Underneath my yellow skin

Category Archives: Society

One more post about labels, part six

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I still have one more post about labels in me s so let’s go! I’ve been planning on writing about labels when it comes to dating for the past two posts, but, well, that’s not what I ended up writing about. In the last post, I talked about labels I use for myself that I’m mostly fine with, including bi, Taiwanese American, and areligious. I don’t love two of them (bi, and areligious0, but they do the job. The other one (Taiwanese American) is factual, which makes it fine*.

I was going to say that in writing a dating profile, I would like to be able to avoid labels completely and not include a picture–but then I realized that’s not exactly true. What I want to do is avoid the people (ahem, men) who loooooooooooove Asian women and send me pics of their dicks unasked for, and, indeed, unwanted.

This was my experience the last time I tried to use the dating apps, and it was really dispiriting. I explicitly said that I did not want anyone who had an Asian fetish and DO NOT SEND DICK PICS. The  vast majority of responses I got ignored both of these edicts.

In a twisted way, it’s a blessing because they are just self-selecting out. If I didn’t have to actually see the dick pics, I would be ok with that. This was decades ago, so I don’t know if there are strictures in place on apps now that do not allow unsolicited dick picks to go through. I would think there should be a way to do that, but I’m not a tech person.

PSA: Guys. My dudes. I rarely make blanket statements, but this is one I’m more than comfortable in making . Do not send unsolicited dick pics. Period. There is no exception to this, and you are certainly not it. (I know there are guys out there who think their dicks are just that special; trust me, they aren’t.)

PSA II: Your dick really really isn’t that special. For many people who are not dudes but like dicks, it’s a specific dick that is attractive and not just dicks in general. I know for many straight dudes, any tits and/or pussy will do. But even then, I think more of them would be weirded out by random pic of them out of the blue. It can be disconcerting, and especially when you were not asking for it nor especially in the mood for it.

Again, I don’t know how common or acceptable that is now, but back in the Wild West days of PlentyofFish, it was rampant. I would hazard that I got a dick pic for at least one out of four responses I got. And the “I loooooooove Oriental girls” response ratio was much higher.

I was talking about this with my brother when he started dating again. Not the specifics of my travails, but how now that we were in our mid-fifties, we were much more certain about what we wanted and didn’t.

When I talked about this with my Taiji teacher today, I mentioned how as she knew, I liked being alone. So anyone I dated needed to add something to my life and not make it more stressful. When I was in my twenties, I was told that I needed to settle. Basically, that any man was better than none, and the worst fate that could befall me was ending up alone.

After several disastrous relationships, I would have to disagree with that. It’s much worse being with someone who is disdainful of/tired of you than being by myself. In fact, I love being by myself. It’s the only time I can relax and be me. I miss my Shadow (still) more than I can say, but that’s not the same as living with another human.


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The last post about labels (for now), part five

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I’m back for one last post about gender identity and labels.

Ha! We all know that’s not true. It may be the last one for now as I put in the title, but it’s certainly not going to be the last time I talk about gender, as much as I would like it to be. Yes, I could try never to think of it again, but that’s nearly impossible in this world.

Oh, here’s the post from yesterday. We’ll see if  I actually write about what I intend to write about.

When I was talking to K about gender identity, I said that it’s easy for me to accept gender changes in people because gender didn’t mean anything to me. If you remove the socio-political meaning from gender (which, I know, is impossible to do), then in really has no meaning in and of itself.

I mean, that’s pretty simplistic because you could say that about any word, really. A term has a basic meaning, and then it has the meaning that a society infuses it with. But in this case, I really am lost at sea with the word.

Side note: It’s interesting. I do not have the same struggle with other labels I use. I mean, I don’t like bisexual as a term, but it does at least come close to describing what I consider myself. I and many other bis think of it as people like me and people not like me (the bi part) rather than two genders. Of course, there are other people who use pansexual or omnisexual, but as I have said before, I don’t like either of those.

Damn. I Googled, and there are some really bad terms like ambisexual, switch-hitter (uggggggh), hermaphrodite?!? and androgynous. I like the last word, but it’s not a synonym for bisexual. Someone was complaining about there not being another word so you have to say ‘sexual’ in the label. Uh, no. I call myself bi. Many bis I know do it as well. Bis looks weird to me, but bi is fine.

