Wednesday, December 11, 2013
How I'll Know IV
I'll know he's the one when he likes the Black Eyed Peas at least a little bit. And Scissor Sisters a lot.
Friday, December 6, 2013
No, Socially, ----------
I opened my arms wide for a hug. We hugged, and for some reason my arms were decided to be above his. We separated quickly, and before anything was said, he took another giant's step back toward me. And then a half step. And a quarter step, leaning from his back and bowing his head down toward me. My memory tells me the sun was completely eclipsed for a second before it became clear that his mouth was headed to mine. It happened. And then it happened again. And then one more time. Each time was no more reassuring of the total package.
"Are you content now?" said the Caterpillar.
"Well, I should like to be a little larger, sir if you wouldn't mind," said Alice: "three inches is such a wretched height to be."
"It is a very good height indeed!" said the Caterpillar angrily, rearing itself upright as it spoke (it was exactly three inches high).
"But I'm not used to it!" pleaded poor Alice in a piteous tone. And she thought to herself, "I wish the creatures wouldn't be so easily offended!"
"You'll get used to it in time," said the Caterpillar; and it put the hookah into its mouth and began smoking again.
-Lewis Carroll
I had a bunny for more than half of my life. She was my baby. I was her dad. I went to "work" during the day, and every time I would leave, I would tell her to be a good girl as I blew her kisses until I couldn't see her anymore.
When I like you, I nuzzle. When I sleep, I want to sleep close. When I appreciate something, when I'm thankful for you, when I feel you're on my side, I kiss you. When I perceive that you're scared, I know how to creep slowly toward you, innocently, until you let me by your side. If you pet me under my chin, I will bite you. If you try to tell me what to do, I may scratch you. If I'm happy, I skip. If I need your attention, I will...drink from my water bottle to make noise...passive aggressively.
I learned how to show affection from my bunny.
Learned from a past lover: I know how I like to kiss. I know where I like to be touched. I know how I like to be held. When we meet someone new, and we move to show affection, we don't yet know how that person likes to be touched; we show affection using our experience, what our past loves enjoyed. I can kiss you like I used to kiss someone else, and I can feel the same thing, or try to, but you will not understand.
I'm excited by the new, silent, conversation of affection with a new guy. Let's take it slow. Let's make eye contact. Let's listen and respond. Let's find our own way. Our own way.
I traveled 45 minutes to the Kingdom of the Upper West Side. I met him outside the coffee shop near his work. I made small talk as we got in line for hot beverages. He ordered a cappuccino and "whatever this guy wants." I wanted tea. We sat in the area that was less crowded. We talked and related for an hour.
Somewhere along the way, there was that pause. I don't know if anyone else knows that pause; it happens to me because I am a romantically inclined individual. You feel yourself finishing talking for a long period of time, and neither of you have something new to say, so instead you stop talking and stare into each other's eyes. As if existing as a pair in a moment of unplanned silence were any indication that you are soul mates. The thing about this pause is that it can be very real. The other thing about this pause is that it rarely ever is.
Gay people are great because they are often overachievers (overcompensating for shame)...but that means, for me who is dating a lot all of a sudden, that I can no longer go to that dance studio in Harlem, or use Vimeo, or go to a drag show...IF THEY KISS YOU AFTER A COFFEE DATE AND TOTALLY WEIRD YOU OUT BUT YOU'RE TOO COMPLACENT TO STOP IT.
Shit. I'm trapped. I'm nowhere near my home. I fell down this rabbit hole and now I'm trapped. I didn't pay for the tea...and neither did he; he paid for the kiss. He's tall, so he'll see if I run. Once the kiss started, I couldn't stop it. The subway is delayed. I'm far from home. I'm far from home and I'm scared.
If they are confident and productive, you're not good enough/worth it. If they are awkward and productive, they feel they need to jump you before you run away, and heck, they deserve you because they make that money and get signed by agents.
This was not a meeting of brothers. This was a date. With expectation. Conversation, yes, but to get familiar enough to kiss, not familiar enough to understand. Like a movie I saw recently, every action in the beginning to the middle to the end was in service of the surprise ending. And here I thought we were really connecting.
