My 21st birthday started about an hour before I officially turned 21, we went to a bar called Helwigs and aside from that I mostly remember only the highlights. I know my Shoe was there, I know Sweet Dee was bartending, I know the same guy that pierced my nipples bought me my last ever shot of Jager and I know when the bar closed I was on the phone with a friend and screaming for the bikers parked in front to "Make it sound good, make it sound real good!". I know Shoe drove my car home and me in my short skirt and lowcut top hung out the passenger window pretty much the whole way home and I know I slept on the beach that night. I celebrated that particular birthday for 7 days and 7 nights and I remember enough to know it was a good fuckin week, much like a fair amount of weeks that year.
I lived in the house with some of the best people I will ever know, we partied like rockstars, fought like family, and once in a while someone did the dishes or I broke them, point is we had a good time bein young and dumb.
Of the 15 or so places I've lived in the last ten years that house of crazy was one of my best bad decisions. If the walls of that house could talk they would tell you the best of secrets and the worst of truths and all the really funny shit in between. Those idiots blew up a toilet once, they also drank beer in the shower and shot eachother and me with pellet guns among other things. We had theme parties, break shit parties, shot parties and even once or twice just an impromptu, plain old, party. We relaxed and enjoyed just plain livin and we fought and laughed and this is all starting to sound like a much nicer version than I thought I'd remember when the lease was up.
The thing about the past is it gets easier to look at and easier to fade out the bad. The bad, I was a whore, I threw a cat once, one of the most epic fights I ever had. Yes, I threw that mother fuckin cat after pulling a large sharp object out of a drawer, after throwing a penguin, after having a coconut thrown at my shin, in a room full of people who sat speechless. What no one knew was late at night when no one was around I used to comb that cat and clean his litter and make sure he was fed, granted I still threw the cat.~RIP Jerry. Back to the whore part, I brought home more dudes than any of the boys brought home girls, and I sent them all home right after.(Don't worry Mom, Dad condoms are a gals best friend!) Now, a few things I can hear being questioned right about now and you have to keep in mind, 1) I am the worst lez ever. 2) Yes, my parents read my blog and 3) No, I'm not ashamed of where I've been. My past is more than what the interwebs knows about me and any one who knows me could probably tell you much worse than this anyways. The point, I told a good amount of people ~ If they were gone when I got back from the shower that would be great.
The other thing about the past is its passed, it's not comin back around like Big Ben, it's not a place you want to live and it's not worth holding all that tight. Freedom comes with knowing that. Freedom comes in recognizing your biggest mistakes and making them into future victories and sometimes all it takes is a glance back at who you were to remember who you are. My 21st birthday I asked for my favorite people to be in the same place and somehow, the Friday night of my 7 day celebration, even if only for a short while, most of them were. I was late to my own party, my aunt took me out drinkin first to Alphas, then Rays, then home, where one of the boys asked me who the hot chick was, where Crouse sent me on a really good trip and at some point we had a topless congo line. I was fun once ya know! I am fuckin happiest when the people I love are, well, around. Is that all there is to take from that though? Two of the people there that day are dead, many of the people there that day I haven't seen in years and the ones that count are still around.
The things we do that remind us of the worst of who we used to be can be the best tools for stopping the replay. All the showers I took no one ever stayed or came back around, they never counted. The choices I've made are mine and the people that have stayed in my life, they're my people and the ones that didn't, they're my past. What the hell does any of this mean? Means today I wanted to remember. I drove trucks to be tall, I went to broadcasting school to find out who lived in the radio and I live like I do because objects in motion tend to stay in motion and the last time I let someone stop me I ended up in the shower. You figure it out, I'm goin to watch the sun go down...
Friday, April 13, 2012
Monday, April 2, 2012
A tarnished star, and the rule of thumb...
In the first few minutes of the movie Boondock Saints there is a scene where a woman firmly explains the history of the phrase "rule of thumb". The scene - awesome, the movie - amazing, My reason for bringing it up? The woman played by Dot Marie Jones (Google her) has a tattoo that says "Untouched by man." The first time I saw this I was 19 maybe 20 and had no idea there was more out there than what you learn in school or among childhood friends. Years later I know bath houses really do exist, neither black nor white likes a bi-racial truck drivin girl in the state of Mississippi and there is far more to the world than this tiny sliver of life here in Connecticut or anything we will ever learn by stayin in one place too long. Somewhere in my travels I learned there was significance to that scene, a relevance that goes unnoticed, and maybe it's only me that makes the connection but I somehow doubt it and now you'll think of this when you see it wether you agree or not.
