Killing Me Softly

Yes, I am aware that I am very very behind. I have been having some technical difficulties but I’m going to try to catch up by the end of this week. I make no promises, but I will do my best.

 

K

The roads were more graded dirt than real roads. The day’s rain hadn’t come yet, baking the sandy roadways, creating clouds of dust behind them as they drove. Sugar cane rose up on either side of them, giving the illusion that they were alone in this car disappearing into a world of sweetness and endless roads.

The Fugee’s album , The Score was playing and Li was driving. in a haphazard path filled with jerks and starts, but still,she was driving.  The tiny Honda hatchback was well sized to her small frame but seemed comical compared to the other passenger.

Jo was a big guy; dark skinned, weighing in well over 200lbs , he  towered over her. He was pretty much what you might expect from a high school fullback. Li enjoyed his size. Their differences made her smile when people saw them together.

Jo was teaching her how to drive. More accurately, he was riding along after she told him she was going to drive. Despite the physical differences, it was always Li that lead the way. Jo was a gentle giant, with a sweet disposition and Jo adored Li. He followed her around campus and gave her whatever she wanted, whenever she let him.

Right now, she wanted to drive and he gave her his car and company while she figured it out.

sugarcane roadLi knew he loved her but she also knew a puppy dog when she saw one. If she was kinder she would send him away, but he wanted to stay and for him, any time was worthwhile time even if he knew she didn’t love him back. He knew, because she had told him. Li’s feelings could be boiled down to, it his right to be where he chose to be. Who was she to say what was best for him? If he wanted to love her, he knew her thoughts on the subject. She liked his patience and love even if she couldn’t return it.

Li finally managed to both keep the car straight and not slam on the brakes every time the car seemed to go faster than her brain could handle. She got all the way up to 45mph on a straight away as the rain began to come down in sheets and Lauryn Hill sang about simple words killing her softly.

 

 

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Part Two: Jokes

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Jokes..60/40.
Alright, women don’t suck. I like them a lot. So soft…I digress.

Here’s the issue, most bisexual women I’ve met are women that have grown-up firmly ensconced within the hetero-normative culture. I guess that’s normal. I didn’t, so it seems strange to me. I have been on my own and with women since age 15 and much of my prior life was spent in large children’s homes or other atypical situations that didn’t firmly entrench heterosexual expectations into my psyche. I literally grew up within the lesbian community and I feel like that was a lucky thing.

Hetero behaviors  brought to my attention:

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wtf??

* First contact and subsequent contact will be initiated by the other person, though “likes” are acceptable.
* The other party will make the first move
* Direct communication of needs, desires and any other type of directness is “aggressive”
* Some weird equation that includes dates + self-worth,  allows sex to happen.
* Attention..omfg, so much attention is required!
* Height requirements. I didn’t believe this one but after looking at a bunch of lady profiles, yes it is true, if you are a man.

 

There is more but let me say, this is mostly long-standing complaints by straight men, but they might be bitter. The odds are not in their favor.  I still don’t understand the behaviors. I know they happen, I’ve experienced some of it and the reactions I get about myself on dates with men is rather persuasive evidence that the above mentioned complaints are common enough to be worth mention.

My personal issue is that male-centric bisexuals have no idea how to date other women. They are used to being dated, and taken out. They are used to playing a game of passivity and expecting a great deal of attention. As often as not, they don’t know how to interact with another women on an intimate level. I don’t mean sex (a little I do) but connecting with another women on an independent and personal level.

My dates have been one sided, conversations that require me to do the heavy lifting, because I am “the aggressive one”. Did we not all read the same articles about asking questions on dates and with new people??

lBFGIuxI am really not that special, I just read stuff and have friends and projects and do stuff. These facts are why I am not always available, on my phone or texting you pictures of every damn minute of my day. This should not be special, this should be normal. Please tell me something neat, interesting or weird that you do. PLEASE!

