Queer & Utter Bedlam WERKS THOSE PECS

So. In my everyday life. I totally collaborate with people amazing queers to make awesome parties happen.

TONIGHT is my first party of the year: Queer & Utter Bedlam, which is a lovely queer rage fest that happens twice a month on the Lower East Side here in Manhattan. I’ve teamed up with my brothers from another mother Werk Those Pecs. And we are here to give you a good ol fashioned kick in the weekday ass.

You should totally come. Autostraddle thinks you should too:
http://www.autostraddle.com/you-should-go-queer-utter-bedlam-werks-those-pecs-154934/

So basically. If you are a fun loving queer or queer loving individual. You should DVR all of your Tuesday night shows and get your butt to Bedlam. 40 Avenue C. LES. See you on that dirty dirty glitter floor.

Get in the mood. Do it. Do it now:

Also in case anyone was wondering at all this song is my new life motto and this video is my new unofficial style guide. I will even dance it out for you. If you ask nicely. And let me kiss you:

#iamtwentythreeandunashamed

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Gender Bell

When I was younger my grandpa would take me to Home Depot and I would run directly towards the aisles that had all of the doors and doorbells on display. I loved opening and closing the different doors, ringing doorbells to imaginary houses in an imaginary world that I had cooked up. Yes these were doors that led to nowhere and no matter how persistently I rang those bells no one would come answer. Yet it didn’t matter. This was my world and in it I could and go as I wanted.

Now at 23 I feel the same way about my gender. The doors I open these days have more weight. When I’m out I have to make the conscious decision whether or not to open the door of the men’s room, or the woman’s room. In my mind I tell myself over and over that no man realizes my feet turned towards the door as I pee squatting down in the usual one and only seedy mens room stall. I tell myself they don’t see the missing bulge in my pants. The lack of Adams apple or stubble.

Sometimes I stare at the door of women’s rooms and wish I could enter. Yet I know that to a female a bathroom is sacred. It is a place for makeup and gossip. It is not the place for a man or in my case a woman in men’s clothing – a sheep in wolfs clothes.

But I am as much a woman as I am a man. I am neither, I am in between. To those who don’t know me they see a young man. My height and my shoe size are deceptive. Never mind my shaved head and my apparel. When I look in the mirror I see a person who took twenty two years to emerge. Something inside me was always more masculine, but my face, my long slender fingers, my high cheekbones and my laugh they gave away a flirtatious girl. Sure to grow into her lanky arms and legs and giant smile. Sure to dangle off the arm of some charming and dapper man one day. Yet surely enough, that dapper man is who she dreamed to be.

Gender isn’t talked about much when you’re growing up, or in mainstream society much at all for that matter. Girls and boys are put into boxes from an early age, you are pink or you are blue. Sex is discussed, it is over analyzed. You take sex ed, you are educated and that’s it. A few years later you will meet the man or woman of your dreams, you’ll have kids and that will be that. But what about those kids in that health class who are wondering what sex with someone of the same sex is like? What about those kids who are wondering what sex will be like for them at all? Because they were born in the wrong body or aren’t a girl or a boy. That was me. Not only did I not want a husband but I certainly didn’t want to be a housewife. I did however like the idea of those two figures merging.

And now they have. My body has always felt right, but my pronouns and my name always felt entirely wrong. I have friends coming out and living their lives as transgender all around me. I identify with so many of their anxieties, feel so many of their truths, yet I know that we are not the same. We are fraternal twins sharing some of the same traits but we are not identical.

My brain is not confused. It is not searching for a pink or a blue blanket. My brain is just as its always been happiest opening as many different doors as possible. Playing with gender the way I once played with doorbells. I’d like to think that I have found my perfect doorbell though. I’ve been waiting all of my life for the one that sounded just right.

* This piece is part of an ongoing series by trans, gender queer, and gender non conformist for Work Those Pecs.
Work Those Pecs

Facebook Official

Facebook has changed every element of the way we live our lives. You know way too much about everyone. It is inevitable. Our lives are a constant technological snap shot. We can try our hardest to keep things private, to keep the good moments and the horribly embarrassing to ourselves – but if someone wants to find out THEY WILL.

Love in New York is one big pain in the ass. How do we find it? How do embrace it? And most importantly when we do find it, when we do have it, how do we adjust our young lives to make another person seamlessly fit?

I have yet to learn how to do that. My world is a web of parties, networking, social media binging, photo shoots, and friend hopping. I like my world. It is hectic and intense. It can sway from extremely fulfilling to extraordinarily disheartening. Being twenty something is both The Best and The Worst. We are all looking to find ourselves and all looking to find the people who can walk along with us. Who share or dreams and our compassion. The only problem is most of us have so many dreams that it’s hard for someone to just tag along.

New York is a city for dreamers, you have to have a certain cut throat extinct here. You have to know that at some point someone will screw you over and you whether or not you mean to or not will screw someone else over. I love it here, I grew up here, and will no doubt always call New York home.

Where New York has not been kind has been to my romantic life. I hear Paris is the city for that. But here? I am not so sure. I am young, and am optimist. My heart is open…but my schedule not so much.

It is not a wish of mine to fail at anything. It is not a goal of mine to give up on anyone who I love and care about. But I am here to make something of myself. I want to be in a place in 10 years where I can care for my wife and my kids. I have so much that I want to accomplish, and I am so hungry. I guess right now I will walk that road solo. But it is without anger, it is accompanied by hurt and sadness. But when two people are both trains roaring down the track, it can be hard to meet up at the same station.

The Decree of Sippy

I had an epiphany of sorts last night. It occurred after probably (estimating here) 8 million or so drinks had been spilled on me -suddenly I was dripping from head to toe. Someone taller than I, a giant mayhaps, had spilled their entire drink over my dainty head.

It was at that moment that I made up my mind. It was at that moment that I decided something had to be done. Call it a law, a call to action, call it a decree. From henceforth on I herby ask that everyone, ALL OF YOU come to any and all parties carrying:

20130101-165636.jpg

THAT’S RIGHT.

I have had enough of getting fully dressed only to get showered with your nasty ass drink. Because its not like something simple, like say a vodka soda gets spilled on me. No, it’s usually some sweet nasty artificially colored stank ass could be a flavor of Fun Dip beverage.

My clothes and I have had enough. 2013 grab your sippy cups.

That is all.