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Posts Tagged ‘sex’

My Big Fat Life – My Penis Says I Like You

In dating, feelings, women, Writing on March 15, 2015 at 12:11 am

There is a huge transition from dating men from having dated women. The dynamic is just completely different. I know that there are some differences because of individual personality, but over all… there is a difference.

For example, when I was dating women it was a much easier flow of conversation. I think that women just naturally seem better at carrying on a conversation that makes the other feel like we are interested in learning about the other. By that I mean we tend to ask questions that help us get to know you in a more sentimental, and personal way. We like to talk about feelings, favorite colors, and our favorite childhood memories, and we like to ask you about yours. It’s these skills that can have us get into a grocery check out line with a cart, and walk away with our bags of groceries and 5 new friends.

Men however, are a whole other ball game. In my experience so far they don’t tend to ask questions, or carry much of a mutual conversation. You would almost hear the argument “They are listening. They don’t need to ask if you are already telling them”, but I’m not. I’m pretty picky when it comes to going on a date… or not. That is obviously my problem.

I have gone on some dates to get some experience in learning how to date men all over again. I am learning to move through some of my social anxieties of meeting someone for the first time. At least that is what the goal was. I just find I have sharpened my skills at sipping coffee, and quietly listening to a make-shift counseling session. Since dating men this past year, I’ve also come to find a part of my struggle is questioning whether men even find me attractive. Just to elaborate on the attaction part, I once dated a woman who once told me that in the lesbian world she thought she was pretty hot. In the heterosexual world, she thought she was average. After I stopped laughing, I got what she was saying. I had far more confidence dating women than I did men. Not because I somehow thought I was physically fabulous on the lesbian dating circut, but because I did feel more confident with women. I felt we shared more conversation, and that made me feel more secure physically… if that makes sense. I guess I could use the insane amount of sexual advances directed towards me as a measurement, but to be honest I would rather not measure my attractivness by the reaction of my date’s penis. Attraction is so much more than just the physical.

With dating men it’s usually 45 minutes of them talking about their ex, how wonderful they (they guy) is, or some other counseling/interview session. The one thing that blows me away is the amount of guys who make sexual advances on a first date. One guy actually grabbed me by the waist, pulled me in and tried to kiss me. When I pulled away and told him that I don’t kiss on a first date, his response was “You do now”. My response was “No, I don’t”. This isn’t even the first time something like this has happened, and it floors me. Whatever happend to that nervous moment that someone reaches to hold your hand?

Is there just this huge group of men in their late 30s and 40s who are walking around with a perpetual hard on? Is there something that they can not take for this? Maybe some anti-testosterone penile introduction reaction pill that keeps it from responding within the first hour of meeting someone so we can have an mutually held verbal conversation and learn whether we find find each other mentally attractive?

Anything?

….

I especially love the courtesy of the text message after the inital meeting that asks me out for a second date. It usually says something like “It was nice to meet you. When are you avaiable to meet again?” (please keep in mind that some awkward inappropriate sexual advance has already taken place). I can’t say for certain, but I suspect if I plugged that sentence into Google translate from male to female, it would read something along the lines of “Hey, my penis says I should ask you out again. Perhaps I can spend the next date telling you all about my divorce some more, and how much I would like to have sex with you. I’d really like that. I’ll even pay for the coffee this time.”

I’m not trying to suggest that ALL men are slaves to the penis. I just don’t think I have met that one yet based on the dates I have been on.

Just. One. Nice. Guy. Who gets that sharing experiences on a first date doesn’t always invovle some sexual advance, or awkward flirtatious innuendo.

Please.

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My Big Fat Life – Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow. Shit.

In blog, blogging, emotions, failure, family, fast car, feelings, Foolish Hearts, Friend, God, grief, healing, Laughing stars, Life, Love, Pain, Portland Oregon, Questions, Rain, Relationships, The Little Prince, Writing on February 5, 2015 at 6:54 pm

I came here to write about a few updates, but I think my heart is so heavy that I am just going to vent instead. I need.. NEED to get some of what is going on inside, out.

Tomorrow I have a biopsy. I have no clue if there is something going on, and frankly I am hoping there isn’t. I am absolutely terrified.

I’ve done a lot of thinking about my life the past few days. Heaven knows I am beyond happy that I am a parent, and I love these people more than I can express to you.  They give me more joy than I can even begin to list, and it wouldn’t make a lot of sense to since I am pretty sure you wouldn’t find it as entertaining as I do.

I do feel like if something were to happen to me today though, that I would be missing out on some things I have always wanted to happen, and certainly experience. I know that at the end of it all, that I want to know love. I want to know what it is like to share a bed with someone at the end of the day, knowing they will be there. There is no question, no fear, no worry… you just know they are there, and you’re a team. Is that even possible? Have I been watching way too many movies with scripted love?

