Music/Events

When I got my hair cut a few days ago I bought a new product to put in it and the kids I work with have noticed. "Your hair smells good!" "Your hair smells like apples!" "Your hair smells like cotton candy!"

"It doesn't smell like cotton candy!" I laugh.

"It could," he reminds me helpfully. I'll keep it in mind.

It's one of those days where the chill nips in through my wool coat, and instead of talking about the slut-shaming unattractively going on across the interwebs, the abhorrent feelings I have for our government's inadequacy to reach a decision and wasting time, energy, and resources while holding items hostage essential to the middle and lower classes, or the deep feelings of despair and anxiety for the rape culture we have created and perpetuate every day, even in lesbian subculture, through billboards and social media and have the world wake up to it through the eyes of India, and yet it still goes unseen - I'm just going to tell you what's been playing on repeat on my iPod for the past week.


Just look at that Drummer! (swooning a little)

Family/Heavy Update

I got the phone call. The one I was half-expecting to come at three am from a sobbing girl. Instead it was an afternoon text message: Can you please call me when you have free time? So innocent, so politely distant. This is how my family works. We all do this. We all downplay our feelings and refuse to take up anyone's time or emotions or ask for what we need.

I called my niece right away and she was in tears on the other end of the line. "I told my mom and she just - she thinks that if I go out with my friends for a night it's going to go away and I'm going to get better!" I let her cry while I analyzed, processed, and also because she needed to get it out. She's so worried that by asking for help she's going to break up her family, cause her parents to divorce, be branded as a screw up for the rest of her life. "-and then she said 'What, do I need to worry about you committing suicide, too?' and she just spat it at me!" my niece sobbed.

This is where being an aunt puts me in a difficult position. I am, in age, between my brother and his daughter. I am at a point in my life where I can understand both points of view, and it doesn't seem very long ago that I was dealing with my own high school/college issues. His wife, K, and I are so close, probably the closest of all my siblings, (plus or minus Ladybug) and her relationship with my niece is so reminiscent of my own with my mother.

I know that K feels like a bad parent, that she is trying to help/love/comfort her daughter, but has no idea how to handle this situation. I also know that my niece is trying to protect her mother, trying to lock away all her emotions, because she feels like by being honest she is ripping her foundation apart.

So I'm flying out to see them and I honestly couldn't be happier about it. I want to take my niece in my arms and check that she's okay with my own eyes. I want a late night conversation with my sister so she can talk to me about everything she feels overwhelmed by and can't process.

I want to walk into the doctor's office with them and assure them that it doesn't make us lesser people. I want us to walk out of there as a unit and I want my niece to go to sleep at night knowing that her family is rock solid and 100% behind keeping her well and happy, above and beyond everything else.

This is the definition of being family. I am more than happy to live up to the parameters.

SO GAY

Have you visited Card Carrying Lesbian yet? I've linked to it a lot. Well, Sasha, the main blogger/editor/manager/honcho also makes some amazing lesbian jewelry through Etsy. For months I've been salivating over a steel piece that caught my eye and this week I finally made the leap to purchase it. And I'm so very glad I did! (She did not pay me to praise her or her jewelry - this is all just because I love my necklace.)

The So Gay necklace caught my eye because I am not a huge fan of using the word "lesbian" to describe myself, and I like the sense of humor tucked into the phrase while reclaiming it for myself. The bars stand for equality, which is lovely. I also received an Equality key chain which makes me smile every time I look at it and will keep my keys company (and little activists).

 I don't usually wear jewelry, but I can see this becoming a nice statement piece. I've already tried it on with dresses, t-shirts, blouses, and...numerous other things, and I love the way it looks with all of them! She makes resin and steel pieces with an assortment of fun and fantastic phrases to suit all your moods, so go check out her store and see if you find something you like! I can't wait to go to the local coffee shop and see what my androgynous/possibly gay/I-can't-quite-read-her-sexuality barista says!

It makes me feel good to wear it and that's the most important thing. If you've been waiting a lifetime for a Femme necklace, here's your chance! If you want Mrs. and Mrs. hearts or Butch Pride tags this is the place to get them :) I love how I look and I love how I feel. Check out her shop and let me know which one makes you feel best :D

Sugarbutch/Poly

I just want to take a minute and talk about Sugarbutch. Sinclair has been cultivating fantastic interviews about poly life and I am thoroughly enjoying all of them. Poly freaks me out. I've talked about this before. There's so much in me that would be interested in poly with the right people, but also I'm so afraid of not being enough (reoccurring theme much?)/losing love/getting walked out on/ I have severe insecurity issues because my girlfriends keep going straight.

Of all the interviews, this is the one I love most so far. Because this reassures me. This makes me feel like as a normal person with all my issues, I could overcome it to have a healthy, happy, lifelong relationship with more than one person. Not that I'm going to, because that's not something I really crave, so it would have to be both of us seeking out that situation. But still, the reassurance is nice, and the interviews are beautiful and full of good advice. Check them out.

Orgasms/Twitter

For an account which started out so anonymously, you all know much about me. We've talked about this before, and recently. I spoke how I wanted to take some of that "anonymous" feeling back - feeling more bold, daring, fun.

I must admit, Twitter got the better of me tonight - has gotten the better of me over the last week or so - has had me posting like all those years ago when I was truly anonymous. And here we're going to get back to what I was posting about so long ago: Sex/Orgasms. Since I've come back to this blog, a few months ago, I've avoided the overtly sexual topics which I used to thrive on in the past.

For whatever reason, this week was bad. I mean constantly aching, edge of your seat, hair's breadth away from climaxing, bad. All week. I couldn't make it go away. I'd have an orgasm and the feeling would come back five minutes later. It was heaven the first day, hell the rest. It was distracting, it drove me crazy. My dreams were erotic, my every thought somehow twisted and turned because my body was so close. A hand on my hip could make me whimper, a look could make me tremble.

This week's stories on Rainbow Sprinkles were all driven by this week's dreams -by my constant state of whatever-it-was and you can tell. Well, not with Maroon just yet, but you wait and see ;) Finally, by some Christmas miracle, I was able to have a shaking, wrenching orgasm in the early morning hours and it eased. It was just my normal always-ready-for-sex and not the extremely-sensitive-going-crazy sensations. The peace lasted a few hours, and then I was back to watching porn Christmas afternoon and talking about my bedroom preferences on Twitter.

My sex drive has been higher than normal the past few days and Twitter took full advantage of that tonight. What started off as playful banter eased into sexual banter, actual productive sexual conversation (which I love!), flirting, and outrageous behavior on my part.

Am I embarrassed with my behavior? A little. I have to remind myself that twitter is not private and these people who feel like friends are actually virtual strangers (the term "catfished" comes to mind) but I also enjoy giving people the benefit of the doubt and they all seem very lesbian to me. Am I turned on? Yes. Because, let's be honest, I don't have a girlfriend right now, and talking about sex is beautiful and glorious and something I desperately need.

I'm not ashamed to talk about what I like or what I need. I'm not ashamed to talk about how I like to be touched or what turns me on. And hopefully you can find comfort, confidence, glory enough in your sexual self that you aren't ashamed either.

Heavy

When Christmas gets heavy:

I skyped with my brother's kids late Christmas night. They're cute kids, 15 and 8, but they're a little overemotional. My nephew is funny and biting but can be sensitive, and so can his sister. My niece is a junior in high school, after she skipped a grade in middle school, and she's been dealt some heavy cards lately: her best friend died from cancer last year, and her other best friend went to jail for molesting younger boys after he himself was abused. Her life has sucked the past few years.

She wanted to talk to me about it this summer, but couldn't find the words, and being raised in a family where we don't push to communicate, I held her as she cried and told her she could come to me when she was ready. Last night's call was tense, grumpy, and awkward, and finally she kicked her little brother out of the room and broke down.

She's been anorexic for the last year. She has emotions she can't understand - feeling happy and normal one day, grumpy and depressed and introverted for no reason the next. She feels anxious, paranoid, stressed, and she doesn't want to tell her parents because she doesn't want to be a fuck up.

