A Sexual Viewpoint

There are three ways to look at sexuality...

1.) You can look at sexuality as if it were a box -

This is the mainstream, cultural normative way to view sexuality. You fit into the straight box or the gay box (or if you're really liberal, you can add the bi box) and you're exclusively characterized by the boundary-driven terminology prescribed to the box in which you exist. It's generally accepted among the queer community (and the majority of its allies or any left-leaning person) that this ideology is outdated and unproductive. It creates limitations on the acceptable behavior for a person, but the whole point of sexual advocacy is to tear down those limitations. If your natural inclinations don't fit perfectly into the box that best suits your preference, then you're obligated to reshape or dial back those sexual inclinations. It is becoming more and more accepted that sexuality is complicated and messy and that, by adhering to the precepts of a box, you display an ideology that is both unproductive and harmful.

2.) You can look at sexuality as if it were a scale or a continuum -

This ideal most resembles the ever popular "Kinsey Scale," which claims that sexuality, much like the categorization of nature in general, does not exist in the binary, but rather in a continuum. This viewpoint allows for an incredible increase in sexual fluidity, as well as establishes a credibility for those that exist in the in between. The diminishing quality of this ideal, however, is that it still places homosexuality in an amount comparative to heterosexuality. My discontent with this viewpoint is that it still holds onto the desire to equalize sexuality; as someone's sexual behavior pushes the scale to full-on homosexuality, it equalizes itself by removing the correlative amount of heterosexuality...and while that might be the experience for some, it still places sexuality inside an equation.

3.) You can look at sexuality as if it were a bar graph -

You can also look at sexuality as if it were a bar graph. In this ideal, homosexuality and heterosexuality are no longer reliant on one another, but rather function as separate entities. Each sexual behavior exists on its own scope, so that your homosexual behavior doesn't diminish or lessen your heterosexuality, or vice-versa. The thing I find the most productive about this viewpoint is that it embraces the pure ideal of sexual fluidity, which I think is the key to sexual acceptance. If you allow your own sexual thought process to fluctuate from the cultural normative thought process, then you can step into the sexuality that best fits your inclinations...and if you can embrace a sexual viewpoint that allows for fluidity without forfeiting your current sexual identity, then you've blasted open the door to sexual acceptance.

I am really really REALLY gay (sexually and politically) and there is this boy. I can't tell you if he's cute, because frankly I don't really know, but I am very much enticed by him. He has a radiant smile and a fantastic laugh. He's insanely witty and incredibly smart. He has this sweet, but not saccharine-y, way of looking at the world that I find unparalleled. Occasionally, I think about what it would be like to be in a relationship with him and sometimes those thoughts are fairly pleasant. (Now, whenever I think about a relationship with this boy, I synonymously think about how 1-there would have to be room for Sapphic activities outside the relationship, 2-he would have to find someone else to give him a blow job cause I'm not putting a cock in my mouth, 3-I would probably still desire to identify as a lesbian, though it wouldn't be a lesbian relationship, and so-on-and-so-on...so it's highly unlikely that these thoughts will ever actualize themselves.) I guess what I'm trying to say is that my current heterosexual thoughts don't intimidate me and they don't make me less of a homosexual. Sexuality isn't a math equation and one plus one doesn't have to equal two.

Never Lonely

I am an independent person; I always have been. I learned how to tie my shoes in the back of the closet while my mother did chores in the kitchen. I learned how to do my own laundry when I was left home alone one day. I choose what college(S) I would attend without advice from anyone. I've been to a countless number of movies by myself, ate at a countless number of restaurants by myself. I've never been someone who felt scared or vulnerable if I didn't have someone to talk to, and the fear of ending up without a partner isn't so strong as to allow me to settle for anything but that "moves mountains" kind of love. I like walking alone. I like reading alone. I like being alone. This isn't to say that I don't play nice with others, I very much enjoy the company of people; however, I rarely feel the relentless need for it.

