Don’t flatter yourself, Akker.
Jason Akermanis of footballing fame has stated that gay footballers shouldn’t go around telling people they’re gay, because it will make everything uncomfortable in the change rooms, what with all the naked men and whatnot.
It reminds me somewhat of a conversation between two male friends who had just finished High School. I shall call them Henry and Steve. So Henry tells Steve that a third guy, Wayne, is gay. Steve freaks out and says “No way, I spent HOURS with him in the edit suite!”. Henry replies “Yes, and he was probably thinking of your cute butt the whole time”. Steve cries. Well not really, but almost.
See, the thing about homophobia that stems from “I don’t want some gay guy looking at me” is this: Pretty big ego you have on yourself there, isn’t it? Let’s clear up some factoids.
Gay men do not just jump on anyone.
Okay some do, but so do some straight men. See, just as being a straight man doesn’t mean you figure every woman wants a ride, being a gay man means you don’t figure every MAN wants a ride. Do you see?
You might not even have to worry.
Why assume that a gay man will even find you attractive enough to look at twice? Do you find every single member of the opposite sex attractive? No, of course not. It works JUST the same way for gay people you know.
It’s a compliment, actually.
If a woman looked you over, you’d be all tingly. Gay men are just as good at checking out hotties as women are, so take it as a compliment. Someone thinks you’re hot enough to check out! Doesn’t mean you have to go home with them.
How doubled are your standards?
If you have no issues with two women getting it on in a bedroom setting, then you should have no issues with two men doing the same. Seriously, it shits me up the wall that lesbians are “hot” and gay men are “disgusting”. Think about it, you doofus.
As for Akker, well I really hope he gets himself sorted out, the man has some issues.
Standing Up.
I spent most of my time in High School waiting to be tripped, spat on or otherwise abused, which happened a lot. I spent a LOT of time at work waiting to be yelled at, yelled about or corrected for nothing. You could say I know a little bit about bullies.
Someone I used to know is a bully. She thinks nothing of belittling, ridiculing or out and out attacking people who disagree with her. She surrounds herself with “Yes!” people, deleting anything that shows her as maybe not the wonderful person she thinks she is. Feeding on these compliments and applause she stands herself tall and feels she can do no wrong, ever. In the middle of this circle of people who think she’s amazing, she is always right in everything she does. She is quick to accuse others of being bullies.
Everyone can do wrong. Not a single person in this universe is a perfect human being. Everyone, at some point, handles something badly or says a stupid thing to someone or runs over the tie of the CEO. Things happen, it’s being willing to admit we messed up and to learn from those mistakes that lets us grow as people and become, hopefully, better.
A couple of days ago I posted a thing about the Weight Police. I had it in draft for a while, I ummed and ahed and reworked and changed and eventually decided this: This is my little place on the internets. If I want to post 40 pictures a day of my big toe, I can do that. If I want to say Danni Minogue looked better before surgery, I can say that. And if I want to say “I want treatment for my medical condition” I can do that.
I am not in any way a perfect person. I have been a bully. I have been a bitch. I have hurt people, and I have been thoughtless and careless with emotions. I am no better than anyone on this planet, but I am no worse either. I am tired of wondering if what I am going to say is going to upset someone who clearly doesn’t care about anyone but herself, so this bully who has stepped out of my life is not terribly missed. Because I just realised, I’ve been editing my plurks, tweets and blog to make sure I don’t incur her wrath.
And I don’t have to do that anymore.
If you’ll excuse me, I have 40 pictures of my big toe to take – gunna be a big post tomorrow!
Darling, we’re the young ones.
And young ones, shouldn’t be afwaid! I picked up the double boxed complete special edition luvverly jubbly Young Ones DVD set yesterday. I’ve been pondering it for a long while as the VHS copies we taped off the telly were worn out and tossed out years ago, but the price has choked me some. Finding the double set on discount was a “HURRAH!” moment.
The Young Ones first broadcast in 1982, when I was around 5. In 1984 the second run came out, and presumably the ABC repeated the first run because our old betamax was there to capture all 12 eps. I also remember, during the second run, being allowed to stay up late on the school holidays to watch it. It was on after the D-gen and I don’t remember which episode it was, but it was super exciting to be left out of bed for it!
