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You might know you are a bit of a Bridezilla when you host a surprise wedding party at your uncles 75th birthday and after watching him have a heart attack, flatline for 4 + minutes and be brought back by a defibrillator, your response to the staff of the place hosting the event is, ” so, salads?!”  Really? I can understand that people deal with shock and grief in different ways, but for me, an appetite and having a wedding are NOT the ways I do so. I mean, do you really want to always have your wedding mentioned in the same breath as the time your uncle had his heart attack and died for several minutes?!

I have never been that goal orientated in regards to social/cultural milestones. Perhaps because my early milestones were shattered and I didn’t do the get your license, go to prom, graduate and go to college like everyone else that I knew. I moved, a pedestrian with a couple suitcases, I moved to Colorado and lived on the couch of someone I didn’t know while I got some bearings and found a job and a place of my own. Then I became a photographer. Then I became a lesbian, or realized I was, that is. And so, life in Denver was what it was. Beautiful and boring. I moved to NYC.. they blew up towers in my Brooklyn back yard while I photographed it with this girl I had just met. That girl would become my fiance shortly after terrorists blew up two other towers in Manhattan later that summer. Fitting that the relationship would eventually implode as well. She is in L.A. now, married to some other girl, the girls she slept with here. Just an affair she called it. Meaningless. She was a relationship jumper though, leaving one by finding another. That’s what she did when she met me, and that’s what she did when she met her. Someday she will leave her and she will do it on the coat tails of another. Looking back, I can’t imagine my life with her. She held me under water because my breathing scared her. Eventually her chronic suffocation would have killed me.

The wedding though? Crimson red raw silk gowns…that is what I pictured for both of us. Everyone else in white and black… us in red. At the Unitarian Church. In the evening. Candles. I guess I kept a little of that past life as a goth. Until Type Geek, I wasn’t sure how to connect that part of my past with my current life. But his love of goth style imagery, skulls, etc. has reawakened a deeper part of me that makes me laugh. My friends are horrified to find out that I am giving him an animal skull for christmas. It’s something he has wanted for years though, so why should it matter if it is for Christmas or Birthday? It’s a well thought out gift with meaning … that just happens to come from a dead animal.

Now, how do I feel about these milestones? As I have grown older? Is marriage something I consider. I’m not sure. Children? I’m almost 36… they haven’t exactly been something I have been jumping through hoops wanting. Aside from my health concerns regarding childbirth,  I’m not sure of the type of parenting I could provide and certainly, at this point, financially I couldn’t provide anything. I love kids, but I have always been of the mindset of loving OTHER people’s kids. I make a great auntie. I would probably make a great step mom. I guess I would have to reconsider all my answers to these questions if someone I loved truly wanted and felt incomplete without one or the other. Are they somewhere I would be comfortable going?

All I can hope is, that if I ever DO get married, no last rites are given at my pre-ceremony reception because of a guests heart attack mid passed hors d’oeuvres. Perhaps I will stick a defibrillator in the trunk of the car, just in case.

p.s. The man lived and was in stable condition, the last everyone heard. The wedding? It went on. Uncomfortably, but it went on. The cake? A few pieces were left and the staff working the party shared the almost dead Uncle’s piece.

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I recently was called vapid and self involved on the Facebook page for the queer site that syndicates me once a week.  They had posted a link to my most recent post and she made her statement in the comments below. I wanted to hold my breath and move on, however I decided to respond. I apologized that I wasn’t talking about the state of the economy, the never-ending war, the housing crisis, politics or the gmo foods we consume without concern. My blog is merely a trail map of my own personal journey.

Re-coming out was, in many ways, more difficult for me psychologically than coming out as Bi as a teen or realizing, in my early 20’s, that I was only attracted to women, subsequently then coming out as a lesbian. I don’t feel like I went back in. I never had issues being a lesbian. Perhaps because I am blessed to be a slim attractive feminine woman in a society that smiles upon that, I never suffered the injustices that some other lesbians have. I didn’t choose to love heels, makeup, long hair, and dresses… it would just be incredibly disingenuous for me to be anyone other than this. One winter I was going through a hard time and opted to go off the grid a bit so I delivered and stacked firewood for the owner of a small composting company. It was all cash under the table and incredibly hard work. A cord of wood is a LOT more than you think, when you have to carry it to a pile and stack it. Some days there were 4 or 5 jobs like this. My point is, my “work boots” had huge thick 2.5″ heels. I wore my hair in pigtail braids and put on mascara and lip gloss at the beginning of my day. It is who I am. I wasn’t a girly girl as a child, nor as a teen, but somewhere in my early 20’s things shifted and I began to find myself. 

