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!

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.

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!

Day 24 Memories

30 Day Letter Challenge

Day 24 — The person that gave you your favorite memory

This Taco Bell cup is half the size of my little body

I have a lot of favorite memories. When Ladybug was three he ate ketchup with everything, and one day we were sitting on the floor eating McDonalds chicken nuggets and he smothered his in the red stuff before stuffing it in his mouth. As the older, wiser of the two, I suddenly began to doubt myself. What if I had been missing something amazing all along? What if it tasted really good? What if ketchup really did belong on everything? So I slammed my eyes shut, dunked a piece of chicken in the sweet paste and hesitantly bit off a piece. Yuck! It was the most disgusting thing I'd ever tasted! I threw the piece of half-eaten chicken at Ladybug, who proceeded to eat it, no questions asked. I love this kid with everything I am.

The first time I remember going to Disneyland I was nine (the first time I was 4) and we went to dinner at Goofy's Kitchen. It's a character dining experience where they come around and say hi, sign autographs and take pictures. Nowadays it's kind of lame, but back then it was just starting out and they didn't push the characters so fast. My favorite Disney movie was Aladdin at that time, and Aladdin came out and sat next to me for 25 minutes! We talked about everything. If he and Jasmine ever fought over the blankets, what the stars are like in Agrabah, what Abu would say if he could talk, if Genie ever gets annoying, if Jafar is scary in real life, if being a Sultan is hard work, if he and Jasmine would stay in love forever. He was so patient with me, never getting exasperated, telling me I would make a wonderful princess because I was beautiful, kind, and thoughtful, taking pictures with me, singing me happy birthday. No other character experience has ever lived up to the magic of that moment.

There's all the hilarious memories of my sister thinking she won the lotto (she didn't), my niece "cussing" at two teenage boys jaywalking (stupid apples!), my other niece at 4 years old, naked and walking around with her hands under her ribcage saying "Ribs! Ribs for dinner!" my brother's "oops, I forgot to tell you I have a kid," text several hours after first son was born. There's the crying memories of Ladybug becoming a Marine, of the Disneyland proposal on Christmas under fake snow and fireworks, of Ellie's wedding and seeing that huge, redneck side of the family again. Then we're back to hilarious, because there were four kegs at that wedding and they ran out of beer. Granted, his side of the family is Italian, but I'm sure our family took care of a huge portion. (Yes, kegs, at a wedding. It was also in a barn.)

Anyway, I've got lots of memories. I'd like to hear one of your favorite memories :)

Day 19 Family

30 Day Letter Challenge

Day 19 — Someone that pesters your mind—good or bad

I'm going to ignore the word "pester" because it has a negative connotation and declares the "good or bad" irrelevant.

My family has been on my mind recently. My very vast, extensive family, and whenever I talk about them people always ask "Are you Mormon?" No, friends, my family is not Mormon - they're Catholics and Mennonites. If you're not real knowledgeable on the Christian scene, you'd say they are pretty much the same thing. They're not, but they do like to have lots of kids.

My family has had strange encounters with Christianity - my uncle was studying to be priest but left and refuses to go to church or talk about the faith, and my aunt used to be a nun, but is now married with lots of grandchildren and is still involved in her local church. When I came out, I had some people react well and some react poorly. A distant aunt or second cousin or something is also gay, but she was disowned, though I still get a Christmas letter from her and her partner.

Lately I've been having dreams of my extended family in the forms of videotapes. Like, I'm watching a home movie (that I've never seen in waking life) with scenes of me as a baby surrounded by this huge family, all laughing and talking and drinking and playing The Beatles and Johnny Cash on guitar. It's this din of tons of voices all mixing together, bottles clinking and children giggling, and the sleepy look everyone gets when a few guys take center stage, and their melodious voices and strings of angels lull the children into golden slumber on the notes of Gordon Lightfoot.

I think I miss them, I know I miss them, and the joy of being immersed in so many people. You don't have to talk much when 70 people all have something to say. You can just relax and enjoy it, feel the embrace of all these people who accept you, no matter what. We're not all blood, but we're all family, and the feeling of being connected to all of them, of standing in a room full of people and seeing a glowing thread from your heart to the hearts all around you, is so rare, something to be cherished.

Sometimes I talk too much, and I miss when I'm around them and can be silent.

