In which i finally get to the Land with cheesy ass tears in my eyes

Sunday morning I woke up in the crusty motel room and hustled out in record time.

I began my Sunday morning in Grand Rapids before Michigan ritual.  I'm pretty damn predictable.  There are certain things that I can be relied on to do.  One of them is my this Starbucks, Target, Meijers, drive to the land, get lost a little, finally arrive at the land.

28th Street in GR is a Big Box paradise.  There is a Starbucks (drive thru no less) in the Target parking lot.  I got my Nonfat Venti Iced Latte in my re-usable cup.  And a cinnamon chip scone.  My tradition and nourishing pre-mich breakfast.  I promptly left the scone on the counter.

Then on to Target for fishing line, canned espresso, one of those tape deck thingies that lets a girl listen to her iphone on the stereo, and a few other things.

In the parking lot I ran into Kristin and Madeline, fellow crafters and fabulous women.  We hugged.  I jumped up and down and clapped my hands.  Then: Meijers.  Where they have heat treated milk in boxes so that I can make lattes on the land.  I am seriously addicted to caffeine.  I refuse to live without it.  And Pop Tarts.  

As I got back in the car, S called.  We were happily chattering away when I saw the sign for 131.  The highway splits at Muskegan.  Every year, I don't take the split and end up in downtown Muskegan. But this year I was smarter.  And hopped right on 131.

Except I wasn't supposed to be on 131.  I was supposed to be on 31.  The highway splits twice.  Brilliant.  I've made this drive from Baltimore many times, but I have yet to actually get it right.  At first I drove along happily, patted myself on the back repeatedly for not ending up in downtown Muskegan, chuckled with the special Lutheran episode of Prairie Home Companion and gleefully sang along to "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God".  I started to notice that some things weren't looking right.  So I checked the directions on my trusty iphone.  I had just driven about, oh, an hour out of my way.  

Which meant that I got to explore some of the back roads of Michigan.  It didn't really suck.

Eventually, I pulled thru the little one stop light town closest to the land, passed the fields with lacy asparagus dancing in the breeze, the homes with boxes of fruits and giant zucchini accompanied by a handwritten torn cardboard sign next to a cup for money and turned onto the dirt road that leads to the land.  I was hopping up and down in my seat with glee.  And tearing up a little.  Because I'm a sap.

The car, trailer and I bumped cautiously down the road until the gate came into view.  It's an old metal gate decorated with ribbons and other stuff.  Womyn sit just inside around a fire pit, each car is greeted as we enter.

"Hi - welcome!  Are you a crafts womyn?"

"Yes!"

"I see you're well stocked." she said, eyeing the pringles, twizzlers and pop tarts that littered the front seat.  Geez.  Unlike some dykes, I'm not driving half way across the country on grapes, soy nuts and nutritional yeast.  Preservatives, caffeine and nicotine are where it's at for long drives.

She then directed me to my next check point, where I left the ticket for Jenae at HAG (Hold At Gate), said hi to the crafting crew, got banded and got my parking pass.  Once you are on the land, it's 5 miles an hour.  And they mean it.  I've gotten corrected for going 7 MPH. There are a lot of rules on this land.  And I've learned that it's best to just follow them. I chugged along, did some more paper work and finally showed up at the crafts area.

I triple, quadruple checked that I knew which booth space was mine.  Every year someone unloads in the wrong space and has to move all their shit.  Hell no.  After a bunch of sweating, some swearing and my first bottle of water from the land, the crap was loaded, the store tent was up, all the stock was safe. I watched two women have to move all their shit after they set up in the wrong spot.  Double checked my spot again.  It was good.  And I was starting to smell.  It was official.  I had arrived.

It was time to set up The Grotto.

*Thanks to Miranda for the Pic of Lois Lane - the main road on the Land.

And the men take it off south o' the Mason Dixson

Nashville, Tennessee has some new treats.

