Hanging the Moon and Lesbian Monikers

I placed another personal ad on Craigslist. Hopefully this won't turn into a freak-fest like it did last time. And if it does, well, more material for my writing. LOL.

The Ad I used before was way more humorous, but I was afraid it might be overwhelming and make ME look a little crazy. Who knows? Here's the one I used before:

Only seek LOCAL friends & dates. Please & thank you. LDR's are usually doomed from the start. It's like being pecked to death by chickens. So not big on them unless you can afford to travel to date me once a week. Especially if you can pick me up in a private jet. I'm afraid to fly, so I won't ride in it, but it would still be stellar if you had one. We could park it on the tarmac & have some blackberry Merlot.

ME: I have all my teeth. I sleep on memory foam, because it helps me recall my dreams. I own a flatscreen TV & massage table. I like cheese. That's all you need to know. Let's get married.
Seriously, I'm an Author, Editor, Singer-Songwriter, Artist, Webmaster, Witty Intellectual; am stable, nurturing, a voracious learner, creative, intelligent, educated, witty, honest, selectively intense, sometimes geeky, always passionate. (Oh, & I'm also a bi-lingual illiterate: I can't read or write in 2 different languages). I don't play games unless they come in a box with instructions. I am always productive. You will never see me in a dress, unless I am unconscious, & someone is playing a prank. (those people are evil & must be destroyed). But I'm not Butch. Lipstick Lesbian.
I'm a  positive realist (i.e., I think anything can happen, but it usually doesn't). I'm a freethinker and humanist, and love cats, fireplaces, snow, Dinner Parties, Game Nights & Hen Parties. Love coffee (drinking it, smelling it, & fondling the beans) & conversation (from the sublime to the ridiculous), bookstores, flea markets (As long as the fleas are humanely treated, free-range & not in cages), movies, TV, reading, live music, stand up comedy, long walks- (I know I'm supposed to add "on the beach" but this is Colorado).  
I believe successful relationships are predicated on the 5 C's: Compatibility, Communication, Commonality, Chemistry & Commitment.
Tired of dates I want to smother with a pillow. I SEEK: a LESBIAN (I don't engage in sex with Bi or Straight women, though this doesn't preclude us being friends), who is SANE, with emotional & intellectual intelligence; educated, secure, not afraid of fun, laughter or deep conversations; who can make me laugh out loud, think, & has firm grip on reality & integrity; not afraid to explore her own issues, & be proactive in her personal evolution. I respect women who have their own life, interests & means of $ support, just like me. I am aroused by women who look like women, are confident, capable, witty & intelligent. If you have those qualities, drop everything & contact me right this second.
CRUCIAL CAVEATS: (unpleasant but apparently necessary to say). I have no tolerance for addicts, heavy drinkers, illegal drug users, anyone who needs anger-management class, or the ethically challenged. Really. If you fall in any of these categories, climb back into your little red wagon (or fancy jet) & pass me by.
If, however, you recognize yourself in WHAT I SEEK, & my details titillate or intrigue you, or you'd like to shower me with affection & appreciation, please contact me. ;^} Preferably from the cockpit of your private jet.

At first, I thought it might just make women laugh, while still being revealing and not intimidating, but now I think maybe it's a little over the top. It's so hard to tell how you're being perceived by others, sometimes.

So instead i placed a toned-down version...

LOCALS ONLY PLEASE. I'm intelligent, witty, genuine, creative, ethical person who is always productive, selectively intense, sometimes geeky, always passionate. I don't play games unless they come in a box with instructions. You will never see me in a dress, unless I am unconscious, & someone is playing a prank. (those people are evil & must be destroyed). I'm not Butch. Lipstick Lesbian.

Originally from the South, I moved to Colorado because I've always loved it here, & now make it my permanent home. Since I had to leave my friends behind when I moved, I seek a local circle of friends, & ultimately hope to find a loving life-partner who also requires meaningful conversation and enjoyable experiences. Stability, pleasure and happiness are my goals.

As retired military, I can now spend my time doing the things I enjoy most like writing (this is my greatest passion and identity marker), reading, sculpture, pottery, continuing self-education, watching TV and movies, spending quality time with friends, trying new restaurants, dinner and cocktail parties, gatherings at home with a small group of friends, and exploring this beautiful state. I'm open to suggestion, and will try almost anything unless it's dangerous, illegal or unethical.

I must have a partner who will appreciate me for all the things I am, and all I have to give. I have a great deal to bring to a relationship, as I am honest, self-actualized, nurturing, communicative, humorous, sensitive, loving, affectionate and supportive, but I'm selective about who I will give that to, and at this point in my life, I won't settle for less. If you are my partner, I want to come first in your life, as you will come first with me.

Says me: [Quotes from yours truly, copyrighted]:
"Real connection (and if it's LOVE, then real love)--goes beyond those not-so-perfect and superficial and idiosyncratic things that simply make us individuals. The trust & longevity of a relationship between two individuals is established through time & learning each other, & discovering a harmony at the core of their connection. And it becomes powerful because of where it resides--at the center of who we are; the very essence of our being."

"It's one thing to say you think someone 'hung the moon' but that generally means they are blind & deluded, and then the relationship fails because they say you changed, when really, they never saw you at all. The real test is if someone sees all your flaws or blemishes or individual differences, and they still think you hung the moon."

As far as romantic relationships go, I have been attracted to many different types. For me, it's the whole package, and not one single thing you are. But in general, I am drawn to women who are mostly femme, attractive, genuine, witty, intelligent, and who enjoy giving and receiving affection and intimacy. Touch is very important to me. (I have a massage table).

Not interested in heavy drinkers, drug users, those with an STD. You must be emotionally available, self-actualized, stable & interested in meaningful (and sometimes lengthy) conversations. Otherwise, I'm not the one for you. A good partner for me will have few if any sexual boundaries, will recognize my value, be nurturing, and show her attraction and affection. I seek someone who wants to get to know me fully and isn't intimidated by intelligence or passion or sensitivity. I do have a "work-day" of my own and need that time to do what I do, but when it's time to clock out, I need a woman who wants to spend as much time as possible with me in her own off-hours.

