Last night I had a dream where I was at some sort of summer camp and all the lesbians I've ever known were outside playing/having sex/joking around/whatever in the water trough/pool area outside. I felt hurt, embarrassed, left out. My friend Lauren was with them even though she's always been straight and since we were the closest, I joked with her first, calling across the courtyard.
"Lauren, what the hell?" I tried to laugh. "Did you think I wasn't cool enough to invite or something?"
She looked at the girl next to her and then smiled at me, "We thought you were busy otherwise we totally would have invited you." She swam to the edge of the pool near me and I knelt down in front of her. I could feel them, all of them, staring at us while their hands skimmed along skin under the water.
"I can handle it," I assured Lauren, and then out of desperation and anxiety and fear I grabbed her and kissed her quickly. I felt nauseated. I wasn't attracted to her and everyone knew it. She was my friend, my good friend, and instead of making myself fit in I was just floundering further, drowning in the sea of manipulative games and subcultures and titles. Lauren looked at me - angrily, harshly, and I tried to backtrack. "Look, this doesn't mean you're gay or that I like you, I just-" I tried to explain that I wanted to prove myself but she cut my off.
"I don't know what you take me for," I'd never heard her so cold and harsh, "but I'm not gay. And if I were, I'd definitely go for the pretty femmes." I recoiled. Which you're not was implied in her sentence. I'd never been attached to the title of femme, but the way she tore it from me left me reeling - empty handed and wanting to cry.
I feel this a lot. I feel this all the time. Constantly defending and proving and feeling like my sexuality is not broadcast clearly enough. Constantly feeling as though "lesbian" is an exclusive club to which I am not invited or wanted. Constantly aggravated because I'm subjected to male gaze and overtures while easily passed over by lesbians and dismissed as less than or an outsider.
Maybe I'm not femme, but Femme Invisibilty seems to apply to me so easily.
I understand that it is my own shortcomings and brainwashings and past manipulations that have given me this not enough complex, but just because I know that doesn't make it go away. It's a trend in all my writings - not enough - and I'm trying so hard to tamp that down but then it rears up in dreams like this and I know it's still plaguing me.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 24, 2013
Personalities
Victoria over at Musings of a Lesbian Writer picked up this fun link from a blog she reads, where you type in your blog address and it tells you what sort of personality you have. I thought it would be fun to try. Try your own Typealyzer here. It was pretty spot on, however, I think my brain would be more focused toward the intuition/symbols quadrant rather than organizational. The only time I'm ever organized is when I'm working at a desk job :)
Also, how well dressed is my drawing? Thanks, much!
Also, how well dressed is my drawing? Thanks, much!
ESFJ - The Socializers
The
social, warm, enthusiastic, energetic, structured and opinionated type.
They are especially attuned to the feelings of themselves and others.
They tend to be very aware of the values of their peer-group and tend to
see things as either right or wrong, good or bad. They tend to be
traditional and value their friends and family the most. People love to
be around ESFJs and they are extremely good on bringing out the best of
others.
They take pleasure in other people's happiness. They give generously, but expect appreciation in return. Sensitive to the physical needs of others, they respond by offering practical care. As expert people readers, ESFJs often adapt their manners to meet the expectations of others. However, they may have difficulty recognizing the shortcomings of loved ones.
The Socializers are down-to-earth, practical people and very keen on making sure everyone is alright. This quality makes them enjoy social work places. Since they enjoy being and keeping things neat and tidy, they often also enjoy working in such environments.
Common satisfying careers: Teacher, Office Managers, Administrative Manager, Child Care, Special Education Teacher, Counselor, Dentist and HR Manager.
Notable ESFJs: Harry S. Truman, Bill Clinton, Tom Clancy, Barbara Walters, Tyra Banks, Jessica Alba, Jennifer Garner, Woody Harrelson, Sarah Jessica Parker, Jessica Biel, Victoria Beckham and Mon Mothma.
They take pleasure in other people's happiness. They give generously, but expect appreciation in return. Sensitive to the physical needs of others, they respond by offering practical care. As expert people readers, ESFJs often adapt their manners to meet the expectations of others. However, they may have difficulty recognizing the shortcomings of loved ones.
