I am sick in bed again today which means that next up is getting my retarded tonsils taken out. And no, sensitive people, I don’t mean retarded as an epithet; my tonsils are literally retarded as in immature. Most people’s tonsil’s shrink around the age of 12 or so. However my tonsils never atrophied so they are sitting traps for every cold, flu or round of strep throat in my city. So out they must come, and I’ve been putting it off for a year or more now.
Thank goodness I don’t have kids! Elementary school kids are constantly passing around colds, head lice and the stomach flu – I know my sister and I did when we were young. However, I have been seriously thinking about the whole kid thing. Which is a whole new world for me. I spent the first 25 years of my life convinced that I would never be a mother. Not interested, flaky, selfish, traveller – lots of reasons why not and no maternal instinct or biological clock kicked in to cut off my commitment to child free life. My ex wanted kids, (actually most of my exs wanted kids) and I always just avoided or washed over the subject, which is much easier when you are young and gay (not the light hearted kind, the homogay kind). Kids just weren’t for me (except the four legged kind).
Don’t get me wrong; I am not the type to go around kicking babies or stealing candy from small children. It’s that I don’t know what to do with them! I love infants – the tops of their heads smell good, they are fat and gurglely and insanely cute. However once the baby turns into a child that can talk and think for itself and I am at a complete loss at how to interact with a little person like that.
Also the whole pregnancy thing terrifies me. Alien inside you? No thank you, I’ll pass.
As for the whole gay thing, I have the greatest respect for gay parents; no one will love and adore a child as much as a couple who cannot make their own, no matter how much they love each other. Ellen (DeGeneres of course) secretly broke my heart in If These Walls could Talk 2 with her speech (at 6:15) about not being able to get Sharon Stone pregnant. Go watch it. Ok? So sad, right? I feel the same way.
However, I find myself at the beginning of 2011, looking towards my 28th birthday as a married woman thinking about getting a house and dog and possibly a baby. My wife wants a kid. Just one. I want a girl, if I have to choose although some lesbians in our social circle just carried on the lesbians with sons thing with the birth of their son last week. Here’s the thing though – we will adopt or I will be the one to get knocked up. Tristan is just enough on the edge of the genderqueer spectrum that going through something so inherently feminine as pregnancy won’t be healthy for her.
As for me? I am torn because I can finally imagine and want a child with someone, with the love of my life but I can’t have her child. I want our baby to have her perfect blue eyes and strong body but there is no way for that to occur. She has a half-brother but the concept is just too weird for us; Tristan’s wife would have her brother’s baby? I know it’s fairly common and I understand the genetics of it but it’s just not feasible for us. So we find a donor, better be anonymous.
Then we watched The Kids Are Alright, already beloved and reviled by the lesbian community. I thought it was brilliant as an insight into relationships. Too bad the first major movie with a married lesbian couple involves one of the women sleeping with a man, but a great film none the less. But I don’t want my kids to find out that their sperm donor was some smart college kid looking for a quick buck . Better to never know him at all. Ok, that may be a wee bit neurotic but there you go.
There’s no rush for this, by the way. We are going to start looking for a “lease to own” house, then get a dog and maybe in 5 years start to think about a kid seriously. Then I’ll need one tall athletic blonde with blue eyes, a rational mind, dry sense of humor, creativity, stubbornness and limitless compassion to jack off in a cup.
Until then, can we get one of these?
Once again, I am going to try this blogging thing. I fell off the bandwagon after my previous attempt but hey, it’s time for resolutions so here we go. Actually on that note, I adore resolutions. As someone who continuously dreams, plans and then stays home, I adore the resolutions concept. Why limit it to New Year’s? I also feel that the change in seasons, my birthday and the start of school are appropriate times to regroup and resolve to be better. Never mind that I haven’t been in school in about 5 years; the start of the new school year is forever a new time to start again.
But back to this New Year’s Eve, on the cusp of a new decade. I must admit that 2010 was my best. year. ever. Tristan and I celebrated the start of 2010 by sharing a bottle of champagne naked in bed and ignoring the strike of midnight – we were otherwise occupied. In February we got engaged, in March we got rid of the last roommate, in April we got impossible (yet adorable) black cats, the summer floated by on wedding planning and wedding-related stress but in August we had an amazing wedding.
September was a scramble but in October we went to Africa. Let me pause here. (And yes, I realize that I didn’t pause at the wedding but what’s to say about a wonderful event?) Tristan and I went to Kenya for two weeks. Together. This is big deal for a couple of reasons:
1. I work in an industry where I travel every year to Africa. I have NEVER taken a significant other. Ever. I have always traveled alone and that’s generally how I like it.
2. I grew up going to Southern Africa and I am usually utterly content in the bush (yes that too) at dawn with the birds, animals and guides.
3. I am very selfish about these trips as well as happy that I don’t need to worry that my safari pants are basically mom pants, the khaki washes me out and I have a tendency to not condition my hair so it looks like a rat’s nest. Don’t care.
4. 2 weeks of 24 hours a day with NO breaks is a long time to travel with anyone, especially someone with no 3rd world travel experience and a temperamental digestive system.