Day 17 Childhood

30 Day Letter Challenge

Day 17 — Someone from your childhood

I feel like all I do is talk about my childhood. You've heard about my childhood friends, about Ladybug, even briefly about the giant, mean kid down the street who used to beat me up. I spent a fair amount of my formative years crying before I learned that if he chucked a hammer at me I could throw it back and it would hurt him just as bad.

Cul-de-sac

 I grew up on a cul-de-sac, a street which was closed off from everything and provided lots of space to play. Six of the houses on my street all had kids within a few years of my own age, so we grew up together in big backyards and long summer days. Because it was a safe, rural neighborhood, our parents gave us free reign, and we left to play in the river or ride our bikes several miles into the mountains or venture into town without any pesky questions. Think little rascals, to a point, though we didn't get in trouble much. When someone got hurt, we'd break an ice plant stalk in half and rub it on like Bactine. Was it a good idea? Probably not, but everyone learned how to soldier on.

When the days grew long, we ate dinner outside in the street and told ghost stories in the twilight. We played Kick the Can and Ghost in the Graveyard in the darkness. And then, when we got exhausted, we would pull out our sleeping bags and lawn chairs and set up camp in the road and watch for shooting stars in the clear, crisp sky and awake with dew on our faces. Or we'd awake in our beds, if it got particularly cold and our parents came to get us.

Once in a while the coyotes or mountain lions would come around out of curiosity, and we would all freak out. Coyotes are better, louder from further away, so we could scream and run into the nearest person's house and they get more scared of us than we are of them. No one ever got bit by either animal.

Milky Way from Mount Pinos - not my small mountain, but a similar view.

The one thing I love about living in a small town is the lack of light pollution. There's a camp at the top of one of our small mountains, and when you stand at the top, you can see in every direction. You can see the rolling hills continue for miles, or over another mountain range, or all the way to the ocean and the end of the earth. At night, more stars than you could have ever imagined blaze in the dark. The meteor showers here are spectacular, and as fire streaks across the sky, you can almost reach out your hand to touch it.

I think that's what I miss most.

Day 14 Drifting

30 Day Letter Challenge

Day 14 — Someone you’ve drifted away from

When I was two years old, my best friend moved into the house next door. She was the coolest kid around. She would beat up the mean boy down the street for me. We would sled down the muddy hill, watch Xena and Hercules after school (you know, with Lucy Lawless and Kevin Sorbo), spend all day in the back room with jolly ranchers and a Tremors marathon (so many Kevin Bacon jokes), or start up our own Jedi training academy.

She had a little sister too, and she's who I would play barbies or dress up with, but most of the time I was outside rock climbing with my best friend. We lived right next to the river, and would swim for miles up or down stream.

Anyway, she was a badass. But two weeks after she graduated from high school, she eloped and moved away. Not that I really minded, I mean, it sucked that she never told me what was going on or included me in the whole shebang, but she was always a private person when it came to feelings, so I wasn't really that hurt. Even so, I still had two more years of high school to go, so while she moved on and away, I was stuck doing the same old thing, except without her.

We talk online sometimes, send each other cards. I see pictures of her kids occasionally, but I've never met them. I thought I was going to be more involved in her life, but now I hardly know anything about the person she's become. If she ever needs me, I'm there. Until then, we're just drifting.

Day 10 Friends

30 Day Letter Challenge

Day 10 — Someone you don’t talk to as much as you’d like to

This is farther than I got last time, so go me!

Dear Adam,

I miss you. That might be my most honest sentence in this whole letter. It used to be that you needed me, or I needed you, and that need kept us close. But now you're engaged (congrats! I love her! Can I just take a minute to boast that if I hadn't made you fully aware of how much whats-her-face sucked you never would have met your beautiful, amazing, talented future wife? Chalk one up for me) and I'm doing well, and we don't need to talk like we used to, so we don't.

It's interesting that in all the years we've been friends, we've never gone out for pizza, or hung out at your house or mine, or gone to the movies. We don't spend time together unless we're ducking out of a religious activity, out walking or sitting at some park talking about our issues! You have to realize how weird that is, right?

Anyway, I've known you my whole life and just because our lives don't suck anymore (relatively) doesn't mean I want you to exit stage left. Who else is going to help me find the little dipper? Who else would talk me out of dying my hair yellow? You're important and I like having you around. Plus, my life is going to suck eventually and no one knows me better or can get me to talk better than you do (including best friend from Day 1 with whom I have a hard time communicating). You make me say what I feel. You don't assume and let things slide and let me avoid and I love that about our friendship.

