Friday, June 17, 2005
Love...
I have just spend some time standing in the middle of our bedroom, right next to the bed, watching The Fiancé sleep. He's not been feeling so well lately, and he's working a lot, so he allowed himself some lazy time this afternoon, and fell asleep promptly.
He has no idea that I was standing there watching him sleep. He just lay there, so innocent, so beautiful, so unaware that he was being watched. He tends to pose as soon as he knows that he is under "surveillance", so this was almost a rare opportunity.
I was in there to wake him up and ask him to help me clean up the huge mess that our house currently is, so it would look nice when our guests come over tonight, but when I saw him there, I couldn't get myself to do that. He looked so peaceful, his handsome face so relaxed, no worry-frowns on his lips, no tired looks in his eyes. I smiled at that one strand of hair that was falling into his forhead, and admired the many shades of color that naturally shades his goatee and large side burns with many interesting hues. People have commented on this often, asking him if he actually dyes his beard, but the person hasn't been born yet who could do such an intricate and detailed dye-job. He always laughs when people say that, but I know that he likes it when people notice it. His hair it pitch-black, but by the time it reaches his cheeks, it is almost red. I noticed how neatly trimmed his beard and side burns were, and how neatly shaven his face was, and how much I like men who take the time to actually take care of themselves and their appearance like that. I admired his long dark eyelashes that give his large dark brown eyes a soft look, his beautiful soft lips, they way he had his hands folded underneath his head, resting on them. His huge leather-bound wristwatch and the broad metal-clad leather wristband on his other arm, which I both find so irresistable. His long and slender fingers, his neatly trimmed fingernails, the dark hair on his arms that's just the right amount between bald and monkey. A little bit of his wide chest poking out from his t-shirt, his long legs on top of each other, his huge thighs and scrawny calves, the typical shape of an (ex-) runner, ending in his feet that were stuck in white tennis socks that had a hole on his heel. That made me smile... otherwise so meticulous and well-kempt, he never cares if his socks match with the rest of his outfit, or if they have holes in them - and they almost always do.
I watched his sleeping chest move calmly and regularly up and down, and up and down, and then it struck me that if this chest would ever stop moving, if he'd ever stop looking at me with these beautiful dark eyes, or never kiss me again with these full and soft lips, if anything would ever take this man away from me, if I ever had to be separated from him, or go on without him, could never bury my face in his neck anymore and soak in his wonderful scent and feel his strong arms around me, I don't think I could. I don't think I could live one day without him, I don't even know how I could survive for 24 years before he came into my life. He is the most important person in my Universe, the most beautiful soul and the most gentle character I ever had the honor to meet, and I am the most fortunate woman to have gained his attention and have kept him with me for over 2 years, and hopefully for the rest of my entire life.
I wanted to kneel down next to the bed and touch his face, and his hair, and whisper into his ear how much I love him and how much he means to me, but I was afraid I would disturb his slumber, no matter how gentle I would be. So I just smiled, my heart soaring to the sky, and I left him to his dreams... but in my heart I know that I have never ever loved any one person so much and so completely and so unconditionally the way I love this man. I am one of those few fortunate people who know that they have found their soulmate, their One, and my getting married to this man will be the climax of my whole life so far. I cannot wait to be honored with his name, and I will carry it as my own with pride and love. He is the love of my life, and if I would die today, I would know that I have lived my life to its fullest, because I had him to live it with...
He has no idea that I was standing there watching him sleep. He just lay there, so innocent, so beautiful, so unaware that he was being watched. He tends to pose as soon as he knows that he is under "surveillance", so this was almost a rare opportunity.
I was in there to wake him up and ask him to help me clean up the huge mess that our house currently is, so it would look nice when our guests come over tonight, but when I saw him there, I couldn't get myself to do that. He looked so peaceful, his handsome face so relaxed, no worry-frowns on his lips, no tired looks in his eyes. I smiled at that one strand of hair that was falling into his forhead, and admired the many shades of color that naturally shades his goatee and large side burns with many interesting hues. People have commented on this often, asking him if he actually dyes his beard, but the person hasn't been born yet who could do such an intricate and detailed dye-job. He always laughs when people say that, but I know that he likes it when people notice it. His hair it pitch-black, but by the time it reaches his cheeks, it is almost red. I noticed how neatly trimmed his beard and side burns were, and how neatly shaven his face was, and how much I like men who take the time to actually take care of themselves and their appearance like that. I admired his long dark eyelashes that give his large dark brown eyes a soft look, his beautiful soft lips, they way he had his hands folded underneath his head, resting on them. His huge leather-bound wristwatch and the broad metal-clad leather wristband on his other arm, which I both find so irresistable. His long and slender fingers, his neatly trimmed fingernails, the dark hair on his arms that's just the right amount between bald and monkey. A little bit of his wide chest poking out from his t-shirt, his long legs on top of each other, his huge thighs and scrawny calves, the typical shape of an (ex-) runner, ending in his feet that were stuck in white tennis socks that had a hole on his heel. That made me smile... otherwise so meticulous and well-kempt, he never cares if his socks match with the rest of his outfit, or if they have holes in them - and they almost always do.
I watched his sleeping chest move calmly and regularly up and down, and up and down, and then it struck me that if this chest would ever stop moving, if he'd ever stop looking at me with these beautiful dark eyes, or never kiss me again with these full and soft lips, if anything would ever take this man away from me, if I ever had to be separated from him, or go on without him, could never bury my face in his neck anymore and soak in his wonderful scent and feel his strong arms around me, I don't think I could. I don't think I could live one day without him, I don't even know how I could survive for 24 years before he came into my life. He is the most important person in my Universe, the most beautiful soul and the most gentle character I ever had the honor to meet, and I am the most fortunate woman to have gained his attention and have kept him with me for over 2 years, and hopefully for the rest of my entire life.
I wanted to kneel down next to the bed and touch his face, and his hair, and whisper into his ear how much I love him and how much he means to me, but I was afraid I would disturb his slumber, no matter how gentle I would be. So I just smiled, my heart soaring to the sky, and I left him to his dreams... but in my heart I know that I have never ever loved any one person so much and so completely and so unconditionally the way I love this man. I am one of those few fortunate people who know that they have found their soulmate, their One, and my getting married to this man will be the climax of my whole life so far. I cannot wait to be honored with his name, and I will carry it as my own with pride and love. He is the love of my life, and if I would die today, I would know that I have lived my life to its fullest, because I had him to live it with...
West Hollywood, Take 2
So The Fiancé and I decided to give that gay bar in West Hollywood another try, last night. Partly because we have been behaving like a bunch of boring couch potatoes for the longest time lately, doing nothing but staying at home each and every night even on weekends, and partly because my sister wanted to see the joint, after all I have told her about it.
