Three days: a funeral, catching up with AM, and gender conformity...
The past couple of days have been interesting to say the least. Thursday, we cleaned ourselves of grime and dirt and went to a funeral where I knew nobody except a mechanic, my aunt, and my long-lost cousin. I was 6'1" in my heels, which I told Franny I did on purpose because there were so many people there; I needed to be that tall so I could look down and find her.
She clasped my hand, happy I was there. While I didn't know her brother save for the random oil change and one Thanksgiving dinner over eight years ago, I was there to support her and her mother. Franny's other brother, Barry, died less than two months ago. That family had been through a lot, starting in October when Leslie went into the hospital and subsequently is being taken care of by Fran on a daily basis. She drug me over to my cousin, Josh, whom I hadn't seen since I had been dating Beb. He stood there, his eyes red with tears, his wife (!) and six-month-old son (!!!) by his side on the couch.
We went outside, smoked, talked about where we'd been for the past three years. We reminisced about riding our bikes down Mountain Road, and how his friend went from hating me to wanting to do me in a matter of days. (Said friend is now married, and it squicks out Josh in the weirdest way.) I exchanged stories with Lindsay over caring for a child, and watched my Uncle Mike work a room.
I squatted next to an 80-some-year-old mother of used-to-be-five-now-three, comforting her, making her laugh about how I was now seeing the world from her angle. (She's only 4'6", maybe.) She laughed, holding my hand, and thanking me with lifeless, shocked eyes.
I went back to Fran's after the funeral, having seen Josh and Mike both off. She made the comment that I even had a little black purse; I made the remark that Beb was amused by that, surprised she had to use my purse for formal. I told Franny about being upset with friends, or how my father is convinced Muslims are taking over the world (be glad y'all weren't on that rampage), and just general bullshit to distract her.
Reminded me of one of my favorite clients. She had come into the House because her sister was dying; while she was there, I got the phone call that her sister had indeed passed. It was decided between myself, Caterpillar, and Diabloooo that I would be the one to deliver the news. She came back from the hospital ER for some painkillers for her busted shoulder, I gave her nighttime meds, then sat down with her and told her the news.
Her eyes went wild, her hair started flying, and she wailed. I just held her against my chest, this woman more than thirty years my senior, sobbing over the lost of her sister.
I told Rican I would be late, and sat with my client, going outside to smoke a cigarette. She looked at me, same shocked, lifeless eyes, and said, "Tell me a story; distract me." So I told my story about my ripped jeans, how I had come home one morning from working a double, and Shink looked at me, stated, "You have a hole in your ass."
He wasn't lying; I was practically missing my damned back pocket.
The client laughed; we assumed it was a ploy of Fei Fei Di Piyan's to have me walk around the House the entire night with my ass hanging out of my jeans. She thanked me for my story, and I went home, drained.
I told Franny the stories I did to distract her that she is now the oldest with only two younger brothers, instead of four.
Friday went normally, my laughing with Homegirl when appropriate, getting general work done, and not deviating too much from the course. Thursday's funeral had taken it out of me; I was groggy and almost falling asleep in my cubicle. One of my coworkers, the one who called me "Josie," asked if I had a good time Thursday night. When I said I had been at a funeral, he apologized profusely.
I finally met up with AM Friday night, introducing her to my crayzee little apartment, which she gushed over. We met her friend from babyhood and nine social workers at the same Mexican restaurant Bluejay and I went to the week prior. There was this girl there; had some spark to her, smoker. My cousin laughed at me, so much family at the table. Looked at a girl named Adrian with her short hair and scene glasses; we did the typical nod.
I told my cousin I was "off the sauce," which I have been since the whole debacle went down between myself and Clementine. She commented on how long my nails, the fact that I had gotten a manicure.
After gallivanting downhill, trying to find a bar that didn't card (we had underagers... which is a problem I never ran into, even when I was underage), we eventually ended up in a parking lot, tilted perpetually downhill. Eventually, AM and I came back here, talking on my couch for 4+ hours about any- and everything that has happened or did happen or we think will happen. We baked brownies, we planned events for the future, we discussed her boyfriend, we talked about my apartment and how her OCD is very overactive when it comes to cleaning. We talked about Francois, my mouse, and how he is ransacking my chocolate stash.
We discussed our addictions, and how we're trying to get over them. We discussed our imbroglios, and she agreed my mental stability was much stronger than hers; I took the compliment.
Saturday was made up of a nothing, really. I got a few phone calls and basically exploited my OnDemand. I had a very interesting phone conversation, which was the original point of this entry (and then it went horribly awry). It was the discussion of my femininity coming out, which was another topic I discussed last night with AM. I feel myself reverting back to how I was when I first came into college. And as much as I want to disagree with my father, he stated the only reason I was queer was because I was in the Valley. While that argument could have held true when I was in college, it didn't so much once we got out in the world. All of my local friends were straight, or relatively so. All were in heterosexual relationships. I was the odd duck, so I vehemently disagreed with my father.
