Day 103: Dear Nice Guys,

Dear Nice Guys,

Fuck you.

No, seriously.  Fuck.  You.  I am so tired of you and your bullshit.  Of your aggressive insistence that I make exceptions for you because you, YOU ARE DIFFERENT.  You're not like those OTHER men!

News flash, sweetheart.  You are exactly like those other men.

"But!' you say, all indignant and aggrieved, "I don't get angry and abusive when you reject me!"

No, of course not.  Instead you pout, and cast hurt glances my way, as though that were somehow BETTER.  As though that did not still imply that I owe you something.  That you have a right to my attention and affection.

Let me offer the most recent in a lifetime of examples.  Today, on a social website, I received a message from a man who was pleased of offer me his approval.

See, he started so well.  SO WELL.  A compliment.  A mild flirtation.  Maybe a bit of hypocrisy claiming to be a grammar nerd, given his complete wreckage of the English language in the next to last sentence, but, honestly, I forgive typos all the time.  And, being a well-bred woman, when I am complimented, I say thank you.  And so I did.

Which, of course, is when he got butt hurt.

Really, dude?  Quotations around writer?  Like, your message was a test, and I've failed, so now I don't get my certificate of authenticity from the Masculine Authority Agency?

I thought I'd take it easy at first.  I mean, sometimes people don't get how their words come across.  Not everyone is thoughtful in their presentation.  Not everyone is cognizant of their impact.  Not everyone is...

NOT EVERYONE IS GONNA GET THE VERBAL BEAT DOWN THIS GUY IS CLEARLY BEGGING FOR.

You did not want to start this shit with me.  I swear you did not.  But you were a fool, and now you will reap what you sow.

OF COURSE, I MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXAGGERATING THAT WHOLE "SANE" THING.

I am so exhausted by my own irritation.  I am also exhausted by the idea that I should just ignore it, and move on.

NO.

HOW ABOUT MEN STOP ACTING LIKE THIS, INSTEAD?!?!?!

Look, there are a select number of people in the world to whom I owe my attention.  All of them are people with whom I have deep, interconnected bonds, and an understanding of support and reciprocity between us.

THERE IS NOT A SINGLE FUCKING STRANGER ON THE INTERNET WHO FALLS INTO THIS CATEGORY.

Nice guys tear my ass with frustration, because they think they get a cookie for being a decent human being.  And, as soon as the cookie doesn't come, they suddenly stop being a decent human.

IF YOU WERE ONLY DOING IT FOR THE COOKIES, YOU WEREN'T DECENT IN THE FIRST PLACE.

OH MY GOD.

Look, I think I may have lost some coherence here, but I've got a lot of rage over this issue.  Lemme sum up my points, in an attempt to wrap this up in a marginally comprehensive way.

1) Don't say you're a nice guy, or different, or whatever.  Just be different.  Trust me.  We'll notice.

2) If you can't acknowledge that you're having a negative impact, and adjust for that, we'll notice that, too.

Oh, and that dude?  That guy who was so different?

Yeah.  Let's leave it at that.  I think I prefer being unappreciated by men like you.

Day 102: Accepting Loss

Note: All of my blogs are about my own lived experience, but I want to make doubly sure I say that before this one.  The language I'm using here is thoughtfully chosen to reflect that very personal experience.

Every year, on October 14th, I mourn my husband.

It's a funny thing to do, because, in a way, it's like mourning an imaginary friend, or a character in a play.  The man I married didn't really exist.  He was an elaborate costume being worn by a woman who didn't truly know herself yet, and, as such, I guess he wasn't an actual person.

But he was real to me.

We all--no matter how close we are--see each other from the outside in, and for a decade I saw a man that I loved very much, who later faded from my life as the woman she was finally emerged.

It's odd when you lose someone in bits and pieces.  When is it that they start to really be gone?  Is it when they dress differently, and hold themselves differently, and speak in a different tone?  Is it when they give up their old hobbies and favorites, and fill their life with new endeavors?  Is it when their scent changes, and their body changes, and they feel like a stranger sitting beside you on the couch?

