OK, so ignore the images on this video - it was just the only embed-able video I could find of the right song. I don't know the people in the video, and I'm not implying anything by including the video here.
I adore this song. I can't say I totally understand what it's about, but I get a strangely inspirational vibe. In that screw-everything-and-follow-your-dreams sense. Which is something I could use right now. It's getting grey out here, and I'd love to blame the sadness that I can't seem to shake on Seasonal Affective Disorder, but I think it's more than just the lack of sun that's got me down.
I just wish I could place a finger on what it is, exactly. Last weekend, I was really not myself, and needed to leave suddenly on a night I was hanging out with The Scientist and Nonboyfriend. They hadn't done anything wrong, and the night had been quite low-key, but I suddenly was just so upset that I couldn't stay in the room, or the house, or that part of town with them. I just got up and left. I haven't done that in a long time.
Things are starting to feel out of control again. Work is picking up, and as the holiday season approaches, it means I have an exponential increase in events I'm covering, videos I'm editing, promotions I'm organizing, and, oh yes, when I have a spare moment, articles I'm writing.
I can't control how often I see my friends - none of my closest friends are in the same town. Certainly, it's nowhere near as inconvenient as when I was at school across the country, but it's almost more infuriating to be an hour or two's drive from people who I so desperately want to see.
At the same time, I'm feeling so incredibly drained. I'm back to being tired all the time. There is a part of me that's just going through the motions. I'm feeling like I don't have anything left to give. Which in turn makes me feel worse, because I don't want to not be able to be there for the people I care about. That's what I mean by a loss of control.
Maybe I am a control freak. Actually, I know that I am. I'm a backseat driver, a bit of a neat-freak, and it drives me crazy when people don't use the shortcuts on computers or take a longer route to get somewhere. I get so upset when plans fall through largely because it was something out of my control.
So I need to try focusing on the positive things. The areas of my life where I am in control. And there are a few. I have some concrete plans coming up in the next few weeks about which I'm really excited. Even though they're concrete, I'm still a little scared to say them out loud - or put them in print, as it were - for fear that something will change them. So you'll hear about those events after they happen. Who knows, maybe it'll even bring about a revival of my HNTs. I know they've been absent. But part of the lack of control is accompanied by a lack of feeling sexy. Which, of course, doesn't help my mood.
It's all rather cyclical, isn't it?
"I never took the smile away from anybody's face
And that's a desperate way to look for someone who is
still a child
In a big country
Dreams stay with you
Like a lover's voice
Cross the mountainside:
Stay alive
I thought that pain and truth were things that really mattered
I'm not a feminism apologist. I don't feel the need to assert that "oh, no, I'm not a femi-nazi" before I say anything regarding equal rights for women. Still, I've never really considered myself a feminist. Because, frankly, that's never where my real passion for equality has lay. I've always been passionate about lgbt rights (perhaps as a reflection of which of my own personal identities I take to be more prevalent or important... I don't know.) (Although in a chat a few nights ago, Nonboyfriend's girlfriend pointed out to me that she's always considered me a feminist precisely because I was so adamant about queer rights. She considers them inherently connected, and I think there's something to be said for that... Aside from the sometimes stereotypical feminist disavowal of automatically equating feminist with "man-hating dyke." But that's a whole other post.) So for something to trigger my feminist rage, it generally has to be pretty agregious. Or at least really, obviously, patently sexist.
Which I encountered this evening.
I was pulling into the parking lot at my neighborhood Target. The parking lot was somewhat busy, but my mom's boyfriend (the only other person in the car with me) noticed a spot in the aisle over, so I went to homestead until the SUV parked in the spot finished backing up. Because of the location of the spot and the terrible turning radius of the car I was driving, my first effort at pulling in placed the car diagonally across the spot. (I am admittedly terrible at parking in normal spaces, though I'm an EXCELLENT parallel parker... which is weird, I know.) But I knew I was going to have to back out and 3-point the turn, essentially. So I put the car in reverse but kept my foot on the brake, and looked behind me, and checked both mirrors. On my left, there was a cop SUV, patrolling the lot, but waiting for me to finish adjusting the car before he passed me. On my right, there were two pedestrians who had stopped, a car away from me, to let me continue readjusting. So I pulled the car halfway out and back into the spot significantly straighter. (But still not in the center of the spot. Because, literally, I'm incapable of it.)
And as I got out of the car, I noticed the cop was still idling directly behind my car. With his window down. I made passing eye contact, but didn't really pay any attention. Until he called out at me from his car.
"Hey there, you be careful with those pedestrians, OK sweetheart? We wouldn't want you to hurt anybody."
SWEETHEART?... Sweetheart?! I just stared at him, flabergasted. "Yeah, uh, can do," I managed, without any intonation.
"OK, well just be careful, honey."
I didn't look back as I speed-walked to the door, but my mom's boyfriend pointed out that the slimeball stared at me all the way to the door. As soon as the door shut behind me, I started muttering "Sweetheart? I'm not your fucking sweetheart. Don't fucking call me sweetheart."
Now, I realize this doesn't carry over as well in text, because I can't get the proper inflection. And his words, if they were said differently, could have been a simple caution. (That I didn't need. As I'd checked for pedestrians before I had pulled back out, and even made eye contact with the ones who were clearly waiting for me to finish parking before they walked behind my car.) But this wasn't polite advice. It was the condescending, you-clearly-don't-have-the-mental-capacity-to-comprehend-parking-a-vehicle-because-you-have-breasts kind of tone.
I'm not sure I should need to mention it, but just to prevent trolls, I was wearing sneakers, jeans, a knee-length white peacoat and a mid-cut v-neck sweater. Definitely NOT overtly sexy or inherently bimbo-esque. (As if clothes were a determination of intelligence, anyway.)
But I was steaming about the "sweetheart" comment for a good few hours. I've cooled down a little, and there's a possibility I was being too sensitive... But I was genuinely offended. I haven't had anyone speak down to me like that in a LONG time. And I've been going car shopping lately... which, for my female readers who've done that, I can imagine you know what a point of reference that is. It was just so blatantly condescending. And yes, it DID feel like it was related to my gender. Admittedly, had he not said "sweetheart," I likely wouldn't be so put off. I still probably would have thought it was probably unnecessary to roll down his window IN THE SNOW to caution me against something I wasn't at risk of doing, and might have grumbled a bit, but you likely never would have heard about it here.
So, THAT'S what it takes to pull my feminist trigger.
I've talked about my Ex by several different names on here. He's been a kind of supporting (or not, as it were) character in the background of many of the experiences you've read about here. The short history - we dated for five years... All through high school, and then for our freshman year of college, for which we went to schools on opposite coasts. We went to a tiny high school where, by virtue of his being utterly likable and my throwing nearly every major party anyone in our class or below went to, we secured a tight group of friends. Many of those people both of us remained close with.
Which of course, made it that much more awkward and painful when we broke up in a BIG way at the end of our freshman year of college. He was the one who ended things - at the time I believed he left me for someone else, and I did, in fact, know who it was. In retrospect, I saw it coming. We weren't right for each other, but he figured that out LONG before I did.
And so we've spent the past three and a half years, essentially, discovering new ways to hurt each other - also known as "being friends." We both took our turns doing and saying terrible, cruel, inhumane things, that managed to affect not just one another, but our mutual friends, who grew to make concerted efforts to keep us apart when we were in the same state. Almost a year and a half, I was in rare form (or not, depending on who you ask), and confessed to him that I'd cheated on him back in high school. I'd like to say I did it to try and make myself feel better or in the interest of honesty, but really, it was my drunken, still-heartbroken last-ditch effort to make him hurt as badly as I did.
Near as I can tell, it worked. There was a single email exchange wherein we decided that we were not going to speak to one another again. We were both still angry and hurting, but it was probably one of the healthier things we'd done for each other since we'd broken up. It was three years almost to the day after he left me.
And we didn't talk. Or see one another. Or communicate in any way. Our friends were already used to avoiding the subject of each other when we were around, but even that became more pronounced. I moved on, dated a few people casually - some of whom were good to me, like Nonboyfriend, some of whom weren't, like Edward. My ex didn't cross my mind much.
And then, this summer, tragedy hit our circle of friends. Without going into private details, a terrible, unfair and unexpected thing happened to my best girlfriend, C. The Scientist and I, specifically, threw as much of ourselves into caring for and loving her as possible, and to her credit - she is astoundingly strong. I'm confident I could not have gone through what she did with such grace, maturity, perspective, and strength.
About a month ago, things culminated in an event that saw all of us who love C together at her house to support her. My ex (again, a good friend of hers) had been flaking on his friends back home, and, in all honesty, I think he was guilt-tripped into it. It was a deserved guilt-trip, though. He should have been there for C all along, but he absolutely needed to be there on this occasion.
Which found both of us back in town. In the same house. Together. I knew he was coming, and I also knew that this was neither the time nor the place to deal with any lingering issues we had. I knew why I was there, and it had nothing to do with him. Besides, I didn't have anything left to say to him.
He came early and I was the first person he saw. He quite literally froze in the doorway. He paled, and I swear I could hear him swallow from across the room. I looked at him, said "Hi," and waved. "Uhm, yeah, hey," he managed, a stiff arm and twitchy-fingered wave complimenting the awkwardness. Throughout the afternoon, he and I were pleasant with one another - I started a conversation or two with him... Just pleasantries. But I think we were both impressed at how we were able to BE so pleasant with one another. I found myself almost enjoying his company. Well, at the very least, not minding it.