As my final complaint, no I do not want to be your first. God save me from female virgins. I  am so past my “exploration” phase. I don’t feel any need to teach, coach or otherwise instruct women on how to touch, talk and love another woman. The only words of wisdom I can offer are these; give what you want and expect, the Golden Rule applies here as well. no-virgins-red_jpg

I love women, I always will. They are beautiful in way, I don’t know I will ever feel about a man. I also miss boobs..a lot.

That being said, I think I am incapable of dating them at the moment. That can always change, I am marking no lines in the sand but after 20 years of being with women, I’m okay with a break. On a personal note, I tend to choose crazy women who don’t like me, so it might be for the best. My judgement can’t be trusted and I think a board of approval might be necessary for me to resume dating women.

 

 

 

 

Hunt

I missed Saturday! Here is “H” and hopefully I’ll have “I” up by tonight.

H

Shauna sat across from the brunette with the green eyes and smiled. She watched her fidget and finger the napkin with her drink on it.

The brunette..what was her name? Melissa? No, Marissa, that was it. Marissa was telling her how she had just gotten out of a bad relationship where she had felt like she was never enough. Shauna nodded, asked her a few more questions and leaned in to hear her better. She watched the color rise on Marissa’s cheeks, a faint blush. Shauna brushed her fingers against Marissa’s as she picked up her own drink and felt the air strain.

Shauna loved this moment. This was where she knew she had won the hunt and only had to claim the prize. She was here for an obligatory party that she had grown bored with, finally wandering away from her group to the upstairs bar. She had sat beside the brunette because the seat was available but only a small amount of conversation had revealed the girls need to be wanted. Shauna was good at this, creating a small space where need and want came to the surface quickly. She could tease out the need in people. This was her gift. She loved their need and fed it.

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She reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Marissa’s face, pushing it behind her ear. The girl stopped talking and looked at Shauna like a deer caught in headlights. Shauna resisted the string urge to grin.

Instead she leaned in a little bit further in as if to whisper in the girls ear, her long hair mingling with Marissa’s,creating a curtain of mingled strands.

“I’m going kiss you pretty girl” Shauna whispered and turned her face just enough to brush her lips gently across the girl’s. It was a sweet soft touch, barely a kiss, but she felt the air strain further until it snapped. Marissa’s lips were slightly parted, her breath was a little faster, her pupils had dilated to pinpricks and that blush had turned her cheeks a charming pink

“Why’d you do that?” Marissa questioned, sounding a bit lost and confused

“Because I wanted to. Do you want me to kiss you again?”

“Yes” Marissa said as her head shook in a contradictory motion.

Shauna did allow herself to smile now and slid her hand into Marissa’s soft hair to cradle the base of her skull. She tilted her face to the left and slowly came closer to the girl’s lips, giving her every opportunity to say no or push away. She smiled against the girls lips and darted her tongue out to lick Marissa’s bottom lip. The girl startled but laughed and her whole body sighed and relaxed into Shauna’s hold. She parted her lips and Shauna felt the girl take the kiss over.

She let the girl make the kiss hers, it always had to be their choice to be caught.

 

 

 

Eli

E

 

Eli surreptitiously checked himself out, in the reflection of the glass before he went into the restaurant. Nothing seemed glaringly out-of-place but the surface was not a perfect mirror, so how could he really be sure. He couldn’t of course. He had done all the usual things, a mint for his breath, no spinach or other foods that might lead to teeth snafus and gone over the dating sites Top Ten First Date Mistakes. He had at least 10 conversation starters if there was a lull, plus questions he prepared if he got nervous and couldn’t think of anything off the cuff.  Was that normal? Did he remember antiperspirant?

He followed the large woman with the proportionately large gold bag into the restaurant, remembering to shift his shoulders back to give an impression of confidence and self-esteem.  He was early of course, he was always early. He had to create diversions at home so he wouldn’t be too early, but he was still there 15 minutes before the meet-up time of 7pm. He waited behind the large gold bag lady as she spoke to the hostess and was then lead to her party’s table int he back left corner. He watched as she was greeted by a tall thin man who stood up as she arrived. He kissed her on the cheek and gave her a hug. Both fo them were beaming. Eli saw the woman’s face for the first time and noticed that she was attractive int he way some women of a certain weight can be, they could carry it well, or maybe they were just comfortable in their flesh, he never knew. She had round cheeks that were blushing at the words the tall man was saying, a smile stretched across her face, suddenly making her pretty. They laughed and sat down across from one another

“Sir?”

