mywordstovictor

[mywordstovictor]

I call it brain buzz. Wild that enough people describe this abstract feeling in such a specific way for it to make it into an infographic. But that’s the feeling. Buzzing. The bees of the brain. Anyone know why sensory overload buzzes?

Signs of Sensory Overstimulation

Neurodivergent Lou

[mywordstovictor]

Some dude nazi saluted at me in a Costco. People didn’t do that shit when they looked at me and saw a cis woman.

trans men have male privilege over cis women too but i know there are guys who would freak out if they heard that

[mywordstovictor]

Hour 36. The third consecutive 8. I’m too tired to find the melatonin.

[mywordstovictor]

If you're fifteen or older an still sleep with a stuffed animal please reblog this.

[mywordstovictor]

Pete Buttigieg is just a faggot.

It's very important to me that younger queers understand this: to the people who you're trying to be more respectable for when you say things like neopronouns set the trans movement back or you're why the cishets don't accept us or including [aces/bi people with the 'wrong kind' of partners/non-binary people/kinksters/non-passing trans ppl/furries/polyam people] just hurts us, can't you wait until we get all our rights before we talk about some of yours? -- to those people? Pete Buttigieg is just a fag.

On Sunday at Pride Northwest, some kids -- late teens, early 20s -- asked what our button I survived Reagan for this? meant. All of the queer adults at the tables making up our ad hoc counter looked at each other and sighed a little. Emet and another adult started to explain the way that the Reagan Administration handled -- or didn't handle -- the beginning of the AIDS crisis. How many people died. How much we were ignored. The Ashes Action. The Time Magazine article which explicitly blamed bisexual men for passing the pandemic to the cishet community, playing on all the worst stereotypical bullshit. The way that even when the CDC started paying attention, they were so focused on gay men that they ignored AIDS in the lesbian community, leading to the "women don't get AIDS, they just die from it" poster. And so on.

I finished counting out change and passed the last Bear Pride raised fist pin over to a bear a little older than me, then turned my head and interjected, "they didn't care until it started infecting more than just the fags." I turned my head back and handed him his change. He laughed bitterly and said, "remember when they called it 'gay cancer?'"

That what I need you to understand. The people for whom you are folding yourself into smaller and smaller boxes will never see you as anything but a freak. A queer. A dyke. A tranny. A fag.

Never.

These are people who will stand by and let you wither away and die alone, gasping for breath in a cinderblock room, and not even claim your ashes, and they will say you deserve it, because of your lifestyle. If they speak of you at all it will be by the wrong name, with the pictures you hate the most. They will curse at your lover, throw him out of the home you shared, and steal the gift you gave last Christmas to throw it in the trash just so he can't have it and they'll say Jesus loves you! while they do it. They'll feel good and righteous and blessed and holy and pure for doing it.

And for them, you spit in the eye of your sister. For them, you disavow your sibling. For their sake, you trim away bits of your heart and lace yourself up tight. Never too loud. Never too queer. Never inconvenient or embarrassing, never asking for too much.

Pete Buttigieg is what happens when your Boomer dad turns out gay. Middle America. Parents still married. Suburban-sprouted. Valedictorian. Harvard-educated. Rhodes Scholarship. Military service. More power to him: I hope he and Chasten are very happy together. Genuinely, I do.

You couldn't create a more respectable gay if you grew one in a lab run by concerned voter focus groups.

But Pete Buttigieg? Is just a fag.

That's the part you don't seem to get: when they abandoned us, they abandoned all of us. Rock Hudson was a beloved movie star and even personally friendly with that horrid pair of ambitious jackals. Nancy Reagan refused to help him get into the only place in the world that could treat him at the time, and he died.

It was 1985, 4 years after the CDC first released papers on what would eventually become known as HIV/AIDS and 7 years after the first known death from an infection from HIV-2. Reagan hadn't even said the word AIDS by the time Hudson died.

Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, and so am I. Unless I'm a dyke, which seems to depend on who's yelling what from which window and what day it is.

Yes, there will be people who genuinely love and accept you. Those people are worth all the frustration of the rest, thankfully, and they're the ones who love you in a pup mask or a leather harness and a neon jock like the ones sold by the men up the row from us last weekend. They're the ones who laugh out loud when you tell them you hid the word "dyke" in your company name, the ones who love you in all your messiness and uncertainty and the way you don't fit into neat boxes all scrubbed up and clean.

Most cishets, though... well, they don't actively mean you specifically any harm, at least not when they have to look at you. Not when you're right there in front of them. Maybe they'll be okay with you, personally, especially if you're the kind of gay who makes a good rhetorical device, and as long as you remain a good rhetorical device.

They need people to know that they don't have a problem with the gays, after all, and there you are, being all convenient. You make a nice token, and as long as you do, well. You're useful.

But they call you by your deadname when you're not around, and they put the wrong pronouns in your medical record even though they met you years after you came out, and they won't put themselves out to save you. Not one little bit.

I didn't want to be here again. The year I graduated from high school was the worst year of the AIDS crisis. The world into which I became an adult was a world in which an advisor and friend to Reagan, William F. Buckley, openly advocated for forcibly tattooing the HIV status of HIV+ gay men on their buttocks (and IV drug users on their forearms), and in which my father not only told me that when I was 14 or so, but when was told me that he'd advocated for that tattoo being "over their assholes."

(Buckley wrote that in '86, but he doubled down on it in 2005.

Fucker.)

But yeah. I didn't want to be here again. I wanted my daughter to inherit a better world. I wanted Obergefell and Lawrence v. Texas and Hope & Change to really mean something. I work for it, today and all days. I haven't given up.

I need you to know that, too. This isn't a white flag. I'm not surrendering. This isn't over. To misquote Henry Rollins, this is what Marsha and Sylvia and Stormé and Leslie and Brenda and Auntie Sugar trained us for. This is punk rock time.

But I need you to understand that if Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, if that human embodiment of a Wonder Bread, mayo and Oscar Meyer bologna sandwich is not respectable enough for them -- and he's not -- then the rest of us have absolutely no hope of measuring up. Not even if we trim away every colorful, beautiful piece of our community, not even if the Sisters Of Perpetual Indulgence vanish into the ether, not even if we sacrifice the five elements of vogue on the altar of white supremacist cishet middle-class conformity: we can't trim ourselves down to something they'll accept.

The only other option is radical acceptance of our queer selves. The only other option is solidarity. The only other option is for fats and femme queens and drags and kinksters and queers and zine writers and sex workers and furries and addicts and kids and the ones who can look us in the eye and see all of us to say we're here, we're queer, get used to it just the way we did 30 years ago. It's revolutionary, complete and total acceptance of our entire community, not just the ones the cishets can pretend to be comfortable with as long as we don't challenge them too much, or it's conceding the shoreline inch by inch to the rising waters of fascism until we've got nowhere left to stand and some of us start drowning.

That's it. Either it's all of us or it's none of us, because if we leave the answer up to the Reagans of the world and all the people who enabled him in the name of lower taxes and Democrats who wring their hands, weeping oh I don't agree with it but we'll lose the election if we fight it right now, the answer is none of us.

The brunch gays can come, too, I guess.

[mywordstovictor]

I spent my summer working on theatre camps and today I had to talk to normal people again. Man, I was basically living in a musical and I forgot that wasn’t the norm. That shit was raw, unbridled whimsy and now I’m surrounded by people who don’t even bother to get up and mime when they tell a story. And there aren’t enough queers and I swear just yesterday 87% of the population was neurodivergent. Plus my freakishly realistic animal impressions aren’t cool out here and I don’t like it.

[mywordstovictor]

Daffy Duck will be protecting me from Lady Gaga. Daffy Duck is indestructible.

