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?

Day 21 Impressions

30 Day Letter Challenge

Day 21 — Someone you judged by their first impression

I'm not really one to judge on skin color, clothing style, piercings, or appearance in general. Looks can be decieving.

However, when I toured my college campus, I met another boy who was planning on attending. He was a few years older than me, short, stocky, beady eyes, with facial hair groomed intricately. I hadn't spoken with him but was so afraid of him. He had this weird vibe that just screamed "I'm going to rape you" and made me want to hide from him. Eventually, I discussed my uneasy feelings with another guy I had bonded with instantly, who laughed at me.

"What?! Cal? He's gay! Like, so gay!" Oh man, I was embarrassed. This guy I had percieved as a total threat was actually harmless. "I'll introduce you," my new friend proposed.

"Cal, this is Tabby."

"Oh, hey girl! We were in the same group this morning, right? I recognize you. I said my favorite song was Halo, by Beyonce. What was yours?"

"Um, I don't remember. I was nervous. Beyonce is good, though."

"Right? I love her music. Do you listen to Lenka? She's kind of quirky but I like it." He chattered on and made me feel totally at ease. He's definitely not a one trick pony (a stereotype) but he did go on to become one of my best friends. He's one of the nicest people on earth, loves to laugh, enjoys Disneyland as much as I do, worries about his family, is always down for pancakes, is never two faced, sings like no one's listening and dances like he's only got today left.

I'm so glad Omar introduced us, or I never would have gotten to know and become great friends with Cal. He's the person I've been most wrong about, the complete opposite of the vibe he was casting. I still follow my intuition a lot because it's gotten me out of a lot of scrapes, but I've learned it's not everything.

TeganAndSara

If you follow me on twitter, you know I have a great love for the ABC hit show #Nashville.They cover some beautiful songs on that show, and it has struck such a chord in me that I dragged my guitar out of its dusty corner.

I haven't played the guitar in months. Almost four months, actually, so when I picked up my trusty Layla today (when I was a kid I thought the song Lola, by the Kinks L-O-L-A Lola was L-A-Y-L-A Layla and it was my favorite song), I expected certain things to come back. Maybe the last song I learned to play or Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

What came rushing back instead was the first song I ever learned to play - the whole reason I bought my guitar in the first place. Every card carrying lesbian worth her weight in vinyl albums released in the 2000s  knows the lyrics to this song:


What a weird thing to come back to me. It doesn't apply to my life anymore, so I guess it's time to practice and learn a new song :)

Also, this makes me remember when I looked to Tegan and Sara for hair advice. Never again.

Don't Touch

It's long, so if you want to skip to the end, the last three paragraphs are my favorite. I'll bold it for you :)

Recently I wrote about Sexual Objectification and this, that, and the why-fors of appreciating and abhorring it. Whenever I write a post the subject seems to stick in my head for a time, and then suddenly life seems to revolve around it.

All week I have been hyper-aware of my personal space. While I like my physical traits to be appreciated, I don't enjoy being touched by people I don't know well. Handshakes, hugs, and pats on the back are fine, but lingering contact with strangers/brief acquaintances unnerves me.

Whenever I know someone will be touching me in a professional context (masseuse, chiropractor, doctor, gym trainer, etc) I shower and shave in the few hours before I go. Feeling fresh, wet, and clean is very important in those meetings. It makes me feel like I'm courteous and hygienic, and helps reassure me that particular setting will be strictly professional.

Whether this is normal behavior or this is because I have had problems with molestation in the past (ex-boyfriend and prior) is somewhat irrelevant considering I don't find the behavior harmful.  I don't go ballistic if I can't shower in the hour before I have to go to the doctor- it's just a general guideline. Although I wonder how many other people do the same thing.

When I'm with friends, family, and romantic partners, touching is wonderful- warm embraces, lingering brushes, harsh hits, surprising grabs. I'm not on the defensive when I know who is around me and all sorts of touching is great.

So, when I was at the gym the other day, my trainer (who is a woman because, yeah, I admit I'm just more comfortable with that) called over the big-boss-man to ask for help working out this jumping muscle issue I was having. He put his hand full on my pelvis between my hipbones (God, his hand was large, like a baseball mitt) and it felt far too close to my vulva, even though it probably wasn't.

He was just measuring something because he calculated a few things and moved his hand around, and then he pressed into a particular spot on my upper thigh. Wouldn't you know, the tiny muscle in my lower leg stopped twitching immediately! That part was kind of cool.  However, the fact that this guy that I didn't really know (I had talked to him a few times before and he seemed nice) was all up in my private business kind of freaked me out.