I'm pretty good at being calm and reasonable and compassionate when people come to me, but after the fact, when I'm writing about this, I can't help but start to cry. Should I have told her about my anorexia years ago? My depression as an early teenager? The year when I'd been lost and confused and tricked into thinking I'd fatally hurt one of my best friends? Should I be talking about these things to my other nieces and nephews who might be feeling the same way?

Luckily, her mom, K, is the sibling I talk to most, and she knows, briefly, about my struggles with anorexia. After ascertaining and making sure that my niece is not suicidal, I convinced her to talk to her mom. She's struggling, she's drowning, and she needs help and understanding. Maybe it's a conversation I will be part of, maybe I will end up flying out there to help, or maybe she'll find the courage to say something and then call me later. And I understand her hesitation, because she can be emotional and now her parents tend to brush her emotions off. But now I'm worried about her. Because this is what leads to drugs and sex and suicide.

I know there's a stigma against getting help, especially in our family - I mean, hell, I never got help or talked to my mom about any of my issues for that very reason. But I'd rather get her help than see her all over the papers. I'd rather she learn that help is okay than to lose her forever. She's my baby girl who is sarcastic and funny, who lights up at Disneyland, and wants to be a singer and has so much talent, who plays the guitar with me and can sing Katy Perry better than Katy Perry can. I refuse to see her light go out because she won't tell her parents or a doctor that something is wrong.

Familial Bantering

Welcome to my family:

It's Christmas Eve, so the phone calls have started pouring in. When you're in a family as big as mine, somebody has got to start early otherwise we're all going to end up on call waiting. Ladybug called first. I sent him a package full of goodies and he called to thank me for them. He sounds like he's having a good time, but he also sounds lonely.  

And then I remember - it's not his first year in the Marines, but it is the first year he's been away for Christmas. We spent an hour talking, laughing, the longest I've ever spoken with him on the phone, and hopefully he comes away from it feeling a little better. I've come away from it feeling a little more heartbroken. I didn't have the time to realize how much I miss him, but now that I've slowed down and we've spoken - I miss the boy who jokes with me in broken Russian and draws comics we plot out together and understands my jokes.

My other brother called tonight, "I heard you're going family-less this Christmas?" he jokes. His humor is dry and biting.

"That I am. I'm just too tired this year. I need a break. You get a break every year!" I accuse. He lives 20 hours away from our parents and his wife makes the trip more often than he does.

"Yeah, well, this year K's mom is coming over," I wince for him. "You at least getting laid? Spending it with a girlfriend?" I wince again.

"Fuck you, I'm working on it," I groan into the phone.

"K, she's in a woman mood! This is your problem!" I start to protest but he hands the phone to his giggling wife. I love K, and even though we're not blood-related, she was the first sibling I came out to.

"Hello? What's wrong with you?" she laughs.

"He's just being a jerk," I smile. "Wants to know if I'm getting laid for Christmas."

"Ah," she pauses. "So, do you have a girlfriend?"

"K! Seriously?!"

"Jeez, you're blushing, even through the phone! Tell me!"

"I don't have a girlfriend," I pout. "Leave me alone. Merry Grinch-mas, I hope your presents suck."

She laughs and calls to my brother, "Someone's got her in a twist!" I can hear him answer faintly in the background "Tell her to work it out! She needs to relax!"

"Goddamnit, I'm hanging up," I threaten.

"Wait! So, you don't have a girlfriend, but you obviously like someone, so what's the hold up?"

"I-" I'm frustrated and embarrassed and don't want to talk about this, but I also do because I feel like my heart is going to explode. "We're just talking," I say instead, and keep my deep, dark secret to myself.

"Oh, okay," she sounds disappointed. "You got kicked out of class every single day in high school, so I know you've got a back bone. Use it," she threatens good-naturedly.

"Noted. Merry Christmas, K. Love you. Tell the kids I'll Skype with them tomorrow." We hang up and my heart feels heavy. I want to confess. Want to write her an email, but I know how crazy it sounds. It sounds crazy to me!

I've been having dreams that I'm married. I imagine having the courage to tell her. I don't know who she is, or if it is psychological and just means that I'm finally ready for a real relationship again, but she's been plaguing me for months. My brain says "No, it's fake, find a real-life girl!" but my subconscious drags me back in, and amidst her laugh and her hands in my hair, I drown.

But I stare at my phone and the screen is black. All my courage is gone.

Two Sided Coins

The phrase "both sides of the coin" seems to come up a lot with me. It came up in Updates/Desires, in my first Lesbian/Bisexual post years ago, in my very first post here.

I am two sides to the story, I am two points of view - so much so, that sometimes it feels like I'm two people. I'm butch and femme, gentle and fierce, hardworking and lazy, kind and mean, ugly and beautiful, educated and gullible, elegant and clumsy. I am pro-troops and anti-war, pro-charity and yet I don't give, pro-women's rights yet still uncomfortable with high abortion rates, a lover of art with no talent or background, a musician too scared to play, a writer - published - who now can't undertake anything more than a blog.

I am an amalgamation of people. So many paradoxical ideas - all living and breathing and trying to coexist inside one body. Over the course of this blog, some of you who have been with me since the beginning have seen me search for who I am and what my box is. I don't fit in a box.

But maybe I went searching for my box the wrong way. I went searching for everything I wanted to be, so confused, so naive and drowning in a world of terms and relationships that I didn't understand. Not once did I ask myself what I wanted. Not once did I ask myself what I needed. So caught up in figuring out what was wrong with me, I just assumed that anyone I fell in love with would be perfect, would be right.

And to some extent, every girl is perfect. Every girl fits some piece of me, some part that longs to blossom into life and is nurtured along by her and I can be happy with her. But not every girl can understand that I see through a fractured crystal of a lens, and all the fragments blink back eighteen different images rather than the solitary one an average person sees.

Maybe if I'd asked myself what I need in a relationship, the compassion, the giving heart, the fiery spirit, the conviction, and maybe the ability to see or understand how I see the world, I would have found myself sooner. Would have realized that instead of trying to fit into the butch/femme dynamic, I live both inside and above it - like an umbrella, understanding what lies beneath but ultimately too much and too widely spread to say I belong.

Both sides of a coin.

Here's your Christmas Present: The erotic tales of Caci and Natalie beginning and conclusion on Rainbow Sprinkles ;) You're Welcome! 


This just seems to fit all the themes going on my head this week, and when I wrote this post it ended up getting stuck in my head.

Early Christmas

Not a huge fan of Michael Buble, but I love this cartoon. It's not the full version, but a super cute cutting.

Today feels like Christmas. Maybe it's because it's Sunday and the church bells are ringing, or because it's cold, cloudy, and bleak and that is the closest we get to a white Christmas in California. Maybe it's the lack of work and stress, the ability to stay in my pajamas all day, the lack of television and phone calls and general noise. Maybe it's the hush that seems to have fallen over my neighborhood, a gentle, quiet sort of ease, like everything's been decided and the rush is over.

Whatever it is, I like it. I like the chill nipping at my toes because I refuse to turn the heater up and the misty rain on my window, the silence from the birds - this sleepy-town feeling.

I realize - this is the first day I haven't been woken up by a phone call from work in weeks. Oh my, how nice that feels. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone - I'm sure enjoying mine :)

Updates/Desires

After being *ahem* heckled on twitter about my girl crushes :)  I had some startling realizations about myself, my esteem and my love life. Whichever girl I like can be awful, mean as hell, or undeserving (in another's point of view), but I'll think she's wonderful. Is that normal? Isn't that how relationships go? Aren't we all blind to faults?

I mean, I don't like being emotionally abused and I won't put up with it, but there are certain things I get railroaded into. I do end up getting into situations where I'm used physically, but I'll need a therapist to work out that one. Point is, I like when my my girl can get a little mean, because I like a good fight. I like stubbornness and strong convictions because I like confrontation and the explosive force that comes from a passionate argument. I enjoy the cathartic energy of airing grievances and finally getting everything out into the open. If we can't fight, are we really communicating?

