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Archive for the ‘Reasons to be Thankful’ Category

This time last week, Type Geek’s brother was slowly bleeding to death, kept alive by constant blood transfusions. His hospital has a dedicated out of the box thinker and suddenly his brother found himself with his own version of Gregory House, insane genius. Minus the drug addiction, limp, and snark. So, with a Hail Mary surgery that concluded with brother stuffed to the gills with self dissolving gauze, Dr. Not House was able to slow down the bleeding long enough to allow the body to start clotting on its own and retaining some of the blood being pumped into him. He is still in the hospital, he still has a huge upward battle, and a bigger war after this fight is won, but currently he is stable.

I felt defenseless. I love the Geek so much and felt like I needed to do something, but there wasn’t anything I could really do, except listen. Except be available. Except…

So, I cooked. I made him a dozen small individual Italian Easter Breads to take with him to Easter dinner with his family. I brought him fresh Tuberose, blooming for such a short time and only available in New England for such a short window of time, they smell like heaven, they smell like my parfum. I also bought myself some and placed the bouquet in a pitcher in my bedroom so I can wake up to their smell each morning.

Friday night, after finishing up the breads, I took a shower and grabbed a cab at midnight, placed the warm treats on his table, the flowers in his sink, and crawled into bed next to him. I was asleep, spooned against his back, my hand resting on his forearm and nose nestled into the crook of his neck, in less than 10 minutes. It was warm and soft and felt like home.

Type Geek is my just right. Like Goldilocks… I have tried the beds that are too hard and too soft, the porridge that is too hot and too cold, and the men and women who are just too big or too small… in many ways, Type Geek is my just right. Sure, there is no perfection. Our schedules don’t allow us to spend more than once a week with each other. Sex doesn’t happen three times a week like I would love. Still scarred from his past two relationships, he isn’t ready to swim in the waters that I dove into, but he dangles his toes on the edge and smiles as he talks to me while I swim. For now, that is fine. For now, I am happy just to have those toes.

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His asking for advice about something semi work related.

Heavy flirtation via text.

Some naughty thoughts from both of us.

A potential date for the end of the week.

Cautiously optimistic indeed.

On the health front, still staying fairly on track. Closed at the restaurant two nights in a row and then was too exhausted to get up early and hit the gym before my Saturday night shift. Had to work brunch this morning and by the time I got off work, all I had the energy for was taking the pup for a walk and a ten minute phone conversation with Type Geek. Gym is on the itinerary for tomorrow morning. Tonight’s dinner is spiced pepper quinoa with pinto beans and piri piri marinated wild mackerel tossed with some brown rice pasta.

Hope everyone has had a great weekend. Drop a line and let me know how you all are doing.

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Mojo is finicky. It comes when it wants to, without warning or cause. It leaves just as suddenly. In the last 5 days I have had people comment on how something looks different, a cloud looks lifted, an energy that was reinvigorated. Everyone is waiting for the other shoe to drop. I understand. A colleague of mine made a half joke that she reads the blog in order to see what my mood will be when she sees me, so that she can decide how to be the friend I need that day. She has trepidations, at best, about Type Geek and what transpired last week. I remain cautiously optimistic, yet realistic. I have not heard from him yet, however I had stated early after the incident that I suspected I wouldn’t hear from him until Monday, at the earliest. With his brother’s health struggles and current family drama including a great-niece who is due to be born any day, I assumed that his weekend would be spent with his family in the suburbs. Meanwhile, my taste buds are alive again. Tuesday night woke them up and suddenly I found that I once again had my muse, albeit temporarily. In the last 24 hours, I crafted the bits and pieces of what became the most inspired meal of mine to date. A latin inspired rare steak with layers of heat that made my mouth dance a merengue from the trio of chiles. In the end, I am not sure what is going to happen, but until there are answers, there is food.

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Since Type Geek and I didn’t actually discuss anything about us during our sitdown that turned into date with sex, I’m biting my tongue and trying to keep my mind off of him and us as much as possible. Obviously, I need to come back to him for this post, but I am considering the option that perhaps his not talking, is a better sign than if he actually did rationalize and dissect everything. Perhaps his actions and decisions of that night and the following morning, state more about how he feels about me than any discussion could have. Actions speak louder than words, correct?