He turned me into something I'm not. Painted me red when I'm supposed to be white.
 |
| And down the Rabbit Hole I went... |
Somewhere along the way, there was that pause. I don't know if anyone else knows that pause; it happens to me because I am a romantically inclined individual. You feel yourself finishing talking for a long period of time, and neither of you have something new to say, so instead you stop talking and stare into each other's eyes. As if existing as a pair in a moment of unplanned silence were any indication that you are soul mates. The thing about this pause is that it can be very real. The other thing about this pause is that it rarely ever is.
"I could tell you my adventures-beginning from this morning," said Alice a little timidly; "but it's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then."
-Lewis Carroll
If they are confident and productive, you're not good enough/worth it. If they are awkward and productive, they feel they need to jump you before you run away, and heck, they deserve you because they make that money and get signed by agents.
This was not a meeting of brothers. This was a date. With expectation. Conversation, yes, but to get familiar enough to kiss, not familiar enough to understand. Like a movie I saw recently, every action in the beginning to the middle to the end was in service of the surprise ending. And here I thought we were really connecting.
He turned me into something I'm not. Painted me red when I'm supposed to be white.
 |
| When Life gives you Roses, paint them Red. |
When you hold out your hand to a bunny, it pauses, assesses danger, and you can see her decide to smell your scent. She decides to figure you out, to learn who you are by where you've been and what you ate that day and with whom you've been. She takes the time to stop and smell the roses. She learns to love you because you smell like you.
"I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says "Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again."
-Lewis Carroll
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Sunday, December 1, 2013
No, Not at all, Never
I can get competitive. I'm used to it. It grounds me. I can get passionate about it. I can trust it. Not everyone relates.
If someone compliments you, they are sharing their opinion. Personally, I put very little weight in compliments. They are subjective and rather impractical. (Socially, I'm learning to say thank you and really believe others when they compliment me...practically, I try to find the reason for them saying such a "nice" thing...what do they want?)
If you compete fairly with someone, and you win, that win is a fact. You won. You're better at this one thing at this one time against this one opponent. Thus, I enjoy competition. It's more accurate. It's more honest. And I just love seeing someone trying their hardest to achieve something. We are all capable of wonderful things.
---
Today is World AIDS Day. And really, that's all that matters. When I think of what it must have been like for Gay America before the AIDS epidemic outbreak in the 70s, I get excited for a community that was full of sex and love and pure freedom. It must have been the most exciting time, and a large part of me wishes I could have been a part of that experience. When I think of what it must have been like for Gay America during the AIDS epidemic, I weep and squirm and fully realize that I cannot possibly imagine the incredible force of that time.
---
As I walked to our planned meeting spot, I breathed loudly and psyched myself up. I caught a stride in my step and fixed my hair. We decided to meet in my neighborhood: home turf. I had the advantage here. This is MY HOUSE! I was nervous, so I left early, so I was going to be there about ten minutes early. I was going to get there, choose a strategic table and get a drink to get all of the unknown out of the way...but then he texts me that it's a "cute place."
Shit.
Wait...does that mean he's already there? That fucker. He stole my advantage. He's good, oh, he's good.
I walk into the coffee shop, and we shake hands over the table he chose (DING DING DING, the match has begun). He gets to the counter to order first; I'm last again.
We get our drinks, and I think that he'll want the seat he had before we ordered...but HE SWITCHES IT UP ON ME. He might as well have turned the whole world upside down. Okay, game on, boy.
After he "doctored up" his "cold brew," we got down to business. As discussed and planned, we would communicate only by writing on pieces of paper, back and forth. Like a real conversation, only different. Just like how he offered to come to my neighborhood for the date, he also offered to supply the pads of paper and pens. Everything is more "convenient" for me, yet he has all the control.
He hands me my pen and pad, and he starts writing. This is cute. It's weird, meeting someone for the first time like this, but he's cute and unexpected.