I have lived in New York City for three months...and I have never been alone. (It's not a surprising fact, as New York City has 8+ million people jammed into 469 square miles, and the place I currently call home has 60+ people jammed into 1900 square feet.) Even when I strive to be alone, I feel like I am endlessly tethered to other human beings. When I walk home from work, I'm thinking about what stranger is walking behind me. When I go to the cafe, I'm thinking about the people that just walked in and want my table or I'm thinking about the employee at the counter and if I need to buy something more. When I take a shower, I'm thinking about how many other people are sitting outside that door waiting to brush their teeth or to shower themselves; even in the times when I'm technically the only person in the room, I'm still not truly alone.

I have noticed that my writing (for this blog, or for school, or for my own personal pursuits) has been a real struggle lately. At first I thought that it was solely because my life was in upheaval, and it made sense to me that my writing would reflect that state of upheaval; however, I've come to realize that it has a lot more to do with my recent incapability to be lonely. I need to have moments were I am completely alone to be completely myself.

On November 1st I move into a kick-ass apartment, where I will have my own room and I will finally be able to be completely alone. New York City has taught me a ceaseless number of lessons already, but beyond all those lessons, I'm still me! and the me that I know (and love) needs to have moments of solidarity. While I have a great desire to learn and grow here, I have an even greater desire to not forget about, or sacrifice, the woman that I've worked so hard to become. I really like that I am independent and I can't wait til I get to accommodate that independent part of myself. Hopefully, this blog will get back to its regularly scheduled programming - sorry for its sporadic, if not absent, presence as of late!

But Love

Occasionally, my father emails me. When these emails find their way into my inbox, they always look the same; the subject line says something like "how are you?" or "how's the job" and then there is nothing in the actual email. I rarely respond because I'm fairly certain that these emails are only constructed because people are asking about me and he doesn't have anything to say, and that doesn't boast so well for his picture perfect image.

Recently, I've received a lot of chastisement over the blatant lack of communication that I have with my father and since he's the one that initiates the emails, the communication controversy is apparently my fault, but I'm not about to participate in small talk with a man that I don't know just because it's what everyone else thinks I should be doing or because it's the thing that will aid in my father's ability to appear perfect. Does he actually or honestly want to be a part of my life? Blank emails aren't really an indication of genuine concern...blank emails are an indication that he checked me off his daily to-do list.

I am not going to be someone's inconvenience and that's what his emails feel like; a means to control the inconvenience of not appearing perfect.

I grew up in a "But Love" environment, meaning that the only time I ever heard the phrase 'I Love You' is if it was preceded by the word 'but.' I would get myself into trouble, receive a lecture/punishment, and then my parents would ritualistically declare: "but we still love you." But Love is the only context that I had for love, so for most of my life I understood love only as something that was explicitly tied to guilt.

While everyone in my father's life might believe that I'm wrong in refusing to respond to his subject line correspondence, I'm not replying because I'm done feeling guilty. My father has made it clear that he doesn't approve of my "lifestyle choice" or most of the other choices that I've made in my life, so the only thing that he has left to offer me his But Love... but I am NOT a child! I'm not going to feel guilty that the kind of love I've chosen to participate in (the lesbian kind) inconveniences his life. I'm not going to feel guilty that I dropped out of school at the exact moment that my mother chose to drop out of their marriage. I'm not going to feel guilty that I moved to the other side of the country without waving goodbye. The choices that I've made were, and are, mine and I've taken responsibility for them. If he only wants to offer me his But Love, he can keep it, because I am going to feel guilty no longer.

The City

There have been few times in my life were I have struggled with words in the way that I have over the last few weeks. Every time that I sit down to write something genuine, it becomes an insincere collection of misplaced thoughts...probably because my life currently feels like an insincere collection of misplaced thoughts.

In my High School English class, I learned that if someone has already said what you would like say, and they say it better, it's best that you just allow them to say it for you. So, allow me to share with you these beautiful words from Sara Bareilles...I could not say it better.

What do you call cheese that's not yours?

NA-CHO CHEESE!

What do you call a person that puts poison in a person's cornflakes?
A cereal killer.

Why don't African animals play games?
There are too many cheetas.

Why did the house go to the doctor?
It had window pains.

What is round and really violent?
A vicious circle.

If you drop a yellow hat in the red sea, what does it become?
Wet.

