#as a trans woman who leaves her house occasionally i can really relate to him

[myfriendgoo94]

Data may not be able to feel emotions like a real boy but he still gets that familiar “I’m experiencing a microaggression” look on his face when some new asshole shows up on the ship and starts treating him like a toaster

[haro-whumps]

Hey how do you think that would be a reverse version of GW? Like, instead of Galo getting the whumpees, the seven of them somehow, through a legal technicality, get a Galo that was Bethany's slave?How donyou think they'd all be, in this situation?

I would like to clarify that Galo and Bethany are NOT related in this version.

--

"... an old paramour," Greyson stated, hedging an explanation. Bethany had been, well, significantly too old for him, at the time. But he'd liked that.

Even so, he wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to disclose his past questionable relationships with his housemates.

"And what did she leave you, exactly?" Evan asked, wearing his joggers and leaning against the doorframe, Lilah dressed similarly and walking past him with a deep pull from her water bottle.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Greyson said, passing him the letter. Lilah propped her arm up on his shoulder, only to be dislodged as he propped his arm up on her head. The two leaned in and read the letter together, their faces screwing up at almost the exact same moment.

"Well that's cryptic," Lilah said, taking the page from Evan's hand and flipping it over, checking the blank back. She handed it back to Greyson, who nodded his assent.

"So my bet's on bird," Evan said, ganking Lilah's water bottle and finishing it off.

"Evan!" Nyla called from the other side of the house, "Have you sent me your portion of the mortgage yet?"

"I thought the point of buying a house was to get away from landlords," Evan muttered to Lilah, who snorted.

"Evan!"

"Doing that now!"

Sasha entered and gently shoed the athletes out. "I n-need to get st-started on dinner."

She placed her hand on Greyson's shoulder. "It'll be fine. Maybe it's j-just a dog?"

Greyson shrugged, sighing. He wondered why he'd even been IN the woman's will at all.

"N-now move. I'm cooking."

Greyson smiled playfully back, bumping his hip to Sasha's, and left. He found Nyla rifling through the rest of the mail.

"Are you sure that's all they sent you?"

"Unfortunately."

Nyla huffed, letting the letters smack against her skirt. "Why couldn't they have had a lawyer write to us or something? Anything to save a dime, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to be preparing for!"

"We can run to a pet store the day it gets here. If not, a night in the garage won't kill it," Greyson assured. Also, wasn't HE supposed to be the one preparing? He set his hand on her shoulder. "You worry too much."

"I worry exactly the right amount, thank you," Nyla said, whapping him with the mail. As she walked towards her office, she called out, "Lilah, you'd better have put those in the hamper!"

"Does it bring you joy to endlessly nag?!"

"I live in a house with four other people!"

Greyson chuckled. He was also probably overthinking this. It was weird, and definitely unexpected, but it would all be fine.

--

That was a human person.

Tall, with choppily short hair, kneeling in their front entryway between Evan and Lilah's running shoes and the narrow side table Nyla used for mail and key rings.

That was a human person.

They all looked to each other, wondering what to do, and this was technically Greyson's problem, which meant he was the one who should do something about this. Why. Why this. Why him?!?!

When it became undeniably obvious that the other four were waiting on him and the silence was stiflingly uncomfortable, Greyson cleared his throat and stepped forward.

"Hello?" He hadn't meant for it to sound like a question.

"Hello master," the slave returned, skirt fisted with shaking knuckles.

"I am Greyson," he cleared his throat again, "What's your name?"

"...Galo."

Oh Greyson was so out of his depth.

"So uh, you're Bethany's pet? Ex pet?" Evan asked, and Greyson was relieved someone else had said something.

"Yes master."

"This is weird," Lilah stated, shifting anxiously from foot to foot with jittery energy. "This is fucking weird. Why did your ex girlfriend give you a slave? Why were you dating someone who likes slavery?! Greyson what the fuck!"

"Okay deep breaths!" Nyla ordered loudly, everyone complying instantly. "This is. Unexpected," she agreed. "But let's not get out of hand. Galo, sweetie, would you please stand up?"

"Yes mistress."

"You don't need to call anyone master or mistress."

"Ma'am?"

"Ma'am is fine. Let's get you settled in. You can probably stay in Sasha's room at the moment, who'll sleep with me?"

Sasha nodded.

"Okay, good. Are these all of your belongings?" Nyla asked, gesturing at Galo's duffle bag, who nodded again.