I’ve made my peace with bi. It’s fine, though I would prefer just to say sexual. But, again, it sends the wrong message. Sigh. It is what it is, and it’s fine.

Taiwanese American? Also fine. I am American with Taiwanese heritage. That’s pretty straightforward, and it doesn’t really need much explanation. It’s also the one I think the least about now. It gave me a lot of drama/trauma when I was younger, but I’m mor e than fine with it now.

Areligious? Yeah, I fully embrace that one. I do not know if there is a god, multiple gods, or no gods, and I don’t care. That’s why I choose areligious rather than atheistic. God can do what god is or isn’t going to do if there is a god or isn’t. It doesn’t really affect my life…yeah, I’m not going to get into that because it’s not the point of this post.

I’ve embraced fat, too. It flusters people when I say cheerfully that I’m fat. I know it’s because it’s considered a horrible negative in this society, but it’s another thing that makes me snicker. There’s something truly magical in not giving a shit. I highly suggest it to everyone.


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Let’s talk more about labeling (part four)

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I was talking to K today, and we were talking about gender identity. It’s something we’ve talked about quite a bit, and we’ve been on the same page about the concept for our whole lives. She once said to me that she admired the way I easily adapted to people’s genders. We talked a bit about that, and I said it was because gender was unfathomable to me (just like it’s hard to describe the color blue to a blind person), so I accepted people’s genders without a murmur.

When you drilled right down to it, why did gender matter? Not in a sociopolitical sense because it matters a great deal in that way (and as a way to show solidarity/fight the patriarchy), and, yes, I can see why it’s important to individuals as part of their identity, but as a way of gatekeeping who can call themselves what gender, I am not a big fan of it. At all.

I have  thought about this so much, it makes me tired. If I were going to be totally real–oh, here’s my post from yesterday in which I said I was going to talk about labels and dating, but then didn’t. If I were going to be totally real, I would just like to never have to think or talk about gender again. Just let me beeeeeeeeeee. There’s nothing I can or can’t do based on my gender, really, so why should I care?

This is where I get tripped up every time. I can do what I need to do regardless of my gender, so why do I need to have one? No one can explain this to me to my satisfaction, which is how I feel about a lot of things. There are times when I just have to accept that I will never truly get it. The only reason I think about it is because it’s so important in this world.

I’m saying this with zero snark–I don’t understand why the heavy emphasis on it. I know it’s me beacuse most people do care about it a lot. I would not care that other people cared so much about it if it was just for themselves. I’m very big on live and let live, but the ‘let live’ part has to go both ways.

Which it doesn’t. At all.

It’s really depressing that all the progress we’ve made is getting torn up in this presidency. I can’t even get angry because I’m just so drained and exhausted. I know that’s the whole point of this spate of terrible laws, but it’s working. And this is one reason I will never date a Republican.

See how I did that?

I had that in a dating ad thirty years ago. I said I would date any gender, race, religion, creed, but not a Republican. I wasn’t joking, even though I put it in a jovial tone. I’m even more not joking about it now. If someone is a Republican in this time and age, that’s all I need to know about them.

As I’ve said, it’s funny when people who don’t give a shit about discrimination in general (or covertly/overtly support it) want to bleat about discrimination in dating when it’s against them. People are allowed to discriminate in their dating lives, and it’s especially true when the discrimination is based on something like ‘this person doesn’t believe I should exist’. Or ‘this person is a racist sexist piece of shit’.


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Labels, labels, labels everywhere (part three)

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I want to talk more about gender identity, sexual orientation, and dating. And labels. Maybe. It’s been at the forefront of my mind for several reasons. I mentioned in the last post a few times when it was helpful to have labels (mostly with health issues), and I am not going to muse whether or not it’s helpful in dating.

I will say I don’t like the labels I’ve chosen for my sexual and gender identities. They are both the least worst of the bad, and I’m not satisfied with either. Bisexual and agender, by the way. I’ve had the former label for over thirty years, and it has never sat right with me. I like queer the best, but it now is synonymous with gay. I’m not happy about it, but it’s not a fight I’m up for fighting.

Same with genderqueer. I really like it as a descriptor for not being on the binary in the fullest sense of the term. But now it means nonbinary in the same way queer means gay.

Sigh.