Does it exist?

 

My Big Fat Life – Dating Men

In Uncategorized on January 5, 2015 at 5:45 am

Dating men.

Years ago when I used to date men my friends would find my dating stories entertaining. Not because they were good, but because my dates were bad. Very bad. From the guy who came up behind me and grabbed my hips while thrusting into me (I had innocently bent over a display in the store… yes, he did this is public) to the guy who tried to convince me that God didn’t want him masturbating so he needed me to give him a hand job. It seemed my dates were more set ready for a comedy tour than to set the stage for a successful relationship. For the record both of those were first dates.

Dating women seemed to be easier in a lot of ways because we communicated in a very personal way. We would spend the first hour of a conversation learning about each other. Our favorite colors, band, movie, where we grew up and all of that basic information we talk to people we are interested in getting to know better. Men, however, have proved to be a different experience.

Since I started to date men again, I’ve been on a few dates.  A sad majority of them have been listening to people tell me what a rotten awful person their ex is, and/or how they are just looking for a good time. One guy spent an hour telling me how wonderful he was, and another showed up looking NOTHING like his profile photo (this is also the guy who also informed me in the middle of dinner that he was too distracted by my breasts while looking at me, to even look me in the eyes while talking). Since a majority do seem to want to talk about their ex, I’ve I considered starting my own mobile dating crisis counseling service. Possibly setting up an app that allows guys to book a date with me. Payment in form of dinner, and random compliment not related to my breasts.

*make note to invest in tacky shirt that says “My other eyes are green” *

Now… I am not trying to make men seem shallow. I don’t believe they all are. I just simply have had some pretty bad experiences. In part because I guess I expect men to communicate the same way I would if I were interested in getting to know someone. I know I wouldn’t spend time starting at their chest, and I certainly wouldn’t spent the first 45 minutes of being in their presence talking about how awful my ex is. I just wanna know what your favorite pizza is, and if you can tell some stellar jokes.

I’ve made a big change in dating, and I expected it would be a learning curve. I’ve gotten to sharpen up my listening skills, and that’s always a good thing, right?  I guess a part of me is still just confused about the communication piece. Or maybe I’m not, and I still don’t understand why someone wouldn’t want to take the time to get to know me as a person or involve in a two way conversation over dinner. Is it really that hard to ask someone what their favorite color is?

Green.

So here I am on this adventure changing my whole way of life. So far it’s been interesting, and not exactly in the best way. But I guess it is all how you look at it, so maybe I will start writing a comedy sketch or shopping around for reality shows that might want to follow an out of the closet heterosexual, who is raising 4 boys on her own as we weave our way through the medical journey of one. TLC might be in the market now that Honey Boo Boo is off the air.

I know the differences between how men and women communicate is usually pretty different. I get that. Despite knowing this, I am still holding to my desire that someone might find me fascinating enough to want to know what my favorite flower is. If I don’t, I may start to ask people to sign releases and my dating life may soon be coming to a stage near you.

I’ll call it the Diaries of Dating: A One Woman Show. It’ll tour for one date only. I’ll whine about my ex for the first 45 minutes of a set, and then get too distracted by my own breasts to continue talking while looking at the audience.

I think I have the perfect shirt to wear for this.

My Big Fat Lesbian Life- My First Time

In Uncategorized on February 4, 2013 at 11:55 pm

Last time I wrote I had spoken of Bea, who I deleted from my Facebook. I have to admit I was surprised to see a note from her in my inbox asking me why I had. I didn’t think she would even notice to be honest. She did. I struggled with an answer for a bit, and had to process. Because I was still uncertain as to why in some aspects. But I wanted to be honest with her this time. She is the woman I just stopped contact with when I moved up here to Portland, because I found it easier.. safer.. to just stop talking to her, than have to be vulnerable and share with her the truths that I had been carrying around. So I responded. I am working towards being open with people, even when I don’t like being vulnerable. I guess I have believed if I kept it to myself, then it’s safe tucked somewhere away. There it can sit and that information can’t be seen as a weakness in my shield or expose some part of me that might show how vulnerable I can really be.

When I found myself in a place with her 20 something years after high school, she was  more than just a sexual experience with someone. She was by all accounts, my first. There was a lot of meaning behind what I shared with her. It wasn’t just a sexual thing that happened, though I knew it couldn’t be more. She was literally just out of a relationship with someone and both of us were in places that weren’t really the best foundation for the start of something new. I knew that, but my heart wasn’t listening to my head at the time.

When things came to a halt between us, I walked away feeling hurt and honestly I felt like maybe I was just a fling that didn’t mean much even though in reality I knew that’s all it would be for me. All this time I held the idea that what we shared, and what I had shared (unbeknownst to her) was nothing more than just sex. It hurt every time I saw her post something on her page, and for the longest time I guess I couldn’t really understand why. But when I sat down to write her back, the words just spilled out and there it was before me. There was no longer denying it, or even escaping it. For what it was, I knew I had to be honest with her and tell her everything.

