Lose It. Beat and The Pulse.

Beginning the week with two music videos from Canadian band Austra, with Katie Stelmanis as the lesbian lead vocalist!

The visuals are hottt.

Memo

Sitting at a bar next to my date. A guy passes me a note.

“To the girl with the plaid shirt,

you’re pretty.”

 

On the white napkin, I write:

“To the guy with the scarf,

I like girls,

but thank you!”

 

My date passes him the note. He passes it back to her to give to me.

He writes:

“Typical.“

**LIFE**

the Mac photobooth shot

Last week, I had a much needed session with my therapist.

Me: I think I’ve been trying so hard to fit into mainstream society, and I see that it isn’t working for me. I can’t maintain the facade for long. I haven’t been living according to my own rhythm. Maybe I’ve been terrified to trust it…

Therapist: And what would that look like for you? Living according to your own rhythm?

Me: I would be paid for my creative work. I feel that I’m on the right path with studying web and graphic design. I know I can’t sustain a conventional life at a desk. I’m simply not cut out for it, the same way I’m not cut out for running, waking up early, living in a cold climate, playing sports, or being in a relationship with a man. I see that I can’t take a conventional job again. Ever. That’s the lesson I’ve learned in this mess. I’ve been interviewing for a full-time position since 2008. Three years of interviewing. That’s insane. The universe is sending a loud message that this is not right for me. I’ve had contract work only since 2008, and usually work that’s not related to what I’m interested in. I’m cut eventually, I think, because companies probably sense that this isn’t what I’m that into, and you can’t fake your true emotions. Here I am, jobless once more in my life, not because there is something ‘wrong’ with who I am but because I’m meant for a different path. As far as I’m in a creative role, I believe I can somehow stomach the 9 to 5 life at a company in the future.

Therapist: But you said that you feel you aren’t cut out for that.

Me: Working at a desk 9 to 5 feels like a compromise I would have to make for money. I have fears that I’ll always be getting cut, that I’ll never have stability in my life, or that no one, even when I am at the level I need to be at as a designer, will hire me for a permanent position. I have confidence in myself as an artist. It’s the corporate life I’m afraid I can’t feign. I can’t fit in. I don’t fit in. That last office I was ultimately depressing. I was around so much misogyny, which was surprising in an all-women division, and women had the ‘supportive’ roles and men had the ‘powerful’ ones, profiting on the work women perform. I love working with women, and yet the undertone of negativity about other women from some of them was hard to take, day in and day out, and their expectations for what is acceptable at a company. I wanted to stack Bust and Curve magazines next to their low-fat snacks to turn the negativity around, and granted, it was not from every single woman in the office but from a high percentage, and I blame our culture. Without judging too much, as I realize I am, I’ve had to acknowledge that I’m not like them nor do I want to be.

Therapist: Perhaps they’re like a mirror for you, representing what you fear becoming.

Me: I guess. I’m not straight, not traditional, not religious, not conservative, not ‘all American,’ not interested in conforming to their conventional standard of what is beautiful and successful. I can’t hold down some conventional job because it runs counter to my energy. I liked cooking in restaurants, taking care of plants in a greenhouse, designing gardens, and stripping for strangers (!). I feel I’ve been given a kick & punch I needed to leave, and to exit the ‘entry-level contract positions’ of corporate America. No more.

Therapist: What about waitressing and being a freelance designer for now? Having your own web/graphic design business?

Me: If only I could snap my fingers….

I’m listening.

Comedy lightens the day

How the beginning of 2012 sucks & how it doesn’t

My family has returned from their trip to India. In my dad’s words, “India is an experience, not a vacation. I can’t say I ever want to go back there.”

The idea of being stranded in a third world nation with my crazy mom and the potential of getting sick & emotionally abused for twelve days straight was not attractive. No thanks! My brother and K had three engagement ceremonies in south India, and she wore three different dresses for each one. I looked through the photographs of streets lined with trash, beach littered with more trash, monkeys dressed in people clothes, women in colorful saris, people riding on mopeds and dodging cattle on streets,  the ancient temples, the Marriott hotel next to real slums. Room with a view?

K brought me back a gorgeous Indian dress, which I’m excited about wearing. Some photos from the wedding will certainly follow this spring.

