Tag Archives: coming out

Here Goes Nothing

25 May

I’m back out there. I’d like to say “and better than ever” but that will remain to be seen. Instead of trying to pull of an entire blog revamp before I republished my site, I decided to take it a piece at a time.

Part of the revamp is just aesthetic, but part of it is filtering back through all my old entries and editing the names to protect the innocent (and the not-so-innocent). I know it’s not fool-proof. It’s not meant to be. It’s just meant to give a veil of privacy to myself, my friends, and my family.

So! As I get a section of posts updated, I’ll mention it in a brief post in case you’re new here and want to read them, or if you’ve been around since my early days and want to reminisce about the stupid crap I used to do. Either way, I look forward to sharing more with you, as a lot of exciting (good AND bad) things have happened in my life recently, and I feel like I’m finally moving in a great direction.

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What I Learned This Weekend

3 Apr

File under “Being a Newbie Homo.” Also, “Learning to Adapt to Being Gay in a Straight World.”

What I learned this weekend can be summed up in the text exchange I had with Hippie Rancher today, about my Saturday night out with two of my straight friends from high school:

HR: Did you meet lots of women?

Me: No, I did not. We stayed one place longer than we expected to hear a band B2 knows. So we didn’t make it to the girl bar.

Me: I got to be a stand0offish bitch to all the straight guys who persisted in hitting on me. On a positive note, I now realize why gay people don’t like to go to straight bars.

And, the story could end there and you’d maybe get the point, but when have I ever let a chance to tell a great story pass me by? Uh, never.

I mean… for serious. I had a wonderful, amazing weekend of chilling with fun people with (relatively) little drama, in Wichita. Friday night, hit up my first MMA fight at a venue featuring local fighters, for a  kids’ charity event.  Great group of people I met through a friend at school. Bought shots for a ring girl. Screamed and jumped up and down while guys pummeled each other. Left wanting to MMA fight. Did a little dancing. Made out with a girl on the dance floor. Left, got DIVINE street ‘dawgs from a vendor — complete with cucumbers, pickles, onions, jalapenos, and chili.  Total heartburn special. Totally worth it. And topped the night off with local greasy spoon Mexican cafe, Rene’s. Colorado burrito? Hell yes. Get one.

Here’s where it gets potentially messy. No one in the group knows I’m gay, except maybe the guy from school but we’ve never had “the” convo.  On the way to drop people off, one of the guys I danced with had me sit in his lap because we were seriously smooshed in this truck. Well, he decides to get out when they drop me off, and follow me to the house. I’m like, “Uhhh… mkay. Maybe he left his car here. Maybe he needs to pee and they’re waiting on him. Maybe he just really wants to have a great conversation.” Really? I know better than that!

But I feel like, since I’ve come out fully, that there should be some external change that other people can recognize the same way I feel a huge internal change from how my life was even three months ago.  And I am still coming to grips with having to have the “gay” conversation with almost every human being I get in to a decent conversation with. Or assumptions are made (like the one that was made this night) and then people get confused. And a little mad.

So, this guy and I sit at the dining room table, alone in B2’s house at 2 a.m. And we have an awesome conversation about spirituality and life after death, and… of all things… our mutual history with WWE/WWF wrestling.  Random, right? My kind of shit. I LOVE meeting people through completely chance encounters and having great conversation. But I digress…

A couple hours later, around 4:30 a.m., this guy says, “Well, it’s late and I’d better either leave or go to bed.”

To which I replied, “I can drive you home if you’d like.”

“You can if you want. I’m just saying that if I crash in a bed with you, there’s a small chance I’ll try to pull something on you,” he threw out there.

After a pause, I managed, “Would it help you not feel that way if I told you that I’m gay?”

Proceed with 45 minutes of him vacillating between asking me questions about being gay, to him being a jerk about the “wasted time and effort” (though he never came out and said that), to him actually STILL trying to get me to sleep with him.  F’real. I finally made the choice for him, and took his ass home.

The next day, I was pissed. Why should I have to justify my sexuality to some dipshit 25-year old kid who only followed me home because he got a boner when I sat in his lap? Why do I even care so much? But most of all: how do I keep this from happening again? I talked to HR about it, and he advocated that I be as up front as possible if a guy starts to invest time in me.  And he also suggested that I dial down the flirtatiousness.  I’m not awful. But I think I have a sort of natural charm that just happens without me realizing it. Until I’m doing it. And then it’s too late to stop.

Saturday night. B2, Virgin Mary, and I are dolled up and ready to rock. If I do say so m’self, I looked pretty awesome. Jeans and rock graffitti Chucks, mohawk in a pomp, black chiffon corset topped with a killer leather vest, 50’s June Cleaver hot pink choker beads, and a huge turquoise ring. Oh yes.