I’m irritated with myself for always making life so difficult. This is part of being neurodivergent, too, though. I’ve read that people who are neurodivergent often feel the need to be really explicit and on point with their words. I can attest that this is me, and it’s annoying as fuck. Even to me when it’s me doing it.

I overexplain things and belabor the point until the other person is ready to scream. I can see the shift on their face (or hear it in their message), and yet, it takes a Herculean effort for me to shut the fuck up. The person I’m talking to doesn’t need a twenty-page backstory to every idea I want to present. When I found out this was a thing with autistic people, I felt validated.

Another thing is that everything is related in my brain. I can’t tell a story without bringing in what others would consider extraneous information and tidbits. When I talked to my autistic friend about it, she was in enthusiastic agreement that her brain worked that way, too. It’s one reason we can have comfortable conversations (in messages). We can pepper in as many non sequiturs as we want without worrying. And if one of us goes really far down a weird road, the other will bring the first person back again.

Or not. Sometimes, I join her on the side path to nowhere (and vice-versa), which can lead to some wild journeys. And once in a great while, I don’t know where she’s going. I can usually figure it out, but if I can’t, I just ask questions until I get the gist of what she was trying to say.

Knowing that this is a thing for neurodivergent people is such a relief to me. It doesn’t mean that I just let myself ramble all I want whenever I want, but it does mean that I can be a bit kinder to myself when I can’t seem to stop utter nonsense from coming out of my mouth.


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When labels are actually useful, part two

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This is part two about when labels are actually helpful and necessary. Here is my post from yesterday in which I was musing about the times when a label actually helped rather than hurt (or just annoyed me). In general, it’s in the medical field when I find useful. If there’s something wrong  with my body or my brain, it’s a relief to know what that is. It’s easier to treat something if you actually know what that something is (and you don’t think it’s all in the patient’s mind).

It’s also helpful when it’s something like autism that marks me as different (though not ‘defective’ as health issues might). I cannot tell you the relief I felt when I realized that much of what I thought was wrong with my brain was in fact something medical (as autism is). It didn’t mean that I wouldn’t have to deal with it (because of course I would still have to do that), but it meant that it was something that was just different–not necessarily wrong.

I think if there’s one thing I could convey to other people who are different for various reasons that have nothing to do with good and bad as defined by Christians, you are glorious the way you are. That’s not to say that you won’t have to mask at times or that you’ll never have to smooth your edges to get along with society, but it is saying that much of that is arbitrary and there may never be a legit reason for it.

One thing I think people who are neurodivergent often have to do is  calculate how much of the weirdness they want to let out and at wwhat cost. This is especially true at work, which, by the way. I have a gripe (because of course I do).

There’s been a movement to bring your whole/authentic self to work. It was supposed to mean that people who were minorities and (including neurodivergent) should be able to be more themselves at work. Meaning that they should not have to heavily mask all the time. Or, as a very basic example, black women should be able to wear hairstyles that are a part of their culture without getting punished for it.

It was not nor has it ever been a way to say that everyone should let it all hang out at work. I am so frustrated that this is what people now think it means. “No one wants to see someone’s ugly side at work!” Well, no, but that’s never what it meant in the first place. It was supposed to be a way for minorities to feel less burdened at work for being so different than the norm.

I know that’s how these things work on the internet, though. The least-generous interpretation of a term (read, the one that the majority fixates on) is the one that eventually wins out and becomes the definition of that term.

Sigh.

Anyway.

I realize it’s still difficult for me to really let my guard down with people because I have had negative reactions to the real me more often than not. I’m not just a little different–I’m a lot different.


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When labels are actually useful

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I’ve made it pretty well known that I do not like labels for the most part. I find them restrictive, reductive, and sometimes, misleading. However, there is one time when I find labels useful. That’s when it comes to health, physical and mental. Let me explain.

When I was in my twenties, I had what I thought was really bad carpal tunnel syndrome in my right wrist. It was logical to think that was what it was because I typed a lot (and I mean excessively), and I didn’t always pracice good typing posture (and by that, I mean I never use good typing posture. I let my wrists collapse more often than I should. I did have a wrist rest, but I relied on it too much).