And remember my sister and I came out to each other as bisexuals not too long ago? So I thought it would be a fun idea to go with her.
The only drag was that she insisted on taking Roomie#E along with us. Rommie#E is openminded enough to not mind going and still having a good time, but he is also very, very set in his straight ways, and expects his friends to be so, too. So much so in fact, that The Fiancé has huge reservations about coming out to him, knowing that it'd probably put a certain awkwardness onto their friendship. I wasn't 100% comfortable about having him with us either, knowing that with his possesive jealousy over my sister she wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell of even trying to have a good time, plus I myself have not officially outed myself to him yet either and I wasn't sure how freely I would be able to behave there in his plain vision. Remember... I have to live with him, he is my drummer, and he has potential of maybe one day becoming my brother in law... good terms and and an easy relationship are prerequisites for all of this.
I am pretty sure that he was wondering why in the world we chose a gay bar of all places, and indeed at one point when I came back from the dance floor all out of breath, he looked at me funny and said "Sooooooooooo...?", which I am pretty certain should have been followed by a question about my sexual orientation and an explanation of why exactly we were here. Well, it never was. So I just grinned, said "So what?", and left him standing there. If he would have just asked me directly I wouldn't have had a problem telling him, but I don't work on implied invitations to speak, really.
I felt a bit bad for The Fiancé though, especially when at one point he was approached by a good-looking guy who suggestively rubbed his shoulder and then told him that he truly was the most handsome guy in the entire club. I saw his eyes light up at that compliment, and I saw him getting ready to start up a conversation with this guy, when he suddenly glimpsed Roomie#E from the corner of his eye, watching him, and so just did the manly straight thing and just thanked him and walked away.
But... I won't keep you on the edge of your seat (yea, right), with all this talk any longer:
I AM NO LONGER UN-KISSED BY A WOMAN!
I am sorry. This statement just needed boldification. It's a significant step on my journey, and oh boy... heh. Let me explain. :)
I was on the dance floor with The Fiancé, just enjoying myself and the sexually charged atmosphere of the place. We were making out like two horny teenagers, and having a really good time, when I suddenly noticed this girl dancing next to me, looking me up and down several times. The Fiancé grinned and sort of moved back and told me with vigorous eye-movements to follow up on this, and the next thing I know I was dancing with her. Bold, huh!
Beautiful woman, for sure. Almost as tall as me, good looking body, medium-length hair in braids, and black.
Let me tell you, that's one thing about this place that I really appreciate. There are all sorts of people present, all sorts of races, all sorts of sexual orientations. Gays, Bis, Straights, Whites, Blacks, Asians, Latinos, women looking like men, men looking like women... and everybody gets along with everybody. People take no offense if you stare at them, men and women alike, the women are much more relaxed around the men, knowing that they are not necessarily in their "target demographic", and I just found myself in this whirl of people, making out with the Latino I am going to marry in one minute, gyrating hips with a flamboyantly gay white guy in the next, and dancing in the arms of a black woman in the next. This diversity and overall looking at people as people as opposed to sorting them after more "mundane" criteria is what draws me to this place, and why I feel so accepted there, as opposed to some "elite clubs" in LA I have been to before.
So anyway. After a few minutes of sort-of dancing with each other she leans forward and asks me into the noise if "that guy" was my boyfriend. I affirm, but tell her that this doesn't necessarily mean anything, though. She grins and asks me if I was a bisexual. I affirm again, and turns out she is one, too. Good thing, because a lot of true lesbians have a thing or two against bisexual girls, especially when the latter are trying to pick up girls while their boyfriends are dancing right behind them, lol.
We continue to dance, and she compliments me on my movements. I get bold and put my hands on her hips and move her along with me. Hey... since my last visit here I have watched an entire season of The L-Word, I have learned a lot since then! The Fiancé grins at me, I ask her for her name.
It is Love, what an unusual name. She's 34. Doesn't look a day older than me, I swear. She asks to be introduced to the Fiancé, and she introduces me to her best friend. We dance closer. I glance over at my man and find him trapped in the embrace of female Snoop Dog and her girlfriend, dancing. Why this doesn't bother me, I have no idea, so I just grin and turn my attention back to Love. By now she's rubbing my thighs and I got a tighter grip on her hips, and we engage in small talk as well as possible with all the noise and my slight hearing impairment. More dancing. Closer dancing. Her hands rubbing up and down my arms and thighs, then she turns around and dances with her back towards me, leaning against me. I am confused because I am so nervous and awkward about some sort of girly action really and actually and finally happening to me, that instead of giving in to feeling it all, I resort to scientifically dissecting what's happening... thinking too much, as usual.
She smells really good, and she's rubbing her ass against my crotch. My hands still on her hips, and finally without one coherent thought inside my head, I lean forward and place a slight kiss on her bare neck. She sucks in air, I almost pass out with... what? Excitement, nervousness, exhilaration, pride of my courage... fear? But I don't get to think about it much, as she suddenly grabs my hands and guides them both down to her crotch.
Now I am freaking out, believe you me. I had the sudden impulse to pull away as if I had touched a hot oven plate, my pulse accelerating to 180 I am sure, but instead I gave her a timid little squeeze through her jeans, and she trashed her head back against my shoulder. Out of all the emotions I could have or should have possibly felt right then and there, all I was really feeling was surprise. Plain old surprise. Odd as it may sound, but the fact that I just caused a sexually pleasurable feeling to someone without a penis was very wonderous to me right then and there, and, silly enough, I felt like a kid in a toystore at Christmas, so I squeezed her again, causing the same reaction all over again.
The Fiancé is back again from his short trip to check up on Sis and Roomie#E by now, and the three of us end up dancing together, with Love inbetween us, facing me, and actually rubbing her butt up against him, her forehead against mine. He was grinning of course, I am sure the sexual tension was very evident between all three of us. She's riding up on my thigh, and then it happened... she accidentally hit me (not very hard) on my chin, and all embarrassed about it and asking me 100 times if I was ok, she offered to "kiss it and make it better", and that's exactly what she did. She placed a soft little kiss on my chin, and then another one on my mouth, and then another one.
Surreal. Exciting. So I kissed her back. And then she said she wanted to have my phone number, and we should go out sometime, maybe east Sushi. I love Sushi.
How chronologically correct all of the above is, I have no real idea. Last night was such a blur of events and feelings that I am having a hard time reconstrucing everything as far as the timeline is concerned. Yes, I did give her my phone number, but didn't take hers, because I left my purse with all writing utensils or my own cell phone in the car. We left soon after because Friday is after all still a working day, and I swear, if I wouldn't be on my period right now The Fiancé would have been the clear beneficiary of last night once we got home... lol.
