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Posts Tagged ‘woody allen’

I have a touch of the uck today. A low-grade fever, stomach that is ever so slightly off, and a general feeling of malaise. Not pleased. I have postponed my date with the young Straight Edge Artist for tomorrow evening, we were going to meet at a contemporary art museum in the evening, because I want to lay in bed and feel healthy for my date with Future Lawyer on Friday night. It isn’t a hot date where we hit the town. I suggested a low-key evening in at his place, some Pho, some Netflix and a solid chance of making out. I asked myself whether I would sleep with him, IF I were getting waxed this week. Potentially, yes. However, it’s only been a week that we’ve really known each other. But, I think I have decided that it is okay to be casually sexual with a couple people at once as long as A) safe sex, and B) no one thinks that sex makes you exclusive. My blueberry soda loving childhood fireman, the Musician/Artist/Assoc Prod is back in town this weekend and we have plans next week to check out a great Italian foreign film and grab a cocktail. I kissed him on a street corner. I want to see if there is a potential for more chemistry there, or if it was a just momentary ambush of lips over judgement. So, these are the things I am mulling about in my feverish mind.

I was looking through some of my old writing tonight as I down my Odwalla C Monster. I came across something from 2008 that I had written after awaking one morning from dreams about the man I had loved so intensely in my early 20’s.

Strange dreams

I woke this morning from a dream that haunted my entire day. I am 34…nearly. I have dated women exclusively for a decade. Prior to that I knew I was attracted to women from the time I was 17. However, I hadn’t realized my ho-hum YAWN feelings towards the men I dated or had…what some elders might refer to as …”relations” with meant that I was gay. It never crossed my mind. Until it did. 
 
Funny that I dream of him. I am gay. To some of you, many of you, you may not understand how a woman can say she is gay but admit relations and a past love for a man. It is simple, you have your preference or leanings and then, if you believe in eastern philosophies at all, well then… it opens the world to confusion. As an eastern follower and someone who believes in reincarnation… how can I say that a soul partner will only come back as a man or a woman or a human for that matter. Now when I say that, a soul partner does not mean a lover per se. We can be blessed in our lives with connections that are unexplainable and wonderous …. we just feel in our bones that these individuals, whether human or animal, have been intertwined with us before. The love I had for that man from a decade ago does still haunt me. I have a photo of him which I shot on one of the first nights we truly saw each other. Perhaps it was even that first night. He said it was the only photo that ever really captured him. When I look at it now it feels as if he looks right into me. Still.
 
I do not dream. At least, I never remember any of my dreams. A handful in 34 years. That is all. I remember one from when I was 14, one from the weeks after my dog passed several years ago, and this one. This dream was about him. The him that sprung into my life, like an odd flat note in a song. At first it seems out-of-place and just wrong… then you keep listening and your ear realizes that the flat note is the unique piece that makes the song.

3 months… secrecy. No one knew. Okay, 4 or 5 people knew. The rest we hid it from because we worked together and didn’t want the drama. We didn’t like each other when we met. I found him twitchy, pale, arrogant in a way that was pedestrian. He thought I was “just a bird”. See, that is what I mean. What white american midwestern male uses the term “bird” as if he’s a self righteous Brit? We dealt with each other. Humored each other’s diatribes until one day when someone mentioned that I followed eastern philosophies as well, that I was Hindu, and with that, he looked as if he had just discovered something new on a road he always traveled, and he mentioned that he was Buddhist. We raised eyebrows at the other and from then on, we began to listen to each other. One night we had a movie and take out night at his apartment… three of us from work. The one with the crush on me grew tired and decided to sleep on the couch. How polite to leave me with the floor. At this point Mr Twitchy and I were finding common ground but still nowhere close to great pals. He was polite enough to offer space in his bed, with no intentions. Seriously, there were no intentions and it was a California King. A HUGE BED. We slept and in the early morning hours we suddenly awoke at the same time, facing each other, our eyes locked. I felt infinite. I knew then that he and I had a connection older than us. We continued to stare at each other until eventually it became an embrace. 3 months.

3 months and then he met a woman in a bar, she pursued him relentlessly and he dumped me unapologetically in a note on my door, days after my birthday. I remember knowing deep down but laying in bed alone and praying for him to “just please not marry her”. Yes, they married. I think they are still married. I am not sure. I moved from that place the following year and while he is in my thoughts, I have not seen him since I left that town.

I have had a fair share of disillusionment, monotony, indifference and settling in my life when it comes to romantic and/or sexual relationships. A few times I have been left feeling like the wind has been knocked out of me. This man came in and out of my life so swiftly and briefly, yet he imbedded himself deep within me. I think about him often, even now. I know that our relationship was not meant to be one of permanence. It was Woody Allen, The Pogues, Bushmills and stouts. Existential dilemmas, dissatisfaction, late night converging on a mutual cynicism and dissatisfaction with the world. For three months though, we loved each other madly and it was us, secretly tucked away from the rest of the world. 