Over the years I watched the tapes on loop, and I fully admit that jokes went right over my head. We bought a VHS player, tossed out the betamax tapes and waited for another repeat run of the show. Once those tapes were worn out, and since a 20 year old show wasn’t worth repeating, we lost the Young Ones.
Until yesterday! I watched series one while working on a crochet thing, and started series 2. There’s things I’d forgotten, and things which seem funnier, and it’s very very nice to have them back to be honest.
I think this early exposure to the Young Ones was probably what set me up as a comedy junkie to this day. I adore most British Comedy (some of it is exceptionally lame, but then so is a lot of Aussie stuff) and comedians. The Comedy Festival (which I intend to drag the boyfriend to next year) is brilliance. I love to laugh, so good comedy gets purchased and watched and yep, I do watch it over and over again. Just because I’ve seen it before, doesn’t make it less fun to watch.
A History of PCOS by Me – aged 31.
Yesterday as I staggered around Borders wishing for early death (not to be overly dramatical) I told The Boyfriend I’d picked up the PCOS Diet Book and Managing PCOS for Dummies. He said surely I could write a Dummies guide to PCOS by now, having immersed myself in it for so long.
Apparently not! Quite apart from the fact that there’s more information in one single paragraph of these books than I ever got from a single specialist, the information in them is stuff I’ve never heard linked to PCOS before. Which has put me in between relief – “Oh good, it’s not just that I’m weird, it’s the PCOS” and anger – “Oh great, another fucking thing to go fucking wrong”.
Much of my “knowledge” of PCOS is gleaned from websites, communities and books. Simply because the specialists I saw were there to treat or look at one aspect of the whole, and therefore they’d do that and wander off. So as new information comes to light about the effects this condition has on the body, I need to make sure I keep up. In this case, it’s interesting to note that poor sleep and oversleep have been linked to – you guessed it – PCOS.
However most if not all of the worst parts of the syndrome can be bashed on the head with a quality low GI diet which includes a lot of whole grains and whatnot. This is a relief. I’ve avoided looking into PCOS diet simply because of the mental “I suck at diets” block. To find page after page of nummy things to eat that I can eat daily – big big big relief. My favourite of the three books I got yesterday – The Ultimate PCOS Handbook – even includes options and advice for vegetarians like myself. Hurrah!
So now for the history part. This post will be long, you can take a nap in the middle. I already napped today, so I’m good for a while. Ready? Let’s begin. (Boys should note at this point, I will be mentioning periods. Don’t be scared)
In about grade 5 (age ~ 10) I went from a tiny elfin little creature to three times my original weight within about 5 months. BANG. At age 12, my periods started just before I started High School. They were heavy, horrible and I missed a lot of school due to exhaustion and other things related to a 5 month constant period. Then they stopped, started, stopped, started… they never lasted less than 4 weeks.
No cause could be found for this cycle, nor for my massive weight gain apart from “You eat too much and you’re lazy”. I was, at this stage, not overly lazy. If I went to a friends house, for example, we’d walk into town, catch the train to the city, walk the city for the day, come home and walk back to their place. I was moving. I wasn’t a great sportsperson because I was fat and therefore slow, and my knees and ankles were giving way in alarming manners.
The ankles were addressed by a doctor who had me use insoles to support the foot, but the problem remained. A specialist in something or other tested my blood and said, without looking up from his notebook “Ah, yes. You probably will not be able to have babies. Everything else is fine. Goodbye”. Meanwhile I was growing body and face hair like whoa, which got me a referral to a dermatologist who – and I am not joking but I wish I was – said she couldn’t help with the hair problem but I clearly ate too much junk food. When I said I didn’t, she stood over me and blasted me for lying to her because I was so fat I was clearly eating junkfood every single day. Unable to defend myself, and crying hysterically, I swore off doctors for a long time. The Boyfriend can attest it’s a nightmare to try and get me to see a medical person these days.
