The Oppression Game -Asexuality Post-

Believe it or not, oppression is not a ranking list. It is not a category under which are filed severity of punishments or a rating of the emotional damage. And, if any of you are an oppressed minority, I’m assuming you’ve run into this problem before. We have a name for that: it’s called the oppression olympics, and there is possibly nothing more annoying in the world of activism.

Recently I was swept up into one of those neat little Tumblr debates: whether or not heteroromantic asexuals could be allowed into LGBTQ safe spaces, or even whether they were categorized under the LGBTQ umbrella. This devolved into an absolute s***storm of name-calling, bigotry, and, you guessed it, oppression olympics. They argued that since Heteroromantic relationships weren’t condemned by society, then those individuals didn’t have the priviledge of belonging to the apparently exclusive club. I don;t know about you, but I didn’t know that the LGBTQ umbrella was defined by oppression.

As far as I’m concerned, it should be defined by deviation from the commonly accepted norm, which is heterosexual cisgendered people. And heteroromantics aren’t heterosexual, they’re asexual. The romantic orientation shouldn’t be the focus–yes, it has hetero in it, but it’s not okay to completely ignore the ‘sexual’ part of the equation. Asexual people aren’t heterosexual, and that’s that.

Another point: I don’t understand why relationships are defined as gay or straight. That’s like personification. The people are grey, straight, ace, pan, bi, etc., not the relationships themselves. That just opens up the floodgates to all sorts of problems.

Asexuals get enough flack from the LGB community as it is. Since we don’t get the same kinds of oppression as people of other sexual persuasions, then we, by extension, aren’t oppressed. Apparently at all. No, asexuality is just considered a disorder by most mental health professionals and we’re told we don’t exist on a regular basis.

It’s true that Uganda isn’t trying to kill us, Westboro Baptist Church isn’t making the war our fault, but yes, we do face some kinds of oppression, and that should be taken seriously even if it isn’t as extreme as some of the other types of oppression LGBTQ people face around the world.


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Radical Feminists and Transgendered People [Gender Post]

First of all, let me get this out of the way: Radfems piss me the fuck off. Sorry for the language, but they do. I understand feminism, I do. I understand the movement to lift sexism out of language, professional pursuits, and people’s minds. What I do not understand is hating men for being men. You cannot say, ‘he’s a MAN’ as a justification for someone being LGBTQ-phobic/misogynist/etc. Nor can you use ‘She’s a WOMAN’ as justification for anything ever.

And then you have the transphobic radfems. They speak in baby-talk when talking about our identites, our struggles, and our lives. Which, as much as they might say otherwise, is a form of erasure. Believe it or not, being told we aren’t who we say we are does actually hurt. Because we’ve been told that our whole lives, because people wouldn’t stop saying it. I don’t know how to articulate how it feels to have no support of your identity in real life. Radfems wouldn’t know that, of course, since they themselves aren’t transgender; yet they act like they can dictate reality because they’re special snowflakes.

And, for the record, yes, I consider myself somewhat of a feminist; I don’t do activism work in real life, but I do make an effort to educate myself on the subject. But radfems are the reason I didn’t want to consider myself a feminist in the first place. I was afraid, as a transgendered person, that I would be rejected, met with scorn, and generally pissed off by the hate radfems perpetuate.

So, to you, radfems:

  • Do not police my gender.
  • Do not police my clothes.
  • Do not police my language.
  • Do not act superior to me. We are equals. Except for the fact that, you know, it’s socially unacceptable to be trans, especially genderqueer, and therefore I hurt my chances of gaining a respectable career and family if I do decide to transition.
  • Do not threaten me. I have never threatened you. I will never threaten you. I do not believe in violence, I do not believe in senseless hate. The world would be a better place if you didn’t.

And there ends my message.

Haters gonna hate and all that jazz.


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Once Upon a Time on the Moon Part 1: The Arrival

(Yeah, I don’t normally write prose on here, but I shall link it to tumblr anyway and all the Yadas shall read it so.)

