Monday, July 31, 2006
Cat Up A Tree
We used to live in an old studio with a small yard that had a big tree in the middle of it, with a swing. Our little cat Hillary climbed it one day, then realized that Simon, the fluffy male who lived in the front unit, had come and positioned himself directly under the tree, blocking her way down. She was going to have to encounter him if she ever wanted to get down out of the tree.
So I look out my window and watch their little girl-boy games, and you have to wonder about the humans in all of this. Their games have a similar feel. Men everywhere are always trying to position themselves under that tree somehow, hoping the female in question will: a) trip over them, b) scurry past them somehow, or c) just accept the fact that he is going to be inevitable in her life.
I had a male friend, R, that I met through work at a hospital once in Berkeley. He was a sardonic guy who wasn't much of a talker. That's probably why he adopted the strategy he did with me. His communication skills were not that developed, but he knew how to position himself at least. And position himself he did, trying to catch me at a good time, hanging around and watching me. Guys do that a lot when they don't know how to talk well enough.
I am not sure which I would prefer. Guys who talk their way into your bed, or guys who work their way there by increments, through their efforts at strategery, as our dear leader would say. It's an active thing but it plays as somewhat passive too. You're the one tripping over THEM because they have arranged it.
Usually I get the feeling I can be intimidating to men without trying too hard. So I guess it is not surprising when they resort to strategery. It is sometimes amusing to witness, because I can see the wheels turning as they work on their dilemna. How do they get my attention, but without being too obnoxious?
R took the laid back approach, even though we did lots of things together, adventurous things. Like riding our motorcycles around together, going skinny-dipping up along the Sacramento River, or sailing his yacht in San Francisco Bay. That should have buoyed his confidence, but he still seemed not interested in being too direct with me.
The closest he got was saying to me one day, "Well, in case you want to know, I've had a vasectomy." He no doubt said this in the hopes I would feel safer about bedding him. But I didn't. My interest in him totally dropped from this moment onward. He could not get me pregnant is basically what he said to me, and I must have had hidden resentment about that. Because afterwards we never did move towards sleeping together.
I escaped his "trap," but did I really want to? Women often are meaning "yes" even while they are saying "no." So what's a boy to do?
Continue to hang by the tree, I guess.
- - - - - -
So I look out my window and watch their little girl-boy games, and you have to wonder about the humans in all of this. Their games have a similar feel. Men everywhere are always trying to position themselves under that tree somehow, hoping the female in question will: a) trip over them, b) scurry past them somehow, or c) just accept the fact that he is going to be inevitable in her life.
I had a male friend, R, that I met through work at a hospital once in Berkeley. He was a sardonic guy who wasn't much of a talker. That's probably why he adopted the strategy he did with me. His communication skills were not that developed, but he knew how to position himself at least. And position himself he did, trying to catch me at a good time, hanging around and watching me. Guys do that a lot when they don't know how to talk well enough.
I am not sure which I would prefer. Guys who talk their way into your bed, or guys who work their way there by increments, through their efforts at strategery, as our dear leader would say. It's an active thing but it plays as somewhat passive too. You're the one tripping over THEM because they have arranged it.
Usually I get the feeling I can be intimidating to men without trying too hard. So I guess it is not surprising when they resort to strategery. It is sometimes amusing to witness, because I can see the wheels turning as they work on their dilemna. How do they get my attention, but without being too obnoxious?
R took the laid back approach, even though we did lots of things together, adventurous things. Like riding our motorcycles around together, going skinny-dipping up along the Sacramento River, or sailing his yacht in San Francisco Bay. That should have buoyed his confidence, but he still seemed not interested in being too direct with me.
The closest he got was saying to me one day, "Well, in case you want to know, I've had a vasectomy." He no doubt said this in the hopes I would feel safer about bedding him. But I didn't. My interest in him totally dropped from this moment onward. He could not get me pregnant is basically what he said to me, and I must have had hidden resentment about that. Because afterwards we never did move towards sleeping together.
I escaped his "trap," but did I really want to? Women often are meaning "yes" even while they are saying "no." So what's a boy to do?
Continue to hang by the tree, I guess.
- - - - - -
Thursday, July 27, 2006
How'd A Girl Like You Get To Be A Girl Like You? (Pt.1)
This title actually comes from Cary Grant's line to Eva Marie Saint in Hitchcock's classic thriller, "North By Northwest." It occurs about two thirds of the way through the film, after he's just figured out her duplicity and flung it back in her face. I thought it might be appropriate to use for this piece, which outlines a little how I came to be the fine bi person I am today.
What were the things along the road that pushed me towards being a bisexual person? As I look back now, there were brightly colored pebbles everywhere on my path, calling out to me to stop and collect them.
Like being athletic, for starters. Sports seem to augment the natural aggression people have. Every girl who plays sports almost always is a tomboy type. But did that mean I was inclined to like women? I am unsure. Not necessarily, but in my case it certainly helped the cause along. I may not be all that butch, but I have more aggression than most women, and I have been accustomed to acting some of that out physically in my sporty life. I used to think most dykes were really into sport, but I find that does not occur so often. The real jocks are still the straight women, by and large.
Being a Gemini probably introduced me naturally to the idea of duality in the universe. Our minds are constantly being pulled this way, then that way. After a while you start to really think that it's all about ebb and flow. While this may leave you without a really strong "home base" to land on, you certainly seem to have more fun than the rest of the peasants out there.
Home life always plays a role too, and having observed my parents rather unhappy marriage over the years I began to see the ways in which they contributed to my bisexual outlook. My father wanted a son, but ended up with three daughters. Being the oldest, and the most athletic, I became the Substitute Son. My mother saw in me a defender and an ally in her ongoing battles with my father, so I got drafted. She encouraged my tomboyishness too. After all, a girly girl daughter is not as good an ally as a girl who knows how to fight.
So my family inclinations played into my development. For this I am thankful. Of the three daughters, I feel I'm the one who has had the most interesting life. Even though the two younger girls are better off financially and materially, and exhibit to the world the air of middle-class happiness. I was the one who ran around and did stuff and had weird things happen in my life. I hesitate to use the term "Black Sheep" of the family, but in some ways I was.
