tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-790041868120744862024-03-05T06:32:39.978-08:00How to be Grey in AmericaGreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-62427416235375377442013-02-20T08:15:00.000-08:002013-02-20T08:15:32.081-08:00Coming out of hiding for a special bulletin: DON'T TELL ME ABOUT MY VAGINA!Grey People, Grey People, Grey People!<br />
<br />
Oh how I have missed you. I didn't think I'd find myself here again any time soon (I'm working on my book, sorry!), but I read an article today, and I had to come out of hiding for this very important bulletin: Don't tell me about my vagina! Especially, if you're going to do it like this: http://www.valleyadvocate.com/article.cfm?aid=16315<br />
<br />
I was reading this article this morning, and all I could think was, "There is no way that this was written by someone who actually HAS a vagina." Because nobody who is lucky enough to be a part of the pussy parade would ever talk about her coochie that way, right?! Wrong. And so, in defense of the diamonds at the meeting of my thighs, this was the response that I posted:<br />
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As
a professed pussy lover, I have to say that this article hardly makes me want
to call up my ex and put my face between her legs! When you call it
"salsa," and "vaginal discharge," and use words such as
"acidic bacteria" and "nasty intruders," it's no wonder
that men everywhere are looking for a get-out-of-jail-free card! Now, I confess
that I don't know much about "blow jobs," but back in the days before
I realized that it was more than just the smell of them (and all of that
hair...everywhere) that made me un-attracted to men, if someone had described
semen as a "milky acidic substance that smells sort of bleachy, with a
consistency somewhere between snot and hair gel" I would have come to
terms with my homosexuality a lot sooner, if you know what I mean.</div>
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<br /></div>
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When
they are clean, most vagina's have a mild scent, and the natural lubricant that
they produce is warm, smooth, and can have a variety of lovely tastes, from
sweet and salty to sour and tart; vagina much more closely resembles my
favorite GoBerry flavor than it does a Bueno y Sano fish taco (although I love
the fish tacos from Bueno!) As the walls of the vagina contract and expand with
arousal, pleasurable textures and contours can be felt, and moisture often
increases with arousal. Vagina is a delicacy, and just like many exotic
cuisines, it is an acquired taste. And if men hope to get their ladies (or
gentleman) anywhere near that bleachy squirt gun and chicken-skin ball sack,
it's a taste that I suggest they acquire. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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For clarification, Bueno y Sano is a burrito shop, and GoBerry is a frozen yogurt joint.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So, Grey People, read the article, and tell me what you think! And if you feel the desire, stand up for your pussy, and for pussies everywhere. Because, I don't know about you, but my Va-Jay-Jay does not now, nor has it EVER tasted like salsa!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
Peace
and love and bugs named Doug,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
GreyGirl</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />GreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-36132910105730543172012-02-13T17:43:00.001-08:002012-02-13T17:45:39.629-08:00Piece of MeHey Grey People,<br />
<br />
Here's a piece of me to start things off again. Missed you!!<br />
<br />
<br />
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Home is not a stationary thing for me; it wasn’t something that ever existed in the usual way. It had
nothing to do with family or old memories, fond memories, any memories.
Home was futuristic to me. I hoped to build it out of the people
I would meet, the places I would visit. </div>
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When you take home with you, you’re far more selective of what you
call home, for if you carry too many Things, it can become too heavy, too
involved in its idea rather than its practice. And so you choose wisely, and
you discard things along the way, Things that no longer serve a purpose, Things
that you forgot why you brought with you in the first place. And so home is
always new and perfectly suited to you, never bogged down by forgotten toys and
Things, never held up by books whose reason for keeping escape you.</div>
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You
also try to make sure to leave certain Things behind, which is harder than
deciding what to take most of the time, mainly because the decision is only
half of it (and the easier half at that.) For those Things, you most often end
up having to really rip them from you because they hold on tighter than anxious
children. Finally, you peel the fingers off, one-by-one, tell yourself that
it’s okay, that you can leave this here and YOU will be fine, that it doesn’t
need you and you don’t need it. It’s amazing how much we think we need our
pain especially, and remarkable most of all how we somehow fail to
remember that there will always be more hurt, that leaving one behind only
assures the encroachment of the next.</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Peace and love and bugs named Doug,<br />
GreyGirlGreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-77412927464310826572012-02-08T07:52:00.000-08:002012-02-08T07:52:22.561-08:00Back from the Dead!Hello Grey Boys Girls and Zhes,<br />
<br />
I am back in the virtual flesh and wanting to say hello again! We don't need to get into the gritty details, but I have been very very sick, and am finally feeling well enough to come back to the Greyspace. I apologize for my abrupt departure, but one does not often think about grabbing a laptop on the way to the hospital, and once one is there, the general idea is to get better and leave as soon as possible. The food is as bad as they say it is, the odor is of death and sterilization, and the people are not particularly attractive if I'm being frank (and we know I always am!)<br />
<br />
So much has happened in the queer world since I left, but most notably, prop 8 was voted unconstitutional! See, crazy evangelical Christians, God is, in fact, NOT trying to punish us. I realize that this is but a small step in a much larger journey, but all forward movement only serves to bring about greater momentum, making the next step a little easier than the one before it. So thank you to the 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals (the two judges in the panel of three anyway), who voted for equality. Thank you for being part of the movement to bring our country into the century that we supposedly reside in.<br />
<br />
What has been going on in your worlds? I have lots of stories, and lots of drama to catch you up on, so I hope to see you back here in the Greyspace tomorrow, where I'll give you an update on my best friend issues, the perils of dating your friend's ex, et cetera.<br />
<br />
Peace and love and bugs named Doug,<br />
GreyGirlGreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-77694774800839099932011-12-04T10:57:00.001-08:002011-12-04T10:58:32.925-08:00"This is who I am."<style>
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<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;">Hey
Grey People,</span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: 0in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd;">
<br /></div>
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<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So,
Enigma has been doing a lot of these, and they’re so entertaining that I have
decided to take the questions I like, in no particular order, and start giving
you little pieces of myself. It’s a fun way of saying “this is who I am.”</span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: 0in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span></strong><strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">What is something you often do without realizing
that you’re doing it? </span></strong><strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></strong></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I correct
people’s grammar in my head while they’re talking. So if they say “further”
when they should say “farther” I say this to myself in my head. I have a
grammar thing—I can’t help it!</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span></strong><strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Who has the capacity to make you angrier than anyone
else in your life, and what in particular does he or she do to make you so
angry? </span></strong><strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></strong></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Unfortunately
it’s my best friend. She purposely sabotages her relationships with women, and
leaves me as the scapegoat. It sucks because she’s not really conscious of it,
but everyone else can see it, and tells me so all the time like I’m supposed to
do something about it. I can’t make someone see what’s right in front of her if
she refuses to open her eyes.</span></strong></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span></strong><strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">If a fairy waved a magic wand and gave you the house
of your dreams, where would it be and what features would it have? </span></strong><strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></strong></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">It would
be anywhere I wanted—a traveling house. It would most often go back and forth
from NYC to a cute New England town. And it would have an amazing kitchen with
a range-top gas stove and every kitchen gadget you can imagine. It would have
one of those pot racks above the stove, and endless counter space. I love to
cook, if you hadn’t gathered :)</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span></strong><strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">What’s a belief that you hold with which many people
disagree? </span></strong><strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></strong></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The right
to end one’s own life without being classified as mentally ill. Some people’s
lives, for whatever reason, are terrible. And they should be able to end them
in peace. Suicidality ≠ insanity.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span></strong><strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Imagine you just moved onto Sesame Street. Which
puppet would you want as your new roommate? </span></strong><strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></strong></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Probably
Beaker, because I like to experiment as well. And maybe I could keep him from
blowing everything up!!</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span></strong><strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Have you ever had a weird crush on a famous person
that didn’t make sense to you? </span></strong><strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></strong></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Yes!
Steven Tyler. I think it’s is mouth/lips, coupled with his screaming and
strange androgyny. Somehow I find it hot. I know, a lesbian with a thing for
Steven Tyler? Go figure!</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span></strong><strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">If you get ten minutes to interview any celebrity of
your choice, who would you like it to be? </span></strong><strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></strong></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Oprah for
sure. She has an amazing life story. I could learn a lot.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span></strong><strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">VH1 has re-introduced its hit show “Pop-Up Video,”
which gives behind-the-scenes facts for popular music videos. What musician
would you be most interested in learning behind-the-scenes facts about? </span></strong><strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></strong></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Probably
Tracy Chapman. I guess I would want to know why she isn’t more forthcoming
about her sexuality and personal life (besides the obvious answer of “because
it’s private.”)</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span></strong><strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">If you stumbled across someone’s personal written
journal that was accidentally left in a public place, would you read any of the
content? </span></strong><strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></strong></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Yes. I am
fascinated by people, what they think and feel. I don’t think I’d be able to
help myself. I realize that I would feel so exposed and betrayed if the tables
were turned, but for that reason, I’d never lose my journal! </span></strong><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">10)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><strong><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">What is the title of a
self-help book that you’d never want to see on a store bookshelf?</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">How
about just “How to Live Your Life?” I don’t really care for this genre in
general...not sure why.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd; text-indent: -.25in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">11)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Why did
you sign up for writing your blog? </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-add-space: auto; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Because I felt the
need to reach out to others, and blogging is a great way to do that :)</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd; text-indent: -.25in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">12)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">What do
you do online when you’re not on your blog? </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-add-space: auto; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I read articles,
tweet, look at and comment on other people’s blogs, peruse psychology research
studies, non-fiction book reviews.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd; text-indent: -.25in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">13)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">How about
when you’re not on the computer? </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-add-space: auto; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I hike, go out to eat
with friends, listen to music, sing, dance, read, bike...oh, and work. You
know, the business of life. </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd; text-indent: -.25in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">14)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">What do
you wish people who read your blog knew about you? </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-add-space: auto; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Who I am. Anonymity
is safe, but isolating at times.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd; text-indent: -.25in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">15)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">What is
your favorite community in the blogosphere? </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-add-space: auto; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The queer “this is my
life” community. I like hearing other people’s stories. </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd; text-indent: -.25in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">16)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Tell me
about your picture you use to represent you on your blog. </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-add-space: auto; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The picture is a part
of my body, in gray. It represents the philosophy behind my blog—the Grey
Space.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd; text-indent: -.25in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">17)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Pick 3
random blogs from your blogroll and tell us about them. </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-add-space: auto; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Effingdykes is a
hilarious blog about...well, dykey things. It has great pictures and comical
captions, and each post has a theme. The one about dancing is by far my
favorite, so check it out! A Brown Girl is Alix Golden’s blog, and it’s really
interesting, fun, and comforting—we have some things in common. The Hook Up is
an AfterEllen blog that gives relationship advice to people who write in. It
makes me feel like I’m not the only who has trouble maneuvering the human
species!</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd; text-indent: -.25in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">18)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">What
features do you think your blog should have that it doesn’t currently?</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-add-space: auto; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I wish my blog had a
better aesthetic and a clearer organizational structure or focus. I’m thinking
of switching to wordpress, but I’m fighting the urge to organize too much. I do
that enough in my day-to-day life!</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd; text-indent: -.25in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">19)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Do you
have any unique interests that you have never shared before? What are they? </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-add-space: auto; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I don’t know if this
is unique, but I’m interested in how psychopathology develops in children. The
overarching question I have is “what dictates that some of us thrive as children,
in spite of our surroundings, while others deteriorate?” How is it that two
children growing up in the same environment can have such divergent life
outcomes? </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd; text-indent: -.25in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">20)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><strong>Do
you follow your own style or everyone else’s?</strong><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Definitely my own. If you were to look into my closet,
you’d have no idea what to make of me, because I can be anything on any given
day. The same goes for my friends. They are all over the map. I can appreciate
a lot of different types of things and people. I’m versatile that way. I’m not
a “prep” or a “sporty dyke” or a “femme” exclusively. It’s all in there. I like
“nice” people, and “assholes” and “funny” people and “smart” people. I can
appreciate certain qualities in everyone, and I judge no one. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Peace and
Love and Bugs Named Doug,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">GreyGirl</span></div>GreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-68900964219207726692011-12-04T09:11:00.001-08:002011-12-04T09:13:33.377-08:00WholenessGrey Campers,<br />
<br />
A short piece today. Thoughts?<br />
<br />
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I
realized that when others didn’t like gay people, it meant that they didn’t
like me. It took me years to come into my blackness, to own it, find a way to
identify with it that didn’t leave me feeling like the exception to a dirty but
steadfast rule. It took me even longer to embrace my woman-ness, to wear it as
proudly as anything, to learn to defend it against all of the malevolent forces
that challenged me. How was I now supposed to be a woman and black and queer at
the same time? This realization, this discovery, had temporarily turned me from
a proud black woman, into a faggot nigger bitch, and I didn’t know how to get
back.</div>
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They build on one another; they are inextricably
intertwined. I cannot be a black faggot, a lesbian bitch. The denunciation of a
single part of me ultimately led to the suffocation of my whole self. We are
not pieces; we cannot mix and match, pick two, or buy two and get one free. We
are all, and we are nothing without this amalgamation. In this way our
emotional selves mirror our physical anatomy. </div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Peace and Love and Bugs Named Doug,<br />
GreyGirl <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />GreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-37245509234813318432011-11-29T21:41:00.001-08:002012-02-14T11:28:36.440-08:00Excerpt: The Problem with Men<div style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
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<div style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
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</style><span style="font-size: small;">Hello loyal grey readers,</span></div>
<div style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Thanks for coming back :-) Here's another excerpt for you. Hope you're enjoying them!</span></div>
<div style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> For the
longest time I couldn’t put my finger on it. He’d get in the shower with me,
and I’d just stare, wondering what it was about him that bothered me so. At
first I thought it might have been the way he moved—quick and seizure-like,
sometimes with contorted hands—but later I realized what it was.</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> * * *
</span></div>
<div style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“So, what
exactly is it that you don’t like about his body?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Well, his
butt, for one.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“What about
it?” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">"It’s flat, and kind of...narrow.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Well he
can’t help that, he’s a white boy. It’s a white boy butt.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Yeah...”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Ok, what
else?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Well, I
don’t really like his torso.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“His torso?
