Yesterday this blog got 26 hits. I have no idea why. But hey, I won’t complain! π
So last weekend Q and I went to Q’s ex to pick something up, and the kids were having Β a playdate. The ex pulled us aside and said that she’d told the twins we were coming, and Jake (who will be 8 in Feb) went to his friends and bellowed, “My other mom is coming! She looks like a boy, and that’s okay!”
8 year olds FTW.
(None of the kids cared. *laughs*)
Anyway, also last weekend Q and I were again too tired for sex. There’s been a lack of sex in our lives lately, because of sheer exhaustion. Anyway, I didn’t really want to watch more TV, and I kinda wanted to mess around, so I suggested we pull out the sex cards, a normal deck, and play poker with the sex cards as chips. Q added sex scratchers, and we played! After a bit we decided that we could choose one card from the ones we won to cash in each round, but whatever activity could only last two minutes. It was awesome! (It also ended in sex, which was a bonus. ;))
It was a far cry from times when I could barely talk about sex, much less suggest anything or choose a card to suggest something I actually wanted. Β It’s pretty awesome. AND, we had so much fun! What a great way to spend an evening. π
My sister got married! For more hilarious stories on how awesome that was, click above. For the gay bits, read on!
For me, the best part of the wedding was the pressure to get married. Crazy, right? Who likes that, after all? It’s definitely not something most single people look forward to when they go to a wedding, but for me it’s a sign that my extended family is getting over the fact that I’m dating another woman, and they’re treating me like they would any straight niece or cousin. It was AWESOME.
Q didn’t show up until Friday night (the wedding was Saturday, and I was there by Tuesday.) Mark and Cathy — my favorite aunt and uncle — were there before I got there.
Things have been a touch strained with Mark since I started dating women. I knew they would be, but hoped that, like so many other things, he’d do the flip he does sometimes and end up in my camp. Usually, once something becomes personal to him, it’s not so bad! For instance, despite being rabidly right-wing, he’s pro-choice. My mom used us girls as an example one day, and he changed his mind completely on his pro-life stance. Things like that.
But religion is a strong factor, and he’s conservatively Lutheran. His wife, Cathy, has a gay sister — which hasn’t actually helped my cause, because her heart’s been broken by women. Never mind that everyone has their heart broken, Mark just sees this as proof that it’s not good to be gay.
Now, note that he’s never been anything but nice to me about it. It’s not what he says, but what he doesn’t say: he doesn’t ask how my love life or my girlfriends are, or if I’m dating, or anything else like that. He’s always kind to the people I bring home (all two of them, yes, shuddup), and he never says anything bad. Cathy told me once that he’s just worried for me, because being gay is a harder path in our society than being straight, and he just needs time. That’s okay, but I’ve still sort of been… waiting.
Anyway, Friday night was the rehearsal dinner, and Quin flew in right after it. I was talking about her — all week I kept trying NOT to talk about her, because it seemed like every other line out of my mouth had to do about her — and Uncle Mark was tipsy. He told me in that solemn-tipsy way that he really liked Q, because anyone who could make me that happy was good people. He (and my Aunt Cathy, at separate times) then proceeded to ask me if we were getting married, and if and when we got married could he play? (He played at Chelsea’s wedding, as she was walking down the aisle.)
I was totally touched. When Q got there, he was thrilled to see her. She danced with my Aunt Cathy at the reception, and Mark gave her a nickname: Rug Cutter. He even did his fist-bump with her; both are signs of high approval! And we were invited by both of them — again, separately — to come visit this spring. YAY! Everything very nicely fell into place, inside me. It was awesome. π
Hilariously, despite KNOWING who Q was (in part because I was introducing her as my girlfriend), another cousin (sort of — my second cousin once removed) said it was nice meeting my friend. *amused* That didn’t bother me: I was really only worried about my Uncle Mark, and the rest I know how they’ll react. It IS nice that everyone, even the people who strongly disagree and fear for my soul, are being sweet. (My aunts weren’t always nice to my mom, and she wasn’t even gay!) Mac was kind enough to sit Q with people who’d like Q and she’d like them, so I had no worries there! (My bff, Danny, was at that table too. Mac told me at one point, “Yeah, I sat Q and Danny together. Then I realized that the only other gay person at the wedding was also at that table, and I thought, ‘What is this?! The gay table?!’ So I switched him.” I nearly died laughing.) One of my favorite cousins even came over and introduced herself to Quin while I was off doing something, but that wasn’t a surprise: I knew she’d be fine with everything. π For all that I’m generally sure my aunts and uncles won’t approve but will at least be polite, I’m equally sure my cousins will be awesome!