The Socializers are down-to-earth, practical people and very keen on making sure everyone is alright. This quality makes them enjoy social work places. Since they enjoy being and keeping things neat and tidy, they often also enjoy working in such environments.
Common satisfying careers: Teacher, Office Managers, Administrative Manager, Child Care, Special Education Teacher, Counselor, Dentist and HR Manager.
Notable ESFJs: Harry S. Truman, Bill Clinton, Tom Clancy, Barbara Walters, Tyra Banks, Jessica Alba, Jennifer Garner, Woody Harrelson, Sarah Jessica Parker, Jessica Biel, Victoria Beckham and Mon Mothma.
Jan 23, 2013
Dreaming/Reality
If I talk about my date you're going to think I'm lying, or making it up. It was that fantastic. I wasn't dreaming. It really happened.
It's the kind of date you see in movies - fun, full of laughter and warm fuzzies, a wholly unnecessary sappy love song playlist not-so-discreetly playing in the background at the restaurant - when the table seems to shrink and it all feels very intimate.
And then the setting moves and I love being in the car with Prince because we sing and we talk and we're so close and I can't help but touch, constantly, compulsively, because touching is so rare across the distances and in public places and in not-friendly-to-gay areas and the car feels safe and warm and comfortable and I want to touch and be touched.
But then it has to be a movie because I've never seen the sun set over the ocean like that, never seen someone smile at me with heaven in the eyes, and I feel so amazed, bewildered, content, and I don't even want to run off for sex because I just want to stand here, forever, drinking in the sunlight with our arms brushing, laughing at the little girls next to us and all their questions and comments.
I could have sat forever and watched as the city flickered to life at our feet, almost as the Egyptian Pharaohs must have done thousands of years ago from their golden thrones and their city blazed to life in the darkness. I felt like royalty from my stone seat, hand in hand, the world laid out before us, the stars shining overhead, the moon casting a silver blessing over us, so bright, so clear.
And it's laughter, laughter, between all the other moments and places and quiet and feelings, there's this laughter. When Prince laughs it's the most wonderful sound in all the world - the sound I want to hear every moment of every day. I want to be the cause, I want to hear when others inspire it. I want Prince to laugh all day long and I want to be there for every moment and open myself up and fill myself with golden laughter, because just maybe there is real magic and this laughter is it.
Maybe I'm just an idiot :)
I don't have a five year plan and I don't know what I'm doing or where this is going. But I know I never want to hang up. I hate going to work and sleeping alone, and I get really nervous and pack two weeks of clothes for a three day trip. I know that I'm flawed, so flawed, and I want nothing more than to be better - than to be the best - than to be deserving of everything Prince is.
It's the kind of date you see in movies - fun, full of laughter and warm fuzzies, a wholly unnecessary sappy love song playlist not-so-discreetly playing in the background at the restaurant - when the table seems to shrink and it all feels very intimate.
And then the setting moves and I love being in the car with Prince because we sing and we talk and we're so close and I can't help but touch, constantly, compulsively, because touching is so rare across the distances and in public places and in not-friendly-to-gay areas and the car feels safe and warm and comfortable and I want to touch and be touched.
But then it has to be a movie because I've never seen the sun set over the ocean like that, never seen someone smile at me with heaven in the eyes, and I feel so amazed, bewildered, content, and I don't even want to run off for sex because I just want to stand here, forever, drinking in the sunlight with our arms brushing, laughing at the little girls next to us and all their questions and comments.
I could have sat forever and watched as the city flickered to life at our feet, almost as the Egyptian Pharaohs must have done thousands of years ago from their golden thrones and their city blazed to life in the darkness. I felt like royalty from my stone seat, hand in hand, the world laid out before us, the stars shining overhead, the moon casting a silver blessing over us, so bright, so clear.
