SassySeattle has left the building...

Two years have passed since I climbed into bed with my husband and told him I was gay.  Since then, I have transitioned from suburban housewife and mother to a happy little lesbian.  Sometimes I doubted my ability to withstand this rollercoaster.

But the ride has finally come to an end.  I am fully out and incredibly happy.  Recently, I met the most amazing, sexy, smart, and loving woman, and I don't want to ruin the sacredness of what we share by blogging about it.

It leaves little to write about.

So this dyke is calling it quits on the blog.  I will leave all the posts up for entertainment value and perhaps as a cautionary tale...

Some of you have emailed and asked me, "Was it worth it?"

The only way to answer that is to tell you when I see her across the room at a party and she grins back at me, my heart swells with joy.  And when she lays her head on my shoulder and her long, curly blonde hair is in my face, my thoughts of how lucky I am to have this beautiful woman asleep next to me keep me awake.

I would have went through all of this this fifty times if it led me to her.

We're never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy

I frequently get emails from readers asking me for advice.  While I don't consider myself qualified to tell anyone to model their choices after my two year train-wreck, I thought I'd post some of the questions and answers here, just in case it may help someone else.



Dear Sassy: I left my husband for a woman and now she's driving me fucking crazy! She wants to know where I am all the time and feels threatened when I go out with my friends without her.  She wants to move in with me *rightthissecond* but hell, I just got out of a 15-year marriage to an abusive, controlling man. The last thing I want is that kind of commitment.

She also feels very insecure by my efforts to reach out to other lesbians. Is this normal? HELP ME!

- NotaUhauler

Dear NotaUhauler:

I think it's really typical for the "out" lesbian to be somewhat suspicious of the baby dyke's efforts in reaching out to the queer community.   Not healthy, in my opinion, but typical. I've found women to be so much more jealous and possessive than any man I've ever been with.

When we first come out, we're in a different place than the woman who's been out for a while.  Untangling from a marriage, shifting from straight to gay, raging hormones...it's a friggin' vortex that is sometimes unbearable.  I don't envy the single lesbian who's standing by watching this and sometimes the object of our wrath and indecision.

But, I think what can actually help is explaining to her that you would feel this way no matter who you are in a relationship with. NOT ready for a U-haul situation, NOT ready for a GPS tracking device, NOT ready to share a home with someone else.

My friend Dani told me, "Men are easy. You feed 'em, you fuck 'em...they're happy." 

Women? Way more complicated.  They require reassurance and phone calls and goddamn processing. Get used to it, girl.

Email me your questions too!

 

 

The Gay Ways I Have Changed

I haven't been here in a while, folks. And I could whine and tell you everything that has been going on in my life, but there's only one reason why I haven't been writing lately:

Graduate school is kicking my ass.

BUT, in the meantime, I have created a little list of ways I have changed since I came out (almost two years ago, can you believe it? I shall throw a party for my fabulous gay self.)

1. I no longer carry a purse. Driver's license and credit cards go in my back pocket.  There's something really sexy about reaching into your back pocket to pay for a lady's drink.


2. Short hair, short nails. Enough said.

3. When I walk into a gay bar, I no longer feel like an imposter viewing that world from the outside.  I walk in with my dyke swagger and own the place.


4.  I am not afraid to get naked in a room full of women.  This is not what you're thinking, sluts, I mean at the spa. 

5.  I have learned that I have to watch what I say to women.  Chicks can take one LITTLE FUCKING thing out of context and go off for hours about it.  Sometimes I'd just rather have dental work done.

6.  I think like a gay person now.  My life before was about laundry and making dinner and how I could make my husband's life easier.  Now I realize that I was a reluctant participant in a heterosexist world.  Fuck that.

7.  I have this profound sense of happiness now, even on my worst days I feel confident, peaceful...and just a little naughty.

No, not because I'm gay...

When I was five months pregnant with my youngest daughter, the doctors thought I had breast cancer.  They called a bunch of doctors into the room while my boobs were exposed for all to see (thank god they still pointed to the ceiling) and they started talking about terminating...the pregnancy.  If I had cancer.

As I walked into the hospital to get the results of a very painful biopsy, my husband called from Asia. 

"Good luck," he said simply.

I'm not saying he wasn't worried; I'm sure he was.  But he wasn't there.

