Taken

Last Saturday night I went with my roommate to her work's annual Officer Ball. She herself almost had a date to it, but figured 6 dates (with no intimate contact yet) was a little short of being able to ask someone to what is basically a grown up prom filled with her nosy coworkers. So lucky for me, I got to dress up, look hot, and feel important.

My roommate had already warned me that most of the cops were married, and those that weren't liked to troll for pleasure. Well, even some of the married ones. No one really caught my eye except for a 40-something cop of some sort who read the nominations to something comparable to the Darwin Awards. Wow, I thought as his short, balding self with some unspeakably strong sexuality read for what seemed like a half hour of heaven. He became out of view as soon as he sat down, but when the ceremony was over I immediately glanced in his direction to see if his ringless hand was otherwise engaged. Turns out, it was.

Not only did the short, bald, 40-something have a date, but the date was a tall gazelle-like 20 or 30-something creature dressed in Victoria's Secret's slutty-chic finest, complete with those boots that go over the knee. I kept them in sight as the night went on, and was a bit morose to discover that the gazelle moved just like one on the dance floor and that the guy had his body all over her like he wanted to have sex with her at that very moment -- which I'm sure he had done countless times before. Suddenly flats-wearing me seemed highly inadequate for such a man. Especially because I am still a virgin.

I haven't mentioned this last part in awhile, largely because it is embarrassing, and largely because I rarely have gotten to a point in a relationship lately where it matters. Since having my surgery to fix the vulvar vestibulitis I have gone to bed with one man, my upstairs neighbor O. Trying to be the good girl -- while also trying to mask my complete apprehension -- I played hard to get and wouldn't let him go all the way. But the fact that my body did tense up even though I don't have pain in that area anymore, did make me question my ability to sleep with someone without letting them know of my virgin status. As a 34-year-old divorcee, no one expects that I am so sexually inexperienced. Sure, I've done lots of other things, but when it comes to anything getting close to that particular area, I become a 13-year-old in the back of her boyfriend's car wondering if "it will hurt." Or rather I become my 19-year-old self "knowing" that it will hurt, just like it did back then.

Part of the reason I wear flats is because with my movement disorder I can't walk in heels. Part of it is because I just prefer the comfort. And I'm sure another part of it is that my go to style is cute rather than sexy. I have a huge butt and huge boobs and I like flaunting both. I even wore black fishnet stockings with my dress to the ball. But the black flats with little fake pink pearls on them and little tiny satin bows represents the virginal side of me -- the side I desperately want taken away but also don't know quite how to rid myself of.

Naturally this has been something I've discussed in detail with my sister and close friends. In my mind, I can't sleep with a guy without letting him know of my virginal past, or else he will try to ravage me without knowing that I am still a delicate flower that needs to be opened slowly. But now I'm wondering if this good girl act is really doing me a disservice, especially in regards to the type of men I find attractive. While I don't believe that sex can be used as a tool to reel someone in, I'm learning that perhaps I should let go of the antiquated notion that I have a proverbial key around my neck that needs to be protected and given to the man of my dreams at just the right moment. Advice I have gotten lately is rather to live in the moment, and while I have no regrets about not sleeping with O, especially because he lives right above me, this advice might be just what I need in getting through my divirginization. "Instructional aids" are soon coming to my doorstep, hopefully replacing the need to go into any kind of backstory while in the heat of passion with my next lover, making it more likely that he will actually become one, whoever he is. Then I may still not show up to a ball like a gazelle in Victoria's Secret's finest with heeled over-the-knee boots on my feet. But if I ever do get that short, balding 40-something-year-old in bed -- or on the dance floor -- I'll know how to take him like he's a true victim of prey.

Get your own pair of gazelle boots here.