As the evening wound down, C asked her friends to stay and party with her. Of course, we would have done anything for her, and this was hardly a stretch for any of us. We ended up going to a concert - C, her boyfriend, The Scientist, myself and my ex. We eventually convinced Nonboyfriend and his girlfriend to come down to town as well, because the occasion called for everyone to be there. (C, the Scientist, my ex and I all went to high school together, and the Scientist, Nonboyfriend and my ex are childhood friends, so Nonboyfriend had been incorporated into our circle early in its creation.) We all had a great time at the show, dancing, letting go of whatever we needed to.
At one point, as I was dancing, I took a step backwards and accidentally backed into someone I didn't know. I turned around to apologize, and the guy started hitting on me. Asking me to dance with him, what's my sign (seriously? people still use that?), and I tried to politely decline, telling him I was just there to be with my friends. He didn't go away. He wasn't doing much more than invading my space, but my ex caught my eye, dancing maybe 10, 15 feet away from me. He mouthed "you OK?" at me, and I kind of shrugged and made an "eh... uhm... sortof..." face. Before I could do anything more, my ex was next to me, put his hands around my waist, and pulled me to dance with him. The other dude vanished into the crowd. And I stood there, rather dumbstruck, staring at my ex. I managed to thank him, but I don't think I communicated how genuinely touched I was. I know looking out for someone in the group, protecting them from a creeper, is pretty standard friend behavior, but for my ex and I, the interaction was the friendliest, kindest we'd treated each other in years.
As the concert ended, we took several cabs to various places, some of us stopping at cars on the way, then all of us ending up back at Nonboyfriend's house. For a portion of the trip, it was just my ex and I in his car, after we'd dropped off C and her boyfriend so they could go in their own car. There were some awkward silences, but we did agree that it was, surprisingly, nice to see one another. We both seemed scared to make that assertion... like it might ruin the good we'd managed to accomplish that night.
But back at Nonboyfriend's house, my ex began playing guitar. And I realized he was playing songs that used to be ours. The rest of the group trickled back into the house, leaving just he and I on the patio. Him still playing guitar.
And then we started talking. The conversation started off slow, hesitant, cautious. But soon, it became open, and honest. He started the conversation. He looked at me, tears in his eyes, and said "It killed me, to not speak to you for so long. I hated it. I tried to be angry at you, I really did. But I can't. You are such a part of who I am, and that will never change. You ARE important. You always have been." It broke my heart and healed it all at once.
We kept talking for almost an hour. There were tears shed, but I think more than anything they were a form of release. The most amazing part was that there was no anger. I think we've finally used it up. We were able to talk about what had hurt us, but also what was good. We were able to appreciate how utterly and completely and honestly in love we were with one another... once upon a time. And we were able to move forward.
He hugged me several times that night. And it was good to be back there, my head buried in his chest and his arms wrapped around me. It was sincere. It was necessary. But it wasn't inappropriate. There is no romance left. The fire that once burned so bright for him nearly consumed me... and now all that remains is warmth.
I can finally truthfully say that I no longer have any ill feelings toward him. There are still traces of the boy I fell in love with almost 10 years ago inside him. I needed to know that. I can look back on what we had fondly and without pain. I can wish him well and happiness with his girlfriend, and mean it. And I can mean it when I tell him I'm looking forward to seeing him when he's back in town.
So while I've called him many, many things over the years, and even over the course of this blog, really, the way I should refer to him is as my First Love. Because he was. And he deserves all the import that title commands. Part of who I am today is because of him, and that experience will always be a part of me.
And, finally, thank god, I no longer resent that fact.
I don't miss you anymore. I really don't. I think you might be one of the few people I have entirely moved on from. I don't even want you anymore. I don't remember what you smelled like.
I only barely remember what you made me feel like.
And in so many ways, that's such a good thing. You have moved on so completely, and so have I. Of course, your recipient is ohsoclose to you, and mine is - once a-fucking-gain, a thousand miles away. But that's the way it is, I suppose. But it was, I'll admit, hard to bite my tongue when we got into specifics. Because under any other circumstances, we'd be sharing this information. Which in no way means you have to share.... I'm just saying.
But it's funny, because there is a difference. There is a difference in how I feel. There is a difference in what I do. I wouldn't go so far as to say something crazy, but I do feel some kind of strange connection. And I know you do too. In case you forgot that I know you read this. Lovelovelove. I'm not ashamed to say it. It's ALWAYS a good thing to send more love into the universe.
And I won't apologize for it. Especially when I'm pretty sure love is what you most need right now.
I'm going to go ahead and title this entry as such, even though I already know Friend thinks it's cheesy, and overly mushy or whatever, but I'm rolling with it. It's not only appropriate, it happens to be the theme song of the weekend, and the boy this entry is about, well, he already knows this song makes me think of him. And I should warn you that this might be the most giggly, girly rant I've published to date. I blame the boy.
He is a dear and long-time friend of some of my own dear and long-time friends, although we had never met before this weekend. At least not in any official capacity - we realized he had come to a party at my house in high school, but I don't know that we were introduced at that time. I met him this weekend at what became, essentially, a weekend-long lovefest at Nonboyfriend's house, along with Nonboyfriend's girlfriend, myself and The Scientist.
But all that is a story for another entry. Or five. This is just an introduction to The Optimist. I should preface this that I am a little nervous about writing on here, not because I've told him about the blog (although I have), but because often, when I put things I'm excited about into print, it seems to jinx them. And I would really, really like to NOT jinx this burgeoning relationship with The Optimist. If you hadn't known, you wouldn't be able to tell that we met just four days ago. While we're counting this weekend as our first actual meeting, it seems like we've known each other much longer. I'm hesitant to speak too much for him, but I know, for my part, I am shockingly comfortable around him.
He is warm and inviting and completely disarming. The optimism is contagious, affecting even my jaded moods. He's clearly brilliant - and a good deal more intelligent than I am - but I've never once felt talked-down-to. That intelligence is well rounded and applied and reflected in his speech and diction, but he isn't so proper that profanities don't escape occasionally (yes, sometimes at really opportunely sexy moments).
And speaking of sexy... His kisses are just... there are no words. Me. I have no words for how fantastic they are. They really should be a controlled substance, because I'm pretty sure I'm already addicted. And he'll bring his hand to my jaw and pull me to him and and and *swoon.* With some guidance from The Scientist, but also largely on his own, he's already figured out where my buttons are, and he takes non-verbal direction better than possibly anyone I've ever met. My skin, my entire body, is electrified when I am near him. It's like there's some current running through me, recharged every time his lips touch mine or his hands touch my skin or or or. And he says these beautiful things to me, and I love watching his eyes change color, or when he looks at me and smiles, a little sleepy, and pulls me tighter.
But it's more than that. And that's what really has me fascinated and simultaneously terrified. Because while, yes, I want him, I want to be around him. I want to talk to him. I want to hear about his life, I want to hear his thoughts on things, I want to hear him sing along to the car radio... I just want to know more about him. He listens to me when I talk, and asks questions that prove he's listening. And I find it so natural to return the favor, because he's just fascinating. It isn't that I don't find my other partners interesting, but at present, I've known them all for years, so the relationship is already established. I already know that I'm interested in them, and I know how to listen to them because we've spent so much time together. The Optimist and I have spent perhaps 24 hours with each other (total), and I feel like he has already reached that same level that I have with other partners I've known for years.
And that is scary. Establishing that kind of connection usually takes me much longer than it has with The Optimist. And I've talked to him about most of this, and he has taken it all in stride. Listened to my fears, validated them, and then, if need be, talked about them. I don't feel quite as much like a crazy person around him. I feel like maybe my feelings are reciprocated. Mostly because he tells me they are. Oh so eloquently.
So, yeah, basically, I'm in trouble. And can't wait to get into some more.
So, first off, I apologize for the absence of late. My computer is completely dead, and I'm graduating in a matter of days, so I'm relatively incomunicado. But there's nothing wrong - I'm just busy and frustrated with my computer situation. And it's hard to write smut in the communal computer labs on campus. Which doesn't stop me all together, but still... yknow, it complicates things.
There are things to write about, including the Viking pulling a kind of dick move a few nights ago. (This is what happens when I admit to myself I like someone... I find a way to screw it up. And end up walking home alone in the rain at 4am. Sigh.)
Anyway, in my effort to, I don't know, put off studying for my law exam - my last college exam EVER - I found myself watching Grease last night. Like the Pilot jokingly tells me "You know you're queer when..." you do silly things like LOVE cheesy 70s musicals. Well, yeah. It's true. I know most people love the classics like "Summer Lovin'" and "Greased Lightnin'," but THIS has always been my favorite song. From my favorite character. I've always kind of identified with Rizzo. Is anyone really surprised? I mean, c'mon, the opening lyrics to this song are "There are worse things I could do than go with a boy, or two..." Yeah, welcome to my life.
So, for your viewing pleasure, enjoy today's musical obsession.