I start to write a response, a simple hello. Halfway through the word, my pen stops cooperating. I can etch an imprint of what I want to say, invisible on the paper from across the table, but no ink will come out to help me express my thoughts.
He keeps writing. And tearing pages. And showing them to me. And as I read, I think of more that I'd like to share. And he keeps writing. And tearing pages. And the moment passes. And I can't write anyway.
I don't know what to do. He has wonderful, beautiful, well-thought-out ideas. I'm very interested in reading what he has written down for me to see. He is very generous in his sharing.
"I love telling stories, as you can tell."
He shares ideas that I've actually thought as well. Sometimes in ways better than my own. Sometimes. I'd like to share my own thoughts, really make it a conversation. I try. I use my pen to imprint the paper with what I want to say and present it to him. He looks at the paper, squints his eyes, frowns, and looks away. Then he continues writing.
He loves his job. He has a wonderful, supporting family. He doesn't imbibe. He finds community over the internet.
I feel my pocket buzzing with messages, and choose to ignore them for the sake of giving attention to this human interaction in front of me. It never occurs to me to use the phone as a means of typing what I need to say.
I have to say, it did occur to me to just talk out loud, but there was never a good moment. I would be shattering what we had set up. I would be interrupting the flow. I was made the bad guy. I felt uninteresting because I couldn't share any of my interesting life. I felt mediocre because he wouldn't ask me any questions; he wouldn't share the good pen and let me have a say.
He won. I was defeated.
Honestly, he expressed and embodied my idea of treating everyone around you like your brother or sister better than I do. He had zero expectations for this first date, which is the point. Friends first, love later.
I walked away from our date, really feeling how much I didn't talk and wasn't heard. I felt untested. He won, but it was an unfair competition.
I walked some more, and I thought some more, and I didn't talk some more. And I realized: he is better at many things. And I am more romantic.
Also, he doesn't know anything about me. What a loss, am I right?
---
There is a concept of horizontally and vertically learned behavior and traditions. Vertical learning of traditions come from your family tree; your genetics dictate who passes on this culture. Horizontal learning happens, specifically, for example, with gay people. We have a long tradition of discrimination and disease and overcoming hardship. We have traditions of being "a fun people" with parties that feature drag performers and gogo dancers. We have a history of being shamed and overcoming that shame until we can begin to cultivate authenticity.
I am very proud of my horizontal gay history. I am excited by the idea that I am connected to a bunch of strangers. I feel passionate about fighting for a cause that continues to plague the world: AIDS. Prevention. Knowledge. Treatment. There is still so much work to be done. Past generations fought the war, and many died, and it's our turn to speak out now that AIDS is no longer on the forefront of attention and concern.
Thank you to my gay forefathers for allowing me to sit with a cute boy for 2 and a half hours in public and talk about being gay without fear of physical or mental harm. Because, really, that is what it is all about.
If someone compliments you, they are sharing their opinion. Personally, I put very little weight in compliments. They are subjective and rather impractical. (Socially, I'm learning to say thank you and really believe others when they compliment me...practically, I try to find the reason for them saying such a "nice" thing...what do they want?)
If you compete fairly with someone, and you win, that win is a fact. You won. You're better at this one thing at this one time against this one opponent. Thus, I enjoy competition. It's more accurate. It's more honest. And I just love seeing someone trying their hardest to achieve something. We are all capable of wonderful things.
---
Today is World AIDS Day. And really, that's all that matters. When I think of what it must have been like for Gay America before the AIDS epidemic outbreak in the 70s, I get excited for a community that was full of sex and love and pure freedom. It must have been the most exciting time, and a large part of me wishes I could have been a part of that experience. When I think of what it must have been like for Gay America during the AIDS epidemic, I weep and squirm and fully realize that I cannot possibly imagine the incredible force of that time.
---
As I walked to our planned meeting spot, I breathed loudly and psyched myself up. I caught a stride in my step and fixed my hair. We decided to meet in my neighborhood: home turf. I had the advantage here. This is MY HOUSE! I was nervous, so I left early, so I was going to be there about ten minutes early. I was going to get there, choose a strategic table and get a drink to get all of the unknown out of the way...but then he texts me that it's a "cute place."
