Big Weekend Of Many Things which followed immediately on the heels of Badly Misguided Moving-&-Pride Weekend is over. Brother and SiL are wed, grandfather's grave unveiled, and now we drive to Kingston, ON and thence to Centre Burlington, ON for three weeks of R&R with only the tiniest bit of work while we're there.

Photos will be forthcoming, but the few I saw of my SALM and I at the wedding were pretty cute (especially since I was able to coax him into buying a beautiful new suit). ::grin::

Well, mostly moved. Everything's out of the old place, though there are still things to sort before they get packed into their final storage spaces.

Pride managed, mostly, with only a few rants on the general theme of "where were you, mister silver hotpants, when we were fundraising/lobbying/artmaking/having community meetings? I mean, thanks for coming out and blowing your whistle, and all, but it's not like we needed you for this part."

I'm exhausted. My email is backed up since I don't know when, I haven't even looked at LJ in ::mumble::, everything hurts, and someone dropped a couch on me today while I was going backwards, downstairs.

So, uh. Sleep now. Email, phone calls, text messages, &c tomorrow.

There's a meme going around, to list on your blog three or five things you think no one else has done. I've been enjoying it in that "damn, my friends are cool" kind of way but also noticing that I have not done nearly so many cool, unusual, or elsewise fabulous things as the people I know have done. I have not climbed any mountains, hiked any forests (rain, national, or otherwise), hobnobbed with any royalty, achieved any firsts, or, er, anything else like that.

I didn't feel boring...

The super here, with whom we have a longstanding disagreement, just started screaming at me. At the top of his lungs. On the sidewalk. Complete with threatening gestures and all-up-in-your-faceness. It was, I have to be honest, very difficult not to just kill him right there in the street.

I did not, for the record. I remained outwardly calm, and disengaged from the intense rage, and walked away. Now, of course, I want to go find him. But now I am in a self-imposed time out, in my chair in the bedroom, to calm down.

Deep breathing. Eye closing. Finding a peaceful and quiet place. Calm down program commencing...now.

(keep your fingers crossed for me. those of you who know me well know that this is not my best skill.)

I am pleased to report that all of my Secret Agent Lover Man's books (well, except the cookbooks) are packed, and even pleased-er to note that he also has twenty-odd boxes of books. I like that in a sweetheart.

Tomorrow, all my worldly possessions arrive via truck ably captained by rexlezard and callyboy, and go promptly into storage with most of my Secret Agent Lover Man's stuff, where it will cohabitate quietly for the summer as we gad about (note to self: write email to parents giving step-by-step description of summer travel so that when the OMG WEDDING haze passes and they remember they have another child they'll know where their other child is). We'll basically be camping in our apartment through Pride weekend, leaving ourselves only the necessities - laptops, toothbrushes, kilts, two kinds of hair product, &c.

At the moment, I am made of tired (which is a lot like dryer lint when it gets sort of felted, I think) and am going to go lie down. Near the dog, who does not like boxes or moving noises or dust being kicked up very much at all and has been thoroughly bribed with a rawhide bone glazed with Rescue Remedy. And soon near the SALM, who is has been sorting and packing and ::in a low voice:: discarding things like a champion all evening, for which he will be rewarded as soon as I can summon the appropriate vigor.

1. Magic moving boxes that whisk your belongings into them, carefully cushioned against breakage.

2. Three extra days between Saturday and Sunday this week.

3. To know how that one small dog can shed this much hair.

4. For someone to bring me a dozen of those plaid zippered plasticked bags, with the handles. From Chinatown.

5. To figure out where all this extra, unstorage-able food is supposed to go. Open jars of jam, open bags of pasta, frozen veggie burgers, &c.

6. An hour long massage devoted entirely to my hands and feet.

7. An espresso pot.

8. Ice trays. Or, rather, a freezer big enough to contain all the food we need /and/ ice trays.

9. Har gao. Just bring all of them, that's fine.

10. More patience, compassion, and capacity to forgive.

11. A very tall glass of iced coffee, packed with ice and oversweetened just as I like it.

12. And a plastic rocket.

13. And a pony.


(Astute readers who wish to note that #4 and #9 could be accomplished in one trip should refrain, unless they're also offering the use of their teleporters.)

I was ego-googling (what? like you don't...) and came across this amazing essay on the blog Radical Masculinity entitled Masculinity, Butch Identity, and Ableism about the ways in which the perception of dis/ability affects one's ability to be read as butch/transmasculine/man. The blog is generally quite smart about masculinity, but the essay in question so perfectly reflected a conversation I had to day with a friend who uses a chair that I feel compelled to draw your attention to this essay, in particular.

that Obama's nomination is a good thing:

The New York Times is now using the word dap without quotation marks around it.