Rizzo's rather misunderstood for most of the film, and that's what this song is really about, and maybe why I identify with it so much. But I should mention a warm-fuzzy conversation I had with one of my best girlfriends back home the other day. We were talking on the phone, which is a little unusual for us (it's usually text or facebook), and we, of course, got to talking about our lovers. She knows nonboyfriend as well, and at some point the conversation turned to him. And I mentioned that I hope I get to see him when I get back - something I'm not sure about, because he gets jumpy around me when he's got a girlfriend. So do some other people, in regard to he and I - like I'm going to jump him, in total disregard for the exclusive relationship he's chosen to be in. Aside from the overly assertive confidence and predatory credit this belief gives me, it's rather ridiculous. And my friend said that - she even phrased it like it was something she's said to other people about me. "What people don't seem to get about you, Sasha, is that you would NEVER do that. It's like, Sasha wouldn't screw around with his relationship. She's too honest for that." Or something like that. And it was just this really lovely moment, and made me feel so wonderful that someone understands it. Understands where I'm coming from with all this, and that just because I'm not monogamous doesn't mean I'm automatically a man-eating, insatiable whore. And then, of course, it was nice to know that my effort to be honest and open in my relationships hasn't gone unnoticed. Because I really have been making an effort, and I think I've been doing a decent job, even if sometimes it means I'm alone more often than I'd like to be.
Sigh.
Anyway, she reads this blog, and I just thought I'd write a post about it and let her know how much I appreciated what she said. I miss you, sweetie! And will see you soon!
Given the blowout with Edward, this is something I've been thinking about lately.
I haven't actually had much cause to end any of my non-monogamous relationships. I mean, things with nonboyfriend were always knowingly short-lived, but primarily ended because we were both leaving town. As for my other partners, well, even though I've left town (admittedly with the intention of coming back), they're still my partners, for all intents and purposes. As much as one can be without being in the same state. (Something on which my views could fill an entire other entry.) The lack of breakups are also made easier by the fact that I move across the country (and sometimes across the world) every four months. It makes for an easy break with few complications.
But in about six weeks, I'm graduating college. And moving back. For good. No more packing up my life every four months, no more transient lifestyle. And consequently, no more transient relationships. It's a thought that's made me a little nervous, especially regarding a few people, like Friend, with whom my relationship has always been necessarily secretive and aided by the fact that we COULDN'T spend much time together. There's a nagging fear in the back of my mind that he won't like me or want me when he can see me any time. Then again, many of those fears were calmed with the vacation he and I took to see the Pilot, where we spent more time together than we have in the 15 years we've known each other, and managed not only to come out unscathed, but, as far as I can tell, still quite fond of one another. These are good things. And make me think that maybe such relationships will survive me being in the same place for a somewhat extended period of time. I can't decide if I think it's strange that my being in the same place would harm my relationships or not.
But then, there are of course drawbacks to going home. Some loose ends, as it were. Some I'm not particularly worried about as I'm sure they'll tie themselves up as they see fit (nonboyfriend being the only one left there, since both Edward and P have removed themselves). But there are some others that I think will likely result in me needing to end the relationship. And I'm not very good at that.
For one, I don't have a ton of practice in relationships where breaking up has even been an option (you don't exactly break-up with a fuckbuddy, a one-night-stand or a no-strings-attached FwB). And in those relationships where breaking up has happened, I'm usually the one being left. Notably, it's historically been for something I've done wrong, but nevertheless, I'm not the one having to administer "the talk." So I don't have much practice in breaking things off with people in the first place. Save for those, like Edward, who make it easy for me to just never speak to them again.
But I do have at least one relationship - although I thought I'd tied it up - that it looks like I'll have to re-affirm my breaking off of the thing. But here's the thing. To me it seems like it might be a little more complicated to do so while still sparing feelings, given my open non-monogamy views. I don't dislike this person, he's a fine guy, we just aren't an exceptionally good match. I get the impression he really likes me, which, in the first place, makes me nervous, but I also get the impression that he isn't as comfortable with my non-monogamy and sexuality as much as he finds it a novelty. He's told me that he'd harbored a crush for me for a few years and the chance to be with me was kind of the fulfillment of a fantasy... Again, something nice to say, but it raises red flags in my I-don't-want-anyone-too-close radar.
Now, I thought I had made it clear to him that we were over when I left home this past time. We went on a goodbye date and everything (his idea). He's dated someone else in the meantime (to the facebook-official level... something he wanted me to do but that I was uncomfortable with), and has since broken up with her. I don't have details on that. But he's recently started calling me again, and today he sent me a facebook message, simply saying "Just because you are incredibly gorgeous doesn't mean you get to be on my mind all the time! ;-)"
Again, nice sentiment. But concerns me. Actually, makes me a little uncomfortable. I didn't respond to it. And I'm not sure how to make it clear to him that I'm not interested in being with him again. While still sparing his feelings. Like I said, he's a fine person, I just don't want to be in a relationship with him.
But he knows I'm non-monogamous, so the "I've met someone else" or "I'm not looking for a relationship" feels disgenuine. He knows I'm in other relationships and is ostensibly OK with that, so it seems to remove some of my reason for breaking things off with him. We only had sex once while we were together before - partially because he's somewhat proper (well, until he's topping me, ha) and partially because I didn't try as hard as I could have to work around my schedule to make time for us to be alone in my apartment/bed. The sex itself was fine. I enjoyed it. But it wasn't anything particularly special. And I certainly have better sex with my other partners on a regular basis. And, quite frankly, the kind of sex I had with him (and that we talked about having) was similar to the kind of sex Jacob and I have. But it's way hotter with Jacob. Jacob is more in-tune and receptive to me and knows my body better. He does a much better job of fulfilling those desires.
But it seems a little cruel to tell him I'm dumping him because he's not "good enough" in bed. Yeah, yeah, sex is important to me, but so are people's feelings. Believe it or not.
And then there's the fact that I would, actually, like to continue seeing him as a friend. I do mean a friend without benefits, because the benefits seem to complicate things between us... but friends, nonetheless. This is probably a minor point, because, were I to actually get this far in explaining things to him and he said he didn't think we could be friends, I would live with that. It would certainly be sad to lose a friend, but frankly, I wouldn't be crushed.
But I don't know how to approach him with all this. My honesty-is-the-best-policy seems a little heartless here, since the honest truth isn't that I don't like him, just that I don't like him ENOUGH to keep him as a partner. So. What the hell do I do?
And then as I'm writing this it's sounding like I don't think I have the option to be discerning when choosing who my partners are. Hmm. Maybe Edward got to me more than I thought he did.
I was updating my "featuring" section over the past few days, and I realized that I still have P listed there. And as I tried to edit his description appropriately, I fell short. Because the truth is, I don't know what to say about him anymore. He has, in a subtle yet simultaneously forcible manner, removed himself completely from my life. I haven't spoken to him since he left Colorado at the beginning of the year. I see him online sometimes, and I don't even have to keep my hand from clicking on his name to send a message. (Which might not seem like a big deal, but you should see me try to do the same when I notice Edward or nonboyfriend's name pop up on the screen.) I don't have the slightest idea what's going on with his life. My last memory of him is him looking at me, eyes pleading, begging me not to ask him the questions I so desperately wanted to while we were at a mutual friend's house. He promised me he'd explain some other day. I told him I could wait.
And then I forgot to ask him. I couldn't remember the details about what, exactly, I'd needed to say to him, through my drunken haze.
And it breaks my heart to think that this might really have been the last chance I got to speak to him. And I blew it. I was too damn drunk to function properly, and then too embarrassed to admit as much when he asked me about the conversation a few days later. Our single conversation since was contrived and painfully limited in scope. So reading over his description in my blog, one I wrote over a year ago, physically hurts. I see myself writing words like "soulmate" and "unconditional love" and I realize it's entirely possible that I've lost all that. And what's maybe most interesting and at the same time most painful, is that I'm not mourning the loss of a lover. I'm mourning the loss of a friend. Because he isn't my friend anymore. He hasn't been my lover for some time, and that was something I could deal with. Especially because things never really, fundamentally, changed between us - there were only the logistics of whether or not we were sleeping together that month. He still knew me better than anyone, and I, him. He still understood me without words and knew exactly what I wanted and needed from him. He was never afraid to talk to me, to yell at me, to try to smack some sense into me (metaphysically... he'd never lay a hand on me in any way I didn't want him to). And that is gone.
Because he is moving a world away. And doesn't think long-distance relationships, of any kind, can work. Never mind that before he decided to make this move, he came to me, nearly in tears, saying he couldn't decide between being with me and living out this dream he's had forever that would take him across the globe. Of course, without hesitation, I told him to go for his dream. How could I have done anything else? But sometimes I think he interpreted that as me giving up on him. At the same time, that doesn't make sense, because he knows me better than that. Or at least he used to. Maybe now he doesn't care to.
The last few times I've spoken with him, I've gotten the distinct impression that he's ashamed of me. I have done a lot of shame-worthy things in my life. Very few, if any, of them have been in the past year that he's been treating me like he doesn't want to know me. I remember the last time we hung out before I left for Spain. It was me, nonboyfriend, gayboyfriend, P, G, and Roomie. We went dancing. Myself, nonboyfriend, gayboyfriend and roomie were all sufficiently sauced. We were, admittedly, not at our best. And there were some silly stupid decisions made, but nothing tragic. Everyone went home together and everything was fine. Nevertheless, in the morning, P lectured me about my relationship with nonboyfriend, getting all protective-older-brother-esque on me. I don't think I reacted particularly harshly.
But since then (although he knows I'm not with nonboyfriend any longer), P has seemed distant. And ashamed of me. Acting like he's gracing me, humoring me, with his presence. Like he's just barely tolerating me. I just don't know what I could have done to fall so far away from him. And with all he's forgiven me for, how could this really be the final straw? Or did I really just fall away and get forgotten? I'm not sure which is worse.
