Dating Death? Rx: Muck Remover and Ice Cubes

When I was a teen, I learned a key thing about dating from “Ann” and “Ben.” They were heterosexuals, but it happens in gay relationships too. Here it is—each lover borrows behaviors from the other. This is Mimicry101. We do it as early as the first month of life when a parent sticks out its tongue and we reply with the same message. We do it for talking and dancing and dating and every everything that can move from one person and stow-away in another.

When a relationship begins, lovers mimic the other, sending a message that perpetuates cuteness and cuddling. When a relationship ends, the mockingbird effect can begin again for the lover(s) who hasn’t let go. It’s creepy to your friends, but—if they love you—they realize it’s a means for you to deal with the loss. (Perceptive friends monitor the intensity of your borrowed identity, watch for decreased uses and then send signals when you’ve stowed away in your lost lover’s personality and are offering no sign that you'll come out. Perceptive sadists throw you in a bath of ice cubes when you’re brain has been on fire too long. Still, the message gets to you before you waste ½ a decade of your life.) Love is love in many forms.

I first realized that people temporarily don their lover’s characteristics after Ann and Ben ended their torrid teen tryst. She had been a shy girl who was tyrannically sheltered by her parents. Ben was a guy who had the credentials to be trusted. He rescued her on Friday nights. Two weeks before graduation, Ann’s dad allowed her go to the beach with girlfriends, and then she left. I mean she really left. Ann went on a romp, following an unemployed guy to the other end of the world state. Because of lifelong brainwashing, she married the stranger on the day that they had sex, and then she called her parents and asked for bus fare(s).

Over the next year, I watched Ben become more like Ann; I watched Ann become more like Ben. (She became animated and daring in her mismatched marriage. He became sensible and less of a pompous ass. Those are the generic things that I can describe.) They morphed, making up for missing parts that each had grown to love in the other. Maybe you’ve seen this lost-love mimicry with dearly parted couples? (Or, maybe you’ve seen a friend take a lover who resembles the old lover— like when Richard Gere fell in love with Pretty Woman (Julia Roberts) and then married Cindy Crawford? (Didn’t they look soooo eerily similar?) That’s where we see Gere adapt.) Lost lovers find a way to make up for what’s missing with an ex’s absence.

Letting go of a relationship is like the famous study by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, in On Death and Dying. Originally, she published 7 stages. But—after a decade long recession, fastfood value meals, and bulk warehouses—there are 5 stages:
· Denial
· Anger
· Bargaining
· Depression
· Acceptance

E.K.R.’s stages are—rightfully so—traumatic. Survivors go through these phases of hell after a loved one’s death. This lost-love mimicry of Ann and Ben occurs at the onset of the breakup, when the prematurely-parted one is knee-deep in denial—certainly, before anger.

But after the termination of a love affair, there are two (living) survivors. They can’t talk to each other if they expect to live normal lives ever again. (I have a friend who has a decade long friendship with an ex. They have a modified version of the relationship they decided to terminate. I can’t say it’s unhealthy, but it’s weird because others can see why they broke up but can’t determine if they broke up.) Separation is the key to passing through the light and into the next love.

I went through semblances of Kubler-Ross’ phases after all three break-ups. I touched-down for a mini-vacation (in hell), got gnarled and twisted in a myriad of all, and escaped. This time, it took Bear to come over and say, “Snap the f*@# out of it. You’re getting laid tonight.” Oh yes—it was a nice promise, and Bear at the bar made for a great distraction, but she has not fulfilled her threat to date.

If you’re going through a breakup, ruminating through your mind is a nice Molotov of ex-thing’s good and bad spirits. In these, hope that she left the good stuff in your decanter. There’s no point in trying to remember who you were before. That girl is curled up on a pallet and under the back blankets of your mind. She’ll come out after she sleeps off this apocalyptic hangover.

Drawing from my experiences with Ann and Ben, and my studies in Psy101, I’ve identified the stages of a break-up—On Dating (and) Death. Kubler-Ross observed a totally different audience, so I propose these new ones:

· Denial          =  Partying ‘til Stupid
· Anger          =  Stalking after Stupid
· Bargaining    =  Sharing friends
· Depression   =  Creating Crazy
· Acceptance  =  Unfriending

You might feel like you’re stuck in muck in the middle of the black break-up forest. I say—leave this stage of Dating Death. Manifest the next one and the next and then get the heck out of this funk before the Dollar Stores clear their shelves of muck removal.

“All you have to do is keep your ears open and breathe. The rest is bonus.”

                                                                                                  -Me

For the most part, we all survive. An exception to this rule is if you are still sleeping in her clothes, wearing the clothes that you’re sleeping in, and channeling her voice as if it is your own. If this is you—you need a strong friend who can heave you into ball-and-claw tub that's full of ice cubes, and a new friend who will force you to form new stories and then hand you a towel and clean Levis.

You might feel desperate, suffocating. But, don’t reach for a new girl until you’re back to your new self. You might find that you’re using the ex-thing’s pick-up lines and swagger (that you formerly appreciated).  That would be way worse.  In no time, you’ll be in a serious situation because ex-thing has got to go. More, if you channel her to seduce your new next, you’ll be dating yourself and that’s just weird.

A Sexual Precedent

Watching the 25-year old handsome guy, I think, “He has the whole package.”  David Jay is adorable, fit and intelligent.  Although, it must be noted that, he’s filming (A)sexual.

Jay formed an international group, calling for people who identify as asexual.  They connect over the internet and share coming-out stories.  In a single year, 20,000 members joined his e-club. Then—for non-procreating reasons—a collection of the members met in San Francisco.  He invited them to his home.  They seemed uncomfortable.

“How’s he going to get this party going?” I wonder.

“What do people do at a party when no one is attracted to the other? I mean, everyone doesn’t have to be attracted to someone. It doesn’t have to be a big orgy, but someone has to bring the chemistry.”

“It’s like when mom made me join the Science Club,” I quieted my escalating self.

“Goddd, that was excruciating.”

David Jay’s group had gathered together to march in a gay pride parade.  Once there, many of the parade supporters were nice and inquisitive about the right of the Asexuals to participate.  A few lesbians interrogated him, wanting details of his sexual history, “Do you masturbate?” and “Can you orgasm?”  They were so very clinical about his “sexual orientation.”  And, of course, an uncle Mary or two had to act up.  

“I pity your poor soul,” said a shirtless man passing by David.

“Why?”
“Because I don’t stand for what you stand for.”

I think the calloused ones thought he was stealing their sexy-thing thunder, reminding that one can just abstain. The difference between the Marys and the Jays is that Marys have an ability to sustain (immediately after sex, while in a committed relationship, or while mending a broken heart), but the Jays don’t have a choice. They have to make themselves want it. They have to overcompensate, enduring kisses and cuddling which comes natural for many. For the first time, I feel like a part of the majority.