Now though I see my upbringing has paid off. All the notes in the symphony turned into major chords and it sounds quite nice, overall. I recall an astrologer saying I would get my goodies later on in life, i.e. finding Dave when I was mid forties, feeling more at home in who I was. And being more certain than ever that I was a bisexual person.
TO BE CONTINUED
What were the things along the road that pushed me towards being a bisexual person? As I look back now, there were brightly colored pebbles everywhere on my path, calling out to me to stop and collect them.
Like being athletic, for starters. Sports seem to augment the natural aggression people have. Every girl who plays sports almost always is a tomboy type. But did that mean I was inclined to like women? I am unsure. Not necessarily, but in my case it certainly helped the cause along. I may not be all that butch, but I have more aggression than most women, and I have been accustomed to acting some of that out physically in my sporty life. I used to think most dykes were really into sport, but I find that does not occur so often. The real jocks are still the straight women, by and large.
Being a Gemini probably introduced me naturally to the idea of duality in the universe. Our minds are constantly being pulled this way, then that way. After a while you start to really think that it's all about ebb and flow. While this may leave you without a really strong "home base" to land on, you certainly seem to have more fun than the rest of the peasants out there.
Home life always plays a role too, and having observed my parents rather unhappy marriage over the years I began to see the ways in which they contributed to my bisexual outlook. My father wanted a son, but ended up with three daughters. Being the oldest, and the most athletic, I became the Substitute Son. My mother saw in me a defender and an ally in her ongoing battles with my father, so I got drafted. She encouraged my tomboyishness too. After all, a girly girl daughter is not as good an ally as a girl who knows how to fight.
So my family inclinations played into my development. For this I am thankful. Of the three daughters, I feel I'm the one who has had the most interesting life. Even though the two younger girls are better off financially and materially, and exhibit to the world the air of middle-class happiness. I was the one who ran around and did stuff and had weird things happen in my life. I hesitate to use the term "Black Sheep" of the family, but in some ways I was.
Now though I see my upbringing has paid off. All the notes in the symphony turned into major chords and it sounds quite nice, overall. I recall an astrologer saying I would get my goodies later on in life, i.e. finding Dave when I was mid forties, feeling more at home in who I was. And being more certain than ever that I was a bisexual person.
TO BE CONTINUED
Monday, July 24, 2006
Boys Who Waffle
This past weekend Dave and I wanted to line up a person of the male persuasion to join us in some sexy fun. That turned out to be something of a tall order. We realize that part of the problem is where we live. San Jose is not exactly a bastion of liberal activity. Just because we have Silicon Valley here does not necessarily mean that sexual relationships have advanced as fast as our technology, sorry to say.
The town started much like the San Fernando Valley, with a heap of orange groves and not much else in a dry, rather hot landscape. It feels redneck to me still. Our neighborhood is actually in Campbell, a quaint little community just west of San Jose. Bush-Cheney signs were on display in yards around Campbell during the election, so don't go assuming the San Francisco Bay Area is uniformly awash in liberal persuasion. It is not. People here seem conservative, white, often big physically and generally not anyone we would want to hang with.
Our efforts to find a third wheel have failed before when we search this area. We run across rather conservative guys, who like to think they have a wild streak somewhere, deep inside, if only they had the chance to set it free. Wannabees, in other words. Many of them are south Asian, guys from India usually, who sound unhappily married and are looking for fun. That is too much of a cultural stretch for us.
One guy keeps answering our ads, even though we say we are not interested in Asian guys. He's probably not bi at all, but he sounds so unhappily married that he probably will, literally, try anything. He sends us the same picture too, of himself standing in front of a car on a car lot, dressed in a suit and tie. Only this last time he blocked his face out of the photo. No "private" photos did he share with us, and because he answered an ad he had no business answering, he gets the Delete button almost immediately.
Maybe we should have answered him and suggested that he try another photo. I can't imagine too many couples want someone who has the feel of a used car salesman about him.
Then we run across Steve, who sounds like our cup of tea, with the requisite photos and a nice-sounding attitude. He looks fairly tall, he looks fit, not a hairy guy, clean-shaven. Nice dick. We trade photos and everyone agrees we can agree.
But as the emailing goes on a bit further, we start to wonder about our boy Steve. This time we placed a very precise ad, making it clear that we were both bi and had done this before, and we wanted someone who had also done an "advanced degree," if you will. He seems to be a player, but then he lets loose with the fact that he loves being a bottom.
Dave begins to feel nervous; he is about 90% inclined to be the bottom when he is with other males. He will "top" the right boy, usually a femme type of boy with a butt as cute as mine, or a really muscular sort of guy with a great bod. But usually Dave prefers to be the bottom.
Two bottoms can't make a right, I guess we say here. Dave writes back to Steve, delving further. If we both want to be bottoms, can we both find what we are looking for? Could I find what I am looking for, Dave asks. Steve writes back that while he loves women, he just happens to prefer the bottom role when he is with men. But he is prepared to be flexible.
OK, so we greenlight the project and write to Steve suggesting he pick a place between ours and his where we can meet for a drink and size each other up.
But we never hear back. Steve must have gotten a bit scared by our questions.
He really must have been a bottom.
- - - - - - -
The town started much like the San Fernando Valley, with a heap of orange groves and not much else in a dry, rather hot landscape. It feels redneck to me still. Our neighborhood is actually in Campbell, a quaint little community just west of San Jose. Bush-Cheney signs were on display in yards around Campbell during the election, so don't go assuming the San Francisco Bay Area is uniformly awash in liberal persuasion. It is not. People here seem conservative, white, often big physically and generally not anyone we would want to hang with.
Our efforts to find a third wheel have failed before when we search this area. We run across rather conservative guys, who like to think they have a wild streak somewhere, deep inside, if only they had the chance to set it free. Wannabees, in other words. Many of them are south Asian, guys from India usually, who sound unhappily married and are looking for fun. That is too much of a cultural stretch for us.
