Dear Mom

I’m gay. Yes, happy...but more like I like to finger fuck and eat pussy. I know you know, but I thought you’d like to hear it from my mouth. I know, my poor Grandmother is rolling in her grave.

I can’t say that. I don’t even like the word, gay. Gay upsets my stomach. Except when it doesn’t, like when I know my life is right and I am happy. So I say queer. I like queer. It means odd, or an offensive name for a homosexual male, according to my mac dashboard dictionary. I prefer the first definition, since I am not male.

You did nothing wrong. In fact, I would say, You did something right. You raised a woman who knows what she wants and is not afraid to get it. I know what it takes for me to be happy. I am working on obtaining a life that fits my needs. I am a strong, somewhat over-independent person. So thank you.

Dad asked me if it was just a phase. I told him I didn’t know because I was too afraid to tell him no. I can never see myself with another man for the rest of my life. I don’t like trying to figure out which emotion a man is exibiting by his blank face. I don’t want a scratchy chin tearing up my own when I kiss. I don’t want to worry about explaining logic to another man. And I don’t want to be fucked by another messy dick ever again.

See, Mom, this has been going on for quite some time. Farther back, it seems, every time I think about it. I remember even telling you in high school that I was a lesbian. You said, in your exasperated, sarcastic, “whatever” tone, “Ok, Jen”.

So, take two. This time’s for real. I have a girlfriend. I have introduced my kids to the notion that loving whomever makes you happy is good and right. I am out to my high school friends and my mom’s club, other parents at my kids school, my sisters, my dad and one of my cousins. So, why did I take so long with you? Fear, mostly. Fear that I would have to explain myself and justify my actions to you, which I don’t, but would still feel compelled to do.

I can’t stand the thought of you crying and saying, “How could you do this to me?”, like you did when I told you I was pregnant. That time, I needed you, this time I don’t. That time taught me to rely on only me. Can’t listen to some bullshit about your family are the only people you have, because it’s not really true. Well, maybe in families where the main topic of discussion isn’t juicy gossip about other family members it might actually be as you said it should be. Alas, not your family, which also happens to be mine, but I have removed myself from your gossip circle of hate.

Although, somehow, by me coming out to you, I have once again entered the circle because I know how the family works. One of you gets upset and goes and riles the rest, then you recruit more of this war’s veterans and begin a battle, but this time, you are fighting yourselves, because I will not participate.

The ideal would be for you to ask me questions. I’d rather not too specific, but I can deal with a little pink in my cheeks. I will answer and be honest, what do I have to lose, but that which I have lost already. I would love for you to be happy for me, without having to think about it. I want you to accept me for the person I am and always was, JLVMC.

(This is practice for the real thing. I am hoping to have my wits and guts about me in the beginning of March. Wish me luck. Of course I will post the real thing when it happens.)

Help Me!!

I am entering a creative writing contest. It's my first time and I want to know which blogs you think I should enter for the fiction portion and non-fiction portion. I have few in mind, but if any of you have any suggestions, I would love to hear them. Just leave me a comment. I need to know by next Wednesday. Lots of loves!!! J

Rat Bastard

NEVER pose the question “What more universe, what more?”. Because the universe will answer you back with a vengence. All this shit keeps coming at me....seems more than my fair share. The wash machine, the electrical, the drains and leaky faucet in the bathroom, the really mean ex, the chewed through pipe in the kitchen. Chewed through by a rat, mind you. The job thing not working out. I just couldn’t fathom anything else, I mean really, how much can a girl handle before she wants to jump off the Tempe Towne Lake Bridge? Oh wait, is asking that the same as asking the aforementioned question? Goddess, I hope not! Let me just set this up a bit...

Driving towards home, but not going home. Had to get the dog license renewed. HE calls. Am I headed home? No. Will I be? No. Could I? What do you need Mr. P? (Mr. P is my new name for him, less negative than the Fat Man.) Just am I going home? NO! Well the house is being broken into and the police need one of us to be there before they take the K9 unit in and search for the man they believe is still in the house. What?