Spin the wheel. That's who's trying to kill you.

Spin the wheel again. That’s who’s trying to protect you.

(If you have zero idea about the name you got, spin until you see someone you recognize.)

(Six months ago, I did a version of this poll with about five hundred options on the spinner wheel. For this one, I more than doubled it.)

[mywordstovictor]

Ok. Last week was the best week ever. I’m so proud of my kids it was a fight to hold in the urge to big hug them all simultaneously. My little shy ones got up on stage! They projected! They remembered their fight scene choreography! Only a few backs to the audience! One of them lost a tooth on stage and kept going! They mostly didn’t touch their mics! They mostly didn’t talk in the wings! They even remembered their lines! I’m gonna miss them all so much. Such wonderful wackydoodles! Why they saved all their questions about the building’s history until show day right before their dress rehearsal when I specifically set aside time for it the day before? Who the fuck cares! They’re eleven and curious about local history! God I love my job. I’m getting paid for this shit. Plus one kid had questions about a career in education! Backup plan, but still!

Also, my brain is utterly fried and I have to go lesson plan for next week but I love lesson planning so much! Put theatre games in a well formatted table, strategically structured to develop certain specific acting skills, group creativity skills and as much sneaky social emotional learning as I possibly can? Yes, please!

Also also, I did our group warmups and had 50 kids follow along without me needing to say a single word, with many smiles, a couple giggles and we did the brain dance which seems like a motor development gold mine, plus breaking out into spontaneous We Are the Champions. It was a rush, let me tell you.

Anyway, theatre education is awesome! I can’t wait for my education classes next year! The ones I had last year upped my game so much! PLUS MY SHY KIDS HAD FUN ON STAGE!!!!!!!!

[mywordstovictor]

I was born with a curse called ‘I want to know everything’

[mywordstovictor]

Adding on because masculinity can be fun! I’m having a blast!

-Being fun and silly with kids and that whole caring and being there for them thing (seriously, being “the boy teacher” is the best ever)

-Cardigans with giant buttons and a good weight to them, my beloved sweater vest

-Face fluff fidgeting

-Poking dirt

-Big hug

-Man smelling deodorant

-Moving heavy objects and bragging about my giant muscles that are totally real

-Having the most stereotypical gay voice imaginable, talking like a mix of drag queen, Victorian aristocrat and textbook

-Patting animals, playing with dogs

Masculinity is a prison to you. I on the other hand am frolicking in it like a beautiful meadow.

[mywordstovictor]

We got new microphones at the theatre where I work. And new belts for the battery packs. I spent a good chunk of my day taking them on and children: a rant.

Fucking belts I can barely fucking adjust them and seven-year-olds and fifteen-year-olds are different fucking sizes and I have all of two fucking minutes to change their mics, fuck, you can’t fucking make them small enough for the little ones fuck the clip I’m tying them on I don’t give a fuck I have all of two fucking minutes and the techs are scared of the kids and the other councillors are scared of the mics and we couldn’t take five fucking minutes to go over how to put them on? The fuck? I have to go back and redo a bunch every mic change and everyone is trying their best but I couldn’t have five minutes to show people how to do it before hand? And the new headsets are shit! Shit I say, shit! The mic keeps popping out because the clips don’t work and the over-ear bits are just metal fucking wires and I have to bend them back into shape every fucking time and the size-adjusty part in the back won’t stop sliding and they’re fucking seven, they’re not kid sized even when you shrink them as much as possible, but that’s not fucking new, and the wires are so fucking long and I have two fucking minutes, and now I have to tuck them in to their belt packs every. Fucking. Time. And three adults and six children are asking for my help with who-knows what and no, I cannot get them all in costumes during this time thank you, you were supposed to get them in their costumes. And we’re backstage. And there is no whispering backstage and no, this is not the time to go to the bathroom. And I’m trying to keep the kids chill and the adults chill and also I’m switching between French and English so much I’m getting whiplash and everyone is snappy with me because I haven’t gotten around to the thing they asked for but there are at least three higher priority problems I have to solve right now and man, my brain is fried.

