Opinions and Assholes

I wrote this late last month, right after the Ferguson riots. I have no idea why I didn't share right away, but here it is...

Opinions and assholes… They are both all over social media in the wake of Ferguson. Here’s my unpopular opinion on the topic: it’s not a race issue, it’s a culture issue. 

There are equally dangerous cultures of all skin tones, but in a country that is fueled by the need to cling to the tribal ‘us versus them’ mentality skin color is simply the easiest way to define who is different. And due to the history of our country starting out as white and European, non-whites (aka POC, the latest PC term to describe non-white people) have traditionally been the easiest to identify as ‘other.’ Whether we are talking slavery and Jim Crow laws or Japanese internment camps in the post Pearl Harbor days, the body one inhabits is the easiest marker of ‘other’ that can be used to define the in and out groups. 

A history of being viewed as less than in society can and often does change the culture one experiences. These cultures often become hostile, aggressive and angry. 

Here’s where my opinion becomes really unpopular: The hip hop culture is one that breeds violence, misogyny and rampant consumerism.

But, how is this different than upper-class white people? It’s not! 

Campus frat boys are just as dangerous as any thug on the street in a lot of ways. So, why are we focused on the thugs and barely whispering about the keg chugging rapists of the Greek system? Why do we care more about the riots in Ferguson than we do about the last time a sports team’s defeat had similar results? Because it’s easier to focus on what the ‘other people’ are doing, than own up to the wrong doings of people that look like our sons and fathers. It’s a lazy way of thinking about all of these issues. 

When we as a culture stop making it a race issue and start addressing the cultures of violence that permeate all skin tones, we might have a chance. But until then, I’m a white person with privileges that others don’t have and I will always be vilified for it to a certain degree. I can’t understand what it’s like for a POC to grow up in the world… 

But here’s another layer to the equation that I haven’t heard anyone else express: why are we all so hung up on our cultural identities? 

I am white, cis-gendered and heterosexual. That does not take away from, nor add to my personal identity as an ally for those who are non-white or transgendered or homo or bi-sexual. We are more than our labels!  And the sooner we learn to disassociate from the need to belong, the easier it will be to finally find a community of people with whom you can truly bond. When you strip away those labels you are on the path to a more genuine experience. This gives you the opportunity to be exactly who you are without feeling the need to hide or exaggerate parts of your personality in order to be a part of the group. 

This also means learning to see past the labels of others in order to allow them that same freedom of expression of self.  It means learning to treat others equally and without judgment based on the body they inhabit. 

It also means calling out those who display attitudes of negativity, exclusionary beliefs and who foster the culture of violence that has overtaken our society. That means telling someone making a rape joke or a racist joke that it’s simply not funny. That means reminding people that their words are fueling rape culture or homophobia, even if you know they are not a rapist or a homophobe. 

We are so immersed in this culture that things are said as a reflex of sorts, a cultural perspective that may not even be how we truly feel. We need to recognize and respond to these things in ourselves and in others if we are to change the culture. Every word matters. Every life matters. Let’s stop making it a race issue and look at the cultures across the country for which violence is the primary outlet for expression. 

The Domestic Standard

During the interview yesterday, the reporter posed a scenario where she had asked her boyfriend to do the dishes and he didn't and she was mad about it. She said just because they talked about her feelings does not mean that the dishes got done... I'm trying to wrap my brain around that exactly. It was like she was trying to equate processing of jealousy and the actions of one's partner that might provoke jealousy to domestic disputes over the "right way" to fold the towels.

One response that came to mind was that dishes are not feelings. They are an object with defined states of "done" or "not done." So trying to compare the 2 was like comparing apples and asparagus.There is never a "DONE" when dealing with emotions, only a new level of understanding and acceptance.

But then I really thought about it... Dishes being "done" is a subjective thing. One person's "done" could be that the dishes are all loaded into the dishwasher and ready to be run. Another's "done" could be hand-washed, dried and put away while another's could simply mean that the dishes had found their way into the kitchen and are soaking in the sink.

The real issue in her scenario is that people have different standards of what "done" is and that those whose standards do not line up need to find ways to understand and negotiate those differences. It's not fair for the person with the higher cleaning standard to get angry just because the other party did not do a chore they were asked to do (or did not do it to their standard). It is the responsibility of each partner to assess the importance of those standards and find ways to meet in the middle when things are not quite in line. My Mr. is a bit of a fanatic about the kitchen, while I can not stand a full laundry basket. I *generally* take care of my own dishes, and he *mostly* gets his clothes into the basket and then helps put away what I fold. Neither chore is more important or better than the other and the end result is clean dishes and clean underpants. Everybody wins.

That was one of the things about me and My Mr. that we knew right away; our standards of living- how clean the kitchen should be, how much of a science experiment the bathroom could turn into, how often the floors should be vacuumed, etc were pretty close to being in line.