That’s random. What’s wrong with his torso?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I don’t
know, it’s just kind of...square.
You know that place where your stomach descends toward your hipbones?
His is so...straight.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“You mean
he doesn’t have a curve there? He’s not a girl, you know!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Yeah, I
know.”</span></div>
<div style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> * * *
</span></div>
<div style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I
tried my best, I really did.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“It
gets better.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> “I don’t like it.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Maybe
he’s not the right one. What do you feel when you’re with him?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“There’s
nothing.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Was
there ever?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I
wanted there to be something.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“But
was there?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I
don’t know.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Well,
describe it. What does it feel like, from start to finish?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Well
first I get nervous.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“That’s
normal.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“And
then, I am concentrating.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Concentrating
on what, exactly?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Doing
a good job...?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“At
what?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Making
him happy?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Hmm...okay.
And then what?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Relief.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“What?
Relief at what?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“That
it’s over. That I won. That he’s happy.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“And
what about in between? Does he make you happy?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I
don’t know how to answer that question.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> * * * </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Does
he pleasure you?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I
mean, it gives me pleasure that he feels pleasure.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“But,
I mean, does he try?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“He
does, he tries.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“And?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“The
first few times it worked, but after that...I don’t know.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“What
do you mean, ‘it worked?’”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I
mean I came.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“You
did?!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“
I did...”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Then
what happened after that? When did things change?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Oh,
around the third time we slept together.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“And
how long had you been together at that point?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Three
months.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“So,
what did you do after that?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Well,
we started watching porn together. I thought it would help.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Nice!
Very bold of you.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Um,
it was Lesbian porn.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Oh.
I’ll bet he liked that!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I
liked that.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"> * * *</span></div>
<div style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"> I don’t know how many times we actually "slept together"—things got to
a point where I was squarely somewhere else for the entire affair, away in a
place where the woman on the screen was with me, caressing me gently, smelling
of musk and tickling the fine hairs on the small of my back—but it was surely
enough times to recognize that this truly was “it.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> But
the rest of it was fine for a while. We hung out, watched movies, hiked. I
cooked, he enjoyed my cooking, appreciated it even. But the more I had to see
him naked, the stranger things became. At first I just didn’t enjoy seeing him.
Up until that point I guess I never looked. If he was changing I’d turn away
and pretend to do something, or I’d leave the room. And if I was already doing
something, I certainly wouldn’t look up from it. But nudity didn’t embarrass
me, or make me uncomfortable in general; my face would just curl in a strange
way, involuntarily, whenever I looked at him. He never noticed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> * * *</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I don’t
know how to make you feel...” he said. He misspoke, and yet, he did not. Nobody
can make anybody feel anything else, but there were certain things I would
never feel for him, what for who he was, what he was. I didn’t say anything.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Peace and Love and Bugs Named Doug,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: small;">GreyGirl</span></div>
<div style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</div>GreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-23198632113819533232011-11-28T21:43:00.001-08:002011-11-28T21:47:53.822-08:00A piece of AnnaGrey People,<br />
<br />
Here's another excerpt from what I have written. It's about Anna, my first...well, my first everything. Comments and criticism are welcome. Again, this is part of a memoir I have written, and it's coming in pieces, and out of order. I'm just trying to get my feet wet, and see how I feel about putting this out there.<br />
<br />
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<span style="color: green;"> <span style="color: #cfe2f3;"> I
only once had a nightmare in her arms, and it was the last time we were together
that year. Perhaps my pain could sense this. My pain was afraid of her, I
think, because she was not afraid of it. I opened my eyes to her, and I let her
see it. I made no sounds, no attempts to explain, I merely peeled away the
layers of myself and let her curl up inside. She was no stranger to pain; pain
had taught her many things too, I could tell. </span></span></div>
<span style="color: #cfe2f3;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #cfe2f3; line-height: 200%;">
The
night before she was leaving, she knocked on my door in the early morning
hours. Knowing that it must be her, I fell clumsily out of bed. I opened the
interior door (my roommate was not home, and I had come not to expect her), and
saw the light of the hallway peeking under the exterior door. I could not see
the shadow of her feet. I opened the door, and without looking to see if it was
her, turned and walked back into my room, peeled of my t-shirt, and climbed
into bed. She peeled off her outer layers, and slid under the covers with me,
pushing the heavy blanket to the bottom of the bed.</div>
<span style="color: #cfe2f3;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #cfe2f3; line-height: 200%;">
We
held each other for a long time, saying nothing. There was nothing to say. We
had no delusions about the world and the way things worked. I wasn’t even my
whole self yet, and could not hope that our pieces would actually fit together
once I was formed. Such hopes are unrealistic. I am a member of the realist
party. We made love, and it was more intentional, more intimate than ever
before. Her teeth ripped at my skin as though she was trying to take a piece of
it with her. The pain was a deliberate pleasure that I welcomed, and reciprocated.
As I kissed her, she passed into me, and I into her, and she shuddered. Knowing
is a reciprocal affair. </div>
<span style="color: #cfe2f3;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #cfe2f3; line-height: 200%;">
I
don’t remember the nightmare, so I don’t know how bad it was, only that when I
started she was already awake, and pulled me tightly to her with one arm. I
struggled for a moment out of confusion, but then I smelled her and felt her,
and my breathing calmed. After a while, she pressed her lips to the back of my
neck and routed her other arm in between my head and shoulder, engulfing me in her
skin. Her left hand came to rest on breast, and my heart fluttered a bit. I
think she felt it. “I’m here,” she said softly. She was, there on my chest, in
my chest, as she would always be.</div>
<span style="color: #cfe2f3;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #cfe2f3; line-height: 200%;">
The
next morning she fell out of bed, still drunk from our night, and pulled on her
layers. I rolled over, and I opened my eyes, but did not stir any further. She
came close then, and, stroking my wild hair, looked at me, into me, and said,
“I love you.” </div>
<span style="color: #cfe2f3;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #cfe2f3; line-height: 200%;">
“I
love you too, “ I said, believing her instantly. We kissed, and she was gone.</div>
<span style="color: #cfe2f3;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #cfe2f3; line-height: 200%;">
I
saw her once, the following year, when she came back to visit, but we hadn’t
spoken much in between. I was broken up with my “boyfriend” at the time, and we
made love again in the effortless way we always did. When she left, I knew I would
not see her again.</div>
<span style="color: #cfe2f3;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #cfe2f3; line-height: 200%;">
I
don’t know if she was ever real now, as she no longer exists in the world. In
the age of technology, her name is nowhere, her likeness without an eternal
electronic address, and so I find myself wondering if the way I remember her in
my mind is the way that she is. If she even is, or ever was, Anna. She will
always exist for me, though, as an awakening. She explained many things and
helped build many pieces of me. I love you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<br />
Peace and Love and Bugs Named Doug,<br />
GreyGirl<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>GreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-71573571152962378562011-11-26T22:27:00.001-08:002011-11-26T22:29:50.132-08:00A little bit about me<style>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hey from GreyGirl,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I saw this on another blog (Enigma, by way of Sunday
Stealing), and thought I’d lighten the mood:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1. Have you ever licked the back of a CD to try to get it to
work?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Yes. And it helped,
dammit.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
2. What’s the largest age difference between yourself and someone you’ve dated?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Thirteen years. She
didn’t look her age. She did turn out to be crazy, though. You have to wonder
why someone who is that much older is still single...</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
3. Ever been in a car wreck?<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">“Wreck” is a strong word. I did slide on
some ice and hit a tree, but my car wasn’t really “wrecked.” $3000.00 later, it
was as good as new ;-)</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
4. Were you popular in high school?<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Not really. I would have been more
popular had I opted to date one of the boys who asked me out, but I’m gay, so I
had to settle for being “not unpopular.” Maybe the whole lesbian thing would
have worked to my advantage. But probably not.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
5. Have you ever been on a blind date?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Not if you don’t count
online dating. <br />
</b><br />
6. Are looks important?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">With regard to
someone I would date? Um, yes. If your looks don’t agree with my brain’s idea
of what’s attractive, than my brain won’t like you, and my box won’t like you,
and we’ll just be good friends.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
7. Do you have any friends that you’ve known for 10 years or more?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Yes, a few, in fact.
