Weekends

I struggle with weekends. Or rather, the mornings. I find myself trapped by two highly conflicting desires: getting the most out of my free time, by kickstarting my day early or having a lazy snuggley lie-in.

As a result, I generally spend a half an hour struggling with a decision, before I get up to start my day, wishing I'd had a lie in.

It would appear the grass IS always greener on the other side...

Toothbrush Boycot

I just calculated that if one follows the Dentist's advice and brushes one's teeth twice daily for 3 minutes, you actually spend 106.5 days brushing your teeth, if you're lucky enough to live to the age of about 70.

Surely that's a bit excessive???

Couch Potato

I don't own a TV. Not one that works at least. I realise this is quite a shocking statement in this day and age, but it's a mere matter of self preservation. Whenever I am faced with a TV screen, I turn into a drooling catatonic. It's not an appealing sight, I can assure you.


What worries me is the indiscriminate nature of this behaviour. Whether it's Panorama, Oprah or the shopping channel, I simply get suckered in. Total addiction. I dread to think how many months of my life I have wasted on staring at an electrontube.

To try and regain control, I decided to bin the TV when I moved into my new flat. It's been 6 months now since I had regular access to the tube, and I am increasingly left out of lunchtime conversations at work. I have no fucking clue what Phaedra Hoste is doing with her life, but it seems to help others live vicariously, because it's all the lunchtime talk. Do people really care? Or is it the easiest way to spend their evening?

Good riddance, I'm thinking. My girrel and I just ordered 20-odd books on Amazon on topics we've always wanted to read about but never had time to, a pair of warm sofa-socks, a couple of DVD-documentaries and films, and a proviand of Green & Black's Chocolate Milk. Since the TV left my existence, I've regained some control over my time. My mind is a lot less restless and there's arguably less crap in it.

The only downside is that the effect of the tube on my behaviour seems to have increased disproportionately. Whenever I find myself near a TV, be it in a pub, or at the parental home, catatonia sets in within nanoseconds, excessive drooling not far behind.

So do me a favor. Next time I come around yours, please leave me my dignity and switch off your TV? Much appreciated.

Nine Lives

I have a tendency to attract weird afflictions and maladies. Last week, for reasons unbeknownst to me, my ringfinger got infected. The doctor had to stick two large needles in it to drain it and I was put on antibiotics. Without them, she said, I would surely have lost a finger.

That made me think. Without modern medicine, where would I be right now? If I had lived 400 years ago, surrendered to basic botchery and witchcraft, would I still be alive at the age of 28?

Assuming I hadn't been burnt at the stakes for lesbanism and heresy, would I have survived the medical afflictions I've had these last 28 years, if there had been no modern medicine to remedy them?

Let's see shall we:

Age 4: Chicken-pox.
Age 5: Measles.
Despite immunization, I still got both kiddie diseases, and survived. If it hadn't been for the healing ointments though, my face and body would now be riddled with scars and spots.

Age 6: Reflux and excessive need to pee.
Highly survivable, because it was stress-induced. A 6-year old with stress. Yes. Survivable.

Age 8-9: Series of ear-infections. High fevers.
Potentially lethal without meds to bring the temperature down. However, my mum's a good one, and she would've probably dunked me in a bath of icecold water to bring the fever down, so odds are I would've survived even without meds.

Age 13: Mystery disease.
Doctors never agreed on the diagnosis. Some said rubella, but never confirmed. If by some miracle I would have pulled through, I would probably be baren now, and scarred.

Age 15: Cluster headaches.
Not lethal, but people would probably have assumed I'd been possessed by the devil or was suffering some mental illness. So even without heresy and lesbanism, I would have ended up in the nuthouse or at the stakes.

Age 26: Accute Mononucleosis.
Without medical intervention, this would most certainly have finished me off.

Age 28: Infected finger.
Without antibiotics, I would now be a slightly challenged lesbian lover, as I'd have to rely on 9 fingers instead of the usual handy 10.

SO... it seems like modern medicine has turned me into a cat with 9 lives, because I would have died twice over, been burned at the stakes once, heavily scarred and 9-fingered.

