Riding Between Cars With Boys

You know how there are some smells that transport you to some ridiculously specific time or place. Today I had a really great one.

I’m not much of a rule breaker, never have been. Fear of messing up makes my stomach hurt. But I do have to admit that 99% of the illegal things I’ve done in my life have been for boys I’ve had crushes on. For one dumb boy I had a crush on in high school more specifically.

It’s illegal to go between NY subway cars when the train is in motion. I actually almost got ticketed for it once a few years ago (summer day, the AC was broken, I followed someone else who also couldn’t breathe).

There are always those stories of places people go to do whatever it is that high schoolers do. Orgies according to their parents, drugs according to their friends, just feeling generally uncomfortable if you ask the kids themselves.

And he took me there. We were going over the Manhattan Bridge at night time, lights twinkling all around us. My friend and his girlfriend passed out the doors of our train car and then when they moved onto the next car it was our turn.

He took my hand and we passed through the doors, we stood with one foot on the platform of the last car and one foot on the platform of the next and hugged and looked out on the water, at the lights, at the bridge and the flags. It was so beautiful. Cacophonous in every way. Loud, bright, disorienting, dangerous, exhilarating. I could feel my heart pounding in every light that strobed it’s way past a beam. I could feel my knees compensating for the swaying cars, towards and away from him.

I rode an Amtrak train today. It’s not illegal to be between the cars on those. In fact you have to go between the cars in order to buy an overpriced turkey sandwich and return to your knitting.

It might not be illegal but it certainly gave me quite a thrill.

It was a real treat to go back to that exhilarating moment while tucked inside such a routine one.

Shocker of all shockers, nothing good ever came of that boy. But that memory and a hundred others are worth it.

Timer

Don’t laugh at me.

A number of years ago a woman who I would call trust worthy told me that I wouldn’t find a relationship with any kind of permanency until at least 28. My mom jumped in, “It’s not that you won’t fall in love before then.”

Great.

I’m ashamed of how seriously I took this premonition and yet I still don’t think she’s even the least bit wrong.

Some people grow alongside their partners for years, melting into each other like precious metals mingling, strong for sure and beautiful but impossible to tell exactly where one ends and the other begins.

Other people meet someone permanent later and have to learn to shave off the burs, rub them against each other slowly and surely over decades. Learning to fit together-ish.

Anyone who knows me knows I’m in the latter camp.

The question is what does that do to your choices between 25 and 28? I fell in love, age 25 and as promised it was not long lasting. It was reciprocated which was nice but long lasting it certainly was not. So, choose your own adventure style, what do I do armed with this knowledge?

Now that I’m old enough to know that you choose to fall in love or let relationships fall away, do I let them go for the next 3 years or do I try to fall in love as many times as possible?

Or do I avoid that question like the bubonic?

Suggestions welcome.

Friends For A Funeral

A wonderful old friend of mine (who I don’t see enough) recommended to me the other day that I should start listening to the Dear Sugar podcast.

She was right. It is delightful.

And the first episode that I listened to was #10, about friendships. In the episode a woman tells the story of her best friend helping her through the death of her mother. The feeling of having that best friend right alongside her in the first row with the family of the deceased.

And I realized that I never wrote an ode to the amazing friends who crossed the country to be with me when my father passed.

When I was just starting high school I befriended two other girls who happened to live in California. It’s a long story. But apparently, when our friendship developed and they found out that my dad was ill they decided that when he passed, whenever it was, wherever they were, they would come. I didn’t know this at the time. I only found out when they called me from the airport “We’re on our way!”

They sat right behind me and my family at the service, they answered every question I could think of, helped me pick out what to wear to the cemetery. They did all the things that a friend could do.

And I just wanted to say thanks. Because they’re amazing. Because friendship is an important and beautiful gift. We should all appreciate it more.

Is This My Art Form?

