Nothing Happened

For background on this post (or, in order to understand what the hell I am talking about), go here.

I told my mom.

I had planned on telling her the day after the nothing/something had happened, but I felt too sick, too… scared. I had no idea how she would react. At best, I reasoned, she wouldn’t care. At worst, she would disown me. I understood, from a rational perspective, that my mom did love me, that our relationship was solid, etc., but I was still worried, I didn’t want to freak her out. She’s pretty Christian, after all… and Christians are pretty notorious for going around flinging the ‘S’ word (sin) at anyone and everyone in a same-sex relationship. Not that I was in one… but still.

I had, however, gotten up the nerve to talk to her about sex… or more precisely, to tell her that I might not be waiting until marriage to have it. That was step enough. It had taken all the boldness I could muster just to tell her what I meant (rather than continue on with my vague dithering about “things she might not approve of,” etc.) Surprisingly, she did not tell me that sex was absolutely forboden… that I would be cast out of the family immediately upon having it, nor did she ever use the ‘S’ word… not even once.

The talk was a big step, and only after we’d finished talking did I realize how big a deal it really was. I had been seriously slacking! Here I was, the oldest out of three, thinking that any subversive behavior would be grounds for dis-ownership… or at least a week-long lecture! How were my younger siblings ever going to be able to talk about these things if I couldn’t?

After the talk, I put the events (or non-events) of that haunting night out of my mind. I couldn’t think about it anymore… at least, not all the time. Instead, I plunged myself back into the warm, welcoming depths of my infatuation with The Blog Crush. I took comfort in its familiarity – tracing our mutual desire over pages of teasing, affectionate notes – and marvelled at its rapid, irrational growth. Sex in words, without the convolution of real life. Soon I was trading in my dreary darks for bright, flirtatious outfits. The self-repression was melting away, and I began to feel myself freed, and happy.

But as with any obsession, I quickly consumed too much. Now it was not just those same haunting memories that made me feel nausious and uncertain… but the over-indulgence of a dependency I myself had created out of my own desperate desire to be wanted.

The feelings I had seemingly developed for my friend did not make me happy. Even after removing all the questions, all the anxieties – instead of feeling myself fallen for her, it was as if she had awakened some deep, primordial need within me. But I would still have to tell her. I liked Evie, and I wanted our friendship to last… keeping secrets was not the way to do this. And even though I now knew that what I wanted was to be her friend and not her lover, I had to face the facts. I was attracted to her, and with all the time me and Evie were used to spending alone together, something could still happen… I could even change my mind… eventually.

Knowing this, I had to tell my mom. If something did end up happening, if I did change my mind, I wanted her to have fair warning.

So I told her.

She was surprised, a little confused, but over all… supportive. I had thought it would be difficult to say to her, but for some reason or another, I had felt so relaxed and self-assured before-hand that I really didn’t experience any of the fear I thought I would.  It was almost as if I had said, “You know mom, I’m thinking about going to medical school…” and she had said, “Really? I would never have guessed that about you.”

(Which, incidentally, is what she said about my crush. But not in a disapproving way, thank God!)

Something’s Happened

Or, nothing’s happened… depending on how you look at it.

In case you hadn’t noticed, not a lot happens here in The Land of the Weirdo (i.e. me); unless, of course, you count all of the things that happen in The Mind of the Weirdo (also me).

Seriously, if you were made to live a day in my head, I can pretty much guarantee your desperate attempt to escape within the hour. Except on some days. Some days are brilliant and holy, and full of Stevie Wonder, The Blog Crush, and hilarious music videos. Some days it is all that is lovely and warm and perfect. Some days it is all happiness. Today, however, was not one of those days.

Let me give you a little introduction…

Me and my friend Evie have known each other for about 6 months… not exactly life-long friends, but we’ve gotten close. We enjoy spending time together and she’s one of the few people in life who I’ve instantly “clicked” with. We’ve had our ups-and-downs (there was one month where she thought I was perpetually mad at her for no apparent reason) and we’ve made it out the other side to what has become an even, balanced friendship.

Well a couple months back, Evie decided to ask me if I thought of her as more than a friend. She had been getting what she percieved to be mixed-messages, and was having trouble “figuring me out.” In one of those pivitol-moments-that-would-be-a-lot-more-pivitol-if-it-weren’t-for-the-invention-of-texts, the truth came out: I didn’t have feelings for her… but she had feelings for me. We decided to stay friends anyway. I hoped it wouldn’t be weird at all, and she assured me that it was no-big-thing, that far more embarrassing things had happened.