If this resonates with you, contact me, and let's skip the prolonged emailing and texting, and meet in person soon. I will only respond to those who provide RECENT, CLEAR PHOTOS. (Have had my share of those with something to hide, or those who use 20 year old pictures of themselves). That aside, I look forward to hearing from you!

We'll see. Maybe I should put up both ads and see what results they each get. This is so much like scientific research, I swear.

And there's always some adjustment to be made, such as the moniker "lipstick lesbian."  On the surface, that term seems self-explanatory, but what it really means is a lesbian who is femme--like who wears jewelry, makeup and dresses and heels and is attracted to other women who are like her. And then there's "ChapStick lesbian" which is a lesbian who doesn't wear makeup, but embraces her feminine identity in other ways; she will not wear fake fingernails or get a manicure, nor pay to have her hair done, nor wear dangly earrings or flashy jewelry, and many ChapStick lesbians don't even worry too much about shaving everything.

Well, I don't wear heels or dresses, but I wear makeup and lipstick and jewelry, sometimes flashy or dangly, and most of the time made of gold and diamonds, and most of the time, i wear fake fingernails, because mine are more like finger-films that I break off, and the fake French-tipped ones look nice, but I only wear them short, because I use my hands a lot and "claws" get in the way of sculpting, typing, playing guitar, and...well...they can be dangerous during digital sex. 

And I shave. If I had my way, except for my eyebrows and the hair on my head, I'd be slick like a dolphin, permanently. I am also attracted primarily to women who are the same, though I have been attracted to those a little more or less femme, if they have a certain combination of everything else, and tweak me in just the right way. So maybe I'm a ChappedLip Lesbian. Or a StickChap Lesbian. sigh. The problem is, I have features of both, but not all, and am, again, camping in the gray areas of life. Extremes have become things I avoid in nearly everything; the truth being in the middle most of the time, after all. The fact that the truth is often in the middle IS one of my truths.

In my book ISO, I talk about this rather confusion identity quagmire, and also coined a new term, that might be useful here. Femepicine.  Here's the excerpt from the book:

Butch, Femme, Androgynous or Femepicene?

 All that aside, at the risk of being politically incorrect, I must say I find it disturbing that so many lesbians feel it necessary to mimic men. A lesbian, by definition, doesn't want to be with a man and is a woman who loves women, in the romantic sense. In a very real way, then, masculinity in gay women is a contradiction. It is patently unnecessary to become manly in order to be with another woman. The need to be "manly" then, can sometimes be about gender-confusion, and not about being lesbian. This stance may be offensive to some, but indeed, I could say that I am offended by how easily some lesbians dismiss the beauty and power in themselves by diluting it with masculinity.

     Why would a group of people so vehement about avoiding the control and oppression of the other gender, be so anxious to mimic them to such a large degree? When a gay woman chooses to dress in masculine styles, such as what I call the "lesbian costume" of button-down shirts, khaki Dockers, and Doc Marten boots, she is reducing herself to a cliché of what gay women are: women, mimicking men. It is insulting to me, as a gay woman, that many other gay women don't think their appearance is important, and don't embrace their gender as it would seem they naturally would, as women who love women.

     This is not to suggest gay women should wear ball gowns or spike heels and mini-skirts. It just means, embrace the femaleness. Why do you think the L-Word is so popular, aside from the fact that it portrays lesbian lives in general? It's because gay women are titillated by the beauty of these women. Attend any L-Word Watch Party and that much will be clear. Then, they run their fingers through their hair, tuck their button-down into their Dockers, slap on that ball cap and go home. Lesbians: if you are so tantalized by feminine, beautiful women, why do spend so little energy presenting yourself that way?

     So often I hear lesbians complaining about being stereotyped by the world at large. My suggestion is that if you don't wish to be a stereotype, don't dress and act like one.

     In the novels I write, I portray women as feminine or at least as lipstick lesbians, but rarely as dykes or otherwise manly females (which is, intrinsically, an oxymoron). The only time I do portray lesbians as butch or manly is when I'm. . .sort of. . .making fun of them. Stereotyping. I know. It's not nice. But as I've already pointed out, Political Correctness is not my strong suit, nor something I aspire to. I think it does more harm than good, when telling the truth is always much better.

     In doing this, however, I have been accused of catering to straight men or merely "selling out" somehow, and yet, I find this assessment myopic, contradictory and just plain silly. I love women, because they are women. I love the feminine form. I am attracted to the quintessential qualities that make women FEMALE. If I wanted to be with a man, I would be straight. So this whole outrage based on my supposed treason against Sapphic love, strikes me as absurd.

Why do you suppose that most straight women who experiment with lesbianism, pursue gay women who are manly? It's a comfort zone, that's why. They are not straying too terribly far from being with a man.

     The most attractive women, to me, are the ones who are androgynous. I use that term loosely, and colloquially, because the actual definition is way more severe and limiting than the context in which I utilize it here. Androgyny, by its original definition, means ambiguous in gender. Genderless, almost. Like the "Pat" character on the old Saturday Night Live. You can't tell if the person is male or female. The way I mean it, is more like a woman who blends, in a harmonious fashion, the traits of both male and female, to create a balanced person. This means the woman looks like a woman, but can hammer a nail, ride a motorcycle, or be assertive, all without losing her essential womanliness.

     To whine about how you're being mashed into a mold created by straight society, and not being allowed to express your natural self, seems a cop-out--a way to avoid embracing the gender to which you are born. It's also an excuse to be lazy. If you don't present yourself in the most positive way, i.e., by wearing decent clothes, a little makeup, and taking care of your body, then you are merely justifying the fact that you don't care about your appearance. And why shouldn't you care? Do you think that men define what is commonly considered "attractive"? Sorry, but that's biology, and it extends to both genders. We are wired to be attracted to certain things; not the least of which is accentuating the best parts of ourselves.