There's a certain balance to be achieved in a relationship. Sweet and gentle vs explosive and passionate. I want both sides of this coin. I want the soft mornings and sweet words in bed, I want the hallway fights with slamming cupboards, the frequent shower interruptions to ask a question, the giggles at family parties, the frustration at public events when we want to be alone, and the nights on the couch when I am so mad but then at three in the morning I want nothing more than your arms wrapped around me.

Can I have everything? I don't know. But I want it.

Bonus- here's an excerpt of the latest chapter of my first:girl series AKA coming out story now up on wordpress: Mimosas

The guilt ate at me and the mimosas weren’t helping. I’m home. I sent her. I forgot to check my phone last night. I’m sorry I made you worry. Hope you got some sleep. It was presumptuous, thinking that she had been worried about me, but I typed it anyway, hoping.

I waited, drank another mimosa. Nothing. The tears built up again. I felt like a yo-yo, jerked around one way and then the other. How could she be so loving, so caring, and then so completely heartless? How could she see me aching to offer my soul on a platter to her and wave it away like an undercooked meal?

My housemate knocked on my door after one in the afternoon. “I heard something about you last night,” she started, but I shook my head.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” my voice was hoarse from crying.

“So it ended badly. We all knew it would, Tabby. God, can’t you see she was playing you? You can’t trust girls like that. They’re just as bad as guys, pitting girls against each other-” I shook myself out of my stupor.

“Girls like what?” I searched around for the term clumsily given to me in the heat of an argument.

“Butch girls? You’re judging her because of how she looks?” I was in full defense mode. Maybe Gwen had just broken my heart, but she was still everything to me and that meant fighting for her to the ends of the earth.

“No. Well, yes. Maybe. C’mon, Tabby. You know her, you’ve seen her. She’s playing you.”

“Are you saying that all this crap I’ve gone through with you and Charlie and all the others is because Gwen isn’t a nice, normal, Stepford-wife girl? That if she had long hair and a polite smile and drank cosmos instead of beer and whiskey, and didn’t curse, and wore high heels instead of converse, and dresses instead of mismatched plaids-” I choked, those were all things I loved about her. I loved her masculinity. I loved her rough edges, the way she held her beer. I loved the quirky smile and the crooked teeth and the no makeup and the tattoos and all those gorgeous freckles.

“That everyone would have been fine?” I finished harshly.

About Me

10 Things you never wanted to know about me, but now you do:

1. I love dreamcatchers. Have since I was a toddler and was given one for my room. I have a bunch of different kinds from different tribes. My grandma has a lot of tribal jewelry and helped build schools on two reservations, so I think her love for NA culture has been passed down.

2. I used to contemplate school for graphic design. Eventually I decided not to go and went to school for theater instead. Like I'm using that a lot.

3. Nail polish makes me feel like my nails are suffocating. After two days I have to take it off.

4. Nestle chocolate chips. Love them. Just a few can improve my mood for the whole day.

5. I write songs on my phone. Don't do anything with them afterward, but it's a good creative outlet.

6. I try to sew really great, incredible things, because how hard can it be to follow a pattern? Really hard, you guys. It always looks terrible.

7. My favorite perfume of all time had cartoon characters on the bottle. My bad. It smelled delicious, though. The same with linen spray. (Yes, I'm the kind of girl who uses linen spray. It's not just for old ladies, okay? Everyone likes to smell fluffy clouds and cupcakes when they lay down to sleep.)

8. I own a lot of zebra print shoes. Not sure how this came about. It sort of just happened.

9. I've never had a bedroom where the walls weren't white. Ever. Painting them a color is so foreign to me. It almost feels forbidden. But I still want to do it, you know, in all that spare time I have.

10. I like to wear vests. They make me feel a little bit like a lumberjack. I enjoy that feeling.

Crushing/Lesbissues

Crushing is hard for everybody, but I think crushing is especially hard for lesbians. I see this on Sasha's site over at CCL all the time, where girls are constantly asking for advice on how they know if another girl likes them back. Girls are damn flirty creatures. Myself included. I love to flirt. I flirt with girls, I flirt with boys, I flirt with babies and bunnies and unicorns and Albus Dumbledore. Okay? I'm a flirt.

But when it comes to crushing on someone? It's so hard. I practically clam up. My physical and mental ability to flirt dies and leaves me alone muttering something unintelligible about tamales, and I've got nothing intelligent or witty. I understand that the only way to figure out if a girl is a lesbian/interested in you is just to ask, but I'm afraid of the asking the silence that follows.

You know the one I mean - the two hours of your day that used to be filled with talking to her, that are now empty. The endless minutes, the sparks of thought and conversation that you want to share with that one person who you know will get it - but wait, it's radio silence from her end. Because those words, "I like you," "I'm attracted to you," "I'm crushing on you," "my feelings for you extend beyond a platonic friendship," all seem to spell sudden death for my friendships with girls. And rather than push for a relationship, I'd rather at least have someone to talk to.

Not that it ends that way every time. If I have a pretty clear signal I'll go for it, but most of the time I can't be the person who says it first. Because I'll be honest: I'm afraid I'm going to be left alone, pining, with an outstretched hand and an empty text message inbox, and I know I'm not the only one. So when there's two of us who feel this way about each other, who the hell plucks up the courage to make the first move, or are we just tunnel-o-love boats that pass in the night?

Note: lesbissues (lez-bee-issues) is my new favorite term. Put that right at the top with mo' homo.

Regression/Anonymity

Remember when I used to be pretty anonymous on here? I was so open about anything, everything, so ready to give my opinions - right, wrong, callous, careless, half thought, half formed. I was bold, fearless. I posted the pictures of myself I was considering for a mostly nude calendar. (That was actually pretty hot.)

Now you know more about me. Now I feel like I've spilled out my guts about my family, my heartaches, my failures, my triumphs (maybe not so much my triumphs and I should write more on those) and I can feel myself pulling back. Regressing. Feeling afraid of the judgement. That can't happen here. This is my space and I want to take it back. Maybe my first step won't be with nudie pictures because I am a few years older and wiser, but I'm going to make the effort to be bolder, less edited.

I want to talk about crushing, but it's going to be too long to halvsie it with this one, so expect it coming up shortly!

Sleep

Last night I didn't blog because I SLEPT.

Oh my god. I never thought I would be so happy to say that.

Some other time, guys. Sorry.

Tragedies

It's always hard to write about a tragedy. It's easier to keep quiet and not step on anyone's emotional toes. When last Friday hit the news, I was in shock like everyone else. I reached out to my siblings and their children, who felt hurt and confused and scared. I imagined my niece and nephew who only live a few hours away from there, in kindergarten and pre-k, so little, so funny, so ultimately helpless against violence of that force.

But my niece and nephew back east are no strangers to guns. In fact, their father collects guns and is an avid hunter. They never go grocery shopping for meat, and the littlest knows moose meat is her favorite. My whole family are no strangers to guns. We are police officers, sheriffs, military members, war vets. We know the power of a gun and the safety rules of owning one. We know that there are two safes, one for the guns and one for the clips, and the keys aren't kept together.

What we don't own are semi-automatics. What we don't need are guns that belong in war and action movies. No one needs to be able to shoot off thirty rounds at at time. These are people guns. These are massacre guns. GB has rules about what kinds of guns civilians can own. Hunting rifles are fine, but any pistol/handgun is prohibited. Anything that can shoot six bullets without reloading is prohibited. Can I stress that more? SIX bullets.

Wake up, America. We're not waiting on a zombie apocalypse. We don't need guns based off AK-47s in the hands of citizens. We don't need to buy bulk ammo at the nearest supercenter. Why can I only buy two boxes of cold medicine but can buy 400 rounds at a time? What on earth are we doing?

My mom brought up a sad point. Those parents probably already bought Christmas presents for their children. Maybe people will think me callous, but I hope those toys are donated to Toys for Tots or another organization. Those kids aren't coming home to open them, and they were never really "their toys" in the first place. I'm sure all their favorites and most played with will hold a special place, but for these unopened presents it will just be a haunting reminder. Something decent/noble can bud from this tragedy. I hope it will.