” I’m sorry” Eli started and came back to himself, realizing that it was probably not the first time the young hostess had tried to get his attention while he stared at strangers. Pretty, too much eye make-up, too young, his brain quickly categorized the girl and then followed her. Nice to look upon, but probably barely out of her diapers.

She led him to a table that was at an angle from the older couple he had been so intent upon. He thanked the girl, sat down and pulled out his tablet to check work emails, but couldn’t resist checking the couple out again. He could tell they were on a date. They were flirting, laughing and arguing over menu choices in the way people did just for the joy of trading soft barbs. Eli wondered if he would still be dating when he was their age, which looked to be at least a decade beyond his mid-thirty vantage point. Neither of them seemed awkward, their conversation seemed to flow like water and each of them had some part of them touch the other; a finger, hand or knee constantly found its way to brush or bump into the other. Eli recognized the dance, he could sing the lyrics, but somehow the two never got together and made the perfect kind of moment he was witnessing, where everything was as it should be and neither party was conscious of every syllable and body language cue. He often felt as if he was following all the directions to the letter yet was always a few steps behind, stepping on toes and confused about what just happened.

“..and never the twain shall meet..” he heard the words come out of his mouth just was the noticed the hostess heading his way, another guest trailing behind her.

From behind the young hostess emerged a woman he recognized from her pictures online. In the pictures she looked different, but he Vital_Partners_dating_etiquette2supposed he did too.  She was curvy in the way that men loved but women often doubted on themselves. She had dark hair that  hung straight and shining to just below her shoulders, which she was nervously pushing behind her ears.  She wore what he had identified as “date” clothes, a skirt and blouse with a cardigan and paired with a nice looking medium height heel, that wasn’t too dressy or too revealing or too conservative. He recognized it because he wore the male version of the same uniform as advised  by various dating articles. What was good research without reading the corresponding data from the other side?

 

At first he couldn’t see her face, until she seemed to remember the same rules he had read and lifted her face as she too, straightened her shoulders and raised her head to greet him with an almost certain smile.

Her round eyes were that nebulous shade of hazel that never seemed to make a decision between green and brown.  He noticed a small collection of freckles dusted the bridge of her nose as a mouth that was just slightly too wide and full to fall within he median, smiled and turned her plain yet pretty enough face into a thing of beauty.

Eli reached out and grasped her outstretched hand in a not to firm grip to find the same barely there clamminess that is own nervousness often produced.

“Hi, Eli? I’m Olive, it’s nice to meet you”

The sat down, perused menus, chatted and her hand brushed his. He looked over and saw the older couple leaning in to one another, oblivious to the rest of the world and smiled.

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Part One, Step One: Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby

Salt N peppaOh Salt N’ Peppa..now I will have you stuck in my head for the whole damn day. I was not trying to implant an unending ear worm with this title, but it is an amusing side effect that I can now share with you. You are welcome.

 

Recently I have begun to date men. This may seem like an odd statement so I elaborate briefly. I have had sex with men. I have had sex with women. I have dated and had long term relationships with women. I have had sex with men..and then promptly forgot they existed. Does that sound harsh? Perhaps it is, but this is how I used to see it; everyone is safe, everyone had a good time, the end. I still see it that way often.

casual sex

I like men, straight men are a decent portion of my friend base, which sounds a little like “I have black friends” or “I know gay people” but it’s true. I totally know straight people! They are great, just like everyone else..but weirder. I do have very good friends that are heterosexual men, but that is very different from dating said population. When it comes to men at large,  I never gave them much of a chance beyond my sexual interest in them. Interestingly despite the common social belief that they only want sex, most of the men I encounter want more,  when I… don’t. I don’t know how much of this is because I don’t want it and therefore become more interesting, but there it is. Make what you will of it.

