Piratz Tavern

Piratz Tavern is closing next weekend…

We weren’t regulars. We weren’t costumed artists. We didn’t spend hours bonding with the staff or with other patrons.  In 2013, we were a seemingly normal couple who had just moved to Maryland. We saw the Bar Rescue episode and thought, “That place looks like fun! I wonder if they are still open.” And they were!

We read about the “Pleasure and Pain” Valentine’s theme and decided to play dress up. We hadn’t yet really discovered the world of Kink. We had not yet set foot in a dungeon, nor purchased a flogger. We hadn’t heard of FetLife and had just put up our joint OkCupid profile seeking an additional male partner. But the event sounded like fun, so we went shopping. And on Valentine’s Day 2013, we walked into the tavern for the first time. I was in a corset and mini-skirt with a spiked collar. My Mr. was in a vest and jeans… We purchased those clothes at Hot Topic with the help of a sales associate who talked about being a ‘switch’ as though we were familiar with the terminology at the time. It seemed that we were either too early for the party, or there was no party at all. Other than one server who had a little more leather in her costume than others, nobody was dressed for the theme. We sat at a small table in the bar and had a really good meal while people watching. By the end of the night, a Mr. Grey wannbe walked in toting a girl in a rope harness behind him. Even then, the scene made my roll my eyes.

We would go back several times thinking we might find “our people.” But only one server consistently greeted me as though he’d seen me before. Jack Bones would come over and play with my hair, flirting, then scurrying off, acting afraid of My Mr. We would speculate how much of the act was genuine, and how much he’d actually had to drink on any given night. He played the part well, even on his Facebook page where he would post events, send invites, and even briefly chat with me once or twice. Another server/bartender, Saber Thompson would smile and nod when she saw me after the night we exchanged chit chat in the ladies room. I would later run into her at the flea market of sorts where we purchased my newest corset and flogger. I’ve been following her on Tumblr, and even ran into her at the shop where she works now.

And then there’s “The Hot Pirate.” I’m sure I’ve seen his name, but I prefer THP. I’d seen him at the tavern several times, but he didn’t appear to work there. I have a type when it comes to men, and he fits it pretty well. Like a silly schoolgirl with a crush, I’d had hopes that the perceived eye contact as I’d walked past on occasion could turn into conversation and maybe more. One day My Mr. and I were at the bar, chatting with the bartender, Poppet. We mentioned having moved here from Texas to which she said, “Oh! My husband is from Texas!” And she shouted… “Husband! Come meet these people. They are from Texas, too!” Of course “Husband” was THP. I only hope the look on my face was more composed than I felt in that moment… To this day, when I’m having a bad day at work My Mr. will send me a picture of THP he found online because he knows that it invokes an involuntary smile.

Sitting at the communal table at Piratz, we met some interesting people and made some very cool memories. One night my husband and our then- boyfriend went to Piratz after a burlesque show. I was in one of my pin-up girl outfits complete with ankle breakers that required one on each arm to walk in. A group of frat boys happened to be there as well who were making remarks about me in an attempt to be flirty. My Mr. was in a less-than sober state, and got upset over their advances. Bear in mind, I had been sitting with our boyfriend all night, holding his hand. But at the tavern, these random frat boys brought out a possessive side of My Mr. that I had never seen. Can we say ironic?

On St. Patrick’s Day 2014 we met another couple for dinner and drinks at Piratz. I had on my Guinness Girl shirt and glittery green make-up complete with a matching fascinator. The male of the couple was a photographer who I had done a shoot with. This was the first time we really met his partner, and the conversation that ensued comes up whenever I talk about how much I loved being a “Domestic Goddess” without a paycheck. She would make the statement that night that a woman who stays home to raise children was not only not contributing, but was a detriment to society. My Mr. sensed my anger rising and diverted the conversation just in time for my urge to lunge across the table and stab her with my fork to subside. That night ranks pretty high on a very small list of times I truly believed I was going to end up in jail.

I am also part of Headbone Jack’s “Beautiful Women in my Hat” album. I personally don’t think it’s the most flattering photo, but it’s still one of my favorites.