Night

My little town takes the holiday season to the extreme. You can't walk three feet down the street without getting tangled up in Christmas lights, or running into a plywood elf. In the daytime it's cheerful if not slightly kitschy, like one of those lifetime movies with the tambourine music in the background, but at night-

At night it's pretty beautiful. The sidewalks roll up and there's no one on the road, and you can drive down the street at 5mph and no one will bother you. The gazebos glitter like carousels with garlands and lights and bows, and the storefront displays come alive. Everything glows warm and yellow through the still, crisp air. The live oaks are all wrapped in lights, set afire in hues of off-white. The town Christmas tree is coated in baubles and shimmering rainbows, reflected in tinsel.

Whole buildings are drenched with swathes of gleaming color. The quaint architecture takes on the quality of life size gingerbread houses, or a miniature display.

It's not like other places, because it hardly ever rains here, and the dry roads are an inky black against the illuminated trees and buildings. The contrast is striking. The stars shine brightly in a dark sky, and breath puffs out in a steamy wisp.

From a distant hill, the whole town flickers like the flame of a candle, beautiful in it's quiet serenity.

Occasionally I enjoy living here.

Elise

I want to talk about last night's dream because it was lovely, hot, heart-wrenching, and weird. It's been a while since we've talked about dreams, so: I was living in this underground community which was divided into two factions of unrest, but not really fighting. I had been dating, and was totally in love with, this wonderful girl named Elise, and we went on a date to a place that was filled with giant gumball looking machines, but I think they were arcade games or slot machines. It was the go-to place in our community. Afterward, she took me back to meet her parents.

All throughout dinner, these huge spider things kept crawling toward my foot and were scaring me but Elise's father told me to lift my foot up and they would scuttle away, so I held my foot aloft and noticed there was a thick web attached to my shoe, but when it was held up they stayed away. I put my foot back down for a moment, and this giant (I'm talking foot-long) spider bit me.

Elise started freaking out and so did I because the spider had metal jaws and it hurt. Her dad started laughing about how I would pivot my whole world around Elise and it would be the thing that destroyed my faction. I realized he was part of the rebellion and the spider was a man-made metallic instrument, perhaps poisonous or explosive, but definitely bad. Elise started to fight, reaching for me, screaming at her father that she loved me and didn't want to spend her life apart from me. He held her back and threw me into another room.

There was an explosion. I woke up on the surface with hundreds of people around me, digging for Elise and the "lost family" that had been buried under some sort of freak accident or earthquake. I pounded on the ground, screaming for Elise, crying. Someone rubbed my back and I looked up to see Elise, smiling at me. She pulled me into a hug and I burrowed into her warmth.

"I don't want this to separate us," she told me. "I didn't know what he was going to do. I'm so sorry. I love you, I really, really love you," she pleaded, brushing away my tears. I nodded, heart in my throat, only glad she was alive. I swept her hair off her forehead and tried to memorize her face, still so worried she'd disappear.

"The machines!" someone cried in the distance. "All the buttons are loose and it's a code violation! They're going to take them all down!"

"Everyone, go! Turn them clockwise- to the right! We can fix it!" I shouted out directions. I knew Elise would be with me on this. Our reunion could come after. The machines were important to the happiness of our community, and they were special to us as well. I lost sight of her as we all ran amongst the machines, tightening, fixing. After a while the inspectors backed down. Everyone made their way back to the digging site, but I couldn't find Elise.

"We haven't brought anyone up yet," the foreman told me when I questioned him about her. "Haven't even broken through."

Had she come out through a secret tunnel? Had I been dreaming? Had anyone else seen her? 

Frantically, I began to dig.

Presents

Christmas season got you feeling tired? Dry? Chapped? Presents for you (and her!) !!


So you're working holiday overtime and not getting enough sleep. Just because your right eye is twitching from fatigue doesn't mean your eyes need to have bags or look puffy! If you do, you're using the wrong eye cream!

What I use:

bareMinerals Renew and Hydrate Eye Cream.
Yes, it's a bit pricey, but my skincare is something I take seriously and spend a lot on, even if I go without other things everywhere else. Trust me this stuff works. If you want to fight wrinkles they have a different cream, but this is just for extra moisture and anti-aging for those in the mid-20s to mid-30s range. Also, no puffy/baggy eyes and I get no sleep.

Hand lotion is a must!

Jergens Ultra Healing Intense Moisture Therapy.
This little travel size bottle is in every walmart/target/vons/cvs/you-name-it for $1.50 and it'll be the best thing you've ever done for your winter-dry hands! Let's be honest, your lady likes your velvet skin, so keep it that way and tuck one of these in your pocket, though morning and night is usually good enough for me. (Also don't forget to drink tons of water which will also make your skin lusciously soft!)

Spent all your money on eye cream? It's chill, because this lip balm is inexpensive, smells good, tastes good, and is very hydrating.

Quenched

BabyLips by Maybelline: (Warning, some shades are hideous for your skin tone. I had to give away my Pink Punch because it looked hideous, but I got Grape Vine from her in return which looks great on me!)

Quenched is a pretty tasteless and clear one, although peppermint is clear too and I love it. Both have permanent homes in my pocket because this time of year my lips are constantly in need of a little balm and I am not much of a gloss girl.

If you're willing to splurge a little on lip care I highly recommend Sugar by Fresh lip treatment, which can be found at Sephora. It's my other go-to and super hydrating, plus it smells like sugar and lemon!

Don't forget that taking care of yourself not only makes you happy, but also makes your lady happy. Give her the gift of soft skin this winter! Good luck shopping!

Snow and Stars

I don't know what other people are writing about today, but I'd like to write about something happy. Some of you might know that I hail from California, where it is normally warm and sunny 95% of the time, but these last few days it has been COLD.

I've been whining and complaining about it all over twitter ( @tabbyqt ) but today it started to snow. Yeah, you heard me right. It's snowing in California. It hasn't snowed here since I was a little kid. Granted, it's not falling at my house yet, just on the tops of the hills, but still. It's not just in the mountains anymore, and that's a big deal. That means it's freezing. I'm pretty psyched.

Magically, last night was perfectly clear, and the below freezing temps made it a beautiful night to watch the Geminid meteor shower for anyone who was interested. I caught two blazing gold trails while walking to my car but couldn't bear to stand outside and look for more. People got some really great photos of the shower and there were lots of multiple trails in the sky. I love the winter sky because it's so beautiful and clean and high-def compared to the warm, hazy, summer nights.

Don't forget to look up.

Screaming

I want to talk honestly. On four different websites this past week, the topic of anorexia has come up, and I've tried to throw my two cents in because hey, I've been there for a good part of my life. Instead of opening any sort of dialogue, I feel like I've been ignored, condescended to, and viewed as a fuck up all because of my anorexia. Now I just feel like I'm screaming at the top of my lungs and no one is listening. Good thing I have a blog :/

Let's start with the myths: 1. I'm fat-phobic. My anorexia didn't start because I wanted to be thin, and that's true of more than half of people with eating disorders. 2. I wasn't raised with loving parents. My family always told me I was pretty. In fact, they built up my self-confidence and independence so much that I consider myself to be a fairly vain person. I've mentioned this before. I love how I look. I love my eyes and my nose and my smile and my laugh and how smart and funny I am. Not an issue. 3. I need attention. No one in my personal life ever found out about my anorexia except for my drama teacher, so I think the attention thing is out. 4. It's a phase. I started food refusal in high school and I've been out for years. My life has stabilized, I'm more comfortable with myself and my paradigms and my world, but I still struggle with my anorexia.

One of the reasons I stopped eating was because my dad has a neurological disease. He regressed and started behaving like a raging alcoholic by the time I was seven (sweet one minute and would smack you the next) and morphed into a toddler by the time I was 19, and he actively pushed to instill in me this phobia that I was going to inherit his disease. My mother tried to keep me away from him as much as possible, and it's because of her and my other family members that I am so self-assured. But, this fear ate at me, and I felt helpless, powerless against my fate. I began failing out of school, falling into depression, writing poems about death and perfect suicides.