A strip club with male dancers is opening.

GASP!!!

The club is called Arrow Nashville. It looks like they are still looking for a few good men. But the grand opening is scheduled for Labor Day weekend

The club used to be a strip club that featured women dancers, but they did some renovations and:

Wakefield's renovation included replacing the brass dancing pole.

"We decided to man it up - stainless steel for a tougher look to it," said Wakefield.

Of course!  'cause brass isn't butch enough.

Some members of the City Council are pissed.  Because as Metro Councilman Michael Craddock said:

"I'm sick to my stomach - I'm just absolutely sick," said Craddock. "It's different for a man to show himself than a woman. It's another step in the wrong direction."

WHAT?!  Exactly how is it different Mr. Craddock?  Please tell me.  It sounds like you're saying that since stripping is most often women's work, it's demeaning for a man to do it.  Or perhaps that a dick is more valuable and precious than a cunt.  But, you can't actually mean that.  Because then you would be a sexist asshole.

Let City Councilman Carddock know what you think of his statements:

michael.craddock@nashville.gov

(615) 226-0521

Thanks to Kate Bornstein for pointing this one out!

Strippers win their due.

I love stories like this.

Stippers are usually treated as independent contractors. But in most clubs, they have hours, they get fined if they are late, and all kinds of other things that technically make them employees. But by making the independent contractors, employers get to evade things like dealing with payroll tax, or needing to offer people things like, oh, health care, vacation, retirement plans, etc.

King Arthur's Lounge did not pay the strippers any salaries, required each to pony up a $35 fee to perform each night, and kept $10 of every $30 that each made for ''private dancing'' in video-monitored booths, according to a state judge who granted a stripper's motion for summary judgment on the issue of liability.

The club had argued that selling alcohol is its main business, not putting on strip shows, and that the performers were independent contractors who provided extra entertainment akin to televisions and pool tables at a sports bar.

But, in Boston, a group of women who work(ed) at the King Arthur's Club sued. And won.

Hearts.

Sex work is work. And sex workers deserve the same rights and benefits as any other workers.

Thanks to Spread Magazine for pointing this win out! And if you aren't familiar with Spread, you should check them out. They'll be one of the first magazine's we carry in the store - when we add magazine's that is : )

Why I heart Hampden

Because I get to see this everyday (on the Cafe Hon building kitty corner from our building)

Thanks to the Blonde Photographer for her awesome pics!  And, she's a pretty damn nice n fun person : )

the journey. or how i bash the rental trailer.

It was that time of year again. Time to go to Michigan.

Michigan (or the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival - note the "y") is a touchstone of my year. It is the oldest and largest women only music festival in the country. Yep, women only. All other genders are excluded. Except for when folks who aren't women are escorted on the land to perform important duties. Like sucking out the porta janes. Or delivering another semi trailer of food. Michigan is a space that was started by lesbian separatist feminists, so, no men, or people who identify as other genders. Women who identify as women, but not as lesbians are welcome.

* Lesbian separatism is a philosophy that come from an understanding that we live in a patriarchy and that fighting the patriarchy only serves to feed it, so if we really want to end the patriarchy, with drawing all energy from it is the most appropriate response. *

No I don't identify as a lesbian separatist. But I do see the point. And women/womyn/wimmin only spaces are part of the reason that I am still in the world today.

Having a week a year in which I am surrounded only by other women, specifically feminist, most often lesbian womyn feeds me. I spend a week where everything surrounding me has been done by womyn from laying the plumbing for the showers to the cooking food for thousands, to the tractor drivers, to the performances. Michigan is part of how I mark my life. It provides me with grounding and strength to be in the world thru the rest of the year. I honestly don't know what I would do if this land, this place, this community didn't come into being every year.

Every year, Owen and I clash about Michigan. It's an exclusive space. It is not welcoming of folks who do not identify as women. And as the trans community grows, the line of where women end and other genders begins gets blurry. It's a valid concern. One about which I have mixed feelings. More about that in another post.