I didn’t know how she would respond to my left field confessions, and I didn’t even know if she would respond at all. But there they were, and there was no taking the words back to fill in the cracks I was exposing in my shield. While writing I also realized part of why I never shared with her, was because I didn’t want to give that power to someone else. To know that they were given something that could be used against me in a way to hurt me, or have some sort of power. Yet, she wrote me back the most thoughtful, caring letter. It was more than I expected, and it was mindful and considerate. Tears that I didn’t realize I had for her flowed without restraint. She told me that I wasn’t just sex to her at the time, and shared some things that explained the space she was in at the time. It made sense to me, and I understood with consideration. This hurt I felt was healing, and I was feeling a closure that I couldn’t create for myself. I felt like that maybe a door was opening for me to be able to reach out to her in time, and a friendship.. a real friendship.. could develop. Bea had no clue that she was more than my first big girl crush in high school, she was also a first in many other ways and was becoming a first for me again in some way. I don’t regret that I shared those firsts with her, I only regret I wasn’t open with her to begin with. Who knows how things would have been had I been able to be more open with her, I am not sure I even want to analyze the reasons why. I just know that it felt good to show a crack in my shield and while I know not every response will be as generous or as caring when I do, it still felt nice to jump out there and be openly honest with myself.

They say you never really forget your first, but I would like to actually meet her.

My Big Fat Lesbian Life – Dating After Divorce 

In Blog, blogging, Break-up, Choose Joy, Christmas, dating, Divorce, equality, Facebook, Foolish Hearts, gay marriage, God, homosexuality, Lesbian, Lesbian Relationships, LGBTQ, Love, Marriage, minivan, Oregon, Portland, Rain, relationships, respect, sex, single, women, Writing on December 3, 2012 at 3:17 am

Ever live in one of those places that has one of those crummy water settings in the shower? It’s like you barely touch it, and it goes from freezing cold to scalding hot. You are standing there naked, usually with shampoo in your hair, and trying to dodge the extreme streams of water shooting at you.
My dating life has been pretty much the same way.

The dangers of dating, especially when you write a blog, is that you can’t really talk about some of the things going on in your mind, because the chances are they will read it. However, I am not dating any of these people any longer, and I really need to talk about it. One, to talk about how things have moved on in my life, and also because I learned a lot from the past few years. It would be ridiculous to try and say that some of these experiences haven’t impacted change in my life one way or another. In fact, the blog “Bullshit” was an epiphany I had while dating someone, and is what gave me the ability to call her up and drop her like I probably should have done after the first date.

There is one person who I encountered before my ex wife, and I need to share about her. I know this is about how my life has moved on since my ex, but she has woven herself in my heart and she played an important role. Her name was Bea (not her real name). It wasn’t a relationship, in fact she was just ending a 2 year relationship when I reconnected with her. I am not sure what it was, or how she defined it. I do know that I loved her. Back in mid 80s in high school I had a crush on her. She couldn’t come near me without my palms sweating, and I could never really look at her without feeling that rush of blood going to my face. I don’t think I spoke a full sentence to her being able to make eye contact with her. She was like a dream. Her smile, the way she carried herself, her laugh… it all penetrated my very being. I wanted to be close to her, but I lacked confidence. Fast forward to 2009 and I had found her on Facebook. I dropped her a line and we reconnected. When I laid eyes on her all those years later, it was like being in high school all over again. Exactly like high school all over again… I still lacked composure when she was near. I still remember our first kiss. It was everything I had thought it would be, soft and wonderful. Things didn’t turn out so well (I really don’t want to bring up all the details that took me so long to grow through) but I don’t think she ever knew to the extent of how much my heart broke after things turned messy, and I have never told her. I can state the reasons why it was a mess, I was in such a different place then, but I could never bring myself to tell her just how much I had loved her, how much she meant to me, and how I just wanted to make her smile. Instead, I just cut her out of my life. It was the easier, less painful road for me to take at the time. I cried for months, and I wore my friends ears out over that. I must have picked up the phone to call her what seemed like a million times just to hear her voice, but instead I’d just sit and stare at her number on my screen and eventually just put my phone in my pocket. All the texts I’d type out, then just erase. I can’t play the “If I could only go back in time” game in my mind, so I don’t. But hindsight is 20/20 and I do wish I had been in a much better place in my life during that time.

There was one more woman I met before I met my ex. There was an interest there, but we never dated. I am eternally thankful for her friendship. She needs a mention here, because she is a truly beautiful person. I’ll call her Songbird.

Then there was my ex. Since the first whole year of this blog has been about her, I think you get the picture. What. A. Mistake.

