You Remind Me

                I really wanted to do a post this week about certain past events from High School I’m still having trouble dealing with. I’ve been trying to reconcile and heal from someone who constantly abused me back then.  Honestly, I started this blog to explore the events and feelings he left me with, and that I don’t know how to heal from. A lot of things have happened recently that keep bringing me back to it, and I’m getting closer to telling people things I’ve never been able to talk about before, but I just don’t have the energy to do the post. I wrote a very personal one, which did in fact deal with him in a very roundabout/subtle way for my church blog this week but I just don’t have the energy or enthusiasm left to write another about it. So instead enjoy this song that has been stuck in my head for a few days. It explains exactly how I feel about this stuff coming up in my life now in a very symbolic way. Or Riq said it did anyway, all I know is that I had it stuck in my head. Thanks subconscious.

You Remind Me of Home
Ben Gibbard & Andrew Kenny

You remind me of home
The paint cracks when the water leaks from the rusty pipes that are just beneath my feet
You remind me of home
The heater's warm but fills the room with a potpourri of dust and gas fumes

You remind me of home
A broken bed with dirty sheets that creaks when I am shifting in my sleep
You remind me of home
In a suburban town with nothing to do, patiently waiting for something to happen

But the foundation is crumbling
And becoming one with the ground
While you lay there in slumber
You're wasting your life
Wasting your life

You remind me of home
Sitting on a thrift store couch, I'm trying to get this all down

Your Real Home's in Your Chest

I tend to give my own definitions to things; family and trust mean something different to me than most people I know.  I’ve got pretty set personal definitions for those, most I’ve been working off of for years. Home is another word I have a different definition for. Only… I don’t know what it is. I’ve never known what home is.

                I’ll be honest, I don’t totally know what home means to me. You always hear that home is where the heart is, but I’ve never really felt at home anywhere. As long as I can remember I’ve gotten terrible bouts of homesickness, this sudden overwhelming sense of longing and feeling out of place. But you see, I grew up in the same house my entire life. Until I went to college I had the same neighborhood, most of the same classmates, the same church, and usually the same family members at the usual holidays. My life has been pretty consistent. So why do I have a memory of standing in the backyard of the house I grew up in and being suddenly overtaken by feelings of disphoria and, for lack of better adjective, homesickness.

My dream house.

                This week I thought that maybe it would finally stop. Even after getting married and making this apartment as much of a home as I can, I still don’t feel like I belong. Like this is my home. This week I was on the way to the mall with friends when I noticed that a house I’ve been in love with for three years was for sale. The next day Riq and I went to look around the outside; it was foreclosed so you can’t get inside without being pre-qualified, so we decided to just stalk around. Let me tell you, it’s beautiful. The yard is covered with big trees, ivy, and flowers. It even had a cute little gate to a separate garden. The front of the house has cascading greenhouse-like windows and a wrap around driveway. I was in love.

                It was all I could think about for days, and not just the house, but maybe, just maybe I’d finally have a home. I’d finally have a place to let the cats really run around, to have a garden, a garage, a basement. I could paint the walls, I’d have a yard. I could make this place mine. I could host holiday dinners. I am so tired of living in places of in-betweens. Of feeling like my life is on hold, like I’ll always be waiting to move forward.

                I thought I would finally have a place to feel at home. When I found out when had been approved for the loan to buy the house I almost died. It was short lived, because minutes later I got the email telling me that the house was uninsured, which apparently means that they can’t give out loans for it. Ask me how anyone is going to pay for it up front I don’t know… but we couldn’t get the house. I was a little relieved, a 30 year mortgage is a lot for anyone to think about, but it also meant that I would have to keep waiting for a home.

                Sometimes I worry that I’ll never feel like I have a home. I worry that even buying a house won’t achieve it. One of my favorite movies is Garden State, with the beautiful Natalie Portman and the witty Zach Braff. In the movie Andrew says to Sam about leaving home, “You'll see one day when you move out it just sort of happens one day and it's gone. You feel like you can never get it back. It's like you feel homesick for a place that doesn't even exist. Maybe it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't ever have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I don't know, but I miss the idea of it, you know. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people that miss the same imaginary place.”