Then, I started restricting and refusing food and everything changed. Not eating gave me something else to think about, because hunger was always on my mind, and all my other worries went out the window. I finally had absolute control over something - over myself and my body and my fate. I finally felt free. I finally felt amazing. The depression stopped, my grades picked up, I was more social and exercising all the time.

It only takes a few days of me not eating to have a positive effect on my emotional climate, which is why it's so hard for me not to go back. It allows me to not worry about anything. It allows me to be in control. It's not that way for everyone with an eating disorder, but it's not just about looking thin. There's always something under the surface, so please don't brush it off like someone needs to be told they're pretty twice a day and their anorexia will clear up. It's hurtful and offensive, and eating disorders are about so much more than that.

Cancelling Christmas

Some days, I just want to cancel Christmas. I'm burned out. I'm exhausted. I fall asleep in the shower with a toothbrush in my mouth and shampoo in my hair and I fall asleep at my desk when 3 o'clock blues hit. I do the dishes somewhere between 1-3 am, and instead of getting the sleep I really need, I blog. Something's wrong with my priorities, right?

So I did. I cancelled Christmas. All of my brothers and sisters have kids and families of their own to keep them occupied, so they don't really need me around to start the party. All the food and whatever? I don't need it. I am more than content to take a day to stay in my pajamas, watch stop motion Christmas movies, listen to Christmas music, and eat chocolate like no one's business. Maybe I'll even spend some time drawing a Christmas tree on butcher paper and hang it on the door. I'm not promising anything on that one.

I want to curl under a blanket and not move all day. I want to make homemade cider, or if it's warm, I want to lay outside on the sidewalk and soak up the heat. I want to leave my contacts out all day and watch 3D movies with kettle corn. I want to read dirty books in just my penguin Christmas socks. I want to break out my holiday CDs and belt out Christina Aguilera's "My Kind of Christmas" while I make lunch.

This is my kind of Christmas. That's right, be jealous.

Traditions-тучкаs

The holiday season brings with it some very specific memories.

Apple cider from scratch in my grandparents' flower shop. The smell of fresh pine and poinsettias (which are not poisonous unless eaten massive quantities, and it tastes awful, so your kids and pets are fine). A string of electronic carousel horses which pranced and played Christmas music. A two foot angel waving a lit candle in the bay window. My brother's gingerbread Star Wars creations. The shoebox of ornaments with my name on it, from baby's first Christmas through ten years old. The stocking my mother made for me, with my likeness cross-stitched on the front under my name.

In my family, we get tuchkas, a small, brown bag filled with nuts, candy, and an orange. It's a tradition that we brought over from Russia (although тучка - little cloud is not a word anyone else uses for it. It's a region in Russia and a native tribe, so I'm not sure what the connection is...) The orange is a special treat because fruit in Russia was very expensive and very hard to come by in the harsh winters. Now, with importing, exporting, and genetic engineering, it's not as hard, but for my family in the 19th and early 20th centuries, it was a big deal.

So, everyone in my family gets a тучка, and the orange is always my favorite part. I'm not really crazy about candy, though I do like chocolate, and after all the sweets present on Christmas day, an orange the next morning is a perfect antidote. It's one of my favorite holiday traditions, and the link to my past is an added bonus.

Happy Holiday Season, you guys. I hope you enjoy old traditions and create new ones :)

Landfill Harmonic

I hate to take away from my Happy Hanukkah post, but I wanted to share a brief video with you. It has just come to my attention and I think it's really beautiful.

"People realize that we shouldn't throw trash away carelessly, well, we shouldn't throw people away either."

Landfill Harmonic

Hanukkah!

Beginning at sundown today (Saturday December 8th) is the first day of Hanukkah! I'm not Jewish, but I know a lot of Jewish families, and a lot of my friends growing up were Cashews (Catholic-Jews).

I was just talking to a mom about how her kids are never excited about Hanukkah. "It's hard to compete with Christmas," she explained. From a little kid's point of view, I don't understand. Eight Days of Presents! How is this not better than Christmas? Also, all the food! Donuts and puff pastry and oodles and oodles of good food.

I guess it's the reciting of the blessings that they're not all that excited about. They want the big tree with big presents, Christmas music, and classic cool/creepy stop motion movies with no religious attachment. (Not many people really talk about Christianity on Christmas, really.) But it's one day vs. eight. And all that planning and shopping and set up for one day! I'd rather celebrate Hanukkah. Also, I think the ritual of lighting the menorah would be very soothing and bring the family together.

I remember when there were huge storms and my brothers and sisters and I would sit under the candles and oil lamps and play cards, backgammon, and dominoes and our dad would yell "close the damn refrigerator!" when we took more than 15 seconds to get what we wanted. We slept in the living room in sleeping bags because it got too cold on our own. We had to go outside in our bathing suits with trash bag jackets, and use brooms and hockey sticks to clear the flooding water away from our house and into the street. Those times were always a lot of fun. So, I think the menorah tradition would be awesome, but, that's just my opinion.

Anyway, I just wanted to wish you all a Happy Hanukkah! Be safe and joyous and loving and compassionate this holiday season!

Also, bonappetit has a menu for each day of Hanukkah and the first one is up! Looks delicious! Especially the lamb entree and the doughnuts with grapefruit-vanilla jelly!

Bra Strap Thing

I can always tell when it's December because of the bra strap thing. You know, when your body is changing and your boobs are shrinking and all of the sudden you have to tighten all of your bra straps because they keep falling off your shoulders and it's really annoying? October-January is the time of year when I start losing weight automatically. I don't get much sleep, there's not much time to eat, and I'm running around working overtime at two jobs and stressing out. Packing on the pounds during the holidays has never been an issue for me.

It's also the time of year that people take lots of pictures. I'm going to admit, I take lots of pictures of myself and like having my picture taken. I think I'm pretty. I got complimented a lot as a kid and now I'm vain. Sorry, it's a flaw :)

When I was going through my serious bouts of anorexia, I used to keep picture logs (from what I've learned after-the-fact this seems to be fairly common). Instead of weighing myself obsessively, I would take pictures, measuring how small I could whittle my waistline. I have hundreds of these pictures I can't seem to trash.

Size 1/3, unhealthily. Eating less than 300 calories a day. Hips are still huge.

 However, no matter how much weight I lost, the bra strap thing would happen, but my hips never seemed to shrink in proportion.

Hips down to size small/x-small. Unhealthy. X-small pants are loose, sweater falling off shoulders. Arms too thin.

This is me at 108 pounds, a size one, still with some serious hips compared to the rest of me. I don't know what it is about my body, but that's just how it works for me. For an anorexic, it was seriously frustrating.

One year later. Less than 90 lbs. Pile of clothes are because nothing fits. Boobs are nonexistent. Pants are children's size. Sweatshirt is x-small and is far too big. A few months after this, I began eating again.

So, despite all the pictures being taken this holiday season, I have to make the conscious decision to not begin this unhealthy behavior again. It's one thing to lose a little weight because there's hardly time to eat and I'm so active, but it's another to actively seek out anorexic behavior. This is the time of year when my battle gets harder. I will fight.

But man, I still miss fitting into size zero jeans.

Learning P2

Things I've learned about myself:

My food allergy has gotten worse, not better. This is highly upsetting because it's a vegetable I love and used to eat all the time. For a while, it just created a rash on the roof of my mouth. Last night my throat started to close and I had a hard time breathing. Took a few Benadryl and it calmed down, though my throat is still really raw. Guess I'll cross that one off the list for a while.

I cannot function more than a few days averaging 3-4 hours sleep per night. I just can't. I become a grumpy girl. I'm trying to fit everything in, and it's just not happening. Yesterday I didn't work my other job, so I took my time off to pre-write some posts and chat with friends on twitter and call people I haven't talked to in forever because I know that won't happen again anytime soon.