Then there was the first person I dated after my ex. I’ll call her Thunder. She made me feel attractive again. After a year and a half living with the Siberian Queen of Winter, it was nice to feel attractive, desired and even capable. Thunder and I were compatible in some ways, and in others.. not so much. She was a spitfire, she still is. There were times she would say things that would just cause me to stop in my tracks. I felt she lacked a filter at times. and at times it was overwhelming. But she also could make me laugh until I had tears in my eyes. And the sex….. I’ll be honest, it was the most functional thing we had going for us some of the time. She was present, and it was nice to feel like I was in bed with someone. If you’ve ever been in a bad relationship, you know what I am talking about. That feeling of loneliness that comes with sharing the same bed with someone who just isn’t emotionally there. It is one of the worst feelings of loneliness I have ever experienced. I broke it off with Thunder, and it took time for us to restore a friendship, but she will always be an important part of my journey.

After Thunder, I spent some time just dating. I met some nice people, and some really messy people. One lady comes to mind, and to this day still makes me cringe when I think about it. I spent two hours seated across from this woman as she told me every single sexual encounter she had ever had in all of her life, including the man she slept with 3 months prior “just to make sure” she was gay. She ended her long tale with the closing sentence of “I’m lucky I never caught anything.” I was horrified. She later went on the blow my texts up with proclamations of how she wanted to be a part of my world. Uh…. no.

There was Beaverton. OK so that is not her name, but it is where I would see her for lunch. It wasn’t a relationship, but we dated. I really liked her a lot. She was pretty hot and cold though, just like that shower I was talking about. One minute she seemed really into it, and the next.. I had no idea. I was often confused as to what was going through her mind, and so I couldn’t really emotionally move anywhere with it. I was pretty disappointed, because I really liked her. But I couldn’t take the hot & cold mess. I never knew from one to the next if I sent her a text, that she would freak out and think I was getting serious, or if I didn’t text her and she would think I didn’t care. Since I would go for a few days in between hearing from her, I just never knew if she was coming or going. I ended up writing her a note and just ending it. I still smile when I think of her, because despite everything, she made some really sweet memories for me.

Then I met someone through a mutual friend. I’ll call her Cave. The reason I will call her cave, is because she really should have just moved to one. She was in the middle of a divorce from her wife.. dating mistake number 1. Mistake number 2 was even going on a second date with her. At first she seemed kind, and compassionate. But as time moved on, I realized that there was this depressive darkness that just seemed oppressing, all around her. It slowly started to creep into my own life, and even my friends were asking me where my joy had gone. I smiled less, I laughed less, and I seemed tense a lot of the time. I was tired a lot, and seemed to drag my feet. It happened almost without me knowing. One day I was happy… me. Then a few months down the road, and I am just going through the routines of the day. She was toxic to me. One day she would be so kind and so gentle. The next, she wouldn’t answer the phone or texts because she needed space. She did this with her friends as well. She would just shutdown. It often left me wondering if I did something wrong, and if I asked she would tell me “no’ but would proceed to talk to me as though I had. She was abrasive, and yet would expect me to remain gentle despite her tone or words. Then she would accuse me of not being “connected” or “feeling” her. It was like being caught in the spiral of water heading down a drain. There is so much a person can endure, and I honestly just couldn’t take it anymore. The whole experience was like walking in the dark with no clue where the light switch was.

So then I met the last person I dated. She seemed to be the opposite of Cave, and that was my initial attraction. She was funny, moved around through the day, respected her faith, and I was drawn to what I thought was light. What I thought was light, turned out to be the first layer of many that were the onion of dysfunction. I’ll call her Onion. Onion and I only dated a few months before I made the call and broke it off with her. I let her feel it was a mutual decision after presenting to her the reasons why we shouldn’t date, but the truth is I was not going to date her again whether she agreed or not. We only dated a couple of weeks before she flew back to see her parents for a wedding. It would be another month before I spent any real time with her after that. The most I saw her was to pick her up from PDX after her returning flight, and took her home the next morning. But not before Onion had carelessly brought poison ivy into my home. She had contracted it while back home, and I begged her to please be considerate in how she cleaned it off before coming to my home. I have to admit I was really taken back when she sat on my couch crying because she was having separation anxiety from her parents (her explanation) after the flight. Little did I know at that time, that I needed to be as persistent with her as I would have to be with a teenager, because she ended up tracking poison ivy it into my home, and I ended up getting it on my leg. I didn’t want to see her for two weeks after that. Her nonchalant attitude about it, was even worse. It was the first red flag of lack of respect of space, and sadly wasn’t the last. The vision that stayed with me thought, was when I walked out to my kitchen and caught her in my cupboards, eating chips out of a bag. That might not seem like a big deal to most, but I was raised with respect of other peoples space and homes. I would never dream of just walking in, tossing open a cupboard and start eating your flipping chips. Yet, I found myself seeing her as teenager trapped in the body of a woman from that moment on. Every connection with her just seemed unbalanced with me, and I even started to wonder if she really just needed to pack her stuff up, and move into her parents basement. Maybe that is a harsh thing to say, but she was very dependent on them in ways a woman in her 40s really shouldn’t be. It felt so good to just end that disaster.