The killer and serial rapist is on the loose still. Today, W’s house was burglarized, the house I used to live in. His roommate was at home when a man somehow picked through the lock on the back door. She was totally terrified, thinking that he was the same man who broke into Esme’s house and killed her last weekend, and locked herself in her room. The neighbors saw the break-in and called the police. The man, when he realized W’s roommate was home, took off and only stole the television set from the living room. Fucking scary. The man who killed Esme and assaulted multiple women last weekend is very, very, very dangerous. He got into another woman’s house after Esme’s, raped her and strangled her but did not kill her. Had I not chosen to rent from the married man, I could have been the woman in that house.

I love that a co-worker said, “You do karate, right?” Is she saying then that I look like I could kick someone’s ass?  I think that we should all purchase mace, whistles, and take karate classes together. Or krav maga to teach a mutherfucker a lesson. Chances are the man in W’s house was not the killer because he drove off with the television in a car. The neighbors were able to write down his license plate number. The killer seems not to have a car. He’s about 6’0” tall, black, bald, and extremely aggressive with women. You start to think about the “what if’s.” What if he had been the killer?

The married man is going to China for two weeks at the end of the month. I’ll be alone in the house, which makes me nervous. Anybody watching the house can see that I’m coming and going. I’m tempted to get a creepy mannequin to place in the window like in Home Alone or invite someone to stay over. More break-ins and assaults have been reported around the city.

Want to know what else sucks? I have many acquaintances but few close friends here anymore. Everybody seems to be too busy and self-involved to care. I’ve tried hard to cultivate new friendships and no one reciprocates to the same degree. With the blind date I had in October, for example, we decided to be friends and I was looking forward to spending time getting to know her. But since October, she has been making plans with me and canceling over and over. She “flaked” on Thursday of this week, rescheduled for Friday, “flaked” and rescheduled for Saturday night to “flake” again. ”I’m so sorry to be such a flake tonight,” she wrote. “Just feeling too lazy to go downtown. Maybe we could meet for happy hour next week?” Look. I said. You’ve been making plans with me since OCTOBER and have broken them every single time. It’s JANUARY now and you were supposed to see me this weekend. Do you think I have time to wait around for you to constantly reschedule? Here’s a brilliant plan: let’s not make one. I like being friends with people who actually give a damn about seeing me. She apologized and said that this is not normal for her and that she’s experiencing a “weird time.” Yea? That’s not an excuse to treat me or anyone like that for months. I understand needing to reschedule sometimes, but that is rid-ic-ulous. Not interested.

And then — I had a conversation with my manager at work about a possible pay increase for the new year. I was hired as a contractor with the intention of training for two to three months for a permanent position. That position has not opened, as planned. I met with her to follow up and that was when she axed me. “We’ve had a sudden budget cut in the division for the new quarter,” she said, with her colleague next to her in her office. “I’m choosing to let you go because of that.” I’m proud of myself for somehow maintaining my composure and standing up to her.

“That’s absolutely crappy. I feel really exploited by you,” I said.

“Exploited you?” she said, her mouth hanging open. “What do you mean?”

“I might as well be working at McDonald’s for the wage you pay your contractors. Here I requested a little more per hour, and instead of simply saying you couldn’t right now, you get rid of me? You wasted three months of your life and three months of my life training me for this position that doesn’t even exist. What you pay your contractors makes me sick. We have college degrees, master’s degrees. Who do you think we are?”

“The marketing division would still like for you to write for the website a few hours a week if you’re interested,” she said, squirming in her chair. “I’m sorry, it’s nothing personal.”

“You think that I want to write copy about how fantastic your company is? And for that rate?”

“You clearly shine as a writer. That’s what you want to be doing. If the marketing division had a position open, they would consider you.”

I can’t wait until that day I’m some sort of web developer earning 3 – 4x the amount. Companies respect that more.

Her assistant looked uncomfortable sitting in the corner. She is a sweet person who allows these people to take advantage of her, who does not understand her own worth, who does not expect to be paid a competitive rate for her work and time. She bakes desserts every week for the office, selflessly, cheerfully, and does whatever they ask. Who knows if she secretly sided with me, if she liked what I said to our manager, a woman who does not value herself much, and therefore, does not value the people working for her, women in particular. Her whole aura shouts that. I thought that working for all women would be different, and it’s not unless those women are conscious of the very sexism we are set up to echo and want to change the patterns around. I’m not going to be someone’s bitch nor do I expect someone to be mine.

“Hugs?” her assistant piped up.