But here's what I know for sure. I need Michigan. I need that week.

*****

For some reason, getting to Michigan is always drama. This is the third year that Sugar has sold in the Crafts Area. And I've learned. This year all of the stock was in the store by Thursday and carefully sorted into plastic drawers by toy type. I picked up the trailer on Friday. It was loaded by 4 PM. All that remained was packing my clothes (yes, that is a bit of an amazonian undertaking - the fest may be in the woods, but that doesn't mean I don't need seven different pairs of shoes including stilletos). I drove the trailer out of the store parking lot (the lot is too small to handle the SUV and the trailer). Drove down the block and went over a bump. The trailer made an odd noise. But trailers make odd noises. I found a spot big enough for the ginormous trailer and parked. A young man started hammering furiously on the passenger window.

"You hit that lady's car!"

What? I didn't hit a car. I would have noticed if I hit a car. But I did hear that odd noise...

So, I dutifully followed him back up the block.

Apparently, when I went over the bump, the trailer jostled and hit and bent the running board of a Ford Expedition. That noise? Not a normal trailer noise.

So, a police report was filed. Insurance info was exchanged. And I rushed back to work just in time to be late for my pre-festival hair cut.

After I was cleaned up and prettified, I started to be concerned about if the insurance info I had given the owner of the car was correct. You see, the car I'm driving is S's car. And the insurance card I had was expired. I was starting to have a dim memory of her getting a new policy last fall. And, I started to worry about telling S about the accident. It's never good when your GF's car is involved in an accident. And it's all your fault.

So, in the midst of panicking, I decided to go home and check on the insurance thing. I'd been trying to call S for a while, but she was working and wasn't answering the phone. So I closed the store and headed home.

After parking at home, I gave the trailer the once over. Which was a good thing. Because the running board on that Expedition had a sharp end. One of the trailer tires had been slashed and rapidly going flat. And the tire rim was bent.

Did I mention that the trailer was fully loaded? So, filled with self recrimination I embarked on a pity/beating myself up party that involved sobs, strange looks from the dogs, melting dramatically to the floor and then sniffily working myself up to calling the insurance companies, getting the Expedition owner the correct policy number and figuring out what crap I was going to do next (no worries - these over dramatic melt downs never happen in front of other people - only in front of dogs - ok they may also happen in front of S).

In the meantime, S called, reassured me that she still loved me even though I'd smashed the trailer.

Then Uhaul did the unthinkable. They sent out a tow truck and replaced the tire. Yep - they fixed it like it was no big deal! Soooo grateful. The insurance companies took all of the reports. The dogs licked me. I packed my clothes and crawled into bed. Where I proceeded to lay awake like a kid waiting for Santa.

The next morning I got up, took care of the dogs and hit the road. For the first time in three years, I managed to get on the road before noon. In fact, it was before 10!

Off I went thru the mountains of Maryland and West Virginia, up thru Columbus and into Michigan.

Just as it got dark, I realized the lights on the trailer weren't working.

So, I pulled over somewhere south of Ann Arbor. This was one of those moments when I realized that I am indeed an adult. Not so many years ago I would have kept driving and ended up in a ditch after I got smashed by a tractor trailer who didn't see me. Dildos would have decorated the high way. It would have been on the news. But no, I stopped. And called Uhaul. And they sent someone to fix it.

Turns out the fuse that supplies the juice to the trailer had shorted out. The nice guy replaced it with one of the back up fuses in the fuse box. I was back on the road.

Two exits later the lights went out again.

Which made sense. The back up fuse was probably ten years old. So I stopped at the next exit, bought a new fuse and used the tweezers from my makeup bag to replace it.

Because I'm a power femme. And tweezers or eyelash glue can fix almost anything.

A few hours, lots of caffine and some twizzlers later, I finally arrived in Grand Rapids. With a full bladder and a sleepy head.

