Watch the Throne...

If you're gender non-conforming having to publicly pee or change clothes is often a nightmare. We've been exploring bathroom-politics over the last year @ BBH, and we're committed to remaining a space for bois to tell their story. Our guest blogger this go-round is Haven. Check out her bio and writing and give her feedback! -mo 

Anecdotes from Restroom Land

By Haven

If someone were to ask a handful of bois to describe themselves they would get many, many answers. Bois, Stud, Butch, Soft stud, Versatile, Queer, Lesbian, Gay--like any other community, ours is peppered with a variety of definitions and styles covering an array of personalities. However vast our self-definitions may be there is one universal truth I believe we all go through: those awkward events known as peeing in a public restroom and changing in a fitting room. The following are just highlights of my adventures in these two places. I can’t say they are as colorful as what most go through. To be honest they are the most recent encounters therefore the only ones I remember in detail.

 Incident #1 happened during a Valentine’s Day dinner with my girlfriend at The Cheesecake Factory. Our evening was going fine even with the usual rude stares. I never really know if it’s because we’re an interracial couple, because I look like a 15 year old boy with a 28 year old school teacher, or because they realize we’re a lesbian couple...but that piece of self-reflection is for a different time. We sit and start eating this wonderful dinner which, with the aid of the many alcoholic beverages, ran right through me. I excused myself from the table and drunkenly walked to the restroom.

Luckily for me, the bathroom was only a few tables down. The line for the toilets was rather long but my dedication to make this woman who was staring at me uncomfortable made me ride out the lines. She had the same look on her face as some people do in airports when they see a person that fits the description of “a Muslim”. She got to the sinks and watched me do my “I have to pee” dance through the mirror. When I was next in line to the stalls she finally found the courage to say, “Sir, I don’t think you are in the right place.” Her southern drawl laced this string of cuteness around her statement. A stall opened up and as I walked into it I told her, “Don’t worry I am.”

As I did my thing I could hear her speaking to other patrons. She spoke in the same way high school girls do when they are around someone they don’t like, with that fake whisper that’s just loud enough for you to hear their insults.

“I don’t know what he’s doing in here...maybe we should call someone to get him out...Who does he think he is?” the comments were almost comical. I finish up, wiped my ass and headed to the sinks.

I got the VIP treatment because the woman just so happened to stay in the bathroom for me. I felt really safe. As I washed my hands, this lady slides closer to me and says “Exactly what do you think you’re doing in here?” Now to say that my language is colorful is an understatement. I curse like a sailor because I am one and I take pride in my proficient vulgarity. I replied “I thought I was taking a shit, why?” By this time I’m almost sure this woman is aware that I am a female but she obviously wanted to hold on to the male image I seem to possess.

“This restroom is for FEE-MAY-ALES!” She said in frustration. Maybe it was the high volume of alcohol I consumed or the influx of V-Day Vag that came my way prior to dinner but I was a little more theatrical than usual. I grabbed the collar of my shirt with my wet hands and shoved my face in my shirt all while saying “Well fuck, I thought I had my titties in here a second ago. Where are they? Oh! There they are.” The woman looked at me in such horror, all words escaping from her lips. I felt accomplished and walked out of the restroom laughing hysterically. 

Incident #2 happened on a wonderful Saturday afternoon the very weekend after Valentine’s Day. My girlfriend likes to go out. We can party with the best of them. Unfortunately I have no sense of style and the club she wanted to go to was a Suited and Booted type of venue. I haven’t bought a new shirt since 2009 so yes, my gf had to dress me for the occasion. We go to Marshall’s, because I’m cheap, and she drags me through the men’s section. She pulls out the most random dress shirts with the most random colors and as a black t-shirt and black t-shirt only type of person I wasn’t digging any of it.

My girl of course is spoiled so of course I tried on a shirt or two. In fact, I tried on three shirts; we had a quickie and gathered everything to put back on the racks because nothing fit. The evolution took no more than 30 minutes. We’re laughing having a great time and I hand over the shirts to the attendant. She looks at me with the most confused look I have ever seen a woman conjure onto her face. She looks at my girlfriend, then back to me, then back to my girlfriend. She takes the shirts and turns to my girlfriend and says, “Did he,” as she rudely points to me “go into the girl’s changing room?” 

