missrenie: (Default)
 It fucking pours

I really hate that expression.  It sounds so pessitimitic.  I want to punch the people in the throat that use it.  But since I already feel like I have been punched in the throat I'm  totally gonna use it.

I wake up bleeding from my vagina.  Since I have not had a natural period in ten years my first thought is "Holy shit I didn't play that hard at the dungeon did I?!"  I force myself to calm down because I have to get to work.  And I heal quickly anyways sooo by Sunday I should be fine.

I spend the first part of Sunday curled up into a ball because it feels like some sadistic bastard grabbed my uterus and started squeezing maybe I did play to hard!!! I call my playmate and ask her if she noticed anything funny on Friday.  To which she said no and asked if I was having my period.  At this point I am embarrassed.  Bleeding profusely, cramps, head aches, motion sickness, craving: red meat, chocolate, sex, the mass slaughter of those found guilty of being stupid...duh!

"Was it always like this?" I moan over the phone.  The answer is yes.

Aside from losing so much blood that I am simultaneously fascinated and horrified I  develop general malaise and laryngitis just in time for public speaking. Instead of being down about all these schenaigains I'm pissed.   I'm raising my fist in defiance at a sadistic Matronly Mother Goddess screaming "How could You!?  This is one of the grooviest things I've gotten to do in my life.  Speaking as  part of a panel regarding Healthcare in the GLBTQ community.  I thought You liked us!!!"  

She must have found my  ranting hilarious because the bleeding reached level ridiculous.... by 3pm  I'd lost so much blood that I feel faint. On my way home from work I make a desperate phone call to Terick who comes over to find me half dead and half dressed on the floor of my room.  He gets me dressed, hydrated, out the door, to my destination and back home again with zero super dickery and tons of compassion.

"You're a good man" I say as he tucks me in
"You're opinion will change when you're better"  He assures me
"Fuck you... if I say you are a good man then I mean it you bastard"
"There's the Irene we all know and love"  he kisses my forehead with practiced condescension while I make a feeble attempt at smacking him but I'm weak and tucked in far too well to do so.  So I hiss instead and fall right off to sleep.

14 hours later I wake up
go to work
go back to sleep for 4 hours at work
work for 3
go home
go back to sleep

Its Wednesday I've figured out why I get the laryngitis.  I'm a mouth breather with sever allergies and the immune system of a decrepit old woman in a dark and dingy cell.   The solution: keep my fucking mouth closed when around allergens like pollen and cats and buy a humidifier.    Waaaay  harder than it sounds trust me.... the keeping my mouth closed bit.

The blood loss seems to be tapering off so my energy level has picked up
and I no longer want to eat dead cows
or strangle two year olds
or the stupid which is especially significant and noteworthy since I'm headed to Reno to dance at a club opening this Saturday.

wish me luck ;)
missrenie: (Default)
I’m on the verge of mental breakdown.

This little inconvenience (which is all manner of interesting on its lonesome) transforms into something of a Shakespearean tragedy when you account for the fact that my mind is one of those needy cry with me sons of bitches because it is taking my body and my car with it.

I figured I was headed for a breakdown last Tuesday when I went into work. I just felt off, scattered, and paranoid. A feeling I simply detest especially if a herbal high is not directly involved or the cause of the pandemonium. As soon as my brain processed the possibility that it was becoming unhinged it began a complete shut down of all systems in order to maintain its integrity.

By Wednesday evening I was up to a 102 degree fever complete with snot, headache, cough and chills. Sonya being the darling that she is came over to take care of me but she had a rather rough week/end herself. I tricked her into going to bed and spent the next three hours doing laundry and being in formed by some ex actress and British chick about the benefits of this brand new body shaper that makes all your skinny clothes fit your fat body.

So now I feel sick, fat, more than self conscious

And vaguely militant against these bitches who are selling a false and temporary solution to a problem that is not as simple as aesthetics but goes far deeper into post traumatic stress syndrome from a screwy childhood and fucked up start as an adult.