So that’s where this begins and really where it ends. Glass all over. Amelie, my dog, is alright, really scared and not much of a guard dog, but ok. (I believe, had we been in the house at the time of the break-in, her behavior would have been more aggressive. She is a very loyal doggy.) The snakes were ok. My windows and a door, not so much. Noting was stolen, but a small bit of my sanity and faith in humanity.

Forgot to mention, the K9 shit in my house. I couldn’t figure out why the police were taking out my kitchen garbage, until I put two and two together much later. I am not sure what they are feeding that poor animal, but even with all of our new ventilation, that stench was overwhelming for way too long.

So let this be a lesson to all of you, my friends. Always follow your gut. Never lock your doors if you cherish your windows. And NEVER, NEVER ask such a loaded question of the universe. She WILL answer you.

I'm Scared

There is so much transition in life anyway without all this inner transition. It’s been almost a year since I left my husband and started dating women. It took me nine months to feel like I could possibly be loved and love again. In that time, I stirred up my family, I taught my children who you love shouldn’t have anything to do with genitalia, I started school, where I do my best to excel, I have watched my ex fall in love with another and give up on all house responsibilities and I let down my guard and learned to feel again. Now I am adjusting to having a significant other, being in love with a woman, who, for the most part, I feel is just a person. One two occasions, I have been conscience of the thought that the person I am in love with is a woman. Those times aren’t when I am fucking her, but when I am in this moment of pure bliss, staring into her smiling, almond shaped, hazel eyes. I am not questioning myself; more like I’m in astonishment of how right I feel. I always laugh out loud then have to explain to her why. Both times I have asked the retoricle question after my spoken thoughts, “You know?”. And both times she says in her beautiful sing song voice, “Baby, I have always loved women”. She doesn’t know where I am and I can accept that. You see, though, it’s much harder for me to accept that I don’t know where she is. This is unknown territory for me. Starting at the shear beginning of this being my first queer relationship, leading to the present question of gender identity. Things are moving slow, the way I like them, so I don’t really notice change, but change is looming. In all forms. HE is moving out. I have to get a good enough paying job to support my household and put Kbaby in daycare. I HAVE to put Kbaby in daycare. The dynamics of certain friendships are drastically changing. And now this. From Saturday night on, I will be wondering, until she has a definitive answer for me, how to fuck her. What pleases her. What she really wants and if what I was doing before was more for my benefit than hers. My life has been changing so much in the past year, will it ever even out? Will I ever feel like I am not falling, drowning, choking, wishing for a fast end to the madness? I am trying to be patient and watch things fall into place, but much like Tetrus, when one piece fits perfectly, another odd shape falls from the sky and I only have a few short moments to turn it and move it to fit into the best place. If I miss, even by one block, I have to compensate for the mistake until that misplaced block dissolves into many separate lines. I don’t know how many more misplaced blocks I can handle. I am being swallowed by the great ocean of life.I am not discounting all the daily blessing, or maybe I am. Right now, all I can see are my hardships, I get reminding glimpses of good here and there. When that happens, I am overjoyed, I feel whole again and I remind myself to remember those times, recalling the song that was on, the people I was with, the thought that popped right before the smile did. Am I capable of just seeing the good and letting the minute sliver of bad roll on passed as just another challenge in my amazing life? I hope and I strive for that. Good thing striving is enough for right now or I don’t think I would be alive. So day by day by day by day by day, I will endure this life. I will challenge my boundaries. I will fall hard and struggle to get back up. I will rejoice in the love all around me and make more when I feel there is not enough. These are things I can do. I am scared, but I can choose to confront my fears, and I do.