I guess being a masculine-identified female forfeited my ability to speak (according to this woman) so to help her out I said something. 

“Yes, HE went in the female dressing room because HE is a SHE.” I slapped on the biggest shit eating grin I could muster just as any smart-ass would. She abruptly looked at me and suddenly began to bow repeatedly whispering “I’m sorry” as she moved up and down. “It’s ok; the short hair gets everyone apparently.” I said to her in a facetious manner. We walked out of Marshall’s emptied handed that day and I ended up buying a $70 shirt from Express.

I’m sure that these situations will be reoccurring and I share such instances with people because to me they are funny. “Straight” people who hear these stories get a few minutes in my shoes and those who aren’t straight get to see that these situations aren’t a singular event. Some would get very offended and hurt by these things. I say have fun with it because at the end of the day your presence is strong enough to rock the worlds of the feeble minded and bring a great opportunity to sharpen your wit on people that you really don’t care about in the first place.

About Haven 

I was born in Englewood, CO and raised in Miami,FL. Currently serving active duty in the U.S. Navy, I am stationed in Norfolk, VA where many of the interesting events I've come across has occurred. I am an Aviation Structural Mechanic for MH-53 Sea Dragons, which is just a fancy way of saying an Aircraft Mechanic for a really big helicopter. I began writing at the age of 10 years old, starting with poetry and soon migrating to writing sci-fi and fantasy short stories. The most important thing I focus on in my stories is the emotional connection it may have with a reader. I think the most amazing thing an author can do is kill off a character a reader has an emotional tie to or have a reader fall in love with a character they originally hated, so I do that often. At 15 years old I posted a poem on the lesbian Erotica Site Kuma. By the time I entered college I was performing spoken word at University Of South Florida with The Poets. Along with writing short stories for friends and family, I have a fledgeling vlog on youtube titled S.A.I.N.:Socially Awkward In Norfolk. The vlog focuses on current events mostly in the realm of politics. I try to place a blunt, up front, and honest view on issues. I humbly think that I am also an amateur photographer and I'm working on my B.A. in History and International Studies. Hopefully when I grow up I will be working as a Foreign Service Officer. Until then I'm just enjoying the ride I've put myself on.

 youtube: youtube.com/PyroHaven07

facebook: facebook.com/haven.toujours.seul

 

One Frequency Fits All: Kinda About Whitney Houston, Kinda Not

 By: The Ignant Intellectual

(originally published on www.ignantintellectual.tumblr.com)

Michael Jackson...Kurt Cobain...Amy Winehouse...Albert Einstein...Kanye West...Dwayne Michael Carter II…Van Gogh…Elvis…Bob Dillan…Edgar Allen Poe…Sylvia Path…Chris Farley…John Candy…Virginia Wolfe…Miles Davis…Billie Holiday…Mozart…Lauryn Hill…Whitney Houston…and the list goes on.

What do these people all have in common?

 Something I've always felt: The light of genius almost always seems to cohabit with darkness/battling demons.

Is darkness an inherent lover of the light of genius? How thin is the line between genius and darkness? Should parents accept that if their child is genius (not just really really smart), they were more than likely battle some form of darkness? Why are humans required to exist on a certain frequency instead of being allowed to create their own? 

Whether it’s social/environmental or physiological/chemical, one cannot deny that those souls that have the light of genius are almost always enveloped in some form of darkness—or what many call ‘battling demons’. It’s a relentless battle. One that if we could put on our spiritual shades, we would likely see a battle of epic proportions. I often see tormented souls and think, if we opened their spiritual chest, it would be unlike anything we have ever seen. And the thought of that being a daily existence but out of it comes the beauty and magic that pours from their minds. It’s a beautiful yet tortured thing. Or maybe it isn’t torture at all.

 My Spelmanite, Chaundra M. Hughes, made a most brilliant observation that I agree wholeheartedly with. She states:

The “darkness” comes from attempts to fit in, feel less, accommodate those on a different frequency and quiet all of the voices/inspiration. The light of genius shines so brightly, but not everything that it attracts is positive. It is a delicate, fragile balance but we are all transformed having come in contact with it. –- Chaundra M. Hughes

Oh what truth is in that statement! 