And this song has always made me think of P. He would know why.
All right. Three times in the past four weeks makes it a pattern, I think.
First, there was a call from nonboyfriend that was unexpectedly friendly and even fond. He sounded almost sad when I spoke about how happy I am these days. (Of course, I didn't mention that I was also exceedingly happy when I was with him, and my contented state now still probably doesn't compare. Best not to let on too much. Because while that all is true, I'm not pining for him.)
Then there was Edward, who forced his way back in my life with a series of emails and then phone calls, usually lasting multiple hours. The sentiments were as I expected - he misses me, he loves me, so on and so forth. He made some effort to guilt-trip me that I make no apologies about having been with other people since I was last with him more than a year ago. He wants me to believe that he hasn't had sex with anyone in that entire time. Now, I generally take whatever he tells me with a grain of salt, but this is just an outright lie. One of the reasons he and I are physically compatible is a comparably insatiable sexual appetite. Just like I couldn't abstain for a year without some damn good reason to do so, neither could he. And considering before this month, we hadn't spoken since last year, there's no chance he has, either. I stubbornly refused to be guilt-tripped, pointing out that he never even discussed anything remotely resembling a relationship, let alone monogamy with me. Granted, had he done so, I more than likely wouldn't have agreed, but that's beside the point.
And just this week, a boy I was dating over break (one of the three, and the only one things definitively ended with when I left. There was a goodbye date and all) sent me a facebook message telling me he can't wait to see me again. And that he misses me. And when will I be home?
I'd noticed with this third guy that about a week earlier, his facebook relationship status had changed from "in a relationship with..." to "single." And then, like clockwork, came a message to me.
Nonboyfriend told me as much when he called me. At least there, I appreciated the honesty.
And Edward, in our last phone call, told me that a girl he'd liked as "more than just a friend" had just revealed to him that she has a boyfriend.
So, what do we have here? Three recent (but past) lovers. All suddenly single or momentarily unhappy in their relationships. And who do they call? Me.
At first, I was actually flattered. Remembering back to when I was in exclusive relationships, whenever things were going sour, the first thing I'd always think of was the last person I was happy with. So in one sense, I'm flattered to be that happy memory. I took it as a testament to the fact that my honesty and genuine attempt to be easy-going has gone over well and left much better impressions than previous monogamous relationships where I tried to be whatever my partner wanted me to be.
But somewhere around the third consecutive time this happened, I started just feeling like I'm everyone's backup. Like I'm the reinforcements. The B-team you bring in when those you really want are unwilling or unable to play. And that's much harder to take as flattering.
I'm probably making too much of this, but nevertheless, I do think it counts as a pattern. And essentially, it comes off that I'm not quite good enough to be anyone's first choice. Which sucks, no matter how enthusiastic a second choice I might be. Perhaps some of this is residual issues with nonmonogamy and having trouble moving so much that I never settle down enough to establish a "primary" relationship with any partner(s). I'm always the secret, the second-hand option. Most of the time, I'm happy to be that. And to be fair, this street goes both ways. These people aren't my primaries, either. (Perhaps with the exception of nonboyfriend, who I didn't see anyone else when I was with, not because I wasn't allowed to but because I genuinely didn't want or need to.)
Still, sometimes you just want some love. And to not be a secret. Maybe that's why the cuddling with the Viking was so surprising to me. I haven't had that in some time, either because I couldn't open up enough to be comfortable with it (Jacob is always willing to cuddle, to his credit, but I have intimacy issues with him) or because people would be silly and do things like never spend the night or insist they couldn't sleep and be touching at the same time. (Again, to nonboyfriend's credit, despite his restless sleep habits, he'd make a concerted effort to keep an arm around me. But I haven't been in bed with him in almost a year, also.)
I suppose I haven't really made any shocking revelations here. I just keep saying over and over that, well, it sucks. Because it does. I don't want to always be a backup. I think I might deserve better. Someday, I hope.
I've written before about owning my reputation. I really do - I don't make apologies for how I live my life, with the exception being, of course, if I've hurt someone along the way. I have, admittedly, hurt people, and for that I am sorry. But those experiences have allowed me to learn what I need to do to avoid hurting people, at least in that fashion, in the future.
So I will say this: I am a slut.
I know this. I own this. I don't have a problem with this. I am safe, I act with everyone involved's knowledge and consent, and I truly believe that my behavior doesn't take away from the inherent quality of any given relationship I might be in. I don't mind people calling me such names, and while it isn't always with the positive affirming tone I might apply myself, it is for precisesly that reason that I have reclaimed such a title.
But while I don't mind people calling me such, it still stings a little when people imply that I can't control myself. I've written about this one other time, and the basic problem was that it portrays me as predatory. And not in a good, I-go-after-what-I-want kind of way... but instead in a I-destroy-everything-in-my-path sort of way. I don't like thinking of myself like that, I think because it isn't particularly true.
I'm back home. Around old friends, and new ones... re-defining relationships as always seems to be the pattern when I come home. That's all fine and good. And in fact, I've been largely surprised at how willing people have been to move forward with relationships, and finally let old shit be bygone. It's a good thing. But it makes it that much worse when I don't receive the benefit of the doubt that maybe I've grown up, too.
And to the specifics. In being back home, it means I'm back in the same area as nonboyfriend. As you might recall, things with him ended amicably, but not uncertainly. Neither of us had any delusions of staying together (even in our non-relationship relationship) or allegiance to the other or needing to wait for each other or anything of the sort. I did assume, as I understood did he, that when we were both back in town we'd go back to being friends like we've always been. I haven't seen him yet, which is fine. But I have seen several of our mutual friends. Which has also, by and large, been a good thing. And every one of these friends has made sure to point out to me that he's seeing someone now. OK. Harmless enough.
Except that after the fourth or fifth time of hearing it, it gets harder to ignore the tone that makes it sound less like "did you hear he has a girlfriend?" and more like "you know he has a girlfriend now, so you'd better back off. You really shouldn't go in and mess this up for him." As though that were the ONLY possible outcome of my seeing him. Not only can I apparently not control myself around him, but I apparently also have zero respect for the boundaries of his relationship.
I admit, I don't have the greatest track record with other people - although it should be noted that neither nonboyfriend nor I have ever done anything that could remotely be considered cheating or even being in the wrong. But this doesn't matter, I suppose.
And so in my frustration, I was explicit in telling him, when I asked him "if we could hang out," that I actually meant "go grab a drink and catch up" and not, yknow, "I'm going to jump you." Which he only responded to AFTER I made that clarification.
I guess I'm not really angry. I'm not really anything. I guess it's warranted. But it does make it difficult to maintain this sex-positive, healthy self-image when the people you care about think things like this about you. le sigh.
I've just realized recently that right now, I'm not in love with anyone. Maybe that sounds like a strange thing to say, but being neurotic and overly analytical and what not often leads to me thinking I have stronger feelings than I do. Or maybe, it's just that those feelings don't always last. I don't think that necessarily invalidates those feelings, because I certainly believe them when I'm in the midst of whatever obsession it is at the moment, but I suppose it isn't quite the same in hindsight. Which, I know, is always 20/20.
But I was thinking about it today... I miss a lot of people. I miss my friends back home, I miss my family... I know this has been an overarching theme since I've been in Spain, but I'm cutting myself a little slack given the shit that's happened while I've been away. Not that any of it would have been prevented, or even easier, had I been home, but I do believe I wouldn't have felt quite so isolated. And I likely wouldn't be so paranoid about trusting anyone.
But while I miss those people, and I do indeed love many of them (some romantically, some platonically, familially, so on and so forth), I'm not in love with any of them. There aren't even, at the moment, any particular feelings of longing for closure, or missed opportunities. Certainly, things would be different were I home, but that's the whole reason one leaves home, is to change things, right? It's a strange sensation, though... realizing I'm not in love with anyone.
In some ways, it's kind of freeing. Even after he left me, I spent a long time being in love with Ex. He was, after all, my first love. And I do think that's something you never get out of unscathed. But the fact that I'm no longer feeling that longing for him, regretting where things went wrong, wishing I could just have another chance... that's very freeing.
In some ways, it's a little bittersweet. Being in love can be a lot of fun. It's nice to know someone (or someones) feels that way about you, to feel it back. *Insert here more romantic sentiments that sometimes make me uncomfortable and so I tend to avoid them of late.*
While I don't know that I'd call it being in love, I often have loose ends that I haven't tied up. I'm terrible at ending relationships, and combining that with my belief in FwB, it can sometimes lead to uncertainty, or confusion, in my love life. But I'm not even feeling that right now. Don't get me wrong, I've already got plans to get some much-needed-lovin' when I get back home, but besides the desire for company and physical contact (which are not always joined), I'm not feeling like I'm LACKING anyone. I don't NEED to see someone to try to sort out how I feel about them, or to set things straight or right or anything of the sort. Even with the one person who I'm basically ALWAYS doing that with (we can never seem to have the same feelings for one another at the same time, thus I'm pining for them or they're pining for me), it isn't much happening right now. It's like we've reached a stalemate.
But thinking about how I left things back home, maybe this makes sense. Back at school, the woman I was casually dating and I stopped doing so simply because I was leaving. We weren't quite dating, although we did tend to go to dinner/for drinks, and she spent more than a few nights in my bed. I should write about that sometime... I don't know that I really ever have. I'm not even really sure people in my life know about it. But there were no brutally severed ties there. No hard feelings, and we've been in contact on occasion since. I'm sure I'll see her again when I get back to school next year.
