However, as much as I’ve always know I didn’t want kids, I’ve known I wanted cats. There was 9 months in my life with no cats, between our house burning down in May of 1999 (killing our two kitties), and moving in to the rebuilt house and adopting Phoenix and then Anastasia in spring of 2000. Even when I lived in Germany, my host family had two cats. As soon as I got my own apartment my senior year of undergrad, I adopted Kinsey. Cats to me are my children. I treat my kitties as members of the family, and when they depart, like Athena dying December 2008, my heart breaks for them (and I sat Shiva).

My cats are a part of my family, and when I was freely dating, they were a good measuring tool. If someone didn’t like cats, they were out. Now, if they were ambivelent, all they had to do was meet Kinsey, and usually their mind changed. If they met my cat or cats (depending on when), and the cats didn’t like them? Done. My cats like most people, and so I took them not liking someone as a sign of things to come. It only happened twice, but I found out later on that it was a very good sign to stay away.

And then I met Q. Q had a cat already (Jasper), and was more co-dependent with him than I was with Kinsey. Moreover, when I adopted Kali and had the whole traumatic experience of her in the ER for 3 days, Q let me call, text and rant, even though we were all of just a few months (if that) into dating. Q didn’t mind that the cats were allowed everywhere except the counter and the kitchen table, and embraced both cat hair and Kaili claiming Q as her own. When Q would go back to New York to visit, I’d come take care of Jasper, staying over to watch a movie with him, or reading out loud. When I was gone, Q would text me pictures of Kinsey and Kali missing me.

This sounds silly, yes, but I realized that the perfect kitty parent was a non-negotiable for me. And the other night, as I watched Q carefully scoop a certain amount of dry food into a dish, and then add the right amount of wet food, with a little extra water, and mash it all around to make it as appetizing to them as possible (they’re on a new UTI prevention diet), and then soak a cranberry pill, and gently give it to Jasper and stroke his throat until he swallowed…I realized that Q fit the mold. Q was the perfect kitty daddy (we like to play with gender, obviously) to me, the kitty mommy. Between the two of us, the cats always have someone to lie on, someone to pet them, someone to dangle a toy in front of them. We sit together, making up stories about what each cat is saying when they meow, about how they feel about leopard print, about Kali’s royal throne, about Jasper’s queen-y walk, about Kinsey’s rubber and latex fetish. We curl up in our bed, two of us and three very spoiled cats, and it just feels right.

Q is my kitty daddy, and is a better fit for me and our family of fur kids than I ever could have imagined.

-Essin’ Em

When I was 10 or so, I discovered the wonders of the internet. It was back in the mid-90s, before most people had access, but my father was a computer scientist, and I was rocking out on Mosaic, way before IE or Eathlink or Netscape or AOL made their brands so popular. I didn’t use it for much, as there wasn’t that much info out there pertaining to me, but I did have an email, and learned how to search.

Around the late 90s, I was in my “oh em gee, want to learn everything possible about puberty and sex” and after my parents exhausted the info available at the local library, I was lucky enough to discover Scarleteen. It was still quite young back then, but it was knowledge, and that was something I was desperately hungry for. More importantly, it was more than just information; it was interactive. I could learn from older teens, from educators, from people my age. I became obsessive about checking the forums every day. It was a way for me to connect, to get information, to teach myself about sexuality, to have my questions answered, and to get to know my body.

I didn’t really get any sort of sex education from school until I was a Junior in High School (age 14), and accidentally ended up in a Parenting and Child Development class (amusing, since I definitely didn’t want and don’t want children). In that class, we spent a good week or two on birth control and contraception. I got 100% on every assignment, and impressed the teacher, as I already had learned most of this info from Scarleteen.