                                                                                                                                    

Anyhoo, David Jay was on The View and Montel.  When MSNBC introduces him, they describe him as “a ladies’ man.” I wonder how this could be.  He explains that asexuals are just like everyone else and shouldn’t be treated unfairly because of the way they were born. Here, here! 

He’s right.  The psychologists said there were no significant causal factors— meaning, the asexual didn’t show any more signs of trauma than sexuals.  Asexuals are as myriad a collective as the sex-oriented.  The self-identifying asexuals range from interesting extroverts to eccentric introverts.  There are guys and girls, gays and straights.  It doesn’t seem fair, but many of them can check the box in more than one category.  I begin to think that I might be asexual, but then I remember that only last week I was autistic, and I remind myself that if a practicing lesbian happened to be sitting next to me, we wouldn’t be watching this.

I like David Jay.  He’s adorable.  At first he comes off as very butch; but, at Pride, he’s a bit flirty, leaning in to kiss one of the guys (on the cheek).  He doesn’t say he’s straight, but he doesn’t say he’s gay; he is asexual.  At a University where he is the guest speaker, he shows the Shane (L-Word) graph of his love connections. His circle is solid-line connected, most immediately, to an imaginary boyfriend. 

“This is the first I’ve heard of this,” I say in a concerned mother’s voice to Georgia, Cali, and Puff who are sharing one bed under the fire. 

I think back to a previous scene where he is with a ½ dozen friends.  David Jay is clearly smitten with one of the girls.  He doesn’t care that her boyfriend is watching him ogle.

“I’m confused,” I look for input from the snoring audience.

During the last few minutes, there’s a black screen with white letters, “Two Years Later.” For some reason, Jay filmed all of this and then nothing happened.  He has grown up.  He looks different.  I’m glad the director told him to wear the same groovy necklace because I wouldn’t have recognized him.  His energy is way off.  He’s not ear-to-ear smiles; he’s serious and somber, and he’s 27 in one of the most sexually active cities in the world.   

“I’m willing to put sex on the table for intimacy,” he forces the words through a half-utterance and deadpan stare. The guy looks defeated. His #1 girl ran off with her guy and his other girl ran off with a girl, and he’s realizing that he’s got to find a way to cope in a world where people pair up and shut the bedroom door.  Global mating is hell for soloist(s).

“Wow.” Put sex on the table. That’s such an odd concept. I imagine many people wouldn’t know how to take sex off the table, the couch, or the bed for intimacy.   More, I’m used to taking stuff off for the act of intimacy—like selfishness, hobbies and Levis. I’m not accustomed to putting things on it.  We start with those cards there.   

This guy truly begins from a different zenith point.  Throughout the film, you understand that he’s highly introspective and knows that he’s different.  While I, and most of the non-asexual interviewees, continually said “Huh?” and “how does a relationship without sex work,” David Jay knew his truth.  He’s piloting into earth’s atmosphere from a different angle and looking for a landing pad.  He wants what many of us seek through/amidst/because of sex.  He wants intimacy.  The question is, when he gets intimacy, will he elect to surrender his Asexual “president” badge? 

If any of you have a funny story or an amusing awakening about discovering the difference between intimacy and sex— please share!

Linking Lesbians Between Lands- 3200

Bienvenido, Maligayang Pagdating, Mingalaba, and آپ کا استقبال ہے !

Wow! We have a world presence. Well, that's not a big surprise that we're popping up everywhere- but it's great to see the connections come alive. Since the last post with this title, a few more countries have joined the gathering: Venezuela, Philippines, Burma, and Oman- Welcome!

It was so very great to receive B.B.'s story. Check out hers: http://twogirlsarebetterthanone.blogspot.com/2012/12/guest-blogger-2-finally-found-one.html

And while you're laying around dusting sugar plums off your girlfriend's belly, think of one to submit here... ")!

Super Freaky Silence Before The Brave New World

Just an hour ago, I was pulling out of the casino where I successfully made $23 dollars last for two full hours.  At the exit, I’m twisting off, with precision, the muffin top that came in my Hampton Inn “lunch bag.”  You can pick one up at the reception desk, on the way out, each morning.  It’s a nice way to give business wo(men) munchies. But there's not much lunch, it's more like brunch. 

I never eat the whole muffin.  The goodies are free, so I tear off the part I want, pop it in my mouth and toss the bottom out the window for the wolves and vermin who trek the side of the highway.  I’m kind of (calorie conscious and) altruistic that way. 

“That girl’s a super freak, super freak; she’s super freeeeeekeeyy- yaaaaoww!” I’m grooving at the gas pump, filling-up for my trek home tomorrow. A girl cruising by on a bike waves and says, “Hey!” or “Dance Fever” or something with a big fist bump in the night air.  I salute with a fist bump back at her and swing my hips toward the pump.

Heading west, I’m swishing side to side to the music. I like the power of this Chevy rental.  Wow! I never get this free upgrade, but the guys at Enterprise hooked me up this go ‘round.  Life is good even though (or maybe because) I’m alone. 

“Three days until our anniversary of the end,” I think about this time last year and realize—it will be the end of the world, 12-21-12.  

“In three days, everyone will wake and wonder if the clocks will work, if the money will still be in their savings account, or if the Mayas will rise from the dead and eat out our hearts.” 

I look up for my exit and hit the signal, “Maybe.”
But it won’t be my end of the world. That happened last year.
“And, I’m a full year away and further down my solitary path.” 

The realization that I’m almost to the anniversary date of receiving the email—“You must realize by now that I have feelings for [Olive Oil]”—causes me to look back at how far I’ve come. I shudder with the power of freedom. Tonight, I’m twisting off muffin tops and dancing to “she’s a super freak.”  

I'm not thinking about the end of the world when I enter the lobby of my on-the-road home. But, I look at the tv and see a media photo of one of the funerals.  Next, a photo of the six year old that the parents, community, and the nation buried today.  “It’s overwhelming.  It’s everywhere. I hope I never forget.”

But, I will forget the sharp points of this sadness  I’ve never been to Connecticut. I don’t have relatives or friends there. I don’t have children of my own.  Still—I am here, witnessing this tragedy and feeling pain that has no place to sit and be.  “It’s not my tragedy—except that I’m human, and I share some whack’d portion of it.” 

People seem to be reflective this week. The pace is slower and the cars are more patient when buyers should be bustling for Christmas bounty. We wait for an explanation from the press or the president.  If one comes, it won’t matter; it won’t make sense.  But compassion in any form makes the world better in small ways and in big ways and in any ways that can fit between.  The press reported Samaritans who were offering hugs to strangers, sleeping bags to the homeless, and Tweets that offered reliefs and gifts to various people around the nation.

As long as the radio stations can keep playing songs that make people move, as long as strangers keep offering anonymous fist bumps in the air, as long as the earth keeps cooling and heating and cooling and heating, and as long as human hearts share peace, love and tenderness with all kinds of super freaks, we can make it through the end of the world and onto the new path together.