I guess it means I haven’t changed so much in the last decade that I’m
unrecognizable. Good thing?</b><br />
<br />
8. By what age would you like to be married?<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Probably the big 3-0. Thirty just sounds
right. I don’t know.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
9. Does the number of people a person’s slept with affect your view of them?<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Only if it’s super high and they have
had/have an STD...And by “super” I guess I mean over 30...?</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
10. Have you ever made a mistake?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I probably make one
everyday.</b><br />
<br />
11. Are you a good tipper?<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Yes. People who don’t tip suck and
should stay home and cook for themselves (or move to Europe).</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
12. What’s the most you have spent for a haircut?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Cut...? $30.00<br />
</b><br />
13. Have you ever had a crush on a teacher?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Uh, yes! So many of
those. So many pretty ladies are teachers, what can I say?!<br />
</b><br />
14. Have you ever peed in public?<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Yes, and I’m absolutely unashamed. When
you gotta go, you gotta go. I had to go; I went. Deal with it.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
15. What song do you want played at your funeral?<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Ask me right before I die, and I’m sure
I’ll have a more accurate answer for you.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
16. Would you tell your parents if you were gay?<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I am, and I did. They’re going to be
fine...until the wedding!</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
17. What would your last meal be before getting executed?<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Why am I being executed? I make it a
point to avoid situations that might end this way. Probably seafood, though.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
18. Beatles or Stones?<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Both. Duh. Rocky Raccoon and I Can’t Get
No.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
19. If you had to pick one person on earth to die, who would it be?<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">A child molester. Any one would do.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b>20. Beer, wine or hard liquor?<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Beer with my best friend on a Tuesday
night, wine with dinner if I’m not going out, and liquor on Friday nights.
Preferably tequila. Preferably Patron or Julio.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
21. Do you have any phobias?<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Yes. I’m not going to share them with
you at this time.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
22. What are your plans for the future?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">To be happy. Harder
than it sounds, right?!</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>So there you have it. Don't say I never told you anything about myself. Peeing in public? We're practically bosom buddies now! </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Peace and Love and Bugs Named Doug,</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>GreyGirl</b></div>GreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-46386554072930963592011-11-26T19:18:00.001-08:002011-11-26T20:47:16.481-08:00I have something to say...Hey Grey campers! Glad to see you back in the grey space. So...I am about to take a leap. Well, I'll probably start by putting a toe into the water, but here's the situation: I have written something...about myself...my story. And I know that everyone has a story, and we all feel that we "have something to say" (otherwise why would we be blogging?!) but I think that my tale might help other queer people of color, so I have decided to test the waters, and put some excerpts of it out there in the grey space for feedback. I'm toying with the idea of publishing under a pseudonym, and I want to see if people like it, and, more importantly, I want to know if it speaks to you all. I'm going to post little snip-its at first, because it's long (book-length), and I may post out of order (I'm not really ready to be revealed yet), so some things may not be clear or understood out of context, but feel free to comment with whatever comes to you--all feedback would be greatly appreciated.<br />
<br />
So, here it goes, excerpt #1, toe in the water:<br />
<br />
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<span style="color: black;">It was awkward, how well acquainted with violence I was—not
the easy sort of street violence that would sometimes take place in the
immigrant buildings in our neighborhood, the kind that carried over into the
streets in the form of gunshots, shouting, and brawling, but a tougher, more
real and everyday aggression. It’s one of those facts, those accepted “cultural
norms,” that black children are “beaten.” I say “beaten” because I don’t think
that there are any illusions about the nature of or reason behind such
brutality. There is no sense of
balance involved, no true cause and effect measure. Being “beaten” is purely an
outlet for rage. Perhaps others think that there is some rage within black
people that is different, and that is why they are quiet. But in my experience,
the wrath that I suffered was born out of the same anger that we all possess.
There are no cultural differences in emotion, only constraints on what we can
acceptably express, and semantic and communicative barriers. Being “beaten”
though, that seems a pretty universal conveyance. </span></div>
<span style="color: black;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; line-height: 200%;">
It
always baffled me that we could impose upon entire countries a sense of human
decency, and yet within the boundaries of our own governance remain silent about
this cruelty. I couldn’t understand how children in other countries were causes
that were of the utmost importance, and yet I was standing in their direct line
of sight, somehow unworthy of the same consideration. No, I wasn’t physically starving, but I needed in other
ways, grave ways. Thoughts like this plagued me from the time that I was nine
or so, and at night I would lay still, mouthing wretched screams into the air,
tears streaming down my face, making no sound. </div>
<span style="color: black;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; line-height: 200%;">
I
often blamed slavery. I thought that, because we had so been questioned out of
existence, and stripped of our humanness, others were now too afraid to touch
us. The climate of political correctness that spread across the country in my
early childhood, I believed, was at least partially responsible for the fact
that my parents had complete license to tear at my skin whenever they saw fit.
“What happens in this house, stays in this house,” my father would say
sometimes. I think that’s the way everybody wanted it, because if they talked
about one thing, they’d have to talk about the other. And nobody seemed to want
to talk about it—this made up thing called “race” that had torn our country
apart had indirectly resigned me to an upbringing fraught with slaps, punches,
kicks, pushes, and lashes (yes lashes), that I was forced to bear in silence. </div>
<span style="color: black;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; line-height: 200%;">
To
others it seemed that I had choices, that all I had to do was speak. Some of my
teachers, seeing the weighted pain beneath my eyes, begged me to speak. But
that was not an option. I had heard stories about foster care, I had cousins
who lived in the projects who were pregnant or had HIV. And so for me foster
care and family services became my monster in the closet—a thing that I had
never really seen, but was afraid enough of that I’d never peak my head out
from under the covers in the night. And my siblings, what would happen to them?
They were not so marred as I was. My mother loved them, cherished them each at
different points. Their lives were not so bad. Who was I to strip them of the
life they had so that I could have a little peace? I would get my peace; deep
down I always knew that. I had been planning my escape since Matilda. Roald
Dahl had all but promised me a clear exit. So I sat quietly in the dark, and
continued to wait the requisite eighteen years for my morning to come.</div>
<span style="color: black;"> </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;"> </span><br />
I want this to be as unadulterated a process as possible, so I'll
leave you to it. Thoughts? Does it speak to you? Do you understand it?
Does it intrigue you? Anything, really.<br />
<br />
Peace and Love and Bugs Named Doug,<br />
GreyGirlGreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-58458296342310897822011-11-22T13:21:00.001-08:002011-11-22T13:22:22.197-08:00Loyalty in Friendship<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Hello Grey Campers!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>So...I’m
not speaking to my best friend. When I’m very upset about something, I find
that it’s best to keep quiet, for fear that I will say something more cutting
and cruel than is called for. In order to keep my decidedly sharp tongue at
bay, I’m going to share my frustration with you, release a little steam, and,
hopefully get a little support.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>My
best friend, Amber, is currently dating a woman she previously cheated on her
ex-girlfriend with. It’s a mouthful, I know, but welcome to the land of lezzie
drama. Amber was dating Sydney, and started seeing Cam on the side. You with
me? So now, Amber and Sydney are broken up, and, after messing around with a
few other women, Amber has ended up back on the Cam train, and wants to give
that a try. I don’t judge, so I support her in this relationship, and do my
best to be there for her. But the situation has its problems.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Amber and Cam aren’t “girlfriends.” Cam is too
afraid to commit to Amber after what happened before, so they are not
officially “in” a relationship.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Cam blames Amber for the way that their
relationship began (i.e., for the fact that Amber was with another woman when
she started seeing Cam).</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Cam, as a result of the circumstances of their
previous relationship, is having a hard time trusting Amber now, and is sort of
back and forth and all over the place as to whether or not she can really “be”
with Amber.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To make matters even more fun, Cam is insecure in general.
I’m going to be honest, and say that I don’t like Cam very much. She is
manipulative, and continuously makes Amber feel guilty about their past, when,
as far as I’m concerned, they are equally to blame for the trust issues in
their relationship. Cam knew that Amber was in a relationship with Sydney when
she started seeing her, and she continued to see Amber for 8 MONTHS! “The other
woman” knows what she’s signing up for when she enters a relationship in this
capacity, and she plays a part in the deception taking place. So really, she
has no right to be angry, or to put all of the fault on the cheater. That’s my
opinion.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, I don’t care for Cam. The thing is, I have never met
her. Why not? To put it plainly, Cam is a Mom, and Amber and I are both afraid
that if Cam meets me, she won’t approve of Amber’s friendship with me. (I am
not a Mom. I’m significantly younger and thinner than Cam [Amber’s younger too],
and...let’s just say I have no problem finding a date on a Friday night). I
have seen Cam out, she has seen me, but so far, no introductions have been
made.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So now, to the part where I stop talking to Amber. Amber and
I have only been friends for about six months, but in that time, we have become
very close. She’s my closest gay friend for sure, and we talk and text
everyday, and tell each other everything. She is one of the most important
people in my life. Yesterday, we were texting, and I expressed anxiety about
meeting Cam, because I’m afraid that Cam’s insecurity will cause problems in my
relationship with Amber. I was looking for some reassurance from Amber, looking
for her to give me some sign that, no matter what happens with Cam, she won’t ever
ditch me, cast me aside, or stop speaking to me on the say so of an insecure
girlfriend. This has happened to me a few times before—a male or female friend
of mine will start dating a girl, and the girlfriend will feel threatened by my
relationship with my friend, and my friend will then stop speaking to me until
he/she breaks up with the insecure girl—and it’s a terrible feeling. I’m never
able to regain the closeness I had with the friend, because I feel betrayed,
undervalued, and cast aside. I don’t want this to happen with Amber. We’re a
great fit, and we each get a lot out of the friendship. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Amber didn’t reassure me; instead, she started talking in
circles, saying things like “we’re not even sure she’s going to be insecure
about it,” and “we’ll deal with it if it happens.” Finally, I laid out what I
needed to hear from her. “I need you to tell me that you’re not going to ditch
me if Cam doesn’t like me,” I texted. The response was far from satisfactory.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One day last week, I spent all day (from 10 am to 8 pm)
talking and texting back and forth with Amber about Cam, comforting her and
supporting her when Cam said she needed space, counseling her when Cam began
trying to manipulate and guilt her. I was her shoulder, her ear, and her rock,
all over a woman I don’t care for at all. The day before that, I helped Amber
plan an elaborate romantic evening for her and Cam. I have always been there
for Amber, and always been honest with her, and yet it seems clear now that she
would cast me aside for Cam, even though she hasn’t said so in so many words.