I work in theater. I’m in the business of making art. But anyone who knows me will tell you that my greatest skill is communication. I’m good at writing emails, using my hands, words and face to express what is going well and what isn’t. I’m not perfect at it, I’m not even close to being one of the best. But I’m good at it.

I’m good at making people feel wanted, feel loved, comfortable, free to be themselves.

Free to have flaws, questions, comments, concerns. Fears, bad memories.

Cheesy as it sounds, sometimes I think that the only real art I can make on my own is the art of loving people and making them feel accepted. Maybe that’s the true art in communicating.

And maybe it’s why I’ve been craving a creative outlet since my last relationship ended. Maybe that’s why I’ve felt so unable to make anything beautiful.

How To Love The Signs

Capricorn: Be trustworthy, consistent, and never flakey. Don’t let them get away with not talking about how they feel, prompt them to express their emotions more often. Be their biggest supporter when it comes to their goals and always make sure they make time for fun and its not all work. Let them have their private time every so often, and help them to de-stress and relax. [x]

There is one person in this world who does all these things.

When I read this list that face popped into my head so fast it almost brought tears to my eyes.

It explains why I care so deeply, they know how to care for me.

There are a lot of love languages and if you’re someone who doesn’t take flowers and chocolate to mean I Love You then sometimes its hard to feel like you’re hearing it enough. It’s surprisingly unsettling when suddenly it feels like someone does know how to communicate with you. Especially when it’s instant, feeling like you’re being heard really is the best thing there is.

New Years

Last year on new years eve I started off my 2014 with a kiss. A kiss from someone who I like as a friend but never want to be physically intimate with. He asked if he could kiss me and I said “Only if I can’t find anyone else in the next 5 minutes” and he was thrilled. At 30 seconds to midnight he asked again and I said “Fine.” He kissed me and I allowed his lips to kiss my closed ones for a few seconds before I pulled away.

Just a side note: this is not a gross guy. This guy is very cute, young, pretty, I just couldn’t be attracted to him even when I tried.

After this kiss he put his arm around me like he had succeeded in his goals and was looking forward to taking me home. At some point when I had had enough I turned around, took his hand and said, “I’m really sorry I have to say it this way but you need to know that I’m not interested in you this way. You’re great, really, but I’m just not and I don’t want to lead you on.”

He backed away, very clearly not wanting this exchange to go on any longer than absolutely necessary, mumbled some awkward “It’s ok, sorry, thanks, no problem,” stuff and I left the party to finish my night elsewhere.

And thus started a year of other men treating me in a similar way, coercing me into doing things I didn’t exactly want to be doing. This year marked the first few times a guy has ever taken a Meh of mine to mean Yes.

So this year on new years eve, when another friend approached me and asked if he might be my midnight kiss (a friend who I love, am attracted to, and have kissed in the past) I said no thanks. I’d rather ring in this new year not kissing anyone I’m not in love with. Just wishing a really happy year to the entire universe from the bottom of my heart.

And we’ll see what kind of year that energy brings me.

2015 will be a selfish year. My time and focus will be invested on me. On improving myself. I want to become a better person physically and mentally. I want to let go of my fears and learn to love myself.

– (via yayhaz) [x]

Quixoticly Grateful

Lately I’ve been trying to say out loud when I’m grateful for someone or something. It’s a project that always felt worth while and now that I’m in a situation where I’m constantly surrounded by the same people, working and living together, relying on them for support, it feels like the perfect time to try it out for real.

I’m not gonna lie, sometimes I say “Hey, I’m grateful for you today” and get a really strange look. But I’m choosing to believe that the strange factor will wear off soon.