Besides I’m fat!!!

I’m well and intimately acquainted with every roll, divot and curve of my body and a small portion of San Francisco is as well. No bodyshaper in the ‘verse is gonna take back or change that…. and as Kathryn’s bright shiny button says “Kiss my Fat Ass”

I almost bought one in my delirium…. a body shaper not a button.

Thank the goddess I was broke.


Still feverish… but really in need of soup. I decide to haul myself and my 101 fever down to the local Whole foods for that organic brand of tlc. I use wipes on everything I touch since I don’t want to curse anyone with this disease and everything seems a little bit brighter. Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the successful venture. On my way back my car decided to flip me a fuck you and begins doing a bump and grind while groaning wildly …. Also something I simply detest if me + sex is not involved or the direct cause of it.

I make it home
Park it
Curse it
Have a coughing fit (on account of the cursing)
Lock both key and groceries in it
Kick it
Fight with the pass code entry
Cry over it
Curse it more
Beg it (that works)
Retrieve my parcels
Slam the door and spit on it.
Split the grocery bag.
Sob a little until I am giggling

Decide I have neither the mental capacity nor the money to deal with it and drag my feverish deranged soundlessly laughing manically ass inside.

Thank goodness Jerimyah brings me tlc and soup soon thereafter.
Later that night I loose my precious flash drive that stores my life and scandal.


Sitting still is a certified bitch. Neil was right maybe I do have some weird disease that keeps me from staying in one spot. If it wasn’t for Jerimyah I would have probably reorganized my writing, re organized my closet by color, cleaned the refrigerator, sweep and moped all the floors, thrown out half of everything I own since I have not used any of it in the last three months. Instead I take a few showers and dream about my roll in the zombie apocalypse.

There is a 30 year old cop involved and I decided to bed him right before the heads started to roll but just as he leans me back onto an amazingly soft bed (amazing because were trapped into military encampment) I get excited and wake myself up with a fucking coughing fit. When I fall back asleep I skip straight to the “Oh this shit just got real” part and in the end have to cut his head off. … without ever having the opportunity to ride it first.

Needless to say I wake up a tad bit put out, ornery and now horny but the fever broke... so yay!


Spent the day in the shower trying to breathe
Spent the afternoon in bed trying to orgasm
Dinner out and movie with Mister …saw 9.
Walked out in total need of an upper.
But with time patience and the right touch achieved on hell of an orgasm not climax fucking orgasm!!!!


Mister took me for a much needed airing out at the Flea market, quick visit to San Francisco and then He dropped me at Burlesque Rehearsals in Oakland which left me whipped… but when I got home I couldn’t sleep. Instead I had the great idea to do a ceremonial smudge(spiritual smoke cleansing originating from the Native Tribes of this country) myself and my room with sage.

Note to self: smoke is not helpful if your lungs are still encased in ick.


Dependant for rides from friends and loved ones until the Falcon gets fixed.
Made an appointment with the OBGYN.
It seems that that wonderful orgasm I had been a jonesing for has knocked out my IUD. It’s all bleeding, cramping and uncomfortable and every time I think about my elusive unicorn of an orgasm my cervix cinches with wondrous remembered pleasure and sends me into a semi spiral of non consensual what the holy fuck.

I had no idea that I thought about sex so much.

This has to come to a close or ill end up like those fucking rats who went off cheese due to electrocution.

I’m still stepping and still smiling…
Because what does not kill me makes me stronger, crying isn’t getting shit done, crumbled cookies, spilled milk , mercury retrograde, Saturn return, blah blah blah. But really
Fuck you trouble… and thank you too.

I realize that I am blessed enough to be surrounded by a loving patchwork family of friends that have my back, will hold my hair away and hug me even if I’m covered in ick. Thank you trouble for bending me gracelessly over a barrel without the lube to make me notice, appreicate and fully understand this.

