The fact that I was in love with my drama teacher began to dawn on me when I realized how much I talked about her. I would talk to my friend Vivian about what she wore, what she had taught that day, what mood she had been in a wonder why it was so. When I realized how much I was talking about her, I tried to keep my mouth shut in case anyone could figure out what was going on. It wasn't until that summer, at the Fringe festival, that I came out to Kaleb. I told him that I thought I was bi. He asked me if there was anyone who invoked me feeling that way, and I said yes. It was Ms. Brooks. Ironically enough I found out she was also a lesbian, or at least interested in women, which fascinated me even more, and of course in my little mind I fantasized about the two of us getting together after I graduated, which was in a year. Funny thought.
I went through that summer accepting more and more the fact that I indeed like women, and it was something I was going to have to deal with. I went on a mission trip to New Orleans with me Catholic Church group. There I came out to my best friend Meg, and she came out to me. We were both Catholic, adolescent bisexuals, oh great. I spent a few hours talking to the big guy upstairs apologizing and asking him for help to guide me in who I was. I feel like I came to terms with him, sort of, but not really.
The school year started again. The beginning of my senior year I was plagued with a sexual frustration that was driving me mad. I had no idea how to go about getting a girlfriend or how that processes worked and nobody, well hardly anyone knew who I was. I fell further in love with my teacher, and realized that my fantasies were just that, fantasies. I was beating the shit out of my punching bag and busting my knuckles at the same time. I also managed to tell my mother that I liked girls and that went over well…but really we didn't speak of it after that for quite some time.
It was right around this time that I came on to a girl that I found on MySpace. Her name was Jem. She was 19 years old and went to Rollin's College. My opening line was that she looked like Kate Beckinsale, and that I thought we had a few things in common. She replied and told me that we would see, and gave me her instant messenger screen name. We talked and got to know each other and she dropped me her phone number. I was ecstatic, but I couldn't bring myself to call her, I no balls for that at all. One day at dinner, I got a phone call. She called me. She made the first move and called me because I was too chicken. I don't know how long that phone call was, but it was over an hour long. I laughed; we talked about nonsense, and then hung up. I was so happy, and excited. She told me that she didn't know how to drive, so I told her that I would teach her. I don't even know how we set our first date, but it was to go see my school's production of Neil Simmon's Fools.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
possibly worked into my narrative
My mother told me straight up that she wouldn't accept a girlfriend for me. She insisted that her daughter wasn't a lesbian, there was no way. There was a pain that I was hiding, was what my mother told her. The reason she thought I believed I was lesbian was because I couldn't trust men, or because she hadn't been there enough for me, and now I was looking for what I had missed as a child in other women. I didn't think so. I am a lesbian because that's what I am.
I had tried so hard not to be. Whenever I went to the mall as a child, she would avert her eyes from the posters with the beautiful women advertising clothes. I felt guilty if her eyes lingered too long. As I grew older, she noticed more in her quick glances at the posters. The way the clothes clung to their bodies, the way their hair fell, how much clothes they were actually wearing and what they weren't. I wanted to look longer, to have more than a passing glance, but I tore her eyes away and made some comment on the males in the posters instead.
Puberty hit and my family and I wondered why I was more interested in looking at cars than at guys. The thought would enter my head: what if I like women? Then I would get a horrible feeling in my stomach and shove the thought away. Liking women was wrong, it was against my religion and my family would be in an uproar; there was no way to accept liking women. It couldn't happen.
Then, I fell in love, quite unexpectedly actually, much like it usually happens. I didn't even realize what hit me. I walked into the class room two weeks after the regular term had started and found her in the office. She was wearing a scarf in her hair, tight jeans, and flip flops. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy style bun behind the scarf. She had dark eyes, almost black, that made my stomach flip.
I had tried so hard not to be. Whenever I went to the mall as a child, she would avert her eyes from the posters with the beautiful women advertising clothes. I felt guilty if her eyes lingered too long. As I grew older, she noticed more in her quick glances at the posters. The way the clothes clung to their bodies, the way their hair fell, how much clothes they were actually wearing and what they weren't. I wanted to look longer, to have more than a passing glance, but I tore her eyes away and made some comment on the males in the posters instead.
Puberty hit and my family and I wondered why I was more interested in looking at cars than at guys. The thought would enter my head: what if I like women? Then I would get a horrible feeling in my stomach and shove the thought away. Liking women was wrong, it was against my religion and my family would be in an uproar; there was no way to accept liking women. It couldn't happen.
Then, I fell in love, quite unexpectedly actually, much like it usually happens. I didn't even realize what hit me. I walked into the class room two weeks after the regular term had started and found her in the office. She was wearing a scarf in her hair, tight jeans, and flip flops. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy style bun behind the scarf. She had dark eyes, almost black, that made my stomach flip.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Natural Ponderings
She had been attempting to make herself happy by relying on the whim of the women around her. She became attached quickly and would be fast to admit to love if it meant being able to caress one more time. Unfortunately, she usually failed in the attempt to hold on, and was resolutely left sitting on the same corner she started at. After all the rejections, heart breaks, and failures to receive an orgasmic performance, she began to question herself. Was there something wrong with her? Was that why she was being dumped at the same exact corner, unable to move from it? Well, not even being dumped, she thought, simply not being asked out. Fucked around with happened, but there was a failure to take it to any next level that everyone knew existed.