High school was hard for me. I graduated at 16, so I was always about 2-3 years younger than most of my peers, and that caused endless taunting and worse, being ignored. I had my inner circle of friends, of course, but more importantly, I had the knowledge that on Scarleteen, I was equal. My questions and answers were just as valid as a popular cheerleader, or another braniac. To me, sex education was my great equalizer. I might not be cool, or popular, or the social ideal of beautiful, but because I had information that no one else had, I was still interesting. I might get teased, but people still wanted what I had (knowledge) and so I wasn’t the brunt of as much hate as I might have been.

Click here to read the rest of How Sex Ed Saved My Life.

We wouldn’t be going if there weren’t free tickets…but they did give out free tickets, and so despite not being particularly interested in local venues/companies (since we’re having our celebration in October 2011 in Colorado), we’re going. We’re creating visibility and conversation about there not always being a bride/groom binary (or even a bride/bride), as neither of us identifies as such. We’re getting wedded next year. We’re queer. And we are often invisible in this industry.

So while we’re not going to be booking any of these vendors, our goal is to make them stop and think for a moment. That’s it.

-Essin’ Em

-Essin’ Em

I got this idea from the brilliant site Feministing.com. Of course, now that I’m going back to try and find some of their examples of things they could do without, I can’t for the life of me find their posts. Bah, humbug.

Regardless, here is my snarky list o’ the week of things I can do without. They actually aren’t really in any particular order, just as I’ve thought of them.

10. The assumption that the average woman should be a 36-24-26, size 2, 36DD, blonde, etc, what have you. People are beautiful in so many different ways, different sizes, different colors. The average size in America is a 12-14. AVERAGE. Not a 2. 2 is a fine size. So it is 22. Let’s stop being so fucking ridiculous in our expectations and searches for perfection. People of ALL sizes, from 0 on up to 32+ are all beautiful people. The end.

9. The Tea Party movement, and I don’t mean Alice in Wonderland. Some of those people are really scary…like, they make George Bush look like a bedtime story.

8. Straight men who think that they can turn queer women straight. Straight women who thing they can turn queer men straight. Queer women who think they can turn straight women queer. Queer men who think they can turn straight men queer. Monogamous people who think that everyone should be the same. Non-monogamous people who think everyone should be the same. It’s just rude. Kinky people who want to kinkify non-kinky people. In every direction. Why are we so eager to change other people’s identities?

7. Hypocrites. Nuf’ said. They piss me off. A lot.

6. Those who do not recognize their privilege. I understand that you cannot change certain things (race, gender, age, ability, etc), and that you may not *want* to change certain things (class, appearance, etc). However, that does not excuse not recognizing that you HAVE that privilege. Do with it what you will, but at least own it.

5. Laundry. I really hate having to do it. And it takes forever, and I never have enough quarters, and our washer is broken, so I have to carry them to the laundry room, up stairs, and it’s just horrible. If I never had to do it again, I’d be estatic.

4. People who feel like they own the road/bad drivers. You *have* a turn signal. Please use it. Let people in occasionally, especially in heavy traffic, or when their lane is ending. Wave a little instead of flipping people off. Don’t go freaking 20 over, drive the wrong way down one ways, back up the street, drive over medians, etc. Really, it’s easy. Just don’t be a douchehat. Simple as that.

3. Violence as a solution. Violence NEVER has a reason to be the solution. Talk. Go punch a wall. Go have sex. Go eat a pint of ice cream. When I say violence, I mean everything from domestic violence to wars, road rage to genocide. It solves nothing. Period.

2. Spiders. Really. Ugh. I KNOW they eat mosquitos, so I can possibly amend this to “spiders that are inside” or “spiders that are where I are, and/or exist in my personal sphere of life.” But they are terrifying AND dangerous. Especially in Arizona, where we have TARANTULAS.

1. How society drives us to feel better by putting people down. We judge others on their bodies, what they where, what car they drive, where they shop, where they go to school, etc. This tears us apart. We call each other sluts, whores, fat, etc (in non-positive ways). How does taking other people down build us up? And why do we let society control us this way? I do not approve.

What are ten things YOU could do without?