I believe it is important to allow him the next move. To allow him to digest that after so many no’s, he made the tiny decisions on Tuesday night to change course, rather than having our discussion, rather than initiating our talk, he chose, after we sat for an hour talking around the elephant in the room, to ask me to dinner, then, hours later, after laughter and discussions on his musical career, his design career, and the history of hip hop, he chose to ask me if I would stay the night. He chose to reach over in the night and ask me to snuggle, then he initiated sex. I did not want the later argument that I had ever coerced or tricked him into getting back together. I merely showed up looking stunning,  I smiled and flirted with cautious optimism. I was loving and open to whatever might occur. I didn’t assume or expect that we would end up in bed, but I waxed just in case. A smart girl is a prepared girl.

So, what now? I’m waiting to call my newest culinary venture and find out if I am working this evening, and if not, I am signing up for a 30 day trial membership at the local Boston Sports Club and opting to workout my body when my mind is bending me inside and out regarding Type Geek. In 30 days, I may have a newly revived love affair with Type Geek, or not, but I will most certainly have a more fit body. With so many things that I have no control over, this is one that I do.

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The year started off with blueberry dotted chipotle, cracked cayenne, and alderwood smoked sea salt chocolate cupcakes … frosted with nutella. Some Lambrusco I picked up from my new local wine shoppe, conveniently run by a woman whom I had hot sex with for 3 months back in my late 20’s. The southerner whose Baton Rouge oozed out during orgasm when she let out her Oh Gawd’s with a twang. Jesus, that women was hot, and she still is pretty good-looking, if I am to be honest. We hadn’t seen each other in 5 years, since running into each other one evening at a bar. She was surprised to see me, but pleasantly so, it appeared.

Originally I had hoped to spend New Year’s Eve in varying degrees of undress… and giddy drunkenness. Unfortunately, the universe decided that Type Geek needed yet another colossal crisis that needed solving and so he trekked through the woods and went ice climbing to a mountain peak, where he then proceeded to camp, alone, and find the answers for the questions he has been presented. I get it, they are big questions, life and death questions, with very real consequences. I am disappointed, that is natural, but I do get it.

The universe then decided to test my own resolve… by bringing an old flirtation back online… he is back in the states from Argentina, where he has been doing some graduate work. Drunk, he flirted incessantly, and sent me a photo I had sent him a year prior. He thanked me for being an exhibitionist and, in his sexually aroused state of drunkenness, was asking to come over, asking for more photos. He ” didn’t want to ruin my relationship” though, didn’t want to interfere. Didn’t he understand that he doesn’t really have that power? I declined, explaining that things have changed for me. I’m sexually exclusive with someone I love, sure he isn’t my boyfriend, but he is someone whom I care deeply for and wish to keep around for a pretty long time.

I’m beginning the year in love, in frustration, in less control than ever before. I have moved in with other people, and realized one roommate is passive aggressive and quite intolerable, the one who confessed his feelings for me regarding his favoritism on OK Cupid. I have found myself in a job that can sometimes border on unhealthy due to a member of the management team who relies on bullying, physical and emotional harassment and a tendency towards too many French 75’s while working. Then of course, there is the being in love, with someone who cares enough not to want me to go away, but is petrified of letting me in far enough that he could actually fall for me. Oh sigh.

All of this begs the question… in 365 days, where will we all be?

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12 months.

Originally I had planned today to be the swan song for Learning to Drive Stick. I assumed, wrongly, that I would have some amazing revelations about human behavior. About human sexuality. Instead, a year in, all I have are more questions than when I began. My base questions were simple, or in retrospect, simple. Can I, a lesbian of 12 years, a woman who didn’t even like penetrative sex with her female lovers and hadn’t had a remote inkling of a novel non fleeting interest in a man in 12 years, sustain enough of an interest in any one or more men to date them and have a sexually romantic relationship with them. Sure, I flirted with a few boys during that time, kissed a couple, but that was alcohol tinged fun, not cock fueled desire. So, I set out last December on a quest, one year to meet as many men as possible, stay open to the process and see what the universe had to offer. Boy, did the universe have plans.