Gender(Fuck)ed

I have a spanish test today. The test covers some nouns and their gender. In most languages, all nouns have gender. German, Spanish, Latin and so on. For once I am happy to be an English speaker. No gendered nouns. "The" covers all nouns. If "the" can cover all nouns and people are nouns, proper or not, why can't we do away with gender? Are you wondering where we are going with this? I think T is on a the brink of an intense gender journey. It's been building. In just the short 4 months we have been together, I have watched it progress. I love her and I will support whatever decisions she makes about her body. Not usually being a future thinker, I have found myself, as of late, wondering where this type of transition will leave us. I am in the midst of reinventing myself, as it is. I keep thinking a day by day approach is warrented and I know that's what I will end up doing. I wonder by some things that she has said or written lately, if what I do when we're fucking, is what she wants me to do with her body. Are there parts I should refrain from? Most of you will say, "Why don't you ask her?". I asked. And she doesn't know. And I don't know. And no one else could possibly know. I want to honor her body, mind and soul. I want her to be completely comfortable with me. I want her to know, I support her. She can just be "the".

I Had A Dream

I dreamt last night that I was prego....with HIS child. Yuk!!! It would have been my fourth, it was a girl. Anyway, I selected a mom to adopt her, which I later decided not to do. The dream is really nothing compared to my feelings when I woke up. I feel really sad that I will never have another child. I wasn't ready for the first two, and the third I have such an amazing relationship with. Not that I don't have good relations with A1 and A2, but it's a little different. I also feel that because of my age when I started having kids, that maybe, I make mistakes or do things that REAL mom's don't do; like honor my needs. I have definitely covered these thoughts in previous blogs. Should my life be solely about their well being and happiness? At any rate, getting back to the dream feelings.. If I had another kid, would I screw that child up as much as I may be screwing the other three. I mean, I'm not like a real mom. I like to go out drinking on any given Monday thru Thursday and Saturday night, I don't want a conventional job, I smoke a little weed, or sometimes a lot. Then there are social aspects, having a queer mom. They don't know many other kids whose mom's kiss other woman. What kinds of questions does this bring up? What kinds of hurts? Teasing, harassing, anything? And what kind of shit will they take from their dad for me? Is this the only reason I want to have another child? NO. I want to raise a girl, but it's not really in my stars to do so. I guess I am doing exactly what I tell T not to do, project on the future. Who knows what will happen in the future. I'm just being silly. My kids are great and I hope I tell them enough how much I love them. I know they know in their guts, but I think they should hear it at least 37 times a day. I know they will grow up being more strong, open-minded and tolerant than most people could ever dream of being. Maybe my girlfriend is the girl I will end up raising!! Haha, babe. I'm kidding!!

Sex. Pure. and. Simple.

I can't keep my mind off her.
I want to bed her.
I want to fuck her til Kingdom come.
I want to feel my fingers glide in out around.
The silky wetness.
I want to taste her on my tongue.
I want to press my hand against her hip.
I want to feel my body warm against hers.
I want to kiss her neck and lick her supple belly.
I want to bite her thighs and relish in the marks.
I want to feel her in between my legs, pushing slow hard fast.
Sucking, biting, clawing, breathing.
Heat and sweat.
Moans and screams.
She grabs the pillow in her teeth.
No need to quiet yourself my girl, I would whisper.
We move to the shower, hot water, hotter kisses.
The passion, the wetness.
My foot resting on the edge of the tub.
Fuck me, I breathe. Fuck me now.
She lingers before she thrusts.
That first ascension into me, reminders of pure intoxication.
She holds me up, strong hands on my low back.
I shiver, weak legs, cum thick as night.
Shudder, spasm, nibble, fight the urge to give in to delicious sleep.
Back in bed she straddles my hips, slow, deliberate pivot.
Cunt to cunt, eye to eye, one thought.
Each other's bliss.
She falls, back arched, cognizant, satisfied.
Her mouth wet, she licks her lips.
We fall into each other's arms, enraptured sleep.
Sound, rhythmic.

Conspiracy Theory Proven: Cockroaches Have a Secret Longing to Kill All Humans

Do cockroaches want to crawl under my covers and kill me? Do they want to live in my ears, like Claire Dane’s character on Brokedown Palace? And kill me? Do they want to scare the be-jesus out of all human kind? (Be-jesus, not unlike the Bedazzler, can make you see stars and sparkles. Also, it may make your jeans truly unique, but that’s a report for next week.)

