Oy.

On Friday night, I was having a nice dinner with my parents. They are in their early 60s, and something interesting is happening.  My mom is becoming more feminist, and a couple of weeks ago, she went to a rally on campus w/ me and my partner supporting a student who had been gaybashed.  My mom has been talking more about how frustrated she gets when she feels she is treated differently because she’s a woman.  This is weird because I’m not used to hearing her talk like this.

My dad is changing too–he’s becoming more conservative.  Scary conservative, no less–he told me that he liked Santorum, and like his brother, it seems he may be turning into a prepper.  My dad has always been conservative, but he’s definitely taking a turn toward stuff I don’t know how to handle.

Friday night got weird because my mom’s feelings got hurt when dad didn’t want to talk about the topic she brought up– it was an abstract concept, something he doesn’t do well with in conversations.  Earlier in the day, Mom, Aunt Liz, & I had been talking about the afterlife, ghosts, etc…and my mom wanted to know what my dad thinks.  No comment really, and with that he shut down the conversation.

That’s what he does.  He shuts down conversations.

We once put an atlas in front of him.  Where would you like to go on vacation? And he couldn’t, he wouldn’t answer us.  So when he can afford to go away, they go to Mexico.  Apparently, it is there on the beach, and only there on the beach, eating raw seafood and drinking cerveza, my dad becomes a regular person, smiling under a straw hat and not hating everything.

I’d like to find a place like that.

So Dad shut down the afterlife talk and brought up what I’ve started referring to as the Bullshittery Daily Distraction from Real Issues.  Every day, there’s some shitty story about some pundit said something awful about someone related to the presidential campaign, and we all get up in arms about it, and it keeps us from actually talking about the real issues like the foreclosure crisis, the unemployment rate, homelessness, economic insanity, veteran’s struggles, sexism, racism, rape, homophobia, etc.  Friday it was the Hilary Rosen comments about Ann Romney never working outside the house.

This conversation got out of hand fast, and I’m still not sure how.  At one point my father accused me of saying that housewives don’t work, which is insane because I think they should get a paycheck.

My dad gets louder; he shakes his index finger in your face. It’s embarrassing & infantalizing, and this was in public (a Mexican restaurant in Eastgate, a suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio where we all live).  At one point, he was standing over the table, leaning over me, getting louder, wagging that finger.  I urged him to leave the restaurant.

The car ride to their house was silent.

I tried to talk to him more when we got home–I tried to make the point that I am angry that the conversations about people take away from the conversations people should be having about the issues, and he referred to Obama as “your boy” which made me stabby, because I do not have blinders on when it comes to President Obama.  I voted for him but I speak my mind when I am displeased by something he does or fails to do, and I am not a democrat.  There are no good words that make sense to most people when it comes to how I feel about politics, especially electoral politics.

It kept getting louder, and eventually my dad brought up with “you are doing wrong with the marriage thing” which apparently means that gays should STFU about marriage because we don’t deserve to be equal under the law.  Hearing my own father tell me that I’m not as much of a citizen as he is, and that it should be that way was more than I could take.  I had a temper tantrum.  I threw my drink at the window over the sink (plastic cup) splashing red crystal light all over the place.

I let a bloodcurdling scream out right in his face, breaking down into tears.  And I tried to explain what it feels like to worry about making it through every single day in my body, in my gender, how all I care about is not being gaybashed or raped or worse.  I talked for a long time.  My mom sat there, quietly absorbing my words.

And my dad refused to comment.

 

my bizarre social disorder

i don’t know if this has a name, but i have self-diagnosed myself with a social disorder.  i’m an extravert, according to my official MBTI report and this means

Extraversion (E)
I like getting my energy from active involvement in events and having a lot of different activities. I’m excited when I’m around people and I like to energize other people. I like moving into action and making things happen. I generally feel at home in the world. I often understand a problem better when I can talk out loud about it and hear what others have to say.

The following statements generally apply to me:

• I am seen as “outgoing” or as a “people person.”
• I feel comfortable in groups and like working in them.
• I have a wide range of friends and know lots of people.
• I sometimes jump too quickly into an activity and don’t allow enough time to think it over.
• Before I start a project, I sometimes forget to stop and get clear on what I want to do and why.

these things are pretty true about me. my disorder part is that i will hole up, then finally i try to be more social, then i get so addicted feeling on the social feelings and goodness that i feel really bummed and weird when there’s no one around to hang out with.

this is kind of insane.  it’s a weird loop and it’s annoying and i don’t like it.  last night i was social and today i was social and now i’m tired and need to be alone at home doing chores and getting homework done because this new Halberstam book isn’t gonna read itself, and i just want to be out in the world hanging out.  and my partner lives 500 miles away and i live in a conservative city with no queer scene and even if i didn’t have 500 other things to do, i don’t know what I’d do or where i’d go.

