Tag Archives: relationship

random love

Witnessing the sex

This is not love

happens.

Aside from the hindsight hilarity, it is really fucking uncomfortable to witness people I know having sex.

For instance, we take a detour and get a room in DC.  There are five of us and two beds; I get first pick of sleeping position since I’ll be driving at daybreak, which will be happening in a number of hours.  Really big guy chooses the other bed, the side that hugs the wall and as far away from me as possible.  I don’t remember anything else as I must have crashed.

Because the next thing I know I’m getting jostled as someone elbows me in the kidneys.  And I hear make out sounds next to me.  Awesome.

Why am I awake?  Just sleep.  Just fucking go to sleep, Rumi.

They move to the floor.  Good.  Just stay there.
And they do.
For eight minutes (maybe it was longer, maybe shorter).
I try to block out loud and drunken, right-before-sex kissing sounds.  I also try to block out the rapid humping sex sounds that soon follow while feeling a little sorry for her because it sounds so…lame.

Aw crap, guys.  Why are you crawling back onto the bed?  Really?
I’m really hoping they stay put.  I mentally command them to just go to sleep, while hoping even more so that I pass the fuck out.
But neither happens, of course.
Instead, there’s more stupid lame sex rightnexttome and there’s no way I’m sleeping because at this point I’m getting mad.  There’s the whole floor, for starters. Why not go back there? And a bathroom.  Why not try it out? And I have to drive for so many hours the next day because not enough people in this room can drive a goddamn stick.  AND I do not get off on witnessing the sex like this.

This is my introduction to my new roommate, by the way.
And because she’ll be moving in after this trip, I hesitate to say anything. But because she is who I’ll be living with for at least six months is exactly why I should jump up and tell them to get another fucking room.

Setting precedents is not always a strength of mine.

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relationshipping

The heartbreak

This is not love

hurts.
Badly.

It just does.
But if it doesn’t hurt, how real was it?

Also…
Is it worse to cause or receive it?
I say yes.
Because…

So far as being the one to receive the heart-smashing blow…well, we all know that familiar pain.  That literal physical pain which makes it hard to breathe, stemming from the shock of the over.  Especially when it’s unexpected.  God that’s hurtful.  And the grieving process can be so long and annoying.

And being the breaker-upper?

Young me had a certain fear of getting dumped, especially when my person at the time described waking up next to an ex one morning and- poof- out of love.
Just like that?
Just. Like. That.
Daaamn.

I found myself looking over my shoulder every few months.  Is it time?  Is this the morning?  But months turned into years and the sweet honeymoon evolved into dealing with life’s annoyances, joys, tragedies and permutations together.

And one day it was me who felt the impasse.

I had never done the break-up before.  There was anger, feelings of betrayal and many tears shed.  My person had to leave the apartment to process.  Then the phone rang.

I can’t remember the conversation verbatim.  Some key words included driving, what?, bridge, stop, jumping, WAIT, STOP, sorry, HOLD ON, you, hate, I’m calling the cops, DON’T call the cops, I’ll do it, just STAY ON THE PHONE, ILOVEYOUILoveyouIloveyouiloveyou.

I heard the cars so I knew it wasn’t a stupid fucking joke.  We shared a car, the one that was on the bridge and I had to stay on the line.  I felt completely trapped but fuck that, I just needed to know my person was going to be alive.  Like 8 minutes ago I needed to know and counting.  I have never known such consummate fear; I don’t remember blinking or breathing while waiting, absolutely terrified and paralyzed and waiting.

So I would say my first attempt at breaking up was a total fail.

I would also say that you don’t really know someone until you try to break up with them.

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open relationship

What if…

What if

and there are so many what ifs swimming in my head.

Sometimes an open relationship makes me think (and I probably shouldn’t think about things that haven’t happened but I can’t help it):
What if I end up being attracted to a woman?  What then?
GF has maintained that as long as we’re together, the only woman she will be attracted to is me.  But this could change, depending on the person…right?
Or
What the fuck if I meet someone and what we end up having is so *&♥^∞%!!! that I rethink open relationship and end it?…What if she does?

Of course there’s no need to seriously dialogue hypothetical musings but the second we agreed to open relationship, these what ifs enter my mind.

In Realityland, we just need to communicate the hell out of communication.
And I’m constantly amazed at how every crevice of my preconceived notions of sexual identity and definitions of romantic relationships have changed.  When BF turned GF a frighteningly beautiful thing happened: the traditional notion of expectations were flung far and wide out the window.

