Sunday, December 4, 2011
Style Crushes
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| Reblogged from 18° 15' N, 77° 30' W |
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| Reblogged from 18° 15' N, 77° 30' W |
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| Reblogged from Currently Obsessed with... |
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| Reblogged from |
^ So simple, but soooo cute!!
"I guess one shouldn't make one-night stands a habit,"
K said, after I detailed my adventures from last night.
Adventure summary:
So, let's start by saying that (after a USPS faux-pas in which my costume, which was supposed to be here by Thursday, and is stuck inpurgatory the post office in town) I was wearing my shortest freakum dress (which is luckily partially red, and thus appropriately festive) and four inch studded stiletto pumps; I might as well have been wearing a sign that said, "Fuck me, puh-lease" in flashing red and green letters. And one of my closest gay friends was drunk as shit and after a game of beruit, I started the night off by dancing with him as nastily as I've danced with anyone, while he fondled my breasts through my dress and detailed how he wished I made him hard because I'm so fucking hot and he wishes he could fuck me. And then I went outside with a few other scantily clad girls to ask random passerby if they were feeling naughty or nice, and inviting them to come inside and be naughty with us. So that should give you a good idea of the mood I was in.
Anyway, so I was on the dance floor getting my groove on, minding my own business, trying not to awkward dance near people who are dancing together, and then he came up beside me and did a little like, hip bump, which made me laugh, and quickly turned into us like, backwards grinding, ass to ass for the rest of whatever song was playing. When guys have done that with me before, it has led absolutely nowhere, so I'll admit I was a bit surprised when I turned around and cautiously backed it up, and he was right there ready to actually grind me with.
So we're grinding or whatever, and I'm pushing back on him and he's leanin up on me and I realize that this is a BIG dude, because I'm a little over 6'1" in those heels and he still had inches on me. And when the first song changes, we blend seamlessly into the next, and the next, and eventually his hands start roaming, sometimes to find mine to hold them while we dance, sometimes to run up and down my thighs/torso/chest. He surprised me with an over-the-dress boob-squeeze, which actually caused me to arch my back and moan audibly. He held my hand and started to raise my arm up, and I caught his drift and moved my hand to the back of his neck, both giving myself more leverage and, according to some blog I read once, exercising the universal dance floor sign for I want you tonight. At some point, he decided to make his move and very delicately kissed the back of my neck. He moved from there to my shoulder, up the side of my neck, and finally started to nibble on my earlobe, and I was done. The safety was off and all hell was officially allowed to break loose: I stopped giving a shit about how high my dress was riding up (my friend Kelsey actually came over and reached her hand between my legs to pull it back down, because evidently I was trying to give the whole room a show) and started bending over to grind on him with my hands around my ankles.
When he starts kissing my neck again, I make my move and turn around to face him so I can kiss him properly, and tentative kisses turn into more ravenous kisses with a quickness. (Remember that at this point, I don't even know dude's name.) We alternate between grinding and making out, and he wins further cool points when the DJ plays Nelly's "Ride Wit Me" and I start rapping and homeboy jumps right in--he knew all the words! (Any White guy that knows 90s rap has gained awesome points in my book. Oh, yeah, did I mention he's White?) As the DJ wound down from the last song, I turned to face him to ask him name and tell him mine. We stayed through Pianoman (as a ritual, my eating club ends every night by singing Billy Joel's Pianoman in a circle) and he knew all the words to Pianoman as well, and had no problem joining the circle. At that point, I had basically decided I was going to take him home with me. (As C said when I told him this later; he was obviously a keeper if he Pianomanned with us that well.)
But I realize that I have no idea how to tell this guy I just met that I want to keep this going past the party. He goes to the bathroom and I run upstairs to get my coat, and I go back downstairs and he's lingering, so I start talking to some friends, and then he makes his way over towards me and sort of nods in my direction and I smile and say bye to my friends and start walking towards the door, making sure he's right behind me. We get out the door and his jacket-less self starts commenting on how cold it is, and I use this insertion of normal conversation to ask a few questions about him: year, major, where he's from. He was with a friend inside, and I'm wondering whether we're waiting for that friend or standing here for no reason when he kisses me again, and we make out for a long time in the cold in front of my club before I decide to accelerate this process, and I grab his hand and start walking.
