Stereotypes

Sometimes I walk down the street and catch a view of myself as others see me...and what I find is I'm a complete urban-white 30 something sterotype.

Outfit: Boots, jeans, down jacket and hat with flaps

Accessories: ipod playing indie rock

Drink: Starbucks

Purchases: Reusable Whole foods bag with peeking out french bread and flowers. Plastic target bag filled with things I don't need.

Thoughts: Guilt over acquiring plastic target bag (I like to use them for the bathroom garbage).

Car: Subaru sans kayak

Activity: Staring at the 3 parking regulation signs to see if any apply to me.

The Genesis of Friendship

My grandmother lives in a small ranch house on a large corner lot in suburbia. The yard is always balding and scattered with dandelions. There is a black spray painted eagle that hangs above the one car garage, buttercup yellow siding and a overgrown magnolia tree in the front that obscures the majority of the house.

This house has is really the only constant I've ever had in my life. Just before I was born my parents moved in with my grandmother. My grandfather died in June, I was born in July and the Magnolia tree was planted in August.

My parents both worked and my grandmother would care for me. When I was a year old we moved into our own home but I still went to Grandmother's house M-F for her to "watch me" until my freshman year of high school.

My grandmother took on the baby sitting duties of a little boy named Timmy who lived a few doors down. We potty trained together and I remember wanting to pee and stand too. I wanted to grow up to be a boy. Timmy and I went to preschool together and one Halloween when I was a butterfly and my wings couldn't fit through the bathroom door and I panicked; he helped squish my wings together so I could get inside. He was Tender heart bear that Halloween his mom made him a costume out of footie pajamas and sewed a little heart on the tummy.

I remember I got blisters all over my fingertips from playing the guitar and had to have my hands wrapped in comedic-ly large gauze mittens so they didn't get infected. We were playing and I wasn't able to pick up the little kitchen items in the play house; Timmy pretend-cooked the dinner for us since I couldnt.

He disappeared from my memory then. I went to Lutheran school for kindergarten and I suspect my grandmother stopped baby sitting him at that time. I wonder what happened to him; this Birth-4 year old brother of mine. I wonder where he went to school, if hes married, or if he grew up to be as sweet as he was in my memory.

During the boom Timmy's house was demolished; the little ranch house replaced with a sprawling brick mini-mansion towering over the lot, as has been the case with so many of the houses in that neighborhood. When I went back the last time I couldn't remember which was the lot that used to be Timmy's house. I sat in my parked car in the driveway looking over, expecting it to jump out at me, but it didn't. All I had was the recognition of a lost history; and wondering what else I may have forgotten.

Hopeless

So things hadn’t been great between the teacher and I lately. We had this huge fight a few weeks ago where basically she said that I loved her too much and the balance was all out of whack. She left. She just left me saying she needed to this about things. Later that night I called and things were smoothed over but it was definitely the beginning of the end. She was right. What we both do in relationships doesn’t work for us. I’m too forgiving, to accommodating, basically a doormat. She well is selfish.

Previously when little things arose that bothered me (or her) we would talk about it, stop modify our behavior for the other party. Frankly I didn’t ask for much. I don’t need much really.

Since the big fight she hadn’t changed at all. In fact just the opposite everything was more about what she wanted. It just seemed like she would go about her business and it didn’t matter if I happened to be around or not.

Today I felt nervous when I went to her house. She didn’t engage me in conversation until we started talking about bigger issues and me being sulky. She said she was just unhappy and all she really cared about was her own stuff. She wasn’t really mean about it, just stated as a fact. The truth. She said she was “foggy” and didn’t know what to do about her job, her life or me. She didn’t even know if she was a lesbian anymore. Then she went back into “the you deserve better” bullshit.

I gave it a few minutes to sink in and she was right. She frankly doesn’t care enough for herself, and certainly not me to work on her issues. I can’t “fix” this. I don’t want to spend my life with someone where number 47 on their priority list. I went back in and told her I couldn’t be in a relationship with her anymore. So that is that. It ended, no yelling, no tears just the simple truth.

It was the right thing to do. I’m not second-guessing my decision. I have a really bad habit of being with people who are too busy avoiding and obsessing over their own crap to actually give anything back.