Shit.
Wait...does that mean he's already there? That fucker. He stole my advantage. He's good, oh, he's good.
I walk into the coffee shop, and we shake hands over the table he chose (DING DING DING, the match has begun). He gets to the counter to order first; I'm last again.
We get our drinks, and I think that he'll want the seat he had before we ordered...but HE SWITCHES IT UP ON ME. He might as well have turned the whole world upside down. Okay, game on, boy.
After he "doctored up" his "cold brew," we got down to business. As discussed and planned, we would communicate only by writing on pieces of paper, back and forth. Like a real conversation, only different. Just like how he offered to come to my neighborhood for the date, he also offered to supply the pads of paper and pens. Everything is more "convenient" for me, yet he has all the control.
He hands me my pen and pad, and he starts writing. This is cute. It's weird, meeting someone for the first time like this, but he's cute and unexpected.
I start to write a response, a simple hello. Halfway through the word, my pen stops cooperating. I can etch an imprint of what I want to say, invisible on the paper from across the table, but no ink will come out to help me express my thoughts.
He keeps writing. And tearing pages. And showing them to me. And as I read, I think of more that I'd like to share. And he keeps writing. And tearing pages. And the moment passes. And I can't write anyway.
"I love telling stories, as you can tell."
He shares ideas that I've actually thought as well. Sometimes in ways better than my own. Sometimes. I'd like to share my own thoughts, really make it a conversation. I try. I use my pen to imprint the paper with what I want to say and present it to him. He looks at the paper, squints his eyes, frowns, and looks away. Then he continues writing.
He loves his job. He has a wonderful, supporting family. He doesn't imbibe. He finds community over the internet.
I feel my pocket buzzing with messages, and choose to ignore them for the sake of giving attention to this human interaction in front of me. It never occurs to me to use the phone as a means of typing what I need to say.
I have to say, it did occur to me to just talk out loud, but there was never a good moment. I would be shattering what we had set up. I would be interrupting the flow. I was made the bad guy. I felt uninteresting because I couldn't share any of my interesting life. I felt mediocre because he wouldn't ask me any questions; he wouldn't share the good pen and let me have a say.
He won. I was defeated.
Honestly, he expressed and embodied my idea of treating everyone around you like your brother or sister better than I do. He had zero expectations for this first date, which is the point. Friends first, love later.
I walked away from our date, really feeling how much I didn't talk and wasn't heard. I felt untested. He won, but it was an unfair competition.
I walked some more, and I thought some more, and I didn't talk some more. And I realized: he is better at many things. And I am more romantic.
Also, he doesn't know anything about me. What a loss, am I right?
---
There is a concept of horizontally and vertically learned behavior and traditions. Vertical learning of traditions come from your family tree; your genetics dictate who passes on this culture. Horizontal learning happens, specifically, for example, with gay people. We have a long tradition of discrimination and disease and overcoming hardship. We have traditions of being "a fun people" with parties that feature drag performers and gogo dancers. We have a history of being shamed and overcoming that shame until we can begin to cultivate authenticity.
I am very proud of my horizontal gay history. I am excited by the idea that I am connected to a bunch of strangers. I feel passionate about fighting for a cause that continues to plague the world: AIDS. Prevention. Knowledge. Treatment. There is still so much work to be done. Past generations fought the war, and many died, and it's our turn to speak out now that AIDS is no longer on the forefront of attention and concern.
Thank you to my gay forefathers for allowing me to sit with a cute boy for 2 and a half hours in public and talk about being gay without fear of physical or mental harm. Because, really, that is what it is all about.
"Hey! Thanks for coming all the way to my neighborhood. I had a nice time."