     A great fictional character who exemplifies this balanced womanhood would be Xena, the Warrior Princess from television. She was strong, capable, assertive, loving, loyal, always looked fabulous and feminine. Even when she was kicking ass or cutting someone's throat. . .

     I desperately want another term to describe strong, feminine lesbians.

     HOMOgenized Female. . .hmmm.

     Fembian. MMM.

     Sapphian.

     It occurred to me that epicene meant having the characteristics of both genders, blended. So how about Femepicene? (fem-ep-uh-seen).

     So women who are Femepicene are those most likely to get my attention. I can't speak for every other gay woman.

     The point is, for me, it's often difficult to even be lesbian, never mind the odds of finding a suitable mate. It is somewhat like the odds of my getting a million dollar publishing contract: it's not inconceivable, but it's not something I can rationally place on the alter of my existence.

So I am femepicene. And I am attracted, for the most part, to other femepicene women. But until the moniker catches on, no one will know what the hell I'm talking about.

Hanging the Moon and Lesbian Monikers

Coffee Skin

My coffee has a skin again.

I keep my mug on an old coffeemaker masquerading as a hot plate because I like my coffee to remain highly warm while I sip it throughout my morning. And afternoon. And sometimes evening...depending on when i get up. Which is always a malleable enterprise for those with Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome. I also have Coining Of Nomenclature Syndrome (C.O.N.S.), except this time I'm not guilty of it. DSPS really exists. Although when i first saw the abbreviation, i thought it stood for -Dating & Sex Postal Service --this is how i intend to find my next girlfriend. When you are at home as much as i am, that's your only hope of seeing another human being. When she absolutely, positively, has to stay here overnight.
Where was I?

Oh, yeah. Skin.

If my coffee cup stays on the hot plate too long, (as it should, since i am a serious writer who spends many hours slaving away at my clickety clacking)....then it inevitably gets a skin on it. Then I have to take a piece of coffee filter and dig the skin out before I refill.

If I were to visit a coffee shop and say "Give me a hazelnut with skin."

They would say "Skim milk?"

"No," I'd say. "Not SKIM. . ..SKIN."

They would, rightfully so, put me in the crazy category. Been there before, so it wouldn't be a stretch. I can do crazy very well, thank you.

I thought about trying to put something on top of that skin one time, to see how strong it was. . ..a paper clip, maybe. . ..wonder if it would sink, or ride there? Then I could drink, while staring at a buoyant paper clip. There would be no reason for this, other than my own twisted and absurd entertainment.

I refuse to let myself get bored.

Coffee Skin

Tell Me About Yourself

When I'm single, and meeting new women, dating and searching for that special someone who will fit harmoniously into my life, I often come across women who say "Tell me about yourself."

I hate that question.

Not because i can't talk about myself, or am not self-actualized enough to be able to communicate my identity, but because it's like standing in a library and someone asking, "What's in all those books?"

I usually have the urge to refer them to my books, or blogs, or music or art.

Then they say, "I don't want to look at your art, or listen to your music, or read your books or blogs, I want to get to know you on a real level..." 

What they fail to understand is that anyone can get to know me almost utterly, through my creative outlets, and probably in a more detailed fashion, than they could ever imagine. My real level is manifested in what I create.

I put so much of myself into my music and art and writing. Even when it's difficult, or embarrassing, or unpleasant, or painful. This is what I mean when I say I am HONEST. Honesty is not always a ride on a pony. But honesty has its own rewards; some of which are, I don't ever have to worry about contradicting myself, or apologizing for who I am, nor about feeling guilty, or being accused of deceit.
So often, when faced with probing questions about myself, I say, "Just listen to that song, or read that blog, or just read this or that book." --Because after going through the process of shoveling and pick-axing my way down deep and unearthing myself so completely, it's a source of dread and even tedium to have to relate it all again, when I've already plumbed the depths of my psyche and shared it in the artistic, written or musical form.

This doesn't mean I don't enjoy long, meaningful conversations. It just means there is such a legion of data in my head and heart, that I never know which things to select for sharing with an inquisitive new friend. It's always helpful if they can ask me something specific. Not "What are your politics?" but "What are your thoughts about immigration?" Not, "What do you think about spirituality and religion?" but "What do you believe in, and what's important to you?" 

Because if they ask me something general, my first thought is well, that depends...and then my brain explodes with a thousand different possible responses, and I don't know which one to pick. And then I come off like someone who has far too much to say about far too many things, and their eyes glaze over, and they are then just as overwhelmed as I was when they asked that question.

Tell Me About Yourself

Regrettable Profile of the Day: "In My Late Fourty"

This is an actual profile on a dating site for LESBIANS.

 My self-summary

IM IN MY LATE FOURTY I HAVE BLUE EYES 6 FOOT AND WAS MARRIED FOR 13 YEARS AND LOST MY SPOUSE IN 09 AND IM EASY GOING WOMAN LOOKING FOR A FRIEND FIRST AND THEN A LONG TERM RELACTION SHIPAND HAVE NOT BEEN WITH ANYONE IN OVER ABOUT 2 YEARS AND LOVE TO GET OUT AND START DATING AND ENJOY MY NEW LIFE AND SEE WHAT PATH IM ON AND LOOKING FOR A SWEETMAN AND LAID BACK I LIKE COUNTRY MUSIC AND I LIKE PRO FOOTBALL BRONCOS AND LIKE THE OUTDOORS CAMPING FISHING AND YES HUNTING AND IM SORRY I DONT HAVE A CAMMERA TO PUT A PICTURE UP AND I LIVE FULLTIME FOR OVERABOUT 5YEARS I THINK I LOOK OK BE THE JUDGE MAYBE

I am 49 YEARS, BLUE EYES, and TRANS WOMAN

What I’m doing with my life

FINDING HOO I AM I LIKE TO GO VISIT GIRLFRIENDS AND GO OUT SHOPING LOOK OUT HA HA AND TAKE CARE OF MY CAT AND I LIKE TO COOK AND IF I CAN I WOULD GO TO A MOVE BUT OTHER THEN THAT IM A HOME BODY

