Look! I still write…and it’s mushy!
“We had met for drinks earlier that night but the prevailing chemistry between us showed that neither of us were ready to go home, so we continued to walk. We walked up streets, across streets, down streets, anywhere so we could prolong the outing because it wasn’t exactly a date – we were friends….”
Read the rest on Justin’s blog, My Liner Notes.
I can almost say for certain that I have been bent my entire life. Some girls play with Barbie. I ‘played’ with Barbie however unlike some girls who grew out of it, I still want to play with what she represented to me. As long as I have understood sexuality, I think that I have been okay and open about being bent. My first crushes in public school were both boys and girls – they both made my heart pound and my hands sweat the same way. I hung out with a lot of boys so talking about girls was never strange to me. The problem with never having serious conflict in my external life is that I have never had to examine what it really means.
It doesn’t sound like a problem to never have had conflict over my sexuality, but other than just deciding how I wanted to live, I have never had to think about my sexuality. Being bent fortunately means that I fit in pretty well with the dominant straight community, but it also unfortunately means that when the going got tough or I felt rejected by the gay community, I could be straight. Considering how complicated women are, boys were always an easy fall back. If I was lucky enough to meet a nice girl, I was. I don’t think I have ever really thought about the ramifications and how it has affected me until recently.
Perhaps it’s maturity or the fact that I am now settled down, but for the first time in my life I wonder what I have missed by running away so many times. I have come to think more about the missed opportunities and possibilities. I believe that things happen the way they do for a reason and wouldn’t trade what I have for anything but it doesn’t stop me from wondering what I have missed by never being emotionally tied to a woman or spending more time with women. My gay friends tell me that I am lucky that I can choose – I can choose have the wonder and beauty of a woman but also not have to deal with the emotional complexity and drama by being with a man. The problem with choice is that I guess we all want to protect ourselves and don’t put ourselves out there. I worry that there is a part of myself that is underdeveloped or unlearned that I may now never explore.
Having said that, I know I am very lucky. I mean, I’m not bent to turn men on or because it’s pretty darn trendy these days. I am what I am…and am not interested in the fake bents anyway. MC is an amazing, honest and understanding man. I feel fortunate that I am able to share these feelings and this part of my life with him without fear of judgement, rejection or jealousy.
What this all means, I’m not sure. It’s a work in progress…and right now my brain shutting me down again. All you pervs out there, don’t worry. There are a lot of things that come with being bent that are amazing and suck…and I will share them.
okay, so this exercise in brain flexing has not been too successful. i have probably gotten immeasurably dumber since i last posted in july. however, i can tell you that i have been thinking – i have in fact had many thoughts in that time! i have even had thoughts that have impassioned me enough to want to write yet, i haven’t: the situation in the mid east, the atheist ad campaign coming to toronto, the new wolverine origins movie, my continued cynicism about ever being successful..but a song struck me and reached deep into my mind/heart and elicited something.
“ex-factor” by lauryn hill came on web radio today and a wave of emotions came over me. not only did it seem appropriate for a friend’s current situation, but it reminded me of a time in my life when i wanted so desperately for my love to work that i was blinded by all reason.
this is not going to be one of those posts about how i am so much better off for being settled down blah blah..anyone who knows me, knows i miss the single life (i had an extremely vivid dream about MSH last night – my 8 year junior high- high school crush…he’s married now). it’s more that because i’m not caught up in my own bs that i have been able to reflect and observe/listen.
the older i get, the more awed i am over the power of love – not the celine dion kinda power of love but how it can consume us and our rationality or even reveal who we really are. nothing profound there but it has made me evaluate why i am in my relationship and what i want from it. which has been very good for me – i learn to demand more, i think about whether MC is worth certain compromises and really forced me to ask tough questions.
i try not to pass judgement but time and time again, i have been surprised or personally disappointed in people i respect. it would be unfair for me to discuss individual situations but they range from gold digging to boxing match break ups (round after round), choosing ‘love’ over life etc.
i have made the mistake of getting too personally involved in some of these situations – out of love but really unfair of me. i have also unfairly judged and i’m working on that. i guess at the end of the day, what i am learning is that we all have our own reasons for wanting love and what love means in each of our lives is totally different. my friends will be happy if they find the kind of love they want, even if others don’t think it’s for the right reasons or right. we can judge out of caring but can ultimately only be responsible for our own lives. we all have our own struggles and will deal with them as individuals. hopefully we will learn through them and find what we seek.
i only know i’m very lucky right now.
i hope you find what you are looking for.