Moving to Maryland has been complicated, though my own identity seems to be shifting about. Not that it was expected for me to be overly dykey in the Valley, just not like it's expected for me to be overly femme here, but since the move, I have noticed things. Like my nails; I like to think that it is because I'm not biting them because I'm not as stressed at work. Or is it because I'm truly off the sauce?
My hair is down more often (though it doesn't stay that way). I wear skirts and heels everyday at work. I complement the men more in my life and build rapport with the women, instead of the other way around. I enjoy my nails being longer. I enjoy cooking, along with cooking for friends. I find myself talking about babies, or relating in regards to them. I had a phone conversation in which Otter Bucket loudly proclaimed, "What is this I hear? Jessie's wearing a dress to the wedding?"
It was proposed that this is how I adjust in a new environment, assimilating with society. I countered with the fact that I work with married mothers who have children; I can't necessarily divulge my crayzee stories yet about my previous sauce.
I don't look at women the same way anymore.
Maybe I'm broken myself? Or maybe I'm just not interested in anybody, or could be. Even with what happened with LiJ, I still had this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that it was what I should be doing, but not what I wanted to do.
I have been so stable and so multi-faceted my entire life. Maybe this move is not necessarily changing me, but pulling out other parts of myself that have laid dormant for so long. Part of myself is angry about these new adjustments, while other parts of me are angry that they're angry to begin with. Does it really matter if I grow out my nails or let down my hair? The fact that my skin condition seems to have regulated itself so that I can shave more now? I pluck more often? I want to go and get waxed again?
I find myself being submissive when I never really was. When I relegate myself to another's dominant opinion. When it's okay that I'm not driving. While I still hold the cards, I'm waiting for a whisper in my ear on how to play them.
I found my dress shoes, still caked in mud from Coffee's wedding almost a year ago. I looked at my old suit jacket, the dress shirts I once wore. I found a bag of my ties, lying on my dining room table, forgotten. A couple weeks ago, I was up in the Valley, particularly enraptured with Shink's new fedora. By the time Trips came into the room, we had decided to COMPLETELY dress me up: I was wearing a silk shirt, a knotted tie, and a suit jacket. I released my blonde hair from the clip and situated the fedora on my head. I looked like a backup dancer from a Janet Jackson video. I didn't have the urge to pull my hair back in a ponytail, cut down my nails, go clubbing, or escort a girl through a door with my hand on the small of her back...
... I put my own blouse back on, brushed out my hair, and Trips drove me to the restaurant for our group dinner.
She clasped my hand, happy I was there. While I didn't know her brother save for the random oil change and one Thanksgiving dinner over eight years ago, I was there to support her and her mother. Franny's other brother, Barry, died less than two months ago. That family had been through a lot, starting in October when Leslie went into the hospital and subsequently is being taken care of by Fran on a daily basis. She drug me over to my cousin, Josh, whom I hadn't seen since I had been dating Beb. He stood there, his eyes red with tears, his wife (!) and six-month-old son (!!!) by his side on the couch.
We went outside, smoked, talked about where we'd been for the past three years. We reminisced about riding our bikes down Mountain Road, and how his friend went from hating me to wanting to do me in a matter of days. (Said friend is now married, and it squicks out Josh in the weirdest way.) I exchanged stories with Lindsay over caring for a child, and watched my Uncle Mike work a room.
I squatted next to an 80-some-year-old mother of used-to-be-five-now-three, comforting her, making her laugh about how I was now seeing the world from her angle. (She's only 4'6", maybe.) She laughed, holding my hand, and thanking me with lifeless, shocked eyes.
I went back to Fran's after the funeral, having seen Josh and Mike both off. She made the comment that I even had a little black purse; I made the remark that Beb was amused by that, surprised she had to use my purse for formal. I told Franny about being upset with friends, or how my father is convinced Muslims are taking over the world (be glad y'all weren't on that rampage), and just general bullshit to distract her.
Reminded me of one of my favorite clients. She had come into the House because her sister was dying; while she was there, I got the phone call that her sister had indeed passed. It was decided between myself, Caterpillar, and Diabloooo that I would be the one to deliver the news. She came back from the hospital ER for some painkillers for her busted shoulder, I gave her nighttime meds, then sat down with her and told her the news.
Her eyes went wild, her hair started flying, and she wailed. I just held her against my chest, this woman more than thirty years my senior, sobbing over the lost of her sister.
I told Rican I would be late, and sat with my client, going outside to smoke a cigarette. She looked at me, same shocked, lifeless eyes, and said, "Tell me a story; distract me." So I told my story about my ripped jeans, how I had come home one morning from working a double, and Shink looked at me, stated, "You have a hole in your ass."
He wasn't lying; I was practically missing my damned back pocket.
