Only Passing By?

This song is coming to mind.

It's really not difficult for a bisexual female to find a guy who is more than happy to encourage her to go fuck a girl or few.

I've been feeling like a happily monogamous straight girl for the past two months. And I got permission (which I didn't ask for) to chase girls. I get to do whatever I want with a chick and come back to him to give a [very detailed] report.

Furthermore, he thinks it'd be even better if I found someone that I like both physically and emotionally. And, as one might expect, boy is hoping to get a threesome out of it eventually. A threesome in which all parties really like one another.

It's a complex goal to achieve, and there would have to be a lot of communication and negotiation for it run smoothly and be enjoyable for everyone.

But I ended up learning more that I expected to from this formulaic conversation. I haven't had the most pleasant of experiences with girls. He's noticed how I have an almost misogynistic view of them. And in a way, I've given up exploring that side of myself.

So while he admits he wants the stereotypical male fantasy that men are programmed to want (the shyness he exuded while confessing it was too adorable), he also wants to see me have some pleasant experiences with girls. He reminded me that this possibility exists. Somewhere along the line, I stopped even thinking about it.

Maybe it's because I've always found it easier to be a monosexual, and it's obviously easier to be a straight monosexual than a gay one. And, for whatever reasons, I have a thicker skin when it comes to stereotypical male meanness.

It then dawned on me that I've gotten used to believing that I don't deserve what I want. It's not a low self-esteem thing. It's a "this is simply not my lot in life" thing. I've had one too many humbling experiences this past year that have shown me how I'm really just a small, destructible girl with a big head.

And to have a loved one pick up on some of that and point it out to you is kind of like being invited back into playing the game that is life.

I got boyfriend to listen to a few Dan Savage podcasts, and Dan said something that resonated with him: your partner should be making shit happen for you. I guess I've only been with a few people who really had an interest in doing justice to this idea. And now that someone like that is right in front of me, it feels foreign.

I want so badly to be as GGG as I possibly can. I have no idea what will happen or if this fantasy will be realized. We're not looking to jump into anything at this point. I do know that I'm happy with who I am with, and I need to stop shortchanging myself.

At this point, however, I'm almost afraid of kissing anybody else because I know that it won't be as amazing as kissing my boy is.

Bursting at the seams

I've never really been the type of girl who wished her boobs were different. I did go through an andro-obsessive phase in which I wanted them to be smaller, but then I saw how pointless that was since I wasn't going to try to change them via weight loss or surgery.

I pretty much jump at any opportunity I can to wear as little as I can when it comes to tops. If it's warm enough, I'm content to walk around the house in shorts and a bra.

And about a month ago I stopped packing a shirt to sleep in when I spend the night with boy. There's really no point to my wearing a shirt, and I like easy access. I find it liberating.

On the other hand, when I'm stressed out or feel like I'm being threatened by something, I love my vests. They make me feel warm and safe. There's something almost inexplicably gratifying in how they make my chest look more flat. It's a different, asexual sort of freedom, and it feels soo good sometimes.

It kind of reminds me of the lyrics to this song.

Queen

I do not like the word "cocksucker." It's generally used to insult men; this gives it a homophobic implication.

Furthermore, I am a cocksucker. An enthusiastic one. This is in spite of the accuracy of this statement (courtesty of Samantha Jones):

You men have no idea what we're dealing with down there. Teeth placement, and jaw stress, and suction, and gag reflex, and all the while bobbing up and down, moaning and trying to breathe through our noses. Easy? Honey, they don't call it a job for nothin'.

I'll always love me some Sex and the City.

Boy told me I should use it to take ownership of this insulting word. Kind of like how Dan Savage encouraged people to begin their letters to him with a "Hey Faggot!" This way the word becomes less offensive.

So, I signed out of an e-mail to him with the words, "Your cocksucker, [Name].

It's small, but it's something.

Lip Love

I feel like I've been mopey and ungrateful, so I want to write about something that I'm lucky to have.

As a general rule of thumb, I've noticed that men see kissing as means to an end. Sure, they can enjoy and value it, but at some point, they want to fuck. This applies to women too. Let's face it: if you spend forever on the appetizer, you'll never get to dessert.

