So tired/ tired of waiting/ tired of waiting for you

(That's Green Day, that is.)

So, back in the realm of interweb connection after a week out in the middle of nowhere, with only one quick phone call all week (purely to wish a happy birthday to AB.)

Ended up telling JF about AB making out stuff, he was injured and still is-- and not talking to AB, which makes me guilty. I feel bad about it, but he doesn't really have much right to be fucked off with me about it, since I'm not going out with him anymore and he's a hipocritical bastard, since he went out with AB's ex with no qualms ages ago. So I'm just leaving it. If he doesn't forgive me, so be it.

Time in London was awesome and heart-wrenching. I saw loads of people I love, discovered bits of the city I'd never seen before, got drawn in a park, cried, sighed, and screamed in happiness... so much went on. Seeing JB was amazing. I overuse that word. It was phenomenal-- I was so incredibly happy for that short period of time, I'm sure I annoyed him with all my little squeaks and squeezes, but I couldn't help it, I couldn't bottle it. And when he climbed up onto that bus with his duct-taped backpack, not even looking back (probably because he assumed I'd just walk away, instead of standing there with my heart in my shoes) I felt a huge surge of hatred for those damned automobile carriages called buses that have carried the people I care about so much away from me. They've stolen hopes and yearnings and things that make me wiggle and dance, and displaced them to somewhere far-- where they belong, I suppose, but still far enough from me to make me extremely upset.

My brother's civil ceremony was short and sweet, with no big fuss being made despite the champagne and fancy dress (tuxes for the boys and my mom and I wore fascinators, which is the name for those feather and flower thingies, somewhat akin to some flapper head-dresses, except on a hair clippy thing instead.Very fun.)

Italy was even more astounding-- we were in the mountains, kind of near Calgi, and the agroturismo we were staying in was so cool. The house was huge and old and full of character (part of it was 300 years old!) and the views were spectacular (I have not seen this many stars in a very, very long time.) We arrived last Saturday, and I partied pretty much every night except last night and the Wednesday (saving myself for Thursday, which was the "ceremony".) Thursday consisted of people putting the finishing touches on their dishes (since many guests contributed a dish to the feast-- the real ceremony was the meal and the contribution of components from all of the people that Chris and Katie love and that love them.) Even though I hate speaking in public, I did it-- sobbing, might I add, since as soon as my other brother started speaking the little break in his voice as he said "I love my brother very much" set all of us (all three children, and our parents, too) to weeping. The three course meal (Jaysus Fucking Christ, that's all I can say) was amazing, and after that there was dancing and craziness (with a self-saved awkward turtle moment) [and some making out with the bride's brother, which may or may not have happened on a couple of the other nights. achem. Oh, and a naked dash to the bathroom when someone was making their way to the kitchen at 7 in the morning whilst some shenanigans were going on in the banquet hall. *cough cough*]

I swear, I sound like such a slut. Really, if I had my way, I wouldn't be doing all of this. If I could live in the same place I would be quite happily monogamous (at least, as far as I know, in my imagination of what life would be like in such a situation.) But that's not going to happen anytime soon, if at all. I'm not going to say with who, though.

Right now I am at Katie's parents house in the outskirts of London, feeling shite (gut and ovaries and feelings, all.) I may not well see CM (Katie's brother) at all again before I go, which makes me feel more than a little bit weird (obviously, our fooling around was not something made public to the families, though I think our respective moms and other people involved are astute enough to pick up on something.) I hate leaving with no closure... of course, my impulse is leave a mix cd, but I have no burner and only a few songs in my head to go on said mix ('Stay away from me' by the Honorary Title and 'Land-locked blues' by Bright Eyes, in particular, though that could be because I spent quite a bit of my PMS-y day feeling more than a little pissed off at the way he treated me.) Actually, it's less the way he's treated me (he's actually very sensitive and attentive and sweet) and more the way I'm always that girl that people hide or just fool around with, like with T or A or AB or JB even. Always the fuck in the closet (not that I've ever done that... what an intriguing and potentially uncomfortable idea...) It's not a good fucking feeling. I think most of my anger toward CM today was really just an echo of my anger at A last year. And definitely some ovary-related moodswings.