One guy keeps answering our ads, even though we say we are not interested in Asian guys. He's probably not bi at all, but he sounds so unhappily married that he probably will, literally, try anything. He sends us the same picture too, of himself standing in front of a car on a car lot, dressed in a suit and tie. Only this last time he blocked his face out of the photo. No "private" photos did he share with us, and because he answered an ad he had no business answering, he gets the Delete button almost immediately.
Maybe we should have answered him and suggested that he try another photo. I can't imagine too many couples want someone who has the feel of a used car salesman about him.
Then we run across Steve, who sounds like our cup of tea, with the requisite photos and a nice-sounding attitude. He looks fairly tall, he looks fit, not a hairy guy, clean-shaven. Nice dick. We trade photos and everyone agrees we can agree.
But as the emailing goes on a bit further, we start to wonder about our boy Steve. This time we placed a very precise ad, making it clear that we were both bi and had done this before, and we wanted someone who had also done an "advanced degree," if you will. He seems to be a player, but then he lets loose with the fact that he loves being a bottom.
Dave begins to feel nervous; he is about 90% inclined to be the bottom when he is with other males. He will "top" the right boy, usually a femme type of boy with a butt as cute as mine, or a really muscular sort of guy with a great bod. But usually Dave prefers to be the bottom.
Two bottoms can't make a right, I guess we say here. Dave writes back to Steve, delving further. If we both want to be bottoms, can we both find what we are looking for? Could I find what I am looking for, Dave asks. Steve writes back that while he loves women, he just happens to prefer the bottom role when he is with men. But he is prepared to be flexible.
OK, so we greenlight the project and write to Steve suggesting he pick a place between ours and his where we can meet for a drink and size each other up.
But we never hear back. Steve must have gotten a bit scared by our questions.
He really must have been a bottom.
- - - - - - -
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Polyamory, Now More Than Ever
Wasn't that someone's campaign slogan once upon a time? "Now, more than ever...." sort of thing. I know it was, I just can't recall who the chump was who fit that slogan. But it seemed appropriate to me today, as I wonder about what polyamory can do for our lives, and how we can encourage it in the face of some disturbing trends.
As an avid reader of the New York Times, I tumble onto articles which remind me of how scary this country can be. On May 7 of this year, the Times ran a huge article, "Contra-Contraception" by Russell Shorto. I won't provide a link to the article, since it is one of those membership things. Screw the abortion debate, apparently now we have to worry about whether we women are going to get knocked up every time we want to have sex because a growing number of people question the value of contraception. Swell.
What outlets are we going to have left? Everyone's kicked the smoking habit now, drugs are still frowned upon, we have to be more picky in what we eat, and sex can quite literally these days kill you. At least we can still drink. For now.
But this anti-contraception impulse has me worried. It's just another way the Puritans resurrect themselves in this country and rain on the parade of the rest of us. Why are they upset with contraception? Because it seems to lead couples - even married couples - to the dreadful notion, God forbid, that maybe sex is just meant to be pleasurable in and of itself. Without a link to procreation.
But wasn't this why contraception was invented in the first place? To free us up so we COULD enjoy the experience without having a kid tag along for the ride? What came along to sour the grapes?
Probably the Christian Right, which now seems right up there with the Catholic Church as the second leading terrorist organization in this country. These guys don't want anyone to have fun, certainly not sexual fun. They looked around and said, "We're going in the wrong direction as a country, and our sexual mores have a great deal to do with that. We're tired of the promiscuity and we're going to do something about it." At the root of all this I think we come back to that age-old favorite, hatred of the female. Does any rational person out there not get that this is all about controlling women? And in particular, their reproductive capabilities?
Where have you been, darling?
Hence the things taking place now. The appointment of new judges to the Supreme Court who are going to have far-reaching effects unfortunately. The passage in Wyoming of an extreme anti-abortion law. The contemplation of state measures to ban gay marriage.
And lest we think the rest of the world is immune, the Times reported around the same time that Indonesia is cracking down on pornography. Indonesia is the world's largest Muslim country, and no doubt the new law arises from this fact, even though people refer to the place as Muslim light. There is no such thing as Muslim light, but that is another story.
Suffice to say the lawmakers there are weighing laws which would identify new things now as "pornographic." Which could mean anything from a woman's forearm being bared in public to x-rated films.
This trend is probably going to continue. Just because there is a palpable measure of unhappiness abroad in the land now, and people need to take it out somewhere.
Why not sex? Isn't that the one big firecatcher for all of us? The thing we all congregate around like moths to the flame even while we're passing laws left and right to protect us from ourselves?
At times like this, I almost hesitate to say, why the hell weren't we colonized by the French?
- - - - - - -
As an avid reader of the New York Times, I tumble onto articles which remind me of how scary this country can be. On May 7 of this year, the Times ran a huge article, "Contra-Contraception" by Russell Shorto. I won't provide a link to the article, since it is one of those membership things. Screw the abortion debate, apparently now we have to worry about whether we women are going to get knocked up every time we want to have sex because a growing number of people question the value of contraception. Swell.
What outlets are we going to have left? Everyone's kicked the smoking habit now, drugs are still frowned upon, we have to be more picky in what we eat, and sex can quite literally these days kill you. At least we can still drink. For now.
But this anti-contraception impulse has me worried. It's just another way the Puritans resurrect themselves in this country and rain on the parade of the rest of us. Why are they upset with contraception? Because it seems to lead couples - even married couples - to the dreadful notion, God forbid, that maybe sex is just meant to be pleasurable in and of itself. Without a link to procreation.
But wasn't this why contraception was invented in the first place? To free us up so we COULD enjoy the experience without having a kid tag along for the ride? What came along to sour the grapes?
Probably the Christian Right, which now seems right up there with the Catholic Church as the second leading terrorist organization in this country. These guys don't want anyone to have fun, certainly not sexual fun. They looked around and said, "We're going in the wrong direction as a country, and our sexual mores have a great deal to do with that. We're tired of the promiscuity and we're going to do something about it." At the root of all this I think we come back to that age-old favorite, hatred of the female. Does any rational person out there not get that this is all about controlling women? And in particular, their reproductive capabilities?
