I think we're starting to fall back into old patterns. I can feel you drifting back into the daily life we had before you left. I can feel myself drifting back into caregiver, peacekeeper mode. I'm not entirely happy with either situation. I don't want our old routines. I don't want our old relationship.
I want passion, I want boundaries, I want commitment, I want respect, I want love. I don't want the kind of love we had before, the kind where I bring you a glass of water and you get me an ice cream on your way home from work and those are little "I love you"s.
I want big love. I want hot, rough, fast, or loving, smoldering, slow sex, all day, every day. I want heat when you hold my hand, I want you to look at me like I'm the person you want most in the world by your side every day.
Instead you look at your phone.
I want, I want, I want. I've always wanted but never taken enough. Never taken enough for myself or spoken up for myself. I just compromise, and by compromise I mean that I say, "whatever you want to do," and "whatever you're hungry for," and "wherever you'd rather go this weekend."
I compromise myself and what I want and that's not okay. I don't want that anymore. I feel like you burned me and out of the ashes is rising someone newer, more confident, more selfish, more demanding. Someone who is going to be an equal rather than a doormat and I don't know if you're going to like the new me or if I'm even going to like the new me.
But I'm tired of giving and giving. Maybe you'll look back at this, even if we're still together ten years from now, and go, "I lost my girlfriend who loved me and gave with all her heart when I did that stupid thing." Because you did. You lost her.
Now you have choices. Me, or someone new, or be alone, or run back to the girl who has proved that she doesn't love you the way you loved her and she never will.
I can't tell you what to choose, I don't even know what I will choose.
But I do know we can never go back to who we were.
Showing posts with label confidence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label confidence. Show all posts
Sep 7, 2016
Jun 1, 2013
Radar
Some people spend every minute of their active days noticing the people looking at them. Maybe it is the touch of makeup he is wearing or maybe she is paranoid because she is still so closeted and uncomfortable, or maybe because the danger of being gay is still so very real in our society. But they walk down the street and they worry.
I don't ever think about watching, because no one looks twice at me. Some days I stop to peer into the faces of passers by with a broken heart, wishing that someone would recognize me for what I am. Some days I long for a kindred spirit, for a judgemental glare, for some sort of reaffirmation that someone else can see in me what I see in myself.
A gay woman.
But they all keep walking, so absorbed in their lives. I'm not pretty enough to turn heads, nor odd enough to attract attention, and so I am invisible to them as they talk on their cell phones or rustle up their children or dig their keys from pockets and purses.
And I spend long afternoons with my boifriend's head on my lap or our fingers interlaced and my heart swells with joy. Our eyes meet and there's so much between us and I know someone is seeing me, really looking into me.
I'm so glad someone else can see it. I'm so glad I can have this loving, caring relationship with someone so wonderful and beyond my wildest imaginings.
But I also can't help but wonder sometimes what's wrong with me, that everyone else pings on the radar, and I don't.
I don't ever think about watching, because no one looks twice at me. Some days I stop to peer into the faces of passers by with a broken heart, wishing that someone would recognize me for what I am. Some days I long for a kindred spirit, for a judgemental glare, for some sort of reaffirmation that someone else can see in me what I see in myself.
A gay woman.
But they all keep walking, so absorbed in their lives. I'm not pretty enough to turn heads, nor odd enough to attract attention, and so I am invisible to them as they talk on their cell phones or rustle up their children or dig their keys from pockets and purses.
And I spend long afternoons with my boifriend's head on my lap or our fingers interlaced and my heart swells with joy. Our eyes meet and there's so much between us and I know someone is seeing me, really looking into me.
I'm so glad someone else can see it. I'm so glad I can have this loving, caring relationship with someone so wonderful and beyond my wildest imaginings.
But I also can't help but wonder sometimes what's wrong with me, that everyone else pings on the radar, and I don't.
Jan 28, 2013
Complexes/Femme Invisibility
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.
"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.
Dec 19, 2012
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 ofthe 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.
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
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!
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!
Nov 29, 2012
Hot Mess/Comfortable
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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.
Nov 27, 2012
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.
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.