xo
i started this blog with full intention of filling it with interesting posts full of ideas and brilliant insight that only 30 years of life experience could bring. life has been a bit emotional lately yet i still haven’t been able to extradite my thoughts to make the intended peace i need. i think and i write but end up deleting it all, afraid that i just sound like i’m a 15 year old.
i’ve been thinking about mediocrity a lot lately and laughed when i read one of my dailies to find it was on the radar of someone far more extraordinary than myself.
i grew up believing that i was a pretty smart kid. combined with my super work ethic and ‘not too shabby’ social skills, there was not way i wouldn’t be successful – at least that’s what i thought. so i set my hopes and expectations high, putting everything i have into my jobs, trying to work it and hope that someone recognized it. while those around me saw it, it’s never been enough. time after time i have had my confidence kicked in the gut. i have happily watched friends and those around me move forward and succeed. most of them with the same kind of hard work, some of them more and some of them, not so much. i’m trying to figure out what it is that is wrong with me. maybe there is nothing special about me. maybe i am just as average as everyone else trying to get by – that 60% that doesn’t really stand out or matter. i feel like everyone knows something that i don’t but no one wants to be the one to tell me.
recently i have resigned to my mediocrity. i wanted to stop making myself miserable, trying to believe that i am more than what i am. i can’t find it in myself anymore to give it and i want to be realistic. the funny thing is that it doesn’t make me happier.
i don’t think i want to believe in my mediocrity and every day i am hoping someone will prove me wrong, but they don’t. the constant reinforcement of my mediocrity lends to more grief, not the peace i had hoped for. how do you pick yourself up and keep believing when the working world just tells you something else?
i was watching criss angel last week and i attempted to get inspired by his belief that he can do anything-that’s how he makes himself magic. but it didn’t stick. all i want is this confidence. maybe it will elevate me to create magic too…or at least the illusions to fool myself into believing i am more than mediocre.
dear miss pussy shy,
you were in another dream last night. like all the other times you have appeared, i can’t recall what the dream was about and what role you played. i only know you were in it.
i guess there was always a chance but somehow we would miss each other – dashing off at the beginning of dinner for work, surprise obligations. my intentions were there but something always came up for me or you – or i can only believe they did. maybe it was just me.
i still think about you though. more than anyone else i missed out on. i scan your pages. i casually fish for news from our mutual friends. i judge the girls you date. much less stalkerish than that song made famous by the police…and than the diddy.
sometimes i wonder how my past and present would have changed if i had tried a little harder…i wish i did but am still so petrified of being judged by you and rejected. because i am a girl…i know what it’s like to be in a girl’s head. i know what it’s like to judge and how cruel we can be.
these days i wonder if there has always been something rooted deeper that scared me even more. boys are easy. i have conquered all i have needed and more but the enigma of you and your femininity terrifies and enraptures me. random encounters have been tough but have happened but beyond that, it’s eluded me. perhaps i have a fear that there is more to me, the more of me that i have always scoffed in other women and forming something so close with a woman would jeopardize my belief in who i am…and all the other consequences that come along with that. or maybe i’m scared that my feeling of ‘not belonging’ will mean that no woman will want me to belong with her. now i can only wonder…
maybe you were my dream girl…
i may never know.
yours always,
me.
once i wrote a blog but the details of my sexscapades and 20 something angst eventually made me uncomfortable.
now i study the blogosphere for a living. i’m captivated by the stories i have read and inspired by the many talented writers who surround me.
i turned 30 this year. with it, the realization that i an often overwhelmed by life and confused.
i’m hoping my flirtation with a blog will be cathartic this time.
halloween unofficially ranks as the favourite holiday of young women and men everywhere. young women because it’s the one time a year we can dress like a slut without stigma, and young men because young women are dressed like sluts.
halloween parties are a must for me and i try to make it to at least two a year (one year wan and i made it to four in one night – daylight savings made it happen!). every year, without exception, i run into someone dressed up as my race for halloween. meaning:
“i’m dressed up as a chinese!” = outfitted in a chi pao (traditional outfit) with a que, buckteeth and taped up eyes – no lie.