Here’s what we expect now: raw honesty.
That’s it.
Which can be a lot because honesty when adjusting to an open relationship can hurt and definitely has uncomfortable as fuck moments but it’s the only way to sincerely try to make it work.

So I haiku because sometimes a 5-7-5 is the best way to process.

Matters of the heart,
Truth: anything can happen.
sometimes scared as fuck.

Is it too much?  More than I can handle?
Perhaps.
On the one hand, yeah, it’s a lot.  I ask questions and sometimes feel insecure in ways that most people choose not to in a committed relationship.  Hell, some would say the whole point of monogamy is to eliminate a certain insecurity.  

But then again, insecurity strikes any relationship, monogamous or not.
And aren’t levels of honesty and acceptance of said honesty the ultimate make-it-or-break-it factor in any significant relationship?
You’re honest or you’re not.  Any relationship could end at any moment.  I guess in mine there’s simply no room for hiding/repressing/suppressing; being with GF makes me deal with a lot of what ifs head-on.  Between her transition, an international move and an open relationship my comfort zone lies in what was uncomfortable.

So my previous discomfort is now oddly homey.

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relationshipping

She expected me to leave

She expected me to leave

but instead I stayed.

If she hadn’t come out to me, I would’ve left.
Strange?
Not so much if you know the why.

7 months of dating, cohabitating and…
we’re still getting to know each other but a little something is missing…nothing I can articulate or am losing sleep over but there’s a faint yellow light blipping on my radar.

10 happy coupled months have passed but something’s up.  It’s like we were rambling through this curious and enchanting forest, noticing randomly fascinating, new and endearingly odd things about each other and then- bam.  I hit an unexpected beige wall.

Why the boring, all of a sudden?  I know there’s way more to him than what he’s presenting these days.  It’s as though his brain is on auto-pilot and a certain spark is missing.  It’s a vague-ish subject to broach but I try…
Me: Um, are you not bored these days?  Because I am.  And frustrated.
Him: I wish I had time to be bored.  He does have a crazybusy schedule.  Maybe he’s just over his lack of him-time?
Me: It doesn’t feel like we’re in a weird, stagnant place?
Him: Well, we are because we both want to move.  Okay, I didn’t mean it so literally.  And you’re not making enough art.  If you made more art, you’d be happier.
Hmm…if this is his way of deflecting, it’s working.  But he’s being sincere and he speaks the truth so…I put the focus on myself and draw some damn unicorns with exploding goiters.

15 months, we’ve decided Tokyo is our destination city and we’ve got 11 months to get our shit together.
As I ponder an us, looking towards the future, this bit happens:
Him: When I can completely share everything with you, then I’ll know I can really commit to you.
Me: Oh.  Ouch.  We’re about to move 7,000+ miles away and maybe at some arbitrary point you’ll know you can commit?  We don’t even have the same definition of commit, do we?  Oh fuckfuckfuck.  

And now I feel like a fool.
I trust him enough to trust him with everything; at the same time, there’s nothing more I can do/be for him to trust me.

So I start to retreat; clearly I had mistaken the us in the future.

At 18 months he comes out to me.
Thank. Fucking. God.
This is everything?
Now maybe we can try to have a relationship.

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relationshipping, trans talk

She doesn’t hear me

She doesn't hear me anymore

because she’s got her own issues.

Which I understand because I get consumed by hormonally induced insecurities but I swear, these days I’m listening to my former mirror and it’s jarring, understandable and kinda hilarious.

2011:
Me: I can’t fit into my jeans.  Any of them.  I’ve gained like 10 pounds since yesterday.
Him: That’s impossible.  You did not gain 10 pounds.
Me: It feels like it and I still can’t fit into anything.  I’m crazy bloated.
Him: No, just crazy.
Me: I look pregnant.
Him: Well, you’re not.  You’re beautiful and aren’t you going to be late for work?
Me: I can’t find anything that fits!  And I’m always late, which means I’ll be on time.  I have to maintain the routine; otherwise it’ll confuse the work folks.  Besides I can’t wear this.  This would be a housecleaning outfit that I bet BF has already taken a secret blackmail picture of: yellow and orange striped knee-high socks, green leopard print underwear, some bizarre hand-me-down thermal crop top and weird mid-calf boots.  I do this.  Cleaning is way more fun when I play some deranged version of dress up.
Him: Huge eye-roll, big smirk.  Dammit, he did take a photo…so fucking opportunistic.

