On Netflix

For the first time since the election results, I actually was able to concentrate on something completely unrelated. I highly recommend watching this and I’ll be back to describe more about it later.

 

Dear Mr. Trump,

I did not vote for you so right from the start that makes me useless to you. I have to be honest, though, because while I have lost most of my will to fight anything any more, I do at least still have most of my belief system intact.

I don’t know if you can see past your self-insulated world, your ego, your need to always be right and in control, but I hope you can at least see that there is a difference between hate and fear among the people who did not vote for you and are living in the aftermath of what can only be described as a living nightmare.

You’ve said in the past that your defense for not sexually assaulting a woman is because “she’s not your type,” as if that is a reason and as if that doesn’t open up a huge can a worms of what you would do if she were.

If you were to ever meet me, you would see right away I am “not your type.” I am not only not attractive, I am an aberration in terms of what straight men look for in a woman. The only person who has ever given me a hard time about not being married is my mother but with everyone else I get a pass. I am just that undesirable or appealing as a person or woman. I guess the very thing that is my albatross is also my blessing.

No matter that, though, “unattractive” women deserve to exist too. And women, whether married or single, deserve self-autonomy. I am celibate by both choice and design and I am okay with that. I am okay with passing so far under the radar that even your VP Vance would let it slide that I am a childless cat lady.

So though I am a celibate, asexual lesbian (you’ll probably have to look up exactly what that is) and I am very much scared as a member of the lgbtq+ community, I am even more scared for all the women out there who didn’t vote for you and whose health and healthcare is in jeopardy.

The first time you were President I did not feel this much fear. I saw how problematic you were (and obviously still are), but I thought there was still possibility that you could be human and somehow empathetic. I see now that is highly unlikely and along with my fear I feel such heartache.

This is my hypothetical letter to you. Though I am terrified of you and wish you had not won the election, I have no hate for you in my heart. I just do not that, even when people hate me.

I beg of you to reach in your heart and find your humanity and consider that the part of the country that did not vote for you is really not your enemy.

Most sincerely,

An old maid childless cat lady in Maryland

I had hoped I would be less angry, but I'm not. The effects from Tuesday are already starting to show in so many ways, including with online trolls (presumably male) telling women, "Your body. My choice." 

It's sickening and scary and it's not even January yet. Trump is now the unofficial (soon to be official) spokesperson for toxic, belligerent, entitled, nasty (the list goes on and on) straight white men who thinks it's their God-given right to treat women however they want.

Men have never cared for me so I don't exactly carry credibility when it comes to dating men and such, but there are millions and millions of women who do have social clout in the dating game and in seeing some men as they really are.

It used to be that incels only said crap like this.

I don’t know that I’m ever going get used to the fact that one of the most cruel and horrible men to ever be on this planet is soon to be our president. 

And that because he’s done so many horrible things there somehow gives people a pass to do the very same things he does and did.

This!!:

 

If Adam Picked the Apple

by Danielle Coffyn

If Adam Picked the Apple

There would be a parade,

a celebration,

a holiday to commemorate

the day he sought enlightenment.

We would not speak of

temptation by the devil, rather,

we would laud Adam’s curiosity,

his desire for adventure

and knowing.

We would feast

on apple-inspired fare:

tortes, chutneys, pancakes, pies.

There would be plays and songs

reenacting his courage.

But it was Eve who grew bored,

weary of her captivity in Eden.

And a woman’s desire

for freedom is rarely a cause

for celebration.

I saw this cover trending on the Drudge Report yesterday and looked into more info about the magazine. It's hard to track down, but New European does have an app and I decided to purchase a monthly subscription.

The image is quite alarming and, I suppose, possibly offensive to many Trumpers all over the world. 

It should be alarming!

I'm getting into too many dark places, reading all the post-election op-ed pieces from publications all over the world, and I don't really want to be doing so and yet I can't stop.

I know the "other side" doesn't want to be demonized and maybe they shouldn't.

But they know and knew exactly who he is and not only didn't mind his dark and very scary side but embraced it!! 

Excuse those of us who may not be willing to excuse people who voted against their lgbtq+ neighbors and friends and, yes, family members, all who very well may be crying and even cowering in fear right now.

 

My first instinct since hearing Trump won is to run and hide and jump right back into the closet. For right now, at least, I am not going to do that. I spent so many miserable decades trying to deny who I was that I cannot, simply cannot, go back to that. I will write and put myself out front for as long as I legally allowed to do so.