Oct 29, 2012
Day 7 Redux Exes
30 Day Letter Challenge
Day 7 — Your Ex-boyfriend/girlfriend/love/crush
Dear Lovely,
I used to hate it when you talked about your Brazilian ex-boyfriend. Okay, yeah, he was hunky, and maybe you wanted me to be jealous (was that it?) and if so, it worked. Did you enjoy feeling dominated and possessed? Was I trying too hard to avoid being clingy that you felt under-loved, under-appreciated? You made me feel jealous, yes, but I was also hurt. I think a lot of lesbians have issues dating bisexual girls because there is this feeling of inadequacy that comes along with the territory.
You like men, that's fine, whatever, but you were with me. I don't have rippling pectorals and a rock hard six pack and a chiseled jaw. I'm a lady. I'm pretty sure you got the idea of my feminine wrapping when you started stroking my arm in the bar and whispered in my ear how soft my skin was.
I couldn't believe you were interested in me. I think your accent alone could unravel me and your fingers could weave a more beautiful tapestry from the threads. But amongst your traits, this one bragging, boasting, constantly talking about past sex with men - I just couldn't get past.
I'm sorry, I really am. You were so many possibilities and I could see them all flash through my mind - but when you pulled away I couldn't fight for you. Whether you left now or five years down the road, I just don't think we were meant to be together.
You were a flash fire- a searing heat, filled with warmth, joy, a sort of spiritual rebirth after I had been crushed too many times, but by very definition, burned out quick as it began. But, you renewed my faith in relationships when my past experiences had my hopes withering. I wish you all the best, lovely.
T
Day 7 — Your Ex-boyfriend/girlfriend/love/crush
Dear Lovely,
I used to hate it when you talked about your Brazilian ex-boyfriend. Okay, yeah, he was hunky, and maybe you wanted me to be jealous (was that it?) and if so, it worked. Did you enjoy feeling dominated and possessed? Was I trying too hard to avoid being clingy that you felt under-loved, under-appreciated? You made me feel jealous, yes, but I was also hurt. I think a lot of lesbians have issues dating bisexual girls because there is this feeling of inadequacy that comes along with the territory.
You like men, that's fine, whatever, but you were with me. I don't have rippling pectorals and a rock hard six pack and a chiseled jaw. I'm a lady. I'm pretty sure you got the idea of my feminine wrapping when you started stroking my arm in the bar and whispered in my ear how soft my skin was.
I couldn't believe you were interested in me. I think your accent alone could unravel me and your fingers could weave a more beautiful tapestry from the threads. But amongst your traits, this one bragging, boasting, constantly talking about past sex with men - I just couldn't get past.
I'm sorry, I really am. You were so many possibilities and I could see them all flash through my mind - but when you pulled away I couldn't fight for you. Whether you left now or five years down the road, I just don't think we were meant to be together.
You were a flash fire- a searing heat, filled with warmth, joy, a sort of spiritual rebirth after I had been crushed too many times, but by very definition, burned out quick as it began. But, you renewed my faith in relationships when my past experiences had my hopes withering. I wish you all the best, lovely.
T
Oct 22, 2012
Vanity
I am a vain person.
This blog serves as Evidence File #1. I sit at a computer and write about myself and feel a sense of accomplishment when other people read it. I think I'm pretty, smart, funny, polite, generous, and kind. It's fairly obvious I'm quite narcissistic.
Despite this, I don't dress up very often. I didn't come from money and I don't have much now. I'm not impoverished, but I don't buy things I don't need and I am a firm believer that with tweaking, Ikea furniture can last a long time. I don't buy clothes every year and none of my shoes cost over thirty dollars. That's just how I was raised, and I'm used to it. Plus, cheap clothes and shoes are so cute nowadays (hello, Target!)
(Side story: My sister went bankrupt after high school when she worked as a waitress in a suburb of Los Angeles. She bought thousands of dollars of clothes and shoes on a credit card, in order to catch the eye of some rich guy. After maxing out and calling it a day, she moved back home and fell head over heels for a sweet surfer guy with zero cash. They've been married for 16 years. Everybody say it with me. Awwwww.)
Anyway, I'm pretty much a t-shirt and jeans kind of gal, and people don't usually pass out compliments when you wear the same four pairs of jeans and converse for two years running. So, when I stepped out for work into the chilly, drizzling weather today I hadn't expected anything special. I was dressed differently- it was cold so I switched out my jeans for leggings and boots, my t-shirt for something more stylish.