                I love that quote, but I can’t help thinking that I never even felt home when I was a kid, and I feel like I’m just chasing the future for a feeling I may never have. Where is my home? How far or long do I have to wait to find it, to finally feel like I belong at a place?

                Then again, maybe it’s overrated. Maybe this feeling of home is just… a feeling. I’m writing this as I sit on my couch, surrounded by my cats, who I love with all my heart. One followed me into the shower today; another is asleep on my lap now, the third has been batting at my feet anytime I pass him lately.  They’re not my kids, but they’re certainly my family. My husband will be home from work in a half hour, I’ve never felt so close to another human. Someone who understands me so well or makes me feel so safe. I’ve got my family right here, and even if I never FEEL at home, I’ve got my home surrounding me. Maybe we all miss the same imaginary place, or maybe we’re creating that place all around us every day, we don’t need a house with windows and walls for that.

 P.S.

In case you're wondering, the title
of this blog comes from Captain Hammer.

Ru[Paul] the Day

                When I was growing up I always had a problem accepting myself. It could be the years of bullying and abuse I went through, which I’ve touched on in other posts, or just that it’s normal for everyone. It’s always been hard for me. I find a lot of pride in how well I know myself; of the seven intelligences my greatest one is intrapersonal, and trust me when I say that I know very deeply the things I dislike. The things I dislike about myself, I passionately dislike.

                Lately I’ve been surrounded by very supportive people at the church I just started working with. I have never met a group of people who loved like they do. Any of my quirks, or hair coloring adventures, or even tattoos are met with “I love it!” when I’m so used to being told I need to change to work in the church. I’ve also fallen in love with the show Glee. I am extremely impressed with the show because of how they’re teaching kids that it’s ok to be who you are. Whether you’re gay, bigger boned, a jock, a minority, popular, or unpopular, it’s ok to be who you are and it’s something to be proud of. I love it.

                Lots of those things I’d dealt with already, it’s the common growing point in high school. Being who you are, that is. I’ve dealt with things like my body image and my place on the food chain, I’ve dealt with them. That’s about all I can say. I’ve never been proud of them. I know who I am and for the most part I’ve accepted it. I’ll admit that some days I still have breakdowns because I don’t like something about myself. But, I’ve dealt with it.

And don't f*** it up.

                My husband and I have a habit of picking a show and watching it as a marathon until the end, even if it’s eight seasons long. The last few days we got hooked on RuPaul’s Drag Race. If you don’t know what it is boy are you missing out. It’s America’s Next Top Model for drag queens.  Now, my husband and I’s first date was to a lesbian bar to see my cousins Christmas drag show, so seeing a drag show is close to our hearts.  It was funny, touching, and inspirational.

                Glee and the Drag Race has brought something new to my mind. Pride. Honestly I have never thought that I could be proud of who I am, the whole package. I’ve learned to deal with it. But the kids in Glee and the women on RuPaul’s Drag Race are proud of who they are. The girls on the Drag Race constantly amazed me on how proud they were of who they are. Gay, fabulous, and way more fashion conscious than me. They love who they are and were not afraid to show it off.

                On the final episode, the reunion after the show, one of the girls revealed that he realized he wasn’t just a drag queen but that he was actually transgendered. He was a woman born in the wrong body. He started hormones and was in the beginning stages of making the switch to being an actual woman. He was confidant and he was beautiful. In my personal life I have a friend who is transgendered. She is an amazing person, far stronger than most people I know, and she will make an amazing man one day. I for one am proud to know her and proud of who she is and who he is becoming. It’s been a long and hard road for her, because much of the church and Christian community today are still in the dark ages and don’t understand the LGBTQ community, and it breaks my heart.

This book changed my life, find it on Amazon.

                These shows and these people have put me to shame. The adversity they have faced in their lives is more than I’m sure I’ve faced. The plus size drag queen was one of the best, and he was so proud of himself. Well what about me? My negative thoughts about myself seem so silly in comparison. These people have had to fight to be who they are, and are even still being denied their basic rights, but there they are, stunning the world on this show and showing off who they are.

