random love

I love

Jealousymy bitches.
My right-hands.

ARGH.
I can’t fit it all in one post.
There’s too much- chats, saving my ass, working, sharing, bitching, whiskeying.
Too much fun, crying, laughter.
Too much love.

So.

It’s cold in February.
Tokyo’s chocolate heart explosions have come and gone (by the way the focus here is chocolate from the females on Valentine’s and the guys reciprocate on White Day, next month.  This country loves hetero-consumerism).
Which reminds me of my favorite V-Day tradition…

My bitches and I wear unglamorous but soft, flannel-y, fleece-y things and cheers to brown drinks on the rocks.
The oven is preheating and we do this:

Um…I’m in love with an alcoholic.
You used a condom right?

Did you use a condom?!

The one who can cook (motto: no babies, only beards) puts cookie dough on baking sheets as my young, pre-professional right-hand and I peruse the containers of magical toppings that will turn simple, golden sugar cookies into delightfully inappropriate treats to be shared with our work family in a number of hours.

We have red, pink, purple gel and cream icings.
Multi-colored sprinkles, red and pink glittery sugar dust.
Cookie dough goes in the oven.

I’m excited and feel the whiskey gently warming my cheeks…cozy times.

I blurt:
I think I’m pregnant.

These two are my damn truth serum, as my worry thought just spills out of me.

Really?
When are you supposed to bleed?
Not soon enough.  Fuck.
Plan B time.
Sigh.  I know.
Want me to go buy it for you now?
Damn they’re so sweet and waste no time taking care of fucking business.
Basically, they ROCK.
Nah…I’ll get it tonight and take it.

Ding!

As the cookies cool, we test out different icing tips and ready all the little containers.
And the fun begins.

V-A-G
CUNT- yes.
I think my penis looks weird.
I can’t fit the balls on this thing.
Uh…this tip is messed up.  I think I broke it.
It’s too big!
God, this gel icing is gross.  EW.
Chlamydia or gonorrhea?
You can fit that shit on there?
So…the nips are melding into each other.
Just sprinkle a shit-ton of glitter on it.
How do you spell—
Boobs.
Just boobs.

We turn into Valentine’s elves, gleefully creating dirty sweets that taste like total crap but will get eaten nonetheless because: the love, people.
Who doesn’t want to eat some sweet cunt on this lovers day?

More than a few 2.14s have passed since we’ve baked cookies and goofily giggled like pubescent tweens.

We’ve gone from living in the same house and/or across the street to different states and continents; we see each other a fuck of a lot less but they’re still my truth serum.

We witness big and little changes of the work, heartbreak, marriage, graduation variety.
We take pregnancy tests together, 7,000 miles apart.
We grow some and stay the same.
When I’m broken, they help.

And even though we 10,000 word-text each other and have marathon video chats, sometimes I just want a fucking whiskey with my bitches.
At a table.
In person.

Love y’all.

P.S. Also, shout out to my bitches in SF/Oakland, DC, Spain, Bahamas, Colorado, SoCal, Cambridge/NYC, Montreal, Memphis and Tokyo…thank you.

Advertisements
Standard
open relationship, relationshipping, trans talk

I’m the Q

You are a slutpuppy“Bless your heart but you are so not a lesbian,” says S.

The fact that we can have this honest conversation is huge.
The fact that S can have her sense of humor about a hurtful point of conflict is even huger.

Until this moment, S would often wonder why I couldn’t stay attracted to her if she’s still the same fabulous person on the inside and I was in a lesbian relationship for a decade.  In her shoes, I’d wonder the same thing but the best truth I’ve got is: the attraction cooled to something tepid within me and tepid is a pretty lame concessionary temperature for a love relationship.

I nod and recollect, ” ***(my long-term ex before S) said the same thing when we were dating.”
S shakes her head and pats my own.  “It’s really LGBT-supportive and I love you for it but you are not gay.”

I concede this point.

Before S, I maintain that I fall in love with the person, not the gender.  Although that statement pretty much announces my bisexuality, by mentioning gender, I qualify being a lesbian and/or having been in a lesbian relationship.  It’s as though I can’t commit to simply being gay, even though I was in a lesbian relationship for a decade.  No wonder my long-term ex wouldn’t call me a ‘real’ lesbian; it took over half the length of that relationship before I’d say was a l-l-lesbian.  
Then we broke up.

As S transitions, I am forced to dissect how true this ‘not the gender’ assertion is.
It’s not so true.