Thanks for being there,

-

Day 4 Redux Siblings

30 Day Letter Challenge

Day 4 — Your sibling (or closest relative)
I've got a lot of siblings, but I'm just going to write two letters because these are on my mind right now.

Dear Sister #1, (This is the sister side-story I mentioned in Vanity)

Every time you get pregnant, I start to wonder if you're a little insane, again. You're the most wonderful, happy, loving, gorgeous person I know, and so is your husband, but you have so many kids. I think having that many kids would drive me nuts. When do you sleep? When do you eat? How can you afford food for everyone?

And then I spend time with everyone and I can't imagine your family without a single one of your children. They're all so unique, each bring a different perspective to the table, and I love each and every one of them. I can only imagine what this one is going to be like. But, seriously, now. Nine kids? That's a lot. Just hold off a minute and seriously think things over before you go for ten, okay? I'm not getting any younger and would like to be the "cool auntie" for all your kids. If you keep going, your youngest ones are going to think I'm old and weird.

Lovingly,

Your Little Sister

Ladybug,

It's been five weeks since I've heard from you. Grams let me know you were okay three weeks ago, but it's not the same.  I worry about you all the time. Everywhere I look, there is someone who looks like you, or there's a Marines logo, or a "Support our Troops" bumper sticker. I want to rip them all down, because each time I see them I worry about you more.

When you were still in training, I could wear all my USMC gear with pride. It was as if by branding myself with it I could still feel you in the passenger seat, arguing about the awful music you like to listen to while we drive down the highway. But now you're not in training, and I see all these kids on the street- 17, 18, 19, 20, and my god, you're so young. Now I can hardly look at any of it without wishing I could work up the courage to write you a letter or pick up the phone and try to reach you.

I get that you've been trained well, I know that you know your way around a gun better than half the guys you're with, but you'll always be that little boy who tried to fight me and lost, every time. You'll always be the kid who ate chicken nuggets with ketchup, who couldn't handle a cold pool, who got locked in the walk in refrigerator every week and loved to dismantle lawn mowers in his spare time.

You're always going to be that kid, no matter what you do, or what rank you earn, or if you become a national hero. You're always going to be my little brother, for better or worse.

Love you- hope you're alright.

Your Big Sis

Hubris

When I was a kid, my cousin/ basically my brother (from this point on be under codename: Ladybug-don’t worry, it’s a loving nickname) and I were enrolled in swimming lessons. I began when I was four or five and he started a few years after when he reached that same age. I would take the earlier, advanced class and he would take the younger class right after mine, so we were around to watch each other.

The classes were held in our outdoor community pool, which was absolutely freezing so early in the morning. For whatever reason I can't feel the cold. By the time the car pulled into the parking lot I always had my jacket off, shoes in hand, ready to jump in the pool, and when my lesson was over I refused to come out.  

Ladybug, like most other kids, had a much more difficult time. He would shiver and shake and most days he would beg to climb out early, wrapped in a thick towel as his teeth chattered, while I would eagerly ask if I could take his spot and jump back in.

I excelled in swimming, could hold my breath for two pool lengths or dive off the diving board and forget to come up until a worried instructor feared I was drowning and pull me out. (That tended to make them mad) I thought diving was the most wonderful feeling in the world and I practiced all the time.

Since I grew up right next to the ocean, when I wasn’t in the pool I was at this crap strip of beach ten minutes from my house. The waves were never very big unless there was a storm coming in, and each crest was filled with kelp and/or seaweed that tangled its slimy way across every inch of skin. I didn’t enjoy the shore much, but once I got past the breakers I loved the freedom of being able to swim in the (very cold) water when the pool wasn't open for summer.

I swam all year round, and because I can't feel the cold, one stormy January day I stayed in for more than 3 1/2 hours without a wetsuit and almost came out with hypothermia. It took several piping hot showers on the beach before my skin turned pink and I could uncurl my hands. But I was fine, a teenager, invincible. I didn't let it bother me.

It was this excellence, this confidence, this arrogance, which would be my undoing.

I was 16 and "pool hopping" with two of my friends. They were both 17 and enjoying the freedom of legally being able to drive friends after dark. We were in the spa of a very fancy hotel for only a few minutes before I left them. I could never take the heat for long, and preferred the cold water of the pool a few yards away.

The deepest section was only five feet, but I was 5'1" at the time and had been in this pool many times before. Shallow diving was my specialty. I dove in off the side- once, twice, six times. The rush of bubbles along my cheeks was thrilling, the ice water refreshing against my skin. It was a cold night and the stars were especially bright overhead. My breath puffed into the air as I climbed up the ladder.