I didn't expect to be complimented. I didn't expect people to tell me I looked beautiful, or to ask where I'd gotten my clothes or my shoes. I smiled, and someone asked what eyeshadow I was wearing (was she crazy? Who wears eyeshadow in the rain?) Someone else asked me what shampoo and conditioner I use. People complimented my hair, my smile, my laugh, my eyes. I think I may have started glowing.
I felt beautiful. Not just pretty, not just sweet and smiling in front of a mirror in the morning, but noticed. I felt as if I had suddenly come into focus, rather than just a blur in the background. It wore off as I came home from work, took out my contacts, put on warm socks.
Tomorrow I'll just be the blur - the girl in jeans and a t-shirt, and I'm okay with that. But just for today, it felt so wonderful to be beautiful.
This blog serves as Evidence File #1. I sit at a computer and write about myself and feel a sense of accomplishment when other people read it. I think I'm pretty, smart, funny, polite, generous, and kind. It's fairly obvious I'm quite narcissistic.
Despite this, I don't dress up very often. I didn't come from money and I don't have much now. I'm not impoverished, but I don't buy things I don't need and I am a firm believer that with tweaking, Ikea furniture can last a long time. I don't buy clothes every year and none of my shoes cost over thirty dollars. That's just how I was raised, and I'm used to it. Plus, cheap clothes and shoes are so cute nowadays (hello, Target!)
(Side story: My sister went bankrupt after high school when she worked as a waitress in a suburb of Los Angeles. She bought thousands of dollars of clothes and shoes on a credit card, in order to catch the eye of some rich guy. After maxing out and calling it a day, she moved back home and fell head over heels for a sweet surfer guy with zero cash. They've been married for 16 years. Everybody say it with me. Awwwww.)
Anyway, I'm pretty much a t-shirt and jeans kind of gal, and people don't usually pass out compliments when you wear the same four pairs of jeans and converse for two years running. So, when I stepped out for work into the chilly, drizzling weather today I hadn't expected anything special. I was dressed differently- it was cold so I switched out my jeans for leggings and boots, my t-shirt for something more stylish.
I didn't expect to be complimented. I didn't expect people to tell me I looked beautiful, or to ask where I'd gotten my clothes or my shoes. I smiled, and someone asked what eyeshadow I was wearing (was she crazy? Who wears eyeshadow in the rain?) Someone else asked me what shampoo and conditioner I use. People complimented my hair, my smile, my laugh, my eyes. I think I may have started glowing.
I felt beautiful. Not just pretty, not just sweet and smiling in front of a mirror in the morning, but noticed. I felt as if I had suddenly come into focus, rather than just a blur in the background. It wore off as I came home from work, took out my contacts, put on warm socks.
Tomorrow I'll just be the blur - the girl in jeans and a t-shirt, and I'm okay with that. But just for today, it felt so wonderful to be beautiful.
Oct 18, 2012
Rise of the Redhead
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| Marilyn Monroe courtesy of Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images |
The redhead.
Dyed redheads are super popular too, but the natural redhead remains the most coveted of all. Why the sudden fascination? Why are women scrambling to buy red dye from a box or a salon? Is it a feeling of empowerment and bold sexuality that accompanies the color? Or is it something else?
Few people who are not naturally red or strawberry blonde can pull off the switch to a red color. I dyed my hair a nice, vibrant mahogany-ish color once when I was 12. With my Mediterranean/Native American tanned complexion (though I am not Mediterranean and not very Native American) it looked FABULOUS on me. Just kidding, it looked awful. I won't ever do it again, I promise.
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| Karen Gillan, a stunningly lovely natural ginger |
Both of my grandmothers had red hair and my mother has lovely jade green eyes (but brown hair) and I always feel like I missed out on the DNA lotto. My sisters managed to snag her eyes but my brothers and I were left out. I've cherished her green eyes for years, but no amount of wishing has ever lightened my eyes or made them magically turn green.
I do wonder if our sudden fascination has anything to do with the Harry Potter culture-the red hair and green eyes that were so special and cherished in the storyline that wound its way through a generation of new, young readers. These readers have grown up and started what seems to be an "invasion" of British-isms. These are a generation of people who enjoy British television, books, music, talk radio, colloquialisms, and fashion. If we idolize the minds and words of those across the pond, why not their looks?
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| My ultimate badass crush- Michelle Rodriguez |
In the meantime I'm lucky in that I'm a gay lady and enjoy looking at pretty girls who are special and unique.