Then over the summer, I basically dated two people. One at the beginning of the summer for a few weeks. Pleasant, but he wanted something serious and committed, and I told him that I wasn't looking for that, and he decided to leave. I told him that was fine, and we had the "We'll-still-be-friends" (although we were never more than acquaintances to begin with) conversation. He recently got in touch with me again, asking when I'd be home and if I'd meet him for a drink. I'm considering it. Shortly after that ended, things began with nonboyfriend. I've written a little about that, and won't go into much more detail at his request. But things were good, and he made me feel fantastic about myself - physically, sexually, intellectually. I like to think that we were good for one another, for the most part. Some people might differ (in fact, I know they do, but that has little to do with anything that ever actually happened between nonboyfriend and I), but I was happy and as far as I could tell and he told me, he was too. Again, ending things was made easier since neither of us were planning on pursuing anything particularly long-distance or long-term. Perhaps things would have been different had we both stayed home, but we weren't. So that was the end of that.
I had a little bit of a hard time letting go of him for the first few weeks here. Sometimes he still crosses my mind. I'm looking forward to seeing him again when I get home. But I, honest to god, have no expectations. It's kind of nice, actually. I'm not nervous about seeing him again. We were friends before, I'm sure we still will be. We very much agreed on that part, which was nice.
There's Friend, who I still talk to regularly, and who I am excited to see, but again, have no expectations. Aside from the conversation and company, which I am sorely missing, I'm not hurting there.
And as for Crush, well, he's a fun distraction. I like seeing that his eyes light up when he looks at me, that he finds silly reasons to talk to me, and always lingers a little longer than he needs to at the end of our conversations like he's trying to say something else. If nothing else, because I do the same thing. But in love? I'm not. In like? Sure. With a little lust tossed in, for good measure.
I just think it's interesting, and surprisingly validating for me that the ties pulling me back home are relationship-based. It helps me realize that I really do just WANT to be there. For me, and for the people around me, sure, but more than anything, it's where I feel like I should be. And that's nice to know.
Preface: Last night I had a dream about my ex. (With a little e. You'll see why shortly.) Those of you who know me personally know which one I'm talking about. The dream, which would have, had it involved anyone else, been a pleasant memory, was genuinely disconcerting. It wasn't a nightmare - in fact, in this dream, he was being sweet. I woke up with fond memories of him. Which is a problem. A SERIOUS problem. I tried to deal with this all morning, but while I was sitting at my BS office job (ah the joys of work study), it was all I could think about. And I needed to study for my midterms tomorrow, but I could not, for the life of me, process what was going through my head. So I wrote a letter. I won't be sending it to him, but here's what it said. (Be prepared... it's long. There are a lot of things I wish I'd said to him.)
Maybe you can tell me why the hell I'm thinking about you right now. You should be the furthest fucking thing from my mind. What's worse is that I'm thinking of you fondly. That's not OK with me. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't mind. But I shouldn't have fond memories of you. Not because there never were any good times, but rather because it's important that I not remember them. Because if I remember that, for a time at least, I really believed you loved me, if I remember how good we were together, sexually at least, if I remember how every once in a while, you'd do incredibly romantic or loving things, then I might not hate you any more. And if I don't hate you anymore, I might want to to talk to you again. Just for closure, I'll tell myself. And then I'll do something stupid like call you when I'm home and ask you to meet me for coffee. Which would be probably the stupidest thing I could possibly do.
I don't make a habit of hating my exes. Even those I don't speak with anymore, well, I don't hate them. I know it's healthier for both of us if we don't speak, so that's how we operate. But you. I have to hate you. It's important. Because if I don't, I risk bringing you back into my life when I've spent so much time and effort making sure you're removed from the same. So I can't think about any of those good things that happened while we were together. I just can't.
Instead, I need to think about how shitty you treated me. I need to remember that for every night you'd do something romantic, there were five where you would get drunk and scream at me. For every time we'd have great sex, there would be three where we could only have the kind of sex YOU wanted. You refused to indulge me, even a little, no matter how much I indulged you. And, for the record, yes, the anal sex fucking hurt. Didn't you notice I was only "willing" when I was drunk? No, of course you didn't. And also, for the record, I know now that it doesn't have to hurt. In fact, it can be a hell of a lot of fun. And I owe someone else for showing me that. And you're the reason he laughed when I asked, flabergasted, "you mean it isn't supposed to hurt?!"
I never felt sexy standing next to you, or laying with you. Not because I wasn't sexy, but because you told me I wasn't. You never let me forget that you were better-looking than I was. You told me every fucking week. You'd tell me how lucky I was that you would (condescend) to be with someone who looked like me. You didn't like me wearing high heels because it made me taller than you, and that made you insecure. It was bad enough I was heavier than you, you'd say. I didn't need to be taller than you, too. "I know I'm more attractive than you are," you'd say, implying that you were some kind of saint for being with me anyway. And then, the next person I was with? Well, he was better-looking than you are. Fucking gorgeous, actually (a generally accepted fact among those who've met him). And in actuality, he isn't much taller than you. But here's the catch: he made me feel, as cliche as it sounds, like the most beautiful woman in the world. He'd find things to compliment about me. Little things, like how I kissed him or how I sang or how I looked waking up next to him. And he made me feel sexy because he was sexy. And he'd tell me I was. And, the real kicker? He and I were better together than I could have ever dreamed you and I would be. It was, without question, the best sex I've had. For any variety of reasons.
And where you would get drunk (off the booze you'd buy with my money while living in my house where I paid rent,) and insult me and throw things at me and hold me down when you didn't want me running away from you; he would invite me over, share a drink or two, and talk with me about literature and art and music. And then he'd take my face in his hands and kiss me softly, then gently lead me to the bedroom.
I want to tell you all this because I want you to know. I want you to know that I realize how awful you were to and for me, and I want you to know that you didn't break me. You made me feel so fucking worthless. And I realize now it was all a strategy to keep me down so I'd be too scared and too weak to leave you. And when you were worried that I might be getting ideas in my head to leave, you'd invent a problem. You'd violate my privacy, and read my personal (paper) journal, then wake me up to fight with me about it. And when I didn't shrink then, because I wouldn't apologize for writing something down instead of saying it to you and because I refused to censor myself simply for fear you'd find out, you reacted like a petulant child. With a drinking problem. You channeled Stanley Kowalski and showed up at my work, drunk off godknowshowmuch whiskey at 5pm, screaming at me and banging on the glass. In addition to being angry at you, you fucking embarassed me. Not that that was something new for you. You know precisely why I wouldn't bring you around my friends and your fucking jealousy was literally tangible. Tangible in the bruises you'd leave only in places you knew no one would look.
So I don't owe you a goddamn thing. This letter will serve as all the closure I could possibly need. I don't need to go to coffee with you. I don't need to see you again. Because you don't deserve that. You don't deserve to have me in your life. You gave up that right the moment you laid a hand on me. The moment you spoke to me like that. The moment you used me. I'm sorry for myself that it took me so long to get you out of my life, but now that you are, that's exactly where you will stay.
Well, folks, it's that time. I'm off to Europe for the rest of the year. It's been a fantastic summer. Really, one of the best I can remember. And I have a lot of people to thank for that. I kind of wish I could disclose names here, but I'm pretty confident they know who they are. Basically, if we've hung out this summer, you were part of that experience and I'm utterly grateful for it.
Before I go, a couple other things I've learned this summer, and a little bit of a rant , because the person it's about will get a kick out of it. :)
Things I've learned this summer:
- Age doesn't matter. I used to subscribe to the belief that age was a make-or-break factor in a relationship, and had pretty hard limits on what age was OK to associate with, date, etc. I started abandoning that when I became really close with a couple in college, not realizing there was almost 20 years between them. (I knew there was an age difference, but not that much.) I loved hanging out with both of them, they were and still are loyal friends and I never once felt out of place or uncomfortable with them, despite our (or their) age difference. And this summer, my group of friends has expanded, age-wise, to include several people who are a good deal older than me. And I love that experience. I love the different perspective they can give me and I can give them, and, again, I've been lucky to find people who are intelligent, supportive, and a blast to be around. So I'm rescinding my previous limits on age-appropriateness. While I'd still say there are some limits, I'm aware now that age really has very little to do with whether or not you connect with someone.
- Meeting new people isn't as scary as I thought it was. As I've mentioned before, I've lost several friends (in the sense that we're no longer in each other's lives) this summer, but I've gained several new ones. I've been notoriously afraid of meeting new people, and this summer, between working at the paper, Thunder, living in a new neighborhood and being old enough to go out to bars and clubs, I think I've done one hell of a job meeting new people. I still keep in touch with several of them. And that gives me hope for meeting new people on this adventure I'm about to embark on.
- I really like BDSM. It's not the only thing I like, but I had various opportunities to explore it a little more fully this summer, and overall, I really enjoyed it. Playing, watching, learning. All good things. And I have a better idea about some of my limits.. and how malleable some of them are. :)
There are more things, but as I'm looking around my room right now, I'm realizing that I leave in 12 hours and there is a lot of crap to clean up... so we'll jump to the story.