I had a soft cast for months, but it did not help. Nothing else helped, etiher. None of the exercises that the doctors recommended did one bit of good. After my GP could not find what was wrong with me, she sent me to a specialist. I don’t remember what kind of specialist, but I do remember what happened.  He listened to my tale of woe without saying anything. Without a word, he grabbed my thumb and yanked it backwards; I jumped about ten feet into the air.

“You don’t have carpal tunnel,” he announced as he wrote something down. “You have ______.” I don’t remember the name of it beacuse it was long, and I had never heard of it before. I don’t remember what he did for it, either, but whatever it was did the trick. I no longer had pain in my wrist, and I still don’t to this day.

Another time was when whichever doctor/therapist told me I had depression. or did I realize it on my own? Either way, being able to have a name for what I was feeling was such a relief. It wasn’t just all in my head! I mean, it was, but it was an actual thing–not me just making shit up.

Same with a friend gently suggesting that maybe I had autism. Suddenly, so many things made sense. Like me being too sensitive, me having sensory issues, me not being able to look people in the eyes. For me, putting a name to a bunch of disparate issues and being able to realize they were actually A Thing and, again, not just something I made up in my head was invaluable.

K and I had an argument about mental health. Not about the fact that it matters or the fact that we both have issues with our own mental health. It was about how far should we as a society go when it comes to mental health issues. She was uncomfortable with how much medication was happening these days.

She said that when we were kids, we just dealt with our issues because we had to. I pointed out in a less-than-calm manner that some of us didn’t deal with it well–and, indeed, that somepeople did not deal with it at all (meaning, we have lost so many people to mental health issues). I also said that if I had known more about my issues when I was a kid and how to deal with them, I would be in a better place now.

We got heated. Voices were raised. It’s the closest we’ve gotten to a fight in our thirty years of friendship. Once we calmed down, we found the common ground as we always do.

Her concern was that people with mental health issues still had to get through each day and go about their lives. If they focused too much on the mental health issues themselves, they might get stuck. I saw her point. There’s a thin line between focusing on your issues in order to work on them and obsessing over them.

On the other hand, if you don’t know what the problem is, you can’t deal with it. I lost decades because I didn’t know I was neurodivergent. I mean, I had a hunch, but all the outside signs ponited to it not being true. Because I was heavily emotionally punished if I dared think my own feelings and emotions mattered, and I was castigated for being too sensitive, I don’t act autistic–whatever that means.

In addition, the stereotypical view of an autistic person is based on male traits, and I never thought that there might be any other portrayal of autism. Once I was told to look traits of autistic women and other nonmale people, things started falling into place.

Just as I changed my bother’s life by casually mentioning his autism (assuming that he already knew about it), a friend of mine did the same for me. My brother immediately accpted what I said to him, looked it up, and told me a few months later that it made total sense. He has the classic (and stereotypical) traits of autism–and I’ve known it for several decades.

Me, on the other hand, I have none of the stereotypical traits–at least on the surface. I am told I’m too empathic, if anything; too sensitive; too emotional; and just too much in general.

All of that is a cover and learned behavior, though. Well, not the too sensitive thing. That’s just me, but that’s actually a symptom of autism–hypersensitivity, I mean. I just read that 90% of children with autism experience sensory hypersensitivity. Most of the research on autism has been done on kids, which is unfortunate. And on men. But that’s not unusual in, well, anything.

Once my friend brought up the possibility that I might be autistic, so many things made sense. So. Many. Damn. Things. And once things slid into place, I became so goddamn angry at society for not giving me a fucking clue that I might be autistic. The problem is that I’ve been masking so hard and for so long, it’s nearly impossible for me to unmask. It’s one reason I prefer being alone. That’s the only time I can just be me.

Well, one of the only times. When I’m with my closest friends, I can let down the mask somewhat. But that’s it. Otherwise, it’s on 100% of the time. And part of that is, apparently, people tell me shit about their lives that I would prefer not to know. I have one of those faces that say, “Tell me everything about you, starting with when you were five years old.”

Even when I tried to cut people off, it didn’t seem to matter. Now, I just roll with it since I don’t go out much any more.

More tomorrow.

What is niche vs. what is mainstream

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It’s 82F right now. I had to run to the pharmacy to pick up a med, and it was hot. H-O-T, I say. It seems we’ve skipped spring altogether and went straight to summer. Except, we have a low of 41F for Tuesday, so winter may not be done with us yet. That is the weather in Minnesota right now, but not what I want to talk about.