When we first got together he was in the kitchen with me while I cooked a meal. As I would use an item, he would hand-wash it and place it in the drain rack for me. After a few times of this he asked if it bothered me. I was baffled at this question, having lived with men in the past who's idea of clean meant that the Coke cans all made it off the coffee table before bed. He relayed that his ex would get upset if he cleaned behind her because it felt like he was putting down her cleanliness. He also relayed what the general state of her home was like, and well... *ew*

A key element in a successful relationship is the domestic standard. Learning how to work within each others ideas of what "clean" means, what "bedtime" means and what "financially secure" means can make the difference between a relationship where you recognize and respect each others' standards and one where you are constantly angry over the dishes in the sink.

Media Buzz and Poly (Our Interview)

We did an interview with a... ugh, I don't even know what to call them anymore… a 'newspaper'? It's a digital format and calls itself a magazine "Exploring the American idea since 1857."

The organizers of the northern poly MeetUp contacted us and asked if we'd be interested, stating that the topic of the piece was jealousy. We met the reporter and one other couple at the organizers' house after a late lunch that regrettably included a watermelon something-with-vodka and quasi Tex-Mex food.

The other couple was a little younger than us, attractive and articulate. While the MeetUp organizers were being interviewed, we chatted and learned that they also date as a couple and have a more closed style of poly. We joked how odd it was to have two of us in the same room, but they date women and we date men. The interviewer remarked that we were the first couple with that specific dynamic that she had met...

The interview itself was interesting... my favorite euphemism. The reporter didn't seem to have much knowledge about non-monogamy and alternative relationship styles. We introduced and explained the term compersion to her as well as explaining what "play parties" were among the "swing set."

I walked away feeling like I was less articulate than I hear I usually am. (I blame the watermelon-vodka thing and rumbly tummy.) We both said that we could see things getting spun in all kinds of directions, and are a little concerned about what the final piece will look like. The other couple has dealt more extensively with the media and said that they try to photograph poly people in bed together and tend to ask questions about topics that could potentially cast a negative light on things. This felt a little like it could turn into that kind of thing...

Something else I walked away with was an annoyance with the term "Poly" itself. It feels like the newest "buzz word" and that alone makes me want to reject it. I told the reporter that I do not identify as "Polyamorous" but prefer the umbrella term "Ethical Non-Monogamy" because of all the preconceived notions surrounding poly. It's become a loaded term that conjures up images of Hippies and Free Love or more accurately, Geeks and Hipsters deliberately rejecting all of the attachments and bonds associated with monogamy.

My marriage is not an "Open Marriage" but one where we are looking to add a third person to the relationship. For all of the multiples involved in the equation "Poly" is a term that is often associated with having to divide. Divide time, divide energy, divide affection... Poly often comes down to dividing a lot of real life things into separate dyads. We are not Poly like that.

The reporter asked if I had been in Polyamorous relationships before... I said that nobody was calling it "Poly" but that things flexed and flowed without rigid definitions. She then asked if they were "Open" relationships and I gave examples of the relationships where we started as friends, became intimate for a time and then when one or the other would get involved with someone else we would still be friends but not get naked anymore. I don't think she got it.

I'm trying to wrap my brain around the whole thing and will just have to wait and see how it all comes out. The media has gotten its grubby hands on Poly and I'm not sure if today was a positive contribution to the image or not.

Loneliness, Family... HOME

I miss my "Drop In" friends... you know the ones that would show up unannounced while you were still bra-less in your jammies watching TV and they would take their shoes off, pour themselves a cup of coffee (or make a fresh pot because they knew where you kept the coffee filters and all that) and just BE there with you.

I miss the friends whose homes were my home too where I knew which way they folded their towels and which drawer the wooden spoons were in.

I miss the kinds of relationships where there was no need to make plans or host each other, you just spent time in each other's homes and became part of each others' lives.

I miss feeling connected like I did in very small pieces of time along the way.

People who never leave "home" and still see their grade school friends at the grocery story don't realize just how special that is.

People who live near their blood families and eat meals together, celebrate birthdays together and have those "drop in" relationships seldom realize just how precious all of those "little things" are in life.

I envy those people in moments like this.

My blood family was very small and not connected at all. We ate at the dining room table exactly 3 times a year: Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas. I left "home" the week I turned 16 and have spent most of my adult life trying to make my own families along the way.

My 1st and 2nd husbands had large families with kitchen table, coffee pot forged bonds, despite their dramatic dysfunctions. I felt at home in those places but only for a week here, a day there.

In Germany I had 2 neighbors with whom there were those open-door, coffee and cards, TV watching bonds. But like everything during war, those bonds would be bent, cracked and eventually shattered beyond repair. Now those bonds are remembered only be the scars they left behind.

And even after all of that I tried again in Texas with another family. She was an only child seeking to grow that same sense of home I was also lacking. And like the previous 2 women that I had that bond with, she would leave the biggest scar of them all.

Moving here with My Mr. and then working from home for the first year meant that we have had to actively try to make friends. None of those relationships are "built-in" for us in the way that others often have. Those we have found are all separated by physical distance and the "grown-up" sense that socializing is a planned event rather than a "drop in" kind of relationship.