 

What Would Jesus Do?

10 Sep

Excerpts from an Ambien text convo between Ninja and me about my marriage, prompted by a drunk text from Mr. Smith during which he tells me to stay away from him when I come home because he has been drinking and is horny. Then he proceeds to tell me his guitar is his only friend… and I should stay away from the house until he’s asleep.

Me: “You know what pisses me off most is that if *I* was the one getting wasted and acting this way, there’d be no end to the amount of shit I’d hear.”

Ninja: “How much longer can you deal with this?”

Me: “I don’t have a choice.”

Ninja: “I figured you’d say that. It makes me sad for you.”

Me: “What am I supposed to say?
Me: “Oh, I’ll just leave Mr. Smith.”

Ninja: “Where did that come from?”
Ninja: “Do you feel like you cheated on Mr. Smith?”

Me: “I feel like I could have been more communicative about what was about to happen and/or slowed things down with Fathead until I double-checked with Mr. Smith.”
Me: “I take full responsibility for under-communicating that part. But I never lied to Mr. Smith, and he always knew what was generally going on.”

Ninja: “Ok. And I never said you should leave Mr. Smith. I was just wondering how it’s possible for someone who doesn’t believe she is guilty of something like this.”

Me: “How someone “not guilty” can put up with this?”
Me. “Well, I’m still guilty for the demise of my relationship. Things I coulda/woulda/shoulda done, right? Hindsight’s 20/20 and all that.”

Ninja: “Okay. And I never said you should leave Mr. Smith. I just was wondering how it’s possible for you to constantly subject yourself to these phases of his. Man, carrying around that load must be getting kinda heavy. These phases of his, that ultimately punish you, when you don’t believe you cheated.”

Me: “I can’t subject myself any longer. That’s the problem.”
Me: “I’ve been trying to play nice, apologize, give him room to have feelings about it all… he thinks I cheated, so what matters other than how he feels? He’s the victim.”

Ninja: “But you said earlier that you don’t get to stop putting up with it. Is there a difference?”

Me: “Fuck that. I’m done.”
Me: “I don’t get to stop if I want things to work.”

Ninja: “Are you willing to sacrifice yourself day in and day out to make it work? I know a lot about martyrdom. It’s been my life. Trying to be Jesus is not a fulfilling life, believe me. The nails really start to hurt after a while and the cross is fucking heavy. Just so you know.”

Me: “I feel like I should not be laughing at that.”

Ninja: “And I’m probably going straight to hell for that one.”

Sometimes

8 Sep

Sometimes I think I’d be better off relegating myself to a life of being single.  Oh, I’d still have intimate relationships.  But they’d be with the understanding that I’m beholden to no one, I don’t share a house with anyone, and you can take me as I am or see yourself out.

Sometimes the things I write in my head never make it to paper or blog.  They die a slow and painful death, expiring in snippets as I remember less and less of them throughout the day.  They’re like little daydreams that never survive past the world between awake and asleep.

Sometimes I question my sexuality.  I try to remember how long I’ve felt this way, and whether or not what I feel is what I really feel or just what I think I should feel.  And the older I get, the more lesbian-oriented I get.  By the time I’m 50, I’ll be the biggest dyke ever.  I’ll be the aunt at the family reunions who brings her “roommate.” My husband and I will just be really good (probably divorced) friends who happen to have a (really awesome) kid together.  Then I think about living a life without having heterosexual sex ever again, and it makes me a little sad. I guess I’m destined to a life in limbo.

“Sometimes is never quite enough,” according to Alanis Morrisette.  I couldn’t agree more.  People think I’m so demanding sometimes.  Ha.  Try living in my head.  I’m uber-demanding of myself every second of every day.  I guess I never got over the “if you’re flawless, then you’ll win my love” mindset that was so ingrained in me.

Sometimes I look at my blood relatives and I wonder how on earth it is I came from the same tidal basin of the gene pool. Maybe I’m adopted.  There are days when I don’t want to speak to my family again, unless I can tell them exactly what I think and how I feel for once without being called selfish for doing so.  I frequently can’t believe I made it out of my home/hometown/home state with my sanity in tact. Clearly, they did not.

Sometimes I wish I could be oblivious.  Stupid, even. What must it be like to live a life of contentment, of never wanting more? To just not know any better?  To never question, to just fall in to line and be happy with the status quo.

Sometimes I think about what it would be like to just be dead. I don’t mean that in a “Oh, look at me, my life sucks, someone hear my cries for help,” kind of way.  I just mean it in a very factual sense.  I think about how peaceful and quiet death is going to be, and I sorta look forward to it.  Then I feel like a major asshole for thinking things like that when I have so many amazing people and opportunities in my life.