Arousal and Nurtural Emotions

Before we open this can of worms, let me just say that I don’t know anything about autism.  I have no relatives or neighbors or co-workers with autism.  I applied for a job once where I would care for teens with autism, but I didn’t get a callback.  Once, a man came to the thinking church and talked about how he discovered that he had autism when he turned 50.  (I don’t think that you should worry about turning 50 for that reason.)  During his talk, I took a look at the church bulletin. There were “signs.”  I read the list and decided that I must be autistic too.  Clearly, I don’t understand it at all.  Despite my lack of credentials, I’m thinking I’ll follow this idea and type out loud.

On Touch, Kiefer Sutherland has a son who has autism.  This young actor shows no expressions. I imagine the director told the kid to stare at a point, stand, and say nothing. (I could soooo do this job.) However, for the rhetorical record, I don’t think this portrayal depicts the standard issue autistic pre-teen.  I couldn’t know.  (I’ve also watched Parenthood. It has an autistic pre-teen.  Other than the height and dark curly hair, the depictions aren’t similar. Hollywood directors need to compare notes if they want to educate the American people.) The autistic pre-teen in  Touch demonstrates no emotions.  His perpetual staring into an abyss and away from the given drama caused me to wonder if an autistic person could be gay.  I think it would be hell for a gay man to not be able to entertain.

Not knowing who to turn to, I Google’d the question.  I’m not the first.  In fact, an autistic man asked Yahoo! if it could be possible that he was gay.  That’s an odd question, birthing from within him.  It seems only he can know that answer.  However, I’ve met a few guys (and Dr. Love) who don’t know they are gay—so this is a compelling conundrum.  Maybe this man is grappling with the questions because he has an attraction to other men but doesn’t have an emotional connection, while he watches internal images of sexual trysts—, starring him!  That would certainly be confusing.  But, we can learn from his predicament—arousal and emotions are different.

I Google'd "How is arousal related to emotions?"  I read a couple of paragraphs in various articles and realized that I can't fake my way through neuroscience (after bagging leaves for 4 hours and drinking 2 beers).  But, I found this article, "How do Emotion, Attention, Thought, and Arousal Work Together?"  Mark Pettinelli cites a study that found "arousal, emotion, and self-regulation can be [from] specific subconstructs revealing interesting patterns of relations."  So, arousal, emotion, and self-regulation come from different starting points. Most of the articles want to show a relationship from arousal to emotion to behavior and so it seems like there's a baton relay going on in our minds.  But, Pettinelli reminds that lots of stuff is going on at any given time.  He cites the original study:

     Two people may meet accidentally and discuss the weather or the latest television program in a casual

     fashion. Yet while this desultory conversation proceeds, there is an exchange of feeling tone, and each

     may begin to feel the effects of mutual attraction and warm feelings. This experience leads to other 

     meetings, until the participants are sufficiently aware of their feelings to make them a subject for 

     communication on the conscious level.

From this gestalt effect, we see that arousal, emotions, attention, and thought may be in competition with each other for their human bearer's decisions. 

Once on this train of thought, I began to wonder what it's like for an autistic person with (gay) sexual cravings.  Can one have sex if they  have an aversion to contact?  I imagine it’s hell to have sex but there’s an equal or greater hell to not have sex when you've got interrupting images that promise relief only with enactment.  Again, this situation—like the first—manifests in the straight world.  If autistic straight people find a way to have sex, then autistic gay people will too. 

Again, we can look to the masses to understand. Yawn.  I don’t like that I have a gay question and am returning to the straight camp for a sanity litmus.  

I need to get back to work for the American people.  Oh wait—that was what Pres. Clinton said after arousal [->emotion] ->sex.  I need to get back to my original idea. 

What’s the relationship between arousal and emotions and/or gay sex?  As ignorant as I am about autism, I imagine that followers of the They-Them twins think lesbians are attracted to girls because it arouses (positive) emotions.  Well, there is that; but, I am learning that arousal and emotions are not one in the same.  First, arousal comes, and then emotion(s) might come. If I’m lucky the sex comes.  Ahh- this is where I was going with this thought.  Relief.

If arousal occurs and then lends to an emotion, this shows Nature preceding Nurture.  Therefore, attraction is not a choice.  It’s a prepackaged trigger that competes for and directs its bearer to a solution before “what is learned” gets involved and makes a decision.

Thoughts?  I hope you feel comfortable saying pretty much anything after this unchartered odyssey...


- - -
http://cnx.org/content/m43583/latest/
http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0002494/

Shouldn't You Test Drive the Other Model Before You Pay the Open Tab?

You know what it’s like when you go to a dentist for the first time.  The hygienist straps you in, puts tv remote in hand, and before you know it, you’re rooting for the gay boy—who is clearly a stow away—on Redneck Vacation.  This was me about 6 months ago.

I’d cracked a tooth on a popcorn kernel the weekend that Rotel came.  Somehow (beer), I made it through the weekend and into the chair of a new dentist the following Monday.  My old dentist was a white male with thick fingers, and he liked to talk about how Newt Gingrich was the only guy who deserved to be running for President.  Hmmm.

My aunt—who you met in “Life’s Gay Impressions”—always encouraged me to support female professionals.  “If you don’t know who to try out first, give your money to a woman.”  Maybe this was her way of finding and serendipitously supporting lesbian business owners.  But after living in 6 different states, I’d not yet found one with this random approach.

I’m strapped to the CW version of Survivor when she comes.  She’s wearing boots.  Soon, we are talking about Texas.  

“I’m from Corpus.”

“I’m from Corpus.”

Luck would have it—we were born in the same town.

I can’t turn to face her, and it wouldn’t matter because she’s wearing a mask and plastic eye guards for the people who gleek.  Somehow, I just know she’s attractive.  I can feel it in the back of my throat.  

“I don’t think I’m ready to date,” I remind the chorus in my mind that has been asleep for months but is wide awake and giddy.

“We’ve already married this cutie,” my democratic collective counters and trumps.

“We could take trips to our hometown,” I give in too easy.  I begin to wonder what kind of music she’ll want to listen to on the long trip to South Texas where we’ll drive by our old high schools.

While I’m navigating through questions about our potential long-term goals, she begins to talk about her recent marriage.  He is from Mississippi. Luckily, they both like horses.

“Yuck,” the ‘me’ chorus descends.
“Has anyone told her that she’s setting off supersonic gaydar beams?” I raise my shoulders a bit to search for sane people in the dental dungeon.

I look at the assistant. But, she’s definitely not going to call out her boss.  She’ll wait until break when she can ante into the hygienists’ pool.  I imagine a white poster board with a matrix and these words in big, bold, black Sharpie, “WHEN WILL A CLIENT FIND THE KEY TO BREAK DOWN OUR GAY BOSS’ CLOSET?”  There are three old posters— 2009, 2010, 2011—, collecting dust under the break room table that has smeared queso from last month’s Thanksgiving party.