Fun Fact: A Gold star lesbian is a lesbian who has never had sex with a man - untouched by man - biblically.
Last night in a room filled with a majority of trendy, modern day, lesbian seagulls, I realized how little I fit. Don't get me wrong, I'm fucking awesome in my own tarnished chrome kind of way but much like I was never black enough for the black kids as a kid, I'm not sure I will ever be lez enough for the lesbians as an adult. One might attribute that to the approximately 1/5 female to male partner ratio but only friends know the specifics on those statistics, so, really it must be me right? Even so, in a room with shiny gold stars its intimidating to be the not so shiny one, but thats life isn't it? No ones really that fuckin shiny anyways.
I knew at an early age I liked both girls and boys, I knew at a later age that sometimes, sometimes we do what is easy rather than what honestly feels good or right and I know now that my attractions to both has little to do with physical form and everything to do with personality and possibility. I don't know that I've ever really looked at people as their parts but more as the sparkle in their eyes and the heart that fuels them. I see potential and I see something indescribably amazing in a handful of people and personality types and I could get lost in that, like really lost in that. This kind of lost leaves no space for registering what sexual parts a person has, the time wasted evaluating that is about 6 months and it gets messy. The point is lately more and more I can see how for me, its not what I see that turns me on, but who I see and if I am really honest with myself , fuck the details.
In a room full of people lastnight three people knew my name when I left, the 2 folk lovin, Falcon Ridge goin, hippie dudes with kids my age (Thanks for the beer guys!) and Chris Pureka. While if she remembers it the next time I see her I will be amazed and even more ridiculous over her, I don't imagine she's writing love songs about meeting me. The thing is I'm still not quite sure how I managed to not lose my mind. With the simple act of buying a tshirt turning into a discussion with someone else in front of the aformentioned folk singer about how great my boobs would look in said tshirt and then going back later to get a postcard for my collection only to find that she remembered my name. There is something about the way someone your attracted to says your name. There's this millisecond that feels like forever in the best way where you stop, breathe and tell yourself not to act a fool. It's possible this only happens to me but I'm fairly certain everyone has something that triggers the stop, breathe, don't act a fool reaction when done by someone they're into. For me its hearing my name come out of their mouth, that and watching them wash dishes. Don't laugh at me, to see someone I want (-biblically -) wash my dishes, it's like Halloween, Mardi Gras, New years and my 21st Birthday all combined into one really fuckin awesome 4th of July firework show ~ in my lady parts. I digress...
What I'm getting at here, I'm not even sure I have a clue anymore. I guess what it is, is that all the unladylike behavior thats created some of my best stories from the bedroom don't amount to but maybe two sexual situations where I can say I felt truly right and honestly beautiful. (The ratio on that is one to one, female to male for anyone workin the math on this.) I can count those moments, add the times someone has made me feel lost in that good way, and still have somewhere between 3 and 5 fingers left out of 10. As I grow so does my interest in feeling, that feeling, that way, for more than just a fleeting sexual moment. It's taken too long for me to accept that I don't have to choose a sexual preference, I simply have to recognize that maybe no one else can understand what it is that really turns me on about the people I'm attracted too. Those people being Butch of either male or female parts and if you need that explained by all means ask but there is just not enough room here to get into that statement in full. For space I will simply quote S. Bear Bergman "Butch is a noun, and an adjective, and a verb...", read the whole book, its amazing (and not too long).
Above and beyond sex at this strange stage in my life, I prefer the beauty of the verbally triggered orgasm and the intensity of knowing just how fast my heart is beating and hoping they have no idea, and then maybe hoping they do. I'd rather this than the sex with the lights out, hiding every detail of who we are. I want to see and be seen, I prefer the idea that maybe the person who makes me laugh and smile and calms me down with even just a small understanding of my awkwardness, might be someone who can wait to fuck me. A gentleman, a true Butch and worth the time it takes to find them. I am a Femme, I am a tarnished star and I might not be the lady you think I am but I'm ok with that. I'm wearing the tshirt now by the way and my tits look AMAZING in it, no bra! One of a million great stories of my adventures!