So currently I’m too fucking busy being grateful and emotionally overwhelmed to tears and giggles by the support of friends and loved ones to truly let temporary trouble, car problems, mental break downs, missing scandal a 24 hour financial glitch and a fucked up cervix darken my day.

Besides all that sage and sick left me with a voice like Jennifer Tilly and that has to be worth the all trouble by itself ;)

the c-word

May. 27th, 2008 10:41 am
missrenie: (Default)

I have uncurled from my fetal

I no longer want to rip out my uterus

The pain has worn off but now I am thinking way too much about why I had the pain in the first place.  Just waiting for the results have got me all emotional and freaked out. I can't even say the word cancer out loud.  I'm all like "I really don't think I have ... you know... the c-word" 

It's like its flipping Voldemort or something.   

Like saying it will make it more real and not saying it will make it disappear.


On a side note I can not spell Voldemort.  I typed it into google to check my spelling and what I pulled up was hilarious.  I definitely don't want to have that squatting inside of me.

missrenie: (Default)
PCOS noun: 1)polycystic ovarian syndrome

                        2)the reason why my ovaries have hardened over making me about as fertile as the accosted salted earth of some third world country and therefore useless as a woman.

PCOS also puts me at a high risk for cervical cancer. I've been dancing around the whole birthcontrol thing because I had a horrible reaction to it seven years ago but my doctor insisted. I'm horrible at taking pills, the shot will make me fatter, those sticks they put in your arm wasn't gonna do the trick so that leaves the IUD.

I've heard lots of nasty rumors about this little bastard but I decided that cancer sucks and I need to protect myself. So I set up an appointment, signed a waiver dropped my drawer and hopped up on the table.

I should have known something was going to suck huge hot horrible rancid monkey balls when my gyno asked me if I was a strong woman.

me:: Strong? I have ovaries of steel.

gyno: great cause were going to do a biopsy of your cervix today to screen for cancer.

me:: (sitting up and looking at her through the stirrups) seriously cancer? A biopsy? I thought I was just going to do this IUD thing

gyno: well I figure today would be a good day to do the biopsy since I'm already here. Did you take any Ibuprofen or Tylenol?

me:: was I supposed to

gyno: (look of concern crosses her face) You're a strong woman right?

me:: yeah (not so sure anymore but I don't want to pussy out)ummm can I have my fiancée come in and hold my hand

gyno: sure lets call him in.

I frantically dial Terick three times before I reach him but he's in the parking lot and they really want to start right away. My freaking out causes him to freak out which for some fuck odd and twisted reason stops my freaking out. I tell him to calm down that I will be okay and I'll call him when I am done. I lay down, give the gyno the thumbs up and begin humming the Battle Hymn of the Republic.

!!!!!omflippingawd it was AWFUL !!!!!

Imagine someone shoving a sharp object inside of you, cutting you and removing your flesh. That is exactly what happened but it feels so much worse. It was like somebody bound their fist in razor blades and decided to punch me though my vagina for shits and giggles.

After she was done she said okay were going to take a second one. I feebly pushed myself up on my elbows up and looked her straight in the eyes

me:: No shit a second one?!

the butcher : we want to make sure we get a good sample... slow deep breaths this time

me::totally not breathing because my brain simply refuses to function under massive amounts of pain.

the sadistic butcher : now we put the IUD in

me:: I don't want anymore.

they lying sadistic butcher: your doing great

And in it went.

To my credit I only moaned once in the beginning and I waited to pass out until I was in the car. Serisously it was like my body executed complete shutdown of the holodex system. When I got home I felt so horrid that I called mommy and told her I had a biopsy. She was all like "oh yeah I've had one of those… not so bad."
I was impressed by her fortitude until she mentioned how they numbed her first and gave her meds for pain later.

NUMBING they were supposed to NUMB me?! All I got was an ibuprofen, 4oz of water and a pat on the back from the nurse. That was after the affair I desperately want to forget was over. To make matters worse I'll be bleeding for one week at least with no sex for two weeks. Not that they fucking told me that. I had to look it up myself this morning.