Initially I sat down to write a post about the passing of Whitney Houston. My reaction to her death is unlike my reaction to, say, Michael Jackson’s. When MJ passed, my tears did not struggle an escape. When MJ died, I was in a huge state of shock. I had thoughts like ‘not the King of Pop’…’Damn WTF’. But when Whitney died, I felt my heart break. My tears would not and still have not flowed. I felt like a family member had died and I don’t even personally know her. It was an experience that shocked even me. I had so many thoughts rushing through my mind. I was fixed to CNN. I grew sadder and sadder then angrier and angrier. I found myself yelling at the TV when they began their typical demonizing and assuming statements without a Coroner’s Report. I found myself pissed at how we are only just now celebrating Whitney. What happened to giving somebody flowers while they’re still alive?

If we put as much energy into someone’s life while they’re still here as we do post-them-croaking, we might ‘save’ more people. If we wouldn’t hand people scripts at birth and at random times in their lives and require them to stick to it, perhaps a divide would not develop. Perhaps if people were allowed to exist on a self-determined frequency and not be required to exist on the frequency of the masses, genius would not feel silenced, thus no battling. Sounds simple? Perhaps. I do know that it would require a GINORMOUS paradigmatic shift…in our thinking…in our being…in our creating.

As I am writing this post, I realize that it’s not just about Whitney. It’s about a collective forcing of spiritual beings who are having a human experience into being ONE monolithic way. It’s about a ‘one size fits all’ required existence. Perhaps if this was alleviated, we would still see this duality…this seeming battle. You’re right. But I argue that we would not see it ‘as much’. Seems unlikely.

I grew up on Whitney just like most of the people my age and older. She was timeless. She was regular. She was me. She was you. Damn! I bet there is a concert going on up there! Etta, MJ, Whitney, with Don Cornelius as producer! 

Bottom line: Let’s let people exist where they exist. Create what they create. And value the differences.

 --The Ignant Intellectual

2/15/12 8:22 am EST

The Ignant Intellectual is a New Orleans-reared writer, poet, and spoken word artist who has been writing before completely mastering the English language. From the accent to that je ne sais quoi that folk have been trying to put words to for far too long, to the curious name, The Ignant Intellectual is indeed a 'strange fruit'. I.I.'s goal in writing and performing is to deconstruct the many unconscious social constructions that guide our mental processes and ultimately our actions, to influence youth and elders to re-imagine what is, pushing/pulling the collective to our full potential. The Ignant Intellectual's vibrant, often humorous, and always though-provoking writings and performances convey that, "Life really is good enough to be true." And so it is.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/ignantintellectual

Twitter: @ignantintellect

Blog: ignantintellectual.tumblr.com

Radio Show: queer2thet.blogspot.com

Email: ignantintellectual@gmail.com

 

Saving All Our Love For You...NOW.

Sometimes, you’ll laugh.

And sometimes you’ll cry.

Life never tells us the when’s or why’s.

But when you’ve got friends to wish you well,

You’ll find your point when you will exhale.

Take these words in. Slowly.

Beyond measure, I felt like this week’s entry had to be dedicated to my distant mother, Whitney Houston. I never knew the woman personally, but her music has been a constant throughout my entire lifespan. Although throughout her career, she had many songwriters/producers/team of folks to keep her music as timeless as it is, it was her voice, her beauty, her strength throughout each stage of her life that kept every lyric ringing in our ears. And this song, “Exhale (SHOOP SHOOP), more than any, has been one I’ve revisited in every period of my own life, particularly my adult years.

I wonder if she revisited these words in her trying, often tumultuous public life. She must have known her friends and family were her rock, her shield from a bloodthirsty media that only thrives on negativity and people’s downfalls. Even in the liner notes of her 1999 album, It’s Not Right, But It’s Okay, she thanks Bobby Brown endlessly for being in her corner, and ends with “let’s give ‘em something to talk about.” To our eyes, sure, this was a fucked up ass relationship. But up until the end, they weathered an industry that rains down hard on its entertainers, with no umbrella in sight. Especially Black entertainers.