Whether or not she really calls me I don't care at this point. I had one blast of an evening, and I am proud to say that I got my first female kiss ever from such a beautiful gorgeous woman, one of the best looking in the entire venue. :)
And remember my sister and I came out to each other as bisexuals not too long ago? So I thought it would be a fun idea to go with her.
The only drag was that she insisted on taking Roomie#E along with us. Rommie#E is openminded enough to not mind going and still having a good time, but he is also very, very set in his straight ways, and expects his friends to be so, too. So much so in fact, that The Fiancé has huge reservations about coming out to him, knowing that it'd probably put a certain awkwardness onto their friendship. I wasn't 100% comfortable about having him with us either, knowing that with his possesive jealousy over my sister she wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell of even trying to have a good time, plus I myself have not officially outed myself to him yet either and I wasn't sure how freely I would be able to behave there in his plain vision. Remember... I have to live with him, he is my drummer, and he has potential of maybe one day becoming my brother in law... good terms and and an easy relationship are prerequisites for all of this.
I am pretty sure that he was wondering why in the world we chose a gay bar of all places, and indeed at one point when I came back from the dance floor all out of breath, he looked at me funny and said "Sooooooooooo...?", which I am pretty certain should have been followed by a question about my sexual orientation and an explanation of why exactly we were here. Well, it never was. So I just grinned, said "So what?", and left him standing there. If he would have just asked me directly I wouldn't have had a problem telling him, but I don't work on implied invitations to speak, really.
I felt a bit bad for The Fiancé though, especially when at one point he was approached by a good-looking guy who suggestively rubbed his shoulder and then told him that he truly was the most handsome guy in the entire club. I saw his eyes light up at that compliment, and I saw him getting ready to start up a conversation with this guy, when he suddenly glimpsed Roomie#E from the corner of his eye, watching him, and so just did the manly straight thing and just thanked him and walked away.
But... I won't keep you on the edge of your seat (yea, right), with all this talk any longer:
I AM NO LONGER UN-KISSED BY A WOMAN!
I am sorry. This statement just needed boldification. It's a significant step on my journey, and oh boy... heh. Let me explain. :)
I was on the dance floor with The Fiancé, just enjoying myself and the sexually charged atmosphere of the place. We were making out like two horny teenagers, and having a really good time, when I suddenly noticed this girl dancing next to me, looking me up and down several times. The Fiancé grinned and sort of moved back and told me with vigorous eye-movements to follow up on this, and the next thing I know I was dancing with her. Bold, huh!
Beautiful woman, for sure. Almost as tall as me, good looking body, medium-length hair in braids, and black.
Let me tell you, that's one thing about this place that I really appreciate. There are all sorts of people present, all sorts of races, all sorts of sexual orientations. Gays, Bis, Straights, Whites, Blacks, Asians, Latinos, women looking like men, men looking like women... and everybody gets along with everybody. People take no offense if you stare at them, men and women alike, the women are much more relaxed around the men, knowing that they are not necessarily in their "target demographic", and I just found myself in this whirl of people, making out with the Latino I am going to marry in one minute, gyrating hips with a flamboyantly gay white guy in the next, and dancing in the arms of a black woman in the next. This diversity and overall looking at people as people as opposed to sorting them after more "mundane" criteria is what draws me to this place, and why I feel so accepted there, as opposed to some "elite clubs" in LA I have been to before.
So anyway. After a few minutes of sort-of dancing with each other she leans forward and asks me into the noise if "that guy" was my boyfriend. I affirm, but tell her that this doesn't necessarily mean anything, though. She grins and asks me if I was a bisexual. I affirm again, and turns out she is one, too. Good thing, because a lot of true lesbians have a thing or two against bisexual girls, especially when the latter are trying to pick up girls while their boyfriends are dancing right behind them, lol.
We continue to dance, and she compliments me on my movements. I get bold and put my hands on her hips and move her along with me. Hey... since my last visit here I have watched an entire season of The L-Word, I have learned a lot since then! The Fiancé grins at me, I ask her for her name.
It is Love, what an unusual name. She's 34. Doesn't look a day older than me, I swear. She asks to be introduced to the Fiancé, and she introduces me to her best friend. We dance closer. I glance over at my man and find him trapped in the embrace of female Snoop Dog and her girlfriend, dancing. Why this doesn't bother me, I have no idea, so I just grin and turn my attention back to Love. By now she's rubbing my thighs and I got a tighter grip on her hips, and we engage in small talk as well as possible with all the noise and my slight hearing impairment. More dancing. Closer dancing. Her hands rubbing up and down my arms and thighs, then she turns around and dances with her back towards me, leaning against me. I am confused because I am so nervous and awkward about some sort of girly action really and actually and finally happening to me, that instead of giving in to feeling it all, I resort to scientifically dissecting what's happening... thinking too much, as usual.
She smells really good, and she's rubbing her ass against my crotch. My hands still on her hips, and finally without one coherent thought inside my head, I lean forward and place a slight kiss on her bare neck. She sucks in air, I almost pass out with... what? Excitement, nervousness, exhilaration, pride of my courage... fear? But I don't get to think about it much, as she suddenly grabs my hands and guides them both down to her crotch.
Now I am freaking out, believe you me. I had the sudden impulse to pull away as if I had touched a hot oven plate, my pulse accelerating to 180 I am sure, but instead I gave her a timid little squeeze through her jeans, and she trashed her head back against my shoulder. Out of all the emotions I could have or should have possibly felt right then and there, all I was really feeling was surprise. Plain old surprise. Odd as it may sound, but the fact that I just caused a sexually pleasurable feeling to someone without a penis was very wonderous to me right then and there, and, silly enough, I felt like a kid in a toystore at Christmas, so I squeezed her again, causing the same reaction all over again.
The Fiancé is back again from his short trip to check up on Sis and Roomie#E by now, and the three of us end up dancing together, with Love inbetween us, facing me, and actually rubbing her butt up against him, her forehead against mine. He was grinning of course, I am sure the sexual tension was very evident between all three of us. She's riding up on my thigh, and then it happened... she accidentally hit me (not very hard) on my chin, and all embarrassed about it and asking me 100 times if I was ok, she offered to "kiss it and make it better", and that's exactly what she did. She placed a soft little kiss on my chin, and then another one on my mouth, and then another one.
Surreal. Exciting. So I kissed her back. And then she said she wanted to have my phone number, and we should go out sometime, maybe east Sushi. I love Sushi.
How chronologically correct all of the above is, I have no real idea. Last night was such a blur of events and feelings that I am having a hard time reconstrucing everything as far as the timeline is concerned. Yes, I did give her my phone number, but didn't take hers, because I left my purse with all writing utensils or my own cell phone in the car. We left soon after because Friday is after all still a working day, and I swear, if I wouldn't be on my period right now The Fiancé would have been the clear beneficiary of last night once we got home... lol.