"Okay, great. This way."

Greyson was so, so grateful to know Nyla. So glad she was in his life. Her competence was unparalleled.

"I-I'm going to make d-dinner."

--

Galo followed his mistress, who he wasn't going to call mistress, to a baby blue room with impressionist paintings hung from the walls, leaned up against each other, stacked against the desk and dresser. Canvases were just about everywhere, but it didn't seem messy. Just full.

"This is Sasha's room but you can stay here until we figure all this out. Oh! My name is Nyla, sorry, I spaced on that, we'll get you introduced to everyone properly once... once we settle down."

Galo bowed, hand crossed over his chest.

"This is just a little unexpected. We hadn't known you were--human."

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

"No, no, no need to apologize. Just some information lost in the pipeline. Why don't you settle in and... we'll chat more at supper."

His mistress left, closing the door behind her, and Galo was left standing in the center of a room that wasn't his.

He took a shaky breath. Well. They'd accepted his name, at least, which was nice. Maybe someday he'd tell them about... him being a man. Maybe. Definitely going to wait and see on that one, he wasn't interested in a repeat of what had happened last time he'd told an owner he was a man.

There were five of them.

Galo sank to his knees, duffle bag hitting the floor, his hands covering his mouth. There were five of them.

He was a fairly gigantic failure at keeping one owner off his back, how was he ever going to please five?!? And the little one had been so angry with his presence--he would have to show his gratitude to Mistress Nyla, later, for stepping in.

Oh god, what would they use him for? This house was no estate--maybe they would just have him clean. Yeah, maybe, maybe he could just clean for them and stick to the shadows and he would be ignored.

A hysteric peal of laughter bubbled out of him.

Ignored.

Yeah, right.

--

But for some reason, that... did seem to be the case. They ignored him. Mistress Sasha and Master Evan especially seemed to have no idea what to do with him, and would awkwardly prompt him to leave them alone if he guessed their routines wrong and ended up in the same room as them.

Master Greyson made earnest attempts to speak with him, which Galo responded to as best he could. But the conversations were stilted things. The most successful ones hinged around Mistress Bethany, and Galo always found himself stressed and exhausted after talking about her.

Mistress Lilah seemed to find him a curiosity, asking him questions and prodding him into helping her with her "Influencer Gig," which mostly involved holding light sources or cameras for her. She would occasionally do up Galo's hair and makeup, and Galo tried very, very hard not to show how miserable that made him. To smile and be grateful and not waste her product and time with babyish tears.

Mistress Nyla was his favorite. She had him help with the household chores and spoke kindly to him. She would praise and sometimes touch him. Conversations with her were... trickier, though.

Mistress Nyla has a very good memory. She would ask questions, know things he'd told Master Greyson or Mistress Lilah, gently pull his life's story from him. She would sometimes make him ask uncomfortable questions about himself, too, about his place as a slave, which--he knew better. He knew better!

She would stop, when he started shaking, though. Ask him to please go clean the kitchen or bathroom or fold laundry. It made him feel weak. A useless, manipulative slave who cried to get out of situations he didn't like.

"It's okay, Galo," she sometimes murmured, petting his hair and letting him kneel at her feet with his head in her lap. "You're being good for us. It's alright sweetie."

--

Master Evan didn't like talking to Galo. So he knew better. But one day, a couple friends of Master Evan's had come and gone, and one of them--

Not that Galo wanted to assume, or presume, but she'd. She had looked.

"Yeah, she's trans," Master Evan confirmed, looking desperately uncomfortable. Galo would find a way to apologize later. He just. He had to. He.

"And that's okay?" he blurted gracelessly, instinctively flinching back for two reasons.

"Yeah? I mean, yes, absolutely, I respect and support her 100%."

Galo fidgeted with his skirt, something Mistress Bethany had bought that he wanted little more than to burn.

"Are... do you, wanna tell me something?" Master Evan asked, also not making eye contact. "Or, maybe tell Nyla something, since I dunno if I'm really the guy to, uh." He gestured at himself and Galo bit his lip.

"The others are also, okay with, uh?"

"Being trans. Yes. It's not bad... bro? We're all chill and respectful here. Oh you know Sasha? Sasha's like, super smart, and knows all about this stuff, she could talk to you about this?"

"Yes sir," Galo said, knowing he'd overstayed his welcome the moment he'd opened his mouth.

"Cool. Chill. Yeah. Okay then," Master Evan said, and left the room quickly.