BF1 has been the only exception to a degree. He has come over, taken his shoes off and curled up on the couch with us, just BEING here. I've cooked while he offered to help with the dishes. He has slept on the couch and seen me naked-faced and pre-coffeed and still kissed me good morning. But there is physical distance and all of the life stuff so his visits are a rare treat.

This weekend has been full of growing pains (along with the physical pain I'm still in after losing a fight with gravity and dislocating my tail bone). My Mr. has been volunteering down in DC at a Con while I've been home alone with little or nothing to occupy myself. This is the longest we've voluntarily spent apart since we got together.

It is good to have separate interests. It is healthy to have outside friends. We both know that the degree of attachment we have to each other is pushing the boundaries of co-dependency and that we need to work on it. But right now I'm feeling the power of the loneliness and realizing just how deep it goes.

I never felt "connected" or "at home" in the way that most people do. There is a scene in the movie "Garden State" where Zach Braff and Natalie Portman talk about the idea of home, "Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people that miss the same imaginary place." That scene makes me cry every time because I don't have a group of people or an imaginary place of my own to try and model "home" after. That is so fucking depressing.

Don't get me wrong, My Mr. and My Kiddo are my family and this is our home. There is just something missing when everything is under one roof... Community. That's what I'm missing. Feeling like my home is bigger than these 4 walls and that my family extends beyond blood and marriage is something I've only had small tastes of in my lifetime and they have always left me with little more than indigestion.

My kitchen table used to be home to others as well. My Kiddo had friends that called me "Mom," slept on our floor and helped with the dishes. One of them just got her first job as a roller skating car hop. Another one of them, my Frog, is in labor right now. She is 17 and about to become a mother. She still messages me on Facebook from time to time, calling me "Momma" and touching base with me. I'm so heartbroken for her and for the struggles she's facing after all of the loss she has already suffered. But that's another story.

I am lonely for friends. I miss my Alabama Firecracker and her coffee. If she was here now, she would color my hair for me and talk about her soap operas as though they were real people she cared about as much as we cared about each other.

I don't know how to get past this feeling and connect again. The truth is that any bonds we make now will very likely have to shift again in a year or two. My Mr. is still active duty and we are only slated to be here another 16 months. We might get an extra year, but we know that this is not going to be our "home" and that makes it all the harder to deal with.

And then there are the weird dynamics like what I have with McT. We went to his birthday show last night and I was miserable. The show was great, and banana bread beer is AMAZING.. but I was uncomfortable and just felt out of place. McT and I have these heavy, deep talks but then never hang out in real life. At the shows he is "on" and has a large community of performers and other local artists that just feel like "the cool kids" at the shows sometimes. My Mr. and I sat alone while large groups around us chatted, drank and greeted others warmly with big hugs. A couple performers I'd seen were there in their "regular faces" which was a little more weird to me than it should have been. It's like I got to see behind the sequined curtain but never actually put on pasties myself. And dammit.. I want to wear pasties and be as interesting as the "cool kids" all look.

So here it is Easter Sunday and I'm at home in my marshmallow suit while My Mr. is doing something he loves: line control at a Con filled with costumed Awesomeness. My Kiddo is off work and agreed to clean and make pancakes and bacon if I pay for the bacon and applesauce so she can make brunch like I used to do for her. Back to the pillow fort since my tail bone is screaming at me again.

Happy Jesus Zombie Day!

Why, Cupid.. Are boys that dumb?

So here's the story about the date Sunday and some other grump and beer fueled angst:

The guy we went out with on Sunday has firmed up the nickname Rock... mostly from his screen names but also from the fact that when we went on that first date last year I remember thinking he was kind of dumb. He's not at all, but more on that later.

Let me backtrack and focus more on the super awesome that was the visit from BF1. After a day of lounging around just relaxing he went to the BBQ that brought him up our way initially, then he came back and stayed over. We snuggled up on the couch watching bad reality TV for awhile before we both started to doze off. My Mr. got the spare bedding and then BF1 planted the kiss on me. He has this thing he does where he will stay in a cuddle-buddy place with his energy that boarders on platonic up until the last moment. That moment is usually the goodbye kiss, but sometimes it's the goodnight. My Mr. just stood back really enjoying the scene, then attempted to have me invite BF1 to bed. We were both genuinely sleepy, so I made clear that there would only be 2 of us getting naked and so ended that part of the night.

The next morning I put on my jammies and had my coffee on the couch with BF1. It was then that he broached the topic of the end of the night, before I was caffeinated enough to do so on my own. I was concerned that he might feel a sense of rejection given that I walked away from such a passionate kiss like I did. He was direct in saying that he's unsure about getting into bed with us again and that he really enjoys the cuddles and energy as it is now. (Or something to that effect. Beer is good!)

When BF1 left Sunday morning we had another embrace and I told him that I may not see the whole picture, but what I do see is a wonderful, loving man that deserves better than the women he has been involved with lately. If I didn't say the words, I was saying that I love him and want to see him happy. It was a great visit and we (me and My Mr.) both hope for more of that soon.