Whether or not she really calls me I don't care at this point. I had one blast of an evening, and I am proud to say that I got my first female kiss ever from such a beautiful gorgeous woman, one of the best looking in the entire venue. :)
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Over...
Many things are.
My education... my graduation... my parents' visit... my desire to stay in this country... my passion for things I used to be so passionate about.
Huh?
My parents' visit turned out to be really nice, despite all my fears and worries. We had the "dreaded talk" about my plans regarding my stay in this country and pursuing my dreams of a career in the music business, and much to my surprise, my parents showed themselves if not supportive at least understanding.
Besides that we did the tourist thing here in LA... seen a few things they haven't seen before, and revisited other stuff they wanted to see again. All in all it was a blast, and they got a chance to see The Fiancé and I together, observe how we are like as a couple. They got to talk with him - in limited ways due to their lack of skill in the English language - and to pick his brain a little bit. At one time we found ourselves in the middle of an animated talk about our wedding, and our family plans. The Fiancé's views on child rearing seemed to really have impressed both of my parents, and the way they interacted with him in general during this week just made my heart melt, and made me yearn for having them in my life again more frequently and regularly.
Their verdict on him and I as a couple, and future marital partners: "You two are good together. And kudos to him for still being with you after 2 years. He seems to have a talent at being able to handle you and your moods - and I doubt there are very many men out there who would put up with you."
Gee, thanks Mom.
I did get some weird satisfaction out of her comment about my sister and her long-distance relationship with Roomie#E, though: "They don't fit together. I don't see how this is working at all." (What have I been saying all along??? But of course... when I say stuff like that, people take it as an offense, and I am the bitch... as usual.)
So for this brief week I had all my family here together. Everybody. Including my future husband... and my sister's boyfriend, who is like a brother to The Fiancé. The first thing my mother said to The Fiancé on the day they arrived was: "Hello, son-in-law." They got along so well with each other, especially my dad and him seemed to click on some weird male-bonding level... and when we dropped them off at the airport last Friday, their departure broke my heart.
And not only that. Much more importantly: it made me reconsider my plans entirely. Their visit paired with that phone call I got informing me that my visa is running out this very month, along with that visit to this immigration lawyer who pretty much destroyed all our hopes to adjust The Fiancé's status to a legal one, along with my sudden feeling of being without a purpose now that school is over, and my intense desire to start my own family was enough to suddenly abandon all my plans and commitments to this great band we are having, and this extraordinary life style that is closer within my grasp than ever.
My passionate love and devotion to this band and my intense dislike of my homecountry and its inhabitants' mentality and culture vs. all the hassle and money to extend my own visa and our desire for stability and my need to be around my family again.
Not to mention the fact that our economical situation is very, very bad right now, with no chance of improvement anytime soon. I am too ashamed to tell you on how much money a week we are currently trying to survive, so suffice it to say that these days I go to bed hungry almost every day, wake up even hungrier, and feel guilty about making a $1 hot dog from 7-11 my meal of the day, because it means $1 less for gas to get The Fiancé to and from work.
I am 26 years old... I have a college degree... I should NOT be living like this.
So all of a sudden I find myself in the middle of long and intense talks and discussions with The Fiancé about our further proceedings, all of them revolving around the obvious logic of leaving this country - and as soon as humanely possible. Going back to our original plans that were so drastically and suddenly altered, when this band started to draw so much attention, and this door opened itself in front of me, leading to an entirely different and exciting life that nobody I know has the chance to lead. A once in a lifetime opportunity.
Am I closing this door on myself now with a slam? Am I about to pack up and leave?
It's situations like these when I wish I was a little child again, with an adult making decisions for me. I wish desperately for somebody to just walk up to me, tell me what to do, and I better do it or else. But of course this isn't about to happen. I am the adult now, I am 100% responsible for my own decisions, and if it turns out to be the wrong one I have no other scapegoat to blame than myself. That's what I am scared of the most. The "what if"... the certainty that I will blame myself until the day I die, should I end up unhappy in my homecountry the way I was until the day I finally left it, and/or should the band win the lottery and make it afterall - without me.
And of course there is The Fiancé, who has been extremely homesick ever since last winter, with bouts of extreme depression. He was ready to go, he had his mind and heart set on it - but then he sacrificed his own wishes for me, knowing that I wasn't ready to leave this country yet, knowing that I needed to give this other thing a try first before I could ever be happy, and even supporting it and helping it along with all his skill and enthusiasm, completely abandoning what he wanted for himself - for me. I feel like I owe him a sacrifice in return now...
Our original plans... getting our degrees, leaving for Mexico to be with his family for a while, a couple of months maybe... then heading for Austria. Be there before Christmas. Sure, things change. Circumstances change. For instants he never got his degree yet... he still has one more semester to go, which we didn't plan on before.
But things can also be fixed - so he will try to get his degree from the college he has gone to before... he fulfilled all graduation requirements there, he just transferred because they didn't offer him the program he wanted. With this in mind, he can probably apply for graduation there still, and not have to do another lecture anymore at either college... so there are possibilites... the only question is WHAT DO I REALLY WANT?
I am extremely depressed right now. Worried. Homesick. Uncertain. Afraid. Irritable. I don't sleep well, and if I do sleep I am haunted by nightmares that bring my worries of the day straight into my nights as well. I still have my beloved sister here. She means emotional support, and she means reality check. But she is leaving in 3 days. I don't know how I will handle being alone here again after having my entire family here.
She said to me: "Staying here and trying to make it with music is like waiting to win the lottery."
And I don't play the lottery. I don't believe in lotteries. I am with Tom Leykis on this one... "I consider the lottery to be moron tax". Where does that leave me, then?
My education... my graduation... my parents' visit... my desire to stay in this country... my passion for things I used to be so passionate about.
Huh?
My parents' visit turned out to be really nice, despite all my fears and worries. We had the "dreaded talk" about my plans regarding my stay in this country and pursuing my dreams of a career in the music business, and much to my surprise, my parents showed themselves if not supportive at least understanding.
Besides that we did the tourist thing here in LA... seen a few things they haven't seen before, and revisited other stuff they wanted to see again. All in all it was a blast, and they got a chance to see The Fiancé and I together, observe how we are like as a couple. They got to talk with him - in limited ways due to their lack of skill in the English language - and to pick his brain a little bit. At one time we found ourselves in the middle of an animated talk about our wedding, and our family plans. The Fiancé's views on child rearing seemed to really have impressed both of my parents, and the way they interacted with him in general during this week just made my heart melt, and made me yearn for having them in my life again more frequently and regularly.