Once upon a time on the moon, there was a group of awesome people with a tendency to defy the gender binary. How did they get on the moon, you ask? Because Yada Science said they could, and the author funded them. And while the YS was working on their moon plan (which, in case you didn’t know, involved mass queerification of the moon) they were also working on a trans-dimensional whositmajig. The reason is simple: They wanted to show the Doctor a comfortable place with wonderful people where he could rest between adventures. And so the story begins.

The previously mentioned bowtie-wearing alien had just dropped Amy and Rory off for their honey moon and was wondering what he should do next; visit the Eye of Orion for some much needed R&R? Go see what the Silurians were up to? Who knew. Regardless, as he was deciding, a sudden jolt shook the inside of the TARDIS, and the Doctor was thrown across the console’s clear glass floor.

He sat up, bewildered, and stared at the console readings. He was allegedly on Earth’s moon, which, to be honest, wasn’t all that spectacular. “You almost gave me heart attacks, Old Girl,” He said to the TARDIS.

Stepping outside, though, he realized this was no ordinary moon.

Apparently defying a lack of oxygen (which he wasn’t) a finely dressed gentlemen in wingtips and a sequined suit stood in front of him. A bit away, someone shouted “It worked!” And then came a “Hooray!”

Who is this stranger in fabulous clothing? Where is Charles? Why did we choose the moon, anyway? Why am I asking all these questions? The answer to all that and more in the next installment of Once Upon a Time on the Moon!

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Reasons You Shouldn’t be Afraid of Internet People.

First of all, let me apologize for not having ANY sort of update in a while. Secondly, the main topic of this entry today: the idea of ‘Internet People’. According to most people, this is a sinister group who stalk innocent sons and daughters on the internet, aiming to rape the poor children, murder anyone within range, or rob them blind. I’m here to point out how the idea simply makes no sense.

First of all, let me say this: Before the internet, did anyone really worry about people from other states coming in on buses or airplanes to tour the area? No, not really. Because back then the world was a more trusting place, less prone to accusing complete strangers of being terrifying bringers of misfortune. And yet, with the invention of messaging boards a new prospect arose: Paedophiles and predators could easily use the complete safety of the internet to chase underaged kids who didn’t know what they were doing. Parents of this new age, brainwashed by PSAs about internet safety, believe that the whole of the internet is crawling with these type of people.

And yet.

Most people in the developed world have internet access, but parents are completely okay with their child making friends with legitimate-looking people from school who they know absolutely nothing about. If the majority of the people in the world are not the predators or stalkers, and the majority of the developed world has internet access, why do most people believe that the same people, once on the internet, become dangerous?

I’ll tell you why. It’s because people have been told to be cautious, to be wary, of those that try to contact them over the internet. And many people, no matter how much logical argument you present to them, will simply say, “But you don’t know this person!”

In reality, who do we really know?

Sure, we know our families to an extent. Yet children can hide almost anything from the rest of their families. Homosexuality, being transgender, transvestitism, etc. So how do you know your family is who they say they are? And for that matter, your friends? You only see what other people want you to see of their life. So it really doesn’t matter whether or not you meet someone on the internet. There is no difference between the people you meet in your everyday life and the people you meet on the internet. And, really, if you want to confine a kid to the people in their immediate vincinity, they might suffer for it. Branching out and having deeper relationships online can be beneficial for a person, not just terrible.

*This in no way says that you shouldn’t be careful when browsing the web. There are still very bad people out there, but not EVERYONE on the internet is a maniac. This has been Lance. Out.

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To the New Year

As I’m writing this, it’s two hours to 2011, and I’m not quite sure what to say.

This year has passed in a blur. A hazy, unfortunate blur. The reason being is my parent’s divorce and subsequent increase in depression. Not that I haven’t been depressed for years, but for a few months I didn’t really care about what was going on around me. This whole thing started in May, or maybe the month before. From then until…well, really, I haven’t totally dug myself out of the rut yet.

But it wasn’t all bad, either. I got to know some incredible people, the Yadas, and I rediscovered a love for roleplay, which has laid dormant for a very long time. Collectively. with the people in the Yadaforum and in the roleplay community, I was able to get through the latter months of the year with a lot more fun than it seems like I’ve had in a really long time.

This entry is to the New Year. To 2011. To the unpleasantries and joys that may come, because you never really know about the future, no matter how much you believe you do. This is to one year closer to the apparent end of the world, to the end of Sophmore year and the beginning of my junior, one year closer to being an adult and finally having a life of my own, to express myself freely.