And it's laughter, laughter, between all the other moments and places and quiet and feelings, there's this laughter. When Prince laughs it's the most wonderful sound in all the world - the sound I want to hear every moment of every day. I want to be the cause, I want to hear when others inspire it. I want Prince to laugh all day long and I want to be there for every moment and open myself up and fill myself with golden laughter, because just maybe there is real magic and this laughter is it.
Maybe I'm just an idiot :)
I don't have a five year plan and I don't know what I'm doing or where this is going. But I know I never want to hang up. I hate going to work and sleeping alone, and I get really nervous and pack two weeks of clothes for a three day trip. I know that I'm flawed, so flawed, and I want nothing more than to be better - than to be the best - than to be deserving of everything Prince is.
Jan 19, 2013
Special Days
Today was one of those special days.
The ones without any snot or tears, where your kid runs bang on into a wall and instead of melting down like she usually does, she shrugs and sits until she stops feeling queasy and then joins in again.
The ones where moms come up to me at the park and say things like:
"That's the first time I've heard a parent say 'Watch out for the person behind you,' all day. Thank you."
"Why you got like four kids on you? Either the redheads or the Mexicans aren't yours."
"Do you have Mary Poppins pockets in your dress? Where are all those water bottles coming from?"
It's the kind of day where I notice how far Mexican culture has come, because there were four little boys in colored skinny pants and converse and that never would have flown fifteen years ago. When I smile because Abuelo still uses a bandana instead of a bandaid, and little Crystal realizes I can understand her 3 year old Spanish as she begs me to push her on the swing.
It's the kind of day when "Mom," slips out more than my name and I remember that the kids fall into this charade as much as I do. When we laugh and make brownies and lick the bowl and learn to crack eggs on our foreheads. It's when a king size bed seems too big for four people because we're all piled on top of each other.
It's when she's in the bath and I come in to check on her. "Are Mom and Dad home?" she asks.
"Yes," I smile.
"Oh," her brows are furrowed and she's thinking. She doesn't seem excited or ask if she can rush to greet them. "Will you wash my hair?" she asks instead.
"Sure," I murmur and she leans forward for me and we don't discuss it further. She knows I'll stay until she's tucked in bed.
Perhaps we've all grown too dependent. Perhaps my life is too entwined with theirs. Perhaps when they hold me and refuse to let go, or read the bedtime books with my voice bound in each page when I can't be there, it is a sign we should all pull back.
But I've taught them how to ride a bike, how to make a sandwich, how to properly eat whipped cream from the can, how to do a handstand and make it across the monkeybars. The time for pulling back passed eons ago.
The ones without any snot or tears, where your kid runs bang on into a wall and instead of melting down like she usually does, she shrugs and sits until she stops feeling queasy and then joins in again.
The ones where moms come up to me at the park and say things like:
"That's the first time I've heard a parent say 'Watch out for the person behind you,' all day. Thank you."
"Why you got like four kids on you? Either the redheads or the Mexicans aren't yours."
"Do you have Mary Poppins pockets in your dress? Where are all those water bottles coming from?"
It's the kind of day where I notice how far Mexican culture has come, because there were four little boys in colored skinny pants and converse and that never would have flown fifteen years ago. When I smile because Abuelo still uses a bandana instead of a bandaid, and little Crystal realizes I can understand her 3 year old Spanish as she begs me to push her on the swing.
It's the kind of day when "Mom," slips out more than my name and I remember that the kids fall into this charade as much as I do. When we laugh and make brownies and lick the bowl and learn to crack eggs on our foreheads. It's when a king size bed seems too big for four people because we're all piled on top of each other.
It's when she's in the bath and I come in to check on her. "Are Mom and Dad home?" she asks.
"Yes," I smile.
"Oh," her brows are furrowed and she's thinking. She doesn't seem excited or ask if she can rush to greet them. "Will you wash my hair?" she asks instead.
"Sure," I murmur and she leans forward for me and we don't discuss it further. She knows I'll stay until she's tucked in bed.
Perhaps we've all grown too dependent. Perhaps my life is too entwined with theirs. Perhaps when they hold me and refuse to let go, or read the bedtime books with my voice bound in each page when I can't be there, it is a sign we should all pull back.