Gloves and I do not get along. I talked about this a little on Twitter earlier. My hair is about waist length, so braids and ponys are my good friends. Gloves makes this difficult. Morning vitamins? Better take them before I put my gloves on! Tickling children? Fagettaboutit! Typing on an iphone? I'm pretty sure they make special gloves for that, but I don't live in that cold of an area.

Things I love about winter: fingerless gloves and toeless socks! Wait, I mean toe socks! Yes, that's a reindeer heel grip. Don't judge.

Next chapter, After Effects, of the first:girl saga is up!

Learning

What I learn from 13 year olds:

(or rather, what they learn from reading books, we discuss and then I learn about myself)

Be gentle with yourself- Being gentle with yourself means treating yourself with the same kindness, respect, and compassion which you give to others. It means positive reinforcement, rather than negative feedback. By being gentle to yourself, you create a positive environment within yourself, boosting your happiness, self-confidence, and daily mood.

-Don't expect perfection. Give yourself some breathing room. Nobody is perfect and by expecting yourself to be, you are setting yourself up for disappointment which will do nothing but bring you down.

-Keep the promises you make to yourself. Once you start breaking self-made promises, you begin to lose all faith and trust in yourself. Being able to trust yourself is crucial.

-Forgive yourself for your mistakes. This goes along with don't expect perfection. Look, everyone makes mistakes, everyone has a past. It's up to you to forgive yourself for it, to not be ashamed, to embrace all the pieces of you that make you less-than-perfect and say "hey, those pieces made me who I am." I guarantee you are going to find someone else with a mistake in their past, and you will find it so much easier to forgive theirs than your own. Don't punish yourself. Forgive.

I tend to be much more harsh with myself than I am with others. I've never thought of "being gentle" with myself until yesterday, and it was only when I was trying to apply it to someone else that I realized what a beneficial concept it was. I guess that's another not looking out for myself thing. I'll have to work on that.

Be gentle with yourselves!

Heat

Heat- part of my first:girl series is up today at wordpress. I suggest you take the time to read the juicy story today or nab the password from me like it's going under restriction, because, um, it is.

Happy Reading! It's delicious.

http://tabbyqt.wordpress.com/2012/12/04/heat/

Excerpt:

She had a beer in her hand and her grin was a little too open. She smelled like smoke and I leaned my head against her leg to breathe it in. She must have been out on the patio, smoking and talking. Her fingers tangled in my long hair as she fingered the strands.

My buzz kicked in double time. She was more intoxicating than any alcohol in the world. She could make me forget my manners, my inhibitions, my own name. I let my fingers idly create patterns across her jeans. She was still wearing her jacket, I noticed. A heavy corduroy button up, far too hot for the sweltering room. I sat up to ask her about it and wavered. Maybe I’d had more to drink than I thought.

Her fingers left my hair and I tried not to pout. “Gwen,” I started, intending to ask about the jacket, but she looked at me. She looked me right in the eyes and I was pulled back to our moment under the stars. Her face was flushed, her eyes were shining, and there was some deep longing in the lines of her face, in the pigments of her freckles, that begged me to ask her. I couldn’t hear the noise of the party anymore. Couldn’t hear the talking or the glass bottles, could only hear her breathing and the rush of blood through my ears, like the waves of the ocean.

“Kiss me,” I breathed, and she swallowed tightly but didn’t look away. She let out a slow breath and tried to grin.

“You sure you want that?” She swirled her beer bottle. I moved even closer to her, her leg cradling my breast, her side pressed against my front, my shoulder. She had several inches on me this way, but I didn’t care. I wanted to reach out and touch her but my training with horses had me scared I’d spook her.

“I’m sure,” I nodded, our mouths only an inch apart. I was drowning in her gaze. She looked lost, bewildered, wanting, waiting, calculating- so many things. I rested my hand on her thigh and she finally brought her hand up to wrap around my throat, her thumb lifting my chin, and she kissed me.
 
There was something bubbling in my chest, a feeling that was so much like becoming whole. She fit exactly into all these locks and voids and jagged pieces inside me that I hadn’t realized were damaged and missing. My hand fisted onto the hem of her jacket and I pushed closer to her.

Her lips were soft and pliant against mine, sweet and gentle under the taste of beer and clove cigarettes. Her body was on fire everywhere that it touched mine, and I was burning against her. The brush of her denim jeans was rough through my shirt and I gripped her jacket tighter.

Someone called, laughed, there was a whistle, and Gwen pulled away. I saw the reflections of people staring at us in the mirror, people who had wanted to know what our relationship was but had never gotten a clear answer. People who’d heard me stumble when asked if I was a lesbian and preferred to think of me as straight, or more of a “don’t ask don’t tell” policy. I didn’t care about them now. I didn’t care about anything but her. I leaned into her again but she pulled back, smiling uneasily.

“A little eager, are we?” she laughed, and glanced at our audience. They had the decency to look away and try to make small talk amongst themselves now that we’d acknowledged them. She always did this, always tried to make light while she put up her guards. I didn’t want that. I wanted to feel her lips against mine. I wasn’t asking her to consent to a XXX floor show, it was just a kiss.

I ran my fingers through her short hair and stroked the shell of her ear. “Please,” I begged. “Please don’t do this now. Just kiss me again. That’s all I want. Nothing more.”

Emotions

Warning: Emotions and whining ahead-

We're going to pause all the good gay posts that have been going on to talk about my personal life.

Because today was one of those days where I just wanted to cry.

I'm not a big crier. I used to be until I was 6-7, and then again when I was coming out and drunk all the time, losing my friends and family and was just a big, hot mess. (I'm not a crying drunk, either, it was just a situational life thing.) So, when I do feel like crying, once every 6 months - 2 years, it's a big deal, and it usually means my hormones are a mess too.

Today was a 17 hour shift, take out half an hour for lunch. It was the busiest, most trying, most awful day so far. I'm reminded why some movie stars (mainly wannabe movie stars) are such a pain, why family therapists get paid so much (who really wants to be an intermediary between a parent and child???) and why people only work 8 hours a day. Because when you work more than that, you begin to rip your hair out and sneak behind your desk to take deep breaths because you are oh-so-overwhelmed.

So I did, and then I came home and doodled an intricate drawing on a post-it to let my mind blank out because there was still all this stuff going on that I didn't want to think about. And I've got to do it again tomorrow. Difference being tomorrow I'm going to make sure I eat breakfast.

Wish me luck!

West Point Wedding

 West Point Chapel Hosts First Same-Sex Wedding

An Excerpt From USA Today:

The U.S. Military Academy's Cadet Chapel at West Point hosted its first same-sex marriage Saturday.
Penelope Gnesin and Brenda Sue Fulton, a West Point graduate, exchanged vows in the regal church in a ceremony conducted by a senior Army chaplain. The ceremony comes a little more than a year after President Obama ended the military policy banning openly gay people from serving.

The two have been together for 17 years. They had a civil commitment ceremony that didn't carry any legal force in 1999 but had longed to formally tie the knot. The couple live in New Jersey and would have preferred to have the wedding there, but the state doesn't allow gay marriage.


Guests at the wedding posted photos on Twitter while it was under way and afterward. Fulton said the Cadet Chapel on the campus at West Point was a fitting venue.

"It has a tremendous history, and it is beautiful. That's where I first heard and said the cadet prayer," Fulton said. Fulton said that when she requested the West Point chapel, she was told that none of the chaplains who preside there come from a denomination that allowed them to celebrate a gay marriage. Their marriage was officiated by a friend, Army Chaplain Col. J. Wesley Smith of Dover Air Force Base.

Fulton, a veteran and the communications director of an organization called OutServe — which represents actively serving gay, lesbian and bisexual military personnel — confirmed in an e-mail to USA TODAY Friday night: "We will be the first same sex couple to wed at the Cadet Chapel at West Point."

The wedding was the second gay marriage West Point has hosted. The first was a small, private ceremony last weekend between two of Fulton's friends in a smaller venue on the campus.
"We are thrilled for Sue and Penny, and along with them, look forward to a day when this kind of event no longer makes headlines and all Americans enjoy the freedom to marry and the justice of those marriages being recognized," said Zeke Stokes, spokesman for OutServe.