5. Money; less said about this the better but my job paid my half + we got a lot of things comped. However we are still talking a good deal of funds that we may or may not in fact have.
6. Us gays can get married in South Africa (for now) but in many African countries it is illegal to be a homogay, let alone act on your evil twisted sexy urges. Tourists are generally exempt from this but I confess to being a little nervous – but I will save this for a future post. Mes amis, there is some really nasty shit going on out there.
All said and done, going to Africa with T was magical! Not only was it amazing to have someone to share my trip with, we were visiting a country which was new to both of us at the same time and she loved it. My girl is Southern and she would talk to a brick wall if it would listen. Not only that, she is a chef so we talked about food, saw the inside of every camp kitchen and talked to every chef along the way. We practiced the local language on the endlessly patient guides and camp staff, drivers etc. Almost best of all, she hijacked the camera and took a gazillion photos. Yes there were some exhausted fights and general re-evaluation of life along the way but it was also heart-breakingly wonderful to have her with me. And get excited over sightings like this:
The moral is: traveling with my wife was phenomenal and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life exploring the world with her. Sappy but true. Next up are the Galapagos and Syria. Palmyra!!
For now, here are my resolutions: gym, arial classes, producing burlesque & cabaret, WRITE!
My mother would certainly disagree, but generally I am comforted by organization. Shitty day at the office? Pour a glass of wine and completely empty the dresser onto the bed, refold every item and put away again in piles grouped by garment type in drawers arranged by color. Talk to the Big One (boy cat) in a serious voice while doing so. Better? Of course!
Same applies to this blog. There are lots of things that I would like to mull over here, from femme invisability to interpersonal relationships in an artistic group to what the fuck should I make for dinner tonight and the ultimate resolution of should I buy these boots I’ve been obsessing over for 5 years when they cost nearly my half of the rent check? [pedshoes.com]
I know, right?
But how to organize? I guess this is where tags come in but bear with me, please, I am new to this blogging game.
So let’s dive right in shall we? Today’s topics will be short, sweet and self-absorbed:
Weather: sunshine in my city is amazing and I am typing this October entry in a tank top with the windows open. Thank you!
Femme: a topic to be explored but it’s a label I am leaning into and liking, mostly since I started performing burlesque and had to re-learn feminitity from a drag perspective. Also I am continuously coming out. As in all the fucking time, with every introduction and at every party. Still sometimes I wish I could pull off the boi thing.
My hair: I perpetually hate my hair. It is brown, boring and short while being shaggy. Not the oh so cute it’s shaggy but the girl, you need a haircut! shaggy. Boring. I want a super dykey asymmetrical haircut but Tristan has kick-ass hair dyed black and we just can’t have the same haircut. So gay. I would also like to go red but T isn’t a fan. And growing out my hair brought out some weirdly intense baggage, so none of that please. My favorite haircut was a super short pixie I got in Paris (like the lovely Emma Watson’s [Emma’s FB]) but I was literally the ONLY person I know who liked it. Bah.
Now go read the fantastic post on hair baggage by the Alpha Femme.
Rough sex, covering her chest in bruises, straddling her and coming when she tells me too. this girl has me.
So we’ve slept together almost every night, Tristan and I. She did my laundry, cleaned out my fridge and is enamoured of my wonderful gay roomate, Max. We spent the weekend together, she came shopping with me. No, I did not fall all over myself and I actually believe that I am incapable of being emotionally invested in anyone right now.
Note: unfinished post written Sept 4 and published Sept 10
So I lost most of the week to a wicked case of strep, which took hold Friday night and only just released me from it’s evil talons. Combined with a lovely rash caused by a hitherto unknown penicillian allergy, I’ve been out of the office and out of life. Kinda nice actually.
Back to Tristan, who went back home to “collect her things” and move out here.
I picked her up from the airport last night with little ado, both of us exhausted. Being sick just takes it out of me and all I want is to sleep for 24 hours at a time. But we went to dinner, I had a beer and we went home. She came to bed with me and we ended up making out and humping and writhing and NOT fucking due to the unfortuate combo of my exhaustion and period and general body issues. But I think we both came…at least I did but she is so fucking quiet that it’s hard to tell! Learning, I want to learn her.
Distracted now, she is making me dinner in my own kitchen and I CAN play this cool but I did kiss her goodbye this morning as I left her in my bed.
Mid-morning she texted me: Slightly odd question. May I borrow a pair of jeans so I can be lazy and not do laundry today? Of course I laughed to myself, she’s quite a skinny kid but she certainly has some muscle to her. Not to mention 3-4 inches on me. But how can I say no? So I’ve been thinking about her in my jeans all day…
I did tell the ex that Tristan and I slept together. We had dinner with my parents on Friday and took some out of town guests to the gay bar. It was so good to see her, I miss her smile. She said she knew that Tristan and I would fuck – I think she even used the word: inevitable.
I’ll think and leave it open as I move back into my oddly real world. Becoming a redhead tomorrow – who me, a quarter-life crisis?