Touchy Feelie

This past week I've heard smidgens of peoples' stories (one even referred to Personal Best, here.)  They've left me wanting more, and to write about a few things myself...

I recall my mother pulling my brother and me out of school the day she left my dad.  I had just traded school photos with the first friend I made in 2nd grade in Omaha.  I remember leaving that photo in my school box, not realizing I wouldn't see it again.  My mother has told me that I was uncharacteristically happy during the whole overnight drive it took to get us away from my father.  This is no surprise.  I recall the hellishness of wanting to be gone when they fought.  She told me that it was when he started to hit me that she knew she had to leave.  I don't remember any of that.  I learned to become invisible, to be good, to put my deeper needs aside for the sake of safety in a moment.  While I am comfortable in my own skin and oftentimes amongst women, being myself with men is far more difficult for me.

Over the years, I've suspected this might be what being gay is... for me.  I'm attracted to women and men alike and while emotional factors really push me toward women, my physical pull toward having sex with men is not something I've really ever been willing to deny, so I go with bi.  Like every female and male my age, I had major crushes on Kristy McNichol and Jodi Foster when I was a teen.  I'm not sure if I wanted to be like them or to touch their breasts or what, but irregardless, their tomboy appeal definitely resonates with me.

I was a tomboy myself, and how.  Within the first year of moving in with my grandmother in Arkansas, I ended up on the front page of the sports section in Alma, AR in a shot that found me leaving the next runner far behind at an elementary school field day event.  (No news is good new, I suppose.)  I had been made to change schools time and time again through my early school years and running faster than anyone else became my schtick.  I resented people who threatened what became my identity, just ask KT whose kick back broke my leg and delayed my early entry into the Jr. High track scene by a long two months in 6th grade.

The summer after 3rd grade and on through the next seven years my parents sent me to an all girls' camp in East Texas that lasted for five weeks each session.  I was suddenly exposed to all sorts of new experiences I'd never even considered; it was riding horses that moved me the most.  I remember those first moments on a horse quite precisely.  I had never been allowed to do something so thrilling in all my life.  Though I was painfully shy that first year, I wanted to go back the next summer with all my heart.  The horses helped.

Returning home after camp was always difficult; extracting myself from such an ideallic environment was excruciating.  We swam in the lake and shot bows and arrows and rifles even.  We water-skied and sang.  The talent shows performed and war games fought competitively across arbitrary, but lifelong, tribal lines were both fun and intense. Perhaps best of all for me, was temporarily living deep in the lush pine forests of East Texas.  Five weeks just wasn't enough.

My love for the outdoors began when my mother, brother and I lived with my grandmother after we left my dad that day.  Her house in Arkansas was atop a mountain at the base of the Ozarks and I used to pretend I lived in the shallow caves on the back of the mountain behind the neighbor's barn.  I didn't have much concept of property lines at that time, and when my mother got remarried and we moved into a house along horse pastures in Fort Smith, they became my new stomping grounds.

My 5th grade summer after I'd gone to camp, I casually asked my next door neighbors if I could ride their horse sometime.  One or both of them said, "Yes."  I didn't really even mention it to either of them again, but what I did instead was to go find their horse and ride him bareback without any adults knowing about it many many times over the rest of that entire year.  I was 11-12.  That was an exquisite time in my life.  I wandered over those pastures on the back of that horse, holding on for dear life.  At camp we had ridden English-style, so I cantered on that horse for as long as he'd go, just barely staying afloat without reins, stirrups or a saddle, moving in a most pleasant gyrating fashion and scared.

That was the same year my friend and I found a big ol' stack of Hustlers by a tree in one of the fields not far from someone's house.  We looked at those bad boys a good long while before anyone else ever found out.  Conveniently, there were Hustlers for ladies too.  Life was good.  I didn't fall into the icy pond which I'd teeter out on from time to time that winter, the same one that had held fascinating tadpoles the previous spring.

I tried to avoid riding my neighbor's horse near the road, but those Hustlers weren't far from one, so the route had to be taken.  On several occasions, as I was riding my horse (as he was in my mind about then), I was hollered at by men driving by.  That was the year my breasts really growth spurted, the year I started my period, and the year I had a tied-on spaghetti strap shirt come untied on one side on the play ground at school, completely exposing one of my embarrassing breasts.  I was completely mortified.

After I went to camp that next year, I didn't ride my neighbors' horse again.  I became very self-conscious about my body, and no one talked to me about sex or all of the changes that were happening to my body.  There was one period talk aimed at catching girls before they started their periods, but it was too late.  I had already started mine as I was sliding down the laundry chute at my best friends house.  Her father was more helpful to me that day than anyone else, besides Judy Bloom, in helping me to know what was going on with my body.