And now:
Me: Arrrghhh!!!  I’m going to be so fucking late.  Crapshitfuck!!!  I hate this part of living in Tokyo.  I’m always late because I’m not early.  Since when is being on time late?!
Her: Do you see THIS?!!, pointing to her head.
Me: Huh?  What are you talking about?
Her: Seriously?  You don’t see it?
Me: Uh no…do you have something in your hair?  Check the weather.
Her: Unbelievable.  My hair was perfect and now it’s totally wrecked.
Me: What?  It looks fine to me.  I don’t get it.  Crap, where’s the umbrella?
Her: This is sticking straight out, pointing at the same spot on her head.  I look ridiculous.  I can’t believe you were going to let me leave the house like that.
Me: Is she pointing to a curl?!  I thought it looked all natural and purposely kinda messy.  Really, I have no idea what she’s talking about; I don’t see it.  Why don’t you pin it?  Snacks!  Pack snacks.
Her: Because that would look even more ridiculous.
Me: Okaaay…ponytail?  Ready!  Gotta run.
Her: Totally unimpressed eye-roll and…sliding tatami room door.

I believe I have been (r)ejected from this conversation.
Great, are we both PMS-ing?

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open relationship

Cheating is needless

Cheating is needless

in an open relationship.

Me: So…I changed my mind.  Let’s try an open relationship.  Is that okay with you?
Her: You know I’ve been okay with (read: wanting) that from day 1 (post coming out); you were the one who took issue with it.
Me: Right…so let’s try it?

It feels so fucking weird.  I would never have thought I’d do this but apparently it’s not so uncommon that even Facebook lists it as an option.  I feel that I have officially become one of those people, you know, the ones who make you feel apprehensive because they’re that  kind of unwelcome-to-the-general-public strange and different.

Well, fuck my self-consciousness.  Who am I kidding?  I was always one of those people.

So why now?  Goddamn sexual attraction.  That inexplicable shit is fucked up in that I can’t control nor sway it.  As GF becomes more bio-femmey, an intangible but very solid something is disappearing.  Aside from that bio-chemical attraction shifting, everything else is pretty damn perfect; we get along (except when I pick fights), support each other and have crazy love and respect for each other.  Perhaps open-relationshipping is the missing link that will make us consummately satisfied?

Historically I’ve said no way for 2 reasons:
1) I don’t like the idea of strangers and their bodily fluids contaminating my cozy, secure sphere or my person.
2) I don’t know how capable I am of this because once I’m into someone, it’s really fucking hard for me to be attracted to someone else.  I’ve never been able to even date more than one person at a time; casual is difficult.

Oh shit. 
Dating.
Fucking dating.

What the shitshitshit?
In typical me fashion, I look up to see my new world order only after I’ve committed to the new change, which I spearheaded.  Seriously, I am the world’s worst dater; I have negative capacity to read between the lines, take everyone at their word and cannot even begin to understand dating etiquette*.

Which means single(ish) me is about to entertain the hell out of my friends and thoroughly mortify me.  Here we go again.  

*Seriously, I thought the best way to show romantic disinterest is to pay the first date resto tab, even if it costs triple digits.  Apparently not.  How do you people know this shit?!

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relationshipping, trans talk

My new normal

My new normal

isn’t so abnormal, is it?

My life isn’t contained in this crazy-magical, rainbow-confetti snowglobe whirlwind filled with exploding closets, overcrowded vanities and non-stop tucking.  Really, my life is fairly mundane.  Everyday I am just being me, staying busy, surviving and hopefully thriving.

Even to my chosen family (amazing, beautiful fucking weirdos) my situation is a tad incomprehensible.  But I get to thinking and the root issue with my transsexual GF is simply a matter of dealing with constant (sometimes massive) change and the overriding question on a steady loop in my head is, how much change can I really handle?  Sure, most people aren’t in my exact situation but don’t we all face this question in life?

I think I’m super adaptable and I like the idea of change but in my current relationship, my capacity to adjust and evolve is constantly and scrupulously examined.  My self-proclaimed open-mindedness and willingness to explore new and uncomfortable spheres haven’t been tested like this before.  

And it is daunting.  

Beneath my wanderlust and seemingly fluid sexuality, I don’t like experiencing too many changes at once.  And currently, many looming changes require perpetual shifting, transitioning and adapting, which means I’m experiencing consistent discomfort and insecurity.  My logical brain is over this taxing process, but my slightly sadistic side appreciates a mental earthquake and an emotional jolt.