However, I happened to read a magazine article about PCOS and the symptoms seemed to fit so I marched back to the GP and asked to be tested. In the darkened room of the ultrasound booth, a lovely smiling little Chinese specialist sat me down and pointed out on the pictures exactly where all the cysts were, and confirmed that yes, I did have PCOS. Without doubt he is the best specialist I have ever seen, not just because he took the time to explain what was going on, but because he was sympathetic about the whole deal.
Anyways, that was 9ish years ago and back then (listen to me like it was 1963) the treatment was the Pill. This was purely to get the periods ontrack again, and resulted (in me) in more weight gain and feelings of suicidal depression. So I stopped it and gave up for a spell till I read on the internet that someone had found a link between PCOS and Insulin Resistance, and treating the IR would help the PCOS.
AND HOW. Taking metformin, a drug used for diabetics, and adding a tiny bit of activity to my life I dropped almost 25 kilos. The drawback? I felt, constantly, like I was about to puke. Medication didn’t stop that, it was just something to put up with and I decided I didn’t want to put up with it anymore and stopped met. BANG, 25kilos straight back on. I dabbled with met again earlier this year, but I really cannot stand the feeling of nausea and the idea that if you cough, you’ll need to change your pants (sorry, TMI?).
Which brings me, rather neatly, back to diet. Currently I can only do parts of it, but I hope even a little bit of the diet will help in little ways (this is because I still live at home, and my mother considers the phrase “Low GI” to be something someone made up to make money).
I’ll start slowly, mostly because I’m spending most of my time with the books reading through the case studies and thinking “Oh yeah, me too. Me too”.
Frente Party
I was at JBHiFi yesterday hunting around for stuffs to accidentally spend too much money on, and I found “Marvin The Album” by Frente on sale for $5. The second I saw it, I had to have it. My only copy is one Debbie dubbed for me in high school back when we had mixTAPES not mixCDS. Yeah, those were the days.
So now I’m listening to it, and thinking about all kinds of good stuff, like buying EPs at the crappy little CD shop in Eltham, and singing Ordinary Angels at the tops of our voices. Music most surely takes you back.
The Great Pretender
One of the issues with PCOS, in my case anyways (I can no more speak for the entire PCOS community than I can speak for all brunettes) is that it is a defeminiser. I don’t know if that’s even a word, but I’m sure you get my drift. I grapple, often, with the concept of my femaleness. There are days when I feel neither male nor female, just human. I admit it’s a little rarer these days since The Boyfriend is making such a point of pointing out the female side.
I find I have little to no common ground with standard female practice in Australian society. I’ve never had my legs waxed commercially, nor have I picked up a brilliant jacket/pair of shoes/pair of jeans off the rack that made me happy. I detest clothes shopping, the three mirror changing rooms are hell, and the variable sizes between brands horrible. The buzz of being a size 16 in Brand A is quickly squashed by being a 20 in Brand B. I had my first, and probably last, massage only a few months ago and only then because of chronic back pain. I do not gym, sauna, spa, dayspa, facial, make over, hair salon or manicure. And GOD no I do not pedicure.
It’s not even purely a matter of weight. One of the fun parts of PCOS is body hair, and in Western Culture the concept of hair on a woman is considered disgusting and wrong. Due to a multi million dollar industry selling everything from laser treatment to disposable razors, women are constantly told through media and social ideals that they need to have a full body wax at least every three hours.
I did have laser treatments over the last couple of years, and so far the results are pretty decent. Most of the work was done on my belly, and very little of the hair has returned, so I’m pleased with that. I stopped when the weight went back on because laying there staring at the ceiling while my stunning laser tech stared at my screamingly white belly was too much for my exceptionally fragile self esteem. The next step was to have been the chest, but I am finding it easier, mostly, to simply continue to wear things that cover me as totally as possible.
Last year I visited a psychologist in order to address some anxiety issues that were pretty much running my life. I’m much better now, thanks for asking, due in part to a string of sessions and a daily dose of lexapro (Depression / anxiety is pretty common in PCOS ladies, to the point where it’s listed in some places as an official symptom). This year I have done things I would not have dreamed of last year, such as the Ghan trip, various driving things and – hello? Chicago next month. So you could say a lot of my anxiety is now gone, and I am much happier for it, but for some reason, the shame about the hair remains. It’s not terribly dark, or long, but to me it’s pretty much a 6 inch shagpile rug.