There is going to be a beer bash at work today so I didn't take the ib... I can hold out for the beer.... 15 more minutes then I'll have some champagne to go with all this whine.


missrenie: (Default)

For the past three years on this day I would give three women a very special gift.
-a copy of the Vagina Monologues
-a vibrator
-a 16 count package of batteries

I missed it this year. I got totally wrapped up in school and work. I feel sad about it because I love giving this gift. I love receiving the call or an e-mail a day or a week or a month later... another woman discovering the joy of finding her moan on her own. Another woman whose overcome a social taboo and loved themselves. Another woman who isn't waiting for someone else male/or female to do it for them. It isn't just about sex. It's about realization and revelation. It's about freedom and acceptance. It's about love.
so if you're a lady and you're reading this
or tomorrow night
or week or even a month from now
become a living legend

missrenie: (Default)


My hands were shaking which was odd because I did not feel that nervous . I remember pressing my back against the cold wall to slow down my heart… to shock me back into a calm and steady breath. I remember holding onto Lacey's hand and not wanting to let her go. I remember Stephanie's feet leaving the ground for a moment as she sang out the glitter in her eyes, the smile on her lips.

-Tell me cunt
-I say it then you say it cunt!

Then Lacey was gone… on the stage… a world away. Her hand on her tiny waist as she turned to the side and shifted her leather clad hips suggestively, winking at the crowd. There was Stephanie at my side then a quick reassuring touch. The lights went down. I went up. I closed my eyes and breathed in….

I felt the stillness of the room
something in me shifted…
something slipped out of me
and then something slipped in.
I felt the warmth of the lights on my face
I exhaled
I opened my eyes
And I wasn't just the Moaner... the pvc clad Dominatrix
I was myself
More of myself then I had been in the past seven years.
And I was loving every moment of it.

I loved watching the slender women who at first looked at me with eyes that said "I know her fat ass is not wearing that!!!" change from shock to admiration
I loved the way rubenesque women looked up at me I could see the embarrassment give way to a heck yes… big beautiful women represent!!!
I loved pausing for the laughter
And making them wait for the next line.
I loved pacing the stage like it was a jungle and I was the sole predator
I loved the way people blushed or turned away when I looked directly at them.
I loved staring them down

The way a mousy 40ish woman fidgeted and her eyes got big and wide when I said the lines "I discovered how deeply excited I got when other women moaned… when I was responsible for other women moaning"

I said it directly to her.

And then the moans
20 of them
I could hear the women in the crowd recognizing themselves in each one… I heard a few uh-ohs when I announced the next… felt their roars, heard the oh my gods, amens, hell yeahs!!!
They threw gasoline on an already well burning flame and my inhibition, my self doubt, my suppression, my lack overwhelming monumental lack of self confidence was left smoldering in the ashes.
By time I reached the "Surprise triple orgasm" I was in a state of euphoric abandon. I felt completely naked and exposed and I didn't quite give a damn.

And when it was all over.
I lifted myself up onto my feet
stopped my panting
And blew the audience a kiss
A thank you

Turned on my heels and sauntered off the stage without waiting for the lights to dim or the applause to end.

I got home around 2:30 am
pried out my contacts
got into the shower
let the water pour over me

I cried

I did not think that I could possibly get more out of being part of the Vagina Monologues as I did last year. I was totally, completely and thoroughly wrong.

Last year was a healing for me. Through the Coochie Snorcher I was able to pour out all that anger. I punctured a puss filled wound and was washed out cleansed and patched up.

I was raised to a "kind of heaven".
But this year…

I stayed in the shower for a long time… afraid that when I stepped out that I would lose something… that something that I found that night… afraid that it would drip off of me like the water, circle the drain or evaporate into the air.

When I finally got out of the shower I wiped the the mirror clear of the fog

And looked
And saw
And knew
That this is part of me now
I have returned to myself… and I am going beyond.

