The truth about valentine's day.

Compliments of PostSecret. (Also, I enjoy the fact that the title of this image, the link to it, is "ohdeargodno")

It's funny. I read this, and realized how incredibly on point it is for my reaction to strong feelings. Some of it, probably, can be seen in my stated aversion to "mush," in my hesitance to ever allow myself to be called anyone's girlfriend.

And consequently, although perhaps less obviously, in my vehement personal reaction to strong emotions I feel. Like some scared teenager, I shy away from strong emotions. Sure, I love my friends, and I tell them as much on a regular basis. But beyond that, when things really start to get serious? I don't have the slightest idea how to handle that. I don't know how to process emotions that require me to be vulnerable. Not anymore, at least.

Of course, that doesn't mean I don't have those emotions. It just means, perhaps, that I bury them deep inside and don't ever let them see the light of day. Ha. It's one of those funny-cause-it's-true kind of things. I really can't say more about any of this in hopes of not jinxing myself or my situation. But it is times like this when my imagination is a very dangerous thing.

Then again, sometimes so are my fantasies, when I can't so much find them arousing as intriguing, as peaceful, as happy. That concerns me, because I understand my desire, plain and simple. But when it's complicated by something more, I nearly always tend to screw it up. And I'd rather not.

V-day.

So, it's no surprise that el dia de San Valentino is upon us.
For me, it's kind of like any other day. And like I've written about before, I have random favorite holidays (Fourth of July and New Year's, for the record). But Valentine's day has never been particularly special for me. I'm short of those who avidly bemoan the artificial holiday's existence (although I'm not a huge fan of made-up and socially mandated displays of affection), but I certainly don't live for the day with my expectations delicately tied to a helium balloon, constantly rising higher.

That being said, it's been quite a while since I've actually been dating someone on Valentine's day. The last time was probably four years ago, when I was head-over-heels in love with Ex, who went to school on the opposite side of the country. I surprised him by flying from Washington (that's the state, not the district) and showing up at his door in Manhattan. It went well, all things considered. There was a massive snowstorm that dumped two feet of snow in Central Park overnight, and so the city was quiet and calm and romantic. We had celebrated our five year anniversary that December.

He left me for someone else three months later.

I'd like to think this hasn't jaded me for all time when it comes to Valentine's day. I just don't have any illusions about the holiday. And for the past few years, the kinds of relationships I've had don't lend themselves to over-romanticized displays of affection, anyway. After all, what is etiquette for someone who you're fucking, but they may or may not be in the same state, and while you tell each other you love one another, there isn't any mush involved in such statements of simple fact?

Answer: Emails containing things like this:



Compliments of Jacob, who is guilty of more mush than this on a regular occasion. I tease him about it, but he knows that sometimes it really does make me uncomfortable. So today he sent me this photo, and it made me laugh because it was so appropriate. And true. And just... how I would say things. How he and I communicate. It works.

In other, more physically proximate V-day news, I think Bear is trying to sneak a romantic weekend on me. We had standing plans to go see a movie tomorrow (my choice), and this afternoon he asked me to join him for dinner at one of my favorite places on Saturday night. We haven't gone out to dinner yet this semester (although we do it periodically in general), and it seems mildly suspect that the first time just so happens to be on Valentine's day. And it just so happens to be MY favorite restaurant. And I wouldn't be surprised if he just so happens to want to come home with me.

I'm not complaining, I just think it's funny.

And I think it's funny how he never calls me by my name anymore, only referring to me as "Love," and very rarely even by the nickname he used to call me by playfully. And today he came by while I was holed up in the multimedia lab selling my soul to Soundslides. And complimented my project and made sure I was doing OK. Nothing a regular best friend wouldn't do, but I have noticed that he's a little more gentle with me since we slept together. Then again, that's not necessarily a bad thing.

I just think it's funny.

HNT: Nothing clever...

... to say here.



Just more of me naked. Possibly more of my ass than you've seen in a while. Oh, and strange tanning patterns, considering it's the dead of winter. Again, taken at New Year's.

In any case, I hope you enjoy!

HHNT!

HNT: Celebrate!

Two weekends ago was Essin Em's 23rd birthday party. We were to come in costume, as a myth, tall tale or fable. She was looking fine as the White Rabbit, and I managed to create a Megara (yes, from Hercules) costume out of an old pink broomstick skirt.