Sunday evening was the date with Rock. The back story is that the 3 of us went out once last year while we were still involved with The Mad Scientist. Rock & My Mr. hit it off so well that at one point I was toying with the idea of suggesting that the 2 of them date each other without me. The without me part was because on that 1st date there was beer, pool and kisses but I just didn't feel "it" that night. In retrospect, I was having 'the feelings' for The Mad Scientist and not open to anything else. The ooey-gooeys tend to do that: give me blinders and make me less inclined to seek anything more.

We met for drinks at a place My Mr. and I had gone to a few times when we first moved here. Immediately the conversation was easy and comfortable. We talked about everything from the heavy stuff that Rock is going through dealing with a suicidal father, parenting teenagers, fetish events, and more than once words like "cock" came out loudly enough that the table beside us was giving us sideways glances. (To which we all chuckled and said, "Well, we're now somebody's story!")

The most impressive thing about Rock was that he was direct enough to simply ask the question of what brought us back there after a year. And I was able to honestly answer that I was the one not feeling the chemistry because of the thing with The Mad Scientist and that I felt that I and we were in a different place and wanted to see where things might lead.

At the end of the night, I was the one to initiate the kiss with Rock to make clear that I *DID* feel the chemistry after our evening. Of course we had already put out the invite for a 3rd date this weekend for a wine tasting thing we're doing...

Like any good date, there was immediate follow up. And that's where my angst comes in. The flirty messages have been more sexually driven than would be acceptable in a straight, monogamous, M/F dating thing at this point. Monday it was the message about dreaming about being naked with us both. Today is was something about Rock having a little ED but that he does fine with his little blue pills.  -_-

If he were the first guy to jump straight to the sex it would be one thing, but he's probably the 286th to do so.. Not that we've had nearly that many dates the last year, but just in the messages on OkC alone guys tend to go straight for boner-land.

Quite literally while writing this I got a message on OkC from a cute bearded boy who opened by asking if we were on FetLife. I said yes, continued the conversation and he asked again. Anyone on FetLife knows that it's just Facebook with boobs and an expressway to boner-land in itself. He was cute and lives far enough away that there is no chance of meeting him so I gave him the profile and said, "You just became part of my blog."

So here I am at the bottom of a snake bite (Guinness and cider... Yum!) wondering this: Why do guys think it is okay to bring sex into the conversation right away with us? If it were a straight, monogamous-type dating thing a guy would (seemingly) know better than to talk about his junk and what specific type of sex he was or was not interested in. But in this situation we have been advised of everything from a guy's curiosity about anal sex, their ED and little blue pills, their interest or lack thereof in giving or receiving oral sex from a guy and all often before the 1st date... I'm just inebriated enough I can't think of other specifics, but the theme of the messages has so often skipped all the "person" things and jumped right into the penis things that it just frustrates us both to no end.

Exactly one guy has done it right so far... T-Rex messaged us awhile back and as a passing comment said he identifies as straight but has been known to be heteroflexible in the right fun situations. From there he asked about meeting for drinks, and we did about 2 weeks ago. It was one of the first dates we've been on where we ended the night wondering if he liked us. The (very) few dates we've been on this last year have started more on the note of "will we like him" and ended with us reminding ourselves that no matter how it goes we're still getting laid at the end of the night so there's no such thing as a truly bad date.

T-Rex was younger than we've gone out with (26 to our 35 and 40), and I'm sure that had a lot to do with it. Not to mention how ridiculously cute he is, in his own quirky way. We seem to have a thing for quirky. The Mad Scientist was partly dubbed as such due to his Albert Einstein-like hair style and fondness of brightly colored shirts. T-Rex's quirk is his beard. He has a "regular" haircut and a 9-5 job with a long red beard that is about to have its own 1st birthday party.
 
Due to work/life/schedules we haven't seen T-Rex since that night, but his after-date message confirmed that it was in fact a date-date and that there is interest. He said, "So I just want to put it out there that I have never dated a couple like this, so I would love it if you guys could take the lead as it were :)" and then "For my part I'm still interested in going beyond just friends, but would like to get to know you guys more." And THAT is how it's done!

Alas, boys are dumb even when they are over 40 and come off in conversation as emotionally mature, honest and easy to be around.

And now for the question of it all: WHY?

My Mr. suggested that it's because guys that are "flexible" like that have been around the gay circles and divert to the male-male style of interaction that a friend recently discussed with us. Our older, Bi, nudist friend said that when he went to gay sex clubs there was no negotiation, no talking, no real conversation. He said that guys would come up and touch you and you either touched back or turned away. The end. He relayed one specific story when only got verbal requests after repeatedly moving away from a particular younger guy that wanted to blow him. After much pleading by the boy and our friends desire to alleviate his hard-on so he could walk out of the club, they finally hooked up. Our friend said that he had never had a condom put on his penis so stealthily (yay for safer sex!) but it really was just an alternative to masturbating for him at that point of the night.