But I've taught them how to ride a bike, how to make a sandwich, how to properly eat whipped cream from the can, how to do a handstand and make it across the monkeybars. The time for pulling back passed eons ago.
Jan 15, 2013
Dating
This may possibly make you want to throw up, because I'm going to be that girl right now.
If I was exceptionally quiet here, it's because I was on a date. A lovely date. A very lovely date with the person whom I've been crushing on.
Real life gets in the way and you can't stay on a date 24/7, but I'd like to. All day at work yesterday, I was reminded by the small piece of folded paper in my pocket, by the picture on my phone, by the taste of cherry cough drops and chapstick - all tangible evidence that I wasn't dreaming.
It's the smile, the eyes, the hair, the skin, the tattoos, the way the waitress comes up to the table and I blush because I'm pretty sure she can see what we're thinking when we stare at each other like that over our water glasses. It's those stares. It's the collar tugs and the hands in my hair and the sweet, amused glint in the eyes when I just can't stop myself from feeling all that soft skin.
It's the door opening, the effects of two beers, the laughter when I'm awkward and silly, the sleepy smiles, the hot hand on my back through my jacket, the singing and the dancing. It's the protector and protected, it's the talking and the not needing to, it's how everything feels like we've done it already - the easy rhythms and moments that should feel so uncomfortable but don't.
It's in the way I didn't feel self conscious once, about my body or my hair or my makeup. It's in the way I felt proud, in the way I never wanted to let go, in the way I wanted to hold hands and show off the amazing person I was with. It's in the quiet way I wanted to go unnoticed, in our little bubble, invisible and free to make out without my hatred for PDA getting in the way (looking back on it you'd have no idea I hate PDA.) It's in the way we say things and then look to see if we got the reaction we wanted, and if we didn't, we try to fix it. It's in the way we listen.
If I go quiet here, it's because I'm finally speaking out loud.
If I was exceptionally quiet here, it's because I was on a date. A lovely date. A very lovely date with the person whom I've been crushing on.
Real life gets in the way and you can't stay on a date 24/7, but I'd like to. All day at work yesterday, I was reminded by the small piece of folded paper in my pocket, by the picture on my phone, by the taste of cherry cough drops and chapstick - all tangible evidence that I wasn't dreaming.
It's the smile, the eyes, the hair, the skin, the tattoos, the way the waitress comes up to the table and I blush because I'm pretty sure she can see what we're thinking when we stare at each other like that over our water glasses. It's those stares. It's the collar tugs and the hands in my hair and the sweet, amused glint in the eyes when I just can't stop myself from feeling all that soft skin.
It's the door opening, the effects of two beers, the laughter when I'm awkward and silly, the sleepy smiles, the hot hand on my back through my jacket, the singing and the dancing. It's the protector and protected, it's the talking and the not needing to, it's how everything feels like we've done it already - the easy rhythms and moments that should feel so uncomfortable but don't.
It's in the way I didn't feel self conscious once, about my body or my hair or my makeup. It's in the way I felt proud, in the way I never wanted to let go, in the way I wanted to hold hands and show off the amazing person I was with. It's in the quiet way I wanted to go unnoticed, in our little bubble, invisible and free to make out without my hatred for PDA getting in the way (looking back on it you'd have no idea I hate PDA.) It's in the way we say things and then look to see if we got the reaction we wanted, and if we didn't, we try to fix it. It's in the way we listen.
If I go quiet here, it's because I'm finally speaking out loud.
Jan 10, 2013
Safe Space
I use theater terms a lot - terms which have come to apply to all aspects of my life. "Safe space" is a favorite. A physical, mental, and emotional space free of judgement, filled with support and understanding and trust, where honestly is valued about all else. I think of this very much as my safe space.
Sacred space - a place to connect, to breathe, to become a part of something or someone bigger and you leave your personal crap at the door. You come in as a blank slate, ready to learn, to be open, to explore.