Also, speaking of homophobia and weddings, check this out! I can marry either of my cousins Chasen or Taylor (my two unmarried male cousins), but I can’t marry another girl. So, so wrong.
Ugh, so annoying. Here, have this much more entertaining wedding picture. This was one of the weddings I went to this summer, where I was the bearer of the ring bearer. π
I just have a little bit of time (which is to say I should have gone to bed already), but I had something on my mind. It’s been on my mind for a while, and I don’t think it’s anything important, really, but writing stuff down helps me look at it differently.
Anyway, it’s about my sex life! When Q and I first started dating, we humped like bunnies. All the time! For large blocks of time! A part of me was a little distressed at the large blocks of time, actually, because it was ALWAYS a large block of time and sometimes I didn’t have two and a half hours to dedicate, you know? But anyway, I’m digressing.
A while back — maybe 8 months ago? — Q was talking about her distress because we weren’t humping like bunnies so often anymore. I actually tracked it for a few weeks, just in my head, and came to the conclusion that we weren’t really having sex much less than before, and that we’d each realized the other wasn’t going to bail soon, so we didn’t have to have lots of sex out of fear it’d go away. (At least that was the case on my end!)
Since then Q stopped worrying about it, but I’ve started thinking about it. I think the big thing is that we’re both busier and more tired these days (which in turn makes me wonder — IS that the case? If so, why? What are we doing different? …I’m working a lot more, actually…), and we’re not doing crazy drives to see each other even if it’s only for an hour; we’re subconsciously hitting aΒ maintenanceΒ schedule that we can keep up indefinitely. Which is a good thing! But I do miss having sex more often. Or… I think I SHOULD miss it, or I miss wanting it so badly. The thing is, I really am too tired most of the time to start something myself. And I don’t feel unsatisfied, I feel more like, in a perfect world, we’d be rested enough to have it more often. But I’m not rested, and my desire for it is more like a desire to have a desire for it, if that makes sense.
Just a few weeks ago I noticed that Q has been very wonderful and listened to me very well, so unless I’m totally frisky she doesn’t pounce me so often (as opposed to gently seducing me or anything else that doesn’t involve physically hauling me around). Which made me laugh, when I realized that her pouncing me is a total turn on, so even if I’m not frisky I’ll often become frisky. Pretty funny, how good communication worked against me, there! (Also, she’s extra tired too, lately, so she’s not in much of a pouncing mood. I can’t blame her — I wouldn’t be, either!)
Now, don’t get me wrong: I’m actually quite happy with our sex life, even at its slightly diminished state. We’re still like “normal” people, impressive since we live an hour apart. I think I worry sometimes that it’ll keep diminishing, though, even though when I stop and think about it I don’t believe that’s the case. Still, the concern lurks in my head. And because Q was worried about it months ago, I worry that she’s still worried! Ah, the inner life of a secret co-dependent-trying-not-to-be-co-dependent…
Anyway. These thoughts and feelings have been buzzing inside me. I would like more sex in an abstract way, but when I think about having more sex I’m like, “Whoa, no, way too tired to put forth that effort.” I’d really like more sleep. Then I could have more sex.
The good news is that we’ve finally gotten pretty good at having half hour sex, so we can have it when neither of us have energy for hour-and-more sessions. That makes me happy. π Also, then we can have more of it, because I have more free half hours in my day than hour and a halves… Semi-quickies are a good thing!
In other news, my baby sister got married! And my uncle, my favorite uncle who’s been fighting his homophobia for me, says he looooooves Q because anyone who makes me that happy is awesome, and he’s pushing me to marry her. I never thought I’d be happy to get marriage pressure from my family, but there you have it. It’s like his subconscious has realized it’s okay, so now he’s adding pressure. A funny sort of won battle, hmm? π
Hi, everyone! I kind of fell down on that femme study again, didn’t I? Oh, well. I’ll just have to love myself anyway, or something like that. π
So. Guess what? I had an article written about me and my mad dog training skillz! It came out today, and I’m on cloud nine. There are lots of quotes; who knew I sounded so authoritative on the subject?! I mean, sure, I’m an authority what with making a living off of training dogs and all, but it’s funny to SEE myself sounding like an authority.
Am I making any sense? Well, it makes sense to me. π I’d link you all to it, but given it contains my phone number… maybe not.