My coming out story isn’t just one day, or a week or even year. In fact, my coming out story isn’t finished. It is happening every day of every week of every year.

In college, I discovered the concept of orientation being fluid, and realized that I liked some of the women on campus. I joined QSA and EQUAL, and began to identify as bisexual. I told my mother and sister, and they reacted as expected; they didn’t really care.

Then in graduate school, I decided that I didn’t really like men anymore; I became a proud, flag-flying lesbian. I’m actually not kidding about the flag. I was a lesbian, and I liked women, and was attracted to women, and I came out to my friends and family and work and then…suddenly, I hit a speed bump.

Why? Well, I was suddenly dating someone that didn’t identify as a woman. I was dating a gender queer identified person. She didn’t care what pronouns people used to refer to him. When we were out and about, sometimes people saw us and identified us as a lesbian or dyke couple…other times, I could swear that people thought I was a twenty-something woman robbing the cradle with a 15-year old guy.

I loved this person. And this person didn’t identify as a woman. So I did what most young people in the middle of an identity crisis would do; I went online. And as I searched blogs and forums, I came across the term “Pansexual.” Ok, I thought. I can be pansexual, and be attracted to many people across the sexual spectrum. I was now a card carrying (I’m joking about the card) pansexual woman. Great. I started coming out to people as such on a regular basis.

In the midst of all this, I discovered something else about myself. Despite my angry feminist moments in college where I distained all things feminine as a creation of our misogynist culture and the patriarchy, I realized that while I didn’t embrace all or even most feminine things, my gender identity was developing, and it happened to have a Femme bent to it. One person I was seeing told me one day that I was “such a Femme.” I froze. I had always thought that being feminine or even a Femme was a bad thing, capitulating to social norms. But here I was, having spent almost an hour getting ready, getting a tingle in my stomach as my date opened the door for me, and a smile on my face as they brought me a drink. I had embraced the power of femininity, and I realized that even though I rarely wore heels and was allergic to pink, I am a Femme. Femme is my gender.

So here I was, a Pansexual Femme, and trying to come out to people. Trying to explain how Femme differed from female or woman was hard enough, but when I got into the term pansexual, people shut down. It was too academic, too different, too much. As I continued to prowl around online, I found that pansexual was a privileged term; it was mostly people in academia using it (and often just open minded bisexual people). I didn’t identify as bisexual, and I didn’t want a term that wasn’t accessible to everyone.

That is when I discovered the term QUEER. I was at a house party I’d been invited to by a fellow fierce Femme from roller derby, and I started talking to people about identity. At this party were people of all different gender presentations, from high femme to stud, gender queer and andro to trans folks of various presentations. And let me tell you, almost everyone at this party was smoking hot. I was trying to figure out how one would identify if you were a fierce Femme (IE, me) who was attracted to pretty much everyone in the room, and then, magically, I heard the term QUEER. It fit. It was perfect. It was me. It was an identity that fit me regardless of what I was wearing, who I was attracted to, what my own gender identity was, and everything else.

Now, as Queer Femme, I had to re-come out to everyone I’d already come out to. My family was open to it, but needed some education on the term queer. My co-workers were already reading Judith Butler and Kate Bornstein, so they got it. Some of my friends asked me what took me so long to figure that out, while others still thought of the term queer as a hateful term, and that involved much discussion.

When I moved to Arizona, the coming out process started all over again. Explaining my gender as Femme is always a hoot; people assume that unless you’re trans or gender queer, your gender is just a given. Mine is not. Femme is an attitude, a belief system, a presentation, and it is my deliberate gender. And here in Arizona, very few people understand my queer identity, and so it’s been an opportunity for education. My coming out story never ends, because I have to come out to everyone I meet, and everyone I’ve met, and because my identities are so fluid, sometimes I have to come out to myself.

The other day, my partner’s softball coach referred to me as her “roommate.” I was hurt and angry and frustrated. I’d come out to him already; as queer, as her partner, as her fiancé, and yet here he was, invalidating our relationship. So we both came out to him again. And will do so again if needed.

