Day 26 Excerpt from “…Now She’s Calling Me Papi”

Current Mood: Caminar Donde Sea x EVHA

“Self care doesn’t mean turning off the world” is the quote of the day. I don’t feel guilty anymore that this way of life suits me. I enjoy learning and participating in meaningful dialogue with like-minded folxs on the regular and I am doing so at no extra costs and no over-stimulation (as happens when I physically engage in a room of learners). I experience Zoom Fatigue, like, I had meetings the other day from 9 am until 7pm – they were all enjoyable and most were listening-only but still felt pooped at all the ideas developing in my mind with these folxs. It’s great but exhausting.

This week has a new feel. For one I’m sore all over. I keep thinking each pain is the Corona but then I remember that I am rapidly aging. It’s quite lovely at times, but then totally messy and gross others. Last week my breasts hurt (this connects later). They were itchy the week before that. This week my back is aching. I haven’t had massages or physical therapy in about 2 months and I’m stiff all over (even with daily yoga and strength and cardio exercise). The physical ailments of my parents are hitting me about 20 years prior to them. It’s kinda comical but also sad. I have been getting massages at least 2 x a month and or physical therapy since my summer 2016 Nissan Sentra accident. Then I needed more arm work due to carpal tunnel and ulnar palsy…. yikes. So, someone mentioned today that he was missing his 20s – like a nostalgia. I retorted something about liking blahbidiblah 30s for whatever. But then I remembered I was in NYC for the best years of my life. The years of my life where I learned about my own psyche, sexuality, when I solidified my worldviews, my life commitments, I learned to define love, understand when I see it and learn how it exists in multiple ways across many platforms spaces places and all people. I learned how to care for others, the power of solidarity.

So totally unrelated. I still love dearly lots of my body. From my hazy thoughts to the ones that bring me laughter. This is a fun story that I’m trying to fit in a new(ish) non-academic project:

Back when it was called The Facebook, a young Lance moved to Orlando from out of the state and looked up people in the area to befriend. He saw he had Weezer (one of his favorite bands) in common with Sonya (she liked 1 of their songs) and he reached out to her. They dated a while and then got married on the afternoon of October 6, 2007. That evening after the wedding my BFF and I went to a local bar in Otown to watch the UF – LSU game. A guy she was flirting with – particularly ugly to me but good with witty banter – bet me a drink if he guessed the final score, I bet him a piercing. He got to make out with my friend in the back of my car as I drove them to the parlor. Then he and my friend continued to feel each other up as they watched me get poked.

The Gators lost 24 – 28!!

Almost 11 years later, just before my penultimate piercing, I strolled into a Mid Michigan Spencer’s to see what kind of jewelry specials they had for my Won Piercing. It should be noted that I hate shopping with ever fiber of my being. I grew up with mall rats who thought I was weird – esp my girlfriends who often tried to “teach me how to be a girl.” Luckily, I was around a bunch of dudes (druggies at that) who made no mention of my body, just spoke lots about sluts, prudes, marrying-types, friend-zones, and a lotta stupid shit. The only thing that makes sense in my head is to go straight in for what the fuck I’m looking for then get the fuck out. Elderly folxs in Michigan (never experienced anywhere else) made comments on many occasions about the speed of my walking – apparently it’s rude to walk “fast” or just hold things in my arms, not using plastic. There have also been several occasions where cashiers took the plastic bag “meant” for me and just crumbled/trashed it when I declined. DOES THAT MAKE SENSE?!

So, what’s the point of just wandering a mall? I walk straight to the locked glass cases to search for a new ring. When I found the right style and color I was seeking in the right price range I called over the key-holder. The yt woman – seemed about half of my age – was perplexed that I wanted a 16 gauge ring. First she, asked me if I knew that 14 gauge is bigger. Yup! I began choosing to have more piercings since I was 14 (even let 3 holes be done by friends; I did my belly myself the first time), then she went on to explain the standard gauge for piercings asking me if I was sure. Pinching my lips tightly, purposely not wasting my breath explaining to her my choice, I pushed a smile and nodded,

“Yup, I’m sure!”

She continued:

Hrmm, really? That’s weird. That might be wrong. 16 gauge is used for men because they have small nipples…

“How the fuck do you know what kind of nipples I have?”

Then, unrelated but similar arrogant stupidity within a week’s time frame of that fun Spencer’s experience: Victoria’s Secret was having a sale at one point in the same gross city so I go in to see if I felt cute in anything. I get to the dressing room delighted that I found 3 fun bras which equaled less than $30 total. As I step out, the Measurer asks if I’ve ever been measured.

“Nah, I’m good. I’ve had these [I say holding my breasts] for quite a while.” 

But did you notice you got three different sizes?

“Do you know how fabric works?”

She continued spewing whatever mindless drivel VS makes their Associates memorize:

Over half of American women wear the wrong bra size and it can create discomfort and…

“I’ve had these tits more than half my life; I know what bras work.”

I left to the cashier contemplating leaving the bras on principle. Even if I misread that White lady’s intentions in that poorly structured noise, I had just come out of the dressing room – isn’t that a clue that reveals I’d tried them on already? Whaaaat? Is this real life? What a nuisance to deal with!

All the way to the cashier’s, behind 2 other shoppers, I went back and forth on whether to keep the neon yellow lacey 34B balconette, dark snakey green 36A bralette and practical day-to-day “skin color” 36B T-shirt bras. I almost did not notice. Uggh she was adorable! I tried flirting (awkwardly) until she asked if anyone helped me. From out of nowhere Whatsherface shouted herself. I don’t recall if I laughed or choked some but I immediately rectified the situation in a most snobbish way I could  conceive (thinking of how my BFF taught me):

Actually, that employee’s actions made me want to never shop here again…

(I hadn’t been to a VS in years, since leaving Florida in 2008 probably)

That person intruded my space and wasted my time bothering me about my sizes when I had literally just left the dressing room. 

I’m sorry. That’s her job.

But I declined her help.

I’m sorry. You’re total is $28.52. You saved over $68 dollars today during our Special Spring Celebration.


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