Parking-Lot-Camaraderie and feeling truly alive.

I feel I must write to you all. I can’t even bring you all up to date on my life before I can share this beautiful memory. That can come later. For now, I want to share this moment.

I’m looking out my hotel suite window, laying here on my newly-claimed-by-chance executive thrown. Unsure of everything yet feeling optimistic...some how I’ve tumbled into an alternate reality.

I’m looking out the window at a little group of men gathered around a big white truck. They are grey-haired, white-bearded and wearing fleurocent overhauls, with their favorite Canadian beer in hand. These men are fellow workers that my new employer has brought in from all over the East-Coast. This hotel is 90% fellow employees , doing a variation of jobs on one giant project. While I hold the operational management position , these vibrant men are the big , strong bones of this operation. The hard-working construction crews, and electricians. These men are how this company gets its money, how it stays afloat. These men are the ones deserving of the respect most management receive- management who’ve done no work the likes of what these men have seen.







The three currently sharing stories of homesickness over bouts of strong laughter drew me to say hello earlier, as I passed them. During the brief skip from my car, to the hotel door - I shared a moment with them. I juggled my Italian-takeout-dinner in my arms and giggled out a “You boy’s have the right idea!, while motioning down at the different six-packs of beer between all of their feet. I ask where they are from ,although their thick accents have already told me. These men call a varying spectrum of Atlantic areas home. Bathurst, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and Cape Breton . These are real, small-town, down-to-earth men.

I could think of nothing else on the elevator ride up to my room but grabbing my camera and stealing a shot of these men through the window. I clicked a few memories, and jumped onto the huge kingsize bed where I’m currently typing away feverishly. Photographs weren’t enough. I had to write. Even now I can hear their laughter floating up through the window…their parking-lot camaraderie is touching and brings a smile to my face.

My dinner has long since gone cold sitting on the table. Reheated spaghetti while listening to the three far-from-home-friends laugh and tell stories? This night is wonderful. I want to remember this , always. This is what I needed this very moment to feel truly alive.

.....

I stepped away to have dinner before I actually posted this entry. I have also turned on the amazingly beautiful movie Dr. Zhivago, only to be sidetracked. I hear more laughter …louder still…I peak down to see the 3-man group has since grown.



I can’t help but sit here and watch the scenes unfold out the window. Now they are playing old Cape-Breton folk music out of one of their trucks. I feel like I’m watching the single most beautiful thing that the majority of the world lacks…..but I can’t quite put into words just what that is.

Justice puffs.

Hello my dear, devoted and neglected blog readers (However few you may be!)

Firstly, my apologies for not updating….I know you’ve been wanting a Vegas recap, particularly about my adventures at VLV..one will come, when things settle down. I promise!

For now, it is late and my ovaries are cramping my style so to speak ...I have tried Midol PM, and admittedly, I currently occupy a somewhat altered reality.

Of course, this means I’m going to write about men’s personal hygiene products.

I randomly decided to Google-search the ingredients to my significant other’s body wash. Since we tend to have a rather vigorous ..ahem… intimate understanding of each other …on a daily basis....ahem...I am of course concerned with what may be lingering around on skin that may happen to wind up in my own body. Legitimate concern with the amount of icky chemicals on the market today, right?

Well I have been side -tracked by Old-Spice’s ballsy (pun intended) advertisements.

I present to you, dear readers, the “Deck Scubber” :

“Gets Rid of Dirt, Odor and Barnacles”

“An experienced seaman knows the gentler sex is unlikely to board a vessel whose deck, galley, and undercarriage has not been scrubbed as clean as the shiny inside part of an oyster shell. This Old Spice Deck Scrubber gets rid of dirt, odor and barnacles, working harder than lazy soap and lathering way better than just your hand alone. So start scrubbing, sailors, and don’t forget to wash behind your everything”
(via http://www.oldspice.com/products/product/97/Old_Spice_Deck_Scrubber/)

Really, Old-Spice? Barnacles?