She Ventures Forth

In the U.S. we're obsessed with finding "The One." When we have relationships that don't end in marriage, we tend to see them as either stepping stones for our "real" relationship, or as stumbling blocks that have gotten in the way of our true path and destiny. The mindset of "The One" is what The Bachelor is based on. Never mind that the Bachelor is always sure his future wife is in the room of 25 women that the show has picked out for him, and never mind that he is (almost) always sure he has chosen the "right one" at the end of each season. This quest for perfect wedded bliss is what draws so many women into the series. We judge the female contestants based on what they do or don't do, and we try to mirror those in our own relationships so that we can find our special one. Even if we don't out and out say that we are mimicking or rejecting their behavior, I'm sure many of us sit in front of the TV screen going "Of course he rejected her," or, "What a nut case." Let's admit it, at times even the best of us can be catty bitches.

Women watch The Bachelor for the very same reason that it is criticized and made fun of. In all of its 14 seasons, only two couples have actually gotten married. One bride was the runner up swapped for the winner after the show was over, and the other couple weren't even on The Bachelor but The Bachelorette. Every other couple has split up, and often rather publicly. Not that there haven't been other Bachelor weddings, but these are made up of contestants who meet each other at Bachelor reunion events. Which makes sense. Let's face it, a room full of 200 plus people making up an equal number of men and women is much more likely to have lasting hookups than one contestant with 25, especially when the one goes around making out with multiple women at once.

As I watched the "Women Tell All" reunion episode tonight, it struck me that while the show purports to be about finding the ONE love of your life, maybe it isn't really so much about the destination as it is about the journey. What struck me today is that the current bachelor, Brad Womack, wouldn't let any girls apologize for anything they thought they did wrong. Ashley H., who had his heart from the beginning and let insecurity overwhelm her as the show went on, apologized to Brad on stage saying that she was at fault for things ending badly. He replied with something to the effect of, "Never apologize, because you are an exceptional woman. Maybe I just wasn't the guy to bring out that confidence in you." And really, can you blame her? I would be insecure too if a guy I had a great date with started kissing all these other girls. Who wouldn't get jealous? He had also sent away Ashley S. -- a girl much like myself who always has great first dates and then the guy says he's not looking for anything -- and she asked Brad tonight what he meant when he said she would make someone a wonderful wife, but not him. "Who am I to say if you would make a good wife or not?" he responded kindly, helping the girl realize she was not defective, just one girl that one guy didn't want to spend the rest of his life with. Who knows, this may all be a plot by the producers to boost women's ego and have them continue to watch the show, but it worked for me.

For the first time in a long time, my head is filled not with finding love, nor my medical condition, but with an entrepreneurial endeavor. For the past day and a half my roommate and I have been consumed with a business venture that kind of took on a life of its own. While because of my anonymity I won't go into the details of my idea, it combines my love of writing, my sappiness, my non-traditional upbringing, and my plethora of gay friends. Suddenly I'm not worried about what I will say to D or when I should say it. I write what I want, when I want, and he responds. In between his responses I'm not thinking about when I will receive the next one but am lost in my current project. Finally I have something I can focus my attention on even when in flareups, and with this quest, it's all in my hands. I do believe "The One" is out there, but making my own way is what's important right now. As is knowing that all those relationships that didn't turn into marriage (and the one that did) were not roadblocks or stepping stones but merely connections made between two people that had a start time and an end time. Sometimes things really are just that simple.

2011 Catch-up

I purposefully write my blogs as entries in a developing story. Because of that, if you've missed one or two posts, I'm sure you feel reluctant to jump back in without reading everything in order, which takes time. Because of this, I've decided to do a catch-up post of the developments of the past two months, as there have been quite a few.

At the New Year I decided to take a break from dating, and was promptly contacted by a guy one of my readers calls Captain SmartyPants on my defunct Match.com profile that hadn't been active since the middle of last year. He was perfect on paper but not in person, and another Match contact I call S was intriguing until after he showed a jealous side before we had even met. The same exact weekend I hung out with my year-long friend D and had a hang-out session turned date, and have returned to the hangout stage as his impulsive kiss came as a shock to even himself.

Health-wise I finally received a diagnosis of sleep apnea which has put me on a CPAP machine to keep me from waking up every six minutes. Turns out what I thought was deep sleep was not really deep at all. Just as they say patients need to be their own advocates, I'm the one who suggested seeing a sleep doctor, and I'm very glad I did.