I’m really good at

AT BEING A FRIEND AND I CAN DRIVE A SEMI TRUCKAND A 60 FOOT TRAILER AND HAVE DONE OTHER THINGS

The first things people usually notice about me

THATS HARD BECAUSE NOONE HAS NEVER TOLD ME BUT THAT I CARE ABOUT OTHERS AND I BELIVE IN THE LAW

Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food

IM NOT MUCH OF A READER I CANT SIT STILL LONG BUT I DO LOVE COUNTRY MUSIC GRASS ROUTE AND THE CARPENTERS AND I LIKE ALL KINDS OF MOVES LIKE ACTION WESTERNS OLD TIME MOVES AND EVEN ROMANS

The six things I could never do without

MY CAT FRIENDS GOOD FOOD THINGS FROM THE PAST COUNTRY CDS AND A GOOD HAIR DAY

I spend a lot of time thinking about

MY SPOUSE MY PAST THINKING OF MY MOTHER AND IF I WILL FIND A RELACTIONSHIP AGAIN MY TRUE MATE

On a typical Friday night I am

SITING AT HOME NO ONE TO DATE ATTHIS TIME

The most private thing I’m willing to admit

I HAVE A SOFT HEART AND WILL CRY FOR SAD THINGS

I’m looking for

    Guys and girls who like bi girls
    Ages 47-54
    Near me
    Who are single
    For new friends

You should message me if

IF YOU THINK WE HAVE SOMTHING IN COMM AND IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO WIYH A OLDER WOMAN BUT NOT THAT OLD
=============================

You see what I'm up against, here?

Regrettable Profile of the Day: "In My Late Fourty"

Brothers & Sisters & Writing & Dating

My number one favorite TV show is Brothers & Sisters. In last night's season finale, I guessed incorrectly about who they were going to kill. Well, in fairness to myself, my second guess was correct, but my first one wasn't. I kind of wish I hadn't been right because i liked the one they knocked off better than the one they didn't. 

I understand as a writer myself, that an engaging story almost always means dragging your characters through all kinds of rough terrains in order to capture the attention of the reader. Television characters are no different. Each episode is like a chapter in a book. I get involved with them, just as I would a good novel.  It's often hard for me not to shout at the television--address characters and writers about things i feel they should know. "Don't do it, Robert!!! It will backfire on you in a really bad way!" ,,, "Kevin, you're a wonderful person no matter what your stupid father might have done." 

As I've watched the character of Justin struggle with meaning in his life, I also feel compelled to offer some advice--I mean if he was my friend, this is what I'd tell him... (really, the advice is to the writers--whenever they decide they've tortured him enough and want the problem solved, here it is): Instead of wasting all those years of his life and enduring all that stress on himself and his new marriage, and all that money wasted by going to medical school to become a doctor--and instead of going to Haiti where he feels he can do some real good immediately--and instead of going back to that damn war where he's already served two tours---why not just give him the idea to go to paramedic school? Being a medic is where he shines. And he could have that (almost) instant gratification, be in the trenches, so to speak, helping people every day, and it wouldn't put financial pressure on his new marriage with Rebecca, wouldn't cause him to be away from her for a year, and would satisfy his need to heal others in emergency situations.


My suggestion is that he'll have that realization in the next season opener when we see what he does at the scene of that awful accident that took out his brother in law, Robert. He will be the hero, saving lives and offering comfort....and a paramedic will take notice of him there and make the obvious suggestion that he should be doing that kind of emergency medicine.

Anyway. Just a thought in my head as i woke up today. Now if I could figure out why I can't solve my own problem of this writing dearth. This is the longest I've gone without writing. When i say writing, I mean, working on one of my books. 

It coincided with meeting a woman I have actually gone through 17 dates with. (The 17 Dates Method, as developed by my best friend and fellow author, Justice Harlow). We're still dating, and I think it worked beautifully in giving us a clear idea of who we each are. It's really the only major change in my life lately, so I can only guess my lack of desire to write is predicated on that. While I am thoroughly enjoying this budding relationship, I am NOT enjoying my inability to write. It's not something I'm okay with, and it's not something that happens very often. Maybe once every ten years. It's a little frightening...like my brain isn't working anymore. I can't get it to function as it used to. I feel stupid all the time. And no, I'm not in love. Not that it's not possible, but i don't fall in love easily. No, it's not the love-thing. Maybe it's the sex-thing. Maybe just having those chemicals roused into action after so long...it's the only thing i can think of that might be making me this useless.

Anyway. I continue to wring my hands about my dry spell. I am fond of saying that i don't suffer from writer's block, it suffers from me. And perhaps that's still true. It doesn't seem that i CAN'T write (as this blog might testify) but that i don't FEEL like it. I'm unmotivated. I would like it very much if I could get my writing brain back, and still enjoy the affections and company of this woman. I want to have my cake and eat it too. All of it. With a tall glass of cold organic milk.

Brothers & Sisters & Writing & Dating

Awkward.

Saturday, I was to meet this woman at Metropolis (for the first time).

When I stepped inside, a woman waiting at the counter turned, smiled at me and came toward me, as i said, "Rhonda?" (Not just as a courtesy, but because I couldn't believe this was her. She didn't look like her photo). But she said "yes" and shook my hand.

We chatted-- awkward small talk-- as I was trying to get over the fact that she was NOTHING like I thought she'd be. And she was tall and lanky and her voice was odd. Too low. She even looked a little mannish. I wondered if she was actually a tranny.

We stood at the counter waiting on our coffees, and soon another woman walked up and introduced herself and it seemed she was ALSO there to meet her. Increasingly awkward. It became apparent that this girl had overbooked. I made a joke about it, and made the best of it. (I had a moment where I wanted to say--okay, this is not cool. I think I'll be leaving." 

But then I thought maybe that was too harsh and I needed to reel in my attitude. We sat (the three of us) and chatted, and Rhonda seemed confused by the situation but didn't say much.
Still awkward.