Speaking of mood swings today, I cried (or started to) a bit on the plane today because I kept thinking of JB. I haven't heard from him since he got back to York, and I know he's busy studying for exams (and it's not because I haven't heard from him that I was crying/on the verge of~) but I can't help but worry that things are fucked up between us. In my book, that would be a travesty. (no, not an executif or d'action)

Sometimes I can't help but think that some of my dramatic mood swings in public are purely to get a reaction out of people. For example, I get the sneaking suspicion that I wanted to cry to get CM to talk to me more than U (who I am fucking jealous of, but not attracted to at all. Usually if I am that jealous it's because I want to be that person and find them very arousing. In this case, it's purely attention- [and possibly self-assurance] -based.) You'd think that I would know my own intentions and be able to control them, wouldn't you? Not so. The Drama Queen rears her head and poises her claws to rake out any ounce of self-contol and respect I have to render me once again a pain-in-the-arse, paranoid teenager-figure. Fuck. And right this minute, I feel that way again, because I am secretly hoping that CM will walk in the door again and we can have a proper talk before I depart in the morning. Somehow, I doubt that's going to happen. Oh well, there's always Facebook stalking, right?

Em the Femme?

I told S a while ago that between biology class and the community, I was learning more new vocabulary than I knew what to do with. I was just reading an interesting post on being/not being Femme (http://sexgeek.wordpress.com/2009/05/09/on-not-being-femme/) and found myself questioning that identity as well, or maybe just the delineations of the definition. This year I have been reading an awful lot about what it means to be Femme or queer or genderqueer, and I find that some of it jars with me. Take, for example, the labeling of a person as a Femme because they happen to get regular pedicures, or some other such superficial habit. I don't-- in fact, I take pretty poor care of my feet and even just my nails in general. (I don't like the idea of paying someone to deal with my nasty feet, in a similar way to how I don't like paying to have 'maids'. I am not a slave-owner.)

I guess some of the things I take issue with might fit more under the definition of Femme in contrast with High Femme. SJ called me High Femme a while ago, and I questioned it even then. He said I was, even in my rain boots on his birthday. But to me, to slot myself into that cubby-hole is too limiting, and doesn't feel right. High Femme to me screams of high-maintenance, painful feet (not that I wouldn't wear heels if I didn't have this toe problem), and the same kind of dressing up for other people that I take issue with in the straight community. I think on some level I just need to hear a High Femme's definition of it, rather than the slightly negative vibes I've heard-- I just remember being at that queer party a while ago and hearing the host talk about how she can't stand High Femmes. I suppose from that I associated them with the kind of girl that I can't stand: superficial in both appearance and social matters. So you can imagine that I was not pleased to be called such a thing.

I am ready to be convinced otherwise, but even Sex Geek says something about Femmes being excited to talk about things like shoe shopping and 'beauty' procedures with passion. If that's the definition of a Femme, then I am most certainly not one: I like shoes, yes (even though I am doomed to wear these hiking boots until I wither away) and even like shopping on some level... but I like doing them, not talking about them. And even when I do them, I do a quick sweep-- if there is nothing I like, I'm out of there. I may be indecisive about a lot of things, but not about clothes. That's where my "Femme-ness" comes into play: I love to dress up. Not just dresses, either. I have always enjoyed a bit of genderfuck juxtaposition. Dresses with combat boots, short skirts and ties, etc. Or sometimes I will go full-out jeans, button-down, and tie-- with dangly earrings, of course (can't go without those.) In that way, I feel Femme: I feel powerful and sexy and like me when I am dressed up, when I have thought about what I'm wearing and am confident in it so that I don't give a shit what anyone else thinks about it. That, to me, is being Femme-- I don't need to be wearing a skirt or heels to feel feminine and empowered, I can be Femme with my short hair and butch hiking boots, with my unmanicured nails, with no dangly earrings. But in the end, whether I fit other people's definition of Femme or not, I am me and I am getting comfortable in my own skin-- and that's all that really matters.

A Londres...

faire comme les Londoniers? (je ne sais pas.)

I've been in London since Saturday at noon. It's very strange, and very nice simultaneously: I haven't been since I left York after graduation in '07. At that point, I was still technically "with" JF (though stuff with JB had already happened and I was mentally gone already.) Now, I'm single and a lot more mature... but still do things that I might not if I considered the consequences. For example, making out with AB, who's one of my best friends and also the person I am staying with for the duration of my stay in London... I'm fairly certain that he's approaching it as casually as I am (I almost typed 'with as much casualty', which may well be the case if I am wrong) so it's just a bit of fun, but I was wondering about how it would interfere if there was someone else that I wanted to pull during my trip (I will name no names... or even initials. I'm just open to possibilities.) One of the things that came up in mid-kiss pauses was the fact that we could get in a lot of trouble for it--from JF. I understand the whole 'no fooling around with/whatever with my ex' to a degree, but it still pisses me off that he still (unknowingly) claims some level of ownership over me. He'd say that he doesn't, but if he knew that AB and I messed around, he'd flip a shit (I don't know where I got that expression, apologies.)