This past year I have decided to try something new, and attempt to actually date them

GOLDEN GIRLS

First step, safety.  I like to plan. I was fully tested and had an IUD implanted, because I am so fertile that just talking about sperm may cause me to spawn.  As you might have surmised, I like sex and therefore have a long standing run of jokes regarding my promiscuity in my younger years among my friends. Upon receipt, I sent all of them pictures of my super squeaky clean test results . Because..well why not?  I came of age with AIDS being the boogeyman that  scarred a  generation.  A clean bill of health is still pretty damn awesome, every damn time.

After the first step I didn’t really have a plan.

  • One,  I don’t know how to be a single women in her 30’s. The last time I was single I was in my mid 20’s which was a very different time.
  • Second I don’t know how to be a single MOM in my 30’s.  Adding to this, a friend of mine reminded me that single mothers are not supposed to have sex or date, they must be virginal, especially if there is a divorce and/or custody proceeding… no pressure.
  • Third, I have even less idea how to be a single HETERO woman, at any age. Straight women scare the crap out of me.

 

laci green no talking shit

This is Laci Green and I adore her:)

 

I have been going to school, working and learning how to be a single mother, and that takes up most of my bandwidth, but the dating thing has been the biggest game changer in how I perceive both myself and my world.  I know how to do my job well, how to be a student and how to be mom Yes, absolutely, all of those things have been harder since the break-up on my marriage and moving out on my own, but I had the tools to do those things. Those skills just needed to be sharpened, honed and re-purposed into multi-tools. I’m still learning and there will plenty of moments documented on those subjects but my angst on those subject bores ME, and I see no need to torture you with it (mostly).

So I will be trying to get the experiences of the last year into a cohesive series of ideas, lessons and revelations. This is of course for me, not you my faithful reader. Presumably you are better informed than I.

 

 

The Care and Feeding of Little Girls

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Last week when I was at the local Lowes, looking for the small hand saw I still needed for the toolbox my daughter was getting for Christmas, I ended up in a conversation with an older gentleman on the subject of the raising of girls. He was a tall man ( at least in comparison to my 5’2), wiry and thin with silver hair neatly coifed. He smelled nice, like something earthy and clean; he was gregarious and expressive, in the easy way of natural extroverts. While there are times I avoid such friendly individuals, age creates a notable exception to this behavior. I like friendly old people. 30+ my senior and in possession of a quick mind filled with interesting viewpoints, automatically gets  my attention.  There are many reasons for this but chief among them is that I respect and aspire to continued curiosity and  stalwart engagement with the world.

Now that we’ve touched upon my Elder Rule, we can move on to the care and raising of little girls.

I could not find the saw I needed for her, the smallest one that would allow proper handling for a smaller, lower to ground type of person. He told me it wouldn’t be in until at least Tuesday and advised checking out an orange colored competitor if I wanted to get it today.  He asked if it was for me and I explained it was not, it was in fact for my daughter. This piece of information spurred a string of questions.

How old was my little girl? Was that Second grade? Was she already into building or was this her introduction? Was there something I was working on with her?

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She was 7, yes that was Second grade. Yes she was already into tools and building and had become the household tool thief, which was why she was getting her own box. Yes, she wanted a dollhouse and I thought that would be a good first, big project ,idea to keep her busy through the winter.

He agreed and told me that many years ago, his wife had gone through 22 hours of labor, after which she asked if he saw the baby in the basket. He said, why yes he did. She informed him, good, because despite appearances to the contrary, that was to be his wished for son. She informed him she was not going through the full production process again and that he would be happy with the results of her first and final efforts.

So, he was. He took that little girl and did all of the things he would have done with a son. He played baseball and football, roughhoused and taught her the skills of his trade. He gave her a workbench and tools and she learned to build beside her father. He told me proudly that she could do anything on her own, by the time she “sprouted” around 13years of age. At that time he relinquished control of her upbringing and gave her back to her mother.  He seemed quite happy with the results and encouraged the path I was taking with my girl child.  He had stumbled onto this path when he was presented with a baby girl instead of the boy he might have imagined and he saw something another man might not have seen, an opportunity instead of an impediment. He was tickled pink that another little girl was being properly educated.