Then, like a breath of fresh air, ANOTHER woman walked up to the table.

Another date?? i thought for just a nanosecond. You really need a personal assistant.

But I recognized this new one.
"Jae?" she said to me.
Rhonda. The genuine article.

Now I realized my date was standing by the table, not either of the women sitting down. She had not overbooked, she had merely misheard me when i called her name, and didn't say anything out loud to clear up the misunderstanding. What were the odds that I would meet a woman at 2pm, at a certain coffee shop on a certain day, and there would be another meeting there between two lesbians at exactly the same time?

We all got a laugh out of it. An awkward laugh.

Soon me and the Real Rhonda were at another table. She wanted the scoop on that situation. I told her what happened. She looked JUST like her picture and I was relieved. She was pretty, personable, and not the least bit mannish or oddly confused.

So from now on, I will never assume that the person I am meeting will be the only person there waiting on another person they are meeting.

Awkward.

Fat Chance: Lament of a Transplanted Single

Before moving here, I never had to worry about what my friends thought of me. They knew me. Sometimes for 10 or 20 years--a few of them longer than that. And I was in relationships usually. Serial monogamist. So I didn't have to worry about the impression I made, or if I was going to get laid anytime soon, or whether there was someone to confide in, play with...now, it's all new. New State, new city, new people, and SINGLE, though not NEWLY SINGLE. Aside from a five month relationship, I've been single for what? 4 or 5 years? Add to this paradigm, the difficulties of being a small percentage of the population in several Identity markers, and being older, and it's a recipe for angst. Dating was never something I did much of, because I was always either in a relationship or leaving one to go into another.

I'm still puzzled by the dynamics of dating. Women will tell you things that aren't true--either because they think it's what you want to hear, or because they're not self-actualized enough to know what the truth is. And then they punish you later for behaving according to the information they gave. (like having a profile that portrays them as ready and open to finding love, going on 4 dates, saying point-blank they are attracted to you, postponing going out in favor of a kissfest in front of the fireplace, and then suddenly disappearing, only to pop back up with a Dear Jane note that they are simply not ready to date or have a relationship, like they thought). Or the shorter variation of that: they will behave as though they like you and they are enjoying a rapport with you and then just evaporate, like you were someone they just chatted with at a bus stop.

I had to start looking at how * I* responded to women in order to get some insight about why THEY respond in certain ways to me. I wanted to understand what they might be thinking. The edification wasn't always complete. But this is what happens for me. When I meet women. I might not be attracted physically, or not attracted personality- wise, or there's some other deal breaker. Or any combination of the three. Or,  rarely, I will meet a woman I am actually attracted to. Like a little giddy-crush-type attracted. Like being distracted by their lips when they talk, and wondering what it would be like to kiss them, sort of attracted. This is something new for me since moving here. i just can't recall the last time I met someone in my previous life I was actually chemically attracted to--strongly. Attractions were always predicated on concessions. "Ok, not attracted to her voice, but she has a nice smile" or "hate the way she's so butch, but she's sweet." or "She's got a drinking problem, but she makes me laugh." Stuff like that. When I say really attracted to, I mean, voice, lips, eyes, diction, hair, dress, personality, ethics, worldview, etc--the whole nine.

But when that happens, then the stressors begin--does she like me too? is she attracted to me? if she seems to like me, is she just pretending? Is she losing interest because I talk about writing too much? Because I have too much to say about too many things? Because she can sense my need for sex and intimacy and, ultimately a partner? Or is it just because I'm fat? I say fat, because that's how it feels. I am "overweight." But to me, it's fat. I don't have Body Dysmorphic Disorder.  When I look in the mirror I don't plunge into a depression and stick my finger down my throat or carve FAT in my arm with a pickle fork. I can appreciate when I look good aside from the weight. Sometimes I might say, "Oh, I'm having a good face day." And a few times, after checking my appearance in the mirror before a date, I'd say. "Okay. I'd date me." And I know if I ever could get the extra tonnage off, I'd be the first one to parade around in my underwear, or have no qualms about getting naked with a hottie, while the lights were still on in the room.

But fat is ugly. I don't like it on me, and I'm not attracted to it on others. Though, I must digress here and qualify that with this: I am also not attracted to skinny women. I like curves, softness. I don't want to feel like I need to wear a Michelin Man suit to keep from being impaled by a hip bone. And I could still be attracted to an overweight woman--and HAVE, more than once. I guess it's just about how she carries it and dresses, and whether she has other qualities that intrigue or attract me.  But I am disgusted by my own naked reflection, and that's not going to change until the reflection does.

I hear some people saying, "You should love yourself as you are, you're beautiful on the inside." bullshit. No one will ever see how beautiful you are on the inside until they can get past the outside. That's just how it works. it's a rare person who does not see or respond to the attraction-factor. it's hard-wired into the human brain. An evolutionary fact. Those who can be attracted to anyone might have an advantage when it comes to finding dates and partners, but then again, i wonder if that's actually a DEFECT...and besides, if I am with someone who can be attracted to anyone they like on "The inside", no matter what they look like, how does that make me feel special? "I love being with you Jae...or that crack whore over there. Either one, doesn't matter."

So, while I was too dense to appreciate the body I had when I was younger, I care that I don't have the body I want now --because I think that maybe that woman I've just met and enjoyed coffee or a glass of wine with is thinking "She's nice enough, but I'm not attracted to fat girls." 

And then I get mad and feel persecuted on some esoteric level because it took so many years for me to even be able to WALK again. (One previous girlfriend during one of those particularly trying disability binges even said she was embarrassed to be seen with me on those forearm crutches. I guess if you're going to be a Jerry's Kid, you better be really cute, and a KID. Her comment has never left my head, and I can still recall the profound anger and pain it caused me to be rejected for being disabled). 

