Well, Geekette got very grumpy for not updating, as she should. But let's face it, I don't really consider myself a lesbian anymore. So here's a new blog for a changing me, if you're interested:
http://genderqueerear.blogspot.com/
See ya there!
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Letter two: ....
Dear ...,
I don't know your name (not that I would put it up anyway), and I can't narrow you down to one defining characteristic. Every time I try to, I balk at the thought of summing you up in two words, because it really can't be done. I connect too many ideas and thoughts to you, and the ones that are clear, you would disagree with. But what bothers me is that I can remember every tiny detail about you, except for the one detail that could let me find you again- your name. I even went through all our old mutual friends' Facebook friends, hoping that someone looked you up- but you were here for just a year. And you faded fast, and we never had a way to get back in touch.
If I could see you again- or if you saw this dismal little blog post on a pathetic blip of a blog (I still hold a grain of hope), I would thank you immediately for getting me hooked on manga, then I'd yell at you immediately for the same reason. You let me borrow yours since my mom wouldn't let me buy my own, and it means more now than it did then. I don't know why the meaning grew, but it did.
You were the first love in my life- the first time that I fell so hard that I very nearly admitted it. I can't believe I was able to pass you off as just a friend (even to myself), and I can't believe I let you go. I really really can't believe I lost your name- but I didn't lose your smile, or the way the sunlight made your head a frizzy fire, even though you kept it locked down in a tight bun. Your hair is magnificent- or I assume it still is. Originally red, dyed black, stained red in the dawnlight. You dressed like a dyke, and I loved your clothes- baggy and so many pockets, and all I had was a skirt and ugly-ass purse. I wish we knew each other longer, and I wish I had had the courage then to just- just to hold your hand for a second and show you that I felt you were more than just a friend.
With regrets a plenty,
The weird girl goofy girl in drama class who did stupid accents and kept stealing your manga.
I don't know your name (not that I would put it up anyway), and I can't narrow you down to one defining characteristic. Every time I try to, I balk at the thought of summing you up in two words, because it really can't be done. I connect too many ideas and thoughts to you, and the ones that are clear, you would disagree with. But what bothers me is that I can remember every tiny detail about you, except for the one detail that could let me find you again- your name. I even went through all our old mutual friends' Facebook friends, hoping that someone looked you up- but you were here for just a year. And you faded fast, and we never had a way to get back in touch.
If I could see you again- or if you saw this dismal little blog post on a pathetic blip of a blog (I still hold a grain of hope), I would thank you immediately for getting me hooked on manga, then I'd yell at you immediately for the same reason. You let me borrow yours since my mom wouldn't let me buy my own, and it means more now than it did then. I don't know why the meaning grew, but it did.
You were the first love in my life- the first time that I fell so hard that I very nearly admitted it. I can't believe I was able to pass you off as just a friend (even to myself), and I can't believe I let you go. I really really can't believe I lost your name- but I didn't lose your smile, or the way the sunlight made your head a frizzy fire, even though you kept it locked down in a tight bun. Your hair is magnificent- or I assume it still is. Originally red, dyed black, stained red in the dawnlight. You dressed like a dyke, and I loved your clothes- baggy and so many pockets, and all I had was a skirt and ugly-ass purse. I wish we knew each other longer, and I wish I had had the courage then to just- just to hold your hand for a second and show you that I felt you were more than just a friend.
With regrets a plenty,
The weird girl goofy girl in drama class who did stupid accents and kept stealing your manga.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Letter One: Strawberry Shortcake
Dear Strawberry Shortcake,
I know your name- in fact, you're one of two whose name I remember vividly. It's because the last name's a big one in our town, and your first name is the same as my cousin. But you won't remember mine, and anyway I could never put this online if I made it clear exactly who you are. Plausible deniability, in a sense, for my fairly fragile ego. Yet I made your nickname an inside joke between us- I guess the masochist in me wishes you remembered.
You were-are- about three years older than me, and infinitely cooler. You work out, and it shows, a sporty dyke all the way. I don't remember you frowning often- smiles came easily and they made your eyes shine. You were easy to crush on, so easy. I can't believe you didn't have a parade of closeted lesbians following you at all times, though you might have. I was self-involved with confusion that year, a state I lapse into far too frequently. I don't think you were out, but looking back, I'm sure you knew. I wonder if you knew about me. For some reason I think you suspected but didn't push it, and I'm glad you didn't. I didn't know- well, I did, but I was trying to change.
I think you thought I was cute, but in the "Aw look at the baby little freshman, she's so awkward, it's adorable!" way. And jesus was I awkward. I was either not talking or saying the wrong thing. And when I saw you a couple of years ago at Wal-Mart (truly the classiest place to see people again), I said the wrong thing again and we walked away to never see each other again. Of course, I then came out- nine months after that, I remembered you suddenly. For the first time, I acknowledged how I felt about you, and part of me still is crushing. That part is why I found your Facebook, and keep wanting to add you, or send a message or something, but I know I won't. This is because I am a pussy, and because you won't know me. But the rest of me is writing this letter out of a different feeling- admiration, awe, and gratitude. I admire you because you were what I wanted to be, before I even realized why I wanted to be like you; I'm in awe because you're actually that attractive, and gratitude... I don't think either of us knew that your mere existence was opening up possibilities, but it was.
I might someday message you, whether that is tomorrow or two weeks from now, but I also might never message you. There's no harm- but you're older, prettier, and popular- and even though we're not in high school anymore, I still feel like there's a rule against the nerdy younger one reaching out to the older jock, even if it's not for romance, but just to say hi- just to reconnect for a second. And so you know- I still say "Strawberry Shortcake" in a funny way.