I have a sacred space that I enjoy visiting, a short hop, skip and jump from my front door where the sounds of running water and birds whistling take away everything I was ever worried about. It's here that I can curl my fists in the sand or dip my toes in the water and feel as if the earth is surging inside of me. It is here where I become grounded.
I haven't visited in over a month, since my two jobs became exhausting and I wasn't sleeping at all, so I was shocked to come upon my sacred space and find it violated.
Because I place such importance in this place, the attack felt awkwardly personal. Horrifyingly meant for me. On top of that, the ducks who usually swim to me and beg for bread at my fingertips swam upstream immediately at the tall, dark figure I presented on the bank. They were terrified of me.
I was upset. I was angry. I seriously wanted to yell at someone or stand as a watchdog with pepper spray and a slingshot. I understand that kids tag urban areas and I've seen some really cool, beautiful street art, but this is in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of nature. This was an ugly word for an ugly reason and I hated it with every fiber of my being.
But I'll go back. I'll get used to it. I'll take it back for myself and find a way to make it part of my place. If there's ever a kid with a can of spray paint down there, however, I may just slap him/her.
Sacred space - a place to connect, to breathe, to become a part of something or someone bigger and you leave your personal crap at the door. You come in as a blank slate, ready to learn, to be open, to explore.
I haven't visited in over a month, since my two jobs became exhausting and I wasn't sleeping at all, so I was shocked to come upon my sacred space and find it violated.
I was upset. I was angry. I seriously wanted to yell at someone or stand as a watchdog with pepper spray and a slingshot. I understand that kids tag urban areas and I've seen some really cool, beautiful street art, but this is in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of nature. This was an ugly word for an ugly reason and I hated it with every fiber of my being.
But I'll go back. I'll get used to it. I'll take it back for myself and find a way to make it part of my place. If there's ever a kid with a can of spray paint down there, however, I may just slap him/her.
Jan 9, 2013
Crushing
I've never run across this problem before. This problem where I'm talking to someone who knows I blog, who reads my blog, who understands what and who I'm writing about.
Does this take away from my "safe space?" Will this cause me to censor myself? I'm not sure. I've always tried to keep this as a space where I can take off the filter about everything I want or need to write about. I'm still sort of feeling this out and how it's going to work for my blog and the things I write on here. Usually it's all personal, personal, sex, personal and now I need to be considerate. And that's okay :) I'd like to be considerate.
I'm crushing and I'm crushing hard, and I don't think it's something you guys have actively seen me go through. You see the beginnings, perhaps, the flirtations and the putting myself out there, and then of course you've been privy to the aftermath. But this, here, this in-between, this something new but something familiar coiling inside of me is not something you've borne witness to.
I can't sleep. I can't stop smiling. I can't stop checking my phone or hovering my finger over the "call" button even though I know I'll eventually tap the lock button and put it away. There's a nervous feeling fluttering inside me and I feel like an idiot but I also really enjoy it. I am now I'm exactly like all those girls I make fun of. The irony is not lost on me.
Is it always like this?
Does this take away from my "safe space?" Will this cause me to censor myself? I'm not sure. I've always tried to keep this as a space where I can take off the filter about everything I want or need to write about. I'm still sort of feeling this out and how it's going to work for my blog and the things I write on here. Usually it's all personal, personal, sex, personal and now I need to be considerate. And that's okay :) I'd like to be considerate.
I'm crushing and I'm crushing hard, and I don't think it's something you guys have actively seen me go through. You see the beginnings, perhaps, the flirtations and the putting myself out there, and then of course you've been privy to the aftermath. But this, here, this in-between, this something new but something familiar coiling inside of me is not something you've borne witness to.
I can't sleep. I can't stop smiling. I can't stop checking my phone or hovering my finger over the "call" button even though I know I'll eventually tap the lock button and put it away. There's a nervous feeling fluttering inside me and I feel like an idiot but I also really enjoy it. I am now I'm exactly like all those girls I make fun of. The irony is not lost on me.
Is it always like this?
Jan 8, 2013
Apocalypse
Ugh. You know how many different times I've written this post?
So, I'm on wonky meds, I'm flirting with someone, I'm coughing all over my guitar and spending my days watching things like Pitch Perfect and reading books and trying not to let my fever reach boiling status.