--

That night Galo had found a pair of Master Evan's sweatpants and a couple of old t-shirts on his bed.

--

The next time Lilah pulled Galo to help with her Influencer Gig, she'd done his makeup and hair and he had cried, to see a man who looked like him staring back from the mirror.

--

Mistress Nyla took him shopping. She held his hand, both literally and metaphorically, with increasing frequency as he started to transition and actually began to feel like this new house was his home. That these people weren't going to hurt him, that they maybe even liked him. Almost.

--

Mistress Sasha had him help her move her remaining belongings from the blue room. His room. They were, officially and permanently, making her old room his. Her paintings were either hung up throughout the rest of the house or set into storage in the garage. He helped her carry whatever else was left into Mistress Nyla's--now hers and Mistress Sasha's--room and organize so Mistress Nyla didn't work herself into a fit over the clutter.

"Thank you," he said quietly, crouched in front of the dresser and slipping some of Mistress Sasha's less-used attire into the drawers.

"Hm?"

"For, giving me your space, ma'am." For everything. For all of it.

Mistress Sasha crossed over to him and sat in the floor where he was, opening her arms to him. He leaned in, slowly wrapping his arms around her and pressing his face to her shoulder.

"You're part of the f-family now," she said warmly. "Of c-course."

[watching-pictures-move]

Put On Your Raincoats #20 | Squalid Motels and Desperate Gals, courtesy of Kim Christy

This review contains mild spoilers.

When I first heard of Kim Christy, I knew I had to delve into her work. Here is someone who was involved in the drag scene in the '60s and went on to direct and produce pornography from the '80s onward. She's also a trans woman director (and occasional actress), which is not just unusual in golden age pornography but even mainstream cinema today. Unfortunately, figuring out where to start was a challenge. There's a very good interview with her on the Advocate but which doesn't really delve into her directing work. So I did the highly risky and ill-advised move of scanning through the titles in her filmography and trying to pick out ones with interesting sounding premises. Even this was a challenge, as a lot of her movies sounded like they didn't have a terrible amount of story. (A good many of them also had certain slurs in the title, which are unfortunately common in trans pornography.) So out of the crapshoot of movies I picked, I can't say I really got to the bottom of what makes her work interesting or even gelled to most of them, but hopefully I can convey what makes the ones I did take to interesting.

To start with the most slight, the two Divine Atrocities movies are basically a collection of sex scenes. There's a theme of dominant women running through them, but otherwise there isn't much tying together in terms of staging, aesthetics and the like. The segments have titles like "The Leather Lass Tamer", "Rubber Rampage" and "Ms. Degradation", but truth be told, nothing here is terribly shocking. So there isn't a lot to either of these movies, but if you're watching it for those reasons, they're enjoyable enough. A few of the segments feature trans performers, and I did find that Sulka had a nicely imposing screen presence in her scene, and while Sugar Nicole briefly threatens her partner with her "big black cock", I did like that for the most part the movies don't discern between these scenes and the ones with cisgender performers. In the eyes of Kim Christy, there's room for everyone in this great sexual melange. Also notable is the threesome scene with Janey Robbins, who (after likely reading Dan Savage's column) tells one of her partners, "If you don't find a different way to fuck me, you can forget it, I'll have to find somebody else", and in the first time in the history of civilization, gets mad at her male partner for not climaxing quickly enough. "You always say it'll only take a few minutes. Time is the only thing I can't replace, and it always takes too long."

A bit more substantive narratively but less interesting is Momma's Boy, with a premise that you can guess based on the title. Tantala Ray presides over a brothel set during an indeterminate period, where she presides over her girls and also her son, who mysteriously became a deaf-mute at a certain point of time. Why did her son become a deaf-mute? Will we ever find out? Spoiler: it's incest. Tantala Ray does have a weird enough screen presence to make her parts watchable, but this has none of the charge that, say, Taboo brings to the same material. (It's worth noting that Ray in this movie, looking like a debauched queen of Mardi Gras in one scene, is a camp villain while Kay Parker plays her role straight in the other movie.) As it's shot on video, the movie is not very nice to look at, and the dirt cheap production values make it unclear whether this is supposed to be a period piece. Some of the dialogue is amusing ("Oxford?" "Guess again." "Princeton?" "Try Biloxi Tech, my sweetie."), and there is some old timey music and one of the clients wears an ascot at one point, so it's not a totally squalid affair. (It's classy, see? He's wearing an ascot.) As the son, Jerry Butler does a cringe-inducing lisp, but I did chuckle at his last line.

