Oh Jeez:

A rant on sexuality.

I’m thinking a lot about sexuality lately. What does it mean to be sexy right now? Is it about the way you present yourself, how you look, how you dress, how you act? All I know is its a lot of pressure. I’ve read some really insightful blog entries about sexuality, I’ve read some really frustrating articles, and I’ve seen advertisements that just make me want to barf and go cover up my boobs for the rest of my life.

Now, I know I’m not the “ideal” attractive woman (maybe if I lost 35 pounds, got tan and started wearing lots of bandeau bras and eye makeup. Also maybe if I looked like Penelope Cruz..oh Penelope). But I hope that the men I choose to surround myself with can see me as a strong, supportive, and okay I’ll say it, a sexy person. My current boyfriend has the sexiest eyebrows. He also has really attractive legs. And probably my favorite nose in the world (sometimes I just wanna bite it). I don’t know why I find these things sexy, but I do. He’s not just a culmination of those things, though. They don’t make or break why I’m dating him, why I find him attractive, what I like about him. He’s a really smart guy, he’s got these endearing silly moments and yes, sometimes he can turn into a frustrating bro-type. But, there are momentary lapses when I forget he’s just a person reacting to me as a person, and I feel like I need to look sexy, stay sexy, turn myself into an object that can be desired. I somehow feel like if I can just eclipse all his previous sexual encounters, maybe I’ll be worth keeping around. 

Excuse my language, but where the fuck did I come up with that idea? Where did I suddenly decide to throw my great personality, insightful emotions, and ridiculously smart brain out the window? I attended an alternative school, for fucks sake, and I most definitely went to a boarding high school. I was taught everyone is beautiful in their own right, and if someone doesn’t like you, or something about you, its usually their own fault and you should a) move on, or b) forget about it and be confident in yourself. 

So where is all of this crazy objectifying sexuality coming from? It doesn’t happen all the time. I am a wonderful woman, I am a great girlfriend, I have interests and I can talk to you about relevant intelligent things. I know how to spell and use proper grammar, I read all the time, and I know how to dress myself. Yet in the dark hours or brief seconds of doubt, objectification steps in. Facebook screams for us to put up the most attractive or trendy photo we can. My abs aren’t flat enough this season for a bikini, all the H&M models silently judge me in the dressing room. You know what? Who the hell cares? Who says I should constantly be tanned, toned and hairless all the fucking time? Deal with it. I get to, you should too. Boys are allowed to have a beer belly, weird playoff beards, what have you, and they still get laid all over the place. Where did this little insecure, neurotic consciousness come from? 

When my boyfriend tries to be fake-sexy (yes, guys do it too. I’ve heard “Yeah baby, you like that don’t you?” from one too many suitors), I think its too funny. Sometimes it ruins the moment. I like those passionate, playful moments that just naturally happen. So why do we tell ourselves we need to be everything for an audience? Stop with being so FAKE. Stop these implants, these labia surgeries, stop with this porn-centered worldview, stop with these “i’m not skinny enough” moments. If you look like a breakable doll, if you look like someone in a magazine, they are just going to want and expect next-month’s issue out of you. To me, thats too much work. Go for sensual. Go for sexual too! (I love sexuality) but please do it in your own way. I don’t mean to criticize if you are doing this for medical reasons. By all means, get a breast reduction to improve your health. Just…be okay with being you. People will love you just the way you are, and you shouldn’t have to conform to looking a certain way to do it. 

So here’s my reminder, my kick in the butt. I am funny, sweet, perky (yes, i’ll own that word), intelligent, caring and silly. Sometimes, usually when I don’t realize it, I’m being sexy. Guys like that. If they don’t, they’re not the right one. Lets hope the over-sexualization of our nation’s youngsters stops, or that more of them find the courage to stand up for their true personalities. For gods sake, if someone complains about your labia, they probably won’t make it happy anyway.  

With love,

Bear

Grass is Green, Breakups Greener

The transitory period after a breakup is always odd. Do you think about him too much? Not enough? (Even after his favorite movie plays on TV)? Can you call just to say “hey” and check in, or do you not bother? When do formalities (“happy birthday anyway, did you enjoy the headphones I sent you a week before you broke up with me?”) become just formal, and unemotional? 

The Spaniard and I are on weird terms. My request for SPACE was met with “I miss you” texts, “I still love you” warbles on my voicemail, and “when can I see you” captions on photos attached to late-night e-mails. “I made a mistake” was the first and oft repeated words out of his mouth. Promised grades, new jobs, therapy appointments, they all have seemed like (all too quick) steps in the right direction, but they HAPPENED, and damn does the boy move fast. Yet this closet romantic coupled with a “men can change for the right girl” adages have led me right back into a time warp. Helloooo last fall. Hello….mistakes?