THIS is why coming out is so important. It creates visibility, and dialogue, and understanding, and these three things create change in our community. It is only with change that we can be seen as full members of our society, instead of second class citizens. So please, keep on coming out.

Happy Coming Out Day!

-Essin’ Em

This is not my most eloquent video. I have no script. I mess up a few times. But it’s from my heart. It’s part of both the It Gets Better push, as well as the Make It Better Project (LGBTQ youth empowerment). We need to stop the bullying as well as stop the suicides, depression and all of the effects of such a horrible climate.

-Essin’ Em

Other resources:
Scarleteen
Trevor Project

Tonight, I’m doing a demo called “Kink Games People Play” at the Venus Tent (women/trans area) at 5pm. If you’ll be there, come say hi.

I’m hoping I get to see Mollena too — she’s one of my favorite San Francisco people, and she’s International Ms Leather, so she’ll be running around being awesome.

I’m a little nervous…sometimes I feel like I’m told that I’m not “kinky enough” because I don’t do nearly as much power play as people. And sometimes, I’ve been uncomfortable in kink settings because they’ve been very heterocentric, cisgender centric and queeraphobic. However, at the very least, I know that will NOT be the case here (I mean, look at where we are), and so I shall go forth, kinky and queer pride held high, and enjoy this hopefully awesome of awesome festivals.

May the kink be with you,

Essin’ Em

But that’s not the only way I’m celebrating sexual freedom day…

I’m going to write about it. Because I am lucky enough to have the freedom to write/blog/share about my sexuality, about my own journey, about sexuality education and more.

Why is sexual freedom important? Because you probably don’t have as much of it as you think you do. Many states still have laws on the books outlawing sodomy — which is usually defined as anal sex, but sometimes includes oral sex. Yes, that’s right. Depending on where you live, it may be illegal to suck your partners cock, go down on your lover, or even do it in the butt.  Granted, these laws are not enforced usually, mostly due to Lawrence vs. Texas…however, they are still on the book.

What about if you live with your partner, but choose not to get married. You may have just as committed relationship as a married couple, but you are denied the same rights. And what if not getting married isn’t a choice? Yeah. No recourse.

How about kink? Do you know in some states, I can’t teach kink classes, because flagellating (usually flogging, but can be definine as spanking, whipping, etc) someone for money…even if it I’m making it as a class fee, and am flogging a demo bottom, is considered illegal? I’m sorry, but this is ridiculous.

Not to mention sex workers. Who is a sex worker? Phone sex operators, porn stars, escorts, pro dommes, sex surrogates and more. Some of their activities are legal, some of them aren’t. However, most sex workers I know file taxes, volunteer in their communities, and are upstanding citizens…yet are treated differently by the rest of society because somehow the work that they do (that oh so many people enjoy) is not “real work” or is unacceptable.

Sexual freedom is not being scared of being fired if someone finds out you’re kinky. It’s having equal rights, regardless of gender/orientation. It’s passing a law that makes it illegal to fire someone for being LGBTQ or having a non-traditional gender identity/presentation. It’s taking stupid anti-sex laws off the books. It’s creating a climate where people can come out from their pen names and handles, and talk about sex in a positive light. Sexual freedom is not policing people for their identities, jobs, or actions.

We are a long way away from this sexual freedom utopia, but every step you take, every time you speak up, speak out…we’re creating change.

So tell me, what does sexual freedom mean to you, and how are you trying to achieve it?

Thanks to The Woodhull Foundation for putting together this Sexual Freedom Blog Carnival. Check out the Woodhull Foundation and their work towards increased sexual freedom.

