bye-bye, fcbk

So, one new thing I am doing in 2014 is quitting fcbk. It feels AWESOME. My last status update for the foreseeable future is below.

Also, for the record, while I’m not posting or hanging out here on tumblr as much these days, that’s mostly about being busy & artistically/otherwise productive. It’s not about disliking it here. Most of the time, y’all feel like that really good club.

<3

———

Hi folks,

A Public Service Announcement: I am off facebook for the foreseeable future. I’ve been away from this space for the past month, and, put plainly, it’s been VERY good for me. I’m just not excited or enthusiastic about socializing here any more. Too much time spent on facebook does weird fucking things to my mental health and my sense of self. The negatives far outweigh the positives for me at this point. So, instead of doing something that doesn’t work for me because I feel obligated to do it, I’m stopping. I’m not deleting or deactivating this account altogether, because I will occasionally still need to use some kind of facebook account for readings/performances and for work-related things. But after this, I will not be posting any status updates, and I will not be reading any. I am also turning ALL my notifications off. So if you message me here, or tag me in something (a photo, a post, a note, an invite, an event, whatever), I won’t get word about it.

If you need to get in touch with me, please call, text, or email me (my email is queershoulder[@]gmail[.]com). If you don’t already have my number and you want to be old school and (gasp!) actually talk on the phone, seriously, just shoot me an email, and I will send you my number and we can talk. I am a bit old-fashioned in this particular way. To paraphrase Troy Barnes from “Community”: I was born in the 80s, and I still use my phone as a phone. And when it comes to communicating on the internet, I like emailing and occasionally blogging and especially (especially!) chatting one-on-one with people best.

Before I go, though, I do wanna say this:

What I value most about interaction with other humans is connecting for real. And I absolutely believe that wonderful, deep, intimate connections can and do happen on the internet. I’m turning 31 in February, and I’ve been using the internet (and specifically & especially using it to connect with other: queers, perverts, gender-variant folks, femmes, fat people, sex workers, and folks with disabilities & chronic illnesses) since I was 14. That’s over half of my life, y’all! I have met countless friends and lovers online. And during the days or weeks or months that I have been stuck at home and not able to get out much (if at all) due to chronic illness, being able to socialize from bed and get some human contact, even through a computer screen, has been a complete & total godsend. I am not saying that the internet is not a “real” place, or that internet connections aren’t real. They are very real to me indeed.

But I *am* saying that this particular place on the internet feels like the meatspace equivalent of that café or restaurant or bar or club that I do my very best to avoid going to. Because they let me in, but they let me in kinda begrudgingly & with a lot of side-eye, and it’s noisy, and crowded, and the food isn’t that great, and the drinks are too expensive, and bitches are blowing cigarette smoke in my face, and I can’t hear my friends talk over the terrible music, and nobody is even dancing, let alone smiling or being friendly or flirty, so, like… What’s the point? Why am I here, again?

A note to my friends who hang out here a lot, especially my long-distance friends: I am glad that this place still feels friendly and happy for you. I really do mean that! And I love you, I still want to stay in touch, and I still very much want to know what’s going on in your life. But instead of hanging out with me here, just call me, or text me, or write to me (again, queershoulder[@]gmail[.]com). I promise I always call back.

And if you’re a local friend: Hey! Let’s actually hang out in-person in 2014! Let’s write together (please oh PLEASE – I’m trying to finish my book by May). Let’s take a stroll up Bernal Hill or Vermont Street together. Or make hot cocoa and watch a movie or two in my big pink cripple femme bed. Let’s go to The Wave Organ at high tide, and just sit, and listen. Let’s get lost in the Center for Sex & Culture Archives for a few hours. Let’s go to a concert or a reading by someone we’ve never heard of, because we’re curious, because it looks interesting. Let’s go to a queer-friendly church and check out the services (I’m 100% serious & earnest about this – I need other religious queers in my life). Let’s go to a meditation group. Let’s ride our bikes along Great Highway and listen to the ocean. Lemme stuff you full of Paisano brunch under the loquat tree in my backyard. Lemme tell you my best stories. Lemme listen to yours.

Or maybe you can take me out dancing to that one really good club you know about. Where the music is fabulous, and the drinks are strong & cheap, and people are cruising each other on the dance floor & fucking in the bathroom. And nobody is too cool to sing along to the music while we dance.


<3,

Gina

Really important.

odofemi:

My doctor, who is a trans woman, and I had a conversation today about the guy who raped me earlier this year. At first she was like “did you charge him?” When I explained that he’s a trans man of colour, she immediately got why I hadn’t. Not because I couldn’t bare to put a trans person,…

Read, please.

blackgirldangerous:

by The Lady Ms. Vagina Jenkins

1.

I do have visible scars. Up and down the outside of my thighs. They are brown, like me. Just in different shades. Some Carolina-clay-colored, others more of a deep pecan. Most people who notice them nowadays are kinky. They think of them as beautiful.

I’m…

I identified with so much of this. Very worth a read.

missvoltairine:

I ended a friendship that meant a lot to me, because the other person has some pretty serious trauma/mental health issues going on.

Without going into, you know, any identifying details: I had stuck by this person though a bunch of shit that was really traumatizing for them,…

(via hobbitkaiju)

From now on…

From now on, whenever my Anxiety Loop starts telling me "You’re not doing enough"… I should really just take a look at one of my bios. Maybe also my CV if it’s a particularly bad anxiety day and I need not just convincing, but hella convincing.

Case in point — my bio for Coming & Crying. I’m putting this up here because as I was reading it over I was like “Oh. Yeah. I guess I do do a lot, don’t I?”

Gina: 1. Anxiety: 0.

GINA DE VRIES is a queer femme Paisan pervert, and a writer, performer, and activist with a long history doing political organizing in and with queer, trans, and sex worker communities. Gina has performed, taught, and lectured everywhere from chapels to leatherbar backrooms, and recent university appearances include Reed College, Yale University, Harvard University, and the Pacific School of Religion. Recent publications include Issue #4 of Bound to Struggle: Where Kink and Radical Politics Meet, Girl Crush, The Revolution Starts at Home, and Femmethology; shows she’s curated include “Ecstasies & Elegies” (for International Day to End Violence Against Sex Workers), “Rebel Girl: a riot grrrl nostalgia show,” and “Girl Talk: a trans & cis woman dialogue” (with Julia Serano); and movies she’s gotten naked in include Doing It Ourselves: The Trans Women Porn Project. Gina is the founder and facilitator of Sex Workers’ Writing Workshop, a writing class for current and former sex workers at San Francisco’s Center for Sex & Culture (where she also serves on the Advisory Board). She’s currently pursuing her MFA in Fiction Writing at San Francisco State University, where she is working on a novel and a book of short stories. She likes glitter, the color fuchsia, leopard print, and political discussion as foreplay. Find out more at ginadevries.com, and keep track of her on the daily at queershoulder.tumblr.com.

Why are our (my) standards for ourselves (myself) so intense and weird? It boggles me, sometimes.