“Why don’t you wax it/shave it/bleach it/pluck it”. Depilatory creams bring me out in an almost incredible rash, I do pluck the longer or ingrown hairs, I don’t shave it because I hate when the stubble catches my clothes, and I don’t wax it because that also brings me out in a rash, albeit a lesser one. So I cover it up, and i HATE that. I’ve been looking at a lot of BBW sites of recent trying to boost my self esteem and embrace my shape, and what I wouldn’t give to wear some of those clothes. However, I cannot, because they simply don’t cover enough skin.
I love to wear skirts, but I battle with the moronic idea that I don’t deserve to wear them. Skirts are feminine and I am not, does that make sense? So why should I wear them? It makes no sense, even to me, but when I plan to wear a skirt to work, I always end up in jeans. Jeans are safer, unisex and they cover the entire leg. It’s a perfect win.
But tomorrow, damn it, I might just try a skirt.
The Librarians
Series Two of “The Librarians” started last night, and frankly I am a little bit in love all over again.
I’m aware there’s a lot of grumbling in the Library Industry about how it’s “unrealistic” and “They’d never get away with that sort of thing” but please, people, it’s a sitcom. Are you honestly telling me you think “Porridge” was an expose on the prison system in the UK? That ANYONE actually loves Raymond? Relax!
I love the characters, not just because Francis seems to be based in several parts on people I know in libraries. I love the variations in personality and the insanity running not too far under the surface. Sure, skipping a library bus stop wouldn’t be let go like it was in last nights episode, but the general feel of the show isn’t too far off the mark in my opinion.
Maybe that’s why there’s so many grumblings, because library staff feel it cuts too close to the bone in some cases (example, one of my favourite scenes in the last series was a night time event which was attended almost entirely by library staff – I laughed for about 20 solid minutes at that because it’s happened to us too many times).
However, as Wayne Hope said, it’s not REALLY about libraries, it’s about Francis. She just happens to be a Librarian. While my workmates heap scorn upon it, I will continue to love it wildly, because even if it wasn’t a library show, Wayne Hope and Robin Butler write excellent comedy.
Big Gal
I have a thing called Polycystic Ovary Syndrome, generally termed PCOS because it’s that much faster to type. In general terms, it means I am fucked up in many ways, not the least of which is my variable weight. The underlying cause of PCOS is insulin resistance, which means that the body doesn’t understand insulin so well, so the pancreas just keeps pumping it out. This gives me a classic insulin fat shape – upper back fat and belly fat. Aka – apple shaped.
One of the hardest decisions for me, and one I make several times a year, is the trade off that taking Metformin is. If i take the met, I will lose weight. I will also feel crap 99% of the time, and will be unable to cough without worrying I’ve.. um.. you know. So I take it a while and then the sideeffects piss me off, so I stop and feel fantastic for a time. Then I go back on it. It’s a cycle I can’t really seem to break. The desire to lose the excess weight is very strong, and the dread and hate of the met is also strong, so I tend to go around and around.
One of the problems with PCOS (and it has so many) is that it really is harder to lose weight. I know that sounds like an excuse, but it’s true. Weight goes on a lot more easiliy, and comes off with a lot more work. So even in the event of dieting and all that any weight I lose is literally waiting around the corner for a chance to jump back on. However it’s really time to try to get off the met cycle once and for all. So here’s to probably maybe perhaps doing something a bit positive.
In the meantime, I am trying to accept myself more. Which, after 15 years of pretty intense self loathing, is a bit of a climb. But I might get there still, you never know.
What happened to my Second Life?
When I started Second Life back in 2004, it was a small unstable 3d world populated by people with diverse interests and skills. Now, in 2009 it’s a large unstable 3d world populated by people with diverse interests and skills, but it also bores me to snores. For a long time I would spend easily 6 hours a day or more in world, making things, talking to people and bopping around the grid. I embraced my avatar and registered all over the place with her name and likeness. I enjoyed the process of slapping blocks together to make stuff and I liked to hang out in pretty places with fun people.