There are times when I really love friends with benefits relationships. It takes a certain kind of friendship and certain kind of people to be able to make it work, but when it does work, it works really well. After a crazy night out with the non-boyfriend, Roomie, P, G, and Gayboyfriend, I spent Friday recouperating. And being a little sad, as the reality of the summer ending was beginning to hit me. After blowing off packing all day, I was still feeling pretty shitty and, to borrow a term, had a bad case of skin hunger. I ended up texting a long-time friend who I hadn't had a chance to say goodbye to yet. After the opening ceremonies, he came over. I sometimes forget how much fun we have together. We ended up hanging out in my bedroom, talking about everything under the sun. My house is sans AC, and I was really hot, so I ended up stripping down to a bra and short shorts. And then dropped a not-so-subtle hint that cuddling would be a really awesome idea. (Yeah, I was super-smooth. Along the lines of "I need to make more friends who like to cuddle." *cue boy lying down next to me with his arm around my waist. Excellent*)
We watched entirely too many episodes of Weeds, chatting in between, and flirting like we tend to do. I showed him my new cuffs from Thunder, he wore them for a while, which made it really difficult for him to sneak up on me and tickle me, since he jingled. There was much cuddling. And he's a really good cuddler. Which I know sounds strange, but there are people who just... aren't very good at it. Also, we fit nicely together, since he's got a solid five or six inches on me, so it contributes to the whole i'm-little-and-feminine feeling that I so enjoy when cuddling. I think there were small periods of time where both of us fell asleep (he didn't get to my house until midnight), and eventually, when I tried to get up to put the next episode on, he kept his arms locked around me.
Now, generally, I'm pretty good at cuddling with platonic friends. Granted, this friend isn't entirely platonic. He's that kind of excellent friend with benefits whose company I really enjoy, whether we're hooking up or not. And we'd hooked up earlier in the summer, but hadn't slept together since I started seeing non-boyfriend, for a variety of reasons. But with the cuddling, and the fabulous conversation (intelligent and silly and serious and lighthearted all at once) I kind of couldn't help wanting it to go farther. And he has an uncanny ability to figure out exactly what I want. It's a little eerie, although my guess is it has something to do with the fact that we've known each other for over a decade. Anyways, he kept asking me what was on my mind, and in a totally high-school move, I played the "nuuuuuuthing" card. And then he started kissing me. Which was exactly what I wanted.
And things progressed (I was mostly naked already) in the way they tend to with he and I, and shortly there were no clothes left on our bodies. Talk about satisfying skin hunger. And here's the thing I remember most vividly from the encounter (which is going to make me sound rather girly): the way he held my hand. He'd be on top of me, and go to hold my hands above my head (again, he knows the kind of thing I like), but instead of just holding my wrists down, he'd intertwine his fingers in mine, which allowed me to squeeze back on his hand. And made me feel really connected to him. I know that's a little thing, the way his hands were, but it was particularly interesting, because it was something I'd actually been thinking about earlier that day. About how I wanted to get laid, but have it be more sensual than the frenzied need or getting dommed. And this friend knows where my buttons are, and exactly how to push them. And he absolutely did. Which was exactly what I wanted.
I also tend to remember specific things he says when we're having sex. I remember the first time we hooked up (well, ok, the "first" part is debateable) after a fabulous date involving dinner and a movie and a trip to Kmart to try to find Nerf guns (unsuccessfully) and late-night stargazing in the snow and an effort to get pie until we realized the Village Inn closed in 10 minutes, he said something to me (about my rack, heh)... and something about the way it was worded or the way he said it, I don't know... was really hot. And I can still remember exactly how it sounded and what he said. The same kind of thing happened this time... I was on top, and sat up straight, still rocking my hips. He looked up at me and just said "god, that's a gorgeous sight." I'm pretty sure I blushed. I always do when compliments actually take. It made me feel ridiculously attractive, and sexy, and wanted. It was fantastic.
Really, the whole night was a blast. I kind of consider that my first Last Night in the City. (I went out with friends the next night, and had a great time, although the tone was a little bittersweet.) But had I left the next day, I still would have been totally satisfied with how I'd spent my last few hours here by hanging out with him. He somehow figured out exactly what I needed, and that's what I got. I wish that was the case with more of my life. Heh. Anyways, friend, I'll miss you. See you when I get back.
And that's all, folks. I'll be out for at least two weeks as I travel Spain. I'm sure I'll have periodic internet access a la internet cafes and hotel lobbies, but I don't know if it will be enough time to post. But I'll be sure to keep everyone updated on the inevitable escapades. Speaking of, last night, a girlfriend asked me if I wanted to bet how long it'll take before I get laid in Spain. Any guesses, readers? :)
I figure I'll start out with the biggest one. Mostly because that's what's on my mind right now. As far as relationships go, I'm worth more than I've historically settled for. I've come to this conclusion with the help of a number of people.
One is the guy I've been seeing (sort of) all summer. Who asked that I not write about him, but this is relevant, and nothing bad. I've had a great time hanging out with him in a variety of capacities. When I'm with him, I feel confident and smart and relaxed and even sexy. Those are almost all new sensations for me. He's smart and charming and talented and fucking adorable. But he can be a little flakey - which I can deal with. We've been very clear about the terms of our friendship/relationship (which I use here as a synonym for friendship), and I've been happy to accept them. I like to think I make him happy when I'm with him, too. So he's helped me realize I deserve to feel like that. I deserve to feel wanted and intelligent and sexy and worthwhile. I deserve to be with someone who makes me feel like that all the time and who, at the same time, understands that I need my space sometimes. I don't want a life partner right now. I still don't know how I'd do with an exclusive relationship (although I've done well with this non-exclusive one, oddly enough), but I deserve to be with someone who I don't have to compromise for. And I deserve to be more than their friend. I deserve to be taken out, to go dancing, to dinner, or invited over to cuddle and watch movies. That's the part that's missing right now. But I thank him for helping me realize that.
One is my friends this summer. Many of them aren't around anymore. I've lost more than a few long-time friends this summer, largely through my own doing. But the ones that stuck around have been beyond amazing. Supportive, and accepting, and fun and entertaining and encouraging and intelligent and genuine. They've helped me realize that I'm worth more, but also, that I don't have to put up with shit from people who are friends only in name. I deserve to be around awesome people who realize that I'm actually a pretty awesome person, too. Anyone who doesn't see that, well, they aren't worth my time.
My bosses and editors at the paper. They helped me realize that I deserve a job where I can do what I'm passionate about in a form I'm good at. They've encouraged me to try for bigger stories, bigger things, and better articles. I needed that encouragement. So they've shown me that I'm worth more professionally.
My readers - you all have been more encouraging than you know. I love knowing that people are reading and enjoying my writing, and your advice, sense of humor and genuine intellect has only been a positive influence. You've shown me that I'm worth more in my writing and that I'm not just writing for the faceless blogosphere.
Overall, this summer, I've learned that I don't have to settle. I can be in a healthy relationship. I can maintain friendships and even build new ones. I can have a fantastic job where I'm happy. I don't have to sell myself short and I'm worth a hell of a lot more than what I've been settling for in the past. I don't plan to settle again. Thank you to everyone who helped me realize that.
It always seems to go this way, where the last few weeks I live somewhere are the most fun. I guess that's not a coincidence - maybe it's a lack of inibitions, knowing time is limited. Whatever it is, I've had basically the best weekend I've had in a year. And it's only Friday afternoon.
Wednesday, I spent the evening with my beloved Essin Em, who, unfortunately, fractured/sprained her ankle while on a date on Tuesday. Of course, it's her right ankle, so she can't drive, so I went over there to help her out, and bring movies/dinner/run errands and what not. We talked about how much women can suck and what defines a relationship and had the same kind of fabulous deep, funny, authentic conversation I've come to expect and so enjoy when with her. We watched Sex and Breakfast, which was thoroughly disappointing, and I headed out around 11:15. While en route, a friend who lived in the neighborhood called and insisted I come over to his house. So I did. And I'm not so much at liberty to go in to details, but I had an excellent time, and heard some things I really needed to hear. I'm feeling much better about life.
On Thursday, my friend gave me a ride to the store I used to work at, where they'd asked me to pitch in. I'm beyond broke, so I agreed, and worked the regular 8 hour shift. It's by no means a hard job, and the money is decent (it better be after I've worked for them for five years), so depite a little stress and having to wear my friend's clothes to work (I didn't have a change), everything went smoothly. And P met me for lunch, and graciously paid, since I hadn't gotten the paycheck. I love how our friendship has evolved. I've known P since we were 14, and while we've always flirted with one another (and at times it's gone far beyond flirting), I'm so incredibly comfortable in his presence. I can't even verbalize how lucky I am to have not one but TWO people in my romantic(ish) life who make me feel so fabulous. (Granted, I'm not currently sleeping with P, but I will always consider him and I semi-romantically involved. It's complicated in the best way possible.)
I got home from work about 6:30 and passed out hard until almost 9. I hadn't slept much the night before and I desperately needed the powernap. My gayboyfriend and I had made tentative plans to go out to the gay bars that night, and so I recruited my favorite roommate, and P's hetero-lifemate (who is also an old and close friend of mine and has a thing for my roommate), G. My gayboyfriend, P and G all got to my house around the same time, and after a debate about who was driving/drinking/paying for those drinks, we headed out in P's car. (P doesn't drink much, ever, but the real challenge was getting him to drive which meant he'd be closing out the bars with us. We suceeded.) We went first to the somewhat catch-all gay bar, where drinks are reasonably priced and there's a mixed crowd. Thursday nights are usually the biggest night there, but it was actually a little slow. Roomie and her coworkers were at a gay dance club a few blocks, so after a few drinks at the bar, the boys and I walked over there to meet up with her. Now, this specific club is interesting. It's a huge space, with two (and a half, arguably) dance floors, separated so they're basically in different rooms, and a fabulous patio. It looks run-down from the outside, but the drinks are ridiculously cheap (and it was 2-for-1 night) and they play both house/pop and country. (On separate dancefloors, obviously.) It was more crowded than I've seen it before, and with one more drink and a shot, the boys and I all got on the dancefloor. It was somewhere near midnight.