On our way down the street, we pass the guy he'd been with earlier, who isn't looking all too hot, and he stops to talk to his friend. He looks like he needs to be taken home, or perhaps even to Health Services, and in my officer-of-an-eating-club's-responisibility-mode, I suggested that we could get him taken care of before we went about our impending business, but he waved us off. [I'm guessing that it's written somewhere in guy code that a true friend never cockblocks, even when he needs help.] So we left him somewhat reluctantly, and M (which is how dude will be referred to for the rest of this post) extends him arm for me to link mine through as we walk. He asks where I live, and I say we're going to Edwards, and we chitchat about our majors and plans for the future and whatnot while we walk.
We get back to my room and the first comment out of his mouth is about how high my bed is, so I guess there was no mistaking what was about to go down. I take off my coat and shrink out of my heels, and he kicks off his shoes and throws his sweatshirt in the chair, and suddenly we're making out again and he's walking me backwards to my bed. (Shoutout to that awkward moment when he's laying you down and you feel something cool and rubbery under your hand and realize you left your hot pink vibrator out in your bed, and quickly shove it between the wall and the bed, hoping he didn't notice.) I'll gloss over all the details, but despite some technical difficulties in the beginning, I was left incredibly satisfied. It was pretty vanilla, but he was wonderful with his hands, and after I teased him by focusing on myself he gave it to me right. Afterwards I directed him to the bathroom and he called the friend we'd kind of abandoned earlier, to learn that he was basically incoherent and had thrown up a few times, and so after talking about how much of a compelling argument I was providing to stay (even though verbally I was telling him to go play hero), he eventually left many many more kisses to go save his friend.
So I, uh, went to the online roster of the sport he plays to figure out his last name this morning (shameful, I know) and friend requested him on Facebook. We'll see if anything comes of this...
...but I think the reason I wanted to talk about this, besides the fact that I generally allude or refer directly to my sex life often on le blog, and the fact that K thinks this is particularly interesting because "when do you ever hear about White guys hooking up with Black girls on The Street?" (which I think happens fairly often, but anyway), is that not having known his last name when I fucked him is the only thing I really feel any shame about with regard to this entire situation. Even if nothing happens, and M doesn't accept my friend request or we otherwise never interact again, I'm pretty sure I'll have no regrets. I have none now, because there was absolutely no emotional connection. It was really just I'm horny + you're into me = we can make this work for both of us.
I like, am wondering whether I'm okay with how comfortable I am with the fact that I slept with a stranger. The sociologist in me is all, No Maya, you've only been socialized by a hating-ass patriarchal society to believe this isn't acceptable behavior, and you should be glad you've embraced yourself as a responsible sexual being, but still, I wonder. Me from as little a six months ago wouldn't recognize me from last night, and would be highly judgmental. But I don't see anything destructive or morally wrong with what I'm doing. It's...interesting, I guess, how your thoughts on things can change with experience. It's also funny how much the name we give something affects our reactions to it: "one-night stand" sounds so foul, whereas "hookup" is perfectly normalized.
Adventure summary:
So, let's start by saying that (after a USPS faux-pas in which my costume, which was supposed to be here by Thursday, and is stuck in
Anyway, so I was on the dance floor getting my groove on, minding my own business, trying not to awkward dance near people who are dancing together, and then he came up beside me and did a little like, hip bump, which made me laugh, and quickly turned into us like, backwards grinding, ass to ass for the rest of whatever song was playing. When guys have done that with me before, it has led absolutely nowhere, so I'll admit I was a bit surprised when I turned around and cautiously backed it up, and he was right there ready to actually grind me with.
So we're grinding or whatever, and I'm pushing back on him and he's leanin up on me and I realize that this is a BIG dude, because I'm a little over 6'1" in those heels and he still had inches on me. And when the first song changes, we blend seamlessly into the next, and the next, and eventually his hands start roaming, sometimes to find mine to hold them while we dance, sometimes to run up and down my thighs/torso/chest. He surprised me with an over-the-dress boob-squeeze, which actually caused me to arch my back and moan audibly. He held my hand and started to raise my arm up, and I caught his drift and moved my hand to the back of his neck, both giving myself more leverage and, according to some blog I read once, exercising the universal dance floor sign for I want you tonight. At some point, he decided to make his move and very delicately kissed the back of my neck. He moved from there to my shoulder, up the side of my neck, and finally started to nibble on my earlobe, and I was done. The safety was off and all hell was officially allowed to break loose: I stopped giving a shit about how high my dress was riding up (my friend Kelsey actually came over and reached her hand between my legs to pull it back down, because evidently I was trying to give the whole room a show) and started bending over to grind on him with my hands around my ankles.