Thank you Tara for calling me two years ago to get me involved
Thank you Mara and Jean for giving me pointers on some of the moans.
Thank you San Jose Vaginas of 2007 for being the wonderful people that you are and helping me feel safe enough to let myself do this

Thank you Anne for providing the opportunity
Thank you Stephanie
for seeing this potential in me before I could see it in myself
for giving me a key
to a door
to a room
to a place
to a part of me that I had forgotten

missrenie: (Default)

The Vagina Monolgues and my shameless self promotion

But first the Vagina Monologues.

now for my shameless self promotion

Last year this play changed my life... and started me on a road to change and growth as a person. It was not just being in the play... the act of performance in front of a group of strangers... it was the extra above and more than ordinary women I met and got to know during the practices and rehearsals, it was the moving piece that I got to do last year that helped me through my own issues and helped me find my own healing. Since that closing night last year I looked forward to this years...
I had no idea that this years piece would move me to redefinition again
Thankyou Stephanie!!!
Thankyou Anne!!!
For giving me a chance to do it again
this time in pvc vinyl
with a leather paddle

Even more shameless self promotion

I'm also being auctioned off Friday at the Post Performance Gala
or ill find a use for that paddle
click to buy ticket on-line
missrenie: (Default)
I'm the moaner
I'm the moaner

I realized why I have been having such a hard time learning my lines
its not because I am frightened:
of preforming on stage
infront of a couple of hundred people
in a tight little pvc dress I have stashed in the back of the closet for
Halloween/ bank holidays/ birthdays and emergencies only

No...it's what comes before all that
the hours spent developing the character
figuring out how she moves, and breathes
taking off my own skin and slipping into hers
like a warm bath
warm moist voluptuous pulsing

She is a woman living her
eccentric, exceptional, divergent purpose

She is a not only a seeker
She is a finder

She is a kind of horticulturist
tending the most tender bloom

She is disciplined
but hungry

A calm, climatic, chaos controlled

And I was frightened of what it means to be her

Because I want so desperately to be her

A confident, calm, climatic, creative chaos controlled.

Normally I can just read something a few times a memorize it.
Its what got me through high school
but this time I couldn't every time I looked at the words on the paper
when I went to speak them aloud
my first thoughts were
this isn't me
I can't do this
It can't be believable
I won't be believable
It went on that way
While trying to read the lines I would avoid looking at myself in the mirror .
I was trying not to hear my own voice
separating it from me
the Moaner from myself
embarrassed, blushing, quite obviously horny as hell.
Just from the first lines
"I love vaginas, I love women. I do not see them as separate things"

I finally settled down and recorded the monologue onto my mp3 player on Monday and listened to it the whole day. Over and over and over again. At first I was startled and disturbed by the sound of my own voice. My voice was sexier than I felt I was or deserved to be. I always like to think of myself as sexy. In my own head. Where the little fragile image was safe from the outside word. I was embarrassed again. Uncomfortable not just because of it but because I was uncomfortable by it. I decided not to focus on it... decided to just approach it in a purely professional manner. I broke it down critqued myself, found pacing but it wasn't until later that night when I was in bed on the brink of sleep running the lines through my head that it clicked

"I love vaginas.
I love women
I do not see them as separate things"

I separate myself from my vagina, my sexuality. I have let myself be convinced that only the women on television and magazines could truly be outwardly sexy. It did not matter that I knew many women who were not that airbrushed ideal, women who I considered to be very sexy, and beautiful. I was still waiting to fit into a certain dress size before I gave myself permission to really fit into being a woman again... waiting to be "pretty" or what I had convinced myself to be "pretty"

"Video gurl" I am not!!!!
but thats okay
as a matter of fact it more than okay

The Moaner is not perfect, idealized beauty.
She is not the sum of her physical parts
The Moaner is in the mind
She is heady in the head
She is raw, sexual, confident
she is unapologetic
she doesn't quite give a fuck
well she does
but when she does she is showing women the door
through finding
A confident, calm, climatic, creative chaos controlled.