My journey into self hasn’t been smooth. I have dealt with a lifetime of anxiety issues from growing up in a family of insanity. I had anger management issues in my teens and 20’s. I suffer from a mild case of body dysmorphia from childhood obesity. Fleeting depression, chronic disorganization resulting in my often sabotaging projects, jobs or relationships, and the myriad of insecurities that just come with being an emotional human being. Sounds awful, doesn’t it? It isn’t though. I’m thankful for being the glorious mess I have been, because it has allowed me to better know myself, to be stronger, to try harder, to find determination in unforseen circumstances, and to run blindly into experience, reminding myself to breathe often, to stop long enough to feel what it is I am experiencing, to remember that I am blessed for having experienced it. The good and the bad. The bad sucks, indeed, but that bad makes the good so glorious. The bad makes me appreciate the 3 hours spent on Type Geeks lap watching South Park and Mad Men, drinking port. The bad makes me appreciate the smell of my dogs paws (it really is a mix of all the grossness that they step in that makes them smell like popcorn, isn’t it?! eww). The bad makes me appreciate the sensation of a piece of smoked sea salt dissolving on my tongue, the aroma of roasted brussel sprouts with truffle oil, a long hot shower and friends that make you laugh til it pains you and then you laugh more, because you just can’t stop.

So, into all of our lives things bad things happen. Some of us are in foreclosure, some are facing homelessness, or are homeless, some are sick, and some will get better, some feel all alone even when surrounded by a room full of “friends and family”. This is life.  However, remember that life is also the wag of a dog’s tail, the glint in a 2 year old’s eye from across a bus or subway train, the way the chocolate feels as it melts in your mouth, the sound of autumn leaves under foot and .. one of my personal favorites, when the temperatures drop so drastically during a snow shower that the top layer is frozen crisp, as if the world is a giant creme brulee. I block out the world and I crunch crunch crunch down the street, through the grass, while cracking the higher crust with my fingers. I love it. I do.

Find the small things you love and be thankful for them. They make the big things, which you don’t love, diminish in size. Happy Thanksgiving.

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Apparently, when I am nervous, my lower lip and chin quiver slightly. This is what Type Geek told me during our almost break up. I later texted my hot ex girl friend, the screenwriter, and asked her and she confirmed. How have I not known this for 35 years? Type Geek told me not to join the CIA, I responded that it’s lucky for me than that I am into cooking instead of espionage.

So, yes, I did say almost break up. He’s been driving me nuts. NUTS. The comments, the card, the accolades I recently bestowed upon him had gone un discussed and avoided and I just couldn’t handle it anymore. So, I forced a meeting with the need to pick up my video camera that had been living at his place. My friend needed it desperately for something, or that was how the story went. I started the frustration via text Saturday morning. By Saturday afternoon, we were essentially over. He just couldn’t offer anything and didn’t want to be responsable for hurting me. Therefore, any compromise was futile. I cried a lot. I drank a few overly sweet martini like cocktails and had wasabi rushes with my Foreigner. I’ve known him over a year now, odd. Odd also that he sent me on this crazy trip. I digress.

Type Geek and I agreed to meet at 3:30. I got there at 3:35. He was late and I sat my ass on the stoop freezing in the mid thirties weather. I harumphed and texted my friends, cursing that he couldn’t be there on time! He arrived 15 minutes late. I was awkward but cordial. Cold but tried to not act too chilly. I didn’t know what I was walking into. We sat at the dining table and made chit-chat for about 15 or 20 minutes before we both ceased to talk. I looked away, at the floor, my boots, the edge of the table, but not at him. I then said, “hmm, awkward silence there.” He responded that there wasn’t an awkward silence, to which I said that there was, on my end. That there is so much in the ether that needs to be discussed, so much that I don’t understand, pages we have skipped past and not addressed, until now, when it has become awkward because we are in two places and we need to bridge them or walk away, because the distance between is too stark, too cavernous and far too frightening to traverse. He asked what I wanted to say, I said that I felt I have said too much lately but that he has said so little. So he agreed to start. Super uber lenghty hmmm pause later, I asked if he needed a prompt. He said that would be helpful, as he didn’t know where to start.