So--the fat-thing-- It's not like I just sit in front of the TV 24/7 eating Twinkies and Chic-o-sticks. (though I love TV, Twinkies and Chic-o-sticks. One of my favorite meals is also biscuits and gravy, but I've had that once in the last two years.) I have done everything within my power to get all this extra weight off, to include dieting, food science, portion control, drinking gallons of water, and consuming any number of other supplements and pills and potions. But since I couldn't exercise for so many years due to injury andpain, I just could not lose weight. period. And even though I have a great deal of mobility and don't LOOK like I have limitations, I still do. Eating less never works for me. I just stay at one weight. (Overeating, though, will make me gain. Yay). I have one of those metabolisms that doesn't respond to starving or eating less.

 Looking back at my weight in the Army and when I was younger, I can see that the problem for me is, I don't get enough exercise as I did during those times--or enough of the right exercise. Because, while I can do way more than I used to, I can only do certain things without risking re-injury.  And I hate that with the red hot burning passion of a thousand suns. 

I went on a full-fledged exercise binge when I discovered i could play racquetball again. And then I started working out everyday on the Gazelle and lifting light hand weights, too. Then POP! Blew a disc. Cervical disc rupture. Herniated Disco --and it took 8 weeks of special treatments, pain meds, and being in bed 99% of the time, to heal that. And I had to do it all by myself with no one to help me. 

So, now, I do a lot of walking. I'm thrilled that I can walk 2 or 3 miles at a time, when not so many years ago, I couldn't walk 2 or 3 yards. Preferable to the Crutches, and the scooter before that, and the wheelchair before that, I assure you. Yet, all this walking doesn't seem to change my weight.

The upshot is, no one knows or cares about your physiological history or your challenges in the past, when they meet you for the first time. They only see the packaging. And while I try to make the package as attractive as possible, there's only so much I can do with this extra blubber and the effects of aging. I quit smoking tobacco and now use electronic (vapor) cigs; I use Apple Cider vinegar on my skin because it gives it a vibrant and healthy glow; I use a Derma-Wand device on it too--it's a home face-lift type thing; I take mega-vitamins and supplements in a shake everyday. I tan, I use coconut oil as a lotion, because it's natural and beneficial in many ways to skin and system; I wear makeup when I go out in public and always fix my hair, and wear nice jewelry. I always try to dress attractively too--especially if I'm meeting anyone for the first time.  As the saying goes, you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. And while I don't consider myself a sow's ear, I still only have so much to work with. 

What I want--crave--is to find someone who will not only be attracted to me, but to whom I will also be attracted, and that we will enjoy a harmonious lifetime commitment filled with love and laughter and hope and purpose. 

And the voice in my head grunts, FAT chance.

Fat Chance: Lament of a Transplanted Single

Virtual Strangers (a Play in One Act)

FADE IN:

INT. - POPULAR SINGLES BAR - NIGHT

In a bar specifically for singles who are seeking partners. patrons mill about, as is normal for most social establishments. But they are all moving about inside a white cardboard box. On the outside of the boxes, there is text. Each of them is also wearing a bag over their head.

The text on the boxes is information about themselves. A profile. Sometimes there's only one line of text, sometimes the surface of the boxes is filled up with a great deal of detail.

One Boxed & Bagged person approaches another.

B&B1
Hi. I like your profile text.


B&B2
Thank you. I saw yours too...
but there's not much there,
could you tell me more about yourself?

B&B1
Well I would prefer to let you get to know me gradually.
I'll be happy to tell you more if you'll go out with me.


B&B2
Well, what do you look like?
You know I can't really tell with that bag over your head.


B&B1
Oh, I'm really attractive, Trust me. I wouldn't lie.


B&B2
Well, I'd like to have an idea if I'm
attracted before committing to a date.


B&B1
You'll know that when we go out.
When we leave the boxes and bags at home.
Don't worry. Everyone says I'm really good looking.

B&B2
(hesitating)
Well...I also need to know enough about you
to feel safe going out with you.

B&B1

Wow, maybe you're being paranoid.

B&B2
Don't you want to know what I look like?

B&B1
Oh, that doesn't matter to me.
I'm interested in what's on the inside.

B&B2
Oh, so you can be attracted to just about anyone,
no matter what they look like?

B&B1
Pretty much.

B&B2
Then how would I ever feel special?

B&B1
Special. Well that comes from the inside.
I don't need to see your face or your body to
know I'm attracted to you. I like the text on
your box well enough.

B&B2
Okay, but I am not physically attracted to text.
I have to be attracted physically to pursue anything
romantic, and I don't seem to have control over who
I'm attracted to. It just happens or it doesn't.
None of the other information matters,
if I'm not going to be attracted.

That's why I need to see you somehow, first.
I know I am attracted to certain things,
physically, and I'd like to be able to see you,
so I can gauge that before we spend much
more time with this...Could you take the box and bag off?

B&B1
I've already told you I'm attractive.
If you don't believe me, you must have trust issues.
I can't get involved with someone who's like that.
I deserve better.


B&B1
But I don't know you.
I don't know if I can believe what you say--
you're a virtual stranger to me.

B&B2
I can see that not only do you have trust issues,
but you're just shallow and superficial.

B&B1

Now wait just a minute! That's not fair.
You don't even know me.

B&B2

(walking away in disgust)

Forget it, you shallow bitch.

Virtual Strangers (a Play in One Act)

A Rose By Any Other Color....

So, I had this date last night. First one I was excited about in a long time. It has been forever since I had this kind of immediate chemistry and I have never wanted so much to put my lips on that chemistry. (oh, you didn't know I was gay? well I am. Sapphist through-and-through. Take a breath and keep reading).

I cleaned my place for 8 hours. And then went to the store. While there, I got her a card that said, "Life is so busy. If i could have just five extra minutes each day..
(open the card) 
"I'd make out with you like crazy for five minutes." 
And then I bought 3 roses. Because they didn't sell them in bunches of ONE.