"Ditto kiddo, thanks for the conversation! Enjoy your Friday :)"
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Second Review
When I was in 7th grade, I was informed that a girl in our grade had a crush on me. I was surprised. I didn't really like her. And then I thought about it. And I thought about it more. And eventually I liked the idea of liking someone who liked me. I dreamt up things I would do for her. I thought how I would ask her out. I wanted to buy her a ring with her birthstone on it: a perfect gift. I walked into the hobby store downtown at least twice a week for a few months staring at the rings and wondering when her birthday was. I used to believe that I could be for anyone, and anyone could be for me.
If your first date is 15 hours long, unplanned, and leaves you wanting more...how does your second date go?
(I suggest you first peruse each photo below, and then start clicking on things that look like links. Get a feel for the future, and then find out how it all came to be.)
I never did ask that girl out. I wasn't driven enough to do it. Didn't care so much about it. Lucky for her; lucky for both of us.
Yesterday, I texted him a happy belated birthday. He didn't respond. Brotherhood hurts sometimes. That doesn't mean you stop being brothers. At least the feeling is mutual.
Can you think of when mutual feelings might not be a good thing?
If your first date is 15 hours long, unplanned, and leaves you wanting more...how does your second date go?
(I suggest you first peruse each photo below, and then start clicking on things that look like links. Get a feel for the future, and then find out how it all came to be.)
 |
| These little papers look and feel like endless opportunity. Too bad this was the result... |
 |
| He said his bladder sent sudden and dire messages. |
 |
| We had witnesses. |
 |
| This location would be romantic...maybe with someone more romantic. |
I never did ask that girl out. I wasn't driven enough to do it. Didn't care so much about it. Lucky for her; lucky for both of us.
"Home! Goodnight!!"
...
...
...
Yesterday, I texted him a happy belated birthday. He didn't respond. Brotherhood hurts sometimes. That doesn't mean you stop being brothers. At least the feeling is mutual.
Can you think of when mutual feelings might not be a good thing?
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
How I'll Know
I'll know he's the one when he suggests we watch Up together, and we watch the whole thing, and I finally get to see the ending.
Saturday, November 9, 2013
Sometimes, Socially, ----------
What can you achieve in 15 hours?
How far can you travel in 15 hours?
What can you build in 15 hours?
What can you earn in 15 hours?
What trouble can you get into in 15 hours?
How well can you get to know someone in 15 hours?
Growing up and finding happiness, I believe, has a lot to do with listening to your body and mind. You know what you like to eat because your taste buds tell you what they like. You know what your favorite color is because your eyes tell you it's beautiful and comforting and will never hurt you no matter how good looking another guy is. I have come to trust my intuition when it comes to reading people. I can tell quite quickly whether or not I like someone's energy, and will subsequently get along with them.
I had 45 minutes to kill. I wandered nearby the coffee shop a ways until I got to a place I used to work. It was nice to be on my home turf. It was nice to see my manager's familiar face. It was nice to get to pause for a second...because I was feeling quite anxious over this first first meeting for the blog. I was very open to suggestion, and my manager said this to me:
"Have fun."
And so I did. On our first date. For 15 hours.
---
When I view an OKCupid profile, I tend to trust my instincts. For instance, if a guy starts out his profile saying that he's bad at filling out profiles, he's missing the point. He's not ready to get to know me if he can't share who he is. Dogs can smell fear; I can see insecurity. A picture is worth a thousand words, and I'd love to wager that I know quite a bit about your personality from your picture! (That knowledge grows exponentially with each additional picture too.) So, I went into this date "knowing" a few things [that my near expert internet stalking skills didn't already tell me].
1. He's a good singer. You don't put a photo of yourself in front of a microphone unless you are confident behind that microphone.
2. He's self conscious about his teeth. God! Who isn't? He has a great smirk in every picture. Dimples for the win. Baby, it ain't no thang!
3. He gets complimented on his eyes ALL THE TIME. They're blue and they're beautiful! If I compliment him on his eyes, I will be one of many, nothing special. ...but if I don't...am I rude?
4. This boy knows who he is. This is the strongest argument in his favor. He writes his profile confidently and has unique things to say.