Their verdict on him and I as a couple, and future marital partners: "You two are good together. And kudos to him for still being with you after 2 years. He seems to have a talent at being able to handle you and your moods - and I doubt there are very many men out there who would put up with you."
Gee, thanks Mom.
I did get some weird satisfaction out of her comment about my sister and her long-distance relationship with Roomie#E, though: "They don't fit together. I don't see how this is working at all." (What have I been saying all along??? But of course... when I say stuff like that, people take it as an offense, and I am the bitch... as usual.)
So for this brief week I had all my family here together. Everybody. Including my future husband... and my sister's boyfriend, who is like a brother to The Fiancé. The first thing my mother said to The Fiancé on the day they arrived was: "Hello, son-in-law." They got along so well with each other, especially my dad and him seemed to click on some weird male-bonding level... and when we dropped them off at the airport last Friday, their departure broke my heart.
And not only that. Much more importantly: it made me reconsider my plans entirely. Their visit paired with that phone call I got informing me that my visa is running out this very month, along with that visit to this immigration lawyer who pretty much destroyed all our hopes to adjust The Fiancé's status to a legal one, along with my sudden feeling of being without a purpose now that school is over, and my intense desire to start my own family was enough to suddenly abandon all my plans and commitments to this great band we are having, and this extraordinary life style that is closer within my grasp than ever.
My passionate love and devotion to this band and my intense dislike of my homecountry and its inhabitants' mentality and culture vs. all the hassle and money to extend my own visa and our desire for stability and my need to be around my family again.
Not to mention the fact that our economical situation is very, very bad right now, with no chance of improvement anytime soon. I am too ashamed to tell you on how much money a week we are currently trying to survive, so suffice it to say that these days I go to bed hungry almost every day, wake up even hungrier, and feel guilty about making a $1 hot dog from 7-11 my meal of the day, because it means $1 less for gas to get The Fiancé to and from work.
I am 26 years old... I have a college degree... I should NOT be living like this.
So all of a sudden I find myself in the middle of long and intense talks and discussions with The Fiancé about our further proceedings, all of them revolving around the obvious logic of leaving this country - and as soon as humanely possible. Going back to our original plans that were so drastically and suddenly altered, when this band started to draw so much attention, and this door opened itself in front of me, leading to an entirely different and exciting life that nobody I know has the chance to lead. A once in a lifetime opportunity.
Am I closing this door on myself now with a slam? Am I about to pack up and leave?
It's situations like these when I wish I was a little child again, with an adult making decisions for me. I wish desperately for somebody to just walk up to me, tell me what to do, and I better do it or else. But of course this isn't about to happen. I am the adult now, I am 100% responsible for my own decisions, and if it turns out to be the wrong one I have no other scapegoat to blame than myself. That's what I am scared of the most. The "what if"... the certainty that I will blame myself until the day I die, should I end up unhappy in my homecountry the way I was until the day I finally left it, and/or should the band win the lottery and make it afterall - without me.
And of course there is The Fiancé, who has been extremely homesick ever since last winter, with bouts of extreme depression. He was ready to go, he had his mind and heart set on it - but then he sacrificed his own wishes for me, knowing that I wasn't ready to leave this country yet, knowing that I needed to give this other thing a try first before I could ever be happy, and even supporting it and helping it along with all his skill and enthusiasm, completely abandoning what he wanted for himself - for me. I feel like I owe him a sacrifice in return now...
Our original plans... getting our degrees, leaving for Mexico to be with his family for a while, a couple of months maybe... then heading for Austria. Be there before Christmas. Sure, things change. Circumstances change. For instants he never got his degree yet... he still has one more semester to go, which we didn't plan on before.
But things can also be fixed - so he will try to get his degree from the college he has gone to before... he fulfilled all graduation requirements there, he just transferred because they didn't offer him the program he wanted. With this in mind, he can probably apply for graduation there still, and not have to do another lecture anymore at either college... so there are possibilites... the only question is WHAT DO I REALLY WANT?
I am extremely depressed right now. Worried. Homesick. Uncertain. Afraid. Irritable. I don't sleep well, and if I do sleep I am haunted by nightmares that bring my worries of the day straight into my nights as well. I still have my beloved sister here. She means emotional support, and she means reality check. But she is leaving in 3 days. I don't know how I will handle being alone here again after having my entire family here.
She said to me: "Staying here and trying to make it with music is like waiting to win the lottery."
And I don't play the lottery. I don't believe in lotteries. I am with Tom Leykis on this one... "I consider the lottery to be moron tax". Where does that leave me, then?
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Family Woes
My parents are arriving in Los Angeles tomorrow. My sister is already here for over a week. Not to see me, of course, but to see The Fiancé's best friend, whom she is having a long-distance relationship with for over a year. At any rate - I am getting what I wanted, and what The Fiancé wanted for himself, and what he cannot get: my family here for my graduation.
Yet I feel terrified.
Don't get me wrong, I love my parents dearly... but at the same time there is nobody in this Universe that can make me feel worse about myself on a regular basis than they can. No words can give justice to the relationship I am having with my parents, and now with their imminent arrival and with my stressing over it and the whole household suffering my moods, I start to realize that many of my issues stem from my relationship with my parents, and how I was brought up.
My compulsive over-explaining and justifying every movement I make? - coming from the fact that for my parents a simple statement is never good enough. Nothing I ever asked for as a child/teenager I was granted without giving lengthy explanations first on why I think my request is justified. I never had the feeling that I could just say "I want this", or "I am going to do this", without giving a detailed why of the matter at hand. Now I am driving The Fiancé crazy with my constant explaining myself over the smallest things and repeating myself over and over - I can't even take out the trash without explaining to him why I am doing it and seeking approval, even if it's the most obvious reason in the world.
My chronic inability to apologize and make up for a mistake I made? - coming from the fact that nobody in my family ever apologizes for anything. Mistakes are being acknowledged and punished (as we were kids, anyway), but that's it. Gosh, I can't even remember how many times my mother and I yelled at each other and slammed doors into each others faces, and 10 minutes later she came back into my room all smiles and friendly, as if nothing ever happened. It was an acknowledgement that something happened, but it's over now, so let's move on. So that's what I do now... even if I know that I fucked up, I acknowledge it to myself, then try to change the subject. Saying "I am sorry" causes me almost physical discomfort, and that's something that The Fiancé has the hardest time dealing with, and it's one of our biggest issues.