I had started to make out with boys and made out with my best friend a few times when we spent the night at each others houses.  No one ever called me a slut, which is surprising with the breasts and all, but I was quite tough and athletic and really neurotically awkward at times.  I've never really been a girl who threatens other girls, I don't think.  No one was worried I was gonna steal her boyfriend.  I just wasn't that ambitious.  Or, I was just fine with having the interactions I had with people without having to call them this thing or that.

The guilt I had in those beginnings of sexual pleasure are somehow directly related to an eating disorder I developed shortly after that time.  When GH said I had a good body in 8th grade, he verbalized what I feared, that people were noticing what I was ashamed was going on with my body.  And, as far as other girls went, I just always felt different.  I thought my shoulders were too broad.  I felt awkward in dresses and wore skinny ties and got my hair cut short and spiky after that.  I never knew homosexuality was as an option.  I got hot and heavy with some guys, but the ones who really liked me, I blew off... until high school when drinking and smoking cigarettes acted as a buffer between me and my sexuality, especially as I spent every walking moment of my senior year with my then best, now lesbian friend.  This is, incidentally, the first time in my life that I have been dating (uggh) sober. 

I think this all came up for me when a friend and I went out to an organic farm yesterday.  A little happened between us once, but, in general, things between us have been platonic.  I get easily discouraged if things aren't very mutual and easy, though friendship is.  There is also a man I saw for a bit in the last couple months.  He was easy to be around and we had a really nice time together, but nothing was overly compelling for me, until one evening he and I spent together at his house. 

We had lots of good sex and talked and were sort of wrapped up in our own little world.  A big old ball of feelings I haven't felt in a very long time rose to the surface in me.  It was really quite nice, and I am so glad to be reminded of that, even if the intensity was a little much considering he's not someone I see a future with.  I initiated some texting a bit the next couple days which he responded to, but I didn't want to push things, and figured if he felt the same way he would initiate contact after that, which he did a little, but not to my satisfactions. ?  And, I just let it all peter out.  Or, didn't push the river, maybe.  Grr. Hulk want to push river.  What I learned from my relationship with Mr. Bee is how very much I really don't want to be the only one initiating things.  There are a lot of feelings of rejection that come from that in the long run for me. 

The farm guy that showed my friend and me around was very sexy to me, a sort of reminding me of something I like (in myself, probably).  He was very earthy.  There is something inside me ready for something less fleeting, more serious and involved (with myself, probably, dammit).  I have been feeling a little lonely lately, and while I have many, many fulfilling things going on in my life and I am happy to be alone with myself, even to an extreme at times (I'm jealous of myself).  Maybe, I want more, want to hear more of someone's story than what fits in the space of fleeting social events, without the unhealthinesses that were present in my shacking up marriage, of course.  Closeness.  Fuck.  I'm not putting this shit on my blog.

Well, I'll be back to more objectifying before you know it.

Coming Soon (and Explosively): 
  • 10,001 Ways to Avoid Eye Contact at the Bra Store 
  • How to Worship the Penis Attached to the Man You Barely Know Attached with Handcuffs to Your Bed Frame 
  • Hi, My Name is Not Not Freida; May I Fondle Your Breasts?    
  • Paper or Plastic or Get My Damn Hand off Your Ass?  
  • Do You Consider a Condom a Pocket Protector?  If You're Not Gross, We Can Help.   
  • I Want Your Mumble, Mumble, Mumble
  • You Say Vagina, I Say Vaginæ
(Note to self:  Buy a bed frame.) 

There, now balance has been restored.


So, Do Ya'll Rembember?

Oh my gawd, I'm so jazzed I'm using the word jazzed.  I didn't back out at the last minute from reading at the Bedpost Confessions, and I'm so glad.  It was like a great poetry reading on Viagra™ and, in general, that's what poetry readings usually need a little more of... viagra, right?  Uhh.  I'm even choosing to blog right now rather than watch tv online, but not for long.  Actually, while you weren't looking, I went and sold my soul to the devil and called in to get cable.  I mean, I saw an ad advertising it to cost only five dollars more to have both cable and internets rather than internets only as I have it now.  See, it's already degrading the quality of my blogging.

I am happy to say that the three pieces that I read are pieces I wrote here, here, and here.  I actually think the crowd might be ready for Florence Joe and I'm afraid some new material is on order, as I'm now hooked on Kombucha and reading smut aloud to a crowd.  I'm pretty sure I know to whom I'm going to write my next Love Letter to a French Arthurian Men I Don't Know, even.  Also, I am wondering if more celebrity three-ways might be in order.  Oh, the shame.

