On the Verge

Phase 1 of pseduo-adulthood: done! ( or almost done.) I can't wait to see the loopings and whorls and strangeness and surprises and re-connections and new learnings that life will present in phases 2, 3, and 4. Really. I am so excited! What crazy plot-twists will the next ten years bring? How will it shake out for me and those I know peripherally and intimately? What new height of bizarro will be reached!? I think and wonder and get little-kid hopped up with joyful anticipation fairly frequently these days. At least as often as I freak out about my age and achievement level. Who knew I would ever be this passionately enthusiastic about life? Even in the painful times its so intriguing to guess what might happen next and then wait and compare with what does. I very much hope I don't die before I get to see how the rest of the story goes. I really just can't wait.

My horoscopes this week:

Why does human anatomy include the organ known as the appendix? For centuries, doctors have been unable to determine its purpose. Most have decided it's unnecessary, a vestigial structure left over from an earlier stage of evolution. But recent research suggests the conventional wisdom has to be revised. In fact, the appendix seems to protect and regenerate the good bacteria that live in the intestines. I predict that you're on the verge of a metaphorically comparable discovery, Scorpio. Something you have always considered to be useless or irrelevant will reveal its value.
-Rob Brezsny, Free Will Astrology

SCORPIO

Oct. 23-Nov. 21

Scorpio, you are on the verge of a massive shift, and it's deeply emotional. It would be easy for you not to grasp this and to simply skate the surface of your emotional pond, but we urge you to love not just yourself but also the people around you enough to take it to a deeper level.

-Jessica Lanyadoo and Michelle Tea, Double Team Psychic Dream

Testimonials From the Past

A bizarre series of events caused me to log into Friendster fro the the first time in 3 years. What I found was like an archaeological dig into the distant history of my own life. I feel that I used to be a very different person, you see. Not too long ago, even; these past three years have been a strange and prickly artichoke for me. As for Friendster, I didn't spend too long there; it was too intense. Archaeologist, cum grave-robber, cum colonialist, I took the easiest and most useful plunder and ran. I came away with some old long red hair pirate pictures and a slew of testimonials from old friends and former lovers.

Warning: I am terribly nostalgic. I love to love, and continue to hold people and things in my hands and my heart. While I am not ruled by my past and my memories I am undeniably shaped and often very grateful for them. I can take a break from loving; actively, daily, someone present and before me, but I have no intention of ever stopping. My heart is a very large home with a special little room for each most cherished person and even many of my favorite belongings, whether they are still tangible in my life or not, and there seems to be no limit to the space for new additions. It may be both my blessing and my curse. A wife should know these things before hand, I would think.

If you can't understand or relate to that, if you find yourself telling people to "get over it" you probably shouldn't continue to read, and we probably will not get along.
What can I say; I like it deep.

So here are some things that people I've loved and who presumably once loved me have said about me in the past. Remember, these are more often than not some of the better things said, and said about a me who is not quite the me who is today. But if not for direct reference or referral, I thought these statements might give some small insight into the me that others see, or at very least the writing skills of my beloveds. There might not be any very recent quotations, perhaps because of the relative dearth of recent partners, perhaps because some wounds are too fresh, perhaps because my more recent slightly more moderate behavior has not been quite as inspiring for writing or memorable comment, perhaps because I quit online social-networking sites about 2 years ago. So here is a slight glimpse into the not-so-distant past. I see that my life used to be much more full of men and boys, nancy- , though they may be. I see that I don't have many memories of sound-bites from the loves of the last few years. Maybe I will remember, or maybe it doesn't matter...


"Sex artist extraordinaire"
-SF Weekly, 2007*
*To the best of my knowledge I neither love nor am particularly beloved by anyone at the SF Weekly, I am just inordinately proud of this quotelet they printed about me this Fall.


"Sadie is a sane woman trapped inside an insane woman's mind."
-Tim Kreider around 2004



"Elegant and Floppy."
-Kyrstyn, 2002




"Best girlfriend ever!"
-anonymous (no doubt opinion has been revised since) 2004





"I have no doubt she will be a revolutionary"
-Angel, 2002



" the third time i saw her, she peed on
my boot. what more needs to be said?"
* Pale Eddie
* Posted 09/9/2003 12:10 am



" * Forces of nature come big and small.
Some might say that Sadie is like a
hurricane, but there's a smaller force
of nature that I find to be a more apt
metaphor. Sadie is a catalyst. Not
that she doesn't do her own thing, but
her doing of her own thing brings big
big change into the world. She's
magnetic, hilarious, loving, and
brave. My life was absolutely changed
for the better by this altogether
beautiful wunderkind."
-Jason 2003



"* Turbocharged electrocutie who walks
carefully around powerful magnets and
gets naked at the slightest
provocation. Can drink you (though not
me) under the table. Will turn boys to
men (and sometimes women) just by
walking through the room. Cooks
delicious meals with love and cheese.
Generous about sharing her life of
adventure and ridiculousness with
anyone who has the wisdom to ask.
Laughs at my jokes, thereby
demonstrating good taste. A quality
fleshie."
- Rev. Dr. Splashy-Pants, 2003







"Ladies and gentlemen, grrls and bois, allow me
to introduce the lovely Pirate Redbits, a
fabulous, demanding spectacle of a woman.
"Elegantly floppy!" cry the Baltimorons.
"Excessively froppy!" shouts the Dobbs-head.
"Frequently toppy!" exclaim a chorus of
simpering subs.

To which I say "all this and more." Much, much
more: Pirate Redbits contains multitudes,
attitudes, natty snoods, shady 'ludes and
eight-hundred-and-eighty moods. The
proverbial "tall drink of water" except that
someone's switched the water with grog, and
she's drunk it all. Flamboiant, debauched
socialite, her milkshake brings all the boys
_and_ girls to the yard and they're like...