In other fun and exciting news, my email may have gotten hacked. So I’ve been re-setting all my passwords… *sighs*
In much better news, though, my mom is coming to visit me today! My mom is seriously special. From what my older sister says, she’s dealing with some internalized cultural homophobia, but from her actions I know that she’s fully supportive and not actually homophobic at all.
And my mom really is awesome. π Last year, when I was dating DK, DK came home with me for Christmas. My mom (who loves clothes shopping) asked what DK would like. I haltingly explained butch in the shortest way possible. My mom didn’t even bat an eyelash, though I don’t think she fully understood it, and then would call me with great glee over the next weeks.
“I can’t decide between these cufflinks with a blue stone in them that will go perfectly with the blue pinstripe in the shirt I bought, or these silver cufflinks which will go with any shirt she pleases. What do you think?”
“Which is better, a tie pin or a tie clip? A pin is smaller, but a clip won’t puncture the cloth!”
“Okay, I can either get two ties and two cufflink sets, or I can get one of each and this gorgeous pocketwatch! Which do you think would be better?”
Seriously, my mom is awesome. (She also drives me crazy sometimes, but that’s what mothers do.)
So, she’s coming up from SoCal to the ironically-warmer-NorCal to visit me! This is the first time she’s come up since I’ve moved up here, and I’m SO looking forward to it! I can’t wait to show her my place and my town and she’s coming to one of my dog training classes and and and! And the BEST PART is that I get to show off my butch, who’s coming down on Saturday night and part of Sunday! Q bought me flowers, so they’re bright and cheerful on my counter now, and I know she and myΒ mom will get along, and I get to show off all my favorite people. (I think half the reason my mom is coming up is to meet Q, actually, since we’ve been dating for a year. I mean, Q is only the third person to make it past 4-5 dates.)
(I had a really entertaining conversation with Q/myΒ mom. It went like this:
Me (to Q): So… my mom was wondering if she can meet your kids.
Q: …no. I try not to introduce them to too many people, because it gets confusing for them. Basically, I only introduce them to someone’s parents when I’m marrying that someone.
Me: *nods!* Makes sense. I’ll tell her so. π
Q: Uh, maybe you can make something up? I don’t want to offend her.
Me: …I’ll tell her what she’ll be most impressed with.
Q: Okay!
Me (to mom): So, you can’t meet Q’s kids because she doesn’t want them forming attachments and then getting confused. They’re only allowed to meet parents when she’s marrying the person.
Mom: Oh! That makes total sense. Good for her! Okay, no kids. What else should we do? π (Okay, the smiley face was implied because we were on the phone, but still. I could hear it.)
Me (to Q): So, I told mom …[what I said]. She was really impressed at your responsible parenting.
Q: …she wasn’t offended?
Me: Nope. I knew she wouldn’t be.
And that was the end of the children saga! Okay, maybe it’s only entertaining to me, but I think it’s VERY entertaining. π Q and my mom are kind of frighteningly alike in some ways. (They are unalike in the really important ways.)
Oh, and that last locked post? I forgot Q had the password. Ha ha ha on me. So someday if I want to write about her again, she said I should have a new password because the temptation to read would be too great. Which means someday, I’ll have a new password, and if you want it then you can ask for it. π
I’m so looking forward to introducing them! Q is nervous, but she really has no reason to be. It’s all going to be fabulous. :DDD
I’m not sure where to start. Talking about my sex life is still difficult, even in a situation like this where I’m not talking about sex, specifically, but my attitudes toward it and the dynamic between Q and I.
I’m pleased to say that things are going well. I’m talking and expressing myself even in the moment, and I while I’ve been embarrassed a time or two, I can’t remember the last time I panicked and froze up. π Q is awesome, thanking me when I express myself to say I don’t want to do something, because then she knows that when I do do something, it’s because I want to. π The hardest things are still for me to say I’m not in the mood without feeling guilt (ha, most of the time we’re agreed on that, though!) and suggesting something new-for-the-moment (ie, shifting positions, whether or not we’ve done that position before).Β BUT! I’m getting better. Much, much better. π
What I find is really awesome, though, and the reason I started writing this, is that Q and I seem to be at about the same levels. I’m not saying this well, but bear with me.
When we first started making out and I was struggling with girl bodies, she was just learning to trust me and didn’t want me playing with her girl body. By the time I was relaxing and becoming more confident (or at least curious!), she was starting to trust me. We moved into that space at about the same time, really.
It’s happened throughout our NMDS (that would be our Non-Monogamous Dating Situation *laughs*), up to and including the other day, when I woke up ready to play and she was still sleepy. I woke her and took charge, and had the confidence to do so, and she trusts me now enough to stay lazy and sleepy and let me be in charge.