I survived working 19 days straight and even busted a move all day today, but tomorrow is a true day off for me.  I'm so excited, I just can't shut up.  Did I mention the latest episode of Weeds has a hot little sex scene?

Well, I'm actually winded over here.  It's past midnight and that means sexy dreams are calling me.  Excitedly enough, I had two good sex dreams last night.  That was after I wrote this quip on a piece of paper right before I fell asleep:
"it seems like a cruel act of reverse psychology for The Powers That Be to tell gays they can't serve in the military or get married."
I mean seriously, there are about a thousand and a half things I would far rather have the right to do than join the military or get married.  I far prefer the idea of boycotting these institutions. but you know, it isn't up to me, now is it, Mr. Smarty Pants.

Did I mention I got up on a stage with confidence with my trapper keeper in me cunt.  Yes, it's lady time.  You have that to look forward to.  Goodnight with the music of the day/ night/ morning.  STFU narrator.

Oops, while I was feelin' around YourBoob, I found this band.  I like how they overlay 10,000 pieces digitally:


Workin' on Whelmed

You'll have more of me than you ever could have hoped for after tomorrow or the day after that or the day after that, especially since working 19 days stright sees me eating like crap with virtually no exercise. I've somewhat goodly, somewhat not goodly been falling asleep super early, so even the last of my teaching prep is going to happen at 5AM in the morning. I can't blog. Nope. Can't. I am hoping to hit whelmed right about this time tomorrow and slide into some days off later in the week.

For now, here is a suitable replacement for me. Did I mention my apartment looks like shit. Of course, there's the laundry. Don't forget the laundry. 5Am is early enough to wash and dry a couple loads before I have to change my adult diaper and drink my metamucil.

Stay classy. That's what I always don't say. Plus, I better push go over here. I've got half a post dying for naught in my saved posts last week. When will I learn beggars can't be choosers? Oh yeah, never.

I think this one might be my favorite, but really, it's impossible to choose...

Go see the rest of the 237486 of these. They are brilliant!


Don't Worry Your Pretty Little Head About Pesky Governnmental Concerns, Dear

Update: "Don't worry your pretty little head, Part 2."

The Seven Deadly Teacher Stamps

I picked this picture while I was watching the movie Seven last evening for the first time... to my great psychological detriment, I'm sure.  I actually fell asleep about halfway through; the remainder just situated itself into my psyche, I imagine— like all those infomercials and episodes of Growing Pains.  Shudder.

I fell asleep sometime before 9PM like I might normally do at midnight when I've stayed up later than I should, but I needed some down time after the kids went to sleep, so Fuck It™. You see, I went back off the coffee sauce on Monday and  there is this deluge of sleep catch up I am dealing with, it seems.  So, all week, I've slept quite well and much, but I am still kinda tired.  Last night I woke up, like a normal person might at 4:30AM with a blessed hour and a half still to sleep, but it was only midnight, so I went back to the other half of my sleep.  This is a very sexy lifestyle.  Time to shift to having dreams about sex instead of having actual sex?  I hope not, but my 12 day in a row marathon work schedule just turned into 19, which might make this work/ sleep thing a way of life, I think.  Shudder.

So, there's my weekend security guard fluffing, my part time teaching job and the one that seems realest of them all, the substitute teaching which I theoretically do on Thursdays and Fridays, but usually blow off because I need the days off.  This past week and now next, I agreed to sub for teachers I know at my children's school.  This post isn't about lust at all, I'm afraid.

Wait, there was super juiciness to report last weekend when I was way too busy to blog.  Sleep deprived was the old sexy, I guess, and Monday found me feeling unwell and hence the circular coffee sauce offageness.  A young gent (I'll call him being three years my junior) and I have seen each other a scant number of times, but there is a very nice rapport that turned extra spicy last weekend.  The thing is, I felt quite swooped up.  I don't know that he doesn't feel the same way, but as a busy week for us both went on, I found feeling so intensely about such matters to be nearly painful.  Pre-occupying, at least.  Pesky lust.  Oh goody, the pic does work.  I'm not sure I want to embrace such suchnesses (though of course, I do).  And, worsely, I feared he may not want to, so displaying them might not be apropos.  He did reply and even thank me (?, but sweet) for sending a couple flirty texts early in the week, but then I went into teenage boy mode and decided that it was his turn to initiate, and... crickets.  sheez.