Barnacles are annoying little creatures that get into moist areas and like to stick around, dearest Old-Spice.

They are technically categorized as fouling (“the undesirable accumulation of microorganisms on a wet surface“, should you be too lazy to Wikipedia-search it)…

Essentially, barnacles are the herpes of the sea.

So…am I correct in my assumption that this dick…err…“deck” scrubber , removes a particularly nasty little STI?

Now I can’t help but picture particularly promiscuous men, feverishly scrubbing their dirty “decks” with glorified lady-puffs.


So, in conclusion, I’m lead to believe that Old Spice’s man-detailer and Deck-Scrubber are essentially shower-puffs of justice...crotch-justice.

Go justice-puffs.

Oh hey!

Just a quick entry to let you all know, my pretties, that this spot will be a lil' quiet for awhile....

LAS VEGAS, HERE I COME!

I'll be back April 5th..expect a long update with many photos!

XOX

Lenora

Nun puppets, big hair, "The Rockabilly Check-List dude"- all a typical night in Moncton

Last night marked the first time I'd gone out in Moncton since New Years Eve.

The lovely Miss Eddie Vee and I attended the Moncton High School production of Nunsense. Eddie ( an art teacher) made the nun puppet, and scored some free tickets to the show, so, we went and had quite a few laughs. It was surprisingly racy and hilarious for a highschool production. I was pleased and impressed. I particularly enjoyed when the chubby lady superior character got high and rolled around on the floor. Good wholesome family entertainment.

Miss Vee's nun puppet.

Moncton High is my old stomping ground...The old woody smell of the ancient auditorium hadn't changed, and stirred memories I'd all but forgotten. The creek of the wooden chairs were the same, and reaching down under the seats, I was happy to find some of them still had the wire hat racks, from when gentlemen still wore hats and stashed them under their seats.

I love these seats. The building was built in the early 1900s, and still has lots of original features. These seats are magic to me...I can't help daydream about the lives of the generations of people who have sat in them...the conversations they've over heard, the heartbreaks and delights they've witnessed.

As always, we were a tad obnoxious and recieved many dirty looks from the conservative Maritimers that filled the other seats. Balls to you, ya darn sticks in the mud!

After the show it was off to my humble abode for a quick wardrobe change before we scurried off to the Paramount Lounge, to see The Mighty, The Katacombs, and the Rockin' Rebels.

As always the Moncton crowd was predictably terrible. Many new faces, but many faces I'd have preffered not to see. Eddie and I occupied the back table and people- watched.

The Katacombs

While we were dazzled by the overwhelmingly poor accoustics of the Paramount, we couldn't help but notice Mr. Rockabilly Checklist. Now, Moncton doesn't really have a rockabilly scene. 98% of people don't know what Rockabilly is...Eddie Vee and I stick out like sore thumbs...and so did Mr. Rockabilly Checklist (See above photo, he is playing the stand-up bass). He looked very familiar, and blatantly stared at my tits all evening (can't blame him, my cleavage was indeed awe-inspiring). Of course, he was in the next band to play after the Mighty. Once his band took the stage...it was yack yack yack.

Now, one thing I hate, is when you go to see a band, and all they do is bloody talk.

So, like the bitch I am I yell out " LESS TALK, MORE ROCK!!!!!" He is obviously taken a little by surprise, says something about no one ever telling him to shuttup that he likes it... This is not the outcome I wanted. I said less talk, more rock , damnit! So, I pipe up once again " I'LL SAY IT AGAIN! SHUTTUP!"....and the rock finally begins with Miss Vee laughing hysterically and humping me in victory.

After his set, Mr. Rockabilly Checklist makes his way over. My anxiety hits me like a hard-crashing wave, and I feel like I have to vomit. I take a deep breath and prepare my bitch-sheild.

He begins to talk about how much he enjoyed me telling him to shuttup, and just as I'm about to spit out " Allow me to say it again."....

"Do you remember me?" says Mr. Rockabilly Checklist.

Well damnit.

Apparently I know Mr. Rockabilly Checklist.