Is it when you can no longer lean into them, and feel all the ways in which you fit together?  All the places that your inner selves match up just right?

I don't know.  I don't know when that moment happens.  I didn't see it go by.  It was a process--a long and painful process, made all the harder by my conviction that mourning it was disrespectful to the woman who was slowly emerging in the world, even as my husband faded away.  I was supposed to be supportive, and loving, and embrace this new person.  So I tried not to grieve, because it felt like a betrayal.

But you can't stop grief just because you think you should.  You can make it uglier, and more painful--a thing that bursts out in fits and starts and jagged anguish--but that's all that fighting it will do.  The grief will still come.  The best you can do is accept it.

I grieved then.  And I still grieve now.  Not all the time.  Not constantly.  I love my friend Natalie.  I'm happy for her.  I'm glad she has the chance to live her life as herself, and not inside the shell of a person she never really was.

But I miss my husband.
I mourn him.
And on October 14th, I miss him just a little bit more.

Day 101: Queen of the Freaks

I don't normally do this, but: TRIGGER WARNING.  Someone was a real asshole to me, and if that's gonna upset you, don't read this.  Also transphobia and general rage inducement.

I recently told my friends that, if they needed my help on Facebook, they could summon me.  Let's be real; I'm a brawler, by nature.  If I'd been born to parents who were less serious about teaching non-violence, I would probably have gone into MMA or something.  As it is, I am happy to pop into any thread where a troll is making issues, and put the verbal smack down on them.

So, the other night, when I was informed that a friend needed a hand on her thread, I hopped over to see what was going on.  Turned out this jerk had shown up and started throwing insults around, so I swirled my red flag in the air and brought him snorting around in my direction.

I was expecting... I don't know.  Either an actual debate on the topic at hand, or possibly a few derogatory remarks thrown my way.  But what I got was so far beyond the pale that I just sat there and stared at it, stunned.

I can't show you a screen cap, cause I didn't take one, and the comment got deleted by the owner of the thread.  But, to the best of my recollection, it went something like this:

Oh look, the Queen of the Freaks has shown up.  Honestly I'm appalled someone hasn't taken your children away, because you still live with that abomination you married.

I'm not sure I have the prowess as a writer to capture the emotion that surged through me as I read that.  I was so angry I wanted to vomit.  I wanted to rake into him with my fingernails and rip his guts out.  I wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp and then, once I had his attention, tell him that if he ever put his vile words on my family again I would make him really regret it.

I'm a violent person, y'all.  I've never claimed otherwise.

I didn't do any of that, though.  Instead, I thanked him for proving my point--who sinks to character attacks when they have actual valid arguments instead?--and then went and told everyone I know that I needed a new t-shirt.

When I was in college, we did a production of Sideshow.  For those of you that don't know, Sideshow is about two conjoined twins, and their rise as Vaudeville performers.  Their career began in a carnival freak show, and the show opens with a haunting and angry song "Come Look at the Freaks."

Normally productions of Sideshow get a little extravagant.  The costumes for the carnival performers alone are a bit much, with false beards and snakeskin and all kinds of nonsense.  But our director chose to go the other way.  The "freaks" were all just normal people, being themselves.  And the "normal" people in the show all wore these bland half masks that blurred their more distinctive features.  All in all, I thought it was a beautiful and poignant commentary on normality.

So, while I still wanna pummel that asshole, I'm more than happy to take the title he gave me.  I probably don't deserve the crown, but I would do my best to live up to the honor of being the Queen of all the people who are authentic to themselves, regardless of how the rest of the world views them.

And I made myself that damn t-shirt.

Day 100: Carrying Each Other

Each of us carries tension in our bodies.  Too much stress, too much pain; even too much pleasure--these things can cause our framework to go awry.  Our muscles grow too tight or too loose, our joints grow twisted or over extended, our fascia grows bruised or damaged...  The after effects of our mental state becomes felt in our physical one.