I did have one moment where I wavered, but Q realized it and made little encouraging noises, so I knew she was interested. π (I have had way too many people be uninterested or interested but not show it, so now I’m a little gunshy.) (Ha, who am I kidding? I started out gunshy; it’s amazing I try at all! And probably says something about the strength of my libido!)
There’s a new snag for me, which is that I can’t quite bring myself to suggest any other forms of sex. Um. I’m totally going to cut this now, to give myself the illusion that people who don’t care won’t read it…
I have some friends on my personal, everyday blog who will occasionally stop posting for months or sometimes a year at a time. It gets into a vicious cycle where you don’t want to post something because there’s so much to catch up on — or so they tell me.
I’m not very into cycles. I’m just going to start posting again. π
So, I had a bit that I’d written out about sexual power and coming into my own and getting rid of some neurosis, and how it links into femme… but I wasn’t sure I liked it, and then Q called. We chatted for a while about general stuff, and I mentioned I was blogging. Q reads all my blogs — even my column, and my books, and I think she’s now surpassed my little sister as my best fan — and she said tonight that she can tell when I’m not writing, that my anxiety and stress levels rise and I get tired easier.
Now, I know that’s true about myself, but it was still surprising to hear someone else say it. There’s something very interesting about dating Q, and I don’t know if it’s Q, or that I’m dating another woman, or if I’ve just grown up and gotten better at picking partners. But whatever the reason, Q is much more aware of me and my boundaries and what’s going on than I’m used to. (This is a good thing. It’s a thing that sort of constantly surprises and tickles me.)
My friend Jane was here, visiting, and we had a lot of really good discussions. (Actually, she had a very clever way of explaining my struggle with butch as a gender, with the idea that I like butch, not female. It was that she can tell what type of guy she doesn’t like, but she can’t tell what type of guy she does like. That she’s attracted to guys, and within that category there are types she doesn’t like. Similarly, I’m attracted to butch, and within the category of butch there are types I’m not attracted to. It was just a really interesting way, I thought, to compare my preferred gender to something more usual to the average person. Sort of looking at what isn’t, rather than what is.
WOW, that was a tangent!)
One of the discussions Jane and I had was about dating women vs dating men. She was asking if it really was different, if we really do relate differently. I told her that in my (highly limited) experience, YES. It’s the little-but-big things, like the fact that when women stress out, they typically want to talk through a problem and preferred being held and reassured, whereas when men stress out, they typically want some time to themselves and pull away from touch (many many many relationships that fall apart due to outside forces — ex, money issues — do so for these reasons. Women need companionship under stress, men need alone time). While DK was likely to need alone time when she was stressed, it still wasn’t the same as when my boyfriends needed alone time. He wanted to be Left Alone and played video games. DK might have gone on a walk, but when she came back, even if she didn’t want to talk about it, we watched a movie together. Q processes a lot more like me; she talks, and mostly needs someone to listen so she can talk out loud and figure out the solution.
It’s interesting to me, that my life seems so much easier now that I’m dating women. It’s like — oh. I get this. This is good. π The other day my mom told me she was tickled that I was dating women, that it was hilarious because she and my aunt had been talking years ago about how much easier it would be to live with other women, and too bad they weren’t attracted to them. The fact that I’m living what (I suspect) my mom wishes she could seems to amuse her to no end. *laughs* I’m glad she’s tickled by it.
In perfect female-dating-female form, last night I needed a night in and a night to snuggle. My stress levels weren’t skyrocketing, but they were definitely high, and I was dealing like a woman does. π Q came down and let me have my pick of what movies to watch, so I picked Enchanted. (I love that movie, though I haven’t bought it yet! She has a copy on her computer, though, which she grabbed from a friend when I squealed about it one day.) It was really awesome, to sit wrapped up on the couch watching a princess movie and not feeling awkward about it. Q, being the awesome butch she is, even waltzed me around to the princess music while I cracked up. π It’s things like that — I don’t think I would have been so comfortable with a guy, but I can’t say if that’s my issue or a guy/patriarchy issue.