And that hurts more than you know.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So what do I do? I texted her a couple of times yesterday, a
few of hours after our conversation about my meeting Cam, to tell her that I
needed to talk to her, and that it was really important. She didn’t respond
until this morning. (If I take even an hour responding to Amber’s texts, she
gives me shit about it!) She has texted me four times since this morning, but I
don’t know what to say. I’m angry at her for something that she hasn’t even
done yet, but I know she will. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s not a woman in the world who could come into my life
and so command my heart that I would give up my friends. Friends are better
than family in many ways to me—they are chosen family. I guess I just need to
find more people who feel the same way. What about you, Grey people? What do
your friends mean to you? Would you ditch a close friend at the say so of your
significant other?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can’t compete with Cam. No matter how much I love Amber, I
don’t lick her vagina, and I don’t keep her warm at night. But really I
shouldn’t have to compete, should I? I don’t think that friends and lovers
shouldn’t occupy the same space in a person’s heart. One should never edge the
other out. I love Amber—she’s got her own place in my heart. But I guess I’ll
just have to sit here, waiting to see if she’ll make room in hers for me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Peace and Love and Bugs Named Doug,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
GreyGirl</div>GreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-57212098599108277422011-11-20T10:15:00.001-08:002011-11-20T10:18:15.074-08:00Sex with Sherri or Sarah?<style>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Okay, Grey people, I need your advice (again!) This is the
grayest of grey dilemmas. For this, we’re basically going to take it back to
high school, because, as much as I love my friend, she’s young, and that’s
about at the level where she and all parties involved are. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Should your first time be with someone you are in love with but
possibly can never really be with, or with someone you’re not in love with, but
who really wants to be with you?</b> Yes, those are the only two choices.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m asking because I have a friend who I think is about to
make a big mistake. Let’s call her Dani. Dani is in love with her best friend,
Sherri. Sherri is a closeted lesbian who is engaged to be married to a boy (I
say “boy” because everyone involved in this situation is 20 years old! WTF,
right? Engaged at 20? But that’s another story...) How do I know that Sherri is
a lesbian? Because she has been licking Dani’s vagina off and on for the past 2
years (while dating that boy, yes)! Here’s the kicker: Dani has never returned
the favor! Dani is young and afraid, and struggling with her sexuality too,
particularly in the wake of Sherri’s engagement to a boy. (It’s pretty clear to
me that Dani and Sherri are in love, but that Sherri is simply too afraid to come
to terms with her sexuality to admit this, and so maintains a farcical
relationship with this poor boy.) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The dilemma comes in when Dani decides that she finally
wants to have sex with a woman, and be an active participant. Dani tells me
that she’s going to sleep with a friend of hers, Sarah. Sarah is, for all
intents and purposes, straight, but has a thing for Dani. Dani likes Sarah, but
isn’t attracted to her or in love with her. I ask Dani why she doesn’t just
have sex with Sherri, seeing as though a) she’s attracted to Sherri, and b)
she’s in love with Sherri. Dani says that it would be too hard to sleep with
Sherri, because it would make her love for her more painful. I say that it’s
better for your first time to be with someone you know well, love, and trust,
than with someone you aren’t even attracted to and aren’t interested in being
with. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What do you think, grey girls, boys, and zhes? Look WAY back to your first time, and pull out some pearls of wisdom!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sorry for the simple high-school lingo, but sometimes a girl has to go there!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Peace and Love and Bugs Named Doug,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
GreyGirl</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>GreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-50593002196597263802011-11-17T10:25:00.001-08:002011-11-17T10:28:06.127-08:00Black, and Apparently Scary!<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Hey Grey Peeps!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m
coming to you today with more tales from my personal life. This one I just have
to share and get your opinions on, because nobody has ever come out and said it
before, and it presents an interesting question.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So,
I’m going on a date tonight, with a woman I met online. Online dating is
totally popular right now, and since my only dating prospects include my
closeted gay sister (which, contrary to what Dan Savage’s caller in episode 265
of the Savage Lovecast says, is fucking gross—cousins and siblings are a
no-no!) and my best friend (who is crazy. I love her, and we’re both crazy in
the same way, but I’m still allowed to think my crazy is better than hers), I
decided to branch out from the not-so-big town I live in, and take the plunge.
I’m going to skip all of the fun awkardness that goes along with the online
scene, and cut straight to the chase. I met a girl.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
seems great. We sent a couple of messages back and forth, then moved to texting
and Facebook, and shortly after, made our way to phone conversations. We talk
for an hour or two everyday, and she’s hilarious! She’s intelligent and
witty—good things all around. We have been doing this thing where we ask each
other questions. Mostly they are questions about past relationships,
preferences, et cetera. I ask her if she gets jealous easily, she asks me if
I’ve ever cheated—that sort of thing. It’s very entertaining. So, the other
night, we’re talking on the phone, and I, on a whim, ask her if she has ever
dated a black girl. There are all of these comical stereotypes about black
women being sassy and amazing in bed, and I guess I just wanted to see if she
what she might be thinking, what sorts of experiences she’s had, et cetera. She
says that she was seeing a black girl for a while, but they never really dated.
She then admits that, she likes me, but is intimidated by the fact that I’m
black! When I ask her what she means, she says that it’s because she just
doesn’t have a lot of experience with black women. I am not easily offended—I
have spent my life as the token, and have become accustomed to being a sort of
ambassador in my circles, explaining how you can tell if a girl’s hair is her
own, what certain terms mean, and all that jazz. For some reason, this I have
never heard. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
first thought that I had was “Well, would you be intimidated if you dated a
Christian girl? A girl from the south? An overweight girl? A rich or poor
girl?” These are all things that can constitute disparate cultural experiences,
and can greatly inform the people we become. And yet I got the sense that there
was something in particular about my being a black woman that caused her to
feel anxious. I told her that it didn’t phase me, and that I’m always happy to
answer questions about my culture, and we moved on, but I couldn’t really let
it go. So I guess I’m asking for your input. Non-black women: is it a black
thing? Is there something in particular about black women that is unnerving?
And black women: have you gotten this before? Are we really that scary? I also
want to ask a third group. Other minorities (racial and otherwise: Hispanic
women, religious women, wealthy women, and anyone I have left out): have you
experienced this? Do people from other cultural walks of life express
nervousness at the prospect of dating you? I know that there’s a general phenomenon
of dating one’s own kind, but is this fear, this apprehension, is it more than
that?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
My date is tonight, and I am
excited about it, but I must admit that when I was thinking about what I’m
going to wear, I wondered if there was something I could wear that would make
me seem less scary. I quickly gave up on that, and I have decided to just be my
cute (black) self :)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Peace and Love and Bugs Named Doug, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
GreyGirl</div>GreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-16510153021886658582011-11-16T17:01:00.001-08:002011-11-17T09:48:28.344-08:00Professionalism, and Being Gay at Work<style>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hey Grey people!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I was at work today, and one of my coworkers (the only
other out gay woman where I work) responded to something that I posted on my
Facebook wall by telling me to get back to work. We are generally friendly
(friendly enough to be Facebook friends, I suppose), and we joke around a bit,
but for some reason I felt like this went too far. I went and found her and
explained that I didn’t appreciate the comment, and that I was going to take it
down. She responded that she was just joking, and didn’t understand what the
big deal was. I told her that I didn’t like the fact that she had implied in a
very public venue, that I do not do my job adequately, and that professionalism
is important to me. I removed the comment. She then came into my cubicle, and
while I was on my computer, leaned over me, almost resting her chin on my
shoulder. Her breast was touching my back, and she just seemed too close. I
asked her to move back, and explained that it wasn’t appropriate for her to be
that close to me. She laughed, and walked away.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the drive home, I realized that I had been harsh with
her, and I was thinking more about the situation, and I two things came to
mind: 1) this is the first time in my life that I have “friended” a co-workwer
on Facebook, and 2) I really don’t like to mix my personal and professional
lives. I came to the conclusion that it wasn’t the comment that had bothered me
in particular, but that someone who knows me professionally was responding to a
personal aspect of my life. Now I’m seriously considering removing her from my
friends. I can’t put my finger on what’s unsettling about the meshing of these
two worlds, but I think I’m going to stick with my instincts on this one. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As for her getting too close to me, this is the second
incident I have had with her. Last week I popped my head out to say goodbye to
everyone (she works with a few other people I know, and people who I’m also
Facebook friends with now), and when I did, she got up to say goodbye. She
asked why I was leaving early, and then proceeded to pull the bow out of my
trench coat so that it came undone. Thinking about these two incidents, I wonder
if I would feel so awkward about them if she weren’t gay. Am I afraid that
people at work will think that we’re together? Or is it really just that she
has a partner, and that’s the reason I don’t want to be perceived as flirting
with her? Am I being homophobic? I have never had to deal with sexuality in a
work environment, so this is uncharted territory. Thoughts?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Peace and Love and Bugs Named Doug,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
GreyGirl</div>GreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-58798069582020557032011-11-09T06:48:00.001-08:002011-11-17T09:33:16.475-08:00The Pain of People<style>
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Hello, Hello All,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I
haven’t abandoned you, I promise. This has been my first post in a long time
because I have been dealing with seriously grey issues in the not so gray world
around me. After much thought, I have decided that I should put it out there in
this space, and see what comes back to me. Wracking my brains, stressing,
hemming and hawing, nail biting, and worrying hasn’t helped, so I’m going to
try something that is very unlike me, and I’m going to ask for help. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
problem? People. Loving them, caring for them, caring about them, wanting them,
and needing them. There have been a number of people in my life in the past
month who have made me love them, made me worry, and left me hanging, and I
don’t know why they do it. You probably don’t think that they’re doing it on
purpose, right? That they are not causing me this much stress intentionally,
because that would just be cruel. The thing is, I think some people like this
kind of attention; I think they thrive on it. They text you to tell you that they’re
drunk at a bar in a bad part of town, and then wait an hour to call you back
when you’ve been calling them frantically, worried that they’ve been taken
advantage of. They spiral out of control, beg you to help them pick up the
pieces, and then go right back and do the thing that caused the spiral to begin
with. They say they’re not in love with you, but then they flirt shamelessly,
keep tabs on you, and get pissed when you don’t text them back for a few hours.
They grieve loss in unhealthy ways and think that death gives them the right to
act irresponsibly, and belittle and slam those around them. They say they
understand the nature of your relationship to them, they say they’re clear on
the lines, but then you make love to them and suddenly they want more than you
ever agreed to give. Why?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
bigger question is, what’s the solution? Should I just be done with people?
Should I pack up my dog, move to the middle of nowhere and write brooding and
profound novels for the rest of my life? The unfortunate thing that I have
realized in all of this is that I can’t. I can’t leave people. People are my
people. They make my heart ache with love and longing, they fill my chest with
guilt, my throat with unheeded warnings—but I love them, people.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I love it when they are sorry for
making me worry, and tell me jokes to put my mind at ease; I love it when they
come wholly back together again, and we can sit and talk and be real with one
another again; I love it when they poke me and kick me, I love knowing that
that’s how they show they’re love, whatever kind of love it is. I love it when
they come out on the other side of their pain, and when they are grateful for
my having weathered the fog with them. I love it when I see their faces again,
and, even though they’re sad that I couldn’t give more, they’re happy with what
I can give. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I still want to pose this question,
though. I may be doomed to a life of people, of love and pain, and joy and
sadness, but perhaps if I could figure out why, it would bring some comfort.
Why do people do these things? Why do they cause this kind of pain and turmoil?
Do some people thrive on this kind of emotional stress, or is the root more
innocent? What do you think? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
People are my people. And I’ll
never leave them. I’ll never stop loving them, and they will never stop causing
me pain. That’s the gift and curse of being human. Welcome to life and the
business of living, GreyGirl :)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You are my people too, though, and I won’t leave you. I’m
sorry for neglecting the Grey Space. I’m back, and I hope you are all well.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Peace and love and bugs named Doug,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
GreyGirl</div>GreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-31834654541228933132011-10-18T09:44:00.000-07:002011-10-18T09:45:33.404-07:00Dear EllenHey Grey people!<br />
<br />
So I came across this, and I thought I'd share it. I have come so far since I wrote it, and I got a kick out of reading about the way I used to be. I wrote it to Ellen Degeneres one day, though I'm not sure why. If only my current self could have spoken to the old me. I would have known then that it would all be okay.<br />
<br />
<br />
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Dear Ellen,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t really know why I’m writing this letter. I know that
it’s 2011, and being gay is no longer “a big deal” but somehow I find myself
lying in bed on a Sunday afternoon watching season 4 of Ellen, and wishing that
I had some clever and hilarious way of telling my family who I am. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m 26 years old, and strangely enough, the first time I
realized that I like girls was in 1997. I was twelve, so a little young to be
watching your show (though I did watch Oprah, which my mother hated! There’s
nothing like a child saying “Oprah says you shouldn’t berate your children” to
make you want to smack them) but I wish that I had been watching, because maybe
it would have helped me put two and two together sooner! If I had maybe I could
have avoided dating the ------(sorry, got to leave this part out), to whom I
finally lost my “boy” virginity at 21, and who subsequently converted to
Catholicism and basically asked for his virginity back. I can count the number
of times we had sex on one hand, so if we’re working under the same rules as
marriage, I’m sure he’s got grounds to ask God for an annulment or something. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t know why I’m telling you this...I guess it’s mostly
because, after watching your Oprah interview from 1997 I realize that I’m a lot
like you. I didn’t really put it all together the first time I loved a girl. I
kind of just thought that people love who they love. I also figured that as
long as I still dated men, it was “ok.” I have subsequently realized that I
don’t really like dating men, so I guess I’m not “ok” and by “ok” I mean
straight! I’m fine with it, more than fine actually, and I have been living
happily for a long time now. The problem is that it has created this distance
between me and my family. I sort of accidentally told my dad about the girl I
was seeing during an argument about the family reunion hotel (long story), and
every conversation we’ve had about it since has turned into an argument. The
larger issue is that I haven’t told him that I don’t like men at all, and I
haven’t told my extended family. See, the thing is, according to my family,
there are no black gay people, and there certainly aren’t and gay people “as
pretty as I am.” I have been getting this a lot lately—I’m sure Portia can
relate—and it’s really starting to piss me off. “You’re too pretty to be gay”
and “you don’t look gay” are the two comments I get most (frequently from
straight men and bicurious girls...equally annoying in my book), and I never
really know how to respond. In any case, my family has always thought I was a
bit weird, so I don’t really know how to tell them that I’m even “weirder” and
by “weirder” I mean gayer, than they thought! Oh, and by the way, I’m black.