But that's not why I am feeling so bad right now. Why I am feeling so bad is because now I realize - after three years of seeing them only twice a year for 2 weeks each and otherwise living my complete own independent life by myself with them only playing a very marginal part in it - now I realize how much power they still hold over me. They (unknowingly, I am sure) put me under huge performance pressure, and I find myself doing everything in my power to please them and get their approval. Why else would I have cleaned the house today in a way I would never bother for any other person - so I could fit their standards of cleanliness, and won't have to worry about looking like a "bad housewife", living under "horrid circumstances". People - my mother is so clean that at any given day under any given circumstance you could eat off her bathroom floor and not ingest a single germ. I am pretty sure you could even eat out of her trashcan without having to worry about anything. NOTHING in my mother's household has a speck of dust or dirt on it, and even after living with her for 22 years, I still have no idea how she does it. I can't do it myself, not as well anyways... and I hate being under her scrutiny about the way I keep my own place clean and organized. And I know that I WILL be.
With them (and even my sister) around I feel like apologizing for everything - even stuff that is out of my control or not my fault. I already see myself apologizing for the LA rush hour traffic once we'll be stuck in it (and we WILL be). I already see myself apologizing for the smoggy air, which is so much shittier than the air in Vienna. I already see myself apologizing for the food prices, and clothes prices, and dirty streets. I will apologize if they don't like their food in a restaurant, and I will apologize if it drizzles instead of California showcasing the blazing sun it is famous for. First apologize, and then try to justify it - as if I am somehow responsible, or as if I have failed in a performance I was to present in a certain way that didn't work out.
I guess I want them to see what I see in this country, I want them to understand why I am so in love with it, I want them to realize that I belong here, that I am doing relatively well, and that it holds up against their high Austrian standards. And if only ONE little thing won't be to their liking, I feel like they are disregarding the entire experience, and shake their head at me disapprovingly for doing what I do, liking what I like, living what I live.
This pressure is something I am not handling well AT ALL. Here I am, only hours away from my parents' long awaited arrival, which I really DO look forward to, but at the same time I feel like crying and not stopping anymore. I am proud of this life that I have built for myself here, I am passionate about this dream I am having, and I am determined to follow it and make it happen. This is MY life afterall, and I can live it however I choose to, and not according to what pleases and accomodates others - even if those others are my parents. The Fiancé tells me this all the time, yet I know that with one word my parents will be able to make me sway, will be able to make me feel stupid about wanting the things I want, and insufficient because I am not living a life according that what THEY wanted me to live.
I know that if my dad will ask me only once about "how do I reckon I will make a career with music, realistically", I will start to over-explain, and stammer, and stutter, and make excuses, and apologize for my dreams, and try to explain what it all means to me, to a person who has never shared deep personal feelings with me. How can you explain something that involves no rational thought but all your heart and soul in pragmatic logical terms made of rationality that will convince a person like my father?
There is nothing that hurts me more in this world than the disappointed, disapproving look of my father.
And he's good at giving me that look. My father is a person who takes everything personal. Everything that doesn't go according to what he likes and wants, he sees as a personal affront, an attack, and insult to his life and how he imagined it to be. My whole move to the United States was nothing other than a personal attack on him, and my not wanting to move back to my home country is just another affront to him. He thinks people do things solely to spite him... and the thought that I have my own life and my own dreams and my own goals, and that these might not necessarily coincide with his own, never even occurs to him.
I know that I will have to have the "but you promised us that you will come home this summer" discussion with him once they are here. And I know that all my reminding him that I said "unless the band makes it" will mean nothing to him. I know that I will hear all kinds of reasons on why my decision is stupid or hurtful or irresponsible or selfish, and "when will I start to be responsible and have a LIFE". Then, when I will try to tell him that I am a grown-up persons with goals and dreams and aspirations of her own, he will give me the disappointed and disapproving and hurt look, sulk, and not talk to me for the rest of the day. Or days. I don't know. I dread thinking about it.
I love my parents very much - but I don't understand why I am feeling guilty about leading my own life. I don't understand why I have to apologize for wanting to do whatever I want to do as opposed to what they want me to do. I don't understand why I am still connected to them via some sort of invisible umbilical chord, that renders me incapable of taking decisions in my life without feeling this tremendous amount of guilt and shame.
The only two people who have to approve of my lifestyle and my plans with my life are The Fiancé and me. We are the only two people who have to agree on a lifestyle, and on goals and plans. If he wouldn't agree with something I wanted to do, I should adjust. Yet I adjust for my parents. I am seriously considering to give up all the potential we are realistically having with the band, move back, leave the country I love more than I ever loved my homeland, marry, get a job, found a family - just to please them, to accomodate to them I am seriously considering not to think of myself and what I want and what I dream of, putting all that on the backburner, and surrender to the boring cookie-cutter life that I fled from in the first place, knowing so well how I will feel about giving up my dream, and how guilty I will feel for the rest of my life for giving up without ever having really tried. Knowing well that the nagging "what if?" will follow me into my grave. And what for? Just so that other people can be happy and get what they want.
I love my parents so very much - but they shouldn't play such a significant role in my life-altering decisions the way they are doing. Guilt and shame are HUGE cataclysts to make the wrong decisions for all the wrong reasons. In the end I will have my OWN family, with the man I chose to be with, and in the end it'll be all about this new family, with my parents playing only a rather subordinate role, supporting roles, if you may, without any decision power or influence beyond grandparently activities. It's about ME and MY LIFE, not about THEM and WHAT THEY WANT me to do.
I know that. It is clear as glass.
Yet come tomorrow I will grovel on the floor with my proverbial tail between my legs, whimpering for their approval, doing everything in my power to accomodate to their ideals and ideas. Obliterating myself and who I came to be over these past three years completely. Turning back into that little girl that I left behind on the Viennese airport a quarter decade ago. Swaying in my plans, swaying in my goals, labeling my own dreams stupid and immature.
Heavens help me... I know I have The Fiancé's full support, and I know that he will slap me and slap me HARD if he sees me turn into that little girl instead of standing up for who and what I am NOW, but I fear it won't be enough... it's never enough... not even three years on a different continent in a different world were enough...
Yet I feel terrified.
Don't get me wrong, I love my parents dearly... but at the same time there is nobody in this Universe that can make me feel worse about myself on a regular basis than they can. No words can give justice to the relationship I am having with my parents, and now with their imminent arrival and with my stressing over it and the whole household suffering my moods, I start to realize that many of my issues stem from my relationship with my parents, and how I was brought up.
My compulsive over-explaining and justifying every movement I make? - coming from the fact that for my parents a simple statement is never good enough. Nothing I ever asked for as a child/teenager I was granted without giving lengthy explanations first on why I think my request is justified. I never had the feeling that I could just say "I want this", or "I am going to do this", without giving a detailed why of the matter at hand. Now I am driving The Fiancé crazy with my constant explaining myself over the smallest things and repeating myself over and over - I can't even take out the trash without explaining to him why I am doing it and seeking approval, even if it's the most obvious reason in the world.
