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buttmunchers and things I can't say because of my job
Friday. 7.26.13 3:07 pm
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short story
Wednesday. 7.24.13 1:17 am

"I've watched Sharknado four times. I have it on DVR."

About ten hours later and I'm still shocked that there is someone in this world who can say something like that to me and isn't already romantically involved with another.

Today, we walked a lot, and I managed to recount the first time I'd heard of him--before we met, or anything. My friend had just mentioned that he pronounced "alligator" like "uh-LIG-a-tor," which essentially made my brain light up with interest RIGHT AWAY, because that's my style of weird and it's...somewhat rare, from what I've seen. Only a few days later, he was sleeping on my lap on the way home from camp. Same person. Slipped him in there. Yep.

I told him, "I said, 'I HAVE TO MEET HIM.'"

Which I did; and, to my great surprise, things only got better, from there.

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why being honest and trusting rocks
Saturday. 7.20.13 9:13 pm

"So, are you full...?" one of my students starts to ask, not sure how to finish his sentence or if he should, in public.

He means to ask if I'm "full lesbian," and those two words together elicit a high-pitched chuckle from me. "No," I say, and then explain that my sexuality is fluid when he assumes I mean I'm bisexual. Yes, that would be the closest definition, I suppose, but it never felt like it fit (although, for a long time, it was how I identified).

"If I want to date a man, I date a man," I tell him, trying to lay it down simply. "If I want to date a woman, I date a woman." No labels involved. I'm not interested in just the binary--the whole spectrum is a giant smorgasbord of love, as far as I'm concerned, and I could fall for a nongendered individual just as easily, given the opportunity.

"That's awesome."

At this point, we share a radical high-five.

I've just come out of a morning session at orientation, which just happened to bring out the fact that I've never come out to my parents because they're low-key homophobic. This was in-context with the session, which is built to reach deep into our new students and give them a sense of how accepting and diverse strangers can be.

Both of the other interns working the session take me aside, separately, later in the day, and tell me they're proud of me. Confused, I ask both of them why, and they each give about the same answer, hours apart. "Did you see how many students felt comfortable enough to share, after you shared that?"

I didn't, in fact. My little brain jerked to life with pride that I may have actually helped someone open up, and it was just a great day.

That's all.

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time to push that entry down into the past.
Monday. 7.15.13 11:46 pm

It's around three o' clock in the afternoon on one of the most beautiful days of the summer. We're just folding our chairs after spending half an hour or so in the sand--plenty of time, considering the fact that his gorgeous house sits beachfront. He takes my chair from me and grins when I gently tell him to let me help him by carrying my own chair.


Nothing is more endearing than this smiling rejection. "Okay," I tell him, as he takes my chair. "Thank you."

We walk through the winding path back to his yard, and end up back on the screened-in porch, his cat in my lap and a welcome ocean breeze keeping me cool.

I don't know much about Clif, I think, but then we talk like it's nothing...for hours. His strangeness and mine are like warm (but not sweaty) hands knit together, in that comforting way that could be friendship, but could also turn into more.

The beauty is in the lack of expectations or rules. If we want to sit, and talk, and watch the ocean for several hours, we do. If we don't talk for several weeks, that's also okay. Time isn't always so relevant, with the right people. My best friend always used to say we were like magnets, in that we could endure months of silence, only to snap back together like no time had passed, later. It's true. Some links just work that way--which doesn't mean they should always have to (links can degrade, if you don't change together, or start to feel left behind), but rather that it's a convenient outcome of naturally-imposed distance.

I'm not sure what I'm trying to get at.

Sitting there with him is so peaceful that I catch myself with a relaxed smile on my face, several times, even as a silence washes over both of us. Things are easy, which is, if you haven't noticed, a somewhat new concept to me, as far as men are concerned. I'm used to dealing with the game, or playing a role, or feeling pressured to feel a certain way in a hurry, rather than this--whatever "this" is, whatever it encompasses.

Part of healing, for me, has been being completely honest about situations, and I'm really glad that the task has been so blissfully easy, so far. Today, an old friend asked me how I've been, and I happily told her, "Great."

And meant it.

I drive home in a wonderful mood.

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