I became conscious of my old-ho status while watching an episode called "You Dissed Me, But Look at Me Now: Today's Guests Are Former Geeks Who Have Become Chic." Evidently, chic is synonymous with slutty. Braces were replaced by boob jobs and coke-bottle glasses turned in for manes of blonde hair. Guests flapped around the studio set in outfits skimpier than my work lingerie, hell-bent on proving they were no longer losers.
I'd all but quit rush drugs, but on a bad day I drank like a fancy fighting betta fish in a small bowl. I spent my nights gliding around softly lit massage parlours in a pair of glitter-pink stilettos. Personal economics informed my femme identity. I grew my neon-orange dyke hair into a mane of bleach blonde; I shaved my armpits and pussy; I dieted down to 100 pounds, and learned to indulge the tastes of men with money to spend.
On the lack of LGBTQ mourning rituals: "As a kinky genderqueer femme with a big mouth and what you would call a rather enterprising pussy, I am accustomed to having to create my own family, my home and community, and even myself. I am proud of the keen ability queer folks have to create personal, joyful somethings out of the nothings we're all too often offered. I don't know, however, if I can be proud that we've had to make our own coffins."
pickAt Feminist Book Club last night, we had a long discussion about this memoir, which was admired by all. It was the perfect follow-up to last month's pick, JT Leroy's Sarah, because that one purported to be by a queer sex worker while this one is in fact. The authenticity shines through, making Amber Dawn, and the others that she writes about, real people with complex lives. Poetry interspersed with prose narrative. Excellent! #LGBTQ #CanLit 🇨🇦
She's taking the price sign out of the lobby. Selena told these guys we charge $350 an hour. They're American.
I powder the shine from my nose and forehead and toss my fingers through my hair. My shoes are stripper pumps from Value Village. I used a black sharpie marker to cover the scuffmarks. 'You do not do, you do not do / Any more, black shoe;' I felt so fucking clever reciting Sylvia Plath as I made my second-hand heels look like new.
This corner, where I wait for Coco, is the one space where I have learned and shared the most influential tools of my life—listen, witness, pass information forward, be at the ready, and survive. Survival may be the most radical thing I ever do.
Being a queer Canadian book blogger who lives in Vancouver means I have a ton of #LocalAuthor books. Here are a few of my favourites by women, queers, and POC! #AprilBookShowers
How Poetry Saved My Life: A Hustler's Memoir | 