After one horrible incident, which was followed by her lying in bed moping all day the previous day, and calling all her straight best friends and whining to them about it, she decided to set out and figure out what the hell was wrong with the world.
She found it interesting that after coming out as a lesbian, men started looking at her. Wherever she went, she was always sure to catch at least one man's eye. The women she caught the eyes of…well she failed to catch any of their eyes. It seemed to her that coming out a lesbian, gave her an extreme boost of confidence, and the courage to stand up and look like, "I don't give a bloody shit what you think, so move right along in your course of life and leave mine to my own devices." Or perhaps, the men sensed there was something unattainable about her, and well, everyone wants what they can't have. She did have a flock of rather ugly lesbians begin to take an interest immediately after she came out, but she dispersed of them as kindly and quickly as she could. They were not the type of fish in the sea she was after. No, she was after someone in particular, she couldn't say what it was exactly she was looking for, except that whoever she ended up with, would simply and beautifully fit.
After one horrible incident, which was followed by her lying in bed moping all day the previous day, and calling all her straight best friends and whining to them about it, she decided to set out and figure out what the hell was wrong with the world.
She found it interesting that after coming out as a lesbian, men started looking at her. Wherever she went, she was always sure to catch at least one man's eye. The women she caught the eyes of…well she failed to catch any of their eyes. It seemed to her that coming out a lesbian, gave her an extreme boost of confidence, and the courage to stand up and look like, "I don't give a bloody shit what you think, so move right along in your course of life and leave mine to my own devices." Or perhaps, the men sensed there was something unattainable about her, and well, everyone wants what they can't have. She did have a flock of rather ugly lesbians begin to take an interest immediately after she came out, but she dispersed of them as kindly and quickly as she could. They were not the type of fish in the sea she was after. No, she was after someone in particular, she couldn't say what it was exactly she was looking for, except that whoever she ended up with, would simply and beautifully fit.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Heart's warning
Be careful into whose hands your heart falls for once it has been tainted, it will never remain the same.
They say that you should love like you’ve never been had, and unfortunately, many women do, time and time again. Each and every person who comes knocking heir heart’s door is a new beginning, a new possibility, and after that first glance at the dinner table, and woes or doubts about never loving again, are simply gone. They have evaporated like the steam off the broiled salmon on your plate. You think to yourself that you should have gone with the steak, or something that leaves your breath a little less noticeable than salmon does. That thought gets shoved out of the way by the fact that this is a first date and you should expect no more than a kiss on the cheek…or perhaps a classy old fashioned kiss on the hand?
There is simply something about getting kissed on the hand, to have someone bend over and brush your knuckles with their lips. To have a part of the body normally associated with violence, be caressed with the part that makes everything okay. Like heaven and hell, yet in the kissing of the hand, they become one thing better than even heaven itself. Yes, with the kissing of the hand, a negative and a positive equals something grand.
They say that you should love like you’ve never been had, and unfortunately, many women do, time and time again. Each and every person who comes knocking heir heart’s door is a new beginning, a new possibility, and after that first glance at the dinner table, and woes or doubts about never loving again, are simply gone. They have evaporated like the steam off the broiled salmon on your plate. You think to yourself that you should have gone with the steak, or something that leaves your breath a little less noticeable than salmon does. That thought gets shoved out of the way by the fact that this is a first date and you should expect no more than a kiss on the cheek…or perhaps a classy old fashioned kiss on the hand?
There is simply something about getting kissed on the hand, to have someone bend over and brush your knuckles with their lips. To have a part of the body normally associated with violence, be caressed with the part that makes everything okay. Like heaven and hell, yet in the kissing of the hand, they become one thing better than even heaven itself. Yes, with the kissing of the hand, a negative and a positive equals something grand.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
The Laudry Experience
I just began my first college clothes washing experience. Allow me to say that the idea crept into my roommate Julia, and my head that it would be best to wash our clothes while everyone else was gone to the football game. I realize that this makes me out to be one who doesn’t support my school, and this would have been the first game of my first year of college, but hey, saying that you missed the first college football game of your college career because you were doing laundry makes just as much conversation as saying you went and such and such team won and lost respectively.
I progressed slowly out into the hallway on one of my now common escapades to the restroom. The hallway was absolutely and completely silent and no one was around. The only other time this is evident, is 7:00 am Saturday mornings. I know this because I had the grand experience of being awake at that hour today as well. Anyway, the point is that everyone on my floor, except Julia and I, had gone to the football. I returned, much relieved, from the restroom and gave Julia the full report. Somehow we both decided that we were going to go wash. Neither one of us really voices it; we just end up doing it. Odd I know.
I arrived at the laundry room first and went to swipe my Coyote Card so I could activate the washer without having to use change. Well, the machine wasn’t on. I trecked back to the room and told Julia that the swipey thing wasn’t working and we were going to have to use coins. Julia was on her return journey as I was heading back to the room, Pluto piggy bank in hand.