BUT — regardless of which it is, it brings me to another point. (This is why I should blog more often. Otherwise, it builds up and I write posts like this, which aren’t one point but eighty zillion different ones!) In a study trying to define femme, one of the big things that came up was that in a relationship between a man and a woman, on average the man had more power. In a relatioship between a femme and a butch, though, on average the femme had more power. Now, I don’t know that I’d say I have more power than Q (and I think there’s an inherent flaw in that kind of statement, anyway; we’re so used to seeing women with less power, that I think equal power would seem like more power), but I certainly do feel equal. It’s things like the princess movie: if I had watched that with a boyfriend, I’d have been very aware that they were doing something nice for me. That they were ‘putting up with’ this movie for me, and I should be appreciative of that. Now, whether they would have actually liked that movie, or whether they would have secretly liked it but not said so because guys aren’t supposed to like it, or whether they honestly would have disliked it doesn’t matter. No matter which of those were true, I would have still felt like they’d done it for me, because of cultural pressure. I would have felt beholden.
Watching it with Q was different. I knew we were watching that movie because it was what I wanted to watch. I knew she was doing it for me. I wasn’t worried so much about whether or not she would like it and I had no sense that I’d be beholden to her for watching it. I appreciated her sitting with me and enjoying it with me, but I also expect that you do that for each other when you care. There’s an added burden when I think about watching it with a guy, like I’d have to somehow pay them back, that I don’t feel when I watch with Q. I don’t know if that has to do with the fact that Guys Don’t Watch Princess Movies, or if it’s because I feel that if a guy is snuggling with me, they’re taking care of me rather than just being with me. As another female, I knew that Q was taking care of me, but because she also gains comfort from touch I don’t feel like I’m wearing her out.
I think that’s it. It always felt like one or the other to me. Either I could give comfort to my boyfriend by leaving him alone, or I could get comfort by snuggling, but there was no sense that we got comfort from each other. I have that with Q (and DK before her), and it’s pretty awesome.
Okay, jeez, I could keep going but I need to get to bed soon, which means I need to turn my mind off. Hopefully, though, I’ll be back to semi-regular blogging, now. Woo hoo!
Okay, so a friend of mine posted this video, and because I think it is the funniest shit ever, I’m posting it everywhere. You can get more information on it, or you can just know that a troop in Afganistan got bored and made a video for Lady Gaga’s song, Telephone (that’s the work safe version, btw).
People! I get it now! This is why gays aren’t allowed in the military. If straight men turn this fabulous, gay men would tear the place apart. (This should totally be a recruitment video, btw. Join the Army! It’s like Glee, but far more entertaining!)
I was also thinking about the movie, Kissing Jessica Stein, (why didn’t any of you warn me it was terrible? I’m so disappointed in you. Don’t try and tell me you didn’t say anything because it came out almost a decade ago. That’s no excuse.) and I decided that it’s really even more insulting to straight women than lesbians. You know the biggest thing I remembered from the movie? The very last bit, when they have lesbian bed death, Jessica goes back to the boy, and the other girl gets to roll around having hot sex in red satin sheets. What do I learn from that?
1. Lesbians get to have decadent hot sex in red satin sheets. YAY! GO, US!
2. Straight girls shouldn’t try to be gay. They also cause lesbian bed death. Oh yeah, and apparently have no sex drive.
Right.
Now, onto a Very Important Topic: FLOWERS! As in, I had a PSMy day, and I bought myself some flowers. They’re bright and cheerful, and they’re now sitting in a vase. Yay!
Butches, take note: flowers are always good. Actually, maybe everyone should take note. You know what flowers say, when your loved one is having a bad day? They say one of two things:
1. I know you’re having a bad day, and I want you to feel better, and I know you enjoy bright cheerful flowers so I went and got you some!
or,
2. I know you’re having a bad day, and I want you to feel better, but I couldn’t afford the Harley that would really make you feel better, and you have so many colonges already that I wasn’t sure if I could find a decent one, so I got you flowers! I hope you understand the intent. Let’s go have sex. (That last part should only be applied if you are actually in a sexual relationship with the person.)
So, yes, flowers. Good for all occasions! And they don’t even have to be expensive! That’s what grocery stores and Trader Joe’s are for! Sure, they’ll probably wilt by morning, but they were pretty that night. YAY!
In still other news, my friend DoctorLady stopped seeing a guy who was a homophobe (you can read about that discussion in her blog — I nearly burst something laughing) and I have an evil sort of “mwahahaha” feeling at being the person she referred to. See, she asked me several days ago if I would mind if she mentioned me and Q to see how he reacted, and I said, “Go for it! :DDD” (Yes, with that amount of smiling. What can I say? I kind of like being a shit disturber.), so she did, and he had a bad reaction, and they’re no longer dating. I’m sorry she didn’t find an awesome guy, but I have a bizarre sort of pride at being the tool to find out about his unawesomeness. Go figure.
