In which we delve into my romantic past

Part of the reason I started this blog was to figure out why I am such a fuckup when it comes to relationships. I can have them, but they always last about twice as long as they should, and I am almost never friends with my exes, because I don't actually like most of them very much. It seems to me that you should LIKE the person you are in love with, but I never quite manage that. I figured that if I forced myself to write about my issues with relationships it might help me to work through them. Or at least provide entertainment for more functional people.

So, I guess I should explain my checkered romantic past. And when I say checkered, I mean, varied, as in, male, female, black, white, and so on.

My very first serious crush, and I am NOT making this up, was on Robin. As in Batman and Robin, the horrible TV show version from the late 60s early 70s. I couldn't have been more than 5, and I loved him. I would lay there at night before I fell asleep and imagine him saving me, and carrying me around in his arms. Possibly this was the first instance of my falling in love with a gay man.

My second crush, which came on the heels of my love for Robin, and I am also not making THIS up, was on another cartoon character. Speed Racer. Oh how I loved him and his monkey, and his fast, fast car. And the way his lips moved out of sync with the words. And his dark, poorly drawn hair.

After my first two cartoony loves, I don't remember another crush until about the 3rd grade. From then until middle school I would always have a crush on some boy or other. Except, the summer after 5th grade I went to girlscout camp with my best friend. And there i developed a HUGE crush on a counselor. A female counselor. I knew exactly what it was and I was totally confused by it. At this point in my life I do not think I had any idea of what "gay" meant. But I loved that counselor. I was so pleased that I managed to get a photo of her, and I took it home and kept it for years.

In the 6th grade I had an extremely vivid dream wherein I kissed my best [female] friend on the lips, and I promptly went to school and picked a fight with her because I was so disturbed by this. We made up, and I never had that dream again, but I did spend most of that year pretending to have a crush on the same boy that she liked just so we could talk about him at length.

I had my first boyfriend in the 6th or 7th grade; a serious, geeky boy. I don't remember much about him except that he was a fabulous kisser. After we broke up I dated his best friend for a while, who was not such a good kisser.

In high school I had a boyfriend; a real, serious boyfriend, the kind you think you will love forever and ever. We met in drama class and did a scene from Barefoot in the Park together. One day in drama class while watching someone else's scene he picked up my hand and held it. We were together for two and a half years. But we had no future together, I thought, because I was going away to college and he wasn't going at all. We tried to stay together when I left for school, but it didn't work out.

Then I went off to college in New York and fell ass over heels in love with someone else. Who happened to be my roommate, which was convenient. She happened to be female, which was surprising, but I adapted quickly. At my college, part of the liberal arts curriculum involved sleeping with people of a variety of genders, so I was just fitting in. I fell in with a group of lesbian feminists and gay men, and proudly declared myself a lesbian feminist. THat worked out wonderfully until my relationship ended after sophomore year. Then I realized I was not such a good lesbian by falling hopelessly and completely in love with my dearest gay male friend. I adored him so much anyway, and one day I woke up and realized I'd dreamed about him all night. In a non platonic way. Then followed several really uncomfortable and embarassing months, wherein the rest of our clique knew about the crush, and tried to keep it from him and keep me from telling him. Except, one night I decided I HAD to tell him which I did by showing up unnanounced in his dorm room at midnight, after he'd gone to sleep, telling him how I felt, and scaring him half to death. We did stay friends but that took a while.

After that, I busied myself during part of junior and all of my senior year by developing an intense crush on a straight man. He was straight, so that was good, but he was also over 20 years my senior and extremely strange, which was not good. He returned my feelings, but could not get over the age difference and all the other differences between us....which were many. We used to go out drinking together, we studied together every day, and one memorable night we even kissed....but after that he really did freak out and left me alone and I decided to give up on him for the most part.
Thank god I graduated and left the state, because I think if we'd gotten drunk together one more time we might have ended up actually having sex and then, being Italian and Catholic, he probably would have thought he had to marry me.