I told him that yes, I am in love with him and yes, in an ideal scenario (i.e. one in which it is what he wants) I would love to be his girlfriend, BUT that my wants and my needs are different. My needs are to know three things. He nodded for me to go on.

  1. Do you want to continue to see me?
  • Response: Yes, of course.

      2.   Are you sleeping with anyone else?

  • Response: No, not since our first date, no one but you.

       3.  Can you agree to commit to a minimum of 2 actual scheduled dates a month, that you don’t cancel and that to others, you will say NO, if you are not sure or feel flakey about ability to commit to something, rather than saying yes and then disappointing me later.

  • Response: Yes, this is doable.

Then I had to argue for a half hour over whether he has the power card, which he doesn’t want. I say he doesn’t and that I am in control of whether he breaks my heart or not. I said, you may hurt my feelings, however, only I allow the decision to suffer to that degree. I am a big girl and I can handle being in love with someone who isn’t in love with me in return. Do you care about me, enjoy my company, and want to spend your spare time with me? Are you sexually attracted to me and not interested in anyone else or interested in pursuing anyone else? Ok. His argument is that every action he takes affects me. I responded that whether it is a sunny day or cloudy day affects me. Whether the train is late or on time. Whether a stranger says hello or curses at me for accidentally bumping into them. The world IS cause and effect. However HE does not hold as much power as he would like to think. He is only a man and I have the power to walk away if it isn’t working for me anymore. When it isn’t working for me anymore, I will use my power to leave. So, we agreed to disagree on this point. He thinks he has power. i say he doesn’t have the power he thinks he has.

So, what is his damage? Well, the same damage we all have. A relationship with a woman who strung him up for years, who is still meandering about and pestering him (not for any romantic reasons, just to be pestery), a new job and new role at new job that is super demanding and stressful, a family life in crazy overdrive for the last 6 months, and the regular fears of jumping into a new relationship and what that may mean. I get it. I know where he is. I was there for 4 years. Well, I was in a similar place. I didn’t date for 4 years. I had no sex drive. I proclaimed myself celibate, asexual even. I started a business and bought a condo, I lived like a hermit and shriveled up, hid away until I watched a lot of my friends give up reaching out. I wasn’t going to be ready to open the door to possibilities again, until I was ready. I didn’t know how it happened. I don’t remember the exact moment. I just realized one day that I saw the sun and I was, metaphorically speaking ( since I did go outside everyday ), standing outside with an open door behind me. It happened at its own pace.  

Now, where does this leave us? This leaves us with him kissing me as I stood against the dining table. With him agreeing that booty calls are acceptable ( I complained that , sometimes, I just want to get laid and go home because I have things to do, just like he does. So, I don’t always need to sleep over afterwards. I can go home after a date and sex. That way, we can wake up at our respective homes and start our days without the trappings of two people bumping into each other at 8 am). With us being us, but better, because we are now on the same page. I fessed up about THIS and the novel. No, he doesn’t have the url, he has not read it. I fessed up about the Cooper Fienes and how I was fucking both of them at first and how I kept him at arm’s length because I was seeing the other guy. Type Geek commented that perhaps that was best, until I said that no, I was bored then. I found him to be less than interesting and I wasn’t thrilled to hang out with him, until I stopped seeing Cooper Fienes and decided to give Type Geek a fair chance, to get to know him. Things weren’t best because I didn’t really like him then. Now, however, because I care about him and know him and his neurosis, I am not bored, I am engaged and enthralled and I adore him, which makes it worthwhile for me. He would not have lasted in my life behaving as he has, if I wasn’t in love with him and willing to sort out what the hell his brain has going on. So, to me, I feel like we are a couple, without the couple. We are sexually exclusive. We like each other, albeit I am in love with him and he finds me worthy and adorable and super cute, but isn’t ready for love. We enjoy spending time together and have tons of things in common. Do I need the title? No. Do I need to meet the family? No. I understand why he can’t include me in that equation now. I get it. Does spending the holidays alone SUCK? Yup. In the grand scheme of things though, I would rather have this with someone I adore with all my heart, than have the “traditional” all the trimmings relationship that lacks the one core ingredient… Type Geek.  What we ARE is more important than what we NAME it.

 After I got home I sat and thought over the crazy year and decided to blasted my Jewish Sex God a note commemorating our anniversary of last year’s rendezvous and thanking him for being that fine ambassador to all men everywhere. Then I sat down to write this post as I baked spicy stuff shells and drank Tempranillo.