From ’92 onward, every magazine on the racks was dedicated to keeping Whitney on its covers, closely following her every move. Literally. If the woman sneezed, they snapped a photo with a headline of “WHITNEY ON ALL NIGHT CRACK BINGE.” The sensationalism caused all of us to get caught up in the ruckus, wondering “what happened? How could she let Bobby do this? She ain’t got no business smoking crack! Crack is cheap, crack is wack! Her daughter’s goin down the same damn path…” and so on. I struggled to remain neutral to the evil forces of the industry, knowing the damages they do to our folks, knowing they’re being scrutinized tooth and nail on every action.

As I got older, when I saw the headlines, I reverted to my four year old self, the one who first listened to her remake of Chaka Khan’s “I’m Every Woman”, who watched the video and wished I was one of the little girls with the fresh ass PCJ perms dancing around. She gave a timely reminder in the booming, independent ‘90s era that we can cast a spell, sure as you can tell. We are magic. We are POWERFUL. For every anthem she created for women in her early career, there appeared to be a headline, interview, or TV appearance countering it in her later one. At what point did the magic stop?

I personally don’t think it ever did. I do think there is danger in a public that catapults you to the top of an imaginary pyramid and tells you you’re the greatest, and dares you jump off. Dares you to make a human error. Dares you to fuck up, ever. No, you’re perfect! You should always be perfect. Be exactly who we want you to be. Don’t make decisions for yourself. This same public is what drove Whitney to use drugs in the first place, and criticizes her for doing so. I mean, honestly, who wouldn’t be driven to use, in order to cope with these insurmountable demands on your life, your voice, your body, your legacy? Doesn’t matter if it was crack, coke, pills, alcohol, weed, etc. Anything to numb the pressure.

Granted, at some point, drug use turns into its own issue. It’s of course amplified when your face ends up on the cover of every magazine in the aisle, saying you’re “spiraling out of control.” It’s quite easy to lose yourself in that industry period, as you are only a product who must keep producing “classics”. But it’s especially easy if your name is Whitney Houston. You’re pretty much damned if you do, or don’t. You're a black woman who’s defied the odds, made it out the hood, modeled, sang (and when I say sang, I mean saaaang), acted, and pretty much transformed an entire generation of sanga’s and musicians who want to sing, look, and act just like you. Even the “crazy” version of you (think of every parody you’ve ever seen).

Which is why it upset me so dearly to hear that she left us the night before that godawful excuse of an awards show, the Grammy’s. I wondered if the pressure of this, as she was getting ready for the pre-Grammy party, led her to relax herself in the bathtub…into the ultimate sleep. Not to mention, the pre-Grammy party didn’t stop for Ms. Houston, no sirree. Clive Davis’ old ass must have spent too much time preparing that he couldn’t stop folks from giving two fucks about the woman of the night. While her body lay cold and lifeless upstairs, the music kept pumpin, the bottles kept poppin. Respect my ass.

I swear to you, I never wanna be famous. Infamous, yes. Famous? HELL NO. You couldn’t pay me Jayonce money to do that. Because our Black entertainers not only have to entertain, they have to be our heroes. Whitney was our Superwoman: she was a quadruple threat. But that’s just the problem. She wasn’tSuperwoman. She was Whitney Houston, born August 9, 1963. A Black woman with a voice, one of the few who “made it” because of this voice. But as we have witnessed, this means nothing if you aren’t taken care of, and aren’t in full tune with yourself beyond your voice. She was strong beyond belief, but there's only so much one person can take. Family and friends sustained her, yes. But she was the one who had to bear the burden of her success.

What I take from her transition is the message that we all need to appreciate ourselves a little more. We need to keep folks around us who will remain supportive, to not pay a rat’s ass mind to drama, or folks that bring negative energy to our doorstep. We need to live out our passions, and ensure that our passions aren’t eating us, but feeding us. But above all, we need to exhale.

Whitney, thank you for all you’ve done for us. To those who are just waking up and realizing the damage they’ve done to you, who decided to apologize when it was too late, I say, It’s not right, but it’s okay. You are truly appreciated.

Love, the U.N.Eyewitness.

Get at Uni Q. on Facebook

The 'Black Ain't' Project

JOIN US for the opening uptown :). 2.26.12 @ 6.00PM. 

