Bebe

I have these incredible women in my life that I don't give credit too often enough.  I don't recognize often enough.  I don't tell them how much I appreciate them and everything they've done for me... I just don't.

There is a particular woman that has been on my mind the last few weeks and usually, when something or someone is on my mind like this... it's for a reason.

Bebe and I 'met' in cyberspace more than 5 years ago where we both offered each other (and other women) support in the form of a message board.  Our friendship grew quickly after a phone call I made to her one afternoon that lasted hours long.  I could tell we were going to be friends for a very long time...

We shared.  A lot.  We shared our experiences that brought us to that message board seeking support.  We shared our childhoods.  We shared stories about our mothers, and then after I even made a trip out to see her I even tried to push her mother into a pot of boiling water.  No worries... I saved her by grabbing her broken arm to reel her back in.  It sounds worse than it was... really.

I was there when she became a (bio)mother.  I watched her birth video and reviewed the traumatic delayed evacuation with her (so nice for a student nurse-midwife, by the way).  I was there to listen to her stories and fears and frustrations of step-mothering.

She's been there for me too.  She has told me when to lock myself in the bedroom with the phone ... that the "kids will be fine for 10 minutes."  She's told me to eat because I was to sick to feed myself.  She's called my family and friends to make sure I am safe because she lived more than a thousand miles away.  She has opened her home to me, to my kids, and now most recently to S.  She is part of my chosen family.

A year ago... she loaned me money... and it was like a birthday gift.  Because it was money I used to retain my divorce attorney.  When I left one dysfunctional relationship for another... she loved me, and she stayed by my side to show me that I am strong enough... that I am not the sum of my mistakes.

What does she say for herself?  "That's what friends do."

I've been worried about my friend lately.  I need her to be okay.

I love you Jess.

Happy Birthday, Best Friend...

this is a little reflection... for you.    

I have this friend Jess, and in my contact list on my iPhone for "title" I have her saved as Best Friend.  I have to explain, because I use the phrase "best friend" and "BFF" with so many people that it may seem as if I have a lot of besties.  I do.   And I don't.  I have many women (and one man) that are important to me for different reasons.  I could do half a year's blogging, devote one post for each person, and tell why they are important in my life.  Perhaps I'll spare you.

But Jess... she gets the title.  Best Friend.  Capitalized.  Proper noun. 

This is her birthday.  We texted this morning... and reflected about how 20 years ago... today... on this day, her BIRTHday... she got her first period... and today, on her BIRTHday... she woke up to her period.  What a reflection to be able to share with my Best Friend. 

Jess is a woman that people take for granted.  Everyone does.  Without knowing they do it... they do.  I have; I regret to admit it.  I see her husband and her children do it and while they get a "free pass" on occassion... I feel as Best Friend... I owe her more.  

Why do we do that?  Why do we give our friends more than family?

I'll tell you why I do.  Because Jess is my family... my chosen family. 

She could have chosen NOT to have been my friend, many times over, especially when I wasn't acting the role as BFF... but no... she remained by my side.  She's shown me unconditional love and whether or not she's ever judged my actions or "lifestyle" choices... I simply do not know... because it has not affected our friendship.

I hope it never does.  

I hope I can stop taking Jess for granted.  

I hope she can see herself for who she really is.   

Why I Hold Her Hand . . .

I remember the first time I held a girl's hand in public.  It was actually a woman's hand.  We were hundreds of miles away from anyone that would ever recognize me, but it still felt very identifying.  I remember how natural it felt.  I remember it felt like when I was a kid, running around without a shirt on . . . free and easy . . . shameless, before anyone told me that I was "supposed" to wear a shirt.

Then, that same woman and I, held hands in my hometown where anyone could see me "being gay..." where anyone at all could see ME being ME.  It did not make me want to run and put a shirt on, or run and hide.  I had done that long enough.  I was glad to be free and shameless, finally.

I don't believe that woman felt the same way about holding my hand unfortunately.

When S and I are near each other, we really can't keep our hands off one another.  It's her nature, though, she is a "touch-er" and I am craving to be touched.  We really fit well together.  We both touch people everyday for our jobs; we both love our jobs. 

When I am out with S we exchange hugs and kisses, long embraces, hand holding, and sometimes... more.  I rarely wonder what the public is thinking of these exchanges we are sharing.  I rarely even think about the public.  My energy and my focus is solely placed on her.  Most of the time.

I catch the dirty looks.  And that is why I hold her hand.  I hold her hand and I smile back at the Dirty Lookers as sweetly as I can.  Dirty Lookers are often of the male gender.  Their scowl is often accompanied with a disapproving look and a head shake (imagine a finger wagging too).  I want him to see me.  I want him to see S.  I want him to see me smiling at him with love and friendship and no hatred.  I just want him to see how true our love is and then find fault.  We are human, and our love is no different than his.

I hold her hand because the Other Mothers hold the hands of their husbands and why shouldn't I be afforded the same privilege?  Is it really a privilege to hold her hand?  Is it a privilege for them to hold their husband's hands?

I hold her hand because I can.  Because I don't have to campaign or march to hold her hand.

I hold her hand because it's soft and strong.

I hold her hand because it fits inside of mine.

I hold her hand because I want our children to see.  I want them to know love and affection of all shapes, sizes, colors, and flavors.  I want them to see and to know it's normal and visible and equal and fair.  I want our children to feel included... not on the outside looking in.