During the last dating escapade, is when I was talking with my pal Nancy and came to the realization that I have a high tolerance for bullsh*& from people. I could never figure out why I seemed to give things more of a chance than it really deserved. I would meet broken people, and allow broken behavior. I wanted something functional and happy, but it just never happened. I would enter into something with the hopes that it would be good, but the first shot of dysfunction and I would just shrug my shoulders and say “OK”.. Of course I knew it was dysfunction, but I never really understood to the levels of dysfunctional it was. My childhood had made desensitized me in a way, and made me just accept it as something that could be dealt with, because I had the survival skills to deal with it. But once I realized that it’s really not OK on any level, and I don’t have to deal with it, that was it. My bullsh*& tolerance is really much more smaller now. In fact, I really don’t care to ever deal with it. I know relationships go through things and seasons. I get that. In dating though? No.. I am so done with putting myself though the bs.

So what do I want?

Gentleness. Kindness. Compassionate. Honest. Loyal. Patient. Knows how to smile. Has interests outside of mine. Willing to share interests with each other. Soft spoken, but not passive. Has faith. Has hope.

The past 4 years has taught me more about what it is I am wanting in a relationship, and what I am unwilling to put up with from another person. I’ve made mistakes along the way, and I am not claiming to be without blame in any of the above mentioned situations. I am sure they have their side of how things went, but this is from my perspective. I do know the last two experiences especially were my breaking point, and my teaching moments. Perhaps I should thank them in some odd way, for providing me some growth moments.

Compromise and meeting someone where they are, is one thing in a partnership. But in a dating relationship, you really should be having fun as you get to know each other. It doesn’t have to be this intense situation where you are finding yourself make soft spaces to fall for the other person, merely to avoid a confrontation or because you are afraid to say ‘this is what I want’ and you aren’t willing to settle. It’s not like I am saying “Gee, I can’t date you because you drive a Honda and I only date those who drive Toyota.” No.. This is my future, my happiness, my choice for a life partner. I want to be happy. I want to be happy with someone else. I want to share my space with someone I can make laugh, smile, feel love and appreciated. I would like that in return.

The past 4 years I have had my heart broken, I have felt restored, I have had tears, I have had smiles.. but now is the time I can allow myself to say what it is I want from another person, and not feel like I’m being too selective. Is it really being too selective to say “Hey, I’d like you to be healthy too, because I’m ready for a mature and balanced relationship.”? No.. But we tell ourselves way too often that if we are somehow standing on that ground that we are just not compromising. When in reality we are compromising our own standards for what we would like to share with another person.

That is just one crummy shower to take for the next 50 years with someone else.

My Big Fat Lesbian Life – Demi Moore and Orange Leisure Suits

In Uncategorized on March 8, 2012 at 2:33 pm

I’m going to be blunt, I’m PMSing.

TMI … I know.

My body can’t decide if it’s on, or off.

I get pretty out of sync with things when my body argues with me. I’m that girl that’s dancing to a song, always moving two beats behind while wearing a neon orange leisure suit on the dance floor.

Of course my emotions get all mushy sensitive and I cry over puppy food commercials while devouring chocolate at the speed not quite determined by scientists. Toss in the neon orange leisure suit and I’m a cycle away from a one woman stand up comedy just waiting to self combust.

I’ve been feeling deep about some things. I guess it all started when I read a quote by Demi Moore. Having been recently separated she gave an interview and goes on to say..

“What scares me is that I’m going to ultimately find out at the end of my life that I’m really not lovable, that I’m not worthy of being loved. That there’s something fundamentally wrong with me.” – Demi Moore

What a big thing to say, but what an honest thing to say.

Demi said something I am sure many of us have thought about before and felt from time to time. It’s something we tend to ask ourselves at the tail end of a break-up or a drought in our personal lives as we move from place to place in our hearts, seeking that soft place to fall. However, it’s something that I have been struggling with for quite some time.

I’m sure it all goes back to my childhood, but I’ll spare the long detailed accounts. The result has been that which Demi speaks of, I get it. I completely relate. Yes, I am scared that maybe I am unlovable.

I haven’t had horrible relationships in my life, save for two notable experiences where I’ve allowed the wrong person into my world. Other than that, I’ve been pretty lucky. The recurring theme in all of my past relationship experiences, is that I’m always three sprints short of the finish line and those relationships were not going to go anywhere other than exactly where they went… nowhere.