-Essin’ Em

-Essin’ Em

I’m here to talk about the intersections between sexuality and disability.  I want to tell you about the man in a wheelchair who was suspended in rope, wheel chair and all, and was ecstatic at the chance to be flying high above the dungeon. I want to tell you about the woman who was in so much pain from sculliosis, but discovered that when her sir gave her a good beating, she could eroticize the pain and work through it.  I want to tell you about the quadrapelicic woman that spent a good chunk of time exploring and trying new things with her partner, and eventually could experience sexual pleasure when he stroked her cheek in just the right way. I want to tell you about the first time I found someone who understood me, and check in, but didn’t try to do everything for me, and made me feel like a sexual goddess, despite not being able to do many of the sexually constructed things that people do when they fuck.

But how can we speak of intersecting sexuality and disability when we can’t even validate people’s sexuality or disabilities? When we create this hierarchy, we prevent people from exploring the rest of themselves, from getting to figure out who they are and how all of this fits into other parts of them. Instead, people are fighting to even be seen as who they are.

I sat in my hotel for a few hours this morning, trying to place my swirling thoughts onto paper, to share with you what I so often say. To sound cool, and interesting, and part of performance piece.

Do you know how hard it is to pull words out of your head, put them down, and make them sound right when you’ve got a cloud of painkillers fuzzing up your brain and pain radiating up through what feels like every joint and your entire body?

It’s difficult to say the least.

We’re in the technology age, so rather than crumpled pieces of paper all over the floor, I have minimized word documents, all begun so well, and then trailed off into a narcotic induced rant of the parellel between my Femme identity and my identity as someone who is disabled.

What it all boils down to is the fight for recognition, and the desire to just be, and not fight anymore.

My gender is often invisible to others. People see me as alternative, and often times as straight. I experience more anti-Femme hatred and bigotry in the queer community than I have experienced anti-queer sentiment in the rest of the world.

My disability is often invisible to others.  Unless it happens to be a day where I’m walking with a cane, or someone sees the epic travel pill pack that follows me everywhere in the deep depths of my purse, people don’t see me as disabled. In the community, I am told that I should consider myself “lucky”  that I’m not MORE disabled, not more visible.

I don’t want to fight to be who I am.  I don’t want to wear rainbow necklaces or name-drop “my ex-girlfriend” in order to be seen as queer in the queer community, and I don’t want to go flashing my handicap permit or show off my scars in order to be recognized as someone with disabilities by others in the same boat.

I fight the mainstream every day just to have accessible buildings and parking, and to get the same rights as everyone else; to share insurance, to not be fired for my orientation, and more. I do not have the time, energy or patience to fight within my own community.

When did we create a hierarchy of oppression?  I look more queer than you do, therefore I’m a BETTER queer.  I have a disability that affects more areas of my life, therefore I’m MORE disabled than you are.

If we cannot support each other as members of the same community, how can we work on intersections of identity. I’m a queer femme sex educator kinky perverted disabled Jewish awkward snarky cat loving tea drinking oh so horny person. How can I accept all these part of me, if the individual parts themselves are rejected by the community?

How can I even start to think about my sexuality and how it relates to others when others cannot relate to me based on who I am?

I am disabled, but that doesn’t disable who I am. I am still sexual and fun and deep and witty and queer and kinky and all these parts of ME. I want to be who I am, not spend my energy fighting to be seen, but rather, integrating all of me into my sexuality, into my life, into this magical and wonderful world.  I wonder, is it really that hard to do?

Jiz Lee recently wrote a post that got me thinking.

The five love languages are familiar to me.

These are the five love languages:

1. Words of Affirmation

2. Quality Time

3. Receiving Gifts

4. Acts of Service

5. Physical Touch

I first learned about the 5 love languages at camp in 8th grade (welcome to smart kid camp). We all wrote our top two ways we best received love on our arms, so that people in our groups understood how to best demonstrate their love for us (again, gifted kid camp).