And we didn't stop dancing until the bouncer literally hussled us out of the bar. I don't usually dance at clubs because I'm self-conscious, but I saw how the boys were letting loose, and decided I could do the same. And anyways, you should SEE me move my hips. I've gotten more than a few compliments on that. (Hell yes, belly dance.) I danced with Roomie and her friends, with P, with G, and with Gayboyfriend. I stepped away to get another drink (or something) and when I came back, P was dancing, which was fabulous enough because he was being shy, but he was dancing WITH A BOY. Who had his hands all over him. And P was loving it.
Now, usually this wouldn't be a big deal, but, well, those of you who know P... it kind of was. You could tell he loved the attention, and I loved seeing him love it. I was dancing with G/no one in particular, and all of a sudden, I was sandwiched between G and a random gay boy. It was funny because even though I knew they weren't interested in me (G is straight but there's nothing there), I felt so wanted and fabulous. Because even if they didn't WANT me, they wanted to dance with me. Which was more than enough.
The rest of the night went largely like that. After a while, P's dance partner came over and started dancing with me, which was also fun. By 1:30, I was drenched in sweat and jealous of all the boys who could take thier shirts off. So I took mine off. Which totally got me attention from a few gay men around me. It was the definition of fabulous. I have never had so much fun at a club.
And here's the real clincher (although the late-night diner food was fabulous, as well)... I was dancing so hard that I didn't want to carry my purse with me. So I set it underneath Roomie's on a stool around the table we sort of had. When they turned the houselights on to try to hurry us all out, I went over to pick it up. And there was no purse. Anywhere. Roomie had hers, but mine was gone. I started freaking out. Random boys who we'd been dancing with noticed my distress and offered to help me look for it. We couldn't find it. I went to talk to the bartender in the room we'd been dancing in, praying that someone turned it in. He hadn't seen it, but told me to check security/at the front. (The club has something like 4 or 5 bars.) I asked the cowboy-hat clad bartender, and he said he hadn't seen it, but told me to wait til people cleared out and we could look for it again. I sat at the bar, trying not to freak out too much. My friends had already been hussled out, and I saw them looking at me through the door, genuine concern on thier faces. A tall, lean man with gentle facial hair and a cowboy hat walked up to me, hands resting behind his back. I thought he might ask to take my number in case they found it. I had pretty much resolved myself that my purse was gone. Credit cards, brand-new I'm-21-now ID, checkbook, phone... everything. "Is your name Sasha?" I nodded. "What's your pin say?" The tall cowboy asked me. I thought he'd asked me for my pin number. "I'm sorry, what?" I responded. "What. Do. Your. Pins. Say?" Suddenly I understood. I call them buttons, and I'd recently put them on the strap of my purse. "OH! Oh my god!" I literally jumped up. "One says 'Musgrave,' and the other is black and says 'Let's get one thing straight - I'm not.'" The cowboy pulled my purse out from behind his back. I squealed and hugged him. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're AMAZING!"
The bear standing next to him asked to see my Musgrave pin and was relieved to see it was an anti-Musgrave button. (She's a Senator who's sponsored the Federal Amendment to ban gay marriage.) He made a joke about thinking I was in the wrong place. I laughed and hugged him too. My cowboy and the bear escorted me out, and the Roomie, as soon as I came out, pruse in hand, thanked them agian and handed them a $20.
I was just utterly amazed, because nowhere else would that have happened. In most clubs, in any city here in the states or I imagine in the world, my purse would have been history. Instead, someone picked it up, turned it in, and then held it safely and made sure I was who I said I was before they gave it back. That's just incredible to me. And one more reason why I love this community. We're here for each other. It's primarily a men's club, but I not only had the best time I've ever had, they took fabulous care of me. Where else could I find something like that?
I LOVE this city. And it's things like this that make me think this is really where I belong.
Sometimes, I am a collossal idiot. Other times, I'm an asshole. Sometimes I find myself in terrible situations. Sometimes I know better. Sometimes I drink too much. Sometimes I'm a masochist. Sometimes I make truly stupid decisions.
And sometimes, despite all that, I find myself with people who will listen to me anyway. And hold my hand and brush the hair out of my eyes and tell me they'll never believe the terrible things they hear about me.
So sometimes, I'm really happy. Sometimes, I'm one of the luckiest people in the world to have people who love me unconditionally.
"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.
So, last night was the fateful evening when Essin' Em and I finally got to hang out. We had a really great time. Of course, most of what we talked about was sex. (Shocking, I know.) After perhaps the most thorough sex-store outing I've yet had the pleasure of experiencing, we ended up at our mutual friend's house. (Yes, the boy I'm... whatever...ing.) Who, also, as we learned last night, reads Em's blog regularly, so, if and when he figures out that this is me - welcome! *waves*
Anyways, so we ended up at his house, since he was a mutual friend, and, more aptly, because he had a hot tub and I'm persuasive enough to convince him to let us come over and usurp it. After a few more phone calls (clearly, we weren't coming fast enough... *snicker*), we made our way over to his house, where we were also introduced to a friend of his who's staying with him. The friend seemed nice enough, but the boy (who needs a nickname... any suggestions? Can't use his initial cause it's too common in my life) and Em wasted no time in catching up, and I in inserting myself in their relationship dynamic. Which maybe, really, should have been more difficult.
But we had come for the hot tub, so that's where we headed after a drink (or, in my case, a mouthful and a half of Absynthe). Em and I hadn't brought swimsuits - yes, even though it had been our idea to go hot tubbing - and so we stripped to underwear and bras, and I cursed myself for not wearing cuter underwear. Before we'd sunk into the hot tub, Em pointed out that she was wearing a relatively nice bra that matched an outfit, and she didn't want to get it all chlorine-y. And I wasn't about to let my girl go solo, so I joined her in the toplessness. We didn't hear any complaints. We had several discussions about whose breasts were bigger - hers are by a little bit, but mine are...what did we decide, Em? Perkier? - and how amusing it was that tits float. Which, incidentally, makes them look kind of cool.
Within this new group dynamic we were forging, I emerged as (ready for the shocker, here?) the submissive. Which basically means I got ogled and fondled and complimented a lot and hit a few times. All consensually, of course - legit, with express verbal permission. It was a strange sensation, though, to be the object of attraction for these two people, both of whom I like and respect, and both of whom I think of as more confident than me sexually, and to have them sit across the hot tub from me and tell me I have near-perfect breasts. I think I got, for a moment, what it must feel like to be just one of those stunningly gorgeous people, who everyone in the world thinks is beautiful. I'm not throwing a pity party here in the least, but it was most definitely a new sensation for me to feel quite so sexy and wanted and valuable all at the same time. Yes, every once in a while I get the "hey, you're hot" comments from friends or random people, but this was like I was entirely under their gaze and couldn't move if I wanted to. We eventually moved downstairs to the sauna - yes, we were Zaunaing - where Em and boy sat on the upper bench while I stretched out (still naked, as all of us were) on the lower bench with my feet up next to boy. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of the hot air, and as I opened my eyes, Em and boy were both staring at me, something almost like hunger in their eyes. Em looked me up and down and once more and said something to the effect of: "I hope you don't mind, I'm totally objectifying all of you right now. Damn." And boy smiled and rubbed his hand over my leg and just said "Yeah."
Thank god the sauna was warm and had flushed my skin already, although I'm sure color still rose to my cheeks regardless. There is something about these two, specifically, that makes me feel really comfortable with my body and myself and my life when I'm around them. And yes, of course the copious amounts of compliments obviously help, but even earlier, I was the first one to get completely naked, which is SO not my style.
Because I can be as sex-positive and kinky and queer as I want but the truth remains that I have some pretty substantial body issues. There are, without question, more parts of my body that I don't like than parts I do. Just for reference, the parts I like: my nose, my eyes when they're green, my tits, my calves, and my tattoos. Everything else, I would change if I could. And I know that's a very negative image to have, but I'm working on being more realistic and accepting of my body... it just takes some time. I've struggled with eating disorders and body image for a long time now. But nights like last night certainly help. Immensely. More than I can put into words.
So thank you to Em, and thank you to boy, for helping me feel a little better about myself, and like maybe I was worth some adoration. I don't know what I'd do without you guys.
Music has always played a significant part in my life. Both my parents were singers (just in plays, choirs, that sort of thing), and I've grown up singing, although I never was able to really play an instrument. I preferred writing. But I've always appreciated it, and as I've gotten older and more technologically dependent, I now can't imagine a day without music. My iTunes library only boasts about 3500 songs, but I can assure you that I know every word to every one of those songs. Maybe that's why there's no room for other things like, oh, my times tables.
Anyways, on to the point... I've always equated sex with music. And vice-versa. I don't mean this in the I've-seen-too-much-porn-where-every-sex-act-is-accompanied-by-the-bowchikawowow kind of way, but more like I think making sex (I really don't like the term making love... it makes me uncomfortable. Let's not go into what that says about me) is a little like making music. I always prefer to have sex with music in the background. It's like our bodies, and the breathing, and the sound of skin on skin adds a whole new element to the music. And there are definitely certain songs I associate with certain people. Let's run over a list of those. (In no particular order.)