I feel like a bit of a Fangirl talking about Piratz like this. We weren’t part of the scene, but were people that walked in and out and built memories of our own thanks to the staff of the tavern. And thanks to social media I’ve been able to get glimpses of the people behind the costumes and accents that were part of their daily lives and jobs. I’ve read their perspective on the Bar Rescue episodes, the feelings of losing a part of their home, family and history, and all the fun times in between. Piratz is not my story to tell, but the backdrop of some of my fondest memories. Thank you all for letting us pass through a place you called your home.

I Watched '50 Shades of Grey' (So you don't have to)

No matter where you are in America, the "50 Shades" discussion has become unavoidable. Just yesterday, a co-worker asked (across the office) who was going to see "50 Shades of Grey" over the weekend. When the topic comes up, I tend to inwardly snicker because kink is something I've become personally interested in. In addition to my interests, I've been seeking out educational events on the topic where others can learn more about BDSM and the local kink community. Last fall we hosted an educational series with our MeetUp group that we called “50 Shades of BS.” I broke down and read the first book before going to a lecture-style meeting in a hotel conference room, then a hands-on event at a local play space. (Yes, some people still refer to places where people publicly practice BDSM as ‘dungeons’ but “play space” is certainly a less-scary and more correct term.) From there we attended other events at other play spaces in order to compare how each venue presented the topic. The fact is that I discovered BDSM before the "50 Shades" phenomenon and am among those who hated the book, but are happy to see the conversation happening in a more main stream setting. Education is powerful, and education about sexuality is greatly lacking in our puritanical culture.

After reading the book and very clearly seeing the “Twilight Fan Fiction” of it all, I was ashamed to have spent money on the purchase. The idea of spending even more money on such an awful movie was appalling. Fortunately, my daughter just happens to work at a local movie theater so all we paid for was the popcorn. She called her boss to tell him we would be coming, but made sure to explain that we were going so we could discuss it with our MeetUp group and not because we were actually interested in the movie. (And on a total ‘proud Momma’ note, My Kiddo has been coming home talking about how awful 50 Shades is. She’s been telling her co-workers that it’s abusive and dangerous, citing stories she’s read about increased ‘handcuff related’ injures since the release of the book. Did I mention how proud of her I am?)

We went to the Friday February 13th showing at 6:40 pm, the earliest we could make right after work. The crowd was about what we expected- almost exclusively couples that looked anywhere from their mid-20’s to late 50’s. We arrived around 6:20 pm and had no problem finding decent seats. The pre-previews were already going when we sat down. One of the first commercials was for Trojan brand lubricants. Then they cut to a clip of the ’50 Shades’ Trojan commercial. I immediately knew they were targeting a specific audience. The actual previews were more sappy romances including another film that was adapted from a Nicholas Sparks movie. (*Gag*)

By the time the movie started, I was already questioning just how many times I could roll my eyes before they would simply roll down the aisle. In addition to the usual theater discomfort, we had a couple of asshats in front of us that ignored the M&M’s request to turn off your phones. I was not amused.

The movie opened with images from the trailer and followed the book in a lot of respects- the perfect blondes in Mr. Grey’s office, the ridiculously awkward Anna Steele who trips as she enters his office then proceeds to exude an unprecedented level of low self-esteem, “holy cow!” and all the other bad lines from the book…“I don’t make love. I fuck. Hard.” And my personal favorite, “I’m 50 shades of fucked up!” The movie itself had a few positive things of note: condom usage, images of female pleasure, conversation about specific sex acts, safe words and limits. But the entire plot revolves around head games and other over used tropes about “romance.”

After the initial meeting in Seattle, Christian pulls stalker move #1- he shows up at the hardware store in Portland where she works. He has her help him find cable ties, tape and rope to which she remarks that he is now the perfect serial killer. He tells her, “Not today.” From there he agrees to do a photo shoot to go with the article her roommate is writing on him. They go for coffee afterwards where he places a muffin in front of her and says, “Eat.” This is where she tries to call him out on being bossy but he quickly ends the date. Outside, she is almost hit by a speeding bike messenger and he “rescues” her, holding her in his arms. She goes all doe-eyed in his embrace, but he does not kiss her and instead tells her he made a mistake and it was nice meeting her.

