Key To Nowhere

So much about The Hunchback of Notre Dame was lost on me as a sheltered child. My main memory from my first watch is thinking "I AM DISCOMFORT AND I DO NOT KNOW WHY. I NEED AN ADULT".

I think the most striking thing I noticed in this re-watch was the difference between Esmeralda's actual dancing and the way Frollo sees her in the flames. In her actual dance, there's sensuality and appeal, no doubt, but she's playful and mocking. She's messing with him and everyone else drooling over her. On the other hand, during his "Sorry 4 My Boner, Plz God Don't Send Me to Horny Hell Jail" song, Fake Flame Esmeralda is giggling and mincing in a way she never does in reality.

The modern versions of that most godly judge are dudes who think the stripper like totally wants him for real, trust me bro, she'd totally bone him if it weren't against the rules.

Ibuprofen, a poem

[ content notice: OTC drug abuse, menstruation, manipulative/emotionally abusive relationships, references to fellatio/sex work, emesis, self-unaliving and self-harm attempts/impulses]

2006

The bottle sits in the medicine cabinet. No one tracks it, at least not very closely. No one thinks much of it. Everyone knows I need it from time to time.

My mind is going and going and going. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what’s happening to me. It feels something like puberty, when, some seven years prior my body’s core was opened so that the flesh nest I didn’t know I had built could be shed before it went septic.  My body has remade itself fully since then. Time for something else to be torn apart.

The bottle sits in the medicine cabinet. No one tracks it, at least not very closely. No one thinks much of it. Everyone knows I need it from time to time to the point where I’ve learned to dry-swallow so that I don’t have to leave class to take a few to dull that familiar deep ache punctuated by sharp spasms.

I think about the time 7 years and 7 more before when I had stumbled upon a stray pill the brand-name one with the sweet coating looking like a light brown coated chocolate on the beige carpet the best color of all the M&Ms, which were the best candy It didn’t feel like one in my hand. I immediately told my mother what I had found and handed it over. What a good girl.

The bottle sits in the medicine cabinet. No one tracks it, at least not very closely. No one thinks much of it. Everyone knows I need it from time to time. I’ve been getting it for myself for years now.

I reach up towards the high medicine cabinet shelf. Press and turn the safety cap. I am too tall and too dexterous at that point to be child-locked or shelf-blocked out of it. Should I be? After all, the air freshener, which I didn’t even know was a drug says “Keep out of reach of children and teens” right on the label. Mom and I had laughed about that. I am too mature to be in need of any such safeguards. I got my twelve-year molars at nine and my period at ten not exactly the type to suck down fumes in hopes of a high.

The bottle sits in the medicine cabinet. No one tracks it, at least not very closely. No one thinks much of it. Everyone knows I need it from time to time and this new anguish feels like one of those times.

I fill my palm with the rounds. They don’t look like the pretty, long-discontinued light brown M&M. Don’t make a nice sound when making contact with each other. We’d long switched away from that smooth-shelled, sweet-coated name brand. These were dull and rough, harder to suck down but by now, I can dry-swallow up to four of them without my teacher noticing. However many these are, they don’t stand a chance against me. I’m home, in no rush, no need to hide anything with a glass of water if I want it just a few feet away. I can hold these for longer, since the coating won’t melt in my hands. They don’t melt in my mouth, either.

The now nearly-empty bottle sits in the medicine cabinet. No one tracks it, at least not very closely. No one thinks much of it. Everyone knows I need it from time to time.

I suck down enough to make me lose time. I drift, lost to time, swallowed by the rounds. I sleep all evening, all night, all morning. For once in my overregulated life, I’m left to be. I’m in college, so I handle my own schedule and alarms. I’m on my period, so no one reminds me of Maghrib, Isha, or Fajr. No one thinks much of it. I wake up, realize I’ve been dead to the world from Asr to Zuhr but not dead enough to leave the world.

The now nearly-empty bottle sits in the medicine cabinet. Mom eventually notices it’s almost gone and adds it to her shopping list. No one thinks much of it, including her aside from admonishing us to tell her when things are running out. Everyone knows I need it from time to time.