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I haven’t posted in a while. Admit it, you all have missed me. My neurotic missteps and manic quandary filled ramblings have entertained and appalled you equally over the last 11 months. Recently my big drama is figuring out what this Type Geek drama is all about. Just when I am sure I am going to have the conversation with him, his friend’s wife passes away, ok, talk about bad timing. Funerals are not the places for conversations about the direction of our relationship. Then he gets called away for business, another date gets canceled. In a fit of desperation to say it all out loud, even if just to the ether…I wrote him a card and mailed it quickly. Dropping it in the big blue postal box and exhaling as I closed the door. No going back right?

Well, I get better. During a night of texting while I worked, he voiced non committal ambivelance to a potential date for the coming weekend. I finally came out and told him, via text, that I am a pussy who can’t say out loud what I could write in that card. That what I said was sincere. Perhaps I am a blind fool but that I would rather put myself before him now than later have regrets over the wonderings, the maybes. Now, realizing that perhaps he hadn’t received the card yet, I followed with another text stating that, ” & incase the card is in with your mail at home and you haven’t read it yet, I told you that I am in love with you and asked that you try and give me a chance.” His response, within minutes, “OH!I haven’t gotten any card. Will look tonight and read thoroughly.” Needless to say, I assumed I wouldn’t hear from him for days. Boy, was I wrong.

He texted me that evening to tell me about his after meeting business entertaining, about the upcoming travel, and just about his day. I knew he hadn’t gone home yet, so he hadn’t read the card yet. When he arrived home, he let me know that it wasn’t there yet. The next day we text in the evening about his meeting and an unintentionally intentional client coup that resulted in a multi million dollar contract win on a job they hadn’t been bidding for and that hadn’t existed prior to his placing the bug in the clients ears. We rambled back and forth a bit and then he asked if I was available Saturday night, that his plans changed. I told him that I could be, with a twist of the arm. So, we made plans to have me make plans. I cautiously proceeded, assuming that there was a high probability of cancellation on his part. Only, he didn’t cancel. He was a half hour late though. I can accept that.

I had gotten a quick manicure earlier in the day, and searched for red tights for my black and white ruched Ann Taylor dress and knee-high Camper boots. I was shooting for sexy, without blatant. I wanted confident and beautiful and pulled together. This was going to be an important date, the first and potentially last date, after proclaiming that I was in love with him, via text. I made him pick me up at my house. I wanted to see if he would. Usually we opt to meet at his place or at a venue, but I wanted to see if he would go a little outside our usual routine, and happily, he did. The plan was to be all mine, so I took him for cuban food and then drinks at a local bistrot. Something different. At the end of the evening I kissed him and he was shocked because I used tongue, his immediate response was, ” omg, no tongue in public, we are in public.” I laughed and made fun of him. It wasn’t that I started molesting his taste buds with my tongue, it was light and subtle, but enough to surprise him a little. He then asked if I was coming back to his place, as he didn’t want to assume. I always go back to his house so this question was perplexing to me. I answered that I would love to, if he wished it. So, back to his place we went. We had an intensely hot “snuggle” session that never turned into actual sex, but was a fucking hot time. I was on my period so we opted to not have sex.

The next morning we slept in, then stayed in despite being awake. I made coffee and we laid there cuddling, chatting, and dozing off. I then got him off and we fell back asleep for a bit. I then woke up and was really turned on so I got myself off, only to wake him about 3 minutes before I came, because I needed some assistance. He said it was an interesting experience to wake up by having your hand placed on your lovers breast as they are masturbating against you. I told him he should be flattered that he turns me on that much. Our conversation in bed covered many topics, from the dating site, to our exes, our families, and work. He was the most communicative he has been in months. He truly felt like he was there, fully present. I liked it a lot.

After I showered, he jumped in behind me, I proceeded to figure out breakfast and decided to let the cat play in the hallway, like he often does. When I opened the door of his apartment to the common hallway, there it was, mocking me, looking up and challenging me… the card. Apparently the neighbors had it mixed in their mail. So, I brought it in and placed it on his credenza. Looking at it, I realized that it contained my future. I exhaled and walked away, casually mentioning it as he joined me for spinach and adobo soaked chipotle omelets served on green tomato jam brushed toast. The coffee, the conversation, it all flowed easily. I spent the entire day in his robe, my knee socks barely warming my cold feet from the rainy autumn air.