Two cannibals are eating a clown.
One says to the other: "Does this taste funny to you?"

'Deja Moo': The feeling that you've heard this bull before.

Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly, so they lit a fire in the craft.
Unsurprisingly it sank, proving once again that:
You can't have your kayak and heat it too.

A Short Rant

**Allow me this short rant...I promise that a full and fulfilling post is on its way!**

I live in a hostel.

I live in a hostel in the heart of the ghetto in Brooklyn, NY.

I live in a hostel in the heart of the ghetto in Brooklyn, NY with people I generally can. not. stand.

While living in a hostel isn't the ideal situation, I didn't move to New York City because I wanted to be comfortable, I moved here because I wanted to challenge myself to be better/greater; so, for the time being, I live in a hostel. While there are times when it is stressful and crowded, it's mostly a lot of fun...But there are certainly moments that are infuriating.

Like the other day, I was reading in the "common room" and a girl was casually making a joke about how, since she cut off all her hair, she's always getting hit on by other girls on the subway. I looked up from my book, slightly, offering the rebuttal that it's not so bad to get hit on by girls, when someone eavesdropping on the conversation said, and I quote, "Well, it's not okay if it's not your sexuality."

WHAT?! Are you fucking kidding me? No one stands up in contempt when I get hit on by boys, so why is it acceptable to condemn the inverse? Do people really believe that because my sexuality is the unconventional sexuality that my flirtations should somehow be trepid and/or apprehensive? Now, I am all for being mindful and aware of the situations that you're in, but that does not mean that we, as a sexual minority, should have to cater to ignorance!

This viewpoint, that we, as homosexuals, are expected to extend an indulgence and resignation to those that disagree (what does that even mean? disagree?) with our homosexuality is utter bullshit. I am done sitting around and passively smiling at those that continue to offer ignorance and hatred and contempt to something that is so purely a part of who I am. I am not going to hide behind the rhetoric that it is acceptable to concede to any part of inequality. We deserve all the freedoms that straight people have, and that includes the freedom to flirt with whoever the fuck we want to.

(Yeah, New York has had a confrontational and assertive influence on me...and I quite like it.)

A Random Inspiration

***I've been working on a post entitled, "Oh...F*CK This!"; however, I recently ran into a bit of unexpected inspiration, so instead of rattling on about my oppugning views on New York City's population, I'd rather share my random moment with you. I'll post my fucking piece later on this week.***

I recently got a job at a sandwich shop in Manhattan; it is fantastically fun and perfectly fits into my overly-ambitious school schedule...but by far, the best part of my job is that it resides on the corner of 15th street and 8th avenue, which is right in the middle of the fabulousity that is Chelsea. And because of its location, the clientele is...well...fabulous.

I also started school this week; the culmination of months and months of preparation, anticipation, and anxiety actualized itself in a matter of moments, in a sequence of classes that were completely un-magical. I’m not sure what I was expecting, fireworks perhaps, but this week left me feeling a bit discontented. And when Friday rolled around, and as the discontent turned to anguish, I felt like nothing could reverse my mood. I begrudgingly went to work, praying that it would go as fast as humanly possible so that I could go home, drink a little, and quickly fall asleep.

Well, who comes into the shop, but the stand-up comedian, Shawn Hollenbach. I was not nearly as witty as I wish had been, but after our interaction I felt excited, I felt inspired, and I remembered why I choose to sell all my shit and move across the country to a place where I know no one. Now, as far as I know, Shawn doesn't possess magical powers, so while he is very funny and charming and engaging and sweet, the inspiration and drive that was resuscitated through our conversation didn't occur because Shawn waved his magical fairy wand...it occurred because I allowed his energy, his story to inspire me.

Random inspirations are glorious and oh-so-relieving, but I don't want to be someone who relies on those random inspirations to get through everyday. I would rather look at inspiration as something that provokes me to jump from place to place, rather than something that drags me up from the place I can't manage to escape. For me, as the magic of the city begins to fade, I want to make it my job to seek that magic out, instead of sitting around complaining about its absence. If I want to be all that I can be in this city, then it's my responsibility to be that person, even on the bad days.