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| Aishwarya Rai- one of the most beautiful women in the world, and Jamie Chung- current TV love who is heating it up on ABC's Once Upon A Time |
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| Kerry Washington is lighting up DC with her gorgeous face in Scandal and just try to tell me you're not in love with Grace Park, a smokin' hot lady you might recognize from Hawaii Five-O |
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| ABC's Nashville LadyCrush- Connie Britton Along with my favorite smiling girl TaySwift |
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| I will stand under your Umbrella. |
Oct 7, 2012
Gay is Definite
I'm gay.
With all the labels and all the struggles- trying to find a term that fits everything I am, only one word seems to encompass it all. Queer, femme, butch, lesbian, woman, genderqueer, genderfuck, and dyke have all been tried on with varying degrees of success. Each one felt like a plaster mold into which I was pouring and conforming myself to meet its definition.
When I stopped writing over these past two years, I stopped trying on words, frantically, as if they were outfits five minutes before a date. I took my time and slowed things down. I came out to my family. Coming out to strangers had been no problem in the past, but my uber-religious family was scary. Turns out I didn't have much to be frightened of. But in the time that I stopped searching for words to mold myself into, I found the word that molded itself to me.
Gay.
Such a simple, unhindered word, traditionally used for the male sex, but that doesn't hang me up. People understand it immediately. Unlike other terms which begin a lengthy discussion of who I am and what I identify as (don't get me wrong, I love lengthy discussions, but not every time) the term "gay" is very quickly grasped.
To be gay in society has a certain connotation. Gay is not a phase, not something to be outgrown or moved past with "the right person." Gay is not a lifestyle choice. Gay is unchanging; gay is forever.
Gay is definite.
Everyone has a word they feel most comfortable with, and when they say those words with pride, when they announce to the world, "I identify as genderqueer," or "I'm a femme," it gives that person strength, power, joy- a sense of self and confidence.
But for me, each time I tried to label myself, the words rang false. Instead of joy and pride, I felt an emptiness and a longing. Until now, when people ask, and I can simply say, "I'm gay," and it makes me smile. If it's with a random passerby, the inevitable question thereafter is, "so are you butch or is your girlfriend?" because a lot of people still believe all lesbian relationships are butch/femme.
"I'm just gay," I laugh, and who cares if they're confused. It's my word, and the freedom attached to it has never felt so good.
With all the labels and all the struggles- trying to find a term that fits everything I am, only one word seems to encompass it all. Queer, femme, butch, lesbian, woman, genderqueer, genderfuck, and dyke have all been tried on with varying degrees of success. Each one felt like a plaster mold into which I was pouring and conforming myself to meet its definition.
When I stopped writing over these past two years, I stopped trying on words, frantically, as if they were outfits five minutes before a date. I took my time and slowed things down. I came out to my family. Coming out to strangers had been no problem in the past, but my uber-religious family was scary. Turns out I didn't have much to be frightened of. But in the time that I stopped searching for words to mold myself into, I found the word that molded itself to me.
Gay.
Such a simple, unhindered word, traditionally used for the male sex, but that doesn't hang me up. People understand it immediately. Unlike other terms which begin a lengthy discussion of who I am and what I identify as (don't get me wrong, I love lengthy discussions, but not every time) the term "gay" is very quickly grasped.
To be gay in society has a certain connotation. Gay is not a phase, not something to be outgrown or moved past with "the right person." Gay is not a lifestyle choice. Gay is unchanging; gay is forever.
Gay is definite.
Everyone has a word they feel most comfortable with, and when they say those words with pride, when they announce to the world, "I identify as genderqueer," or "I'm a femme," it gives that person strength, power, joy- a sense of self and confidence.
But for me, each time I tried to label myself, the words rang false. Instead of joy and pride, I felt an emptiness and a longing. Until now, when people ask, and I can simply say, "I'm gay," and it makes me smile. If it's with a random passerby, the inevitable question thereafter is, "so are you butch or is your girlfriend?" because a lot of people still believe all lesbian relationships are butch/femme.
"I'm just gay," I laugh, and who cares if they're confused. It's my word, and the freedom attached to it has never felt so good.
Sep 29, 2012
Sexual Objectification: Part 1
I like to be sexually objectified. Except that I don't. Not in what that term really means. Have you ever looked it up?
