Dreaming/Reality

If I talk about my date you're going to think I'm lying, or making it up. It was that fantastic. I wasn't dreaming. It really happened.

It's the kind of date you see in movies - fun, full of laughter and warm fuzzies, a wholly unnecessary sappy love song playlist not-so-discreetly playing in the background at the restaurant - when the table seems to shrink and it all feels very intimate.

And then the setting moves and I love being in the car with Prince because we sing and we talk and we're so close and I can't help but touch, constantly, compulsively, because touching is so rare across the distances and in public places and in not-friendly-to-gay areas and the car feels safe and warm and comfortable and I want to touch and be touched.

But then it has to be a movie because I've never seen the sun set over the ocean like that, never seen someone smile at me with heaven in the eyes, and I feel so amazed, bewildered, content, and I don't even want to run off for sex because I just want to stand here, forever, drinking in the sunlight with our arms brushing, laughing at the little girls next to us and all their questions and comments.

I could have sat forever and watched as the city flickered to life at our feet, almost as the Egyptian Pharaohs must have done thousands of years ago from their golden thrones and their city blazed to life in the darkness. I felt like royalty from my stone seat, hand in hand, the world laid out before us, the stars shining overhead, the moon casting a silver blessing over us, so bright, so clear.

And it's laughter, laughter, between all the other moments and places and quiet and feelings, there's this laughter. When Prince laughs it's the most wonderful sound in all the world - the sound I want to hear every moment of every day. I want to be the cause, I want to hear when others inspire it. I want Prince to laugh all day long and I want to be there for every moment and open myself up and fill myself with golden laughter, because just maybe there is real magic and this laughter is it.

Maybe I'm just an idiot :)

I don't have a five year plan and I don't know what I'm doing or where this is going. But I know I never want to hang up. I hate going to work and sleeping alone, and I get really nervous and pack two weeks of clothes for a three day trip. I know that I'm flawed, so flawed, and I want nothing more than to be better - than to be the best - than to be deserving of everything Prince is.

About Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 22 Hearts on Platters

30 Day Letter Challenge

Day 22 — Someone you want to give a second chance to

Yikes, um, I'm a pretty decisive person when it comes to people. If I want to give someone a second chance, I already have, and if I don't - I haven't. If I change my mind and want to give them a second chance, I will, on the spot, no real thinking about it necessary.

I tend to give my heart away on a platter. If people want to use it, cherish it, destroy it, whatever, I've given it away and that's their prerogative.  I give people that choice, but I don't exactly background check the people I give it to. I don't go around making sure the people I meet are good people before I decide if I like them or not. I meet you, I like you, bam! we're friends. Or I meet you, I don't like you and bam! we're not friends.

Anything else and it takes me a lot longer. Ask me what I want for dinner and it'll take half an hour to decide. But people - that only takes half a second. It's a big flaw, I know, but it's a hard habit to drop when I've been doing it since I was 18 months old.

First:girl Part 1

The day was sweaty, the room filled with estrogen, and gossip was a tangible, sticky humidity that clung to the skin. The summer sun poured in through the windows, and dust motes sparkled like a swirling cloud of yellow glitter.

A group of people walked into the far room, and the women around me peered at the fresh meat. Two tall boys, one pierced and dangerous, the other clean cut and a little dorky. With them was an amazon woman with long, flowing hair, and shorter than all of the others by at least a foot, was the person who caught my attention.

She was wearing beige plaid shorts that hit at the knee, black converse with holes in the sides, a gray short sleeved t-shirt, and had hair cropped short to the scalp with a fringe of bangs over her big amber colored eyes. When she looked up and grinned, her teeth were slightly crooked, giving a playful appearance.

I swear, I wanted her in that one moment. My pulse throbbed through me and my thoughts were nonexistent. My brain was too full of her. I was halfway out of my seat when one of the other girls pulled me back to reality with a touch on the arm and an accusing, "Where are you going?"

I slowly lowered myself into my seat, my heart pounding fiercely in my chest. I didn't want to let her out of my sight. I craved her presence, wanted to shake her hand merely for an excuse to touch her skin. I knew if she left and I never saw her again, there would never be another as wonderful as her. It was crazy, I didn't even know her! Hadn't heard her voice or learned her name!