There was one guy that we had a date planned with who tossed in his possible curiosity but lack of experience with anal sex into the conversation out of the blue just a couple days before we were supposed to go out for drinks.  My Mr. was the one to send the message expressing, very tactfully, that it was not cool and we cancelled the date. That guy responded that "It was an unfortunate combination of nervous energy, reading the 100s of questions on OkC and not having that common sense filter after being married for so many years." I almost wanted to still go out with that one after such a genuine response. Almost.

I wonder if it's an online dating thing that did happen when I was single and I've forgotten? Or if it's the "they are non-monogamous so they must be kinky nymphos... I should tell them about my cock" line of thinking? Once again, I just don't get it.

On that note. Beer is good. And T-Rex is about to get a Facebook message.

A Screen For Every Moment

That is what the ad outside the electronics store said: A screen for every moment. And all I could do was roll my eyes and acknowledge the way that all of this marketing is fueling our device addicted society. People are no longer LIVING life, they are Instagramming and Facebooking it as a means of receiving validation by way of "Likes" and "Followers". There is no amount of hi-def, photo shopped filtered technology that can make these screens true reality, but its come so close that most people can no longer discern one from the other. It upsets me to no end when I see small children being wheeled around in strollers holding little screens with bright, shiny simulations of life that are more interesting than the actual real life around them. People do not look UP anymore. Their "Life" fits in the palm of their hands and no human body that may also be moving in their path is important enough to acknowledge. They might miss a tweet if they put their devices down long enough to make eye contact, smile, or simply say "Excuse me" as they pass by. Being "connected" has made it so much harder to actually connect.

Where is this all coming from? A few things:

1. BF1 came up for a visit after having not seen him in months. We played a card game, ate a home-cooked meal together, cuddled on the couch and had the kind of deep conversations that foster a sense of trust and bonding between people. It was AWESOME! And then...

2. We went to the mall and true to the usual mall experience I was filled with an immediate disgust for "humanity" before we even parked the car. All leggings, Ugg Boots and sparkly clothing aside, the general demeanor of people in this setting enrages and horrifies me every time, no matter how often we see it. It was like walking through a hoard of Zombies to get through the food court and into the specific department store we were going to for a specific item. Even those without devices in hand walked with their heads down and eyes glazed over without realizing that their were other people who were also walking in the same area. People would stop suddenly, turn in unexpected patterns and generally behave as though they were completely alone in this crowded space. The level of self-centeredness exhibited in such places, in my opinion, is just a reflection of the way that people have decided that their lives are only as big as the screens they view them on and all other living, breathing bodies are merely inconveniences they encounter between status updates.

And 3. Despite my own lack of a "smart phone" I'm feeling myself becoming addicted to the screens. I was sitting in the bathroom (TMI, sorry) and the thought came to me that I am spending too much time scrolling news feeds, flipping through channels and otherwise seeking digital stimulation rather than doing actual THINGS. I cooked an amazing Southwester mac and no-cheese casserole yesterday. I did the laundry, vacuumed the house and cleaned the bathroom. We played a card game we'd heard about and talked about personal revelations and processing and reflected on how far we have come since this time last year... But as soon as BF1 was out the door I was back on my laptop, mindlessly scrolling through Tumblr. There are new gemstones in my beading kit collecting dust. (I started making bracelets a few months ago.) There is a great book I started weeks ago on my nightstand that has a only shifted to make room for my water bottle at night. ("Middlesex" by Jeffry Eugenides) There are little piles of paperwork that needs to be filed or shredded accumulating in the sun room... But what do I do with my time off? I log on and tune out and it's not okay.

This winter has been long and cold. Technically it's actually Spring at last but we're expecting yet another storm early next week. I'm still gaining weight and wishing it would get warm enough to go out walking on the trail by my house..

And the most ironic part is that technology is allowing me the opportunity to type this out as I process it rather than scribbling it down in another notebook. There will be no ink stains on my hands when I am done. Being a left-handed writer who has been journaling since long before the MySpace days I am all too familiar with the down side of putting it down on paper the 'old fashioned way.' Firefox catches any misspellings that may make me look less articulate than I might, and I know that a simple "ctrl+C" and "ctrl+V" will allow me to transfer this from my Tumblr to my blog and then back again.

I am not begrudging technology, but lamenting the behaviors surrounding it and admitting that even I have had too much "screen time" and not enough "face time" as of late. So it's time to wake my napping Mr. and prepare for our date with... *ugh* I'm so bad at thinking of nicknames for people... our date with a guy we went out with once last year who we decided was worth another shot. If it goes well I'll come up with a nickname for him.

One last thing. This is what I posted on my Facebook earlier this weekend that sums up a lot of the topic for me:

I am not "connected" like most people in the world are today. I still text in 10 key on my flip phone and prefer face-to-face conversation (when possible) to digital communication. Technology can be great, but I hate the 'addicted to the screen' behaviors that people often exhibit. I refuse to be a slave to technology...