Anna is shown all mopey about his rejection for a day or more but then a package shows up for her. Christian has sent her 1st edition books by her favorite author. So…. He’s already said he’s not the man for her, but is giving her expensive gifts? That night, Anna and her roommate go out to a club where she proceeds to get stupid drunk. In a typical bar moment, Ana drunk dials Christian while waiting to use the bathroom. Instead of reacting like a sober adult and hanging up on her, he uses the call to track her location and shows up at the club. (Don't get me started on the lack of realism throughout the movie!) A friend of Anna’s is acting all rapey outside, trying to kiss her when Christian shows up. He pushes the guy away yelling, “She said NO!” (As though he actually understands the concept of consent!) At which point Anna vomits all over the parking lot. Sexy. The next morning Anna wakes up in Christian’s bed unsure as to how she got there. He assures her that necrophilia is not his thing and then tells her that if she were his she wouldn't be able to sit for a week. (Dun, dun, DUN!)

The theme of "no, not meaning no" repeats throughout the film. Christian repeatedly says “I don’t do romance.” Then does something romantic. Anna tells him to go away, then he shows up- in her apartment then out of state when she goes to visit her mother. And every time he shows up, she welcomes him with open arms (and open legs.) In the book, there was a lot more violent sex and a lot less actual BDSM. She cried a lot and struggled in most of the sex scenes in the book, other than her first time with him. She was a virgin until meeting him, and upon discovering this he states they are going to remedy the situation. In the movie, there were at least 2 scenes where Christian tied Anna up and used various items for sensory play including a peacock feather and a flogger, and she is shown to be in utter ecstasy each time. As a matter of fact, she is shown to welcome and enjoy every encounter in “the red room of pain” except the very last.

Some of the most cringe worthy moments were when Christian flogged Anna. Not because of the flogging, but because he repeatedly flogged her across the abdomen. That is one of the worst places to flog, whip or paddle someone for a variety of reasons. One: it hurts in a bad way, not the good way that flogging can feel on the back, thighs or even breasts. Two: internal organs! It’s such a no-no in general that the Buzzfeed video we shared with our group specifically brings it up. Why would they do it that way on screen? Because boobs! If she’d been tied up on her stomach it simply would not have been as “sexy” in Hollywood terms.

The movie also glossed over a very important issue that the book addressed- STI testing and birth control. In the book there is a detailed scene where Anna is seen by a gynecologist and is tested for STI’s then prescribed birth control pills. Prior to that, Christian uses a condom and is even shown opening the packages before intercourse. In the movie, there is a very brief moment where Anna jokes that the doctor told her she has to abstain from sexual activity for 4 weeks. Christian looks shocked, then she laughs about it and they are shown having sex again, but without the condom unwrapping. This, of course, is wrong because oral contraceptives do take at least 4 weeks before they are effective in preventing pregnancy. But hey, let’s keep it sexy and avoid anything more biologically correct than Drunk Anna telling her friends she has to “pee really bad.” Which is, of course, why the infamous tampon scene was omitted from the movie.

Another noteworthy scene was the contract negotiation. Anna insists on meeting him in his office for a formal meeting, and goes over items on the list including anal and vaginal fisting that are off the table. By this point he has given her a new laptop so she could research BDSM, but clearly she didn't do all her homework. She bashfully asks what a butt plug is just as a couple of his ‘Perfect Blondes’ walk in with wine and sushi. She exhibits some semblance of agency when he starts talking about how much he wants to bend her over the table right there but rather than giving in, she walks out of the meeting without so much as a kiss. I think this was the only part of the movie where I liked her. Even in the end when, after a particularly aggressive spanking, she pushes him away and tells him not to touch her, I was annoyed. He had talked about her safe words, but rather than calling out "RED!" as he whipped her with the belt, she cried and counted along with him. It is only in the last 5 minutes of the movie that she learns the word “No!” and uses it as she’s getting on the elevator to leave him for good. (Or so we hoped.)