I see how I’m getting stronger, despite the setbacks. I’m speaking my mind more and having confrontations with bosses, co-workers, strangers at cafes, prospective girlfriends, prospective friends, & the married man. I’ve walked from situations and people that do not lift me higher. The new year has not begun according to Chinese astrology. The real beginning is in February, and the new year surely will get better. 2012 has to.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brea, the lipstick lesbian, the butch best friend

There’s the saying “a lady doesn’t tell.” Does it mean that I’m no longer “a lady” if I open my lips? If I don’t live an existence full of secrets from the world? I leave out certain details, the random dates here and there, but as a writer, I like to draw upon my life & spill the moments.

I was upset post-breaking up with Bree because I knew I could love her. I became rather emotionally attached and wanted nothing more than to see her, which is reason no. 25 why I needed to do this now and break away to save myself from experiencing more pain. Brea could not be the lover/girlfriend I need. I don’t think that the three hours and the six years between us would change that problem. Love is about letting go, I have learned, and when you do, it opens a space for someone new to come in. I’m better matched with someone a little more… dominant. That very afternoon, I received a message from a self-described lipstick lesbian who likes femmes, tends to be more dominant, and has the same two favorite films in the world, Before Sunrise and High Art. Hardly anyone ever really knows Before Sunrise set in Vienna in the nineties by Richard Linklater, and considers it their favorite. I studied German in college, thanks to that film, and came out of the dark closet when I was living in a city in Germany. (Don’t ask me to speak it now, though). That film is like the embodiment of my fantasy relationship. I wanted to talk to her, and she wanted to talk to me, preferably walking down a street in the middle of Europe. I should mention that I find her strikingly beautiful and she lived in Germany for a time.

I was an exchange student my junior year in college. I had my own student apartment and was dating a German for awhile named Max. I was on the verge of coming out to the world but was completely terrified to take the huge step out into the unknown. The brilliant part about Max was that he did not want to have sex with me, he wanted to talk and practice his English. I could minimally kiss him hello and goodbye and allow him to see me topless on weekend nights. I knew that the time was coming the afternoon he took off his white European briefs and was creeped out, incapable of doing anything, except suppress my gag relax and later tears over the mess I felt I was in. When he told me that an American “friend” had approached him at a party one night and warned him to stay away from me because I was a “cocktease,” that was it. No more hurting myself, no more hurting other people by living in silence. I sat him down at the park where we used to go on walks together and explained that she was so wrong, that I was not what she said and could not believe that she had done that. He was not too surprised to hear me tell him then that I’m a lesbian.

He was the first face-to-face coming out experience, and next was my best friend since second grade via e-mail. I had always had a certain awareness that she was gay. My best friend growing up was a butch girl. She wrote that she had been harboring this same secret from me for years throughout high school and college. Other people knew in her life but not me, not her best friend. She thought I was homophobic, religious (!), and that I would disown her as a friend. Our fifteen year friendship did change and not due to homophobia and religion. I had compassion for her fears but was upset that she believed that I, her best friend from second grade, was the sort of woman to disown her and that she had been intentionally holding this “secret” from me for years, believing me to be homophobic. I felt like I could not trust her to tell me the truth. Like our friendship was a sham and she did not know the authentic me. Like she was not the best friend I thought I had. Her first girlfriend that  year was insanely jealous of her longtime bond with me, and she chose to stop knowing me. Completely. Forever. The last time we spoke was the month I graduated from college. I know I was not attracted to or in love with her, however, experiencing her loss from my life was traumatic, especially combined with coming out, graduating from college, and figuring out what to do with the rest of my life. For a long time, my life was about healing and seeing that I was worth loving & knowing, that my value was not tied up in what someone else thought about me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The New Year.

I was not able to reach my gay boyfriend’s house for his New Year’s Eve party and expected that downtown would be crazy. I stayed in and cleaned the house, cooked a ton of food, drank wine, and practiced yoga at midnight by candelight. The night felt peaceful yet lonely. I had an unsettling feeling about the house not being safe enough. Have you ever wondered about the burglaries and murders that take place across cities on New Year’s Eve? The night had a somber undertone anyhow because I chose to end the romance with Bree. I had to, not that I wanted to. If someone expects you to wait around for them to ‘decide’ when they think they can be available to you — weeks, months?, and places you on an emotional roller coaster, what sort of a relationship is that?