There’s never an appropriate place to stick this factoid into conversations, so
I thought I’d throw it out there, in case you didn’t catch that, because it
sheds some light on why I’m nervous about telling my southern, black, Baptist
Christian family that I’m gay.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I still don’t really know why I’m writing this...I guess I’m
writing so that you can help me tell my black Baptist family that I’m gay.
Maybe you and Oprah could team up for this endeavor (no offense, but I think my
black Baptist grandma is more likely to be swayed by Oprah for some reason).
While you’re at it, you could also do a show about feminine gay girls, because
we do, in fact, exist. I’m sure it will take you a long time to respond to this
if you even do—I know you’re busy being famous and gay and all that—so perhaps
you could do a 15-year commemoration of that episode or something... In any
case, you were the first celebrity I ever had a crush on, so thanks for being
hot and thanks for being gay. You’re awesome, and what you did in 1997 was
awesome. Hopefully I’ll gain some pearls of wisdom from watching the rest of
the show, and come up with some great way of coming out to my family.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Take Care,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
GreyGirl</div>GreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-4214054979727218722011-10-14T13:17:00.000-07:002011-10-14T13:18:11.515-07:00What kind of lesbian should I be tonight?<style>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So today is one of those blah and gray days in the Grey
Space. I’m ADD and I can’t seem to figure out what I want to post about. I need
to put my dancing shoes on a release some nervous energy! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After yesterday’s Effing Dykes blog, I am going to be much
more cognizant of my dancing when I go out tonight! I definitely dance like a
lesbian, but what kind of lesbian should I be tonight? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Should I femme it up in a sexy black number, or butch it
down and break out a tie, a vest, and/or some suspenders? I was thinking I’d go
with something in between, but every time I do something like this, I get a
“what’s with the tie?” or “what’s with the heels?” from all of my gay friends.
What’s this all about? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where have all the stemmes gone? I personally love to play
in the land between the stud and the femme—it’s more in line with my
personality. And to me, there’s nothing more provocative than a woman in a
shirt and tie with her hair down, spilling over her shoulders, sporting that Diane
Keaton in Annie Hall look—it’s freaking hot. Some of my biggest celebrity
crushes would make beautiful men and handsome women. Hear are a few examples:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2tkbsfvaPieWyYRjA256EOzbEKSio06jhf5STzHB2emn5UrKwAKcWIG5r8UviX0CwvwPP8TPct-oKnqcI0OIMA7dyQPKGv00X3NYho9JZz-rO86J3Azh4Gt67lfYHrxx3UuBXvU35KOw/s1600/daniela+sea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2tkbsfvaPieWyYRjA256EOzbEKSio06jhf5STzHB2emn5UrKwAKcWIG5r8UviX0CwvwPP8TPct-oKnqcI0OIMA7dyQPKGv00X3NYho9JZz-rO86J3Azh4Gt67lfYHrxx3UuBXvU35KOw/s320/daniela+sea.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Daniela Sea from The L Word. Her role as a trans man was ground-breaking. And it always seemed a little warm in the room when I was watching her...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie02lyRVGnmH8ql60ssmpBH2cJivixK4l-uL5VeRNaBmqyiGm7Oj1rZd4RXy10Fuq3GbWAVQqyWamAvo6SvFvJXpMwBnP-Pt2EpG1byG_Wax8UwjOblMgh47FZ1xb_HNuFZcHF3vn0dKQ/s1600/Halle+Berry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie02lyRVGnmH8ql60ssmpBH2cJivixK4l-uL5VeRNaBmqyiGm7Oj1rZd4RXy10Fuq3GbWAVQqyWamAvo6SvFvJXpMwBnP-Pt2EpG1byG_Wax8UwjOblMgh47FZ1xb_HNuFZcHF3vn0dKQ/s1600/Halle+Berry.jpg" /></a></div>
Even if Halle Berry doesn't know it, she'd be such a pretty boy!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxGSwKR-1ejo1CEhNvKfcoJr1FZ_GeBEJHbpRGy61lUMeQ9q108xrNZ7Y3GFIT4OXkfRqJspCU2EiWaySs3jk6J8aYRBV7UdRsRIS4RQahztxnk8fXlDkKbr_UbAVNErDTK3OTHNyI_uo/s1600/kdlang.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxGSwKR-1ejo1CEhNvKfcoJr1FZ_GeBEJHbpRGy61lUMeQ9q108xrNZ7Y3GFIT4OXkfRqJspCU2EiWaySs3jk6J8aYRBV7UdRsRIS4RQahztxnk8fXlDkKbr_UbAVNErDTK3OTHNyI_uo/s1600/kdlang.jpg" /></a></div>
KD Lang. Needs no introduction. Jezus she's hot.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi3lKjIGBL0MegofoEGpLaxv00ZvEPuxB0K65FWTFWicxRmkxbZXsO-F8GATgefVdHl7jwcrYfieL_BNS-mVcx6B5i392qC1i5t4I-KDQyK6mMk-l7wIsXNzuRuxmhD6G51j-fogQKb1Y/s1600/kiyomi-mccloskey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi3lKjIGBL0MegofoEGpLaxv00ZvEPuxB0K65FWTFWicxRmkxbZXsO-F8GATgefVdHl7jwcrYfieL_BNS-mVcx6B5i392qC1i5t4I-KDQyK6mMk-l7wIsXNzuRuxmhD6G51j-fogQKb1Y/s320/kiyomi-mccloskey.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Kiyomi McKloskey -- Lead singer & lead guitar for Hunter Valentine<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyzQzTvVPxw_xUJ04AdyAthJ2dWufwlr_jqCQm8GF5ha3S0BJI4kVoUBgVFL6mo-31_no9zsQ4eip-SYlazMD_wz7CAM6rCRYCsr37M8Tju8H-leq8VZIuiqjW7C_N_rmQVWiNzk6CVaU/s1600/Twiggy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyzQzTvVPxw_xUJ04AdyAthJ2dWufwlr_jqCQm8GF5ha3S0BJI4kVoUBgVFL6mo-31_no9zsQ4eip-SYlazMD_wz7CAM6rCRYCsr37M8Tju8H-leq8VZIuiqjW7C_N_rmQVWiNzk6CVaU/s320/Twiggy.jpg" width="242" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And, of course, Twiggy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Androgyny is fucking erotic as hell. So tonight, I encourage
all of the lezzies out there to embrace that confused in-between place that
makes us wish that pretty boy we see walking down the street were a woman (this
happens to me all the time!) Unleash the stemme within, play with gender roles,
fuck with people’s heads! It’s my favorite thing to do, it makes me feel
incredibly sexy, and it will make you feel untouchable. It’s also one of my
favorite man-be-gone tricks ;-)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Get out on that dance floor, put your thigh between her
legs, and let her grab onto your tie. Or your suspenders. Or let her take off
your fedora. Androgyny. Two words. Positively fuckable.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Peace and love and bugs named Doug,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
GreyGirl</div>GreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-28193412494344285082011-10-13T09:04:00.000-07:002011-10-13T09:09:17.635-07:00Surviving Sexual Tension<style>
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Okay Grey People, we’ve all been there. You are good friends with a
girl, and then suddenly things are different. She hugs you and it feels like
it’s for longer than it should, she smiles at you and you forget what you were
talking about, innocent glances become significantly less innocent over time.
But she’s your friend, your best friend even, and you don’t want to screw up your friendship by
screwing her, so what do you do?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, I have been dealing with this very situation for a
little while now, and have thought of some things you can do; but I’m much
more versed in things you shouldn’t :-) Aren’t we all?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dos</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
1.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span>First, take some space. The more time you spend
together, the worse it will get. Make new friends, get closer (platonically
closer) with other friends, or just take some “you” time.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
2.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span>Date somebody else. Or at least make out with
someone else. I’m not promoting blind promiscuity (though I don’t judge, either way),
I’m simply pointing out that it’s harder to think about what one girl might
look like naked when there’s another naked girl in front of you ;-)</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
3.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span>Be honest about the situation. Ignoring the
sexual tension may work in some cases, but if it persists, it’s best to just
acknowledge it—that way you can laugh about it together, and begin the process
of eliminating it (or at least squelching it somewhat). </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
4.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span>Set boundaries! This has been the hardest one
for me to learn. All of those things she does that make you feel lightheaded
and nauseous? Ask her not to do them for a while! Take a break from the playful
dancing and grinding (all friends grind up on one another—you know you do it
too!) and the fun pet names until they don’t make you wish you were kissing her
anymore. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don’ts</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
1.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span>Don’t spend time alone with her! The more you’re
alone, the more opportunities will arise for you to slip. And slipping most often leads to falling. The glances get more intense,
the playfulness more bold, and before you know it, boundaries go out the
window. Hang out in groups if you do see her. This will help you both contain
yourselves, for fear that someone else may notice.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
2.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span>Don’t talk about things that can lead to
no-so-innocent actions. This includes things like the human body (body parts can be dangerous), whether or
not you look good in something, how nobody is into you right now, and of course, sex; if you need
an opinion, ask someone else! Don’t even talk about the girl your dating. This
one isn’t necessarily intuitive, but talking about the girl your seeing can
lead to unconscious comparison of that girl to your supposedly platonic friend,
and you can end up talking yourself out of dating her! </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
3.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span>Don’t cave on the boundaries! This one is on
both lists because it’s the hardest fucking thing in the world sometimes! If
you say you’re not going to do something, stick to it and don’t do it. Don’t
put yourself in situations that allow for the blurring of lines. Don’t get
wasted at a party where your friend is the only one who can drive you home.
Don’t circumvent the space clause by using other modes of communication. If
you’re not texting, than Facebook messaging counts too! If you’re not seeing
each other, stop looking at her FB wall everyday!</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
4.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span>Lastly, don’t talk to your other friends about
it. It makes it worse, and it keeps her on your mind when you’re supposed to be
engaging with others. Spending time with other friends isn’t going to work if
you spend the entire time listening to their thoughts on the situation, and
their musings about how “you two could work, if you were willing to go there.”
DON’T GO THERE! There’s no turning back.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If anyone has any other suggestions, feel free to post them—we
can all use all of the help we can get!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the meantime, stay strong! True friends aren’t worth sacrificing
for one night of bliss, no matter how blissful it may be :-) If it’s not a good
idea, and you know it, do what you have to do to come out on the other end
unscathed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Peace and love and bugs named Doug,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
GreyGirl</div>GreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-54003027176712966672011-10-12T07:47:00.000-07:002011-10-12T07:47:24.096-07:00She's Just Not That Into You<style>
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</style>Hey Grey Gals, Guys, and Zhes!
