Piece of Me

Hey Grey People,

      Here's a piece of me to start things off again. Missed you!!

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.

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.

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.

Peace and love and bugs named Doug,
GreyGirl

"This is who I am."

Hey Grey People,

            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.”

1)    What is something you often do without realizing that you’re doing it?

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!

2)    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?

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.

3)    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?

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 :)

4)    What’s a belief that you hold with which many people disagree?

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.

5)    Imagine you just moved onto Sesame Street. Which puppet would you want as your new roommate?

Probably Beaker, because I like to experiment as well. And maybe I could keep him from blowing everything up!!

6)    Have you ever had a weird crush on a famous person that didn’t make sense to you?

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!

7)    If you get ten minutes to interview any celebrity of your choice, who would you like it to be?

Oprah for sure. She has an amazing life story. I could learn a lot.

8)    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?

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.”)

9)    If you stumbled across someone’s personal written journal that was accidentally left in a public place, would you read any of the content?

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!

10) What is the title of a self-help book that you’d never want to see on a store bookshelf?

How about just “How to Live Your Life?” I don’t really care for this genre in general...not sure why.

11) Why did you sign up for writing your blog?

Because I felt the need to reach out to others, and blogging is a great way to do that :)

12) What do you do online when you’re not on your blog?

I read articles, tweet, look at and comment on other people’s blogs, peruse psychology research studies, non-fiction book reviews.

13) How about when you’re not on the computer?

I hike, go out to eat with friends, listen to music, sing, dance, read, bike...oh, and work. You know, the business of life.

14) What do you wish people who read your blog knew about you?

Who I am. Anonymity is safe, but isolating at times.

15) What is your favorite community in the blogosphere?

The queer “this is my life” community. I like hearing other people’s stories.

16) Tell me about your picture you use to represent you on your blog.

The picture is a part of my body, in gray. It represents the philosophy behind my blog—the Grey Space.

17) Pick 3 random blogs from your blogroll and tell us about them.

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!

18) What features do you think your blog should have that it doesn’t currently?

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!

19) Do you have any unique interests that you have never shared before? What are they?

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?

20) Do you follow your own style or everyone else’s? 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.

Peace and Love and Bugs Named Doug,

GreyGirl

Wholeness

Grey Campers,

       A short piece today. Thoughts?

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.

            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.

Peace and Love and Bugs Named Doug,
GreyGirl

A little bit about me

Hey from GreyGirl,

I saw this on another blog (Enigma, by way of Sunday Stealing), and thought I’d lighten the mood:

1. Have you ever licked the back of a CD to try to get it to work?

Yes. And it helped, dammit.

2. What’s the largest age difference between yourself and someone you’ve dated?

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...

3. Ever been in a car wreck?
“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 ;-)

4. Were you popular in high school?
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.

5. Have you ever been on a blind date?

Not if you don’t count online dating.

6. Are looks important?

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.

7. Do you have any friends that you’ve known for 10 years or more?

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?

8. By what age would you like to be married?
Probably the big 3-0. Thirty just sounds right. I don’t know.

9. Does the number of people a person’s slept with affect your view of them?
Only if it’s super high and they have had/have an STD...And by “super” I guess I mean over 30...?

10. Have you ever made a mistake?

I probably make one everyday.

11. Are you a good tipper?
Yes. People who don’t tip suck and should stay home and cook for themselves (or move to Europe).

12. What’s the most you have spent for a haircut?

Cut...? $30.00

13. Have you ever had a crush on a teacher?

Uh, yes! So many of those. So many pretty ladies are teachers, what can I say?!

14. Have you ever peed in public?
Yes, and I’m absolutely unashamed. When you gotta go, you gotta go. I had to go; I went. Deal with it.

15. What song do you want played at your funeral?
Ask me right before I die, and I’m sure I’ll have a more accurate answer for you.

16. Would you tell your parents if you were gay?
I am, and I did. They’re going to be fine...until the wedding!

17. What would your last meal be before getting executed?
Why am I being executed? I make it a point to avoid situations that might end this way. Probably seafood, though.

18. Beatles or Stones?
Both. Duh. Rocky Raccoon and I Can’t Get No.

19. If you had to pick one person on earth to die, who would it be?
A child molester. Any one would do.

20. Beer, wine or hard liquor?
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.

21. Do you have any phobias?
Yes. I’m not going to share them with you at this time.

22. What are your plans for the future?

To be happy. Harder than it sounds, right?!

So there you have it. Don't say I never told you anything about myself. Peeing in public? We're practically bosom buddies now! 

Peace and Love and Bugs Named Doug,

GreyGirl

I 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.

So, here it goes, excerpt #1, toe in the water:

            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.

            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.

            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.

            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.

  



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.

Peace and Love and Bugs Named Doug,
GreyGirl

Black, and Apparently Scary!

Hey Grey Peeps!

            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.

            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.

            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.

            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?

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 :)

Peace and Love and Bugs Named Doug,

GreyGirl

The Pain of People

Hello, Hello All,

            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.

            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?

            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.

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.

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?

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 :)

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.

Peace and love and bugs named Doug,

GreyGirl

Dear Ellen

Hey Grey people!

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.

Dear Ellen,

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.

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.

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.

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.

Take Care,

GreyGirl

What kind of lesbian should I be tonight?

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!

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?

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?

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:

 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...

 Even if Halle Berry doesn't know it, she'd be such a pretty boy!

 KD Lang. Needs no introduction. Jezus she's hot.

 Kiyomi McKloskey -- Lead singer & lead guitar for Hunter Valentine

 And, of course, Twiggy.

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 ;-)

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.

Peace and love and bugs named Doug,

GreyGirl

Surviving Sexual Tension

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?

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?

Dos

1.     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.

2.     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 ;-)

3.     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).

4.     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.

Don’ts

1.     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.

2.     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!

3.     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!

4.     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.

If anyone has any other suggestions, feel free to post them—we can all use all of the help we can get!

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.

Peace and love and bugs named Doug,

GreyGirl

She's Just Not That Into You

Hey Grey Gals, Guys, and Zhes!

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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?

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!

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.

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 :-)

Peace and love and bugs named Doug,

GreyGirl

THIS IS WHY I'M GAY!

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!

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:

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!

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!

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 :-)

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!

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!

Happy Gay Day!

Peace and love and bugs named Doug,

GreyGirl