“I have the key!” I think today.  “I can stop this hellish game and unlock her closet!”

I’m in the chair—between cleanings—waiting to be fitted for a new night guard because I left the old one at a Hampton Inn where I live part-time.  Gopher couldn't find it. I'm sure it got wrapped up in the sheets, and the lady in charge of Laundry found it under a knot of wet ones when she transferred the load.  I wonder what she did with it. E-bay?

I try to think back to the details of her recent marriage to a "man." I count the months and wonder if she's Catholic enough to get the church to get her out of this pickle.  I wonder if there's an "I'm Gay" box to check on the Seeking An Annulment Form, 2012.

"Maybe it's not a man," me offers. 

“Did she say her fiancé's name?”  I can’t remember, but I remember that she said 'he' while the hygienist was sitting in the room.

“Maybe the staff covers for her, to maintain a professional reputation?”

“That’s stupid. People are homophobic, but this generation isn’t going to go along with an outright lie.” I answer me and then look to the wall and find the clue I'm not wanting to discover.  On her diplomas are two last names, hers and his.

“She’s soooo willingly crawling into bed with him every night.” 

After I pull the silly putty from my teeth, I twist to face my dentist who is lingering.  She’s always in the next room before I get a chance to wipe and remove my bib.  But, she's leaning on the wall, offering things to talk about. This is the first time that I’ve actually seen her.  All of my peripheral impressions, had built a collage face that was an inadequate representation.  (Being the excellent professional, she wears a mask—unlike the nasally dentist at Longhorn Dental in the summer of 1999 who breathed onto the back of my throat for a full hour with hot after-lunch gastric juices and gave me the worst flu my body cells have ever known.)  Bam!  The collage collides and smashes between us. She is strikingly beautiful. 

And, I stare.

I’m not sure if she was responding to my (subliminal) acknowledgment of her beauty, or if she was shaking from the transference that we shared.  It's like the lady on the elevator today. Sure, she looked like a frumpy house wife, but she picked those props to hide her basketball coach inner child. She did a good job of avoiding my eye contact, but I did a good job of pseudo-psychically letting her know that there would be other days in this rising and lowering box, and she would have to share energy & truth with me sooner or later.

When two gay people swap energy-truth, they can’t deny the unspoken recognition—and you know what I mean. For me and  Dr. Love, it was like someone took the gaydar and turned the knob all the way past the “Hellllrrrr!” mark.  There was no doubt about it.  She was sending it and I was feeling it. (That's when I began to collect images of her college dorm mate.  Dr. Love tries to erase it all, pretending that the tryst in Palm Springs didn’t place the bar a bit too high for all future vacations.)  I mean, she was sending crazy gaydar my way.  Even the straight hygienist must have felt the earth move.  She was already changing her bet for the white poster board and inserting my name. 

When I got home, I decided to vacuum the leaves and work out some restless energy.  Pushing the mower, I thought about how excited I was that my sacral chakra did in fact still work.  But, I was sad too.  I thought about how my alarmingly attractive dentist has made a choice that screams, “WRONG!” [to me]. 

“Nature before Nurture,” I always say.  More often I say, “Function before Form.” In a sense, that applies here too. 

But, Dr. Love picked this wicked winding path, bought the white dress, and paid the open bar tab for a bunch of crazy relatives who don’t even appreciate Nature, or Texas, or Whataburgers.  Now, she’ll have to go her path.  When faced with a fork in the road, she’ll have to make a choice [after each sexy lesbian client [like me] gets strapped in].

I aim for a row of leaves and smile, realizing that I am due for a cleaning in 4 months.  I'll have to get a pair of boots, rough them up with dirt and dust, and torture her something crazy, ").

Guest Blogger #2: Finally Found the One

I spent most of my life wondering if i would remain alone or find love with that significant other.  I really didn't date much or put myself out there to finding that special someone.  I traded regretful dates with guys before I came out.  I was in a precipice of uncertainty and confusion about my perceptions and feelings toward wanting more with any female friend.  My youthful days in educational establishments, I remember being single and it was just helpful and very simple. There was not a worry that phased my eye, toward my own thoughts of being single.  I enlisted in the United States Army. This enlistment decision had served to be of great help in openness to my lesbian inquiries.  In my mind, being in the Army had opened heavens' gates to more women who freely, with no confusional chains liked other women.

I dated someone and it really didn't last it was bad from the start.  So I told myself I was not going to go looking for anyone it really seemed easier being a lone.  But one day I saw this women and just something inside me said she is someone special.  I felt compelled to talk to her, I didn't right away because she was new and I didn't want to bombard her.  For me I had feelings for her since the day I laid eyes on her.  I waited a couple days and then just out of the blue struck up a small conversation with her, it wasn't a long one just enough to get her to notice me.  Then from there on I just tried to make sure she still noticed me and that I was there.  Finally one day I got up the courage to ask her for her phone number, she gave it to me with no problem, she seemed happy to be giving it to me.  As soon as I had it i text her just to make sure she had my number and we could talk.  We started making plans to hangout nothing big and other people would be a long so it really wouldn't be a date or anything.  That weekend we went to a water slide and she flirted with me, it made me feel so good inside.  I loved just to talk to her and be around her.  From the start when I talked to her and was around her I just felt so comfortable.  But that weekend before the weekend was up I said something I shouldn't have because I scared myself about how I felt about her.  I thought I had screwed up royally with her.

I had to have surgery and she went out to the field for work.  So we didn't have much contact with each other, it made me realized how much I really liked her.  When she got back from the field I did anything I could to find her.  She was still nice to me, so I invited her over others where coming over too.  I didn't want her to feel awkward so I tried to make it a group thing.  I text her and I really wasn't sure she was going to come over.  So I just kept talking to her and trying to get her to come over.  By the time she came over everyone else was leaving so it was just to two of us.  We hung out and she stayed the night, but again and i don't know why I said what I said before again.  I was so mad at myself.  I wasn't sure I would ever have a chance with her again.  But I some how edged my way back in and told myself I was not going to screw things up again.

I am happy to say we are going on four months together and are happier then ever could imagine.  We have gone on trips together taking all the time we can to be together.  She makes me so happy, on a bad day she can make things better for me.  She says the same thing about me.  Every morning when I wake up I feel so grateful for having her in my life, I couldn't ask for anything more.  Now that I have meet her I can't imagine her not in my life.  This is going to be the first Holidays I have someone special I love in my life.  We are spending the Holidays together going away just to get away with each other.   I just can not wait.  I have fallen in love and it feels so good.

-B.B.

The Nice and Naughty Side of Saint Nichola

When I don’t go to the hugging church, I go to the thinking church.  (See Never Make an Impression at Church). The names of both start with “Unit” and this makes me feel complete, but I need both to feel balanced.  It had been sometime, and so it was time.