The apocalypse is coming because I'm running out of meds and all out of orange juice and will eventually have to go to the market.
How's your day?
Jan 7, 2013
Dreams
Many people don't put any stock in dreams. There are a few who take their dreams literally, as premonitions or an opening to some understanding that their consciousness could not receive during wakeful hours. I fall somewhere in the middle - receptive to the ideas and themes inside my dreams but aware that some may just be folly.
The wonky meds have been influencing my dreams a lot. I had one the other day where I was married to a man, screaming and crying and shouting my protestations that I was a lesbian, but he was adamant that by tying me down and dying my hair I would become straight and docile. Then another, in the shower, a pretty girl softly and gently washing my hair under the spray of the shower as she nipped at my neck and her skin slid wetly across mine. Then another, this morning, curled up with my head against a thickly beating heart as my hair was brushed away from my face, and the steady fingers continued down my back before starting again at my temple.
Do you see the pattern? So I looked it up and this is what I got:
"If feelings of satisfaction or contentment accompany the dream, this likely indicates welcome, positive change. Since hair is inextricably linked with image, a positive feelings also indicate an image upgrade. If the dream feels disturbing, it symbolizes damage to self-image. Negative salon [cutting or dying] dreams can be interpreted as symbols of unwanted or undesired change or they may be intuitive urgings that a contemplated change will be disastrous.
Hair is not only an image symbol, it is also a sex symbol. Women especially use hair to increase their sexual attractiveness. Some women also play with their hair when trying to attract attention of the opposite [or same] sex. For a woman, dreams about playing with her hair can indicate a playful attitude toward sexuality or a desire for attention. Dreams of long, healthy dream hair are representative of confidence, power, contentment, and spiritual, mental, and physical well-being."
Shocker? No, I feel like my dreams were pretty forthcoming. I do find it interesting that there are enough people who have these dreams that certain things become symbolic and our psyches can use them at will. For me, hair is also comforting, a soothing gesture at the end of a long day, something to ease my pain when I'm ill, a way for people to get close without me feeling self-conscious.
Perhaps I miss that comfort because I'm sick, or perhaps it's a whole bunch of other things :) but for the most part they've been very good dreams.
The wonky meds have been influencing my dreams a lot. I had one the other day where I was married to a man, screaming and crying and shouting my protestations that I was a lesbian, but he was adamant that by tying me down and dying my hair I would become straight and docile. Then another, in the shower, a pretty girl softly and gently washing my hair under the spray of the shower as she nipped at my neck and her skin slid wetly across mine. Then another, this morning, curled up with my head against a thickly beating heart as my hair was brushed away from my face, and the steady fingers continued down my back before starting again at my temple.
Do you see the pattern? So I looked it up and this is what I got:
"If feelings of satisfaction or contentment accompany the dream, this likely indicates welcome, positive change. Since hair is inextricably linked with image, a positive feelings also indicate an image upgrade. If the dream feels disturbing, it symbolizes damage to self-image. Negative salon [cutting or dying] dreams can be interpreted as symbols of unwanted or undesired change or they may be intuitive urgings that a contemplated change will be disastrous.
Hair is not only an image symbol, it is also a sex symbol. Women especially use hair to increase their sexual attractiveness. Some women also play with their hair when trying to attract attention of the opposite [or same] sex. For a woman, dreams about playing with her hair can indicate a playful attitude toward sexuality or a desire for attention. Dreams of long, healthy dream hair are representative of confidence, power, contentment, and spiritual, mental, and physical well-being."
Shocker? No, I feel like my dreams were pretty forthcoming. I do find it interesting that there are enough people who have these dreams that certain things become symbolic and our psyches can use them at will. For me, hair is also comforting, a soothing gesture at the end of a long day, something to ease my pain when I'm ill, a way for people to get close without me feeling self-conscious.
Perhaps I miss that comfort because I'm sick, or perhaps it's a whole bunch of other things :) but for the most part they've been very good dreams.