I had a beautiful dream to wake up with on the first day of the new year. I was staying with my parents at their house, a house I had never seen before, and my friend T was my girlfriend. Yes, yes, interesting to see that my subconscious moved forward at lightening speed. We were sneaking around the house and making out in different rooms. My mom was angry and suspicious that we were involved so we left. The scene shifted to T and I wandering through a stately old house from the 1920s, where everything and everyone inside was in black and white and frozen from that era. No one could see us, but we could see them. And then, I found myself at a yoga festival with friends, where hundreds of hipsters were topless and dressed in lingerie, practicing yoga on green grass under the sun like at Dolores Park in San Francisco. I had on fishnet stockings and spotted a community box brimming over with extra bras, garter belts, underwear. People would select whatever they wanted to have from the box. I decided to find the bathroom with one friend in the next building, and the hallway was lined with bathrooms from different cultures and time periods: India, France, Japan, the 1950s. At the end of the hall was a door, and on the other side was a shopping mall with a Chick-Fil-A fast-food place with my old boss from the bar managing it. The commotion and bright lighting made us close the door right away and walk back toward the bathrooms. That’s when I woke up, bundled under covers in bed with soft sunlight coming in the windows.

What stopped me short was seeing the tragedy in the news. A woman walked two blocks home from a New Year’s Eve party and was found murdered in her home. She lived on the same street my friend from the dream lives on. The police had been called out to the street when another woman reported a man following her. The police decided the man was nowhere to be found and not only did the police neglect to ensure that this woman got home safely after she filed the report, they acted like everything was fine. She was attacked by the man as she walked home. The other woman was murdered in the house she was attacked in front of, either before or after this assault. She was twenty-nine, a teacher, a lover of rock ‘n roll, a lovely soul. Even though I never knew Esme, I’m stricken with sadness over news about her death. The murder seems to be random, which is the more alarming part, and today, another body was found in a dumpster about two miles north of her street. Homicides are not that common in Austin. We haven’t experienced anything like this in years. I do feel, for some reason, that this man is probably homeless, a drifter who comes from another place, and/or was released from prison prior to this violent spree. That first woman he knocked down was not his first time assaulting. I feel a certain fear about walking from place to place after dark, as city people do, but the truth is you cannot stop living life. We’re not going to allow one man and the police to cause us to feel like we’re victims.

*2012*

In college, I used to watch Sex and The City with friends on Sunday nights (and harbor small crushes on Charlotte and Miranda). Tonight, as I watched a re-run on t.v. with a glass of red wine and my cat next to me, it dawned on me: Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda are no longer these older women of the future. I could be one of them now, except I want to find my wife, not a husband. The college friends that watched with me are all married to men with not only one child, but two, three, four. I have a hard time relating as I feel they have a hard time relating to my single life. Dating? Fooling around with strangers? No baby to rush home to? No deeper commitments? But it seems like only yesterday that we were in college and our lives were in the same place. I miss when it was just “us,” as selfish as it sounds.

allthetests.com

2012 is going to be a huge year. I feel like lightening might strike. 2012 is the Year of the Dragon in Chinese astrology, the ultimate power symbol, not to mention the symbol for luck and fire. I feel the energy of the new year in the air, that it will be a demanding, intimidating, fierce yet rewarding and fantastic year for me and you and everyone we know. 2012 makes me think about cherry blossoms, poppies, orchids, jewelry, henna on hands, wealth, the color red, the color orange, joy, laughter, a room filled with bright candles. January through June: my brother gets married, I have to study computer languages extra extra hard to switch my career, and complete the final draft on the book. July through December: I want to get the book published, get a new car, practice my guitar often, get a job in California, & move back. 2012 has more than enough work cut out for me.

houseofyin.net

My family is in India until next week. Brea and I have been contemplating the idea of having our noses re-pierced together when she comes into town. I feel a desire to reclaim who I am, and the piercing would fit in perfectly with the Indian wedding. I used to have a nose ring and an eyebrow ring back in the day. The nose ring is the one I miss. We removed our nose rings because of fear, and with the awareness that love is greater than fear, I want to replace it.

Winter Weekend.

Brea drove to Austin to have a romantic Mexican dinner with me and watch High Art.

universe-l.com

www.blackingoutthefiction.files.wordpress.com

High Art is a 1998 cinematic delight. Vivid colors. Lesbian lovers. Hipster culture. Cigarette smoke drifting from scene to scene. I watch and feel like I’m in a dream. Brea and I held hands.

The following day, she left the house to visit with some friends and the married man was cooking fish in the kitchen.

“Would you care for some fish?” he asked me.

“Thanks,” I answered. “But I think I’m fished out.”

That came out the wrong way. 

“I mean…I’m…I’m.not.that.hungry,” I said.

“Uh huh,” his friend chimed in, the same friend who asked me how lesbians have sex. “Of course you’ve had enough fish for the day!”