There, I discovered that today is the first day of Advent, and thus the beginning of Christmas season.  You might have been under the impression that this grand holiday—that never seems to get here soon enough and that many people use as an excuse to not get things done until their girlfriends say, “What? Are you waiting for Christmas?—started with Halloween or on Thanksgiving, but no. It begins today. 

The minister’s assistants dismissed the children and then they read letters to Santa.  These reminded me of colorful and whimsical things in his workshop or on his miracle sleigh.  While they read, I borrowed ideas for my letter:

Dear Santa,
I don’t need coal. It’s warm here, and I have a fireplace that starts when I push a button.

I hope that you are without flu this year.  Please tell Mrs. Claus to stock up on Oscillococcinum.  I’m pretty sure reindeers will like the sweet crunch if Dasher or Dancer aren’t up for the trip. It’s best to overlook the ingredients: hepatitis.  This must be a typo, or it is the only thing that truly tackles the flu.  When you’re in Europe, ask those crazy French chemists where they found enough hepatitis to put in this miracle cure. 

If my house sells before Christmas, I hope you find me and bring lots of things I don’t need.  I can’t think of anything—but, it would be great if you could drop off the tallest female elf that has some miracle making skills.  I could use her talents in many areas, and I will make sure she returns before Halloween when production ramps…

The assistants took their seats and the minister opens with a short history of Santa—a.k.a. Saint Nicholas.  I forget that he has roots in the church.  (When some people invoke his name, it comes with a tell-tale clause that crushes childlike delight.  But, his lasting spirit contributes much to the season’s happiness.  Shame on the grown-up curmudgeons. I like to think that Jesus isn’t jealous of other do-gooders.)  Because I’m resting my back against the thinking church pew, I bet that I’m about to hear a sermon with new insights.  Indeed, the minister delivers.

“St. Nicholas raised 3 people from the dead; he put coins in the shoes of little children; and, he increased a wheat supply to feed many,” the minister says with a grinch-who-brought-back-Christmas grin. 

St. Nick was a savior of sorts for many.  My hat goes off to the reindeer.  It seems they were most effective, touching down in most places before anyone even invented the idea of a 747.  The Turks saved his name, and the Dutch offered up one that stuck for almost everyone, Sinterklaas—The Good Saint.  In this thinking church, I’m enjoying the Santa≠Satan sermon.

The minister explains the psychology of Santa, as deciphered from letters by not-yet teens.  In them, there is much to know about tiny humans.  The author of The Psychology of Santa discovered that children who are polite—who write things like “I hope you are feeling well” and “how are the reindeer”—ask for fewer things.  Many openly request miracles like “I hope you will bring my best friend back” and “I wish that my parents wouldn’t fight.”  (Was that a “Yikes!” I heard?  My parents didn’t fight on Christmas, so this isn’t about me. The miracle is that Santa could make anyone not fight.  But then again, Santa would have a pretty good shot with that belly-full-of-jolly laugh).  Most important, it seems that—when the rubber hits the road and in the heat of thinking of stuff they deeply desire—children don’t very often ask for toys. 

The more I wonder about Santa, the more I wander into the obvious. What would Santa be like if a lesbian?  (I’m sure you are already thinking it or have thought it before.)   If our community had a benevolent being who could fly to the ends of the earth in one night, had a colony of elves, and gave presents to represent her unconditional love, what would she be like?  If anyone could talk to the magical and powerful reindeer, it would be a lesbian.  We’ve got that connection with mammals.  Right?

I’m gonna bet that lesbian Santa doesn’t look like Glenda the good witch, Ariel the mermaid, or even Cat Woman.  This Santa knows that she needs sensible shoes (and feet) to get the job done.  Her cosmology or cosmetology ensures that she’d have a pocket knife handy for the kind of emergencies that happen when you’re on your own, far from home, and needing to make miracles happen.  I’m not so sure about the white fluff on the skirt of the red coat.  But, if necessity deemed it so, I’d like to think that lesbian Santa would be practical.  And on the inside, she’d have a good heart, persevering amidst and despite social prejudices.  She’d show the strength to stay the course.  Unconditional love is unconditional love.  You get it, deserving or not.  Every miracle worker follows that golden rule.

This is Me Dating, part III

I’ve hinted about how to look for similarities and differences, but I haven’t actually come out and decoded the questions.  I won’t waste any more cyber space.  Here’s the breakdown of the types:
a. Idealist

b. Guardian

c. Rationalist

d. Artisan

Every "a" answer indicates needs or values of an Idealist and so forth.

I didn’t want to tell you before you took both tests because every reader has preconceived notions of the meaning of these words.  If you identify with one of them, chances are high that it isn't going to lead to your type. After three years of these kinds of discussions, I only just embraced Idealist.  Truth is, I’ve been all of these characters at some point in my life—learning to mimic for rewards—and those behaviors are still available in my muscle memory.  It took me a while to accept Idealist, but it’s so clear now.  If you want to get more in depth (with authentic questions), here’s the link.  You can take the test for free: http://www.keirsey.com/sorter/register.aspx

When Love Heroine took the test, his answers for core needs pointed to Idealist.  For the value questions, his answers split. He chose Rationalist answers for the two questions that show him in a negative situation. And, he chose Guardian answers for the two questions that show him in a positive situation.  (Check yours).  This split was really interesting.  I had to wonder if he learned Rationalist behaviors from his dad when maneuvering through a conflict and Guardian behaviors from his mom when coasting into love.  Wouldn’t it be interesting if each of us moves away from our core needs, and values, when dealing with people?  I think that I do, and I think that I’ll try to be true to my needs.  I might get to solutions or good lovin’ sooner.

Moving to Part II—your best and worst girl(s).  Nostalgia and deep-seated angst can do much harm to a memory.  Maybe after the comparisons, you’ve see your girls in a different light.  Probably the most useful thing to do is to get your current girl to answer Part I.  Compare what you thought of her to what she thinks of her.  Do the answers line up?  If so/if not, look at the kinds of answers that i.d. your needs and her needs and then have a conversation.  With your new insight, it could be nice and it could be sweet, and then you could have some good lovin’, “

After the lovin’—and breakfast and maybe a few more yawns or laps around the track, depending on how you start the day—think about what she can’t do for you.  This is important.  If your girl can’t do a lot of things for you, count them.  If the number is high, trade her in.  Life is short.  Or, think about what you expect her to do and be really honest about whether it’s her job.  Chances are high that if you trade her—a kooky Rationalist—, then the Idealist, Guardian, and Artisan will not do a lot of your things for you either.  

No one can meet your needs like you can—except in that “good lovin’” category.  This (and sanity) is what’s important.  Keep your eye on the fundamentals—No Needing, just Lovin' Wanting.

If you’re not going to trade her in, take a look at what she tends to do and realize that this is what she tends to do.  Then, ask if it’s fair that she stop being herself to meet your needs or ping your values.  Chances are high that 50% of the things you expect from her, you can do for yourself.  Chances are higher that in this 50%, you need to do them for yourself.  Does it benefit her to be doing your stuff?  