Despite the confusion I face when thinking about the future with my GF (namely, is there one?), I really try to stay in the moment and not overthink what lies ahead.  This is difficult for me but it’s the only way our relationship has a chance of working out because who the hell knows how emotions and attractions will change; there is just no telling.  Staying supremely in the here and now is a huge challenge but the rigorous honesty it demands certainly keeps me from becoming complacent and that’s an excellent thing.

So moving to and living in Tokyo with a transsexual in transition means: people change, ideologies metamorphize, assumptions disappear and serious growth occurs…okay, wait, I totally lied; I do live in a  crazy-magical, rainbow-confetti snowglobe and I feel really fucking lucky for it.

P.S. Thank god for stupid fucking DOMA getting its ass kicked, right?

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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.

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trans talk

Let’s talk HMU

Let's talk HMU

Hair and makeup, oh my.
I thought I was into hair and makeup.
Until my girlfriend. She fucking loves makeup.
I realize now that I like what I like, namely highly pigmented lip pencils (thank you, NARS) and colorful eyeliners (M.A.C.=awesome) but for my newbie transsexual, it’s a glorious candyland of glittery, shimmery, matte, scented, deeply pigmented F-U-N.  And though it’s always a good time to look through the aisles at Sephora, I’m experiencing it through the eyes of a teenager who has been let loose in the most fun candy store yet, meaning it’s completely endearing but a tad exhausting- literally.  I cannot remember the last time I looked through almost every makeup brand’s products.

I say, get a bunch of different things; you just have to try it out to see what works.
Trial and error, much?  And her skin tone and features are so different from mine that we will not be sharing products.  But not sharing is okay as I like to keep a certain order to my things and she is a veritable tornado.

So as she is getting into her makeup routine, this is how our mornings go:
Me: I think I’m wearing too much eyeliner.
Her: That’s just because you can actually tell that you’re wearing makeup.  You’re just not used to it.
Me: I can feel the weight of the mascara though, like every time I blink.
Her: Look, the thing with mascara is you put on more than you think you need then add two more coats.
Me: Hmm…so it’s like lube (when you think it’s too much, it’s almost enough?).  I don’t think you’re taking into account how different our features are; your eyes can take twenty pounds of mascara and look natural (hmm…I might be a little J about this).
Her: No, it’s that when you wear makeup you can barely tell you have it on.  And you still haven’t answered me; how do I look?  She’s telling me this when she’s only been using the shit for, like, a week?
Me: You look good; wait, close your eyes…maybe smudge your right eye shadow more, but it only looks uneven when your eyes are closed and I’m really close to your face which means no one else will notice.

Welcome to another new chapter in transsexual adjustment.
The vanity is way more crowded but I kinda like it.

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relationshipping

No expectations after two years

No expectations after two years

is really fucking weird and hard.

But it’s the free-fall state that I have to be at peace with to give this new relationship a fair shot.
We have to start over.  Not in a hello-nice-to-meet-you-I’m-your-transsexual-girlfriend-and-we-have-no-history kind of way but in a she’s forging her identity anew so I cannot drag expectations I had of him into this new partnership.  It’s really strange to think that just six months ago I was thinking…maybe marriage?!

And now…one day at a time, sometimes it’s one hour at a time, especially when the future feels like the biggest unknown as I’m adjusting to her mannerisms, make-up, clothes, shoes- god the pairs of shoes this woman needs in her life.

I feel very challenged.  And usually I like a challenge but I wonder how successfully I can tough out a relationship where forget the tables being turned, I’m trying to order my entire house post-identity-awakening relationship earthquake.  I tell myself we can do it, nothing’s truly broken, just shaken up and I’m feeling freshly topsy-turvy on the inside because I’m not settled into her yet, i.e. there’s too much of him in my head-space still.  I have to hold strong and believe in an us because she’s not all that changed, other than being free to be herself for the first time in her life (which makes me sincerely and tremendously happy for her) and, right, we’re still doing an international move in less than six months.

Of course I have my moments of doubt: what the hell are we getting ourselves into, will it be too much change- her transitioning, finding a place to live, getting a job, who will prescribe her hormones in Japan, will she be able to find a supportive community, which neighborhood do I want to live in, um…how the fuck do I figure this shit out:
tokyo-subway-map

But I wanted an adventure and I’m sure as heck in the craziest one yet…laughing and crying with gratitude and wonderment for some more of life’s many, many surprises.

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