But the group walked out of the room, and my heart sank to my feet. Losing all casual pretense, I got out of my chair and walked briskly to my manager. "Who were they?" I tried to sound nonchalant, but I'm sure my voice betrayed me.

"They are the new trainees. They will be working here starting next week," she answered me.

Thank God! I went back to my work station feeling dizzy. I sat down and thought about what next week would bring. I would find a reason to talk to her. Her preference didn't matter, who she had dated, who she was dating- I would charm her, woo her, romance her, and make her mine.

I dreamed of her every night for a week. I started work the next week hoping that we had been put on the same shift. It was a hectic day, and I quickly lost myself in the hustle and bustle of my work until I saw her in the hallway. I must have looked like a hot mess, because she was grinning at me in that way that suggested she had been watching me and was thoroughly amused by my actions. I pulled myself out of my crouched position and blew a piece of hair out of my face.

"Hi, I'm Tabby," I think I managed a grin as I held out my hand, and I knew my eyes were sparkling way too brightly to seem as if I was uninterested.

"Hey, I'm [first:girl]. I work in [a different department.]" She grinned in a cocky way and took my hand. She had the softest skin and her voice was slow and smooth. My heart was pounding in my throat and I felt a little high.

"Nice to meet you," oh my God, I was grinning like a fool. "Are you working [my shift]?" Her grin broadened and I swear she could see right through me.

"Yeah, I am. I'm really excited about it. I've signed on for the next year." (We were working on a contract basis.) She sounded so cool, why couldn't I be as cool as she was instead of a blundering idiot? I finally realized I'd been holding onto her hand for way too long and let go, taking in a breath as I told my heart to calm down.

"I guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other." Finally, something came out with a half grin and a somewhat languid inflection.

"I guess. See you around, Tabby." She turned and walked away to do her job, but I swear she was laughing at how obviously attracted I was to her.

I turned back to the hectic mess which was my job, crouching back down to the floor, but not really paying attention. My every thought was focused on her: the next time I'd see her, the next thing she'd say. There was no embarrassment at my actions, no shame at throwing myself at her, no questioning of my sexuality (which I had considered myself to be fairly straight only several days before.)

You have to understand that at this point, in my frame of mind, she was not a woman. She was not a taboo, and I was not a "lesbian." She defied labels of every sort. My sexuality never crossed my mind once as I focused on the task of getting first:girl to like me.

I'm posting all parts of my first:girl story over at tabbyqt.wordpress.com 
They are password protected, but just tweet me @tabbyqt or email me at tabbyqt@hotmail.com and I'll send you the password, no questions asked. 

Day 20 Heartbreak

30 Day Letter Challenge

Day 20 — The one that broke your heart the hardest

Sorry, guys, you know what this is going to be. I think it's about time you got the back story on first:girl. It's going to read kind of like a story, so, this should be fun. Because isn't heartbreak always?

Okay, going back into this, years ago, you need to know who I was.

You have to understand, going back in time, that I had questioned my sexuality for years but was only just beginning to act on it.  No one had ever expected me to be anything other than very straight, and very young. While I was smart, my social sense was underdeveloped. I was a social butterfly who didn't understand the games people played, a naive girl who believed in rainbows and acceptance and "true love conquers all."  I had just gone through a very confusing year, and the start to my summer hadn't exactly gone as planned (see Awakening) when I was totally rejected the first time I asked a girl on a date.

The second half of my summer started to look up when I got hit with a bolt of lightning at work one day.   

She was absolutely everything I ever wanted but never knew I could have.

I'm posting all parts of my first:girl story over at tabbyqt.wordpress.com 
They are password protected, but just tweet me @tabbyqt or email me at tabbyqt@hotmail.com and I'll send you the password, no questions asked.

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 11 Grief

30 Day Letter Challenge

Day 11 — A Deceased person you wish you could talk to

I'm not going to write a letter. This is about remembering, connecting, and seeing the world as something bigger than yourself or myself. When you’re born into a large family, like I was, death is not uncommon. I’ve attended more funerals than I can count. But two hit me particularly hard – my brother-in-law when I was 14, and my grandfather when I was 18. Both were accidents. 

I wasn’t allowed to go to T’s funeral. We didn’t have enough money for me to fly back east, since both of my parents were going to support my sister. I understand the fiscal reasons, but as a fourteen year old girl my feelings were bruised. They left for 12 days and I stayed with my grandparents on a very cold air mattress wondering what his body looked like. He used to let me braid his rat-tail. He wasn’t exactly the greatest person in the world, but for some reason he had a sweet spot for me.