In spite of spending the past 2.5 years of college obsessed by different men, somehow I still thought of myself as a lesbian.
And after college, I returned to my hometown and lived, proudly, in my parents' basement for two years. The first year I worked at a pizza place and took graduate classes part time at the university, and hung out with an old friend who was also home after getting his BA from a college only a little more prestigious than mine, and living in his parents' house. We hung out all the time and so, as is my wont, I developed a crush on him. Luckily, he moved back to NYC before I got brave enough to actually do anything about it.

The next year I entered grad school in earnest, and won an internship in a university office which paid my tuition and a small [miniscule] cash allowance. I promptly fell in love with my boss. A woman! Yay! This was a crush to rival the best of them. I hadn't been so hopelessly in love with someone so unattainable since my gay best friend in college. She was 20 years older than me, in a relationship [although, to my delight, it was somewhat unstable], a pillar of the local [sizeable] lesbian community, and did I mention, my boss?? Once again, all the cards were stacked against me. I was starting to wonder if huh, maybe, just maybe, I was purposely attracted to people I could not have, just so I wouldn't actually have to go to the trouble of getting actually involved with them. Maybe.

Being me, I managed to charm this woman into not just being my boss, but also my friend. I am remarkably good at making friends. I am even better at making friends with people who have no intention of being my friend. We went out socially, to movies and for coffee. I got involved in the local women's community and saw her out and about, and becamse good friends with people who had known her for years. We became such good friends, in fact, that we even took a couple of trips together. Once we drove out to washington DC together and spent the night with a friend of hers and went to museums and even went to stay with her family for a night. Thinking back on it, it occurs to me that she probably did like me a heck of a lot, but, again, I was 20 years younger and worked for her. This all went on for almost two years. My crush faded because it became clear that nothing was going to happen, and because I lived in a town where there were a LOT of lesbians having sex and I was tired of not being one of them.

Then I met a woman who I wasn't that in love with, but who pursued me so flatteringly that it took me a few months to realize she was at best crazy and at worst fucking crazy. I went out with her because I hadn't had sex in about 4 years, and for once in my life, I thought, what the hell. Also, she was beautiful. Tall, blonde, and just gorgeous. Then I realized that she was, as I said, fucking crazy. She had this little problem with masturbation. As in, she did it constantly. I'd be talking to her on the phone and realize she'd been masturbating the entire time. We'd be studying at her apartment and I'd look over and realize she had her hand in her pants. It was really quite disconcerting.

I got out of THAT one because she graduated and moved to New York. Not quite sure what it is about me, relationships, and New York, but it definitely is in there somewhere.

Soon after that an old friend from high school introduced my to her ex girlfriend and that person's current girlfriend. In true lesbian partner swapping fashion, my old friend and this woman had been together, had a threesome with another women, and when they woke up a new couple had been formed. Also in true lesbian fashion, they had all stayed friends!!!**
Anyway, the ex was now with another woman, they had just moved to town together so that the ex could attend college. Yep. Within 3 months, she'd moved out of her girlfriend's apartment and into mine. That relationship lasted about 2 and a half years, at which point she moved out of our apartment into her next girlfriend's place.


After that I took a break from relationships. At the time I considered myself a lesbian, and so, just to ensure I couldn't date anyone even if I wanted, I moved away from my homosexual haven of a hometown to a little town in a neighboring state where, if being gay wouldn't get you beaten up, it would at least get your tires slashed. That lasted a year and a half, seeing as how I require more than Walmart as a cultural activity. I was single, not looking, and had basically decided to just add to my collection of cats until relationships were never an issue again, because no one wants a crazy cat lady.