Now I’m just – whatever. I can’t even muster up the interest to log in for 5 minutes. Messing around with blocks to make stuff, which was a time sink in the past, is now a tedious chore. I recall when I started it was totally overwhelming. Even then the help files were out of date and so much of my learning was cobbled together from forum posts and experimentation. For a while there, it was pretty much smooth. I wasn’t a famouse designer, but I was doing okay with teddy bears and various other random things I’d hack together for fun. Now? God it’s not even a world I know.
Drama wore me down of course, like it does most people who don’t thrive on it. Having opinions in world that differ from the mainstream is a surefire way to get yourself abused and harrassed. Yeah I reported them, but that became something I just couldn’t do for a while. Log in and hear how someone wanted to shit on my head or wanderoff and read a book? I’ll take the book thanks.
I also found that spending all my creative energy in a virtual world was sapping my will to be creative in the real world. Since I stopped logging in as much, I’m crocheting, sewing, writing, sketching. Making pretty messes and enjoying every second (even the stupid skirts that won’t hem. Bastards). I find the SL creative process incredibly frustrating. Partly because of the bugs and poor tools, partly because it’s dangerous to look outside your own back yard without getting discouraged. In the real world you can draw the worst thing ever, and it doesn’t matter so long as it was fun. The emphasis on money making in SL was tiring, and the feeling of never measuring up depressing.
I’m not saying I’ll quit SL. I have too many friends in world. I currently keep up with them on Plurk, and as Faery will tell you it’s about the ONLY way to get me anymore. I do think however it’s time to accept that I won’t be running a store/rentals/making/creating. Ziggy isn’t ready to die just yet, but she IS ready for a long nap. Saying I’ll be back to making things at any point is frankly a lie. I don’t enjoy the process anymore, and therefore it’s time to stop.
If you need me, I’ll be in at the sewing machine making tangible things to play with.
Cell Phone Tango
I know a lot of people have raised this, but it shits me off too, so I’m raising it also. Before mobile phones became so vital to our lives, if you were having a conversation with someone on the street and someone else you knew came up to say hello, you would include them in the conversation. These days you’re more likely to answer your phone, ignore the person you were talking to and wander off.
And it pisses me right off. As a Customer Service person, there’s literally no horror like that of someone enslaved to their phone. They ask for help, the phone rings and they answer it and launch into a 10 minute conversation. What’s the service person to do? It’s actually a tough choice. You can wait for the conversation to finish, and possibly ignore anyone else who may be needing help. The other option is to walk away and come back when they hang up the phone (which, can I just add, is very rarely a vital or important conversation. When you hear as many full volume calls as I do, you know it’s almost always about curtains or meeting for lunch in three weeks).
That second option is the tricky one, because you never know how the person with the phone will react when you come back. Some are nice, understanding that they were at fault for answering a phone in the middle of the conversation. Others will rip shreds off you for daring to walk away from them. Hello?
Mobile phones are, without question, important tools these days. I hate leaving the house without one, not because I get a lot of calls but because if my car explodes it’s nice to know I can call someone and say “Um. Bugger”. At work I’m a slave to the phone, I can’t stand it ringing for more than5 rings. That’s more because the sound annoys me, to be honest, than any kind of excellence in customer service. However, my mobile phone is set to silent ring and loud SMS alert. I’m weird like that.
The other time mobile phones should be jumped at and pounced on is if you’re waiting for actual news (not what colour curtains so and so picked, but perhaps that someone’s had the baby). Being 100% contactable in the case of family or friend emergency is important, and mobiles are excellent in these cases. I would say vital.
While I’m on the subject (ooh this is getting long) what’s with the driving and talking? Can you really not stand to be in constant contact with someone? I love my car time, I can sing off key, pluck my eyebrows (not while moving) and basically just let the belly hang out and relax. I don’t want a phone clamped to my ear in my me time, thanks. Hang the thing up, concentrate on the road and call them when you get to where you’re going. Got a call you need to take? Pull over. People do it. Sane people do it. They find a spot to pull over and take the call or ring the person back. It’s really not complicated.
Finally, try this. You’re having a conversation, your phone rings. Try pulling it out of your pocket, answering it and saying “Hi, can I call you back?”.