Taking the Homosocialist Agenda Abroad. You Know We Recruit, Right?

Taking the Homosocialist Agenda Abroad. You Know We Recruit, Right?

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

So. It's been a while.

Hiya. Recent discovery: I'm a terrible blogger.

Oh well.

My life was more or less swallowed whole by Dive Master training, which was followed by Instructor Development Course. Now that I've completed my 100th dive (naked shore dive with TJ and two other fantastic queer ladies, one of whom is extremely talented at un- and re-buttoning shirts underwater), I am a mere paperwork wait away from being an actual, certified scuba instructor. Joy!

You know this means all my friends get to learn to dive, right? Oh yes.

Other than that, for the past 6 weeks TJ and I have been living in our friends' house, taking care of their three dogs while they were on vacation in Nicaragua. D and R are our new communal living lesbian sisterwives married gay friends and favorite people. But seriously, we pretty much pulled a 4-way u-haul. Good times.

R is the Canadian owner of a classy beachgear boutique on the main strip of Utila (sidenote: everything is on the main strip of Utila). She sells brandname stuff but also designs and builds her own clothes and jewelry, which she sells under her label, Origami Customs. That's right, I'm shamelessly plugging *sounds kind of dirty*, and yes, you can check out her stuff on etsy. She makes some really lovely things, and she'll create them to your specifications- what more could you want? Go, seek, appreciate: http://www.facebook.com/origamicustoms

D, her wife, is a butch Honduran bar owner who does an uncanny chameleon impersonation (or is it an impression?). She is one of the owners/managers of Tranquila Bar (left off the crossroads at the ferry dock), which is widely regarded as one of the best bars on the island.

 I'm not one for bars, but I can tell you that the music at Tranqs is vastly superior to anywhere else on the island. Firstly, it's not played at ear-bleed decibels, and it's just the right mix of hits from the 70s-90s so you find that, magically, you know all the songs and remember why you liked them. Also, the dock is perfect for watching the sunset, the dancefloor is not infrequently hopping, and there are weekly events that make it cheaper to drink, such as "Beat the Buzzer" (5 lempira kamikaze shots- it's about 20 lemps to the dollar) and "Tequila Tuesdays"(10 lemp tequila shots). It's pretty much the place to go on the island.

So, yeah. I've been busy diving and hanging out with my partner and new queer friends. Life is hard.

But, for the sake of this supposed travel blog, some other things you might think about while on Utila:
1) Go to the cinema. There is only one, so it isn't hard. The cafe is run by a wonderful Argentinian lady who makes fantastic Spanish omlet and fruit licuados (fruit blended with water, milk, yogurt, or orange juice), and you can rent a movie for 40 lemps from a delightful guy named Chris, who acts as a human film-suggestion generator. It's uncanny.
2)  Check out the weekly dive center BBQs. I've been to Alton's Dive Center and Utila Dive Center cook-outs, and they've both been fun; Alton's had better food (cooked by a hot queer lady, which might have something to do with it), and UDC was more lively.
3) Play nails. It's the official UDC game, and it involves a beam of wood, a hammer, nails and victory beers. You could never, for liability reasons, get away with playing it in the states. Enough said. UDc now organizes monthly team nails tournaments.
4) All the shops have different delivery days for their fresh fruit and vegetables. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday are good bets for most places.
5) If you can, do a naked dive. Boobs do amazing things underwater.
6) Sandflies are the worst thing about Utila (aside from the general corruption, and the monthly drug plane landings). Pack baby oil, and smear it on your exposed limbs around dusk.

I'm sure I'll think of other things to say at some point, but that's pretty much the gist for now, as homemade fries just came out of the oven.

Oh, and bunnies.

Monday, October 31, 2011

Divers Below

I made my Halloween costume yesterday. It took me approximately 56 seconds and $3.00, and as far as I am concerned, is genius.