Now, I stood there in front of the flowers and thought about how they needed to provide a chart that tells you what the colors represent. Then i thought that if I didn't know all the secret rose-codes, maybe she wouldn't either. But still, i worried...i shouldn't get red ones, because that represents love, and I'm not in love with her....(it's just new and exciting, and I want her to know I'm romantic). And wasn't yellow friendship? I didn't want her to think i wanted to be her friend...(i do, but. you know.) And the white ones were what? purity?  I'm pure as the driven snow. And you know how pure snow is when it's driven....there were some salmon colored roses, so i chose those. Not quite love, but not platonic....

...but after i got home, picked them up to smell them (mmmm) and then looked at them again, in the light, and realized they were...what was it, hot pink? No, that was darker. Then it hit me. They were labia-colored.

So i don't know if that was Freudian. And I didn't know if she'd notice that color when I handed them to her, and think I was trying to get in her pants. I probably was, but I don't want her to think that.

A Rose By Any Other Color....

Id, Ego, Super-Ego & the Social Security Number

I slept fitfully all night. A pervasive anxiety crept through me until I began to fidget with restless legs. A couple of times I woke up feeling like I couldn't breathe. Like I was underwater and there was no surface in either direction. I didn't know if I was up or down....I only knew I was going to drown. (Song Lyric alert).

Lest anyone think me too self-possessed, I will admit that what tossed me and turned me was not the plotting problems of my newest novel, but plain old insecurity. I went to sleep thinking about the phone conversation I had just had with someone new--worrying about the impression I might have inadvertently made on her--someone I am to meet soon, maybe this weekend. So there you are. Dear Readers, Jae is hand-wringing, afraid she might not be perceived as good enough.

Until just recently, I had been isolated for an extended period, and aside from mostly talking to my longtime friends on the phone, most of my time was spent in my own head and my own creative process. Though I have become quite comfortable talking to my cats, and to myself, it's not the same with other humans. It really is true, that when you become isolated too long, and everyone you talk to knows you like they know their own social security number, you UNlearn how to be with brand new people. And I for one, am having a "Number" done on me, about Social Security. And the beast who's doing a number on me is a component of my psyche. The Id portion of my brain makes me say things I probably shouldn't say, and the Super Ego eggs it on--I should start calling that the Super-EGGO.  And there's my Ego, being squished between them, endeavoring to inject a little restraint to the Id. (leggo my Eggo!) 

I am astute enough to understand that since I have so rarely been able to SHARE myself in any genuine way, and have been without the comfort of companionship and the machinations of social activity and acceptance, that i am hungry. Hungry for communication, hungry for company, hungry for acceptance, acknowledgment, hungry to be touched and loved.  As Shakespeare said, "That way madness lies." 

But at any rate, it then tortures me with those aforementioned "Social Security Numbers. " Like the ones that came into my mind during and after the phone call: She was really tired when she called and she told you that. But you kept talking, didn't you? You are too much for people. They think you're arrogant, maybe even selfish. You shouldn't have said all that stuff about rattling cages, and how much you like to do it. Do you have to say out loud every fucking thing that pops into your mind? No one cares! Now she thinks you're a trouble maker and you will embarrass her in public. Why can't you ever dial it back? No one wants to know your details. You can't ever just sit there and smile and be mysterious? You will never make friends or find a partner or even a date, because you don't know how to shut the fuck up.

That's pretty much the monologue going on in my head. I'm paranoid that I have given an incorrect and incomplete impression of myself, because I'm so accustomed to talking to people who not only know me, but understand me--and more importantly, have shown they completely accept me. i don't have to give them the backstory, because they already know it, and the assessments have been made, and I have been stamped ACCEPTED and invited on through the gate. 

But I can't go at it like that with new people in my life. I'll sabotage the whole thing. I get so excited to have people physically in my life again, that I overdo it. I try too hard to be worthy, and in so doing, and with irony, project unworthiness. Now, my Super-Ego starts spitting disgust at me that I am worthy and who gives a damn what anyone else thinks? And my Id laments that I will always be alone, and probably die that way. Where is my Ego? Maybe I need to start feeding that. There's such a negative connotation to Ego. Most people don't think of Freud's definition. They think ego=arrogance, pride. I know that in general neurological terms, the Ego is the residence of defense mechanisms and cognitive functions like memory, reason, judgment, tolerance, self-control, information processing, defenses, and people skills. If you accept Freud's model, then the Ego is the consciousness. The referee between the Id and the Super-Ego. 

Regardless, it all has its thick, dirty fingers around my throat.

It occurs to me that this problem should not have so much power to do damage. I mean, I survived and conquered being crippled, being  homeless and penniless, being friendless, familyless, and agoraphobic. And this little portion of my brain is going to take me down?

Maybe.

Id, Ego, Super-Ego & the Social Security Number

What Would You Do to Have it?

My friend Justi and I were talking about our various relationships and non-relationships last night--she's in one, I'm not. Part of the reason i relocated to Denver was so that I could meet different types of people than i have been privy to in the past, and have a better chance of meeting someone I could actually commit to.

She asked me if i would ever consider moving again if i met "the one" and "the one" was elsewhere.

My knee-jerk answer was NO.

My knee-jerk answer used to be "yes."

But as I told her, I know that I simply could not go through a major move again. It was so hard on me. There are two lengthy blog entries (Going to Denver Because You're Dead) on that experience-- and it's not one I care to repeat. It was supposed to have been my easiest move, because I got rid of so much, and just drove cross-country pulling a U-haul trailer. But in many ways, it was the worst move, for the toll it took on me physically and emotionally.

And I mean, i have moved 42 times in my life. I don't want to keep doing it. I'm finally in a region I love, which i feel fits me, and offers me everything I could ever need--hopefully that will include a partner at some point. But my reasoning was that if I couldn't find a partner there, I couldn't' find one anywhere, and I would have at least strategically placed myself so that I could have a vibrant life full of plenty of things to do, and interesting people to make friends with. It was my concession to the often cruel machinations of this life. You don't always get what you want. But maybe you can get some things that make the journey a little easier.