That said, I always wonder if people think I'm rude or a bad friend for not posting on a wall on a birthday or for not "liking" an important, life-event kind of status. I know I'm not great at staying in touch with those not right here in my day-to-day life anymore but I just want to be sure that it's clear that it's not personal, it's just that I truly try to stay so busy living life that I don't always take the time to pull out a device to document and share it with the world. I'm still working on being totally present in present time, as my mother might say, but those who are not part of my world in this moment will always be part of my heart, my path and my story. My Mr.once told me that it seems I never truly lose friends but that everyone just orbits around me in their own path, coming close for a moment then circling around again another time. I like that imagery...

That status update got 23 likes and 13 comments. *Sigh*

Party Naked

It's been over a week since the "Socially Nude" party we attended, but it was such a big milestone that I really wanted to write about it all.

.. and then life happened. Food poisoning happened. Hair coloring happened. A night at the more local gay bar happened. A masquerade happened. And today a snow day happened during which My Mr. did his research thing and enrolled me in school to finally start working towards a job I will not hate. *Deep breath*

The party was at the same home as the Halloween party and we'd run into the host, Sel several times over the past few months at other groups' events. His friend The Brit answered the door and said that the host was still showering. True to the theme of the night, Sel came downstairs completely nude within minutes of our arrival.

My Mr. and I had gone through "wardrobe options" together before the drive down including my black silky boy shorts and the black, zipper adorned vest that he wore to our first Kink-ish event. I didn't want to injure his confidence any further, but when he walked out in that ensemble at home I instinctively burst out in "Y-M-C-A" complete with the arm movements. We knew that Sel had invited members of his "Men's Groups" (aka, gay groups) and were all about trying to look a little less hetero-normative than usual but it was too much. We for opted for the standard undergarments with jeans and casual tops.

The bacon wrapped jalapenos I made for the group where we first met Sel were so well received that he suggested I bake them there. I waited until the 1st batch was out of the oven and we'd each had a mojito before disrobing partially.

The first step was to strip down to my tank top (no bra), lace thong and knee-high socks. My Mr. also shed his first layer and joined me in a tank top and boxer briefs. By that part of the night several other guests were in various stages of undress... a couple in silky robes and panties, a gaggle of gay men fully nude, a girl we'd met at the previous weekend's card game in her bra & panties and JB (the host of that same card night) in just a pair of briefs. The "outfit" of the night was The Brit who, in keeping with his Brittishness wore a bow tie connected to his briefs with a single suspender. There were also a variety of cock rings, ball weights and piercings on display.

Everyone was quite social and open to introducing themselves. One gay couple in particular spent a lot of time chatting up My Mr. and flirting while talking about the Gay Nudist parties they host on a quarterly basis. They remarked that they wouldn't have issue with me coming to one, but those "Other Bitches" would cause too much drama over it..

The night at The Gay Bar did introduce me to a little of the binary, exclusionary structure of that scene, but a whole new level of understanding came from this night that will be its own rant eventually.

Another noteworthy moment came in the kitchen while I was waiting for the 2nd batch of jalapenos to come out. The "dressing area" was the breakfast nook off the kitchen so anyone that showed up walked through the kitchen to disrobe. A mid-20-something guy who introduced himself and immediately started conversation opened by telling me that I was the first naked woman he had ever been in the same room with. "Gold Star Gay," he said.

Eventually the party became like any other party except for the whole no pants thing. I've been known to be less-than shy, but for My Mr. this was ground-breaking, life-changing level of liberation and it was AWESOME.

One of the concerns voiced before the party was the whole "what if I get an erection?" thing. I only recall seeing one obvious erection all night, and My Mr. did admit to getting a little stiff watching JB massage my shoulders.

At the end of the night the guy from the kitchen thanked me for being his first and stated that I had "popped his cherry." Another cute remark about more next time was made, and I used the term "Fabulous" as I tend to do. It was then that a snarky quip from half of the gay couple we had been hanging out with really hit a nerve. I was asked why I used that term and replied that I have used it for ages. Someone else said, "Oh, yeah… she must watch LOGO TV." It took me a minute to get the reference because though I was aware there was a "Gay Network" I didn't know the name if it off-hand. It felt like I was being called/looked at as just some Fag Hag at a party with my gay husband.

The binary model of thinking that bi-sexuals or anyone else that identifies as belonging to the gray area between the preferences are just deluding themselves because they are afraid of picking a side really runs deep across both sides of the spectrum and it really frustrates me.

All that said, the party was great and we're looking into a nudist resort as a vacation spot for sometime this summer.

Bra Shopping, Body Issues and Partying Naked (TMI-ish)

Next weekend My Mr. and I are going to a Mardi Gras masquerade The Dom is throwing. I scored an amazing deal on a red dress that puts 'the girls' properly on display, hugs my waist and flows perfectly over my hips. The issue is that the arm holes are just big enough that my bra shows through so I need a red bra to wear with it. Last weekend we went to Kohl's and I tried on what seemed like 100 red bras. We tried every possible equation to find the right size... 38D is too small in the cup. 38DD is too small around. 40C poked out on the sides. 40D had miles to spare... You get the point. It's like algebra added to the already demoralizing experience of buying clothing.

