I Look Like So Much Stuff: A Journey

When I learned that my favorite girl group alive, Little Mix, is releasing an album today called "Get Weird," I was at once stoked because I can't get enough of the adorable troop of crooning murderesses and disappointed in myself because I don't get weird nearly often enough. The early days of this blog  were all about posting bizarre shit that I dreamed up and since like, six people saw it, I didn't care how strange it was. Now I feel like all my writing here is about writing, the blog equivalent of eating chewed Skittles from the bottom of a popcorn bucket at the Kent on Coney Island. So below instead, is a visual adventure with my face and the various shit it looks like. My resemblance to other shit that wasn't me began early. By my third year on Earth it was plain as day that Little Critter and I were cut from the same cloth. We were short, we had  gigantic faces, and we were tormented by ennui and our own idiocy.

foul-temperament

But as I grew older, I discovered that the only quality I possessed more of than dissatisfaction was G-L-A-M-O-U-R. The resemblance to famed dead pageant super baby JonBenét Ramsey was plain as day, even though she is three years old in her picture and I am nine years old in mine. Yes, I was a pipsqueak of a person. Yes, I killed a baby polar bear to make the luxurious pelt in that photo. No, I'm not sorry.

Alana Massey as Jon Bonet

The years wore on. My golden locks gave way to chestnut waves. Alas, I became a stone cold fox as was my birthright seeing as that glorious sorceress from Arkansas gave me half of my genetic material. Gail, you minx.

Mom and Alana

But as grateful as I was for my mother's witchery, I longed for doubles in the world who were not just magical or dead. But what should they be instead? Oddly arousing maternal figures with a fuh-reak streak like Sally Field, that's what they should be!

Alana and Sally Field

But this too was not enough. I craved more. I wondered if I would ever amount to more than the critter of my youth. My prospects were bleak.

Confused-Critters

Change was needed. Drastic change. As the years etched onto my face and wore away the tissue of my heart, I longed to be a slutty baby once again. And a slutty baby needs blonde hair. And a white dress. And a style icon like the hellspawn Kewpie Doll you see here. A change was here.

Alana As Kewpie

Soon, I began to look like all manner of shit. I dare anyone to guess who is the emoji cookie and who is me in this photo. You won't, you can't.

alana massey emoji cookie

I also looked like the tough but fair older sister to that darling Sky Ferraira in an indie breakout for both of us. We'd have French names like Servanne and Garance and smoke cigs in bed together. Often.

Alana Massey and Skye FerrairaBut why have an indie breakout when you could have a string of indie darlings? Here I was conjuring Michelle Williams thinking about an abortion and Ryan Gosling while on public transport, though I assure you my thoughts were far more lurid.

Fall Look

Sometimes, I would take drugs and fall somewhere between Scarface-era Michelle Pfeiffer glam bitch and Requiem-era Ellen Burstyn, ranting always about being on the goddamn television.

Me and Ellyn and Michelle

I grew bored of my own predilections, smoking indoors like a rotten-cored swamp teen.britney smoking.

Alana Smoking Gif

In a fit of desperation to regain my former moxie, I strategically placed a designer handbag across myself in an attempt to regain the je ne sais quoi of The Lady Miss Williams. It was in vain. Emphasis on vain.

alana michelle williams bags

I briefly turned to the Dark Arts. I excelled in them, as I do in all things. I cannot speak of what I learned or from whom I learned it.

Alana as Lucius Malfoy

As I was prepared to give up hope, I was greeted with a vision so thick with light and life that I was nearly blinded. This, surely, was my Road to Damascus.

keith is jesus

And I realized all along, that my vanity had shielded me from the love which was my destiny to embody as a double. To emulate profound love was my calling. And so I answered that call. And though to love is ultimately to lose, I was glad to bear the weight of it.

Pieta Alana Massey Collage

A Post Called "Sorry" That Looked Like "I Love You"

Because I am nothing if not a philanthropist, I read this vile story attempting to silence the story of trans suicides so that you don't have to. The link I provided is also through DoNotLink so if you click it, you're not giving that trash any traffic. Again with the philanthropy, I know. Screen Shot 2015-01-04 at 7.06.25 AM Sarah Ditum, a notoriously transphobic and whorephobic writer, attempts to make a case against sharing the suicide note that Leelah Alcorn posted on her Tumblr account because of ethics in journalism that might give trans kids ideas about killing themselves.  There is an exquisite take down of her piece at The Daily Beast here. If you don't have time to read that, the gist is: TRANS PEOPLE ALREADY HAVE THAT IDEA IN HUGE FUCKING NUMBERS AND POINTING IT OUT IN NATIONAL MEDIA IS FUCKING CRITICAL TO PREVENT OUR STATUS QUO OF VIOLENT TRANSPHOBIA FROM CONTINUING UNCHALLENGED, YOU WICKED TROLL. UGH. More eloquent at the link, but you get the idea.