The equation is simple: 1 $3.00 orange poncho + 1 temporarily stolen/borrowed permanent marker = you are a safety sausage. Also, it is raining buckets on Utila, so really, this costume is perfection.

But wait, what the hell is a safety sausage? For non-divers, that word probably conjures something you'd find online at, say, Good Vibrations, so let me explain. A safety sausage is a big inflatable marker buoy that says "Divers Below" on it, that you deploy when you are drift diving so that the boat can come and pick you up, and also so you don't get run over by other passing motorboats.

My other idea was to tease out my enormous mane of red hair and go as a lionfish (invasive species), but I don't currently own anything with red stripes. As it is, I'm going to be nice and dry this year.

I wish you all wonderful, safe Halloweens, and please, tell me what brilliant costume you've made.

Sunday, October 30, 2011

So, I just finished assisting on an Open Water course...

Holy crap. If you've ever done Rescue Diver, you know how you think the instructors and DMs are exaggerating? You think, surely no one is actually stupid enough to do all those things, all the time, thus endangering themselves and everyone else.

But no. They were not exaggerating. Assisting on OW is amazing, you get to see students progress and go from underwater baffoon to competent diver, and you learn a ton, BUT:

It's like trying to herd cats, only underwater and they all have hangovers. It is an eye-opening experience.

You should all go do Dive Master. Right now. It's a blast.

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Virtual Postcards from a Rustic Island

Why hello there! It might seem like I forgot I have a blog.

I assure you, it has been on my mind- I'm just a little, well, marooned.

I'm on Utila, Bay Islands, Honduras, doing my Dive Master training at Utila Dive Center, which pretty much means my life is forfeit unless I'm underwater.

Also, internet is super slow (so probably pictures will have to be added in about 6 months from now), and, as it is hurricane season in the Caribbean, power outages are frequent.

What I'm saying is, my blogging habits won't get better any time soon, but know that I adore you all and will do my best. I think entries from here on out might resemble diary entry snippets, so I can do them from TJ's ipiddle device whenever we have wifi.

We'll make it work, homos.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Prepare TARDIS for Takeoff

Holy crap, what happened to summer? Leaves are turning, mornings are COLD, and I'm not sure how to feel about it. No more reading in hammocks in the sun; no more tank tops; no more bikini-clad ladiez.

Via crooksandqueens

Oh, wait: fuck the weather, I'm going to Honduras.

haiiii I’m jannet. deleted my tumblr but got it back(: oh how I missed seeing such lovely posts from such lovely ladies:D
Via girlswholikegirls

And I'm leaving in 48 hours.

Well, not for Honduras...yet. Ready for the big reveal? Drumroll, please.

The Plan:

First, I flying to New York to meet up with TJ, who I haven't seen outside of a computer screen all summer (reunion sex is the best). Then, we go to England, the Motherland, birthplace of Beryl Markham, Winnie Churchill, and the cast of Doctor Who. Why are we going somewhere cold and rainy? That's about as good an idea as following something mauve through a time vortex to the 1940s, I know.

But hear me out. TJ's dad is British, and her sister lives there with her family. So, there's the fam time factor. Alsoalso, we're going to try and visit Wales, and see some friends. Plus, there's some minor thing about TJ needing to get an official-type stamp in her passport. But we're not letting that stop us from having afternoon tea with The Queen a gay old time.


Alter Ego Shoot with Stoney
Via fuckyeahdykes

It gets better; after hat-spotting at Buckingham, we jet back to NY for a couple days, drive to Boston/Western Massachusetts area to see some excellent people and attend the HONK alternative marching band festival for TJ's birthday weekend, then fly our asses south of the border. We'll start out in Utila Island and do some diving, drinking, general carousing. TJ might take some Spanish classes, and I'll go for my Divemaster certification.

After that? Well, the plan kind of...peeters out.

As in, we have none. The tickets to Honduras are one-way.

Via ohcardigan

The general timeframe is 6-8 months (really, we just want to miss the North American winter), and the budget is limited. As such, we're hoping to do a lot of help and work exchanges, and pick up a few new skills (holycats, I want to learn apiary and how to make chocolate).