It reminded me of my first year in college, before I came out, when girls would grab at my boobs or other body parts at parties. There was one girl who would constantly sit on my lap and slip her bra off underneath her tank while hovering her breasts in front of my face (at multiple parties) all as an act to get guys to pay attention to her. (I didn't mind her so much as she never groped me, just sort of got into my personal space) There was this unspoken rule that we were all girls and our bodies were all communal property. If it enticed a guy into a bedroom for one of them it was even better.  But gay or not, it's not any more okay for a random girl to grope me than it is for a guy. If I don't like you, if I don't know you, it's an unwanted advance.
 
Sometimes I can meet a person and get comfortable with him/her/z in less than five minutes.  Other times it takes weeks, months, years, and occasionally I never get comfortable with that person.  Some people have a vibe that I can never quite get over. Some strangers never feel like strangers, and some people I've known my whole life still give me the creeps.

The point is: my breasts, my body, is my property, and the ability to touch it is not a right you are entitled to, it's a permission I give you. It's a trust I bestow you with.

Don't abuse it.

Beauty/Ugly

There comes a time in every person's life where they discover a flaw in themselves. As humans, we discover superficial flaws all the time: too fat, too skinny, one eye is larger than the other, one breast is smaller than the other, etc. The internal flaws are hard to discover, and even harder to admit to, unless low self esteem is in play.

I have always been fairly confident in myself, even while admitting to myself that I have several ugly internal tendencies. Over the years, I have come to terms with the ugly sides of my personality, but showing them to others remains hard for me to do. I am cynical, I am jaded; I picked up a book in Target today called "100 reasons every daughter needs a father" and wanted to write the author because I never had a father and I'm just fine. (The urge to rip the book into pieces obviously says that while I'm not psycho because of it, I still carry a penny of daddy issues in my pocket.)

There are ugly tendencies I wish I could change, or get rid of, but there is one thing I am selfish about, and I wouldn't change it for the world.

After first:girl, my mind was jumbled about. I had an affair with a boy that felt dirty and unsatisfying, and then went out partying, looking for people I could connect with so that I didn't feel so alone. When first:girl and I stopped talking, I felt like I had been thrown into a churning ocean with no way to float or scream for help. A few short months passed, and a new girl came into my life.

An:girl was cute, in her own way, a little loud, funny, a soccer player. She was a little rough around the edges, but she was bi-curious, and I looked at her like a drowning man looks at a life raft. We hung out, talked, laughed, but she was young. An wasn't much younger than myself, but girls were a new concept to her. I had had time to begin to adjust, begin to find myself, and she clung to me, taking who I was as the ideal lesbian figure.

I just wasn't emotionally ready for that. I wanted to be with someone older than myself. Someone who would ground me, who would look at me and say, "Go change. You don't look like yourself, you're imitating Tegan Quin." I wanted someone to guide me through sex, to understand that sometimes it doesn't end in orgasms, and it's okay if it doesn't. With An, I felt as though I were carrying two worlds on my shoulders, my world, and hers.

I didn't want to stumble through this tangled web of do-be-do-be-do complexes, stereotypes, and uncertainties with a young girl. I wanted someone who would walk alongside me on my path, and maybe knock a tree branch out of the way or pull me out of the way when a wolf attacks. I still want someone like that. I'm older now, and know more about myself (I can occasionally pull my guide out of harm's way as well), but I am still new enough that I want someone who has been through this a couple of times.

So, I broke it off with her. Abruptly, and without any real explanation as I could not put what I was feeling into words that had enough worth for her to hear. I handled it badly, and I was selfish. I put my own emotional needs first, an ugly, awful thing to do. I could have handled it better, but even now I believe it was the right thing to do.

I've shown you one of my selfish priorities, and have justified it for myself, and for you as well. I write with a bias to portray myself in a better light, another ugly habit I cannot break. It is human nature. And with this justification, the ugly seems more beautiful inside my head.

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.

Ignoring/Holidays

So, every time I try to write about first:girl, I have a major block that won't allow me to write anything at all. Therefore, I just feel like I should not try to write about her for a while, until I can really get a handle on things.

I realized, through lesbo's comment, that I have never really talked about schooling before, which is kind of a big topic for me.

I am an alumni of a performing arts college, but have recently decided to give up that career path in favor of something else. I was never really a great singer/actor/dancer and I also rather enjoy watching other people perform instead of doing it myself.

That being said, I made the career switch to journalism. I would love to be a theater/art/dance/literature critic, as well as articles about society's positive/negative impact, gender studies, queer theory, etc. Anything I can write about, I want to write about. My major is Journalism, and I'm hoping to minor in gender studies or psychology. Or maybe something else I've never thought of! Let me know if you have a suggestion that I should look into!