It was blind intuition that drew me to you, you were a miracle of sadness ~ Chris Pureka, Shipwreck
Fun Fact: A Gold star lesbian is a lesbian who has never had sex with a man - untouched by man - biblically.
Last night in a room filled with a majority of trendy, modern day, lesbian seagulls, I realized how little I fit. Don't get me wrong, I'm fucking awesome in my own tarnished chrome kind of way but much like I was never black enough for the black kids as a kid, I'm not sure I will ever be lez enough for the lesbians as an adult. One might attribute that to the approximately 1/5 female to male partner ratio but only friends know the specifics on those statistics, so, really it must be me right? Even so, in a room with shiny gold stars its intimidating to be the not so shiny one, but thats life isn't it? No ones really that fuckin shiny anyways.
I knew at an early age I liked both girls and boys, I knew at a later age that sometimes, sometimes we do what is easy rather than what honestly feels good or right and I know now that my attractions to both has little to do with physical form and everything to do with personality and possibility. I don't know that I've ever really looked at people as their parts but more as the sparkle in their eyes and the heart that fuels them. I see potential and I see something indescribably amazing in a handful of people and personality types and I could get lost in that, like really lost in that. This kind of lost leaves no space for registering what sexual parts a person has, the time wasted evaluating that is about 6 months and it gets messy. The point is lately more and more I can see how for me, its not what I see that turns me on, but who I see and if I am really honest with myself , fuck the details.
In a room full of people lastnight three people knew my name when I left, the 2 folk lovin, Falcon Ridge goin, hippie dudes with kids my age (Thanks for the beer guys!) and Chris Pureka. While if she remembers it the next time I see her I will be amazed and even more ridiculous over her, I don't imagine she's writing love songs about meeting me. The thing is I'm still not quite sure how I managed to not lose my mind. With the simple act of buying a tshirt turning into a discussion with someone else in front of the aformentioned folk singer about how great my boobs would look in said tshirt and then going back later to get a postcard for my collection only to find that she remembered my name. There is something about the way someone your attracted to says your name. There's this millisecond that feels like forever in the best way where you stop, breathe and tell yourself not to act a fool. It's possible this only happens to me but I'm fairly certain everyone has something that triggers the stop, breathe, don't act a fool reaction when done by someone they're into. For me its hearing my name come out of their mouth, that and watching them wash dishes. Don't laugh at me, to see someone I want (-biblically -) wash my dishes, it's like Halloween, Mardi Gras, New years and my 21st Birthday all combined into one really fuckin awesome 4th of July firework show ~ in my lady parts. I digress...
What I'm getting at here, I'm not even sure I have a clue anymore. I guess what it is, is that all the unladylike behavior thats created some of my best stories from the bedroom don't amount to but maybe two sexual situations where I can say I felt truly right and honestly beautiful. (The ratio on that is one to one, female to male for anyone workin the math on this.) I can count those moments, add the times someone has made me feel lost in that good way, and still have somewhere between 3 and 5 fingers left out of 10. As I grow so does my interest in feeling, that feeling, that way, for more than just a fleeting sexual moment. It's taken too long for me to accept that I don't have to choose a sexual preference, I simply have to recognize that maybe no one else can understand what it is that really turns me on about the people I'm attracted too. Those people being Butch of either male or female parts and if you need that explained by all means ask but there is just not enough room here to get into that statement in full. For space I will simply quote S. Bear Bergman "Butch is a noun, and an adjective, and a verb...", read the whole book, its amazing (and not too long).
Above and beyond sex at this strange stage in my life, I prefer the beauty of the verbally triggered orgasm and the intensity of knowing just how fast my heart is beating and hoping they have no idea, and then maybe hoping they do. I'd rather this than the sex with the lights out, hiding every detail of who we are. I want to see and be seen, I prefer the idea that maybe the person who makes me laugh and smile and calms me down with even just a small understanding of my awkwardness, might be someone who can wait to fuck me. A gentleman, a true Butch and worth the time it takes to find them. I am a Femme, I am a tarnished star and I might not be the lady you think I am but I'm ok with that. I'm wearing the tshirt now by the way and my tits look AMAZING in it, no bra! One of a million great stories of my adventures!
It was blind intuition that drew me to you, you were a miracle of sadness ~ Chris Pureka, Shipwreck
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