And she was right.

I’ll admit that I did feel a little awkward the first time we hung out post-confrontation… I mean, if I had sent her mixed-signals before, who’s to say I wouldn’t end up sending them again? I didn’t want to confuse her, so I became even more  aloof than usual.

Fast-forward to the age of now, and our friendship is once again on equal footing, thank God. When you find someone who you can laugh with at just about anything, and who just inherently gets you, it’s not exactly pleasant to think that you may have lost them. Sure, I have my own varrying personalities (you know, the ones in my head) to talk to, but this is different. And sometimes, better.

Anyway, as I had Tuesay off from work this week (as I always have Tuesdays off, possibly because they think I am in school), me and Evie and Suzy-Q all decided to spend the day together. We went to lunch, we drank a little, we talked about sex a lot (okay, mostly they talked, I listened. Hello– virgin!) and we went shopping. It was EXHAUSTING. Too much alcohol, too much sun, too much estrogen. Just… too much. Once the little outing was over (and not a moment too soon… though I do lurve them both) we headed back to Evie’s house to make applesauce-cake (yes, that’s a real thing) and watch a movie (Frida). SQ, as fate would have it, had already made plans to go out to dinner with some other friends (huh?), so she had to leave before the cake was even made. No biggie though, Evie and I have always been great at the one-on-one thing (something about both being just that little bit “off center.”)

So me and Evie made the cake, watched the movie (which was hot – seriously), and were just about to get into the car so she could take me home…. only, it had gotten late. Being pretty sleepy already, Evie didn’t exactly want to get into a car, especially as the ride home from my place would leave her alone and bleary-eyed, which equals danger, and possibly death. In the end I decided to spare her life. We would sleep at her place and get up early enough for me to get home, get showered, and get to class. Perfect.

Now I would like to preface this next bit by saying that I have slept in the same bed as Evie before. I slept fine, although I do generally have trouble falling asleep in surroundings that aren’t very familiar to me. This was the first night in a new room (she had just moved back with her Grandma) so I should have anticipated some trouble in that department.

What I didn’t anticipate, however, was the other reason for not being able to sleep.

To be honest, I had noticed a bit of a change of behavior during the day. Only this time, it was my behavior I was taking note of. Sometimes, when I am attracted to someone, this thing will just click in my brain that says “BE SEXY.” Without much warning, my posture changes, I become very aware of my curves (aren’t I always?), and what’s worse is, I become distinctly and utterly aware of everything I am doing. I become… self-conscious. So I suppose it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me that I would still be this way… in her bed.

We talked for a while about important things, things that you only talk about at night… or at least, things that seem to bear more significance when accompanied by darkness and relative silence. And then, we were just lying there… silent, tempting sleep. I listened to the sound of her breathing, to the little snores that proved she was asleep, and that made me smile in spite of myself. Apparently she wasn’t sleeping very well though, because she kept waking up and moving to a slightly different place on the mattress…. I would shift my position, she would change hers…. sooner or later, we were facing each other; separate, but close.

The sexual tension was keeping me up. I could not fall asleep.

At one point, while she was awake, she moved her leg ever-so-slightly and our feet connected at the toes. And it was… insane. I could feel an electric current pulsing through my leg, starting at the place where her foot touched mine. It was impossible not to be aware of. I was experiencing a full-blown, chemical reaction in MY TOES for Christ’s Sake! It was almost too intense. I wanted to move away, to pull my body away from hers, to the far edge of the bed, to safety. But then, if I moved, I wouldn’t be there anymore. And I wanted to be there.

***

(If you were geared up for a full-on lesbian-encounter story, I’m sorry, but it’s not going to happen. Seriously, you can get your hand out of your pants now! All we did was sleep… when we could.)

For those of you who may be confused, I am not a “lesbian”… I still like boys, very, very much. But I’m also attracted to girls. And I hate the word “bi.” And if that only serves to confuse you even more – go here immediately, it’ll make everything clearer, I swear.

No really, click the link, I don’t have all day.

Because He Needs Me

Last night I had a dream about someone.

No, not that someone! The person I dreamt about was someone I have never met, talked to, or had any form of contact with, ever, in my entire life….

Yes, you guessed it, it was a celebrity!