Where have you been, darling?
Hence the things taking place now. The appointment of new judges to the Supreme Court who are going to have far-reaching effects unfortunately. The passage in Wyoming of an extreme anti-abortion law. The contemplation of state measures to ban gay marriage.
And lest we think the rest of the world is immune, the Times reported around the same time that Indonesia is cracking down on pornography. Indonesia is the world's largest Muslim country, and no doubt the new law arises from this fact, even though people refer to the place as Muslim light. There is no such thing as Muslim light, but that is another story.
Suffice to say the lawmakers there are weighing laws which would identify new things now as "pornographic." Which could mean anything from a woman's forearm being bared in public to x-rated films.
This trend is probably going to continue. Just because there is a palpable measure of unhappiness abroad in the land now, and people need to take it out somewhere.
Why not sex? Isn't that the one big firecatcher for all of us? The thing we all congregate around like moths to the flame even while we're passing laws left and right to protect us from ourselves?
At times like this, I almost hesitate to say, why the hell weren't we colonized by the French?
- - - - - - -
Monday, July 17, 2006
Asheville, N.C. (That's "Assville" To You)
In February 2001, Dave was working in Knoxville, Tennessee, building the HGTV channel. His company flew me in for a long weekend, and after puttering around Knoxville for a bit (lots of good eats, at least), we got it into our heads to take the rental car and drive east into the Smoky Mountains and visit the town of Asheville.
Asheville has a certain reputation as being a great place for dykes to hang. And dykes hang here, that's for sure. They are falling out of the trees, in fact. Dykes are so plentiful here that, according to one older male on Craigslist who answered me inquiry about what the life was like there, if you are not female and not a lesbian and not paired up with anyone, you will make few - if any - inroads in this neck of the woods.
This man was a writer, and he said it was a good thing he travelled a lot because he despaired of ever meeting compatible women in Asheville. The ones who aren't partnered up are pretty gay.
So Dave and I figured we would check out a town devoted to dykes. We were not disappointed. The girls were out in force on the Saturday we drove into town. Asheville is a small place, we parked near the center and just walked around. Everything is pretty much right there.
Lots of little quaint coffee shops and eateries, bookstores, curio stores for the tourists. One area of downtown, in front of the Wachovia Bank, seems modelled after Wall Street, in New York City. Complete with a tiny bull and the names of the streets that border on Wall Street.
The big tourist attraction here is the Biltmore, the Vanderbilt estate, a fabulously well-appointed mansion apparently where the Vanderbilts of New York would retire when things got hot in the city. My mother was quite annoyed that Dave and I chose not to visit the Vanderbilt pad. Hell, I've seen San Simeon Castle, in California, I've seen lots of great pads. One more I can live without. Especially since I don't get to live in it. My mom is a closeted monarchist. She likes those places and always wants to hear all about them.
The attractions Dave and I like are more about counting the roaches lying on the sidewalk outside a popular club in Asheville (signs of pot and those who like it). Or large crowds of biker boys flying through town (where the bikers are, you know there are more illegal substances). Or noticing a large rehab facility on the edge of town. Where there's rehab, there is also hope.
But we were there to meet dykes. And they seemed to want to meet me. One rather attractive, short-haired blonde walked by us on the sidewalk, gives me a big smile and a warm and throaty "hello," completely ignoring the fact I am with a guy.
I love being fresh meat, don't you?
Like I said, friendly girls here. Apparently from other postings I read on Craigslist about the life here, lesbian life in Asheville mostly goes on behind closed doors. What else is new? Lesbians living flamboyantly like some of the gay guys do is never really going to happen. Unfortunately.
So in Asheville, you probably have to work your way into the mix around town. Get to know who has the good parties. And hopefully, indulge in a fantasy or two that not every woman is already tied down. Or tied up, if you will. Surely, hopefully, there are a few single ones.
The town has a wannabe flavor of Berkeley, or Boulder, or Santa Cruz, minus the beach of course. Dave says, "Gee, you should have worn your Berkeley T-shirt, they'd be falling all over you." Berkeley is still THE SHIT according to some people still. I dunno about that, for my money the town is dirty, crime-ridden, long past its heyday and basically awash in a sea of political correctness and organic vegetables. Every once in a while I get the urge to visit it again, but not much. I think I might like to go see my old English professor, who taught my great Chaucer class. She has now clawed her way into the Dean's Chair of the English Department and I always thought I would drop by and say 'hi.'
As we roamed about Asheville that Saturday, checking things out, Dave and I asked ourselves if we could live here. It seemed a little too rural for us urban urbanites. Besides, they do get some winter here, and with the elevation there might be bouts of snow. In summer, the area is awash in recreational types, looking to hike, mountain bike, canoe, fish, whatnot.
But what would we do here? A more appropriate question might be, what happens if you fall out with lovers and want to move on? Is there somewhere in Assville to move onto? Or do you just have to find greener pastures altogether? Because from witnessing shenanigans that go on in a place like Santa Cruz, also somewhat small still, I can say that all small towns generally come together on that score. Make sure you can be happy with the smallness, and get ready to have everybody, quite literally, get familiar with your laundry, dirty or otherwise.
Besides, my dear friend E spent several years in North Carolina, and it is pretty redneck she says. And if you are not living in someplace nice and cultivated, like an Asheville, then the rest of the state you'll hate, according to her.
Sounds like just one big hog farm. Maybe Dave and I will squeeze a few more years out of California. Anonymity can be nice too.
- - - - -
Asheville has a certain reputation as being a great place for dykes to hang. And dykes hang here, that's for sure. They are falling out of the trees, in fact. Dykes are so plentiful here that, according to one older male on Craigslist who answered me inquiry about what the life was like there, if you are not female and not a lesbian and not paired up with anyone, you will make few - if any - inroads in this neck of the woods.
This man was a writer, and he said it was a good thing he travelled a lot because he despaired of ever meeting compatible women in Asheville. The ones who aren't partnered up are pretty gay.