Brenda Sue Fulton, left, and Penelope Gnesin exchange vows during their wedding Saturday at West Point.(Photo: Jeff Sheng)

In September 2011, the Pentagon issued guidance stating that "determinations regarding the use of DOD real property and facilities for private functions, including religious and other ceremonies, should be made on a sexual-orientation neutral basis, provided such use is not prohibited by applicable state and local laws." The policy change came with the caveat that the use of a military facility does not constitute an endorsement of gay marriage by the Defense Department.

In July 2011, President Obama named Fulton to the West Point Board of Visitors, making her the first openly gay member of the board that advises the Academy. She graduated from West Point in 1980, part of the first class of cadets that included women, and later founded an organization called KnightsOut, which describes itself as "an organization of West Point Alumni, Staff and Faculty who are united in supporting the rights of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender soldiers to openly serve their country."

Fulton, 53, said she was getting married at the academy because "West Point has been an important part of my life," but also because Republican Gov. Chris Christie in her home state of New Jersey vetoed a gay marriage bill earlier this year.

"We had always said that we wanted to get married in New Jersey," Fulton told USA Today, but "we didn't want to wait any longer," particularly because Gnesim, 52, is a breast cancer survivor and suffers from multiple sclerosis. 

Had to post. The military means so much to me, and I'm so proud of the strides it's taking forward. Ladybug went to the Marine Ball a few weeks ago, stag, or so he told us? Not sure what's going on with him nowadays. He posted pictures of himself doing Michael Jackson poses on a Humvee in the desert, so I'm beginning to wonder :D

Excerpt from Starlight

As some of you know, I've been writing my first:girl series over at tabbyqt.wordpress.com and I wanted to give you guys a little snippet of the latest post. For the juicy part you'll have to go to wordpress. No password needed for this one. Some pieces of the story are under password (which is very easy to get through comment, twitter, or email by saying please!)

Starlight

My throat felt tight and my eyes were hot. I gulped for air and turned my head to rest my cheek on Gwen’s breast. I couldn’t keep it in and my chest heaved against hers as a quiet sob ripped through my throat.

“What are you- Oh my god, are you crying?” Gwen asked incredulously, stroking my shoulder. I sat up, shoving her arm away from where it had been wrapped around me and wiped a tear from my cheek.

“I’m not crying!” I protested, but my voice broke. “It’s just-” Gwen was laughing at me! “Come on, do you have no heart? Bette and Tina are supposed to be together forever!” I sobbed at her. “You knew this was going to happen and you made me watch it anyway, you bitch!"

She cracked up, doubled over laughing at my heartbroken state. “It’s a TV show. Tabby, you’re crying over L Word. They’re not real!” she managed in between chuckles.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s – They’re – Jesus, Gwen, she was her first!” I wasn’t crying anymore, mad at her instead.

“So she can go out and experience something new,” she shrugged. “That’s a good thing. You never know what’s going to happen, who’s going to stay together or get together or get back together or what’s going to fall apart. That’s all part of the fun.” She got up to get herself a glass of water.

“It’s not fun,” I grumbled, clutching a pillow to my chest. I wiped the stray tears from my face and the ache behind my eyes dimmed and took up residence faintly behind my heart. She brought a glass of water for me without asking and I gulped it down gratefully. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I’d gotten. Wordlessly, she handed me the other glass and I drank the whole thing as well, but slower. I handed it back to her with a raised brow and then flushed. Right, I’d been crying, of course I was thirsty. “Can we watch something happy now?” I begged.

“Happy? With lesbians?” she joked wryly. “Pick out whatever,” she gestured to the shelf. I looked through the titles she’d already made me watch: My Summer of Love, Itty Bitty Titty Committee, But I’m a Cheerleader, Lost and Delirious, Better than Chocolate, and Boys Don’t Cry. I guess happiness was a mixed bag.

I shrugged, still thinking about the fictional break up I'd just witnessed. "Can we just...I don't know."

"You want to go for a walk?" she asked, and I lit up. How could she know me better than I knew myself? We pulled on our coats and I slipped on my flats as she took a cigarette from a pack in the back of a kitchen drawer. It was odd that she wanted to smoke, since usually it was a social thing for her, but we had both been stressed out at work. She lit it and we quickly made our way out the front door, locking it behind us.

The night was cold and crisp, the stars overhead were glowing, crystal clear points in a dark lake. Our breath fanned out in front of us and frost was already gathering on the grass. The tops of my feet chilled between my flats and the hem of my jeans.

"Gwen," I took her hand in mine, velvet-soft, warm, slightly larger than mine. We fell into synchronized step immediately, I'm not sure whether it was a conscious effort on her part or not. It didn't seem like it.

"What's up, girl?" she asked, blowing smoke from the corner of her mouth. I loved when she did that. I loved the Christmas smell of her vanilla and clove cigarettes and wondered what she must taste like.

"What's it like to live in the city, where you can't see the milky way, or the teaspoon?"

"The teaspoon?" she laughed questioningly, pulling another drag off her cigarette.

I nudged her playfully. "Pleiades. The Seven Sisters. It looks like the Big Dipper but really, really tiny so I always called it the teaspoon. It's right there," I pointed it out to her and she readjusted her glasses.

"Wow, I don't think I ever even realized there was a constellation there," she confessed, cigarette pressed against the frame of her glasses. She still hadn't let go of my hand. I let my head drop to her shoulder and looked up at the stars, breathing her in.

"There's a thousand of them. Cassiopeia is that big 'W' shape, and her daughter Andromeda and Perseus are both up there with her. Perseus is carrying Medusa's head - that red star right there is her eye, and it's a malicious star in every culture."

"Weird," she craned her head back to look at the constellations I'd pointed out. The cold bit into my skin and I was shivering, but my nose brushed against the skin of her neck. I leaned in and kissed the warm, soft skin below her ear, begging silently for her not to pull away.

Continued at tabbyqt.wordpress.com

Biphobia

This is going to be uncomfortable no matter what, just because of the topic. I read this paper recently on feminist lesbians and the proclivity of thought that lesbians and lesbian relationships are "morally pure" compared to the "deviant bisexual." It was very condescending toward bisexuals in general, and it made me uncomfortable.

I'm not bisexual. I dated boys until I realized that gross feeling wasn't normal. I date, love and am attracted to women exclusively, so I can really only understand the lesbian point of view. I understand being wary and unsettled when it comes to dating a bisexual woman but I think this comes from my own insecurities rather than anything she does. (With exception to the Redhead.)

Is biphobia okay? Is biphobia okay from a group of individuals who have been discriminated against for our gender identity and/or sexual orientation? I admit, it's hard for me to understand how the bisexual orientation works. It's hard for me not to feel threatened by it, or to feel like in a bisexual world I will never be enough. But should that keep me from calling it a legitimate orientation? No. Should that allow me to condescend to those who believe that gender plays no part in attraction or love? No. Should it allow me to call bisexuals "greedy" or "indecisive?" Absolutely not. But I've heard it all said.

It's sort of like how some butches and femmes I meet condescend to me because I'm just "middle of the road." Like, I'm not good enough because I haven't picked a side and don't know where I fit in their dynamic. I'm not "lesbian enough." Bisexual people don't feel "lesbian enough" or "gay enough" or "straight enough" and they shouldn't have to.

It's time we stop being so exclusive and let the bisexuals in, because a lady who likes other ladies is awesome, and if there are boys here and there, so what? If you want to judge her because she's crazy, that's a totally different story. I mean, c'mon, we judge cray-cray lesbians all the time :)

Update: It has just been brought to my attention that I wrote about Biphobia years ago. How interesting to see the difference/similarities in my posts.

Hot Mess/Comfortable

It's weird, going back so far in time and maturity to write my first:girl series. It's hard to get back into that head space where I was so young, awkward, naive, unsure, uneducated. It's hard not to cringe at the moments when I didn't know what it meant to be "butch" or what the Stonewall Riots were. I've had to delve into old journals to remember what I was thinking during that time, even though some exchanges are burned so clearly into my memory. Proof reading my first:girl series was like watching a video tape of someone else drowning. I want to swim out and help me, but I know I can't. I'm not there anymore. I had to learn to sink or swim on my own.