But I know that after what I went through with the ruptured disc in my neck and then barely healing from that and going right into moving all by myself cross-country...I just can't do it. It's not even so much that i don't "want" to do it--Love can be a powerful motivator if you're ever lucky enough to find it. It's that I know it's not wise, in relation to my health. Moving is so stressful for me. Mostly because it's been done so many times without any help. Another stance of mine that has been colored by too much isolation and not having a partner to help most of the time.

And moving is also stressful in other ways... there's all this major financial crap--getting my Direct Deposit check switched to a new bank, changing all my EFTs to come out of the new bank, without missing a payment and without incurring fees (that never happens); doing all the unpacking, moving, lifting, rearranging, that inevitably comes from any type of relocation--and this time, I dealt with getting rid of three-quarters of everything I owned before I left--which meant moving things up and down the stairs and carrying them outside to the patio, and having sales, and it was just incredibly physical stuff.

Then there was, this time, dealing with storageI already had in this state, and driving back and forth to that (an hour and a half each way), pulling stuff out, going through it, loading it, unloading it, moving it around, etc....and then the expenses of getting things to replace the things I got rid of; and the unexpected expenses, and the final bills combined with the new bills and the deposits, etc...Holy Harpies! It's just a major ordeal.

So that's why my knee-jerk response was NO. I WON"T MOVE. Why do I have to be the one who always does that? If I meet someone special they better be able to afford to move me, and hire someone to do it, or else, they better just be near where I am. For one thing, as I told Justi, I won't even communicate with anyone who isn't nearby, anymore. I don't even want to get into that situation at all.

Then she countered my declaration with a challenging question--as she is inclined to do--she said, "What if you meet some woman who is just visiting, and you fall for her? Then would you move to be with her?"

I took a deep breath and said, "No." So brave. So crazy.

So she poked those embers a little more. "What if she was local, and you met and fell in love and were together here, sharing a home, and then she had to relocate for a job transfer? Wouldn't you go with her then?"

Well, the only answer to that, was what i gave her:

"Goddammit!"

This type of dilemma is made doubly hard when you're my age. Both because I'm set in some of my ways, and because I can't be doing things that exacerbate any health issues. I want to remain healthy as long as possible. (I have this profound wish to live forever, but only if I can be at about the age of 35 the whole time....I've written about that here and here.) But I also don't want to grow old alone. I don't want to be without a partner. I thrive in partnership for many reasons. I am not cut out to be single. Some of that has to do with the nature of my work--it's isolated, so it's important to have someone to share my life with. Otherwise it's too easy to just retreat inside myself. ---So will the fear of not finding love be stronger than the fear of all that stress and injury, and perhaps being taken away from the friends and environment I've worked so hard to have? I can't answer. And that's one of my biggest irritations. I want to be able to have an answer. To almost everything.

What I'm left with, then, is to avoid meeting anyone who isn't local. If that means that I meet someone and have to ask if they are from here, and if they're not, don't pursue romance, that's what I'll do.

As for the other thing--being in a relationship, and then something happening so that we have to move--all I can do is hope I never have to deal with that scenario, should I find that woman.

Last night, while lying in bed, I found I couldn't focus on the book I was reading. And I stared at the ceiling--while this odd, frisson of sadness tingled inside me, thinking about how much I wished the other side of the bed wasn't empty. And I felt a little panic.





Digital Painting, "After You Go" (c) Kelli Jae Baeli

What Would You Do to Have it?

Women's Homophobic Meetup Group

Several friends have asked about my evening with the Women's Social meetup group. So thought I'd jot a little blurb to let you all know that I don't think I'll be hanging out with that group.

We met at Baker Street Pub in Lakewood--great place. I'm sure I'll go there a lot. Just not with these people. I had nothing in common with them. Just a little example...

They were all talking about dating, and I was asked directly what kind of men I date. I wanted to say, "The kind with breasts and lipstick" but was afraid they would think I like to date drag queens. So I said. "I don't date men."

And one lady said, "Oh, burned out?"

I said, "No. I just don't date MEN."

Then things got quiet. You'd think I had just said I was a Muslim Jihadist, looking for a passport. I said, "Look at that, I just outed myself, and everyone forgot how to talk."

They sort of laughed nervously, and then the subject got changed quickly. The group organizer asked another woman something.

So a few minutes later when another participant said she had to leave, I said I did too. "I have a date," I said. "With a NON-man."

Women's Homophobic Meetup Group

Troubling Mammaries

As I've mentioned, I placed a personal ad on Craig's List, since that site gets so much traffic, in the hopes of meeting local women for dates and friendship. I made my personality and intentions clear in this ad, and I still get offers that floor me.

The latest was from a woman who obviously did not understand what type of person I am. Her mail to me:

Hi, my name is Twila. I am 51 years old. shaved, lez, D&D free, VERY oral and VERY interested in your ad. I love to shop, dine out, watch chick flix, sleep-in on weekends, take long trips to nowhere, cuddle, eat ice-cream with a fork, and sex. Lots of sex. Mmmmmm....... I love toys. Lots of toys. You seem like a wild creature. I like that. I live alone (condo) in B.V., have a car and can host. I hope my pic isn't too bold for you. I'm just trying to pique your interest. So, if you like what you have read and what you see, get back to me with your "naughty" pics. I have more. Hoping to hear from you, Twila

The photograph to which she refers...cropped and censored so as not to offend my more delicate readers. (Wait. Do i HAVE any delicate readers? I'm not sure about that) Okay, then cropped and censored for the purpose of taste. Which is a quality that "TWILA" apparently isn't familiar with.


This picture wasn't "bold" it was slutty. Is nothing sacred anymore? What makes some women think that showing me their tits is a way to gain my respect? If a woman doesn't have more pride in her intellect, or ethics or being a registered voter, or even her contributions to the Humane Society, I'm simply not interested. For one thing, if she'll send this to me, a stranger on the Internet, what else must she think is okay? I'm impressed by confidence, class, intelligence and a sense of humor. Not the size and perfection of your mammary glands. I'm aware that females normally have two breasts. I have them too. These are not, however, selling points for getting a date with me.

Troubling Mammaries