I wanted to die. I told Brea about that double entendre.

Our winter weekend together was lovely yet emotionally intense. We both like each other a lot, but because of the distance and some personal issues she is going through in her life, it became evident to us that we can’t be in a relationship. Neither of us really believes in long distance relationships. I would like to be able to hold my girlfriend’s hand every night. I would like to be with her all the time. My parents invited me to have dinner this evening, minutes after Brea got into her car to leave Austin. I sat at the dinner table and it was like I didn’t have the energy, the strength in me to tell them the truth about what I did this weekend. Like: “The girl I’ve been seeing for two months spent the weekend with me, and did I tell you she lives down the street from Rory in Houston?” (my brother). Brea sent me a text message in the middle of dinner. I miss you already, she wrote. I miss you too, I wrote back. I sat down again at the table. I felt sick to my stomach, remembering the time my dad asked me if women turn me on and the times my mom has looked at two women kissing on t.v. and said “that’s so disgusting.” Lesbian relationships, in their eyes, are seen as sick, dirty, wrong when to me, lesbian relationships are totally natural and right. I’m kind of sick of fighting that mentality after more than ten years as much as I’m sick of being silent.

A Mac for a Mac

My mac power book G4 has been in and out of the shop over the last five years. The hard drive crashed, the battery had to be replaced, the fan went out twice, the adapter broke, and now the adapter won’t charge it because of an internal hardware problem. My dad has been letting me borrow his extra laptop until I could afford the repairs, and in the back of my mind, buy a whole new laptop. The laptop has been with me in countless coffee houses and is like a life line for a writer and wannabe developer. I wrote my first book of poetry and my first novel on it. I’ve spent hours upon hours listening to music and editing photos on it. Last night, my dad said, “Don’t worry about fixing your computer because your new mac air has arrived in the mail. Merry xmas early!” The gift caused me to tear up a little. I was overcome with happiness. But there was a catch. “This was your mom’s idea. You need to call her and thank her.” Like the last three decades, she is nice on xmas and on my birthday, usually getting me expensive gifts and pretending that she’s a good mother, then is rotten the rest of the year. He wanted me to come over to the house to get the computer, and I thanked both of them. “Give your mom a hug now,” he said, as if I were four years old, and I reached over for a second, seeing her as this woman named Veronica who gave me a thoughtful gift, instead of a mother who is so much like Michelle Bachman or Sarah Palin + heavy doses of verbal abuse. Her gifts for a time make me forget.

I’ve been experiencing intense flashbacks about my life in San Francisco, hanging out with my ‘mates at our house, going to smoky bars, riding the BART home after work, walking down streets in the Mission at night, getting takeout at Sunflower, the boutiques, the corner grocery stores, walking up that bitch of a hill toward Noe Valley, the cool Bay air on my face, the scenic views of the city shrouded in mist, the crazy people on the streets, the parks. A year ago I had a life there with a San Francisco address. Brea* knows that I would like to return and she, herself, does not want to stick around Houston. I really, really like her and we have a strong connection, almost what I would call a psychic connection. We’ve been talking about the future. Can we maintain a relationship with the distance between Austin and Houston? Is it possible to do so? I think it is!

T and C split up after three serious years together and a house. They were like the ideal lesbian couple in my world, the couple that inspired Nina and Emmaline in my novel, and represented the life I aspire to have. People change, people fall in and out of love, pieces are re-arranged. Nothing stays the same. I came across the quote: “The bad news is nothing is permanent. The good new is nothing is permanent.” Everything is forever shifting and breathing and evolving and moving, including the cells in your body, which is why I attempt to embrace the present moment. Right here, right now, I told Brea, you’re the girl I want to spend my nights with.

Tonight is the company holiday party. Some coworkers asked me if I’m bringing someone. “I would like to,” I answered, “but not this year.” Are you seeing someone? “Yes, I am.” What’s his name? “Her name is Brea.” Awkwardness out and over. I get to be the single queer in the company! Brea* currently lives in fear with her work people finding out because she works with teenagers and their parents in the South, and a percentage of those parents think Rick Perry, our batty state governor, is the shit. I had to pause at this public photo of Rick and a corn dog, which gave me the idea of someone opening up a gay boy club that sells hot dogs. I bet Rick Perry would secretly want to go with Michelle Bachmann’s husband to swill a few beers and eat hot dogs, decked out in their cowboy boots and skinny jeans.

And here is a picture of me in the sparkly dress I’m wearing to the party. The entire dress is covered in purple sequins!