I'm the moaner
I'm the moaner
I'm the
missrenie: (Default)

I can feel it ready to burst forth from my lips, hot like lava, smooth as silk, powerful, mind blowing
Last year I got the chance to be a part of something wonderful... something that has changed my life and the way I see myself and my sisters around me. I can not wait to be a part of it again this year .The Vagina Monologues. It was an incredible expirence. V-Day generates broader attention for the fight to stop violence against women and girls, including rape, battery, incest, female genital mutilation (FGM) and sexual slavery. Proceeds from our performance went to the local Rape Crisis Center for San Jose and the Women's Crisis Center of the local YMCA

please visit:
to find out more information about how you can help out. Even if its just buying a ticket to a production and taking a friend along... every cent counts!!!!
This year's highlight piece is concerning what happens to women as a result of war and it's aftermath. Its a powerful piece.

Victory, Valentine and Vagina!!!!!
Until the Violence Stops!!!!
Peace and Love

Vagina Warriors: An Emerging Paradigm, An Emerging Species
I have sat with women in crowded factories in Juarez, in crumbling shelters in the back streets of Cairo, in makeshift centers for teenage girls and women in Jerusalem, Johannesburg, Pine Ridge and Watts, in mansions in Hollywood, in burnt-out backyards in Kosova and Kabul, in a moving van after midnight with sex trafficked girls in Paris. Sometimes these meetings went on for hours; in the case of the 17-year-old Bulgarian sex slave, we had 35 minutes before her pimp came looking for her. I have heard the staggering stories of violence - war rapes, gang rapes, date rapes, licensed rapes, family rapes. I have seen first-hand the scars of brutality - black eyes, cigarette-hole burns in arms and legs, a melted face, bruises, slices and broken bones. I have witnessed women living without what is fundamental - sky, sun, a roof, food, parents, a clitoris, freedom. I have been there when skulls washed up on riverbanks and naked mutilated female bodies were discovered in ditches. I have seen the worst. The worst lives in my body. But in each and every case I was escorted, transformed, and transported by a guide, a visionary, an activist, an outrageous fighter and dreamer. I have come to know these women (and sometimes men) as Vagina Warriors.

It was Zoya who first took me to the muddy Afghan camps in Pakistan; Rada who translated the stories of women refugees as we traveled through war-torn Bosnia; Megan who led pro-vagina cheers on a freezing cold campus in Michigan; Igo who made jokes about land mines as we sped in her jeep through the post-war roads outside Pristina, Kosova; Esther who took me to the graves marked with pink crosses in Juarez, Mexico; Agnes who walked me up the path with dancing and singing Masai girls dressed in red, celebrating the opening of the first V-Day Safe House for girls fleeing female genital mutilation (FGM).

At first I thought this was just a rare group of individuals, specific women who had been violated or witnessed so much suffering they had no choice but to act. But after five years of traveling, forty countries later a pattern has emerged, an evolving species. Vagina Warriors are everywhere. In a time of escalating and explosive violence on the planet, these Warriors are fostering a new paradigm.