I. AM. EXCITED. It's high time for some haphazard adventure; after all, TJ and I are both done with college, and have no real responsibilities at present. Being a real person can wait- we're gonna blow this popsicle stand.

But don't worry, dear oddballs; I'll update you on all the important happenings of this Big Gay Trip as often as I can. It'll be like you're there with me, getting motion sick on every back-road chicken bus.

With a bit of luck, there will be some really good bunny pictures.

Monday, August 22, 2011

The System is Down

Hello there, happy heterosexuals emotionally complex homodeviants and allies! I hope you've all been doing splendidly and enjoying the Journey That is Life (or the 80s band, whichever).

BOSS was life-changing. I get the chills whenever I turn on a light just by flipping a switch. I really don't have the capacity to describe how incredible it was, so I'm just going to say, if you ever get the chance, inclination, or surprise inheritance that makes such a course possible, do it.

Now, to business: I promised you a post about resort towns and gaydar. I think this is still a terribly relevant post, only I realized the other day that it's not just resort towns that cause my equipment to malfunction. The other primary issue is teenage boys.

submitted by pissedcoast
via fuckyeahdykes

Or maybe lesbians who look like them-it's hard to say where the fault really lies.

I had this (globally important, earth-shattering) realization brought home to me the other day in the checkout line at my local food-a-town. First off, I was with my mom, and second, I was massively distracted by a cowboy-type man who was wearing the most hipster plaid shirt on the planet (we're talking teal and lavender with shiny buttons) in combination with an ENORMOUS scruffy cowboy hat, 10-gallon style. He was not wearing this even remotely ironically.

I was distracted, thinking of all the ways I could possibly get my friends to dress like that for an occasion other than Halloween or a spaghetti western theme party (Enrique, I'm looking at you).

Anyway, There's this adorable boi bagging, actually managing to pull off the grey-apron-over-grey-shirt look, and she's giving me the cocky lezzer smile. I smiled back, gave the dyke nod, feeling pretty spunky. Then I notice the name on the nametag- Chase. One part of my brain thinks "her parents must have known she was destined for gaydom," but the other part starts to say "hang on- you're in Bumblefuck, Utah. Out here, Chase is definitely a boy's name."

I took a second, harder look at my lovely boi: the longer I looked, the more she looked like a teenage boy impersonating a lesbian impersonating a teenage boy who looks vaguely like Justin Bieber.

Oooooh, shit.

It was like being back in Northampton, hometown of Smith College, all over again. The confusion! The angst! The skinny jeans and haircuts!

Milky @ Home. 
via findingcharlie

What's a solitary queerio to do?

I had a brief dream of an awesome new friend, but that dream was quickly crushed. Ah well. I guess I'll just have to settle for introducing my mom to concepts like dyke-a-like/identidyke to describe her heterofriendships (seriously, they show up to the barn in the same maudedamned outfits). As a bonus, she occasionally 'invents' new and interesting words, such as "dykadelic."

Yes, my mom did, without any prompting whatsoever, say the word "dykadelic."

Don't be jealous- I know she's awesome. And I get to raid her closet.

But seriously, why is it so hard sometimes to tell the difference between teenage boys and lesbians? Somebody should write a research grant proposal so we can study this shit.

But back to resort towns. I live within striking distance of Park City. My dad lives there with his alcoholic British aristocrat housemate, so I visit not infrequently. PC is home of many things, including the annual Sundance Film Festival, which arguably caused a small ex-mining town to explode into a behemoth resort destination for the rich and infamous. That, and the incredible skiing.

via jpmorgan

Like most resort towns (or so I gather), PC is geared towards the outdoors. You can ski well into June most years, mountain or road bike through gorgeous scenery, hike loads of trails, kayak rivers, and do any number of athletic outdoor things. Utah is already an outdoorsy state, but places like Park City kick it up a notch, because they are mostly inhabited/visited by wealthy white folks who can afford lots of nifty gear for their outdoor hobbies.