“i’m oree-enal!” = (okay, they said ‘oriental’ but it might as well have been oree-enal) dolled up as a geisha.
when confronted with the possibility that these may not be appropriate ‘costumes’ (very restrained questionning on my part, tough with the alcohol), they are shrugged off and suddenly i’m the “too sensitive, politically correct girl”. those around me drag me off, telling me that it’s the same as dressing up as ‘the girl next door’ or something.
i am baffled by the ignorance of those who feel it appropriate to dress up as a ‘race’. my ‘race’ isn’t a costume. it isn’t something i put on and take off when i feel like it. it’s not a caricture. it’s not defined by stereotypical, exoticized images of how ignorance views us. (although mike C makes a great point that many of these costumes or elements of them were made in china)
how does one even define what a ‘race’ looks like by dress? last time i checked so-called ‘races’ are comprised of people from all different backgrounds with equally rich and diverse cultures. would these people feel the same liberty to paint their faces and dress up as a ‘negro’? i can sure as hell tell you that people wouldn’t dismiss concerns over a painted face. why the double standard?
if you are a geisha, say you are a geisha. if you are an ancient chinese scholar, or confucius, lao tzu, a samurai – great, i understand. more power to you…but to say that any of these defines a ‘race’ is a reflection of absolute ignorance.
i understand that halloween is meant to be a fun and light time. everyone’s sense of humour comes out and often, the edgier, the better. maybe this ramble will fall on deaf ears as “it’s just for fun”. however when you are partying this halloweekend and notice a costume that might not be a costume so much as a ignorant political statement, take a minute and check yourself. fun is fun, but sadly racial issues can never be completely immune from what they really are.
to my favourite myspace friend,
thank you for…
…
drunken stories
…
bashing myspace ho’s with me
…
not being a myspace ho
…
being able to make fun of yourself and me
…
putting up myspace photos and blogs that i ‘get’ and make me laugh
…
being so open minded
…
reassuring my insecure ass and allowing me to do the same for you
…
funny, secret stories about our mutual boys
…
making fun of pseudo-intellectual nonesense
…
the regular long ass emails and the short silly ones as well
…
the anticipation of possible, chance encounters at hipster bashes
…
being just the kind of girl who i could party with
.
may we never msn and destroy the only myspace friendship i could ever have with a girl.
here’s to the rarest kinda myspace girl- you.
L: moms, if you like him so much, YOU marry him! stop laughing!
moms: it’s just that he cares so much about you…he loves you so much and you can see it.
L: that’s not a reason to settle down with someone, moms. i don’t feel that way about him anymore.
moms: L, let me tell you something…not as your mother, but as a woman. take this as advice- you should always look to be with someone who loves you more than you love him.
(my look of disbelief)
L: did you really just say that? you’re joking, right?
moms: no! he has to love you more so you always have control. your father loves me more than i love him, that’s why it works…and why would (baby sis’ bf) even put up with (baby sis) if he didn’t love her more? who would put up with her?
(upon leaving the brick mattress store, i call my father)
L: daddy? moms says to be outside in two minutes with the car, we are going to sleep country.
dad: yup, okay…
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my moms just shattered any romantic apparent allusions i had about my parentals. they have been together since moms was 16 – it was supposed to be true love! my mom is the one who has read harlequin novels my whole life. my mom also dismisses any guy i hang out with due to the frequency of their comings and goings and all the new names- friends or more. (my sister has also been with her bf since she was 16)
could it be that i am the truest romantic in my family?
everyday life confuses me more and more.
Scene: HMV, one month later. our protagonist returns to the store for the fourth time with her note, worried that her previous fear was reality – she had hangover goggles and dreamt this cute manager. she walks through the door, looking up to realize, he was doing inventory right in front of her. she races to the back of the store, calling her friend.
L: he’s HERE! what do i do?! i’m having an anxiety attack! i can’t breathe…there is no way i can even get close to him. what do i do? i have to do this or i may never run into him again!
D: calm down…breathe. don’t think too much about it…just walk up to him and give him the note..
L: i can’t do this!!!
dialogue continues for another 10 minutes until friend convinces our protagonist to approach manager. L spends the next 20 minutes wandering around the store trying to find manager again. the security guard is eying her suspiciously, possibly fearing that she is plotting to rob the place so L leaves the store and returns 15 minutes later. wandering the store, she goes up the escalator, to realize, just her luck – he’s standing at the top of the stairs. no easy exit.
L: (removing her headphones) excuse me… (he looks up from his clipboard) this is for you…
boy has confused look on her face as L gives him the note, throws on her headphones and BOLTS down the stairs (seemingly concurrently), lucky not to trip and muttering “gotta get out of the store, gotta get out of the store..” the whole way. no smooth, cool, coy exit for her.
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you might be wondering about the contents of the note. let’s just say it contained a top 5 list, references to video games, the wizard and david hasselhoff. if he never calls because he thinks i’m insane, at least i know i’m not missing anything…but here’s hoping anyway.
cheesey theme song of the moment: don’t you want me baby- human league
(thanks justin)