Without a doubt, my relationship history defines me as bisexual.  However, every person I have dated since S and I have open-relationshipped and broken up has been male, which then makes me feel like a bit of a liar if I call myself bi in the present.  But the second I identify as a straight girl, I have a feeling the universe will find a way to have the last laugh.

So.

In my apparent quest to self-identify, I’ll go with queer.
I’m the Q in LGBTQ.

Because one sure thing is that my past, present and future sexual identity and experiences sure as hell (will) fall outside the hetero-defined mainstream.

Thank. God.

Standard
relationshipping

The line moves

The other daywith every relationship.

I’ve got boundaries on my mind.

Namely, the ones we set for ourselves.
The ones that change.
The delicate space between tolerance at maximum capacity (crossdressing, say) and the dealbreaker (transsexual, perhaps) fascinates me as it’s often a very narrow reach.

That narrow reach is where growth happens.
I become a different person.

For instance, prior to my trans ex-GF, I shot down open relationships; actually fairly early on in our relationship I said, “No way.”  But hearing her out and witnessing the subtle and dramatic physical and personality changes during her transition forced me to reconsider my position and we tried it out.  Although it turns out open relationships aren’t my thing, I don’t regret going there because that experience forced an ideological transformation.

Just like witnessing her transition so intimately effected another phrenic shift in the realm of my acceptance and tolerance levels, which were stretched in so many new directions.  The shift isn’t so literal as to mean that I’m open to coupling with a transsexual in the future without hesitation; rather, that my genuine attempts to maintain a relationship with a transitioning GF opened my mind to questioning my established boundaries up to that point.  

Every relationship has set me up for the next one.

My previously unresolved psychological scars from childhood led me to a string of unhealthy flings, experiences and relationships.  If not for my emotionally unsatisfactory relationships with men I would not have dated and committed to a long-term relationship with a woman.  If not for broadening my sexual identity I could not have given a transsexual relationship an earnest effort.  If not for a new understanding of my closely examined personal needs in a relationship, I wouldn’t…

I can’t fully answer that one yet.

The next relationship is always so different yet a natural evolution from the previous one.
Once the successive door opens there is no going back.

Thank you for the growth.

P.S.  Um, thank you WordPress for the Freshly Pressed feature(!!!).
P.P.S. Thank you all for stopping by, reading, commenting, basically giving my words some of your precious time…it means a lot.

Standard
relationshipping

Where is the line?

My eyeballs need cocaine

The line that is not to be crossed.

It’s interesting, this notion of a hard limit. Every time I think, “I would/could never _______,” I am proven so, so wrong. I think the universe must have many a field day as I eat such rigidly constructed mantras on a regular basis.

I said I would never live in the South.
I spent eleven years in Memphis, TN.

I said I wasn’t into women.
I was in a lesbian relationship for ten years.

I said I would never, could never cheat on someone.
I cheated.

I told my ex-girlfriend I was not heterosexual, bisexual because of my history but totally gay from here on out.
I haven’t chosen to date a girl since we broke up.

I said I would never join finances again.
Of course I did.

I told her, “No way,” to open relationships; that’s a deal-breaker.
Totally tried it in hopes of making the relationship work.

I will never live in Japan.
Yeah, like that didn’t happen.

I didn’t think I would date a transsexual.
Best thing I’ve done yet.

At this rate I should be living in Los Angeles, practicing yoga on the daily and equipped with a station wagon full of kids in the next five years.
And a dog.

Standard
relationshipping, trans talk

Everyone feels guilty

Everyone's feels guilty

at some point.  Well, unless they’re a sociopath but I’m not going there today.

Today, I’m thinking about my parents.
Here’s the thing: nothing makes them happier than hearing I’m dating a guy.

They stopped expecting marriage or children from me since I’ve been adamantly anti both since I was eight.  But they really want me to be straight.

When I exited my lesbian relationship, not only were they suddenly really interested and present in my life, they became sincerely loving and supportive parents.  And I tried to ignore the reason for their sudden 180°, but that was difficult because by the time they decided to reconnect with me, their marked absence during those relationship years had turned them into strangers.  The inarguable bottom line was that they were thrilled they didn’t have to consider a newly single me a lesbian because there was hope that maybe, just maybe, I’d date a guy again.

They really like a certain idea of me rather than the real deal.
What can I say, most of us are guilty of this at some point in our lives.

So you can imagine their absolute joy when my BF turned out to be a transsexual.

Considering historical evidence, the anti-conformist egalitarian in me really doesn’t want to tell my parents about my breakup because it would make my mom, especially, so stupidly happy.  And I think it’s good for them to try to love me in spite of my relationship choices.