The Spaniard showed up with all the right moves last weekend, after he pleaded for a chance to make it up to me. Two dozen (well, 25 to be precise) lavender roses showed up on my doorstep before work, and a weary and very nervous Spaniard greeted me with tears in his eyes when I picked him up from the Metro. A kiss on the forehead, a warm hand on the small of my back, and I remembered just why I loved him. He was comfort. He was flawed, but  most importantly, he was honest about it. Words tumbled from his lips, and I ended up kissing them. A night spent together instead of in the spirit of a one-night stand, felt like a thousand years back to the right place when we woke up holding hands. His laziness erased for a day, a fresh start, was coupled with a love note on my pillow, wine in his hand, and a plaid-themed picnic. He chose the spot, and we breathed in each others company. Tired from the emotional turmoil, naps preceded an expensive (and delicious) french dinner. The one, perfect day. 

He left the next morning, and his grumbles and grumps started up again. I got busy (and stressed) with my new job and early start time, but I miss the comfort. I miss just knowing he’s going to be on the other side of the phone if I need him. His love note re-read, his voicemails re-heard, my heart is extending tiny tendrils in his direction.

Then, therapy happened. I’m sure its smart, he’s not exactly dumb, just inconvenient. Friday I got the call, after a hermit-like few days. “I just don’t have the money, or the time, to give you what you deserve. I’m sorry we spent the most wonderful few days together, but its just not going to work”.

…ouch. When does a breakup hurt twice? When you give them another chance.
My heart feels numb, and my inner mantra “fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me” is sweeping my stable footing awry. 

We’ll see if timing is ever good to us, but for now, lets let life unfold.

Happy halloween, love, you little trickster.

Bear

I want a man, who

I want to find a man, who, if Ryan Gosling magically showed up and asked me to marry him, would make me think twice about it, and decline.

C’mon true love,

Bear

Obligatory Breakup Post (on Sad, or Maybe Not)

I wish I could be that romantic, wistful girl who is mysterious and beautiful in a heartbreaking story of love. The one who, when left, waifs around the fresh food section of an open air market, crying because the smell of fresh pecans or the sight of perfectly rounded grapes reminds her of feeding her loved one in bed while he twirled her hair through his strong fingers.

I wish I could be so deliriously heartbroken that I can’t eat, throwing my hands up in despair as my friends and family flock around me and coo and cluck and hug, and let me rest. 

Instead this seems almost worse. I am a crazed young adult, not quite a young professional (just need the job), who doesn’t know whether I’m sad, or fine. I’ve gone two days with happy thoughts in my head, a series of “good luck but good riddance” adages on my tongue as I think of all of our differences. But one sight of a luscious beard in a crowd sends me spiraling into a pit of doom, where I cry my eyes out. Only to emerge, instead of a teary wisp of a girl who everyone can nod at and say “oh, she was in LOVE, what a tragedy”, no, instead I rather resemble a rotten tomato. Squishy red face, with some odd hard places, and that feeling you get saying “oh, if I had only gotten to her yesterday she would have been great.”

No, I had to walk boldly into a love I was not confident of. I picked the opposite personality of what made sense, a complaining, selfish, loud, small-town guy who shook me up and let me spend all the money I could on the relationship out of love. He tested my patience, sapped my emotions, and now I am almost too sick of taking care of him, to take care of myself in the time I most need it.

What happens when the wrong guy still has your heart? I don’t see prince charming vaulting over pews up the wedding isle to grab my hand and take me away. Instead, I see the wrong guy knowing that maybe later we would have worked, but for now its too hard. I see him leaving my sorry ass crying in bed as he tells me, its just not working for him either.

But my heart, that vicious, fickle asshole, decides it has already run away to try and live with him, dreaming about him every day so every day I have to go and get it back. I think my ass-heart already convinced my lips all they need is to kiss his, and everything will be fixed, because they refuse to bad-mouth him or the situation.

So what happens when half your body believes its still living a fairytale, and your brain pipes up and tells you to quit it?

Maybe its like an addiction. If I go cold turkey, I’ll be okay. But looking at his pictures on my phone, listening to the saved voicemails…I slip into a zombie-like state of neurotic crying and shaking, then lethargic lounging while every movie I try to watch I turn off before it ends. Who cares? I don’t. Ends are for losers. That means either he loves you, or he doesn’t. and I can’t deal with that right now.

WIth grumpy crying and the inability to lose weight even when depressed,

Bear

Young love, what the hell is it good for

Why do we romanticize young love? Young love is the fucking worst. My entry today shall be a brief retelling of my first love, the first time around- the later part of our relationship, when it turned more “Adult”, that comes later.

This story starts when I am 15. So young! I was a baby. Due to an extremely early puberty, coupled with a nasty divorce on my parent’s part, I got thrown into mini-adulthood somewhat early. I had my first boyfriend at 13- he was 17 when we started dating- and I liked him a lot, but the relationship was extremely flawed, as any relationship between a 13 year old and a 17 year old will be. He wanted sex, I wasn’t ready; that’s the short version. 

Introduced into my life at 14 was a very nerdy individual who will later be called “the big one”, but for now can be “buddy”. We were just that- buddies. We bonded instantly and soon he was coming over all the time, as well as hanging out with my and my older boyfriend. We played D&D (shut up, I’m still cool) and talked about comics and had sleepovers- it was all platonic. OR WAS IT?