He spent a total of about five years deployed while we were married. I sometimes waited four or five weeks between phone calls, and I had no idea when I would hear from him or where he was.  Submarines don't have telephones, and email was unreliable at best.

There was no 'just-wait-until-your-dad-gets-home' going on in my house...were we going to wait six months? No. That water bill wasn't going to wait six months either. So I did everything alone.  I had to.

In the beginning, I waited at the pier in my new outfit with the other wives, waving with excitement as I watched the sub pull in.  Towards the end, managing his life was just another household chore for me and I would ask, pen poised over my desk calendar, "When do I need to pick you up?"

When he finally came home, he would give me a coffee mug from another country and then retreat into his computer room (as small and dark as possible, a replica submarine really) to play computer games.  Totally checked out.

So, you see, I didn't really have a partner. I had no emotional connection to him; how could I?  He left all the time.  Out to dinner, sitting across the table from each other with nothing to say.  No romance.  No intimacy.  As soon as I made friends in our new duty station, the Navy would order us to move.  The overwhelming theme of ten years of marriage was loneliness. 

The Navy was his wife.

Now, every Friday we exchange children.  And when he asks me how and when to pay the water bill, I realize how much I was betraying myself by staying married to him for so long.

Where does the love go?

After 18 months of the drama merry-go-round, I just jumped off. 

Told her I need no contact in order to heal and move on.
I'm exhausted, bruised, confused, spinning. 

Need to stand still for a while.

I've never felt so much fire for another person, never loved so deeply, never tried so hard.  In the end, I couldn't do it.  Couldn't make it work no matter what I did.  There was nothing more I could do.

I'm not a punching bag.  Can't be the sponge for her to vent her toxic anger.  No need for me to repent for all the past sins of those who came before me.  Can't make her feel worthy if she doesn't believe it.  Shouldn't have to heal my partner.

Is it possible that the fireworks I felt for her were me finding myself, the puzzle piece finally clicking in place that I am gay, and that it may not have been her specifically? 

Could it be that I projected all these super intense feelings onto my “catalyst” but it was really a reflection of what I was feeling internally, finally finding myself? 

It doesn’t diminish her importance in my life or in this process, but it also doesn’t mean that she’s “the one.” 

I've unchained myself.  I'm walking away.  I deserve better.

I really deserve better.

The gay things I've done lately

I now live in a very progressive, gay-friendly town.  It soothes my sweet little soul to see gay people whenever I leave my house. 




The other day while driving to work, I saw a man with a full beard wearing a pleated skirt, combat boots and a tiny white sailor hat on his head. 






Yesterday, I saw a butch in a bathing suit riding her daughter's bike in front of my house.


I'm happier than a pig in...well, you know.

So what else have I done?

I joined the office softball team (isn't this SO gay?!)

I met the cast of The Real L Word.

Whitney told me my hair looked great!



I resisted the urge to grab Rose's ass and instead got as close to her as I could for this picture. She smelled AMAZING!

I went out to a straight club and got my boobs grabbed by a hot little blonde straight girl in the bathroom. (I'm pretty sure I could have taken her home but honestly, I didn't have the energy.)

It's been a pretty fun summer.  And feeling more like me every single day...

Always keep your girlfriend in hot water

She's running around with a wrench in her hand, this woman who loves me.  She is installing a new dishwasher, and I am holding the flashlight.  When I ask what I can do to help she says, "You can just sit there and look pretty."

Well...that is what I do best.

She gets all the hoses hooked up properly and it's time to plug it in.  Then realizes it has the wrong electrical plug and she'll have to rewire it.

By this time, I'm tapping my pretty little foot because I'm bored and I would rather go out for a drink.

So I say, "Can't you find a man to do that, honey?"

I never knew someone's face could turn so red, so fast.

(This is, apparently, the wrong thing to say to a lesbian.)



What I should have added was electrical work makes me nervous

and I'd rather see a man electrocuted than her...

So now we're having a debate: was this comment an example of my internalized heterosexism?  That men should do men's work and women should do women's work?

I really don't think so.  I was raised by a feminist in the 70s.  If I wanted to become a heart surgeon or a politician or a pilot, being a girl was not going to stop me.

Is it just going to take a little while longer to unlearn the past 35 years of gender role socialization?

Or maybe I just really wanted a drink. 

What do you think?

Does this haircut make me look gay?