At a point in the early evening he realized he had a therapy appointment that he was late for, I offered to make us my infamous 5 pepper chili while he was gone and he responded by dressing me in a sweater and scarf of his so that I would be warm enough for the walk. Over the next hour I shopped, chopped and arranged. I picked up a bouquet of flowers for the table, and had the house smelling of roasted chilies, garlic and smoked alderwood. He returned with kisses and ear to ear grins. I wondered if I was talked about. I tried not to think about it.

The chili was perfect, the conversation, the hard cider, the dinner, it was all perfect. After dinner he asked that I curl up on the couch and watch a show with him for a bit before he drove me home. We fell asleep after the show and woke at nearly 1, groggily, begrudgingly pulling my stuff together for the drive to my place. I wanted to stay but no one had let out my dog since earlier in the day, she needed me home. The drive home was interesting, I was trying to converse with him in my head, bring up the topic, the card, the text, anything. Finally, parked outside my condo, I said, “Listen, I need to bring up the elephant in the room. What I said. The card, which terrifies me. What I am trying to say, is that, I just don’t want to be that girl from OkCupid anymore.” and then, the corniest line ever, which made him laugh,” I don’t want to be a garnish, I want to be an ingredient.” Jesus christ, was that bad or what. I shrunk down and wanted to cry. I asked that he not laugh at me, he said he was laughing with, that it was cute. He said he would read the card the next day and we would talk about it later.

It is the next day, we haven’t talked about it yet, but he had meetings all day and I worked. I’m tense and exhausted, but I am trying to think of this, I told him I loved him BEFORE he asked me out, before opted to spend nearly 30 hours with me, before he refused to get out of bed because he wanted to snuggle. He went into the weekend knowing that I had said it. This must be a good sign, right?

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It’s sinister really. The way that human emotions work. When I first met Type Geek, I was less than blown away. He seemed interesting though, and I assumed it would blossom into a friendship, rather than a romance. Jump forward 5 months, almost to the day, and I had a little realization. Perhaps love ISN’T that big feeling of eating too much wasabi at once. Perhaps that rush, the endorphins, the passionate sex in rental cars or curled up on bookstore floors waxing on about metaphysical mumbo jumbo while petting each other, those aren’t love or even falling in love. Those are merely garnish for the meal of life… some curly parsley or a drizzle of a well crafted gastrique. Those garnishes are flat and without merit however if they don’t embrace a meal that has merit. I want meals I eat to unfold in my mouth in waves of discovery. The fat, the salt, the acid, the spice all marrying together and delighting me. SO what if it looks good on paper, if it doesn’t elevate my taste buds, it doesn’t matter how it is presented. Sometimes the presentation is so simple, that you have few, if any expectations, or the ones you have, aren’t that high.

Type Geek is that meal that I can’t seem to grow tired of. Each taste I have had, has unfurled a new mysterious flavor. I savor each one, roll it around in my mouth and try to understand it, name it. Sometimes I can’t. Sometimes, I can match it. Mostly though, it has been the experience, until lately. The sex has become something I haven’t quite experienced before. I feel safe when I am with him, an experience that hasn’t occured for me before. In the past I have always been the one “in charge” or “in control”. Last week I finally let Type Geek into my head and what is stressing me out, two bottles of wine, tears, great sex and it all came out. The family drama, the financial drama, the life drama. I hadn’t been that vulnerable with anyone in years, if ever, but it felt safe sitting across from him. It felt right. The only thing I didn’t share in my conversation with him is my grey cloud of confusion over “us” and how I am having minor internal freak outs. I am acting like a girl in my head.

I’m jealous. I’m slightly insecure about where I stand with him. I keep saying I don’t want a relationship. Maybe I am lying. Not only to myself, but to all of you, and to him. Maybe in realizing that love is finding someone whom when you are with them, it is the only place you want to be, you realize that being “ready” for a relationship is nonsense. You don’t choose timing, you don’t choose who.

Why is this all sinister? As I alluded to earlier? A sinister type of joke which the universe loves to play on us emotional humans, give us insight as it takes something away. Type Geek and I haven’t spoken in 4 days. I stopped texting because I was busy, but also, I wanted him to put in a bit of effort, to show appreciation for the awesomeness that is I. He hasn’t touched base though. This morning I decided the game was silly, so I texted hello and, a little while later, I left him a voicemail in a super happy tone regarding the Depeche Mode obsession I was on this morning and how, omg, I saw a woman on the train yesterday wearing a 1980’s style denim jacket with a gigantic Megadeth iron-on across the back, and how it made me giggle audibly. I went for breezy, for no big deal, for hey, what up with your bad self. Only, I haven’t heard anything back from him. I think I am getting dumped via silence. The old, “Ignore it and it shall go away”, move. Sigh.