Although Vagina Warriors are highly original, they possess some general defining characteristics:
They are fierce, obsessed, can't be stopped, driven.
They are no longer beholden to social customs or inhibited by taboos. They are not afraid to be alone, not afraid to be ridiculed or attacked. They are often willing to face anything for the safety and freedom of others.
They love to dance.
They are directed by vision, not ruled by ideology.
They are citizens of the world. They cherish humanity over nationhood.
They have a wicked sense of humor. A Palestinian activist told jokes to an Israeli soldier who pointed a machine gun at her as she tried to pass the checkpoints. She literally disarmed him with her humor.
Vagina Warriors know that compassion is the deepest form of memory.
They know that punishment does not make abusive people behave better. They know that it is more important to provide a space where the best can emerge rather than "teaching people a lesson." I met an extraordinary activist in San Francisco, a former prostitute who had been abused as a child. Working with the correctional system, she devised a therapeutic workshop where convicted pimps and johns could confront their loneliness, insecurity and sorrow.
Vagina Warriors are done being victims. They know no one is coming to rescue them. They would not want to be rescued.
They have experienced their rage, depression, desire for revenge and they have transformed them through grieving and service. They have confronted the depth of their darkness. They live in their bodies.
They are community makers. They bring everyone in.
Vagina Warriors have a keen ability to live with ambiguity. They can hold two existing, opposite thoughts at the same time. I first recognized this quality during the Bosnian war. I was interviewing a Muslim woman activist in a refugee camp whose husband had been decapitated by a Serb. I asked her if she hated Serbs. She looked at me as if I were crazy. "No, no, I do not hate Serbs," she said, "If I were to hate Serbs, then the Serbs would have won."
Vagina Warriors know that the process of healing from violence is long and happens in stages. They give what they need the most, and by giving this they heal and activate the wounded part inside.
Many Vagina Warriors work primarily on a grassroots level. Because what is done to women is often done in isolation and remains unreported, Vagina Warriors work to make the invisible seen. Mary in Chicago fights for the rights of Women of Color so that they are not disregarded or abused; Nighat risked stoning and public shaming in Pakistan by producing "The Vagina Monologues" in Islamabad so that the stories and passions of women would not go unheard; Esther insists that the hundreds of disappeared girls in Juarez are honored and not forgotten.

For native people, a warrior is one whose basic responsibility is to protect and preserve life. The struggle to end violence on this planet is a battle. Emotional, intellectual, spiritual, physical. It requires every bit of our strength, our courage, our fierceness. It means speaking out when everyone says to be quiet. It means going the distance to hold perpetrators accountable for their actions. It means honoring the truth even if it means losing family, country, and friends. It means developing the spiritual muscle to enter and survive the grief that violence brings and, in that dangerous space of stunned unknowing, inviting the deeper wisdom.

Like Vaginas, Warriors are central to human existence, but they still remain largely unvalued and unseen. This year V-Day celebrates Vagina Warriors around the world, and by doing so we acknowledge these women and men and their work. In every community there are humble activists working every day, beat by beat to undo suffering. They sit by hospital beds, pass new laws, chant taboo words, write boring proposals, beg for money, demonstrate and hold vigils in the streets. They are our mothers, our daughters, our sisters, our aunts, our grandmothers, and our best friends. Every woman has a warrior inside waiting to be born. In order to guarantee a world without violence, in a time of danger and escalating madness, we urge them to come out.


~Eve Ensler, Founder/Artistic Director, V-Day; playwright, "The Vagina Monologues"
missrenie: (Default)

I'm a size-ist
and a racist
I stereotype skinny women
skinny white women
I never realized it
really realized it
I am the only black person in the production. And I felt weird about it. And I had to figure out why. And when I thought about it, it was not the being the only black person that upset me... it was my size. I was so used to being ridiculed by the skinny white girls I used to go to school with. Poked at, name called... they gave me hell and I felt like shit around them. All I wanted to do was fit in, or at least fade away but I couldn't no matter how hard I tried to do either. My hair, my lips, my eyes, my hips... me. I compared myself... a giant checklist... I hated myself... for not being
blue eyed
for not having hair what went though a plastic comb instead of breaking the pink and white teeth to pieces.
I never thought of myself as having a serious problem with white people... I mean I pushed it to the back of my mind... thought of it as normal sometimes... I mean I have white friends!!!! My best friends Liza and Kris are white... and Liza is skinny!!!
But now
looking at it
being in a room with white women
skinny and not skinny white women
all those feelings came back.
And I could feel the wall going up.
Until they smiled genuinely smiled at me, hugged me and told me I was cute, helped me with my makeup, made mistakes, belched, and treated me like a human being... a beautiful human being that I realized really realized the problem I had
and how wrong I was
and how much of a healing experience this Vagina Monologue thing has been.
We stand united in our womanhood, in experience good and bad... They have faced screwed up things in their lives as well. Just because you are white and skinny and pretty does not mean that you boyfriend stays around, that you get the car you've always wanted, that people back out of your way, that the world stands and waits for you, or loves and adores you... just because you are white and skinny and pretty does not mean that you are spared from abuse, embarrassment, heartache and pain or even think that you are skinny or pretty.
I am black and fat and beautiful and beautifully me... this I have always known despite what I went through during my youth.
But now I know another truth.
That we ARE really connected... that these women are my sisters... we may have differences abounding
but we all have a vagina


missrenie: (Default)