The problem is, they all dress like (stereotypes of white, upper-middle class) lesbians.

Seriously, PC is inundated with young, athletic women with expensive short hairstyles, multiple pairs of running/hiking/rock climbing shoes, attractively subtle tattoos and/or piercings, and an interest in political protests and raw food diets.

But these girls, they are not lesbians. Oh, no no no. Most of them tried half-heartedly making out with another girl in college, but they don't want to talk about it unless you get them sozzled, and then they will tell you that it was fun but weird and they're "not really into it," and thus they could never "be a lesbian, or whatever."

via crooksandqueens

Yes, I realize I'm making sweeping generalizations. Yes, there are indeed some lesbians who live in and/or visit PC; I even know a few. But the vast fucking majority are just impostors who will seduce you with their muscular calves and talk of pre-race carbo-loading, then break your heart with their Heterosexual Lifestyle Choice.

Or maybe I'm just speaking from the depths of my own narrow-ass perspective.

via girlsiwouldmarry

What are your thoughts on this important matter? Does anyone else have these troubles, or is it really just me/ Utah? How the hell is it that so many teenage boys look like lesbians? Why do I sometimes find myself attracted to teenage boys because they look like lesbians? Do you have any good/bad/ugly stories of mistaken identities?

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Like a BOSS

You guys, sometimes I think I'm troubled.

Not deeply or necessarily in a bad way. Just...confused.

In my own very special way.

Summer is about relaxing, taking time to sit a hammocks, maybe working a catering job or helping your mom sort through her garage.

via crooksandqueens

It is not expected, generally, that you will spend part of it depriving yourself of necessities like food, water, and shelter in order to learn survival skills in the middle of a desert. 

So, where do you think I'm driving in T-minus 5 hours? It ain't to grandma's house. 

via fuckyeahdykes
I'm bound for the Boulder Outdoor Survival School in Boulder, Utah, population 240 (yes, you read that right), also known as BOSS. It's apparently like NOLS and Outward Bound to the n-th degree; super fucking difficult. I'll be doing a 14-day field course, wherein I'm expected to hike 15-30 miles a day, forage for food and water, and sleep on nothing but a wool blanket. 

I'm psyched. And no, that's not sarcasm.

Just to be clear, no, it is not a wilderness therapy program, though I think those are a great thing for a lot of people. 

I've decided to do put myself through apocalypse drill training because, for one thing, Michelle Bachmann or Rick Santorum might become the next president. If that happens, I'd rather take my chances in the middle of the wilderness than in a country that elected someone who thinks children of color were better off being born into slavery, because, you know, at least there were in a two-parent household. 


via bluebird-girl

That, and I fucking love the outdoors; I want to be more self-sufficient, I think stainless steel canteens are nifty, and maudedamnit, people who can bust a fire with only two sticks are sexy.

I'm marginally terrified, but mostly elated. No matter what, it will be an amazing experience. AND, I will have an excellent excuse to let my eyebrows grow out. 

It might seem like a silly thing, but ever since some jackass in the 6th grade told me I'd be "less ugly if I plucked my eyebrows" I've caved to societal norms and kept my unibrow undercover. Armpits? Barely shave 'em. Legs? Been furry for years. But eyebrows? I just haven't been able to let them grow in- I gaze with envy upon those ladies who are confident enough to sport a bushy brow with pride, thinking "I could never pull it off."

But now I'm faced with the perfect excuse to go wild and woolly. Screw those social norms, at least for 2 weeks. 

 I can't lie, I'm excited. I might take a before and after photo, for comparison.

Also, I just found out that I can drink a beer while hula-hooping (in both directions!), so I'm pretty sure I'll be able to make friends around the campfire. Not that we'll have beer. Or hula-hoops. Or flashlights. Or tents. 

What have I gotten myself into?