When he starts kissing my neck again, I make my move and turn around to face him so I can kiss him properly, and tentative kisses turn into more ravenous kisses with a quickness. (Remember that at this point, I don't even know dude's name.) We alternate between grinding and making out, and he wins further cool points when the DJ plays Nelly's "Ride Wit Me" and I start rapping and homeboy jumps right in--he knew all the words! (Any White guy that knows 90s rap has gained awesome points in my book. Oh, yeah, did I mention he's White?) As the DJ wound down from the last song, I turned to face him to ask him name and tell him mine. We stayed through Pianoman (as a ritual, my eating club ends every night by singing Billy Joel's Pianoman in a circle) and he knew all the words to Pianoman as well, and had no problem joining the circle. At that point, I had basically decided I was going to take him home with me. (As C said when I told him this later; he was obviously a keeper if he Pianomanned with us that well.)
But I realize that I have no idea how to tell this guy I just met that I want to keep this going past the party. He goes to the bathroom and I run upstairs to get my coat, and I go back downstairs and he's lingering, so I start talking to some friends, and then he makes his way over towards me and sort of nods in my direction and I smile and say bye to my friends and start walking towards the door, making sure he's right behind me. We get out the door and his jacket-less self starts commenting on how cold it is, and I use this insertion of normal conversation to ask a few questions about him: year, major, where he's from. He was with a friend inside, and I'm wondering whether we're waiting for that friend or standing here for no reason when he kisses me again, and we make out for a long time in the cold in front of my club before I decide to accelerate this process, and I grab his hand and start walking.
On our way down the street, we pass the guy he'd been with earlier, who isn't looking all too hot, and he stops to talk to his friend. He looks like he needs to be taken home, or perhaps even to Health Services, and in my officer-of-an-eating-club's-responisibility-mode, I suggested that we could get him taken care of before we went about our impending business, but he waved us off. [I'm guessing that it's written somewhere in guy code that a true friend never cockblocks, even when he needs help.] So we left him somewhat reluctantly, and M (which is how dude will be referred to for the rest of this post) extends him arm for me to link mine through as we walk. He asks where I live, and I say we're going to Edwards, and we chitchat about our majors and plans for the future and whatnot while we walk.
We get back to my room and the first comment out of his mouth is about how high my bed is, so I guess there was no mistaking what was about to go down. I take off my coat and shrink out of my heels, and he kicks off his shoes and throws his sweatshirt in the chair, and suddenly we're making out again and he's walking me backwards to my bed. (Shoutout to that awkward moment when he's laying you down and you feel something cool and rubbery under your hand and realize you left your hot pink vibrator out in your bed, and quickly shove it between the wall and the bed, hoping he didn't notice.) I'll gloss over all the details, but despite some technical difficulties in the beginning, I was left incredibly satisfied. It was pretty vanilla, but he was wonderful with his hands, and after I teased him by focusing on myself he gave it to me right. Afterwards I directed him to the bathroom and he called the friend we'd kind of abandoned earlier, to learn that he was basically incoherent and had thrown up a few times, and so after talking about how much of a compelling argument I was providing to stay (even though verbally I was telling him to go play hero), he eventually left many many more kisses to go save his friend.
So I, uh, went to the online roster of the sport he plays to figure out his last name this morning (shameful, I know) and friend requested him on Facebook. We'll see if anything comes of this...
...but I think the reason I wanted to talk about this, besides the fact that I generally allude or refer directly to my sex life often on le blog, and the fact that K thinks this is particularly interesting because "when do you ever hear about White guys hooking up with Black girls on The Street?" (which I think happens fairly often, but anyway), is that not having known his last name when I fucked him is the only thing I really feel any shame about with regard to this entire situation. Even if nothing happens, and M doesn't accept my friend request or we otherwise never interact again, I'm pretty sure I'll have no regrets. I have none now, because there was absolutely no emotional connection. It was really just I'm horny + you're into me = we can make this work for both of us.