I believe the answer to all these questions is YES. In fact, the very name cockroach means suck your soul out through your ear. ‘Cock’- To suck ones soul right out of their very existence and ‘Roach’ - A nuclear war surviving creature in it’s own species and genre, who would prefer to eat ear wax, if at all possible. Also, likes to be real warm under blankets, hence the term, “Snug as a cockroach in a blanket”.

To understand the little known insect-of-it’s-own-species/genre, you must first examine it’s anatomy. It is brown, first off. Things that are brown are pure evil. Other brown things include, dirt, stretched vaginas, like on porn (not mine), shit (also not mine, and it don’t stink) and rotten bananas. It has long head receptors, called alien antenna. These so called feelers are actually transmitting radio signals to the former planet, Pluto. The Plutonese use these detailed transmitted room descriptions to prepare 4th grade dioramas of Earth-being’s dwellings, especially pantries. Cockroaches have an outer, crunchy, like Jeanette’s blog, shell. One would think this is a protection mechanism, but think again, mi amiga. This hard outer covering is to remind crickets who is bigger. Cockroaches are like the Mexican gang from The Warriors, while crickets are like the Puerto Ricans. The roaches are just jealous that the crickets are musically talented. (Cockroa-chez, come out and play-ay-ay!!) Or is it West Side Story? Wings. Need I say more. It is unnatural for a walking bomb shelter to fly.

Onto the innards. Now, while I have never dissected a cockroach with a scalpel, I have squished, thwaped, crushed, and bug sprayed their guts out. It is white. We all know know white is a pure color. White roses mean, “I think you’re a virgin, let’s hump”, white snow has not been tainted with urine and white washing was a highly coveted project that children paid dearly to experience in Tom Sawyer, a fantastic book by the late, elaborate (long A sound), great writer, Samuel Clemmins, better known as Mark Twain. These entrails, if you will, being white, as they are, cannot be used as shampoo, lotion or semen, for baby production. Although, they do have the viscosity of all three of these liquids, and can therefore be used as glue, thereby eliminating the deaths of wild horses in Montana. This tapioca-like substance shines and shimmers, which brings us to the be-jesus question.

As stated earlier, be-jesus is like Bedazzler. Guts are shiny and shimmery, henceforth, a cockroach can and will scare the living be-jesus out of you, especially if you end up wearing some. Cockroaches do not have hearts, if they did, they would send flowers instead of visiting.

Roaches come in many sizes, from the very minute Flour Weevil, to the Sewer Roach, which can reach sizes up to a 33 long in men’s denim wear. If your roach is wearing Guess?, remember that the sizes run a little small and your roach could grow to reach maximum capacity. Despite the size of a roach, it can fit under and in anything. And I mean anything. Get food for your dog, come out with a roach. Want to do homework in your bedroom, get interrupted by a roach. Move a paperweight on your desk, drop it on your toe, because there was a LIVE roach under it. This phenomena is known as “Do-whatever-the-fuck-I-please”, another reason ‘cock’ is in the name.

So now that I have proven my theory, what to do if you come across one of these entities. First, do not panic. I have done that before and it results in an asthma attack, where there were no previous signs of asthma, a weak bladder, delirious behavior, like shrieking and dancing from big toe to big toe, while water rolls uncontrollably out of your eyes, and the strong urge to flee the scene, never to return. Take a deep breath and yell, “You’re my bitch! Die bastard, die!!” Quickly, run to the place where you keep the can of spray poison, grab it and run back to the scene. Point the hole of the spray away from you and toward the cockroach. Depress button for way longer than really necessary. Watch the evil-doer meet Peter at the gates of Heaven, only to be cast downward. Then splat flat with your favorite color Chuck Taylor’s. Don’t forget to have handy, at all times, a nifty craft project or broken plate for gluing, thereby, once again, reducing the needless murders in Montana.

I thank you for your attention and swift resolution to this problem. May your sheets stay empty of unwanted brown spots and your craft projects be aplenty.