I dove again, casually, carelessly, no longer thinking or making an effort. I'd done it a thousand times before. I cut through the water, too quickly, too steep, and couldn't stop myself. The bubbles rushed by my ears and I tried to arch my back. I couldn't pull up. The angle was all wrong. A tremendous pain lanced through my head, my neck, my spine-a pain so intense I could never have imagined anything like it.

And then there was nothing.

Lez Get Real

Okay, I want to talk about something that I'm not sure many people talk about, mostly because it's a little uncomfortable.

Do you go the restroom in groups?

Seriously.  The whole taking-other-people-with-me-to-pee thing is sometimes necessary to avoid becoming a social outcast, but I have never felt comfortable with it.  The whole idea of someone being able to hear every move I make in a stall half an inch from someone else is a little creepy.

When I was ten my best friend liked to come into the bathroom with me (like the ones in our houses) and would fiddle around in front of the mirror while I tried my hardest to ignore the fact that she was there and simultaneously keep her talking so she couldn't hear me pee.

Those were some of the most uncomfortable moments of my life.  But I loved her in the way only best friends can (the sleep in the same bed for three weeks straight, borrow clothes so you wouldn't have to go home, and cry when your parents ripped you apart after a month and forced you to sleep alone in your own bed type of love) so I let her do whatever she wanted.

However, I still get bladder shy when I feel like someone is listening in.  Is this normal?  Men's public restrooms have urinals, no stalls necessary!  They just whip it out like "whatever" and it's fine, but if I feel like someone is within 30 feet all urge to pee just dissipates.

So lately whenever I visit my mom, I've noticed she'll linger outside the door of the bathroom when I'm inside.  She'll answer a text message or write a note or talk to herself or god-knows-what else, but I feel like I'm on Vomit Watch 2012.

Never mind that I've never enjoyed throwing up and my issues with anorexia are totally different than bulimia, but I feel as if she's purposefully keeping an ear out for me.  Which, naturally, makes it hard to find time to pee!  I don't care if she's my mother, I still have this weird aversion.

Am I nuts?  Is she really just there by chance?  Is she coming from a good and helpful place? (I don't doubt this one at all.)

More importantly, do you feel this way?  Or do you invite your friends into the bathroom with you and one person straightens her hair while you pee?  It's not about being naked.  I don't care if friends are in the room while I shower- it's the privacy of the act that I wish to keep intact.

P.S. Someone explain full parameters of NSFW- is it only sexual, or is it stuff like this?  Because I'm never sure but I thought I should give fair warning if you don't want your boss to know you're reading about some girl's insecurities about being in the restroom with other people.

Houses/Unpacking

When I went off to college, I didn't go through the normal routine. I went to a conservatory, where one is expected to put in 16 hour days (sometimes more), six days a week. I was one of the youngest in the class, with most ranging between 25 and 30. I lived in a house with roommates instead of a dorm, was required to cook and clean and split bills. It was all very...adult (or as close to being an adult as I have ever experienced). Whereas I tend to think of university as an extension of high school with dorms, cliques, and not a whole lot of responsibility.

So, after living more or less as an adult for three years, I had to return home. My father has a fatal disease, and my mother is not coping well. We weren't doing well financially. So, after three years, here I am, in my old bedroom of my childhood home. I moved back home in June of 2009.

I started unpacking today.

I never unpacked because I thought maybe there was a way to leave quickly. I worked long hours for three months, so long that I was never home, and then left on a road trip for another two. Five months of trying not to live here.

Today I threw out three bags of stuff that had been lying around. Things from when I was a kid, things from the road trip, just things in general. I started with one section. One section that, after today, feels a little more like myself. Feels a little more like if I were to bring a girlfriend home to see it, she would get a glimpse of me- of what is important to me. I finished my bookshelf today, and that is a huge start.

I think part of the reason that I haven't felt like an adult, haven't felt capable of dating, is that being in this room again makes me feel like a child. The angel figurines, the stuffed animals, the collector barbies-they all shrink me down until I'm no more than a small girl.

It's time to give those away, to pass them on. Not to get rid of them, but to take back this space as my own; to make this room grow up with me, so that I no longer shrink under its gaze. A place to play guitar, read a novel, finish my psychology homework, a place where I can lock the door and feel sexy (because I'll be damned if a woman doesn't need to feel sexy in her own bed once in a while).

Today I took a step toward that, and feel a little more comfortable inside my own house.