As the year goes on I continue to fight for social security benefits -- the next step being an administrative hearing which my lawyers are in the process of setting up. I'm also fighting for my disability insurance to pay for my CPAP machine, since even though they don't cover durable medical equipment, the sleep apnea is what is (at least partially) causing me to need their insurance in the first place. From my point of view, if they pay for the machine and I can get better, get off the insurance, and then they won't have to pay anything. The insurance alone was a struggle to keep this year as my GP stated in my mid-year review that I could work. Thankfully my neurologist has come around and declared that this is not true, stating sleep apnea and ataxia as the reasons for incapacity.

Lastly, I've started seeing a therapist as my mom has disclosed some events from my past that need working through. This therapy -- which I get at an alarmingly low sliding scale rate -- is changing my views not so much about the world around me, but about myself. What I thought were weaknesses are coming out as strengths, and so I enter this new year with a firmer self-awareness and appreciation of my personhood.

All of the happenings of this year make the current focus of this blog that of loving ourselves just as we are, appreciating what makes us uniquely us, and knowing that fighting for what we need and want is -- while a continuous struggle -- something that pays off and keeps us on the road to wellness.

D-D-D-Drowning

I went into counseling wanting to fix myself. Over the years I have noticed patterns in my dating relationships that keep resurfacing, and with the new knowledge of "the thing that happened that I cannot talk about," everything started coming into place. So far instead of learning how to change, I'm learning that I'm not messed up to begin with. Sure, the things that happened to me were, but I myself am strong, not weak, and whatever weaknesses I think I have are actually strengths -- or at least two sides of the same coin. This is not just words of wisdom for me, but for all women out there who think we have to be a certain way or do a certain thing (or more often, not be a certain way and not do a certain thing) to find love.

When I have an awesome date with a guy and he kisses me at the doorstep, I naturally expect to hear from him again. When I didn't hear from D for a week and a half I was sure he changed his mind, and I wrote him an email asking just that. He responded pretty quickly and we've gone back to our friendly facebook banter and the mutual understanding that he isn't looking to be with anyone right now. In the past such a statement meant that the guy was gay, which was always later confirmed. In those cases the guy always thought I was the greatest, most beautiful, and most talented woman alive, but wasn't looking for anything because he wasn't looking for a girl. In this case, D is -- from what I can tell -- as straight as they come, and his reserve really is because of what's going on in his own life, and has nothing to do with me or a lack of genuine interest. Instead it comes from interest itself and a desire not to get in over his head. At least that is what I took from our conversation.

The counselor's first successful lesson was teaching me that it's okay to have needs. Her second lesson was to help me learn that what I thought was bad about myself is actually good. As I explained to her, my usual PMDD pattern with relationships is to stop treading water and to instead flail my arms around madly as I cry out "Help! I'm drowning!" Of course the drowning is only made worse by my panicked response. After therapy I learned that that response is not just a weakness -- it's also a strength. I flail around for survival. Instead of letting myself drown into a resignation or depression I fight for what I know I need. It may not always be the best thing to do in relationships or even a necessary one, but it's gotten me where I am today. As I related this realization to my best gay friend J over a hot dog and a hard cider, a light came on over his head and he said, "Yes! It makes sense. You're a fighter." I've fought financial odds to get college degree. I've fought against abusers who told me I was nothing. I've fought the graduate department to let me get a (harder) assistanceship that would work with my illness. I've fought the Department of Social and Health Services to give me benefits, and I'm continuing to fight Social Security.

Sure, when I don't hear from a guy I like for a week and a half I panic just a little bit. But it's that exact desire to get what I need that has gotten me so far in life. I don't let my arms go slack and delve into the depths. Instead I flail around until the storm calms down and I can once again tread water. There's no lifeboat out there, no light house or vest or even rations. This is not to say that there aren't people -- even family -- who help me along the way. But at the end of the day it's just me and the storm. And I always win, even when I think I've lost.