A bit easier to recommend is True Crimes of Passion, where Janey Robbins plays a private detective (cheekily named B.J. Fondel) who invariably bungles her investigations and winds up in sex scenes with the people she's supposed to be investigating. "Out of the fog and into the smog" begins the overwrought voiceover, which truth be told doesn't compare to the likes of Chandler but I guess the effort is nice. The first case involves her investigating the wife of a minister whom her client suspects of infidelity. Surprise, surprise, it turns out the wife has a girlfriend with whom she has dominant sex. Thanks to Robbins' investigative prowess, she gets found out and forced to join the proceedings and ends up getting her client, a Dan Quayle looking motherfucker in a cowboy hat, captured as well, which leads to an incredible burn.

"The lord will punish you for this."

"The lord already has, he gave me you for a husband."

Also, when Robbins is forced into cunnilingus, she says over narration, "Oh Christ, I'm not even sure I've seen one of these things up close", and yeah, okay, Janey.

The second scene is probably the most notable as it features Christy as a performer. Robbins visits her friend to investigate a death threat against her friend's brother (also Robbins' ex), and the twist can be deduced when you start wondering why a seemingly minor character gets an unusually large amount of screentime. The scene features a trope that likely isn't terribly sensitive by modern standards, but I get the sense from that Advocate interview that Christy isn't too hung up about such things and one must concede that the film is a product of its time and genre (and within that context, there's a lot worse out there). The last scene has Robbins spying on her neighbour in hotel to get some industry secrets, which leads to some really awkward dialogue about champagne and then a threesome involving her client and mark. Like the work of Yasojiru Ozu, this scene breaks the 180-rule, but I guess if this is your thing, you might enjoy it. At the very end, the mark just gives up his secrets to the client. The secrets of male bonding sometimes elude me.

Easily the most accomplished and enjoyable film from Christy that I watched was Squalor Motel. It combines the sexual variety of the other films with a sense of camp and grounds it in a distinct, memorable location. There isn't much more "plot" than the other movies, as it's basically about a motel concierge doing her job over the course of a day, but as it follows her bumping into a variety of (usually horny) guests and finding herself in amusing (and unfailingly sexual) situations, there's enough of a narrative through line that it feels like a "real" movie where the other movies strained for similar effect, and the movie uses a soundtrack of icy synths and jazz that sounds like imitation Angelo Badalamenti to give it all an alluring vibe. I'm gonna make a wager that David Lynch would have liked this movie. Look, I have no idea what his viewing habits are or what sends his motor running, and the thought of him jacking it furiously to this or any movie is not something that brings me pleasure. But this shares some of the campy tone and surface qualities of his works, and I also wanted to leave you all with that image.

Why does the motel have its own house band (to whom people try to listen to while they engage in all kinds of sexual congress)? Why is Jamie Gillis made up like a vampire and trying to sell marital aids? Why does the one guest's blow-up doll turn into a real person (and prove, uh, extremely vocal during their scene)? Why is the owner wearing a pig mask and a tutu while he spies on his guests? Why is everyone laughing at the newlywed? Why is the one scientist with a Hitler mustache and his shrill-voiced assistant conducting experiments (read: having a threesome) with Tantala Ray? And how are most of these things taking place in the mysterious Reptile Room in the middle of the motel? With an extremely winning Colleen Brennan in the lead role (sporting a pair of thick glasses, a Lucille Ball updo, and a big, toothy smile), we'll have a pretty good time finding out. Like a lot of hardcore movies, this is pretty episodic in structure, but its distinct atmosphere gives it a nice sense of momentum as it drifts from scene to scene.

