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This is pretty much the funniest thing I have seen in a good long while. Satan, nibbles, and sex… by Steve Hughes

 

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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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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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6 months ago I started this blog with no idea where I would be in a week, let alone 6 months. I just wanted to start chronicling the journey. Surely I wasn’t the first gay woman to suddenly question her predilections, let alone act on her heterosexual curiosity. I remember thinking that I was going to generate a lot of back lash from the gay segment of my personal community. Interestingly enough, the hetero’s were the ones that were the most resistant. As if I had tasted something they hadn’t and subsequently I wasn’t allowed back in their house with my proverbially soiled feet. I almost lost one friendship with a friend of nearly 20 years, until I finally called him on his insecurities. Interestingly, some of the men in my life were angry. How could I, after that many years, suddenly jump the fence, without considering THEM an option. Many of them are married or partnered up, by the way. So, their egos were bruised. In the end, all friendships remain in tact and everyone is fine with, what now appears to be, my ho-hum, incident free crossing into this other country.

The one thing I haven’t settled on, however, is what am I defining myself as? Do I need to be defining myself? I don’t feel straight. I definitely no longer feel gay. Am I queer? If forced to make a verbal statement? I’m not sure.

At Pride last weekend, in conversation with my former neighbor, she told me about how many of her friends are now half-gay. Not bisexual, not gay, NOT straight but sorta in this ambiguous middle ground of mixed greys. Half-gay. Interesting.

Have any of you noticed a recent jump in your GLBT friends making changes in their predilections? Have you done so personally? Tell me your stories.

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My dance card is interesting these days. I have two great lovers and I’m just kinda doing my thing. I am still chatting up other people and getting to know people online, but as of yet, I haven’t been going on any new dates. It feels a little weird and I am not sure how a third could fit into my pleasant little world. 

I have had a slightly cute, but increasingly less interesting as the days went on, chat going on from one of the online sites, and I have been feeling overwhelmed as I over thought it all. First let me explain about the guy I was chatting with. He has that pseudo intellectual, as in non-skinny jean wearing, hipster musician/designer thing going. He wants to meet me, I have blown him off now twice, the more I thought about whether I could fit him into this mix of two boys, the more I was just feeling frazzled, PLUS, and I know this might seem weird and hypocritical coming from me,but,  he has had extensive experiences with men, and I find it slightly a turn off. He isn’t bisexual, he says. He is straight.  I guess maybe my turn off is a two-fold one. 1) gay male sex has never turned me on. Man on man action, hmm, pass. maybe because it is such an unknown, because I can’t wiggle into that equation. In lesbian sex, I have a place, in straight sex, I have found my place. As a woman though, I have no place in gay male sex. 2) I know he was a bottom and I like my men to top me a bit. Finding out he was bottom killed any mental hard on I was coming up with when I first saw his picture and profile. Sigh.  So, I keep canceling. He is now on vacation, so, if he contacts me when he gets back next week, we shall see how we are feeling.

How awful does this make me that I expect others not to judge my sexual past, but I appear to be judging his? Am I judging the past though? I really think it might be that I am afraid he would be incapable of being the type of dominate/aggressive male lover I like. Feedback people. What do you think?!

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We met at Starbucks before the concert. SHORT and OMG… SO GAY. How does he NOT know that he is gay? The entire world knows that this 32-year-old man, studying to be a nurse, is a raging queer. He laments that most of his friends are gay or mailmen OR gay mailmen. Ya think? Really? Wasn’t there a mailman in The Village People?

We stopped for Pho before the show and were seated next to a former colleague of mine and her husband whom I have never gotten on with. I actually avoided even saying hello to him. I spoke with the woman for a few moments, realized we were both going to the same show and sighed in relief when they finished up 10 minutes before us. I desperately needed to tell my gay date what a douche bag her husband was.

The show was phenomenal. The opening act quirky and while at first a little too hip and annoying, I must admit that her thumb piano and high-pitched voice eventually won me over because her lyrics were just THAT fun. Robot Ponies. Really?!

The main act came on… and they played two sets and a few songs for encore. I love his voice and if i could have anyone be the soundtrack for my life, it would be this man and his band of loons.

The bartender at the venue made the strongest well drinks EVER and I found myself very buzzed off two drinks. Since I knew I was not going to be kissing the emasculated gay nurse in training, I tested Mr. Decade and told him to meet me for a night-cap. He actually responded that he was planning on going to bed early. Umm, when the 35-year-old woman who you have tried to convince to give you a legitimate chance, text messages you from a concert, admitting to being tipsy, and inviting you out for a night-cap, you do NOT say no. I responded back that he should reconsider because I wasn’t sure how many times I might offer. Needless to say, he agreed to meet me.

We met at a place around the corner from his apartment and next to my train station. We curled up on a couch in the corner, had a couple drinks and he put his arm around me. He did so at first in a semi-awkwardly, not sure what was acceptable way, but then loosened up. We spent an hour sprawled out on the couch chatting and staring at the patrons and the fish tank before I realized I had ten minutes before my train was coming.

On the walk over to the station I felt a bit bratty, grabbed some snowballs and jettisoned them at him. I knew he was feeling too gentlemanly to really throw back AND he wasn’t wearing gloves. Ha Ha. Outside the station he reached down to give a peck goodnight, again, unsure of where I was leading him or authorizing him to go. I had to assert myself a bit, pulling him back in for a more authentic round of kissing that happily left us both a little smirky on our separate walks home. Not bad for a 25-year-old.

So, what does everyone think. Should I give the 25-year-old a real chance or is it doomed to be messy and obnoxious because of his age and our age difference? Comment with your opinions!

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