Me-yow

For the first time in many, many years, this Mouthy Femme (would it be strange for me to start referring to myself in the 3rd person as "the MF?") has joined a club. In fact, I don't know that I've ever been in a club. I "started" a few clubs throughout my awkward years with groups of friends, but we just hung out in their basements or wherever and I don't ever remember them going as far as a second meeting. I might have been in the ski club for awhile in high school, but I only went to one meeting ever, and on one ski trip.

So this is kind of big news.

Perhaps even more strange, the club puts on shows and most of the members perform in them. In spite of having performed in some plays as a child, and mostly enjoyed it very much, I don't really identify as an "artist," let alone an "actor."

But the members of the club are adorable, and the shows are awesome (ok I've only seen one, but it was awesome) and I've never had much of a queer community (the queer community being pretty small, and being "queer" being so different than being "gay" and as a queer femme, often not being read as queer--or not queer enough, especially having partnered w/men in the past) and they didn't care that I don't identify as a "lesbian" or an "actor." They just let me show up to their meeting, and now I'm a Kitty.

I'm not going to be performing anytime soon, but I will be appearing in costume at the next show. I'll leave you to wonder.

I'm not sure that I'll ever get on stage, but it's not outside the realm of possibilities. I'm definitely looking forward to hanging out with the ladies (and the trannies and even the straight boys w/queer aesthetics--the Kitties are not Michigan), and am grateful to the two who recruited me for being so sweet about it.

If you'd told me a year ago that I'd be in a lesbian performance troupe, I woulda said you were crazy. But then, until I met Mr. Man, the thought never ever crossed my mind that I would ever wind up in Baltimore. But here I am. And even though I miss New York and I miss Oly and I miss Montana, the Charm seems to be offering up some pretty interesting doors for both him and me, and maybe because it's kinda small, or maybe because the last few places I've lived have been so competitive, but it seems like everything we want to do is not just possible, but easy. Maybe I'm just finally realizing that they're easy. (Though in this case, I think I'm only now remembering that want to be social and maybe to act--I think I forgot I liked it after I realized I was never going to be a movie star.)

This kind of weird, unexpected twist in life gives me a funny kind of light feeling in my chest, almost giddy and like I'm in the right place, doing the right thing, following some invisible thread that leads me to the quirky joys and amazing people in my life.

Yay.

Come to think of it, thank fucking goodness my life doesn't look like I imagined back when I was hanging out with those girls in the basement--I'd be married w/children, possibly Mormon, and an ER doctor (or a movie star). My real life has been waaay more amusing than anything I ever would've thought.

Local Warming

The Charm is enjoying some unseasonably warm weather this week, a fact that makes for pleasant dog-walking, even if the mind wanders to global warming, energy crisis (experienced in our car-less home by rising heating costs--where's Hugo Chavez when you need him?), you know, impending doom...and the springy-ness of the weather, which would be a novelty, is spoiled by the budding (no shit) of the tree in the churchyard across the street, which we worry won't bloom this year, supposing that it freezes hard again, which it better, since it's January.

On a better day, I might be able to shove the inconvenient truth into the back of my mind and soak up the vitamin D, smug in the fact that we don't drive, but the fact is that we live in an old townhouse with a wacky thermostat that doesn't shut off when it warms up and it took us awhile to figure out so we burned a ton of gas over the last few months, so I was already feeling guilty before Mr. Man and I sat down to watch The End of Suburbia last night.

I think I would have really liked this movie when it came out in 2003 (or 2004). But at this point, the ironic retro film clips don't make the subject matter any less depressing, and the clever soundbytes offered by a few pompous white guys interviewees would have been better enjoyed in a print or text format. I like to drive home a point as much as the next girl, but maybe part of what keeps the masses from waking up/organizing is the emphasis on how dumb/fucked we all are and the under-emphasis on what we should be doing about it.

For our part, we're figuring out our heating shit and getting a recycling bin (kudos to Baltimore City for finally getting their shit together on that one, even though they didn't order enough for everybody) and hoping to find a CSA and trying to figure out where to position ourselves before the shit goes down.

And in a macabre way, we're kind of looking forward getting to know our neighbors and leading a simpler life after watching the machine chug to a stop.

On a lighter note, our feline ice princess, Bitsy, is showing signs of thawing in relation to our neurotic bitch, Belle. They're not making out yet or anything, but Bitsy has been adventuring down the stairs and away from her baby-gated lair, and often strays from her safe space on the back of the couch over to the end table next to the dog bed, where she can peer down on Belle, who gazes up maniacally adoringly. Come to think of it--like most cats, she's totally heat motivated--maybe the keeping the heat down will force her to submit to Belle's obsession--I might be fooling myself, but I'm dreaming of an interspecies snuggle session (think of it--we would rule Lolcats with their cuteness).

Keep hope alive.