11/8/08

Insane Ramblings: They're Not Just For Breakfast In Bed With Strangers Anymore

Well, crap on a Jesus wafer. I'm in a funk without the James Brownsesque benefits. The emotions in the pit of my stomach are driving me nearly insane and worstly of all, on top of plenty of the usual vaguaries, I know near precisely about whichawhatnot they pertain.

I know this isn't a Zombie Jesus Tale and I will certainly not proffer the benefits of decaf at this second. (Alright, there are none, I know!) I have my lesbian love letter half-way written, but this is not quite it (unless any French Lesbians With Hairy Pits, Great Hair, and Faint Mustaches I Don't Know are reading this). I do think that this may meet the criteria lain out by the 1975 Summer Olympics to qualify for an insane rambling, however, though perhaps not the type my Senor Bon Bon Boullion would have wanted, particularly in response to his supercalifornicationistic love letter. Since he got the job as my latex salesman and there was a, like, four or five-way tie on the topic picker poll, his was the deciding vote (though, actually, this is just all I can muster right now, so what say ye for symbiosis?)

I know it may shock and awe and daze and confuse many of my two readers to hear me say out here in the pseudononymous open that I am attracted to teh ladiez, but I am going though a doozie of a lollymabippy here, folks and I am having the raging, raw, lesbianism I may have once yearned for force its way up in me in a way that is making itself downright undeniable.

Oh, the drama. Oh, the egodeathaliscious profanity. This is a terribly inconvenient sort of pickle to be enduring at the moment. I have gone through stages, though, in my 21+ years and seem to have hit the critical masspoint in realiziationing this that makes denying my feelings rather impossible-seeming. I am past all the, "Oh, that makes sense in retrospect," sorts of reflections and am internalizing the meaning of such things. I am profoundly sad about it, really, while also extremely relieved.

Mr. Bee is my best friend, the father of my children, the matriarch of our family, the most loyal of the loyal, to a stubbornly annoying point. He really should have left me by now, if he had any sense at all. I guess he doesn't. I see no need whatsoever to act in any sort of way on anything at this very second, but to acknowledge the way I feel. I have actually done one of the hardest things in talking to him about it (though believe you me with all my dirty talking about what we would do in a three-way scenario, I know he cannot be shocked.) We met initially through a mutual friend of ours, a lesbian momming with a lesbian he used to date when I lived with a lesbian and then started dating later when I was dating a lesbian. Actually, come to think of it, Mr. Bee, what were you thinking? I used to think that living with a bisexual man would be the ideal scenario for me, and have been identifying as bi-sexual all these years, and maybe am in a way, but this feels different. This feels far less convenient, but more spot on. And, it sucks.

Don't get me wrong. I am not hot for Barbiez. I am hot for feminine tomboy sluts, for dykey goddesses, like the physics teacher I observed the other day working with the kids in the woodshop. Meow. And, for some lameass reason with all the things, the my parents divorcing after 25 years, the counseling and all the babbling on and on, lamenting about how I have this blog where I can be myself- but it is not who I am to those close to me day in and day out, the confluence of Count Zoloft, the support group for the bi-lesbian questioners with the dreamy skeptic lesbian virgin grad-student (I hope she doesn't google search herself there), the recalling my youngster makings out with girls, my raw defenses simply failed me. And then there was this picture (circa 1988):

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Good Lord of Buttery Balls on a Breakfast Platter. Someone (evil) posted it to facebook. I had (yet) a(nother) "Which one of these things is not like the other?" moment and have to say anything else I say is only saying the same thing over and over and over and over and over again, and yet, if you tell me what I just so silently uttered here, I will deny it.

Did I mention I have three more weeks of classes, period? I have already talked to my advisor about retaking my math class from beyond hell while I apprenticeship teach. It was much easier to do that than to hit my head against the proverbial wall trying to understand the material, and yet, there is the glimmer of delusional hope that some sort of wicked curve will make my 30% homework grade and a 76% on the test with several others making A's in a class of 12 people above passing standards. Uggh. I know there is no way that sentence was not not not improper and frankly, my darlink, I don't give a rat's ass.

15 comments:

Dr. Monkey Von Monkerstein said...

Mmmmmmm, hot girl on girl action.

enc said...

It sounds like you've got an awful lot going on in your life. I hope you'll find some answers . . . whatever they are.

Utah Savage said...

I'm hoping once schools out, you'll write more often and come visiting again. God I miss you.

Good luck with all the stuffnsuch. Sounds mighty fraught with fraughtness. Good thing Mr Bee is such a loyal and liberal sort. And a good homemaker too. Does he cook? Can I have him when you're through with him? Oh, sorry, that isn't nice. As if a man were just a handy thing to have around and not a person at all. I can be so insensitive sometimes. Mia Culpa. But not maxima.

La Belette Rouge said...

Endings, like the end of school, always bring up lots of feelings and make me reassess all parts of my life. Do you think that it is part of the funk without the James Brownsesque benefits?
p.s you always make your ennui entertaining.

Anonymous said...

Sounds like we need to WALK. I am off until at least Thursday so call me when you have time to walk and we'll sort all of this out. Or at least we will mock everyone else, thereby making our own issues seem positively sophisticated and charming.

Liberality said...

what I like so much about you and your blog is that you are most definitely yourself. that takes courage in this land of boring barbie and ken type peoples. in fact, I award you for it. no, really. I've given you an award.

Comrade Kevin said...

For a while I dated only other bisexuals, since they and they alone understood me and/or weren't afraid I was going to leave for someone else.

So I hope you reach some resolution, Freida.

CDP said...

I hope things work out for you. You're a great writer.

Randal Graves said...

Wait, you're going to dance like James Brown? It's a Lesbian's World. Lady's got a brand new bag, da da da da DA!

You scare me with the shot of the 80s Hair Army, yet you're seated on the Pedestal of Groove whatever difficulties exist and shall remain there with your crown and philosopher-queen staff that you use to bludgeon dumbassery until you decide to abdicate and take over Iceland or something.

GETkristiLOVE said...

I was so disappointed I couldn't make the picture bigger. BTW, I'm going to use the "Good Lord of Buttery Balls on a Breakfast Platter" the next time I'm drunk at 3am at Denny's.

Dean Wormer said...

First Lindsey Lohan now you. When will the madness end?

Ghost Dansing said...

you're a wonder Frieda......

Anonymous said...

I can think of one particular way one of those things is not like the other. Meow indeed.

dguzman said...

Add a meow and a purrrrr from me.

Dear oh dear Frieda. Hope things work out for you. And good luck with school!

darkblack said...

Well, you're still cool, whatever your path may be.

;>)