I successfully play it off as my usual monthly troubles. The boy I like, the one who’s been taunting me into tearing myself asunder tells me that I have what is essentially a hangover. I need a thick, hearty Irish stew. He asserts, with that full-smirk half-innuendo that keeps me hooked on him that if it weren’t for my parents, he’d bring me some and feed it to me. I don’t tell him I’m too nauseous to swallow water let alone enjoy slurping on some exotic new dish.

The new bottle sits in the medicine cabinet. No one tracks it, at least not very closely. No one thinks much of it. Everyone knows I need it from time to time.

Approximately 2 body-remakes later

The bottle sits in the medicine cabinet. No one tracks it, at least not very closely. No one thinks much of it. Everyone knows I need it from time to time. It’s there, but he’s more incapacitated than usual.

What’s wrong, I ask?

"Oh, I needed them but we were out two weeks ago And I know we’re broke so you know" I don’t know. Do you know? Love of my life, look at me. By now, you not only know that I would not only

Get a payday loan Put up the car as collateral Swallow cum along with some mild disrespect Swallow some of my pride and ask my sister Swallow a bit more of my pride and e-beg Sell my soul, if I still had one Swallow what’s left of my pride and ask my parents

just so that you could be the slightest bit less uncomfortable but also that I could. Because I have. You were there. This is a basic that costs less than a tank of gas one that we both need, if differently, to boot. I drop everything post-haste to get the dual-pack of bottles rattling unpleasantly with their full capacity of rough brown pills.

The bottle sits in the medicine cabinet. No one I tracks it, at least not very closely. No one I thinkso much about it. Everyone knows I need it from time to time. It’s there, but he’s more incapacitated than usual.

What’s wrong, I ask?

"Oh, I needed them but I couldn’t find it" Love of my life, didn’t we decide on the spot together-- Never mind. From here on out it lives right here, right at your desk along both your sight-lines from every angle.

The bottle sits in the medicine cabinet on his desk, under his eye. I track it. I thinkso much about it. Everyone knows I need it from time to time. It’s there, but he’s more incapacitated than usual.

What’s wrong, I ask?

“Oh, I saw you take it from my desk so I thought it wasn’t there” Love of my life, didn’t we decide on the spot together-- Never mind. From here on out I will sit at your desk when I open it so you know it will never leave you.

The bottle backup sits in the medicine cabinet. The bottle sits stays on his desk, under his eye. I track it. I thinkso much about it. Everyone He knows I need it from time to time. It’s there, but he’s more incapacitated than usual.

What’s wrong, I ask?

“Oh, I saw you take some the other day and you’re on your period And it seemed like it was running low I couldn’t finish it while you still needed it could I” Love of my life, didn’t I say I was tracking it and weren’t you there when I bought the new ones-- Never mind. From here on out I will never touch it. It’s all yours.

The backup sits in the medicine cabinet behind his bottle. The His bottle stays on his desk, under his eye. My bottle stays in my bag, rattling unpleasantly. I track it his. I thinkso much about it his. Everyone He knows I need it from time to time. it’s his. It’s there, but he’s more incapacitated than usual.

What’s wrong, I ask? “Oh, I forgot to tell you I was running low And you know I can never remember the one in the cabinet” Love of my life, I didn’t expect you to remember the cabinet The new one was right behind the old one-- Never mind. From here on out I’ll open the new bottle and I’ll pour the old ones atop the new and I’ll discard the old bottle so you don’t get them confused.

The backup sits behind becomes his bottle. His bottle stays on his desk, under his eye. The bottle formerly his goes into the trash. My bottle stays in my bag, rattling unpleasantly. I track his. I thinkso much about his. He knows it’s his. It’s there, but he’s more incapacitated than usual.

What’s wrong, I ask?

“Oh, I saw you throw away the bottle I thought we were out” Love of my life, didn’t we talk about this last time-- Never mind. I tell him I’m so sorry. I’ll do better. From here on out, I wait until he’s asleep so that I can open the new bottle and pour the old ones atop the new and discard the old bottle so he doesn’t get them confused out of his sight, so he doesn’t think we’re out.