While in Seattle for Pride weekend, I strolled past a trendly little hair salon in Capitol Hill.  Later over a slice of pizza, I told my friend I wanted to cut my hair but the thought of actually doing it made me nauseous.

"What are you afraid of?"

"Honestly...I'm afraid of giving up my heterosexual privilege."

She paused.  Looked at me. 

"All the more reason to do it."

Shit. 
She was right. 

So I ignored the gnawing in the pit of my stomach and let the pierced, tattooed, young girl take scissors to my hair.


This was the end result:

(That's me on the left with my friend J.)

Desperate housewife?  Not a chance.  (I don't think I need the rainbow bracelets anymore either, huh?)

"It is your life which is so close to my own
that I would not know where to drop the knife of separation."

-Mary Oliver

Moving out of the house and the life I built was not quite the celebration I thought it would be.  With every box that I placed in the Uhaul, I could feel the tears building up until they were choking me.

I agonized while packing those boxes.  After twelve years together, who knows what is whose anymore?  Is this CD his? Did my mom give this to us?  Does he have a sentimental attachment to this painting?  After a while, it just all becomes yours...together.

After we filled the truck and pulled the noisy door down and latched it shut, I hugged him goodbye and sobbed as I drove the truck 75 miles to my new home.

Later, I sent him a text:

You will always be my family.  I love you.

The key to freedom

It's an ugly little house.  Light blue painted wood siding with electric blue trim.  The entire house would fit in the first floor of the house I live in now.

I'm leaving behind the granite countertops (I agonized over choosing the right color) and stainless steel appliances  (top of the line, of course) and just signed a lease on this new, old place. 

In less than a week, I will turn the key in the front door and call this little ugly place home.  The first time I have lived alone in twelve years. 

The first time in twelve years that I will be able to make my own decisions, and live freely and openly, without the guise of straight, white, suburban housewife.

Sometimes the little bitch called self-doubt chimes in with her two cents:  You must be crazy to walk away--what are you doing??

...but then I think of that key, and I know I'm doing the right thing, even if it feels like severing a piece of my heart that I will never get back.

Suburbia never agreed with me anyway.

I had one of the most fantastic days of my life the other day.

I went to the Seattle Storm season opening game--5th row seats.  (For those of you who don't know, this is women's basketball.)

This was my view:

It should have been called dyke-o-mania for the number of hot gay women there.  Next time, I'm having business cards made up that say, "Hey gorgeous, call me" with my phone number and I'm going to hand them out as the ladies walk by. 

Afterwards, there was a pilgrimage of women to a nearby bar. 

I finally answered the eternal question:

where are all the hot chicks? 

Unn-freakin-believable!  I drank way too much beer.  Rocked the house by singing, “You Shook Me All Night Long” karaoke.  Got flashed some boobs, smoked a cigarette (I don't even smoke).  Then we went dancing.  I was drunk all day.

(As a healing mechanism, I highly recommend this course of action.)

One girl I was chatting with said she still lives with her ex-girfriend.  My first thought: wow, I could never be with someone who still lives with their ex.

Hello pot.  Meet kettle.

In the selfishness of my own coming out/getting divorced journey, I never really, truly put myself in her shoes.   I never realized how hard it must have been for her to be my girlfriend while I still live with my husband. 

I never thought how difficult it must have been for her to say goodnight to me while knowing that I’m going back to my husband's house. We’re still functioning as a family, even as a married couple (minus the bad sex…ha!).

In my mind, it was like, what’s the big deal?  We’re not sharing a room or a bed, we’re essentially just roommates. Our house is huge, big enough for us to share it.  It’s better for the kids this way; we can’t afford two households.  I was stubborn, making excuses, comfortable.

There were other problems with my ex-girlfriend and I, of course, but this period of no contact has allowed me to come to some realizations. 

One, I can’t continue to straddle two worlds. It’s not fair to anyone, and most of all, not fair to myself. Half in, half out. Suburban wife and mom during the day, single chick at night (am I really even single? No.) Two, I can't possibly give myself fully to a relationship while my life is still intertwined with my husband's.

So...I’m moving out. Packing boxes and cleaning out closets today.

Looking at houses tomorrow night.  Wish me luck?

They say you never really get over your first relationship with a woman...

My ex-girlfriend just told me that she doesn't want any contact with me anymore.  FOR A YEAR.  Said she needs to heal and move on; she needs to try to find someone who knows what they want. (Ironic because I'm pretty clear about what I want...)