This isn’t some self-righteous, sanctimonious statement on gender. It’s much simpler than that.

His joy reminded me that it is not the hand you are dealt and or even what you do with it but how you choose to see it in the first place. That’s it.

S is for Sacrosanct

S

sac·ro·sanct
ˈsakrōˌsaNG(k)t/
adjective
1. (esp. of a principle, place, or routine) regarded as too important or valuable to be interfered with.

Let me tell you why I  loved fighting, then  acid and later, meditation. They make the world shiny. After a  throw-down fight, a good trip or a long deep meditation I have gotten the same feeling, like the world is new and shiny, like I am seeing it anew again. I adore that feeling.

My friends and I went directly from the meditation seminar to The Boys’ home in Portland. It was the first time I was bringing friends with me. The Boy and his moms never came to my home in NJ, which made minimum exposure to my friends rather simple. This time I was making a choice to do so.  It was all about choices.

If they didn’t see where I lived or meet the people I associated with, they only had what I chose to show as fodder for the picture of me in their heads and I liked it that way. I only spent a few days of any given year in their company, that time was sacrosanct and I could play pretend for that long, mostly. Yes, of course I was perfectly healthy, yes my girlfriend is great and not an abusive jerkface, yes my job is fulfilling and interesting, yes my social life is full of kind, intelligent, generous souls, everything is GREAT.

Addressbook (1)

I am sure I didn’t fool them, they are smart cookies and Gwynnie had long ago,  given up on writing down any of my contact information in pen, it just wasn’t worth the mess of crossing things out so often. I was never stable, not really.

turret2I brought Robyn and Rosencrantz because they were my closest friends, I was proud to be their friend and additionally, I needed SOMEONE to play witness to the insanity that is the Maine Hive Household. EVERYONE is awesome… it’s tiring. I have met scientists, professors, dancers, master fire dancercarpenters, inventors, tattoo artists, fire dancers, nationally syndicated comic artists, yoga instructors, castle builders, performers of all sorts, artists, singers, musicians, activists, sustainable farmers..so many people and most of that list can be found on their block and many of those people do two or more of those things. They are all intimately connected, in some way. Everything is made from scratch, there are handmade cookbooks and a constant string of baked goods being kneaded and pulled, there are compost piles and supplies bought from local purveyors and farms. There are gardens tended and preserves jarred. I once called the house about something and was told “ Oh! We just went strawberry picking at our friends place, you know the one that built that turret? We picked about 65lbs of strawberries, and we’re making jam now”. It’s hard not to feel like a failure at existence before you finish your filtered coffee with foamed milk and crystalized ginger scones in the morning at the kitchen table where there are people up and running hours before I’ve left my bed.

None of this is braggartly. they are just living their lives and this is how they live it. There is a constant stream of friends and relatives in and out of the house, coming up and down from the basement that connects some of the houses inhabitants. So many people are visiting during the warm months of the year, they have to juggle the bookings. People are taking ferries, meeting ferries, skateboarding, snowboarding, sailing, hiking, twisting into yoga knots and dancing hither and yon.

ashtray_ (1)There is a chair on their porch, to the side of the house, that is made from bent metal, with finely woven rattan covering it, it is almost like a modified rocker, and beside it is an old smokeless ashtray, most likely, salvaged humanely. It is slightly hidden, and this is where I hide. On this trip, I had comrades in arms and I was happy to have them, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t crazy.

So much genuine friendliness, passionate interest and graciousness, was just really hard for me to process. I always felt like the Grinch, looking down at Whoville with such cynicism and really, who wants to be the Grinch?  Like the Grinch, I secretly wanted to be a part of that joie de vie, but it was always just out of reach. My envy was debilitating.

I wasn’t stupid enough to believe my new shiny eyes would never get clouded again by my own insecure stupidity; but for this trip, they weren’t and it was the first time it wasn’t so overwhelming, I could just faintly see the hope of finding my own path towards this kind of life. It was the first time I saw a roadmap instead of a warning sign that blared “ Danger! Do Not Enter! Authorized Personnel Only!”.

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