I have been carrying too much tension recently.  The world feels like a powder keg, and I am terrified of what will happen to the people I love when it explodes.  That tension has locked my body tight and left me with a physical form that just isn't working properly.  My neck and shoulders are strained and tense, my head aches more days than not, and my stomach is constantly on the verge of turning itself upside down.

I'm not the only one who is feeling it.  Some of my friends are turning this tension inward.  They talk about self-harm as though it would be preferable to continuing to deal with the world at large.  Some of my friends are turning it outward.  They talk about violence as though it is the just and right solution to our nation's ills.

I can't say I've never done that myself.  As one of my friends said to me the other day, I've been in a very "stabby" mood recently.

This isn't an easy thing to deal with.  It's not like we all just need to look on the bright side.  We can't fix it with self care, or a judicious application of ice cream.  We can't fix it by remembering to see the big picture.

This is the big picture.

But last night, at rehearsal, we just happened to have an extra 8 minutes in the schedule, and our choreographer asked our MD if there was anything he wanted to rehearse.  And he said yeah, let's run You Will Be Found.

My emotions are so close to the skin right now, it's not really surprising that the song hit me so hard in that moment.  But maybe, even if I'd been locking everything down, it would have broken through anyway.  Because, y'all...

Even when the dark comes crashing through
When you need a friend to carry you
When you're broken on the ground
You will be found.

I will be honest.  I am having a hard time carrying myself right now.  But somehow, carrying others seems like a lighter burden.  Or, if I can't carry them, just holding their hand, so they know they're not alone in the dark.  Sometimes I think we forget what a powerful impact it can have just know that you are not alone.

I think I'm gonna just wrap this up, now, and leave you with the song.
Love to you all.

Day 99: Never Too Early

Today some packages arrived from Amazon. The kids love packages, so they gathered around, waiting with excitement, to which I responded with some amusement.

"Guys, calm down. It's just some light bulbs and condoms."

 

You know.  Basic household goods.

 

Chaz cocked her head and looked at me quizzically.

 

"What are condoms?"

 

"Well, you know how sex works? Penis goes in vagina?"

 

My daughter, at the tender age of seven, has decided all things sexual are inherently super gross, and she makes a face that can best be described as fighting the urge to giggle and vomit at the same time.

 

"Okay, well, condoms are thin rubber that gets rolled down over the penis, so no fluid passes between your bodies.  It keeps you from getting sick, and it also keeps women from getting pregnant."

 

"But Elliot can't get pregnant."  His sister, ever the keen observationalist, points out.

 

"No, but he can get someone else pregnant, and that would make the baby just as much his responsibility."

 

Elliot nods seriously.  "Right."

 

I take a moment to appreciate how sincere he is in that agreement.  Thank you, goddess.  Then I keep going.

"So, when you guys get older, and decide you want to have sex, what are you always going to use?"

 

"A condom!" Both my children chorus gleefully.

 

"That's right."  I say.  "And not just to keep from having a baby, either.  Even if you're with a boy, Elliot, or you're with a girl, Charlotte, and you can't have a baby, you still should use a condom so you don't get any diseases."  I pause for a moment.  "I mean, Chaz, you should use a dental dam.  But it's the same idea."

"What's a dental dam?" she asks.

"Sometimes adults like to put their mouths on each other's jimmies--"

"EWWWWWWWWW!!!"

"Look, I'm just telling you what a dental dam is!  It keeps you from getting fluid transferred, like a condom for your mouth."

"I AM NEVER DOING THAT."

"Hey, I'm not saying you have to!  I'm just saying, if you do..."

"Use a condom." She is decisive, and I feel confident she's gotten the point.

"Right."

"But," Elliot wanted a clarification, "what if you WANT to have a baby?"

"Look, bud, when you're an adult and you're ready to take care of a baby, that's a decision you can make with your partner.  But for now, if you're gonna have sex, use a condom.  Got it?"

"Got it."

"Chaz?"

"Got it."

BOOM.