Objectification: depersonalization - representing a human being as a physical thing deprived of personal qualities or individuality;
I even found this from a Stanford article:
Objectification is a notion central to feminist theory. It can be roughly defined as the seeing and/or treating a person, usually a woman, as an object. In this entry, the focus is primarily on sexual objectification, objectification occurring in the sexual realm. Martha Nussbaum (1995, 257) has identified seven features that are involved in the idea of treating a person as an object:
Point being: I don't like the depersonalization aspect of objectification. I love that I am an intelligent, opinionated, respectful, witty woman. I love when people recognize those qualities in me, and I don't want those qualities to be lost or pushed aside so I am viewed purely as an object to be used for sexual gratification. I refuse to be treated "as if I lack the capacity to speak."
But I do want those wonderful qualities of mine to step into the background occasionally. I find it thrilling, arousing, to have all thoughts of how sweet or smart I am fly out the window because of an all consuming sexual desire. Perhaps this is because I have always felt pretty, not sexy. Perhaps it is because I have always felt body conscious. But there is something about when someone turns to me with that heat in the eyes that makes me tingle all over.
Even when I'm not attracted to that person, I'll find myself doing little things to keep up the crush. I'll dress nicer, keep up my makeup, make an effort. My smiles are a little slower, my eyes a little warmer, my blouse a little more low cut.
Is it teasing? Is it wrong? Am I not supposed to do it? I've never really seen the problem in looking my best. As long as I'm not flirting I don't feel like I'm leading anyone on. I'm careful to not give the wrong impression, careful to not say anything that would be interpreted as interested in a date, but I'm a flirtatious person by normally, so I have to cut back and I can't say I've never accidentally slipped. What do you think? Is the body language too much? Am I being unfair to the other person?
Am I, in turn, objectifying/using someone else as he/she/z sexualizes me, in order to boost my own self esteem? Do you think this is a better or worse form of objectification? Do you enjoy when your body is sexualized by strangers, acquaintances, your partner? Or do you prefer that your mental attributes be your sexiest qualities?
Objectification: depersonalization - representing a human being as a physical thing deprived of personal qualities or individuality;
I even found this from a Stanford article:
Objectification is a notion central to feminist theory. It can be roughly defined as the seeing and/or treating a person, usually a woman, as an object. In this entry, the focus is primarily on sexual objectification, objectification occurring in the sexual realm. Martha Nussbaum (1995, 257) has identified seven features that are involved in the idea of treating a person as an object:
- instrumentality: the treatment of a person as a tool for the objectifier's purposes;
- denial of autonomy: the treatment of a person as lacking in autonomy and self-determination;
- inertness: the treatment of a person as lacking in agency, and perhaps also in activity;
- fungibility: the treatment of a person as interchangeable with other objects;
- violability: the treatment of a person as lacking in boundary-integrity;
- ownership: the treatment of a person as something that is owned by another (can be bought or sold);
- denial of subjectivity: the treatment of a person as something whose experiences and feelings (if any) need not be taken into account.
- reduction to body: the treatment of a person as identified with their body, or body parts;
- reduction to appearance: the treatment of a person primarily in terms of how they look, or how they appear to the senses;
- silencing: the treatment of a person as if they are silent, lacking the capacity to speak.
Point being: I don't like the depersonalization aspect of objectification. I love that I am an intelligent, opinionated, respectful, witty woman. I love when people recognize those qualities in me, and I don't want those qualities to be lost or pushed aside so I am viewed purely as an object to be used for sexual gratification. I refuse to be treated "as if I lack the capacity to speak."
But I do want those wonderful qualities of mine to step into the background occasionally. I find it thrilling, arousing, to have all thoughts of how sweet or smart I am fly out the window because of an all consuming sexual desire. Perhaps this is because I have always felt pretty, not sexy. Perhaps it is because I have always felt body conscious. But there is something about when someone turns to me with that heat in the eyes that makes me tingle all over.
Even when I'm not attracted to that person, I'll find myself doing little things to keep up the crush. I'll dress nicer, keep up my makeup, make an effort. My smiles are a little slower, my eyes a little warmer, my blouse a little more low cut.
Is it teasing? Is it wrong? Am I not supposed to do it? I've never really seen the problem in looking my best. As long as I'm not flirting I don't feel like I'm leading anyone on. I'm careful to not give the wrong impression, careful to not say anything that would be interpreted as interested in a date, but I'm a flirtatious person by normally, so I have to cut back and I can't say I've never accidentally slipped. What do you think? Is the body language too much? Am I being unfair to the other person?
