Coda/Parents

Mr. Sexsmith wrote a post which got me thinking, and alphafemme wrote a response that moved something inside of me. She mentioned CoDa. It's a funny name, and I didn't know it existed. Co-Dependent. Which, I think it's safe to say that I'm not really a co-dependent, but I do have a few CoDa tendencies and habits that I think I need to break.

I do the gesture thing a lot. I buy my friends dinner, I bought all the pots and pans for my last house instead of letting all the roommates pitch in. I stay in harmful relationships too long, take sex instead of love, use sex to gain approval, believe others incapable of taking care of themselves. I take on all the responsibility in a situation and then collapse under it's weight. Over this last week, I've seen exactly where I get this behavior from, and that is my mother. She is definitely a Co-dependent, and she needs help.

Here's where I get lost. Is it the CoDa in me that wants to take on the weight of getting her some help, or is it the daughter in me? When does being a loving, caring person cross over into the unhealthy danger zone of CoDa? How am I supposed to recognize when those boundaries are crossed?

Nothing on the love-life at the moment; still sorting out all my thoughts. Also nothing on the road trip so far, as, well, maybe just because I'm lazy with that one :P

On the flip side, Happy New Year!

NYE/Trivia

That last post is not how I want to end the year, not what I want to come back to in the New Year, but I'm still organizing the "chapters" of my trip, as it was very long and eventful. Instead, I thought I would share some New Year's Eve trivia and plans.

This is only my second New Year where I have been comfortable kissing women at midnight.

I have only stayed up to watch the fireworks at midnight twice. Both times were at New Year's parties in high school, and both years I broke up with my boyfriend right after.

I was at Disneyland for New Year's Eve two years ago. The park was so crowded you could barely breath, and the fireworks were canceled at 6 pm due to high winds. As a result of being pushed around all day, I was exhausted and went back to the hotel room, asleep before 10pm.

I have never had champagne on New Year's Eve.

I like to play scratch off cards on New Year's Eve, and have one for tonight.

I like dressing up for New Year's Eve, even if I'm by myself in my room.

I have always worn high heels on NYE.

I have never slept at another person's house on NYE. I did sleep in a hotel room once.

My own NYE tradition is to drink whatever I'm drinking out of a wine glass. This year it is Coca Cola and Sierra Mist Cranberry Splash, respectively.

I have never seen NYE fireworks in person.

I live not far from a casino which is having a New Year's bash. I am trying to decide if I should be fun and outgoing, and go, or be comfortable and frumpy and stay home with a good book and some pajamas. Oh, what a decision!

Guilt/Killing

While I'm excited that everyone wants to hear about my trip, and I promise I will write about it, this has to come first.

I always joke around with my mother that I don't feel guilt. To some extent, I don't. She feels guilty about all the little things, guilt that she's not at work, guilt that she's not at home, guilt that her husband is dying and she wishes it would happen faster.

Maybe the last one is something I feel and project onto her. But I don't guilty about things like that, don't feel guilty that I don't care if my father lives or dies.

My father has a disease. He stopped taking the medication that doctors prescribed because it wasn't working, and he thought they were trying to kill him (paranoia is a side effect). Now he takes alternative medicine, and it's not helping. He is withering away.

I came home from a perfectly wonderful lunch at a lavish old castle with two fabulous old hens, an aunt, and my cousin (whom I have always considered as a brother codename:ladybug), to find a family visiting with my father. The mother is not ill, but her grown daughter has chronic pain, and her husband has the same illness as my father.

I listen quietly, fiddling with cans and cupboards in the background as he paints the future for this couple. A future where neither of them are in pain, where both can walk, run, jump and play like normal people.

And I feel guilt. I feel guilt as he convinces these people of the impossible. Feel guilt as he sits there in his chair, ashen, withering, and shriveled, and leads this couple to their deaths. In my head, I want to arrest him for murder. For surely, if her husband stops taking his medication he will deteriorate and die.