In still OTHER news, DK sent me this kick ass study on femme as a gender! I swear, that study could have been written about me! I have so much to say about it that I’ve been trying to figure out the best way of starting. I think I might just have to go through the study bit by bit, and have a lot of blog posts about all the things they talk about. π Anyway, suffice to say my femme experience is very common, and I’ll tell you all more later. π
In the final bit of vaguely-femme news, I was talking to my mom today about all the blogging I’ve been doing, and how it’s been helping me work through some issues. She asked what issues? So I kind of went, “Well, stress, sex, identity stuff — like whether I’m bi or lesbian — that sort of thing.” To which she made one of those “labels don’t matter,” comments. Our discussion went something like this:
Mom: Why does it matter? Whatever label you choose, you’re still you on the inside.
Me: Yeah, but it matters. It changes perceptions–
Mom: Ah, so you’re worried about how other people see you.
(Note: This is A Bad Thing in our household. You should be strong enough it doesn’t matter what other people think about you! While I do agree to a certain extent, I’m trying not to kill myself over it.)
Me: …yeeeaaah, and it changes my perception of myself.
Mom: So you’re letting other people dictate your perception of yourself? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change you.
At this point I began ranting about community and the way you get treated and the pros and cons of bi vs lesbian and so on and so forth, and throughout the whole thing I could hear her voice in my head going, “You’re letting other people dictate your actions. This is weak. It shouldn’t matter. Everything you’ve said is a co-dependent action, trying to curry favor from society.” None of which is true, but I kept hearing it because that’s my mom’s kick. By the end of my rant she sort of made agreement noises, but they sounded more like, “I’ll agree with you to get you to stop ranting, geez,” than, “I understand, even if all I understand is that this matters to you.” *sighs* So that hasn’t helped with the bugged, PMSy feeling all day. π¦ (Though I did have a BRILLIANT moment, imo, when I compared identity stuff with her favorite thing, archetypes. Archetypes are patterns in our life, and if you know what pattern you have you know how to stop it from happening. I talk about how some butches — the ones I’m attracted to — have a knight archetype, for instance. I compared changing an identity label to getting the wrong archetype pattern. This is the point at which she was like, “Okay, okay,” so I’m hoping I’m wrong about the tone and she actually did get it.)
I love my mom, I really do, she’s an amazing person and she’s taught me a lot, but every so often I talk to her and all the old perfectionist, drive-yourself-to-death, do self-improvement all right, all the time tendencies resurface. Humph. I’m going home next weekend. Should be interesting.
In the same vein, she says Q sounds fascinating. *amused* I’m a little afraid. ;-D (They both have an in-charge, occasionally OCD streak. I can’t decide if they’d get along famously or kill each other flat. As Q and I aren’t so serious that a trip to the in-laws is in order, it’s not something I really have to worry about atm.)
Now! I’m off to watch TV and attempt to turn my brain off. Woo hoo!
I totally hotlinked this image, but if you click the image and scroll down you can BUY THIS SHIRT.
It was truly awesome. I was the camera bitch, and Q and her two friends, J and J (not that this is going to get confusing) rode bulls. Actually, J rode one bull but cracked her skull on the ground (poor J!) and J did shoot dogging with steers. I took pictures of all three of them, and video, too, and made friends with all the other gays there AND EVERYONE ASSUMED I WAS GAY. I didn’t have to come out once! Woo hoo! It’s a nice break. π Also, I took my dogs and they were THE BEST DOGS EVER. I love my dogs.
Aren’t they cute? (See photo. Somehow, I can’t get the two to be side by side. :()Β I gave them bully sticks to chew on. Made out of bull tendon. I thought it was appropriate. People ride bulls – bulls win – dogs ultimately win by EATING BULLS. (Every time I take my dogs somewhere like this, I have to laugh. I have a pit bull and a 116 pound shepherd. Even my dogs are butch. *amused* At least until people get to know them…)
I also was able to talk to a lot of the other people watching, and that was fun. π Now I get to navigate trying to make friends without giving a too-interested impression. Hmm.
Anyway, did I mention Q rode a bull? Three of them, in fact! But concussion-J got the video of the two last rides, so I only got the first one, which she didn’t yet have practice at. π¦ Still, how many people can say they got on a bull in the first place, right? RIGHT! Check it out! π
I cut off too quick (my camera is a little twitchy) but you get the idea. (Her grin as she turned around was probably the best part, though! Of course, then I wouldn’t have been able to show you guys, ’cause she’d be identifiable, but still!) THEM’S BUTCH POINTS, RIGHT THERE.
