Inanna Speaks

Howdee do, y'all. Curtsy.

Strifemongers, did I not just say "curtsy"?

[Insert a moment to let you people collect yourselves and learn to follow orders.]

Better. That's better.

For those who have not had the pleasure, my name is Inanna Dentata. Which, roughly translated, means "She who turns men into women with teeth." And I am Evn's inner drag queen.

Oh, don't even try to act surprised. Stereotypes aside and squelched under one of my (fabulous, you can only hope to one day own knock-off trash vaguely resembling these) heels, every gay man has an inner drag queen. And sometimes--please do excuse the pun--we come out.

In this case, Evn has spent the past 24 hours obsessed with Facebook, desperately trying to reconnect with people from his graduating high school class. (Read: He didn't like them, they didn't like him, but suddenly, sixteen years later, he's feeling all nostalgic. Whatever, butch.) Regardless, with his conscious mind all distracted, I figured I'd seize this particular opportunity and introduce myself to his readers.

You're welcome.

I said curtsy.

So here's the long [bats eyelashes] and short of it: Anytime Evn starts whining to himself about how nice it would be to feel normal, how nice it would be to feel mainstream, how nice it would be to not identify as a gay Witch with a beer belly, I am going to elbow my way onto the dance floor and remind him that normal ain't anywhere near as relevant as special.

Because whether or not his tired ass realizes it, he's special.

And so are all of you.

Now prance, bitches.

Quote o' the Moment - Flint Knives

"When someone says to me, 'My Granny brought me into the Craft and taught me all I know,' it is a bit like saying, 'I've started a new line of flint knives in my cutler's shop.' The first question I always ask is, 'Surely you've got beyond that?'"

-Evan John Jones

Just Us Girls

Um, yeah, about that whole blog award thing: I’ve just learned that I’m a wee bit ineligible, on account of... well, I’m a dude. The award is actually destined for the funniest female blogger. Which explains why there are so many mommy blogs in my category.

Not that I have anything against mommy blogs, mind you. Mommies are cool. In fact, I was raised by a mommy, and I turned out perfectly fine. Well-adjusted, even.

(cough)

I do appreciate the votes that came in, and I will totally sacrifice many goats in Yvonne’s honor for nominating me in the first place (she spilled). However, I will also demand written proof that she’s read all the fine print before I ever let her nominate me for anything else.

PS: With LoS out of the running, let’s make sure The Bloggess wins. Her am me favorite.

I need a red-carpet gown, stat

Holy shitballs, guys, I've been nominated for a blog award!

I'm not sure how, or why, or who is responsible for this, but I'm bouncing off the walls right now. And also, I need a favor.

Remember that time all my Strifemongers voted for that relative of mine who had an entry in an art show? And then we completely fucked up the polls? Well, I need you to click here, then click on "Funniest Blog," find the entry for Lover of Strife, and do it again.

Only one vote per e-mail per day allowed. Please don't get me disqualified.

Transamerican Idol

Back in college, my friend Zemkat sat a group of us down to make a very difficult announcement:

Zemkat – “I suppose you're wondering why I've gathered you here. The thing is, I have something important to tell you, and you may not initially understand, but I hope that as my friends, you'll give me the chance to fully explain myself and the decisions I've had to make. You see... I’m... I'm going to transition from female to male.”

The Rest of Us – “Yeah, we know.”

Zemkat – “And I realize that this may come as a shock, but... wait, what?”

The Rest of Us – “We pretty much figured it out on our own. But hey, no big deal. We support you.”

Zemkat – “What exactly do you mean by ‘figured it out’?”

The Rest of Us – “Well, it’s just that you've been reading all those books on gender reassignment. And you've been living as a man for the past year and a half. So, y'know, we've had time to process.”

[awkward silence]

Zemkat – “Could somebody at least pretend to be horrified?”

Zemkat’s Roommate – “Okay... okay, I think I can close this. Zemkat, your... um... your ‘deviant lifestyle'... like, frightens... and... confuses me?”

[another awkward silence]

Zemkat’s Roommate - “Did I get that right?”

Zemkat – “I hate all of you.”

Zemkat’s Roommate [whispering to everyone else] - “I totally called internalized transphobia. Pay up.”

After a fair amount of seething, Zemkat finally decided that we were probably pretty cool for not flipping out. Zemkat the girl became Zemkat the boy, and life as we knew it went on.

Until last week, that is, when he came over to tell me about his latest out-patient procedure:

Zemkat - "I just got electrolysis!"

Me - "I'm sorry, but aren't you currently in the business of growing hair? What's up with electrolysis?"

Zemkat - "I got tired of shaving my neck."