 

i see you

i work at a large, relatively conservative midwestern public university.

i run a residence hall, which means that part of my compensation is a dining hall meal plan, which i utilize most weekdays for lunch & dinner.

tonight I had dinner with a graduate student I supervise, and when we walked into the dining hall, i made eye contact with an exquisitely dressed (bow tie and vintage Malcolm X glasses) person I had never seen before.  Based on the look we shared later, and the nervous wave they gave me in the dish room, I’d say the person recognized me as being somehow like them.

I eked out an awkward “i like your tie” after they waved to me, and i wished i had been better dressed today (no tie, need a haircut), not because i want to be desirable to people on campus (i don’t) but because i want that person to know that i’m a bow tie wearing dandy too.  and maybe they’ve seen me before–i don’t know…because i do wear a bow tie most days to work, and i’m generally pretty visible on campus.  there are not a lot of butches hanging around this place.

so whoever you were– visitor?  upperclass student who rarely eats in the dining hall, or person who lives on the other side of campus who usually eats at the other dining hall, or maybe new transfer student?  grad student?  i hope you saw me–i think you did–and i’m glad i saw you too.  because it’s hard to be ourselves out here–in cincinnati, at this school.

 

favorite books

Dreamboat asked: What is your favorite book vs what is the book you could read over and over (if they are different) and why?

 

ooh, good questions.

i have so many favorite books… Fun Home by Alison Bechdel, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer, Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris, Seize the Time by Bobby Seale, Female Masculinity by Judith Jack Halberstam, all of the Dykes to Watch Out For comics, and of course the long term winner, A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving.  Books become favorites because they speak to me in a certain way at the time I read them–an oversimplified thing to say, because I think that’s probably true for a lot of readers.  

Honestly, I don’t generally read books over and over.  There are some that I’ve read more than once, but I love reading so much that reading something again just means that is time taken away from something else I could be reading.  I can read David Sedaris’ books over and over because they stay funny.  I can read Possible Side Effects & Magical Thinking by Augusten Burroughs over and over for the same reason– I keep laughing and thinking. 

 

random questions

as i’ve mentioned, my partner and i are long-distance right now while i live in cincinnati and Dreamboat lives in Baltimore.  Dreamboat is a romantic and works hard to be really creative about the ways we stay connected in the times we are apart, and this time, i’m getting an email once a day with a random question in it.  Dreamboat answers the question, and then it’s optional for me to send back a reply.  i think they’re good blog post topics, so i thought i’d share the one from today.

What is your best childhood memory?

the thing that is weird about childhood memories is that i don’t know what i really remember, and what i think i recall because i’ve seen photos, video, or heard the story many times from my mom or dad.

i don’t mean to be a downer, but there are just so many intense things that i remember better than good things.

i remember strongly the illness & funeral of my grandma Tootie, my mom’s step-mom. i remember other family funerals–my dad’s aunts & uncles mostly, and my mom’s father and uncle in 1991.

when i was about 8 or 9, we were boating at brookville lake with my parents’ friends and their kids.  my dad was in the inner tube being pulled behind the boat, and in the wake, he got flipped, and caught up in the rope and was under the tube– drowning.  my mom dove in to try to help him, and she wasn’t able to– she seemed to be drowning too.  and i stood there watching the whole thing unfold–my long, sunstreaked hair wet down my back, little sunglasses on my face, and i was certain that i was going to watch my parents drown right there, and i’d be sent to live with my dad’s brother and his wife, and it was an eternity.  Pete dove in, saved them both, and normalcy restored–but for that quick second, i pictured this whole life where people whispered behind my back about having dead parents, and in hindsight, i think that i had such a wild imagination from reading so much.

i started reading when i was 2.5.  my mom sent me to school because she didn’t know what to do with a toddler who had taught herself to read; and thus I was in school for 20 years by the time I graduated college.