Later Q was OMG sore, and I nearly killed myself laughing at all the bruises, road rash (bull rash?), whimpering noises, and limping around. I’m sweet like that. I come by it honestly: any time I came off a horse, it was met with laughter by the woman who taught me to ride. π (But I also gave Q back and leg rubs and tiger balm and anything else I thought might help, so I win back some femme points. ;-D)
(Also, the road rash? FREAKIN’ HILARIOUS. Not because it was road rash, per se, but because she was so flabbergasted by it. Mwahahaha.)
I met a lot of cute butches and some fun femmes, and I found no one I was attracted to other than Q. It’s kinda sad, really. There’s one butch, S, who asked me if we were going to a local bar with them and who later (via facebook) invited me two stepping this week, and this is where I need to tread carefully. I’m not as good yet at reading flirt signals from other gays, and that’s a terrifying statement since I suck at reading them from straights, too.Β In the few minutes I had a chance to talk to her, she seemed like a lot of fun. I wasn’t remotely romantically interested in her, but I could see hanging out and being buddies. I could use some more friends around here. (I have… two. Not counting Q, who is more-than-a-friend.)
New ground to tread on. I would say it’s annoying, having to re-learn all this stuff, but I never learned it very well in the first place, so… *shrugs*
Anyway, being surrounded by all these people (mostly butches, the occasional gayΒ man, and I think two femmes — thoughΒ one might have been straight, actually) NONE of whom I was attracted to made me think again about what I AM attracted to. I often say I feel like I steamroll people, and that’s sort of true. Except, really, if I see that I’m likely to steamroll someone I either stop hanging out with them or just don’t do it, depending on how much I like them. And most of the time, I tend to hang back and follow other peoples’ lead anyway. But… Well, take J, for example. J is butch, really adorable-rapidly-becoming-handsome, shy, intelligent. I like J. I’ve enjoyed hanging out with J. I kind of want to throw my arm over J’s shoulders and tell the world to back off, this is my buddy (or would be if I knew him better). I would never ever ever date J, because I would steamroll him. I don’t steamroll him, because I like him and I’m not a bitch, but if J and I were ever to hang out together, I have a hunch I’d end up taking the lead fairly consistently — something I’m fine with in a friendship, but not something I enjoy doing with someone I’m dating, and yet I’m more likely to do with someone I’m dating than with a friend.
But it’s more than that, too. I look at S, for instance, and I think — would I steamroll her? I don’t know. I don’t know her that well, I don’t get the impression she’s a pushover, but my gut reaction is “steamroll,” even though when I stop and think about it I’m not sure that’s true. There’s a type of person, a very laid-back type, that I can’t necessarily steamroll but that still falls into that category for me. I’m not sure I can explain it except by analogy. So, here we go!
When I think of myself, I think of birds and kites. Racing with the wind, swooping and diving here and there, rarely still, full of highs and lows, zipping from one interest to the next. Now, if I’m going to tie myself to someone — that is such a perfect phrase — that someone had better be able to (you ready for this?) keep me there. No, not keep up. Don’t get me wrong: I want someone who will go out and do things, who can keep up on a fitness level. But on energy levels, if you tie two birds (or two kites) together, they end up yanking each other all over. Neither ever gets a rest because the other is goading them on. They aren’t likely to fly together; more likely they’ll fly apart and get yanked back together, crashing hard. They might have a lot of fun twirling around, but they’re going to burn out.
Okay. So I don’t want another bird. But most people, I find, are a bit like flowers. Or bushes (thorny ones, if you’re butch and you prefer that. *grins*). If you tie a kite to a flower or a bush, that kite could very well get swept up in a strong, exciting wind and yank that poor little plant right out of the ground, dragging it along and bruising it in the process. You have to be very careful what you tie a kite to, and the bigger the kite gets the stronger the pull.
DK was like a tree. I could yank and yank and it didn’t pull her out of alignment. I could get swept up in the exciting windy things and I didn’t fly away. I might flutter around like a mad thing going, “Look at this! And this! And this! AND OMG THIS!” but I didn’t drag her over, and I always stayed nearby. I could bash into her and tangle in the branches and she didn’t bruise, didn’t fall over, just put me back out and away I went again.
S felt like a tree, too, but more like a newly rooted sapling. Maybe someday she’ll be an oak, or maybe she’ll always be a slender willowy tree, able to bend with the wind and not break, changing as she needs to — but still something I could yank out of the ground if I got too caught up.