Me - "You got electrolysis on your neck?"

Zemkat - "Yes! It was reasonably priced and only mildly painful."

Me - "You... you cheated!"

Zemkat - "I don't follow."

Me - "Dude, we all hate shaving our necks. It's annoying and irritating and causes acne, and that's just the way it is. It's an integral part of the masculine experience, and you weaseled out of it."

Zemkat - "I don't know from weaseling. And also, I never have to shave my neck again. Be sure to think about me next time you're picking bloody pieces of toilet paper off of your face before a performance review."

Me - You're a bad man. A very, very bad man."

Zemkat - "So do you want the number of the clinic or not?"

Me - [mumbling] "Maybe."

[Because here's the thing. I've spent a lot of time being complacent about the parts of myself I don't like, but at the same time worrying about how other people perceive me. And while I was mucking about in a swamp of self-esteem issues, Zemkat realized, "I may be uncomfortable in my own skin, but I also have the power to do something about it." He's my hero that way, and he inspires me to take control of my own life and do whatever I need to do to be happy and confident.]

Zemkat - "I can't heeeeeaaar you."

[But he doesn't need to know all that.]

Me - "I said, 'Infidel.'"

Worsted Blue Blogginess

I completely forgot to tell you guys! I've started contributing to a postmodern feminist blog. And I am probably going to screw this up and say something offensive or insensitive and piss off the entire online feminist community and have to go into Witness Protection very excited about it.

Anyway, please do take a moment to drop by The Bluestocking. It'll be good for what ails ye. And by "ye," I mean "the patriarchy."

ETA: When writing for The Bluestocking, I am known as Chalmers "Dauntless" Z. Vanderbilt, cousin of Angharad "Bunny" V. Setherwood. Long story.

The Bigger the Penis, the Closer to God

So I was over at Co-Witch A.’s place today, and we got in this debate about whether the gigantic lingam she’d put on her altar was, like, phallic-licous enough. (Her: “I think it needs something to make it more obvious.” Me: “Like what, a come-hither smile?”)

Then she kicked Co-Witch K. and Co-Witch B. out of her house and made them go sit on the back porch, because they were dancing around and singing disco tunes while she was trying to make some very important decisions regarding ornamental representations of human genitalia.

And that’s why fertility cults are awesome. The End.

Glee Club of the Damned

Rejoice, my fellow children of the 80's! An iconic moment from our adolescence has finally been explicated:

I may not be fluent in Sci-Fi, but I'm conversational enough to get my point across

Sarah - "I hated the new Star Trek movie."

Me - "I'm sorry, but I am not at liberty to discuss the new Star Trek movie."

Sarah - "Why not?"

Me - "You know how, in the Marvel Comics Universe, the US government passed the Superhuman Registration Act, and a group of superheroes led by Iron Man supported the legislation, while another group of superheroes led by Captain America opposed it? And then the X-Men came forward and declared neutrality?"

Sarah - "Yes. Yes, I'm aware."

Me - "Okay. In this situation, you're Captain America, Jack's Iron Man, and I'm the X-Men."

Sarah - "Ah. I understand your position completely. 'Nuff said."

And you know what's scary? Ever since we had that conversation, I just can't stop thinking, "Hell yeah, I'm a motherfucking X-Man."

Freakin' finally.

T-shirts are Freudian. Or Jungian. Or something.

I had a weird dream last night. As scripted by the executive producers who loiter about out in my head:

On a rainy weekend morning, Treecat drove me to the outskirts of San Jose, California, and dropped me off at a retreat center, where Bo and I were working as volunteer counselors at a summer camp for troubled teens and/or developmentally-disabled adults (that part was kind of hazy), none of whom caused us any problems. And that was it.

What got me was how normal everything was. Usually, the dreams I can remember are high intensity and make no damn sense. This time, it was just me going to orientation and checking in on the group sessions and taking a cigarette break. On top of that, I woke up exhausted... although when you think about it, I basically went to bed, put in a full day's work, got up and went to the office.

I wish I hadn't picked this week to cut coffee out of my diet, because hot tea is not cutting it right now.

Noted author and occultist Draja Mickaharic contends that vivid dreams clean the subconscious of blocked energy, thus resolving and releasing it. I fully embrace this theory. For example, I once had a dream in which my twin brother and I were walking through the neighborhood where we lived when we were kids, my arm resting comfortably on his shoulder. And as we entered our childhood home, just the two of us after so many years, I slammed his face into the front door.

Now that was a release of unresolved energy. But summer camp? Troubled teens and/or developmentally-disabled adults? Matching T-shirts? (We were all wearing matching T-shirts.)

I don't get it. Anyone got a background in psychoanalysis?