December 28

I always feel a little weird coming back from a blog white-out.  There was stuff I would have blogged about at the time, but ten days later it seems a little silly.

I am super duper sleepy, although a lot less exhausted than when I left.  I have the house to myself for a couple days which is weird.  I am back to hating the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport.  I am more okay with telling Cassidy that I love him, but I refuse to let "I love you" stand in for "bye now."  I have now beaten my dad TWICE at Scrabble.  This is a first.  I mean, the first time was a first, and the second time was a first that I'd done it twice. 

Before, when I would go to San Diego for Christmas, I always stayed through the 28th, because it was my grandmother's birthday.

The question isn't.

He wants to tell me that he loves me.  I think that, unless I tell him not to, he will tomorrow night.

And so, I am trying to decide if I want to stop him.

If the question were simply, "Do I want him to?" the answer is, "No."

But the question, "Do I want to stop him?" isn't quite the same. 

I do think that this relationship is more than what it was.  I do want him to know that this relationship matters to me.  But I also think that there's more than this.  I think that we can be more than this.

But that isn't really the point, either.  The question isn't "Is he wrong?"  Because he gets to decide what he feels.  The question is whether or not I want to stop him from saying what he's decided he feels.

I said, I don't know.  I wish I could tell you yes, but I can't.  I don't know.  I'm sorry.

Because this matters.

So all my public spaces are talking about rape again, which means that some new things are being said, and some old posts being re-linked, and the Shapely Prose's Schrodinger's Rapist post was put my way again.

I wanted to quote this bit, in particular:

...If you pursue a conversation when she’s tried to cut it off, you send a message. It is that your desire to speak trumps her right to be left alone. And each of those messages indicates that you believe your desires are a legitimate reason to override her rights.

This is why I take BadEx seriously. This is why I respond to short, friendly, innocuous-seeming emails with FIRE.

This matters.

Cassidy, part 2

I have a boyfriend.

Duh, you say, you've had one for six weeks, and you've talked about little else since then. 

Yes, but.  I'm getting used to having a boyfriend.  I'm starting to feel as if "having a boyfriend" is a trait, and not an event.  It feels strange. 

And awesome.

I think Ratatouille for George might be my new band name.

I'm thinking of re-pseudonyming Red Flag Guy.  Not that he isn't still all of the things he was named for.  Barring death or dismemberment, the flags are permanent.  And I much prefer the flags to death and dismemberment.  But Red Flag Guy is the name I gave him so that my friends wouldn't have to bother learning his real name.  And I'm thinking about switching in real life, which means I'm thinking about making a switch here.  Not to his real name, because names and power and such, but maybe a new pseudonym.

It can't be a variant of his relationship to me, since that is subject to change.

I'm thinking of keeping RFG, and reassigning the initials.  What else might RFG stand for?

Rodeo Frogs Galloping

Radical Flaming Galoshes

Really Fucking Great

Ratatouille For George

Riding Fat Gophers

Whaddya think?

This horrible other-me.

So here's something: My boyfriend slept on the couch Saturday night because he couldn't stand to sleep next to me.

That's how badly I snore.  It horrifies me, in part because I feel so helpless.  It's as if I become this horrible other thing when I fall asleep.  I am so self-conscious about it, so embarrassed.

He is not complaining about my attractiveness or personal hygiene.  But, still.  I feel gross.  I feel horrible and gross, because no matter what he says, what I hear is, "I can't stand to be next to you." 

Grown Up Things

Introducing yourself and using your full name.

New Tag (to be applied retroactively)

So I'm trying to fight off irrational insecurities, and trying to find the right balance between "keeping him at arm's length," and "leaning too hard."  Trying to not give him the entire FEELINGSDUMP, not because he wouldn't help, but because it isn't helpful.  But I don't want to give him the poster version of me, either.  I don't want the person he comes to know and care about to be the person I've curated for him.  I've done that before, and it never works out well.