So I got myself a job in the big city, and moved here, fully intent on my career as a librarian/catlady. About a month after I'd moved here, I started dreaming about the high school boyfriend again. Which was completely bizarre, because I had not even thought of him in years. Occasionally I would think of him, but these dreams were so vivid. It was like I had just seen him. I even remember mentioning it to a friend at work; how odd it was that I'd been dreaming about my high school boyfriend, who I hadn't seen or heard from in 11 years.

The next month I went to my sister's high school graduation. And, across the crowded stadium, there he was. The high school boyfriend. He looked pretty damn good to me. We met for a drink that night. And then made out in my car til morning.

Maybe not such a lesbian after all. I hate to be one of those stereotypical bisexuals who says "I just fall in love with PEOPLE", or, Colbertesquely, "I don't see gender". But apparently, that's what I am.

This led to 5 years of a relationship that was so fucked up on so many levels that I have blocked most of it. Luckily J. continually reminds me of it, such as the time the boyfriend found all of my diaries, read them, and then systematically unpacked each box in my house in order to see what was in it. I was actually forbidden to see J. because he was gay, which would [obviously] remind me of the lifestyle I was "missing", and also because he was male, and therefore I might accidentally sleep with him, which might turn me gay again. Hey. I didn't make that up.

That relationship probably requires its own entry, as this is already way too long and it was so fucked on so many levels.



**this is one reason I will never be a good lesbian even if I end up with women for the rest of my life. they really DO stay friends after that shit.

A Tale of Hormones

I guess I wasn't kidding when I picked the URL for this blog. I do seem to get here about once a month. Although this month's ovulation rage has passed already and I am already into the lovely bleeding. There, that should scare away all but the most dedicated readers.

So I've realized that my entire life is ruled by hormones. First, I bleed. The first day of THAT, I am so tired I can hardly move about. But, I am usually in a good mood. Good mood lasts through that week, and then the next. The third week brings the RAGE, which my friend J. and I dubbed "ovulation rage" a few years ago. PMS is bad. Ovulation rage is about four steps past the worst PMS. Since it's not actually pre-period, but halfway between, we realized it was something else. Then we realized, huh, one OVULATES halfway between. If I ever wanted to get pregnant, ovulation rage would make it very easy for me. I would simply pick the day where I feel like screaming and smacking people the most, insert semen, and bingo, that would be it. The rage itself varies from a generalized misanthropic rage--and not misandry as in man-hating*, but rather humankind hating--to picking fights with friends, co-workers, family, and people in public places. Since I at least know that I'm a complete bitch during that week, I usually try to avoid as much human contact as possible with anyone who might possibly get on my nerves. Unfortunately, that's mostly everyone.



Anyway. After ovulation rage comes the week of depression and anxiety. Then, I have two or three days when I am so anxious about money that my mother will simply just hear the tone of my voice and hang up on me and send me a check. Then, thankfully, the bleeding begins again.


Yes, you read that right. I only get three weeks in between blood. It sucks. I was once on what I like to call the white trash shot, aka depo provera. It was so wonderful because for almost 4 years, I didn't bleed at all. I still had something of an emotional cycle, but NOTHING like without the depo. I would usually just find myself very irritable for a few days without knowing why. But since I was involved in a relationship during that era with a man who would not speak, cook, clean, or do anything but watch TV 23 hours a day, I was only surprised I wasn't more irritable more of the time.

Now, of course, I've learned that they believe that the white trash shot may postpone menopause, which makes perfect sense, seeing as you don't release eggs while on it. Great. I may bleed for another 30 years. Wouldn't THAT be a joy?
At this point in my life, I can't imagine actually ever giving birth. Aside from the fact that I'm 38, which is old anyway, I have a relative with Down's syndrome. My chances of having a down's syndrome child are something ridiculous like a 5 or 10 percent chance at my age. That's a big fucking chance.




[I did try, briefly, in college, to be a manhater, but stopped when I kept getting in trouble for sneaking my many male friends into the college Women's Center which was a "womyn-only space". Rather like my womb at the time.]