There was something magical in the way it snowed that night. Thick, fluffy white flakes slowly looped from the sky, swirling gently through the calm air. Illuminated by only the bright whiteness of the moon and dots of stars, the snowflakes fell easily and created lazy, haphazard patterns that sparkled against the clear glass panes of her slick bedroom window. (more…)
What is it about someone that makes another person let them into their life, even when their logical brain is telling them to watch out? Why do some (rare) people seem to possess that magical quality that makes you fall head over heels, flat on your face, and stupidly ignore all internal warning bells until further notice? How can you turn it off? How can people that SEEM right for you not be the ones that grab your heart, while the one that CLEARLY isn’t is the one that you stop everything for? (more…)
The only thing better than dreaming about her was knowing that she would see her soon. She didn’t know when, exactly, and she wasn’t sure of the how or the why either, but seeing her face and feeling her insides electrify like some big, neon Las Vegas sign as soon as she was around made the long, rainy evenings optimistic and pink. The steam from the rain and humidity from the concrete jungle that surrounded her created an ethereal fog around her windows and straight into her soul. The barrier helped her relax, sink into herself, as the bouncing lights and background cacophony from the outside dissipated into swirls of air.
She could recall every detail of her face when she closed her eyes and smiled as her mind’s eye took its time sliding over every detail, every imperfection that made her that much more beautiful and unique. She couldn’t look at her like that when they were together; her glances had to be deliberately short and devoid of intensity and she relished the quiet time at night when she could recall her face, her body, her laugh and her hands at her leisure, silently appreciating everything that she was without concern for rejection, reprisal or that invisible awkward ice block that could so quickly rear its ugly freeze between them. She was heat, sensuality and friction, and made her knees weak and her breath catch as that giant Las Vegas sign fizzled and cracked to its full ON position inside of her at every glimpse. She was heat and she knew deep inside of herself that no amount of icy freeze could ever keep up with the blaze that consistently flickered between them.
Maybe she would never know that she loved her. That was okay, as long as she could hold onto her dreams. They were always more vivid late at night and upon waking every morning, still in that surreal, in-between spot where the lines of reality blurred and she was never sure which end was tangible. It was bittersweet finding herself in a lonesome bed, one side as chilly as it had been the evening before, but she secretly knew deep down that no matter what nameless, faceless warm body filled the cold spot in her bed, they couldn’t lay a claim on her heart. It was already hers, and hers only.
Opening the dusty window and using more force than she was accustomed to so early in the morning hours, she wrenched it from its frame and closed her eyes as she inhaled the scent of spring through her nostrils. The scent crept across the room as slowly and silently as the washes of pastel yellows, pinks and blues that pushed their way through the thin screen. A warm breeze ruffled the curtain back and as the colors grew higher in the sky before her, she wondered if this would be the day. It was an irresistible morning, one that teased new beginnings, freshness and positivity.
She glanced back longingly at her bed, the comforter still pushed halfway back from when she’d pulled herself from her blankets and the dreams that she waited all day to have. Her mind already began to wander and she crawled back into bed, pulling the blankets back around her. They were still warm with body heat, her dreams weren’t that far away yet…
Letting her eyes flutter shut, she decided that ten more minutes of dreaming would be okay. Her face was still just beneath her eyelids and somewhere deep inside of her chest too, the same spot where a single smile could make it pang and race for long, beautiful moments; moments that she remembered later and allowed herself to live through again and again once all masks were removed, guards were lowered and she was relaxed and alone with her thoughts and candy-coated dreams.
Maybe today would be the day, She thought, a shot of slow, calm anticipation filling her veins as she breathed in the light scent of the brand new morning. Maybe today my dreams will collide with reality in the most gorgeous, sensual crash of my life.
The ten minutes passed excruciatingly quickly and the day’s activities and obligations began to take precedence. As her dreams faded from her mind, she wondered if she would see her today and hoped that she would. Leaning over the clean, hard porcelain of the bathroom sink, she spat the toothpaste out and glanced at herself in the mirror. Her smile was real.
Maybe today will be the day, She thought again, grinning as she twisted on the radio. Or maybe not. Either way, that’s okay.
Maybe she would never know that she loved her. But in the here, in the now, surrounded by love that she couldn’t necessarily see but felt touch the very corners of her being, she knew that it didn’t matter. The only thing better than dreaming about her was knowing that she would see her soon.