When my grandpa died it was sudden, unexpected and harsh. We had been very close, had a very good relationship, and he was practically a dad to Ladybug. So, when Ladybug and I were dragged into the court case surrounding his death it was a little too much for both of us to handle. Luckily, neither of us spiraled into drugs, but it took me more than a year before I visited his grave. It was shortly after this that I came out and as for Ladybug, he joined the Marines. To each their own therapy, I suppose. 

Grief is a funny thing; sometimes you think you’re done and then it sneaks up on you out of nowhere and slams you in the gut. Or sometimes you can be in the middle of it, and suddenly be blessed with an ordinary day where you don’t think about any of it and don’t realize it until later. Grieving is a journey, and when you can finally mention that person again without crying, you start to understand that life moves forward. 

Since my grandfather died, my brothers and sisters have given birth to four children with one more on the way. I can’t stop my whole life to grieve for one person, or I would fail to interact with and love all these new people. And I wouldn’t miss out on them for anything.

Input

When I started this blog I was searching for something - searching for everything. My blog title "I Lost Myself - the search for a misplaced queer identity," really fit. Now, not so much; I think I want to change it. Would that be too confusing? Also, I don't know what I'd want to change it to.

I talk about myself, being gay, and uh, that's about it. Occasionally I'll throw in some stuff about relationships, power dynamics, identity struggles, femme invisibility, body image, steamy dreams and crushing on straight girls.

So, here's where you chime in! Give me your best, your worst, your most cliche!
(That's right #MoHomo! ...I can't believe that didn't catch on)

If you don't help out I could end up with

"Mo' Homo - going beyond the gay."

Leave a comment or talk to me on twitter @tabbyqt !

Day 1- Redux BFF

I started the 30 Day Letter Challenge two years ago and never completed it. This bugs me- a lot.

So I'm starting over- I mean, it's been two years. Should I link to the letters I wrote in 2010? I will for this one because you can't answer me before I post this...

Day 1- Your Best Friend

Luckily, my best friend hasn't changed :)

Two years and it's been you and me, babe, through thick and thin. 2011 seemed like the time of our lives :) I got over a lot of stuff, you dumped your jerk boyfriend, and we just spent time together, having fun, being ourselves, learning, growing, laughing.

I love that we can go days, weeks, months, not saying one word, and then I can text you a picture of the most random thing in the world and all of the sudden we are on the same wavelength again. You know exactly what I'm thinking, what I'm trying to say and you say it better than me.

Our relationship works out so well because every time I say "I really miss you," you know I'm saying I love you, and every time I say, "I could so go for one of your homemade cupcakes!" you know I mean everything is falling apart and I wish you were here so I could talk to you. 

Because I don't talk. I'm a failure when it comes to communicating (Remember Avoidance?) I try and I try to work on it, but sometimes things eat at me from the inside out and I can't share them with anyone, even you. But when we talk about how upsetting the last episode of "Grey's Anatomy" was, you know that I'm spilling my guts about everything I just can't say.


I'll never tell you all this, chica, but I don't need to. You already know it.

-Tabs

Consequences

Okay- so back to that part where I was dead. Want a recap? Go here.

After the nothing, I remember something around my waist, dragging me down, choking me.  I couldn't breathe.  I threw back by head and a sharp pain lanced through me, but the thing let go and I propelled myself to the surface.  I broke through, gasping, coughing, crying.  Oh, god, my head hurt.

My best friend came up behind me, clutching her cheek. I had launched my head straight back into her face. I wanted to say I was sorry, but I still couldn't breath, couldn't think. My vision was blurry and I felt like I was going to vomit.

The two pulled me out of the water and I tucked into a ball and tried to breathe.  Crying made it hurt worse, so I tried to stop.  I think they were talking about calling 911.  "No," I objected, "my mom will be so mad," because getting in trouble was so important right now. But we were trespassing, and they were good kids, so we all tossed out the idea of emergency services.

"Did you hit your head? What happened? We didn't hear you come up for like ever but you can hold your breath so long that we didn't know anything was wrong for sure..." I could tell she felt guilty under her valley girl accent.

"I can't remember," and at that point in time, I couldn't. I remembered diving in and then waking up, floating above the floor of the pool with her arms wrapped around me.