I like, am wondering whether I'm okay with how comfortable I am with the fact that I slept with a stranger. The sociologist in me is all, No Maya, you've only been socialized by a hating-ass patriarchal society to believe this isn't acceptable behavior, and you should be glad you've embraced yourself as a responsible sexual being, but still, I wonder. Me from as little a six months ago wouldn't recognize me from last night, and would be highly judgmental. But I don't see anything destructive or morally wrong with what I'm doing. It's...interesting, I guess, how your thoughts on things can change with experience. It's also funny how much the name we give something affects our reactions to it: "one-night stand" sounds so foul, whereas "hookup" is perfectly normalized.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Queer Politics
I stumbled across someone who had reblogged this, and it caught my attention:
I've said before that "queer" as a term seems too...grown for me. Too firmly set on an alternative lifestyle, as contrasted with my willingness to experiment. I wonder how a queer identity on my part would be regarded when I'm in a heterosexual relationship; would people see it as legitimate? Anyway, this makes me feel like maybe my "heteroflexibility" is a cop-out in terms of the politics of sexual orientation and identity politics generally. Yes, it's great to personally identify yourself in whatever way you want, but I would like to fit into a larger politically charged sphere of social identification. I want to help fuck shit up. So from now on, I'm going to actively try to grow into queer-dom.
"I am queer. say that intentionally.I am not a lesbian. Not bi. Not straight. Not pan. Not gay. I am queer. Intentionally. I intentionally use this term although others may apply. Because being queer is political. It is fucking shit up. It is reconstructing broken elements. It is loving multiple sexes…" -- Freedom Fighter
I've said before that "queer" as a term seems too...grown for me. Too firmly set on an alternative lifestyle, as contrasted with my willingness to experiment. I wonder how a queer identity on my part would be regarded when I'm in a heterosexual relationship; would people see it as legitimate? Anyway, this makes me feel like maybe my "heteroflexibility" is a cop-out in terms of the politics of sexual orientation and identity politics generally. Yes, it's great to personally identify yourself in whatever way you want, but I would like to fit into a larger politically charged sphere of social identification. I want to help fuck shit up. So from now on, I'm going to actively try to grow into queer-dom.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Saturday, November 26, 2011
L.O.V.E.
That's what the fight for marriage equality is about. Everything else is just a fringe benefit. The important thing is to recognize and validate love and commitment wherever they come in this world full of false starts and not-so-happy endings.
This ad actually made me tear up a little.
This ad actually made me tear up a little.
Tried this new twist-out method for my bangs today
and absolutely love the results! I'ma hafta try to do my whole head like this sometime in the very near future.
Brought to my head by:
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| Please ignore the awkward angle of my face. |
Brought to my head by:
Style Crush
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| Reblogged from 18° 15' N, 77° 30' W |
Full-Figured Woman Chronicles:
Though I did some shopping earlier this week, the only thing I bought on actual Black Friday?
Bras.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Style crush
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| Reblogged from 18° 15' N, 77° 30' W |
What we're celebrating today.
I have a friend who is a quarter Native American. We were talking about what we were doing for the holiday over our Thanksgiving dinner on campus, and she laughed and said her family doesn't really like Thanksgiving, for obvious reasons. And that was when it hit me, that Thanksgiving celebrates many of the same atrocities that Columbus Day lauds, and it's a bit hypocritical for me to abhor the latter while wholeheartedly celebrating the former. I feel obligated to recognize how problematic this holiday is, how we are officially celebrating the exploitation and subsequent near-destruction of a people.
But there is one major thing that separates Thanksgiving from Columbus Day: no one knows what we're celebrating on Columbus Day, except a day off of school or work for some. On Thanksgiving, we know what we're celebrating: family, friendship, love, and quite a bit of privilege. We journey across the country to visit our families, taking part in old traditions and creating our own, cooking together, laughing together, sharing memories, and remembering how much we really do love each other, even if we don't get together as often as we'd like. Today, Thanksgiving is meant to be a day of joy and togetherness, and so even though the day was created out of terrible legacies, I am thankful for what it has become in modern times.