I want to remember all the good things about our relationship and try to honor her place in my life, even if she no longer feels that I am worthy of a place in hers.

So what have I learned from being involved with a woman for over a year?

• I can feel again.  Wow. When we first started flirting and talking, I was on fire, literally electric and buzzing.  Couldn't sleep, didn't want to eat.  After being in a life-coma for the past 12 years, I will always remember this as one of the happiest, most exciting times of my life.
• Experiencing true intimacy: opening birthday presents in bed, writing love letters, dancing with her in the kitchen, reading aloud to each other.  The time when she laid on top of me, her hands on the sides of my face and said, "Welcome home," I felt something stir deep inside of me.  (It turned out to be the lesbian genie coming out of her bottle and that bitch just does not want to go back in.)
• So many firsts: my first Pride, the first time I've ever truly been in love with someone, my first strap-on, my first broken heart.
• The most passionate, incredible, scream-into-a-pillow-and-almost-pass-out sex of my life.

Wait, wait, wait...you know what?

This whole post, while nostalgic and overly romantic and sappy, is really just glossing over the facts of the present moment.


This baby dyke is at the developmental stage of a 16 year-old boy. I'm like a new vampire in a feeding frenzy wanting to bite everyone I see on the neck. 

Seattle is full of hot dykes.

I'm totally single and emotionally unattached now...and I need to taste the rainbow!

I'm officially declaring June my month of baby dyke debauchery.  (Bonus: it's Pride month!)

More adventures to come (pun intended), and I promise not to disappoint...

Emotional Swiss Cheese

Photo by Matthew Kendig

Look at everything I’ve done in the past year, Maria. I broke up my family, I hurt my kids, and I did it all for NOTHING.

You didn’t break up your family for me.

No, but I would have never done it if I didn’t think you were the one.

I am the one, Sass. 

No, you’re not because the love of my life wouldn’t treat me like shit.  Because every time I give you my heart, you smash it to pieces.  It’s not safe with you.  Do you know how sick it makes me to think of someone else’s hands on me?  It was supposed to be you.

Baby… 

Don’t call me baby.  I’m not your baby.

You’re the love of my life, I never loved anyone the way I love you.

STOP IT! Stop saying that! Do you realize what a mindfuck that is?  It’s brainwashing!  You are not the love of my life; the love of my life would cherish me and respect me and want the best for me.

I want to meet a woman who is happy and whole, who will take my hand and we will walk through this life together.  No one is pulling the other one ahead, and no one is slowing the other one down. 

I want someone who is healthy and whole, not emotional fucking swiss cheese.

The day I knew I was a lesbian...

People scowl and make this groaning noise anytime I tell them that I still share my house with my ex-husband. They don’t seem to believe that our lives are peaceful and happy, and that the transition from partners to best friends was nearly effortless. The assumption is that divorce must be contentious.

Can't two mature, loving adults who reach the natural ending of their relationship still remain best friends?

My ex-husband always knew that I wasn’t 100% straight, so it wasn’t a big shock to him. I mean, we used to check out chicks together...

...and then go home and watch girl-on-girl porn.

In the year and a half that we've been separated, I never had the urge to go downstairs for a romp.  I mean, why would I want to relive that torture?  Okay, so the sex didn't exactly suck, but there's only so many times a person can disassociate before you start losing brain cells. 

But I do remember the exact day that I realized I may be more than bisexual-slept-with-a-girl-before, and was more likely a flaming homo.

It was October 2, 2006.

Sitting on the couch, I flipped through channels while my husband and I chatted. I settled on Oprah, who promised a NEVER SEEN BEFORE television event.

Oprah really is the ruler of the universe, isn't she?

I mean, how many ah-ha moments can one woman possibly have?

Hubby immediately got up to leave, but I pulled his hand and asked him to stay.

Now, in ten years of marriage we never watched TV together, much less Oprah.

The show, ironically, was called Wives Confess They Are Gay

My husband took one look at my face and later said he knew our marriage had an expiration date.

These women were not soccer moms; they were not butches wearing chain belts and polo shirts. Oh no, these women were gorgeous in their lipstick and their Jimmy Choos.  Intelligent, professional women.

I realized there were more women out there like me.