--

Check out Al's site: www.aljanaehamilton.com

"...On Taking up Space"

by witchymorgan

(originally published on atriptothemorg.wordpress.com)

I went to a party the other night for a friend of a friend who was celebrating his first anniversary of being on T. I was in a room full of gender-varient queers with awesome music playing and lots of hotties to look at. Why, then, did I feel so alone in that space? These people, ostensibly, are my peers. They are my comrades-at-arms against cissexism and heteropatriarchy. What was the problem?

And then I realized that there were only 3 women of color (you know we were in a group the whole time) at the party, myself included, and no transwomen, brown or otherwise. The room was full of white transmen and queer women. And many of them live in JP, the same neighborhood that the party was held. A neighborhood that has been historically a community of mostly Black and Latin@ working class people. And yet here are all these white, upwardly mobile queers gentrifying (read: internal colonization) the hood and they didn’t even have the decency to have any sort of real diversity?

More to the point, this party was explicitly billed as a queer/trans party celebrating someone’s transmasculine identity. And while the party in and of itself isn’t bad (aside from my reaction to if being on of discomfort), you can invite who ever the eff you want to your party, I think that it says a lot about that general trends of what is visible in the queer/trans community. And that is that it is mostly white and mostly transmasculine.

And don’t give me that, “Oh we reached out to communities of color but they didn’t come! It’s their fault for not participating!” Because that is just bullshit. The reason why POC don’t show up for your event/party/campaign etc is because there is no space made for them. Why would anyone want to enter a space where their voices, histories and thoughts are ignored? Why would anyone want to enter a space where folks were committing microagressions left and right? Moreover, who would want to be in a space that has historically excluded them?

I think one of the things that the white queer/trans community fails to realize is that there are many communities held within the queer community. And as such, one can’t expect the queer experience to be universal or think that all queers want the same thing. I couldn’t care less if middle-upper class white gays get to marry. That’s just not salient to me. I do care about non-discrimination legislations (although not hate crimes legislation cause that shit doesn’t work and it just adds black and brown bodies to the PIC). I do care about affordable housing and access to healthcare and educational/job opportunities. These are the things that are important in my life.

But all the time, energy and money is spent trying to get marriage equality and why is that? Because it is the thing that effects white people the most. The folks who participate and run Gay, Inc (read: HRC) already have access to safe housing, healthcare, education etc. The single issue politics involved in advocating for marriage equality just alienating and frustrating because the purport to speak for the whole of the queer community when, in fact, they only speak for a small section of it.

And to add insult to injury, if one creates a space for black and brown queers only or focus on the accomplishments of queer people of color, white people get butt hurt and insist that they be included because it would be “racist” otherwise. They won’t make a space for us with them (and if they do it tokenizing) and when we do it for ourselves, they feel entitled to that space.

I write this so that my white sisters and brothers (and others with privileged identities like being able bodied, wealthy, male etc) will understand that they take up space by default and that their voices, histories, thoughts and opinions are given precedence over POC voices. I want my white allies to not only be anti-racist but to be aware of how they are taking up space. I want my white allies to be able to co-create room for POC voices.I want my queer/trans white allies to have the concerns of POC in the forefront of their minds while the plan campaigns.Most of all, I want my white allies to check other white people on their white privilege and tell them if they are taking up to much space so that a POC doesn’t have too. This is because it is not our responsibility to educate white folks on white privilege, which is often a very pain process for us, it is yours.

And I also want my fierce queer/trans people of color to come together and make space for ourselves. I want to see more transwomen of color coming together in sisterhood. I want to see transmen of color come together for brotherhood. And I want us all to come together to keep each other safe, supported, and loved. I want us to come out of the alienating space of white queerness that doesn’t have a critical analysis of race, which tokenizes us and keeps us separated, and unite so that we can create self-actualizing communities that feed us.

Communities that give us the strength to fight this battle called racism in america and win.

 

Morgan Robyn Collado is from the bitter, cold land of Boston, Massachusetts. There, she learned the secrets and Mysteries of Social Justice and Brujería at the knee of her 9th grade biology teacher. After graduating high school and the passing of her beloved teacher, she found that there was nothing more she could learn in Boston. So, she called on the power of her Diosa and built a new world around her. It was filled with love, community, anti-racism and warm weather. And slow but surely, she is introducing this microcosm to the rest of the world.