I think it's time I go thank my doctor...

Other Lesbians

As a lesbanim* whose social circle DOESN'T largely consist of other lesbanims, it's always a bit of a buzz to spend a night in total queerness.

We went off on a wee jolly to Brussels this week, to catch Tegan and Sara at Le Botanique. They are by far some of the best live performers I've seen in a while. The surprise of the evening though, was their supporting act Northern State. When I first walked in, I thought someone had resuscitated Salt-N-Peppa. I'll skilfully dodge the question of whether that was a source of initial excitement for me or not, but after a while, it dawned on me that they were more like a very lesbian version of the Beastie Boys. I felt distinct urges to do a pop-n-lock....

Musical goodness aside, the evening was interesting for a whole other reason entirely. My average day is spent in a relatively "straight" fashion. I don't socialise with a great many other lesbanims. For starters, my base of friends naturally grew over the years, without a definite "gender" or "sexual orientation" selection process. Basic statistics means that if you don't go looking for other lesbanims, you've a 5% chance of bumping into one. And even then there's no guarantee you're on the same level pegging. "Being-A-Lesbanim-Too" is hardly enough commonality for a friendship. I'm rambling now...

At any rate, Jo was struggling to keep my attention, the minute we walked into the Botanique. There is a very peculiar dynamic when lesbanims gather. In a very strange way, it's like a minor homecoming for part of my identity. But what struck me this evening, was the abundance of teenie-bop lesbanims. It catapulted me back to when I was 16.

There has been a definite shift in culture and lesbanim identity these last 12 years. When I was 16, the Lesbanim Icons I had available to me to identify with were the Indigo Girls, KD Lang and the creepy Lesbian DanceTeacher everyone freaked out about at school. I once managed to get hold of a gay magazine. It stated that queers wear one earring in the right earlobe to identify each other, so I got my right ear pierced. Let me tell you, it drew in squat. The first time I met "another out lesbian", was when I was 18 and signed up for Gay Camp. I kid you not. "Holebikamp" they call it here. The week's theme tune was Viva La Diva by Dana International, and that about sums up Gay Camp.


I guess what I'm trying to say is, that lesbanim teens these days thankfully have many more Icons and Examples to help define their own identity. And an identity it most definitely is. Regardless of the judgement we wish to pass upon "Lesbian Culture", we have a very distinct one. It might not be entirely recognisable to others out there yet, but it's there. And whilst I'd hate to live in an entirely lesbian society, every now and then, I like my lesbian self to come home and touch base with it.


*Despite being out of the closet for 10 years, I still struggle with the word L-E-S-B-I-A-N.

Nasal Phonetics

The downside of having a blogger-girlfriend is the incessant race for "the scoop". If your blogging other half happens to be in-between jobs (i.e. freeloading) whilst you yourself are committed to a full-time professional career, there is simply no competition. She gets all the scoops first.

In other words... if you want a full account of her move over to the Flatlands, I suggest you direct yourself to her blog. She's developed a wee obsession with her statcounter anyway, so it may give her a few kicks if you do ;-)

As for my account of the ordeal: it went very smoothly. My flat is far too cramped for two people and their respective carry-on, but I love having her here. Jo on the other hand, is ever so slightly suspicious of my claims to "being perfectly happy", because I spent the last three days in bed. Struck down in the prime of life by virus and exhaustion. I think she assumes it to be a symptomatic manifestation of some inner turmoil and malaise caused by her moving into "my space", but I seriously doubt that having "my space" invaded would cause snot to run from my every orifice.

Moving on.

A consequence of these last 3 days of bed-ridden snottiness, is that I've been at home when she comes back from her Dutch class. She snuggles up on the bed next to me to tell me all about her new adventures, and then tries out her new vocabulary. I make attempts at teaching her the correct pronunciation but it's very difficult to phoneticize your words when you've got a head full of snot. So, quite unintentionally, my Scottish girlfriend is now going around pronouncing all her dutch words like she's got two peas stuck up her nostrils.

Gesundheit!