The backup becomes his bottle. His bottle stays on his desk, under his eye. The bottle formerly his goes into the trash doesn’t exist. This is an infinity bottle of ibuprofen. Bulk shopping has progressed so much these days. My bottle stays in my bag, rattling unpleasantly. I track his. I thinkso much about his. He knows it’s his. It’s there, but he’s more incapacitated than usual.

I choke so hard I cannot ask. What’s wrong he asks

The choking merges with a memory of excess and nausea. I slurp down an entire bottle then put my fingers down my throat so I can give it all to him. What else have I left to give?

Hot Relationship Tip: Be kind.

That's it. That's the post.

Kindness is seemingly such a simple concept, but I think it's underrated. In established relationships, it can be too easy to drown in layers of sarcasm, irony, and cynicism to the point where genuine affection isn't really expressed. Not good.

These days, when I want to explain my divorce without getting into too many details, I'll say that being in 2020 lockdown made me see just how mean he was treating me all the time. It's the truth, and it's interesting (and maybe sad) to see how many people genuinely nod and get it. Like yeah, who wants to be around someone who is just plain old mean to them all the time?

Praxis starts at home. Concepts like axes of oppression exist to describe social issues, not to justify interpersonal cruelty. Being awful to your partner isn't "punching up". Kindness isn't ever too big of a priority.

The Lamb : The Goat :: Beemo : Football

Like, exactly-exactly. There's mirroring of the mirroring.

Why is no one talking about this?!?!!?!

I have a theory.

The Right thinks that DEI/affirmative action/etc. elevates mediocrity because of the dismal quality of their own tokens.

Look no further than the fashion designers, musicians, filmmakers, actors, drag performers, and other, ahem, "creative" types who went MAGA for proof, especially the queer and/or non-white among them. They're tiny-ass, undistinguished fish in ponds so small and undisturbed by talent that they're not even qualified to be tempests in teacups.

Maybe I'm just too Elevatorgate/Gamergate poisoned but

I can't believe I've never shared this story with the Internet before. It's how something some random person I don't know and have never met will live in me forever.

It was sometime in the late 90's or early aughts. I was in my early adolescence, so between 11 and 14. I used to regularly read the PennySaver cover to cover. Why? For me, it was one of the few scattered little windows into what everyday life was like for non-famous people outside of my niche world. I also was a fast and voracious reader, but never had enough to read, especially not periodicals.

If you don't know what the Pennysaver is, it was analog Craigslist: That cheaply-printed newsprint booklet that no one subscribed to arrived in everyone's mailbox once a week. Certain ad types cost money to run, plus it ran ads. It was a more family-friendly weekly than, say, your LA Weeklies or, further up the West Coast, The Strangers. Also minus the journalism, I suppose, but there were gay people in it!

Anyway, one week, I'd read something in the PennySaver that started the slow process of catalyzing a change in my life for the better. It wasn't a wanted ad for something I had that turned out to be worth a lot of money. It wasn't a job listing that started my career. It wasn't even for a garage sale that had an item that ended up being important to me.

It was a w4m personal ad. As continues to be the case, those were much rarer than m4[literally anything]. The first sentence was "Thin may be in, but fat's where it's at!"

It was the first time I'd ever seen someone call themself fat in a way that wasn't at all negative, apologetic, or angry. This lady was saying hey, I'm fat! And I think it's a selling point even if the overall culture says it isn't!

I don't recall anything else about the ad other than that it was a woman seeking a man, and that the rest of it was unremarkable. It took a lot of other things to get me to a point of real, lasting comfort with my fatness, of course. But that little quip is stuck in my head for the rest of my life.

Thank you, random lady. I hope you're still alive, kicking, and happy. I hope you found as much love and/or miles of d1ck as you wanted, whether through the ad or by other means.

"Your cat doesn't *actually* love you, it's just because you feed them. Oh and they only snuggle with you because they want your warmth!"

Oh, bud, do I have news for you about the origins of affection in all those other mammalian species, too.

fun little Stray musical Easter egg

so I was poking around for more info on the composer for Stray. IMDB?

ok, cool. but I want to know more. to the personal site!

so charmingly minimal, but I want to know even more. Twitter?

wait a minute. where do I know that screen name from?

*gasp*