And I check Facebook.  And someone else is dead.

It isn't anyone I knew.  It isn't even anyone I knew existed, until now, when he doesn't exist anymore.  But a couple I know from dancing, some of the first people to reach out to me and be welcoming and friendly, they had a son.  And he killed himself last week.

I just want to scream at something.  I want to scream and hit things.  

The weekend after Thanksgiving, one of my dad's wife's best friends died.

I just—

I don't know.

Blanket

Sock yarn, size 2 US needles.  Eleven months.

Approximately 6' wide

Other things on my mind today.

The Very Last Class of the Semester is going on RIGHT NOW. 

I get to see RFG this weekend.  Like, TONIGHT.

And the next time I think, god I wish... we can.

We've been fantasizing for three weeks.  That is a very long time for me.  Waiting is not my strong suit.

Money.  I need to take it seriously.  I'm behind on my student loans.  I pay every month, but not the whole amount due, and it's adding up.  And my credit cards.  It's out of control.  This month, I am on a serious money diet.  But I need more than a month's dieting.  I need to make changes.

I told RFG that we're eating in this weekend. 

I really need to get some photos of the blanket I'm knitting.  Maybe today.

I'm going to be on a beach in, like, TWO WEEKS.

I am optimistic.  This year has been difficult.  Next year will be better.

Things Yay

I don't do presents.  It's not that I never give anyone anything, but I don't participate in gift-giving occasions.  I had a post written once, explaining all the reasons behind my present-giving-fear, but it comes down to, "It stresses me out enough to make me miserable." 

I try to make sure that people who might be affected by this know in advance, which is sometimes kind of awkward.  In case you were planning on getting me a present, you should probably know that I won't get you one is not exactly winning me any tact awards.  If people don't want to give me anything, that's fine with me.  If people want to give me something anyway, that's fine with me, too.  If someone gives me something, but resents the non-reciprocal nature, that's not something I can control.

So I feel extra sleezy at times like this, because I'm really excited about the presents I'm getting from my dad.  Remember the luggage I didn't buy in August?  You know, the kind of thing I never get around to getting except when I need it, and then it's too late.  It seems like a silly luxury, which it mostly is.  The backpack I took to Europe in 2000 is still sturdy and functional.

But this luggage is so light!  And pretty!  And brightly colored so I can see it from afar on the luggage carousel and it won't get confused for someone else's (although, since it is mass-produced I'll probably look for a way to personalize it a little more).  And since I seem to be making regular weekend trips to the Quad Cities, I would really like to stop borrowing other people's tote bags or overstuffing my old camera bags.  I would really, really, like a good, pretty, lightweight, bag.  So I've asked for the rolling duffle/carryon, and the weekend duffle bag.  And I keep going back to the site and drooling.

Look!  (Okay, so the matchy is a little much, but they won't be used together all that often.)

The thing is, I don't avoid present-giving because I think that present-giving is bad.  It's not an anti-consumerism stance, or an anti-holiday stance.  I like things.  I like having and getting things.  It's just that I have certain neurosis revolving around gift-giving, especially en mass, and I'd rather give up on something I like (getting things yay) in order to get the piece of mind that comes from ignoring the whole process.  And then when I still get to get things yay I feel like a hypocrite and an asshole but it doesn't keep me from drooling in anticipation.

(I'm thinking I can sew bright ribbon to the straps.  It shouldn't weaken anything, and I think I can do it nicely enough to not look DIY.  Lime green, I think.  Or vermillion.)

The Beauty of Household Pests

First off, given the number of times that some combination of "plus size womens tuxedo vest black" shows up under "search terms" in my blog stats, I think it's obvious that someone really needs to go make one of these.

Secondly, Captain Awkward strikes again.  This time on Teh Fatties.  This whole losing-weight thing I've been doing is based on the assumption that, no matter how much I try, I can't manage to internalize fat acceptance.  I can find physical beauty in anyone else, but I can only see mine when my waist is 46" or less.  And because I can't accept—and love—myself, the next best solution is to change myself into something I can.