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I have been trying to keep things fairly anonymous in
this blog so far, as I’m just getting my feet wet and I’m not sure what I’m
doing, but today I feel like I have to share a story about my personal life, if
for no other reason than that it may help others avoid the same pitfalls. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Have you seen that movie “He’s Just Not That Into You?”
Well, I have, and, although it’s a little cheesy, it teaches a valuable lesson,
one that applies to gays as well as straight people. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have been on a quest to make more meaningful friends.
After you leave college, making friends becomes a completely new game, and most
of us end up either sticking with our college peeps, or we go out for drinks
with out coworkers, the people in our building, et cetera. In general, meeting
people outside of work or the building we live in can be pretty difficult.
Well, after I broke up with my last girlfriend, and all of her friends (which I
thought were our friends...) stopped talking to me, I decided to take things
into my own hands. I opted to join a dating site to meet friends. Particularly
gay friends. I love my straight friends, but sometimes a girl just needs to
Youtube the Mila Kunis/Zoe Saldana short from “After Sex” and talk about just
how awesome it is.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So anyway, I joined this site, and have actually made a few
good friends. One of my friends, let’s call her Kate, lived in my area, but
then moved to Philadelphia for an internship. My little gay town has started to
feel small as a result of some classic Lesbian drama, so a few weeks ago, I
took a much needed road trip out to visit her. We hit up the local lezzie club,
danced it up, and had a blast. I was happy. I thought I had finally found the
meaningful friendship I was looking for. I talk to her all the time, we chat
and text about my drama, and in particular, we talk about another friend of
mine. Let’s call her Amy. Amy and I have this unique friendship (I also met her
on this site), and things were going really well (she gets me, and we share a
lot of the same interests) until my other friends and Kate started to tell me
that my relationship with Amy was strange. “You talk about her a lot,” they
said, “and you two talk all the time.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I must admit that, as a result of my knowing that I was gay
at an early age, I don’t have that much experience making new female friends,
especially outside of the realm of college (I was always terrified that I’d
have feelings for every girl I got close to). So while at first, I dismissed
their comments as lezzie gossip, after a while, it started to get to me, and I thought that maybe my naivety was keeping me from seeing what they were talking about. Amy is
pretty cute, and there is a certain amount of sexual tension between us, but I
really didn’t see anything romantic happening, and didn’t really think about
dating her. My friends, however, didn’t let up. They kept telling me that Amy
must like me, and this made me start to analyze everything she did. A friendly
book drop turned into “why did she go out of her way to bring me these?” and
sharing our favorite passages became “she does read a lot of sensual passages
to me...” Eventually, it drove me crazy, and I asked Amy about it. The short
version is that it made things awkward between us. We stopped talking for about
a week.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then, in light of this drama, I opted to get out of town
again, and head to Phili to visit Kate. I went out dancing on Saturday night,
with Kate and one of her other friends, and I met this gorgeous girl, and spent
all night dancing with her. Kate danced with a girl too, and made out with some
random chick. Kate’s friend made out with a blonde Israeli flight attendant!
Great night, right? Well, we’re walking back to Kate’s place, and she tells me
that she’s frustrated because she wants to know what’s going on between us.
“What?” I ask. Apparently, Kate’s friends have been telling her that I must
have feelings for her because I talk to her so often, and I have driven hours
to come and visit her twice. I was completely blindsided! I had no idea what
she was talking about, and I have no feelings for Kate whatsoever. We spent the
next hour talking about things, and I explained that their accusations made no
sense. I had been talking to Kate about Amy for months! Where in my talking
about another woman would she get that I was into her?! And this is when the
light bulb went off. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In that movie, “He’s Just Not That Into You,” one of the
main male characters explains that women have this tendency to subconsciously lie to their
friends, and that they say things like “he must be into you” or
“if he’s doing that it means he thinks you’re cute” in order to be nice. I
submit that this is absofuckinglotely true! Women think that they are being
good friends by implying that someone is interested in their friends, when
really, all they’re doing is creating drama and confusion! They often have no
idea whether or not a given gesture is rooted in sexual or romantic interest
(and how could they?), but who doesn’t want to be sought after, right? May as well
tell her that she is wanted; it will make her feel good. Why not, eh? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why not? Because these embellishments and this gossip do
nothing but create problems in our relationship with others, and perpetuate the
stereotypical drama that so permeates female friendships! This is doubly true
for lesbians because there is so much dating incest in our friends circles. So
ladies, stop yourselves. Stop pretending you know what’s in the minds of
others, and stop boosting your friends’ egos by spouting truths you can’t
possibly be privy to. And, as the friend on the receiving end, stop listening
to your crazy female friends! Trust your gut, and act based on what you know,
not what’s being whispered in your ear!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On my way back from Phili, I called Amy. I told her that I
was sorry that we hadn’t been speaking, and that I should not have listened to
the ridiculousness my friends have been spouting. Sexual tension aside, we are
friends, and it’s a great friendship. I almost lost her, and I won't make that mistake again. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lezzies, every woman who is nice to you isn’t interested in
you; some people are just nice. And sexual tension is as plentiful in Lesbian
friendships as the number of gay men in a spa waiting for a waxing. You deal
with it, you get over it, and you keep your friends (or you fuck them, but that’s
a story for another day :-)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Peace and love and bugs named Doug,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
GreyGirl</div>GreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-64151558861734390772011-10-11T09:10:00.000-07:002011-10-11T12:45:49.322-07:00THIS IS WHY I'M GAY!<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Hello, hello from the Grey Space, and Happy National Coming
Out Day! If anyone feels the urge to come out, today is the day! Leave a
comment on this post telling us that you’re gay and why! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In honor of this day, I thought I’d take some time to think
about the reasons why I’m gay (besides the obvious one). A friend and I have
this running joke, and every time we see something that is grossly heterosexual
or just gross, we say, “This is why I’m gay!” Here are some prime examples:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were walking down the street on a hot day, when a man
took off his shirt right in front of us. By shirt I mean undershirt (of the
wife beater persuasion—we really need to find a better name for this piece of
clothing, by the way), and by took off I mean peeled from his hair sweaty
man-boob body. If you need a visual, here you go! THIS IS WHY I’M GAY!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1HXfbmEGNEAkXeNva3zwTv-vv-deSAc2JP6axZzO79AjU5X9HeTPJmgKL6oCgFALIIJNuA3T-0Tl8J763TxxI_FSt_6V4-kitmrsT6cy1vvrqd8ynPp-LcqfGIbIXG2X4ix40IW8vBRk/s1600/Blog+wifebeaterbad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1HXfbmEGNEAkXeNva3zwTv-vv-deSAc2JP6axZzO79AjU5X9HeTPJmgKL6oCgFALIIJNuA3T-0Tl8J763TxxI_FSt_6V4-kitmrsT6cy1vvrqd8ynPp-LcqfGIbIXG2X4ix40IW8vBRk/s320/Blog+wifebeaterbad.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another choice example of a “THIS IS WHY I’M GAY!” moment is
the classic hetero male pick up line. Men say the dumbest shit to me! I was at
a bar/club, standing at the counter with a friend. A guy comes up and asks me
if I want to dance. I say that I’m not feeling the music right now, but maybe
later. Not terrible, right? (He did have on a Red Sox hat, but that’s another
problem all together.) He goes away and comes back ten minutes later, and this time,
rather than say anything to me, he grabs my arm and starts trying to lead me to
the dance floor! Excuse me, am I cattle?! I turn when I feel my arm being
yanked from its socket, and explain that, while I’m flattered, I don’t really
want to dance. I tell him to have a good evening. Nice and polite. He turns to
me, and, still holding onto my arm says, “You don’t have to be gay about it.
I’m not asking you to marry me; it’s just a dance!” At this point I pull my arm
free of his sweaty, Red Sox-loving hand, and say, “Actually, I am gay, so you
should probably just walk away now!” But get this—he doesn’t leave me alone. He
continues to harass my friends and me for a good hour before I have to explain
to Tito, my favorite bouncer, that if he doesn’t remove this man from my
proximity, I’m going to up the number of men I have kicked in the groin to 6! I
like to call this hetero-phenomenon the “give an inch; take a mile!” For some
reason hetero men think that just because you’re not a complete ass to them up
front, they have some chance of getting into your pants! This is what I get for
being polite?! THIS IS WHY I’M GAY! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now that I’ve ragged on the poor hetero men out there
enough, I guess I can throw in one positive THIS IS WHY I’M GAY! It really has
nothing to do with men, and everything to do with women. The fact of the matter
is that hetero-normative roles are boring and constraining! As an admitted
independent woman, there really is no place for me in the male-female coupled
world! Short of ending up with a meek and pathetic excuse for a man who will
follow me around like a child or puppy (and I play with children and pet
puppies—I don’t want to be in relationships with either!), I don’t know how I’d
end up as anything but alone. I
have NEVER actually been asked out by a man because they pee their ill-fitting “pants”
before they get that far! I’m glad that I’m gay because I don’t think most men
could handle the “pants” persona inside of me. How many men do you know who
would let me put on a strap-on one day and 2.5 inch heals the next?! I’m not
saying that they don’t exist, just that God got it right when he checked the
homo box here <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">:-)</span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Women are freaking beautiful, versatile creatures! They are
malleable (in more ways than one ;-), they are dynamic, and they are simply
more open to exploration in general. I can wear my “pants” with a thong if I
want to, take care of my woman, and still be submissive and allow her to play
protector when the mood strikes me. Roles can change at the drop of the hat,
and I can put on as many hats as I’d like! And lastly, it has to be said, that
women basically can do anything men can do. You show me some death-defying
feat, and I’ll find you a woman who can give any XY a run for his money! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don’t get me wrong, I have a straight brother, and we’re
tight. I play ball with straight men, pick up chicks with them, drink with them—I
have some pretty great bros out there. They are simply no match for the soft,
sensual, sexiness that lies underneath even the butchiest exterior of a woman.
Women are amazing, women smell and taste like heaven and fuck like hell. THIS,
and really only this, IS WHY I’M GAY! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV6LHwDrOpOl9_eJ9v2NvYBHmnyJvBZeKGm3sSYrv5R5AfFpRU1Lh4RVc-n5O10rcu7ZOhdxvtKrJNhHsVWIu3Izd4rfInIUwQh040COWpEVnRA6TEfuMXtqECJGzRQBgGEWb7QgpLlzM/s1600/nayafhm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV6LHwDrOpOl9_eJ9v2NvYBHmnyJvBZeKGm3sSYrv5R5AfFpRU1Lh4RVc-n5O10rcu7ZOhdxvtKrJNhHsVWIu3Izd4rfInIUwQh040COWpEVnRA6TEfuMXtqECJGzRQBgGEWb7QgpLlzM/s320/nayafhm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Happy Gay Day!</div>
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Peace and love and bugs named Doug,</div>
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GreyGirl</div>
GreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-72005084087765021922011-10-06T19:12:00.001-07:002011-10-11T12:45:58.372-07:00The Perks of Living in a Gay World<style>
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Hello from the Grey Space. I am feeling particularly gray
today, as I received some very upsetting news two days ago. So today’s post is
in response to the epidemic of gay children committing suicide as a result of
relentless bullying, tormenting, and torturing they are forced to bare. It is
dedicated to Kwame, a flamboyant and hilarious little gay kid who is no longer
with us. He was funny, so I’ll try to make this at least a little comical, in
his honor.</div>
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After being bombarded with the reality of teen suicide on my
way home, (I was listening to the Savage Lovecast, and Dan was talking about
another kid who killed himself, Jamey Rodemeyer) I decided that I don’t want to
live in this world anymore. I don’t want to kill myself (if some ignorant kid
comes up to me to make fun of me for being gay, I am fortunate enough to have
more recourse than the children who suffer in the hallways of schools these
days); I just want the Grey Space to expand, to take over. </div>
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I want to live in a gay world. I want to walk down the street,
and know that the only male-female couples I see are gay boys with their fag
hags. I want to see hot butches in cargo shorts pushing strollers filled with
adopted minority babies, and holding hands with femmed up supermodels. Sounds
good, right?! (I’m not trying to leave out my butch on butch couples, or my
trans men—I love you all, you’re sexy as hell!) If only...</div>
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I’m sort of kidding—saying I want to live in a “gays only
world” is just as bad as homophobes wanting us all to disappear, but, if you
think about it, there would be some advantages to living in Homoland. I’ve
thought a lot about this, and come up with the ten gayest reasons to want to
live in a gay world. I was having a hard time ranking them, so they’re in no
particular order. If we lived in a gay world...</div>
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1.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span>Teenage gay kids would stop killing themselves.