So Dave and I figured we would check out a town devoted to dykes. We were not disappointed. The girls were out in force on the Saturday we drove into town. Asheville is a small place, we parked near the center and just walked around. Everything is pretty much right there.
Lots of little quaint coffee shops and eateries, bookstores, curio stores for the tourists. One area of downtown, in front of the Wachovia Bank, seems modelled after Wall Street, in New York City. Complete with a tiny bull and the names of the streets that border on Wall Street.
The big tourist attraction here is the Biltmore, the Vanderbilt estate, a fabulously well-appointed mansion apparently where the Vanderbilts of New York would retire when things got hot in the city. My mother was quite annoyed that Dave and I chose not to visit the Vanderbilt pad. Hell, I've seen San Simeon Castle, in California, I've seen lots of great pads. One more I can live without. Especially since I don't get to live in it. My mom is a closeted monarchist. She likes those places and always wants to hear all about them.
The attractions Dave and I like are more about counting the roaches lying on the sidewalk outside a popular club in Asheville (signs of pot and those who like it). Or large crowds of biker boys flying through town (where the bikers are, you know there are more illegal substances). Or noticing a large rehab facility on the edge of town. Where there's rehab, there is also hope.
But we were there to meet dykes. And they seemed to want to meet me. One rather attractive, short-haired blonde walked by us on the sidewalk, gives me a big smile and a warm and throaty "hello," completely ignoring the fact I am with a guy.
I love being fresh meat, don't you?
Like I said, friendly girls here. Apparently from other postings I read on Craigslist about the life here, lesbian life in Asheville mostly goes on behind closed doors. What else is new? Lesbians living flamboyantly like some of the gay guys do is never really going to happen. Unfortunately.
So in Asheville, you probably have to work your way into the mix around town. Get to know who has the good parties. And hopefully, indulge in a fantasy or two that not every woman is already tied down. Or tied up, if you will. Surely, hopefully, there are a few single ones.
The town has a wannabe flavor of Berkeley, or Boulder, or Santa Cruz, minus the beach of course. Dave says, "Gee, you should have worn your Berkeley T-shirt, they'd be falling all over you." Berkeley is still THE SHIT according to some people still. I dunno about that, for my money the town is dirty, crime-ridden, long past its heyday and basically awash in a sea of political correctness and organic vegetables. Every once in a while I get the urge to visit it again, but not much. I think I might like to go see my old English professor, who taught my great Chaucer class. She has now clawed her way into the Dean's Chair of the English Department and I always thought I would drop by and say 'hi.'
As we roamed about Asheville that Saturday, checking things out, Dave and I asked ourselves if we could live here. It seemed a little too rural for us urban urbanites. Besides, they do get some winter here, and with the elevation there might be bouts of snow. In summer, the area is awash in recreational types, looking to hike, mountain bike, canoe, fish, whatnot.
But what would we do here? A more appropriate question might be, what happens if you fall out with lovers and want to move on? Is there somewhere in Assville to move onto? Or do you just have to find greener pastures altogether? Because from witnessing shenanigans that go on in a place like Santa Cruz, also somewhat small still, I can say that all small towns generally come together on that score. Make sure you can be happy with the smallness, and get ready to have everybody, quite literally, get familiar with your laundry, dirty or otherwise.
Besides, my dear friend E spent several years in North Carolina, and it is pretty redneck she says. And if you are not living in someplace nice and cultivated, like an Asheville, then the rest of the state you'll hate, according to her.
Sounds like just one big hog farm. Maybe Dave and I will squeeze a few more years out of California. Anonymity can be nice too.
- - - - -
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Liz (Pt.3)
Looking back on this experience with Liz from the vantage point of what I know about myself today, it seems that I realized I was just not attracted to her after all.
Up until we went to bed together, I thought I was attracted. Maybe that should have read, "the unattainable." And therefore something attractive. After the weekend was over, maybe my curiosity was satisfied, and I was ready to move on. Maybe the whole thing was as simple as that. In which case I probably am something of a churl, it's the same behavior I have castigated males for over the years. Slam bam thank you and have a nice day sort of thing. Women could do that too, and maybe I was just one of those women.
Ugh. I just couldn't tell myself that at the time. I find it difficult telling myself that now. But that may simply be the truth. There are really very few women I am ever going to be physically attracted to. J in Berkeley and Ms. KAR in L.A. were the two strongest contenders for my affections that way. Liz was not.
So what drew me to her in the first place? Physically I would never go for someone like that now. Maybe a mother thing, since she was so much older than me.
My friend J gave me lots of good advice. As she saw my affair, this is how she described it: You thought you liked Liz, you tried things out for size, and then you realized you could not go there. There was nothing for me to feel guilty about.
But work was shot to hell. I did end up getting fired. We were just too uncomfortable now around each other, and she had all the power. This was well before sexual harassment issues were even being focused on in the workplace, let alone discussed. I just wanted to get away from her. I felt as if some huge iron gate had shut down in my mind. I had to get away, as if my life were in danger.
What would I do differently? Well, open and thorough communication can solve nearly everything. There should have been a lot more of that. Like my lover J did, in Berkeley. You negotiate. You talk about what you each want. Do you need to move in together? Live together? Are you going to be monogamous? What about the younger partner and her child?
Liz went back to her, as she should have. And I moved on. Chastened by that experience, and now feeling leary of women and their capacity to suck people into whatever maelstrom they have going.
Lesbian drama. It's right up there with Shakespeare in terms of dramatic intensity, I suppose. Even if it doesn't always win you an Oscar.
- - - - - -
Up until we went to bed together, I thought I was attracted. Maybe that should have read, "the unattainable." And therefore something attractive. After the weekend was over, maybe my curiosity was satisfied, and I was ready to move on. Maybe the whole thing was as simple as that. In which case I probably am something of a churl, it's the same behavior I have castigated males for over the years. Slam bam thank you and have a nice day sort of thing. Women could do that too, and maybe I was just one of those women.