Jan 6, 2013
Disneyland
Alright, now that we got all those gross feels out of the way, we can talk about the rest of my Disneyland trip, which was thoroughly enjoyable. This was the first year I've seen the new Buena Vista St and Carsland all trussed up in holiday spirit and it was thoroughly enjoyable.It was packed. The wait times were out of control, so I'm glad we'd all been there before and were okay with taking it easy. I nabbed a sour cream, bacon, and chive potato and shared with my niece which was delicious. We snagged our way onto Haunted Mansion, her favorite, Pirates, where my necklace was commented on, and Thunder Mountain, a fast ride, before we hit the parade and ice cream for the kids. Then it was Astro Blasters, where I got demolished by everyone, including the five year old, so obviously my gun wasn't working. We nipped over to the other park for a few rides and watched World of Color which, as always, was gorgeous.
My first day I totally overdid it by only having a milkshake and cotton candy for dinner, mixed with 98% of my brother's mojito, which he took one sip of and didn't like (in fact, the majority of the trip continued in this fashion before he realized he should just drink beer.) The resulting sugar crash mixed with carrying around my two year old nephew in heels and dancing with him on my hip at the Mad T Party was hilarious/ridiculous as I stood on the bus and had to keep my balance on the way back to the hotel over speed bumps and with abrupt stops.
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| Alice :D |
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| The Tweedles |
At this point my brother's family was tired, so they left and I stayed behind to enjoy life's little pleasures. A jalepeno-cheese pretzel, single rider lines, the Casey Jr Circus train at night, talking to cast members and getting free things :)
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| View from the top floor |
Oh crap.
Jan 4, 2013
Gross Feelings
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| Premium fireworks view: armchair, footstool and music! |
My niece is very theatrical and loves to sing, hum, whistle, dance- you name it, she does it. It's very entertaining in line. We stood in line for a ride and an older boy (somewhere between 17-24) started to talk with her, flirt with her. She's almost as tall as me, and as it was nearing the end of the night, she had put her Minnie Mouse ears in my hair, making her look older than she seemed before, more like a teenager. He was downright creepy in his advances and it didn't stop once he learned she was 12, and finally we all stopped in line to do one thing or another and pushed her to the head of our group, effectively cutting off their communication. The Minnie Mouse ears went back in immediately.
My older nephew is a crack up! He's in love with Princess Leia and likes to make everyone laugh because that means fun is being had. My younger nephew? He took to me like Sam took to green eggs and ham. I'm not sure if he remembered me from this past summer of if I remind him of his mom and dad, but he would not let go. My arms are sore from dancing with him and carrying him around the park. He shares my fascination for the stars and started break dancing (spinning on his head and all) at the Mad T Party at California Adventure.
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| I think my nephew would have more fun in a club than teenagers and 20-somethings |
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| The 5yo. He likes to wear his hat backward :) |
It was there as I held him in the crowded square, with the fake snow falling around us, the last sparks of fireworks fading into the dark sky. It was there as he caught a fake flake and tapped it on my nose, in the awe of his smile, the gleam in his eye, the shared laughter between us and his sister.
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| Post snow - Merry Christmas from Disneyland! |
Jan 1, 2013
Traveling
Tonight I'm packing. One of my brothers lives in Nevada, and as I wasn't able to see him for Christmas, his, his wife's, or his 3 kids' birthdays, all which fall in November and December, we are meeting up at the Happiest Place on Earth. That's right kids, I'm ditching you for Disneyland! It's been a while since I've been there during the holidays - the last time I was there was before my best friend had surgery. She, ever more chic than I, likes to pretend that I'm her life size barbie and dresses us in matching outfits whenever we go. We took a tour of the park last time and no one was quite sure if we were twins or dating - It was neither! (Though this time I'm bringing along my So Gay necklace thanks Sasha! so that will be an interesting experience!)