Thirteen years ago today marks one of the saddest and darkest days in GLBT history – The day that Matthew Shepard was attacked, tortured and killed by Russell Henderson and Aaron McKinney in Wyoming. 1998 seems like a lifetime ago – The strides taken by the GLBT community since then have been massive and fantastic. Gay marriage, civil union laws, including sexual orientation and gender identity in human rights’ and civil rights’ legislation and the gradual media acceptance with more and more inclusion of GLBT characters, television shows, films and more giving actual names and faces to what so many people previously feared have caused an explosion of sorts in the last decade. I couldn’t be more proud of my generation (it so makes up for the atrocious other things we’ve “accomplished”, like, you know, “Jersey Shore”) and the many generations that so understood activism in the decades before.
In October of 1998, I had just turned 13 years old (let’s not do the math – I know I’m young, or old depending on where exactly you, my dear reader are at :), and age is nothing but a number – Wisdom and love and what you do with those things are what matter of course). It was an interesting time as I was heavily in that awkward junior high school phase where you’re not exactly a kid anymore but you’re far from an adult, nothing seems to fit or look quite right and you feel so out of place and suddenly foreign in your own skin. I was always somebody that tried to maintain an awareness about the world around me, even as a sullen, greasy-haired adolescent. I remember the media, the articles and stories, that followed and the shocking, gruesome nature of the crime as more and more details poured forth after his untimely death. (more…)
Once upon a time, when I was a medium-sized girl (I don’t say little, because I wasn’t a young child and I don’t say big, because I wasn’t a teenager), my parents got divorced. As I adjusted to the changes and welcomed myself to the other 65% of the population, or whatever the divorce statistic was in the ’90s, I became accustomed to spending half the week with my father in the house I’d grown up in and half the week with my mother in the small apartment she’d rented one town over. I kind of didn’t mind the fact that they were divorced; both my parents were a lot happier and there wasn’t always a thick tension hanging over everybody anymore. And, bless my eternally optimistic heart, I even though it it was kind of cool to have two homes, because that meant two bedrooms to decorate, eight walls to ruin with my posters and all kinds of new adventures in a new town (for half the week, anyways). I’m pretty sure my mother didn’t quite see it that way, going from our family home in the stereotypically suburban neighborhood to an apartment and working her ass off day in and day out at a job that she was far less than passionate about to provide for us, but we made the best of things. (more…)
Tonight is the perfect Friday night for sitting down, clearing my mind and writing. Next weekend will be filled with travel and excitement as Girlfriend and I are heading up to Wisconsin Dells (about three hours from where we live in the Chicago Area) to enjoy the long weekend, and we will be both trying zip-lining for the very first time and bringing our dogs. Not bringing our dogs zip-lining though, just on the weekend getaway; I don’t think they’d ever forgive us if we put them on the zip-line with us although I do think they would look rather cute in the helmets.
That said, tonight is the perfect night to delve into what I’m hoping will shape into a third manuscript. I’ve had the ideas floating around and taking substance in my head for a while now, and I’ve written about feeling blocked as of late so I’m hoping with a clear head tonight will be The Night that it all begins to take shape and flow. That said, I’ve been listening to a certain block of songs on my iPod over and over (without realizing it, believe it or not) to get my mind to the right place. As the songs continued on their loop into my consciousness, I giggled at myself, realizing how silly it was that apparently I had an official writing playlist to get me focused on this particular story. As I wondered about it more, I realized that for the past two, I also had pseudo-playlists, or at the very least, certain songs I would listen to relentlessly on repeat that would put me into the right state of mind and probably make Girlfriend want to take stock in earplug manufacturers. (more…)
Let me preface the rest of this blog by saying that I consider myself a very lucky girl. Part luck, part tenacity and part hard work has gotten me to where I am today, which is a pretty nice position in life – All things considered. Sure, there are small things I’d change, but I have a wonderful family, close friends, a fantastic girlfriend, my health, a roof over my head and a wide open future ahead of me filled with endless possibilities for adventure and endeavors.
There are enough strange characters I’ve met throughout the years, my fair share of laughable, This-Could-Only-Happen-To-Me scenarios I’ve found myself in and certainly more than enough character quirks provided to me by those throughout my life that I probably have enough blog material to last until the next millenium. However, there is one story, one woman, one unbelievable “date” that was memorable enough to top all of my friends’ nightmarish memories of dates past, and some of my friends are right up there with Hugh Hefner for dates past. I can laugh now because I got out alive and, as far as I know, with every body part intact. I certainly wasn’t laughing then, although during the date, I made a sort of deal with whatever higher power took pity on me and listened in which I swore I’d use this for comedy at some point in the future if I could please just make it out in one piece. So, here it is: The Worst Date I’ve Ever Been On: (more…)