With its nice production design (and the fact that it seems to have actual sets, rather than being shot in what I assume are people's homes like in the other movies), Squalor Motel feels a bit more upscale and lavish than the average porno. While I don't have any budgetary information handy, I do know that the production had an assistant director, Ned Morehead. To what extent he contributed to the movie's DNA I can't say for certain, but the directorial effort of his I watched, also produced by Christy, had many of the same qualities. Desperate Women starts off feeling pretty stylish with its spraypaint style opening credits (although it loses a bit of style when it misspells star Taija Rae's name as "Taja Rea"). Taija Rae plays a reporter who ends up wrongfully convicted for a murder and thrown in brutal women's prison presided over by the sadistic Tantala Ray, who seems to get her jollies from spying on her prisoners as they get it on or abusing them with the help of her dimwitted guard. During such incidents, the guard frequently ends up ejaculating on her uniform as a source of comic relief. (One such scene ends with a shot of a photo of Ronald Reagan.) I must however disclose, without revealing too much about the shameful inner workings of my hopelessly degenerate mind, that the denouement of scene involving Ray, her guard and Sharon Mitchell did not leave me unmoved. Mitchell plays a prisoner who befriends Taija Rae, and it's worth noting that despite being one of the best actresses in classic porn, she's saddled here with an atrocious Hispanic accent and at one point sings a bit of "America" from West Side Story.

By porn standards, this is actually quite well produced and has a relatively sturdy narrative. (I must however note that one scene has a blatant ejaculation-related continuity error.) Women in prison movies tend to be pretty squalid affairs in general, at least in terms of production values, so this doesn't feel too far off from the real thing and offers more explicit versions of the same pleasures, while its sense of humour gives it a nice campy quality. Tantala Ray especially delivers in a pleasingly over the top performance as the teeth-gnashing villain (the camera often frames her severe face in wide angle close ups), and say what you will about Sharon Mitchell's accent, I did like seeing her pop up in here. With all the flamboyance and excitement around her, Taija Rae almost becomes a supporting character in her own movie, although I must confess that I found her character's hopeless naivety pretty cute. ("I didn't wear rubbers, it's sunny out".) With a fun cast, a firm handle on the genre's pleasures and a groovy soundtrack, this is a pretty good time.

[gendermesenpai-blog]

8:50 pm

Okay, Firefox just fucking crashed and I lost like 3000 words that I just wrote. Fuck I am angry now. I was already having a shitty day and I am angry now.

I am going to angrily try to write what I remember from the post I was working on just now. Holy fuck this is frustrating and it makes me want to just go to bed and not even post anything. This shit is too much effort fuck

OK.

First of all, my medication costs almost nothing now. My prescription doubled this month and I am paying $2. Turns out there is actually pretty decent public healthcare here in this state.

This morning started normal enough, it was my first day on the new doseages and I am using an app now called Medisafe to track my schedule. This is because I was already missing doses before and now I have 3 a day. I went to work and they told us we were going to be doing more zipcodes. These are jobs we have been doing recently involving photographing properties where the owner owes money to the city. Our clients are interested in purchasing this debt. I don’t like it. It’s unethical, it makes me feel unsafe. I am a trans woman, I should not be running around in random neighborhoods putting a target on my back doing these zipcode jobs. And yet I am the one who has to map everything because no one else in the company knows how to use the internet and shit. I have done hundreds of these houses, they keep telling me to do it because I’m good at it. It feels like being punished. Oh, good job with these pictures, here’s a bunch more. I am getting into altercations with people, with drivers. I got chased off one block by a car today. I only got away because I can bunny hop speed bumps, he would have destroyed his car trying to follow me at that speed.

Anyway, I don’t like it. I had to change a flat out there today. I went to a church and changed it on the steps. I felt like that was the best I could do for my safety. I explained how I felt about this better in the post that Firefox crashed and destroyed. But anyway it sucks. At least there was another courier from my company doing a nearby section of houses and we rode out there together, met back up and smoked etc. Rode back together. I like him, he’s cool. Maybe I have a little crush or whatever. Nothing can be done. He’s not queer at all and I’ll probably never pass to any of these people because they know me too well in the male persona. Maybe I’ll look back at that and laugh one day when I have less beard shadow.

Anyway, rode back, they had pizza for us. I ate a lot. I could’ve eaten more. Haven’t been eating much lately because of money problems. I’ve gotten called in my last 2 off days. The last 2 Tuesdays. So no Uber except when I can sneak in a run or two, or after my regular shift when I’m already beat, or on weekends. Uber sucks anyway, I keep handing people bags of spilled shit. There is nothing special or weird about my bag. I have to imagine this is just what happens to every courier who uses a backpack to transport food. Things spill occasionally. Sometimes it’s like every fucking day though. I had to clean so much Tika Masala sauce out of my bag the other day. I’m about to just start carrying all food bags in my hand. I can control my speed with one hand on the bars now, either bar, no braking whatsoever except my legs. I can control my speed to a limited extent with no hands. Just noticed that one recently, it was something I suddenly learned, having gained awareness of by doing it.