In other news, the holidays are approaching quickly, and this is the first year that I've been single and aware that I'm a lesbian. I know that I don't do well with men. I don't trust them, I don't like to be sexual with them, and I don't really like to be in relationships with them.

However, I've had a few guys who were more than happy to chat me up and be suggestive with me this past week, and I have been so lonely that I honestly thought about making out with one of them. I haven't been physical with someone in so long that the thought of kissing anyone is somewhat appealing.

This, of course, has thrown me into a tizzy. Does it mean I'm not gay? Does it mean I'm bi, does it mean I'm straight, does it mean that relationships with men may now work out because I fantasized kissing one of them? Does it mean I still love girls but am lonely?Do I even care what label I am anymore? It won't make life any easier for me once I've found a label for myself. And who is really going to come up to me at a bar and ask me to identify myself before she'll chat with me?

I had this thought the other day that maybe I want to date girls because I was so in love with first:girl that I'm trying to find her clone. Then, of course, I remembered that I liked girls before she came along.

I think it's just hard to be lonely.

PIP/Confused

PIP is Post in Progress, in my own personal language.

It's because I ran into first:girl last night, and it threw off my whole balance of being. I rushed home and scribbled out everything I was feeling and going through, but I don't want to, in haste, write something that I will regret. Maybe that particular post needs to wait until I can write about how first:girl and I met, how my relationship with her began.

I feel like if I write about her with how I feel right now, she'll be placed as the bad guy, but she's not at all, and I love her enough that I want you to view her from the good and bad. From the beginning. I just can't bring myself to go back to that point in time.

Laughable/Comfortable

Seeing old friends from high school who knew you as straight is not that fun. Not that they aren't wonderful, accepting people; it's just that orientation becomes everything. To those people you are something new, something they never expected you to be, or had never encountered before.

Seeing old friends who have always known you as gay is absolutely wonderful. Needless to say, I've just done that. I went to dinner with seven people I attended college with, and someone new. Everything was warm and friendly and funny (and it helped that there was another queer woman and two gay men at the table). Sex came up, of course, but it wasn't wonderment or disgust, it was practicality and "who're you seeing now?"

It was wonderful to talk about sexuality, topping, bottoming, even having crushes on straight people and how to cross that bridge whenever we have come to it. (I'm crossing that bridge at the moment.)

When we started talking about labeling and why people do or do not assign labels to themselves it was nice to have someone understand that I want to label myself for me. When I mentioned that I had tried to label myself as butch for a period of time the entire table burst into laughter. Apparently I am the least butch girl they had ever seen. Once I explained that I was trying to label my whole persona by how I feel in bed they were more understanding. I'm still waiting as to what about me is not butch at all.

There was a beautiful woman three tables over who kept meeting my eye. She had glossy black curls, dark brown eyes, a mouth that begged to be kissed, and an overcoat that was too trendy for the little hick-city we were in.

The bathroom had two stalls, so when my friend and I walked in, we waited. Interestingly enough, the two women inside were talking about the double date they were on. This piqued my interest as one girl started talking about her (female) date and how she just wasn't interested.

The beautiful woman who kept catching my eye across the dining room walked out. I let her pass by me to the sink and took her place in the stall as she kept chatting. "She's just a baby. I'm going to end up taking care of her. She's not emotionally ready." Every moment she kept talking my heart was pulled in two directions. I wanted to take care of this beautiful femme with full lips. I wanted to pull her glossy hair and watch her submit to me while I fucked her. I wanted her to shudder underneath me and pull my body to hers; seeking my body heat, wanting my comfort. The other side of me cowered in fear. Was this what I would appear to be? A baby who'd never had sex? Someone who needed to be taken care of?

I wanted to walk out of the stall, press her into the counter and watch her expressions in the mirror as I kissed her neck. I wanted her to melt in my hands until she would whisper a plea for me to drive her home. I wanted to prove that my love and respect for strong femmes would urge me to take care of her, and not the other way around.

I just didn't know if all that would constitute as a lie. I don't feel young, afraid, or unready. But I also don't want to make anyone else take care of me if it turns out that I am any one of the above.

The other night, I had a moment. I was laying in bed trying to get to sleep, and scenes from my adolescence kept flashing before me. It was different, to have a realization hit you without urging. An epiphany that gave me the courage to finally move forward in my life, to plan for a future without the fear that my sexual orientation is just a phase.

It was like I felt my soul click into my chest.

Though I didn't make a move for the beautiful woman I will probably never see again, I have that knowledge that I am here, I am real, I am comfortable with who I am (maybe for the first time in my life).

But it helps that I have feelings for both my wonderful new friend and a straight girl that my life path keeps intersecting with, too.