First and foremost, this year I am thankful for my family and all of our relative healths, and that I can sit in this room typing this with my grandmother reading a book on one side of me and my mother on the other side. I am thankful that we are all able to come together and cook this meal together this year, a tradition I hope we'll be able to continue for many years to come. I am thankful that my grandmother wants to write her recipes down into a cookbook, and that she wants my help. I am thankful for the counter full of sweet potato pies, some of which have my name on them. But most of all, I am thankful for the powerful powerful love in this room, even when it comes in the form of teasing. I am thankful for my loving father, and my caring older sister and niece, and my recently re-discoveredex-step-brother, even though I couldn't be with them this holiday.
Next, I am incredibly thankful for Princeton, as corny as it sounds. Nearly everything about my life as it stands today is unrecognizable from my life a mere four years ago, and the change is for the better is the vast majority of ways. I am obviously thankful for the academic atmosphere, the classes I've taken and the incredible minds (both of my professors and my classmates) that I've gotten to work with, and for the myriad opportunities I've been given (financial aid, job, internships, mentors, acting, leadership, trips to Broadway, meeting famous people). I am thankful for the friendships I've spent various fractions of the past 3.5 years cultivating; I mean it when I say you all have changed my life for the better in so many ways. I might even be more thankful for the lessons I've learned outside the classroom, as taught by my friendships and other relationships, than for that which I've learned from books and lectures. I have learned myself by knowing you.
Two particular subsets of Princeton deserve shout-outs. Firstly, I am thankful for what I will call "Black Princeton," being "the Black community" ambiguously defined, as well as the Center for African-American Studies and the Carl A. Fields Center. You introduce me to sides of myself I didn't know, eased an uneasiness I hadn't even been aware of. I always say I "learned how to be Black" at Princeton, and that was all you, and I'm so incredible grateful. You taught me the meaning of community, both in giving me the all-inclusive-ness I desperately needed and in giving me the space I needed to branch out. And secondly, I am thankful for the community I branched out into: Quad. I am thankful for the somewhat haphazard series of decisions that brought me to you and to the officer corps. I am thankful for the diversity of backgrounds, experiences, majors, and ideals we share, and the ever-expanding dinner table and large library where conversations that explore this diversity happen. I am thankful for having been turned into afunctional alcoholic responsible drinker, and for a safe space in which my inhibitions have been lowered to a level I'm much more comfortable with. Both of these communities have changed me fundamentally, and I don't know what I'd do without either.
I am thankful for my friends from childhood/adolescence, because even though sometimes I feel like I've drifted away from you guys, as soon as we have a good conversation or hang out, it's like no time has passed at all. I'm thankful that we grew up (and are still growing up) together, and that after all these years, many of my memories with you all are still counted among the best of my life.
I am thankful for the privileges I have been afforded, for technology, for my job, for the #Occupy movement, for online shopping, for dreaming about roadtrips, for music, for clearance racks, for Integrated Gmail, for etsy, for ebay, for libraries, for my health, my memory, for being able to help my mom when she needs it, for feeling appreciated, for having others to appreciate, for the fight for social justice and equal rights, and for the struggle, because growth must be rooted in frustration. I am thankful for my life, and everything it entails.
But there is one major thing that separates Thanksgiving from Columbus Day: no one knows what we're celebrating on Columbus Day, except a day off of school or work for some. On Thanksgiving, we know what we're celebrating: family, friendship, love, and quite a bit of privilege. We journey across the country to visit our families, taking part in old traditions and creating our own, cooking together, laughing together, sharing memories, and remembering how much we really do love each other, even if we don't get together as often as we'd like. Today, Thanksgiving is meant to be a day of joy and togetherness, and so even though the day was created out of terrible legacies, I am thankful for what it has become in modern times.