Even as I work towards embracing the extra fluff on the edges I'm still forced to contend with the discomfort of "sizing" and the expectations that clothing manufacturers put on women by the way they make clothes. Apparently having my size hips means I should be 6 feet tall with a giant belly. Seriously.

So today we tried again... First at one of the department stores in the mall. (I can't remember which ones we went into, and where I even bothered to make an attempt) and then I resorted to Victoria's Secret. It pains me to think of spending the same amount on a bra as I spent on my dress, but I was desperate. The fitting girl said I am a 38DD and returned with 2 red bras. The dressing room was like a sauna and the lights were the usual, unbearably bright kind that accentuate every blotch, every wrinkle and every ounce of back fat. The first bra squished my sides, dug into my shoulders and gave me quadra-boob. The second bra also squished all around but poked out in the front on the sides as though it was too big in the cups. Same size. Same store. Totally different fit. What. The. Fuck, right?

I deposited both over-priced bras on the 'don't want' rack and sulked out with tears in my eyes. On the way out of the mall I did was any sensible fat girl would- I got a bag of cinnamon sugar pretzel bites with cream cheese and came home to my sweat pants.
 
Here's the real kicker about my body issue moment: tonight we are going to our first "Socially Nude/ Lingerie Optional" party. The host is the same guy that hosted the Halloween party. We have run into him since then at other social events with some of the other Alt-Lifestyle groups we are all members of. He's been very clear that this is not a play party and addressed concerns of those new to social nudity such as "What about accidental erections?"

It's a big boundary pushing this for us. Despite my lack of shyness, I'm still really struggling with being okay with the extra weight I've put on since moving out here. My Mr. has been even more anxious about the party, and has talked about it at least once daily for the last week. He has also been doing a lot of clothes shopping, and an equal amount of clothes returning due to sizing issues.

It's a mean trick played on us all by an industry that makes millions telling us all that we are not good enough. They play with numbers and add buzz words to make each item stand out, while telling us that it's all standardized and emphasizing your SIZE, rather than your shape.

Once upon a time ago I was a perfect size 4 and a 32D. I had the body of a Victoria's Secret model for the first time in my life and couldn't wait to buy lingerie to show it off. Several online orders and several returns later I realized that even the clothes in Victoria's Secret are not made for a Victoria's Secret body.

I just don't understand it... Who DO "they" make all of these clothes for?

Night at the Gay Bar

In a moment of "Fuck it!" I wriggled into the red dress and fishnets for a 2nd time in 2 days. I opted for my knee-length boots instead of the impossible ankle-breakers I wobbled around in at the Burlesque show on Friday night. Destination: the gay bar up in the city that out last date talked about.

I won't deny that minor panic attack that came over me as we circled the block looking for parking. Everyone we saw on the street looked absolutely "Normal" to the point where I was sure I was going to be totally over-dressed. After finding parking and mistaking what looked like the front door under the sign and awning for the entrance, we back-tracked to the door where a group of men were outside smoking and walked in.

The momentary awkwardness between having our ID's checked and the first walk around the bar quickly subsided when I sat down in the same bench & coffee table area as 2 very suburban, almost frumpy looking M/F couples. I saw a bag and jacket on one of the end tables and asked if anyone was sitting there. They gestured that I could sit and My Mr. headed for the bar. Within about 2 minutes an older, very intoxicated Italian man from London was kissing my hand and going on about how gorgeous I was and how much he loved my curves. The bag near where I had sat down belonged to his date- a beautiful young black man with long dreads in a conservative sweater and jeans named Michael. Michael was friendly, warm and easy to talk to despite his date's overly-exuberant state. He reminded me of a co-worker who recently left my job: same field of study in college, talk of family and prayer and the differences between race and "culture."

The Italian Man eventually asked if I was with anyone, and seemed genuinely shocked each time I told him I was here with my husband. (Being so inebriated, there was quite an echo in our exchange.) When My Mr. returned with drinks, The Italian Man only briefly stopped petting my fishnets and made sure there would be no offense taken at his gawking at me, then at his repeated expression of how gorgeous we both were. The Italian Man did say that he had never been with a black man before and that before meeting Michael he considered himself to be a racist. They had plans to see DC the next day and after hugs and kisses goodbye, we went to check out the karaoke room.

One song later, we ventured back to the bar where we met John, a cute ginger graphic designer a couple years younger than me. My Mr. had gone to get a drink and I saw a man flirting with him, reaching over and putting his hand on his back. He returned with a drink and I suggested he go back and get me water. More flirting, and then they looked over and gestured for me to join them at the bar.  There was the usual “What do you do? Have you been here before? Are you from around here?” as well as discussions of identity and labels. John said he had known he was gay all his life and had never been with a woman... while he had his arm around my waist. When I first approached he had expressed his disappointment at My Mr. being here with something so much more beautiful- me. It was only upon learning that he had a boyfriend and they were monogamous did a door close on the possibility of more than casual flirting. John didn’t seem to fully realize this in his inebriated state and went so far as to try to pull My Mr. back into the bathroom with him at one point. That was the only moment that I felt anything other than flattered at the attention we were both getting. In that moment, my claws came out and I only relaxed when My Mr. quickly returned.