I have a hard time figuring out whether we had one long date or about five dates all in a row. During the first date, I admitted that I was excited to be on a date. On our second date, we geeked out harder than I thought possible in NYC, and he gave me gum. On our third date, we worked together for the first time to decide what gelato flavors we wanted to share. On our fourth date, we finally had a drink together, and I told him how my brain worked. On our fifth date, we snuck into a building and he threatened my life.
Honestly, throughout our almost embarrassing first 15 hours together, I couldn't tell if he was interesting or stupid. Why can't he be both? As long as he brings some good thoughts to the table and shows a genuine interest, he can be immature and pretty the rest of the time! I'm all on board for that...I guess.
The fact is, it's strange that I couldn't pin him down completely, especially considering the time we spent together. My relationship history follows a common thread: as long as I don't understand a guy, I'm interested in spending more time with him. He's a mystery; I want to know more. I want to understand. Most people are easy. I require someone different.
And then we said goodnight and parted ways. Hey, if I'm the kind of lady to wait until the fifth date to kiss, I'm definitely the kind of lady to wait until at least the sixth date to go home with a boy.
We will see each other again soon, I hope. I think he was mildly interested in me at least. And as a great song says, "rule number one is that you gotta have fun," and I'm not done having fun with this one.
I mean, I HAVE to see if he'll actually kill me, right?
How far can you travel in 15 hours?
What can you build in 15 hours?
What can you earn in 15 hours?
What trouble can you get into in 15 hours?
How well can you get to know someone in 15 hours?
 |
| Not that you can tell. |
 |
| How easily we forgive a pretty face. |
"Have fun."
And so I did. On our first date. For 15 hours.
---
1. He's a good singer. You don't put a photo of yourself in front of a microphone unless you are confident behind that microphone.
2. He's self conscious about his teeth. God! Who isn't? He has a great smirk in every picture. Dimples for the win. Baby, it ain't no thang!
3. He gets complimented on his eyes ALL THE TIME. They're blue and they're beautiful! If I compliment him on his eyes, I will be one of many, nothing special. ...but if I don't...am I rude?
4. This boy knows who he is. This is the strongest argument in his favor. He writes his profile confidently and has unique things to say.
"So! What's next?"
"Well, we haven't gotten a drink together yet."
I have a hard time figuring out whether we had one long date or about five dates all in a row. During the first date, I admitted that I was excited to be on a date. On our second date, we geeked out harder than I thought possible in NYC, and he gave me gum. On our third date, we worked together for the first time to decide what gelato flavors we wanted to share. On our fourth date, we finally had a drink together, and I told him how my brain worked. On our fifth date, we snuck into a building and he threatened my life.
"So, do you smoke?"
"I- "
"Cigarettes I mean!"
"I don't...do you?"
"Sometimes...a few times a week probably. I don't really like doing it, though."
Honestly, throughout our almost embarrassing first 15 hours together, I couldn't tell if he was interesting or stupid. Why can't he be both? As long as he brings some good thoughts to the table and shows a genuine interest, he can be immature and pretty the rest of the time! I'm all on board for that...I guess.
The fact is, it's strange that I couldn't pin him down completely, especially considering the time we spent together. My relationship history follows a common thread: as long as I don't understand a guy, I'm interested in spending more time with him. He's a mystery; I want to know more. I want to understand. Most people are easy. I require someone different.
 |
| And I might have been in danger... |
We will see each other again soon, I hope. I think he was mildly interested in me at least. And as a great song says, "rule number one is that you gotta have fun," and I'm not done having fun with this one.
I mean, I HAVE to see if he'll actually kill me, right?
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Brothers and Sisters
- Are they gay? How do they sit/stand? What are they wearing? Who are they with? How comfortable do they look in a white-man-hetero world?
- Are they ignorant? Have they dated before? Are they out to their family? Are they over their inevitable, society-driven slutty phase?
- Are they crazy? Do they smell weird? Are they holding a weapon? Are they currently screaming about "that dumbass bitch?"
- Are they interested? Are they looking in my direction? Do they like what they see? Are they walking over to me and making up some dumb excuse to talk, like maybe, I don't know, that he thinks I'm cute and wants to know more about me!?