But it wasn’t dirty. Which is sad. (Honest to God, I remain a virgin, even in my dreams! Something has gone terribly wrong…)

Anyway…. in my dream, I was in a large, white room, which was crowded with people attending some sort of function. I have no idea what the function was, nor did it ever occur to me to ask. (As it happens, I’m pretty sure my dream self was none too concerned with the goings-on around her… which is so unlike me… clearly!) At some point or another, I managed to find myself standing next to none other than aforementioned celebrity. But I was like, cool as Le cucumber, of course, because in my mind I know that celebrities are just people and really nothing to scream about (especially as said screaming would probably frighten them) no matter how hot they might be.

I suppose I should tell you who this celebrity was, but I don’t want to. Oh, all right…. it was Robert Pattinson(!)

Seriously, you can stop rolling your eyes now, I can see you from here!

So there I was, standing next to Robert Pattinson, who was gazing off into the distance with a vaguely worried look on his face…

(Now to give this dream some context, I do sympathize with this person in real life… if you have ever seen an interview in which he is asked to answer several questions whilst hoards of teenage girls scream the entire time, you know that he doesn’t exactly get to have a normal life. Some guys would view this as just about the best thing ever, but he doesn’t seem to be too fond of it… plus, the paparazzi’s a bitch, we all know that! )

Sooner or later, I managed to negotiate putting my arm through his… which could have honestly gone over semi-badly considering that we didn’t know each other. But he seemed fine with it… more than fine actually, he seemed to appreciate, even encourage it! I let my hand rest on his sleeve, as he gently twisted his arm up, cradling my arm with his… my hand slid tenderly to the bare skin of his wrist, and the heat of his body was so intense that it shocked me… but not enough to move.  We stayed like this, arm-in-arm, side-by-side, for who knows how long… him, staring into the distance… and me, standing beside him, steeling glances at his face, silent, strong, and supportive.

At one point, another girl came up to him hoping for an autograph. He declined, politely, and continued his steady gaze past her, at no conceivable person, place, or thing. Soon it was time for him to go, and the reason for his morbid concentration became clear.

A huge, garage-like door opened up, and a monstrous crowd of screaming, hysterical girls was revealed. Robert was ushered out of the building and through the crowd, never to be seen by me again.

There had been no exchange of names, no attempt at conversation… and though I suppose I didn’t exactly want for him to go, it never really occurred to me to be sad about it. I had given him what he needed… that strong, wordless support of someone who didn’t require a thing. Someone who understood… if only in theory.

Now, writing this, I had intended to cap-off the dream re-telling by saying something like:

Seriously, what the hell? Why in the world am I having dreams about being a strong, silent form of support for a hot, brooding, famous man?! I should be having dreams about hot, sweaty sex… about taking the world by storm…. about anything rather than hour-long hand-holding!

But now, having written the whole thing… and consequently seeing it in a new light… I think – Why not?

Maybe this isn’t just about being the support for someone else…

Maybe this is about wanting someone who can be the support for me…

Maybe this is about needing someone to provide that strong, selfless form of companionship; who can simply stand there and take some of the weight off.

Or maybe I just have a crush on Robert Pattinson, and want a good reason to hold his hand in my dreams!

Because, clearly, he needs me!

The Addict

Just to be clear, I wrote this poem a long time before any of this crazy Blog Crush stuff!

And for those of you who are wondering why in the world I’ve gone so moody, there will be laughter agian… there will, I swear! Just give me a second…

My Only Hope (written December 15th, 2008)

It’s too much, but it’s not enough

The addict and the favored drug

I take you just to get to sleep now

I can’t sleep without you

But you go away when I enter the night

The meanigful things with their wings made of wire

And I just pause to imagine your face before leaving

A one-way  train with a one-way thought

I’d rid my mind of you if I thought it would help

But you are the only hope I know so stay here

And you will die tonight like so many nights before

I will keep a candle lit for you

I will miss you when you go

and greet you back with wary arms

My heart is too selfish to know of love

It shuts you out before you come

But you still hang around

Oh, whisper some sweet melody

Hold me in your fragile arms

Comfort me with vague old words

Be my only hope

Tonight, tonight

Turn out the light

Meet me in the blindness

Force the truth to out itself

Goodnight my love, goodnight

Come back to me sometimes

Love Stinks

I think the Blog Crush may have gone off me (read: stopped liking me) a bit since I wrote that rather long-winded post (now embedded in my mind as The  Epic Mistake post!*) Which is sad. But also great! Because it adds some much needed context to this video….

And to think I’d almost forgot about the genius that is this song –

Update: The Blog crush and I have broken up. Don’t ask from what. I really couldn’t say (because I really don’t know!)

Also, I’m very sorry the video cut out before you could see Adam Sandler get punched in the face. It’s very cathartic.