Even looking back on my first posts here, not nearly as far back as my love story, I was all over the place. I was a big, hot, lesbian mess, trying to fit myself into any box I could find. I'm so glad I found these beautiful safe spaces which helped me grow. Places like Sugarbutch, CCL, Dorothy Surrenders, and Alphafemme, with real authors, honest people who shared their experiences and their lives with me so that I might grow and learn. I can't thank them enough, especially Sinclair over at Sugarbutch, for the impact they've had on making me feel safe and like I wasn't alone on this journey.

But I have become someone extraordinarily different from who I was back then. I am confident, self-assured. I know what I need from a relationship and how to get it. I know how to give love, how to accept it, and how to walk away when I'm not going to get it. I am a sane, competent individual who understands different types of relationships, differing needs and wants and paradigms. I am someone who can stand my ground and hold my own beliefs without needing to blind myself to the opinions of those around me. I am no longer spectrum banging, but comfortable in the person I've settled into. That's not to say I don't shake things up occasionally, but everything is essentially me. I can also still be a hot mess when I'm running late for work and haven't done laundry or gone to the market and forget to comb my hair when I get out of the shower and look like Jane Porter (this is a chance for you to show me that you read).

I hope that you, wherever you are on your journey, in the closet or out for years, can come upon this feeling. That someday, you can stop chasing down and looking for who you really are, because you are comfortable in yourself. All that running is exhausting, and knowing the basics of who you are and what you want is really enjoyable.

Underthings

When I first started this blog, it was a little bit racy, a little bit sexy, a little bit about discovering and being discovered. If you've been with me for a while, you'll remember when I used to give myself "body homework" learning to get comfortable with myself and my body (and trying to get over past insecurities). That was put on pause for a long time as I got comfortable with my mental self, with my identity, my sexuality, my gender, my emotions. Everything stabilized, and I'm very grateful for that.

Today I didn't have any underwear. Literally, none. I practically have no clean clothes left. My laundry pile is three feet high and I have no time to do it. I suppose I did this morning, but I quickly hemmed up a sweater dress instead and then realized later that my undergarment drawer was empty. Oops. So I hopped out of the shower and decided "screw it, who needs panties everyday? People do it all the time!"

Note: I cannot text people when I'm in the bath for fear that they will somehow realize that I'm naked while I'm texting them. Okay? You get this? So I left the house and bumped into my neighbor; super nice, 50s, working class. She starts talking to me about this and that and her daughter and all I can think about is how awkward it is that I'm NOT WEARING UNDERWEAR and SOMEHOW SHE MUST KNOW. Except she couldn't, because normal people don't have x-ray vision, but still. It was so awkward and I couldn't follow the conversation at all.

Then, I was at work with this pretty girl named Cindy; she's around my age, really nice and her fiance is pretty awesome. She leaned in to brush a stray eyelash from under my eye behind my glasses, and she was so slow and gentle. I closed my eyes so she didn't poke me in the eyeball, and there it was, that strange, nagging feeling and an oncoming blush because all I could think about was that I wasn't wearing any underthings.

Maybe I could get used to it, in time. Maybe people do it all the time because they like this constant reminder, this heightened feeling. Maybe they like the idea that people might find out. I don't know. The heightened feeling wasn't all bad. It's just...it was the everyday situations with everyday people that made it so awkward. If I were on a date it might've been different, but I was at work.

If I were to try it again, It probably wouldn't be with a sweater dress, and it definitely won't be tomorrow. Here's to clean laundry!

Note: Still updating the first:girl series over at tabbyqt.wordpress.com Check it out to see how I fell in love for the first time and stumbled out of the closet.

Tuesday Tunes

So, I was hemming my sweater this morning (I know, you guys) and of course needed some music to sew by. So here are some Tuesday Tunes maybe you haven't been introduced to but should be.

No Doubt's new CD "Push and Shove"
This is classic, feel good No Doubt, sounding very much like Tragic Kingdom, so I was super excited. And um, Gwen, the baby thing done you good.


 Mumford and Sons- I Will Wait
I have to sing this song every time it comes on in the car. I haven't sat down and picked apart the lyrics but it sounds sweet, and I want to learn the banjo so I can play stuff like this.


And, of course, Rise Against, who I've talked about before and are one of my favorite bands. I love the anti-bullying message they were going for. If you watch it all the way through it doesn't end on a downer note.


Just to fill you with happiness, who remembers this gem from Team Gina?

Sundays

Sometimes I wish I had a cat, just because I think I would feel guiltier if it stared at me while I ate my piece of leftover pumpkin pie with whipped cream. Because I don't have any pets, I was left to eat my pie in peace. Curse you non-existent cat!

Tomorrow begins the cycle of the two jobs again, and it's going to be crazier than ever. The holiday season is beefing up my hours (and my paycheck) but the juggling I'm required to do to get it all done is going to turn me into an acrobat. Maybe I can audition for Cirque du Soleil in January and quit this whole two jobs thing. I'm kidding.

Favorite part about Sundays: Donuts!! Fresh donuts! Secret tip: If you're going to buy donuts, always buy them on a Sunday, because unless you have really bad taste in donuts, they always run out on Saturday which means you a guaranteed not to get a day-old donut on Sunday. You're welcome.

Other favorite part about Sundays: Really gay movies on Netflix. Occasionally I'll get a few hours on a weekend and I like to gay it up, whether I'm fixated on Once Upon a Time, reading a new book, knocking down my Netflix instant queue, or swooning over hot ladies gracing the television screen.

Speaking of gay, but also not, I want to see the new Les Mis movie so badly! Every time I see/hear/read more about it my musical theater degree wrapped heart thumps louder and I feel so ashamed I was not a part of it. I mean, a piano in my ear as I sing on camera? Who came up with that and why didn't we do it ten years ago so we could've avoided the disaster that was Mamma Mia? Love you guys, really. Who else wants to see Les Mis?

Carding

I love seeing the fam and old friends from high school and college years, going out for drinks, gambling, pool, bowling, and all that fun stuff. What's not fun, and I'm not sure if I've talked about this here before or not, is how short and sweet I am. I have a seriously sweet face, and it gets me carded all the time. I went out a few weeks ago with friends and the bar came up to my collar bone. I felt like a six year old. When I requested a Shirley Temple because I had to drive a long, curvy, country road home, the bartender actually said "Thank God."

I get carded when I want to buy lottery tickets, I've been pulled off casino floors and gotten my hand stamped to enter (did you even know they did that at casinos because they do), I've had to pull out credit cards to prove my ID isn't fake. I'd like to say it's flattering. What girl in her mid-twenties wants people to think she's forty? But seriously, yo, stop thinking I'm under 18. It's not cool.

I've learned certain things over the years: when I wear my hair in a braid, it takes off 2 years, add glasses and it knocks off another 2 or 3, pair it with skinny jeans and some converse and I'm a high school kid. But even busting out the boobs and throwing on high heels doesn't seem to help with the carding dilemma. What else can I do? Paint my face in clown makeup?

Tonight was fun, nonetheless. I had a good time catching up with people I've missed. It's always a little awkward around high school friends because they knew me as a completely different person. They knew "pre-gay, baby wanting, Mormon marrying, Tabby" and don't know what to do with the "out, single, comfortable, happy with her life and her sexuality so I don't-need-to-discuss-it-every-second Tabby."

Whenever my sexuality comes up in conversation, people think it's okay to ask for details about my sex life. "Do you do this? Is scissoring a real thing? I've always wanted to have sex with another girl but I don't want to taste it." I don't find out somebody's straight and say "Hey, do you like the taste of his sperm and let him do crazy shit like sign you up for gangbangs?" No, I don't, because I have manners. I'm going off on a tangent. I promise I'll do a whole other post on that topic. For now I'm just trying to deal with the carding sitch.

Also, I've been updating the first:girl series, so if you haven't signed up, email me or leave me a comment with your email and I'll send you the password.