Am I, in turn, objectifying/using someone else as he/she/z sexualizes me, in order to boost my own self esteem? Do you think this is a better or worse form of objectification? Do you enjoy when your body is sexualized by strangers, acquaintances, your partner? Or do you prefer that your mental attributes be your sexiest qualities?
Sep 21, 2012
Stopgaps
Crap. I went away for two years- just stopped writing. I'm so sorry. I don't think that I can do anything or say anything that would make you understand. When I started this blog *gulp* three long years ago, I was still so broken. Every time I tried to write about what was truly eating at me, I couldn't. I put it off and put it off because I was still in love with, still heartbroken over, the first girl to bring down all my barriers.
By starting this blog, I tried to give myself a space to explore all the other things that were going on inside me. All of my daily gender struggles, my issues with my sexuality- I turned to you as a community for strength, guidance and compassion, and I'm thankful for all you've given me.
When I left, I had just had surgery. It was hard for me to eat, physically, and I could feel the old habits of my anorexia creeping back up on me. While I've never been diagnosed or hospitalized, anorexia is never very far from my mind. The opportunity handed to me on a silver platter, to relapse with a perfectly good and unquestionable excuse, was too hard to pass up. I lost forty pounds. I felt amazing. As with all things, it was a cycle. I had to eat eventually and am now back up to my former weight. It's been an interesting two years. I've dated, I've learned, I've grown, I've started to heal, and I think I've become more comfortable with myself.
All those thoughts that were constantly plaguing me about who I was, about labeling myself, have faded into the background. I am who I am and I enjoy the person I've become, for the most part. There are always things I'm going to want to change about myself, but for now I'm not so focused on how I want to be labeled in a relationship or should be labeled. I just act, and let things go from there.
When I started the blog I said I was going to write about being gay, because it was so new and overwhelming that I felt obsessed with it. I feel like it overshadowed all else that I was, and sometimes it still does, but more and more sides of me are stepping into the spotlight, and that's the way I want it to be.
If you'd read my initial post from last night, you know that I had a relationship end. She was a sweet, charming, raunchy girl that made me laugh constantly. I don't know why I let her go, but I think that part of it was that I'm not quite healed. So I've started something that I ached to do a long time ago, but never had the courage or conviction.
I've started writing about first:girl. I feel like I've referred to her enough that I owe you my story, and maybe I owe it to myself to tell it. It doesn't hurt me anymore to think about it. I still occasionally get shivers when I think about her, or feel a warm glow when I remember her smile, but it was four years ago- long enough to feel like it happened to another person. I'm so different now than I was then.
I hope, in telling it, the remnant of longing will disappear, and I can finally shut that door. And perhaps all of you will finally feel like you know me as more than just words on a backlit screen, because every part of who I used to be was wrapped up in her. I want you to know me. I'm so sorry I disappeared, but I'm back and baring my soul for the world.
By starting this blog, I tried to give myself a space to explore all the other things that were going on inside me. All of my daily gender struggles, my issues with my sexuality- I turned to you as a community for strength, guidance and compassion, and I'm thankful for all you've given me.
When I left, I had just had surgery. It was hard for me to eat, physically, and I could feel the old habits of my anorexia creeping back up on me. While I've never been diagnosed or hospitalized, anorexia is never very far from my mind. The opportunity handed to me on a silver platter, to relapse with a perfectly good and unquestionable excuse, was too hard to pass up. I lost forty pounds. I felt amazing. As with all things, it was a cycle. I had to eat eventually and am now back up to my former weight. It's been an interesting two years. I've dated, I've learned, I've grown, I've started to heal, and I think I've become more comfortable with myself.
All those thoughts that were constantly plaguing me about who I was, about labeling myself, have faded into the background. I am who I am and I enjoy the person I've become, for the most part. There are always things I'm going to want to change about myself, but for now I'm not so focused on how I want to be labeled in a relationship or should be labeled. I just act, and let things go from there.
When I started the blog I said I was going to write about being gay, because it was so new and overwhelming that I felt obsessed with it. I feel like it overshadowed all else that I was, and sometimes it still does, but more and more sides of me are stepping into the spotlight, and that's the way I want it to be.