The night was a fabulous time. There was truth or dare - in which I got to make out with an adorable girl whose number I later got - chocolate body paint - which Em licked off my chest.. yes there are photos, no, you can't see them...hehe - and delicious drinks. There was also a pretty heavy snowstorm that night, so getting home was a bit of an adventure, but things aren't fun without a little adventure.

So here's our first photo of the night, posing shamelessly. I really love this photo, although P has already given me shit for the cut of the dress. But like I told Em, if there was ever a party where it was OK to show up in an outfit that easily showed your underwear, it would be her birthday.

Happy birthday, again, dearest.
And Merry Christmas to those who celebrate.
And Happy Hannukah to those who celebrate.
And Happy Yule to my fellow pagans.
And happymerry wintertime holiday celebration to you and yours.

And, of course, HHNT!

Dela

"The blind bird sings
Inside the cage that is my heart
The image of your face comes to me
When I'm alone in the dark
If I could give a shape
To this ache that I have for you
If I could find the voice
That says the words that capture you
I think I know
I think I know
I think I know why the dog howls at the moon...

I've been waiting for you all my life
Hoping for a miracle
I've been waiting day and night
Day and night
I've been waiting for you all my life
Waiting for redemption
I've been waiting day and night
I burn for you..."
(Savuka and Johnny Clegg)


I should preface this by saying that I've been drinking tonight. Not that that wasn't my plan. I just wasn't planning on doing it so terribly... alone. I've been listening to this song all night. It's incredible. And works strikingly well with the dress I'm wearing, that flares ohsoperfectly as I spin around in circles. It makes me happy. But that isn't so much what this post is about.

More so, it's about expectations. And this won't have exactly to do with sexuality, but know that does in a roundabout way about which I have to be necessarily vague. Anyways... Today is the 4th of July, Independence Day, here in the states. Oddly enough, this is actually my favorite holiday of the year. Yes, it beats out Christmas, Valentine's day and (while it's not a holiday) my birthday. I love the summer, the clothes you can wear, the way the sun stays up til 9 p.m. , and the way it makes the days feel longer and more fun and like they have that much more potential. And then, about the 4th specifically, it's this gorgeous time of year, when the weather is great, there's usually a good deal of alcohol involved, and you spend the night with friends watching the sky and the beautiful colors igniting it. In my eyes, it doesn't get too much more romantic than that.

Which, I know, in a lot of ways, is silly. But at least I don't think Valentine's Day is the most romantic day of the year. As a matter of fact, I'd much rather spend V-day indoors doing nothing in exchange for being able to spend the 4th of July with someone who I cared about. And yes, this includes friends. But of course, I've always had this fantasy of sitting on the grass, or maybe a rooftop balcony, with someone who I enjoy and who enjoys me, and as we're staring at the sky and the stunning colors its turning, that person grabs my hand and looks at me and smiles like there's nowhere else they'd rather be.

Of course, that's clearly too much to ask. And by recognizing that that's what I want, I've essentially screwed myself from ever getting it. But then there's an interesting dynamic...

Have you ever come up with an idea that you wished someone would do for you... But, of course, you can't ask them to do it, because that would destroy the romanticism inherent in them wanting to do this thing for you. I know that's a disgustingly femme way to put it, but that's what has been dominating my thoughts tonight. So I'm going to go ahead and put it in words here. In reality, no one who reads this has much of the capacity to make it come true, so there isn't really any risk in posting it.

As I've just stated, and anyone who knows me knows, the 4th of July is my favorite holiday. Somehow, though, it always falls short of my expectations. That's likely because I so want it to be such a fabulous holiday that it has nowhere to go but down. But anyways, I was sitting there, alone tonight, thinking about what could make up for tonight. And I thought about someone I cared about taking me to a park, or, even better, to the mountains or a rooftop patio, and orchestrating a fireworks show. Even if it were the kind you buy in Wyoming, and not the professional-grade kind, I think I'd be so touched, that I wouldn't know what to do. Essentially, they'd try to re-create the 4th of July for me. Because they'd know how much it means to me.

But it's one of those weird things, because it's so relevant for me, but it wouldn't work for me to do for someone else, unless they cared about the 4th as much as I did. And I think that's the thing.... I'd love to do this all for someone, but the only person I know who would really appreciate it would be me. And, of course, if I do it for myself, that takes all the fun out of it. And of course, I've probably ruined it by writing about it here. Then again, there are very few people who read this who know me in person, so maybe I'm just putting the thought out into the universe. And someday it will come back to me in some form that I can recognize.

