Tink's Epic Adventures

Co-editing the paper went really well yesterday, and I loved the feeling of inflicting my Red Doom Pen on everybody's copy. It was great! It's a lot easier to get up early in the morning when you like what you do, and when you're sure there's going to be a big coffee for you at the end of it.

Went to a pub quiz with everybody last night. We won the best topical team name: "Creator of Dungeons and Dragons Dies: I could feel one of 12 ways but I don't know how to pick! Pass the dice, kind Elf!" Anyway, we got it because all the bar guys are d & d players or know d & d players, so everyone got it. Brought the Americans & Kieran back to ours and played them every version of Venus in Furs I could find, inspired by mine & Courtney's ongoing discussions about Jacqueline Carey's Kushiel's FuckFest series. Thus ended my super busy week.

Stayed in bed this morning reading my new copy of Subtext. I'm thrilled silly that there are actual feminist zines out there now, and am determined to print mine properly because the quality was really rather nice while the content was less to my tastes. It wasn't bad, it was just, fine. Perfectly valid and interesting, and fine. I appreciate that not everyone has my eccentric tastes, but they don't have to buy my magazine. Subtext, on the other hand, there is a real need for it, while mine is pure entertainment. Mmmm... T.A., how I love thee. There's a lot you could say about that, but I've already thought of it. Some people disagree with being your own biggest fan, but I think that's just rubbish. If you weren't, you'd be doing something wrong, don't you think?

Anyway, went searching for flats and jobs today as the New Moon dictates. All the student flats around here struck me as raw deals, but 2 person flats in Cardiff! Wow! I really didn't think they'd be cheaper or nicer in a capitol city, but lo! Enquiries dispatched, I started looking for jobs. I don't know what's going on with my visa, but I know I can work part time, so I applied for a part-time data entry thing nearby for the rest of the school year. Can't hurt, right? Data entry is infinitely prefferable to a post in a god-forsaken call centre.

Speaking of call centres, the one job that gave me a laugh was the 'fantasy chat operator' post. it's out of town so I'd have to commute, but you can't argue with the money. Furthermore, I think you'd need my sense of humour to work somewhere like that. What do you think, shall I give it a go? From bartending a pole dancing club to phone sex operating? Seems like the next natural step! Heh. Shame I didn't get the job in that porn store.

We'll see, shall we?

Went to a pro-choice protest in Cardiff tonight to write the aforementioned article, and I wound up getting interviewed by several people. This is probably because I hijacked the megaphone and gave an angry speech.

I explained who I was and my history with Planned Parenthood, and told everybody I've seen first hand how scary the pro-life/pro-choice war can get (the almost getting blown up in a parking lot at 17 thing). I said we ought to tell the religious right to go to hell before it gets much worse, then all these other journalism students came over and started asking me questions and filming me and everything. I got four interviews myself, but I felt very much like it was me on display after all. It's okay, I'm down with that.

The socialists gave me a sign to carry about. I didn't fully realize what was going on until I got there and started asking questions. Ann Whiticomb was meant to come up from London to give a talk about reducing the abortion time limit. Turns out she didn't show up -- they just showed a video of her! What cheek! Probably scared we'd tear her apart with our teeth. Anyway, there was a woman there with a professional camera taking photos, and she got literally tackled by a cop and arrested.

As we protested the people going in, they were laughing at us. Laughing! They wouldn't laugh if they knew how serious we were. There are few things scarier than a pack of militant feminists. Anyway, there was no violence or anything like that -- we're above that, thank you. But this priest turns up and starts to melodramatically cross himself in the middle of the crowd (where I was) and praying. I shouted, "KEEP YOUR ROSARIES OFF OF MY OVARIES!!" until he stopped. I tell you, these people make Christians look bad. Angela, my friend Paul's mum, is also a Catholic but she was on our side!

So after the speeches were given, mine included, several of us went on to the Cardiff Central Police Station where the photographer woman was being held. The chief of police (?) came out, looking for a fight, but we were all fairly cool, until socialist Jonny eloquently gave them a piece of his mind. I interviewed a few male med students from cardiff and they were great -- very helpful. It's so amazing to see pro-choice men. On the way back to the car, Ali said to me, "I'm not sure if I was angrier with the (anti-choice) men because how dare they make judgements about our bodies, or the women because they're WOMEN!"

It makes me so upset that these anti choice nutjobs seem to believe that's we're just these irresponsible baby-killing little girls. I mean, seriously! Nobody every wants to have an abortion -- I certainly wouldn't! But that's not the point -- the point is that sometimes they're neccessary, and women ought to have the right to decide for themselves what's happening with their own bodies. I mean, if someone wants an aboriton they're going to get it by whatever means neccessary. They told me about all these horrible things women used to do to themselves to bring on miscarriage before abortion was legal. It's so terrible! Not only should they be legal, but they should be safe, free, and available on demand, like adequate birth control. Adequate birth control. Ha. That's something I'd like to see developed. As revolutionary as the Pill was, there are still a lot of people who can't take it, and you can't buy spermacide from a chemist without them looking at you like you're a hooker. And what's wrong with being a hooker anyway? Ah well, that's a rant for another day.

All in all I had a great time, and it felt so good to be a part of something I believe in again. Spoke to Ali about volunteering helping women in the community. I feel so strongly about the cause anyway, and I'd love to help.

The Punk just got home from watching the Mighty Arsenal down at the pub. He brought me a Kinder Hippo and a Cherry Coke. I told him about taking the microphone and wanting to tackle that damn priest. He said, "Hey, you're kind of sexy," and gave me a kiss. I love this man!

Miraculously got out of bed this morning. Have decided I need to spend less time sleeping because I keep losing entire days to dreaming. Anyway, I had a lecture. Not that I wanted to go -- I mean, I really didn't want to go. I've been seriously disenchanted with my course since I got my marks back two weeks ago. They were good marks, don't get me wrong, it was just the bitchy commentary, you know? Completely unfair, needlessly personal, and with little to no evidence that they had actually read my book.

In case you're wondering, I'm right smack in the middle of a writing MA somewhere in the UK, living my childhood dreams. I always wanted to move to the UK when I was kid, and when I graduated high school, I did it. Here I am, four years later, one degree down and another in progress, trying to make it as a journalist. It doesn't help that I haven't kept a proper journal since I met my fiance, almost three years ago. I used to write everything down, but with him, it started to feel vulgar, like I didn't want to tell my diary every little thing. I guess I felt like I was writing for an audience. Now that I actually am, maybe this feeling will subside as the line between sharing enough and sharing too much is finally defined. At any rate, this blog isn't about him. It's about everything else.

Made it into class this morning, 10 minutes late according to that clock, which is five minutes too fast. Everyone gave me that look, you know. Oh, it's Tink. She's always late. If I wanted to surprise them, I'd turn up ten minutes early, although I've formally established that achieving that is actually impossible. Sat through two hours of only moderate academic wankage, and managed to get away to have an appalling instant coffee. I suppose i enjoyed it in a weird way. Although I love really excellent coffee, it's hard for me to find a coffee I don't like on some level. It's like pizza or sex, right?

Of course I haven't read anything I was supposed to -- the last lecture was two weeks ago and between then and now, I've pitched several articles to several people, reported on a new surfing machine as the city's pool, started laying out my own magazine, my beloved villainous muck-raking machine, in InDesign only to discover that the version I have may not be the version I need and that all of this time might have been a big old waste. I've been assigned a few more pieces for this week, suddenly become guest Deputy Editor of the school paper, and met a troup of reinactors of the American War of Independence. On top of that, the Punk was sick for a week and I've been trying to plan our wedding while suffering migraines brought on by the avalanche of burocratic bullshit we have to go through to get married in the first place, considering I'm not actually British.

Class passed by uneventfully. Tried to make valid contributions but I'm not sure how much sense I was making. Lecturer liked my recent story, and said it was a modern fable abou tthe battle between good and evil. I didn't tell her it was just my family with the names changed.

After that I met the Punk and we went for lunch at the pub just off campus. It was great seeing him -- I often feel like he's the only sane person on Earth, which he finds really funny. The bathroom in that pub always smells like peanut dust and lyme, which I'm not sure is a good thing. Anyway, the food is alright, and it was good to get away from people I recognized for a bit.

The Punk asked if I wanted to go away to see him parents for a while. We've been doing buttloads of work and they invited us up to stay for a week or something to rest our brains. I don't think I could have agreed fast enough: The Punk's lovely parents love to cook and they live smack bang in the middle of nowhere, West Wales, and coincidentally, quite close to my next paid freelance assignment, Kidwelly Castle. So that's something to look forward to, as well as being so far away from anybody that even the best mobile reception won't reach us. Yep. Nothing but sheep. Heaven!

As for this week I'm crazy busy. I've got to co-lead a meeting for the school paper in an hour and a half, and between now and then, I need to write up a screen treatment that is worth 50% of my grade. Have to hand that in tomorrow before 6 hours of lectures and catching a train to a Pro-Choice demo -- the first I'll have been to in Britain! -- which I have already pitched to two different magazines, as well as writing 500 words on it for my regular sex ed page in the school paper, and a longer, angrier version of it for my zine. Wow, I suppose I'd better go, huh? Wednesday I wear the editor pants and finally get to subject the school paper to my unforgiving Red Doom Pen, which is a scenario I've been having unapporpriate daydreams about since I picked up my first copy as a Fresher, and later used it to litter train my cat.

It's alright now, which is a relief. I wouldn't want to write for something I hated. Kudos to the editor who just left. She was brilliant and really turned everything around. Of course, it helped that all the chavvy, grammatically inept people who used to write for it moved on as well.

Thursday is sending the paper off followed by a drum lesson. Yes, I play the drums, and not badly, either. After that, I've got my weekly assignments for the What's On mag that doesn't pay to finish off, and after that, another short story for next week. That holiday in west Wales is looking really good right now.