First and foremost, this year I am thankful for my family and all of our relative healths, and that I can sit in this room typing this with my grandmother reading a book on one side of me and my mother on the other side. I am thankful that we are all able to come together and cook this meal together this year, a tradition I hope we'll be able to continue for many years to come. I am thankful that my grandmother wants to write her recipes down into a cookbook, and that she wants my help. I am thankful for the counter full of sweet potato pies, some of which have my name on them. But most of all, I am thankful for the powerful powerful love in this room, even when it comes in the form of teasing. I am thankful for my loving father, and my caring older sister and niece, and my recently re-discovered
Next, I am incredibly thankful for Princeton, as corny as it sounds. Nearly everything about my life as it stands today is unrecognizable from my life a mere four years ago, and the change is for the better is the vast majority of ways. I am obviously thankful for the academic atmosphere, the classes I've taken and the incredible minds (both of my professors and my classmates) that I've gotten to work with, and for the myriad opportunities I've been given (financial aid, job, internships, mentors, acting, leadership, trips to Broadway, meeting famous people). I am thankful for the friendships I've spent various fractions of the past 3.5 years cultivating; I mean it when I say you all have changed my life for the better in so many ways. I might even be more thankful for the lessons I've learned outside the classroom, as taught by my friendships and other relationships, than for that which I've learned from books and lectures. I have learned myself by knowing you.
Two particular subsets of Princeton deserve shout-outs. Firstly, I am thankful for what I will call "Black Princeton," being "the Black community" ambiguously defined, as well as the Center for African-American Studies and the Carl A. Fields Center. You introduce me to sides of myself I didn't know, eased an uneasiness I hadn't even been aware of. I always say I "learned how to be Black" at Princeton, and that was all you, and I'm so incredible grateful. You taught me the meaning of community, both in giving me the all-inclusive-ness I desperately needed and in giving me the space I needed to branch out. And secondly, I am thankful for the community I branched out into: Quad. I am thankful for the somewhat haphazard series of decisions that brought me to you and to the officer corps. I am thankful for the diversity of backgrounds, experiences, majors, and ideals we share, and the ever-expanding dinner table and large library where conversations that explore this diversity happen. I am thankful for having been turned into a
I am thankful for my friends from childhood/adolescence, because even though sometimes I feel like I've drifted away from you guys, as soon as we have a good conversation or hang out, it's like no time has passed at all. I'm thankful that we grew up (and are still growing up) together, and that after all these years, many of my memories with you all are still counted among the best of my life.
I am thankful for the privileges I have been afforded, for technology, for my job, for the #Occupy movement, for online shopping, for dreaming about roadtrips, for music, for clearance racks, for Integrated Gmail, for etsy, for ebay, for libraries, for my health, my memory, for being able to help my mom when she needs it, for feeling appreciated, for having others to appreciate, for the fight for social justice and equal rights, and for the struggle, because growth must be rooted in frustration. I am thankful for my life, and everything it entails.
A conversation I just couldn't have
I saw S, one of my oldest friends, for the first time since early September last night. We had the obviously necessary catch-up conversation about how school's going, how surprisingly unweird relations with my ex are, and what kinds of jobs I'm applying to and where on my end, and how moving out of his mom's house is going and whether he likes his new job on his end, and Thanksgiving plans and fabulously boring love lives on both of our ends. It was touching to listen to him protest to me applying to jobs in faraway places like Chicago and California, and when we hopped in the car for a late night Wawa run, I realized that there was one other thing that has developed in my life of late that he should know.
Sitting next to him in the semidarkness of the car, I mulled over how to bring it up. I opened my mouth and closed it again without saying anything. You shouldn't deliver bad news while someone is driving. You also shouldn't do it once they're back in your dining room enjoying a turkey bowl and donuts. You shouldn't do it while you're exploring etsy together, and you shouldn't do it after he yawns and says he should be getting home. Life is full of inopportune moments for this conversation. Is there a right time? How do you say, best friend from childhood, who once made my mother a macaroni necklace for Kwanzaa and whom she often refers to as her favorite son (my little brother's existence notwithstanding), my mom has cancer?
Compounding all of this is the fact that I'm not entirely sure I need to tell him. Does he have to know? (Of course, when something happens with him, I tell my mom and she is genuinely concerned. I know that he would care.) I just...this isn't a topic for casual conversation. I'm not at a point where I can discuss my parents' illnesses in the context of catching up with someone. I wish he read this and just knew; that's how everyone who knows but E, K, and my dad found out. I feel like a hypocrite having shared this with people all over the internet, but some things feel too close to home to be shared with people I distinctly feel as though I'm losing touch with. I don't want this to become one of our regular topics of conversation. I want to stick to safe topics. I want our most complicated things to revolve around our love lives or how this process of trying to grow up is going.