And yes, I will post a real blog again soon. You know, one with some actual content? I Promise.

* I have since re-named this post from “Good Luck Reading My Mind, It’s a Real Piece of Work” to “The Epic Mistake Post.” It just fit better!

All you need is love!

In this life, I am always Christian (Ewan McGregor), only now I sing to no one!

Okay… but really, I just like this song!

Sorry for the abrupt ending!

(Why do I always wind up being the boy in these scenarios? Surely not just because of my short hair…)

The Perfection Conundrum

Lately I have been thinking about what exactly makes someone a perfect partner.

(Something about having been single for forever, reading a lot of Jane Austen, and this post.)

Now, we all know that making a long list of “must-have traits” is bad (and by long I mean more than 5) while keeping an open mind is good (just so long as you close your mind when it comes to obvious creepers and morons.) And while we all know that perfection, quite frankly, does not exist, there are certain things that make a person perfect for us.

However, as these traits can often be  so hard to define (I find that my list will almost always change depending on who I’m attracted to), many of us resort to rather vague ideas about what it is that we NEED from our person. In the following list, I will address the inherent wants and needs of the GIRLS out there (or maybe it’s just me, let me know!):

1. You want your man* to be attentive, but not clingy… a little obsessed, but not pathetic or needy. He should call you when you want him to (at least once a day), but he shouldn’t, say, call you at 3am wanting to talk because “he can’t sleep.” You SHOULD, however, be able to do the same to him.

2. You want him to be confident, but not cocky. It’s up to you to decide how awesome he is… so he should just shut up about it… but also, you know, be nice and well-adjusted.

3. You want him to be concerned about the problems you face, but not to feel the need to get involved every time. Just the times you want him to. And you’re not necessarily going to tell him when those times are… because he should just know… right?

4. He should be a little dirty, but not perverted. It’s important that he want you in a way that your parents would not approve of, and to worship regularly at the alter that is your body… but he shouldn’t be nasty about it. He should always remember the importance of eye-contact, and leave you alone when you’re just  “not feeling it.”

5. You want him to be romantic, but not corny. You should also be able to know, without a doubt, that he has never been so sweet to anyone but you… ever. “Smoothness” is not acceptable… unless, of course, you aren’t aware of it.

6. He should be smart, but not arrogant. If there is something (or lots of things) he knows more about than you do, he should realize that there are plenty of things you know that he will never understand. But that shouldn’t discourage him from helping you out with whatever he does know.

7. He should be well-groomed, but not vain. If he takes more time getting ready than you do, something’s wrong. This DOES NOT, however, excuse sloppy dressing!

8. You should always be his first priority, but he should not expect the same from you… because, well, you have a life.

And so ends the list. (But not really, I chose to edit.)

I know girls are like this because I am a girl… and because I am a very good listener… and my friends are very good talkers. I also know that these things can sound a little harsh, and if this isn’t you… good, you make the world a better, more rational place!

Listening to my friends talk about what their boyfriends aren’t doing, the traits they wish they had, or the habits they wish they didn’t, can often times be frustrating and exhausting (but worthwhile, don’t get me wrong… I listen because I want to!)… but then again, tracking my own thought-process about what I want, don’t want, and am annoyed by, can also be frustrating, exhausting, and at times  – laughable. But the fact that we all dream of perfection, perhaps even come to expect it, remains intact.

When you think about it, perfection is not only impossible (hello – are you perfect? I didn’t think so…) it is also a major contradiction. If someone were perfect, what little quirks would you admire? What flaws would you come to accept, or even love them for? What in the world would you do when you realized that they were perfect while you, admittedly, are not? Who’s to say you would even like perfection?

I guess what I am trying to say is, no one’s perfect. But that doesn’t mean you should have to bend over backwards to accommodate every single little imperfection, simply that you should learn to realize that those imperfections may not be going anywhere. It also doesn’t mean that you should fancy yourself compatible with every single person you will ever meet. Some people are just better suited for each other, and some people aren’t.

Some people, when they meet, and after spending all kinds of time together, will come to realize that they are “meant for each other,” and that no one else will do.

And for all of us –  as singular, free-thinking individuals – we must remember that although we are not perfect, we are the ONLY ones, ever, under any circumstances, who can be… us. And that, my friend, is something worth celebrating! (Too corny? Well hey, I told you I wasn’t perfect!)

* I realize that some of you girls are not attracted to men. I don’t want to offend, it’s just that saying the word “person” over and over can get a little wearing!