Oh, and my sleep has been creeping back again. But I did get over eight hours of sleep last night, so that’s good. But I don’t want to go to bed past three in the morning. That’s my goal. Four at the latest (which I did not meet last night). I let myself fuck around too much last night–and I found out.

One thing, though. I don’t want to let one off day completely wreck my schedule. I have the habit of giving up if I mess up once. I know that’s not a good thing, so I’m trying to not spiral.

Also, I want to up my daily writing from one hour to two (for the fiction side of it). That’s very doable as I used to write 2,000 words a day before my medical crisis. One hour is nearly 1,000 words, so I should be able to do 2,000 in two to three hours if I’m diligent.

That’s not what I want to talk about today, though. That would be my love for things that sit somewhere in the shadowy (heh) realm of niche and mainstream. There are two things I want to discuss, both in pop culture. Today, I will focus on FromSoft–I have not talked about them for a while.

Below, I have included a video of someone no hitting my BAE, Messmer, with what I think are the Dryleaf fists. (The martial arts weapons in the DLC, Shadow of the Erdtree. Very cool, but not my style.) I absolutely adore this OST and this boss. Funnily enough, he was the face of the DLC so everyone assumed he would be the last boss. Not even close. FromSoft loves to fuck with fans like that. Not saying he’s not important because he is, but his fight is roughly halfway through the DLC (if you do tihngs properly, which I did not).

I still get chills watching this boss fight and listening to the OST. It’s just so epic and grand. I love how From has major setpiece bosses, and this is definitely one of them. In fact, many of the bosses in tthe DLC for Elden Ring are major spectacles.

I’ve been thinking about how FromSoft went from the little studio that could (back in the 10s) to the powerful juggernaut it is today. Now, every game that is anywhere near the action adventure genre adds Fromlike elements to their games, and games in other genres do so as well. There has been a different focus at different times, and right now, it’s on the deflect/parry. Which, yuck. I hate it so much. Not only is it ableist (which it most definitely is), it’s just so boring.


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Taking a risk–and my daily weather report

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I’m back with the daily weather report. It’s 50F right now, but got up to the sixties earlier. Here is my post from yesterday in which I talked about whatever was on my mind. We’re supposed to get up to 78F tomorrow. I have a private lesson, which we might actually be able to do outside if it doesn’t rain (afternoon showers are predicted). I don’t mind going outside in a drizzle as long as there are no flies/mosquitos/wasps/other bugs. If there are any bugs, I will not go outside.

Bugs love me so much. The last time I went out when there were bugs, I got bit by a wasp–and I couldn’t help but scratch it. Therefore, it got infected, and I had to go to the doctor for antibiotics. Fortunately, a ten-day regiment (started with seven and added three) worked–even though the first seven days didn’t completely do the job. My finger was swollen to approximately four times the regular size (only a slight exaggeration), and I feared that it was going to be worse than it actually was. Fortunately, the last three days of the treatment took care of it, otherwise, who knows what the fuck I would do?

My long-standing joke that isn’t really a joke is that I’m allergic to everything including air. Another is that I like the outdoors as long as there’s a door between it and me. The third is that I like the outdoors, but the outdoors hates me.None of these are really jokes, though. Everything outside affects me negatively, which means I stay inside as much as possible.

When I used to play tennis as a kid with my family and my parents’ friends, the mosquitoes would eat me alive while they left my father strictly alone. As a result, he did not believe that they bit me (anything that did not happen to him did not happen at all), which was doubly frustrating.

Honestly, it’s such a pain. Whenever I’m outside, I feel like I have to be on my guard. The problem is that I can’t really protect myself against things like wasps because they’re too fast for me. If I didn’t have to care about infection, then I wouldn’t worry so much. I don’t mind getting bit (I do) as long as the bites don’t blow up.

To wildly switch subjects, my mom told me about being audited by the regulatory board that governs the field she’s in. She needs to get 40 credits (which is common in many careers) a year, which she easily did because she taught/trained a lot. The problem was that she did not keep any records, so she has no proof that she did any of it.

She complained that the board had gotten so strict with the little laugh she did when she was annoyed/flustered/upset. She also has an issue doing anything online because she has an almost phobic response to it. She knows that it’s irrational, but she can’t do anything about it. Or rather, she won’t get the help she needs to get past it.