I could blame Hollywood for the years of movies I grew up watching, conditioning me to believe that someday someone would find me moving enough to stand outside my window with a boom box or a full orchestra to win my heart (though it still is a romantic thought).

In part I’m sure it’s because I’ve always been afraid to step out of the fear of rejection that’s been my shield. It’s saved me from a lot of hurt, I’m sure. Though obviously it didn’t keep me from feeling the pangs of the remnant of a failed marriage that never should have happened in the first place. The fear of exposing my heart and it being rejected is a paralyzing thought, though I’ve been taking that risk hoping it will be different. At my age I am finding risks are sometimes better taken than not. I don’t want to be that woman that is 80 years old, thinking about all the chances I had in front of me and didn’t chose to take them because I was afraid. Though at the same time my fear echoes the words that Demi shared, and perhaps I will find myself an 80 year old woman having graduated from the orange leisure suit to wearing purple (please note reference to the poem When I Am Old, I Shall Wear Purple). I really hope not.

Either way, I refuse to be the crazy cat lady.

http://youtu.be/-j379JbL-xM

My Big Fat Lesbian Divorce – Failure… The Other “F” Word

In Blog, Break-up, Choose Joy, christian, civil unions, communication, court, Crying, Current events, dating, Divorce, divorce, domestic, equality, Facebook, failure, family, feelings, Friend, friendship, gay, gay marriage, God, grief, health, Lesbian, lesbian, lgbt, LGBTQ, Life, Love, love, Marriage, minivan, money, movies, New York, news, Oregon, Pain, Politics, Portland, portland oregon, promises, relationships, religion, same sex, sex, single, sleep, stress, vows, wedding, Wedding Ring, women, Writing, writing on November 21, 2011 at 6:00 am

I read the blog of another WordPress writer. She’s going through a divorce from her hubby, and I relate to some of the emotions she’s working through. She’s an absolutely amazing woman and I admire her courage as she shares her story.

She asked me a question that no ones asked before, but I’ve faced quietly many times with myself.

She asked me if I felt pressure not to have my marriage fail in light of the fact that marriage equality is becoming more and more of a reality. My response was….

“Excellent question.

Yes.

I felt like I was a horrible representation of everything couples have worked so hard to achieve for years. But, it was my own crummy choice in a partner that put me there, so I had to make good choices to get out. I hope that is something anyone in a bad relationship, no matter the orientation, can see that it’s possible to emotionally survive. If you’ve loved, you’ve experienced. Grief still processes without prejudice and healing comes like a long lost friend.”

I have to say that the more I’ve thought about it, that yes… I feel like I’ve done such an injustice to the work, sacrifices and tears put into the fight to openly love and be married. I know not every relationship is going to work out, straight or gay, but I know people are watching when you’re in a partnership that’s seen as a marriage.

Politically and religiously some people are ready to pounce and shout “A HA! See? There’s no integrity in gay marriage!” and so ready to use the failures as support to endorse their beliefs that gay marriage is wrong.

Love should be allowed to be equally recognized between two loving adults, regardless of gender. But please don’t use the failure of my marriage as an example of limited possibilities of a loving marriage.

I hope that my getting out of a bad situation can be seen as a representation of what it means to make a stand to do the right thing. That may not be a lot to advance the fight for marriage equality right now, but it contributes to the advancement of me evolving more into the woman God created me to be, and that’s empowering.

Just because my marriage failed doesn’t mean it was a complete failure, I grew a lot from the experience. I walked away stronger than ever. Not all failures fail to produce something wonderful.

I’d still love to meet someone to share life with, because I still believe in love and marriage. Importantly, because through the failure of my marriage I learned I still believe in myself.

That’s pretty successful.

My Big Fat Lesbian Divorce – Month 7

In Blog, Break-up, christian, civil unions, Come Here Go Away, communication, court, dating, Divorce, Facebook, family, feelings, Fleetwood Mac, Foolish Hearts, Friend, get a life, God, grief, homosexuality, kisses, Lesbian, Lesbian Relationships, lgbt, Life, Love, Marriage, Military, netfix, New York, news, Pain, portland oregon, relationships, sex, single, sleep, stress, vehicle, vows, wedding, women, Writing on November 9, 2011 at 6:15 am

Month 6 slipped by me without thought.

I guess I figured month 6 being the half way mark into my newly single life (since I had her asked to leave the apt), that some amazing moment would transpire within me, but instead it went by without thought.

I was dealing with the van thing (I’m still super thankful it’s gone), the now defunct attempt at spending time with someone (I’m really glad that’s over) and just… living.

Here it is and month 7 has passed. I admit it feels longer primarily in part I never have to see her (I’m reallythankful for that).