The client laughed; we assumed it was a ploy of Fei Fei Di Piyan's to have me walk around the House the entire night with my ass hanging out of my jeans. She thanked me for my story, and I went home, drained.
I told Franny the stories I did to distract her that she is now the oldest with only two younger brothers, instead of four.
Friday went normally, my laughing with Homegirl when appropriate, getting general work done, and not deviating too much from the course. Thursday's funeral had taken it out of me; I was groggy and almost falling asleep in my cubicle. One of my coworkers, the one who called me "Josie," asked if I had a good time Thursday night. When I said I had been at a funeral, he apologized profusely.
I finally met up with AM Friday night, introducing her to my crayzee little apartment, which she gushed over. We met her friend from babyhood and nine social workers at the same Mexican restaurant Bluejay and I went to the week prior. There was this girl there; had some spark to her, smoker. My cousin laughed at me, so much family at the table. Looked at a girl named Adrian with her short hair and scene glasses; we did the typical nod.
I told my cousin I was "off the sauce," which I have been since the whole debacle went down between myself and Clementine. She commented on how long my nails, the fact that I had gotten a manicure.
After gallivanting downhill, trying to find a bar that didn't card (we had underagers... which is a problem I never ran into, even when I was underage), we eventually ended up in a parking lot, tilted perpetually downhill. Eventually, AM and I came back here, talking on my couch for 4+ hours about any- and everything that has happened or did happen or we think will happen. We baked brownies, we planned events for the future, we discussed her boyfriend, we talked about my apartment and how her OCD is very overactive when it comes to cleaning. We talked about Francois, my mouse, and how he is ransacking my chocolate stash.
We discussed our addictions, and how we're trying to get over them. We discussed our imbroglios, and she agreed my mental stability was much stronger than hers; I took the compliment.
Saturday was made up of a nothing, really. I got a few phone calls and basically exploited my OnDemand. I had a very interesting phone conversation, which was the original point of this entry (and then it went horribly awry). It was the discussion of my femininity coming out, which was another topic I discussed last night with AM. I feel myself reverting back to how I was when I first came into college. And as much as I want to disagree with my father, he stated the only reason I was queer was because I was in the Valley. While that argument could have held true when I was in college, it didn't so much once we got out in the world. All of my local friends were straight, or relatively so. All were in heterosexual relationships. I was the odd duck, so I vehemently disagreed with my father.
Moving to Maryland has been complicated, though my own identity seems to be shifting about. Not that it was expected for me to be overly dykey in the Valley, just not like it's expected for me to be overly femme here, but since the move, I have noticed things. Like my nails; I like to think that it is because I'm not biting them because I'm not as stressed at work. Or is it because I'm truly off the sauce?
My hair is down more often (though it doesn't stay that way). I wear skirts and heels everyday at work. I complement the men more in my life and build rapport with the women, instead of the other way around. I enjoy my nails being longer. I enjoy cooking, along with cooking for friends. I find myself talking about babies, or relating in regards to them. I had a phone conversation in which Otter Bucket loudly proclaimed, "What is this I hear? Jessie's wearing a dress to the wedding?"
It was proposed that this is how I adjust in a new environment, assimilating with society. I countered with the fact that I work with married mothers who have children; I can't necessarily divulge my crayzee stories yet about my previous sauce.
I don't look at women the same way anymore.
Maybe I'm broken myself? Or maybe I'm just not interested in anybody, or could be. Even with what happened with LiJ, I still had this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that it was what I should be doing, but not what I wanted to do.
I have been so stable and so multi-faceted my entire life. Maybe this move is not necessarily changing me, but pulling out other parts of myself that have laid dormant for so long. Part of myself is angry about these new adjustments, while other parts of me are angry that they're angry to begin with. Does it really matter if I grow out my nails or let down my hair? The fact that my skin condition seems to have regulated itself so that I can shave more now? I pluck more often? I want to go and get waxed again?
I find myself being submissive when I never really was. When I relegate myself to another's dominant opinion. When it's okay that I'm not driving. While I still hold the cards, I'm waiting for a whisper in my ear on how to play them.
I found my dress shoes, still caked in mud from Coffee's wedding almost a year ago. I looked at my old suit jacket, the dress shirts I once wore. I found a bag of my ties, lying on my dining room table, forgotten. A couple weeks ago, I was up in the Valley, particularly enraptured with Shink's new fedora. By the time Trips came into the room, we had decided to COMPLETELY dress me up: I was wearing a silk shirt, a knotted tie, and a suit jacket. I released my blonde hair from the clip and situated the fedora on my head. I looked like a backup dancer from a Janet Jackson video. I didn't have the urge to pull my hair back in a ponytail, cut down my nails, go clubbing, or escort a girl through a door with my hand on the small of her back...
... I put my own blouse back on, brushed out my hair, and Trips drove me to the restaurant for our group dinner.