While, yes, on the one hand, I'm not interested in scenarios in which I do all the initiating (and, duh, he initiated 3 out of 4 of our previous "dates" (sic), but who's counting), I guess the thing to do is just say how I feel.  It's been a comfort to me to give myself a channel for lustful thoughts by allowing myself to aim my lust arrows in other (oh so productive up in the sky) directions when I feel maybe my needs aren't being met in a certain sense by one blah blah... at least in theory.  But, then I think that's probably what he's doing, and oh my gosh, got vague and estupido.  Will.  Send. An.  Email.

Just a sec.  Gotta make the donut round.  (Also, trying to get this out, before I really buckle down here at my other job and get to work on some teaching stuff I'm in a crunch re:.)  Alright, then.

This week in review part:  So, I'm subbing Thursday for a class with 7 special needs students, and I get to my car with three of my own children in tow, ready for school, and my tire is flat.  Almost completely.  I decide I can drive it to the gas station a block from my apartment in hopes of airing it up, but of course, the seal has been broken and it cannot be aired, plus I just ruined the tire, I bet.  This is thirty minutes before the morning assembly starts.  Mr. Bee is Gracious enough to come from his 5-10 minute away place and give us a ride to school (fortunately, I was subbing at my sons' school) and drop The Future President off at her dad's close by from where she was already planning to take a bus, since this was all a little early for her high school's starting later deal.

He's gracious enough to come, but not gracious enough not to not act very put upon.  The store agreed to let me keep my van there for the day and Mr. Bee picked me and the (his too) boys up from school (on his usual pick up day), and because I didn't really want to be asking someone who seemed he would be pouting about helping the whole time to help, I dropped him and the boys off and borrowed his car for the couple hours it took to go buy a small hydraulic jack (finally— my shitty van one bent and collapsed earlier in the summer).  I easily got the tire off, and took it to my favorite east side tire store, took it back, smashed my hand a little (kiss it) and got the tire back on.  I'm dirty and tired, but in good spirits considering and easily let Mr. Bee know I didn't want to quibble about his quibblings.  "Thank you so much for your help," is all I said.  I'll see you on your free tutoring on Sunday evening this week, you grumble grumble.  I'm just happy, I suppose, to receive these little confirmations about my decision to leave and my own inner dykinesses.  I don't need no stinkin' man.  A car, maybe, but... oh well.  Even drama doesn't have to be drama, you know.  I had a school potluck after that, and got pulled over by a cop and got a warning (never happens).  It was a very mixed up, but not awful day, Amelia Bedelia.

The good thing about subbing is that you just show up and you don't have to take it home.  The class I was with Thursday and Friday was fun.  They were a wild pack, but they were fun.  Some of the lesson plans/ assignments the teacher left weren't all there, it seemed, and we did our best and sometimes the children seemed like they were actually learning, so in the afternoon when much of the class is gone out to reading and other support, five children remained in the class.  I had quietly played Tchaikovsky on Thursday while the children read or worked on these stories they were writing, and Friday's Enya prompted a beautiful and serene dancing time that really moved me.

Each morning at the school where I am teaching we do Yoga and sing songs at an opening circle.  There, it was a rare thing to be afforded that space, and yet, if I had to choose, I might say I liked being in that subbing classroom more than I am liking my job.  Maybe it would be the fulltimeness of it, the not feeling like I just got started and then, wham it's over, too soon (with our shortened academic week), or maybe the better theoretical pay.  Or maybe, I don't walk away feeling like I should have done more instead of that we did so much, even if it's not all I'd hoped it would be.  I think I just feel more needed, fulfilled, in the public school setting, even though I am getting some positive feedback from some of the parents re: my own students.

Something similar happened when I moved back to Arkansas for a time after having lived in Austin for five years.  I went back and was the weird one.  The one doing things differently, but in contrast, in Austin, as in my current school, I feel like I come off as the conservative one.  Shudder. 

Well, I'm getting catnappy, and I have thirty thousand things to do here at work.  Grade papers, prepare for student /teacher/ parent/ administrator conferences on Tuesday.  Plus, I've got movies to watch, people.  There are movies to watch, plus let's have a song.

Oh, I've been listening to The Flaming Lips' remake of Dark Side of the Moon a lot lately.  It is stunning.  Plus, as blogging fortune would have it: Wayne Coyne= Lust.  Trust me, I'm a "mathematician."

The Flaming Lips & Stardeath and White Dwarfs//Breathe from MMAFT on Vimeo.

The Flaming Lips - Dark Side of the Moon - Wellmont Theater
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