In the first months it was very experimental. I did have a look at my dates as pawns in a game, in a way. Or perhaps it was all like a science project, controlled experiments. As much as I was open to the process, I was awkward, at best. I was having issues crossing the line and connecting beyond the sexual flirtation. No one was getting in. I was having a blast though, so, I assumed, again wrongly, that this would be the nature of the beast. I would meet and have laughs, maybe some hot make out sessions with beautiful men who looked too good to be true (i.e. Gavin Depp), and some douche bags who thought inviting their friends on a first date and hitting on the girl in the tight wife beater, smoking a cigarette outside, was a BRILLIANT and tactful move. I assumed I would have some good stories, nothing more, nothing less.

Then Brooklyn showed up. He came at me with a relentless desire. He was just leaving a marriage to the only woman he had ever been intimate to, the 3rd woman he had kissed, and in many ways, what should have been a short passionless affair, turned into a 12 year relationship. She was the first girl to pay attention to him. The first to fall in love with him. So, he stayed. Until he decided the fall previous to our meeting, that he was done. Fini. He saw me on Match, signed up specifically to meet me, only met me and fell into a fantasy. It turned out that we had been neighbors in Brooklyn, yet never known each other, and in many ways, our connection was one of soul mates, but it was forced, by him. It was filled with a teenage fervor, making out on the beach in winter, in a car for hours with the heat turned on, on the couch of a home I was house sitting and in between the stacks of bookstores. It was hot and fast. In the end I fell in love with the idea of love. Love wasn’t what I was expecting in the journey, so to see that it could be a real possibility in the journey was thrilling. We broke off our short affair because he was overwhelmed, a night of almost sex had him rethinking his entire life. He needed therapy to leave the relationship, not me.

I did also assume, again wrongly, that sex would be fairly easy to come by, seeing that I am an extremely attractive woman with an average slender build, some fashion sense and style, and a pretty good sense of humor. Sure, except I wasn’t getting laid. Start and stops, start and stops. Hot make outs in a mall after hours following an alcohol loaded evening of jazz resulted in our getting thrown out of said mall, but when we were alone later, excuses for why the young law student wasn’t ready. Dates that couldn’t make it close to first base and my desire to have someone “be a man” about it and show me that they wanted me, rather than my taking the first move as I have in all of my relationships in my past. It wasn’t happening. So, the dates continued, the weather warmed, and the experiments went from controlled to natural as I found 3 men in a few week period who redefined the game.

Type Geek started out his date late, nice, but not thrilling. Former lawyer talked my ear off on the phone in an argumentative debate that, at times, crossed into condescending and rude, but I went out with him anyway, only to realize that I was truly JUST going to use him for sex. He seemed to be my most promising route for a lay, since Type Geek hadn’t even kissed me at week 3 of dating. So, I slept with Former Lawyer on a Wednesday and had him begin a three-day stalking that covered him showing up at a grocery store he knew I was shopping at, show up outside my door, uninvited, assuming he would be invited in, at a time when I just wanted to sit in the tub and relax after a hard day. I gave him 2 hours at a local martini bar. He told me that I couldn’t possibly like electronic music because I liked serious musicians like Rush. I respected Rush, sure, but I LOVE trip hop, so fuck off. He told me he was being argumentative in order to make my arguments and opinions more precise. I told him I had to go, I had plans. Those plans were to get back in the tub, of course, but I would not see this man again. He had however, broken the mystical seal surrounding my pussy and suddenly the world opened up.

That evening I met Cooper Fiennes on-line, we chatted briefly,flirted, and agreed to meet for coffee after an appointment I had scheduled the next day. I also had a date with Type Geek later that evening. And so, the next morning, I arose for my meeting, met Cooper Fiennes in person, and tried to hold my shock when meeting him. He was handsome on-line, but he was HANDSOME and European, and sexy as HELL in person. We walked for hours, drank coffee and talked. I didn’t feel a huge spark, but I felt his interest. Suddenly I saw the time and realized that I had 2 hours to get home, shower, wax (just in case, although since our first kiss was initiated by me, I was only so hopeful of anything past 1st base on this date as well), and get back to the same location I was sitting, for a date with Type Geek. I made it 15 minutes late. He was, of course, 20 minutes late. By 1 am I was beginning to consider it fruitless. He wasn’t making a move, and so I decided one last attempt at making myself available would need to be tried. I followed him into his bedroom as he dug through his closet for some shoes, the ugliest shoes in creation apparently, and I purposefully laid myself out on his bed and began to pet his cat. And so, this is how Type Geek made his move, finally. This was one hell of a move, as well… it resulted in great sex, my getting off, and really good coffee in the morning. After going home and showering, I met Cooper Fiennes in the city for a late afternoon coffee.

