How was New Year's?
Mine was...completely uneventful. For the first time ever.
|(by ximini lacosarara)|
I also didn't wake up naked (except for one silver heel and my bra wrapped gaily about my throat like a padded, tumorous pink necklace), next to a stoned, anarchist ginger named Piper who wanted to know if I thought anybody would miss "that cool gold Buddha thing in the bathroom."
'Cause New Year's is invariably like prom: You plan and you plan and you plan and you shop for the perfect outfit and you plot with your friends about going to dinner and sharing rides and who you're going to kiss, and then...
It sucks ass.
Everyone on New Year's is always at the bar/club/party thinking there's a better party somewhere else and New Year's would be way better if they could just get to that party.
This year, we went to our neighborhood pub to eat hamburgers in front of the fireplace for dinner at 8 p.m.
CJ wore flannel.
I didn't put on eyeliner.
It was great.
Then we went home to this:
His name is Timothy Maxwell Thumperton.
And we're officially keeping him.
We've been fostering an abandoned bunny for about a month, all the while saying we'll get rid of him just as soon as we can find him a good home.
He came to us two weeks old, starving, and half the size of the palm of my hand. He passed out twice in the first five minutes I held him, and I fed him goat's milk with an eyedropper.
He did not look cute. He was hideous.
His fur was falling out in patches. You could see his spine raising the sides of his ribcage like a tent pole.
I kept thinking it would be more merciful to simply kill him.
And then one morning, about a week after he'd been eating lettuce and carrots and baby rabbit pellets and drinking his water and goat's milk like a champ, we woke up, picked him up...and he was adorable.
He looked like a baby rabbit.
It must've happened overnight.
He blinked up at me. I stared at him.
CJ said no.
I started taking pictures of him.
CJ said absolutely not.
I made him a little outfit.
No. No. NO.
*FACT TIME!* Baby rabbits are weird - you can't always tell their gender, especially if they're males. Male bunnies take awhile to show their genitals.
Months, sometimes. Doesn't sound like many males I know.
We realized we didn't know for sure whether Timothy Maxwell Thumperton was a boy or a girl, so I jokingly started calling him "Timantha."
Timantha the Genderqueer Bun.
He kept getting cuter.
CJ was weakening.
A GENDERQUEER ORPHAN! WITH EAAAAAAARS!!! OMG HOMELESS!!
Finally, on New Year's Eve, she gave her official blessing.
I now have two rabbits.
One of whom is ambiguously gendered.
Homos, Timantha the Genderqueer Bun is making me think.
Now, I know this is a big and possibly slightly disrespectful jump, but...
I never, ever talk about gender/trans issues here on Effing Dykes, even though I get tons - fuckloads - of mail about this topic.
Kayden, Michigan, 26: Hey Krista, you talk about DADT being a victory. Well how about for us trannies? Yahoo for gays and all that, what about trans rights? We've still got a long way to go. We're still a big fucking secret.
M. E., Germany, 34: You like butch women and boyish women, do you ever like transmen? I think you would like it very much.
Natalie, New York, 19: Where is all the tranny-love?
Pete, Chicago, 22: Do you know where I could meet some transgendered peeps?
J.R., Vermont, 29: Hey, effing dykes, you've heard about "It Gets Better", right? Guess who's not getting candlelight vigils and publicity? And still getting murdered or committing suicide?
Lindsey, Montreal, 21: What the hell is a packy actually for?
Jonny, Minneapolis, 25: Could you talk about trans issues. Seems like everyone I know is suddenly trans. Thank you.
Well, there's a couple reasons.
1) I only know a handful of transpeople.
I don't know tons about trans issues, whereas I've devoted ALL MY SPARE TIME to watching, studying, hanging out, and sleeping with lesbians.
They say to write what you know.
Trans/queer/gender identity stuff is delicate, and I don't want to make a fool of myself.
So many of my friends are starting to test the waters of "Sooo..I think I might be trans" that I'm feeling like I should know more about it.
I've slept with transmen, pre- and post-op.
I've wrapped bindings and gone to open mic nights and tried to understand when a friend becomes not-so-much my lesbian friend and more-so-a male friend.
But that doesn't mean shit. I'm still clueless.
Who can I turn to for important questions, like "I met you as a girl; now you're a boy and I keep messing up on saying "he" - you mad?"
I wish I knew more.
With all the crossover from dyke culture into genderqueer and trans culture, how can we better be friends?
How can we learn without pissing people off?