My chronic inability to apologize and make up for a mistake I made? - coming from the fact that nobody in my family ever apologizes for anything. Mistakes are being acknowledged and punished (as we were kids, anyway), but that's it. Gosh, I can't even remember how many times my mother and I yelled at each other and slammed doors into each others faces, and 10 minutes later she came back into my room all smiles and friendly, as if nothing ever happened. It was an acknowledgement that something happened, but it's over now, so let's move on. So that's what I do now... even if I know that I fucked up, I acknowledge it to myself, then try to change the subject. Saying "I am sorry" causes me almost physical discomfort, and that's something that The Fiancé has the hardest time dealing with, and it's one of our biggest issues.
But that's not why I am feeling so bad right now. Why I am feeling so bad is because now I realize - after three years of seeing them only twice a year for 2 weeks each and otherwise living my complete own independent life by myself with them only playing a very marginal part in it - now I realize how much power they still hold over me. They (unknowingly, I am sure) put me under huge performance pressure, and I find myself doing everything in my power to please them and get their approval. Why else would I have cleaned the house today in a way I would never bother for any other person - so I could fit their standards of cleanliness, and won't have to worry about looking like a "bad housewife", living under "horrid circumstances". People - my mother is so clean that at any given day under any given circumstance you could eat off her bathroom floor and not ingest a single germ. I am pretty sure you could even eat out of her trashcan without having to worry about anything. NOTHING in my mother's household has a speck of dust or dirt on it, and even after living with her for 22 years, I still have no idea how she does it. I can't do it myself, not as well anyways... and I hate being under her scrutiny about the way I keep my own place clean and organized. And I know that I WILL be.
With them (and even my sister) around I feel like apologizing for everything - even stuff that is out of my control or not my fault. I already see myself apologizing for the LA rush hour traffic once we'll be stuck in it (and we WILL be). I already see myself apologizing for the smoggy air, which is so much shittier than the air in Vienna. I already see myself apologizing for the food prices, and clothes prices, and dirty streets. I will apologize if they don't like their food in a restaurant, and I will apologize if it drizzles instead of California showcasing the blazing sun it is famous for. First apologize, and then try to justify it - as if I am somehow responsible, or as if I have failed in a performance I was to present in a certain way that didn't work out.
I guess I want them to see what I see in this country, I want them to understand why I am so in love with it, I want them to realize that I belong here, that I am doing relatively well, and that it holds up against their high Austrian standards. And if only ONE little thing won't be to their liking, I feel like they are disregarding the entire experience, and shake their head at me disapprovingly for doing what I do, liking what I like, living what I live.
This pressure is something I am not handling well AT ALL. Here I am, only hours away from my parents' long awaited arrival, which I really DO look forward to, but at the same time I feel like crying and not stopping anymore. I am proud of this life that I have built for myself here, I am passionate about this dream I am having, and I am determined to follow it and make it happen. This is MY life afterall, and I can live it however I choose to, and not according to what pleases and accomodates others - even if those others are my parents. The Fiancé tells me this all the time, yet I know that with one word my parents will be able to make me sway, will be able to make me feel stupid about wanting the things I want, and insufficient because I am not living a life according that what THEY wanted me to live.
I know that if my dad will ask me only once about "how do I reckon I will make a career with music, realistically", I will start to over-explain, and stammer, and stutter, and make excuses, and apologize for my dreams, and try to explain what it all means to me, to a person who has never shared deep personal feelings with me. How can you explain something that involves no rational thought but all your heart and soul in pragmatic logical terms made of rationality that will convince a person like my father?
There is nothing that hurts me more in this world than the disappointed, disapproving look of my father.
And he's good at giving me that look. My father is a person who takes everything personal. Everything that doesn't go according to what he likes and wants, he sees as a personal affront, an attack, and insult to his life and how he imagined it to be. My whole move to the United States was nothing other than a personal attack on him, and my not wanting to move back to my home country is just another affront to him. He thinks people do things solely to spite him... and the thought that I have my own life and my own dreams and my own goals, and that these might not necessarily coincide with his own, never even occurs to him.
I know that I will have to have the "but you promised us that you will come home this summer" discussion with him once they are here. And I know that all my reminding him that I said "unless the band makes it" will mean nothing to him. I know that I will hear all kinds of reasons on why my decision is stupid or hurtful or irresponsible or selfish, and "when will I start to be responsible and have a LIFE". Then, when I will try to tell him that I am a grown-up persons with goals and dreams and aspirations of her own, he will give me the disappointed and disapproving and hurt look, sulk, and not talk to me for the rest of the day. Or days. I don't know. I dread thinking about it.
I love my parents very much - but I don't understand why I am feeling guilty about leading my own life. I don't understand why I have to apologize for wanting to do whatever I want to do as opposed to what they want me to do. I don't understand why I am still connected to them via some sort of invisible umbilical chord, that renders me incapable of taking decisions in my life without feeling this tremendous amount of guilt and shame.
The only two people who have to approve of my lifestyle and my plans with my life are The Fiancé and me. We are the only two people who have to agree on a lifestyle, and on goals and plans. If he wouldn't agree with something I wanted to do, I should adjust. Yet I adjust for my parents. I am seriously considering to give up all the potential we are realistically having with the band, move back, leave the country I love more than I ever loved my homeland, marry, get a job, found a family - just to please them, to accomodate to them I am seriously considering not to think of myself and what I want and what I dream of, putting all that on the backburner, and surrender to the boring cookie-cutter life that I fled from in the first place, knowing so well how I will feel about giving up my dream, and how guilty I will feel for the rest of my life for giving up without ever having really tried. Knowing well that the nagging "what if?" will follow me into my grave. And what for? Just so that other people can be happy and get what they want.
I love my parents so very much - but they shouldn't play such a significant role in my life-altering decisions the way they are doing. Guilt and shame are HUGE cataclysts to make the wrong decisions for all the wrong reasons. In the end I will have my OWN family, with the man I chose to be with, and in the end it'll be all about this new family, with my parents playing only a rather subordinate role, supporting roles, if you may, without any decision power or influence beyond grandparently activities. It's about ME and MY LIFE, not about THEM and WHAT THEY WANT me to do.
I know that. It is clear as glass.
Yet come tomorrow I will grovel on the floor with my proverbial tail between my legs, whimpering for their approval, doing everything in my power to accomodate to their ideals and ideas. Obliterating myself and who I came to be over these past three years completely. Turning back into that little girl that I left behind on the Viennese airport a quarter decade ago. Swaying in my plans, swaying in my goals, labeling my own dreams stupid and immature.
Heavens help me... I know I have The Fiancé's full support, and I know that he will slap me and slap me HARD if he sees me turn into that little girl instead of standing up for who and what I am NOW, but I fear it won't be enough... it's never enough... not even three years on a different continent in a different world were enough...