I hope this little test was good for your:

      a.  relationship

      b. pursuit of one

      c. deconstruction of the last devastation

      d. all of the above

I know that Keirsey’s stuff caused me to think about many possibilities for finding the right type of partner.   But the more I read, the more I realize that types are types.  I can be an Idealist who is grounded by a Rationalist as easily as I can be a frustrated Idealist who torques a Rationalist with koans. In a relationship, it’s all about the willingness shared between two people. 

Now, it’s easier to see a solution for a relationship that got stuck because of past events and experiences. These may seem to be the cause of bad behaviors and misunderstandings, but the cause comes from inside me or her.  I’ve got a need and she’s got a need. Which action benefits both of us?  Or, Do I need to be in her need; is it better if she’s not in my need?  These are as important as figuring out that I'm right. 

After all of this, the most beneficial part is this one thing,  Everyone (you bump against in the break room, on the sidewalk, and in the bedroom) has a core need.  There.  That’s all you need to know.  The mission to follow someone down the rabbit hole and discover their core need is yours to accept of decline.  In the meantime, fulfill yours—out in public, on the world’s stage, when everyone is looking—because 75% of the world isn’t competing for yours.  And, you deserve to be whole, “).

This is Me Dating, part II

On the eve of the biggest Powerball drawing ever (that I can remember), I think about the situation I will be in tomorrow morning.  Single and seeking love will be way more complicated when I’m a quibillionaire.  How will I know that she loves me for me?  I imagine you’ve thought through the same conundrum.

When I was in my twenties, I had a sure proof solution. 

“I won’t tell her for two years. We’ll date and see if it works.  When I know for sure, I’ll spring it on her,” I told my friend Dee.  

“Oh sure!”

I was serious.  But, I was about to meet #1 and there’s no way I could have kept the secret for two years without telling her.  For one, I was a waitress with a default student loan.  She loved me so much that we shared her car.  (And I’m glad that I didn’t have to keep that secret.  I would have missed out on all that we shared. We made the most with what we could afford and appreciated every purchase.)  For two, money can’t stay quiet.  For three, if I’d had a million⁺ dollars, she wouldn’t have trusted me after I said, “Hey, I know times have been tough with you shuffling me to that $30/day waitressing gig, but I had to check you out first.” 

Yeah. Right. That would have been the end and not the beginning.

So, on this eve of being a big fat quibillionaire, I’m warming up a can of black beans for a quesadilla and thinking about being single and rich.  The question is the same, “How will I know that she loves me?”  I think about Ex#3.  Two years wouldn’t have been enough.  After six, I realized that I didn’t really see her until after seven and that was only because she left.  If I’d been a quibillionaire, she might not have ever left…and I’ve have never seen what I needed to see.

This burst of realization about my premature predicament caused me to remember that I owe you an explanation.  I never really forgot, I just had a ton to do after (this last day of cubicle) work.  And, I needed to finish the quesadilla.  But, I think that I should offer the second set of questions, first.  (If I show you the decoder, you’ll over think your answers.  It will be better if you “go with your gut” and just answer them.  I don’t mean that you should take the first answer.  In each set, one entry should mean more—it should tap you deeper or in more than one part of your body—than the others.  That’s the one you should go with.)  Here we go…

But wait. There’s one more thing you have to know. Put a check mark (or J) next to the one that reminds you of your “best fit” girlfriend.  And, put an ‘x’ next to the one that was the worst fit.

Here we go…

My girl/lover/partner is happy when she is:

a.  Authentic

b.  Consistent

c.  Strategic

d.  Free to be

She likes to go to places where she:

a.  Feels Significant

b.  Belongs

c.  Excels

d.  Can 'just do it'

When we are in a group, she:

a.  Identifies their life purpose

b.  Makes them feel comfortable

c.  Looks for logical threads

d.  Does the unpredictable

With people who don't share her views, she:

a.  Listens

b.  Isn’t interested

c.  Questions their credibility

d.  Tries to use it

She seems motivated when I:

a.  Openly share my stories

b.  Structure our time together

c.  Introduce theories

d.  Am spontaneous

When we don’t agree, she wants to:

a.  Strengthen our bond

b.  Follow sound advice, especially from someone she knows

c.  Use deductive reasoning

d.  Not get fenced in

Got the answers?  Compare what you wrote about yourself with what you wrote for the best and worst fit girlfriend.  (I know. It’s hard to say that the one who gave you the most torrid relationship and was the best lover should be put in the worst column.  That happens—but be honest. With all the great lovin’ and crazed chemistry, she was bad for you, and you know that she goes in the “worst” column in at least one set.)  Now, you can see what you need and value.  

Do you see similarities between what you marked for yourself and what you marked for your best girl?  If so, you found someone who is familiar, someone who is like you. Maybe you look for someone who is like you in the beginning—this gives you comfort.  Does it last or do you lose interest in someone like you? 

On the other hand, your best girl may not be like you. Comparing the J for you and the J for her, are these different? If so, you look for someone who isn’t like you. Do these relationships last or do you tire of bridging the gap?

Now, look at the worst column.  Do you see similarities between what you marked for yourself and what you marked for your worst girl? This could be a clue that you shouldn’t date you.  Do you see contrasts between hers and yours?  If so, she might have had different needs and values.  Opposites attract, but there was too much friction to imagine a solution and keep things functional.

I might mention what some of you are already thinking. Just because the marks are different doesn’t mean that there’s a conflict. You’re right.  Something different might be a compliment. Only you can decide that because there are four types and more denominators in a social situation than denominators in my Powerball check. What is a compliment for an Idealist might be a compliment for a Rationalist, but only those two can know.  You can look at your comparisons and feel/interpret why your differences did or didn't contribute to your needs and values.

With 6 questions, this is simple stuff—right?  For us singles, we’ve soooo got this for the next time. For the readers who get to snuggle with their best fit, here’s where it can get tough.  Take a look at what you need and value.  Can she behave these ways with you?  Second, can you behave these ways with her?  With this list, it can be simple stuff…if you are willing to imagine your future with her and how much that’s worth.  I've given you a hint at the kinds of things that she needs and values, and you know if they mirror, compliment or contrast yours.

So, tell me what you thought of the test.  Or, if you want me to tell you more, send me an email with your responses, lmastuff@gmail.com.  I’ll try my best to give you helpful hints about how you answered with the tool design in mind.  Cheers!

This is Me Dating, part I

I have a friend who helps me figure things out.  She talks to me in ways that help me understand people who are whack.  It’s always good to have this kind of friend. During bad times, I end up with a lot more peace than I started with; during good times, whack makes me laugh. 