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More about whatever’s on my mind

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Am I continuing my weather reporting? I sure as hell am. Here is my post from yesterday in which I just meandered over the whole place. Why? Because I can, but also because it’s been so fascinating to me. We got down to 44F last night, which is cold for this time of the year–but not cold enough for me. And right now? It’s 66F–which seems about right for *checks calendar* Mid-May.

I would love one more frost warning before the season is over. I don’t think it’s going to happen. I am calling it again; winter is finally over. On May 11th. With five to six months to go to the next winter. As I’ve said, I’m loving it because I like the cold. I get so grumpy when the heat starts rising and the bugs start coming out to play. I feel like I’m at best half-alive in the summer. The spring is not my favorite, either. Fall makes me happy because it’s so pretty and because it tells me that winter is coming, but it pales in comparison to winter.

Winter is and will forever be queen. Even though I’m getting a bit more sensitive to cold because of perimenopause (which is now, I think, just plain menopause), I still much prefer it to being hot.

Side note: It’s so weird. Perimenopause/menopause, I mean. I’ve always been lucky that I only got my period two to four times a year for three days at a time. One light day, one heavy day (which is probably light/medium for other people), and the third day being light or almost nonexistent). I rarely got cramps, and if I did, they didn’t last very long. My biggest issue with getting my period was that I could never predict when it would come. That meant I had to carry products with me most of the time. Not that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things, of course, but just slightly irritating.

I did worry about the fact that I got my period so few times a year, but my doctor told me as long as it was twice a year, it was fine. Which was (barely) what I got. Once my doctor clarified that it was fine, I stopped worrying about it and was just glad that it had such a minimal impact on my life.

I will say that the only time that wasn’t true (my period schedule) was when I was having sex on the regular. Then, my period came every thirty-five to forty days, and it was pretty obvious why. From a biological perspective, of course my body wanted to be ready to procreate whenever I had sex. Therefore, my previous ‘schedule’ of getting my period once every three to six months would simply not do. was I pleased about it? Yes and no. I did not want to have my period more often (as I absolutely did not want to get pregnant), but I did appreciate knowing approximately when it was going to occur.


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Back with more bullshit

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I am back with another weather report. It’s going to fascinate me until the threat of a frost has passed. At the rate we’re going, it won’t be until winter comes–and then it won’t be at all. it’s currently 44F, and this is the lowest it’s supposed to get in the next week or ten days. I’m wearing a hoodie, which I had thought I would not need again this season.

I have said several times that I love the cold. If it could be under forty year round, I would be down with that. The problem is when it switches from seventies to forties over the course of a single day. My body is so not happy. Even though I’m mostly inside where the temp is a calming 62 degrees.

I managed to get to bed around three-thirty, which is istll within the range of when I want to get to bed. I’m shooting for three, but I’ll take this as a huge win considering that I’ve gone from eight in the morning to three-thirty within a matter of days.

It’s got me thinking about other problems in my life and how I deal with them in a similar fashion.  What I mean is that I ignore them, try the obvious solutions, ignore them some  more, then try something radical that may or may not work.

Like with my sleep issues, the bad decision I made (staying up for 72 hours) led to the better decision I made (reverting to my previous habit of doing what I neded to do before doing the fun stuff). Today, I backslid a bit, but as long as I get my shit down by three-thirty/four, it’s fine. Or at least keeping me on track. As I said in yesterday’s post (or the one before, maybe), I would ideally like to make three in the morning my consistent go to bed time. I’m close to it and I’m doing a good job, but I’m worried that I’ll let myself slip little by little until I’m back to my old schedule.

I got a good seven hours last night, but it could have been more if  Ihadn’t fucked up my alarm. What I mean is that I didn’t reset my alarm from 11 a.m. (for my Zoom Taiji class yesterday)  to something later than that. That means that I got up at eleven, even though I was aiming for twelve.

I do wonder what is fucking up my memory even more so than it’s normally fucked. It’s been markedly worse in the last few weeks, and I’m sure it’s a vicious cycle with my lack of sleep. or rather, broken sleep. I have accepted I now have a shitty memory since my medical crisis, but it’s gotten even worse in the past few weeks.


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