I emptied the contents of my little Pluto bank onto the window sill of the laundry room. I was impressed that I managed not to spill them all over the floor and down the now considered antique air conditioner. I found a dollar and began placing and dropping them into the machine. Sadly, I did not have a dollar in quarters. The machine regurgitated the coinage that wasn’t to its liking and I was back into the predicament that I didn’t have what it took to start the damn machine.
Thankfully Julia arrived! I traded her some coinage for quarters and placed them in the machine and for a split second waited for something to happen. It did. Julia asked me why it was I was putting my money into the drier. Yes, I had mistakend the drier for the washing machine.
Well, I gave Julia some paper money for quarters and then took a look at the washing machine. Not all washing machines look like the one you’ve got at home, and this one defiantly didn’t work at all like the one at home. I had to make a decision as to whether I wanted to wash my clothes under the category of: white, colors, or bright colors. I am the type of person who just likes to throw everything in and pray. So far, in my short life of clothes washing, nothing has happened. I always used cold water and there was no water temperature choice, the machine was supposed to think for you. We had a pondering moment or two trying to decide which color cycle correlated to the water temperature. Well that was unnecessary because not only did it say it on the inside of the lid, but once you make your color choice, it pops up on the screen what temperature the water is going to be. Yes, we are brilliant and completely tried to do it the Neanderthalic way.
We figured out what it was we were supposed to do, but then Julia read the instructions and they told us to pour the detergent on the bottom and then put your clothes in. I had already piled all my week’s worth of clothes into the machine, which is very spacious if I do say so myself, and I didn’t want to take any chances with a foreign machine. I took all my clothes out of the washer, threw them on the floor, and then proceeded to follow directions, for once in my life, and poured the detergent in.
When I was gathering my stuff together, I told Julia that she knew I was going to go a write something about the experience. She agreed and then had a moment of enlightenment; she was going to write her Narrative English paper about our first college laundry experience. Things like this need to be noted, because after that first time of errors, it will probably be systematic and natural and I won’t ever be able to tell you, at the end of the year, the days I did laundry.
Julia’s socks and undergarments are pink…ooops.
I progressed slowly out into the hallway on one of my now common escapades to the restroom. The hallway was absolutely and completely silent and no one was around. The only other time this is evident, is 7:00 am Saturday mornings. I know this because I had the grand experience of being awake at that hour today as well. Anyway, the point is that everyone on my floor, except Julia and I, had gone to the football. I returned, much relieved, from the restroom and gave Julia the full report. Somehow we both decided that we were going to go wash. Neither one of us really voices it; we just end up doing it. Odd I know.
I arrived at the laundry room first and went to swipe my Coyote Card so I could activate the washer without having to use change. Well, the machine wasn’t on. I trecked back to the room and told Julia that the swipey thing wasn’t working and we were going to have to use coins. Julia was on her return journey as I was heading back to the room, Pluto piggy bank in hand.
I emptied the contents of my little Pluto bank onto the window sill of the laundry room. I was impressed that I managed not to spill them all over the floor and down the now considered antique air conditioner. I found a dollar and began placing and dropping them into the machine. Sadly, I did not have a dollar in quarters. The machine regurgitated the coinage that wasn’t to its liking and I was back into the predicament that I didn’t have what it took to start the damn machine.
Thankfully Julia arrived! I traded her some coinage for quarters and placed them in the machine and for a split second waited for something to happen. It did. Julia asked me why it was I was putting my money into the drier. Yes, I had mistakend the drier for the washing machine.
Well, I gave Julia some paper money for quarters and then took a look at the washing machine. Not all washing machines look like the one you’ve got at home, and this one defiantly didn’t work at all like the one at home. I had to make a decision as to whether I wanted to wash my clothes under the category of: white, colors, or bright colors. I am the type of person who just likes to throw everything in and pray. So far, in my short life of clothes washing, nothing has happened. I always used cold water and there was no water temperature choice, the machine was supposed to think for you. We had a pondering moment or two trying to decide which color cycle correlated to the water temperature. Well that was unnecessary because not only did it say it on the inside of the lid, but once you make your color choice, it pops up on the screen what temperature the water is going to be. Yes, we are brilliant and completely tried to do it the Neanderthalic way.
We figured out what it was we were supposed to do, but then Julia read the instructions and they told us to pour the detergent on the bottom and then put your clothes in. I had already piled all my week’s worth of clothes into the machine, which is very spacious if I do say so myself, and I didn’t want to take any chances with a foreign machine. I took all my clothes out of the washer, threw them on the floor, and then proceeded to follow directions, for once in my life, and poured the detergent in.
When I was gathering my stuff together, I told Julia that she knew I was going to go a write something about the experience. She agreed and then had a moment of enlightenment; she was going to write her Narrative English paper about our first college laundry experience. Things like this need to be noted, because after that first time of errors, it will probably be systematic and natural and I won’t ever be able to tell you, at the end of the year, the days I did laundry.
Julia’s socks and undergarments are pink…ooops.
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