Well, you _know_ what they're like.

Pirate Redbits, how do I love thee? Let me
count the ways.

- Polish (Polish!)
- Beautiful
- Inspiring
- Smart
- Brave
- Absinthe Connisseur
- Burner
- Pansexual, Polyamorous Sex Worker
- Patient
- Giddy
- Stupid
- Creative
- Sexy
- A merciless right hook
- Adventurous
- The Original DRS #1
- Still Polish
- Piratical
- Organizer
- Responsible
- Dizzy
- Sensual
- Loonaps!
- One-time co-habitant (see above: brave
and/or stupid)
- The best-dressed woman in any room
- The best-undressed woman in any room
- A good friend of Devon (that dashing rake)
- Splendiferous
- Vociferous
- Bold
- Tasty
- Redbits (w00t!)
- Pierced and inked
- "On Our Backs" centerfold girl (Dec/Jan '04)
- Pleasure Activist
- Haight Street Dreidel Club
- Petite Louis
- Goat-beard braider
- SF's official Naughtiest Schoolgirl
- Giselle
- Travels in France
- Storytime
- Fancy
- Loving
- Queer
- Crafty
- Cook
- Kinky
- Intercontinental Ballistic Sex Bomb
- Geek (or at least geek-friendly)
- Costume queen
- Curvy
- Supportive
- Incindiary
- Unstoppable

And oh-so-much more. Impossible to imagine
what my life would be like now without you, so
greatly have you perturbed the dimensions and
limits of my already strange universe. And I'm
far from the only one who can say this. You're
the Erisian force made manifest, a "fountain of
blood in the shape of a girl". A sexual
singularity, embodying both Lolita, Mrs.
Robinson and all points and forms in-between
simultaneously. And beyond: obliterating the
bi-polar gender axis, your identity and desire
exceeds the poor boundaries of language. In
both essence and action you are a true
revolutionary and an inspiration, loonaps and
all.

Xoxoxxx"

-Aaron, probably 2003

Comic Art Zeal and my Slowly Slipping Face

Could You Love This Person?
This weekend I have turned into the crazy reclusive artist fiend I hopefully prophesied in the wake of my breakup a few months ago. It kind of always happens at crunch time, the deadline (which generally means second or third deadline) for my comic which is published in the quarterly $pread magazine.

This time was especially fun though, and it felt really good to get into the place I had seen as the best-case scenario in the depths of my heartbreak: I would retreat from society, and finally spend tons of time locked away in my house doing art. I have a hard time focusing on any one thing, and I'm sure I've mentioned that finishings and endings are not my strong point. Additionally I have a hell of a lot of guilt and blockages around art. I won't even start with my feelings about my relationship to the word "artist", that is rain-soaked paperback of its own. So it feels like a real accomplishment to get into that zone, and really enjoy being there (starting every comic takes at least a month of procrastination and then a couple of days of making the template and the initial pencil drawings which always feels like I'm trying to gnaw off one of my own feet and pass it off as my prom dress.) This time, once I started it was easier to get in the happy place, I think because the comic came mentally to me organically almost fully formed a couple of weeks ago, and I had new style ideas I was excited about. I think slacking around, reading a bunch of other people's comics, aka "research", is finally paying off.

Generally, if there is any chance I can wile away the hours talking or engaging with other humies, I have a really hard time helping myself from doing that. This is possibly one of the reasons my therapist thinks I might make a good therapist. I hope that "switch" of being able to focus on and practice art is finally getting flipped.

The circumstances that really helped this time were: a big storm made leaving the house even less appealing than usual, as well as completely unnecessary (I actually did make sure to leave the house with a friend for greens or chocolate, but after nightfall, once every day), all of my current dates, hook-ups, and mojo subscribers are either out of town or sick, many of my close friends are out of town or very busy, and one of my copious new years resolutions is to try to get better at making deadlines. Also the previously mentioned excitement about this particular idea, part of which was that it seemed like it would be easier to draw than usual. Every time I draw a comic I think "I need to develop a simpler style, something recognizable, but really easy to draw" (which always comes in the voice of one of my comic mentors and companions, Dr. Hal), but every time I am totally stressed out and kind of just spit out whatever comes because that's all I got and every time it seems more complicated and time-consuming and difficult and crazier than the last. Except this time. Let this be the first movement of a trend for me.

Anyway, I wasn't really trying to write about me and art and comics. I was trying to just set the scene for this horrible picture: me, up at 4:30 a.m., eyes twisted and strained, alone and half-crazy and covered in ink stains, talking about Marcel Duchamp's idea, infrathin, my intense love/hate of David Byrne, and the genius of Rev. Dr. Splashy-Pants over g-chat with Aundi in England. Aundi left to get some coffee, and in my desperation for stimulation I took these super-unflattering photos of myself with my personal archival mirror; photobooth. They confirmed the recent realization that I am starting to look my age. As I described it to her:

me: i am starting to "look my age" especially when tired, which is most of the time

me: my face gets simultaneously puffy and saggy, like its been out in the rain and is sodden and is slipping from its moorings


I will talk all about my revised position on vanity in the future. And no need to tell me I'm good-looking, I mostly know that, but I'm also noticing the changes with interest. Recent ex used to tease me with prognostications of my eventual Bea Arthur-dom; I'm still hoping for a chance at a mix between Blanche and Dorothy.

So for Aundi, I post the above picture. He described me as "an angry old Russian woman who shopped at Trader Joe's in West Hollywood."
May I never turn into that woman.
Worry not-spousettes, I look much, much better today. Much better. I'm going to go take some vitamins and drink a big glass of water.


Much, much, much, much better.