Ugh. I just couldn't tell myself that at the time. I find it difficult telling myself that now. But that may simply be the truth. There are really very few women I am ever going to be physically attracted to. J in Berkeley and Ms. KAR in L.A. were the two strongest contenders for my affections that way. Liz was not.
So what drew me to her in the first place? Physically I would never go for someone like that now. Maybe a mother thing, since she was so much older than me.
My friend J gave me lots of good advice. As she saw my affair, this is how she described it: You thought you liked Liz, you tried things out for size, and then you realized you could not go there. There was nothing for me to feel guilty about.
But work was shot to hell. I did end up getting fired. We were just too uncomfortable now around each other, and she had all the power. This was well before sexual harassment issues were even being focused on in the workplace, let alone discussed. I just wanted to get away from her. I felt as if some huge iron gate had shut down in my mind. I had to get away, as if my life were in danger.
What would I do differently? Well, open and thorough communication can solve nearly everything. There should have been a lot more of that. Like my lover J did, in Berkeley. You negotiate. You talk about what you each want. Do you need to move in together? Live together? Are you going to be monogamous? What about the younger partner and her child?
Liz went back to her, as she should have. And I moved on. Chastened by that experience, and now feeling leary of women and their capacity to suck people into whatever maelstrom they have going.
Lesbian drama. It's right up there with Shakespeare in terms of dramatic intensity, I suppose. Even if it doesn't always win you an Oscar.
- - - - - -
Monday, July 10, 2006
Liz (Pt.2)
My first weekend with my new lover Liz felt very harmonious and complete to me, at least on first glance. Even though it was a gloomy weekend weather-wise and the house seemed filled with the presence of her younger long-term partner, who was away with her son for the weekend. I was positively basking in the glow of feeling I was loved and wanted by Liz. The path to our being together seemed clear and secure and inviting. But what exactly did that mean, and what would it all look like? I had no idea, and I should have. It got me into trouble being so naive. I was dealing with my own sex but for all I knew I could have been wandering around the surface of Mars.
Then the other shoe dropped, at least in my own mind. As the week progressed at work and I began encountering Liz in my daily tasks at the hospital, I found my mind wanting to make a complete U-turn. Was I getting cold feet? Did something happen to change my mind about my feelings for Liz? Nothing had occurred for me to feel that way, and yet I could feel a strong urge building inside me to want to get away as fast as possible. I had no idea what this was all about. To this day, I really don't have a clear idea.
I tried to analyze how I felt about her. And what I wanted from her. Why couldn't I control my emotions more, and channel them down the path I wanted to go, which was (I thought) to be in a relationship with a woman?
Liz apparently told her younger partner about me. It was not a happy scene, but obviously Liz's feelings for me were growing enough for her to want to warn her partner. The partner then phoned me, wanting to meet. To "talk things over." I declined. One of the things I have learned is that when a third party comes along and creates waves for a paired couple, it is rarely if ever about the third party. It's all about the couple. My response to her was basically, deal with your issues the two of you, I am not part of this relationship you have constructed for yourselves over time. Your issues are your issues, and you should be working on them. Without my help.
Wow, here they are, bickering about me, and I'm not even sure I'm cut out for any of this. Is it just that I really want and need my freedom after all?
I started feeling guilty about "leading on" my new friend. I had to work through that. I realized that I had undergone a big change in my feelings, and unfortunately I think I berated myself inside for not fully knowing why my mind was playing tricks on me like this. I wanted to back out of playing ball with a ball I myself had started to roll down the path. The fact I didn't quite know what was going on here psychologically did not necessarily imply I deliberately tried to harm Liz with my attentions.
But try and tell her that. Things got unpleasant at work. People who did not know our full story (only my immediate supervisor, the gay one, knew) were picking up vibes.
The head radiologist commented to M, my immediate boss, about how Liz really seemed to have a bug up her ass about me. She went from baffled to angry in the space of about a week too. She even called my friend J, to ask her opinion, whether to go after me or give me more space. J suggested the former. I do not know if I would have said that or not.
If I was backing away from Liz because I picked up something about her that was making me want to go, that was one thing. If it was a withdrawal due to cold feet from stuff in my own psyche, well then that was a whole other can of crawdads.
A tale for another day.
TO BE CONTINUED
Then the other shoe dropped, at least in my own mind. As the week progressed at work and I began encountering Liz in my daily tasks at the hospital, I found my mind wanting to make a complete U-turn. Was I getting cold feet? Did something happen to change my mind about my feelings for Liz? Nothing had occurred for me to feel that way, and yet I could feel a strong urge building inside me to want to get away as fast as possible. I had no idea what this was all about. To this day, I really don't have a clear idea.
I tried to analyze how I felt about her. And what I wanted from her. Why couldn't I control my emotions more, and channel them down the path I wanted to go, which was (I thought) to be in a relationship with a woman?
Liz apparently told her younger partner about me. It was not a happy scene, but obviously Liz's feelings for me were growing enough for her to want to warn her partner. The partner then phoned me, wanting to meet. To "talk things over." I declined. One of the things I have learned is that when a third party comes along and creates waves for a paired couple, it is rarely if ever about the third party. It's all about the couple. My response to her was basically, deal with your issues the two of you, I am not part of this relationship you have constructed for yourselves over time. Your issues are your issues, and you should be working on them. Without my help.
Wow, here they are, bickering about me, and I'm not even sure I'm cut out for any of this. Is it just that I really want and need my freedom after all?
I started feeling guilty about "leading on" my new friend. I had to work through that. I realized that I had undergone a big change in my feelings, and unfortunately I think I berated myself inside for not fully knowing why my mind was playing tricks on me like this. I wanted to back out of playing ball with a ball I myself had started to roll down the path. The fact I didn't quite know what was going on here psychologically did not necessarily imply I deliberately tried to harm Liz with my attentions.
But try and tell her that. Things got unpleasant at work. People who did not know our full story (only my immediate supervisor, the gay one, knew) were picking up vibes.