OK but anyway, so I’m already pissed off from the zipcode shit, and they send me out to a drop near my house, so I hit my house, smoke, then cut down to the coffee place to take some coffee to go downtown. A week ago or a couple weeks ago or something, one of our drivers got into an altercation with a woman who works at this coffee place and happens to be a trans person of color. Apparently, something he said set her off and she shut down the shop, saying something about “fuck white people.” I think this is awesome. Everyone at my company thinks it is ridiculous and keep talking about her in a demeaning way. So I have already heard this story multiple times, and every time it’s told, even by our female dispatcher, it is always “trans woman.” They say it every single time, never just woman, never woman of color. Always “this trans woman at the coffee place.” But anyway, I hadn’t heard the driver himself talking about until today, and he managed to piss me off so quick, holy shit. He was basically asking who did the coffee run today, does *SHE* still work there, and he said she super sarcastically or like in an intentionally derogatory or insincere way. Of course, I did the coffee run, but I have no interest in talking about the fact that I saw the woman there, waved, and she didn’t acknowledge me, because that would just support their narrative about this crazy *trans* woman who hates white people and has it out for our tiny random delivery company. Also, right before he walked in and started talking about this, we had been trying to smoke a blunt outside and our two main office people, the guy who started the company and his weird pseudo girlfriend who lives above the office and is basically our main dispatcher, the two of them, started yelling about how we can’t smoke weed because the people across the street said something blah blah I don’t know, it’s fucking infantile, so I walked away to smoke around the corner and she followed us to like, scold us and say no we can’t smoke there either, only in the back yard or blah blah and I’m going like, wow, really, you’re my fucking mom and you’re going to tell me what to do now? We were going behind our work van, no one could’ve seen us. I should’ve told her to fuck off, she was being paranoid and we weren’t doing anything wrong. But anyway, so I was on edge from that and already thinking about leaving, and this guy starts talking about this trans woman this and trans woman that and emphaszing *SHE* and *HER* everytime he said it, and then I hear him go “yeah shes a tranny” and I’m just like oh wow ok. This is the reality of my life. I work at a company where people get to use slurs against me in my own office, and I can’t say anything because no one knows I am trans. So i nudged the only guy there who knows, and I was like, do you hear this? And he hadn’t been paying attention. And then I left. It was starting to rain so I just went to 7/11 and bought a burrito and took 5 bucks cash back out to pay my roommate for bud. And I’ve just been here since then, kind of hating myself and my life. Even though I live in this great rowhome, my medication costs $2 a month, I get high all the time and ride bikes for money, yadad ada.

Also, and this is almost certainly related, my self esteem is directly inversly proportional to the visibility of my beard shadow. No shadow, high esteem. Big shadow, low esteem. And I haven’t shaved in like 2 days or something. I just didn’t have time this morning. I hate it I hate it I hate it why can’t I burn it all off I hate it fucking dysphoria fucking fucking fucking shit

I get paid tomorrow. I am expecting maybe $700. I will have to pay one of my drug dealers $70, another $110. Then I have to pay at least $150 on my Paypal Credit. I owed them $400 in March and now it’s up to like $550 from fees. So $150 to put it back where it was. Then I need a new Boombotix because the charging port fell into the casing of my last one. Considering just jumping into the minirigs but $115 is a lot for a speaker during a month like this when the Boombotix is only $20. Then I need to buy razors, new shorts, maybe new Sidis if I can find them for less than $100. Some new furniture for my room, a dresser at least. And a chair. Time Atac pedals so I can stop popping out during skids. A fresh gatorskin since mine is very badly worn out. From skidding.

On the upside, I am getting really good at skids now. Probably doesn’t justify $60/mo on tires, but yeah.My desktop and laptop are both pretty fucked up right now, might need to look into some possibilities there.

I’m straight up alternating eating peanut butter and drinking water right now. Now I’m laying down. I have to stay up until like 11pm to take my 3rd dose. 8am, 3:30pm, 11pm. It’s 9:30 now.I still haven’t watched the show footage. I feel very cringy about that. It is over and done with, I should just watch the footage and laugh and move on. But I haven’t watched any of it. The dude still hasn’t sent me everything he has, but I haven’t even watched the 2 videos he did send.

I feel disgusting

dysphoria fuck u

laser hair removal is far too expensive

shaving is too tedious

waxing seems terrifying in a way I can’t rationally explain

how do I just

ugh

thank u for reading my poem