I showed up at the hotel where I had a reservation to find: no one. There was a sign announcing that the front desk closed at 11. There was a phone for afterhours help. No one answered the phone. Finally after calling consistently for about 10 minutes and calling Expedia someone answered, came to the desk and let me check in.

When I got to the room, the indoor lock was broken off, the floor hadn't been vacummed and the room smelled a little funny. Creepy. I slept in my clothes with a t-shirt over the pillow. It was entirely too late to pitch a fit and get a different room or my money back. I should have spent the extra $20 to stay at a better place. Lesson learned.

The next morning I charged the rechargable toys, showered in my flip flops, made sure to touch as little as possible and was off!

Phalates - still not so good for you

Phthalates are chemicals used in a lot of different products - particularly soft rubber products - including IV tubing, sex toys, shower curtains, baby toys, cosmetics, nail polish - you name it.

These chemicals have linked to liver problems, and possibly, to cancer.

Two new studies have been released regarding phthlatates.

The first was a German study on newborns fed thru IV tubing. The tubing was made using phalates. It showed an increase in liver problems. The study was small and certainly not definitive. Not surprisingly, the folks who manufacture stuff with phalates say that it's a bunch of bunk.

Several hospitals have already switched to phalate free tubing.  Because, why take a chance that the phthlates may have a negative impact on a delicate newborn

The next study is where it gets really interesting. There have been concerns about the effects of phalates on the reproductive system. Especially on testosterone based reproductive systems.

Phalates can disrupt androgens. Certain phalates can lower testosterone levels. In other words, they can have an effect on the development of a fetal reproductive system resulting in:

...irreversible demasculinisation and malformations of sex organs among male offspring.

Not sexy words.

In our chemically based society, we experience multiple exposure to anti-androgens from multiple sources including pesticides, beauty products and certain rubber materials. Some scientists in Denmark, decided to investigate what kind of effect these multiple exposures can have on the sexual development of a rat.

They found:

Strikingly, the effect of combined exposure to the selected chemicals...was synergistic, and the observed responses were greater than would be predicted from the toxicities of the individual chemicals.

These results were found even when each of the chemical exposures was at a dosage equal to a no-observed-adverse-effect-level (NOAEL). But the combination of these "safe" dosages resulted in a noticable effect on fetal sexual development.

In other words, even though each individual dosage was "safe", the combined exposures resulted in a noticible impact on external sex characteristics.

Why the hell do you care? Did you see the part about phthlates in sex toys? 

Adult bodies are dramatically different than developing fetal bodies. It is possible (but I'd posit not likely) that exposure to phalates has no effect on the adult body. So maybe we don't need to worry about it. Or maybe we do. Especially if the person is pregnant. In which case, using a sex toy that contains phthlates may expose the fetus to these potentially damaging chemicals.

Pregnant or not, it just doesn't seem smart to take a chance by using sex toys with phthlates.  Especially when there are plenty of options of other materials that are body safe.  And last longer.

Sex toys that have phthalates in them may be cheaper. Sometimes purchasing higher quality toys isn't a financial option. Using condoms on your toys can lower any risk significantly.  But,
saving your pennies and purchasing a higher quality toy is always worth it. 

So, buy phalate free sex toys. Avoid that weird sex toy smell. Stick with products that you believe are safe.

And buy your toys from folks that care about what the toys are made of. Places like Sugar, or the Smitten Kitten, or Self Serve or....

Click here for a link to a PDF of the study: Synergistic Disruption of External Male Sex Organ Development by a Mixture of Four Antiandrogens

Yum

Um.

I want this.

Boobs. Full of pudding. For the second time today - why didn't I think of this!!

The only thing that would make it better is if you didn't have to turn the boobs upside down to eat them.

And if they were chocolate.

With chocolate dipping sauce. But caramel's pretty damn good...

Thanks Fleshbot for pointing this out!