Only, he wasn't always Mr. Rockabilly Checklist.

He refreshes my memory a bit...and I remember this stand-up bass playing semi-douche used to be an annoying goth kid that would randomly lick people's faces. I remember he once liked my face at a metal show, and I punched him square in the balls. He liked it.

So, Mr.Rockabilly Checklist is also Mr. Once-upon-a-Goth, Face-licker extrodinaire.

Joy of Joys. Goddamnit, Moncton, why do you always throw such odd things my way?

By this point, Eddie Vee is getting increasingly tipsy and wonderfully obnoxious; just how I love her. I'm painfully sober since I was the DD. We deal with various assholes, douchebags and idiots- you know, the typical Moncton show-goer.

By the time the Rockin' Rebels hit the stage, we've had just about enough. We try to enjoy a few of their "new" songs....that sound suspiciously exactly like all their other songs. Sorry boys, you are my friends and all, I appreciate what you're trying to do...but...well...sorry to say you've missed the boat.

The thrasing and spazzing drunk girl to my left, who was whipping me with her goddamed hair had earned herself some of my famous death-glares. Her friend across the bar notices, rushes over, taps her friend on the shoulder, points in my direction and pulls her away. Apparently I'm scary. Miss Vee announces that once her drink is finished, we can hit the pavement. This fills me with joy. After a few more douche-encounters, we are safetly high-tailing it home.

Goodnight, Moncton. You haven't changed a bit, and I won't miss you at all while I'm in Vegas.

Nothing exciting here, just birdies!

Hello my pretties.
Just a mundane update for you today.

It is a snowy yet sunny Friday afternoon here in Moncton. The thin coat of snow outside makes me yearn all the more for sweet, sweet Vegas....5 days!

I'm sitting around with mom watching some movies and playing with the animals. The house is now a zoo. 3 birds, and a portly lil doggy. My little bluebird with balls of steel, Kira, is very curious about this big white puffy thing...and has been trying to groom her all morning. Above is my mother , giggling at Kira climbing up her leg to get to Honey.

Agua and Audrey, ever in love...Shes grooming his head here....so cute it hurts me. Could also be mistaken for zombie-birds...Brains nom nom nom.

Tonight, as previously blogged, Eddie Vee and I are seeing Nunsense this evening, then attending the Rock'n Rebels CD release show.

My apologies for this poor excuse for a blog entry.

I am now off to finish watching St. Trinians with my mother....Rupert Everette in drag, you just can't go wrong with that. Pure entertainment.

Cookies are goddamned fantastic, especially when they tell me good things.

I have to say, this is the most appropriate fortune I've ever had.

The cookie was also delicious.

Also, many thanks to all the people that have reposted my last fat-activism entry. Thank you for the kind emails and messages. I'm glad you enjoyed it, and that some of you found inspiration from it.

XO

Lenora

Let me teach you a lil' something, my pretties.

The time has come to explain a few things.

I have lost count of just how many times someone has questioned my self-identifying as a fat activist.
Let me clear it up for you, dear readers.

I am a fat activist.




I am an activist, who is fat.
I am an activist for those who are fat.
I am an activist and advocate for acceptance of all bodies, shapes, sizes, colors, genders, etc.


I use the word “fat”.as a neutral descriptor. “ Fat” is an adjective. I do not put any negative connotations on the word. As many other stigmatized words, it is being taken back, and used in new ways. I will not let the word “ Fat” be used against me as a negative. Saying “ Shit, bitch, you look fat today” computes as “Shit bitch, you look white/female/human today.” Your negativity will not cut me, and I will fight like hell to stop it from cutting others.


I do not promote obesity.
I do not deny that there are many health problems linked to obesity.

I DO NOT BUY INTO THE COMMERCIALIZATION OF BODY HATRED.

I do not believe that all fat bodies are unhealthy. (This is SCIENTIFICALLY PROVEN, people. Look into the “Health and Every Size” movement.) Just as I don’t believe all extremely thin bodies are unhealthy.