The head radiologist commented to M, my immediate boss, about how Liz really seemed to have a bug up her ass about me. She went from baffled to angry in the space of about a week too. She even called my friend J, to ask her opinion, whether to go after me or give me more space. J suggested the former. I do not know if I would have said that or not.
If I was backing away from Liz because I picked up something about her that was making me want to go, that was one thing. If it was a withdrawal due to cold feet from stuff in my own psyche, well then that was a whole other can of crawdads.
A tale for another day.
TO BE CONTINUED
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Liz (Pt.1)
Sometimes I am aware of feeling powerfully attracted to certain women, but I am not always sure exactly what the nature of that attraction is. Or what I want from these women. This uncertainty has led me down the garden path on several occasions, and I end up backtracking and making people feel annoyed with me without intending to do harm.
One of these women was named Liz, whom I met back in my Berkeley days when I started working in hospitals. Unfortunately, it did not end well between us. More unfortunately, she was my boss at the time. Never a good thing to play with the boss. I should have known better. But the power angle was probably a lot of the fuel at the time driving me onward. Usually I don't combine work and pleasure, but on this occasion I crossed the line.
The radiology department needed a new chief of the technical staff, and Liz was hired. I was about 24 at the time. She was around 40. Liz was a strongly built, fairly tall blonde with a rather in-charge manner. A bit butch of center but not oppressively so. I have never really ever been attracted to other blondes myself, so I don't know what happened this time but something happened.
I found her rather compelling and we began making flirtatious movements in each other's direction. We had no idea if the other person was gay or not, but our instincts said "yes." The other supervisor directly under Liz was M, who was openly gay. M had hired me, and we got to be somewhat chummy. M and I knew we were both gay, which is how I was identifying myself at the time. M got to witness this dance going on in the department between Liz and me. It amused her, at first. Until the trouble set in.
On the way into the affair, I invited Liz up to my Berkeley lair in the hills above campus for dinner. At that point we spilled the beans to each other, and talked about our sexual histories. So we knew each other was gay. Liz revealed she had been in rather a long relationship with a young woman my age, K, who had a young son. But things did not sound too happy on the home front, as Liz described them. So I did not enter into this relationship feeling like I was necessarily a homewrecker type. Others might not agree with this assessment.
My best friend at the time J got to meet Liz over pizza one day at lunch. J had misgivings, I sensed without probing, although I took that mainly as their personalities being quite different. J had not seen me involved seriously with another woman before, in the rather short time we had known each other.
One of these women was named Liz, whom I met back in my Berkeley days when I started working in hospitals. Unfortunately, it did not end well between us. More unfortunately, she was my boss at the time. Never a good thing to play with the boss. I should have known better. But the power angle was probably a lot of the fuel at the time driving me onward. Usually I don't combine work and pleasure, but on this occasion I crossed the line.
The radiology department needed a new chief of the technical staff, and Liz was hired. I was about 24 at the time. She was around 40. Liz was a strongly built, fairly tall blonde with a rather in-charge manner. A bit butch of center but not oppressively so. I have never really ever been attracted to other blondes myself, so I don't know what happened this time but something happened.
I found her rather compelling and we began making flirtatious movements in each other's direction. We had no idea if the other person was gay or not, but our instincts said "yes." The other supervisor directly under Liz was M, who was openly gay. M had hired me, and we got to be somewhat chummy. M and I knew we were both gay, which is how I was identifying myself at the time. M got to witness this dance going on in the department between Liz and me. It amused her, at first. Until the trouble set in.
On the way into the affair, I invited Liz up to my Berkeley lair in the hills above campus for dinner. At that point we spilled the beans to each other, and talked about our sexual histories. So we knew each other was gay. Liz revealed she had been in rather a long relationship with a young woman my age, K, who had a young son. But things did not sound too happy on the home front, as Liz described them. So I did not enter into this relationship feeling like I was necessarily a homewrecker type. Others might not agree with this assessment.
My best friend at the time J got to meet Liz over pizza one day at lunch. J had misgivings, I sensed without probing, although I took that mainly as their personalities being quite different. J had not seen me involved seriously with another woman before, in the rather short time we had known each other.
Now she would learn how I progressed at these things, having told me so much of her own love life at the time herself. She was there for me at a time when I would need a lot of support.
I was about to embark upon a weekend alone with Liz, her young partner and the kid had gone away for the period to visit relatives. It seemed like such a gloomy weekend, in retrospect. It was not yet spring in the bay area, that was still struggling. The place seemed dark to me, and it felt rather strange in a way, as if the missing person still had a presence here, and that was complicating things.
The word "forlorn" wants to creep out. Perhaps not the right tone for a first weekend with the woman you say you want as your lover.
TO BE CONTINUED
Monday, July 03, 2006
One Or Two Reasons (Or Three Or Four) Why I'll Never Be A Lesbian (Pt.1)
Feeling snotty today, are we, hence this particular title. I got started down this train of thought by delving into Camille Paglia's "Vamps And Tramps" collection of essays late last night. Camille always derails me, she's just that kind of female. I would have loved to have met her, and have an affair with her. I discovered her this past year, and in so doing I have finally found a woman who shares a lot of my sentiments, especially about gay women and the nonsensical things they get up to.
As I read away last night I remember thinking, "I could never have been a lesbian, really." There were points in my life where I thought it could have taken place, but the older I've gotten the more convinced I am I just wasn't cut out for it.
Cut out for what, pray tell? Just how do I see the lesbian community that I like to think I am a part of, at least every now and then? At this point, I am probably very prejudiced against them. For me it just does not seem like mentally they are a very healthy bunch.
Recently a number of things have fired me up. Last weekend I received an invite to attend a pool party for an over fifty lesbian group here in the South Bay. I thought I had deleted my membership, but the email arrived anyway. I had attended my first function with a friend over a year ago, and it was not particularly inspiring. My bi friend M and I walked in and realized immediately we were terribly out of place. She and I mumbled excuses and fled.
It's a little disconcerting when you walk in to a new group of gay women and they're your age, but they don't look or act anything like you. Nearly all the women looked ill, or otherwise like they had just been discharged from hospitals. What on earth have they been doing that they look so decrepit? I feel I have little in common with them.