As I they say their goodbyes, I walk the nice family to their car and pull the husband aside, "The medication works. My father has gone downhill so quickly since he stopped. Try the silver as well, try it, but don't stop the injections so long as you want to live." I can see his eyes darken as he takes in what I say, measures the weight and gravity in his head. He nods and looks at his wife, sitting in the car waiting, when he looks back at me I recognize his wan smile as one I've seen in the mirror too many times, and I know he won't stop the injections. Yet even as I get the mail and walk back into the house, the guilt knots in my stomach, and behind my eyes, I see the lovely husband and wife rot and decay.

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.

Christmas/Family

Part of me loves Christmas. I love cooking with my mother, wrapping presents, setting up the Christmas tree, feasting with family, playing with the kids. I love the whole family experience of Christmas.

I love my family, don't get me wrong, but for as open minded as they are about some things, they are extremely close-minded about others. The other part of me hates Christmas, because it is a time when family gathers around the table and discusses current events. This year it was the Christmas Day bombing, which led to my brother-in-law and my grandmother talking about how everyone who follows the Muslim religion is evil. A lot of times my family sees everything in black and white, and no matter how much I try to convince them otherwise, they are set in their ways.

I'm afraid that if I ever have a girlfriend that I do want to bring home, that my family will scare her off. While my mother and my sisters are very accepting of my sexuality, my extended family, especially my grandmother, just wouldn't see it that way. I'm sure she would love me despite it, but she wouldn't be happy about it.

Christmas is always a mixture of and good and bad for me. I wonder if it's kind of like that for everyone. On the upside, my nieces and nephews sent me drawings that they did as my Christmas presents, and nothing makes me happier than homemade things from my little ones!

Christmas/Magic

Merry Christmas Everyone!

We truly had a Christmas Miracle today as we transformed the lower level of the house from messy and awful to cheerful and holiday themed in under an hour for everyone's arrival! This includes Christmas napkins, plates, cups, flowers, a tree, hanging decorations, Christmas lights everywhere, a Christmas tree, tree skirt, wrapped presents, rugs, tablecloths, signs, ornaments, angels, snowmen and santas. I was very proud of my mother and I.

A gingerbread castle magically appeared with my name on it in the living room, which was my main present for the holiday. It was very exciting! We had great food, lots of laughter, and beautiful moments with the kids. All in all, a great way to spend the holiday with family.

I will leave you with that glowing post and wait until tomorrow for all the icky revelation stuff :P

Merry Christmakwanzakka and/or Happy Holidays! Hope everyone had a great day!

Terms/Respect

There are certain terms that I love, that make me feel special, sexy, sweet, adored, etc. I have such an attachment to these words that when they are used, they feel like endearments, even when they are not addressed to me.

M:girl has a habit of calling me Miss. Not Miss Tabby or whatever, just Miss. I used to love it when I would wake up in the morning and the first thing I would hear is "Good morning, Miss." Therefore I've taken up that term and started passing it on.

I love being called Miss, Lady, Girl (as in "Hey, Girl, how are you?"), etc. I love the phrases "my Lady Friend" and "My Lady" (as in "my lady is coming over tonight"). I like the feeling of possession. Tegan Quin writes a lot about "you're not mine" and "you were all mine, I was yours right?" which really strikes a chord with me. She also tends to write from a more traditional pants side of the relationship when possession is involved, which I strongly identify with.

First:girl used to greet me with a teasing version of Tila Tequila's "Hey, Girl, hey!" which always made my day in such a strange way. I also have this odd love for when derogatory terms are thrown into ordinary conversation (such as a "Whatever, bitch, you know you love me," kind of retort). Of course, that was part of my relationship with first:girl and I would never use it in my relationship with m:girl because that's not how we work. She calls me miss, and I call her miss and my lady so bitch doesn't really fit in there.

I don't like the whole "baby, shorty, mami, honey bear," side of things. The poo-bear and pumpkin saccharine-sweet terms tend to get on my nerves very fast.