I hold her hand because of the girl that I saw in Old Sac yesterday who was probably 14 years old.  I'm guessing she was with her father.  She couldn't stop herself from looking at S and I.  We were sitting outside having an afternoon cocktail, sharing laughter, allowing ourselves to dream.  I noticed her.  She was doing more than noticing us.  I remember being her.  I remember studying women who I thought may be lesbian, and I remember studying gay couples that I very rarely encountered in my "real life."  I felt her studying us. 

We payed our bill and as we started to stroll again I felt my hand reach for S's hand... and there it was.  It just fits.

Breaking Up for Dummies

Where is that book?  I am sure with all the Dummy books out there, one exists.  And specifically... "How to Break Up with Someone You've Really Only Had Two Dates With... But You Went Around The Block With Her... For Dummies"  Fuck.  Where in fuck's sake is that book?  Or blog? 

So... I am trying to have this very important talk with T, about how we are just incompatible in a dating sense right now... and perhaps we should just try to be friends for a while, then see how that goes.  (Uhhh, give me a break.  I've never done this before.)  And she tells me she has to say something to me or she will regret it, and she expels out, "I love you."  WTF am I supposed to do with that?  Remember way back, the awkward silence *I* experienced after asking for a kiss...?  Yeah... most definetly awkward.  Things not to say:

That's nice.

Thank you.

Why?

You shouldn't.

So soon?

The list could go on... I think she meant that she's starting to fall in love with me... or that she wants to... or that she could allow herself to.  But she can't be in love with me.  Really.  This chick and I are so completely incompatible.  We cannot even have a conversation about anything.  It feels like an interview.  I ask her questions and she answers.  So this "conversation" got off to a real fucking great start.

I asked her, "Why do you love me?"  which I ask often.  I find the responses so... interesting... so telling.  You know?  Well her responses were more of non-responses, if you ask me.  They were not really reasons.  And that's because she doesn't really love me.  Not in the way she thinks she does. 

Why am I even blogging about this?  Does anyone even give a fuck?

My favorite responses to the question are the ones that have to do with A) my body, B) how I fuck, or C) how "good" I make them feel.  **Giant dramatic sigh**  Those are not the correct answers, FYI.  (Those weren't really her answers either... so strange and awkward.)

So yeah... here I sit.  With this card she left me that has a handwritten note that I absolutely cannot read.  I mean I cannot read it.  The words are illegible.  And I laugh at the irony.  What does it say?  Does it hold all the secret emotions and feelings about our Two Date Relationship that she wants to impart on me before the final band aid is ripped off?  It is a perfect symbol of what it is like between us.  Illegible writing... which leads to poor communication... or a lack of communication... I guess.

I'm ALIVE!

It's been a while gang.  Sorry about that...  I've been busy!  That's a good thing.

So I met the other girl I blogged about, S, and I've been smiling ever since.  No really.  I can't stop smiling.  It's really not even because of things she says or does, or that, "Hey now this really cool chic is hanging out with me."  No, it's just that I'm feeling more positive lately.  I just have a different perspective.

Uhm.  I hate that I'm about to do this.  But I am.  So let's just begin.  When I think about how I feel when I've spent time with T, it's been so totally ... really ... completely ... fine.  Fine.  Just fine.  Not bad.  Not specatacular.  She's a very nice girl that I enjoy talking to, when I can get her to talk.  I sometimes feel afraid that she won't understand my humor and I will offend her.  That's a not so good feeling when you're a crazy ass funny as hell woman like myself.

When I spend time with S... things are totally, completely, superbly... Fine.  You know the difference.  There is fine and there is Fine.  Things with S are so easy.  I feel like we've known each other before.  In another time.  In another life.  I don't feel like we've known each other forever, because things still feel very new and exciting with her.  Something inside me stirs.  With T, it's not there.

Okay... done with that ickiness... I hate feeling like I am comparing them and for some reason that feels so wrong.

You know what else feels wrong?  When your first date lasts THREE fucking days.  But that feels wrong on a different level, on a oh so "good" to be wrong level!  So S, came into town last week and spent a few days at my place and it was just so fun and funny and relaxing and enjoyable... and there really were no awkward moments even during the "longest first date ever."  I kept waiting for it to happen.  It never did. 

We joked about how inappropriate our "first date" was.  Truth be told, I thought it was quite perfect.  All three days.  We made plans to see each other in two days.  I would drive to her. 

I did... and it was more of the same awesomeness.  I spent another three days with her, this time at her place, meeting her friends.

I think I've gotten over the part where I'm searching for the - what's wrong with this girl - answer.  Maybe nothing.  Maybe something.  Maybe something I won't really care about. 

One last thing, because honestly... I could gush on about her... her eyes are the prettiest blue I've not seen since looking into my grandfather's eyes.  They are the color of a happy sky and in the middle there is this bright yellow burst that you notice if you look closely.  They are sincerely the most interesting eyes ever.  Not just the color of them, but the way she looks at me.  The way she looks at other people when they are talking to her.  The way she looks when we are holding each other very close and being very intimate.  The way her eyes change when she is laughing.  Her eyes even laugh. 

I miss her:

I miss the woman who gave me this:

When you come to the edge of all the light you know, and are about to step off into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing one of two things will happen: There will be something solid to stand on, or you will be taught how to fly. ~ Barbara Winter Patrick Overton

I wish I could tell her I love her.  I loved her then and I love her now.  I miss her.  I want to thank her for showing me that I was able and because of her I now know that I am able.

I miss her.