When i think about super happy childhood memories, it depends on what counts as childhood.   on a cold january day in 1991, i got a phone call offering me a scholarship to high school–the high school my grandpa & uncle had both been kicked out of.  it was one of the proudest moments of my life, running out to meet my mom’s car when she got home from work.

i won the geography bee in 7th grade; won a few spelling bees.  happiness for me can mostly be boiled down into achievement, earning a prize, being chosen to go to the gifted & talented enrichment program, etc.

i have lots of slivers of moments when i felt great– moments on the beach on vacation, or a trip to the art museum that stands out in my mind– or winning races in track or swim team.  i also remember playing pictionary with my parents and our neighbors–me and four adults. i was in the 4th grade & i got the word “ricochet” which baffled everyone–how did i know that word, what it meant– and i had no explanation for how i knew it–i just knew it.

i know that i had a happy childhood, i just don’t remember the pinnacle moment of it.

 

yea. i’m addicted.

there are two things that make me feel super great.  a) wearing a bow tie to work b) sending my partner random pictures.  so in november, i did both of those things every work day.  (i sent my partner random pictures every day, but i didn’t wear bow ties on my days off.)

due to t-giv and veteran’s day, i had fewer work days than normal.  here’s the collage i made.

 

not quite…

so i haven’t managed to post every day in november.  and i’m going to be honest– I likely won’t post at all thursday-sunday of this week because Dreamboat and Dreamboat’s bestie (who is also one of my favorite people) are going to be here for T-giv, and we’re driving up to visit Dreamboat’s family, and driving to visit Dreamboat’s grandma in the hospital (send good thoughts to her please), and hanging out, and Dreamboat leaves way too early on Sunday morning, and I’m just not going to be able to give any time to this blog.

but i do want to say a couple of things that i’m grateful for in this reflective season.  i’m grateful for all of the people i’ve met online who make blogging a more rewarding experience.  i’m grateful for all of the people i met online via WOXY.  i’m grateful for my family, biological & chosen… i’m grateful for my friends, both near and far…  i’m grateful for my colleagues & staff.  most of all this year, i’m thankful for my sweetheart, the incredibly undeniably wonderful, adorable, amazing, kind, loving, patient, hilarious, sexy, brilliant Dreamboat.

 

putting our money where our mouths are

Hey folks, have you checked out The Brown Boi Project?  They’re in a fundraising campaign right now.  As you do your holiday giving, consider them for sure.

Another organization I have also supported in the past is the Trans Youth Support Network in Minneapolis.

What are your favorite organizations for giving?

 

on being a psuedo single person

sometimes i feel like a single person, even though i am in a committed, monogamous relationship.

when i am in situations focused on couples, or around a lot of couples, i feel like a single person.  i went to two family weddings this fall, and i felt like a single person.  when i go out with my parents and their coupled friends,  i feel like a single person.  when i hang out with my married or coupled friends, i am the third wheel. i basically live like a bachelor, hanging around in my boxer shorts and a t-shirt eating junk food and drinking coffee until 6pm.  being in a long distance relationship makes this so.

and then for two or three days a month, i get to be the best version of myself– holding hands, snuggling, being part of a mututally beneficial unit, being visible as someone who is loved by someone else, eating good food with someone i love, and it’s wonderful.

so i’m asking you to send some good thoughts to me.  i’ve been applying to jobs that would help me live a whole lot closer to my better half–and I need all the help i can get.

 

what we have here is a failure to communicate

I’m one half of a butch/butch long distance relationship. i’ve mentioned it here before, but just in case you’re new, my sweetie and i got together when we lived in the same place, but sweetie had already committed to a job 500 miles away.  i knew this when i professed my crush on Dreamboat, and I’d been trying to hold my crush down for months.  We were friends and it continued to intensify and I just couldn’t go any longer without saying anything, so despite the impending distance, we went for it.

I’m glad we went for it.  I’m totally ridiculously stars-in-my-eyes in love with my partner, and as I’ve mentioned here before, we have some communication differences because of our personalities and styles.  The MBTI is just one lens that i can look through…but another pattern that seems to be emerging is this thing where we don’t communicate well right before a visit.

What the hell!?  We should be excited, gearing up for travel, making plans, being thrilled, but it’s this stupid thing that seems to happen every time.  is it because we’ve been apart for awhile (almost a month this time) and we’re disconnected, out of sync?  Is it my crazy hormones (rough period, literally), or some kind of reuniting anxiety?

Do any of you have this problem in your LDRs?  don’t get me wrong– I adore my sweetie and want to do the work that it requires to manage our relationship at a distance, but I definitely need some tips about communication breakdown.