School would be this wonderful place where young queer kids could safely have
crushes on each other (and talk to someone about them without fear of being
punched in the face), sport their lisps and high voices with pride, and where
butch girls could get all swanked up in tuxes and take their girlfriends to the
prom (did I mention that girls in tuxes is a major fantasy of mine?)</div>
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2.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span>Men would stop hitting on me, and I would stop
hating men. Every feminine lesbian is with me on this one. I’ve tried
everything short of cutting off my hair and buying a ten pack of wife beaters
to get the opposite sex to leave me alone, and since nothing else has worked,
I’ve had to go the “angry feminist” route, and it’s not pretty. The other day, this dude was checking
me out so hardcore on the street that he almost tripped trying to turn around.
Then, of course he spoke to me, saying “hey.” (God they’re so fucking dumb!) I
was so sick of men that day that I turned and screamed in his face “I like
vagina; leave me alone!” Wouldn’t it be nice if the only time a man ever said
“hey” to you on the street was when he wanted to know where you got your shoes
or to tell you that you look “fabulous” in the gayest of voices?!</div>
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3.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span>The whole world would be one big Ptown, so it
would be cheaper to go to the tip of the Cape than it is now! I love
Provincetown! But it’s expensive as hell, and I want to go back without having
to break the bank. (If you are feeling like you really do need to live in a gay
world for a little while, Ptown is as close as you’re going to get. The drag
queens there are all the therapy a girl needs!)</div>
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4.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span>Shows like 16 and Pregnant and Teen Mom wouldn’t
exist! Every time I get sucked into a show like that, I think “why?!” My sister
has like 80 friends who are teen mothers! In a gay world, herpes would be the
only thing teenage girls would have to worry about. In fact, we probably
wouldn’t have to worry about STIs! I may be making that up (I have this completely
unfounded idea that all STIs come from straight men. Maybe I’m in major
man-hater mode right now...)</div>
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5.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span>Doctors, nurses, and x-ray technicians would
stop asking me if I think I might be pregnant! I hate going to the doctor
sometimes. Especially if I’m not seeing my regular physician. I had one x-ray
tech ask me 5 times (and I had already signed the form.) And no, I did not have
a tummy or anything (I know how you think :-) I mean, I know I’m black, but 5
times?</div>
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</span>I wouldn’t have to wonder whether or not that girl
on the rowing team is gay (and Kate Moennig would be mine, officially).
Sometimes it’s hard for even the gayest of dykes to tell, and it makes dating
that much harder (maybe that’s why I love the studs...)</div>
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7.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span>There’d be more and better butch-femme porn! You
laugh, but it’s very hard to come by. I’m a little sick of watching straight
girls fingering each other and making stupid moaning noises that sound like my
dog when he’s annoyed at me. A girl can only use her imagination so much!</div>
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8.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span>My fantasy about getting married to a chick in a
tux wouldn’t seem weird. I don’t know if I was the only little kid who had
these thoughts, but I used to have this dream where I’d be getting married, and
then I’d be on my honeymoon with my husband, and when I undressed him, there
was a chick underneath. Best dream ever. But somehow it never seems appropriate
to chime in with this little tidbit when the women at work are talking about
who they fantasized about as teenagers...</div>
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9.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span>The price of sperm and artificial insemination
would go down. This theory is based on the only principle I retained from Bob
Piron’s economics class. Supply and demand, baby. Gay boys love to jiz all over
the place!</div>
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10.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>The
Real World: San Diego would be a lot more interesting. Don’t get me wrong, I’m
super excited about the super cute Samantha, but the show would be way more
entertaining if there were actually more than one gay girl on at a time! </div>
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I’m sure that I’ve left many things out—feel free to reply
with your own “perks of living in a gay world!” Thanks for listening!</div>
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Peace and love and bugs named Doug,</div>
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GreyGirl</div>
GreyGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475949119358195272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-85122978564025383792011-10-04T09:11:00.000-07:002011-10-11T12:46:06.324-07:00Saying Hi and Bye to the Bi-girls<style>
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Good afternoon! It’s a dreary day in Greyland, but I’m gay, so I’m happy :-) I just read a post by Greta Christina about bisexuality (here’s the link, if you want to read it: <a href="http://t.co/1TDZrkQk">http://freethoughtblogs.com/greta/2011/09/28/is-everyone-basically-bisexual/</a>) and so I thought I’d write about the poor bi girls today. </div>
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I recently went on a date with a girl who identified as bi, was posing as a gay, and had never slept with a woman. As we sat in one of my favorite little divey bars eating greasy bar food and sipping Blue Moon, I got the sense that she might have been interested in me, and might have thought I could be interested in her. After I politely nipped that in the bud and said we could be friends, she started telling me about how she had gone on other dates with women who had never called her back, and she expressed a certain amount of frustration and confusion. I felt sorry for the bicurious girl (that’s what she was to me, bicurious—not bisexual. This is a common problem, I find, and it’s the main reason actual bi girls have so much trouble), so rather than reject her completely, I decided to let her into the mind of a gay girl, in hopes of providing some comfort and understanding.</div>
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The gist of what I said to her was that there were two main reasons that lesbians were probably not calling her for a second date:</div>
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1) Bisexuality and bicuriosity are not the same thing, at least not in the minds of most lesbians. Bisexual, to me, means that you have slept with both men and women, and that you enjoy both and/or that you have been in a relationship with a woman. For me personally, threesomes are not included in the former, and unconsummated relationships are not included in the latter. The reason that these distinctions are so important to me are that a) as a lesbian in my mid-twenties, I don’t have any desire to be anyone’s first. I have been on both ends of this before, and have been burned both ways. My first girlfriend was 22; I was 18 (this is the “Kara” I spoke of in an earlier post). When she graduated at the end of my freshman year, it was a given that we’d break up. We were in completely different places in our lives, and in our sexual journeys. I wasn’t identifying myself as gay (or bisexual, or anything. I had never been with a man), and she was already sure of who she was. While, rationally, I understood this, I was still completely heartbroken, confused, and alone when she left. I still think about her all the time. The following year, when I started seeing Sarah, I experienced the other end of things, when she continually said, “I’m not gay.” This is a homosexual’s worst nightmare. I still didn’t identify as gay at the time, but I was on my way to that conclusion, and Sarah’s near-constant declarations that she was straight shattered me, and made my coming out process significantly longer and infinitely more painful. Even if I were dating her now, the persistent “I’m not gay” defamations would be difficult to take. The other reason it’s important to delineate between bisexual and bicurious is that b) even though I can completely empathize with the bicurious women out there, at this point in my life, I am not looking to participate in anyone’s sexual awakening. I’m looking for a partner who knows she wants to be in a relationship with a woman. Finding a compatible partner is hard enough without having to worry that the person you fall in love with is unsure of her sexual orientation and that you might be disqualified later simply for having a vagina. We all remember Tina’s “slip” on The L Word, and we realize that even a “real lesbian” can go through changes in sexual identity, but my stance is that it’s better to look for a suitable partner in a pool of women who at least seem certain of their sexual orientation.</div>
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Believe me, I get that it sucks. The bicurious girl who went out with was 25, so what is she supposed to do? Go find a 19-year-old? I don’t know, maybe. What I said to her was that there have to be other women out there in her situation, or women who have just realized that they’re gay. (I myself didn’t come out and say that I was gay to anyone until was almost 24, and I had dated 3 women by then.) There are lots of people who come into their sexuality later in life, and they’re not alone, so there is hope, it just may not be the best idea to put your hope in the dykes.</div>
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2) The other reason that lesbians were probably not calling her back is that, even if they did classify this girl as bisexual, many lesbians just don’t want to date a bisexual girl. I asked just about all of my gay friends about this, and they all said basically the same thing: that they didn’t want to be dumped for a dude. For some reason, even a girl who has been in relationships with women but identifies as bi is a no-go. Apparently it hurts more to be dumped if you’re dumped for a man as opposed to another woman. Why? I’m not sure. I don’t tend to feel this way (that being said, I have yet to date a bonafide bi-girl; I always end up getting asked out by bicurious girls, and I have to send them packing), so I can’t really speak for the bi-haters, but I do have a theory. Penis envy. Maybe it hurts worse because there’s no way a girl can pit even the prettiest, most sparkly strap-on against the real deal. Even the most realistic dildos are no match for the thing attached to the hairy, boobless creatures we mold them from. Personally, I prefer that my dildos be as far from the prototype as possible—give me something in bright purple with tinsel and sparkles on it any day—but you see my point.</div>
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So there you have it. I still have love for my bisexual girls, and I truly mean no disrespect. It's a hard knock life. I was bisexual...for like five seconds between the time when I was unlabelled and gay. But then I realized that saying I was bi was pretending I’d be interested in any other penis than those of the silicone persuasion, strapped to a sexy stud with lovely little tits, soft skin, that curve in her back, and, oh yeah, a vagina.</div>
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Peace and love and bugs named Doug,</div>
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GreyGirl</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-40092857508278423482011-10-02T12:11:00.000-07:002011-10-11T12:46:17.252-07:00Bloopers, The Conclusion<style>
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Two in one day? I’m procrastinating, what can I say?! This is the number one blooper, and it came from a girl in college who I was seeing, but who “wasn’t gay.” </div>
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1. So let’s call her...Kara. Kara and I began seeing each other when I broke up with my “boyfriend” for the first time (the quotations will be explained in subsequent posts<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">.</span> The short version is that I’m gay, so I broke up with my boyfriend a lot, partially because he annoyed me as a person, but mostly because I wanted to sleep with Kara :-) ) Kara had never dated a black person, or a girl, and so she was enamored of the female body, but she also seemed to be intrigued by certain aspects of my physique. “I just love your ass,” she would often say; “I wish I were black so I could have that ass.” This, in of itself, wasn’t an issue. It was more so that she would come to attribute things to my blackness that had nothing to do with race, and she had eventually created this ill-conceived archetype of “the black girl.” “You have such an amazing singing voice,” she’d say; “I want to be black so that I can sing like that.” And then there was “God, your breasts are so perfect; I want black girl boobies!” My all-time favorite was “you’re so strong and independent. You’ve got this ‘I don’t need a man' mentality. I wish I had that; I wish I could be confident.” I told her that it would come in time, that you have to know yourself in order to be sure of yourself. “But it’s more than that,” she said, “all of it...it just embodies the strong woman, the strong black woman.” Ok, so I should have stopped hooking up with her WAY sooner, but....that’s another story. The point is that she somehow thought that all of these qualities that she saw me as possessing were what blackness was—a finite set of characteristics, a checklist, if you will. And yes, more black people have the kind of ass that I have than white people, but I have seen enough breasts to know that there’s no such thing as “black breasts,” and the fact that I have an “I don’t need a man” mentality probably has a lot more to do with the fact that I really don’t want or need a man, than the fact that I happen to have brown skin! It wasn’t long before I began to feel completely tokenized, but I didn’t know how to articulate it, so I let it slide. I finally stopped seeing her for good about two years later, but more because she wouldn't stop saying she wasn't gay than anything else. </div>