So, let's take a look at the stats about suicide rates by age overall and the rate of attempts by trans kids:

Trans vs Grown Ups

Even though young people have the lowest rates of suicide by a large margin, half of trans kids have attempted by age 20. Now, I am not a medical professional (I'm a philanthropist, remember?) but that is what I'd call "epidemic proportions." Sharing Leelah's suicide note is about drawing attention to the suffering experienced by trans kids who face relentless physical and rhetorical violence and cannot even escape it from their own parents.

Though lots of media outlets botched the shit out of this story, it  spawned the hashtag #reallivetransadult used by trans men and women to share messages of hope with isolated and suicidal trans youth that there is hope for finding peace, love, and acceptance even in a world mired in hatred and distrust for trans people.

But because nothing will bring out the worst in a social media platform quite like the death of a trans child, it appears that Tumblr has removed Leelah's entire account. Fortunately, the internet can be a sneaky goddess for good from time to time and several mirror sites now exist so she doesn't get erased as so many like Sarah Ditum would like her to.

But chances are, you've seen her suicid note already so I'm not sharing it here. But I am sharing Leelah's last note which has received substantially less attention. There was a post right after that note, a message to what appears to be siblings and friends:

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Even in pain excruciating enough to move her to suicide, Leelah took the time to make her last message one of love for people that had shown her love. She predicted good futures for them and expressed her gratitude for their support of her.   And no matter how many times people like Sarah Ditum tries to shut down stories of what trans people face, there will still be kids like Amanda, Tiffany, Justin, Rylan, and Abby who are alive and who, despite the odds stacked against them being decent toward her, showed Leelad love and care in a world that had taught them to hate her. And kids that have seen someone they love destroyed by hatred and grief are a lot harder to shut down than Tumblr accounts.

Surviving the Night at a Haunted Super 8 on the Outskirts of Dallas

Dallas: great fucking TV  show about rich sluts. Dallas, TX: terrible fucking city where I was recently trapped overnight because American Airlines was like, "We destroy everything we touch, JK, LOL.... but no, really you do have to stay overnight in Dallas." Then they show their appreciation for your business with these food vouchers that you can't even trade with the homeless for cigarettes or something cooler than a bag of Rolos and a seltzer. IMG_0955

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What the fuck can I get for $19 at 11pm in Dallas? Whole lotta nothin'! But worry not, friends. I wasn't hungry for food so much as I was hungry for luxury and that's where American Airlines really delivered with my swank accommodations at the Super 8.  Behold the chic antique elevator from Hell:

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And how you get not one but TWO shampoos (but no conditioner and certainly no toothpaste):

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And the linens. I was so delighted by their soft embrace that I nearly ate the damn things.

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Did I mention the cuisine? It was a gourmet Italian feast fit for a Head Bitch in Charge:

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I felt so goddam fancy that I even hand-washed all of my underwear from the weekend and made a pseudo-flag of Serbia with the blue, red, and white.

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Then I took a bunch of selfies to pass the time and try to get my mind off the fact that some sort of Texas chainsaw massacring fellow was banging on doors all night and the only comfort was the blather of those sad creatures that agreed to be on that Aaron Sorkin joint for the Home Box Office.  Behold, faces of despair.

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Stickers As a Social Good- "Fuck You, Revenge Sites" Edition

Vigilantes! Sometimes we need them to right wrongs that those cowards in law enforcement don't have time/competence/souls for! Sometimes vigilantes are just bitter or profit-seeking dick-mold that dedicate entire websites to outing women alleged to bed some other broad's piece requiring no evidence. To those vigilantes, I say "Fuck you, get the bubonic plague, and be convinced in a fever dream that the only cure is going down on the corpse of a tree sloth." On Voting Day, I was the bad bitch that I so often am and took not one but TWO "I Voted" stickers. Witness me with my contraband below:

IMG_0794 Now my plan was to sit out the next election, dust this sucker off and wear it again in two years. BUT THE FATES HAD DIFFERENT PLANS, AS THEY OFTEN DO.  I went on my morning run to Brighton Beach and on the train ride back to my abode saw that someone had put up some janky wanted poster featuring a woman's name, photograph, and several charming accusations against her.

 

 

Screen Shot 2014-11-28 at 8.49.24 PMFirst of all, you can be a slut, you can be a man stealer, or you can be a whore, but you cannot, I  repeat , YOU CANNOT be all three at once.  Sluts give it away for free, man stealers are ultimately girlfriends, and whores get paid for that shit so make up  your damn mind when you throw around your bullshit names.Also, know who wrecks homes? PEOPLE THAT LIVE INSIDE THEM SO QUIT BLAMING THE SIDE PIECE FOR THAT SHIT. I decided that this broad in the picture looked real nice and tried to take down the whole flyer but the MTA staff was creeping around hard so I had to quickly affix my sticker over her face so at least one fewer subway car will be adorned with her face in an attempt to humiliate someone that most likely didn't do anything wrong and some asshole is just pissed at her and throwing her face up on the subway like some deranged Regina George with a MetroCard and too much free time.

So I put my contraband sticker on her face and am hoping that the motherfucker that put up the signs in the first places sees it and maybe, just maybe realizes that there is a bitch army ready to use the power of  democracy novelty stickers for good against their stupid cheater-shaming websites and their budget metro flyers.