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Ebony and Ivory
What a cheesy title!
Don't worry, I am aware of it. Especially in light of what I want to talk about today. I just sometimes run out of enough wit to spew out a good title. I hate titling blog entries.
Anyway.
I found this gorgeous (- and I mean GORGEOUS - unless it's a pic of someone else who she wants to look like) girl on this personals website the other day, and shot her an email. She's 5'10" (*drool*), from around my area, 23, black, and just stunning. She emailed me back the day after, telling me that she is not the type to start talking on the phone right away (- good! Me neither!), but gave me her email address and Yahoo! ID.
I emailed her back yesterday, added her to my Yahoo! list, saw her online a few times, but never said anything to her. Chatting with someone you don't know is almost as uncomfortable as having conversational small talk with a person you never met on a phone. Plus I was busy working, anyway.
But today I decided to hit her up with a message, and so we started chatting. It was a bit slow at first, but we seemed to warm up soon, especially when we started talking about our bisexuality and experiences with girls. Turns out she is dating a guy too at the moment, and is pretty much just looking for some good fun with girls, just like me. He lets her play, so there's something (superficial) that we have in common. She asked me if I was okay with The Fiancé going out with guys, and I told her that in fact, I was. Did I ever have the chance to watch him being with a guy? No... unfortunately haven't, but boy, do I want to, to which she said "I would love to see that too". Ha! We have something else in common!
Maybe I should tell him. Subtle motivation there? lol
Anyway. Her name is Iman, pronounced like "emon". To this I said the following:
"thats a beautiful name. no race comment or anything like that, but black people always have such beautiful and unusual (at least to me) names"
To which she responded: "have you ever talked to a black person before?"
I felt so goodamn silly at that moment! Well, to answer the question... I have had a few black class mates at college, a bunch of guys, two of which I superficially befriended... but other than that my experience with black people is very limited. Her question threw me off totally. What was meant as a compliment suddenly resounded like an insult, or if anything like something only a stupid white girl would say. I am not sure if I was offensive? Improper, maybe? Impolite? Maybe it was none of that, but her question put me on the defense immediately, and made me feel stupid and very unworldly.
Like... how can anyone live in LA for three years and NOT have talked with black people before? So what rock did I crawl out from under, to never really have had much contact with one before?
Then I was thinking. Why did I email her in the first place, what made me do it? That she was black? Truth to be told... I couldn't care less. I saw her picture in her profile like I saw so many others, and all I saw was one gorgeous girl. Black skin? I didn't even notice that on any conscious level. Nor that I was "different" from her because I am radioactively white. She listed herself as 5'10" tall... and that's what really closed the deal for me. That's the real reason I emailed her.
So is it an issue that she is black? What if we met after a while, hit it off, and started to go out with each other? Hypothetically speaking? Would that be an issue?
So I asked her after a while... when she said that she is looking to hook up with a girl soon: "so - please excuse me if i sound stupid, but is skin color an issue for you?"
She said: "no, not at all"
I guess it's all in my head, then. I guess for all my thinking I am so wordly and educated and unbiased, I still am a bit naive and clumsy in my way of dealing with "different" people, simply due to my lack of experience (and lack of people skills in general lol). Little white girl who grew up in a country where many people change the side of street when they see a black person approaching, now living in the big city where a huge percentage of the populace is black, and really, I don't even know if what I say could be considered offensive by them or not. How unsophisticated is that?
Don't worry, I am aware of it. Especially in light of what I want to talk about today. I just sometimes run out of enough wit to spew out a good title. I hate titling blog entries.
Anyway.
I found this gorgeous (- and I mean GORGEOUS - unless it's a pic of someone else who she wants to look like) girl on this personals website the other day, and shot her an email. She's 5'10" (*drool*), from around my area, 23, black, and just stunning. She emailed me back the day after, telling me that she is not the type to start talking on the phone right away (- good! Me neither!), but gave me her email address and Yahoo! ID.
I emailed her back yesterday, added her to my Yahoo! list, saw her online a few times, but never said anything to her. Chatting with someone you don't know is almost as uncomfortable as having conversational small talk with a person you never met on a phone. Plus I was busy working, anyway.
But today I decided to hit her up with a message, and so we started chatting. It was a bit slow at first, but we seemed to warm up soon, especially when we started talking about our bisexuality and experiences with girls. Turns out she is dating a guy too at the moment, and is pretty much just looking for some good fun with girls, just like me. He lets her play, so there's something (superficial) that we have in common. She asked me if I was okay with The Fiancé going out with guys, and I told her that in fact, I was. Did I ever have the chance to watch him being with a guy? No... unfortunately haven't, but boy, do I want to, to which she said "I would love to see that too". Ha! We have something else in common!
Maybe I should tell him. Subtle motivation there? lol
Anyway. Her name is Iman, pronounced like "emon". To this I said the following:
"thats a beautiful name. no race comment or anything like that, but black people always have such beautiful and unusual (at least to me) names"
To which she responded: "have you ever talked to a black person before?"
I felt so goodamn silly at that moment! Well, to answer the question... I have had a few black class mates at college, a bunch of guys, two of which I superficially befriended... but other than that my experience with black people is very limited. Her question threw me off totally. What was meant as a compliment suddenly resounded like an insult, or if anything like something only a stupid white girl would say. I am not sure if I was offensive? Improper, maybe? Impolite? Maybe it was none of that, but her question put me on the defense immediately, and made me feel stupid and very unworldly.
Like... how can anyone live in LA for three years and NOT have talked with black people before? So what rock did I crawl out from under, to never really have had much contact with one before?
Then I was thinking. Why did I email her in the first place, what made me do it? That she was black? Truth to be told... I couldn't care less. I saw her picture in her profile like I saw so many others, and all I saw was one gorgeous girl. Black skin? I didn't even notice that on any conscious level. Nor that I was "different" from her because I am radioactively white. She listed herself as 5'10" tall... and that's what really closed the deal for me. That's the real reason I emailed her.
So is it an issue that she is black? What if we met after a while, hit it off, and started to go out with each other? Hypothetically speaking? Would that be an issue?
So I asked her after a while... when she said that she is looking to hook up with a girl soon: "so - please excuse me if i sound stupid, but is skin color an issue for you?"
She said: "no, not at all"
I guess it's all in my head, then. I guess for all my thinking I am so wordly and educated and unbiased, I still am a bit naive and clumsy in my way of dealing with "different" people, simply due to my lack of experience (and lack of people skills in general lol). Little white girl who grew up in a country where many people change the side of street when they see a black person approaching, now living in the big city where a huge percentage of the populace is black, and really, I don't even know if what I say could be considered offensive by them or not. How unsophisticated is that?