But I remember, for example, how I would bring ex boyfriend's head towards me for a postcoital kiss, and he'd be halfway there. His body language would say, Why do you want to kiss now? Let's just cuddle.

Current boyfriend, however, loves kissing. All the time. It is our catalyst for everything, and it enhances the intensity of all physical interactions. And our styles of kissing are very compatible. Every long makeout session feels like a conversation with our lips. We don't even cuddle or spoon that much because that would decrease the amont of lip lockage.

I didn't know I'd ever find this in another person, much less a boy. But I'm happy I have.

Stream

This song is coming to mind.

I've been learning lessons from Dexter: one of the only ways to get the chance to be real and who you are is to stay cool and stick to your lies. When you're surrounded by people who need you to be something that differs from who you are, deceit is likely to be the best tool you have.

But sometimes deceit is too harsh a way of putting it. If you love someone, then you find yourself doing not-100% honest things to keep them happy. How often are we ever really honest about who we really are anyways?

On a lighter note, boy and I agree that girls are hot when they wear wifebeaters. If I had more spare time, I'd get me some wifebeater arms and be a lesbian cliche. A hot lesbian cliche.

I used to hate having a rather female figure. I've now come to fully accept and embrace it. Several people have told me to show it off more. Even if I can admit that I look good, I still do not fully identify with the "showing it off" type of style. I think I was almost always personally subscribe to layers, subtlety, and simplicity.

I really identify with transgendered individuals. I do not wish to be a man, but I know what it feels like to be at odds with your body in every moment of every day--in so many different ways that range from superficial to essential. It's a frustrating state of dissonance.

I had reached a sense of peace and acceptance of this disconnect a few months ago. But now I feel like I've lost it, and I'm trying to get it back. I know I can do it, and I know how to do it. I'm not sure how long it will take for me to get myself back though.

I need to be grateful for what I have. I need to accept mind-body dissonance as an inevitable part o fmy life so I don't get so angry about it. I kind of related to Max when he shaved off his beard. Why create or add to a rift between oneself and one's skin?

Nails + Chalkboard = HRAA!

I consider television to be an art form. I don't say this because I'm trying to rationalize all of the hours I've spent in front of the tube. I say this because television isn't always just mind-numbing entertainment.

It can explore the complexities of human relationships and sociopolitical issues. It can showcase different styles of writing, humor, ad-libbing, cinematography, etc.

Six Feet Under changed my view of existence forever and forced me to be more aware of my own mortality every day.

Dexter, my new favorite show, manages to coast through the challenging grey areas of morality while maintaining suspense.

Oz deserves props for having the guts to be raw, dark, and unedited.

Sex and the City humorously examined female sexuality.

Arrested Development features quirky humor that manages to make insufferable people endearing and hilarious.

Curb Your Enthusiasm puts bullshit social decorum under the microscope while being deliciously offensive.

The fast-paced dialogue in Gilmore Girls, while unrealistic and occasionally annoying, is impressive.

etc.

And in some ways, I have more respect for an awesome television series than an awesome film. A TV show has to keep people interested over a longer period of time. And more time can lend itself to more depth.

With this being said, The L Word is kind of an insult to the art of television. Yeah, I am curious to see the finale and see who killed Jenny. But, seriously, it would have been cancelled if it didn't have lesbians in it. And by "lesbians" I mean "unattractive straight women being paid to kiss other women." Blech.

For me, it's all about TiBette, Alice, and Shane. These are the actors and characters who are still hot and interesting. And I really think they're the ones who have managed to salvage the show. Because the writing is CRAP.

I'm tempted to use specific evidence to back my assertion, but I wouldn't know where to start or if it'd be worth the time and irritation.

So what can I identify as my take away from The L Word? It's okay to be gay? As long as you're excessively girly? That some people simply cannot be faithful? That you can kill off a great character in the name of being a PSA? That you can completely butcher the first media representation of an FTM's experiences? That you can turn a sympathetic, nuanced character into a cariacature?

And what the fuck is up with the straight dykey carpenter chick? What are they trying to say? Boyish girls can like dick? This is true, and I can identify with that. But, damn, she's more than just boyish.

GAH!

Hmmm, I've been crabby lately. I think it's going to take a Six Feet Under/Kelka/Fight Club cocktail to revive me.

Praise Kelka. SRSLY.