Five years passed before I told him I was sure I was gay and our marriage was over. I sometimes wonder why I am not grieving the end of this marriage and then I remember that I have been grieving it for over five years.

When it's done, it's done.

Stupid is as stupid does, Forrest

Did I ever mention before that I have a phobia of needles and blood?  It's bad.  Really bad.  Like, I start to get dizzy and sweaty and red on the way to the doctor even if there is a chance I may get blood drawn.

So the other day in my Chemical Dependency class, we were about to watch a movie about heroin addiction.  Professor warned us that it was very graphic and I told him I would step outside, lest I pass out in the middle of class and look like this:

Seriously.

While in the hall, my friend Dani texted me and asked me if she could tag along with my girlfriend and I to roller derby that night.  Dani was trying to get over a broken heart and wanted to be social.  I called her back and told her of course, meet us there.

Wrong answer, folks. 

Girlfriend SCREAMED at me in the car while I drove us to Seattle. Screamed so loud the windows on my car vibrated.  She was pissed that I invited Dani and didn't ask her first, pissed that I wouldn’t tell her every word of our phone conversation, just simply PISSED.

I said, “Do you really want to enter into the mean mommy/naughty baby dynamic with me? Because I will fucking win that battle. I have a mother already, she lives three thousand miles away and that’s close enough. I don’t need another person in my life telling me what the fuck to do.”

Nothing she was saying was making any sense.

After a while she says, “Okay, I love you again.” She pulled me over and kissed me on the cheek.

I took a deep breath and said, “Look, this is never going to work without clinical intervention.” And she flipped out again, saying I was threatening her and why do I keep threatening her? I said I wasn’t threatening, but that if she refused to go back to couples therapy then it was simply never going to work out for us.

So she was quiet for a few minutes and then she said, “I think we should break up.”


Okay, fine.  I turned up the music and kept driving to the arena.

At this point, I'm just amused and surprised at this turn of events, and frankly, even a little relieved.

So we get to the arena and she’s outside saying she doesn’t want to go in, and Dani was there waiting for us.  I used my best social work skills to talk her into going in.

"Come onnnn, we're going to have a good time, let's go hang with our friends and drink some beer and look at hot chicks." 

Once inside, we went to get beers for everyone. As we're standing in line she said, “You’re not even acting like my girlfriend, you’re not holding my hand or talking to me at all.”

“I’m a little confused, an hour ago you said you wanted to break up. If we’re broken up, we’re broken up...I don’t have to act like your girlfriend anymore.”

So she stormed off (and stupidly, I followed) and she was making a total scene inside the arena, pointing in my face, calling me a bitch. 

Public humiliation...always a fun time.

Right at that moment, another one of my friends walks up says, “Are you guys going in?”

Girlfriend says, no, we’re leaving. I said, “No, we’re not. I have to say goodbye to Dani.” Girlfriend says, “You can text her goodbye. We’re going. NOW.” And she walked out the door.


I followed her out and said, “Here’s a concept that you haven’t figured out yet. YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK TO DO. I’m going back inside to say goodbye to my friends like a grown up.”

She said, “Fine. I’m going home.”


Good luck with that one, honey, because I drove your ass here.

Later, I drove her home.  She didn’t speak for the whole 60 miles except to tell me that I won, that I succeeded in making her look like a villain in front of my friends.  I made her look like the villain?

So we got to her house and I packed all of my stuff. I asked her if I had everything because I wasn’t coming back.

As I turned the doorknob to leave she said, “It was never going to work out, I can’t be the person you want me to be.”

And I think that may have been the truest statement of our entire relationship.

In the words of Carrie Bradshaw, "We are so over, we need a new word for over."

You slept with a girl before, how could you not know you were gay?

I get this question a lot.

Yep, I slept with a girl before I got married.  I kinda thought that's what people do in their early twenties.  You know, experimentation...like this:

I didn't even really consider her my girlfriend despite the hot sex.   Eventually, she married a man and she asked me to be her maid of honor...awkward.

I lived in the southeastern US at the time (shudder) and I didn't know any lesbians, I never saw any gay people and it never occurred to me that I could share my life with a woman. 

So, then I married a man. (She was my maid of honor too, and at my reception I really considered asking her for one last fuckfest for old time's sake.  It would have been more sex than I actually had on my wedding night.)