It’s important that people understand that there is no right or wrong language. If you feel loved when you receive gifts, this doesn’t mean it has to be diamond rings…it could be cookies, flowers, a book someone thinks you’d like, a hand-me-down that is perfect for you. Physical touch, while it CAN be sex, it doesn’t have to be. It can be hugs, cuddling, massages, having your hair stroked. Acts of service can be anything from fixing a washing machine (or bed frame!) to giving you a ride to the airport or picking up a package for you from the post office. Words of affirmation don’t have to be said at a specific time or in a specific way; I love you, you’re beautiful, I enjoy how you make me think, thank you for being in my life. These are all words of affirmation. And quality time? That can be whatever you make of it. Strolling through museums, curled up on the couch watching movies, or supporting one another by attending events that are important to you.

I loved the concept, and made of poster of them for the wall in my bedroom. I literally just took it down from my mother’s house the other day while cleaning it out. I held it, I read it, and I thought about how much I use it in various facets of my life, whether by name or not. Actually, I just had a conversation about the love languages with a woman who is in Vagina Monologues with me. They are everywhere.

It may seem silly, but those five simple ideas have helped me so much throughout my life. I know that Ifeel best loved through physical touch and quality time. I want people I care about to hold me, to kiss me, to feel me, to touch me. I want them to want to spend time with me. Walking through the Denver Zoo with Q, going lingerie shopping with my friend in SF, seeing people I love in the audience at my performances; this is quality time for me. Acts of service are hard, because when I’m sick, I want nothing more than soup and tea, and feel loved when people provide them for me…but when I’m not sick, I’m very counter dependent, and have trouble letting people do favors for me.

How do I best show my love? Physical touch, quality, and acts of service like woah fuck. I leave my phone on 24-7, so people I care about can get ahold of me whenever they need me. I love giving people I love rides, I love helping them with online things, I love supporting them however I can. I am a touchy-feely person; I give hugs, pets and cuddles like no one’s business. And quality time…? Well, just like I want people I love to spend time with me, equally, I want to spend time with them.

I can give words of affirmation. Usually they are written, although sometimes spoken. But I have much trouble receiving them. Especially from people I love. I can’t imagine that they actually think I’m beautiful, or brilliant, or witty. I mean, yes, it’s a self-conscious thing, I know that. And I’ve gotten better at taking compliments. But I still have issues with it. I also have trouble getting gifts, unless I really know someone. But I do love giving gifts, things I’ve made, things I’ve found while out and about that are perfect for people I care about. So while I can and do show my affection in these ways, they aren’t the go to ways for me, as i have trouble receiving love these ways.

Knowing these things has helped me explain myself to my partners. I realized when I was presenting my Poly/Relationship Mapping class at Femina Potens last month why having a partner who would bring me soup when I was sick was so important; it’s hard for me to ask for help, and so me asking for soup, and then having it brought to me was a demonstration of love…TO ME. It wasn’t until I was explaining it you all the people at this class that *I* realized why it was so important to me, so how could any of my former partners know how much this mean. When I hop into bed, and someone sleepily puts their arms around me, or strokes my back, I feel loved. When someone arranges to hang out with me, or just shows up wanting to spend time with me, I feel love. When Monkey and Jen drove hours with 3 kids to come and take me to Fisherman’s Wharf and spend time with me, I felt cared for. When my best friend showed up on my door step the week before Valentine’s Day, as I felt like I lay on my death bed, with a half-gallon of minestrone and a smile, I realized how loved I was.

But also realize that I need to know my friends and partners love languages in order to best demonstrate my love to them, in a way that they understand and accept. I have some friends that are not touchy – I’ve learned this. So instead of telling them they just did an amazing job by giving them a big hug, I have to say it out loud. For some of my friends, they love it when I give them extra sex toys and porn, but are so busy that they don’t have time for quality time. We have to adapt, and we have to know ourselves, so we can tell the people who love us HOW to best love us.

As usual, it all boils down to communication. Communication is key, you know the drill :)

In hindsight, I wonder what the good doctor and all the gifted kid counselors would say if they knew how well discussing love languages helped relationships…sexual, kinky, poly and more.