I do not believe all the “research” (propaganda) out there that is preaching the evils of being even slightly overweight. (When reading statistics- look into who conducts the studies. Studies can be highly biased, often results are swayed in the direction the conductor wants, usually for financial gain. Ha, gain, see what I did there?)

I am not a “skinny bitch” hater. Skinny bitches are beautiful. Fat bitches are beautiful. In-between bitches are beautiful. Non-bitches are beautiful…HUMAN BEINGS ARE GODDAMNED BEAUTIFUL IN ALL THEIR VARYING FORMS! ! It is okay to say this, and mean it!

I believe that discriminating someone based on their body is shameful, disgusting, and a huge HUGE problem in our world today.

I believe a person has the right to occupy as much or as little space as they want, without being made to feel guilty.


I believe all these things and more….and wish so very hard that more people would challenge their views on bodies in general.

Why?

We experience the world through our bodies. A positive, healthy relationship with our bodies is key in a fulfilling life.

My body is how I’ve learned, grown, lived, loved, hated, explored and hidden.
All these experiences and more are near and dear to me- I cherish them deeply…and know they would not have been the same in any other body. I have experienced hardships with my body, and because of my body , and yet I love each and every inch of myself, and I will not let anyone tell me I shouldn’t.

I am truly saddened when a woman, who has just finished praising me for my confidence, then utters “ I wish I could feel as good….” YOU CAN! YOU SHOULD! PLEASE DO! This is not an impossible task.


I am fat.

“Coming out” as fat was a huge deal.
I was met with so many “ Oh , no , you’re not fat! You’re chubby/porky/pleasantly plump/curvy”… How dare you try and deny me my own self-identity?

I am not a big slothy slob. I go to the gym 3 times a week, I eat a well balanced diet, and am health conscious. I camp, I fish, I go canoeing, I am a certified lifeguard. I am not married to my couch, glued to a bag of chips with pizza man on speed dial.

The sad thing? I have to tell you these things to get your respect.

I break boundaries.
I make people think twice about what a fat person can and can’t do.
I encourage other fat people to do the same.
I encourage all people to challenge notions about what a “normal” body is and can do.


I could go on and on.

I would like to share another rant that is extremely appropriate to this topic. This woman’s writing has inspired me greatly, and this entry in particular feels as if I could have written it myself from my own heart. Please take the time to read it in its entirety. It is not what you think. http://bloginatrix.com/?p=498 . Here is a bit that I particularly enjoy:

“The people who told you that my fat is a failing on my part? They were lying.
The people who told you that fat is the same thing as weak and lazy and stupid? They were lying.
The people who told you that morality has a place in conversations about mass? They were lying, too.
And the people who told you my size is your business, that you have the god-given right to judge me based on my shape, my dimensions? Liars.
All of these people lying to you… about me.

The point is money. The point is power.
They lie because they wanted you to buy things.
They lie to you, about me, about what fat means, because they want you to be scared of becoming me.
..I am sorry that you believe being me would be so terrible. (It isn’t.)
…I am a human being who has a body, and I manage that body the absolute best way I know how.
I’m sorry they’ve made that so very easy for you to forget”


Does all this answer your questions?

No longer do I seem like some fat girl prancing about screaming “ Yaye fatties, be fat, fuck ya’ll skinny bitches, if I say fat is okay, I’ll feel okay about myself, but I‘m secretly lying.”

No.

The bottom line is, when I step out into a world that hates me…instead of curling into a big squishy ball and letting the hate and ignorance perpetuate itself….I do something about it. I say something about it. I put my big fat foot down.

At the end of the day…. I can stand totally naked in front of my mirror, looking at every fold, stretch mark, curve, dimple and “imperfection” . I can see and feel the power , grace and creativity my body possesses., and I say “ I like this” …. “ I am beautiful” .

And when I stand there, free of the pressure of what the world wants me to be….all I can think of is how much I wish that every other person out there, could look into their mirrors or step into the street and say and feel the same things about themselves….

And mean it.


photocredit: http://www.definatalie.com