                My passion these days lies with the LGBTQ community, in showing them love and joining in the fight for their rights. I left the church I spent my entire life in to join the ELCA [Evangelical Lutheran Church of America] because they are gay affirming. I’ve been working to be part of the group Outlaw Preachers because they’re emergent Christians trying to bring the church up to date and away from hate. People like Khad Young and Jay Bakker are on my personal heroes list.

                Here I am, working to be part of this community and help them, and here they are helping me. The person I am is worth being proud of. No matter how I look, how silly I feel, or how many friends I have, God made me as I am. It’s all about confidence. I am fabulous, and it’s about time I take pride in myself because, "if you can't love yourself, how the hell are you gonna love somebody else?" Thanks RuPaul, you’re a new hero of mine.

Belated Feelings

**This was originally written in June, right after Father's Day. It was actually what inspired me to start this blog, but I've been putting off posting it. If you know my dad, please don't mention it. Writing this is part of my healing process, if I want to share it with him, please let it be my choice.

I’m going to tell you a secret, but you’ve got to keep it on the down low. I’ve got a reputation to uphold here. I can’t go sullying it already. The secret… is that I like country music. I know! It’s terrible. The songs are mostly about the same things, they’ve all got that funny country twang to them, and most of the musicianship is pretty average. Nonetheless, I like country music. I went through a phase in High School when I hated it, now I think I was just pretending because that was the thing to do. My parents loved it, in fact my whole family loved it, no one my age liked it, and I just plain didn’t want to like it. So I decided I didn’t. You’re going to hear this at least one more time in this post, but I was lying.

I like country music. I can’t help it. Now, follow me to where the blacktop ends for a second, make sure you’ve got your four-wheel drive, and I’ll tell you what country music has to do with anything.

Sunday, as I’m sure everyone knows, was father’s day. You want to know the one person who didn’t realize it was father’s day? Who planned a meeting for after church on father’s day? Who didn’t realize Sunday was father’s day until she was told in the staff meeting this morning? Me. Yes, me. A Youth and Family Ministry director had no idea it was father’s day.

This wasn’t because I’m out of the loop. It’s not because I don’t have a father. My father is alive and well, and working up at our cabin in Hale, MI with no phone service. Part of why I didn’t call him, and he doesn’t know hardly what a computer is, let alone have a facebook I could comment on. I did send a card with a gift certificate. I sent it about a week ago. Another reason I forgot. However, the biggest reason I forgot father’s day is because for years I didn’t care.

It’s not a secret that my father and I have a rocky relationship. Until about three years ago he was an alcoholic and a workaholic. When I was living at home I never saw him, and when I did I wished he would leave again. He paid the bills, put food on the table, got me birthday gifts, and did all of the monetary things that people often say make a man, or a “good” father. Well, no matter how “good” he was it didn’t change the fact that he was absent in my life. That he yelled at me all the time. That he drank and got angry. It didn’t change the fact that, quite honestly, I could not stand him.

My father retired when I was a senior in High School. I spent a lot of my time either away from the house or hidden in my room, and when I went off to college I didn’t look back for a very long time. Oddly enough, the first year I got away I think was the worst year for my relationship with my father. Things had gotten so bad that year, I asked a very close friend, old art teacher, and mentor of mine to walk me down the aisle instead of my father. This is something I hope my dad never finds out.

But I did say three years ago, didn’t I? Three years ago my dad stopped drinking. I wish I could say this changed everything, that my father and I are best friends now. We’re not. We still hardly speak, I hate talking on the telephone and quite frankly we have very little in common. But last year, for maybe the first time I can remember, I was able to say that I loved my dad. I was able to reconcile and forgive a lot of things that happened in our past. It helps that I know for all the wrong things my dad did, he was a million times better of a father than his was. That for all of the people who have hurt him in the past, his first wife cheated on him, his father was abusive, his sister steals money from him all the time, that for all of this I truly believe my dad is the best man he could be. With all of the hurt in his past, with the person he could be because of it, my dad is a good man. He is smart, he is funny, and he is way better at picking on my mom than I am.