Just because saying “I’m grateful for you today” isn’t a thing everyone does, doesn’t mean that its a thing I should stop doing. That’s what I remind myself.

quixotic [kwik-sot-ik]

– (adjective) In our list of most interesting words, quixotic is the most romantic in every sense. To be quixotic means to be excessively romantic and chivalrous; illogical, idealistic, overall dreamy. It is viewed as an over-idealism filled with absurdity.  (via wordsnquotes) [x]

Additional Appreciation- Michael

When I was in kindergarten I went to summer camp. And on the bus route was a boy named Michael. Michael and I decided we were boyfriend and girlfriend. But mostly only when no one else was around. We were the last two people to get off the bus usually and the bus driver would let the 3rd to last person off the bus and then wait for Michael to move from his seat in the last row to my seat in the first row, sit down, buckle up, hold hands with me, and then we would move on to his house and then finally my house.

Sometimes the bus driver would comment on how cute we were.

I have a memory of kissing Michael.

I have a memory of watching Michael’s babysitter pick him up from his bus stop and him look at me through the bus window and wonder when he’d see me again. That memory is very sad.

Michael was the first boy who wanted to be around me. And he’d be the only boy from then until about when I got boobs (which is a thing to be honest) who showed it without shame.

Michael taught me that even without boobs some boys want to hang around me just cause i’m worth hanging around and holding hands with. Even if it’s only for one more stop. He would rather stand with me on line than get to be first to ride the ponies. I’m important.

A few months ago I looked up Michael. I only remembered a few facts about him. He had a very specific mole, he grew up in a specific neighborhood, his name was Michael. But facebook is a miraculous thing and i’m pretty sure I found my kindergarten Michael.

I’ve wondered a lot about him over the last few years, what is he doing, does he remember me, would we get along now, is he important in my story.

I found him and he looks like an idiot now.

I didn’t send him a message. I just looked through all his pictures.

But he taught me that I can be important to people who aren’t my parents.

I appreciate that.

First Kiss

I am loving this video right now. And it keeps reminding me of this post about watching someone put on a condom.

What makes a kiss such an intimate thing is that when it’s over you know something about them you didn’t before. You know how they taste, what their lips feel like, what makes them hungry, what makes them want to kiss you and what doesn’t.

This video just makes it a little clearer because you know there wasn’t a date part that helped along the knowing. We know everything they know about each other except for the little bit they found on each others lips.

And everything is different from the knowing.

Moldy Lemons Into Delicious Lemonade

I found this gem on tumblr the other day. Such a beautiful reaction to hate.

Recently my grandmother found out I’m queer. Her response was to tell me that she disapproves of me living with my “friend” (i.e. my girlfriend) and that I should give up my vile queer ways and become a Christian (Lol). She even sent me a bible.  Here are its remains, which I made into black-out poetry.

Poem 1: Bisexual (from Leviticus 19:9)— “Have sexual relations with her.  Have sexual relations with him.  Have sexual relations with both a woman and a man.  Have sexual relations with yourself. Vomit on everyone who does not respect you.”

Poem 2:Fisting (from Judges 8:5)— “water/ lap the water/ drink/go down to drink/your hands/go down/I give into your hands/go down/encouraged/down/on the seashore/the whole hand/your hand/inside/I get to the edge/and shout/grasping/crying out/Beth/Beth/Beth/Beth/Beth/God/I came”

Poem 3:A Letter to the Exiles (from Jeremiah 28:13) — “Ze said: ‘Do not let lies name you, nor harm your heart. Gather. Raise the sword against them. They scorn and reproach, for they have not listened— again and again have not listened.’ “

Poem 4:Child (from Ezekiel 16:22) — “Your father and your mother rubbed salt in. No one looked on you with pity or had compassion enough for you, for on the day you were born you were despised. Live! Grow.  I looked at you and saw you were enough.”

Poem 5:Father (from Ezekiel 16:22) — “You never adored us. You became very angry. You took some out on us. Your sons and daughters were not enough? You slaughtered— in all your detestable practices— our youth.”

Poem 6: Misandry (from Acts 27:41) — “Dangerous men should be broken.”

Her grandmother might not be a big fan but I certainly am.