A few days ago the biggest stress in our home was the 7 year old stormed into my room, angry the his 11 year old brother was bossing his imaginary kangaroo around. While I know life has it’s ups and downs and invisible kangaroo interventions are only a part, I felt that peace that comes in knowing that life continues to move on.

My Big Fat Lesbian Divorce – Reckless People Dance

In Blog, Break-up, Come Here Go Away, communication, Crying, Current events, dating, domestic, Facebook, family, Foolish Hearts, Friend, gay, God, grief, kisses, Laughing stars, Lesbian, Lesbian Relationships, lgbt, Life, Love, Marriage, netfix, news, portland oregon, promises, relationships, religion, sex, single, sleep, Steve Perry, stress, vehicle, vows, wedding, women, Writing on November 4, 2011 at 11:56 pm

In my effort to make better choices in my life regarding people, I decided sometime ago not to continue seeing the woman I had been seeing since my divorce. While I experienced great sex (something I didn’t really have with the ex because she was a selfish lover), I had started seeing some of the warning signs that she wasn’t a good match for me.  So a few months in I broke it off with her. It wasn’t easy, because while I wasn’t really enjoying her company at all, I had also cared for her.

I had continued to see her in a more casual way for a little longer, simply because I thought that with breaking off the titles and and expectations that things might settle down and perhaps I could get to know her better in a more organic way (minus all the BS). However, I had increasingly become more and more aware of not only the red flags, but my own cycles that I seem to make in any type of relationship with people.

I think my own fears of abandonment (enter my alcoholic mother who was completely absent while I was growing up) leave me validated that if I stand and show I am present emotionally and physically, that I prove that I am ….

1.) Not my Mom

Now I already know I am not my Mom. I’m not even close to being anything like my Mom. Yet, I do find from time to time I have to prove that just to reassure myself that I am nothing like her. By not abandoning, I prove that. By engaging, I just keep doing the same stupid dance with the same destructive people.

Whatever the reasons I may be doing it, it has come to a stop.. or at least I am going to try to figure out how to see the red flags when they are first raised, stop and then run/walk/hop. Whatever it takes.

There were moments real early on, where I just wanted to walk away. So I know that I am gaining some ability to recognize the red flags. Now only to make my feet comply with my instincts.

I saw the classic “Come Here, Go Away” signs, but for those reasons above, I stood still. She talked about her past relationships in ways I could hear she was clinging to those who treated her poorly or rejected her, yet pushed off those who tried to make it work. That was pretty scary once I could hear what she saying.

Someday, I would like to be in a relationship where I do stand with my partner through the good times and the bad. But for all the right reasons. Not because I am trying to prove something to myself, but because we are standing together.

I asked someone I thought might have some connections to a life coach, about a love coach, and was recently given the name and number to Dr. Frankie. She writes the love advice column for Curve Magazine, and she also has a love coaching and matchmaking service.

Here is her website link –

http://littlegaybook.com

I highly suggest checking out the site. It’s wonderful.

I chatted with Dr. Frankie a bit, and found her super easy to talk to. I’m not sure how much dating I want to do right at this moment, but if I am going to, I do need to work on this pattern I seem to have established and start 1.) Recognizing the signs early on and 2.) Walking the heck away when I see them.

I have to give myself some credit, this time I only let it go for a few months before I said enough was enough. That is really a lot of growth compared to sticking it out like I did with my ex wife.

My Big Fat Lesbian Divorce – Reckless Train Rides

In AP News, attorneys, Ben and Jerrys Ice Cream Comfort, Blog, Break-up, Choose Joy, christian, civil unions, communication, court, Crying, Current events, dating, Divorce, Edgefield McMenamins, Facebook, family, feelings, Fleetwood Mac, friendship, gay, God, grief, homosexuality, Laughing stars, Law, Lesbian, Lesbian Relationships, lgbt, Life, Love, Marriage, movies, Musician, news, Pain, parenting, Politics, portland oregon, relationships, religion, sex, single, sleep, The Little Prince, Uncategorized on October 25, 2011 at 6:55 am

I’ve written three different paragraphs and I’ve deleted them all.

A Train Ride

(edited 10/2011)

Leaning against the window, I can feel the cool glass of the window pane against my cheek. True to the way a train moves down the tracks, it rocks back and forth and I find no comfort in leaning against the window other than my eyes are searching for a glimpse of the next stop.

Houses, small towns, fields sprinkled with colors of spring.. all pass by.

My bags are packed (well, really only one bag) and I am clutching the handles in my hands because I’m afraid I might let go and let it drop to the floor. There’s no room in the overhead for my things.

When I boarded I tried to find space for my bag. I glanced at some of the tags and noticed some of them had been there years. On the lip of the over head was a tag that read “Do not touch, ask about, or even think of moving the bags that are here upon your arrival” so I just tried to fit mine in between the hard shell cases left behind.