In the meantime, I am finding some Community and Community in this:

With the results of the election finalized, we at The Advocate are just as devastated as you.

While we cannot say we are shocked, to know that our nation will once again be at the mercy of Donald Trump is deeply troubling — even more troubling is the fact that this is what our neighbors and fellow citizens have chosen. There are countless disastrous policies threatening our LGBTQ+ community and the very concept of journalism itself, and this administration has the means to pass them that it didn’t eight years ago.

But we at The Advocate are not going anywhere.

We have brought you queer journalism since 1967. Our publication, and our community, have weathered darkness not unlike what we are facing now, and while not all of us survived, the rest of us have lived on and persisted for them. This will not change.

We, the editors and writers of The Advocate, promise you, our audience — whether you are a fan, casual reader, or hater — that we will continue to hold the line on the positions we know to be the truth. We will continue to defend transgender people and their rights to health care, sports participation, and beyond. We will not hedge our criticism of the Trump Administration (and there will be much) to win favor or avoid potential consequences. We will not shift right for the sake of appearing impartial at the expense of evidence.

And we will not stop telling stories of queer inspiration and resilience.

We cannot tell you what the future holds. But we will be here to cover it.

Community is now more important than ever. What we felt this week was not just fear, but a strong sense of hope — hope for a better future and the drive to make it happen. We encourage you not just to keep reading, but to keep writing your own stories. Join us in holding the line and fighting for this future. Rest assured, it will come.

Until then, we endure.

Forever in solidarity,

The Advocate

Another article on their website says this and also comforts me as much as I can be comforted right now:

We are not a cult. We are a loving, nurturing community that rightly takes pride in our history of continually overcoming severe obstacles to survive and thrive. We’ve gained so much. Achieved so much. Celebrated so much; yet, we still have so much work to do.

After what happened last night, I dare say that we might have to start all over again. We are not safe. We will have a president, a Congress, a House speaker who are vehemently opposed to us. And a Supreme Court that is gunning for us. We are less than them. We are evil to them. We are bound for hell to them. We are garbage to them.

Gay men are f**s, lesbians are confused, bi people don’t exist, trans people are freaks, and nonbinary people are ridiculous jokes. These slurs were heard at Trump rallies, on the campaign trail, in GOP ads and social media posts, and face-to-face. We heard multiple stories about door-to-door canvassers being confronted and attacked with angry words that oozed abhorrence.

The torrent of hate towards queers provides a permission structure, that allowed my friend to spew venom, and now has been extended to over 70 million people. Don’t think for a minute that these people will suddenly be nice and accepting. Kindness and openness did not win last night. If Americans were disgusted with that language, and the way queer people were being referred to, they would have responded accordingly.

That is why, today, the only thing I can think about is how much we have to band together — once again — and perhaps like we have never before. We are about to come under attack in ways we cannot even fathom. Suddenly, we look at our lives, our marriages, our children, our jobs, and our very beings, and see the precipice of hate and exclusion.

But we will not, and we cannot, accept any infringement of our rights.

With so much success over the years in getting to where we are today, we always saw the rainbow of a Pride flag in the distance, at the end of the road. Now an ominous, opaque cloud blocks our vision. Suddenly, we find ourselves blinded to our future.

Last night was an aberration. A bad dream. A torrid dream. This morning, we woke up with sweat, chills, anxiety, and our hearts beating furiously, pounding against my rib cage, looking for a way out of this hellscape.

At some point, I suppose I’ll dissect what went wrong last night. Now, I eat a poisoned crow that makes me violently nauseous. I cannot figure out a way forward, because going forward at this point seems like an implausible task. The pain is too great to even conceive and consider that the bright sun, shining down on me now, will one day warm me again.

But for now, the only, fleeting, static, fluttering hope I do have is that I belong to the most resilient community in the world, filled with love, compassion, acceptance, and inclusion. We are not garbage, despite the toxicity and bane that is going to engulf us in the years to come. We are heroes. We always have been. And we’ve always come out on top. We will get through this.

Right now, that provides a tiny bit of solace.

 

 

I am beyond sad. I just I don’t know what to do. 

I know people who said they were going to vote for Trump who claim to care about gay rights, but no one could care about gay rights and vote for Trump; they just couldn’t.

Every single person I know who supports Trump is straight, white and married: every single one 

When he becomes dictator and decides to start rounding up everyone who is queer, are so-called allies going speak up for us or are they going to hand us over willingly? 

How many women who are pregnant and miscarry are gonna be denied healthcare because they’re mistaken for having had an abortion? How many women who are raped or a victim of incest are going to be denied abortions? 