Overall, the movie was not as bad as I’d imagined. Or maybe I’m so used to movies being based on similarly abusive behaviors being romanticized that it didn't stand out as being any worse than others like “Twilight” and “Beauty and the Beast,” as discussed in a great Huffington Post article I just read.  Whatever the case, the movie was like any other bad romance that makes money at the box office, but this one added the element of kink. It gives the impression that BDSM is only for screwed up individuals, like other films and TV have done in the past. Christian Grey had an abusive crack whore for a mother and was introduced to kink as a teenager by a friend of his mother. In “Secretary” the submissive is a self-harmer fresh out of the psyche ward. And on CSI, clients or employees of Lady Heather’s “Dungeon” have almost always been implicated in a murder. This is the biggest misconception about BDSM out there, and the reason that despite all the conversations about the topic spawned by 50 Shades I would recommend you save the money you might spend on the movie and instead do some research and find some real education on the topic. For less than 2 tickets and popcorn, you are likely to find a play space in your area that is doing a 101 night where you can really learn about kink and decide if it’s something you want in your bedroom.

As for the co-worker that asked who was going to see the movie this weekend, she made the remark that it’s probably a lot more fun in real life anyway. Without hesitation I chimed in, “Yep! It really is!”

Links to references:

Trojan Commercial: http://youtu.be/h-BFLlqY598 

Buzzfeed video:  http://youtu.be/kXOJb0TlK-w

Tampon Scene: http://youtu.be/iZn__5dT7qw

Huffington Post Article: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/megan-maas/love-hurts-what-we-learn-from-beauty-and-the-beast-twilight-and-fifty-shades-of-grey_b_6672742.html?ncid=fcbklnkushpmg00000046

Dear Dudes: Dick Pics

Dear Dudes,

I want to help you be more successful in your social and romantic endeavors. It seems like the old ‘Mars/Venus’ issue about how we are trained to communicate based on our gendered socialization may hold some merit. Let’s try meeting here on planet Earth. I’m going to be frank and straightforward about something that we may have learned about communication that just doesn't work. Ready?

DON’T SEND DICK PICS! 

Never, never, never, ever send dick pics.

A lot of people start this argument by stating that the penis is simply not visually aesthetic; that they just don’t like looking at them. That’s not my stance here. I rather enjoy the penis. As a matter of fact, if I were to choose the best kind of porn, it would be the kind with lots of dicks and little or no pussy. I love Dick.

But here’s the thing- unless I already have a relationship with you and your penis, I don’t want to see Dick. I don’t want Dick messaged, e-mailed, texted, or in any other way, introduced by screen. That goes for whatever you enjoy doing with Your Dick, his dimensions, his virility, his dependence on little blue pills to join the party, any Dick talk should not be going on before we've been face to face, kissed good night and made plans to do the things that involve Your Dick. Dick is welcome by invite ONLY. Stop letting Dick crash the party! Because if Dick shows up before he’s been invited, there will be no party. Period.

I've been trying to understand what it is in male socialization that compels them to send dick pics. The last time this happened, the guy that sent the picture was aware enough to immediately ask if he’s ruined our conversation. “YES!”

He apologized again and I asked, “Why did you go there? I’m genuinely interested in why that just happened.” 

He went on, still apologizing and saying that it maybe it had to do with the male ego; that he learned to do that on some dating site. He brought up the locker room issue of wanting to be “bigger, better than the other person.” But he later said, “If we all looked like the guys in porn we would still want to be bigger, better.”

It’s like a form of body dysmorphia that people simply don’t talk about. And we need to talk about it! Not only is it damaging to the men that constantly feel inferior, but the typical responses like sending dick pics only fuel the sense of objectification that women are constantly faced with. We need to demystify sex in a way that removes all the puritanical shame and allows pleasure for both parties.

The idea of male “performance” needs to be abolished. Sex should not be a performance, an act, or mimicry of pornography! Sex should be a mutually enjoyed experience where both partners actively participate in activities that have been clearly discussed as pleasurable.

It’s a long conversation that may start with a screen to screen introduction. But in the early parts of that conversation, please remember that Dick needs to stay away from the camera and save the details until we've worked our way down from the big head. I promise that’s the sexiest thing a man can do!

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!