I was late for rehearsals today... but I did get there in time to answer the question. ...
I chose
Sailor frickin Moon
because my vagina would have the power to save the entire world
be reincarnated several times
wear a really short skirt
speak Nihongo (Japanese)
have legs for days
eat lots of food without getting fat
have a groovy guy that gave her flowers all the time
be a princess
a queen
a neo queen
and have a really wild sex life that involves lesbian sex and tentacles
mmm love those tentacles

missrenie: (Default)

Well not just any circus.. The circus with the animals are cruel and depressing
I'm talking about the circus
My vagina wants to join Cirque du Soleil

(She has good taste doesn't she)

Terick took me last night to Croteco as a late Valentine's Day thing... I must have had 4 mini-gasms watching those men dance like elves across the stage
so graceful
and yet
so masculine
like watching lions roaming around Africa
I've have often mused that if I were a lioness I would say “screw you “ to the one lion and start a lesbian herd only seeking out a male lion for procreation needs.

But after seeing the human male equivalent I caught a dangerous if not unsettling glimpse of the longing to willingly be someone's bitch.
And I gasped in shock at my own thoughts
and shivered
I clung to Terick's arm (hoping he would protect me from becoming someone's bitch) He leaned over and kissed my forehead..and I gasped again

mini-orgasm number 5

I was tuckered out by time we got home.  We cuddled and talked each other to sleep.  Which did not take long for me I slept so well I was so content.. So happy.

... no nyquil involved

and when I woke up at 8:07 (have to be at work for 8:30) he told me I looked so pretty while I slept.  (It was the first day in nearly a week that I had managed not to drool profusely on my left forearm.)  He told me my eyebrows were so perfect and my mouth so small... I told him that was because when I am asleep im not spewing profanity and its not really smaller it is just closed.  He kissed my tummy, ironed my work clothes and sent me off into the concrete jungle with a pleasant glow.

Yes my vagina wants to join the circus and so does Terick



missrenie: (Default)

This question got some weird responses... one being really drawn out about how you could never really know how your vagina smelled because you can't lean into it to smell it... if you used you hand and sniffed your hand the smell would change because of the chemical difference between your hand and your vagina.
I happily reported that mine smelled like copy paper warm off the machine
This got many happy smiles from sister office supply-philes



come again?

Feb. 7th, 2006 11:28 pm
missrenie: (Default)

So I read my lines for Terick
his one comment
“your southern accent isn't black enough”

So I read a few lines to Kris who shrugged and said
“You sound like Scarlet O'hara to me”
“But Scarlet is white” I say
“Well you've got the southern part right” she says with a smile

I'm going to block buster to rent the Color Purple had no idea that playing a southern black woman would be so much damn work!!!!



missrenie: (Default)

Today at rehearsals before the normal moaning session we were asked
“What would your Vagina wish for”
Everyone' s first answer was - an end to violence against women
So being a sheep and trying not to be a self involved bitch I gave my fist wish to the cause as well.
My second wish was for my period to come back...
If anyone has seen my period tell her that I miss her and to come home soon
seven years is too long to go without one



missrenie: (Default)

One of the directors has a bunch of cats. Know don't get me wrong I love kitties. But sadly I am very allergic... I had to cut out of rehearsal early today... I hope they don't think I am a flake.




missrenie: (Default)

November 2011

1314151617 1819
202122 23242526


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 25th, 2017 04:58 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios