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In the past week, as I have wrapped up my nine-to-five job in Communications, I have had a lot of discussions about my next adventure. Namely, my embarkation on a PhD in Gender, Feminist and Women's Studies at York University here in Toronto.

Now, as a feminist and queer woman who blogs about the troubles with the world and has generally engaged in queer activism, I am used to people saying stupid shit to me. However, I have been floored by the level of disrespect and pure ignorance I have met with this past week as I discuss this transition with former colleagues, neighbours and general acquaintances.

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In advance of the Toronto premiere of Bikes vs. Cars this Friday, I thought I would share this article I wrote about cycling in the city. 

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If you're wondering about the title of this blog post, yes I am apparently 12. And no, I don't care. *slams bedroom door*

"Oh my God, Britain! What have you done?" was one of the first posts I read on my Facebook feed as I woke up on Friday morning in Toronto. I was checking in to see the results of Thursday's general election in the United Kingdom. As I read a bunch of lefty friends' horrified posts, predicting another five years of cuts to public services and a few half-serious vows to leave the country, I actually shed a few tears. I was eating my breakfast when David Cameron's first address to the public as reinstated Prime Minister came on.

When I moved to Toronto two years ago, I immediately fell into a friendship group of femmes and other queers, largely thanks to the welcoming persona of one of the group. I was invited to parties and had femme friends I felt comfortable around for this first time in my life. I had a pretty good social life, pretty fast.

And then, about three months later, it all fell apart. I started dating someone who would later become my partner. This person had gone on a date with one of my new friends two days prior to meeting me. Later my friend asked me to stop seeing them, and I refused.

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OK, so maybe the title's a cheap gimmick. But I got you to look, didn't I? This one's about the pressure to be in a relationship and how it affects our self-esteem and happiness.

As a teenager and woman in her early 20s I felt like I had a lot to prove. Specifically, a lot to prove sexually. Upon meeting new people, I felt like a failure because I wasn’t in a relationship. My short and, most often, disastrous mini dating spurts made me question if there was something wrong with me. Why couldn't I get a girl? (I was more gay back then. And no, homophobes, if you have mysteriously managed to stumble upon this post, it wasn't "a phase.") 

Hi rabble.ca readers! Long time no post, I know. Something about working 9-5 and doing Canadian immigration kills creativity. I wonder why? But anyway, some good news! The lovely folks here have decided to include my piece "I don't want to have sex" in the Best of rabble.ca, 2014 Edition: The Year of Living Consciously eBook. Yay me! I'm just so thrilled y'all enjoyed reading it so much.

But, enough of this happy shit. On with the bitching:

You know what I fucking hate? Moral judgements around food.

My response to criticisms of queer burlesque: fat, self-love and why it’s feminist to take my clothes off on stage. I am getting pretty good at exercising my intellectual muscles to argue with feminists who say doing this is inherently sexist, but I’d appreciate your input too. Any other ideas about why queer burlesque is queer, feminist and hot?! 

This post also addresses misogynist and homophobic hate and may be triggering.