That became my summer, juggling between these two insanely different men. Sex with Cooper Fiennes was fierce and passionate, often beginning in alcoves of buildings of on park benches. He could turn me on in 3 seconds by stroking the back of my neck and breathing on it until I was ready for another 4 hour escapade. With Type Geek, it was sweet and typical, but he didn’t let me in, I was intimate with him, but often felt detached. I was beginning to think that he might be one-dimensional. a few months in I realized that I had fallen in love with the idea of sex and my body in ways I hadn’t ever been able to in my life. I had two men that found me sexy, one that showed me how insatiably, and it was thrilling. I misdirected this emotion for a couple of weeks as it being about Cooper Fiennes in general, only to see that it wasn’t, after we stopped seeing each other because he had fallen in love with his best friend.

I was considering ending my affair with Type Geek at this time as well, I wasn’t feeling anything spectacular, and while he was a nice guy, I didn’t see much else. As I trolled the internet sites for more potential dates I realized that perhaps Type Geek was that guy that in comparison doesn’t show well, but underneath it all, if the focus is just on him, maybe he is a diamond in the rough. So, I actively decided that I would only see him for a while. That awhile is now 8 months. A month ago I realized that after falling in love with the idea of love, after falling in love with the reality of myself as a very sexual being, I had also, fallen in love. He is flawed, emotionally and physically. He is imperfect in many ways. I am a overcommunicator and he is a undercommunicator, and at times I feel like a chicken with my head cut off, cause I just don’t get him, but, I love him. He is multi layered and as delicious as a Mille-feuille. He isn’t my boyfriend, it’s no grand affair with fireworks and sex on street corners and in rental cars, but it’s true and honest and real. Real isn’t always sexy, it requires a lot of work.

So, a year in. My original question was answered early on, yes, I could successfully date and maintain a sexual relationship with a man. Then I wondered if I could fall in love, and I did. Then I began asking questions about the all of human nature, realizing that while we are such different creatures, especially in how we go about processing and handling our rich and varied emotional lives, we, men and women, essentially want similar things. The only two things I truly know for sure though, in all of this, is that women are indeed bat shit crazy, even me. Men are emotionally retarded, and if they aren’t, there is some red flag somewhere that you should look for. We will never be able to have total communication with anyone we are sexually and romantically involved with, because we see things through eyes clouded with our own needs, wants, past traumas, etc. Nothing will ever be perfect, but imperfection, in all its beauty, isn’t far from grasp, if you open your eyes to it.

I no longer consider myself a lesbian, but I don’t consider myself bi or straight. To some, straight makes more sense. To me, calling myself straight discounts and disrespects my knowledge, my history, my activism in the gay community. I know too much to be straight. I consider myself, because labels seem to be necessary in our day and age of necessary compartmentalization, queer. I’m left of center, as Suzanne Vega sang.

What next? I’m not sure. I have decided not to end the blog just yet, but I am taking a break until the new year. In January I will be back, and perhaps with a different direction to take it in. I am thankful for all of the support I have received over the last year from my readers and my editors at The New Gay, as well as the gifts of the universe and even all of the crazy boys I encountered along the way. Some have become lifelong friends, others I avoid on the street, and some, one, I bring with me into the new year, filled with possibility, filled with potential and filled with utter frustration that once again, a date may get canceled and I may not get laid, because he may end up stuck in another state today due to a snow storm that hit after he finished his business meeting. Sigh.

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My biological clock may have turned me into a cock craving mad woman in hopes that I spawn before it is too late, but thanks to modern pharmaceuticals… she won’t win. I recognize your right to do so, but keep these two videos in mind next time you go and get yourself knocked up.

First the chemical highs you get in order to mask the reality of your body being host to a parasite that continues to cling long after it has left the womb and ravaged your body.

Then, thanks to our robot friend who can keep doing it, so I don’t have to… the body fluid and scream free birth 

Did I also mention that these videos freak me out?!

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