Last week I went out to buy a father’s day card. Buying cards for my dad has always been an ordeal. I mean a dreaded, nerve wracking, anxiety riddled ordeal. For years and years I would only buy humor cards for my dad. Ones that make a joke and nothing more, because I felt I had nothing nice to say to him. I had a hard enough time signing *love, alaine* let alone getting him a card saying how great he was. Then I found myself at Target last week with my friend and my husband looking at cards. I picked up one after the other and was starting to get annoyed. Finally, I exclaimed “Where are the cards that say, ‘I used to hate you but now you’re pretty alright’?!” because that’s how I said I felt.

The card he got this year.

I was lying. I found a very nice Papyrus card. It didn’t say he was the best dad ever, or that my childhood was wonderful, it just said five words, five little words. It wasn’t a humor card, and it wasn’t especially sentimental, but those five words were exactly what I was ready for. The front has a picture of a little girl kissing her dad’s cheek and inside it said, “Always special, forever my dad.”

By the way, my dad was the one who walked me down the aisle August 13^th, 2010. The father daughter dance was to a country song, because my father was the one who introduced me to country music. It’s called “I Loved Her First” by Heartland. Do you wanna know what my dad said to me during the dance? He said five words. He said to me, “I just paid the photographer.” I tried not to laugh because it would be terribly rude to laugh when someone was telling you they loved you.

I love you, dad. Happy Father’s Day.

Picture by Kkart

To The Little Prince

               Saturday is my one year wedding anniversary. I have known Riq for four years, and we’ve been together a total of three and a half. He has changed my life, and me, in ways I never thought possible. I am beyond grateful for that. But this post isn’t about me gushing over my husband; this post is about why the rest of my life will be spent with this man.

               The other night we both had off, we spent it together watching Saw II. I also spent it Stumbling around the internet and came upon a tumblr page of nail polish pictures. It was full of amazing examples of nail polish, and I fell in love with one. Her nails were white, and burnt orange fingerprints on top. I decided I had to try it, so while we watched Saw I painted my nails, and they turned out AMAZING. They’re grey with purple prints. Then I decided to try something with my toe nails, but as I was taking the old polish off I realized the remover was ruining my finger nails. When Riq asked me why I gave up on my toes I told him, and you know what he did? He got the polish off for me.

               That’s only one reason. I used to be an artist. I could almost anything with my chalk pastels; I was pretty good with them. I used to draw, make pottery, and write books. More recently I’ve been doing photography. A lot of that fell by the wayside in college, and then when I was working full time at Whole Foods my entire life fell by the wayside. You know who that never sat well with? Since he met me Riq has been pushing me and doing anything possible to help me rekindle my artistry, to support my [nonexistent] photography business. Because of him our computer room is basically my art room, and it worked. I’ve been writing, drawing, and doing other little artistic things more these last few months than I had in years. If it wasn’t for him, I would have lost it, and that might have destroyed me.

               So I’ve given two reasons, but they’re not good reasons. You can’t base your entire life on someone doing nice things and someone pushing you to do what you love. Those don’t make a marriage, though they are good traits of them. The reason Riq and I are going to go the distance is because we’re stubborn and we’re honest.

               One of my favorite shows is Scrubs, and when I saw the episode My Bed Banter, & Beyond it entirely changed the way I viewed relationships and my outlook on disagreements. Below is the quote, I highly recommend you watch it:

               Dr. Cox says, “Relationships don't work the way they do on television and in the movies: Will they, won't they, and then they finally do and they're happy forever -- gimme a break. Nine out of ten of them end because they weren't right for each other to begin with, and half the ones that get married get divorced, anyway. And I'm telling you right now, through all this stuff, I have not become a cynic, I haven't. Yes, I do happen to believe that love is mainly about pushing chocolate-covered candies and, you know, in some cultures, a chicken. You can call me a sucker, I don't care, 'cause I do...believe in it. Bottom line...is the couples that are truly right for each other wade through the same crap as everybody else, but, the big difference is, they don't let it take 'em down. One of those two people will stand up and fight for that relationship every time - if it's right. And if they're real lucky one of them will say something.”