And then I go whining to my non-colleague friends only to find that none of this is relatable to the average person because apparently children’s theatre camps are a fairly uncommon place of employment and most of my work problems are more or less unique to it.

This is still the best job ever though, I work at children’s theatre camps. Thursday is glow stick party day, it’s a historical theatre, I’m a hardcore pedagogy nerd, I make more than minimum wage, and I get to play theatre games at work. Plus career experience and all that. But mainly my co-workers are amazing and I love the kids. My sweet, sweet weirdos.

[mywordstovictor]

It is too hot. Also, the fan is too loud.

[mywordstovictor]

Sex can still be a really good time without orgasming! It doesn’t have to be the one and only goal!

I've been watching porn since 6th grade and reading smut since before that. I'm 27 now and I've heard all sorts of things about porn addiction. Is there evidence that porn addiction is real or that porn is harmful? I ask because I can't cum without some sort of mental stimulation. Whether that is an audio, smut, or porn. I'm worried that when I am sexually active with another person that I will not be able to orgasm with them.

No, in fact there is ample evidence that porn addiction is not a specific addiction or disorder but many different issues that vary from person to person and rarely has anything to do with the amount of porn someone watches, what type or how often.

(Instead it's often people thinking they have an issue with porn because of religious guilt, sexual shame, internalized bigotry, stress and lack of options leading to unhelpful coping mechanisms, etc.)

As for porn being harmful, no, not anymore than literally any of other type of media. Its just art, there is nothing wrong with it just because it involves sex and/or is made with the purpose of turning people on.

As for what you're talking about, that's fairly common. Most people need some type of stimuli to orgasm and porn is a good, accessible option. Especially for people who have trouble with sexual shame and/or feeling comfortable in their bodies, immersing yourself in something else can be really helpful!

Its not something wrong, its just your body showing you there are certain things specifically that turn you on enough to orgasm! Maybe its the type of porn you watch, maybe its getting out of your body, maybe its imagining certain aspects of it or maybe that's just how you're most comfortable!

(It could be helpful to think more on that and explore what are your specific turn-ons! Porn helps you orgasm but what type? What feels best? Do sex toys help? Are there specific scenarios that turn you on most? Positions? Places? Ways to masturbate?)

Regardless, I can say that being scared at the idea of not orgasming generally only makes it harder to orgasm because you're putting too much pressure on yourself! It's not a performance or contest that you have to fit certain requirements on, its generally an experience.

Maybe it won't be easy to orgasm with a partner immediately but that's very common! Sometimes it takes awhile to figure things out and/or get comfortable enough with other people to orgasm.

Some people can't orgasm, whether with others or at all. How and whether people orgasm really varies from person to person and that's okay.

[mywordstovictor]

My favourite way to make friends is to corner experts with information I’d like to have in my own brain also.

[mywordstovictor]

[ID:

Strange Aeons behind a mic stand, wearing bright coloured bracelets and a party hat with polka dots and pom-poms around the bottom, in front of a projected slide with text that reads: “The greatest research skill you can have is being a nosy bitch who wants to find out".

End ID]

The best photo I took at Dashcon 2

[mywordstovictor]

i love you vaccines i love you research i love you reading the book instead of having chatgpt summarize it i love you critically thinking rather than reacting to a headline i love you investigating the source material i love you science i love you math even though you are personally my enemy (math/yn slowburn) i love you writing even though you try to stab me a lot i love you Experts in Your Field i love you Using The Brain

[mywordstovictor]

I don't think men saying out of pocket shit to me on the internet is because they're men. everyday billions of men wake up and don't say out of pocket shit to me on the internet. this is clearly an active choice