If you'd read my initial post from last night, you know that I had a relationship end. She was a sweet, charming, raunchy girl that made me laugh constantly. I don't know why I let her go, but I think that part of it was that I'm not quite healed. So I've started something that I ached to do a long time ago, but never had the courage or conviction.
I've started writing about first:girl. I feel like I've referred to her enough that I owe you my story, and maybe I owe it to myself to tell it. It doesn't hurt me anymore to think about it. I still occasionally get shivers when I think about her, or feel a warm glow when I remember her smile, but it was four years ago- long enough to feel like it happened to another person. I'm so different now than I was then.
I hope, in telling it, the remnant of longing will disappear, and I can finally shut that door. And perhaps all of you will finally feel like you know me as more than just words on a backlit screen, because every part of who I used to be was wrapped up in her. I want you to know me. I'm so sorry I disappeared, but I'm back and baring my soul for the world.
Dec 20, 2009
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.
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.
Dec 1, 2009
Fear/Confidence
Can fear actually make you a more confident person? Can you be so afraid that you put on a brave face, and through that facade become a more courageous person?
I'm not suave and charming, and I have no idea how to woo the woman I want to be with. And honestly, she is going through a rough breakup right now and probably doesn't want to be wooed. Whilst I'm discovering women for the first time, she is discovering men. However, this doesn't mean that I am not cute and coy and a little sly.
Is it because I am afraid to tell her outright that I am interested and have her reject me? Or is it because I know she likes women who are more femme than her and I want to make her feel good by playing to her strengths?
Is one reason any better than the other?
I am afraid to go to sleep. I don't have nightmares. I have the exact opposite. Beautiful dreams of love, sex, relationships. Such real dreams that I can feel her skin, the heat of her breath, can hear the pound of her heart. Different, exquisite women every night. And then I wake up, and I am alone.
I'm alone in the supermarket when lesbians don't recognize that I'm gay. I'm alone at the register when the man behind the counter is chatting me up and I can't help but notice that the woman standing by the ice cream has the most beautiful mouth.
I can take it every day as long as I don't have those dreams. Those dreams that remind me what it is like to lay my head in [first:girl]'s lap and have her run her fingers through my hair. They remind me that I no longer see the woman who used to simultaneously hold me and make fun of me as I cry over an episode of L Word.
Fear is a constant. Trying to hide your fear is a constant. It's all constant. Stagnant. There has to be a way to break the cycle and create something new.
I am a good person. I am cute, sweet, smart, caring, warm, comforting, and have just a touch of sensuality. I'm beautiful. I'm all soft curves and a sweet face with big brown eyes and soft hair. I should be good at this. I should be able to walk into a bar and have everyone jump at the chance to take me home.
But for whatever reason, I'm too scared to walk into that bar.
I'm not suave and charming, and I have no idea how to woo the woman I want to be with. And honestly, she is going through a rough breakup right now and probably doesn't want to be wooed. Whilst I'm discovering women for the first time, she is discovering men. However, this doesn't mean that I am not cute and coy and a little sly.
Is it because I am afraid to tell her outright that I am interested and have her reject me? Or is it because I know she likes women who are more femme than her and I want to make her feel good by playing to her strengths?
Is one reason any better than the other?
I am afraid to go to sleep. I don't have nightmares. I have the exact opposite. Beautiful dreams of love, sex, relationships. Such real dreams that I can feel her skin, the heat of her breath, can hear the pound of her heart. Different, exquisite women every night. And then I wake up, and I am alone.
I'm alone in the supermarket when lesbians don't recognize that I'm gay. I'm alone at the register when the man behind the counter is chatting me up and I can't help but notice that the woman standing by the ice cream has the most beautiful mouth.
I can take it every day as long as I don't have those dreams. Those dreams that remind me what it is like to lay my head in [first:girl]'s lap and have her run her fingers through my hair. They remind me that I no longer see the woman who used to simultaneously hold me and make fun of me as I cry over an episode of L Word.
Fear is a constant. Trying to hide your fear is a constant. It's all constant. Stagnant. There has to be a way to break the cycle and create something new.
I am a good person. I am cute, sweet, smart, caring, warm, comforting, and have just a touch of sensuality. I'm beautiful. I'm all soft curves and a sweet face with big brown eyes and soft hair. I should be good at this. I should be able to walk into a bar and have everyone jump at the chance to take me home.
But for whatever reason, I'm too scared to walk into that bar.
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