The other half of the bar had a dance club area with pulsing lights, fog and lasers that we briefly visited before retreating again to the more relaxed bar area. John had friends there, but spent the rest of the night chatting us up and occasionally goosing My Mr. It really was a test of our own code of ethics to not go too
far with things, and around his 3^rd rum and coke My Mr.’s resolve was quite weak. He confided that I was his conscience and had I not been there the evening would have gone differently. I agreed that if John was single, or ethically non-monogamous I would have been on board with things.

One of the conversations that sticks out in my mind was when John asked me what I thought he “was.” He said he had been known his whole life he was gay and had never been with a woman but he was questioning things. “Am I gay? Am I bi?” To which I reminded him of the salad analogy I’d presented earlier in the evening. “Have you ever eaten a salad? … Did it make you a vegetarian? … So why should sucking cock make a man gay?” John was just on the opposite end of things- a gay man that seemed to be considering the possibility of trying pussy.

Maybe it’s that My Mr. is so hot that a gay man was considering being with a woman in order to be with him. Or maybe it’s that I’m so hot that I could make a gay man rethink his identity. Admittedly, neither of these scenarios does any less for either of our egos.

At the end of the night we exchanged numbers and hugs and My Mr. kissed John on the lips, causing a bit of tension on the way home. John sent a text message a little later saying he was looking forward to getting to know us better and hanging out again. We aren’t sure if we’ll hear back from him again, and if we do, how we will handle the balance of attention being shifted at My Mr. much in the way it was on our very first date exactly a year ago this week. The problem I have with it all is the obvious honesty issues John has. My Mr. and I have both been there and understand, but part of our agreement is that we will not get involved with anyone who is in any kind of dishonest situation. On top of all that, the age difference and the fact that he lives at home but is not “out” to his family just leaves me feeling unsettled.

Either way, the weekend was amazing! I’m so glad I pushed past my own apprehension and into my high heels again. It’s been too long and we need to do it again sooner rather than later.

“Why did you stop blogging?”

An acquaintance from back in Texas posted that on my Facebook wall this morning. I realized I haven’t posted anything in a really long time, and I didn’t have a single entry in my December 2013 writing file. I have several word pads on my desktop with bits and pieces I put down and said I’d go back and edit “later.” But of course, “later” never seems to get here. It was a wake-up call to see just how much I’ve been slacking and really disconnecting from myself the last few weeks. Part of me says that it’s just the natural thing to do when it gets cold- grow a winter coat and hibernate. (TMI: I hadn’t shaved my legs since Thanksgiving.) Another part of me is just plain bored. My Mr. said something to that effect a few days ago. For a long time we had plans every weekend- social events, burlesque shows, discussion groups… but in December we had next to nothing. He said we are becoming ‘old and boring.’ And he’s right.

So here it is on New Year’s Day. We wanted to go to sushi but nothing was open so we’ve been in bed on our laptops all day. I chatted with someone on OkC for a bit, but as soon as he said something about his ‘throbbing cock’ I closed the chat and remembered why we haven’t been on a date in months. It’s a delicate balance when making friends as a married couple, no matter where on the monogamous-to-polyamorous scale you are. Being around the Alt. Lifestyle community just complicates things because for as many times as I’ve heard poly people talk about how it’s not just about the sex, the sex seems to take center stage even faster than in other arenas. We are lonely for friends and still working through some of the “extra person” versus “extra penis” issues together. The time with The Mad Scientist taught us both a lot about ourselves, our insecurities and the strength of our marriage but left us with a higher standard in terms of who we want in our life. That’s not a bad thing, but being picky added to the distance issues that seem to come up with the people we’ve met that we do like on a social level just leaves us more isolated in our own little bubble more and more. 

Life keeps getting in the way of living. 

My job is great, but the 8-5 life makes it even easier to fall into the trap of ‘work, dinner, TV, bed, repeat.’ I work for an awesome family where they treat the business like a second home. One the way out yesterday Boss Man stopped me to join everyone for a toast to the New Year in the conference room. My Mr. had come to pick me up and Boss Man insisted he join us, shook his hand and poured the champagne. The one co-worker I was really making friends with just left, so there’s less conversation during the day. A few weeks ago I “came out” as non-monogamous to her. That was something I was hesitant to do in general because of the atmosphere at work. Her response was exceptionally positive, and she told me that her sister was in a relationship that was in the process of opening up as well. Our people really do find us, but her life path was heading back to the South where she’d lived previously. Bless social media for giving us a means to stay connected! 

The standard 1^st day of the New Year thing to do is to start off on New Year’s Resolutions and all that. *Blah* I’m just content to say that today I’m blogging because someone made me aware that I haven’t just been typing away into the digital ethers. 2013 was a great year in so many ways, but it was lonely in other ways. It’s nice to know that what I was saying, thinking, feeling and sharing was being received and appreciated. I need to remember that for as much as I write for my own ‘therapy’ and historical recording of sorts that maybe someone else is ‘listening’ too. 

Cheers to another great year!