"My mom's a nurse. She'll know what to do," so they half carried me to her car and I curled wetly into the back seat, sobbing quietly like Harry Potter clutching at his scar.

I'm sure we didn't tell her mom the whole story. If we had, there is no way she would have put a bag of frozen peas on my head and told me not to fall asleep. I had been underwater for more than a few minutes. There could have been serious brain damage.

I had hit the bottom of the pool hard enough that there was no bruise. When the blood vessels broke, all the blood had been squeezed out of the area into my scalp (yeah, found that out later) and left the area of impact bone white. Luckily, that made it easy to cover with make up. I never told anyone about that night, not even Ladybug, because I was pretty sure he couldn't be trusted not to tell anyone.

A few weeks later, my friends decided I should get over it. I had gained an aversion to the pool (I almost drowned, you guys) and they wanted to see the old me restored. They brought our boards to a special section of the beach where the waves crest higher because of the rocky shoreline. It's a secluded area, and it requires scaling down the side of a small, shale cliff to get into the cove. I shimmied down the rope and we made our way out into the water. The waves were maybe three or four feet. I made my way out cautiously, smacking a huge piece of bubblicious to keep the extreme taste of salt out of my mouth.

I took one wave and started to relax. The sets got closer together, making it hard to get past them into open water. I made my way back out and grabbed another wave. I lost control and was pinned against a huge rock near the cove.

The waves battered me as I tried to keep coming up for air. I panicked. I started to remember hitting my head in the pool.  I remembered hands around my waist, fire in my lungs-in my panic I couldn't remember what to do or how to get away from the rock, the waves, the current. One of the guys grabbed me, pulled me behind the rock, and towed me to shore. I gagged on saltwater and fear. I lost my board somewhere in the undertow but I didn't even care. I never wanted to go in the water again.

A scan later showed that I had fractured my skull in two places during my shallow dive. Twice since, I've felt the blow of hitting the bottom of the pool. I've gone to the ER both times. Now I can pay attention to the signs and take the right medication to hopefully prevent it from happening again. The doctor says that it's my nerves reliving the moment of impact-I say it's dying, over and over and over again.

This summer I was comfortable with spending a lot of my time swimming in the ocean. I was able to remember why I love it so much, but I still can't bring myself to dive. The sound of bubbles rushing near my head is the most terrifying sound in the world. The thing I most loved is the thing I now fear most.

These are the consequences of my arrogance. 

It would make a great story. Too bad I'm not Greek.

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.

Lost my Identity

The Butch/Femme dichotomy. The perfect relationship. The give and take between two fierce personalities, two extreme forms of beauty.
 

Why don’t I fit in?

When I realized what was going on with me, I read Mr. Sexsmith’s blog, and it made so much sense. I understood the struggle of power, the need to find my own identity, the love of topping, the admiration of femmes. But I’m not butch. I feel like a gentleman sometimes; I love to pay for dinner, open doors, pull out chairs for the beautiful woman who has my eye. However, if I am with a more emotionally masculine or dominant woman, I love to play to her longings, let her pull out my chair for me or tuck a stray hair into place. I love to catch her eye from under my lashes and make her feel powerful. 

On the superficial scale of butch and femme, I believe I don’t look good enough to go out of the house without mascara, even if I don’t put anything else on. However, I also hate dresses, wear heels only when necessary, and I don't like lipstick.

I want to fit into this beautiful power play. I want to be a part of this gender society where your partner helps your identity along and the power exchange is intense. Where you feel butch because of the way her body melts in your hands and her fingers flex against your back as you enter her. Where you feel feminine because of the way she protects you, the way she envelopes you and makes it safe to be fragile. 

I think it would help if I had sex. With somebody. Anybody. I always thought that when people figure out they are gay they experiment, they have relationships, they have sex, they figure out what they want in the sexual aspect of the relationship. Top, bottom, dom, sub, switch, whatever.

It seems all I do is fall hard for women who don’t want me for one reason or another. I’m a floundering baby dyke in a world where no one believes I’m gay because I’ve never had sex or a relationship. How does a girl who has never had a relationship with a man know that they are straight? Because of who they fall in love with, right?

I’m gay. I’m just a fish out of water. I am an inexperienced 13 year old surrounded by women who have gone through hell and heartbreak.

I am so out of my league here.