1. Cranky, cranky, cranky. Productive, but oh holy crankitude, Batbutch!

2. I am arranging for all of my belongings still in the US to come to Canadia, so they'll all be in the same place, which is the same place all of my Secret Agent Lover Man's things will be, when we get home from the UK is September. This is upsettingly expensive but generally worthwhile, and feels like Progress.

2a. This also required having a wee chat with my Dad. Now, my dad's a pretty good guy, overall, but he has some quirks. One of them I share: an unpleasant tendency toward instant negative reaction when surprised by something. One of them, I do not - his intense hatred of piercing. All piercing; when my mother took me to get my ears pierced, a couple months before my Bat Mitzvah, he threw a fit when we got home and told her she had mutilated me. The combination of these things led me to have to say, to my father, this morning, the following thing about my very excellent and intrepid friend callyboy, who is going to my parents's house to engage in the process of #2, above:

"Dad, there's one other thing. Calvin has piercings, in his face. I am telling you now, so you can prepare. I really need for you to not say anything about that to him. He's a great guy and a good friend and he is really helping me out a lot with my move. Okay? Please?"

He grumbled in reply, but agreed. Calvin, you're safe.

3. My brother is getting married in three weeks, which is wonderful because I adore him and my almost-sister-in-law. I got to write their wedding service, too, which was pretty great. Writing about love for someone you love when you are also in love yourself is not a bad gig.

4. That tabs open on my browser right now meme: Chrome Bags Hipbone belt bag, CSI Miami Season 6 download (episode 8), New York Times article about French black community's response to Obama's nomination, GO Magazine's 100 Women We Love in 2008 (four friends made the list), a list of Nobel Laureate Trivia, Go Fug Yourself (and no, I have /no/ idea what Katy Perry is wearing (of course, I also have no idea who most of these young women are, but that matters less), the Monya Rowe Gallery where my fabulous pal naylandblake is curating a show, which I have a piece in (and about which I feel quite fancy, thank you) and, of course, my beloved Live Journal.

5. There is a lot of packing to do around here. I managed a few boxes of books this morning but I really need more supervision. Anyone in TO who wants to come watch me pack and keep me company is welcomed, welcomed, welcomed. Ditto anyone who wants to chat on the phone while I do this; if you want the number, just ask.

6. It is raining, /again/.

7. For some reason, I think I have to do these numbered posts in fives or tens - stop at five, or carry on until I have thought of ten things to say. What's that about?

That thing about Canada being more liberal? True!

If I had a flat chest, I would carry a bag. Or if I liked having my tits be visible, then too. A messenger style bag, maybe, or a backpack.

If I carried a bag, I could stock it with my camera and sharpies and chalk and maybe even a little homemade stencil and some spray paint. I'd change the stencil often, but I'd start with

I've had the wind knocked out of me, but never the hurricane

which is my favorite. I might also carry a little dapping hammer and some finish nails, and sometimes tack a little treasure to a doorway or wall. Or some flower bulbs, or seed bombs for turning median strips into tomato gardens with not-quite-volunteer tomatoes. Voluntold tomatoes.

If I could carry all of those things I would make a lot more art than I do now, here in this city where art bursts out of every crack it seems, sometimes.

And that is how my art is influenced by my gender.

This evening, my Secret Agent Lover Man and I went to the current Buddies In Bad Times Theater show, called Beauty Salon. It was an installation piece, subtle and brilliant and what you got out of it was very much dependent on what you brought to it. We spent the time getting extremely queer beauty treatments - facial hair, breast reduction or augmentation, temporary tattoos, manicures (the brightest polish choices in ever), pedicures (complete with toe separators and glitter to be applied) and so on. Observe:



If only you could see his belt buckle...



It's a very shiny lavender. It matched my shirt, which is why I chose it, though the chuckles from the ladies at the manicure station suggested to me that this was not traditionally how one chooses a polish color. It also, now that I look, matched my MacBookPro nicely. Which seems like a bonus.



Some of the temporary tattoos were quite ornate, but we begged for these at the last minute, when she really only had time to do one. Because we are romantic mushballs, yes we are.

The best part, in addition to the facial (a very nice woman rubbed a variety of things into my face, and then put cold things over my eyelods and massaged my neck and jaw. Amazing!) was watching who chose treatments that were gender-confirming for them (facial hair, temporary tattoos, or sitting in the lounge drinking a beer was a fairly typical salon evening among the masculinely gendered) and who tried new things, mixed it up, etc. I could write about it all day, seriously, except I might fuck up my manicure.