I think part of the reason that I love the terms I do, is that no matter how masculine I end up looking or acting, the constant reminders of my femininity are gratifying. I like that I can walk around dressed like a boy and M:girl will still call me miss. Like I can be female without having to act like it because it's an integral part of who I am. Like I don't have to put on a show of being femme to be female. I can be feminine by just being me. The terms I love are more old fashioned, and many years ago were terms of respect. I think hidden within them is the trace of respect and honor that they used to be endowed with. When I am called Lady, it's like the person who is using the term has a respect for me, has a love for me, and is giving me power in the knowledge that I have that old fashioned respect.

I also enjoy such words as bird, doll, doll face, darling, foxy lady, chica, etc.

Missus was just mentioned to me, which calls to me with the same feeling of love and respect that I was speaking of. I have a feeling this will become a new favorite of mine as well.

What are your favorite terms and why?

Homework/Discovery

I decided to write a separate post for this, because whilst the other one is somewhat whiny, this is about discovery, and the need to separate those two topics is bred deep within me.

Sinclair posted about the homework which she gives to Kristen, which in turn sparked Alphafemme's different kind of homework (which I think is truly brilliant).

I decided to jump on the bandwagon and discover what I feel most comfortable with about my sexuality. I feel like the only way I will ever grow and discover what I like is to push myself. This week's topics were femininity and self appreciation. I was walking around my room undressing to put on pajamas, when I caught a glimpse of myself in my full length mirror. The light on my nightstand was on, and it cast shadows across my body that hypnotized me and stopped me where I stood.

I've never been very proud of my body, never loved it for what it is, but just then I was enamored. I was caught up in the curve of my hips, the slope of my breasts, the shape of my tummy, the length of my legs, the strength of my calves. For the first time I felt how soft my skin was, felt the thickness of my hair, the silkiness of my neck, the satin feel of my shoulder blades.

I realized how perfectly my ass is shaped, how my ankles invite the brush of a finger, how the dimples in the small of my back invoke happiness and sweet memories, how the curve of my back begs to be cupped, how my spine is slightly crooked and juts out from my skin like a message in braille, showing the reader a map of my body. I noticed my jawline, the softness of my figure, the way my nipples respond to touch and how hard my stomach muscles are underneath all the cushion.

For the first time, I drank myself in in the half light, excited by what I saw, delighted in who I was and what I looked like.

This sparked in me the need to take care of myself. The need to pamper myself and rejoice in the beauty of my own body. It was enough to bring out the coconut butter that I used to adore, enough to make sure I used lotion under my makeup and put on an extra coat of mascara. From this spark and the aforementioned posts about homework, I decided to assign some for myself.

I wanted to be high femme for a week. I spent half an hour curling my hair every day. I bought new lipstick, eyeliner, mascara, and used them religiously. I wore earrings again, and a necklace that spoke to me with simple elegance and quiet beauty. I wore high heels and dresses, and everything matched. I brought coats out of hiding and coordinated them with my outfits. I wore underwear that made me feel sexy, and I didn't wear bras, which also made me feel sexy.

While it did take up more time in my morning routine, I rather enjoy the feeling of primping for myself. Of feeling sexy for myself.

While I won't go into detail for fear of revealing way more that you wanted to know, I finally had an orgasm. Talk about being excited about the prospect of sex all over again. Now that I know that I can at least give myself one, the possibilities of sex are now even more appealing than they used to be. It may not become a common occurrence, but to know that at least I can, at least I won't go my whole life without one, it's kind of a relief. I don't expect it to happen again anytime soon but...here's to hoping, yeah?

I feel like maybe I need to push myself to the butch extreme to figure out what I like about each and find a happy balance, but I'm enjoying the femme side so much that I don't want to let it go yet, even though I know I don't want to keep it up forever.

What are other ways I can push myself in this area? What do you consider as feminine qualities that I should experience?

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.