No, it was not. Because in that 14 year old way, we were totally nuts for each other and I didn’t want to admit to it because I had a coooooool older boyfriend who my whole family liked, and this Buddy of mine was slightly chunky with braces and talked too much about horror movies and video games. But I was struck. There was a connection.

So what happened was that after many tense situations, I eventually I split from Older Boyfriend and immediately pursued a weird relationship with my Buddy. I remember our first kiss- we were walking in the woods behind the school and he grabbed my face really roughly and the metal from his braces tasted funny and hurt a bit. My friends did not approve- Buddy was kind of a weirdo. Other than his geeky ways, he also came from a pretty broken home and had some emotional hiccups to work out. My family did not approve- my mama insisting that I was too young to be jumping from relationship to relationship like that (god, was she ever right). So after a few tangled unhappy weeks, we broke up. 

And the next day, he made out with one of my best friends.

Oh, that’s a crushing blow for anyone, but to an emotionally tender 15 year old, it’s a killer. I was VERY upset. I ran back to Older Boyfriend, who was kind of an asshole.

But that is not the end of the story by any stretch. In the span of 5 years, Buddy (who is now transitioning into his position in my life as “the Big One”), and I got together and broke up 5 separate times. The shortest stretch was two weeks, the longest was 3 years. 

This back and forth ended up becoming the most powerful memories from my high school experience. For a year, we wanted each other- teenage sexual tension so thick between us that it almost hurt. By the time we were seniors, it was so horrific that I actually had a complete meltdown on a train and my poor mother thought I was losing my mind. I was depressed to the point of self-inflicted physical harm- OVER A BOY. Over a boy who would later go on to break my heart into a million pieces, spit on them, then put them back together just to light them on fire (yes…slightly bitter). 

To this day, this Buddy-Big-One has succeeded in essentially breaking me for all other men I’ve dated. We have not been able to really talk since the last time we broke up - for good, i decided- and even thinking about him sometimes causes me to break down in tears. 

I know we all need to hurt sometimes to grow, but I think I’d be okay if young love was just deleted from the roster entirely. 

How about you, 8 followers? How old were you the first time you fell? And how much did it suck?

love love love,

Bee.

So pretty: so, so dumb.

Come on, we all give in to our shallow sides occasionally. We find somebody who is just so so so so incredibly gorgeous that they can’t be resisted: even if they can’t spell and have the general maturity level of a 12 year old (at age 23). For me, this was Bird Boy. Bird Boy was employed by the local coffee shop of my hometown neighborhood. Six-foot-five, skinny and all legs, with longish curlyish sunstreaked hair, a boyish face, beautiful lips, and tattoo-covered arms under his rolled up flannel, he was a lanky indie dream for yours truly.

Seeing him for the first time shortly after my return from the south (and the initial Bestie incident), he was just the distraction I needed from my mundane full-time job and the constant reminder, thanks to Facebook, that all my friends were off at college having a great time while I was stuck alone at home. It was obsession from first look: soon I was visiting the coffee shop way more than was appropriate; and after I found out that his walk to his car post-work took him right by the florist where I was working, I found bizarre reasons to be standing outside or working near the window so I could watch him as he walked his beautiful long-legged walk. But he never noticed me, and in my hyperbolic nature I assumed he never would.

But one day, I was asked to deliver flowers to the owner of his coffee shop. I walk in and he says his first ever words to me: “aww, for me? thanks!” coupled with a beaming, beautiful smile (in my mind, he still holds the award for having the best smile of anyone ever). I stand in shocked disbelief before murmuring an awkward “uh…they’re not…”. He laughed before asking my name, which I momentarily forgot. One “see you later” later and I was standing dumbfounded on the street. Was he…he couldn’t be…flirting with me?! WHAT DOES ‘SEE YOU LATER’ MEAN?! Am I going to die from heart palpitations?!

Well, things progress, we start to talk, he asks for my number, we go out on a few dates and quickly begin a relationship that is primarily based on making out and watching reality TV.

Some things I quickly learn about Bird Boy:

1. He is DUMB. as a brick. as dirt. DUMB.

2. He is a total pothead. I mean, I’m no prude, I’ve experimented myself, but the boy was simply NEVER not high.

3. He has a weird clingy roommate who takes turns either hitting on me or acting like I’m the scum of the earth for taking his Birdy away from him.

The relationship got way too serious way too fast. I knew I wanted to get out of it (first visit from the Bestie being a factor), but for some reason I just couldn’t. He was so goddamn good looking! And it was so EASY…just sit around, watch him smoke, watch bad TV, eat, have sex, repeat…it was pure lethargy and apathy that kept me around. And by the end, it was pretty obvious we had absolutely nothing to say to each other. In a vaguely mutual decision (mostly his, I was that oblivious regarding the whole thing) we split after about 8 months. I haven’t really heard from him since- though he did untag every photo of us together on facebook, what a prince- and I tend to look back on the whole thing with a sort of embarrassed regret. 

My advice to you, tumblrfolk: even if they’re beautiful, make sure that the person your with deserves the best of you: as in, they don’t tell you that you need to “stop talking about your emotions because they make my head hurt and you use words that are too big”.

With love, and a tinge of mortification,

Bee