               We are stubborn, and we are honest. My husband and I will not let an argument go on for longer than an hour. We have never had something stay between us longer than that, ever. If we are upset the other person will know why, how, when, and what we plan to do or say about it within a few minutes of the occurrence, and then we work until it is resolved. Every. Single. Time. The only recurring fight we’ve ever had is entirely out of our hands, about the effects a certain 3^rd party has on our relationship. We do not back down, we do not make excuses, and we do not let the other person stay hurt. We are also brutally honest with each other. If I am thinking something, he knows it. If he’s being a jerk for some reason, I make sure he knows it. And vice versa, and then we work it out.

               “There's something about the look in your eyes/Something I noticed when the light was just right/It reminded me twice that I was alive/And it reminded me that you're so worth the fight” –Echo by Incubus

               When I met Riq I made the decision that he was worth fighting for, and when I married him I promised that I would fight for him for the rest of our lives. The crap we go through will not take us down, we won’t let it. It’s not me against him, it’s us against it, and it’s us against the world when it needs to be. He and I are in this together, and I remind myself of that every time we get in a fight, or one of us gets angry or hurt. He is my partner, and he is my best friend, and he is worth the fight.

So I fight. I will always fight, because he is worth it and because I love him more than myself. Because it’s no longer he and I, but because it’s us.

Sonnet XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

in which there is no I or you
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand
so intimate that when you fall asleep it is my eyes that close
-Pablo Neruda

The Little Prince

Delilah

               I cannot listen to this song anymore. It’s one of my break up songs. It’s from someone I will always be in love with. After four and a half years I gave up. He is someone I will always come back to; my life always circles around back to him, whether I like it or not. I told him I would be the one who got away, and a few days ago he told me I was right.

               My husband showed me a poem he wrote about me one day when I was being frustrating, which I often am. The poem hit home somewhere, at least the first and last stanzas, which I know was not Rick’s intention [which it did not want me to separate on here, thus the tick marks]:

               She doesn’t love Batman
                              she loves the Joker
               Those flashy suits
                              and wild wisps of green
               Painted lips and face and
                              Tainted heart
-

               So here I go,
                              disciple of Bane
                                             looking to complete
                              what her Joker could not
               closest to the finish line
               carving out my name
               in the skyline
-

               But once again:
                              she doesn’t hate Batman
                              she loves the Joker

I love Harley Quinn. She is one of my favorite cartoon characters, and I can really relate to her. I know about loving a man who is insane, and can’t help but break your heart time and again. Who betrays you, and hurts you, and leaves you in the cold. I know those feelings intimately, and I have never been able to stop loving him.

               He was bipolar/manic depressive. He had issues with substance abuse. He had problems with his faith. He couldn’t hold down a job. He couldn’t stay in school. He couldn’t give me the space I needed when I was angry. He refused to go into counseling. And I felt like Ellen Dolan from The Spirit, “You're in love with every woman you meet, Mr. Spirit. You say lovely things to all of us and you mean every word you say.” So after a four year friendship, where he pursued me the entire time, and seven months of dating and starting to talk about getting married, I broke up with him. He still took me to Monster Trucks for my birthday weeks later, and gave me a ride home from college that summer. Then we stopped speaking. Ironically, it was because of him my husband and I got as close as we did just after we met. After months of not speaking, he called me one night. We talked, and then I cried into Rick’s shoulder for hours.

               In high school he made me an oil pastel drawing of his heart, and asked me to keep it safe. Years later he did a second “updated” one. I still have it. I’ll always have his heart. And just a little bit, he’ll have part of mine.

               I wish I had never cut his hair.

Peter Patrick pitter patters on the window
And Sunny Silhouette won't let him in
and poor old Pete's got nothin 'cause he's been fallin'
but somehow Sunny knows just where he's been
He thinks that singin' on a Sunday's gonna save his soul
but now that Saturday's gone
Well sometimes he thinks that he's on his way
but I can see, that his break lights are on

-Jack Johnson

Picture by Kuroi-Tsuki

The Woman on Page 194

               As I was Stumbling around the internet I came upon a website. This website had a picture of one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. I mean I sat there and looked at this women for maybe 2 solid minutes. She. Was. Breathtaking. If Rick had been home he might have gotten assaulted… Seriously.