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It’s a curious thing, all of this. For 12 years (that’s a long time for those of you unable to quantify exactly how long 12 years is) I have only dated women. I did this not in response to any trauma inflicted upon me by men, in fact I have always thought men were awesome. I did this solely because I had not been attracted to a man in over 12 years. Ugh, that sounds so dismal. It really wasn’t as boring as that. Women turned me on in a way no man ever had. The first time I had a significant make out session with a girl, you know, clearing some bases and all… angels sang and seas parted and I know I at least stepped in water that night (it was raining), even if I didn’t walk on it.

I hung out with a few more boys while I was making my self discovery and then one day I just ceased hanging out with them. There wasn’t any one particular thing that happened. Merely, it was what wasn’t happening.  My toes didn’t curl and butterflies never fluttered. I did fall in love with one boy once but it was the type of love that you get from whiskey, woody allen films and Shane Macgowan songs. That story is for another time.

For the next decade I dated some women. Some were amazing, some less so. I asked one to marry me shortly after 9/11 and lost her, 2 years later,  to a midget with an eating disorder, manic phobias and a substance problem.  While that was a tad bit demoralizing, cause yes, I am hot, I pulled myself back up and went out there again. Some casual fun, like the southern basketball fanatic who, when she came, would scream “oh gawd” in her bayou drawl… and then roll over and turn on ESPN after sex, or the former spoken word poet and sex education teacher turned high femme drag performer. The ivy league half-marathoner with ugly toes and a privileged ivy league background including republican politico parents. The struggling screenwriter whose youthful fun and frisky tone shifted upon living with me. We spent hours upon hours fighting, until eventually, we had hit levels of unhealthy that I hadn’t ever thought I would encounter in my own relationships. A lesson in expectations, I guess. No one is above being at the bottom.

Then my dog got sick and she died. A month later, I was moving out of that apartment and ending my relationship with the writer. I woke up one day, feeling completely numb and realized I just couldn’t do it any longer. I needed a break because I was completely devoid of any sense of well being. I then made, what seemed crazy to many around me, an active rational decision to be celibate and single so I could refocus on myself. For 4 years I did things for myself without consulting, compromising, or considering another individual and it was F-A-B-U-L-O-U-S !!! I learned to drive ( before you think oddly, it is NOT uncommon for people in NYC to not drive. We have the best subway system in the world, so, why drive?!!!), I bought a condo, started two businesses, and rescued an emaciated dog from the back of a pick up truck. I was busy. BUT, I had also become a recluse. I had built walls up and become increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of letting anyone in. Yes, at times I was lonely, BUT, I had control over my existence. I needed that control. It became more important than the companionship. I had the dog and she had me and it was us against the world, only we stayed inside and weren’t really in battle against any great force. We mainly snuggled and watched A LOT of netflix and ate kettle korn or roasted broccoli. (Yes, both of us ate the kettle korn AND the broccoli. She is a funny dog.)

So how did I get from kettle korn to boy hickies? Let’s just condense it by saying that I opened myself up to trying something different because, what I was doing, was really NOT working. Einstein was the one that said,” Insanity is doing the same thing over and over, yet expecting a different result.”  Now, apparently the universe likes to be a mischievous little bitch, because verbalizing my willingness to explore what she wanted to give me, opened up a whole universe wide can of worms.See, that’s how the universe rolls. Suddenly, I was trying to get a foreigner to make out with me, even JUST once, using multiple tried and true female methods, but to no avail (I did mention that I am, in fact, really attractive, right?! So, WTF?!). This all led to some off-color sexually frustrated venting to a casual long distance friend who, at the end of one conversation, impudently remarked that I would always be welcome to share photos with him, as many and as often as I wished. I was feeling extra flirty that day so I did and then I did again until I suddenly found myself involved in some rather thrilling multimedia internet naughtiness. There were then packages, pictures, phone calls and suddenly a plane ticket and a promise to be present, be open, be in the moment, but mostly to be honest to the process of being accepting of whatever may come.

Now, just as a sidenote… they never tell you this. It’s like a secret club, with a secret handshake and apparently a secret language…. yiddish. Jewish men are well endowed. I’m not saying that they are necessarily the size of a small baby BUT holy girth on that thing!  I did a survey, of all my Jewish friends, and I looked it up on-line, and I saw a box of magnums in my friend’s drawer. Now, her husband is a 5’7″ Jewish man…I’m just saying. BUT, you can make whatever connection you want, I’m just saying that Jewish penis is something of a religious experience.

So, now I am back in my condo, with the dog, and I don’t want the same method of life I had been living. Did the religious cock send me on a quest for the holy grail? Perhaps. The details of that trip? That is purely mine and his. All I know is this, life is far too short to confine yourself to a definition. When did I stop living because my defined “way” of life wouldn’t allow it? Now I get so many questions. Some people need me to redefine as straight or bi or explain myself and why I feel justified in calling myself a lesbian in the tagline of this blog. I have spent 12 years heavily defined. I do not know what the future holds. I can only be here at this moment and be true to this journey, this exploration. If it makes you uncomfortable that my sexuality and use of sex does not fit comfortably into a tidy box, for this I can not apologize. Life is grey, relationships of all sorts are grey, sex and sexuality are grey. Don’t expect it to be tidy and black and white, for all of you will be shocked and disappointed each time it surprises you.

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