Just because I know it was needed and the right thing doesn’t mean I happy with how things turned out. I really had hope. I really thought this was it that I found the right person for me. I thought we were going to build a life together, to have experiences together, to share our lives. I was wrong and that just makes me really really really sad. I may have lost my girlfriend today but more than I miss my friend. And she was a friend I cared a lot about.

There is a shower poof in my trashcan and the sticky remnants of a “K” sticker on my dresser. My house is quiet.

Alice is the only one who called.

Interesting

You know you have changed when you spend forever creating a self loathing playlist and instead of crying into your wine all you do is think....

What the FUCK?!?! I am so much better than this bullshit.

I do still love Amanda Palmer's whining, she can be tortured for me any time. I however have better things to do today...even if it only is laundry.

Sometimes

Sometimes I wonder why I do the things I do and then I realize that I'm crazy. I decide to embrace it. Suddenly life seems more simple albeit selfish.

Different

“How do you know this is different?” A question posed by the teacher.

Its not the first time she asked and it’s not the first time I stumbled over the answer. I’m not so good with words when put on the spot.

I believe my floundering is most likely due to my emotional response to this question…doubt. I’ve been so wrong about so many people before how can I really trust myself to be right about you? Not exactly the comforting words you want to express to your partner.

Then after the question has past along with the anxiety-induced fit it causes I start to think more and trust more.

Why the teacher is different:

1. She is the first person I ever dated that I looked forward to introducing to my friends because I knew they would love her (they do).
2. From the moment I met her I always felt I could be myself and she has never asked me to be anyone but myself.
3. When I saw the way her students reacted to I realized she is one of those teachers that students will remember the name of 20 years from now.
4. She has a career, the ability to balance her checkbook, friends and an apartment that doesn’t look like a college dorm room.
5. She is honest with herself and with me.
6. When we disagree I always feel better after we talk. She listens to what I have to say and follows through on how to handle things in the future.
7. I respect who she is, the decisions she makes and her opinions.
8. She changes my perspective without changing me.
   
9. There are moments we are together doing normal things where I experience a wash of contentment, joy, calm, excitement and amazement. It’s an emotion I can’t describe but it is special and it makes me feel incredibly lucky.
10. None of these things require premeditation, work or even much consciousness. We just "fit."
    

Next time you ask I’ll be ready. You are special. I do know you’re different. We have a lifetime together and I have no intent on ruining it with my timetables and rushing. I have no idea what our future may bring or how we may get there but in my heart I feel it will be more wonderful than I could conjure up through my idle daydreams.

Roy G. Biv

In all my musing on being a happy independent person, “an adult” I made a major oversight. Like most little girls I wore frilly dresses that I loved to twirl in, I played with dolls I stayed up late at sleepovers and played truth or day.

I always felt out of place. A little different I just never quite fit. Don’t get me wrong I did a decent job. I always had friends, boyfriends when I got older but it required a lot of effort. I was always nervous…extraordinarily sensitive to how others around me reacted to what I said or did. I censored. I fit in.

When you talk to most gay people they say they have always known. Some tell me how they tried to cover it up by subscribing to gender roles and how they became free to be who they are when they came out. They say it’s not a choice.

When they step out of their closet for better or worse a weight was lifted. The sky’s part and rainbows cascade down around them. Somewhere a men’s chorus appears to provide the perfect soundtrack for the walk to the nearest gay bar for long islands.

I guess I’m a typical gay person. I didn’t always know. In fact I’m not 100% sure I know now. There have been women I have loved. There have been men I have loved. I rather wear a dress than pants any day of the week and I have a serious aversion to softball. I guess my girl-girlness somehow made me not a lesbian in my own eyes. My lifelong pursuit of blending in couldn’t even be achieved within the LGBT community. But does it matter?

I suppose what I’ve learned is being a lesbian has nothing to do with my haircut or even who I have sex with. It’s about love. It’s about the connection between two people a hand made to fit with yours.