Many times, our conversations are about one of my observations, and then I wonder out loud, “Why?” This is almost the endpoint where I’ll have to go it alone, unraveling my inspection until I get to the core of the conundrum.  Because, I’m an Idealist, I ask “why” a lot.  My friend isn’t an Idealist so she only goes so far into my wanderings.  And because she isn't an Idealist, she doesn’t have tailored answers. But, she has read a lot. 

One of the things that comes into the conversation—shortly before she stops at the threshold of my solo journey—is a tool that she uses when her people are whack.  It reminds that each person has a primary need.  And, each everyone wants to fulfill it all the time and throughout life.

Someone smart, David Keirsey, said there are 4 basic needs.  (The number four is popular with pondering theorists who observe humans, it comes up a lot throughout human history.  Maybe it’s a good number because a quadrant is more complete than a triangle and more distinct than a circle.  I don’t know.  I just know that there are almost always four kinds of human needs, personalities, etc.)  If you can identify your primary need, you can understand a lot about what motivates you to be whack. 

I wanted to come up with a way to identify core needs.  Here are two simple questions:

I am:
a. Authentic
b. Consistent
c. Strategic
d. Free to be me

I like to go to places where I:
a. Feel Significant
b. Belong
c. Excel
d. Can 'just do it'

Put a check mark (or happy face) next to the one that reminds you of you.  
Put an x next to the one that is least like you.

Hold onto your answers.  We’ll get back to them after I explain the next layer, values.

A person strives to fulfill her core needs through particular values.  Maybe there is a relationship between the kinds of needs and the kinds of values that you have, that would make sense, but I’m not sure. I’ll just say that if 25% of humans are Idealists and they are seeking similar ways to meet their needs, then there’s probably a relationship between needs and values.  This could be important info for someone who gets paid to think about things like that.  Anyhoo, here’s the questions for values:

With friends, I like to:
a. Identify their life purpose
b. Make them feel comfortable
c. Look for logical threads
d. Do the unpredictable

When with people who don't share my views, I:
a. See inconsistencies, but I listen
b. Cannot hear them
c. Question their credibility
d. Try to apply it

I am motivated when my date:
a. Openly shares her stories
b. Structures our time together
c. Introduces her theories
d. Is spontaneous

When I have a disagreement with a lover, I want to:
a. Strengthen our bond
b. Follow sound advice, especially from someone I know
c. Use deductive reasoning
d. Not get fenced in

Put a check mark (or happy face) next to the one that reminds you of you.  
Put an x next to the one that is least like you.


Ok, these aren’t the questions for values as much as they are questions about behaviors.  But, when you do any of these things, you show a behavior that reflects your values.  Here’s the tricky part—humans learn from the three other kinds of people. 

If you are an Idealist and were raised in a house with Rationals, you’ve learned what they appreciate.  Mimicking helps you fit in and get rewards.  However, these behaviors don’t change your core need, they just make it more difficult to see them.  This could mean that you’re going about doing things that aren’t in line with your values and don’t fulfill your core needs.  That’s whack unless you’re fitting in and getting rewards.

Now that you’ve answered the six simple questions, do you see a trend?  If not, that means you’re answering with borrowed behaviors in mind…or we didn’t build this tool exactly right.  Of course, there is another possibility.  Maybe sometimes you are answering who you are and sometimes you are answering who you had to be with one or more lovers.  That will make part 2 more complicated … and more interesting, “).

I’ll give you a few more questions tomorrow and then explain it all. 

Sending Welcomes to Jordan, Kenya and Poland, ")

Ahlan wa sahlan!  Karibu! Witamy!

If you have a story that you share with new lesbian friends, send it!  I'd love to hear what went right and what can go ohhhh so wrong and how it all comes together in the end.

From there to here, and here to there, funny things are everywhere.

                                                                                      -Dr. Seuss

Slow Dating with the World Between your Belt Buckles

“Women are more trusting.”

“I don’t think that’s true of straight women,” Ginda says. 

Ginda is Dim Sum’s besty.  They’ve worked together for a few decades; they vacation and holiday together.  Also, their husbands are two merry men, so all works out just about perfect for this pairing up of four souls who like to eat, drink, and observe other merry souls. 

They’ve invited single me to share the holiday.  We’ve eaten brunch and one of us—Iron Stomach—has opened the first beer to go with his leftover turkey.  I’m describing the supersonic speed of lesbian dating.  Mr. Sum is in the kitchen remembering the joke about lesbians and U-hauls, “That’s a classic!” he chuckles.

“Why does it go so fast?” Ginda asks.

“I guess it’s a gender thing,” I say.  “Women tend to believe… until they have a reason to not believe.  They’re like a light switch, ‘on’ or ‘off.’”

“No. It can’t be a gender thing,” Dim Sum adds. 

“Maybe it’s a minority thing,” I say and then pause. “Lesbians finding lesbians is like living in this (small predominantly white conservative) town.  If I’m a minority, that makes up 2% of the population, there’s a good chance that I’ll include the same minority in my inner circle much sooner.”

“Right,” Ginda agrees.  “We invited the two Democrats families over.” 

Ginda and Iron Stomach don’t live in this ubber-conservative southern Alabama town where Dim Sum and Mr. Sum live.  They live in SoCal.  You might think there’d be more democrats in their neighborhood, but Ginda and I.S. live in Orange County where that massive congregation congregates.  It successfully launched and pulled Prop8 from under the unsuspecting Californians who were sure it would never pass.  So, Ginda and I.S. aren’t any more comfortable talking politics with neighbors than the Sums.  That’s why we had a public meeting before the third couple arrived for lunch yesterday.

“Ok.  This couple is really nice,” Dim Sum has our divided attention. “You will like them, but we can’t talk politics.”

“Or religion,” two of us add.

“Can we high-five for Obama?” I.S. asks.

“No,” Dim Sum laughs.
“Got it,” Ginda says.

“Ok- just one thing,” I pipe up. “Am I gay?”

“Yes!” Ginda and Judy say with emphasis.

With the rules clearly stated—and observed despite the 99 bottles of wine that were flying from the rack—, we followed the courtesies that were laid before us.

“So, I’ve not dated since Facebook,” I say to Ginda and Dim Sum.

“What’s that matter?”

“Well, you can find out all kinds of stuff about someone, rummaging around their photos and reading their posts.”

The men are watching football. We are at the table with our 3 laptops.  I go to the Home page of a suggested friend of a friend—and potential blind date—and push my laptop over the top of Dim Sum’s laptop, then I turn it for Ginda to take a peek.

“See?  She’s cute,” I say.  With the delay of only one syllable, they echo the same sentiments. “With Facebook, I get to find out all kinds of stuff about her that might not come up until way down the road.”

“So, that will make (lesbian) dating go faster,” Dim Sum states with a lasting question.

“Maybe.  Maybe not.”

On the one hand, on a date, I can ask intelligent questions based on posted interests.  It could speed things up.  This feels like cheating, but I’m really bad about asking strangers for personal info.  For one, I like to feel their energy.  Remember?  More, I was taught that it’s rude to be nosy.  Between these two, I don’t ask follow up questions and it comes off as “I’m not interested.” Facebook could be beneficial, making things easier faster.

