. It's the time where governors fail to govern because they're too busy campaigning for another office and good bills become stifled by hot-button issues like abortion and gays existing.
And on the subject of the big gay threat that consists of roughly 3% of the population, the State of Minnesota will have a vote determining not whether or not gays should marry, but whether the state Constitution should be amended to ban it from occuring in the future.
One of the groups that wants to ensure that Church and State intertwine is the inappropriately-named Minnesota For Marriage, who wants to affirm their right to wedded whatever while making sure your sister can't marry her college sweetheart. FMF has even taken to giving out prizes to those who are unfortunate enough to sign their useless hate pledge.
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| Just so you know it's a MONTHLY drawing, the fact is mentioned 3 times, with the fact that a month runs from the first day to the last clarified for those who may not have deduction skills. |
Here's the deal- if your idea is so revolutionary; so awesome, you shouldn't have to give out prizes. Besides, it's not like someone is required by law to vote in a specific fashion by signing one of these things. The only result of putting pen to this paper is that you're going to have to move to Saskatchewan to get rid of the crazy religious bozos. Once they've got your name, you'll be called upon to sign every Christianist wackadoodle pledge these yoyos come up with. They'll enjoy annoying you and you'll deserve it.
Just like those phony sweepstakes put on by timeshare companies, the offering of a prize is a scam to get your name on a mailing list. And in this case, you are signing your name to a pledge that attacks freedom.
This applies to not only this document, but everything else in life: If you don't take time to read the fine print, you might just wind up buying something you don't want.
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