I have never dated anyone who wasn’t some form of energetic tree or rock, and a solid one at that. Q is new for me: occasionally I tell people she’s a lot like me, and it’s a little weird. It is a little weird, because she doesn’t have that tree/rock quality. She’s higher energy. I don’t feel like two birds tied together — unless it’s more like tying up a sparrow and a hawk (and hoping one doesn’t eat the other. Oh wait, we’re gay! Just pretend like it’s a pun, then. :D). She feels more solid than I do to myself, less with the fluttering and dashing and more with the single-direction-moving. Racing leaps and stops, and while she stops I go back to fluttering around. And yet, there’s that same quality — that I can flutter and race and dash, and I’m not going to knock her over nor am I going to drag her along unless she chooses to be dragged. Hmm. It’s just, she moves, too. Odd. I don’t know what to make of it.
Anyway, back to people. So I was leaning against the car with S on Sunday, and it wasn’t so much that I thought I would steamroll her — she doesn’t seem steamrollable, exactly — but rather that I thought she was a sapling. I’d end up ripping her up by the roots and dragging her about. I’d be exhausted from the weight I was hauling, and she’d be bruised and sore from getting hauled. Fun for no one.
Another thing I find myself measuring people on is life experience. I’m starting to think I have a lot of life experience. I’ve done a fair amount of looking at myself and straightening my head out, experimenting to figure out what works and what doesn’t, I have a lot of responsibility, and I’ve done things where I had to make it or — well, really, or go home. But that was never a good option. I was not a homebody, much as I love my family. π
I look at someone like S, and I suspect that she’s still young. This is hilarious, because I’m sure DK is younger age-wise, but if I’m looking at life experience, well… I think of S as a baby butch, though I’m also sure she’s been butch-identified longer than DK, and I don’t think of DK as a baby butch. It’s not fair to think of them as a baby-butch, either, because really I’m just thinking of them as young, and it has nothing to do with butch. I think that phrase just sort of stuck in my head. *wry smile* Anyway, this inexperience is another thing I lump under ‘steamrolling,’ and one that just won’t work. (I’m not comfortable with ‘inexperience’ because I’ve met people who have LOTS of life experience, and still seem… young. Untried. Maybe it has more to do with sorting your head out? I don’t know.)
I know myself well enough to know that these things really aren’t negotiable. I can’t say, “Well, this person is great except I can steamroll them. I’ll try it; maybe I’ll be wrong this time!” or “this person is perfect except they’re young experience-wise. Maybe it’ll work!” It won’t work. They’ll get bruised, I’ll be exhausted. No fun.
So, hm. Interesting stuff. Mostly it’s exasperating, knowing the field of people I’m interested in is so narrow. At least I won’t waste my time with people who won’t work?
Also, why are you reading this? My wordcount says it’s almost 2000 words, which is nearly ten pages. You weirdo. π
At least, different from the last slightly downer post I tossed up. π
Now, I have some eye candy, an Ivan video, aΒ funny video, and an exchange that cracked me up for you! Woo hoo! Videos and exchange first. π
So, Ivan E. Coyote was at Speak Up! and did her love letter to femmes. (I have such a brain-crush on Ivan, it’s not even funny.) And someone got it on video! Awwww. It makes me all warm’n’fuzzy.
(If you don’t want to sit through the video, you can find the text here.)
NEXT!
So, the other day Q showed me this video (not work safe, exactly, though it’s not terribly bad):
Then today, after Q and I have been sexting each other all day, we have this text exchange:
Q: I just cut my nails. You know what that means *wink wink*
JB: LMAO! It’s business time?
Q: LMAO! Hilarious come back. Should I wear my business socks?
JB: LOL! Only if you can last more than five minutes in them!
Q: Ahhhahahahaha! It was 2 minutes, and I’ll do my very best!
Oh, god, we kill me with laughter. *grins*
Finally, I have eye candy for you. I got permission to put this pic of Q online. She says gorgeous is an acceptable word to use, because she would assume I meant her body or, alternately, she’d just take it as a compliment meant. So I give you this picture of her gorgeous body. Or hot body. Or sexy body. Or any other term you’d like to use (except pretty). See, I can put this online because she has no head. OMG! I’m dating the headless horse– …butch. π But I’ll put it behind a cut, because even there are no bits showing, she is shirtless. π Read the rest of this entry »
As cool as the Batmobile, only with added space for dogs, shoes, and a whole trunk for unpacking issues. Wondering where we're going? Me too! I'll let you know when we get there.
To The FemmeMobile! Away! 