Or I'll just let other people know how important the little things are to some of us. I know it seems silly, but know that it does matter to us. It matters to me. And these are moves I wouldn't pull on someone I call my friend.

But that's just me. I like not being a flake. To each their own.

"you do this thing..."

"... with your eyes..."
What do you mean?
"It's just.. you stare at me. Like through me. It's really intense."
Oh, I'm sorry.
"No, I love it."

And with those few words my mind is sent racing back to the night before. How she was mad at me for taking too long getting ready. And how glad I was to see you at dinner. Wearing a hat pulled down over your still-long hair and cocked over one eye so I could just catch a glimpse of that rich brown with the fire behind it as you looked me up and down walking in the door. I said I was dressed up for the holiday, you knew better. You knew it was for you. The dark jeans, flared at the bottom and hugging my ass at the top, my favorite purple and grey high heels, the brand new silver halter top with a neckline cut down to there. You give me a half smile from beneath your hat and I forget everyone else in the crowded restaurant.

Until you look away and I remember we're out with friends and that means we have to be discreet. Because you say so. Still, as I slide into the corner seat on the booth, you quickly take the spot next to me. You fumble with your jacket and look at me and I smile, of course I'll take it. Our friends order drinks. You don't because you don't drink and I don't because I don't have anything that says I'm of age. So we order dinner and it takes a while but the waiter is quick with our drinks. We all laugh and my fears that this group would be awkward dissolve as everyone settles in for dinner. There are a few moments where I let my hand drop to the booth and brush your knee, knowing you can't help but flinch. You swat my hand away.
I go back to flirting with the person across the table.You notice. Especially when I reach across and say "oh, for that you owe me some of that mojito!" and there's no protest as we linger just a split second too long for comfort.
She's not mad at me anymore and asks me to join her for a cigarette. I don't realize we're going outside so I don't grab my coat and when I ask you to pass me mine, you hand me yours. There's another splitsecond moment where your hands touch mine and you flash me just the hint of a smile and I'm sure my cheeks flush. I slip my arms through the sleeves and pull the sides tight around me, happy to be enveloped in your warmth and the scent of you while we are out in the open.
Flash forward two hours and we're sitting on a couch, closer than we need to be, since the group has thinned to just five of us. But still, now in this more relaxed place, while the rest of us are drinking - and you're sipping the sparkling cider we got you - your hand goes to the small of my back just to remind me you're there. As if I could forget.
We play cards and we all laugh at the half-and-more naked men pictured there. Then suddenly, there are three minutes left. We all have champagne and someone suggests we go each say what we have planned. He says he's going to focus on his music. He says he's going to get all A's. She says she's going to get into business school. I say I'm going to finally get that job at the magazine. We come to you and you say you're going to stop dating crazy people and find someone who makes you happy. We all pause for just a moment. Then we cheer and I yell hell yeah! and you smile and... take a sip of my champagne. Which makes us cheer louder. And you smile broader. You seem happy and that makes me even happier.
Then it's 10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1!!!
We all yell and clink out glasses and I look to you and wonder if you're...
before I can finish thinking it, you pull me in and kiss me and I'm shocked realizing you just did that and there were people standing right next to us. And then I can't stop smiling. You look pleased with yourself.
You're driving me back to your house which is beautiful and not really your space but I love when we have it to ourselves because you're different when it's just us. You start kissing me in the kitchen and I throw my arms around your neck and the only thing I can focus on is your lips on mine, your hands around my waist, cradling my face, taking my hands and leading me upstairs.
The next several hours are a blur, but at the same time crystal clear. I don't remember who undressed whom first, but I remember you approaching me, kissing me hard and pinning me to your bed. I remember kissing back fervently, needing you because I'd been out of your arms, your bed, your life, for too long. I remember you leaning over me, pinning my hands above my head and smiling as I pretend I want to get away. And burying your face in my neck and licking the sweat just starting to form on my collarbone, my chest, my hips. I remember your gasps and every sound you made when I bit down hard like I know you like. I don't remember what you were doing when I dug my nails into your back, but I remember the flash of heat, passion, in your eyes when I did so.
And maybe that's why you remember my eyes. I couldn't take them off you. Intense? I suppose. I remember moments when all I could do was look at you, really see you, and everything I know about you, everything you know about me, everything we have been and everything we will be, was all there in your eyes. I can't describe it well enough or even start to do it justice but know that those moments are my most vivid memories of any from my somewhat recent past. They aren't fading with time.
And, truth be told, I'm counting the days until I see you again. Your smile. Your eyes. Your bed. You.