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It’s funny because, looking back, I realize that I would have felt guilty about confronting her with her racism. Racism, we're taught, is this ugly and malicious thing, perpetrated by skinheads and back woods fascists, but for a lot of people it’s born out of sheer ignorance. I didn’t want to make her feel bad, didn't want her to think I was equating her with a skinhead. I just wanted to set the record straight. I didn’t do it then, but I’ll do it now. (Don't you love how you're only able to say things clearly and articulately like six years later? Awesome.)</div>
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To Kara: There is no racial checklist, no definitive mold. Race is as superficial as any other physical trait. Stereotypes do exist for a reason, and racial similarity often leads to ethnic and cultural camaraderie, which can translate into to a shared cultural experience, but there are so many other factors at play. I am who I am because of a myriad of things, and my being black has nothing to do with many of them. All black people don’t sing well, have round butts, and they are not all “strong black women.” This is not written into my genetic code; it is not a given. Also, when you say that you "want to be black" like it's the hip new thing, I feel kind of strange and uncomfortable. Oh, and one more thing: if you’re “not gay” than stop sleeping with me! (Sorry, this last part is a little bit of therapy for me.)</div>
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I have no desire to speak for other black people because I doubt that many people could speak for me, not accurately anyway. Blackness, in the 21<sup>st</sup> century, is more complex than ever before, as is the case for whiteness, and most other racial categories. Progress almost always assures amalgamation, and during this process, stereotypes are turned on their heads, made obsolete, newly formed, and lived out of existence. Maybe they used to be true of about 70% of the people in a given group, but that number is steadily decreasing. You can’t tell much by looking at a person anymore, so we would all be better off if we stopped trying to play concentration with an ever-changing deck of cards. Flip over a card, read it, and take it for what it is. Stop trying to match them—you’ll never win.</div>
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So, those are my top 3 bloopers. There are many more, but I won’t bore you anymore, at least not now. Thanks for listening, and have a good end to the weekend. Hope you've enjoyed your time in the Grey Space; I have certainly enjoyed sharing with you.</div>
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Peace and love and bugs named Doug,</div>
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GreyGirl </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-78854342517921149772011-10-02T07:19:00.000-07:002011-10-11T12:46:25.523-07:00Bloopers, Part 3<style>
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2. So this isn’t really a dating story either, and the circumstances are sort of twisted, but since it involves one of the few boys that have ever kissed me, I think we’ll count it too. It was freshman year of college, and things were a little...strange between my girlfriend and me. Our situation was a bit weird as she was my first, and we had never really had the “you’re my girlfriend now” conversation. We got into a discussion once, and she (let’s call her Sarah, for the sake of the story) said that she thought I was conflicted, and that I should make an effort to “clarify my sexuality.” This is another blog for another day, but the point is, she gave me the assignment of going out and kissing a boy. I had never really thought about how to label myself, probably because I sure as hell didn’t want to have to say that I was gay, but I knew that I had no interest in men. It pissed me off that she was confronting me with a reality I wasn’t ready to face, though, so, out of spite, I went out and found a boy. He was a senior (Sarah was a senior too) and let’s call him Dan. Dan was a squirrely but cute-ish white guy, and he wore black rectangular hipster glasses and semi-tight jeans but was not “a hipster” (which is of course the definition of a hipster!) I think I picked him because he was easy—clearly a bit insecure, clearly interested in me, and yet clearly emotionally screwed up enough not to expect anything from me. The first time I kissed him it was like he was trying to devour my face! When I told Sarah this, she said, “Well, try it again; things like that generally get better.” I didn’t know what she meant. I never had the sense that this was “going to get better.” I knew that I was gay. But I did it again anyway. (Again, we’ll get into the ”why” and all of that loveliness later). This time he had invited me over to watch a movie, and then had started to kiss me. We kissed for about a minute before I stopped. It was “getting better” in that he was able to take the hint that he should probably put at least some of his tongue back in his mouth, but the bulge in his pants and the weight and smell of him, it wasn’t feeling any different. I lied and said that he had been on my bladder, and that I had to pee. I went to the bathroom and called Sarah. </div>
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“Stay,” she said, “see how you feel about it.” </div>
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“It’s not fun,” I said, “not even a little bit.”</div>
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“Just try; it’s important to know yourself. Do you like him?”</div>
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“He’s a nice guy, smart.”</div>
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“Good. You’re not scared or anything, right?”</div>
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“No, he’s short; I could take him if he got weird.”</div>
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“Haha, ok, good. So go finish the movie. Just go with the flow. See how you feel.”</div>
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“But I already feel—“ </div>
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“—I think this is important.”</div>
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“Okay...Bye, babe.”</div>
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“Bye. Call me tomorrow.”</div>
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This was the conversation that I had with my then girlfriend about the boy she wanted me to hook up with! I wet my face, turned off the water, and went back into the living room. After I had been sitting for a few minutes, Dan made his move again. He was kissing me, touching my stomach and my back, my sides, and I was sort of just laying there. He grabbed my hands and put them around him as a signal that I should be touching him too. I tried. I don’t think it worked, because he suddenly started kissing me more passionately, putting his hands on the back of my head and playing with my hair. I don’t know how long this continued; I had sort of checked out. Later, when we were laying on his bed (no, I didn’t sleep with him—our clothes didn’t even come off. I don’t know how we got to the bed, really—I think his roommates came home) we were talking and he said, “you know, your hair is really pretty, like really sexy; I think you just need to condition more.” I kid you not; this is what he said. Besides the fact that it seemed to be an incredibly inopportune time to be giving me advice on hair care, I didn’t “need to condition” because I’m not white, and no matter how much conditioner I dump on my head, my hair won’t feel like white girl hair! That’s what I should have said, something like that. I didn’t know if I was supposed to be offended, upset, or what. I said nothing. I waited for the next time he said it, (oh yes, there was a next time! Sarah made me go out with him one more time, and he definitely said it again), and I finally said “I don’t need to condition more—my hair just has a different texture; I’m not white, so my hair follicles are thicker, and more coarse.” </div>
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“Oh,” he said.</div>
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Awesome, right? I try not to judge other people’s ignorance in general—judgment doesn’t help the education process, and just begets more ignorance, I think—but as slip-ups go, this one was one of the most ridiculous. I should have sat him down and we should have had a Chris Rock style lesson on “good hair.” But I was ignorant then too in a way. I didn’t know how to explain "black" to a white person; I had always thought it was a given that I was different. I had never had to delineate the specifics of this.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-54187875949515012942011-09-30T15:57:00.000-07:002011-10-11T12:46:58.894-07:00Welcome to the Grey Space, Part 2<style>
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Hello, campers! It’s GreyGirl. I’m sooo sorry that I wasn’t able to post again on Wednesday, or yesterday—totally left you hanging! Sometimes day jobs can be so annoying. Anyway, let’s get right down to my top 3 interracial dating bloopers. I’ll post them one at a time so that you’ll have something to chew on, even if I’m interrupted with the business of life.</div>
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3. I’m not sure if this counts as dating at all (yes, we were 7, but I thought she was pretty!) but it’s kind of classic, so I’m going to put it on the list. I went to one of those awesome hippie schools for elementary school, and one of my best friends was a girl named Emily. One day Emily and I were on the playground at school, playing house (I always played the dad...take what you will from that) and she stopped me. She told me that Ricky, another boy in our class, had said that I taste like chocolate. (Caramel would have been more accurate, as I’m probably not even dark enough to be milk chocolate!) In any case, I assured her that I didn’t, in fact, taste like chocolate, but she was adamant about wanting to “try me” for herself. She had this awesome curly dirty blonde hair, and I told her that if she wanted to “taste me,” I wanted to play with her hair. (She never let anyone play with her hair because her mother didn’t comb it enough and it was a bit of a knotty mess most of the time. Oh how I wished my mother felt the same way. But no, she combed the shit out of my half-breed hair until it fro-ed out like a clown!) She agreed, and then spun me around and planted her tongue on my upper back of all places. Well the lunch lady had served toast and jam for breakfast that day, and I must have had a mosquito bite on my neck or something, because apparently I had transferred some jam onto my neck and upper back. It took me almost a week to convince Emily that black people don’t taste like strawberry jam! I did, however, get to spend the rest of recess that day combing her hair out with my fingers. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79004186812074486.post-1453797950925660622011-09-28T09:40:00.000-07:002011-10-11T12:46:51.413-07:00Welcome to the Grey Space!<style>
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For the first few days (at least) I’ll be doing two posts per day, just to get you up to speed on the Grey Space, what it means to me, et cetera. This is post 1 of 2.</div>
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Glad you’ve decided to camp out here with me for a while. I want to tell you some funny stories about being grey and dating. But first, let me explain that I have never really dated a black person. Why? Well, I think there are a few reasons.</div>
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I have been surrounded by white people for my entire life. I went to school with white kids, almost all of my friends were white—my family members were the only black people who were consistently a part of my life. You know how some black people are uncomfortable in a room full of white people? Well I’m uncomfortable when I’m not the only black person in the room! I’m always afraid that the other black person will expect something in particular from me. I’m even more afraid that I’ll have to prove my blackness on the spot, by sharing in some universal black experience, and that he/she/zhe will choose an archetypal experience that I, for who knows what reason, have not had.</div>
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As I’ve gotten older my repertoire of stereotypical cultural knowledge has greatly expanded, but I have come to know about The Jefferson’s and the Fresh Air Fund through more educational channels—they were not a part of my personal experience. Spam—that’s something I do know about, though I’m not sure that it’s uniquely black. The fact of the matter is, that sense of camaraderie, that connection that causes even black people who don’t know one another to refer to each other as “my brother” or “my sister?” I don’t have that. I don’t know where mine is (maybe it’s hidden with my official black membership card), but I only have three siblings as, far as I know, and I don’t feel the need to call anyone else my “sister.” This is not to say that I don’t connect with other black people in a unique way, or that there aren’t times when it’s nice to talk to a fellow black American about shared experience, just that I don’t look for the other “person of color” when I enter a room. When you grow up not expecting to see anything but a sea of porcelain, such things just don’t make sense.</div>
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But this, this is a black experience of its own. We date the people who are around us. We date the people who relate to us, and can understand us. For some people that’s people of the same race. For me, the opposite is often true. I’m not usually black enough for most black people, and even if I am, most of my social situations don’t afford me the luxury of choosing to date the black girl. So where does that leave me? Hanging out in Greyland, waiting for people from either side to dip in for a chat. Would I date a black girl? Of course. Race is generally unimportant to me in a partner. But as much as I offend some black people by not being “black enough,” I have never had to worry about being too black for a white girl.</div>
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So now that I’ve explained myself, let me tell you about the bloopers I’ve experienced. Whenever you’re dating someone whose life experience is different from yours, you expect to come up against some misunderstanding, some momentary ignorance, but here are the doozies. I’ll include experiences with men here too, as I didn’t always know quite how gay I am <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">:-)</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0