But maybe I gave up too early.  Maybe I didn't give myself enough credit.  If I can make the kind of changes it takes to lose weight, maybe I could make the kind of changes it would take to quit the damn double standard that makes me need to lose weight.

I say that, and it terrifies me.

I am so in love with the idea of myself in a size 14 (shopping at normal people stores again!)  I think, no wonder I couldn't accept myself, I never really wanted to.  You know, that thing about not being able to help someone who won't help themselves. 

_____________________

Early on, I told Red Flag Guy about the web site, and the naked photos.  I said, "I'll tell you my last name, but I'd rather you not look at the photos.  I'm not entirely comfortable with them."  He agreed, but eventually caved to temptation and looked them up. 

I am proud, still, of those photographs.  I believe that they are honest, and expressive, and challenging, and they were fucking hard to make, and there are even times when I can look at the color and shape and think that they are beautiful photographs.  I am proud of them, but I have a hard time looking at them.  Because even when I can see the beauty in the photograph, it is despite, and not because of, the subject matter.  It is the beauty of spiders and cockroaches.

And, at the time, even that was more than I'd ever managed before.  The ability to look at myself and see any beauty, even the household pest kind, was a victory.

Knowing that he'd seen them, I could hope that he'd realize that I don't look like that anymore.  I could hope that he'd be able to see some hint of what I look like now in the photos of what I looked like then.

It never occurred to me to hope that he'd like them.  That he'd like me in them.

But he does.

Green Flags

... and then Captain Awkward goes and posts something like this, because Captain Awkward is strangely prescient. She says,

What you have now sounds pretty happy from where I’m sitting. Key phrases in your letter that have me counting green flags:

• “Recently started dating…”  = It takes time to work a new person, even an awesome new person, into a busy schedule. Give it some time!
• “Totally on the same page about priorities…”  = You can feel comfortable and secure that this is a going concern. That’s huge! So often people who have just started dating end up taking the temperature of the relationship all the time because they don’t know or can’t tell whether they are both equally invested.
• “One date night every week…”  = Even with your busy schedules, you’ve found one night/week to be together, and you communicate regularly by text. That’s not nothing!

So, yeah.  We are new at this.  But we are comfortable in each others' affections and priorities.  We DO make time, and we communicate regularly. It's OKAY if dates mostly consist of food and sex.  This is normal and healthy.  Green flags:

1. He is honest and up-front, even when it's difficult, even when it's potentially bad for him.  This really needs to be numbers 1-10 on the list.  It's HUGE. 

2. No pressure.  If he wants something, he asks for it, using his words, and respects my decision.  And not just in a "I respect your decision but I'll complain a lot about it and hope you'll change your mind" kind of way.  He asks, and then that's it.  I'm the one who needs to work on this.  (See previous post.)  He's got it down.

3. He uses his words.  Even when something might just be assumed, he asks anyway.  He is always appreciative when I do the same. 

4.  He obviously makes me a priority, but within reason.  I am not his only priority.  He doesn't offer to change his life for me, or blow off responsibilities for me.  Someone who makes bad decisions for me is going to keep making bad decisions, and not always in my favor. 

5.  We don't always have enough to say to have a conversation every night.  Sometimes when he calls before bed we just have a "Hey, I miss you.  See you later."  But, not every night.  We manage to talk beyond what we did each day, and I laugh, for reals, and not just to acknowledge that I understood something to be funny.  I'm never bored when he's talking.  I'm never annoyed at him for going on about something I don't care about.  And I know that I'm not particularly good at separating PANTSFEELINGS from FRIENDFEELINGS, but I know what FRIEND FAIL looks like and this isn't it. 

This is new, and we've only seen each other with our good faces on.  We haven't had time to get annoyed at each other, or deal with serious disagreements.  There are many tests we have not yet passed.  I will worry about them when they come, and not before.