What kind of control will be exerted over women? 

I have so many questions and concerns. I just can’t understand how anyone could vote for Donald Trump. I just can’t. There isn’t enough alcohol to get me through this.

I also worry about what’s going to happen to books and reading and newspapers and intellectual freedom.?

This all is a nightmare on acid.

And I can’t help but think of this transcript from a scene of a movie that is hitting way too close to home right now:

I know there’s no way I can convince you this is not one of their tricks. But I don’t care. I am me. 

My name is Valerie. I don’t think I’ll live much longer, and I wanted to tell someone about my life. 

This is the only autobiography that I’ll ever write, and – God – I’m writing it on toilet paper. 

I was born in Nottingham in 1985. I don’t remember much of those early years. But I do remember the rain. My grandmother owned a farm in Tottlebrook, and she used to tell me that God was in the rain. 

I passed my eleven plus, and went to a girl’s grammar. It was at school that I met my first girlfriend. Her name was Sarah. 

It was her wrists – they were beautiful. I thought we would love each other forever. I remember our teacher telling us that it was an adolescent phase that people outgrew. 

Sarah did. 

I didn’t. 

In 2002 I fell in love with a girl named Christina. That year I came out to my parents. I couldn’t have done it without Chris holding my hand. 

My father wouldn’t look at me. He told me to go and never come back. My mother said nothing. 

I’d only told them the truth. Was that so selfish? Our integrity sells for so little, but it is all we really have. 

It is the very last inch of us. 

And within that inch, we are free. 

I’d always known what I’d wanted to do with my life, and in 2015 I started my first film: The Salt Flats.

It was the most important role of my life. Not because of my career, but because that was how I met Ruth. The first time we kissed, I knew I never wanted to kiss any other lips but hers again. 

We moved to a small flat in London together. She grew scarlet carsons for me in our window box. And our place always smelt of roses. 

Those were the best years of my life. 

But America’s war grew worse and worse, and eventually came to London. 

After that there were no roses anymore. Not for anyone. 

I remember how the meaning of words began to change. How unfamiliar words like “collateral” and “rendition” became frightening. When things like norsefire and the articles of allegiance became powerful. I remember how different became dangerous. 

I still don’t understand it: why they hate us so much. 

They took Ruth while she was out buying food. I’ve never cried so hard in my life. It wasn’t long until they came for me. 

It seems strange that my life should end in such a terrible place. 

But for three years I had roses – and apologised to no-one. 

I shall die here. Every inch of me shall perish. Every inch. 

But one. 

An inch. 

It is small and it is fragile, and it is the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose it or give it away. We must never let them take it from us. 

I hope that - whoever you are - you escape this place. I hope that the world turns, and that things get better. 

But what I hope most of all is that you understand what I mean when I tell you that even though I do not know you, and even though I may not meet you, laugh with you, cry with you, or kiss you: I love you. 

With all my heart. 

I love you.

-Valerie.

 Like so many, many people I know about and read about, I have almost made myself sick about tomorrow (or this whole month, if things take a lot longer).

I requested November 5th off back in September when I realized how much I am struggling with the very strong possibility of Trump winning. 

His supporters like to make fun of people like me; they think we're making a big deal out of nothing, that we hate all MAGAs and "have it in" for Trump.

I think they're wrong about that and I also think they have no understanding of what it is like to be in a marginalized group and to be sweating fear out of almost every pore at the thought of what could happen.

Some of my acquaintances say they support lgbtq+ rights but are still voting for Trump. I say: don't lie. 

You simply cannot say you are an ally for queer people and then turn around and vote for someone who, if he gets his way, will role back every single right and progress the lgbtq+ community has made in recent years.

If you care about women, you cannot say that and vote for Trump. Women's lives are on the line.

There is so much more I want to say, but I need to go for now. If you plan to vote for Trump, you are not someone I am instantly going to dislike or lump into one big category that is best not labelled here.

But I will say that if you did vote for him or are voting for Trump, then you cannot call yourself an ally of any group that is marginalized (and I include atheists as well, since they stand to lose a lot as well if Trump is determined to turn Christian Nationalism into a real, solid thing).

No matter who wins(and you probably know who I want to win) things are about to get even messier than they already are,

(click to read more clearly)

I keep finding more books I want to read, only to realize I will never ever finish all the ones on my Kindle app and my TBR list.

King Kong Theory, though, may have to be bumped to the top of my list, especially now when I am feeling more crappy about myself than ever before.