I mean it’s not going to hurt them to be in the dark about my recent relationship status, right?  It’s good to expand prejudicial spheres until they (hopefully) disappear into acceptance, no?  I’m usually of a live and let live mindset; I’m not out to push an agenda on people but if there are two people in the world I don’t feel bad about making actively uncomfortable for their prejudices, it’s my parents.

Then I remember that my dad has fucking cancer and what if it would bring him such great relief to hear that I’m not dating a transsexual?  What if knowing that makes him so happy it gives him renewed hope or vigor or whatever it is that helps people beat cancer?  Which then makes me wonder if I don’t tell him about my breakup am I depriving him ammunition to fight his cancer?

Crap.
This is when I start to feel guilty, which is so messed up on so many levels.

But then I think about my next person and judging from my relationship history, that someone could be anyone.
Which means that my parents’ relief rooted in prejudice could be very short-lived.
And that makes me smile.  Guiltlessly.

Standard
relationshipping

Was I a fake lesbian?

Was I a fake lesbian

Sure, according to an ex.

Many years ago she told me I was most likely a straight girl because our relationship was my only lesbian experience.  I was vaguely insulted by this because by that time we had been together for years and really, you’re telling me that I, in essence, am not a ‘real’ lesbian because if we were to break up I’d most certainly date a guy?

So much for living in the moment and seven years of historical evidence.
But I proved her right because I sure as hell ended up with a guy (at least at first).

When GF (then BF) and I started dating we had some queer talk:
Me: You know, when I was with ***, my hetero history was a strike against me.
Him: What do you mean?
Me: Because to her, since I’d only been with men boys up to that point, I wasn’t really gay.  Especially since she’d only ever dated women.
Him: If it was important to me to label you gay or straight, I’d prefer that you’d been with men and women.  Because you would know for sure if you were gay after those experiences.

And this might be when I started to fall for him.  I appreciate his rationale because it’s so darn sensible (and it just so happened to nullify my insecurities).  Not to mention dating me requires acceptance of my curious (and curiouser) history, which has shaped and transformed my worldview to the present.

Speaking of, when I saw IO Tillet Wright’s TED video, 50 Shades of Gay, I was immediately intrigued by her question:

“[I] asked people to quantify themselves on a scale of one to 100 percent gay, and I watched so many existential crises unfold in front of me. People didn’t know what to do, because they had never been presented with the option before.”

She brings up an excellent point regarding discrimination: where do you draw the line?  I actually had hetero guilt post lesbian relationship because I felt I had this weird privilege that I wasn’t used to; aside from lesbo-dyke slurs, I’d gotten kicked out of a store, for chrissakes, for holding my girlfriend’s hand.

I’m not 100% gay or straight, which means I’m floating in the grey with a surprisingly large part of the population, which really makes LGBTQ discrimination fucking inane and just plain dumb.

Happy Pride 2013, y’all.
Was I a fake lesbian

Standard
open relationship

I see open relationship

I see open relationship

but. I. Don’t. Want. To.

Fuck a tightrope, fuck balancing.
The ground beneath my feet is so many thousand miles below, I can’t even fathom stepping on solid ground.

What am I bitching about now?

All impending physical changes aside, I realize soon after his coming out that my boyfriend turned girlfriend will need to figure out if she’s straight, gay or bi.  Some people are born knowing/feeling their hetero/homo/bisexuality.  For others, it’s not so immediately clear; various experiences are required to truly understand and/or accept their sexual identity.  I am partnered with a self-proclaimed experience whore, for whom figuring out her sexual orientation will necessitate experiential experimentation.  I know that at some point I will have to be okay with this, or not, but either way there will be a fork in our hitherto monogamous path.

At the moment, I have negative interest in an open relationship.

Fuck.
This is hard.

Fuck.

Sure, when he was a guy, he was heterosexual but he’s not such a he anymore.  And just like I have questioned whether or not I would be able to stay attracted to him as he transitions, I have to wonder about the potential turns her sexual attraction will take.  Not to mention, she has stated that dating a heterosexual man would validate her female-ness like nothing else, which I totally understand.  And although she won’t date or sex other people because she knows I’m not ready to open relationship, I really get that it’s unfair for her to not do what everyone does (or ought to)…explore their sexual identity.

My mind can process this quite rationally but in the moment, only weeks after her coming out, my emotions are slighty nauseous and fail to keep up with the seemingly radical relationship shifts that await us.  Currently neither of us is eager to change our relationship status but this waiting period is difficult for me.

Because I know soon everything will change. Again.

Standard