For me, I find it utterly unfathomable why so many gay women let themselves go. It used to be, back when the feminist movement was revving up, you'd hear gay and straight women rant and rave against the traditional beauty standards we all had to live up to. Still do to some degree. But is there anything wrong with looking good, just to please yourself? Or other women? It's a pain in the butt to put on makeup and dress up, but frankly, I like doing it. It's a change from my usual grungy sporty self, with wildly flowing blonde hair and a constantly changing array of tan lines. I like to transform myself into someone my usual associates don't recognize too often.
And what about the fatness that seems to invariably accompany the sad sack looks? Fat to me is a fortress, as much as emotional aloofness is in a person. Either way you can't get in. These are strategies designed to keep people out. So how do these women find partners? No wonder lesbians are so overwhelmingly into monogamy, because it is nearly impossible these days to find a compatible partner. Once they think they have her, they hang on for dear life. Which then raises other issues.
Hrumph. Anyway, this group of women invited me to a pool party. I scratched my head, wondering a) how many of them would actually bring a swimsuit (and no, it won't be a nude swimming session, and who the hell knows if they even OWN swimming suits), and b) I have this awful suspicion I will be the only one actually swimming. This I know for a certainty. Given the chance to swim, I am there, anywhere, anytime. Been that way since tininess. My mother would have to come and fish me out of the sprinklers, I would ride my trike into the middle of their flow and park and smell the flowers. I was always the last kid out of the pool too. My limbs might be near frozen, but I didn't care. I was having fun.
But swimming with this pack of girls would not be fun. So, as you might guess, I am not going to the pool party.
And I am especially not going when they aren't going to let ANYONE have a friggin' drink of anything, wine or beer or spirits. "We're scared," that's what this policy says to me. We've been around so many alcoholics and otherwise dysfunctional women in our community of lesbians that we just can't take a chance anymore. So all alcohol becomes verboten. Drugs like pot? Don't even ask.
Once again I butt up against the strange dichotomy I see with many gay women. On the one hand they are sexual outlaws, in society's eyes. But in their personal lives, they seem to be very conservative. Me they have endless problems with. I am not only bisexual as a theoretical proposition, but I live with a guy. Alright, so he's queer as hell but he's still a man and why aren't you using condoms? This is the reaction I get. Maybe that's what moves me against them. I try to remember the women who are in this age group that I know, like my friend N in L.A., and P over in Santa Cruz. They are not like this crowd at all, and neither am I.
But how the hell do we add to our numbers??
TO BE CONTINUED
As I read away last night I remember thinking, "I could never have been a lesbian, really." There were points in my life where I thought it could have taken place, but the older I've gotten the more convinced I am I just wasn't cut out for it.
Cut out for what, pray tell? Just how do I see the lesbian community that I like to think I am a part of, at least every now and then? At this point, I am probably very prejudiced against them. For me it just does not seem like mentally they are a very healthy bunch.
Recently a number of things have fired me up. Last weekend I received an invite to attend a pool party for an over fifty lesbian group here in the South Bay. I thought I had deleted my membership, but the email arrived anyway. I had attended my first function with a friend over a year ago, and it was not particularly inspiring. My bi friend M and I walked in and realized immediately we were terribly out of place. She and I mumbled excuses and fled.
It's a little disconcerting when you walk in to a new group of gay women and they're your age, but they don't look or act anything like you. Nearly all the women looked ill, or otherwise like they had just been discharged from hospitals. What on earth have they been doing that they look so decrepit? I feel I have little in common with them.
For me, I find it utterly unfathomable why so many gay women let themselves go. It used to be, back when the feminist movement was revving up, you'd hear gay and straight women rant and rave against the traditional beauty standards we all had to live up to. Still do to some degree. But is there anything wrong with looking good, just to please yourself? Or other women? It's a pain in the butt to put on makeup and dress up, but frankly, I like doing it. It's a change from my usual grungy sporty self, with wildly flowing blonde hair and a constantly changing array of tan lines. I like to transform myself into someone my usual associates don't recognize too often.
And what about the fatness that seems to invariably accompany the sad sack looks? Fat to me is a fortress, as much as emotional aloofness is in a person. Either way you can't get in. These are strategies designed to keep people out. So how do these women find partners? No wonder lesbians are so overwhelmingly into monogamy, because it is nearly impossible these days to find a compatible partner. Once they think they have her, they hang on for dear life. Which then raises other issues.
Hrumph. Anyway, this group of women invited me to a pool party. I scratched my head, wondering a) how many of them would actually bring a swimsuit (and no, it won't be a nude swimming session, and who the hell knows if they even OWN swimming suits), and b) I have this awful suspicion I will be the only one actually swimming. This I know for a certainty. Given the chance to swim, I am there, anywhere, anytime. Been that way since tininess. My mother would have to come and fish me out of the sprinklers, I would ride my trike into the middle of their flow and park and smell the flowers. I was always the last kid out of the pool too. My limbs might be near frozen, but I didn't care. I was having fun.
But swimming with this pack of girls would not be fun. So, as you might guess, I am not going to the pool party.
And I am especially not going when they aren't going to let ANYONE have a friggin' drink of anything, wine or beer or spirits. "We're scared," that's what this policy says to me. We've been around so many alcoholics and otherwise dysfunctional women in our community of lesbians that we just can't take a chance anymore. So all alcohol becomes verboten. Drugs like pot? Don't even ask.
Once again I butt up against the strange dichotomy I see with many gay women. On the one hand they are sexual outlaws, in society's eyes. But in their personal lives, they seem to be very conservative. Me they have endless problems with. I am not only bisexual as a theoretical proposition, but I live with a guy. Alright, so he's queer as hell but he's still a man and why aren't you using condoms? This is the reaction I get. Maybe that's what moves me against them. I try to remember the women who are in this age group that I know, like my friend N in L.A., and P over in Santa Cruz. They are not like this crowd at all, and neither am I.
But how the hell do we add to our numbers??
TO BE CONTINUED