Fuck. I can barely survive this intense, though expertly created, list of requirements. And yet it all leads to the same uneventful ending on that partially crowded subway car:
 |
| Because the internet needs one more picture of the subway |
No, of course he doesn't walk over to me and make up some dumb excuse to talk like saying I'm cute and he wants to know more about me. And you know what?
Neither do I.
---
Sometimes I think about what it would be like to grow up in the circus. Old school, intense, family circus. Your training starts YEARS before you realize that your life isn't the same as the rest of the world. There's us and there's them: the troupe and the people who don't understand how we do the impossible. Home isn't a concept of space; home is your own trailer, drawer, or sheet and pillow among family.
As you grow up, so does your family, your world. The old get older, the young get better at flipping and balancing. You work and you train, and your body doesn't know that it can't do anything. Pain and discomfort is constant. It's all relative. Like speaking to someone you don't know on the phone, doing 20 more pushups, or walking up to someone you think is cute and asking for more about them.
---
When I walk around the city or ride the subway or shop for groceries, sometimes I wonder if anyone here is still a virgin. People in this city are more brash, more honest. They've seen more and lived more and lost and gained more than our Midwestern counterparts. It's part of the culture. Everything is more. Everything is faster and multi-tasked. We know something. We walk with knowledge. We are hotter and fiercer and more accomplished because being more accomplished is hot and fierce. You are more attractive when you aren't trying to be; you are more attractive when you are putting your time into your own interests and self.
Training. Pain. Strength. Bodies. Muscles. Neck. Torso. Balance. Closeness. Legs. Muscles. Laughing. Intimacy. Skin. Muscles. Arms. Hair. Pheromones. Trust. Muscles. Understanding. Communication.
Abs.
A circus is a family, literally and otherwise. You trust each other with your lives. You communicate non-verbally. You rehearse again and again and again and again and again the same routines in close quarters with flexible, almost nude, sweaty bodies.
Alright: sex. It must have happened. It just had to have occurred all the time. And don't tell me that birth control was a big thing for a group of vagabonds who have a counterculture all their own. These people were hot and cocky and reckless and accomplished. The things they could do with their bodies in the air or on the ground is breathtaking. Hence THE CIRCUS.
I am afraid to even flirt with another body because of my expectation. I am a hopeful person. I see someone cute, and I want them to come to me, to want me. My perspective is flawed. I am flying through the air and I am reached for that other body to catch me, when really I should be focusing on my trick and my timing (trust me, that's how it works in the circus).
 |
| Focus, focus... |
Let me break it down. Instead of seeing prospective husbands on the subway, I should instead see fascinating Brothers and Sisters. Everyone has something to say and something to add to the experience of life, not just the cute, male ones. (Sadly, especially not the cute, male ones.) And besides, everyone knows that the best relationships are grounded in friendship first.
Hey.
You're cute. And you look like you have daily adventures that would be interesting to hear about.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
The Beginning of the End
Tell me a secret, a private moment, something embarrassing to hear said out loud. I want to hear something inconsequential. I want to know what only you know. I want to know together.
---
I love to type. That's not a secret. I like how you can get lost in the muscle memory. I love how you trust your skill and create as quickly as you can think. I love the challenge. When I first learned to type --- and every time I would find myself around an idle keyboard, one that wouldn't record anything if pressed into --- I would type a ghost sentence:
These are the memories that best define a person; these are the facts worth telling, worth sharing, and worth hearing.
Tell me. Share with me. Let me hear.
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For awhile, the sentence stopped there. I knew that I would finish it when it was ready. Maybe I would get to a place where I would say different things each time. Little secrets of hope to myself and the angels who watch what I do.
It wasn't long, however, before I found the sentence complete. It was a surprise to me, like discovering what your own likes and dislikes are. Like playing The Sims and picking a person's life ambition. Someone with control of my actions, monitoring my needs, watching me type ghost words, decided it for me.
 |
| Just for instance. |
Here, I finish that sentence.
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