And fitting in has nothing to do with having everyone liking you. I do fit in. I fit in with my close group of friends that I know I can call at 2am on a weeknight. I have people who know me and love me. They love me when I make mistakes, when I’m confused, when I’m scared, when I’m happy. I came out to my friends in college and even during heterosexual relationships my non-straight (ahem wishy-washy) status was common knowledge.

One step I neglected in my previous declarations was mentioning it to my family. Coming out to my parents ranked on my to do list somewhere between growing a mullet and collecting sperm from farm animals. They are catholic…they are republicans. I have panic attacks over disappointing them.

There is never a good time for this conversation, a right place or a right way to do it. The secrecy wore on me. Free time was spent imaging worst case scenarios where after hearing the news in a fit of rage my father runs to the lawyers office to write me out of the will, leaving my mother weeping in corner while mumbling…”What did we do wrong? Dear God, why us…why our family?”

When my girlfriend dropped me off this afternoon and I started to tear up in the elevator I knew today had to be the day. I just couldn’t lie anymore and still keep any shred of my sanity in tact.

When I got home the freak out really began. I sat alone in on the couch in my quiet house a box of tissues settled on my lap. I was shaking. I closed my eyes and I prayed.

I’m not a particularly religious person and I certainly wouldn’t say praying is a regular habit of mine but I guess I didn’t know what else to do. And amidst my tears, my fear and all the questions and horrible scenarios running though my head I felt peace. I felt safe, protected.

No matter what happened I was going to be ok. I had to tell them. I had to give them the opportunity to know me, to accept me, to love me. Because where I stood now every gesture of love made me hurt with the fear that it wouldn’t be given to me “if they knew.”

I went into my room and closed the door. In a last second of cheesy symbolism I opened both of my closets, sat on my bed with my tissues, pulled myself together and made the call.

My father answered the phone chipper as ever and asked how I was…
Me: Ummmm….I’m ok. Will you put mom on the phone too I want to talk to you guys about something.

My mom says hi and I drop the bomb…

“So…I’m gay. How’s that going to work out for you guys?”

Silence.

They actually did okay though. They didn’t seem to appreciate the news via phone call. They wanted to know why I was telling them now (My ultra smooth answer was I don’t know). My dad said it would take time to get used to it. My mom didn’t say much of anything. They told me they loved me and basically it is what it is. The conversation switched gears and we then went on to talking about Belmont’s sensitive subject and visits with family friends.

The whole thing actually went better than my best-case scenario. Despite their forced coolness on the matter I’m sure it was a blow. I’m sure they aren’t thrilled with the situation but the fact of the matter is they still love me. They will get used to it. There are sure to be questions in the future, confusion and maybe a little less acceptance once the shock wears off. But I guess I think it’s going to be ok.

It wasn’t some earth shattering life-changing experience. No preverbal weight was lifted, I didn’t feel any more free, or happy, or changed. I’m still nervous about what will happen with my family in the future but I did get hope from the whole experience. Hope that this isn’t the end of the world.

Recently over dinner with Cobie I said, “So I’m a lesbian now.”
Cobie: You’ve always been a lesbian.
Me: Yeah well I’m sticking to it this time.
Cobie: Okay well dues are in September and we have a parade in June welcome to the club.

It’s just another day, a day where I am the same person who I was yesterday. A day where I wake up and struggle to be myself and not be bothered when someone isn’t willing to do backflips over the obviously super-awesome person I am. A day where I have some faith that just maybe my little world isn’t that big of a fucking deal after all.

I will see you at the parade in June. I’ll be the person wearing rainbows.

The last day

I'm happy.

I'm sitting on my deck, back against the window with a vodka glass filled with ice wine and a camel light spilling ash onto my macbook. Although it may be not the things movies are made of somehow its perfect.

Today is the last day in my house. The house that I though I would come back from my honeymoon to. The house that was supposed to hold my first sleepless child. The house that instead held none of those things. All the disappointment and all the heart ache are over.

Karma is finally paying out. With an amazing career in an amazing city. I'm starting anew. Maybe I don't have the perfect city apartment or European bowl adorning my dinning nook table but somehow thats just really ok.

I don't know whats going to happen in the future...sure as shit things haven't happened to plan so far. I know I'm up for an adventure and that is well...just fine with me.

Cobie I'm coming home!