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Family Frustration -Gender Post-

There are some things in life people just can’t help. Things people are born into, like your family, your body, your generation. And your gender.

That’s obvious, though. People who read my blog are likely to realize or empathize with the fact that you can’t control the gender you were born into, and that’s just a sad fact of life. But I’ve made many a post about transgender people. That’s not what my post is about today.

My post is about family.

From the people I know online, I know that there are lots of people who hate their families, or at least dislike them a whole lot, and wouldn’t shed a tear if they moved away. I’m a little different in that regard. I believe with all my heart I’m trans. The name Lance has just started to feel like my name. But goddamn it, I love my conservative family.

It doesn’t help that they’re all against gay marriage and queer stuff all together, and I know my immediate family doesn’t take the whole transgender thing seriously. I tested the waters with Degrassi. The whole thing infuriates the hell out of me. Not to mention my father has some sort of moodswing issue. One day, he’ll be nice, but if you work him too hard, he gets testy and insult-y. My extended family is mostly a godsend, if not for the berating of my manners.

But to live as a woman is my greatest fear.

I can’t do it. I can’t get dressed up every day in woman’s clothes, put on make-up, do my hair, wear jewelry, be called ma’am or some such every day. It would be like a living hell. But so would leaving my family.

This entire time I was planning on moving out to Colorado and getting at least a breast reduction, if not a mastectomy, there. But now I’m not so sure. I don’t want to leave everyone behind like that. But when it comes down to a choice of my misery or my family’s unhappiness, which would I choose…

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NaNoWriMo Week 4: A Conclusion

Well, everyone, it’s that time. The time where Lance’s blog no longer chronicles my harried (I’m not quite sure if I spelled that right) writing adventure, my chaotic journey into characters, plot, and most importantly, a troubled transgender boy and his gang of other queer friends.

So there I was. The dawn of week four. It was an exhilirating experience, and not only that, I had nothing in the way. Absolutely. Nothing. Because I had a five-day weekend (thank you to Thanksgiving) as far as I was concerned, I had all the time in the world.


Okay. So I had planned a sleepover with my friend Exaal (name changed for privacy) that Tuesday. And then I learned I had a therapist apointment pretty much as soon as I got to my mom’s house. But that wasn’t any problem, was it?

Well, I kind of slacked off on Monday, so I thought I would just make it up the next day. Obviously, that didn’t happen, so I thought I could make it up on Wednesday after I arrived at my Dad’s. And lo and behold, that didn’t happen either.

So here’s what had to be done. I had to type 5,663 or so words on Thursday. I abused Write or Die heavily, and in the end, I got my wordcount through. I only slacked off one more time, on Saturday, but I was busy.

Anyway, with wordcout issues out of the way, guess what came up? Wordcount issues.

I was nearing the climax, hurtling towards it, in fact, when I realized I still had, what, 8,000 words to go? Not good. At this rate I was going to finish the story without even getting to 45,000.

So I stretched the plot a bit, and last night, 6:30 PM, made it to 50,115 words total.

Now to the conclusion: Basically, I got something that theatre people refer to a lot. It’s a confidence upon second performance that causes you to falter; and in a way, I was confident I could win this one with minimal effort.

I probably could have, if I had done what I did last year. Last year, I basically disconnected the internet, TV, and other distractions from my life entirely. So I was able to get my wordcount done and actually DO my homework, THEN play or go on the internet or whatever. This year, I screwed that, instead wasting time with the Yadas (not that that’s not perfectly acceptable) watched TV, and played video games without doing my novel. Bad idea.

Not only that, I was completely engaged in A Girl Named December. (last year’s novel.) I was always completely immersed in my story and didn’t get the hankering for the distractions listed above very often. I loved writing it. This year, I made a mistake. I had my characters and plot mapped out since the end of September, so by the time November rolled around, I was sick and tired of my novel already.

Next year, I hope dearly that I won’t get the same foolish cockiness and early planner-ness that nearly dealt me out this year. But before I get to all that serious stuff, I’m going to celebrate my victory. And then take a hard-earned nap.

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