The brother I'm visiting proposed to his wife in Disneyland on Christmas day x years ago, during the "snowfall" portion of the fireworks show, maybe the one romantic gesture he's ever made in his life. I'm sure we'll be spending lots of time trading off his one year old and fighting over who gets to go on Star Tours :) 
I received a pretty, pretty teal stylus for my iPhone as a Christmas gift, and have since then been partaking in drawing random pictures which take anywhere from 2-10 minutes and posting them on Twitter. I have no real artistic talent, but it's pretty fun to doodle. In sticking with this post's theme I drew Winnie The Pooh :) I'm not a huge fan of Winnie the Pooh, but my drawing of Dumbo looks awful, so, "nice work if you can get it!" Also, these are what I've posted on Twitter over the past week. I'm having a good time with them :) Happy New Year! See you soon!Gay Talks/Tues Tunes
So, everyone is either listing out 2012 or making out what 2013 is going to be, but I don't want to do that. I can choose a new outlook and attitude at anytime, and a calendar year isn't going to motivate or stop me :P
Lately it's been music, music, music, in my conversations with various people and I love it. I'm getting nostalgic about the mass produced synthetic pop from the 90's that I so dearly miss. Last night I was slipped a TLC line "don't want no scrubs," and I finished the rest of the song in my head.
I remember that song was on a burned cd of mine with some Britney Spears music that never got popular. Actually, I listened to Britney Spears a lot, and as a result, my singing impression of her early years is pretty stellar and hilarious.
I remember my brother buying me a little red MP3 player which required Musicmatch Jukebox (remember that, you guys?) and I played t.A.T.u. constantly. Blame it on my fascination with all things Russian or whatever for having the album in both languages, but I wish someone had noticed that I was a glued to a music video with girls kissing and singing about wanting to be together.
In fact, I wish someone had put together a lot of the pieces and sat me down to talk when I was fourteen. I wish someone had asked me about the way my Snow White barbie made out with all the others and touched their breasts, the half-naked Christina Aguilera posters, the t.A.T.u music videos, the lesbian pornography, the makeshift sex drawer, the things my boyfriends would have to say to me to get me in the right frame of mind to do anything, the way I panted after this sarcastic, bitchy, emo, 50s housewife looking lesbian in high school and called her by a different name just so I knew it was something only I got to call her (and she let me, and she didn't put up with anything, which meant she liked me and that meant the world).
When I look back, it's so obvious, so why didn't I realize it, and why didn't anyone else? I guess it's too late and in the past. I know who I am now, so I shouldn't let it bother me.
Note: All those bad 90s fashions and wet schoolgirl uniforms are still so in. Good choice, ladies. I approve.
Lately it's been music, music, music, in my conversations with various people and I love it. I'm getting nostalgic about the mass produced synthetic pop from the 90's that I so dearly miss. Last night I was slipped a TLC line "don't want no scrubs," and I finished the rest of the song in my head.
I remember that song was on a burned cd of mine with some Britney Spears music that never got popular. Actually, I listened to Britney Spears a lot, and as a result, my singing impression of her early years is pretty stellar and hilarious.
I remember my brother buying me a little red MP3 player which required Musicmatch Jukebox (remember that, you guys?) and I played t.A.T.u. constantly. Blame it on my fascination with all things Russian or whatever for having the album in both languages, but I wish someone had noticed that I was a glued to a music video with girls kissing and singing about wanting to be together.
In fact, I wish someone had put together a lot of the pieces and sat me down to talk when I was fourteen. I wish someone had asked me about the way my Snow White barbie made out with all the others and touched their breasts, the half-naked Christina Aguilera posters, the t.A.T.u music videos, the lesbian pornography, the makeshift sex drawer, the things my boyfriends would have to say to me to get me in the right frame of mind to do anything, the way I panted after this sarcastic, bitchy, emo, 50s housewife looking lesbian in high school and called her by a different name just so I knew it was something only I got to call her (and she let me, and she didn't put up with anything, which meant she liked me and that meant the world).
When I look back, it's so obvious, so why didn't I realize it, and why didn't anyone else? I guess it's too late and in the past. I know who I am now, so I shouldn't let it bother me.
Note: All those bad 90s fashions and wet schoolgirl uniforms are still so in. Good choice, ladies. I approve.
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