 

Look, I know probably some of y'all are horrified that I'm talking about this with my nine and seven year old.  But all I'm saying is, when they've grown into sixteen and fourteen year olds, they're gonna already have the information they need, because I'm going to have given it to them all along the way.

And I am wicked content with that parenting choice.

Now, what's the over/under on me getting a call from their principal, asking why my kids know what a dental dam is?

Day 98: I Am Angry

I am angry, my loves. 

I am so angry that it's taking over every aspect of my life.  I cannot get through a day without constantly fighting the urge to just let it out, in whatever way presents itself to me.  But I know that wouldn't be fair, or right, so I choke it down, and it returns to my belly where it simmers and waits to erupt. 

I cannot find a healthy way to vent this anger, either, because I am angry about things that have no obvious or easy solution.  Do I need to list them?  Aren't you all angry, too?  That skin color is still a source of hate, that religion is still such a divisive thing, that whether or not one of your chromosomes has an extra tail on it is such a big damn deal? 

Aren't we all angry?

I look at the news and I see disaster everywhere.  Nazis are rising in America.  White people STILL haven't figured out racism is our problem.  Women are having laws passed that oppose their medical health.  The poor are going to lose their insurance. 

The planet is headed towards being uninhabitable by humanity, and we watch helplessly as coal and oil money buys us another few minutes on the doomsday clock.  Countries sell their rainforest to developers, we back out of climate agreements, we still can't fucking agree on simple facts!

Two mad men with nuclear weapons are playing chicken.

WHAT THE HELL, PEOPLE?

AREN'T WE ALL ANGRY?

I know it's unlike me to leave it like this.
Normally I try to turn to hope.  To joy.  To something that reminds me of the good.
But not this time.
This time all I've got--all I keep telling myself--is that anger is better than despair.

So I suppose I'll just keep being angry.

Day 97: War of the Woodards

Lesser historians believe that the war began on the first of August, 2017.  In reality, the open shots were fired the night before, in a skirmish so mild that, initially, it didn't register as the open salvos in an epic conflict.

Pre-War, the family at peace.

Alas, such peace was to be short lived.

It is recorded that Monday, July 31st, the matriarch of the Woodard family declared cheerfully that tomorrow would be room cleaning day.  The children responded with little to no alarm, a reaction that--at the time--the matriarch regarded positively.  Little did she know that this was a black ops tactic, designed to throw her off her guard.

So it was that, on August 1st, the very next day, she was completely unprepared for the shit storm that descended when she once more broached the "room cleaning" front.

For three days the family engaged in direct military action, from mild skirmishes up to pitched battle.  During the conflict the matriarch sustained damages such as bruising, bite marks, and a sudden onset of the desire to drink herself into a coma.  The children lost most of their screen time and spent many hours entrenched in their emotional foxholes, where they drowned in self-inflicted misery.

Negotiations were attempted, but resolved nothing.  The children staunchly declared that for liberty, freedom, and--above all--fairness, they would never yield in the war.  The Matriarch leveled her famous quote in response:

Oh, yeah, I'm so unfair.  I only take care of you, feed you, clothe you, keep you from running into traffic, and clean this whole damn house.  How dare I ask you to clean up 80 sq ft filled with nothing but your own personal shit? 

When the youngest of the children announced that this was obvious sarcasm, negotiations were completely derailed and all attempts at reconciliation were abandoned.

Not til Friday, August 4th, was a tentative peace declared.  A third party suggested a piecemeal attempt at cleaning the rooms, and the matriarch--with her resources exhausted and an ever growing conviction that she was going to need valium to survive this week--acceded to a trial process.  The children attempted to circumvent the agreed upon terms several times, by first simply moving everything from the area they were supposed to be cleaning into another area that was not yet needing to be cleaned, and then later by crying and declaring they "could not" and would the matriarch please not relent and allow them to live in squalor.  The matriarch held firm, however, and by noon that Friday the process of cleaning had at last begun.

The children came through the conflict relatively unscathed, and in fact were arming for a new war mere moments later.

The matriarch is seriously considering running away and joining the circus.