I don't think I'm going to tell him, unless we somehow start talking about my mom and some sort of seamless segue seems possible (which seems highly unlikely). And maybe that signifies all sorts of terrible things about how I'm letting my friends from childhood/adolescence go in favor of my Princeton friends, many of whom I'll probably let go over time in favor of the friends I form in later places and times. Maybe there's a level of emotion that I can't bridge with them anymore; maybe we're just not close enough for them to need to know everything about my life anymore.
And I don't really think I need to feel bad about this. It seems...like a natural consequence of personal growth and relocation. This post may seem like a counterargument, again, but...I feel like it's different talking about the details of my life with people who haven't known me and my family since elementary school. And if that's unfair...life's tough. Get a helmet. (Boy Meets World ftw.)
Sitting next to him in the semidarkness of the car, I mulled over how to bring it up. I opened my mouth and closed it again without saying anything. You shouldn't deliver bad news while someone is driving. You also shouldn't do it once they're back in your dining room enjoying a turkey bowl and donuts. You shouldn't do it while you're exploring etsy together, and you shouldn't do it after he yawns and says he should be getting home. Life is full of inopportune moments for this conversation. Is there a right time? How do you say, best friend from childhood, who once made my mother a macaroni necklace for Kwanzaa and whom she often refers to as her favorite son (my little brother's existence notwithstanding), my mom has cancer?
Compounding all of this is the fact that I'm not entirely sure I need to tell him. Does he have to know? (Of course, when something happens with him, I tell my mom and she is genuinely concerned. I know that he would care.) I just...this isn't a topic for casual conversation. I'm not at a point where I can discuss my parents' illnesses in the context of catching up with someone. I wish he read this and just knew; that's how everyone who knows but E, K, and my dad found out. I feel like a hypocrite having shared this with people all over the internet, but some things feel too close to home to be shared with people I distinctly feel as though I'm losing touch with. I don't want this to become one of our regular topics of conversation. I want to stick to safe topics. I want our most complicated things to revolve around our love lives or how this process of trying to grow up is going.
I don't think I'm going to tell him, unless we somehow start talking about my mom and some sort of seamless segue seems possible (which seems highly unlikely). And maybe that signifies all sorts of terrible things about how I'm letting my friends from childhood/adolescence go in favor of my Princeton friends, many of whom I'll probably let go over time in favor of the friends I form in later places and times. Maybe there's a level of emotion that I can't bridge with them anymore; maybe we're just not close enough for them to need to know everything about my life anymore.
And I don't really think I need to feel bad about this. It seems...like a natural consequence of personal growth and relocation. This post may seem like a counterargument, again, but...I feel like it's different talking about the details of my life with people who haven't known me and my family since elementary school. And if that's unfair...life's tough. Get a helmet. (Boy Meets World ftw.)
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Itty Bitty Confesssion Time:
I will not post the Katy Perry song because her existence tends to annoy me, but...
I kissed a girl. And I liked it. (No cherry chapstick was involved, however.) Like, an actual kiss as opposed to just a little peck. There was some very minor tongue involved and I had my hand on the back of her neck. A room full of people may have been cheering us on a little bit. She was sober and I wasn't particularly drunk.
I'm glad this finally happened, though I was expecting it to happen for the first time with someone else. Anyway, the experience was brief and passionless (more like exploratory), but all in all quite pleasurable, and I feel like I've accomplished something towards "earning" my heteroflexible identity, if that makes sense.
I kissed a girl. And I liked it. (No cherry chapstick was involved, however.) Like, an actual kiss as opposed to just a little peck. There was some very minor tongue involved and I had my hand on the back of her neck. A room full of people may have been cheering us on a little bit. She was sober and I wasn't particularly drunk.
I'm glad this finally happened, though I was expecting it to happen for the first time with someone else. Anyway, the experience was brief and passionless (more like exploratory), but all in all quite pleasurable, and I feel like I've accomplished something towards "earning" my heteroflexible identity, if that makes sense.
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