I am just showing off my new userpic, courtesy of rexlezard

The day started out pretty well, even counting the part where my Secret Agent Lover Man woke me every hour on the hour until 8am (the 7am wakeup wins the style points, in which he dropped my leather pants on me). But there were snuggles, and I managed to lever myself upright for the seeing-off and get him some decent food packed, even, from last night's baked-tofu-and-grape-tomato salad (surprisingly good) plus some other bits and bobs. Took the dog for ecstatic joyful running around at the dog park, picked up fresh pierogi for dinner, and got myself a rose-jam-filled panzki (mmmmmmmm.) and talked the nice Scotiabank people into depositing my check, despite the fact that I had left the house without my bank card, or any ID. Ooops. They were very kind about it, though.

So, everything was going beautifully, and then I realized I have a doctor's appointment this morning. In ten minutes. With a brand new doctor. So I may possibly be procrastinating that, by blogging. Have you heard about the new, uh, plant closings in Windsor?

What?

::sigh::

Fine. Here I go.

Three things I'm feeling pleased about this morning:

1) I got snuggled awake today. I love being snuggled awake, and I cannot imagine why this isn't an industry yet. My Secret Agent Lover Man, who tends to get up around 6am, let me sleep in until almost 8 before he brought all his good warm skin back to bed and loved on me.

1a) If you are without your own in-house snuggler (or travel without same sometimes) and you could hire someone warm and friendly and of good character to come snuggle you awake for ten or fifteen minutes every morning, would you? I totally would, at least when I'm away. Especially if I could choose someone nicely squashy.

2) I have ordered some new shorts for the summer, and they are not khaki (a fact that I imagine will surprise everyone who knows me in person). None of the three pair, in fact, is any shade of tan at all. Also - also! - I managed to snag what I hope will be a cute outfit, in the form of a pair of madras patchwork shorts in a navy/brown/grey colorway and a brown linen buttondown shirt. Stay tuned.

3) Because we are so very good at being queer, my SALM and I got offered tickets to the True Colors concert afterparty tomorrow, where we get to get all dressed up and go drink with the A Gays, and also with Cyndi Lauper. It's the beginning of the Pride Season here, which means that among all the packing of everything in boxes there are also a lot of events - this is probably the kickoff. Wahoo.

Oh, and - winner of the copy of Butch from yesterday's escapades is....mamagotcha! (pls. email me with your address?) Thanks a million to everyone who voted; the Ten Oaks people were completely delighted by the whirlwind of votes and the outpouring of support. You people rock like whoa.

Camp Ten Oaks in Ottawa (the people who among other things organize the camp for children of LGBT families and their allies) is hoping to get approved as a donation recipient at the site "Give Meaning". In order to do that, they need a certain number of votes (this will cost you nothing) in order to be approved. Help out Ten Oaks, visit:

Please visit http://www.givemeaning.com/proposal/camptenoaks.

and vote to support their project! All you need to enter is a name, email address, and your country - plus a swift, stylish click of the Vote Now radio button.

If you are interested in having a child you know attend the camp - act now! There are only 4 spots left, although they do keep a waiting list. You can read more about the camp at www.camptenoaks.org

They need 67 votes as of this moment, and I'd love to see them squared away by the end of the day. Can we do it? Comment if you vote, and I'll randomly select a winner and send a copy of Butch to the address you specify (you, a friend, a library, etc.)

Okay, ready? Go!

edited to add: 52 votes needed! C'mon, East Coast, don't let the West Coasters wake up and polish it off.

11:20am: 41 left to go!

12:57pm: 27! 27! Click, click, click, I beseech thee.

2:23pm: Only 11 votes to go. I'm heading out to pick up our guest dog for the week; looking forward to you fabulous cats and kittens hitting the target while I'm out. Peace.

5:57pm: Whew. Done. Thanks, rockstars, I knew you could do it. Drawing results tomorrow.

I got sent ahead to secure a table for brunch with my Secret Agent Lover Man, his parents, and his aunt visiting from the UK. While I was waiting, this happened, and I was pleased to get a shot off before the wind carried it away.

I wrote a long entry, full of the complain. Then my Secret Agent Lover Man came in, and gave me a kiss on the cheek, and I deleted it because a) who gives a shit? and b) I have nothing to complain about.

I think ( this is so totally cute. Not safe for work, though. Not even a little bit. )

I dunno, it just looks so... sweet.