It wasn't until about 5 years into my marriage that I started having crushes on women. Not just feeling-drawn-to-you crushes, but fantasize-about-you-in-the-shower crushes.  I slowly started to put the pieces together. 

I have mentioned before that I had a major crush on my college math teacher.  Her name was Sue and my little heart would palpitate when I saw her.  I was sure she was gay until she mentioned her husband and daughters.  Confusing. 

All the signs were there that told me she was gay:  she had a crew-cut, wore polo shirts and khakis and was the girls' volleyball coach for God's sake.  I wore my cutest outfits and started to hang around after class. 

One afternoon, she asked me if I could help her carry things back to her office.  During our walk, I mentioned that some of my poetry was published in the college's literary magazine. 

"So you're the new Emily Dickinson?" she asked with a wink. 

"You know, a lot of historians think that Emily Dickinson was a lesbian."  I held my breath. Pleasebegay. Pleasebegay. Pleasebegay. Pleasebegay.

She sighed. "I always wondered what it would be like to live with a woman." 

Sue really was straight despite my wishing and praying and offering my first born.  But she unknowingly set into motion a process that  brought me to this moment.  And I got an A in her class.

My mother is an evil cow

My mother came flew across the country to help my ex-husband with the kids while I was in Italy.

Wasn't that nice of her?

Except that she used that time to pick a side [not mine] and talk shit about me to my own children.

To my soon-to-be ex-husband she said, "Just so you know, I'm not happy with what she is doing, and I am very concerned."

Wait.  Hold up.

What I'm doing?

When will people realize it's not what I'm doing but who I am?

Not a disease I will recover from, nor a phase I'm just trying out.  I'm not going crazy, not experiencing a second adolescence, not rebelling against society in general.


My mother repeatedly asked my 15 year-old daugther how she is "holding up" and talked all kinds of smack about me. Apparently what she was saying was pretty bad because my daughter was crying to me saying, "That's how she feels, Mom, that's not how I feel."

As my friend Berna says, "I would call you a cunt but that would imply a warmth and depth that you do not have."

Goddamn her.

Europeans really throw off my gaydar.  I mean, who can tell? Europeans --men and women -- all look homo to me.  The Gucci man-bag with aviator glasses and a huge scarf...not a good look for anyone.

Italy was incredible!  I didn't do anything remotely touristy, but had lots of dinners with local Romans and experienced real culture.  My friend and I also went to Belgium for the weekend and were invited to a champagne party. International fun!

I wish I could report back and tell you that I humped half the lezzies in Italy, but I only speak a few phrases in Italian and being in a country where you can't freely talk to people allows a lot of time for introspection.  I was able to listen to my inner voice, and I realized that I am still very much in love with my ex-girlfriend.

Since we broke up I went to therapy, she went to therapy, we went to therapy together.  We went on a few dates.  Our couple's counselor said at our last session, "Well, it seems to me that even when you are not defining it as a formal relationship, you both still choose to be together." 

 

I called her from Italy. "What are you doing tomorrow around 1:15?  Because that's when my flight is getting in."

It was the grand gesture, folks.  I flew home from Italy three days early, she picked me up at the airport and we didn't leave her bed for 48 hours.  Bliss, I tell you.  Pure bliss.

Ciao, bella! I'm going to Italia...

In two days, ladies, I am flying to Italy for a much-needed vacation.  Just me and a friend, no kids, no responsibilities...sipping vino, drinking espresso and checking out chicks.  I can't wait.

So in my free time, I've been practicing some cheesy Italian pick-up lines, you know, just in case.

Want to hear them?

Ahem.

Sei uno spettacolo! — You are spectacular!

Ho perso il mio numero di telefono, potrebbe prestarmi il suo? – I’ve lost my telephone number, could I borrow yours?

Fa caldo qui, o è perchè ci sei tu? -Is it hot in here, or is it just you?

Che fa una ragazza perbene come te in una mente sporca come la mia? What's a nice girl like you doing in a dirty mind like mine?

Hai da fare per I prossimi cent’anni? – What are you doing for the next hundred years?

And if any of these actually work and I end up naked...

Non dormo sulla chiazza bagnata.

(I'm not sleeping on the wet spot.)

In the meantime, to deal with your great sadness at my absence please feel free to read the older posts, comment on your favorites, and share with others (there's even a little Facebook button you can click on below each post.)

Arrivederci, ragazze!  (Goodbye, girls!)  See you in two weeks...