               What you can’t really tell from this picture, since it’s too small, is that this is an advertisement with the slogan, “Forget about it. Men's preference will never change. Fit Light Yogurt.” It is a series of three I saw, each with a “fat” woman at the center and this slogan at the bottom. This campaign made me want to murder whoever came up with it for three main reasons. 1) How DARE they use shame to make a woman not feel good enough about her body. As a person who has suffered with anorexia I am outraged. 2) The second picture had the woman mimicking the famous Marilyn Monroe pose and dress, Ms. Monroe was a size effing 11, which is my size. She was a sex symbol and was she mind bogglingly beautiful. Got JFK’s attention for sure… 3) This woman got me all hot and bothered. I find her more beautiful than 90% of humanity. She is just stunning and they are trying to say she’s unattractive because she’s what? Not a size 3? In the few places I’ve seen this exact picture the majority of the comments center on how beautiful this woman is.

               Ok media, I get it. You think there is only one form of beauty, of entertainment, of comedy. You seem to think that there is only one way to do something at any given time. But now tell me, does anyone else remember the reaction Glamour magazine got in their issue that featured only plus sized models? Does anyone else remember how the internet was a glitter with glee for weeks? Everyone loved it! Thousands of men and women alike wrote into the magazine saying how beautiful the girls were. How nice it was to see real women in the pages.

               Now how about Bill Clinton? Or David Beckham? Ever notice how these famous men who have the “preferred” kind of woman have affairs with women who look like real people? Monica wasn’t a “skinny” girl, she looked like me and most other girls I know. She said that she fell in love with Mr. Clinton because he made her feel beautiful, because he told her over and over how much he loved her and how lovely she was [this is in no way me condoning cheating on anyone]. This picture of David Beckham I must say I love. Don’t get me wrong, Posh Spice was always my favorite, and I think she’s pretty attractive, and I wish I could pull off some of the hairstyles she does, but it makes me feel good to see this picture and know that Beckham is still so obviously checking out a girl whose got some curves.

               In the movie Pulp Fiction Bruce Willis’ character Butch is having a conversation with his girlfriend about how she thinks potbellies are attractive, how she thinks that they are just the most beautiful thing on women. Butch says, “You think guys would find that attractive?” And Fabienne responds, “I don't give a damn what men find attractive. It's unfortunate what we find pleasing to the touch and pleasing to the eye is seldom the same.” I love this quote, and I think she is absolutely right. It’s tragic, in fact, that this is the truth. Now don’t get me wrong here, I don’t find thin women unattractive. I just tend to find them unrealistic, and I’ve always found that those who catch my eye happen to be the ones with curves.

               I feel like the world is ready to accept people as they are. I think Glamour proved that well enough, I just don’t get why the media is fighting it so damn hard against it. As a woman who would fit into the plus size category I am finally starting to accept myself after fighting anorexia for years, after breakdown after breakdown because of my low self-esteem, and after my husband telling me he loves every part of me for the four years we’ve been together only now am I starting to accept myself.

               Back around February, I think it was, Rick and I went to see a local showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. We dressed up. However, I found it necessary to wear jeans, along with a long sleeve shrug AND a t shirt under my corset. I looked fine, I felt stupid. As we were passing the campus it was preformed at the other day I thought back on the show, and I got a thought of this woman dressed up for the show. That’s kinda when it hit me, she looks like me and I’ve got no problem seeing HER dressed that way. It was like a revelation. Now I don’t plan on going running through the streets in lingerie, and next week I’m sure there will be at least one day when I stand in my closet looking at my cloths in lament,  but I feel like I’m finally a good step closer to actually feeling attractive. I have never felt this way before.

               I’ve gotta give this advertising firm a failing grade for their effort. They have done a deplorable job with this campaign not only because it is insensitive and downright ignorant, but because it has had the exact opposite effect on me than was intended. Looking at the woman in this ad makes me feel inspired, emboldened, and beautiful. It also makes me want to grab a regular yogurt out of the fridge just to spite them. “Light and fit” my apple bottom ass.