Dirty Little Secret - All-American Rejects (oddly enough, this song never made me feel bad about the brief affair that this was. It still makes me smile)
Konstantine - Something Corporate (Anyone who knows me even the tiniest knows the story behind this song. Needless to say, I don't listen to it much anymore.)
Ruthless - Something Corporate (I know I already have a song by the band on here, but I very distinctly remember listening to this when I was deciding to go to college, which, for me, was in many ways a choice on who I was going to be with. That relationship didn't work out, but this person is still completely pivotal in my life to the point that I couldn't function without them. There's a line here that says "Cause by now/I know you better than yourself/and I know what you really need/or I need/but either way/this is where we should be...") Also, anything by Lacuna Coil reminds me of this person... But that one's obvious.
Narcissus/Hands Clean - Alanis Morisette (This was a long time ago, but the words still ring so true. Ha.)
Fix You - Coldplay (and this one, the memories aren't so pleasant. I mostly remember this song being used as a guilt-trip. On an almost-daily basis.) Also, for this relationship... Poor Little Rich Boy - Regina Spektor. This one's self-explantory. Oh, and Face Down - Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. (Yeah, this was a BAD relationship. Any time I need this much music that's all this depressing to get me through the day, it's no bueno.)
Almost anything by Dispatch (which is funny, because this isn't the person who introduced me to the band, but I distinctly remember driving back from the mountains the first time we kissed and as I was falling asleep in the passenger seat, he put on Dispatch for me. We still text each other whenever we hear it.)
Of All the Gin Joints in all the World - Fall Out Boy ("You only hold me up like this/Cause you don't know who I really am." 'Nuf said.)
Mindless Self Indulgence (I've sworn off this band because the memories attached to it are too strong and it's an incredible trigger for me. This is the downside to being so in tune with music. I remember him putting this on loud enough to drown out my cries for help.)
Say Goodnight and Go - Imogen Heap (for a good friend who I was just friends with for a long time, and we never seem to have feelings for one another at the same time. It's kind of funny, actually.)
Tears and Rain - James Blunt (all of his music reminds me of my time in Seattle, but this song specifically reminds me of something that never happened while I was there. A missed opportunity, we'll call it. That might have been something good.)
How You Remind Me - Nickelback (for my first-ever boyfriend when I was 14. We used to sneak off to the library and as we'd cuddle, we'd listen to this on his laptop. I don't know where he is now.)
And this one is in chronological order...
Bowlegged and Starving - Jay Brannan (for my current situation. Again, it's something that seems like it should make me feel dirty, but everytime I hear it, I can't help but smile. The line, in particular, that says "I'm bowlegged and starving/but walking home happy/let this mark the moment/when I felt freedom ring" strikes a chord. No pun intended.)
Wow. That was an interesting trip down memory lane. And I know that makes it look like all I listen to is Emo, and that I just have generally terrible taste in music (with a few notable exceptions, thank you), but it's the lyric-heavy music I tend to connect with situations. It makes it easier to draw parallels after the experience is over and starting to fade from memory.
And all this leads into something I was actually going to write about in another post: my "number." The person I'm with now asked me about my number the other night. I didn't tell him. I jokingly asked him his, and he told me it was 6. Which I was actually surprised at - I'd expected it to be higher. I've had him up on a pedestal for so long that I assumed everyone sees him like I do and has been as eager to jump into bed with him as I was. Which, maybe they were. If that's the case, then I feel even more special. Heh. I'm going to go ahead and believe that.
BUT. the point is, my number is higher than that. Like, a lot higher. I'm not going to publish it here... partially because I'd need to go back over and update the list. But I think, now knowing his number, I'm glad he doesn't know mine. It does lead me to wonder, though, how much sex is too much sex?
Hmm. Channeling Carrie Bradshaw there. Sorry about that. It's the shoe collection calling my name from the closet. :) OK. I apologize for the absolute randomness of this post. But to wrap it up in the same fashion, and try and tie it all together... here's the first poem I've written in almost a year. So I'm a little rusty. So forgive me.
The silence isn't so oppressive when I'm with you. Usually bearing down on me Too heavy to think or feel or act It starts to lift the moment your lips touch mine. And as your arms envelop me, The silence vanishes Replaced by something unspoken And bigger than either of us. The heat between us begins to buzz. As out breathing quickens Creating a frenetic baseline. Our bodies, slick and sticky with desire Move against in unison And I am so lucidly aware of every sensation in my body I realize I can't feel the silence. Instead I listen to the the rhythm of our breath The melody of our bodies And the harmony of the lust Searing between us As we go harder faster longer We've created a symphony And the music is tangible A soundtrack to us Our lives, our passion. And as it builds to a crescendo It gets louder harder, faster, more urgent Until it reaches that moment When every instrument plays In some massive harmonious dischord Where no single note is discernible So like our bodies. And then The music slows And the silence quietly Makes its way back into the air But it's lost some of its power And the weight it had to crush me Is infinitely lighter Unable to compare to the music we make together.
(yeah, I've never been a strong writer when I'm happy. So it goes.)
I am passionate. A fierce liberal. I throw myself wholly into everything I do and hope I don't hit the ground too hard if I fall. I am forever curious and have an insatiable appetite for knowledge and learning. I hold my friends closer to my heart than anything in this world and once you're in, I would do anything for you. I pride myself on where I came from and what I am making of myself. What that is, exactly, evolves daily. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
If you've got fantastic stories to tell me, books I should read, etc etc, e-mail me at sashasappho at gmail dot com.
The stories, rants, and content herein may likely be explicit - so if you're under 18 (21 in some places) or find such things objectionable, find a different site to explore.
A constantly changing cast of the people in my life who tend to appear in this blog.
The Optimist - A friend of several friends who I was introduced to in the beginning of summer 2009, with major consequences. He pretty effectively swept me off my feet, and continues to astound me regularly. I don't get to see him as often as I would like, but that makes the time we do spend together that much more enjoyable. Stay tuned. He does read this blog.
The Scientist - One of my oldest and most consistent friends. We met in high school and kept in regular contact through college. We've gone through so incredibly much that it's at once shocking and brilliant that we are still such good friends. Sometimes we sleep together, but mostly we just care very deeply for each other. He reads this blog.
Friend - I've known him since we were children, and as of the past few years, we've developed a particularly strong friendship (yes, sometimes there are benefits included). He's a fellow intellectual and non-monogamist, and we both tend to enjoy bouncing hypothetical relationship or sexual theories off one another. He's actually one of my most consistent partners, and there's a lot of love there. He does read this blog. (Never comments, though, you ass!)
The Pilot - A mutual friend of mine and Friend's from childhood. We've recently reconnected in the past year or so, and Friend and I spent my senior year spring break with him. He's an incredible friend, another fellow intellectual, and while a little newer to the non-monogamy thing, seems eager to make it work. He doesn't seem to mind my neuroses in talking to him on a daily basis. To quote him, he's weird... but in a totally awesome way. He reads this blog.
Edward - Spent a decade in my life before he removed himself by saying terrible, abusive and destructive things to me in the spring of 2009. He still tries to call me and contact me and has resorted to stalking me to try to get "answers" he feels I deprived him of. I do not speak to him or have any contact with him.
Bear - my best male friend at college. We're polar opposites in many ways, but that's part of why we're so good together. We joked about being friends with sexual tension for three years before we finally had sex. There was surprisingly little ensuing awkwardness. He now refers to me solely as "love." I love him dearly, and I don't know what I'd do without him. He also reads this blog.
Non-boyfriend - An old friend who I casually dated for a summer after my First Love. There were some complications, but overall the relationship was wonderful. He was kind, intelligent, we got along famously, and he's still rather dear to me. Things ended because I was leaving, but the split was certainly amicable. We are still on friendly terms and see one another, socially, regularly when we're both in town. Reads this blog. (Or at least he used to.)
P - Probably my closest friend since starting high school. We've dated, fallen in love with each other, and fought, and for a good long time I firmly believed he was my soulmate. I don't believe that anymore, but I do still care about him. He doesn't know about this blog, although I've contemplated telling him many times.
Jacob - We had an ongoing, on-again, off-again romance for several years. I have recently ended things because he needed me to be something I couldn't be. But I hold no ill feelings toward him and wish him well. He reads this blog.
Roomie - She and I met one summer after we both found the same house to live in on Craigslist. She's spunky, hilarious, adorable and brilliant. I love her. We're planning on moving in to our own place together sometime in the near future. I don't think she knows about this blog.
Essin' Em - We've known each other for well over 10 years, and she has in many ways been my inspiration. In being out and proud, in affirming queerness, in sex blogging, and in being yourself. I owe her much, and the least I can do is send some more traffic her way. Go check out her blog, you won't regret it. I promise. Obviously, she knows about this blog and my queerness and my kinkyness. We've played together once, and still maintain a strong friendship. Miss you, lady!
Kirsten - my second-oldest cousin, who is brilliant and inspiring and beautiful. She was murdered in New Orleans on Sept. 27, 2008. She was 25 and had accomplished more than most people hope to in a lifetime. I am still reeling. If you'd like more information about her, send me an email at sashasappho at gmail dot com and I will link you to her memorial page.