My own personal brand of heroin

     "Can I survive
     All the implications
     Even if I tried
     Could you be less than an addiction?"

                                                                    -Melissa Etheridge

Despite everything, it's tempting to say yes when she calls and asks if she can come over.  I remember soft skin and soft lips and hips and hair in my face, and it takes all my strength to wiggle out of that offer.

It occurred to me that if I needed cuddling, I could crawl into bed with the man who sleeps downstairs in the guest room. But I know that in his happy comfort, I would lie awake staring at the ceiling (still empty inside) and wonder why those hands don't feel good to me, as I did for more than a decade.

But ultimately, either option would be a false-start, you know before a race and that guy shoots the gun into the air, and then they realize that someone crossed the line before the shot and everyone suddenly stops running and they have to return to the starting line?

Training for months for this one moment, finally getting your body and mind to come together, perched, ready, on the starting line...and then some jackass can't hold his wad long enough to wait for the gun.

Yeah, just like that.  Except I'm the jackass.

The next day as I drive 75 miles to her, I bargain with myself. 

I'll meet her for lunch but not at her house. 

Okay, I'm at her house but I'm not going into the bedroom.

"Wait," I breathe into her ear as she moves above me, "We need to think about what we're doing.  We need to be deliberate about this."

"I am deliberately going to fuck you right now," she whispers.

I run out of excuses.

I'll be able to walk out of here as long as I don't say I love you.

Wedding Ring

 

I never realized how much
I fondled that ring on my fourth finger
Until I took it off

Eventually the white stripe
Faded in with the rest of my skin
Erasing every tangible proof
That I used to be his

(Originally published in Connections literary magazine Fall 2005)

When one door closes...

I set out to find new friends since my old friends hadn't spoken to me in months.  Yes, folks, even in 2010, and even in Seattle, a grown woman can lose all of her friends just by coming out.

These people were not just my neighbors.  We spent holidays together, drove each other to the emergency room with bleeding appendages, watched their children while they went on vacation. 

My ex-husband and I were about to name one couple as guardians of our children in the event that we died together.

But none of that mattered when it came right down to it.

I could just hear the Desperate Housewives sneering at me as I walked my dog down Wisteria Lane, "Ooooh, there goes the scary lesbian!"

Bitches.


Anyway, in my quest to start feeling like less of a freak, I had to find other queer girls to hang with.  So I joined this local lesbian networking website, kind of like Facebook for Seattle dykes.


I made some awesome new friends, but I didn't pay too much attention to the site since I was in a relationship.

On the very same night my ex-girlfriend screamed at me and hung up on me, I received a witty email from an adorable woman.  Here's what she wrote:

Hi there, Sassy.

If you have time in your busy schedule as mom and Superwoman to putter around and do something like eating, walking, or pretty much anything on the spectrum between lazy and adventurous, give a holler.

I will have to look at my own superhero schedule (some people call me Dani the Superwonderful). But, I tend to be flexible as a result of being dutiful towards my commitment to not work too hard!"

Two days later, I was on the ferry going to meet her for coffee/brunch thing. I deliberately picked the day where she had plans later so if it was a total bomb I wouldn't have to stay too long.

She was about 15 minutes late and a mixture of annoyance combined with relief accompanied the thought that I was being stood up.  But then I saw her walking across the street and the first thing I thought was, oh. my. god, she's gorgeous!  Then I thought this:

Mmmmmm. 

Dani walked up to me and gave me a huge bear hug, like we were already friends.  I liked her instantly.  She had super-short hair and the most stunning blue-gray eyes.  To top it all off, she had a kick-ass little body AND she smelled great.  Mmmmmm indeed.

We ate at a little French bistro (my suggestion) and drank mimosas.  Champagne before noon--could this date get any better?!  I smiled and leaned forward across the table.

Both being from the East Coast, we had no shortage of topics to discuss.  She explained that she moved out to Seattle for a relationship that recently ended, and wasn't "ready to date yet."

But here you sit across the table from me.  Whatevs. 

We walked all over the city for hours.  She laughed at my jokes and made fun of my antique flip phone.  I had to restrain myself from continually smelling her neck.

Dani drove me back to the ferry terminal, and I said, "We should take a picture of us together.  Just because you never know the significance someone will have in your life."

Kim Coronel

I smirked the whole way home.  Damn, that was fun.