I take a look at the other hand—maybe not. Now, I can look around and find out stuff that makes me go ‘hmmmm’ or ‘I need to investigate this before I make any rash decisions like sign a mortgage.’  All of a sudden I see place markers up the dating path that I’ve never seen before.  I’ve not known there could be so many twists and turns until I’m lost on one.

“Social media might be the solution to lesbian slow dating.  We will see, we will see,” I’m grinning and thinking.   

Ok- if you got one, show it.  Share your story about dating with or amidst social media.  Did it help or hinder good lovin’?

Secret Lesbians Opposing Barbarians

Driving toward the west side of the state and listening to the radio, I hear “sharia.”  I remember this word from a USAToday article.  In Egypt, the citizens are debating about sharia which describes the (potentially) volatile mixology of government and religion.

Last week, I drafted these words:

In USAToday, on the inside cover page, is an article about political divisions in Egypt.  If you’re an American, you were required to take history courses—or maybe you watched the HBO series John Adams—and know that our constitutional framers were at odds after the Revolution.  I want to say that our issues were different than what Egypt—and the other countries who participated in the Arab Spring—deal with.  We were precise and exact in our principles; lines were clearly drawn.  There was what happened and what almost happened before the good guys won.

The Egyptians are stuck, debating fundamental rights for women and minorities.  Many are citing sharia which calls for adherence to 7thC laws.  The article defines it to be a “style of life.”  However, this definition doesn’t give enough depth to this word to warrant a protest or the cost of ink.  I Google it and find:

[It is] God’s revealed law, perfect and eternal…. By logical extension, any criticism of shari'a is heresy.  Muslims who deny the validity of shari'a in any way are labeled as non-Muslims (infidels) […]  they face the threat of being prosecuted for apostasy, a crime that carries the death penalty in shari'a.     -Discoverthenetworks

So, you can gather from this statement that the adherence to shari'a is important.  It is so important, that they want to list the requirements in their constitution.  If this country will put people to death for shari'a infractions, they should make a list.  However, according to the article, Egyptians aren’t protesting the items on the list, they are protesting the presence of a list.  It will curtail some civil rights and civil rights for some, and it will be enforced at the highest level of government.  That’s no laughing matter.  It’s understandable why Mohamed Abou El=Ghar (President of the liberal—that’s right, you heard me say liberal—Egyptian Social Democratic Party) was quoted as saying, “We consider (the constitution) a matter of life and death.”

If you deconstruct this statement, you can assume that he is saying:
1. The constitution is a matter of life and death

2. That the constitution could limit rights and freedom of expression is a matter of life and death

Egypt is a remarkably different position than, “All men are created equal.”  I can’t remember if this sage saying was the result of a unified awakening by our founding fathers or was a strongly debated position, but America got it right.  Unfortunately, we didn’t acknowledge it—through a Civil War, Reconstruction, and after the Civil Rights movement—, continuing today without equal rights for LGBTs.  So, Americans caught and captured the awe inspiring words in print—230+ years ago—but are stuck when deciphering the hidden code in “ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL.” 

Still, there's a big gap between us and them.  They struggle with whether women should be completely covered, thus making them invisible.  They struggle with whether the religious majority should have absolute power.  On the other hand, we built this nation with humans from a different country who were illegally imprisoned, tortured, raped, and denied citizenship.  Yes, I need to acknowledge the America's resting potential for atrocity when I fold up the USAToday and say, “Barbarians.”

It’s easy to forget that Americans died, fighting their ancestors and assumed institutions during the American Revolution and then their countrymen during a subsequent one.  Tony Kuschner, screenplay writer for Angels In America, said in an interview that ~800,000 Americans died during four years of the Civil War.  In today’s numbers, that’s 80,259,000 Americans.  It’s staggering what humans will do for freedom, and we can’t minimize the need for both sides to be heard.    

But, I couldn’t bring myself to post this entry.  For one, it’s not funny.  My intent in starting TwoGirls was to write zany things about lesbian dating, but there’s a more dominant part of my brain that is anything but zany.  It likes to deconstruct situations and measure the amount of crazy—which is the sociopathic cousin of zany—in people who are in the news, in my office, and on the sidewalk. 

And then, today, I hear this foreign word that is familiar. It sits with me, reminding me of a working draft.  But, I get to the hotel room and turn on HBO.  I’m trying to not think about the blog until I feel inspired so that my renderings—if not zany—are organic.  On the box, I’m into Witness which is about a female reporter who risks her life, and a baby in her belly, to expose killers, rapists and kidnappers in the Congo. 

“This isn’t far from the Middle East,” I think.

“This isn’t far from humanity,” a different area of my mind counters with a qualitatively different trump card. 

I’m calling my own bluff.  I know where me is going with this. It’s trying to section off the crazy part of the world so that it’s safe to feel zany.  But, I won’t let me get away with it.  “Humans are humans.  The foreigner has figured out that much.”

Watching her move through the jungle with only a camera for protection, I realize that the Arab Spring and the Civil War have at least one significant difference.  The world is watching in real time.  They know it, and we know that they know it, and they know that we know that they know it.  The question is, “As witnesses, do we have:

1.  A responsibility to participate
2. A right to participate
3. A need to participate
4. An ability to participate  

Thank the area of my mind that counters with a qualitatively different trump card for “d”.   An answer of a, b, or c  is irrelevant without d.  If blogs are prevented in China, I can’t imagine TwoGirls will ever open in the Middle East.  As a witness, I have no outlet even if I had a responsibility, right, and or need. 

I’m still watching the photojournalist on her mission and I’m still on mine.  I’m thinking about how to organize S.L.O.B.s (Secret Lesbians Opposing Barbarians) in the Middle East. 

“We could go there and create an underground movement.  We will be covered by sharia,” me wants to help.

“It’s too risky for American looking lesbians to go over there, even if covered,” I counter.

“We could coordinate lesbians across the world who look Middle Eastern and fund them.”

“Where are you going to find enough Middle Eastern lesbians to go over for this cause?”

“We might need to hire Middle Eastern straight girls.”

Obviously, this plan isn't as sound as the one by the pregnant photojournalist who is traipsing through the forest with only a camera for protection while she looks for brutal murderers.  So, I turn to the international source.

• The Guardian ran an article in 2006.
• Amazon.com has a book by Brian Whitaker that was published in 2006. 

Wait a minute—nothing's happened for that region since ’06?  I return to Google  and find a site.

• http://www.al-bab.com/arab/background/gay.htm

There are lists and lists of sources.  So, for tonight, I have to say, “More news later.”  I’m off to bed.   If you’re up and can’t sleep, read ahead and direct us to what’s interesting.  If you have other suggestions, do post.  I’ll catch up soon and tell you what I’ve done with the list to advance S.L.O.B.s' cause.