Thanks
Kathy- the stupid nerdy flute playing flaggot.
I know your name- in fact, you're one of two whose name I remember vividly. It's because the last name's a big one in our town, and your first name is the same as my cousin. But you won't remember mine, and anyway I could never put this online if I made it clear exactly who you are. Plausible deniability, in a sense, for my fairly fragile ego. Yet I made your nickname an inside joke between us- I guess the masochist in me wishes you remembered.
You were-are- about three years older than me, and infinitely cooler. You work out, and it shows, a sporty dyke all the way. I don't remember you frowning often- smiles came easily and they made your eyes shine. You were easy to crush on, so easy. I can't believe you didn't have a parade of closeted lesbians following you at all times, though you might have. I was self-involved with confusion that year, a state I lapse into far too frequently. I don't think you were out, but looking back, I'm sure you knew. I wonder if you knew about me. For some reason I think you suspected but didn't push it, and I'm glad you didn't. I didn't know- well, I did, but I was trying to change.
I think you thought I was cute, but in the "Aw look at the baby little freshman, she's so awkward, it's adorable!" way. And jesus was I awkward. I was either not talking or saying the wrong thing. And when I saw you a couple of years ago at Wal-Mart (truly the classiest place to see people again), I said the wrong thing again and we walked away to never see each other again. Of course, I then came out- nine months after that, I remembered you suddenly. For the first time, I acknowledged how I felt about you, and part of me still is crushing. That part is why I found your Facebook, and keep wanting to add you, or send a message or something, but I know I won't. This is because I am a pussy, and because you won't know me. But the rest of me is writing this letter out of a different feeling- admiration, awe, and gratitude. I admire you because you were what I wanted to be, before I even realized why I wanted to be like you; I'm in awe because you're actually that attractive, and gratitude... I don't think either of us knew that your mere existence was opening up possibilities, but it was.
I might someday message you, whether that is tomorrow or two weeks from now, but I also might never message you. There's no harm- but you're older, prettier, and popular- and even though we're not in high school anymore, I still feel like there's a rule against the nerdy younger one reaching out to the older jock, even if it's not for romance, but just to say hi- just to reconnect for a second. And so you know- I still say "Strawberry Shortcake" in a funny way.
Thanks
Kathy- the stupid nerdy flute playing flaggot.
Letters: Prologue
There was supposed to be a review, but things got busy and being busy made things messy and messiness meant that the less important things got forgotten- and as much as I love this stupid little blog, it's not very high on my list of priorities. I'm still working on the review (several actually), but I have to work from notes for reviews- and my notes have disappeared. So the reviews are on the back burner until I find the notes or read the books again to make new ones.
"But," you're not asking but I'm pretending you are for the sake of a device, "Why are you writing this if there's no reviews?"
Because this is also where I put all the messy thoughts in my head so I can look at them. Right now, there's a lot of messy thoughts- partially because my head is a pile of tangled thread again, and partially because I'm an idiot and only last night realized some pretty fucking obvious things. If you've read this blog at all- and even if you haven't, actually- you already know I'm an idiot of the highest regard, but even I was shocked at just how dumb I can be.
To illustrate my idiocy, I'm going to be writing some theoretical letters. I have nowhere else to put them, and I need to write out my thoughts because otherwise I will never think clearly. I wrote some out last night for my book-monstrosity-thing, but it was navel-gazey (got edited, I promise) and I want to write out these letters for my own peace of mind. I'm putting them out here because I'm a fool, and part of me wishes that they'll find their owners (they never will).
The next few blogs will be unaddressed letters to the girls I first had crushes on- and managed to bury my feelings for them until last night. These posts are what I want to say, and can't- in fact, the one I would be brave enough to speak to, I can't remember her name. Some of the girls addressed are gay, some are straight, some are bi, some don't ever say and it doesn't matter, because I didn't know that when I fell in crush with them. I hesitate to say love, because love is a word that I frankly shouldn't apply to people in the romantic sense (especially to memories).
If you live with me or see me every day, you should probably get the shotgun ready because I'm about to get even more annoying.
"But," you're not asking but I'm pretending you are for the sake of a device, "Why are you writing this if there's no reviews?"
Because this is also where I put all the messy thoughts in my head so I can look at them. Right now, there's a lot of messy thoughts- partially because my head is a pile of tangled thread again, and partially because I'm an idiot and only last night realized some pretty fucking obvious things. If you've read this blog at all- and even if you haven't, actually- you already know I'm an idiot of the highest regard, but even I was shocked at just how dumb I can be.
To illustrate my idiocy, I'm going to be writing some theoretical letters. I have nowhere else to put them, and I need to write out my thoughts because otherwise I will never think clearly. I wrote some out last night for my book-monstrosity-thing, but it was navel-gazey (got edited, I promise) and I want to write out these letters for my own peace of mind. I'm putting them out here because I'm a fool, and part of me wishes that they'll find their owners (they never will).
The next few blogs will be unaddressed letters to the girls I first had crushes on- and managed to bury my feelings for them until last night. These posts are what I want to say, and can't- in fact, the one I would be brave enough to speak to, I can't remember her name. Some of the girls addressed are gay, some are straight, some are bi, some don't ever say and it doesn't matter, because I didn't know that when I fell in crush with them. I hesitate to say love, because love is a word that I frankly shouldn't apply to people in the romantic sense (especially to memories).
If you live with me or see me every day, you should probably get the shotgun ready because I'm about to get even more annoying.
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