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It’s a cold night and I have just put my Type Geek texting to rest. Not ready to face the mounds of laundry that are resting on my bed in need of folding, hanging and otherwise putting away, I opted for a cup of Vosges La Parisienne Hot Chocolate with some vanilla bean and a dash of cayenne. Drinking it in my favorite mug, I couldn’t help but wish I was curled up on his couch watching Mad Men with him. Unfortunately, that isn’t happening. Unfortunately, I am sitting in a half renovated messy condo located in a stalled neighborhood of tacos, tacos, two Italian joints, and more tacos. Oh, and a pupuseria. It is for the best that I am not there this evening. I have too many commitments on Monday and must be out of my place by 9:45, at the latest. This all will be easier, when I am closer. At least, the travel back and forth will be easier, the logistics of seeing him, that is. Do I think our situation will be easier, aww, hells no. Can I hope, perhaps. I am realistic though. I think he has some trust issues, some attachment issues. His ex cheated on him multiple times. Not once, not twice, hell, maybe more than three. I know that from what he said, it was just completely out of hand. I can relate to wanting him more available when he is in work mode and feeling pushed aside and compartmentalized, but that doesn’t mean, now that I decided to stop seeing other people and be exclusive, yet still casual, that I would go have a grudge fuck. It wouldn’t make me feel better and ultimately it wouldn’t get me out of my compartment and closer to him. It isn’t always about me, or her or even him. Sometimes it is a symptom of the OCD and he is powerless to it, sometimes it truly just is an unavoidable work load that MUST be dealt with, however, sometimes it is my internalizing and resulting unexpected geyser of insecurity or his inability to see the entire picture after tunnelling on work and so, subsequently, he does things out of such rigid self focus, that I get lost, I am invisible. Are all of these things that can be dealt with? Yeah, sure.  2011 is creeping up fast. Less than 4 months. In roughly 13 weeks, this blog will have its year anniversary. I’m not sure what the story is yet. I have been battling back and forth a manuscript for the novel and I’m unsure, of so many things.

What is the story to you, the readers? Why do you read me, post after post? What do you want to know? What do you wish you knew more about? What is this journey to you?

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It’s been roughly 9 months since I began documenting this journey. Nearly as long as the gestational period of a human infant. Like some parents, I have rolled around in the mystery of it all, sat awe inspired and wide-eyed at the confusion and the complexity of human emotion and attraction, and revelled in MOST moments of the process. Also, like some parents, I have cursed the swollen ankles and figurative indigestion caused by the bloated impregnation of my changing life and, at times, cried over the process of peeling away the onion skin layers of my identity.

Wow, this post is starting heavy. Let’s take a quick sideline and say this. The two things I know, 9 months into this adventure, are this:

  1. Men are emotionally stunted and don’t know how to communicate. Granted, what they have to communicate is usually pretty straight forward and drama free…so, please, lay it out there guys.
  2. Women are bat-shit crazy. All of us. We may not seem it, but, at some point the change will happen and we will over-communicate the most complex range of emotions over something quite simple and drama free. Even the most chill, zen, mellow of us are prone to the whims of hormonal bat-shit craziness. I have said it before and here it is again…any creature that bleeds for 7 days straight, without dying, is NOT to be trusted, cause we must have some voodoo Santeria demon shit going on. Like Serpent and the Rainbow… dead, but alive, but fucking bat-shit.

Those are the two things I am sure of. That is it. The rest I find myself scratching my head over or doing tilted dog ears as I beat myself against the proverbial wall. In the end, I am not sure that I will have any great insights, not for you, the readers, and definitely not for myself. I may walk away with a new term; queer, not lesbian. I may walk away with a new wardrobe, as shopping has been an extension of this journey, expressing myself in new ways through fashion and embracing a more “straight” aesthetic that I hadn’t in my life as a lesbian. I was always femme, but I was a femme lesbian who occasionally wore lipstick and occasionally wore dresses and heels. Now, I am a stocking and garter wearing vixen with red stained lips and 4 inch heels at my disposal. I am kitty, here me roar. Fucking ROAR.

I would love to hear about your own journeys of self discovery. Chime in and share some.

Tuesday Posts are web-syndicated by www.thenewgay.net Check it out for a wide range of intelligent queer culture and opinions!

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