I looked around to see if anyone would notice me reaching up and tugging gently on one of the suitcases left behind. If I could just slip it down and move it behind a seat, no one would notice. The suitcase had been there for years, so I doubted the owner would be coming around to retrieve it anytime soon.

Pulling it down proved to be a bit more work. As I reached up to slip it down, it was as if the bag was glued to the shelf. As I stood there gently tugging, I glanced out the window and became mesmerized by the passing fields and the excitement of an unknown destination. I wasn’t focused on what I stood up to do in the first place and so somewhere between the distraction of the beauty and intrigue, I simply went back to my seat with my bag in my lap. As I realized the choice I had made, I thought maybe I would feel better if I kept my bag in my lap anyways, just in case the train asked me to unboard quickly.

Now as I sit here with my cheek pressed against the window, I can not clutch it tightly enough.

As I stand up between stops and walk up and down the empty aisles to stretch my legs, I’ve the train seems to take off rather quick. With no warning of departure, I’ve been unprepared for the the quick acceleration and stumbled a little to hurry back to find my seat. A few times falling backwards and being tossed back into the place where I was sitting like a last minute thought. But just as I was adjusting the seat, and getting comfortable, the train would come to a full stop void of warning and I would be thrust forward like a rag doll without care or consideration.

From time to time the train will come to a stop for a long period of time. I would sit waiting for other passengers to arrive, maybe someone looking to claim their baggage, but no one ever shows. As I stand to walk up and down the aisles to stretch my legs, I quietly wonder why there were so many seats on the train, if I am the only passenger. In fact, I realize I have never even seen the conductor or anyone else. Who is driving this train? I ponder this for a minute and decide to get off at this stop.

Suddenly this ride seems ominous to me. Just as I decide to get off at the stop, the train starts to pull away from the station. I realize at that moment I’m no longer holding my bag and I begin to panic. My most prized possessions were packed for this trip. My eyes search furiously as my heart races, then I see it. Somehow, it’s been moved to crowded overhead. I don’t remember fitting it in, yet I’m positive no one else could have. I quickly walk over to my bag to pull it down and find the bag is stuck to the overhead shelf. This time, I am not distracted by anything other than my clear determination to pull my bag down and quickly find my seat.

This time, I’m not looking to find space for my bag so that I may enjoy the ride. I want off.

The bag falls to my side and I rush to my seat.

As the sound of the train speeds down the track with distinct rhythm I think to myself “Oh God, let this be a short burst between stops.”

The rhythm counts each second as I move from place to place pushing to the next, wishing this ride to end. Now that I want to step off the train, it feels like the longest distance travelled at one time since I’ve boarded the train.

I lean against the window pane looking, hoping.. waiting.

Houses, small towns, fields sprinkled with colors of spring.. all pass by. This time I don’t smile with a feeling of warmth as the train rushes past, but a longing to be a part of it all again.

As they pass by I press my face a little more to the window hoping for a glimpse of the next station ahead. I want this train ride to end.

I see it. The station, there it is.

Standing up and clutching my bag in hand, I prepare myself for the quick and complete train stop by bracing myself with the seats as I walk towards the exit while the train is still moving.

The train comes to the complete stop it has so many times before, and I push to slide the exit door open. I move quickly to step down and I become still as I put my foot to the ground.

The station is empty.

My eyes sweep across looking for some sign of life, but even the air seems still.

I step fully down and have my right hand on the hand rail. Standing there, I am a little scared and sad about removing my hand.

I argue to myself for a minute about staying on the train and holding to the hope of arriving a destination filled with life, opposed to standing in a deserted station. But I know that sitting on a deserted train heading nowhere is nothing more than exactly that, and I can at least walk away from the station.

I am sure one of those small towns I passed through many times while on the train, is up ahead. Perhaps I will stop by one of the fields and pick some of the flowers that I have admired in passing.

My right hand falls to my side and I turn to the left. My heels against the concrete is the only audible sound as I walk across the platform away from the train, the station and the stillness while clutching my bag tightly.

Behind me I hear the train begin to move and in and in a matter of seconds it rushes past me in the same accelerated manner it has departed so many times before. It moves as quickly as it stops, I have never connected the pattern before now.

Within moments the train disappears from sight and only the faint sounds of the wheels against the tracks is all that is left, but fades quickly.

For a moment, I think I hear the train quickly approaching from behind and stopping abruptly at the station once again. Maybe just ghost sounds.. I don’t know.

I do not turn to look. – L.W. 6/17/2009

Sometimes I stay on the ride longer than I should for whatever reasons I do. Maybe it’s because I’m so smitten by the shiny things that I don’t see the scary things, or maybe it’s because I’m afraid it’s as good as it gets.

Whatever the reasons, I’m learning that if you want to know what the ride is going to be like, look to see what the ride was like for previous passengers. If you listen, you’ll hear.