Speaking of issues with ownership, I know that I should tell SJ about all this stuff (well, AB for the moment-- my mother accurately noted before I left that I'm a sucker for accents) but I'm not exactly sure how. He said stuff about being cool with me doing stuff, and even was considering doing stuff himself with some special people that were coming through town, but then he threw in the 'My grrrl' and wants me to say 'my Daddy' after that, so he may have decided against it and is not being clear (this happens a lot, actually. He apparently told me my safeword at one point (obviously earlier in our play dates) but I didn't catch it because sometimes I can't understand him or hear him, and I ask him to repeat himself a lot, so I feel rude and like a bad grrrl. I think it'll be best to just let him know about whatever goes on when I get back, rather than sending him emails with whatever has happened of that nature.

So far, I have walked along the Thames, gone to Camden, gotten lost a lot, and just generally chilled-- which is amazing. I have not studied since Wednesday (though I'm planning to start MCAT review, or at least work on my personal statement, today) The people I've seen have been my brother and AB... I see JF tomorrow, we'll see what that's like. Now, I'm going to try to think of something yummy for dinner and do aforementioned work. Huzzah!

Who's your...?

There is much in my life I am not blogging about at the moment, but this has been niggling me as a potential topic for quite a while now, and I need to address it before I head off to England and forget all about anything I was meaning to do.

So there's this interesting dynamic, this strange shift, that I have to make when I leave my house for SJ's or any interaction with SJ. SJ and I have a Daddy-grrrl thing going on, which is an entirely new direction in my life (not just sex life) that has some interesting elements to it all on its own. But then, add in the fact that I live with my parents, and still call my father 'Daddy'. At first, I had a hard time with calling SJ 'Daddy', for exactly that reason. The incestuous implications of it were just a little too much to handle upon first contemplation.

Oh, and my mother used to call me 'girl' when she was angry at me/I was in trouble. I hated it. I would always scream back, "don't call me 'girl!'" and she would say, "what should I call you, 'boy'?" I don't remember what I replied, but it should have been asking her to call me by my name. It's worth noting that both of my brothers got called by their full names (polysyllabic first names, along with their middle names and our long-ass last name), while I just got called a monosyllabic label. I'm not sure if I realized that at the time, or if that was the reason I objected to it so strongly. Maybe I had/have a bit more of genderfuck in me than I sometimes present :P

Both of those facts made the beginnings of my ventures into actual submissiveness (I mean under an actual top, not just softcore) a little challenging on more than just the usual attempts to tame my sassy/snarky comments. Now, though, I have managed to disconnect these associations, so I can easily go from calling SJ 'Daddy' to saying hello to my father when I come home, with relatively little awkwardness. The 'grrrl' thing bothers me less, as long as I know it's 'grrrl' and not 'girl'. When I first got a text from SJ calling me 'my grrrl', I misread it as 'my girl' and immediately refused to reply, because I don't want to be possessed or owned. I am nobody's girl but my own. I do like giving myself up for a while, but no one can claim full ownership of me, which is a fact that I very much like.
That being said, I know that for all SJ wants me to feel free (he mentioned something about when I went to England, and whether I was going on a 'sex tour') he also makes it pretty clear in the way he acts that he'd probably be hurt by it on some level-- not that I know this for sure, but I'd like to think of myself as being pretty good at reading people, especially people I've spent some time with. I have had some moments where I feel kind of bad, because I am not as into him as he is into me... but then, when I go see him I get to be taken out of my comfort zone, experience these new things that are helping me learn about myself in a way that grounds me. So, as selfish as those reasons sound, I go back. [NB: me not liking him as much as he likes me does not mean I don't like him-- he is always saying how much he adores me and has even used the l word (no, not the bloody TV show)] With all the shit that I have to deal with in between schoolwork and applications to med schools and the (metaphorical) self-flagellation that I put myself through on a constant basis, I need someone to do the (physical) flagellation for me, and hold me afterwards (my personal aftercare is somewhat shabby-- or non-existent :P )

So I'm selfish. Aren't we all? Besides, I'm not just taking.

This is one more day on the verge of tears

['Failure by Design', by Brand New]

I start to like my body, start to feel comfortable again despite disordered binge-starve patterns... and then I try on clothes that I think should fit, and they don't, and I want to break down and never eat again. Except I don't do that, instead I go an eat the best parts of a 28-serving package of peanut m+ms in 3 days. I gross myself out, and worry about the epigenetic traits I'll pass on to my grandkids. It's not the fat that grosses me out, it's the eating patterns. This is what makes me hate myself with a burning rage that is otherwise reserved for the likes of ignorant bigots.